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Louis stands in front of the bathroom mirror and tries to figure out if his eyes have always looked this big. They probably have. Someone flushes in the stall behind him, and he turns on the water because, um, he does not want to stand in front of a mirror ogling at himself when someone else is seeing.
Even though that was exactly what he was doing.
Out from the cubicle steps a blond guy in a snapback, and he holds onto the door a short while before staggering across the wet (or, gross, rather) floor to the sinks. He grins widely at Louis, who gives him a short nod – he doesn’t feel like dealing with more drunk people tonight.
When he treads out from the bathroom, Harry and Zayn stand there waiting for him, and while they are practically wrapped around each other, but not eating each other’s faces anymore, they both give him a very concerned look – even though very different ones. Zayn’s eyebrows are knitted together and his fingers are tapping idly against Harry’s shoulder whilst Harry’s mouth is already forming soundless words although Louis hasn’t reached them yet.
“You fine, Lou?” Zayn asks as soon as they are close enough to hear each other over the pounding music, while Harry gives Louis a bone-crushing hug that Louis just can’t help melting into.
“Sure.” He nods into Harry’s curls. “Fine.”
“Because you just disappeared,” Harry says when he’s leaning away from Louis a bit. “Like, just, poof. We had no idea where you went to. You don’t like it here? We could…go, you know?”
“Yeah,” Zayn fills in. “Really.”
And Louis is just that close to saying, sure, let’s go home, because the music is getting worse and worse with every song, and he is looking around himself every other second just to make sure the purple-jacket guy isn’t sneaking up on him from anywhere – but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. He’s Louis bloody Tomlinson, clubbing is his damned thing, and he is not going to be the awkward third wheel here – he can enjoy himself even though his best friends are a pair of complete octopuses hanging on each other ‘s faces for most of the time. Octopuses that forget his entire existence.
“No, no, I don’t wanna go home!” Louis protests, huffing. “We just came, for god’s sake. Or…you two want to go home?” he adds.
“You decide,” Zayn says carefully. Harry has somehow managed to merge into Zayn’s side again without Louis having noticed exactly when the curly-haired boy disappeared from him. He feels a bit lonely – but no.
“I like it here!” he exclaims piercingly. “Drinks, boys?” he asks and loops his arms through theirs and drags them to the bar with him.
Rather sooner than later, Zayn flicks toothpicks at Harry, who is giggling helplessly and trying to fight them off by flailing his hands, and Zayn stops just every so often to kiss him. Louis downs another shot in silence, and suddenly Purple Jacket comes into view.
“Hide me!” he stage-whispers to Zayn, who wrinkles his forehead but quickly snatches Louis into a headlock.
“Has he gone?” Louis murmurs after a few seconds, and Zayn whispers back “Who are you hiding from, mate?”
“Purple jacket-guy.”
“Oh, then he’s gone.”
When Louis crawls up from Zayn’s lap so that he’s sitting comfortably on his own bar-stool again, Harry points accusingly at the two of them – but the shit-eating grin on his face kind of ruins the mood. “So here I look away for a moment and Louis is giving head to Zayn. Where are my boyfriend-privileges, Zaynie?” He draws out the last vowel and Zayn simply snickers, patting Harry’s head.
Then he turns to Louis. “So? Wanna talk about that guy?”
“Nope,” Louis replies and orders another drink. Tonight seems to be a shitty night, so he can as well get wasted to match the entire crappiness of it all.
…
He wakes up the next morning feeling…not that crappy. He pats the nightstand and finds his glasses, a task that could have been simpler if his lamp had worked – but, alas, it doesn’t, not since Zayn borrowed the light bulb to make an art project – and then never bought him a new one. Louis, on his part, doesn’t quite like shopping.
He grabs his phone instead and uses it as a flashlight, so that he won’t stumble over anything on his way over to the windows, which is another difficult mission since his floor is ridden with all kinds of things. However, he has had much time to perfect his walking-in-the-dark ability, and most of the stuff is soft, anyway – therefore, out of experience, it doesn’t hurt that much to fall. When he’s pulled up his blinders, he crumples his nose at the visible mess as he always does, and ignores it, something else he always does, in favour of checking his phone.
There are several texts from Zayn, ranging from his everyday good morning still up for fifa 2night? :) Xx to the a bit more cryptic hazs new frieeeeends dress up mate bring sumthing for drink k? xx as well as to the very informative aghsry yesterday u fine that Louis can’t even be bothered trying to decipher. He’ll just call him later or something. There is one very long from Harry, too, that Louis doesn’t feel like reading – Harry’s texts are always confusing and deep, so he tosses his phone back on the bed and turns on the TV instead.
…
Harry is sitting on the bathtub edge, his thumb held high while Louis is pulling out every single item from their bathroom cabinet. “Are you sure you own plasters?” Louis asks for what must be the seventh time, but before Harry can answer, he yanks out a dog-eared Animal Farm, and goes on, “And why are you keeping books in here together with corn flakes?”
“Don’t know.” Harry shrugs. “Can you hand me some more toilet paper, though? This has bled through.”
Louis unrolls a new pad of paper and hands it to Harry, who thoughtfully pulls off the now red and soaking one that’s been wrapped around his finger up till now, and looks interestedly at the cut on his thumb.
There’s a knock on the door. “Guys, I think I can come in now.”
“No, Zayn,” Louis replies immediately. “It’s still bleeding.”
“But I don’t feel nauseous anymore, really.” His voice is muffled through the door, and sure, Zayn maybe would have been able to handle it – but as he had galloped out of the kitchen green-faced even before Harry himself had realised his thumb was bleeding, Louis doesn’t really think it’s a great idea to push it.
“No, stay there. They’re soon coming, aren’t they? Go check on the…derinies, or something.”
When Zayn begins to say something in protest, Louis flicks at Harry’s chin.
“What?”
“Tell him you’re alive and that you don’t need him.”
“I’m alive and I don’t need you, Zayn,” Harry repeats obediently, while Louis jerks out a drawer in the small bureau thing that is stashed into the bathroom.
“Good boy,” Louis hums, continuing with cheer as he tugs out a box of plasters. He is not going to ask how come Harry and Zayn are in possess of Barbie Band-Aids, neither is he going to pay any attention to Harry’s disapprovals about their design (though he’s fairly sure the only objections there will be are going to concern how the plasters are too pink to match Harry’s red shirt), because this rescue mission has been going on for long enough.
…
At first, Louis had wanted to die when he saw the blond tuft of hair under the snapback of the first guy who came parading through the front door. Then, somehow, he had got this inexplicable fear that Purple Jacket would appear as well, so he had raced into Zayn and Harry’s room with an unintelligible excuse about how Harry’s fishes needed fresh water, and had sat on their bed for a while just breathing. Then he had realised he was sitting on their bed and swiftly rose from it. He had peeked from the door and had seen that the guy who had followed Snapbacky Blondie wasn’t Purple Jacket, but rather…Buzzshaved Plaidy (which, in sheer honesty, was as far from Purple Jacket as it was possible, or at least in Louis’ imagination), so he had carefully walked out again, and presented himself with, “Hi, I’m Louis, the best friend of those two, and my only weakness is that I always forget that they are fucking, which makes me do stupid things such as sitting down on their bed, which might have stains that I haven’t been there to neither witness happening, nor being the one who have caused them…”
This had caused Snapbacky Blondie to cackle enormously loud, and Buzzshaved Plaidy to give Louis an exceptionally confused look. (It also made Zayn punch Louis in his arm, and Harry to slyly insert a “so you’ve been jerking off on our bed, then? Aw, that’s sweet,” but Louis counted those two as a failures more or less, and had chosen to ignore their reactions.)
Then Snapbacky Blondie had declared himself to be Niall and Buzzshaved Plaidy to be Liam, after which Niall had quickly turned to Liam and launched himself into a long, loud (and unnecessary – but Louis did in fact enjoy it) explanation on why Louis and him practically were best friends already (it went something like “He has already seen me wasted and possibly fly-open cock-out, so you can almost say we’re married”) to which Liam had only patted his head in response – and now, Louis doesn’t wish to die at all anymore, because quite honestly? While Zayn and Harry are his best friends forever and he loves them more than he loves anything else, he’s quite looking forward to spending time with someone that isn’t making everything into some sort of foreplay.
“So, you’re saying this is Ukrainian?” Niall asks, cheeks stuffed and fork waving dangerously close to Liam’s chin, but he only smoothly leans a bit backwards without commenting on it.
“Yup,” Harry responds. “Wanted to try something new.”
