Young & Beautiful

XV

It’s Sunday evening when Louis makes the decision that he is going to do everything in his power to befriend Harry Styles.

He and Niall had spent the day nursing hangovers (Niall also nursing a broken heart—he’d broken his Segway the night before after they’d returned from the clubs, trying to ride it off of ramps and failing abysmally) and Louis’ mind was a constant replay of Harry being dragged away by the sea of harpies while staring at Louis in a silent scream for help.

Or, well, what Louis took as a silent scream for help at least. But scream or no, Louis couldn’t forget.

And so it’s at dinner, in a quaint little pub on the edge of town, around 7 P.M., that Louis firmly decides his course of action.

He had practically had to force Niall out of the house to come. (“You never take me out anymore,” he whined, jabbing fingers in Niall’s cheeks, armpits, stomach, general face, while Niall was playing on some audio program on his laptop. He responded with one of his distracted grunts, which only ever makes Louis more agitated, so he began screeching his name until the boy gave him attention. “We go out all the time,” he finally responded. “Yeah, but never just the two of us. It’s like you don’t even care anymore.” “You missing me, Tommo?” “No, you shrew. I’m hungry.” “Tomorrow.” “No.” “Later.” “No.” Niall sighed. “Can I at least finish what I’m doing?” “Absolutely not.” Niall groaned, Louis smiled pleasantly, and, finally, after Louis ripped the blankets off of him and darted away with his laptop, Niall finally put on trousers and texted Nelson to pick them up.)

But now, throwing back whiskey sours (well, Louis’ throwing back brightly colored cocktails while Niall is throwing back whiskey sours; and beer) they’re having a pleasant time as they pick at a large pile of chips before them, Niall wiping his greasy hands on his sweatpants and football jersey, while they rehash the events of the night before.

“That Liam is a fuckin’ madman,” Niall says with a shake of his head, sun-gold hair framing cornflower eyes. “Did you see him at the end there? When he opened that champagne bottle in the cunt’s face? He nearly took his goddamn eye out!”

And, no, Louis doesn’t remember because he was a bit too pissed to remember anything from the night before really. (He swears he doesn’t remember drinking that much. Honestly.)

Louis laughs good naturedly though, shoving a particularly large chip in his mouth as he attempts to sort through the fog of memories. Unfortunately for him, the only thing he seems to be able to find is a set of green, faded eyes.

He swallows his food thickly at the thought, stomach churning.

“Harry left early, eh?” he says casually, glancing up at Niall who’s now finishing his pint in one swift gulp.

He sets down the glass and wipes his mouth with a truly impressive burp. “Yeah. Wonder where he got off to.”

“Dunno.” Louis pokes at the chips for a couple seconds, resting his chin on his hand. “He was sort of dragged away, wasn’t he? By all those hideous people.”

“Was he? Didn’t really notice.”

“Yeah. He was.”

Niall glances up at him. “And?”

“And nothing,” Louis says quickly, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

Pause.

“It’s just that—“ Louis stops himself, reassessing his words as a bemused smile overcomes Niall’s face, his eyebrow quirking expectantly. “I’ve decided I’m going to make an effort to be his friend, Niall. Like properly.” He averts his eyes to the chipped, wooden tabletop and begins delicately picking at a particularly large nick in the surface. “I think the kid needs one.”