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“How long has it been now?”
“Twenty minutes,” Louis grumbles to his waiter, Harry, who has taken to checking in on him every so often.
“You know, I've never witnessed someone being stood up before,” Harry muses. “But I think you get free food out of it or something.”
He glares at the basket of garlic breadsticks, half of which he’s already eaten. This is outrageous. Louis won't stand for this any longer, honestly. Who does Zayn think he is, setting Louis up on blind dates with shit people? Really, who does Zayn think he is, setting Louis up at all?
“Thanks,” he tries to smile at the poor lad serving his grouchy arse. “But I’d rather just go home.”
Harry shrugs, putting his notepad back in the little apron he’s wearing. “I mean, to each their own. Personally, I'm never one to pass up on free spaghetti.”
“Don't you have other tables to serve?” Louis asks him, wanting to just be alone to let his anger simmer.
“They're all eating,” he looks around. “At least, I think so.”
“You are a terrible waiter.”
“Haven't had too many complaints yet,” Harry grins. “Hey, do you like memes?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“It's just that,” Harry explains. “There's this meme where you stuff garlic bread in your purse after your date says something you disagree with.”
“I've seen it,” Louis admits. “Are you suggesting that I stuff these breadsticks in my coat pockets?”
The long haired waiter smiles wide, nodding.
“And what purpose will that serve?” he asks him.
“It'll be funny, and also your date, if they show up, will be very confused.”
“I think—”
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry! You're Louis, right? I can't believe I'm late…” a brunet in a checkered jumper sits down across from him. “You wouldn't believe what I've been through.”
Louis doesn't waste any time, checking his watch to see that this guy was officially half an hour late. Harry stands there idly, watching, and Louis figures— fuck it. Might as well.
Never in a million years did Louis think that he would take a basket of garlic breadsticks and shove it under his coat, abandoning his blind date before even saying hello. Yet, here he is. Harry is stifling his laughter, rushing away to wait on his other tables as Louis stalks out the door angrily.
He is the living embodiment of a meme, and he bloody hates himself for it. (Although, secretly, this is a story for the history books.)
Zayn has another thing coming to him when Louis gets to their flat. He is livid, livid. This so-called “funny, charming, and nice guy” was late to their first meeting, and he was also wearing a checkered jumper? Who the hell wears those? Fuckboys wear checkered jumpers, Louis tells himself. Zayn set him up with a bloody fuckboy.
Louis slams the door shut, and Zayn jumps up from where he was on the sofa.
“What happened?”
“I'm going to kill you if you try to set me up with one more person,” he says angrily. “Mark my words. You'll rue the day.”
“What? What did Derick do?”
“Nothing!” Louis exclaims. “He barely even showed up. Thirty minutes late, my God. I spoke to my waiter more than I even looked at this guy. He sat down, and I just walked out.”
Zayn still looks confused. “What's beneath your coat?”
He pulls out the basket of garlic breadsticks that he forgot he had taken. It's the last straw, Louis bursts into tears. “I'm a bloody meme, Zayn. I'm a meme, and my date didn't show up, and my waiter was weird as hell, and I'm a meme now.”
“You need to sit down,” Zayn grabs onto his shaking shoulders and leads him over to the sofa. “Tell me what's wrong."
Louis tries to pull himself together, he hates crying especially in front of people, but he can't seem to help it. “I… I waited for thirty minutes for this fuckboy, and my waiter— his name is Harry — suggested that I enact the breadstick meme and take them with me when my date arrived. Well, I was so stressed and anxious that when Derick did arrive, the first thing I thought to do was bloody listen to Harry. I took the entire basket,” a second wave of tears hits, and Louis hides his face in one of their pillows.
“You're fine,” Zayn soothes him, rubbing his back. “You'll be alright. So, you didn't eat?”
“I had a few of the breadsticks before I left.”
“Alright. Let's get you some food, then.”
“I don't want food, Zayn,” Louis complains. “I need you to never set me up on a date again. Especially not this close to a deadline—” he gasps. “Fuck! Zayn, my deadline!”
Louis scrambles up from the sofa, wiping the tears from his eyes and rushing to his bedroom. He needs to check his email to make sure Liam hasn't messaged, freaking out over the lack of a draft sitting on his desk.
Sure enough, three emails from Liam sit ominously in his inbox. He gulps, and clicks on them one by one.
To: Louis Tomlinson
From: Liam Payne
Subject: Deadline Today
Hello Louis,
Last time we spoke you had said you were close to finishing up your draft. I just wanted to remind you that a completed copy should be sent over to me today, as soon as possible.
To: Louis Tomlinson
From: Liam Payne
Subject: DEADLINE TODAY
Sorry about the second email. Have you sent the draft of your book yet? Please respond soon.
To: Louis Tomlinson
From: Liam Payne
Subject: ???
Louis, my office has been closed for five hours and still I have no draft. Please call me.
