17 Black

7•

IF YOU HAVEN'T BEEN VOTING OR COMMENTING REGULARLY GET ON THAT SHITTT

PS I LOVE YOU GUYS AND UR SEXY

PPS THE ENDING REALLY SUCKS SO HERES A WARNING AND AN APOLOGY IN ADVANCE

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Usually, Louis isn't this nervous before games. For the past thirty minutes, while the team has been warming up, he has found himself completely distracted. He doesn't even know what he is distracted by, he just is. He can't focus on anything at the moment, and it's getting to the point where he has started to worry that it might affect his game. Maybe it's all the pressure that's throwing him off. Now, he feels like he is expected to do well, not just by himself, but by his team and Harry, too. He knows that he has to have a good game today, so he will just have to find a way to get his shit together before the starting whistle blows.

"Hey, Tommo, you alive?" Isaiah asks, abruptly slapping Louis on the back.

Louis jumps, his hand instinctively flying to his chest in surprise. He blinks a few times and looks around, to find that the team is already heading to the bench to hear the starting lineup. Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, he jogs to the sidelines to catch up, Isaiah following beside him.

"Yeah, just a little out of it," he replies honestly, taking his place at the back of the crowd that is gathered im front of Harry.

Even though he knows that it won't help his mind stay on track and focused, Louis just has to sneak a look at Harry for probably the hundredth time today. Of course, he is looking stunningly hot, as always, in his gray zip up jacket and snug black jeans. His green eyes are alive and focused, red lips moving slowly as he speaks, his body bent over the whiteboard as he scribbles examples over its surface, explaining every concept intently. Louis can tell that his coach is passionate about what he does, even though he might not act like he is. He senses that Harry doesn't like to show that he has any feelings about anything. It piques his interest a little.

Louis jolts back to reality when he hears Harry include his name while he lists off the starting eleven.

"...Tomlinson as attacking center midfield, and Isaiah as striker," he finishes, wiping off the board with his sleeve and standing up straight, his gaze shifting over the group.

"This team is better than any of the others you've ever played against," he says in his deep voice.

"It only takes one of you not playing your hardest to let the whole team down. Don't disappoint me, and don't disappoint your team."

Harry's eyes fall upon Louis' as he finishes the last word of his sentence. His face is blank, and it's difficult decipher the feeling behind his stare, but his body seems to tremble nonetheless. Licking his lips, Harry looks away from Louis and waves a hand towards the team, non verbally ordering them to take their positions on the pitch. Louis begins to make his way onto the field with the rest, but a large hand catches his wrist before he walks a yard. He looks up to see intense green eyes staring into his and pretty heart lips only inches away from his own.

"I'm counting on you," says that thick voice, speaking heart-stoppingly close to his ear.

Then, the hand releases him and gives him a nudge on the back, sending him, bewildered and short breathed, onto the field. Louis stares, wide eyed at the intimidating looking team standing menacingly on the other side of the halfway line, and he wishes he could have had more time to prepare, or that he could just dissappear. He was already off his game today, even before Harry just had to go and add on to his stress and be so damn distractingly gorgeous and seductive. The second the whistle blows, Louis is extremely disoriented, and he already knows that everything is all downhill from there.