Gods & Monsters

Chapter 9 (Part 4)

Liam settled his burnt eyes onto Louis. "Alright," he'd managed in a strangled growl, before properly stomping off to the bathroom, looking oddly close to being emotionally distraught. It was only momentarily unsettling, though it did freeze the gloating, amused smirk on Louis' face.

But any emotional fragility was gone the minute Liam returned, toweling off his hair with quick, jerking movements as he promptly turned on his music to a decibel-shattering volume, erasing any possibility for conversation. He hadn't mentioned it again, even when Louis tried to peel it out of him, hours later.

Instead, he's taken to being a little bitch. And now Louis is stuck with him.

Excellent evening, all in all.

"This is about Niall, isn't it?" Louis asks flatly, adjusting the lay of his mask. It's fucking up his hair. But he's diligently refusing to think about that.

Liam's face hardens infinitesimally. A tense moment shifts between them before he finally responds.

"Couldn't do one fucking thing could you?" he growls under his breath, still searing his glare out into the crowd, refusing to look at Louis. If those intensify any more, he's going to give Cyclops a run for his money. The Gala will be ruined, the guests will be dead.

Louis takes a hard, fruitless sip of his flask, wishing more than anything that he had the inborn ability to produce wine from air. That would be nice. That would make the world nicer.

He sighs, screwing the cap back on and following Liam's petulant gaze to the two little clowns in the corner. Niall's scratching the back of his neck and not-so-subtly craning it to look at Zayn while Zayn is standing rigid with his arms limp at his sides, eyes darting very obviously sideways, to Niall. It's so awkward that it's surpassed cute and is just painful.

Still, Louis holds back a laugh.

"Liam. Look at the way Zayn's looking at him. Go on, really look," he says sternly, gesturing towards them.

Immediately, Liam hisses, shoving Louis' arm back down. "Don't point," he reprimands. "Don't draw attention to them!"

Louis rolls his eyes, unable to give one fuck. "Sure thing, boss. But look, yeah? Shut your gob and look."

A terse moment passes between them—one filled with Louis sending his own glare onto Liam (who still won't look back)—before Liam's jaw finally clicks and he slowly settles a lingering gaze upon the pair, watching them closely. Zayn, specifically.

All but seven seconds pass (Niall just tried to make a joke, it seems, because Zayn has, quite literally, squawked out a laugh and now looks painfully uncomfortable and self-conscious, if a little bit encouraged) before Liam snaps his gaze away, a stubborn set to his mouth.

"Yeah, what about him?" he grunts, folding his arms. Unhappy prince.

"Liam," Louis says, eyes accusing and tone chiding.

Liam haughtily looks away, nose in the air.

"Li-am," Louis repeats, firmer, and it sends a rolling sigh through the other boy, his arms unfolding and dropping to his sides.

"Yeah, so what?" he questions dully, obviously put out. "You know, you were the one that was supposed to take care of Horan. You were the one I told to do this. First Styles, now Horan—what the fuck has been going on with you?"

A small streak of self-consciousness zips down Louis' stomach before he squishes it, propping up one brow. "Don't pin this back to me, Liam. This is a whole 'nother thing. This is beyond my control. Just look at the pair, will you? Look at Zayn's face. Look at the way he's looking at that kid." Liam looks like he's just sucked on a lemon. "Did you honestly want me to upset that? You know Zayn hates our game. I'm not doing that to him. I may be a right bastard and a ruthless piece of shit, but I wouldn't fuck with our Zayn like that. Not when he's taken such a liking to the bloke." He pauses. "And you wouldn't, either."