baby give me one more night // l.s.

Harry Styles. Louis Tomlinson.

Two ordinary London lads.

One likes his tea with two sugars, please and thank you.

The other will take just one sugar, and as he brushes arms with the dashingly handsome two-sugars-please, he doesn't even look up from his bosses text, informing Harry, that he is infact late, once again. 

Which is somewhat unfortunate, seeing as they could have already exchanged numbers if Harry hadn't been in such a rush to get out of that hipster cafe and light up a Benson, run a hand through his hair and make a dash for the underground. Because like every other morning, Harry was late. 

--

Louis managed to whirl his head around just quick enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of a 'stars and stripes' headscarf and a sleek black sweater with a slight sheen to it that he was 100% sure not many people could've pulled off. But then again, the level of pot and alcoholic content  that he had consumed last night was speaking for him this morning and he really had no fucking clue why he was even bothering with UNI this morning. 

I mean, not like he had to pass classes or anything.

--

Harry jammed his foot in the door of the carriage, almost like jamming a sausage in a hot dog, but that was completely irrelevant right now. The problem was, the train was slowly departing and he was still stuck in the doorway. Harry made a mental note to cut down on his cancer sticks, maybe that way, he wouldn't be sliced in half as the train entered the tunnel.

With a final heave and tug Harry managed to push himself inside the train carriage. Just in time, too, he noted as the train plunged into dark surroundings just milliseconds later.

The small compartment could easily be compared to a sardine can, and Harry had a long ride. There was no way he was going to get a seat for the next half an hour at least, so he settled for an internal groan and a battle with tangled earphones.

--

Louis lazily ambled down the packed city street, trying very hard not to judge the multitude of office people, but being the drama queen he was, he snorted derisively at the amount of borings, as he liked to call them. Grey suit, brisk walk, boring voice, generic office shits. He smiled dryly to himself, what a shitty lifestyle. He personally, thought they needed a cone or two.

Eventually, which was probably realistically more like 5 minutes, but - weed, he had reached the big wooden doors of his university and heaved them open with a sigh. It was a tad over-dramatic, of course. But wasn't that just so, so inexplicably him? Just the pot loving, dramatic him, who happened to love the smell of mint chocolate and musky vanilla.

--

If Harry was pissed about the fact he was ten minutes for his latest photoshoot, it was probably an understatement. It didn't help that his highly attractive boss was mad at him. Harry couldn't blame the older man, he was late literally everyday, and if he didn't know better he'd believe it was only the casual sex he would have with Nick that was keeping him in this job.

Nick only sighed and shook his head when Harry could only come up with the excuse that his coffee took too long to make. Which of course was utter bullshit - it was one hundred percent the fact that Harry preferred the cocoon of his doona to the blustery cold of the outside, especially at stupid o'clock.

Then of course there was the train story, and Nick half-listened. An eyebrow cocked in amusement clearly meant he did not give a fuck, and Harry took that as his cue to leave and go get ready for the Louis Vuitton shoot. Harry rolled his eyes and grumbled something about how 'he never cares anyway' and trotted off to his dressing room, tripping over his own two left feet as he went. Not his day.