“It’s really nice,” Liam says.
“It’s fuckin’ delicious,” Niall states, and grabs another deriny from the plate in the middle of the table.
Zayn gets a dopey grin on his face, and plants a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “My little housewife here is the best cook in the entire town,” he says with a silly voice.
Harry pokes his side, but doesn’t protest.
“You do make a good wife for him,” Louis inserts. “Arranging dinner parties and cooking – how did he find you two? In a “Get Together While Our Husbands are at Work” thing, or?” he finishes, turning to Niall and Liam.
As Niall is busy shovelling more food into his mouth, he – apparently – kicks Liam’s shin under the table, since the brown-eyed guy winces faintly and groans, “Thanks a lot, Ni.” Then he turns to Louis as though he’s so used to Niall that he doesn’t care further (and Louis thinks they probably just are that close, and somehow he becomes a little bit jealous of them – even though he’s exactly as close to Harry and Zayn – or even closer), and clarifies, “We met Harry last night in that club.”
Louis furrows his eyebrows in Zayn’s direction. “Where were you, then?”
“Out smoking,” Zayn answers nonchalantly.
“And I?”
Zayn’s hand leaves Harry’s lap, and as Harry’s mouth turns downwards whilst his eyes dip down to see where the hand went, Louis smiles to himself – and is surprised by seeing a similar smirk hide in the corner of Liam’s mouth. “You,” Zayn says, and points at Louis. “You were with that guy you don’t tell us about. What happened?”
Louis can feel his cheek colour, albeit slowly. “Oh, it was nothing.”
“Well, why don’t you want to talk about it, then?” Harry continues. “I want details, and I want them all.” He grins sluggishly at Louis, while Niall is laughing in between his chewing.
“No, you don’t, Haz,” Louis says.
“Yes, I do.”
“Nope.”
“Ye –“
“Seriously, Harry, where did you learn to cook so well? This was brilliant.” It’s Liam who speaks up, and for a second or two his eyes meet Louis’.
They lapse into a conversation about Harry’s work at the restaurant, and how Louis is the one who has to pick up Harry from there each night (because after one eventful evening Zayn had been banned from visiting Harry at work due to hygienic reasons; also, Harry can’t drive himself) and when Harry shoos them all off so he can wash the dishes, Louis has forgotten all about Purple Jacket as well as the curious glances from Liam.
But then Zayn makes some kind of eyebrow sign to Harry, who gives him another one back, and suddenly Liam and Niall are standing with dishwashing cloths in their hands, looking perplexedly at Harry who urgently informs them of where he wants his plates and how there’s really “no order about the cutlery, just throw it in there, but mind Zayn’s collection of action figures, they’re living on the second shelf,” and Zayn jumps onto Louis’ back and yells in his ear, “To the balcony, my brave steed!”
“What,” Louis answers flatly and refuses to move. Except that he’s staggering quite a bit, trying to uphold Zayn’s weight; Zayn might look like a skinny asshole, but he’s surely not. (Because Louis has muscles.)
“To the balcony,” Zayn repeats, pushing his heels into Louis’ sides.
“Ouch,” Louis complains.
“You’re a stupid horse.” Zayn sulks as he slides off Louis.
“Well, I’m not a horse.”
“Aha!” Zayn cries out. “You admit you are stupid! This shall forever be remembered as the day when Louis self-proclaimed he is stupid.”
“No, wait, no,” Louis says. “What…”
Zayn closes the balcony door behind them with a slam, and when he turns, his face is strangely soft. Louis steps backwards, but Zayn follows his suit. “So,” he purrs slowly.
“Eh, I don’t think I follow. You know I’m Louis, right? Not Harry, no, no; don’t lick my neck, Zayn, stop it! Are you drunk? Really, get off me!”
With that final word, Zayn stumbles down on the floor and seems utterly heartbroken as he looks up at Louis. “I just thought you looked like you needed some snuggling.”
Louis slides down and sits next to Zayn, hiding his head in his hands. “Sorry,” he mumbles, though he’s not sure why. He’s not sure about anything, really. Not sure why he pushed Zayn off, why he’s feeling so empty inside, why he’s sorry.
“You know,” Zayn begins quietly. “If there is something you want to share about yesterday evening, I’m here. If you rather not, I’m still here.”
Louis swallows, and keeps hiding behind his hands. He pushes one foot out and lets it rest against Zayn’s.
“And I’m not drunk,” Zayn adds as an afterthought.
Louis snickers, and when Zayn’s arm loops around him, he doesn’t shrug it off, but sinks further into it.
Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Liam stands there. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he blabbers, looking pointedly in another direction – and Louis can’t help but wonder how the brown-eyed guy would have reacted if, say, he had walked in on Harry and Zayn one day. “It was just that Niall and Harry are having a bubble war, and I don’t know, I didn’t want to become all wet, so I thought I should come out here and chat with you, but I’m really sorry; I’ll just go back.”
Louis shakes his head violently. “No, no, no one should have to endure a bubble battle just because of us – me?” he asks with a look in the direction of Zayn, who just smiles a little and shakes his head. “I mean, isn’t that some sort of bro-codex, or something? Thou shalt always be allowed to sneak away from fights and be welcomed by your broskies, no matter what they’re currently doing,” he continues, finishing by squinting his eyes towards Liam.
Liam looks at him wide-eyed, and Louis supposes that the two of them could surely have a competition in “Who Can Say the Most Meaningless Things in the Shortest Time?” and never find out the winner. Because he’s not completely sure himself what he’s talking about.
“Come, sit,” says Zayn instead, patting the floor next to him, and Louis is very glad to have a Zayn-friend (and he really should appreciate him more) because somehow he sorts everything out, always.
Liam does as he’s told and seems genuinely happy to have been asked to sit – honestly, he looks as though he’s been offered to share table with the Queen, Louis muses.
“You have foam on your ear,” he says, leaning over Zayn to remove it. Liam blushes faintly, his eyes growing even wider, while Zayn seems to be choking on his own breath.
“What?” Louis asks, at the same time as Liam says, “You all right?” to Zayn.
Zayn just shakes his head in response, but it’s only Liam’s wrinkled forehead that Louis seems to be able to concentrate on, and the way his eyes are scrunched up, and soon he’s giggling powerlessly against Zayn’s shoulder. Now it’s him Liam’s looking concernedly at, and Louis laughs louder, and then, which he did not expect, Liam bursts out laughing too.
“What’s going on?” They look up and see Harry and Niall standing in the doorway, water dripping from their hair and down on their bare torsos, and Louis’ and Liam’s eyes meet again, and before they know it, they’re rolling around on the floor for laughing so hard.
…
Sent 10:21
Dnt freak out now ni im just testinnnn
Sent 10:22
Hey, was just wondering if youd wanna go get a coffe w/ me?? Liam
Sent 10:23
Hi Louis!!! Up for coffeeeee sometim? /Li x
Sent 10:25
Hmm migt work wo the kiss hmmmmmmmm
Sent 10:28
HI this is Liam, just wantd 2 kno if u want to grab a coffe width me? :)
Sent 10:29
:((((((((((((((((
Sent 10:29
Niallerrrr im dyinnn
Received 10:37
Wtf man……..Ive told u to not get high witout me !!!!
Louis stares at the screen on Liam’s phone, and a horrible thought has just hit him. What if Liam had been high when he had asked Louis out? And what if he is too polite to admit it, and instead just went through with it?
He looks up.
“I mean, what kind of friend does that?” Liam has a shadowy blush on his cheeks and the words hurry out of his mouth. “Like, is that really the best advice he can give me?”
Louis forces himself to grin. He kind of wishes to linger on the impression that this is a real date, for just a tiny bit longer. It has been a perfect one so far, but now it feels as though someone has poured iced water under his shirt.
“At least you know you have someone to smoke with,” Louis chirps. It was possibly too good to be true; he should have understood that from the beginning. All their long discussions of nothing – all the times their eyes met for a little too long; all of Liam’s hesitant chuckles turned into laughing-so-hard-he-couldn’t-breathe – it had all been proof that Liam was just an overly nice person and nothing else.
Liam is in the middle of responding something, but Louis stands up. “Liam, this was really nice. I have to get home, though,” he says and makes sure his eyes glitter a little, because, oh no, he isn’t heartbroken, not at all.
Then, when he’s fumbling with his phone, searching frantically for Styles Stilettos in the contact list, then he might admit he’s a little bit broken-hearted, because even though it’s hard to tell with only the pale light from the lamppost, he’s pretty sure there’s wetness on the back of the hand he’s just been wiping his eyes with.
