Footie & Frames » stylinson

five

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Chapter 5

"H─Hey, guys", I chuckle, nervously fidgeting with my glasses, then my green jersey, pulling at the hem. I nonchalantly shrugging the meaty hand off my shoulder and turn back towards the boot of the car, reaching in and grabbing the last chair, setting it down and reaching up to close it.

"Hey", one of the footballers says, and I feel a harsh poke at the top of my back, between my shoulder blades, "Tomlinson, eh? His' boy, right?" Oh, he must be referring to the 'Tomlinson' written in white letters above the number 17.

"Eh, yeah?", I hum hesitantly, gripping both chair and football in my arms, turning stiffly to face the boys ( who are more appropriately labeled men ) to smile lightly, trying to nudge by.

"He's cripple, right?", a scruffy boy with his shaggy hair tied into a ponytail asks with a smirk. I couldn't imagine I could ever wear a ponytail, honestly.

"Yes. . .", I reply, trying to sound curt, the possibility of paparazzi not escaping me. I can just see the headlines now: Beau of the tragically crippled, footballer, multi-millionaire Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles and rival footballers caught quarreling. The scandal!

"Hey, don't get defensive, Tomlinson! Look at this Rodriquez, you've got the poor chap
all wound up", the tallest bloke, the one who grabbed my shoulder, laughs. I don't try to point out that my last-name isn't Tomlinson. That doesn't seem like a wise-for-the-wear thing to do. Instead, I release the tension in my shoulders and I flinch wildly as one of the shorter guys taps my nose out of the blue.

"Please don't touch me─", I request and they all laugh, looking at each other like they're sharing a personal joke. Maybe they are, I don't know, "I need to be going, Lou and Niall are waiting for me in there and you should probably be warming up. . ."

"Probably. . .", smirks the guy introduced as Rodriquez and my eyes widen behind my frames, which shift on my face as my cheeks stiffen.

"Hey─Don't!", I order as the same meaty hand grabs farther down onto my forearm, I try yanking it to no avail, "Stop, let me go, stop!"

"Stop squirming, God, just be still─", the tall one holding my arm says, leaning his face deadly close to mine, our noses nearly bumping, "You were right, Gene. He isn't that great if you get a good look at him. Look at his nose! And his hair it smells like. . . strawberries! Get a whiff! Such a twink!"

I automatically back up into the boot of the car, trying to steel myself away from the approaching and offending footie players. "No, no", I say, trying to be stern, but my voice quavers in apprehension as they circle around me, grabbing onto my arms and shirt and even my hair, pinching and prodding at my cheeks and chest. One hand squeezes my nipple and I flinch backwards farther then I thought I could've, "Okay, stop!"

"Hey now, princess, don't be like tha─"

"Hey!", shouts a voice, cutting off Meaty Fingers before he can finish his grimy sentence. Everyone─including me─looks around, and my eyes find a very ticked off Liam Payne, all furrowed eyebrows, clenched jaw and muscle trying to rip free from the confides of his Doncaster Rovers (fan) jersey.

"Keep walking, man", says Ponytail, pinching my cheek again for emphasis. My eyes glaze over and Liam's jaw tenses further, his nostrils flare. He takes a step forward and all the bodies around me are so pressed at me that I can feel them collectively tense.

"I'll keep walking, mate. I'll keep walking towards my friend. And then I'll keep walking until we get to our seats beside his boyfriend. Sound 'bout right to you?", Liam says curt as I wish I could. His voice oozes the authority mine never could and if him and Louis were both in action. . . I would probably be─more─scared for these men.