Liam is going to kill him. Louis just knows it. He hasn't got even half of an idea for his book, and it's been months. The first novel was a breeze, inspiration poured out of him. But this second go has been an uphill battle. He's got nothing. No ideas, no inspiration, and he’s fucked.
The publishing house already sent him his advance, and he's got no excuse for why a book couldn't have been written already. It's not even 300 pages, it should be easy. He's done this before.
“The best thing you could do for yourself right now,” Zayn voice jolts him from his thoughts. “is go to sleep.”
“They want a book, Zayn. I don't even have a page.”
“Sleep,” he says again. “You'll think of something tomorrow.”
/
For some odd reason, Louis doesn't know why, he finds himself back at the restaurant he stole a basket from. He's got every intent on returning it, which is why it's once again hidden beneath his coat.
This would be the second time in twenty four hours Louis has had a garlic bread basket in his coat.
“Hello, my meme friend,” a familiar voice greets him as he walks into the entryway. “Come back for more breadsticks?”
“Actually, I've come to return the basket.”
Harry laughs at that, tapping his pen on the podium he's standing behind. “How kind. Unnecessary, but kind.”
“Completely necessary, trust me,” Louis shakes his head and holds out the black bread basket for Harry to take. He doesn't.
“Want some food?” he asks instead.
“I didn't bring any money or anything, I just wanted to return this.”
Harry shrugs, motioning for Louis to follow him, “It’s on me.”
Alright, Louis thinks to himself. This could have gone worse. He could have been arrested and charged for theft. Imagine having to explain to the judge that you were simply acting out a meme, and that you meant no harm. God, Louis is beyond thankful that isn't going to happen.
“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks him.
“Oh, just about how this could have ended in my arrest. Glad it didn't.”
He looks over his shoulder at Louis, “You thought you were going to get arrested?”
“I stole a basket. That's arrest worthy, isn't it?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Harry laughs loudly, shaking his head. He’s led Louis to a table for two near the back of the small restaurant, and he motions for him to sit down. “I'll be right back with a menu.”
Louis takes the time to check his email and cringe.
To: Louis Tomlinson
From: Liam Payne
Subject: …
Call me.
The way he sees it, Liam would just call him if this were that serious. So, he locks his phone and fiddles with his phone case. Harry comes back with a menu that doesn't look like the one he had last night, probably the lunch menu.
“Here you go,” he hands it to Louis and sits down across from him. “So, what do you do?”
“Like, my job?”
“Sure, yeah,” Harry nods. “If that's what you want to talk about.”
“I mean, I'm a writer.”
“Oh, really?” He sounds intrigued, more intrigued than any of the blind dates he's gone on before. Why he's comparing this to his dates, Louis isn't sure. His brain is weird.
“Novelist, if you want to get technical.”
“Published? Like, can I read your stuff?”
Louis nods, “I've got one book out that you can buy. I'm supposed to have just finished a second, but I haven't even started. Actually, my editor is sending me emails screaming about it. My deadline for the first draft was yesterday.”
“Haven't even started? Do you have ideas?” Harry asks. “Also, pick what you want to eat.”
“Fettuccini Alfredo,” he replies without looking.
“You didn't even look at the menu,” Harry gasps. “You don't know what's on there. It could be magical, and you just choose boring, old pasta.”
Louis sighs and looks at the small menu Harry provided. He reads the descriptions of the food, frowning at the mention of meat in each. “Is this a bad time to tell you that I'm a vegetarian?”
“Fettuccini Alfredo it is, then.”
“Sorry,” he apologises.
“No worries,” Harry smiles. “I'll be right back.”
They end up talking for a couple hours, Louis never once asking why Harry is disregarding work. He asks Louis all about himself, and he divulges most. Harry, as it turns out, is a lover of puns.
“Want to hear a joke I made up?” he asks.
“Sure,” Louis nods.
“Did you see that new bar’s Yelp page?”
“I didn't.”
“The bartender got mixed reviews,” Harry smiles wide, proud of himself. Louis has to admit… It's witty, to be sure.
“Write my book for me,” he jokes.
“What's your genre?”
“Erotica,” Louis says with a straight face. He doesn't write porn, actually. Far from it. Louis writes historical fiction, but he's curious to see what Harry has to say about Louis making money from writing dramatised sex.
“I've got this great idea for a futuristic porno that I think you could run with,” Harry states, completely serious. He pauses for a moment before confessing. “It's actually just a Star Wars parody, and I want Chewy and Han to be together. They're cute.”
“I don't write erotica, but I'm sure you could find a fanfiction somewhere online that meets your Star Wars fantasies.”
Harry looks at him, “You don't seem like someone who would write porn.”
“It doesn't interest me,” he agrees.
“So, what do you actually write?”
“Historical fiction. My first novel was set during the San Francisco earthquake in 1906.”