…
A sudden beam of light forces its way through the darkness, and in the doorway Zayn stands with waggling eyebrows. “Guys, I’ve told you I’m okay with threesomes, but you need to make sure I’m included to reach the required number of people.”
Harry chucks one of Louis’ shoes at him. “We’re grieving, get out.”
Zayn closes the door slowly after mouthing a sorry, and Louis shuts his eyes. Harry’s hands are big and warm, one of them gently playing in his hair, while the other one is limp in Louis’ own hand.
“It’s okay, Lou,” he whispers. “I’m here.”
Louis refuses to move and just presses himself closer to Harry’s body, sniffing the familiar scent of Zayn’s hairspray mixed with Harry’s vanilla body lotion.
The door creaks, but this time Louis declines to look up from Harry’s chest. The bed sinks a bit, and there’s a tug on the blanket, and then Zayn’s quiff tickles his neck.
“What happened, Louis?” he asks after several minutes during which Louis has been imagining the three of them are an octopus, living happily in the ocean and never knowing of the existence of an earth-man named Liam Payne.
It’s Harry that answers Zayn, and Louis thanks him by squeezing the hand still captured in his grip. “It wasn’t a real date; Liam had been high when he asked Lou out.”
“Really?” The rim of Zayn’s glasses suddenly digs into Louis shoulder, and he rubs a finger over the spot. “Sorry, taking these off now,” he says.
“Yeah,” Harry replies and when Louis glances up at him, having at last opened his eyes since Harry and Zayn are using way too few bubbly sounds for it to be possible for him to remain in the underwater world, Harry looks sad.
Zayn presses a kiss to Louis’ neck. “God. I couldn’t imagine that – I never expected,” he mumbles, lips not quite leaving Louis’ skin.
And at some point Louis must have fallen asleep, because when he wakes up, both Zayn and Harry are gone, but there is a note on the bed table, covered in smiley faces and hearts and doodles of dicks, and saying “Had to go to work, there’s breakfast in the kitchen and we’ve told your boss you’re not coming today so don’t worry! I’m (Harry) working night so I’ll be home at midnight (Josh owes me a ride yay!) but my (Zayn’s) lecture finishes at one so I’ll come soon. We love you xx”
When he sits on their sofa watching Downton Abbey on Zayn’s computer waiting for Zayn to get home, he makes it a game to raise the volume every time he feels pathetic.
“Hi.”
Louis jumps approximately three metres up in the air when he understands that the hi isn’t from anyone on the show, but a real person standing behind him and literally breathing down his neck. “Wow, you scared me!”
“Why’s the sound so loud? I could hear it from outside the door.” Zayn dumps his backpack on the floor and joins Louis on the sofa.
Louis quickly lowers the volume and swallows. “How was uni?”
“Great,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “Have you eaten anything?”
When Louis doesn’t answer, Zayn strolls into the kitchen and returns with a plate of cold pancakes and a sugar dispenser. “Can’t believe you missed the pancakes, mate. Though, secretly I’m glad you did so, because that means I can have a few more myself.” He finishes by elbowing Louis lightly as he sits down.
Louis leans backwards. “I’ve come to a conclusion.”
“We’li?” Zayn says with his mouth full of pancakes.
Louis nods. He hadn’t been sure if it was a solution to anything, but now that Zayn is here, he feels sure it will be. And, moreover, simply voicing it will help taking the feeling of pathetic-ness away. “I’m gonna keep hanging out with Niall and Liam, and not let this make things awkward. I mean, also for your and Harry’s sake.”
Zayn protests with a huffing sound which makes a few pancake-pieces fly out of his mouth, but Louis ignores him.
“I actually can be just friends with people.”
“Well.” Zayn swallows. “You’re just friends with me and Harry.”
“You’re not people, though.” Louis fears his smirk isn’t as properly executed as it should be.
But Zayn grins, and pushes the plate towards Louis. “The rest is yours.”
…
Louis feels a bit ashamed of himself when he, a few hours later, sits by his kitchen table in solitude – so it’s with force he types out his text message.
To: Niall; Liam
Guys I really need better contatcs names for u 2 ANYWAY would u like to come over at my place 2night for a movie night?? Zayns coming also but Harry works. If u can be here at 8 maybe? /Louis
It doesn’t take long until Niall’s answer arrives, a tiny ILL BE THERE :D and just when Louis has begun to freak out and is about to call Zayn, the screen finally lights up with a text from Liam. Id love too, shoud I bring sumthin? :)
Louis feels very accomplished.
But when he takes a look at his surroundings and realises his entire home resembles a dumpster, he doesn’t feel very accomplished anymore.
…
“Excuse me.” Louis clears his throat, and a tall guy in a bright-orange vest turns around. Louis takes one look at his striped trousers. “You do work here, right?” he asks with narrowed eyes, because mistaking a hipster for a grocery-shop clerk is something he’d never like to do again.
“Yes, can I help you?” the guy says monotonously.
“Brilliant! Well, to be honest, I’m not very familiar with grocery shops. Usually it’s my friend who stands for the shopping, but I decided to face my fear of fruit counters in the name of love.”
“Why’re you afraid of fruit counters?” The guy rests against the cornflakes pyramid he’d been working on. It wobbles.
“One of my friends once found a dead mouse amongst the pineapples.”
“Same friend that does your shopping?”
“No.” Louis shakes his head.
“All right.” The guy leans further backwards, and the pyramid falls to the ground with a loud crash. A child in a stroller starts to scream as there’s packages spreading all over the floor, and the mother of said kid frowns in the guy’s direction. “Fucking fuckpackages, why the fuck couldn’t you fucking stand where I fucking placed you, for fuck’s sake?” the guy all but howls, and the woman’s eyes widen as she pushes the stroller past Louis and him with a newfound vitality in her steps.
“Good thing her kid had such a nice set of lungs,” Louis says, trying to look at things from the brighter side.
The guy doesn’t seem to want to do the same, as he aims a kick to the nearest package, saying, “What?”
Louis begins to explain that the kid couldn’t have registered the obscenities thanks to screaming so loudly, but then an ear-splitting “Niiiiiiick!” reaches them from somewhere close, probably just a few aisles away, and Nick (or is it actually Niiiiiiick?) grabs Louis’ arm and yanks him with him away from the shouting.
He opens a door next to the jam section and drags Louis with him into a narrow, dark area.
They stand completely still so long that Louis starts to feel uncomfortable, but as he opens his mouth to say something (he isn’t entirely certain if he should linger any longer on the explanation of the hollering kiddo’s continued innocence, or if he’s going to go for the probably awkward confession that he had no idea grocery shopping was this much fun) but Nick clasps a hand over his mouth, and Louis is so surprised the guy sensed he was going to say something even though it’s pitch dark, so he doesn’t even lick the palm.
At last it leaves him. “Phew,” Nick says.
Louis fumbles in the air for a few seconds until he finds the hand that was just on his mouth. He wonders if it’s wet because of him or if Nick is the hand-sweaty type of guy – he realises he can’t decide which of these he’d prefer. “Louis Tomlinson, nice to meet you.”
Nick shakes his hand back, rather forcefully. “Nick Grimshaw, nicer to meet you. This really isn’t my best side you’re seeing.”
“Oh, so the darkness doesn’t bring anything to your features? Secret, I’m also one of those rare few who actually does look better in daylight.” He raises his eyebrows automatically, before remembering that it is just that: too dark to see anything.
“Hard to find, aren’t we?” Nick responds. Louis is beginning to like this guy. “Though I’m not only thinking of that. This hideous vest is not usually part of my extraordinary fashion sense, and I actually am not clumsy. To be honest, it wasn’t me who had built that pyramid,” he finishes with a low voice.
Louis also lowers his voice. “Well, then, who was it?” he asks rapidly. It feels a bit as though they’re in a movie.
“My colleague Andy, but he has no idea how to build things. And he chews gum. Never stops.”
Louis shudders for effect. Nick also shivers.
“Well, my friend. It seems as though we must remain in here for a little while longer. Don’t want to risk anything!” Nick says cheerfully.
“Of course not!” Louis agrees.
Nick doesn’t answer, but Louis likes to believe he’s responded by a brave, tearful smile – one that brings the audience of the movie to the conclusion that Louis is a wonderful, true friend, who wouldn’t hesitate doing absolutely anything to help his new-found companion Nick.
“So…” Nick begins. “To kill time, what kind of help did you need from me? I mean, if it was just picking up stuff and showing you around, we’re obviously kinda trapped at the moment, but if I remember correctly you said something about ‘in the name of love’?”
