"Hey mate."

"Hey."

"You look awful! Are you sick? Did you not sleep last night?"

The dark haired man ran his hands over his face, then spoke from behind his fingers, "no, no, I'm not sick... I did not really sleep though until about 3:30, I think."

"Oh that's..."

"I know."

"You know, maybe you should go to the doctor's or something, I mean, it's great craic to stay up all hours when you want to...but all the time? Mate, you're going to be sick!"

"You're not telling me anything I don't know...and besides, I came here to watch football, not get a lecture."

The blond man shrugged, raising his hands in the air. "It's your life! The game starts in 20 minutes, you want anything? Beer?"

"Hmm...not now, do you have Coke?"

"Lemme check."

A few minutes later a lilting voice echoed out from the kitchen, "I've got Pepsi...and Diet Coke" he finished as he emerged from the kitchen, carrying a bottle of each.

The man on the couch wrinkled his nose, "diet soda is disgusting. Pass me the Pepsi."

The blond man smirked as he handed over the Pepsi, "you don't have to sound like I killed your dog! You liked it well enough in that commercial we did...the Pepsi, I mean."

The man on the couch smiled in spite of himself as he sipped and swallowed the sweet, fizzing liquid. "Yeah. But that was years ago. A lot can change."

"Touché" the blond conceded, bumping his glass beer bottle against the plastic Pepsi bottle before taking a long swig.

Twenty minutes later they were well entrenched in the football game, screeching in terror at missed passes and shouting with pride and triumph at well-made plays. The crisp chiming of the doorbell interrupted one particularly intense tirade, and sent the blond man to the door.

"Mate! You made it! Thought you'd given up on us!" The man who rang the doorbell smiled as he entered the house, man-hugging his friend as he did so. They walked into the living room together to find the third man nearly tearing his hair out,

"Beckham!! Beckham!! What are you doing mate?? I should...oh, sorry, didn't know you two were back," he trailed off, chuckling lightly.

"No worries, mate!" The man who had just arrived suddenly narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the man on the couch's face.

"What?" The green-eyed couch-sitter asked defensively.

"Haz, mate, you know..."

"Tell me what I know."

The blond one stepped into the conversation, "look, Harry, no one is trying to pry too deeply here. We know the whole world considers us 'brothers' and I know we're close, but we've learned to respect each other's space. Lou wouldn't ask if he didn't care."

The silence that followed as the other two men joined Harry on the couch carried weight, but a good kind of weight, the kind of weight that made things better the second it lifted, even if it was uncomfortable for the time being. Harry suddenly spoke, his eyes never leaving the television.

"Look, I understand that you all are trying to help, but we are trying to watch football here. When I know what's wrong, I will be the first to tell you lads, alright?"

The two other men on the couch smirked and exchanged glances before settling back on the cushions. In a matter of seconds they were full throttle engaged in heated verbal battles with the players, coaches, and each other alike, the awkwardness and strange conversations forgotten for the moment.

***

"Where in the world is our defence?! I think I should give up on football altogether. Maybe I should switch to American football..."

"Or Canadian hockey!" Harry chuckled at his two friends' banter, "you would always think of the Canadian, Niall"

"What are you talking of, Harry?"

"Well, you're always going on about Michael Bublé, how great he is and all that, and Justin Bieber as well, you always throw your hat in the ring for them in debates."

Niall opened his mouth in seeming protest before the third man jumped in, "don't be offended at that Niall, those Canadians are a good lot...from what we've seen anyways. It's nice that you feel such an alliance with them..." His sentence trailed off as his snickering turned into laughter.

"Anything to tease me! Seriously! Louis, I do not necessarily feel an alliance with them just because I like a few of their artists...I always did say I liked American girls better."

"Anything to get you going mate, and you know it!" The third man, Louis, smirked.

"How did we even get on this topic?" Harry interjected.

"Not sure. Just an insatiable desire to tease Niall, I suppose!"

"Well, I'm ordering pizza, we still have another half of this game to go and I'm hungry! What kind do we want?" Niall clapped his hands together, then rubbed them back and forth.

"The usual. Maybe get some wings too."

"Right on it." Niall picked up the phone and walked to the kitchen, sailing as he went.

"Well," Louis stretched and stood up, "I'm going to go use the loo..." He said as he sauntered out of the room.

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and went on Twitter. After tweeting, "American football or Canadian hockey?" he laughed to himself as the likes and retweets poured in. People kept commenting, telling him they loved him, that he should marry Louis, or themselves, asking why he posted so much black and white photography on Instagram, etc. But he kept getting this new hashtag #readwattpadkeepitreal.

I've never seen that hashtag before...

He looked up from his phone. Louis and Niall still weren't back, although he could hear Niall ranting in the kitchen about needing EXTRA bacon on the pizza. Curious, he tapped on the hashtag. It took him to some posts...and then to a story...

"Whatcha readin'?" Niall whispered loudly, directly over Harry's shoulder, causing him to jump and nearly drop his phone.

"%@&%#, Niall! You want me to die of a heart attack!?"

"Looks like somebody is being over-sensitive..." Niall grumbled into his bag of chips as he sat down and un-muted the telly.

Louis sauntered back in the room, "has the game started again yet?"

"Just about!"

And issues were one again forgotten in the hype of a very competitive football match.