Chapter Text
Turtles are damn scary.
Anyone in their right mind would agree. Louis doesn’t understand why Liam likes them, and he certainly doesn’t understand why Liam has decided to bring one to the BBC1 radio station at 6am in the damn morning. It’s flibbernous – err, it’s wrong. But apparently it’s an apology gift for Matt Fincham, who was disgruntled last month when Louis may or may not have set fire to the man’s ‘perm.’ It’s not Louis’ fault that Fincham’s usually lifeless hair had suddenly looked like it was attacking him. He was only acting under intergalactic safety guidelines. In any case, human customs are strange.
Now Louis is twiddling his thumbs in a radio station, seated across from a glaring Matt Fincham with only a tank and a floating turtle in between them. The turtle gapes at Louis, as if it understands his pain.
Beside Louis, Liam is chatting and laughing with the other 1D boys and the rest of the Breakfast Team. The ‘Breakfast Team’ doesn’t look very breakfast-y at all – not a single member is wearing a smile, for one. It’s a bit disheartening, but so are most things about earthly breakfasts.
Louis’ train of thought is interrupted when a latecomer enters the room and clears his throat. Louis looks up, sees that it’s Nick, and looks back down at the turtle. He scowls. Nick notices the look and laughs at him. He settles into a seat near Louis’. Louis subtly edges away.
It’s not that Louis dislikes Nick. It’s just that Nick is a threat to Louis’ life on Earth and the informational security of Louis’ people.
Honestly, apart from that, he’s a pretty upright guy.
See, Nick is a secret agent. He locates persons of interest (e.g. aliens) for a living. He’s on a mission to locate one right now. Nick doesn’t know that Louis knows, but he does. He knows. He knows why Nick watches Louis from the corner of his eye sometimes; he knows why Nick enquires after Louis when he’s not around, and he knows that Nick is a brilliant secret agent. But Louis is a brilliant alien, and so far, he’s one step ahead. He was quick to find out all about this country’s intelligence agency, and even quicker to locate Nick, the undercover Officer of Extraterrestrial Investigation who doubles as a radio DJ.
Nick doesn’t know that Louis isn’t from around here. Not yet, at least. And Louis intends to keep it that way.
The interview is about to start. Louis fixes his fringe, despite knowing that the radio listeners won’t actually see him. Just before Fincham presses the button that will have their voices broadcasting to the citizens of Earth, Nick leans over to whisper in Louis’ ear. Louis tenses, not knowing what he could possibly want to say.
Nick tilts his quiff and grins. “Go on a date with me?”
And, well.
Fincham’s finger pauses. Gazes dart towards them, and Louis feels his cheeks flushing red. Whisper in Nick’s dictionary still means speaking at a decibel level loud enough to attract the whole room’s attention, apparently, and Louis doesn’t understand. This must be some kind of trickery. Some hoax, some wicked plot. His mind races through the hundreds of languages in use here on Earth, and he can’t find a single one to tell him what to say.
“I, um.” The turtle is still gaping and Louis feels silly for gaping back at it. He lifts his gaze to find something or someone else to help him. Somehow his eyes find Harry’s.
Harry spends exactly 0.3 seconds assessing the look on Louis’ face before he grins. “He will,” he says to the entire room. Addressing Nick, he says, “Yes. He’d love to.”
Louis’ heart is hammering in his chest while the room seems to buzz with cheer around him. His mouth hangs open and snaps shut. But suddenly they’re on air, and Louis is left gawking disbelievingly at the cheeky, curly-haired human that used to be his favourite.
Maybe turtles are nicer than humans after all.
-
“I’m sorry,” Harry wheedles, traipsing behind Louis through the door of their apartment.
Louis will have none of it. Niall is already in their kitchen raiding the fridge – honestly, Louis could have sworn he’d left the car after them, he has no idea how he does it – and Zayn might be trying to break their DVD player. He might also be trying to watch the Mummy, but by the way he’s shoving the disc erroneously into the slot, it’s hard to tell.
Louis flicks his hair and sits at the kitchen counter. Harry slides across from him, leans his elbows on the table and gives Louis his serious look. Louis hums in irritation, avoiding his gaze. “Louis. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accepted Nick’s date offer for you. It was presumptuous and wrong.”
Louis purses his lips. “Get away from me,” he says, though it’s not so much directed at Harry as it is towards the universe at large.
Harry’s eyes widen. “Louis. Lou.”
Louis snorts. The eyes widen further.
And fucking, fucking humans. Louis can’t. “Fine, I forgive you,” he sighs, dropping his head on the table as Harry grins.
Harry shuffles around in the cupboard for something to cook, which means he’s really fucking excited. He pulls out a sealed plastic packet that apparently contains a noodle stir-fry. “So you’ll go out with Nick?” he asks, waving a wooden spoon in the air.
Louis scowls at him. “What? No.”
Harry pouts. “But I thought you liked him? That’s why I – you know?”
Louis grabs the spoon from his hand. “First of all, you know you shouldn’t have done that. Secondly, why ever would you think that I like him?”
Harry puffs. “Well, like. You always get nervous around him.”
Louis doesn’t have a response to that. It’s true. He could, of course, explain the real reason to Harry but somehow he doesn’t think “Nick’s a secret agent and he’s hunting me down” would sit well, and the boys already worry about him so much as it is. Harry worries about him so much.
This is Louis’ problem, so he pats Harry on the cheek and says, “Alright. You’ve caught me. I’ll go on one date with him, but after that no more pestering me about it, okay?”
Harry beams as if he’s uncovered a priceless jewel. “I knew it!” he crows, twirling delightedly and hurrying off into the living room to tell the others about this development.
-
Louis stares at the mirror with an air of melancholy. He wonders if this is what arranged marriages feel like. It’s Friday evening and Nick’s picking him up at eight, taking him to a “nice little Italian joint downtown”. Harry is, of course, beside himself. Louis is utterly depressed.
It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Italian food. Usually he loves it. He loves that sometimes the food is long and thin and twirly, sometimes fat and spicy, sided with crunchy bread and covered in interesting sauce. It’s not even that he doesn’t like Nick – because, somewhere in the back of his mind or the deepest chambers of his heart, Louis suspects that he does. If Louis didn’t like Nick maybe he’d be able to go into this situation with a clearer head. He’d possibly be able to figure this out. As it is, he’s living on a foreign planet and about to go on a date with the man who could completely blow his cover, and yet there’s a small, wretched part of him that is hoping Nick likes his jeans.
Everything is horrible.