Louis hesitates. Did he?
“If you’ve come for relationship advice, you’ve come to the right person.” Nick’s voice merrily makes an upswing at the end of the sentence.
“How so?”
Now Nick hesitates.
“So you’ve been through a million of bad breakups and now you see yourself as a love-guru of some sort? I know the type, don’t tell me about it,” Louis quips, but finishes with a light punch to Nick’s side to show that he’s joking.
“Right in the groin, you twat!” Nick grunts.
“Oh, so sorry. Kind of forgot how tall you are.”
“More like, kind of forgot how short you are. Really, your voice is coming from somewhere like down here…” Apparently Nick is flailing his arms about, as a hand slaps Louis right in the chest.
“That’s my chest, asshole!”
“Sorry, did I hurt your boobs?” Nick asks in a falsetto.
“If I was a girl that’d be a huge compliment because thank you, I’m very flat-chested.”
“So you’re not a girl? And here I’ve been thinking so the entire time.”
“Oh, so you’re into cross-dressing? Because you sir, have been making googly eyes on my ass the moment I said excuse you.” Louis can’t stop his eyebrows from rising as he finishes, even though he knows Nick can’t see them. Such a pity.
“You never said that.”
“Should have, if I had known what a perv you are.” And there goes the eyebrows again.
“Can you please just let me give you some love-advice? This is, like, the best place for that – I just want to get a feel of how the atmosphere could be,” Nick whines.
“But I don’t need any help!” Louis protests by crossing his arms – but then he remembers again that Nick can’t see the gesture, and adds a loud hmph.
“You do! You said you needed help in the name of love.”
“I’m quite sure I never said that.”
“Well, I didn’t say I’m quoting you, I’m paraphrasing so it sounds better.”
“But –“
Nick leans closer and breathes against Louis’ forehead. “Just tell me,” he whispers.
“That’s my forehead.”
“I keep forgetting how tiny you are! Like a midget,” Nick mumbles, then apparently bending downwards as their foreheads knock into each other.
“Ouch!” Louis complains.
“Aoaoaoaoaoaooooooooo,” Nick whimpers.
“That was your fault.” Louis rubs his brow carefully. “So you shouldn’t whinge like that; you should be apologising to me on your bare knees.”
“What kind of forehead do you have that’s worth more than mine?” Nick huffs.
“Don’t insult my forehead like that! I’m really proud of it.”
“I’m proud of my forehead, too, you know!”
Louis clucks out a laugh. “With that ridiculous quiff of yours, I don’t really understand that. Sorry to have to break it to you, but…”
“I’ll have you know that my quiff is exactly similar to yours, mate,” Nick says, punctuating the last word with a jab to Louis’ nose.
“Ow!” Louis says while Nick confusedly wonders, “You’ve got a strange outgrowth in your chest.”
“Let’s not go back to the topic of my non-existing boobs. That was my nose.”
Suddenly Louis’ phone lets out a loud signal.
“Shhhhhh!” Nick half-whispers as Louis pushes him off when he’s attacking him, trying to grab the phone. “And was that really Soulja Boy?” he asks as Louis finally manages to press Answer.
“Hang on,” Louis says to the one on the phone. “Yes, that was Soulja Boy, and no, I didn’t pick it. I have a friend who likes to change my phone signal without me noticing it.”
“Same friend who found the dead mouse?”
“No, the one who does the grocery shopping.”
“Ah,” Nick answers, and Louis returns to the phone.
“Yes?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Zayn!” Louis says happily. He turns to Nick. “It’s the dead-mouse friend!”
“Oh!” Nick exclaims. “Can I say hi?”
“Sure.” Louis turns the phone towards Nick.
“Hello, I have your friend locked into a cupboard with me, and if you don’t pay me a million pounds I’m gonna eat his dick because I’m a cannibal-rapist, so please put the money in a purple envelope and leave it in an oak tree on the highest hill,” Nick rattles off.
Louis cackles, maybe unnecessarily loud, because Zayn groans in his ear again. Or maybe the groaning depends on something else. “I’ll repeat myself, where the hell are you?”
Louis giggles. “You won’t know until you’ve put the money in the tree, Zaynie!”
“Good one,” Nick says with an appreciating pat to Louis’ head, whereby a “Hairy shoulder there, mate!” follows.
“It was my head, you dumb fucker!”
“What was your head, and why am I a dumb fucker?” Zayn asks.
“Wasn’t talking to you.”
“Well. Maybe you should be, because I’m at your place, and I just let Niall and Liam in, and we’re hungry, and your fridge is empty – which I know I should blame Harry for, you don’t need to tell me, but still.”
“Oh, shit! What’s the time?” Louis doesn’t quite follow this. It wasn’t that late when he left to do his shopping, and he…can’t have been in this cupboard for that long, can he? Can he?
“Half past eight.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. There’s…eh. No, there’s probably nothing edible. I’ll bring something. Don’t let Niall eat my draperies, please.”
“Can’t promise anything,” Zayn answers. “He’s been looking hungrily at them for at least ten minutes now – no, Niall, they’re like Louis’ pets. He’s even named them.”
“Ha-bloody-ha,” Louis responds.
“I already know I’m funny, but I never say no to a reminder. Mwa, mwa, darling.”
Louis ends the call and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Nick, we can’t stay here. I have guests.”
“Invite me.”
“What?”
“Please?”
“Umm, why?”
Nick sighs, as though Louis is questioning something life-basic. Which Louis knows he isn’t, for he has learned the difference…the hard way. “Because I get off my shift in two minutes, and no one will get hold of me if I’m off somewhere, and tomorrow is my day off which means that when I get back here, this entire episode will be forgotten, and no one will be mad at me.”
Louis doesn’t understand the logic there at all, but who’s he to judge? “Nick, want to come over to my place tonight for…something?” he inquires with his best solemn voice.
“Oh, really? Thank you so much, Louis, I’d love to! Dammit, where’s your hand? I wanna shake it.”
“Here you go,” Louis says, extending his hand.
“My groin, again.” Nick squeals.
“Sorry! Though, I did come here for the grocery shopping…you know, I have to bring something to eat with me.”
“Ah, yeah, to save your draperies. How about we buy a few take-away pizzas?” Nick asks.
…
“I’ll have you all know, I had planned on a very complicated three-dish menu,” Louis informs when they all finally are perched on the floor. He and Nick just arrived with the steaming pizzas and way too much beer (but as Nick put it, “There’s no such a thing as too much beer, just pussies who think there is,” which Louis at the time dismissed as “awful argumentation; did you even pass grade one?” but repeated it by heart as Zayn’s eyebrows raised questioningly at their entrance, and Niall whooped loudly; however, the blond seemed also to be close to collapsing at the sight of the amount of beer next to the amount of pizza).
Zayn holds up a finger, swallows, and then pats Nick’s shoulder. “I should thank you, man, for kidnapping my best friend. If he had made the three-dish menu, we’d all be poisoned by now. Or this place would have been burnt down.”
“Wait, Louis can’t cook?” Niall asks, his eyes shining with disappointment. “Okay, you just sank so low in my eyes,” he says to Louis, shaking his head.
Liam chuckles. “I hope that means you’ll remove the shrine you have in his honour, then? Really, Niall, we don’t even have a TV-room anymore…” He shakes his head as well.
“Oh, very funny,” Niall says in between his laughter and chewing.
…
It’s a bit later, and just when Louis and Nick have begun to noisily worry that “no, it wasn’t even anywhere to be too much beer – it was too little! What are we gonna do now?”, when the door to the apartment swings open.
“Harryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” Louis yells and runs through the TV-room, stumbles across Niall’s outstretched body (he fell asleep after the second rerun of Brave) and jumps on top of the curly-haired, sweaty boy, who’s standing in the hallway untying his shoes.
“Hi, Louis,” he says tiredly.
“Come meet my new friend,” Louis babbles. “It’s not only you who can make friends with everyone – I can, too! He’s really nice and funny, and everyone likes him, and you’ll do so, too, and…”
He drags Harry with him to where Nick is still counting the unfinished beer bottles, now having lined them up nicely on the table, apparently in order of how much there’s beer left in them.
“Nick, meet…Harry!” Louis booms, adding a small wave with his right hand for effect.
Nick looks up, and then turns back to the bottles again. “Oh, you two know each other?”
“Nick, you are Louis’ new friend?” Harry asks.
“Yeah, met him at work today. How are you?”
