17 Black

24•

Well, about that last chapter...I'll lay off the cliffhangers, I'm sorry ik u guys hate me plus I'm getting death threats and threats of naughty boy showing up at my house so not takin that risk😂 (jk 😏) basically just another ol' chapter, maybe some larry spice like I promised ;) you'll just have to read it (and leave comments and votes 😏) and see! LOVE U GUYS PS IM GLAD IM ABLE TO WRITE U THIS RN BC I ACCIDENTALLY ALMOST BURNED MYSELF INTO ASHES ALONG WITH MY HOUSE WHEN I WAS MAKING BACON YESTERDAY OOPS
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Louis' neck breaks. Well, it almost does, at least, as he whips around to face where Harry's standing. Many thoughts race through his mind at this moment when his eyes meet Harry's in a brief deadlock, most of which contain explicit word choice. Just over Harry's shoulder, he catches Liam give him a curious quirk of his thick brows and a shrug. Unmoving, Louis stares blankly back at him for a minute in response until Liam finally rounds the corner awkwardly and leaves. Movement catches Louis' wandering attention, and he looks over to see Harry use his two fingers to motion for him to come over, a slight frown perceptible in the downwards twitch of his lip. Louis doesn't know if it's from being outside in this tundra-esque weather for too long or from his own nervousness, or both, but he's frozen to the spot for a second, mouth hanging slightly agape like an idiot. A few of his teammates are still held up in the locker room with them, bustling around in their bags and packing on layers of clothing over their grassy uniforms. It seems kind of weird to Louis that there are other people there with them--he'd never really noticed anyone else in their presence before whenever Harry's around. The fact that there is an audience, though, makes him a bit more hesitant than usual. He isn't sure why, because he knows that there really shouldn't be a reason for to hold back in situations like these unless they were doing something less on the side of professional and more leaning towards risqué. Yet, he's quite aware that whatever he and Harry are doing isn't exactly professional. Definitely risqué.

After pondering this, he decides to postpone the sorting out his fucked up morals and whatever self-shaming he needs to do for later, instead of right now. More pressing issues at hand, and all that. Harry watches him as he approaches, hands dropped into the pockets of his jacket (that looks vaguely familiar, Louis thinks as he does a quick double take) and his knee bent casually, little glimpses of pale skin peeking out between rips and frays in the black denim, randomly reminding Louis of a sliver of white moonlight in a dark sky. Fucking poetic, that was. Louis allows himself a second to be embarrassed by himself, and then reverts his attention to the disgruntled looking, slightly intimidating man in front of him. He quietly clears his throat and looks up to meet Harry's gaze, placing his hands on his hips, and then dropping them to sit idly at his sides after finding that it felt too sassy for the situation.

"Hey," is what comes out of his mouth. Smooth.

Miraculously, Louis catches a small tilt of Harry's mouth, a baby shadow poking into his cheek beside it before disappearing quickly, leaving too-hard green eyes and too-tense eyebrows in its place. Harry's attention flits away from Louis and around the room a few times, unfocused, for a second, and Louis feels a trickle of worry slip down his spine. He isn't sure what's going on, and the way that Harry is holding his body so upright and forcedly casual, expression measured and flat, seems almost nervous. Which is very different, unlike him, and very alarming.

"About your game, Tomlinson," Harry begins, voice clipped and strange, his gaze not even staying on Louis for more than two seconds. Louis frowns cautiously.

"You really pulled us through in the second half, there. Your stamina and ability to stay in for the remainder of the game after I put you in was impressive," he says, and what the hell? Compliments, now? Something is definitely up.

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry, who looks at him for a fleeting moment, no sign of realization for his oddness in his expression, just blankness.