Soccer imagines

• harry winks•

By forza-atleti

You can barely hear him over the noise- some bass lead track- and you're glad you're in your room, tucked up in bed, nobody around to hear you shouting his name down the phone.
"Harry! Harry? Can you hear me Haz?"
"It's Trent," says the voice back, a different tone to what you were expecting and then its another loud burst of sound before another voice is squealing at you, the bass still loud.
"Heeeeeeeyyyyyyy,"
"You're pissed," you say to Harry as he giggles at you from the phone and you can hear Trent in the background, a conversation you were not a part of, and then he's back, much more sober than his friend, the music dying as you guess he goes outside.
"Can you come and get us please?" says Trent and you can hear Harry still laughing in the background, the bass gone revealing the true extent of how drunk he was.
Very.
"Whose 'us'?" You say, wary. "I can't fit all of England FC in my Ford KA."
"Me, Harry and Jesse," says Trent. "Marcus has pulled some bird."
"Don't call women birds," you scold and you can practically hear Trent roll his eyes. "Where even are you guys?"
You glance at your bedside clock, your mouth falling open as you realise the time, 3am, and you unwillingly climb out of your warm bed, already starting to pull jeans on over your pyjamas.
"I'll text you the location," says Trent, distractedly and he calls something from the phone, even though you can still hear it. "Jesse, she's coming to get us, stay here."
"Yay!" exclaims Harry in the background and you roll your eyes again as you hang up without saying goodbye, a text coming through from Trent pretty quickly, their location only fifteen minutes tops from you. The night air is cold, and you swear under your breath at your friends as you start your car and wait for the steering wheel to unfreeze before you start to make your way to them. It's easy to catch them as you pull up outside, three boys a silhouette in the streetlights, hands shoved into pockets and Jesse's got lipstick kisses on the collar of his shirt. You roll your eyes and put down the window as they approach, as Trent goes immediately for the backseat, dragging lipstick Jesse with him and Harry heads for your window.
"Thank you so much," says the dark midfielder as he climbs in the back. "These two are awful."
"Yeah why are you not drunk?" You say, turning over your seat to grin at him and Trent grins back.
"I carry it like a gentleman."
You pull away from the pavement, a hand coming down over Harry's to stop him from turning on the radio and he pouts at you as you keep your eyes in the road, the roads surprisingly quiet at this time of morning.
"Can't we sing like we always do?"
"Not today Haz, I'm tired."
He yawns himself as you say the words and you smile at him, catching Jesse's eyes in the back mirror and he winks at you, a smirk plastered over his face.
"Don't wink at me, Lingard, you're covered in kisses."
"Huh?" He says and Harry laughs, and turns around from the passenger seat, pointing at the older boys white shirt stained pink and Jesse curses, picking at the marks with his fingers whilst you all laugh at him.
"The ladies love me," he says, sending another wave of laughter through the car and you catch his eye again in the mirror.
"Must be the beard. Huge chick magnet."
"Almost as huge as m-" he says before Trent is covering his mouth and you have to really focus on the road as tears threaten to slide down your cheeks from laughing so hard and you manage to make it safely back onto your driveway, running back to your front door, the boys following you, eager to get out of the cold.
You make it in, light springing on in your lounge as Jesse makes himself comfortable on the sofa, and Trent heads to your airing cupboard to get the spare duvets and pillows. It was kind of sad that this was a regular occurrence in your life, that they all had their little routine, and you set about getting your own little part ready, three large glasses of water and a box of paracetamol placed gently on the coffee table, ready for them in the morning.
"Can't believe beans is getting laid," Harry mumbles and you laugh, pausing by the door to look back at your best friend.
He always got like this when he knew the night was over, and you didn't know if it was loneliness or just sadness at not being able to drink anymore, but he's looking at you with those big, brown doe eyes and it almost cracks you every time, almost sends you into his arms, eager to make him smile again, make hm laugh, make him happy.
Instead, you smile like you always do, and wish him goodnight, wishing perhaps that he would show some of that vulnerability when sober.
Your bed beckons to you again, with the three boys settled downstairs and you strip your jeans and jumper, pyjamas ready for another few hours of sleep before Sunday began and you settle beneath your sheets, already tired, already warm, already dozing when there's a knock at the door.
You sit up as it opens, as Harry appears in the light of the corridor and slips in, a sheepish smile on his face as he stumbles his way to your bed, and climbs up to sit next to you.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Uh yeah," you say and he takes a moment to pause, to take a breath, and your heart is beating a little quicker as you think he leans forward and without meaning to, your body does the same, gravitating towards him.
"Are you getting with Jesse?"
"What?" You say, startled, pulled out of your reverie and the look on his face- a little disgruntled and embarrassed- sends you laughing. "No, where did you get that from?"
"He was flirting earlier and I just thought..." he says as you laugh. "You said you liked someone and he was making you laugh and winking and stuff so, I dunno..."
"He flirts with everything that has a pulse," you say and Harry smiles a little. "Besides, he's not my type at all."
"Oh well, good, wait, what is?" He says and your heart jumps to your throat twice, once at the question but second at the good that he just let slip. And you fumble for your words because how are you supposed to tell your best friend what your type is, when your type is wavy haired, freckled midfielders who make your breath catch in your throat every time they speak, and make your pulse go a little funny whenever they get a little riled up during a match.
"Uh, never you mind."
He looks at you, serious and sudden but somehow you can't turn your eyes away from him, even as slowly he does lean in this time, a hand coming up to rest along your jaw, guiding your mouth to his slowly. He tastes like sours shots and smells like alcohol and his washing powder and his tongue follows yours, his teeth grazing your lip and you just want to breathe him in, wrap him in your arms and never let go.
But they stay frozen in your lap instead, and he pulls away, dark eyes baring into yours and before you know it he's across the room, in the doorway, and disappearing before you can ever utter the words.

