Summary:
Louis' never had a one night stand in his entire twenty-one years of existence. Not once. That is...until now. And OF COURSE this is how it happened.
Notes:For .
Title taken from Arctic Monkeys. All hail.
Written for the one night stand prompt! Woooooo! Party on. This is mildly reminiscent of the plot from the Hangover so I obviously want to mention that. It's also just mad chaos because I've written it amongst mad chaos so I'm sorry if it reads as such. I will probably review it after writers have been revealed and try to make sense of it again, eeps.
Heavy alcohol usage. Blackouts. Mayhem.
All the usual disclaimers. *peace sign emoji*
(See the end of the work for .)
Work Text:
The first thing Louis smells is cologne. Some vaguely air-freshener-y cologne. Probably called Fresh or Meadow Life, probably came in a nicely packaged box with a sheet billowing in the wind as the backsplash. Hm...
Wait.
Louis doesn't own a cologne called Fresh or Meadow Life. On second thought, Louis doesn't own any cologne, now that he no longer has Luke's to use at whim. So maybe those are his sheets he's smelling? But no, he hasn't washed his sheets in nearly a decade (give or take) because laundry is literally the dullest activity next to grocery shopping and Louis firmly avoids dull things; his sheets typically smell of warm skin and aftershave. On a good day.
Brows pushing together, he opens his eyes, blinking into the curtain-clad window next to him, its soft grey hues glowing and gently bumping against the windowsill in the breeze. It seems overcast today, seems—
Wait. Wait a fucking minute.
Something heavy plunks in Louis' stomach as he hoists himself onto his elbows, assaulted by the pale silvery light as his body whines in protest, eyes widening into complete circles.
Several things assault him at once:
He's sore. Why the fuck is he sore?? His bum feels bruised. He doesn't have grey curtains. He doesn't have any sort of curtains. This is not his window, those aren't his curtains, and this is most definitely not his fucking flat. He's naked. There is a human being in the bed next to him.
Shit.
His throat clicks as he swallows, hands fisting into the sheets as he resists the wild urge to scream because holy goddamn shit, Louis slept with someone last night. He had a one night stand.
Balking, he sits up a bit more, head whipping around as he takes in his surroundings (large bedroom with clean white walls, sparse decorations, a Biggie poster, and sleek furniture that still smells new) before he takes in the body next to him that's currently slumbering peacefully; just a white lump in a bed, breaths deep and elongated, brown hair poking out from a pile of high thread count sheets.
He's never had a one night stand before. And, given that he's been at uni for two years now, it's sort of an on-going joke with his mates; Tommo, of all people, never had a one night stand?? He should be a seasoned vet with waking up beside fluffy-haired strangers whose names he can't recall. It's always been his nature to be wonderfully social, flirty, and sexual so, really, it's almost as if he's missed his calling.
But, thing is, Louis' been in relationships all through uni, hasn't really lived the single life for any extended stretch of time, so. So he opted out of slagging it out at the clubs with everyone else, instead spending his nights on the lap of whoever he's been dating, cuddled up on a lumpy couch and studiously completing his homework in between lazy fucks and Netflix marathons.