“What if you did, like, an 1800s Scottish romance? That would be fun.”
Louis laughs with a shake of his head, “I don't write romance.”
“No sex, no romance. Got it,” Harry hums as he thinks for a moment or so. “What about an international art thief in the seventies? Is that too recent to be considered historical?”
“Too recent.”
“Damn,” he swears under his breath. “I'm trying to help, but I've got nothing.”
“Maybe I'll just write about a waiter at a restaurant who slacks off at work to tell people ridiculous puns and who convinces angry customers to steal baskets,” Louis suggest, half joking. Honestly, at this point…
“Oh, can the waiter’s name be Harry? I feel a connection to the character already,” he smiles, and Louis laughs.
“I think I'll name him Pepe to commemorate his love for memes, instead.”
“Ah… A rare, waiter Pepe. This book could reach number one,” Harry muses. “I can feel it already.”
“He appears only once every hundred years. It'll be set in 1815.”
“And will there be a further plot line?”
“Oh, definitely. The customer he convinces to steal baskets gets caught by the authorities and taken in for questioning.”
“When they find that he took breadsticks,” Harry interjects. “They ask him why he does it. He explains to them that that is the question he asks himself every time. And his brain just tells him that he’s gotta.”
“The police don't believe him at first, because he's clearly a two-faced Gemini,” Louis goes on. “But then someone shouts from the back—”
“He did it for the vine,” Harry finishes. They both laugh, Louis feeling lighter than he has in weeks. Harry is kind, funny, and a good guy. Everything Derick the fuckboy from last night wasn't, everything that any person Zayn has set him up with hasn't been. Louis likes Harry… Quite a lot, in fact. He could talk with him for days on end and never be bored.
He decides he might as well ask for Harry’s number.
“So we can continue brainstorming for my book,” he explains.
“Of course,” Harry happily takes Louis’ phone and types in his number. “Actually, we should get coffee tomorrow to discuss Pepe the waiter further. He needs some depth, and I think I've got some good ideas for you.”
“Yeah, definitely. Definitely.”
“It was good talking with you, Louis.”
“You too,” he smiles at his newly found friend.
“This has been fun.” They say their goodbyes, and soon Louis is on his way back home. He's halfway there when his phone buzzes with a message from Harry Styles Meme Aficionado Pun Extraordinaire.
we both agree this counts as a date, right?
Louis smiles to himself, pleased.
concept: this was a great date
He’s inside and grinning like a loon by the time Harry replies again. Zayn is giving him a suspicious look, and Louis bites his lips on a smirk.
louis if you're reading this Harry styles is free tonight and would love to hang out please respond to this and then hang out with Harry tonight when he is free
“You're literally fucking glowing,” Zayn remarks. “What’s going on?”
“Remember the waiter, Harry?”
“The one from last night?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Zayn nods and folds his arms. “He's the one that convinced you to steal the breadsticks and leave poor Derick alone at the restaurant.”
Louis scoffs, “Derick, who? Anyway, I've got a date tonight. Possibly.”
“With Harry?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting,” Zayn watches him closely. He's quiet for a few minutes, and Louis goes back to looking at his phone. “Any inspiration for your book?”
“A rare Pepe is out in the world in 1815, convincing innocent bystanders to steal breadsticks.”
“Anyway,” his flatmate drops his arms and leaves the kitchen. “Now that you've officially lost the plot, I'm going to take a nap.”
“The first idea was Star Wars themed erotica,” Louis calls after him.
“I said I'm taking a bloody nap!” A door slams, and Zayn, as it would seem, is officially done with Louis. This simply won't do, Louis decides. He runs down the hall and swings Zayn’s bedroom door open wide.
“He did it for the vine, Z,” he exclaims. “He did it for the vine!”
Zayn chucks one of the many stuffed animals that cover his bed at Louis, hitting him in the face. He picks up another one and aims it at Louis who raises his hands in surrender.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“You’re forbidden from seeing Harry ever again. You've been brainwashed,” Zayn states. Louis laughs.
“He put his name in my phone as Harry Styles Meme Aficionado Pun Extraordinaire, Z. He’s so…”
“Nine years old, honest to God.”
“Nine years old with a fantastic vocabulary, as it would seem,” Louis comments. Zayn throws the second stuffed animal. It looks like Eeyore, and hurts like a motherfucker. “Ow, fuck. That one had eyes!”
“Are you seeing him tonight?”
“I think. Maybe,” he checks his phone for another message before realising he never replied to Harry’s. He sends a few emojis to express his joy for the idea.
“If you come back and speak in memes again, I'm going to kick you out of the flat for two weeks.”
“I…,” Louis starts, realising there are no more memes that he can think of. “Was going to reply with a meme to piss you off, but alas. I'm drawing a blank.”
“Thank God.”
“I'll be back in the wee hours of the morning,” Louis laughs maniacally, doing that villain thing with his fingers. “With more.”