Louis takes a deep breath. He can do this. He does have a bit of a plan, however haphazard it may be. See, this could be his window. It could be his opportunity to throw Nick off his trail once and for all. He’s going to go on this date and act so convincingly human that Nick won’t suspect his real identity for a second. And then at the end of the night he’s going to break Nick’s heart, as cruelly and cleanly as humans do. Nick will want nothing to do with him after that. Nothing at all.
So, Louis’ got this sorted. He just needs to work up the resolve to do it.
The doorbell rings. Louis has about three quarters of a panic attack before he hears Harry run to it. Harry opens the door with a beam Louis can feel; the vibrations of it travelling through the floors and making him sway where he stands. He can’t actually do this. He sends a telepathic scream to Harry, DON’T LET HIM IN!, and like, Louis isn’t telepathic but maybe it works because he hears the door slam. Two seconds later Harry comes bounding into his room.
Harry hovers in the doorway. “Lou?”
Louis slumps onto the ground. He rolls over until his mouth is muffled against the carpet. “I’m dead. Feed me to the oxen. Fill their bellies with the crumbs of my failed life.”
Harry’s eyes soften. He kneels beside Louis and wraps around him, picking at his clothes like a monkey. “Oxen aren’t carnivorous, Lou.”
Louis moans.
Harry nuzzles his face. “It’s okay. You really don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I can ask Nick to leave.”
Louis considers this for a moment. But at length, he shakes his head. “No,” he says, patting Harry’s chin and standing up. “I. No. I want to go.” He tries for an excited smile but fails, a bit abysmally.
Harry watches him worriedly, his mouth opening and closing as if he wants to say something. Finally he sighs. “I messed up by arranging this,” he begins. “I shouldn’t have –”
“Harry,” Louis cuts him off. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine. I’m going to go on this date and have fun, and you’re going to watch football with Niall and try not to worry your pretty little face off, okay?”
Harry bites his lip, but nods. Louis smiles. They watch each other quietly for a moment before there’s a tentative doorbell ring.
Harry blinks and Louis stares before they break into laughter. “Oh, right. He’s still here,” Harry says, turning to the door.
Louis waves him off. “I’ll get it,” he says, going out into the hallway. He opens the front door to see an awkward-looking Nick.
Nick waves. “Hi.” He’s grinning this big goofy grin; his eyes dancing. Louis likes that about Nick, how he always looks as if his mind is running with some private joke. Louis kind of wants in on it. But then, he kind of doesn’t want to be locked up in a laboratory, so he can’t give too much weight to thoughts like those.
Louis smiles tolerantly. “Hi.” He closes the door behind him and walks ahead, shrugging his coat on as he goes. He glances back. “So? Where is this brilliant restaurant you’re taking me to?”
Nick rolls his eyes. “Patience, darling. All will be revealed in due time.”
-
The walk to the Italian joint is actually rather nice. It’s so nice that Louis wants to flee to Hawaii, maybe, or somewhere else far away where Nick and his cohorts won’t ever lay their hands on him.
The moment they step out of the block of apartments, Nick procures from his jacket a single red rose. Louis knows that this is going downhill fast.
Louis stares at it. Nick smiles condescendingly. “You seem nervous, love.”
Louis huffs and grabs it from his hand. “Am not. I just didn’t realise you were bloody Shakespeare or some shit. Shit.”
It’s a cool evening. The last remnants of daylight hang around them, soft lilac weaving through knotted trees. Louis can see his breath in front of his face. Nick laughs for five whole minutes. His obnoxious, raucous laughter frightens flocks of birds away, and Louis watches them fly. Louis doesn’t even know what Nick’s laughing at, but he doesn’t want to interrupt it. It’s a process of nature, a pattern just as pretty as any on Earth. Louis is an observer. He inhales the rose scent and observes.
When Nick is done, Louis clears his throat and rolls his eyes. “Are you quite finished?” he says haughtily.
Louis straightens his collar and reminds himself that Nick is danger. Terrible danger. Major danger. Danger with a very big D.
Harry would laugh at him for that.
Nick nods. “So sorry about that,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He puts an arm around Louis’ shoulder and points to the shop window on Louis’ left. “Look. Here we are.”
Louis looks. Nick is pointing to a cosy little bistro, simply called Isabella’s. Through the panes Louis can see quaint tables and leather seats, and in the window is a tank of – a tank filled with –
Louis squeaks and emits a trill of very un-humanlike beeps before he can stop himself. He rushes to the window. He presses his face up against the glass, eyes wide. “Lorbsters?” he breathes.
Nick blinks. He comes to stand beside Louis. “Um? Yeah, they’re quite nice the way they’re done here, I’ve heard.”
“Is it – they’re really – haaaaaah,” Louis breathes in and out, momentarily forgetting that they’re on a date, and that he has a plan to stick to. He used to watch documentaries about these magnificent Earth creatures swimming around back when he was a very young Varian. He fancied becoming an explorer and seeing them in real life one day. It was one of the many childish dreams he gave up on when he got a little bit older, but now? Now he’s here, in the flesh. Nick can wait a little while longer for his bloody dinner, Louis thinks. He needs a moment.
He nuzzles the glass and sighs happily. “Lorbsters.”
Nick sounds confused and slightly judgemental. “Erm – when you say ‘lorbsters’ – you mean lobsters, right?”
Louis isn’t really listening, still transfixed, but as the words sink in Louis pulls his wide eyes away from the tank to stare at Nick. “What?”
“Lobsters. Y’know, crustaceans, will clip you nastily if you’re not careful.” He points. “Those things.” He’s trying not to laugh, now; his face knotting itself into that annoying little smirk.
“Lob?” Louis’ heart sinks inexplicably. He’s caught up in that horrible feeling one gets when one realises that one’s understanding of the universe has for a long time been very slightly wrong. “Lob... lobsters?”
Nick nods faux-seriously. “Yes. Lobsters,” he affirms.
“Not lorbsters?”
Nick shakes his head, face grave. “I’m afraid not.”
Louis almost emits a sad little peal of beeping, but catches himself just in time. The lobsters float up and down in their tank, black eyes staring at him indifferently. His knees feel weak as they walk into the restaurant. He’s glad when they sit down at a table near the back. Lobsters. His entire life has been a lie.
Nick subtly checks his appearance and touches Louis in small ways; little brushes against his hand as they settle at their table. His smile is wide and reassuring; his eyes warm and interesting. Louis studies him. He looks nothing like secret agent right now. He looks, more than anything, like a man on a date.
Louis picks up a menu and scans the unfamiliar dish names. “What are you having?” he asks Nick after a moment.
Nick is regarding the menu thoughtfully. “Bruschetta to start with, I think.”
