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“I still can't believe that you managed to get Doncaster Rovers to join us for your footie afternoon”, Harry turns towards Niall, momentarily neglecting his duty of setting the cones up.
The Irish boy chuckles.
“Oh, come on, you don't even like football.”
That's true. Harry could not be less interested in football. His best friend and colleague Niall, however, is a huge fan of the sport. Of all sports, really. So it is quite fitting that he chose to be a P.E. teacher.
Harry himself is the drama teacher of Doncaster High School and Sixth Form. And he takes quite a lot of pride in the fact that he's also responsible for the safe space/ LGBTQ+ club of the school which is honestly the only reason he's here now. And Niall of course. Niall kept on begging him and Harry eventually gave in. He can't decline his best friend since university.
The both of them offer safe afternoons for kids who are not comfortable at home or not able to afford joining a club. It was Niall's idea to set up a football training for the kids and ask Doncaster Rovers to join them. Both men never even dared to imagine that the football club would reply, let alone send several of their players to join them. Yet, here they are preparing the huge pitch on the school grounds.
“Still, it's so kind of them to join plus the kids will probably be incredibly excited.”, Harry argues as he goes back to the task at hand.
Niall hums in agreement, currently checking the balls.
It's not long until loud chatter fills the field that causes Harry to look up. He can spot three football players in Doncaster Rovers uniform marching torwards them.
“Do you know where we can find Mr Horan? We are set to meet him”, one of them speaks up.
Niall dutifully turns around, greeting the men that now have arrived in front of them.
“That would be me, but please call me Niall. Thank you so much for your time. It's a great honour for us and the kids.”
Number 28, Tomlinson, let's out a small chuckle. “You're welcome. I haven't had much growing up, so naturally I really appreciate your efforts to create those afternoons for the children. It's great to finally be able to give something back. I'm Louis, by the way.”
The, rather handsome, man in question goes to shake Niall hand, then turns around to Harry. A questioning look is on his face.
“I'm Harry”, he stubbles, going in for a hug and a pat on the back before he realises what he did.
“Sorry!”, he quickly mumbles but the brunette doesn't seem to be angry at him.
“Don't worry, mate. Handshakes are always so overly formal, aren't they?”
It's only when another of the footballers let's out a chuckle in agreement that Harry is snapped back into reality. His gaze drifts upwards and to the source of the sound.
“I'm Liam and that's Zayn”, Liam gestures to the third man, “Louis practically dragged us along.”
Both of them are wearing their kits as well, tattoos gracing their arms. They look incredibly kind.
“I did not!”, Louis protests.
“Anyways, nice to meet you.”
This time, they go on for a quick cuddle in greeting, the atmosphere feeling a hundred times lighter already.
“Were just finishing up the last touches and then the kids should start flooding in.”, Niall informs everybody, “You can put your stuff in the teacher's locker rooms.” He fishes out a keychain. “Harry will show you.”
Just a Niall finishes his sentence, the first kids start to appear.
“Looks like we'll start when you get back. Let's just hope Harry won't fall flat in his face like he did last time”
Harry immediately flushes as everyone lets out a good willed laugh.
Harry does in fact not fall on his face again. However, that being said, there are plenty opportunities for him to make a fool out of himself. He wouldn't consider himself the most graceful person but having the distracting presence of Louis around him, doesn't have a good impact on his football skills. Not a all! Especially not in those football shorts that make his glutes look so incredibly good.
And this is how he finds himself stumbling over the ball instead of shooting it in the net once again. They are currently practicing free kicks and it just somehow happened that Harry and Louis paired together in order to take care of a small group of kids.
Louis let's out a chuckle combined with a “careful” as Harry somehow saves himself from tumbling over. Again.
The children are not as kind and let out a full on laughter.
“Hey!”, Harry exclaims into their direction, his good willed nature clearly audible.
“You have to actually shoot, Mr Styles!”, the goalie, Johnathan, shouts.
“He's not wrong there, Mr Styles”, Louis offers oh-so-helpfully and Harry's insides are suddenly all hot at the way his formal name rolls of the footballer’s tongue. Speaking of which, the younger man turns to shoot a pointed glare into Louis' direction, just in time to catch the man wetting his lips with it. Okay, concentration!
“Very funny!”
