Larry Stylinson One Shots

Score

Summary: Harry goes to Louis' football game to support his boyfriend.

~~~

"Are you almost here, Lou?" Harry's soft voice floats through the phone as Louis tears through his house, grabbing anything he sees that he needs.

"No, H, I forgot to set my alarm before I took my nap. I'm running behind." Louis curses loudly as he bangs his hip into the counter, doubling over and taking a moment of excruciating silence to mourn the loss. "Coach is gonna whoop me when I show up late again."

"You still have twenty minutes to get there."

"I can't pick you up and get to the field on time." Louis hops the front steps down to the sidewalk. Hesitating, he turns to run back up and lock the door. But then he remembers that the last time he was late, Coach made the entire team do suicides while Louis watched. Shaking his head, he leaps into the car and prepares to get a speeding ticket.

"Don't pick me up, then. I can get myself to your game. You were only going to get me so we could make out a little before you went on anyway."

As if he wasn't in enough of a bummed mood, the idea of missing make out time with Harry deflated him even more.  "But I promised."

"It's okay, Lou. It's not like you blew me off for someone else. You slept. That's important." Harry pauses, as if considering something before he continues with a hint of a teasing tone. "I'll let you kiss me a bit after the game if you get there on time."

Well if that didn't get Louis to the school with less than thirty seconds to spare, nothing would have. He sends Harry a picture of the field as proof, and Harry sends back a blushing emoji.

He does receive an annoyed look from Coach, but doesn't earn his team any additional warmups, which he considers a success.

They're playing some school from London, he doesn't recognize the name but all the players look preppy. Their hair looks the same, and they have snotty looks on their faces. Not a single guy with hair down to their shoulders. Not a single hot one.

-

Harry pulls into the short driveway, parking the car and climbing out. The house is empty, he knows, because Louis' family is already at the game. They always get there early to get good seats.

He isn't a liar, he would rather have had a few extra minutes with Louis before his game, but maybe he can make the best if the situation. If he's lucky, Louis will do the thing he always does, called forgetfulness. And as he usually is with this sort of thing, Harry finds himself lucky when the door is unlocked.

Scampering up the steps, he heads into Louis' room and stands in the middle of it, considering his options. The pile on the floor next to his desk, and the pile in the floor at the foot of his bed. Really, either one could be the clean clothes pile or the dirty clothes pile, but he's pretty sure Louis wore that red shirt yesterday, so he takes his chances with the pile by the desk.

Kneeling beside it, he rummages through the clothes before he finds what he's looking for: Louis' spare jersey. It's a bit snug on him, but both Harry and Louis like it that way. Tugging his own shirt over his head, he tosses it in the dirty pile and pulls the jersey on. He likes how it looks on him, the large '28' on his back, the stripes, and most of all, the name 'Tomlinson' printed across his shoulders.

Harry turns his body so he can see the writing on his back in the mirror, grinning to himself before styling his hair into a ponytail.

Finished, he heads back downstairs and locks the door, protecting the house from any burglars like a good boyfriend-in-law should do.