Nick pronounces bruschetta with an accent that Louis can only guess is perfect. It makes him feel hopelessly out of his depth. “And then what?” he asks.
“Can’t go wrong with spaghetti bolognaise, I’ve always said,” he replies. “No desert for me, though. I’m watching my weight, and all.” He pats his belly. “We can’t all be gorgeous pop stars,” he sighs.
Louis frowns and pokes his head around the table to see Nick better. “Watching it for what?” he questions suspiciously.
Nick snorts. “It’s an expression, Tomlinson, keep up.” His tone is teasing, but underneath that it’s slightly fond. Louis flushes nonetheless. This isn’t going as well as he’d planned.
A waitress comes over and takes out a little notebook. “Hi, how can I help you?” she says brightly. Nick places his order and Louis says he’ll have the same. The bruschetta comes quickly. Louis takes small bites and stares at the table, feeling hopelessly nervous. He realises, quite suddenly, that he has absolutely no idea how to act. He wishes he’d studied for this. He wishes he’d never come in the first place.
Nick leans forward and brushes his hand against Louis’. When Louis looks up, he’s grinning. “You’re usually more of a chatterer, love,” he observes.
Louis blushes. “I – sorry,” he laughs awkwardly. “I must be boring you.”
Nick shakes his head. “No. I find you intriguing.”
Louis huffs a giggle. “Well. Me too. I mean, I find you intriguing, too; I don’t mean that I find myself intriguing, because who would blatantly say that? And also, the word ‘intriguing’ implies that the object of intrigue holds some sort of mystery. Which I don’t. None. I’m just. Me.” As Louis babbles, Nick traces small circles on his hand. It’s very distracting, and slightly arousing. Nick holds his gaze. Louis sighs. “Why did you ask me out?”
Nick purses his lips. “Well. I’ll be honest.” Louis closes his eyes. At this stage, he wouldn’t be surprised if the next words out of Nick’s mouth were I know you’re an alien. But they aren’t. Nick smiles sheepishly. “I wanted to get in your pants.”
Louis knows this one. He does. He thinks back to his Hibrillitune Handbook of Human Behaviour.
Page 137. When a human expresses a desire to get inside another’s pants, they are communicating that they wish to have sexual intercourse with that person.
Well. “And you don’t now?” Louis doesn’t know where the flicker of hurt comes from when it sparks uninvited in his chest, but he’s suddenly holding his breath.
“No, no, no!” Nick raises his hands. “I do! You’re looking fetching tonight. I’m going to text my friends a picture of you. In fact –” he grins mischievously and raises his voice so the other patrons can hear, “it’s embarrassing how hot I am for you right now.” Louis’ face is burning. He opens his mouth to tell Nick off before Nick continues, “But I’d like to get to know you first.”
Louis’ mouth clamps closed again. “Oh,” he murmurs, as the waitress comes over with their spaghetti.
She places their plates on the table. “Ta, love,” Nick says before he faces Louis. He looks almost anxious about it. “Is that okay?”
Louis tries to bite back a smile. “Yes, that’s okay.” He’s stupid. He likes Nick and he’s stupid, and Nick possibly likes him too. He feels like someone has torn out his own heart and placed a hummingbird’s in his body, and it’s racing so much faster than he can handle. He folds Nick’s hand in his own, smiling with a guise of confidence. “But only if I can get to know you.”
Lead him on and break his heart. That is Louis’ only real option and he’s screaming it in the back of his head. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. The only real issue in the equation is the fact that Louis doesn’t think he can.
Nick beams. He takes a slurping gulp of spaghetti and waves his fork in the air emphatically, widening his eyes in pleasure at the taste. “Mm!” he cries, eyes sparkling at Louis. “Wonderful.” A lone string of spaghetti dangles from his mouth. He flicks it away without a care, batting model eyelashes.
It’s not fine, Louis thinks, and buries his face in his dinner.
-
It takes exactly forty-five minutes to pick every bit of spaghetti out of Louis’ hypersensitive Varian hair. By the end of it his scalp is tingling and Nick has revealed a penchant for red wine. He’s giggling and almost tumbling over in Louis’ lap when he combs out the last sprig of parsley. He holds it in front of Louis’ face and whispers, “make a wish.”
Louis isn’t sure what to do, so he eats it.
Then they stumble home. Well, Nick stumbles. Louis walks in a dignified manner. Louis drops Nick in a taxi and grins as he peers through the open window. “Don’t annoy the driver.”
Nick flaps his hands. “Never! On my honour!” he announces, hiccupping before bursting into a fresh round of giggles.
The taxi pulls away, and Louis watches it go.
Then he drags himself woefully up the stairs to his and Harry’s apartment and collapses in a heap at the door.
He hears pans clattering inside. The door opens and Harry looks down at him, frowning slightly. “Louis?”
Harry has very soft socks. Louis gazes mournfully at them. “I like him,” he confesses to the socks.
They wriggle sympathetically. “Oh, love,” Harry murmurs, letting his confusion go unvoiced for the moment as he ushers Louis inside.
-
Nick wakes up with a hangover and five texts from Emma Watson.
From: Emma x
Nick did u find aliens yet
[Sent 8:08pm]
From: Emma x
Are you shagging that boy right now I swear
[Sent 9:30pm]
From: Emma x
I have a movie to shoot in a week Nick do u know what I had to do to convince boss to let you keep this case I had to cry Nick I brought out the waterworks for u
[Sent 10:05pm]
From: Emma x
Nicholas XX!
[Sent 10:07pm]
From: Emma x
I only want for you to have good things x
[Sent 12:11am]
Nick thinks it’s a tad bit unfair that his work partner is also possibly the only person in the universe capable of being aggressively sweet, but he’s also very grateful for her, so he sends her a quick placating text. I’m on it, love. P.s. a gentleman never shags and tells. He then rolls out of bed and onto the floor, where he stares at the assortment of broken alarm clocks lying under his bed. It’s starting to look like a graveyard.
Nick is very morbid when he’s hung-over. He shakes his head and combs his hair back and then gets up on spindly legs. He stretches them out, ignoring Emma’s reply (knew he wouldn’t shag you x) and flounders his way into the kitchen. He eats a plentiful helping of strawberry ice cream and contemplates last night.
Louis was... something. He is something, something rather unlike anything Nick has ever come across before. And it’s a bit shit, because Nick would like to get to know him better. But in his line of work, that doesn’t really happen.
If Nick’s being honest, he doesn’t like his job. Not his real job, anyway. He signed up for the agency when he was eighteen just because his friends were doing it. He didn’t know what he was doing with his life then and he still doesn’t know now. It’s dangerous, impersonal work and Nick sometimes wonders if he’s been hiding behind it – if he indulges in the spy lifestyle of quick shags here and there simply because he doesn’t want to consider doing anything serious, anything permanent; anything life-changing.
