home is where the heart is (but god i love the english) {l.s.}

love my hometown

"Niall, there is absolutely no bloody way your club shelled out over £400,000 to have Harry Styles's ugly mug plastered all over London's bus stops." Louis scowls from the passenger seat as their car flies by yet another bus stop with his sworn enemy's face on it.

Niall cackles loudly as he makes a risky left turn that has Louis's stomach swirling as he grips the side of the car door. Niall is infamous for his questionable driving, especially when he takes out one of his flashier vehicles. If Louis were behind the wheel, he'd be sure to use a bit more caution, but seeing as he can't actually drive, he'll take what he can get.

"Harry was a proper diva that day too," Niall fondly reminisces of the alpha. "Kept demanding they redo his hair and swatting away any of the players who touched it."

"They could've done his hair six ways to Sunday and he still wouldn't look any more attractive than some bigheaded giraffe type," Louis continues on his tirade, hoping to get his best mate to commiserate with him, but it's becoming increasingly far-fetched, especially since said best mate is also on the same football team as said giraffe.

Louis sighs. Why is life so difficult?

"It's for club pride and all. I've never understood why you two can't get along," Niall says quite disapprovingly. "You've barely spoken three words to him."

"That's because he can barely get out a coherent sentence for me to respond to," Louis responds matter-of-factly, trying to ignore Niall's under the breath snort.

"I hear there's talk of you being a footie manager for someone on our team," Niall swiftly changes the subject, an expert on recognizing when Louis is about to have a full-on strop about one of his grievances.

Rolling his eyes, Louis crosses his arm and stares out the window at the gloomy, rainy London sky. It's nothing that he hasn't seen a thousand times, but today it serves as the appropriate backdrop for his mood.

"That is simply a rumour, young Niall," he states. He tries not to cringe as he remembers the stern glances of his superiors at his management agency during a one-on-one that he had been called into.

So what if the last beta model he managed had gone crazy, chopped all his hair off, and then proceeded to completely drop off the face of the Earth? That was hardly his doing.

And maybe he and the last omega artist he'd managed had gotten into a little tiff over The Brits agenda. Creative differences, at best. It wasn't Louis's fault that the woman couldn't appreciate his art of efficiency.

"The agency just gave me a tiny slap on the wrist. I'm the best talent manager they have, the only hire to reach A-List capability within a year. I've worked too hard for this, there is no way in hell that I would ever manage some brutish athlete. I was made for red carpets and wine tastings," he says dreamily, thinking of the last A-List party he had attended in Hollywood.

"Okay, but Shawn told me that they had already paired you up with an athlete on our team," Niall says confusedly. "And besides, wouldn't it be great if you were managing with one of my teammates? We'd see each other loads more."

"We literally just spent the last 72 hours together, Neil," Louis responds drily. "Anyway, besides yourself, the only other person even close to being A-List and worthy of me managing is Harry Styles. And that is not happening. I'd rather manage a sodding C-List actor, and you know how flaky they can be. Imagine if I had to be stuck with Harry Styles all day, everyday. We'd probably kill each other on the first day."

Niall laughs again, no doubt imagining the barely amusing scene of the two of them throttling each other on the football pitch.

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