You like to preach with a vodka in your mug

Prologue

You smile at me and say "it's time to go" but I don't feel like going home.

As he downs the last of his drink, Louis pours himself another from the bottle they'd bought up to Harry's room. He should have probably anticipated that they'd nearly finished the bottle of coke, hence leaving very little to mix his vodka with, but Louis is a step past tipsy so his taste buds don't mind the overwhelming alcoholic taste hitting his tongue.

It's when he hears Harry's giggles echo down the hallway that Louis decides he's going to hide. He glances at Harry's wardrobe and laughs to himself because he reckons that's the first place Harry would look for him. Hiding in the closet: haha, funny, great one there, Louis. Instead, he haphazardly places his drink on Harry's window sill (some spills onto the wood but if Harry doesn't notice then technically it never happened) and lays on the floor. It's possible he's never going to squeeze under the bed frame, after all, he isn't ten anymore, but he's going to try. Even after Harry comes through the door with another bottle of something he'd probably pulled out his arse (Louis doesn't know how he's snuck all this past his parents) Louis is still determined to hide under this bed.

"Lou," Harry giggles, cracking the bottle open, "your bum is too big to fit under there. Its beautiful, like, the best bum in the world, you should get it insured–"

Harry keeps rambling on about Louis' bum.

Louis eventually has to admit he's not getting any further. He also has to admit he's a bit stuck but his pride gets the better of him and he flails about instead of asking Harry for help. He's about to lament Harry for taking a picture of him stuck under his bed when his hand smacks something and he curses and buries his face into the carpet.

"Your room is out to get me," Louis whines as he gropes around for the thing he'd hit. When he finds it and finally drags himself out from Harry's bed, he sees its a half-drunk bottle of whiskey. "Whiskey? Really, Harry; are you sixty?"

"Stop it," Harry snaps, lurching to grab the bottle from Louis.

"Did you steal this, you cheeky devil?" Louis gasps. "Om. That's naughty: I'm telling!"

"Louis!" Harry hisses. "Give it back!"

Harry snatches the bottle and rolls it under the bed again. Louis hears it come to a stop with a heavy clunk. Harry's cheeks go red and he stands up to pour himself another drink. Dipping his head low, Louis can almost make out the shimmering of more glass under Harry's bed. Blindly, he reaches out and finds not only the bottle he'd just pulled out but four more as well. All half empty.

"Haz," Louis gulps, "why do you have five bottles?"

"Got 'em for parties," Harry sighs, taking large sips of his drink more frequently than Louis would deem possible. It's clear in the glass and Louis recoils at how yucky it's got to taste. "Just hide them from my parents or they'll tell me off."

"How'd you buy it?" Louis scoffs. "No! You have not got a fake ID!"

"No, why would I have a fake ID?" Harry rolls his eyes and takes each bottle one-by-one from Louis so he can put them back under his bed. "The guy in the corner shop never asks for ID."

"How many times is never?"

Harry shrugs and finishes his drink. He asks Louis if he wants to fuck and Louis declines politely but squeezes Harry's thigh. When Harry reaches to grab Louis' drink, he nudges it and the whole thing spills over the window sill. Louis laughs at him but feels his heart drop when Harry wipes his eyes and sniffles.

As he stands up, Harry steadies himself on his bed before collapsing onto it. Louis crawls over, ignoring the rapid dripping of the spilled drink as he rubs Harry's back and assures him it's clean-up-able and Louis won't mention them sneaking drinks behind Harry's parents' backs until he makes fun of him being a sad drunk in his wedding speech.

Harry doesn't find that funny.

"Shut up!" He whines. "I'm not a sad drunk."

"I'm joking, baby," Louis giggles. "You want a hug?"

"No."

"You sure?" Louis tickles Harry's rib gently. Harry squirms. "Come on, H, it's okay. We can clean it up."

"Not that," Harry huffs miserably and hides his face. "I was already tipsy before you even got here."

"I got here at four o'clock," Louis scoffs as he tucks Harry's hair behind his ear. Harry brings his hands down and all Louis can see is terror in Harry's eyes. "Haz, were you day-drinking? That only happens at weddings."

"Sorry."

It dawns on Louis much slower than it should have.

"Really?"

"Why else would I have seven bottles of alcohol in my room right now?"

"H," Louis gasps, "no. You're joking, yeah?"

Harry sniffles again and his voice cracks as he tries to defend himself. The only thing Louis can properly get out of him is, "please don't tell anyone."