In A Twinkling (Larry Stylinson)

December 6 - Monday

Part 5 recap...

After winning their Sunday League footie match, the lads celebrated at the local pub. Louis revealed his brilliant plan for his fake boyfriend, but Liam and Niall had some concerns.

It's well after dark when Louis wanders into Tesco to grab something for dinner, determined not to have his sullen delivery driver, Tim, bring him his usual again this evening. He doesn't want to seem entirely pathetic and unable to fend for himself, which he absolutely can, thank you very much.

Work had been a nightmare of gargantuan proportions, which wasn't exactly unexpected, but the avalanche of emails and calls had started before he'd even rolled out of bed and hadn't stopped until he'd switched off his phone in the lift as he left the building. He'd hoped that the work they'd all done over the weekend would've helped, and it did, just not as much as he would've liked.

Consequently, he hadn't had his usual morning call with his Nan, and missing it always starts his day off on the wrong foot. Instead, he'd texted her saying he'd call tonight and it'd really been a downward spiral from that point on.

There had been no less than seven meetings he'd needed to attend, none of which were the best use of his time, Tahlia had been in a foul mood, which was entirely understandable given the workload she's being dumped with, and his favourite coffee shop had been closed due to a burst pipe overnight, so he'd had to resort to the dishwater instant crap in the lunchroom. All in all, it was total shit.

Even though he's worked flat out all day, it felt like he'd barely made a dent in the piles upon piles of tasks he has to complete by close of business tomorrow when his forced leave kicks in. Added to that, Marty had forwarded the team a stern email from HR making it abundantly clear that those people going on leave would be required to hand in their work phones and laptops before they left, so as not to be tempted (or coerced) to work whilst on vacation. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.

The bright lights and even brighter packaging in Tesco prod at his burgeoning headache as he makes his way down the aisle to the prepacked food section. He might not be getting takeout, but he's not crazy enough to attempt to actually cook something from scratch tonight. In the state he's in, he'd likely set fire to the kitchen or poison himself.

He swings the plastic basket in his hand as he reaches the display fridge, eyeing the contents hungrily. He'd skipped lunch and breakfast had consisted of two pastries in one of the multitude of morning meetings, so he's fucking starving. He's feeling pasta, or maybe a curry. Something warm and comforting at least. A single serve of lasagne catches his eye and he grabs it along with a premade salad and a couple of shrink wrapped slices of garlic sourdough.

He chucks it all in his basket and heads for the self-serve checkout, the magazine rack placed in prime position to entice easily swayed customers. Of course, his eyes are immediately drawn to the cover of British Vogue, the sultry, moss-green eyes of none other than Harry Styles staring back at him.

Louis picks it up as he waits in line, flipping through to find the spread of the man who he has inextricably linked himself to, even if only in the eyes of his Nan and his own guilty conscience.

He's stunning, as always. Not that it's any surprise. The man is incapable of taking a bad photograph.

Someone behind him clears their throat and he looks up, realising the line has moved forward, so he shuffles ahead. More queues, more lemmings.

Louis should put the magazine back, he doesn't need to drop any more of his hard-earned cash on another glossy mag when he has more than enough of them at home, and easy access to a wealth of images of his fantasy boyfriend googleable at his fingertips. But alas, that doesn't dissuade him in the slightest and he slides it alongside his salad.