Enemies || l.s.

1.0

Louis' P.O.V.

whatever.

That's all he texts me.

whatever.

That's all he says to me. That's all he sent me, and I can't help but grow angry towards him.

whatever

whatever

"whatever." he said to me, looking down at his worn out tennis shoes, and picking at the turf. If he were to look at me, I'm pretty sure his eyes would be red rimmed and moist. I'd kiss them away when he's usually crying, but I can't today.

I'll never do it again.

"Harry...I'm sorry-I-" I start, but Harry's head immediately look up at me in anger.

"Don't you fucking dare!" He snaps. "Don't....d-don't feel sorry for me, don't apologize, just fucking stop!"

I try and swallow the lump in my throat, and press my lips together. But I can't stop talking, I can't.

"Harry, please. I care about you, I really do, I just--"

"You just what, Louis? You what?" Harry's voice cracks at the end. "You forgot how to fight for me? How to defend me?"

I open my mouth to say something, anything, really. But I can't. I can't say anything that'll make this situation any better. I can't just say anything and expect everything to be back the way it was.

This isn't like the movies, and I wish it was.

Oh god I wish it was.

----

Louis finished taking his clothing from the lockers, fresh from the shower, his towel hanging low on his waist and exposing his tattoos. His father hated his tattoos, he thought they were all stupid and meaningless, but they all meant something.

Something that his father will never understand.

"Hey," a voice startled him, ripping him from his own piece of mind. He looked up, the coach of the boxer Louis had beaten to a pulp.

He almost apologized for beating the shit of him, but he made fun of his height.

He's 5'9 anyway.

"Um, hey." Louis went back to stuffing his bag of his toiletries and gym stuff. He left out a pair of boxers and some jeans and a t-shirt.

"Listen, uh," the bald coach starts, his scratchy voice sounding like too many cigarettes, "I saw you out there, you looked pretty good. Amazing actually."

"And?" Louis asked, not even looking up.

"And I was wondering if maybe you'd like to train under us." He said, sounding a bit more like a question rather than an offer.

Louis continued to look down, but he was listening. He liked the idea of having an actual coach, and getting away from his.....caregiver. But he'd probably have to live on his own, and expenses can be too much.

"We have really great traning centers, and mentors. They can help you with your technique-" Louis glared at him "-or we can coach and train, and run a few clinics with you if that's alright. "

Louis never really liked boxing, it was just something his dad made him do. He loved soccer though, but he never joined a team because if his dad isn't in full control, then what's the point?

He hated that.

"Ummm....." He looked for a name tag, or something to call the coach, but after finding nothing, he just continued. "That sounds great, and all, but I'm not really a boxing type of person."