“Here, let me help you”, Louis offers and walks into Harry's direction. He places one hand onto his waist as he comes to a rest behind him. The touch tingles, making Harry crave more.
Which is absolutely ridiculous, the man concludes, Louis is very much straight and just trying to be helpful.
And helpful he is. He carefully explains Harry how to angle his foot in order to shoot and get the ball into the net. The curly haired man tries to concentrate on his word's, however the still lingering hand on him proves a great distraction.
When Louis is done talking, he let's go of him. Harry shoots the ball and surprisingly he actually lands a goal.
“Well done!”
“Thank you!”, Harry grins.
They all continue practising after that. Louis is shooting small glances at Harry and vice versa. Mercifully, Harry doesn't make an arse out of himself for the remainder of the afternoon.
After that footie afternoon Harry might have taken some interest in football. This sudden change has absolutely nothing to do with Louis, obviously. He just somehow came to enjoy the game after somewhat mastering it himself. At least that's what he tells Niall and himself.
This is how he now finds himself sitting in his living room, Niall beside him and the Doncaster Rovers game on television.
Both men have a beer in their hands, assorted snacks are in small bowls on the couch table in front of them.
When the players start to flood the field, Harry's eyes automatically search for Louis on the somewhat small television screen. The second he finally finds him, he smiles.
“Stop being so lovesick. You know, I still have his contact info. The club gave it to me after he agreed to participate in our football afternoon. Just ask him out already instead of pinning over him on TV.”
“Shut up”, Harry mumbles, eyes still fully trained on the brunette football player with the 28.
“If you keep being like that, I fear I won't ever watch a football match with you again.”
This time Harry just ignores Niall's comment and sips his beer. Niall chuckles beside him and pats his shoulder before both settle into a comfortable silence to watch the game.
That silence is only interrupted by occasional shouts of advice or frustrated groans when the ball barely misses the goal. To be honest, Harry still isn't 100% confident with the rules and rather focused on one specific brunette player with tattoos. But even he notices how intense this game seems to be. 87 minutes in and there have been a lot of attempts but still no goals were shot. The players from both teams look incredibly tired, passing the ball to each other in a great effort.
Niall is hunched onto his legs, gaze focused on the television. His expression is tense.
Then it happens: Zayn gets the ball and runs off into the opponent’s half of the field, which is suddenly empty, except for their goalie and Louis. He passes the ball directly to the football player in question who runs torwards the goal and finally shoots.
Harry sucks in a breath, Niall leans forward and then the ball is in the net. Goal!
The Doncaster Rovers players run to Louis and pile on top of him. He did it!
Niall shouts and Harry finally lets his breath go, hugging the Irish man. Both laugh in joy and relief.
The last few minutes of the game are rather tedious and both teams seem happy that the game is over. Doncaster Rovers are celebrating and Harry finds himself infected with their joy once again. And, strangely enough, he is so proud of Louis even though they barely know each other.
After Niall finished his beer and said his goodbye, Harry finds himself on his couch once again. One of his legs is spread across the soft fabric, the other rests under his bum. Harry takes his phone and opens Twitter. A tweet celebrating the win greets him, the Doncaster Rovers logo on the top left corner indicating that the tweet came from the team itself. Harry might have given them a follow after the footie afternoon. Louis' profile is linked in the post, not that Harry does not already follow him. However, this leads him to click on Louis’ name and the already familiar profile comes up. Harry might have spent a bit too much time on Louis' Twitter page but nobody needs to know that. Especially not Niall or the man in question himself.
Still high on adrenaline and endorphins, Harry's brain short-circuits and he writes Louis a DM.
Congratulations! You saved the game. X Harry
Without a further thought, he hits send. His brain only registers the action mere seconds later.
Shit! Harry quickly closes the app and throws his phone onto the other side of the couch. What has he done?
His breath is still laboured when a little ping indicates that he received a message. From Twitter.
Harry momentarily debates whether to just burn his phone, however then the message still wouldn't be gone. He can't take back his actions. Harry reaches across the couch and grabs his phone. It might not even be Louis. It surely isn't Louis. There's no way he'd ever see, let alone read Harry's message. Yeah, that's it.
Harry unlocks his phone and, oh shit, it is Louis. He answered. With shaky hands, Harry taps on the message.