He would usually be fine with that. But the thing is, Nick thinks he could consider doing that kind of thing for Louis.
And now he’s frustrated because after just one date – a date that was rather botched, to be honest – all his priorities are rearranging themselves, and his job suddenly seems like less of a dalliance and more of an actual hindrance. It’s just endlessly exasperating. Nick flips his spoon, considering.
This case that he’s working on is a dead-end one. He knows it; everyone at the agency knows it. He could quit the agent thing and just be a DJ. He’s good at hosting the Breakfast Show. He likes hosting the Breakfast Show. And it’s enough income to live off. He could do it. He could.
Nick shoves the last scoop of ice cream into his mouth and twirls it around. He wants to quit his job. He doesn’t. He does.
-
It’s Saturday and they’re at a signing, and Louis can’t keep still.
‘Signings’ are human rituals where fans of their music come and ask them to inscribe their names upon albums, posters, books and pictures of their faces. Among Louis’ people entrusting one’s name to another is quite a big deal, and handing it over in a material form is even moreso. But when they took the job his bandmates had assured Louis that the fans wouldn’t use his signature against him (though they had admitted that others might) and anyway, Louis needs to be here. He needs this.
But despite the necessity of meeting and chatting with fans (most of whom Louis adores) he just can’t relax today.
“Louis,” Zayn hisses through gritted teeth after an hour and a half of leg-bouncing, three spilled glasses of water and several rounds of push-ups, “What is your issue? Can you chill? Please?”
“Sorry,” Louis says sheepishly, though his eyes are already darting between fans. One girl has a hat that looks like a ferret on her head. It’s hideous. Louis is entranced. Much to Zayn’s irritation – and the girl’s delight – Louis clambers up on the table, reaches out and tugs it. “Furry.”
Zayn mutters under his breath and goes back to signing a poster just as the security guards try to shoo Louis off the table. Louis sits back down and smiles at the girl, who readjusts her hat. “What’s it?” he asks, intrigued.
“It’s synthetic!” she announces cheerfully, and Zayn’s shoulders relax a little at that. Zayn is the sensitive type, after all. Louis beams. “Artificial. Made using fibres. No animals harmed in the making of it. Not a ferret,” he concludes, and she nods.
The guards eventually move her along, and Louis settles back into his leg-jiggling. On his other side, Liam is starting to get a bit stressed by it too. His expression is more forcedly patient that Zayn’s, but after Louis jerks his chair back so jarringly that a stack of cupcake boxes falls over, Liam sighs and turns to him.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks kindly, though Louis can sense the veiled exasperation underneath it.
“Nothing,” he lies, wriggling his feet a bit more. In truth, his bones feel jumpy and his stomach is a little unsteady. It’s all Nick’s fault.
Louis has been on edge since his date with Nick. The problem is, Louis knows that he’s falling for him. Nick is an atmosphere, burning him up. Louis knows that he’s as dangerous as gravity; that his tug feels twice as strong. He fears that he won’t be able to resist the pull.
The thought has him bouncing out of his skin, dreading an inevitable crash-landing.
They finish the signing after another hour and Louis leaps up out of his chair, sending a box of leftover posters skittering. On the walk back to the van everyone is visibly drained, and Harry keeps Louis occupied so he won’t frighten Niall, who’s still a bit on edge from the crowds.
They pile onto the van that will take them back to the complex, where they thankfully have an afternoon off to rest. As he’s climbing in Louis darts forward too fast and bumps into Zayn, who hits his head against the roof. Zayn cusses loudly and settles into his seat, glaring at Louis. “If you can’t be still, I swear I’m going to strap you down.”
Louis freezes. The other three fall silent and look to Louis, whose shoulders have tensed up instinctively. He stares at Zayn wide-eyed until Zayn seems to realise what he’s said. He immediately looks remorseful. “I didn’t – I didn't mean it like that...” he says weakly.
Louis shoots Zayn a glare of his own. “Forget it,” he spits as he scrambles into the back seat, prickly body language and angry tone disguising his racing heart.
Louis doesn’t speak to anyone after that. Not even when Niall offers him a friendly smile, and not even when Harry cuddles sweetly into his side. Not even when Zayn casts him an apologetic glance and shyly mumbles “Sorry, Lou.”
They arrive at the complex and Louis goes straight to bed for a nap, unable to muster even an ounce of the restless energy he felt so full of at the signing.
-
Louis wakes to a soft head burrowing into his blankets.
He peeks an eye open. “Hi, Harry.”
Harry grins up at him, his face covered in some sticky substance. Louis’ room is dimly lit. It’s not quite dark outside, but it’s getting there. “Hi, Louis.”
Louis yawns. “Time’s it?” he mumbles into his fist, followed by, “What’s on your face?”
Harry licks his lips. “It’s 5pm. And Zayn feels terrible. He’s making lemon meringue cakes.” Harry closes his eyes blissfully. “He’s been making them for the past two hours, since we got back, actually. They’re everywhere.”
Louis chuckles. “I s’pose I was a bit harsh on him,” he says quietly, playing with Harry’s hair.
Harry gawks at him. “Don’t tell him that. Zayn’s cakes are nice, Lou. The more of them, the better.”
Louis hides his laughter in his pillow. “So you want me to keep letting our friend bake out of guilt?”
Harry nods fervently. “It’s how we did it at the bakery,” he replies. “Boss always made us feel bad before we started a shift. He put up pictures of, like, dogs with wheels for legs. And dilapidated buildings and shit.”
Louis raises his eyebrows. “That’s disturbing.” It honestly is.
Harry flaps a dismissive hand. “Nah. One day he made me cry, and you should have tasted the croissants I made. They were as light and moist as angel’s wings.” Harry’s face glows with enthusiasm as he tells this story. Louis really doesn’t know if he’s alright, sometimes.
Louis sighs and sits up, stretching. “As touching as that is, I might go and rescue Zayn from his baking misery. Coming with?” he asks, looping an arm around Harry’s waist.
Harry raises a half-finished cake in the air. “Yes! More lemon meringue!” he affirms. In all his travels Louis has never met a single soul like Harry, and he doesn’t think he ever will. He’s just unique. Louis smiles as he reflects on this, knowing that if he could have been stranded anywhere in the galaxy, he’s glad it was with these boys.
