larry smut

home is where i lay my head

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730240?view_adult=true

~✰~

L O U I S

It's Monday morning and Louis feels like dying. Last night the team (mainly Niall, Zayn, and Liam) dragged him out to celebrate their victory in the match they played against Barcelona.

(The match was last week.)

They had gone to Tiger Tiger in Leeds and Jesus, Louis doesn't think he's ever been so drunk. There's definitely going to be pictures in the papers. He can almost certainly guarantee that there are shots of him circulating the web already.

PR's going to kill him. He blames Niall and his luck of the Irish for being able to hold more than half his weight in alcohol so well. Damn Irish. As the clock seesaw's into view, Louis rubs the sleep out of his eyes and winces at the bright light. 9:39 am, the clock reads.

Louis groans and drops his head back onto his pillow. He shuts his eyes and wills himself to fall back into a blissful sleep where the hangover can't touch him. Minutes tick by and he's still not awake.

"For fuck's sake," he growls, shoving himself upright and pausing as the room spins and his stomach turns. He waits for a full three minutes before slowly, ever so slowly, creeping out of bed, stuffing his feet in his expensive UGG slippers (oh shut up, it was a gift from Perrie - the blonde slash pink haired girl from next door that smells like ginger nut biscuits and cigarette buds) and pads downstairs to the kitchen.

The sun shines brightly in his eyes, too bright in his opinion for it being 9 in the fucking morning, so he snags a pair of sunglasses that his mum or one of the girls probably left behind last time they were there, and slides them on, moaning gratefully as the lights are dimmed.

His phone is on top of the microwave and when he opens the cutlery draw to find a spoon, he's surprised to find none. Instead a sticky note is in place where the utensils should be, in a very familiar writing, stating that all the spooons have been taken hostage u have 1 hour 2 find them.....or else they DIEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

Louis rubs his temple, unlocking his phone and going onto his contacts, tapping away.

Niall. This isn't funny. Where r the spoons!!!!

He clicks send and switches the kettle on, grabbing a mug and the milk. His phone beeps.

HAHAHAHAHA THAT'S SO FUNNY !!! BUT IDK WHAT YOU'RE TALKIN BOUT M8

He lets out a huff, fingers flying as he rapidly replies.

I swear to god u little shit, I NEED my coffee!!!!!!!!

Niall rings instead of texting back. Louis has to hold the phone away from his ear as Niall's laughter screeches through the phone. He goes on the hunt for some Paracetamol.

"Niall," he whines, nearly crying when his fingers find purchase on said Paracetamol box. "I need coffee,"

Niall lets out another laugh, Louis wincing at the sound. It's way too early for this stupid shit. "Under the sink."

Louis practically sprints over and lets out a yelp of happiness to which he immediately regrets, clutching his head. "Thanks, mate, but I'm still gonna get you back for this."

Niall snorts, "Alright then, looking forward to it."

Louis mentally flips him the bird and hangs up. He makes himself his coffee and takes the tablets, sinking into the sofa happily. He burrows himself under a blanket that's draped across that back of the sofa. Damn it's cold, where the hell has the heat gone? He wriggles deeper into the mass of cushions, which helps a lot more with the heat problem and switches on the TV. He surfs through various different channels before settling on the F.R.I.E.N.D.S marathon that's on Comedy Central.