larry- one shots

adrenaline

here's a thick shadow over the dusty pub floor where a panel of wall separates the two big windows from each other.

The setting seven o'clock early September sun sears too hot against the back of Louis' head. When he lifts his hand to feel over his hair, it burns hot and only reminds him of the headache pounding from the inside of his skull.

He picks up his glass and takes a long swig, then grimaces, taking another gulp. Adam smirks at him from where he's swiping a cloth over the pub counter.

"Still feeling last night, eh?" he observes a little too pointedly, swinging the cloth back over his shoulder. He collects two empty glasses from the last costumers. The pub is nearly empty, Wednesday's wealthy patrons having filtered out for an expensive meal elsewhere. There's not a college student in sight, and that's just how Louis likes it.

"Maybe," Louis replies grimly. He swipes his finger through his beer foam. "Thought it would take the edge off; I think it's only making it worse."

"You can't fight fire with fire," Adam tells him, amused, and puts a full glass of ginger ale down in the place of Louis' beer.

Begrudgingly, he accepts it, and downs half the glass. His headache eases slightly.

"Should probably move out of the sun as well," Adam suggests, with a nod at the violent glare bouncing off the frames on the wall. "That surely can't help much."

Louis shrugs a shoulder and doesn't move.

They've known each other long enough for Louis to know Adam has his best interests in mind, but there's always a tiny sense of caution that's stayed with him since they first met, when Louis was a freshly homeless Berklee dropout and Adam was a brewery intern in Harvard Square. Even still, he's wary of anything the man advises, but he thinks that's just because he's a stubborn bastard who doesn't like to listen to anyone.

"Anything unusual planned for tonight?" Adam says conversationally. There's an ounce of warning in his words, as if he's scared Louis will do something drastic like the night he let a group of drag queens DJ and the party didn't end until six am.

"Not that I've set up," Louis answers coolly. It's not a lie. He never anticipates anything unusual, but unusual things seem to always manage to find their ways to him.

Adam only hums, then ducks through the back door with his hands full of empty glasses.

Louis presses his cold palm to his forehead. Tired. Headache. Hot. He figures a good lay will do the trick. It's been a while, anyway. He doesn't usually like to take home boys from Adrenaline but he's got to live a little, right? Being a nightclub owner isn't easy.

"Adam?" he calls. "Am I a bad person?"

Adam, behind the door, laughs, and doesn't say anything.

He disembarks down the back stairs when it's quarter to eight, after bidding a goodnight to Adam and receiving a good luck in return. It's a beautiful night of pink tinged clouds and golden light, which means everyone's spirits will be set high to begin with. Zayn is already downstairs when Louis pushes through the heavy single door; he's standing behind the bar meticulously arranging the straws just so.

Louis prides himself in the cleanliness and organization of his club. The space he has isn't large--it only covers about three quarters of the pub's floor space, and there's a pilar smack in the center to hold the goddamn ceiling up--but the setup is minimalist and tidy. There's a bar near the entrance, and the entrance is always guarded by a bouncer, and the list of attendees is short and sweet and never past seventy.