He’s still smiling as they wander into Zayn’s kitchen. Niall is sitting at the counter and eating with gusto and Zayn is, surely enough, baking. Liam is watching it all with a helpless expression, and his eyes light up when he sees Harry and Louis. Louis slips up behind Zayn and slips his hands around him. “Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey,” Zayn murmurs back, biting his lip. He turns to face Louis. “I’m sorry about before. I was just being, y’know, snappy. I didn’t mean to strike a nerve.” His eyes are wide and earnest.
Louis smiles, flicking his nose. “It’s fine, I overreacted. Love you.”
Zayn beams, visibly relaxing. “Love you too. Are we cool?”
Louis hugs him. “Cool. Okay, good, fine, agreeable. Wonderful,” he replies, and Zayn laughs.
“You’re weird. I made cakes,” Zayn says, gesturing to the plates of small cakes that have been laid out to cool down.
Louis takes a piece and sits up on the counter. The other boys have discreetly slipped out of the kitchen and into the living room. Louis twirls his piece around in his hands, gazing at it thoughtfully. Zayn begins to tidy away the cooking utensils. Louis feels his nerves fluttering to life again. After a few minutes he says tentatively, “Zayn?”
Zayn is humming with his head in a cupboard. “Yeah?”
“Can I tell you something?”
Zayn looks at Louis and, reading his expression, comes over and hops onto the bench across from him. “Yeah, what’s up?”
Louis takes a bite of his cake, but it takes a bit of willpower to swallow. “It’s – I – um. You know how I went on that date a couple of nights ago? With Nick?”
Zayn nods, his lips tugging upwards in a smile.
Louis soldiers on. “Well. I, like. I like him.”
Zayn grins. “That’s great, Louis.” He moves, ready to hop off the counter again. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”
Louis shakes his head. “No.” At Zayn’s questioning look, he continues. “Nick’s – um.” He doesn’t know how to say this. He supposes that the blunt truth is best. He tells Zayn something he found out years ago, when he’d spied a tall, spindly young man snooping around a field in Yorkshire, inspecting debris from an alien craft. Louis’. “Nick’s a secret agent. He works for a section of the government that specialises in classified cases and espionage. His job – his mission, specifically – is hunting down extraterrestrials. He’s hunting down me.”
Louis is expecting Zayn to laugh, maybe. At the very least, he’s expecting him to look shocked and refuse to believe him. Zayn does neither. He does look shocked, yes – his eyebrows get higher and higher the more Louis tells him – but when Louis is done, he exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Yeah, okay.”
Louis stares at the countertop despondently. “Yeah.”
Zayn studies him. “So what are you going to do?”
Louis shrugs. “I kind of... agreed to date him already. Or semi-agreed. I don’t know.”
Zayn puffs air out through his lips. “It could be dangerous, Lou.”
“Yeah.”
“But you already know that.”
“Yeah.”
Louis stares at his fingers. Zayn studies him intently for a moment. Then, “I think you should date him.”
Louis looks up in surprise. “What?”
Zayn isn’t joking. His eyes are sombre and serious. “It’s obvious you’re really hung up on this guy, Lou. And although it’s dangerous, you’ve got more of a safety net here than you’ve ever had before.”
At Louis’ dubious expression, Zayn elaborates. “You know what I mean. Think about it this way – worst case scenario, he finds out who you are. You won’t let it get to that stage, yeah? But even if he does find out, they can’t hurt you. You’re an international celebrity. I don’t mean to brag, but at this moment, we’re the biggest boy band in the world.” Louis nods. Zayn continues, “For that reason, they can’t bump you off or snatch you away without causing a media uproar. Strategy-wise, you’re at the top of your game right now. And you’ve got us. Me and the boys. If anything happens to you, you can bet that we won’t stay quiet about it,” Zayn crosses his arms and nods, getting fired up at just the thought.
Louis smiles sadly. “Even so, it would be safer not to get involved at all, wouldn’t it?”
Zayn shrugs. “Safer, yeah. Better? Not necessarily.” His gaze becomes gentle. “You deserve to be happy, Lou. You can’t live in fear forever, you know.”
Louis bites his lips. “I am happy.” He is.
The thing is, though, Zayn’s right. Louis is far better off here than he was on the other strange planets he’s been to. Stranded on those, his strategy was to lay low. When he went into hiding someone always found him; when he tried to run he always ended up getting caught. When his craft went down on Earth he knew he’d need a new plan, and thus he auditioned for the X Factor. Now he’s hiding in plain sight. His celebrity status protects him more than staying inconspicuous ever could.
That thought decides him. If he’s to live as a human celebrity, really be indistinguishable from one, he needs to become one in every possible sense. And having a fling with an ostensible radio star is something a human Louis Tomlinson would do. He’s sure of it. It adds to the guise, really – the closer he is to danger, the farther he is from harm. Something like that, anyway.
Zayn waits patiently while Louis is lost in thought. When Louis looks up, he smiles. “Louis?”
Louis’ heart clenches nervously. He’s already decided, but the idea still terrifies him. “I can’t – I can’t trust him.”
Zayn hops off the counter and pulls him into a hug. “He’s not the one you need to trust.” Louis doesn’t quite understand what Zayn means, but his mind is swimming with so many overwhelming thoughts that he doesn’t pay it much mind. Louis takes a deep breath, willing himself to be the kind of person who can accomplish this. He nods, and that’s that.
-
A few nights later Louis finds himself out drinking with the boys. They’re in a highly-priced bar in the city, the kind with coloured drinks that match the upholstery and funny fruits that Louis can’t even name. Some of Harry’s friends are arriving soon. Nick’s going to be with them. Louis is both nervous and a little excited about that, and he keeps himself distracted by paying close attention to the conversation at hand. He has consumed some interesting liquids already. He’s fairly sure that he has a ‘buzz’.
Alcohol is an endless novelty to Louis. They didn’t really have it on his home planet of Varia; the occupants too busy fighting a war they were certain to lose to engage in chemically-induced frivolities. Louis sort of wishes they’d had some, now, as it seems nothing quite takes the edge off long nights and feelings of pointlessness like getting drunk does. But it doesn’t matter – he’s here now, and he thinks he’s just as absorbed by alcohol as it is absorbed in him.
Louis is already feeling heady, maybe. Harry has told him countless times that he’s a ‘lightweight’, but from what he can tell, that only makes it all the more fun. Harry has been attached to the jukebox for half an hour, and Liam and Zayn are discussing a movie that apparently has no superheroes at all. Zayn is relaying the actions of a man in the movie and Liam is nodding along thoughtfully. Louis is periodically interjecting with “and then did he save somebody?” but no one really pays him any mind. They haven’t been approached by many fans so far, and Louis is content to dozily appreciate the feeling beneath his skin.
