World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

13.0

THE LOSERS

“Harry?” I hear a familiar voice waking me up from the blackout, “Harry, are you okay?” he repeats and I open my eyes to see a pair of blue eyes staring at me.

“Hey there,” I mumble before I realize what just happened.

“How dare you doing this to him?” he yells at the hottie who’s standing a few steps away from us.

“He started it!” he smirks, “You know me, babe. I wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t push me,” he lies and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I feel so embarrassed right now with all the people staring at me. I’m pathetic.

“Are you fine?” the tourist seems worried and I’m in so much pain but I don’t mind because the shame is bigger.

“Both of you,” a tall man comes to us, “Out of the stadium right now,” he says before I feel his strong arms getting me up on my feet.

“No,” the tourist freaks out, “He didn’t do anything. It was his fault!” he points at Niall.

Another tall man joins the moment and grabs the hottie. We are both being dragged out of the stadium without a chance to explain anything. The crowd laughs at us and I hear some of them yelling in Portuguese. Probably insulting us. This day can’t get any worse.

“Why are you coming?” I mumble to Louis, “Stay, you have nothing to do with this.”

“Are you kidding me? This is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” I insist, “Just stay. This is important to you.”

“You two disgust me,” the Irish douche interrupt us as he struggles to free himself from the guard’s grip.

“Stay, Louis,” I turn to him, “I’ll meet you later when the match is over.”

“No, but,” he looks like he wants to stay so I leave him no chance.

“But nothing,” I fake a smile, “Just stay and meet me at my hotel when it’s over.”

“Voce pode ficar aqui,” the unfriendly guard talks.

“Por favor, deixe ele ficar,” I can tell he struggles to find the words. He is not as good with Portuguese as I thought he was.

“Louis,” I interrupt their conversation, “The Park Plaza. Find me there later,” is the last thing I tell him.

“I’m sorry,” he pouts. I don’t know if it’s just because of the punch I got but, as I see him get smaller while I’m being dragged out of the stadium, I feel kind of worried to leave him there by himself.

A few minutes later, I’m on my way back to the hotel. I’m pissed because I missed the chance to see England play but I can’t wait to get to my room and put some ice on my eye. I feel like it’s going to explode or something.

“Fuck Italians! That was such a crappy goal. Punch one of them in my behalf,” I get a text from Liam and I’m not even getting ready to reply when I get a second text, “GOAAAAAAAAAL!!!!!! Don’t punch them. I want them to see our victory.”

I couldn’t care less about the match right now. I wanna get drunk and forget about the shame I just had to deal with. I could have totally taken that asshole down if it weren’t for the stranger who held me.

I enter my room and go straight to the mini fridge. I grab one of the tinny tequila bottles and I empty it in less than a second. I take another one and then some beer to ease the burning on my throat.

“I’m so excited. This game will kill me,” the model answers the phone, “Wait. Why am I not hearing anything there? Aren’t you at the stadium?”