Down the Line
“I hate all of you.” Louis’ cheeks flush. “You better watch yourself or Wootton is gonna release an article claiming all of our woes are a direct result of a serious Mario Kart addiction. He’s already got an insider ready to tell him Niall prances around the clubhouse pretending to be Yoshi.”
Some of the boys chuckle, but Louis’ heart nearly stops when a honk sounds from second base. Everyone turns in that direction and Harry fucking Styles slaps a hand over his own mouth, as if trying to muffle the fact that he’s a motherfucking Siren. Louis stares. He wasn’t… it really wasn’t that funny? He couldn’t possibly be laughing at Louis, right? He…
What?
“Sorry,” Styles gasps. His shoulders shake as those dimples, which have had blogs and articles and entire columns dedicated to them, bloom. “Sorry…"
Louis hates him. Louis hates him. Louis hates him.
~~~
OR: Star shortstop Louis Tomlinson only finds solace between the white-chalk lines of a baseball diamond, until Harry Styles- the absolute bane of his existence and (probably) the worst pitcher in Major League Baseball- becomes an overnight sensation in the city Louis calls home.