Niall sits down at the table, grinning with drinks in hand. He places a glass in front of Louis, simply saying “Vodka.”
Louis grins at him in thanks and raises the glass to his lips. Vodka. His love. The smell is overpowering in a strange, wonderful way. He takes a few gulps and sets it down, pulling a face at the taste that spreads over his tongue.
He hears Harry calling from across the bar, “Guys! Caroline, Nick! We’re over here!” Three of his limbs are still touching the jukebox, but the other is waving frantically at some people who have just walked through the door. Louis looks over, and yes, Nick is there.
Nick spots him and waves, sparing an answering call to Harry before he comes to sit down at their table. Caroline wanders over to catch up with Harry, who smiles genteelly at her.
Nick flicks Louis’ fringe and sits across from him, grinning. “Hello, there.” Louis purses his lips, refusing to smile. Not yet.
He takes a sip of his drink and sets it down, raising his eyebrows in greeting. “Hey. How’ve you been?”
Nick’s face quirks delightedly. “Can’t complain. Especially not when I’m sitting across from you,” he says, dark eyes dancing.
He really doesn’t waste time, goodness. Louis flushes, quickly getting flustered. He takes another sip and licks his lips, clearing his throat. “Yes. Well. Sit on top of me next time and we’ll see how you feel then.”
Nick laughs in surprised delight. “I’ll take you up on that,” he promises, reaching out to grab some nachos from the bowl in the centre of the table. He turns his attention to the group conversation, then, listening as Niall tries to convince everyone that Irish people are just naturally taller than Brits. Nobody’s buying it. Nick’s eyes keep flickering to Louis.
Louis feels empowered, Zayn’s words from the other day infusing him with a sense of confidence. He reaches over and plucks some nachos from the bowl, letting his hands brush against Nick’s. Nick watches as Louis eats them and licks his fingers. Louis licks his lips as well, probably unnecessarily, and lets his gaze meet Nick’s. He smiles and shrugs, taking another sip of vodka.
The vodka is doing things to him, as he knew it would. He feels hot all over, but it’s not an unpleasant thing. Louis leans over and murmurs so that only Nick can hear him. “If no one else was here, I’d ask you to fuck me on the table.”
Nick chokes on the drink he’s currently sipping and Harry, who’s just come back to the table, calls him a greedy ape. Nick raises his eyebrows at Louis, looking both discomfited and pleased. Louis feels a smug smirk pull at his lips, and allows it.
-
As the night wears on, Zayn keeps a vigilant eye on Louis and Nick. That morning Louis had told the others what he’d told Zayn. They’d all reacted with varying degrees of concern. Louis was determined to make this work, though, and Zayn supports him in that. But he’s still protective of the older boy, and he knows that much of Louis’ current confidence stems from the knowledge that the band is here to back him if he needs it. Unbeknownst to Nick Grimshaw, Zayn is analysing his every move.
Louis has been getting steadily more intoxicated over the course of the night. Zayn should probably have stepped in at some point, but it’s too late by now. Something about Louis’ physiology makes alcohol have a stronger effect on him than it does on humans, and Zayn had miscalculated. In any case, Louis has now been cut off.
Louis is cuddled up with Nick in the corner of their booth, giggling drunkenly into Nick’s shoulder. He’s poking Nick’s face in various places. Nick, who hasn’t had much to drink himself, looks caught between annoyance and fond exasperation. Nick eventually catches Louis’ hand and licks it, earning an indignant whine from the boy.
Louis murmurs something quietly to Nick, and Zayn subtly edges closer. “...bet you’re really big,” he’s saying unabashedly. Eugh, Zayn does not need to hear this. “Bigger than this whole planet, bigger than –”
Zayn kicks Louis hastily under the table and retreats back to Liam before Louis can retaliate. Shit. It dawns on him, like, really dawns on him just how dangerous this could be for Louis. He knew before, but. He’d seen how lonely Louis could get sometimes and just wanted to help. Maybe he’d misjudged this whole thing. He exchanges a worried glance with Harry, Liam and Niall, nodding his head in Louis’ direction.
Louis frowns and tips over to peek under the table, confused as to what could have attacked him so suddenly. He struggles when he tries to get back up, and Nick laughingly uprights him. Louis turns to him with a grateful expression and leans up to slur something in Nick’s ear. “Let’s dance?”
There’s a spacious dance floor up the back, with pulsing music and obnoxious colours. Nick nods, stands and offers Louis a hand. Louis takes it and tugs him impatiently towards the dance floor, nodding his head along to the electronic sounds.
-
Louis is dazzling on the dance floor. Nick imagined that he would be, but not quite like this. He presses against Nick insistently, somehow managing to make it all seem coy. He’s got little hands on Nick’s waist and a warm mouth on Nick’s neck, lapping at the slightly sweaty skin.
He’s also adorably drunk, and Nick keeps a careful arm around him. He’s concerned – though not as much as Louis’ little friends, judging by the looks they’re giving him – and he just, he doesn’t want any of this to go wrong. He doesn’t want Louis to have an accident, so he keeps a steady grip on him and takes note of the lounges nearest to them.
“Wish you could see it,” Louis whispers against Nick’s skin. He’s been murmuring unintelligibly for the past ten minutes now, but Nick just smiles and nods along. It’s a bit funny, and it’ll be even funnier when he gets to tell a more embarrassed, more sober Louis about it later on. “Nicest place, Nick, an’ now it’s allgone.” He sighs. “Would’ve loved to take you there.”
Nick cuddles Louis closer to him. “I’m sure you will, darling,” he murmurs soothingly into Louis’ hair, though he has no idea what he’s on about. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”
Louis shakes his head, frowning slightly. “You don’t understand.” He sighs again. “You won’t understand.”
Louis is clearly reaching that stage of drunk where thoughts turn strange and morbid, and Nick isn’t sure that Louis Tomlinson would be quite alright with him hearing his darker thoughts. Not like this, anyway. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassures him, though he really has no idea if that’s true, judging by the sounds of things. “There are other places, yeah? I’ll take you to all the pretty places in the world.”
He seals that promise with a kiss to Louis’ forehead. Goodness, he’s turning into a sap. He absolutely cannot tell Emma about this. She’d be so proud.
Louis smiles sleepily. “Thanksmick,” he mumbles, right before he passes out in Nick’s arms.
“Oh! Okay. Oopsiedaisies,” Nick exclaims, manoeuvring Louis in his grip and carrying him over to the closest lounge. Harry spots them and rushes over.
“What happened?” Harry demands as Nick deposits Louis on the cushions.
