He took a large gulp of vodka, shuddering and swallowing before downing the last of the bottle and putting it in the middle of the group.
"We're playing truth or truth, do you need to be drunk?" Harry asked the oldest boy.
"Course. You're always more honest when you're drunk." Louis answered, popping open another beer. Harry shook his head and waved him off.
"Okay, let's spin this." Louis said, twisting the bottle around and shoving it into a spin.
It landed on Harry.
"Truth or truth, Harry." Louis said.
"What do you think?" Harry answered.
"Hmm, I think we might go for a bit of truth here. So, what's your favorite color?" Louis asked.
"You know that, Lou."
"Say it, then." Louis grinned.
"Orange. Big deal." Harry said sarcastically.
"You can tell a lot about someone by their favorite color." Louis remarked. "Now spin."
Louis didn't pay any attention to what Liam or Niall or Zayn were asking. Only payed attention when it was his turn to ask Harry things, and he would ask general questions, that he already knew the answer to.
Favorite flower?
Rose.
Favorite shoe?
Converse.
Favorite animal?
Cat.
Favorite movie?
The breakfast club.
Favorite breakfast?
Pancakes.
This went on until Harry asked Louis a very strange question.
"Favorite Memory, Lou?" He asked.
And at this point, Louis was flat out wasted.
"Um, uh, I.." He stuttered, confusion in his head and truth on his tongue.
"W-when you kissed me for the first time." He got out, going slightly red from the memory and watching the other boys faces turn into that sort of "oh," face, Harry's face a mix of anger and confusion and a hint of shock.
"I need to- need to go," Louis said, downing the last of his umpteenth beer and stumbling out the door.
He walked along the sidewalk, eventually getting tired and sitting against a building wall.
Louis was terrified, he hated the city at night, with its eerie street lamps and dark ally ways.
He remembered that he had no strength in his arms and to always kick out if someone tried to hurt him, but he knew he'd be useless.
Honestly if Louis had the choice to kill himself or fight for his life, he would kill himself, because he knew he'd die either way.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and jumped, kicking at the figure.
Unfortunately he ended up kicking at Harry.
"H-haz I- I'm sorry, I-" he slurred.
"God, you arsehole, fuck, holy shit, you can kick." Harry swore, clutching his stomach.
"I'm sorry-"
"No; no I'm okay. I'm good." Harry said, slumping down next to Louis. "Winded me, you arse."