Morning comes and goes and it's nearer midday when you join the hungover crew downstairs, all of them blurry eyed and quiet, Jesse taking up a whole sofa to himself as he laughs at Marcus who he puts on loud-speaker, so you can all hear about his night.
"-had to literally run out of there," Marcus was saying as you emerged from the kitchen with hot coffee and a kitkat, "I mean she was cute, sure, but I'm not down for spending the night in a room where my face is already suspended on the wall in poster form."
"She had a poster of you?" You call to the device as Jesse cackles and Marcus groans as he realises the whole room can hear him, has heard his very detailed story.
"Posters," he says, "multiple. I was creeped."
You laugh as Jesse moves on the conversation and you catch Harry's eye from the sofa and he smiles at you, no evidence on his face that he remembers anything that happened last night. It aches in your heart a little as you smile back, as you push it down, erase the kiss from your mind.
"Want a cuppa?"
"Please," he says and you turn to go back into the kitchen, the kettle already hot from your coffee, thankful for the momentary time alone that you manage to find for yourself.
The kiss racks through your mind, and before you can stop them, the other three kisses join it- four in total- four times so different to each other, one key element tying them all together.
Harry, drunk, at New Year, pulling you in as they sky exploded into colour.
Harry, drunk, his place. Pressed into his sofa, drunk yourself.
Harry, drunk, the back of a taxi, his hand firmly on the inside of your thigh.
Harry, drunk, your bed, too scared to hope it might be different this time.
"Uh, can I ask you something?"
His voice is so similar to last night that you fumble with the mug in front of you, scared to turn around as he comes around the dining table to stand opposite you but eventually you have to answer.
"Sure, Harry."
"Did I kiss you last night?"
The words blast a bullet through you and you spin to look at him, and he looks guilty, like it's been playing on his mind, like he's unsure of what you'll answer.
And it's those brown doe eyes that convince you to answer differently to how you've done all those other times he's asked similar questions- did anything happen last night, anything I need to remember, do you know who brought me home last night- the answer bubbling out of you unsure and secretive, a little ashamed.
"Yeah,"
"Oh," he says, wringing his hands in front of you and then he's taking a step forward, and you're taking a step back, pressed into the kitchen counter, and he's right in front of you, shower fresh, tired eyes, beaming smile. "Good."
And then his hand is cupping your jaw again and his other is on your hip, pulling you into him and his lips are crashing onto yours, eager and passionate and this time your hands find him, his chest and his hair, pulling him closer and he moans against your mouth as his opens up, as his teeth dig into your lip. And then you're pulling away, breathless, hands on his chest, eyes shining into his.
"Maybe we should talk."
"What, about all the other times I've kissed you and you've lied about it?" He says with a grin and your mouth drops open as he shrugs.
"Just wanted you to want me back, I guess."
"Oh I do," you manage and he smiles before leaning forward again, capturing you in another kiss, murmuring against your lips as he continues to kiss them, kiss you, just like you had always wanted.
"Good."