17 Black (Part Two)

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IM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING YOU SLUTS (sluts in a nice way) :((
it's been a chaotic few days for me lol.

hope you enjoy the chapter, not really sure where i'm going with this anymore lmao.

also is 19 old for a senior in highschool? i feel like it is but i'm young for my grade so i feel like my judgement is off lol. anyways so idk what to do abt louis' bday for this story, comment if you have any ideas por favor.

stay safe and all that shit, don't forget to comment and vote (your comments are v entertaining so thank u for that), love you guys:)

message me if you need or want anything! <3

ps: THANK U FOR 2k READS HWAIIDKSLAK
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Practice was rough, needless to say. Louis' knee felt like it was going to snap every time he ran, and both Harry and Liam's concerned glances didn't help his feeble attempt to ignore the pain shooting up his leg. To Louis' benefit, though, Ryan wasn't there to make anything more difficult than necessary.

After what feels like years, Harry blows his whistle, shouting to gather around. Everyone half-jogs up to him, panting and sweating despite the cold October air.

"Alright, listen up guys," Harry says, voice piercing through any chatter. "We have a game tomorrow. Just know that there'll be scouts there, so be at the top of your game, especially you seniors, okay? No half-assing anything. The team we're playing is good, but I don't think it's anything we haven't seen before. You guys can go. Tomlinson, stay behind."

Liam gives him a "what did you do" look, to which Louis just shrugs. The rest of the team make their way off the pitch, and Harry motions for Louis to come closer.

Louis sighs, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Harry looks to the locker room to see that everyone's off the field before grabbing Louis' injured hand, making sure he doesn't hurt him.

"How much does it hurt?" He asks, a frown littering his features.

"Can barely feel it. I'm grand, Harry. Stop worrying so much," Louis says, hoping Harry believes his words. It honestly doesn't hurt that much, only when he holds things.

"Shut it, Lou. I have the right to worry. Don't tell me not to," Harry demands, though his tone is gentle. Louis looks up at him, eyes softening when he sees the distress on Harry's face. He begs his heart to stop fluttering at the fact that Harry hasn't let go of his hand yet, and his bigger hand is warm and soft and is wrapping around Louis' fingers. Louis' back is to the locker room, so nobody would have been able to see this interaction if they had bothered to pay any attention.

"Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to keep leaving me in the dark?" Hearing the last of the boys go to their cars, he takes a deep breath, praying that Harry won't lose his shit.

"When I walked into my front door this morning, my place was completely trashed. The furniture was torn to hell, broken glass everywhere, everything was knocked off the walls. There was a note that said 'This is for everything, fag.'. It was Ryan. Before you ask, no, he wasn't there when I got there. I cut my hand on a broken plate. He didn't steal anything, as far as I can tell. It was just to scare me, I think, which is fucking stupid, but whatever. I'm not calling the cops or anything like that, either. It's not worth it; he didn't hurt anyone, take anything, kick a puppy, or punch a baby. Everything's fine, Harry. Trust me."

He reaches up his good hand to Harry's face, placing his thumb over the worry line between his eyebrows. He rubs the area a little, making Harry's face soften. Louis removes his fingers quickly, and he feels his cheeks heat up. Harry smiles fondly, dimples appearing.