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“...Louis Tomlinson?” he hears himself repeat after the journalist, a smirk on his face. “I am not intimidated by him. Manchester United made a big mistake buying him. Old men should realise that it’s time for younger lads to make history. He should leave while he’s still capable of leaving on his own two feet and not being carried off the pitch without any dignity.” “It’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Helena murmurs in response, making Harry shrug. “He needs to hear it,” he insists. “He spent his twenties being worshipped. And, what, did he win England a single World Cup title? He barely scored any goals this year. After his humiliating injury at the beginning of the season, he should seriously consider retirement. He’s pushing forties at this rate.” Helen says something back, but Harry doesn’t hear it because he’s too busy being assaulted. Literally. A strong hand on the man lying on the bed next to him grabs him around the waist and pins his body down. “Pushing his forties, really, pet? I’m thirty-two,” a rough voice says, making Harry swallow.

Fics like but even so

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