Louis' eyes have been open for all of two minutes when Niall quite literally bursts in through his bedroom door, sending it banging into the wall behind it. Happily humming a tune, and wielding two garment bags, he looks more like he's filming an upbeat breakfast food commercial, than barging into someone's room unannounced and uninvited.
"Morning Tommo, didn't think you'd be up yet," he booms cheerfully, laying the bags over the back of the desk chair.
Tossing back the covers and swinging his legs down to the floor, Louis glares at him, "Awfully fucking loud for someone who thought I'd be sleeping, aren't you?"
Niall, in true Niall fashion, flounces back out of the room, not paying Louis a second of attention. He goes into the kitchen if the sound of slamming cabinets is anything to go by. He's probably searching for the blue mug that he likes to use. It's in the dishwasher at the moment, and if Louis was feeling nicer he'd tell him, but the rather rude wake-up call has soured his mood a bit.
Louis shuffles into the kitchen in socked feet, just in time to see Niall give a little shrug that translates to fuck it, I'll use another one , and pour himself a cup of tea. Rounding on Louis, he never drops his smile, "Picked up your favorite suit from the dry cleaners."
Louis pushes past him to get a mug, giving him an extra shove for being so annoyingly awake.
He pours himself a cup with a scowl, "I don't have a favorite suit. All suits are cut from the devil's cloth, and created for the sole purpose of stealing the liberty from a man until he's ready to jump from a building."
Niall nods along, unperturbed, "Well the one that enslaves you the least, then. Are you going to do your hair yourself or is Lottie going to come to do the swirly thing?"
"I don't know," Louis grumbles, taking another tentative sip, "How rich are these people that you are forcing me to socialise with?"
"If it weren't for me forcing you to socialise, you'd grow roots into the fucking couch, and I'd end up having to plant you in the garden," Niall states, sounding far more like an old Irish Nan than any 23 year old has the right to, "And very, very rich."
"Root vegetables would probably make better company," Louis grumbles.
Turning to get the milk from the fridge, he catches his reflection in the stainless steel. It's a wonder Niall hadn't screamed in fright, he looks like one of the extras on that Zombie show.
"We'd better call Lottie."
Two hours later, thoroughly primped and a bit peeved, Louis slides into the back of the Bentley. He makes room for Niall to scooch in and raps a knuckle on the back of Liam's head playfully. He's got the heat turned up so it's nice and cozy, which is the kind of thoughtfulness Louis really appreciates in a bodyguard/driver/friend/goalkeeperwhenNiall'skneereallyhurts.
"Alright?" Liam asks cheerfully, brown eyes smiling back at them through the rearview mirror. They've only known each other for a little under a year, since just after the move to London, but their friendship's been easy from day one.
Niall slings his body between the two front seats and bops Liam on the nose, "Sure we are mate, and how are you?"
Liam plants the palm of his hand on Niall's forehead and shoves him back before carefully pulling out into traffic, "I'm tops, you know me. Excited to spend the evening rubbing elbows with the tip-top of London?"
Niall settles back easily and pulls out his phone with a quiet huff of laughter.
Louis rolls his eyes so hard he sees a vision of his first Primary teacher.
