Fooled (Larry Stylinson) ✅

3. Drinks

  Louis' POV  

"Oh my god. What the fuck do I do?" I nearly screamed to Niall, who was sitting on top of the countertop of sinks in the bathroom. I was standing front of the mirror, rubbing water frantically on my tequila-stained shirt and trying to slow down my heart rate, which was definitely way above the healthy range right now. 

"You go and you have another drink," Niall said, giggling and handing me his glass of rum and coke. I shook my head frantically, flashing him angry eyebrows and pouty lips as I returned to my rubbing process. "Very funny, Niall," I replied, rolling my eyes. "But even alcohol can't help calm my nerves at a time like this. Did you see how hot he is?"

"Ee is rather charming, now i-n't ee?" Niall replied, using an exaggerated British accent instead of his usual Irish one. "Fuck off," I said, tossing my wet paper towel in the sink. I realized now that my shirt was a lost cause -- the water had just stained it even more and now it looked like chest sweat on my torso instead of pee. 

"Fuck off? Well, thank you for the offer, Lou. But I think you're a much better match to do those sexual things with Mr. Styles," he giggled. He began to hop off of the counter, but instead of landing on his feet, he immediately crashed into the adjacent bathroom stall. Whirling around, I burst out laughing at Niall, who was now lying in a pile of toilet paper on the sticky, white tile floor. 

"Okay. Now I actually feel a bit better," I said, offering him a hand to help him up. "Oh, now you fuck off," Niall muttered as he rose to his feet, kicking the toilet paper off his black sneakers. I smiled at my best friend. He was certainly a feisty drunk -- he was feisty sober too, but it was much more subtle -- and it was one of the qualities I loved most about him, though I'd never admit it. 

"You'd think an Irishman like you could hold your liquor," I remarked, glancing at my phone in horror to see that it was 12:50am. I only had ten minutes before I had to meet Harry at the bar, and I decided then and there that I was probably going to throw up. I was going to throw up on him. And it was probably going to get in his hair, and then he would tell everyone he knew about the story for the next ten years and I would be famous for throwing up on a musician. 

I was pretty much doomed. 

"I'm holding my liquor better than you, lad. You look white as a ghost," he said, walking behind me and pitching my cheek as we both gazed into the smudged glass of the mirror. "Seriously, Louis. You have to calm down. He's a chill guy. Usually chats with people after the show. It's not as big a deal as you're making it out to be. Just talk to him. You'll be great."

I nodded slowly, though inside my head I was sarcastically screaming 'yeah, right.' Sometimes I just had to fake my confidence and hope it would manifest itself into real confidence -- or at least a semi-decent first impression. 

I turned on the sink to wash my face and fix my hair one more time, but Niall pulled my arm from behind and started running. "Enough grooming. What are you a poodle? It's 12:55. The music just stopped. Let's  get out there," he urged me. 

Considering Niall lifted weights five times a week and the most exercise I got is running to the bathroom when I had an emergency, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Damn, I thought. Niall is little but he sure is strong. 

Niall's jog slowed to a walk when we re-entered the bar area, and my head began spinning as I tried to remember how many drinks I had tonight, and more importantly, tried to come up with something to say to Harry. 

As I panicked, Niall casually took a seat at a barstool that a hipster was swiftly exiting. (1am is usually about when they left to go home and snort cold brew coffee while masturbating to vegan documentaries or whatever it is they do). I stood next to him, nervously picking at my nails, an awful habit I had picked up in the third grade when my nails grew too long and someone told me I had witch fingers.

Suddenly, as I was twisting off a loose nail, I heard a voice behind me. "Hey! You stuck around," the guy said with an excited tone. Blushing, I turned around to face Harry, who was removing his bandanna, revealing his sweat drenched curls as he walked over to me. He was way taller than I had noticed before, and his tight pants only accentuated how lean and long his legs were.

Oh. My. God.

"Yeah, I did," I said, awkwardly extending a hand. Harry gave me a strange look, his eyebrows lowering and his nostrils flaring a bit, and then took my hand and shook it with a firm grip. 

"Well I'm glad you did. Didn't get your name by the way..." he said, looking at me carefully, his eyes shifting up and down. "Louis," I said a bit too quickly. "I'm Louis... and...er... this is Niall." 

Niall, who was now sipping on another drink and (somehow?) had a new pair of sunglasses on, hopped down from the barstool unsteadily and shook Harry's hand forcefully. "Nice to meet you. Awesome music," he said, nearly slurring. "Anyways, I have to get going. Lou, I'll be at the bar down the street. Diana just texted." 

I nodded, half thankful that Niall was leaving to go see Diana -- who as far as I knew was a Tinder match -- because he was getting really sloppy and half terrified because that meant I would have to be alone with Harry. 

"Okay, Niall. Text me," I called, watching him make his way towards the exit. I returned my attention to Harry, who was snickering a bit, his strong shoulders bobbing up and down. "A bit too much, right?" Harry said with a chuckle. "Let's see if we can make it to his level, yeah?"

My eyes widened and I forced a laugh, which sort of sounded like a mix between my mum's dog when he sneezes and my grandmother's snore. Internally wincing, I looked over to see that Harry either hadn't noticed or was politely ignoring my snort. 

"I'm Harry, by the way. My apologies. I completely forgot to introduce myself," he said, after a few seconds of watching the crowd ebb in and out. "Now let's get you that drink."