“Fine, just bone-tired.” Harry sinks down into Louis’ armchair. “Crazily much to do tonight.”
Louis holds up a finger and blinks. “Wait, you two are already…familiar with each other?”
Harry grins lazily. “Yup.”
“Oh.”
“Wait,” Nick drawls, redirecting his entire attention to Harry with a smirk on his lips. “Are you the grocery-shopping friend?”
“Why, yes,” Harry answers. “Louis doesn’t know the difference between olive oil and liquid margarine, so I tend to buy things for him. Usually I cook for him, as well.”
Louis turns around and stomps out into the kitchen. “Your boyfriend is home,” he says, moping rather exaggeratedly if he’s judging by the confused looks on both Zayn and Liam’s faces.
Zayn rises from where he’s been sitting, playing cards with Liam since the two of them got tired of Brave even after the first half of it. “What’s with you?” he asks, but doesn’t stay for the answer.
Louis slides into the seat Zayn had been occupying. “Who’s winning?”
“Um,” Liam says. “Zayn, most often. May I repeat his question, what’s with you?” His eyes are, as Louis has discovered they often are, lined so that they resemble those sad, tearful ones in the manga-albums Harry insists on reading.
Louis pouts even heavier. “Nick and Harry already knew each other.”
Liam looks at him unfazed. Louis stares right back. “Oh,” Liam says, his expression quickly altering into confusion again. “Sorry if this is rude, but why’s that an issue?”
“Because I never get to know anyone first.” Louis continues ogling Liam. Then he feels his face blushing, and hides in his arms. “God, I’m so stupid. I’m the stupidest ever. I shouldn’t have drunk that much; I hate myself. What is wrong with me? This is the most embarrassing thing ever. I’m so childish. Ughhhhh.”
A hand finds its way onto his shoulder, rubbing comfortable circles there. “Hey, it’s fine,” Liam says softly.
Louis sniffs. “No, I’m pathetic. Did you know this is the second time in two days I realise that?”
“You’re not, Louis.”
“All right, I’m not,” Louis agrees.
They sit like that for a while, in silence, and Louis feels how his head begins to clear up. The hand on his back is soothing, and the soft snores from Niall, whose head is just inside the kitchen while his legs are in the TV-room, are peaceful, and Louis could fall asleep, right there, as well.
Though he kind of hates sleeping on hard furniture since it will hurt in the morning, and it’s appallingly irrational doing so since there’s a bed just a few metres away. “I wanna go to bed, Li,” he mumbles.
“Come on then, let’s get you there,” Liam hums.
“But I don’t want you to leave. You’re so warm and you smell nice,” Louis murmurs.
Liam chuckles in response, lifting Louis up in bridal style.
“And your chuckle is nice,” Louis mutters with a smile, as his face is mushed into Liam’s chest. “Please don’t go,” he says as Liam drops him on the bed. He refuses to ease his grip around Liam’s neck, so Liam’s forced down on the mattress with him.
And it makes him smile even more when he realises Liam easily could have broken free from that clutch, because Louis’ muscles are completely limp, so really, Liam wasn’t hard to convince. He pushes his nose again into Liam’s chest, and when Liam’s arms wind themselves around his body, he relaxes fully into the mattress.
…
From Kick Nick The Sick Chick
AHA! Figured out who the love-problem refers to. Still offering my help/abs/skilful fingers to your aid. I owe it to you.
From hashtagharriethashtag
Bb, ring me. Tho wait until at least 8 I HAVE to sleep in .x
From Ya Whadd Immalick youumofos
That sure looked comfy :O yano the high thing?? Not so sure bout that talkd to Liam yesterday well not so sure anymore…call me xoxo
From Payne in the ass
Thx 4 yeserday :))) and good morninggg!!!! Had 2 go 2 class sorryyyy !
From The President of the UK: Niall Obama
Hiiii! U said u had no contacts names for me and li so I stole ur phone last night ! well I don’t remember what happned really but I have a feeling I changed all ur names in tehre so u kno!!!! This is ni Ugh I don’t remember a thing fuck sorry if this messd things up for u :S
Louis clicks away Niall’s text, returns to the one from Liam, and rolls over on his side, burying his nose in the sweatshirt Liam apparently left behind. He can’t help but wonder for a second whether Liam had forgotten it deliberately, but then he shakes his head to clear the thought because that sure as hell is a strange one to have about a just-friend.
He dials Niall instead.
The blond picks up quickly, and the “Yooooooo,” he bellows into the phone causes Louis to jump.
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, I was checking twitter so I was already on my phone,” Niall explains.
“Have you never heard of waiting a few seconds before picking up so you wouldn’t sound totally creepy?”
“Eh, nah. Oh, by the way, did you get my text about changing your contact names?”
“Yeah, though I have to say they were pretty easy to figure out, so don’t worry about it.”
“Ha!”
“What?”
“That’s the first time someone told me I make sense when I’m drunk. I should have recorded this conversation, fuck...”
“I didn’t exactly say that, you know.”
“Per definition you did – don’t argue!”
“Well –“
“LALALALALA,” Niall begins to sing loudly.
Louis moans. “Niall!”
“Yeah?” He sounds so confused Louis begins to wonder if this is the first time Niall actually has had a conversation over phone.
“What are you doing today?”
“Nothing. Or I have my writing class tonight, but that’s later, yeah?”
“Okay, I’m coming over.”
“Er…”
“What?”
“Give me an hour or two.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, okay?”
Niall refuses to let Louis hang up until he’s sworn on Harry’s arse that he will wait a couple of hours. (At first Louis laughs when he hears what he’s going to swear on, but when Niall makes him comprehend that it’s Zayn’s wrath Louis will have to deal with if Harry’s arse is lost, he immediately stops chuckling.)
…
“Can I please come with you to your writing class?” Louis makes his eyes as big and sad as possible, but Niall seems to be immune (which shouldn’t surprise Louis, because when the guy’s roomie is Liam “Puppy-Eyes” Payne, he almost has to automatically be resistant against anyone who isn’t Liam).
“Nope,” Niall says, trying out snapbacks in the hallway. Louis came to the conclusion that the half an hour (he simply couldn’t wait longer than that, and anyway, Niall should be happy for an offer of a play date with Louis Tomlinson and accept it without hesitation) he had given Niall was so the lad could finish cleaning the apartment, since (which Louis found out after sneakily stealing Niall’s phone and taking it with him in to the bathroom) Liam had told him ages ago that it was his turn and if he hadn’t done it today, Liam and Katharina would have moved out.
Louis had run out of the bathroom demanding to know who Katharina was, to which Niall had responded simply “turtle.”
Louis had huffed, “Thank you very much, I don’t run that slowly.”
Niall had answered that “No, Katharina is Liam’s turtle,” and Louis had calmed down after which he had again been mad at himself for being such a strange just-friend to Liam again, while Niall had given him a long monologue on how “it was fucking exhausting to clean! Though, you should have seen me in my apron, I was looking real cute.”
“Why can’t I come with you?” Louis asks, and tugs at the papers Niall is stuffing into a notebook.
“Because you won’t like it there. And because I don’t want you there.” Niall closes his computer bag with more force than necessary and stares up at Louis from behind his snapback.
Louis gasps. “You did not just say that.”
“I think I did.” Niall opens the door. “Liam will be home in an hour or so; feel free to use the TV, the computer, and the fridge. Don’t use the oven, the stove, or Liam’s hairdryer. See you.” He closes the door right in Louis’ wounded expression.
Living with Liam surely has hardened the guy, Louis thinks in amaze.
…
There’s a key rattling at the front door, and Louis turns away from Super Mario and skips to the hallway. “Welcome home, darling!”
Liam stands frozen on one leg, in the middle of getting his shoes off. “What are you doing here?”
“What you mean, Honeybum? I’m your wife – are you hiding something from me?” Louis widens his eyes and places a hand on his chest.
“I’m pretty sure we’re not married,” Liam answers, lowers his foot, and Louis doesn’t miss how his eyes sparkle.
They walk into the kitchen, Louis still puffing about how he never thought Liam could do such a thing to him, how he thought they had something; Liam merely turns on the water-boiler.
“Coffee or tea?”
“Tea, for god’s sake. Are you planning on not sleeping, man?” Louis asks.
“Well, I do have a few things I need to read tonight, so…” Liam trails off, taking a tin out of a cupboard above him. Louis stares at his back where his shirt’s ridden up. “Would you like green tea, Earl Grey, or Rooibos?”