Thanks mate. We're heading to the pub to celebrate. Care to join? X Louis
There's just no way. Harry stares at his phone, still in shock. His brain must be playing tricks on him.
But it's not and the message is still there after a few minutes.
Yes, I'd love to. X
Only a few seconds later, his phone pings again and Louis has sent him an address to a pub.
Harry looks down at himself, noticing that he's only in sweats. In no time, he rushes to his bedroom and opens his closet. He picks his favourite pair of skinny jeans, that perfectly hug his arse, and a light blouse. Then he quickly proceedes to his bathroom, changing and parfuming himself. If he leaves open the top few buttons on his shirt, it's purely for aesthetic reasons and definitely not because of a certain footballer.
Harry gets out of his flat and quickly walks to the pub. There is a breezy wind in the air. Once inside, he can hear Louis' distinct laughter filling the room. A few seconds later he can spot the man and his teammates gathered around an enormous table. A pint of beer sits in front of everyone.
Louis looks good. Like, incredibly good. His hair is freshly showered, still a bit damp and he wears a white button up. From what Harry can see, his tight demin jeans hug just the right areas of his legs.
Suddenly, Harry's nerves are back and he contemplates just turning around and running off. His plans are quickly thwarted as the football spots him and gives a tiny wave.
Harry makes his way over to the group, spotting an empty seat next to Louis. He quickly hugs the player, breathing in a mixture of deodorant, perfume and something distinct that can only be described as Louis.
“Hi” Louis greets him and Harry attempts to plop down. Being his nervous self, he misses the chair and his butt lands on the floor instead.
“Oops”, Harry awkwardly replies as he gets up. Louis snickers and as Harry finally sits down he lets his gaze travel through the group. He recognises Liam and Zayn and a few other faces look familiar from the tellie, however he was too focused on Louis during the game, to even point out who played.
“I see, you're as good with chairs as you are with balls”, Louis states, a smirk sitting on his lips
“Very funny”, Harry deadpans, “I'm quite good with balls actually.” The double meaning does not stay hidden the footballer lets out a full bellied laugh.
“I'll keep that in mind” and then Louis winks at Harry. He fucking winks. His cheeks are blushing and he quickly adverts his eyes.
It is only then, that Harry is remembered that he should probably greet the other lads as well.
Most of them introduce themselves, seemingly amused by the pair’s banter. Liam places a beer in front of him.
From that moment on the conversation (and alcohol) flows effortlessly. Harry learns a lot about Louis and offers details and funny anecdotes from his life in return. Harry tries to talk to the other guys as well, however, he always finds himself drawn back to Louis, who seemingly doesn't mind. When they talk and Louis laughs it is as if the sun herself is laughing, Harry finds.
The time flies and it's already past midnight when the group slowly dissolves. In the end it's only Liam, Zayn, Louis and Harry.
Liam stands up, taking Zayn with him. “We gotta go. Have a nice evening.”
Harry quietly wonders if he is imagining the wink that the footballer shoots Louis. He's had way too much alcohol to tell for sure.
“We will. Get home well.”
And then the men grab their jackets and it's suddenly only Louis and Harry.
Harry gets on his feet, Louis following quickly.
“Thank you so much. I think I have to go as well”, Harry states, leaning over to embrace Louis in a hug.
“Thank you for coming. Let me accompany you home. I don't want you to be all by yourself at this time of the night.”
“No worries, I live a few blocks down”, Harry replies; however, Louis stays persistent.
“I'll walk you home, then.”
Harry just nods and both of them step into the cold air of the night.
There is a comfortable silence as both walk down the pavement. Their shoulders are occasionally brushing and Harry wonders if it is intentional.
“That's me.” The pair stops in front of a large building.
“Good night, Harry.” Louis steps in front of him, their chests almost brushing. Almost, but not quite. Though, Harry can feel Louis' heat radiating.
“Good night. Text me when you are home safely.”
“I might need your number for that”, Louis replies as he fishes his phone out of his pockets. He hands it to Harry who quickly saves his number. When they exchange the phone again, fireworks explode in Harry's stomach.
Neither of them move away. Their faces still so close that the
y can feel each other’s breath.
“Good night.” And then Louis grabs him by his hips, connecting their lips.