The Devil Wears GUCCI || Larry Stylinson

Chapter 7.

The moon can be seen from where he's lying. The window frame brings it into perfect focus, almost making it look like a painting.

Another One Bites The Dust is playing on Anna's second-hand record player, while Zayn is sprawled on the floor texting. The melody and the sound of the mobile phone keys mingle with the barking of Spike, who is furious at not being able to snatch a ball from one of the other dogs. Not an unusual scene.

Louis hears a small cracking sound coming from his lower back as he stretches out one of his legs. He closes his left eye and wonders if his big toe would be able to block out the moon.

"You look stupid," Anna watches him from the edge of the bed, as if she thinks Louis is crazy. She tosses the threadbare T-shirt in her hand in his direction.

"But not as stupid as Zayn," Louis says, catching the garment to keep it from hitting his face. He tries to suppress the urge to mock the situation his friend finds himself in. He really tries, but it's impossible. The artist has the bright idea of confiscating the ball and now they both see him trying to run away from the enraged little Spike. "He really is stupid."

"I'm listening to you," Zayn hops from one foot to the other to avoid the tiny dog's sharp teeth. Being barefoot has never seemed like such a bad idea, "Could you guys be of any use and help me with this demon?"

"Spike was always my favourite." Louis comments casually, as he shifts from one shirt to another.

Anna sits down next to him and watches the scene intently, "He's really attacking Zayn."

"Zayn messed with him first."

They're not bad friends. They really aren't, however, it's inevitable not to burst out laughing when —because of another toy— Zayn falls straight to the ground.

"God," Anna hugs her arms around her stomach, "he's stupid."

Zayn tosses the ball across the room before the puppy can pounce on it, "There you go, beast!" He snorts as Spike shoots off, "Thanks, it's good to know I can count on your help."

"Of course you can count on our help, love." Anna assures him, between giggles.

The brunet shakes out his clothes as he stands up. Serious face and lower lip sticking out, "Yeah, I got that straight."

"You'll have our help only in really important situations, like when you have to rob a bank or when you have to flee the country," Anna drops her back on the mattress, one of her arms behind her head, "Not when a puppy wants to play with you."

"That could get ugly, he could've hurt this," Zayn spreads his palms theatrically, "An artist's valuable hands."

"Please, Z.."

"They're my working tool, without them I'm nothing."

"Stop crying," Anna snorts, scratching her stomach, "He would never hurt someone. I raised him myself."

"Yeah, that says a lot." Zayn mutters sarcastically, starting to pick up the toys scattered on the carpet.

"He just wants to play, it's not his fault you're so boring."

"I'm not boring. Your animals are a menace."

Anna raises herself up on her elbows, offended. "Say that again, painter wannabe."

"Give it up, Anna. Zayn's right," Louis interjects, leaning his head back in his friend's lap to keep her from getting up. The artist's face is so full of wonder at having someone on his side. "He could have murdered him down there."

Zayn drops the toys and lunges at them.

He hasn't even begun to tickle them when they're both already giggling like crazy. It's a bunch of tangled limbs on the bed and Louis is screaming like his life depends on it. He feels a knee pressing into his side and a forearm taking his breath away. There's an elbow jabbing him in the stomach, as he swears he felt someone biting his foot. Yet he couldn't care less.