“Eh…Rooibos, please. Because I plan on sleeping tonight, you know.” He shakes his head again and beams when Liam hands him a cup.
Liam grins. “And here I thought marriage meant the parts should support each other. Is my wife really going to bed while her husband is working his behind off to get food on the table?”
Louis waves his hand dismissively and sips on his tea. “You’ve got the entire marriage-thing wrong, dear. The only important thing is the honeymoon, and if it’s not filled with extraordinary shagging, I’d say ‘get a divorce’.”
“You sure don’t have high expectations, do you?” Liam says, sitting down by the table. The sparkle in his eyes seems to extinguish as he utters the words, though. Louis doesn’t know why, but he starts to worry tremendously as it does so.
“No, I sure do,” he quickly retaliates. “Didn’t mean it like that.”
“All right.” Liam takes a large sip of his coffee, and begins to browse through his backpack which is leant against the table.
“What are you studying?” Louis questions, and realises how many things there are he’s never asked Liam.
“Geology and archaeology.”
“Wow,” Louis says. “Isn’t it hard?” Liam has been digging up book after book onto the table, and Louis drags one of them towards him, flipping it open.
“It is. But also fun, so I’m content enough.” Liam offers another slight smile in his direction. “What about you? What do you do?”
Louis grins. “We’ve never really spoken, have we? I mean, not even when we were out for coffee, just the two of us.”
Lines appear around Liam’s eyes again as he agrees, “I suppose that’s true.”
Louis decides right there that he will change that. “I work at an office as an editor of a newspaper.”
Liam’s eyes widen. “Isn’t that hard?”
“But it’s also fun, so I’m content enough,” Louis says, hoping he got the words right.
Liam snickers. “I get it. Hey, would you mind quizzing me on this?” he suddenly asks, already pushing a notebook towards Louis.
“Of course,” Louis says, picking it up. “Umm,” he begins, eyes skittering over the page to find something he can turn into questions. “Which are the ten reference-minerals? Hardest to softest?”
Liam squints and looks down at his fingers. “Diamond,” he says, popping his thumb up. “Corondum.” The index finger goes up. “Topaz, and…quartz.”
Louis remembers he’s supposed to check that Liam’s answers are correct instead of staring at his fingers.
“Apatite or feldspad?” Liam asks, making a clicking sound with his tongue.
“Apatite is softer,” Louis responds.
“True, true,” Liam mumbles. Then he’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t remember the rest. God.” He lays his head on the table and groans. Louis desperately wants to run a hand across the back of Liam’s head. He doesn’t.
“Hey, come on,” he says and whacks Liam with the book instead. “Of course you remember.”
“No. How do you know if I remember?”
“I just know. You can do this.” He thwacks him again, a bit harder this time. Liam still doesn’t react much. “Come oooooon,” Louis drawls.
Liam looks up from the table with a wretched pout on his face – and even though Louis has seen it before, he now understands completely why Niall is resistant of Louis’ pleading looks.
Louis would do anything for Liam when he looks like that.
“And Harry has written an ode for Zayn’s eyelashes, pfft,” he hums quietly to himself.
“What was that?” Liam asks, and Louis shakes his head. “Well, I don’t think this is getting anywhere. I don’t know enough to be quizzed.”
Louis jumps up. “Eh…I think I need to go home actually. Thanks for the tea, mate.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Liam says, and it’s his slightly hurt face that is burning on the inside of Louis’ eyelids as he marches home.
…
When he opens the door to his apartment, it smells so good he takes one step backwards, closes the door, and then goes back in again.
This time, Harry is standing in the hallway equipped with a spatula. “What are you doing?”
“I love you,” Louis breathes. “You’re the best mate I’ve ever had, and I love you so much.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” Harry mutters and returns to the kitchen without loving Louis back. Louis wrinkles his eyebrows.
“What’s up?” he asks and props himself up on the counter, happy he still can fold himself under the top-cupboards. When Harry tried that a while ago, he fell off and smashed his head on the table. Louis is pretty certain that’s where Zayn got his fear of blood from.
“Nothing.” Harry stirs the sauce with a little much more force than Louis thinks is necessary. Then again, Louis is not the cook at a luxury restaurant.
“Sure it’s nothing.”
“You never called me,” Harry says, bending down to peek into the oven. “You didn’t even respond to my text – you never do, actually.”
Louis plops down from the counter and takes a closer look at Harry, who’s now resting his forehead dangerously close to the buttons of the oven (or at least Louis believes it dangerously close, but again, what does he know). “Harry? Are you crying?”
“Do you hate me, Louis?” Harry looks up, and there are definitely tears in his eyes, which look startlingly tired.
“Harry! Why would I hate you? My goodness, Haz, what’s the matter?” The curly-haired boy is crouching his neck and burying himself in Louis’ lap. They sit like that for a long moment, Louis cross-legged and petting Harry’s hair, while Louis’s definitely freaking out a bit.
“Should I call Zayn?” he finally wonders when Harry seems to have controlled his sobbing to some extent.
Apparently, that was the worst thing he could say, for the sobs return with even greater force. “No, no, no,” Harry wails, and Louis is fairly sure there’s going to be a lot of wet marks on his trousers right in that area where they could be mistaken for so much else.
“All right, babe; I won’t call Zayn,” he hushes. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
Harry sniffs again. “You need to take the pot of the heat, or it’ll burn,” he says deep in his throat. Louis quietly does as he’s told. “You probably should eat it before it gets cold, too,” Harry snivels when the task is finished and Louis has reunited with him at the floor.
“Will you tell me what’s the matter?” Louis asks, ignoring Harry’s order. “C’mon.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Harry untangles himself from Louis’ arms, looking down at his hands and wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I’m just overreacting, that’s all.”
“Overreacting with what?” Louis stubbornly grabs Harry’s hand so he can’t rise but is forced to stay down on the floor. It feels like a better place for matters like this.
“I don’t know. Work’s just been rough lately, and I’ve been feeling really lonely, and Zayn is always off at his things.”
Louis hauls Harry closer. “You’re not alone; you should never think that. We’re always here for you.”
“I know that, but I still feel…” He seems to be tearing up again, so Louis quickly presses a finger into his most ticklish point.
“When’s the last time you slept more than five hours?” he asks quietly a couple of minutes later when they’re both panting after a brutal tickling game turned into wrestling.
Harry snorts. “Five hours? I think it’s been weeks since I slept more than three.”
Louis wants to go drown himself in the bathtub – no, wait, in the toilet since he doesn’t even deserve clean water for dying in. He’s the worst best-friend there ever was and ever will be. He’s blind. “Fuck… Harry, I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologising?”
“For failing all of my best-friend duties.” He pauses. “And now I’m doing it again. I’m so egoistic, turning this to be about me instead of you. Sorry, sorry, rewind! Argh, haven’t said anything!”
Harry gazes blankly at him.
Louis puts his hands on Harry’s shoulder. “Here’s the plan. We eat this fuck-tastic meal you’ve made, and then we go to bed and sleep like babies.”
“No, I have planned Skyping with Gemma, and then I have to help Nick drafting his –“
Louis puts a hand over Harry’s mouth. “And then,” he says loudly, “we don’t wake up until ten tomorrow.”
“Why’re you groping me?” Harry asks as Louis’ hand has left his mouth and is feeling through his pockets.
“I’m confiscating your phone,” Louis declares. “From now until ten tomorrow, you’re doing nothing but eating and sleeping.”
“Can’t I even let them know I’m not there? Not even Zayn?”
“I’ll fix it. Now, we’re eating.” Louis grins at Harry’s face until the lad finally gives in and returns it.
…
There’s a loud knock on Louis’ front door. He doesn’t understand what it is at first, but when Harry starts to slur something into his chest, he flies out of the bed and scuttles quickly to the door. Somewhere he has to stop and remove Harry’s t-shirt from where it’s stuck in his boxers, and somewhere else he realises that not only was it Harry’s t-shirt jammed in there, but the entire under sheet, and it takes a while to get rid of it – so when he finally opens the door, he doesn’t see anyone in the hallway.
However, he does spot a black-haired guy walking down the stairs a few floors down, so he hisses Zayn as loud as it’s possible, which apparently isn’t loud enough at all. Louis closes the door carefully and tiptoes down the stairs after him.
“Zayn!” he hisses again. When he arrives at the ground floor, he just sees the outdoor closing slowly, and he runs up to it, squeezes through, and yells, “Dickhead!”
Zayn stops immediately and spins around.
“Are you deaf?” Louis grumps.
