Burns Like Nothing Else

-credit to the owner of the original picture-

-I'll edit this when I can, I hope you all enjoy!-

xx

"Liam, I have a question and I need your honest opinion." Louis demands as he walks into his shared apartment, dropping his bag on the floor and toeing off his shoes.

"Hold on a sec, kinda busy." Liam says, draining noodles into a bright pink colander. Bless him, making dinner to make up for where Louis lacks in basic culinary knowledge. As soon as the noodles are properly drained, Liam wipes his hand on a dishtowel and leans against the sink. "Alright, what's the question?"

"What do you think about Harry Styles?" The name drips out of his mouth like venom. It tastes pretty gross, too.

"Louis, I told you. I don't like him anymore than you do." Liam tells him.

Louis groans and rolls his eyes. "No, Li. Don't say that just 'cause of me. Just be honest."

Liam sighs and shrugs. "I think he's a good lad. Very charming and incredibly sweet and I have no idea why you guys don't just fuck already-"

"-Liam!-"

"-because the sexual tension when you're around each other is suffocating, mate."

Louis gapes, tries to utter out a few words but ultimately fails. "Because, I. It's. Because!" Louis exclaims lamely. "Because" is not a good enough excuse. It never was, it never will be.

"Sure. Okay. Anyway, I'm quite knackered, got some dinner with Niall, so 'm just gonna hit the hay. Made you some spaghetti though. Night Louis. Don't wank tonight, I actually want to sleep, please thank you." Liam kisses Louis on the forehead on his way out of the kitchen.

Louis stares morosely at the pot of sauce that Liam left for him, contemplating whether or not he should stick his face in there. He decides not to. He's got work tomorrow and he can't risk having third degree burns.

Instead, he despondently eats the spaghetti alone and tosses himself onto the couch afterwards, not bothering to put away his plate (because Liam will get it tomorrow morning) or to even walk the eight steps to his room.

-

The next morning, Louis wakes up at the ass crack of dawn for no apparent reason because his job doesn't start until eleven. It's only fucking five am. He lays in bed for a while, hoping to slip back into unconsciousness and stares out his window where he can see little slivers of sunrise.

Realizing that he can't possibly get anymore sleep, he groans and rolls out of bed, padding out to the front door, decides to go get a very strong coffee to keep him awake for the rest of the day.

The coffee shop isn't even a block away from Louis' apartment, and to be completely honest, they don't serve quality drinks. But Louis' far too lazy to drive all the way into the city just to get a decent cuppa. Stale coffee is fine.

He walks with his head down and his hands shoved into his pockets, shuffling his feet against the frosty pavement. It's already November, yet there isn't even half a centimeter of snow on the ground. Global warming is real. Right.

He's aware of a presence behind him, mostly because the person's music is far too loud and he keeps fucking sniffling and coughing, but he pays no attention. Not even he can argue with someone this early.

When Louis opens the door to the shop, he thanks his blessings that this place has a radiator, because even if it hasn't snowed yet, it's still winter, it's London, and he's freezing his balls off.