Nick smiles and pets him on the head. “Calm down, crumpet, he’s just passed out is all. Will you keep an eye on him while I fetch some water?” Harry whines at the petting but nods, and Nick lopes off to get a pitcher of water. He’s back in seconds, kneeling beside Louis. “Louis?” he says gently.
Louis stirs, thank goodness, and eyes Nick dazedly. “Uh?”
“Got to get some water into your system, love. Here, lean up – let me help you – there, there you go.” Louis manages to drink some water, and Nick feels his own shoulders relax as he does so. He doesn’t get worried, is the thing, but he worries about Louis so much that it scares him.
Nick thinks his relief is probably palpable when Louis gives him a small smile and mumbles “M’hero.” And wow, sober Louis is never going to live that one down.
With Harry’s help, Nick scoops Louis up and begins to walk him out. “I’ll hail a taxi, take him back to yours,” Nick explains.
Harry is watching him curiously. At Nick’s questioning expression, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Err – will you stay with him for a bit?”
Nick doesn’t understand why Harry’s being such a cautious pet thing, gosh. He rolls his eyes. “Of course, Harold. Anything for you and your little terror.” He says terror so fondly that Harry doesn’t even look offended. In fact, he looks slightly pleased as Nick helps Louis out the door.
Boy-banders work in mysterious ways. Nick generally doesn’t bother questioning it.
-
Louis walks out of his bedroom at 11:30am the following morning, hungover and swamped in jumpers, to find a sleeping Nicholas Grimshaw on his lounge.
He hesitates, confused. Harry is still asleep in his own room, so Louis can’t ask him why Nick is here. He vaguely remembers dancing with Nick last night, and he remembers flirting a lot, and he remembers someone saying something about water. But that’s about it.
Louis is about to poke Nick with his foot when Harry walks in. Harry takes in the scene before him and motions for Louis to stop, so Louis lowers his foot. “What?” he mouths.
Harry pulls him into the kitchen. Once Harry gets two hands on someone it’s not quite enough for him, so Louis is enveloped in a sleepy morning cuddle before he can protest. “What is it?” Louis questions, curling his arms around Harry and nosing the younger boy’s hair.
Harry hums sleepily. “I just wanted to say that, like, I think Nick’s a good guy. The boys and I were worried last night, and we were thinking that maybe we were wrong to encourage you. And you were completely shitfaced, too.” Louis scoffs. “But you should’ve seen him, Louis. He really cares about you. I don’t think he’d do anything to hurt you.” He beams bright-eyed at Louis and nuzzles his face. “You have my blessing. Our blessings, me and the boys.”
Louis tries to think of some witty one-liner to downplay this, but Harry is too sweet and he’s too hungover and he can’t. “Thanks,” he whispers.
“Hmm. Love you,” Harry murmurs, and his hug shifts from affectionate to attached. “Make me some waffles?” he asks sleepily.
“I can’t cook,” Louis replies. Harry grumbles until Louis goes to the cupboard. “We’ve got pancake mix?”
“Turn ‘em into waffles,” Harry says unhelpfully. Louis snorts. “Really. Use a magicka-thingemy,” Harry insists, and Louis doubts that he’s properly awake.
Just as Louis is considering prying Harry off with a spatula, Nick walks in. He’s shirtless. Harry smirks. “Nick!” Harry cheers. “Nick can cook!”
Nick purses his lips at Harry fondly. “That I can. Good morning, Harry, pesky as usual, I see.” He looks at Louis and his expressions turns soft. “Morning.”
“Ohuuuhuhouou, morning,” Harry says gleefully, pulling a mocking expression and taking his evil self over to the stove. He waggles his eyebrows at Louis and mouths “get some.”
Louis pretends not to understand him. He smiles at Nick. “Morning. Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
Nick grins. “No worries, really. I had to practically drag your hefty body up several flights of stairs because the elevator was out of order, but y’know. I rowed in high school, so it wasn’t hard.”
Louis gasps indignantly and Harry cackles, spilling some chocolate cereal puffs that have found their way into his mouth. “Gross, Haz. And I am not hefty,” Louis hisses, shoving Nick away.
Nick raises his hands, pacifying. “Kidding, love. And for the record you’d be gorgeous even if you were.” Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles. Nick knows he’s forgiven. “Anyway, I’ve got the morning off because the station’s doing some odd special, and it was late when we got back and all, so I kipped here for the night. I hope that’s okay?”
He looks genuinely concerned that maybe it’s not okay, and Louis can feel himself blushing. He rolls his eyes again. “Of course it’s okay, you dope.”
He’s all red and Nick’s just grinning at him and he wishes somebody would do something. Harry sees fit to throw cereal all over everyone, cheering “Yay, everyone’s okay! I have a hangover, let’s watch a movie.”
So they do.
-
They watch the first Harry Potter film and Nick sighs at the juvenility of it all, but Louis knows every word of by heart and he spends the whole time talking along with the characters. Harry dozes off and splays his legs all over both of them. By the end of it Nick is paying full attention. He smiles when Louis turns to look at him, rapt.
“I love this movie,” Louis breathes, and Nick chuckles.
“I can see that, love.”
Louis shakes his head fervently. “No! I love it. It’s a stroke of genius, it’s so – it’s just genius.” He’s breathing harder than he should be, just from watching the story world come to life on the screen.
Nick still looks a bit sceptical, but he humours Louis anyway. “I know it is, and if you like it then I do to.”
Louis scrambles closer and puts his feet in Nick’s lap. “Who’s your favourite character?”
Nick snorts. “Is this an interrogation? Her-mee-own.” Emma always gets exasperated when he pronounces her character’s name wrong. It’s endlessly entertaining.
Louis gapes at him. “It’s Hermione!” he splutters after a moment, aghast. “She’s literally one of the three main characters, how could you not know?”
Harry shifts in his sleep. Nick rolls his eyes fondly. “Just stirring you up, love,” he amends. “Can we order some pizza? I don’t feel like moving.”
Louis sighs long-sufferingly and nods, reaching for the phone and the pizza voucher booklet that’s always kept alongside it. It’s easy, this. It’s strange how he and Nick seem to have fallen into step so effortlessly. Louis stretches out and dials the pizza parlour number, thinking Yeah. I want this. This is nice.
-
Over the next few weeks Louis has no free time, absolutely none. It’s strangely erratic, the life of a pop star. Louis had thought that having a steady income and a secure home might bring some stability into his life, and it does. But not by much. There are still days when he wakes up and his world is spinning. And even though someone in an office somewhere has the next few years of his life planned out to the minute, Louis doesn’t know where he’ll be tomorrow at all.
