Please excuse my dramatics — I'm an attention whore

"So, what happened with you and Harry?" It is the first thing Niall asks when Louis sits down at their table, Zayn following after with Liam by his side.

"What do you mean?" Louis pokes at his pasta.

"Well, you're wearing a shirt that has the definition of 'faithful', with 'if you see Harry, tell him what is on the front of my shirt' on the back." Niall slides closer to Louis. "Tell me what happened."

And Louis does. It takes almost all of lunch but afterward he feels a weight lift off his chest.

"-and like, he shouldn't have let him touch him right? But this guy didn't smack his hand off." Louis continues. "Then, that bitch kissed him."

"On his lips?!"

"Cheek."

The rest of the group is silent—they're all pretty speechless.

"Are you breaking up with him?"

Louis immediately shakes his head. "Oh god, no."

Niall raises his eyebrows. "Yet, you're not talking to him today?"

"Correct."

It's simple, get dropped off by his family's driver, take different routes to his classes, and at the end of the day, get picked up again by his family's driver.

That was an easy plan to follow until Louis got cornered by a couple of football players.

"Cap wants to talk to you." They surround him at the entrance of the boy's washroom.

Louis crosses his arms. "Okay?"

"He's sad." One of them says. "But we have practice today and he's asking if you could come to watch him."

"I have cheer practice too." That was a small white lie, he had put his co-captain in charge of practice—he would only be watching from the bleachers because one, his down mood had taken a toll on his energy, and two, he was testing the co-captain who was in the running for next years captain.

"Well, he just really wants you to be there." Then they're all walking down the hall, in a pack like wolves or some shit like that.

Louis spends his next two periods thinking about Harry. Harry and his pretty green eyes, his cheeky grin, broad shoulders and his creamy voice with sweet words. 

"Hey."

Harry looks up from tracing the letters on his helmet. "Hey."

Niall doesn't get to say a word before the coach is blowing his whistle, and all the players immediately huddle up and listen for the day's instructions.

"We got a game in three weeks—and I don't want any slacking." He eyes a few of them. "That goes for you, Nathan and Stanley, I don't want any half-assed attempts, alright?" His hard voice and little scruff intimidate a few players to no end.

"Styles, you're our captain so you've got to lead the team today, I have a doctors appointment in fifteen because of..." he coughs, "personal reasons."

"I heard he's getting a hair transplant." Niall leans over to Harry.

"Anyway, I'll be going now. I want a report of today's activities, you got it?" He pats a few of them on the shoulder, Harry included before walking off the field.

Harry holds his helmet in one hand. "Well, let's get started."

They start off by stretches and warm-ups. They jog around the field before doing the dreaded suicides—Niall almost passing out, so Harry tells him to sit on the bench for the rest of practice. It was hot today, no doubt and with the sun beating down on the boys. They were all sweating profusely.

A few of them actually take off their shirts, even one drenching himself with water.

Harry finds himself catching the football before taking off, down the field to the other side. He hears his teammates on the bench shouting, his helmet blocking the sun. He dodges tackles and easily weaves through his opposing teammates before scoring.

He cheers loudly, raising his hands up and roughly hugs his other mates. It's been a while since he's played a calm game. Above his teammate's heads, he spots a tiny figure at the top of the bleachers, sunglasses on their head and they're looking at their phone. He excuses himself and slowly walks up the stairs, the sweat dripping down his body as he sits a respectable distance from the pretty, blue-eyed boy.

"Hi." Louis looks up from his phone, his eyes unable to not roam Harry's bare skin. "You came."

"Yeah." Louis' voice is so soft, his delicate fingers tracing over his own thigh.

"I'm sorry." Harry knows how desperate he sounds. "I'm really sorry, baby."

"I just don't understand why you did that." Louis frowns, and Harry hates to see the boy sad.

"I'm stupid, that's why. I'm an idiot, a big egghead. I'm an airhead—as dumb as they come."

Louis giggles but covers it with a cough. He looks back up at Harry, his lips pursed and says, "you're completely right." Harry nods once. The tension between them is almost unbearable but he powers through it. He'll do anything to get back on Louis' good side. "You're one of the stupidest guys I've ever met."

Harry pouts and nods again, he looks down at his hands.

"Take off your helmet." Louis requests. Harry doesn't move, and Louis takes it upon himself to pull it off Harry's head. The cheerleader scoots closer, running his fingers through Harry's hair before wrinkling his nose. "Ew, you're really sweaty."

"Well, it is like a million degrees out here."

Louis ignores his attitude. "And you're a little dirty too." He observes the faint spots of dirt along Harry's body and his tattoos, he recalls watching the football player trip a few times and fall onto the grass or get tackled (he hated seeing Harry get tackled). "Imagine if it were the other way around." Louis crosses his arms. "You'd fucking kill whoever touched me."

Harry grinds his teeth.

"If someone touched my thigh, kissed my cheek, you'd raise hell."

Harry clenches his hands.

"If an ex kissed my cheek and touched by thigh—you'd probably explode."

Harry growls, actually. Like a dog or something. Louis almost jumps.

"Stop talking like that."

"Stop being a major moron."

The football player deflates. "I'm sorry, Lou." Harry is nearly itching to touch his boyfriend. "I'm so sorry—"

"What do you see?" Louis shifts himself so he's facing Harry completely.

Harry visibly gulps. "The prettiest, smallest, softest, boy I've ever seen. A beautiful, sweet creature created for solely making the world brighter. An amazing, clever baby boy who is the definition of art—"

"Okay, okay." Louis feels his cheeks heat up. "What do you see here." He gestures to his neck.

It takes Harry a moment to answer. "The necklace I gave you."

"And would I wear the necklace that was a gift from a boy if he were my ex-boyfriend?

That was when Harry jumps on Louis. The blue-eyed boy melts when he feels Harry's muscular arms wrap around his body, Harry's shirtless body with hard abs pressing against Louis' own little pudge, and the curly-haired teen's lips pressing kisses along his jaw to his ear and back down his neck.

"You get this one freebie, Styles," Louis says.

"That's the only one I need," Harry replies.