we're like bumper cars ~ l.s.

chapter 10

It feels like the interhouse competition all over again.

On his left, there's a man from a school down south. His black hair is long and there's facial hair just under his nose. He looks like a young Russell Brand. But he's not famous, or not going to make Louis weak because of laughs. On his right, the same asshole from over a month ago who fucked him hard last night in the hotel room. Yep, things are certainly different this time.

He's hot on his heels, ready to compete. He's been sitting in the grandstands, watching the other divisions for females and males in the event. Harry and him have kept their distance today; it was a mutual decision that. This morning they woke together in the same bed, in the same position as last night, and spent the time breathing the same air and chatting about nonsense. They woke earlier than the alarm, but were still late to breakfast. They went separately to the dining area, as they have done every mornings, just to make sure there were no speculations thought about or brought up. As promised in his own mind, there was nothing but a simple good morning from Coach. Louis ate his breakfast in peace, with every sip of his orange juice acting as a wash of relief over his tensed body.

They're upstairs for another hour before being driven to the competition. Nothing much happened but the changing of uniforms and tying of laces. Louis sees the scratches down Harry's back and giggles at them, walking over to him and kissing the marks just before Harry slips his polo on. Harry says they don't hurt. He's probably lying.

The trip to the track was lonely. Harry doesn't message him, but Louis is grateful for that. The nerves were building up slowly, but they weren't throwing him off the grand prize. He's sure talking to Harry will just make him more nervous. As much as he's glad last night happened, he could only wish that it was easier to stay away from him, to not want to talk to him. He never thought it would be so hard trying to stay away from him. It's strange.

One in the afternoon came fast and Louis was in the stretching field allocated for competitors. Harry and him trained in a far away distance from each other. They're still playing pretend, and Louis is still very grateful. There's a bug in his stomach that won't go away. He tries his best to wash it down with water, to run it out of his system. It doesn't go away until their division is called to the starting line of the race course.

It's where he is now.

The gunman is on the far right, talking to one of the judge's that checking all the numbers on the competitors and finalising the number of people competing for the interstate title. For the 17-18 year old male division, he's number 28, his favourite number. The sticker on his chest and back makes him feel secure and confident.  He's so ready for this.

"All good to go here," the judge shouts from behind. Louis' heart is thumping in his throat. There's a white flag high in the air from a distance, another judge who monitors any possible cheaters who may cut the curvy course. There's a few of them on the track. Louis knows this is a fair game.

"Rightio," the gunman says, raising his gun into the air to shoot. Everyone's feet shift on the line, to make sure they can get the best head start possible. Everyone's ready for it. Louis is ready to beat Harry, to make it into interstate. So ready.

"On your marks," the gunman shouts, and Louis hears everyone simultaneously breathe in. The air around them is tense and heavy, but Louis knows he can evade through it like a slim fish. "Get set," and the gunman places a finger on the trigger. Louis can hear the small clicking noise so very clearly. "Go!" and the gun is shot, and the competitors take a leap of faith and jog past the starting line.

The competition for the win has started.

Louis remembers his beat, the beat that he's been training with. He uses it and paces himself. So far, all 27 competitors are in a linear line across the track, all taking a similar pace to keep their stamina high. Louis doesn't know if he should power boost himself forward to get ahead. There's a few people next to him who don't seem to have a steady pace. He can hear it in their lagged, then speedy, breaths. Louis holds his power boost to himself.