Chapter 4

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Louis' eyes scanned around the bedroom, quickly pinpointing the location of the digital clock. 15:36. He shook out his shoulders and let out a deep sigh. He gazed back at the mirror, groaning at his appearance. Nothing looks right. His nerves are getting the best of him, he knows it, but tonight has to be perfect. It's his first concert. It's his first time seeing his favourite band and it's also about to be his first time passing out in a puddle of his own urine.

He's so nervous. He can feel his blood furiously pumping around in his veins; his breathing's coming out in short pants. He doesn't even know why he's nervous, he doesn't see what could go wrong. Plenty of people go to concerts all of the time... he guesses most of those people never experience their first at 20 years of age.

Feeling slightly defeated with his appearance, he attempted running his hand through his hair once more. It's not exactly put it into a quiff, he just tried to make it seem slightly wind-swept. Zayn's right about the other day, his hair is getting quite long... he's just scared that if he goes to the hairdresser's then there's going to be a mishap and he's going to end up with a chunk of his hair on the ground. You can't trust anyone now-a-days.

He fiddled with his outfit, sumo-squating in his skin tight jeans. They felt like they were cutting off the circulation to his legs- although he must admit, they made his arse look fantastic. He's wearing his "The Stone Roses" top because it shows off his biceps- he worked for them, damn right he's going to try and flaunt them. Finally, he finished the outfit off with a pair of black vans. You wouldn't have guessed that he had put nearly 2 hours into this outfit... he had the 'I have nothing to wear' dilemma.

He groaned, spinning around and tripping on the end of the bed. He ended up face first on his bed covered in hangers and discarded pieces of clothing. He heard Zayn's footsteps get louder as he walked down the corridor.

"Yo Louis, we've got about a couple of hours before we should leave. Do you want to d-" His words cut off by a slight chuckle. The sound of a camera shutter caused Louis to push himself up off of the bed, still stuck in his self-pity mode. Zayn stood there in the doorway, laughing at something on his phone- no doubt it's a picture of Louis during what he considered as a mid-life crisis.

Zayn was wearing black skinny jeans that hugged his legs, a tight white tee and an open navy blue shirt. He matched it with a pair of heavy black biker boots. Louis scowled at him- how on Earth he managed to pick such a casual but perfect outfit is beyond him. Zayn literally grabbed a few things out of his wardrobe and hoped for the best. Little shit.

Louis let out a pitiful whine, sitting on his bed with his knees hugged to his chest... well as much as he could in these skin-tight jeans. They felt like a second skin, although the longer he had them on, the more comfortable he found them. Zayn locked his phone and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, finally looking back at Louis. He leant against the doorframe, crossing his arms to his chest.

"I was gonna' say do you want to do a quick YouTube video before we go out." He smiled, proud that he'd come up with such an idea. Louis sucked my bottom lip between my lips, thinking it over. He guessed it would help calm his nerves a bit. Slowly, he nodded, gesturing for Zayn to grab his laptop.

Louis let out a slight yawn when Zayn handed him it. "Awww, late night? Is sleeping beauty too tired to go to the concert?" He gave Louis a mock puppy dog face- teasing him. Zayn stood at the end of Louis' bed- clearly not wanting to settle down.

"Sh'up. I'm as peachy as... peaches. Whatever. I was messaging some of our YouTube subscribers, lost track of time." Louis confessed. By 'YouTube subscribers' he meant Harry. Harry with no last name... but he couldn't admit that to Zayn. He typed in his password and opened up the webcam. Louis decided to haul his butt off of the bed and stand next to Zayn. He tilted the screen up to get both of them in the view of the camera and pressed play.

Fame and Blame ~ Larry StylinsonWhere stories live. Discover now