Fooled (Larry Stylinson) ✅

9. Decisions

  Louis' POV  

I think I nearly got fired at work that day because of how much I was using my phone. Immediately after sending my text to Harry, I couldn't help but compulsively check my messages every few minutes--or seconds even, when I had the chance. 

When I was in high school, we learned about a condition called "nomofobia" which is phone addiction that's so bad you envision your phone vibrating when it really isn't. I laughed at the time, thinking it was absolutely crazy, but now I was seriously experiencing that issue. 

Finally, about a half hour later, as I was trying balance four plates of ribs and pulled pork bits on my arms (I should really get paid more for what I do!), it rang again. Don't ask me how I was able to save the food after jumping three inches in the air, but I did, and I served it to my customers with a smile as if nothing had happened. 

"Enjoy your food!" I said cheerily, as I nearly sprinted to the kitchen. My hands were trembling as I opened the text, hoping and praying it was Harry. He seriously couldn't ignore me again.

Harry Styles: Thursday works for me. How does 8pm sound? Your choice of restaurant! 

Fuck, I instantly thought. I immediately put my phone back in my pocket, a nauseous feeling creeping up over me -- and it wasn't just from the boiling pig fat fumes coming from the deep fryer, though that was a part of t he problem. 

Ever since I was a young lad, planning dates had been my worst nightmare. I always wanted to make sure everything was perfect and that the other person was having a good time -- and if they weren't or if something went wrong with the location or plans, I would always blame myself. Seriously, one time the restaurant had a small fire while we were in there and I blamed myself for weeks, internally cursing myself for even choosing to go to such a place... 

Kinda crazy right? Well you should know by now that's just how I am. Deal with it. 

Anyways, that's just one small example of how uptight I am when it comes to date planning. So, unsurprisingly, I was panicking over the restaurant selection for my dinner date with Harry. Because not only did it mean I was responsible for the type of food and location, but I was also responsible for the mood-- for the atmosphere. 

If I picked a seedy dive bar, it would probably be seen as just a friendly hangout. A candle-lit dinner would result in an overly romantic gesture. And a locally sourced, hipster joint would just mean that I'm more interested in craft beer and organic brussel sprouts than Harry's pretty face. There were so many decisions I had to make.... and right now, without access to Google and Yelp, I was at a serious loss. 

Fuck, I thought to myself, anxiety pulsing through my lungs and making my breathing unsteady. Why does he always have to play me like this? 

Or maybe he wasn't playing me at all...

Suddenly, the chef's bell rang, sending me jolting and nearly crashing into the bus boy. I jogged over to get the side dishes, walking back out to my customers with a smile even I didn't find convincing. 

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"Louis, trust me, this place is fine!" Niall nearly shouted, after I had read him about thirteen different restaurant reviews of Yelp and ten different Google reviews. I might as well have made a spreadsheet of all the restaurants in Manhattan with all the research I was doing. 

"But it's kinda far from the subway... maybe we should go with the seafood place," I whined, scrolling through another web page. Niall jumped off the couch, his thin legs flailing, and came next to where I was working at the living room table. 

"Louis this is ridiculous. The Italian place is fine," he said, shutting my laptop shut with the swoop of his hands. I looked up at him with pouty lips and a fake crying face, but he truly had no remorse. Folding his arms, he stared at me, clearly annoyed. "Lou, just text Harry the place or I will."

"Fine," I muttered, taking out my phone and texting him the Google location, my heart fluttering a bit as I thought of Harry and I sitting across from each other under the moonlight on the outdoor patio. That is, if Harry decided he wanted a patio seat. It was April, so it was finally heating up, but that didn't mean Harry would necessarily want to sit outdoors... did it? I should have picked a different place. 

"Louis," Niall called from the kitchen. He was cooking tonight, and I had the pizza delivery man on speed dial in case he fucked up again. Last night he had made us burnt grilled cheese with equally burnt tomato soup. The only redeeming thing about the meal was the pickles he served them with -- the one thing he could literally not fuck up because they came in a bloody jar. 

"What is it, Ni?" I asked, tossing my phone on the table and following him inside. "Should I make chicken with rice or cheeseburgers?" he asked, jutting out his hip and he stared into the fridge. 

"Hmm, either is fine," I said with a shrug. "Chicken would be healthier. We ate rubbish last night." Niall turned to look at me raising an eyebrow. "Hey," he said in a low tone. "Grilled cheese is not rubbish. It's barely a junk food. Are you good, Louis? I know you've been more stressed than usual lately...."

I looked at my feet guiltily, trying to pretend like I didn't know what he was talking about. But there was no use. Niall knew more than his fair share about my difficult relationship with food --he had seen me yo-yo back and forth between different diets and weights over the years. Last year had been pretty rough, as I lost twenty pounds in a month by cutting out all carbs. Niall nearly staged an intervention to help me get my weight back up when I passed out one morning, trembling on the ground from malnutrition. 

"I'm fine, Niall. I am more stressed and I guess I use dieting to cope, but I would tell you if anything was seriously wrong," I said, blushing a bit as I realized how worried he was. It wasn't my intention to freak him out. 

"Well, I would hope you would tell me even if there's just a tiny thing wrong," he continued, pulling chopped meat out of the fridge and placing it on the counter. "I know I'm a bit of a wild lad during parties, but you know you can tell me most anything."

I nodded, knowing fully well that Niall could be trusted with my deepest darkest secrets. He even knew about my at-home belly button piercing experience from when I was 16.... and he never told a soul, not even at his drunkest. 

"I will, Ni. Promise," I said, though I wasn't really sure I was telling the truth. I wanted to tell Niall everything that was going on with me mentally, but sometimes I couldn't even explain it to myself. 

Most days I felt really uncomfortable and self-conscious about my body, though I could never figure out why. Even at my lowest weight, I hadn't felt that huge confidence boost that I had anticipated. Sometimes I thought my self esteem was a lost cause. 

"Well, thanks," Niall said with a flashy smile. "Now get over here and show me how to work this bloody stove one more time."