I know I said I wouldn’t share any more snips for fear of giving the entire cow away piecemeal, but I’m still trying to find my motivation and mojo again, and this is helping. Thank you @crinkle-eyed-boo for the tag!
Though that had definitely, definitely been Harry’s morbidly laid back voice and equally laid back shrug, the words still had Louis turning to him, his brow raised in question, because… what?
Harry’s arms were crossed over his chest as he shrugged again and repeated, “I’ll play,” like he hadn’t just volunteered to engage in a strenuous competitive activity with a group of professional athletes who probably weren’t even old enough to know George Michael had been in Wham!.
And, maybe, if Louis hadn’t been preoccupied by the words coming out of Harry’s mouth or the images of all the ways this would end in a hospital, he might’ve noticed a hint of… something not all that chill in the green of Harry’s eyes; something akin to a rather… threatening… glint of competition.
“Harry…” Louis tried to warn as the volleyball team grinned widely at the challenge, stepping back into the sun and gesturing for Harry to follow them to the net over their shoulders.
Realizing Harry had neither a shirt nor flip flops to delay him from his now impending hip replacement, Louis stood in front of him, blocking the beach from view, hoping to keep him in place and urge him to see sense.
“Harry Styles,” he implored, his arms crossed over his chest disapprovingly, “you cannot be serious.”
“And yet…” Harry said nonchalantly, smirking as he readjusted his sunglasses onto his nose.
“Harry, they’re Olympians. You can’t play beach volleyball with Olympians that are younger than our children.”
If Louis had hoped the words he was very strategically emphasizing would dissuade him… well, they did not.
“First of all,” Harry said, maneuvering past Louis, “potential Olympians.” His grin made Louis want to smack him. “They haven’t qualified yet.”
Though he said nothing, Louis turned his body to make sure Harry wouldn’t miss the way he audibly rolled his eyes. Because that was definitely the point I was trying to make, he thought.
“And second…” Harry announced dramatically, pointedly ignoring Louis’ incredibly visible disapproval, one foot already past the shade of the tent. He looked over his shoulder and tipped his sunglasses down to peer at Louis over the edge of them as he said, “…watch me.”
Louis narrowed his eyes, but by the time he had processed the little bonus wink Harry had left him, he was already jogging up to the players, the swish-swish-swish of his tiny, tiny shorts seemingly mocking Louis in their owner’s stead.
“Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you—blast,” he swore, realizing Harry was now too far away for his threat to carry. He threw his hands up. “Why? Just… why?”
The question hung in the air for a beat before he sighed, resigned to watch the game that was already picking up in earnest.
It took twenty minutes, but after two impressive (but very unnecessary) dives and innumerable furtive glances over Harry’s shoulder to check that Louis was, in fact, watching, a niggling and familiar feeling began to descend on Louis.
His eyes narrowed in thought as he tried his best to place it, feeling himself dig deep into the recesses of rather, er, vintage memories.
But it wasn’t until he saw it – saw Harry Edward Fucking Styles’ mouth set itself into a grim line of determination right before he gifted Cheeky with an all-too-aggressive volleyball straight to the face, his little ‘Oops! Oh my God! I’m so sorry!’ faux-pology holding the kind of legitimately evil lilt to it that Louis hadn’t heard since baby Noah had vomited on that overly flirty Starbucks barista back in 1990 – that it clicked.
