17 Black

8•

Here's a nice little visual of Harry's hand on Louis' ENTIRE ass ^^

Also you guys are literally so cool like damn befriend me

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Louis' knee looks ugly and grape-popsicle purple and so far sideways that he isn't even sure if he can call it a knee. Also, he's sat in the passenger seat of Harry's car. Again. For the second time in a week. He can't help but wonder, why is he even in this position? Why does he have to be the one whose football coach is gorgeous and who gets beat up because he is gay and hurt all the time and ends up sitting in the passenger seat of his hot coach's car on the way to his apartment (which, he's only in high school and shouldn't even have an apartment but his parents kicked him out so he had to)? What in the actual hell has happened in his life to put him in this very situation?

It's because he's gay. He knows it. Because if he weren't gay, his parents wouldn't have kicked him to the curb when he came out at only eighteen. And he wouldn't have told Harry that he thinks that he is attractive, and he wouldn't be staring, completely flustered, at Harry when he starts moving his pink, pillowy lips and actually talking to him in his endearingly slow, deep voice. And Louis shouldn't even think this; he shouldn't think that the way Harry speaks like he has all the time in the world is completely adorable, and he shouldn't think that his face looks just so nice and pretty, and he really shouldn't want to touch it but he really does.

"You'll have to go to the doctor tomorrow," he says, so patiently that it sounds like he took great care in choosing each and every word.

Even though the statement is completely obvious and a little random, and Louis is ninety-nine point nine percent sure that he could've figured that one out on his own, he suddenly realizes how not mean Harry is being. He's not mocking him, or speaking out of malice, or ordering him around just to be in charge. He is actually making a kind, and helpful suggestion. Louis has caught the briefest glimpses of this side of his coach before. Like in the locker room, when he and Louis had that really awkward moment where Louis may or may not have said he was hot and Harry may or may not have pushed him against a locker and demanded that he tell him 'what the fuck his problem is' and then apologized after Louis basically called him a dick. That moment was pretty steamy to say the least. Or that other time, where he found Louis in an unconscious heap on the floor of the locker room and was all nice and careful touches and soothing words with him. Yeah. Good times.

"Yeah," Louis manages to reply, after using a short and awkward cough to fill the silence that he had accidentally created.

It's quiet again, so Louis looks out the side window at the familiar streets that he knows lead to his apartment complex. But just watching random people bustle around the sidewalks with grubby, wide eyed toddlers, or little scrawny dogs, or their spouses at their sides gets boring, so Louis peeks back over at the drivers side of the car for just a second. Or it starts out as just a second, at least.

And Louis really wishes that he could fall for those dark, chocolate curls that wisp around Harry's head, and for his cheeks that always seem to be tinted with a lighter shade of the soft strawberry that colors his lips, and for his grassy green eyes that remind Louis of old dusty book stores and quiet, flowery meadows and cold winter nights with warm blankets and hot chocolate. But he knows that this charade is all to easy for him to believe. Because he's seen how those green eyes can turn from honest and sincere to threatening, and so sharp that if looks could kill, Louis would have a fatal stab wound right through the middle of his head. He's seen how Harry's long limbs and towering height can turn from innocent to intimidating and have Louis cowering under his broad-shouldered, lean frame. He isn't sure if it's comical or scary how quickly it can switch like that.