Zayn makes an overlook of him, and is so obviously judging him that Louis contemplates walking back in again. “Why’re you half-naked? Also, I’m looking for my boyfriend, so I was wondering if I could put up some posters in your building. You know, those ‘Lost Harry – reward if found’ things.”
Louis is rather cold by now, so with the feeling that it’s his last triumph, he says, “He’s in my bed.”
“Figured,” Zayn says blatantly.
“If you want him back, you better give me that reward,” Louis says, shivering. “Did you know he isn’t sleeping? I don’t think he’s eating enough either.”
Finally Zayn shows a reaction. Cringing, he says, “I’ve told him million times he’s taking on too much, but he doesn’t listen.” He shunts his hands into his pockets and seems to be shrinking.
“At least he’s sleeping now. He is free today, right?” Zayn nods, so Louis continues, “Well, I’ve got work in two hours, so I should be getting ready. But why don’t you make him stay in that bed the entire day?”
Zayn sniggers. “Never did I think I would hear Louis Tomlinson offering his bed to Harry and me.”
“Hey, there are other ways to make him stay in a bed.”
“Which just shows how you and him could never work out as a couple,” Zayn states with a smirk.
Louis is trembling too much to respond anything good, so he just kicks Zayn in the shin.
…
When his Skype icon blinks with a message from Zayn, Louis gladly clicks it open. He’s sick of correcting fragments.
Zayn: hey do you have a moment?
Zayn: LOUIS DO YOU?
Zayn: I know you’re never doing anything at work anyways so why should you be doing something today!!!
Zayn: L
Zayn: O
Zayn: U
Zayn: I
Louis: for god’s sake I’m here calm down or you’ll pee yourself
Zayn: S
Zayn: THANKS
Zayn: harry’s sleeping again anyway you never called meback
Zayn: still there?
Louis: yes
Zayn: see I talked to liam when youand nick were playing fish pond from the balcony and
Zayn: I think youre wrong he cant have been high when he asked you out
Zayn: he said he doesn’t do drugs and I kinda believe him
Zayn: btw your autocorrect is much smarter than mine omggggg why this is so unfair
Louis: told you so
Zayn: but hello!!!! You missed everything HELLO did you even read what I just said
Zayn: LIAM WASN’T HIGH WHEN HE ASKED YOU OUT
Louis: brb boss is coming
Louis closes Skype and returns to the fragments. How could he be sick of them? They’re lovely, lovely mistakes, and they demand all of his brain capacity, so that he absolutely cannot think of anything but them.
…
“Where’s the champagne?” Louis whispers to Harry, who rolls his eyes in response. “It has to be somewhere; Zayn promised here’d be champagne!” He looks around himself, scanning the swarming gallery, but he cannot spot a booze-loaded table anywhere. Zayn is so going to get it if there’s no alcohol, because Louis is already starting to feel fed-up with all these people, and if there’s no liquor to ease that feeling…
He’s begun to wonder if crowded places really aren’t his thing.
As he turns back to Harry to inform him of this interesting discovery, the vest-clad lad has left, in favour of giggling with a couple of girls with very colourful hairdos. Hipsters, Louis thinks morosely, and decides that if he’s in a gallery, he can just as well try to look at the art.
He crosses his arms and marches brusquely through the groups of people, and into a side room where pictures of striped elephants with black-and-white photos of human eyes covering their mouths are practically hung up on every part of the walls. Some are in the ceiling as well, he realises with wide eyes.
He quickly backs out and halts in front of a much calmer painting – grey all over except for two red blotches in the top left corner – trying to erase the elephant-things from his mind.
Just about as he’s leaving that one as well – seriously, how long can you look at a completely grey painting? – a champagne flute is shoved into his hand.
“Niall?”
“Good evening,” the blond says while he’s refilling his own glass from a huge green bottle. “You looked thirsty,” he continues, cackling a bit as Louis swallows down the champagne in one shot.
“How did you find it? Where was it?” Louis holds out his glass towards Niall so he can refill it. “I started looking for it first thing I got here.”
“Actually they weren’t to bring it out until later, but I managed to have this bottle from the waitress.”
“You’re very talented, my dear friend,” Louis says. “I owe you my firstborn baby.”
Niall snorts. “See you,” he then says, vanishing into the horde again. Louis kind of feels as though the guy just was some kind of mirage. He clutches the flute extra hard to ensure it won’t disappear, and carries on walking by the wall hanged with different canvases.
When he turns a corner, he sees a painting of a man with closed eyes and shaved head, and very soft features. He gawps at it. Just when he understands that there’s Zayn’s signature on it, someone jabs him in his ribs.
“What?” He spins around.
Zayn stands there, with raised eyebrows and an upside-down smile playing on his face.
Louis swallows. Just when Zayn opens his mouth, Louis launches himself off in a long monologue on how Zayn easily is the best artist out of all of the entire exhibition’s participants, and how Zayn definitely should have received more space than just this single wall, and how Louis loves Zayn very much.
Zayn tilts his head forwards and looks questioningly up at Louis.
“I do love you!” Louis protests.
“Not what I meant.” Zayn grins, looping his arm through Louis’. “Why did you get stuck in front of this particular painting?”
Louis squirms to get out of Zayn’s grip. “I didn’t get stuck here. I was…tying my shoe, and just happened to be in front of this one.”
“Sure.”
Louis glances desperately around the two of them. “Oh, look! There’s that artist you’re always talking about! She’s looking at your other painting. Go speak with her, go, go!” He finishes by literally pushing Zayn in the direction of a woman with a large hat – which he, of course, hasn’t got a clue of who it really is. Then he ducks, and slinks back around where he came from.
Of course, he runs straight into someone. “Sorry!”
“No, it was definitely my fau – Louis?”
Louis blinks. He holds up a finger, listens, and comes to the conclusion that with the volume of people’s chattering mixed with the background music, Liam possibly couldn’t have heard the conversation he just had with Zayn.
Liam looks perplexedly at him.
“You’re looking dapper,” Louis says, taking in the view of Liam’s black suit. The guy’s even wearing dress shoes.
Liam blushes, and Louis wonders if that’s something you don’t say to just-friends. He really can’t remember. “You’re looking more dapper,” Liam says at last.
“Am not.”
“You are, definitely.” Even though Louis feels relieved he didn’t say something un-just-friend-sy, as Liam returned the compliment so forcefully, he kind of starts to worry for a whole lot of other reasons now.
“But you have a tie.”
Liam folds his arms and is quiet for a few seconds. “Still, I think you look more dapper than me,” he says, sounding miserable.
Louis bites his lip. “All right.” He doesn’t like it when Liam’s eyes aren’t wrinkled in the corners from grinning. “Have you seen Zayn’s works, yet?” he asks lightly.
“No, I was just on my way there. It’s just around here, yeah?” Liam takes a few steps forward, and Louis unconsciously follows. When they have rounded the corner and stand where Louis was just a few moments ago, Liam shines up. “Hey, that’s me!”
He beams at Louis, who takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t know Zayn was this good,” Liam begins, and then he hastily adds, “Well, of course I thought he would be, but I had never seen his art before.” Suddenly the grin disappears again. “Though he’s made me much better-looking than I really am.”
“No!” Louis all but yells, and Liam turns his head to him. Louis coughs wildly and takes a large sip of his champagne, which only leads to him spluttering more.
“Are you okay?” Liam asks, putting a hand on Louis’ shoulder. His eyes are narrowed, and his neck is slightly bent, and Louis is coughing so much he wonders if he could just do until his eyes would fly out.
That would be so nice.
In his bed, a few hours later, he decides that he hates exhibitions and that he’ll never go to see one ever again. He texts Harry telling him this, and gets a response not even a minute later, saying If you’re not gonna support my bf before and after he’s become a worldwide artist I’m not coming to your and liams wedding :D (you’re drunk go to sleep lou) .x
Louis deletes the message immediately.
…
“I make no sense,” Louis states. Then he ponders for a while, and continues with, “This makes no sense. Nick, c’mon, explain things.”
Nick gazes up from his phone, its screen causing his face to glow in a blue colour in the darkness. “We’re in my wardrobe.” He grins, resembling a kid making grimaces with a flashlight. “The circle is complete,” he continues in an ominous voice. “We began in another dark little room, and we’re back.”
