riptides ➳ larry

vii.

vii.

It takes Louis longer than usual to realize that he forgot his phone at the flat.

He and Zayn are coasting on two beat up skateboards that they commandeered from an old mate that owns the tea shop on fourth, trading a quickly diminishing cigarette between one another. They get a few odd glares as they weave through the inner workings of London, slowly making their way to the posher borough of Bayswater. People balk at their tattoos and disheveled hair, and Louis smugly thinks of how Zayn's networth is probably double of what all of their's is, but Zayn would never flaunt it. That's probably why Zayn is the multimillionare and Louis is the nurse, come to think of it. Louis has always been too impulsive with a few quid in his pocket, willing to waste his money on something as useless as a facebook mirror or summat. It's probably best that he doesn't have the entire world at his finger tips.

"Lou," Zayn drags him out of his reverie with a soft voice and a stale puff of cigarette smoke. "why's Greg calling me?"

Zayn waves his phone at him, displaying Greg's name in bold grouped with a picture of a shirtless past-Greg and Louis wrapped around each other in sleep after a house party during Uni. Louis smiles fondly at the memory for a moment before patting down his trouser pockets in search of his own phone. Fuck. He knew he should have brought his phone.

"Buggering fuck," he mumbles and drags his foot on the cobble-stoned side walk. "Answer him."

Zayn nods and brings the phone to his ear, only furrowing his infuriatingly perfect eyebrows at Louis slightly before stopping on his own board as well.

"Hey, G.. Yeah..." Zayn says into the phone, giving Louis an odd look. "Where would he have ran off to, anyways?.. We're just going to my flat, to see all the damage the subletter's done..." Zayn barks out a quick laugh. "Alright, mate. I'll tell him... Yeah, bye."

Zayn pockets his phone, his brown eyes crinkling slightly. "That was odd."

"Yeah," Louis shoves his hands in the large front pocket of his jumper and shrugs, unsure. "What'd Greg want?"

"He was asking after you. Said you weren't answering his calls."

Louis releases a breath he didn't know that he's been holding and stares up at the sky. Heavy clouds are steadily rolling in, threatening rain for the fifth day in a row. A few scattered pigeons flit about between buildings and the moist air is bringing all of the scents of London to his attention. It's tranquil, this limbo in the sky between sun and rain, and Louis could stare up at it forever. He feels like this could be a metaphor for him, a parallel for something larger and more ambiguous going on in his life.

"I left my phone at the flat." Louis tells him numbly.

"Alright, Lou?"

"Yeah." Louis clears his throat and forces a nod. "I'm alright. Is that all he wanted?"

Zayn nods, taking Louis' silent cue to not push any further on the subject. A man in a rumpled suit shoulders between them with a muffled apology, disturbing the small façade that was built around them. For a moment, it felt like all that existed in that point in time was Zayn, Louis, and the slowly growing burden that is burrowing in Louis' subconscious when it comes to Greg. But now the veil has lifted and there's still a world moving around them, constantly working even when all Louis wants to do is make it stop and have a moment to just breathe.

"Let's go to your flat now."

"You sure that you don't want to swing by your flat and pick up your phone first?"

"Nah," Louis drops his board on the sidewalk and plants his foot on it. "I can survive without it for a while."

"You're insane mate," Zayn pockets his own phone and starts to coast on his board as well. "Fucking insane. That's something a forty year old would say: 'I could survive without my phone.' Please. Makes you sound like a right arse."