The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 4

​Louis tugs the end of his white practice jersey down over the top of his torso, the coolness of the material raising goosebumps on his arms even through his underarmor. Jeez. It's even cold in the locker room today. Either someone forgot to turn on the heater in this school or it's fucking freezing outside. He really hopes it's the former, or this practice is going to be hell.

​He reaches back inside the small locker and pulls out his long black socks and bright orange shin guards. After setting those on the bench, he grabs his cleats and shuts the door with a loud slam.
​It's not that he hates the idea of his stepbrother joining the team . . . He just has a problem with it being Harry joining his team. There's a slim chance he'll even make the team given his coach's very extensive list of skill sets he looks for in players and their nearly full team. But that doesn't calm him much. From what he's seen, Harry is full of surprises. And those long legs that look uncoordinated and problematic could easily be underestimated. He has no doubts that Harry is hiding something up his sleeve. Which is bad for Louis' small dash of hope because his coach has a thing for picking up young blood. And with Harry being only a junior, that scares him.

​To be honest, Louis didn't think he'd ever make the team even when he was young. He wasn't any less of a nerd and an outcast three years ago when he tried out, and being the last to audition gave him plenty of time to observe his competition for a spot. They were good. They all were. But, for whatever reason, his coach saw something in him, maybe it was his age - maybe it wasn't, and he hardly even thought about it before giving a decision. And not long after that, he appointed him to the captain position.

​The heavy door to the locker room swings open just as he yanks on the final knot of his shoelace, his back to the door. He doesn't have to look to know who just came in. Everyone is already out on the field except for him. So that really only leaves one option.

​"You're late, Styles."

​There's a short, condescending huff behind him that confirms the identity of the arrival. "I still have two minutes. I'm not late until I'm late." Louis turns, watching Harry's gaze bob up and down him once. Then, again, as if he missed something the first time.

​"You better get started then. Coach doesn't take well to stragglers . . . Or people who don't care enough to make a good first impression."

​Louis drops his foot off of the bench where he had it up for tying and takes off his glasses, placing them carefully inside his bag. He ducks his head once he's sure that they're secure and brushes past Harry who's still just standing in the middle of the aisle like he wants to be late. But, great. Louis' not complaining if he wants to throw away the chance to be on the team. But he still flinches - expecting sparks again, but this time there was nothing. Hopefully that means he's over the whole shock of finding out his stepbrother could be a fucking model.

​He throws open the doors to the locker room, letting them close behind him as he wanders out onto the dewy grass. His pleasurable intake of spring air is quickly cut short as a sudden harsh wind whips at him, fluttering his jersey against his body and causing him to involuntarily shudder. Welcome to hell.

​There's a group of boys huddled around the balls in the middle of the field. Some are talking animatedly amongst each other, mouths forming soundless words as their voices are carried off in the breeze. But most of them were hopping from foot to foot, bringing their exposed hands up to their mouths to blow hot air on them. He immediately heads for that direction, more drifting over the ground than walking as the wind threatens to blow his small frame over.

​He blushes lightly when he reaches the group, coughing to clear his throat. "Alright, lads. I know it's cold and windy and freezing as hell, but I'm sure we can get through today without too much trouble. It could actually be helpful practice for if we're ever in a game under the same weather conditions." Someone grumbles 'nerd' under their breath. He ignores it. Although he'd be lying if he said that the red on his cheeks didn't get darker. "So if you want to complain . . . Don't. You'll just have to suck it up like the rest of us. Now, we'll be starting off today as we always do. A warm-up lap around the field before splitting into partners for passing exercises. Any questions?" No one says anything, or at least not loud enough for him to hear over the whistling in his ears. "Great. Hop to it."