Louis can’t recall how he’d finally gotten out from underneath Harry’s cold gaze. One minute he was paralyzed on the field, his insides twisted into something unrecognizable and the next he’s running until he thinks his lungs might explode.
“Alright, lads, that’s enough! Take a fiver before drills.”
Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to hear Paul’s voice in his life. The assistant coach gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he makes it to the sidelines, very clearly out of breath.
“You’re doing pretty damn well for being out seven weeks, Tommo.”
Louis lifts his eyebrows once and barks out a sarcastic laugh, “Yeah, I’m practically Giggs out there.”
Paul laughs. “Not quite,“ he gives Louis’ shoulder another quick squeeze, “but you’ll get it back.”
Louis nods in agreement, mostly so they can stop discussing it. He doesn’t really want to talk about how out of shape he is at the moment. Especially not while his teammates are running circles around him in warm-up of all things. Even Sully looks better than he does and he’s usually slow as fucking syrup.
He turns to spit once in the grass and grips his side, trying to quell the burning of the cramp settling there.
Fuck arsehole drivers in shitty Pintos. Fuck football. Fuck practice. Fuck yard shuttles.
And fuck Harry, too.
Dammit. It’s been two years without the boy invading every inch of his life like he owned it and now suddenly here he is again, at Louis’ school, on his field, on his team. And he’s just standing there, all lean, long and easy-breathing like his body was made for sprinting as he takes long pulls of water, adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow and a few stray drops escape past his mouth to stream down his jaw and throat…
“You alright, Lou?”
Louis snaps his head in the direction of the voice. Niall’s suddenly there, offering him a cup of water that he gratefully accepts and practically inhales. “Thanks, man.”
Liam catches his eye from the water cooler and levels him with his best 'Mummy Payne' stare. Louis groans inwardly. For fucks sake, they act like he’s some kind of cripple who needs to be babysat or something. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate his friends for being concerned but really, he’s already got one mum and that’s quite enough.
He does his best to casually ignore them. He just wants to get through the rest of this practice with at least a little bit of his pride intact. But then Zayn is walking over and he looks equally concerned, but Louis knows it’s not for the same reason that Liam and Niall are. He’s being such a fucking weirdo about it, too. He just keeps giving him these strange head nods and Louis can’t figure out if he’s asking him if he’s okay, wanting to talk in private or if he’s just got some kind of nervous tic in his neck.
He decides he mostly looks like he wants to talk though and Louis idly wonders if it’s too late trade this impending conversation for Liam’s motherly staring.
“So.”
Louis pulls his lips into a thin line, “So.”
Zayn glances to the edge of the pitch at a small group of players, mostly the new ones. Louis would have to be completely dense to not know who he’s staring at.
“Well, he looked pissed off.”
“Who did?”
Zayn levels him with a dubious look, “Come off it, you know who I’m talking about.”