Louis groans as loud as he can, and dips his head backward. He thumps it against a shelf. “Ow, god.” However, the pain makes his mind feel slightly less clouded. He had dragged Nick with him into his wardrobe just a few minutes ago, after jumping up from the sofa so abruptly Harry had let out a “Wha – where’s the fire?” Louis suspected only Niall had enjoyed the Top Gun that had been on, if he was to judge from the state of his fellow slumber-partiers; Zayn and Harry had been asleep, entangled in each other in a great armchair on the other side of the table – that is, until Harry had stuttered out his powerless call about the fire. Nick had been out in the kitchen, raiding his cupboards for an ice cream scoop, so that was where Louis had rushed when he suddenly had grasped he was dozing off against Liam’s shoulder, with the bloke rubbing soft circles into his side, and his smell wafting into Louis’ nose. And now, he and Nick are in the wardrobe.
“Louis, you’re very odd,” Nick says finally. “I like that.”
“I don’t,” Louis grumbles. “You’re odder, either way. A slumber party – what the hell, man?”
Nick wrinkles his forehead. “Hey, what’s wrong with slumber parties, now?”
“We’re not seven.” Louis sinks down a bit further where he’s sitting. “How did you even come up with the idea?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Nick stares at Louis.
However, then his phone beeps, and he frowns down at it. Louis prods at a thread from the hem of his sweater, and he wonders if he can stay in this wardrobe forever. Even though he’d be terribly pale after a while, with no daylight.
“Harry wonders when’s the ice cream coming,” Nick clarifies as he’s standing up. Louis follows him out, when it’s clear Nick’s not going to explain why Louis makes no sense.
“So much for a love guru,” he murmurs to Nick’s back and returns to the sofa, but this time he sits down on the other side of Niall, launching himself immediately into an animated discussion about Tom Cruise’s hotness and whether or not it’s hopelessly lost. Niall and Harry both say it is. Zayn just snores loudly, and Louis tells everyone that is Zayn agreeing with him, but Harry counters that “No, it’s just Zayn telling me he loves me in our secret language.” Louis really hopes he’s kidding, and he doesn’t at all notice how Liam hasn’t said a word since Louis returned from the wardrobe.
…
Louis hasn’t heard from Liam in almost four days. He lies on his bed and feels absolutely miserable. The curtains are drawn in front of his windows, and he spent half an hour (very well-spent, that is) searching for non-bright clothes which he pulled on before throwing himself on top of his made bed.
The upside of it all is that when he feels miserable, he turns pedantic; consequently, his apartment has never shined more than it does now.
Louis doesn’t shine, though. He’ll probably never shine again. He sniffs his armpit, and it smells like someone died in there – as though he’s suffocated a ferret and then left its corpse to rot in there.
He kind of wishes he had a cigarette, so he could lie on his back and inhale long puffs of nicotine and feel even more miserable. And he doesn’t even smoke.
However, he can’t pinpoint why this all is. Harry told him, two days ago, that Louis should just go for it, and then he made a strange movement with his hand as though he was throwing magical dust over Louis, pretending to be his fairy godmother. Louis couldn’t be bothered figuring out what Harry meant by that, so instead he locked Harry in his bathroom and told him to take a long bath, and then he hid on his balcony since Harry kept talking to him through the door.
Zayn, on the other hand, posts a lot of links to porn on Louis’ Facebook wall, as though everything’s normal, but still, he keeps throwing Louis looks as if he is a riddle Zayn has to figure out, and he does that whenever he thinks Louis won’t notice. Louis hasn’t opened his Skype since that day at work – and he sure as hell notices the looks.
Niall ringed him the day before, babbling about how he wrote “the best fuckin’ poem ever” in his class, and asked “Louis, can’t you please get it tattooed all over your chest? It’d be sooooo cool.” Louis didn’t feel miserable for an entire minute; then Niall informed him of how “Liam’s got a tattoo of a crow on the inside of his left thigh, did you know?” and Louis ended the call with an excuse that his cat was suicidal and was re-eating his hairballs, to which Niall laughed so much Louis almost forgot to actually end the call.
“I don’t even own a cat,” Louis wails into his pillow.
The pillow screams back Pussy control, are you readyyyy?
“You’ve called the death hole,” Louis says as he’s scuffled over so he can press the phone to his ear.
“Er…I couldn’t remember your port code, so…”
Louis is happy he’s already lying down, for he senses how his limbs go totally boneless, as though he’s sinking further down into his bed and all the way through it. “Liam?”
“Er…yes.”
“Twenty-four-ninety.” Then Louis ends the call and sprints into his kitchen, where he prods himself down in a chair by the table and picks up a magazine which had substituted as a covering-the-dishes-in-the-sink up until his maniac housework.
When the doorbell sounds, he barks, “Come in,” and bends his head down so he’s almost shielded by the magazine.
“Er…hi.” Liam slides into the kitchen on his socks, after shucking his kicks off.
“Hello.” Louis stays hidden by the thin wall of paper.
“Er…”
“Did you come here to throw a competition of how many times you can say ‘er’ in a minute or something?” Louis lowers the paper on the table, and glares in Liam’s direction.
Liam glances bewilderedly around himself. “Actually I…”
“You what?”
Liam’s brow creases.
Louis' does the same.
Liam crosses his arms. It looks rather impressive, so Louis quickly leans backwards in his chair, letting it stand on only its back legs, and makes his eyelids sink a bit over his eyes.
“I came here to ask you why you’re acting so strangely around me,” Liam says slowly. Somehow he makes it sound aggressive.
Louis breathes out through the corner of his mouth. “Ha! Me acting strangely! Have you seen yourself lately? You’re, like, the strangest dude there ever was.”
“Well, I’m not running off all the time.”
Louis stands up. “Me? Running off?” He quickly strides around the table and stabs a finger to Liam’s chest. “There is nothing to run off from; you’ve made that very clear!”
Liam seizes Louis’ wrist, and practically glowers when he says, “It’s you who’s been making things clear – or rather, unclear, by running off and then coming back.”
Louis takes a deep breath. Then another. Liam’s eyes are narrowed and cemented onto Louis’ face. “But there are no things; you keep informing me of that.”
“I don’t!” Now Liam inhales deeply several times. “I don’t understand you at all!”
“Well, I don’t understand you. You’re probably the weirdest person that has ever lived, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised!”
“It’s you who’s weird!” Liam yanks Louis a bit closer.
“Not me!” Louis blinks several times, the inside of his eyelids are somehow comfortingly red. “I don’t own any fucking turtles!”
“Don’t insult Katharina! At least I don’t spend hours in frigging cupboards with people I’ve never met before!”
“I had to!” Louis tries to wriggle free from Liam’s grip, but he can’t. “You are studying stupid rocks, for fuck’s sake!”
Liam’s jaw clenches and unclenches. Louis feels mesmerised by the way it looks, and keeps spitting out the words, so it will continue to move.
“You iron your mate’s clothes! You own binders and you use them! You have a dressing-gown!”
Liam’s chest heaves.
“You subscribe to a newspaper! You have a to-buy list on your fucking fridge! You have a crow tattooed on the inside of your thigh!”
Liam seems to freeze. Louis does the same, for a second.
“You have the entire collection of Alien movies,” he whispers and stares straight ahead at Liam, eyes wide-open. “You carry Niall home when he’s pissed. Your eyes resemble those of a puppy, and you laugh at my silliest jokes, and…your muscles are insane. You smell like honey and forests and you make me feel safe, and –“
Liam makes a movement with his thumb right across Louis’ pulse, and then he bends his head downward and kisses Louis.
Louis’ eyelids flicker. Liam is still holding his wrists, but he jostles his entire body as close to Liam’s as it is physically possible. Liam creates a sound in his nose, and Louis quickly opens his mouth and feels how Liam’s lips close around his lower lip.
Liam’s eyes are closed, and he smiles a bit, lips still pressed against Louis’ mouth. “You’re mental.”
“No, you are,” Louis protests, but when Liam’s hands finally release him and wander off to the curve of his back, he has to nibble a bit on Liam’s lip again, hence making the objection kind of weak.
“But I make you feel safe?” Liam whispers into Louis’ mouth.
“Kind of,” Louis replies, a blush reaching his cheeks. “But I didn’t give that away so you could hold it against me, you know.”
Liam grins. “Can’t promise anything,” he says cheekily, and Louis punches him a bit in the stomach.
Liam doesn’t even move.
“Stupid abs.”
“If I remember correctly, they were insane?” Liam asks with a glint in his eyes.
“I’m supposed to be the funny one. You’re the cute one, so shush!” Louis says and shuts Liam’s wittiness off by winding his arms around Liam’s neck; and as his fingers finally get to touch those short hairs of Liam’s, Louis covers his mouth with his own in a rather violent manner.
“Oof,” Liam says.