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 f*****g 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 f*****g 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."

The group slowly disperses as the boys break up to jog to the edge of the field so they can use the lines as a reference for their warm up run. A couple of them purposefully knock into his shoulder as they pass him, some a little rougher than others, but he just deals with it. The coach put him in charge so they have to listen to him. He couldn't give a fat rat's ass whether they want to or not. He waits for the final boys to join the group before running to file in next to Niall at the back of the pack. Niall gives him a pained look.

"Are they ever going to stop treating you like s**t?"

Louis exhales slowly, listening to the squish of his cleats against the soggy ground. "Probably not. But that's okay." They're just jealous that he's captain, and they're not.

Niall snorts. "How is that okay? They can't just keep doing that and expect to get away with it. You need to tell Coach, Lou. You know he'll do something about it."

A rush of panic runs through him. "No, no. It's okay, Niall. It really is. I don't want to get anybody in trouble." He pauses to take a deep breath. "It's not worth it, really. I can handle it. I don't want this team to get broken because I said something."

"If you won't, I will."

He flashes Niall the most pleading look he can. "No, Niall, please don't. You'll only make things worse if you say something. They'll hurt me five times as often and five times as hard. You know it's true."

Niall shuts his mouth after that, but his jaw is clenched in disapproval. And Louis can't help but feel a little lower now that his only friend is disappointed in him. But it's really not his fault. He didn't ask for any of this to happen. He doesn't want to constantly be picked on, teased, and shoved around like a rag doll. But if he wants to keep this team together, he just has to take the abuse. And that's what he tells himself every time something happens and he feels the need to snap or yell or cry. It's for the good of the team.

Now, it'd be different if Niall actually stood up for him himself. It would seem less like a 'I want to have you kicked off the team because of the way you treat me' kind of move and more like a 'just back off a little bit - can't you see he actually takes offense to it?'. He thinks that would be the most appropriate course of action. Getting authority involved would do nothing because, let's face the truth, adults are f*****g clueless when their pupils are in emotional pain. It would take Louis to actually write out the words: 'I'm in emotional distress' for his coach to actually be able to see it. And he's not about to do that anytime soon.

The two boys finish their lap in complete silence before Louis diverges in the opposite direction to grab a football from the open sack at midfield. Somehow the sound of the locker room door manages to carry across the field, attracting his attention as Harry slips out, undetected by his other teammates, and looks around with a slight frown. He's surprised he managed to change that fast. Louis doesn't know why, but he just kind of stares at him until their gazes lock, and then he's blushing and looking down at his feet to go back over to Niall. All he can think is 'don't trip', 'don't trip'. Because that could just possibly be the one thing more embarrassing than getting caught staring.

Niall appears to have no shame though for, he looks directly into the bleachers where Harry had temporarily taken a seat, picking at his nails absentmindedly. "Whoa, Lou. Isn't that that guy from the coffee shop?" His blue eyes dart to Louis once before slipping back. "You know, the one who was checking you out?"

Louis feels his neck heat up. "He was not checking me out," he mutters. "He was simply curious as to why I had a giant, elephant sized coffee stain on my sweater." Louis' eyebrows knit as he drops the ball at his feet. "Did you not get my text?"

"Which one?" he hums distractingly, still eyeing the bleachers by the building.

"The one that reminded you that we're going to go jump off a bridge if the guy at the coffee shop ended up being my stepbrother."

That gets his attention. He whips his head away from his goggling and addresses Louis with a new curious look. "He's your stepbrother?"

"f*****g fantastic, isn't it? Oh, and that's not all. He hates me for reasons I don't understand, and he decided to try out for the football team so he can annoy the hell out of me and hate me more. Not to mention the fact that he'll probably join those stupid bastards and start to pick on me too once he realizes that I'm literally nobody."

Niall lets out an angry huff. He hates when Louis degrades himself like that, but he can't help the fact that nobody likes him. He's just stating what everybody already knows about him. "Louis Tomlinson. You are somebody. A f*****g wonderful human being, is what you are. So don't give me that self pity bullshit. I'm sick and tired of hearing my best mate beat himself up. Especially when other people are already doing that for him. So please just listen to me for once and know that I love you. Your dad loves you. And if any of those people out there gives you a chance, just a few seconds to get to know the real you, I guarantee that they'll fall in love with you too."

Louis sighs. He appreciates how much Niall really does for him. How he keeps him from doing something stupid by reminding him how much he's loved. He can't thank him enough for that, and he really doesn't know what to say to that most of the time because he knows that he's right. Even if he's hurting particularly badly at the time. And Niall has learned to accept that he needs to hear that every once in a while.

"Thanks, Ni."

Niall smiles softly at him before letting it fade into a straight line filled with mock-seriousness. "Now pass the damn ball, Tomlinson. I can feel my football skills slipping away."

He chuckles and passes the ball lightly with the inside of his foot, loving how precise and accurate his passes have gotten over the years. He was good before he joined the team - not to boast, but he's way past good at this point with the help of his football coach who used to play for one of the top teams in the Premiere League, Leicester City, and some hardcore - outside of practice - training. Now, he's probably not the best player on the team, but he's pretty damn close. And that's good enough for him.