17 Black

15•

Idk I just felt the need to share this random picture with everyone since HARRYS SO FUCKING HOT OK plus he looks rlly daddy in this pic and I bet Louis has it taped above his bed and prays to it at night sometimes
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Harry's eyes are on him as soon as he rounds the corner, Louis can tell. He has that feeling again, that extra sense that he gets only whenever Harry looks at him. He tries to walk more regular and less lopsided since he knows Harry's watching and doesn't want him making any more assumptions about Louis' well-being that aren't really his business anyway. His football bag is slung over one of Harry's shoulders and his tennis shoes lay neatly in front of the door right next to where Harry is just standing there watching him. It makes him kind of fidgety and uncomfortable, but he finds a part of himself enjoying the attention. As he painfully bends over to grab his shoes, Louis notices at that how tiny they look next to Harry's feet, and glares down at his socks, scolding himself for being so small. It really doesn't do him any favors in life at all. Not yet, at least.

Louis leans against the wall to tug on his shoes after having to fold his body over in agonizing ways to reach. When he uprights, he smooths out his jersey and glances up at Harry expectantly, pretending as if the simple task of putting on shoes didn't totally just wreck him. Harry squints down at him and twirls his car keys around his finger before turning and opening the door, holding it for Louis and shutting it behind him as he leaves the boundaries of Harry's apartment. He still cannot believe that he spent the night in there -- slept in Harry's bed. He would've imagined doing that under different circumstances, which is both disappointing and...well, just plain disappointing honestly. Especially now that he gets a good look at Harry while he trails behind him on the way to the parking lot; he sees how his long legs stretch out in front of him, his hips moving with them under his loose sweatpants, unburdened arm swinging in sync with its corresponding leg. His torso seems long in the fitted shirt that displays his solidly muscled back and lean arms. Dark hair shines in the afternoon sunlight as they step outside, the ends coiled into perfect, natural curls that Louis just wants to get his fingers in and tug forever, see how Harry would react to the touch. He's just all long and fit and his stance embodies masculinity, and he's so Louis' type it's insane. If Louis could, he would be all over him, metaphorically and literally. There's so many things on his list to do to Harry: he wants to touch his hair and wear one of his many black t-shirts and sleep in his bed again, even if Harry himself wasn't in there with him, and kiss him. It's extremely frustrating how he can't do any of them.

If only they got along or something. It would even be a step up if they just didn't talk to each other at all, but of course, they have to have the most epic sometimes-love-but-mostly-hate relationship ever. Honestly, Louis agrees with a lot of the things Harry says, like his coaching advice and his more than impressive football knowledge, and also his team standards. The only part he doesn't agree with is Harry's need to control Louis' own personal decisions and the indignant stubbornness with which he does so. But he has seen that one side of Harry -- that one side that picks him up off the floor like he's done it a million times and wipes the blood from his cheeks and keeps his arms nice and secure around Louis as he carries him, just how he needs it to be, even there's no way Harry would know that. That one side that yells at the boy who beats Louis up just because. That one side that does everything out of his best interest, even if Louis' too stubborn to admit it. And it's that side of Harry that Louis knows he can always count on. He doesn't know why Harry does it that way, but he does, and Louis needs it -- he really does. More than he realizes, probably.

"Oof," Louis breathes as he suddenly walks straight into something incredibly solid, which turns out to be Harry's back, tipping backwards and stumbling to regain footing.

A hand shoots out and grips the front of his shirt tightly, pulling him back before he crashes all the way down. Louis looks up into the hard, bright, green eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed. His face only grows hotter when Harry keeps his hand fisted in Louis' shirt for an extra few seconds, looking back and forth between his eyes with that observing look he always gets. Louis' mouth is open like its urging him to say something, apologize, maybe, but he just stands there and stares back. Then, Harry releases his shirt and turns around to toss Louis' football bag in his back seat. Louis watches his arms flex as he shuts that door and opens another one, which happens to be the passenger door.