The Water Boy (Narry)

Chapter 2

After doing as the coach asked of me I began to make my way down to the field, pushing the cart of bottles, towels, and cloth bag with the equipment in it across the bumpy dirt and grass of the field. The shake from the cart made my hands feel like they were buzzing. One of the wheels hit a rock and it caused my driving to go off course. With my great reflexes, I managed to set it all right again. 

Once I finally arrived, the boys were standing around. I assumed they were waiting for me since I got to my business later than I normally did. Well, later than when I didn't have Zayn and Louis on my back, literally. There were multiple pairs of eyes glowering over to me as I stopped the cart and unhooked the rope from the bag to place it on the ground so they could start practicing. I took a few bottles and folded towels and placed them on the bench for easier and more timely access if I was being beckoned by rude players for some pampering. I finished off by taking my place next to the coach, awaiting his nod of approval. 

"All right, as you all know we have a match coming up against Middlewich tomorrow evening," The coach started as he looked around at the team. "Today's our last time for practice before then and I'd prefer if there were no outside preparations." I watched as his eyes narrowed in on a few particular players. 

One of the good things about just being the water boy is being nothing but an innocent bystander. I can get in trouble if I screw up but it wouldn't be to the same extent as if I were one of them. 

The coach stood tall as he waited for the players to give him their usual mumbles of "yes, sir", "yes, coach", and nodding. Then as he told them to split off and take a ball, I stepped backwards so I would be out of the way. 

As Louis bent down to retrieve one from the bag, he looked up to me with a smirk. All I could do is swallow as his blue eyes enlightened me with his usual scorn. He partnered up with Zayn for some of the paired drills, so at least I only had to deal with one and not the duo. Well, only for now. They'd find me if they were bored enough and wanted some "fun".

That's when I decided I was better off just sitting on the bench so I didn't appear to be a distraction. My eyes couldn't help to watch the hands that would come towards the ball bag. I noticed a pattern after just a few weeks of football. Harry's slightly tanned hands, one wearing a small cross tattoo, never came up to the bag. Even when his usual partner wasn't here, he still had someone else get if for him. I didn't know if it was because of his star status that he made people do the cheap work for him or if he maybe knew that I stared at him while he changed sometimes. 

Back to Harry, the boy that I had my eyes perfectly trained onto as he moved on the grassy field. It wasn't just his concentrated face that I would watch. Sometimes my eyes would drift to the curved and strong-structured muscles of his calves. They would constrict and expand as he'd run or give the ball a powerful kick. 

He deserved to be on the team more than anybody I've ever seen play at this level. If I could really give him a comparison to anything even close as, dare I say, beautiful, I could compare Harry's gracefulness  to that of a scene in a film when dancer's can only express themselves through dancing. They're usually atop of buildings or warehouses but I see Harry as the emotionally self-expressed types. 

Practice went on and every now and then I'd see Harry paying close attention during scrimmage to his chosen opponent as if the other was his prey. His arms would sometimes span out like the wings of a vulture before his foot would strike and get the ball back into his greedy possession. Then it was his moment to shine until someone tried to stop him from his absolute greatness. The coach would shout to him, "keep at it, Styles" to Harry or "watch out for him now" to the one's who failed to keep Harry away from obtaining the ball.