Judging by the few texts he’s exchanged with Nick, it seems that his life is just as busy. Nick never talks about his job at the agency, of course, but the radio station has big plans for him and Nick complains about his tired bones in almost every text Louis gets. He seems to find a new metaphor for his general disgust at everything in each text, too, which at least keeps Louis giggling through the long rehearsals and longer conferences.
Louis and the rest of One Direction are called to LA, where they’re to fit in some recording before their tour begins in a month. They’re there for two full weeks before they’re thrown on a flight back to England. Louis plays with his phone for most of the flight, while the other boys fall asleep one by one.
Liam is the last to doze off, thirty minutes before touchdown. Louis is adjusting a blanket around the sleeping boy when he gets a text.
He presses his phone and sees that it’s from Nick. He frowns, opening it.
From: Nicholas
LOUIS I’m in trouble, need ur help :(
[Sent 3:13a.m.]
Louis’ heart jolts in fear and he grips the seat handle instinctively. Knowing Nick, ‘in trouble’ could mean anything from being scolded at the radio station to being mortally wounded whilst on his other, more dangerous job. Louis’ sure it’s the former, but anxiety spikes in him anyway. Gritting his teeth, he texts back.
To: Nicholas
In trouble??? Please elaborate???
[Sent 3:14a.m.]
Louis clutches the phone like a vice until it vibrates with another text. He hastily opens it.
From: Nicholas
Pipe in the kitchen broke, my damn house is flooding.
The police laughed at me when I called them.
[Sent 3:16a.m.]
Louis lets out a sigh of relief. Nick is rather horrid. Annoying. Insufferable. He rolls his eyes affectionately and texts back.
To: Nicholas
Will be there in about forty minutes; try not to drown yourself in the meantime. x
[Sent 3:17a.m.]
He receives an answering text a few minutes later.
From: Nicholas
Thank u please hurry, my slippers are ruined :( they’re Egyptian cotton :(
[Sent 3:20a.m.]
Louis presses his lips together, fighting a smile. For a secret agent Nick is really rather helpless.
-
“Nick?” Louis taps loudly on Nick’s front door. He’s only just arrived at the address Nick sent to him in a panicked text. Dawn is beginning to spill into the sky, and water from Nick apartment comes out to greet Louis’ feet. He hasn’t slept. “Nick! Can you hear me?”
There’s a brief silence and then, “Coming!”
A few crashes sound from the house, and Louis steps back as the door is flung open. Nick’s there, hair wild, a manic look upon his face. His eyes widen in something like relief when he sees Louis. “Oh, thank goodness.” He practically throws himself into Louis’ arms. His clothes are damp. His jeans are rolled up to his knees. “The rug’s gone. Louis, the rug’s gone.”
Louis stifles a laugh and pats his back. “Sshh, it’s okay. Show me the damage, then.” He offers his arm and Nick drags him along, traipsing through the house and into the kitchen.
There are a few steps leading up into the kitchen, and water is gushing down them. The water level reaches just above Louis’ ankles. He takes his shoes off, places them on a chair and surveys the state of the room.
Nick has moved all the electric cords up high, thankfully, and switched the power off at the main switch out the front. Nick tells Louis this as they wade around. He’s also moved all the easily movable things up high. But the pipe is still gushing, seemingly irreparable. Nick informs Louis that he’s tried to fix it with duct tape, and Louis giggles a bit. He squats down to peer into the cupboard under the sink, where water is still gushing from the faulty pipe.
Nick squats down next to him. Louis clicks his tongue. “Right. Have you tried calling a plumber?”
“They’re all closed at this hour,” Nick replies.
Louis hums. “Okay. I think we can mend this.” He can see the problem, maybe. He pushes his hair back and rolls his sleeves up, crawling halfway into the cupboard to get a better look. “Aha!” he announces.
“Did you work it out?” Nick says anxiously.
“No. Not yet.” Louis wriggles over. “Here, squeeze in. I want you to hold this section of the pipe steady, yeah?”
Nick takes the pipe segment Louis is talking about and holds it firmly with both hands.
“Good. Now, I’m going to twist this section and push it with my shoulder, and you’re going to keep holding that. And then I’m going to tug really hard and try to pop it back into that section, okay?”
Nick nods. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Louis purses his lips. “Okay.” He grabs his section of the pipe and twists it roughly back into the angle he’s sure it’s supposed to be in. Water sprays Nick in the face and the man splutters. Louis takes no heed, and instead shoves the pipe backwards. He misjudges and slips, landing in the water with a splash. He knocks Nick, who falls alongside him.
“Louis!” Nick roars, though he’s laughing. Louis cackles, almost taking in a lungful of water as he does so. “Shit. Sorry.”
Nick looks up at Louis. He’s drenched in water and his hair is messy. Grease from the pipes is smeared over his cheeks. He looks about as sleep-deprived as Louis feels, laughing with a note of hysteria employed only by the restlessly tired. Water is pouring over them, fuck; it’s crashing over them so quickly that Louis feels half-crazy. But Nick’s brown eyes are dancing with amusement and even as bedraggled as he is, he’s gorgeous.
Louis grapples for Nick’s shirt in the rushing water. On finding it, he tugs Nick closer and kisses him.
Nick’s mouth is warm and his tongue is eager. They’re wet and messy and the house is literally falling apart around them, and Louis thinks this moment is perfect.
The water pouring over their faces makes it hard to continue, so after a few seconds they both pull back for air. A pleasant flush has graced Nick’s cheeks. “Errm. I mean, ahem. The plumbing?”
“Oh!” Louis bounces upwards, nearly hitting his head on the cupboard’s frame. He scrambles back into place and grabs the pipe, pulling it madly. “Nearly... nearly...” The pipe pops into place. “Got it! Nick, your section!”
“Right!” Nick springs into action, wrestling with his pipe segment and pulling it towards Louis’. Louis pushes his with a grunt and Nick does the same, successfully shoving it in.
The pouring stops. Nick grabs a roll of duct tape and wraps it around the two segments, binding them together. Louis darts forward and turns a little tap at the back of the cupboard. It turns far too easily for a moment, and then it works again.
Louis sits back, stunned. “We did it.”
Nick sloshes over to Louis on hands and knees. He kicks the cupboard door closed with one foot. “I’ve no idea how, to be honest.”
Louis snorts. “Your face is dirty.”
Nick grins, catching Louis’ cheek in his hand. “So’s yours.” His eyes are bright; inviting.
Louis kisses him. His jeans are soaked through; eyes aching from exhaustion, and he kisses him. Morning light is filtering into the kitchen and he kisses him. They’re in a little house in London and early morning light is filtering through the cracked window into the cold, flooded kitchen, and he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
Louis could get used to saying that.