17 Black

10•

I can't believe that you guys actually like this story. Like wow 8k ily all sm IF YOU'RE READING THIS...you rock
___________________________

"I am very fine, Liam, but thank you, for the millionth time."

"I just thought maybe you need a break, you know--"

"No, Liam," Louis sighs exasperatedly.

"I love you though," he tags on sweetly, loping around to sling an arm over the boy's muscled shoulders.

Liam has a pouty face on, but it's okay, because he's not actually mad at Louis. Even if he was, he would forgive him in the blink of an eye, anyway, so there's really no point. Liam never stays mad. It's just his nature: to be kind and gentlemanly and not dwell on the wrongs of the past, but rather the rights of the present. All that sappy shit.

Louis also knows that Liam likes to watch out for people. He's always flying around and worry worry worrying about everybody and making sure that every little thing is okay and in its specific little place. That's the only part about Liam that can easily become agitating, especially when he's been trailing you around like some lost puppy, desperately, and repeatedly asking if he can carry your bag or, "do you need a break?" like he's been doing to Louis for what seems like the past hour. And they're not even walking anywhere far, just around the hallways and to the field. Plus, Louis is now fully healed and ready to return to the game. He doesn't need any assistance, thank you very much.

He doesn't think he's ever been more excited to touch a football in his life. It's Wednesday--he's been out for a week and a half, which really isn't that long for a typical knee injury, but it feels like it's been ages since he's had a ball at his feet. He's really missed the feeling of the grass crunching beneath his cleats, and the adrenaline of being in the game pumping through his veins like an addictive drug. It's his only hobby, too, really, football is. It makes him sound like a lowlife loser to admit it, but he doesn't have much better to do. Not a family, not a nice, decent paying, full time job (just his once a week shifts at some lousy Irish pub called Dingy's to cover the rent), not a boyfriend. Not even really any other gay boys around that he could just have a little bit of fun with. Everybody's mostly all straight, homosexual-loathing jocks who like to use their fists on Louis' face and their feet on the rest of his body sometimes. Not much fun at all. But at least they could count beating Louis up on occasion a hobby.

But it doesn't matter, though, because Louis simply doesn't care. He's tough, he can act, so nobody even has to know about it. It doesn't even happen all that often, either, maybe once every two weeks, if he's lucky. He's been let off easy lately, though, probably because he's already crippled.

But as of the moment, all he cares about is that he's lacing up his boots, and he's wearing his cold-weather-football-practice-outfit (his warmup joggers and a hoodie), and that he's stepping out onto the turf again, finally. The winter air bites unforgivingly at his cheeks, but this time, it's the good kind, because he's not just sitting like a useless log on the sidelines, freezing to death, but he's on the field again, freezing to death.

Liam is definitely staring at his leg for any signs of a limp--which, Louis can take care of himself, thanks, Liam--so he puts an extra bounce in his step just because he can. Now, a ball is rolling to a stop at his feet, and he looks up to meet the wide smile of Isaiah. Louis can't help but grin back as he passes the ball back.

"Hey, bro, nice to see you," Isaiah says, flashing a thumbs up.

"Yeah, you too, mate," Louis smiles.

Isaiah has always been one of the few people that Louis likes, and who likes Louis in return. It's nice; they're good friends in school, but don't do much together outside of it. Liam and he do, though, and must be closer than Louis thought, since Liam is ditching him for Isaiah, practically skipping over to go see him. Two timer.