Broken Repair (Larry Stylinson)

Drunken Dreams and Serenades

I am drunk. So very drunk right now. Drunk enough to forget- Don't even think his name.

My blue eyes feel like they're spinning; the world somersaulting around me. Life feels good! I don't know how I made it home from my local pub, but all I know is I'm just great. I've had a great night, and I like not having to think about anything. Maybe it's a problem. Who cares?

I manage to stumble through my red front door, singing at the very top of my voice. It's Bon Jovi's 'Wanted Dead or Alive' and it's the best song to sing when drunk in my opinion. It was my mate Derek's fault anyway; he always set me off with music. He knows me too well.

"And I'm wanted. Wanted. Dead or alive." I'm slurring and making gestures with my hands whilst kicking my grey TOM's off near the door. I say near the door, yet one bounces off the stairs and nearly hits me in the crotch, and I cackle with laughter because I nearly shit myself. I can barely see in this darkness. I've forgotten where I am in the song. Come on, Louis! I'm not going to take off my dark blue hoody because I'm a little cold. "And I walk these streets..."

I push the door open into our living room, now humming, and nearly fall to the cream carpetted floor. I overdo balancing out, pretty sure I look like I am surfing, not really wanting to fall on my face (again). That's another story. Maybe I'll tell you, one day.

"I'm okay. I'm okay!" I say to myself, in my deep drunk voice, not really sure on why I'm telling myself, frowning. And it makes me laugh again. Is it just me who sounds like Barry White when I'm drunk? And is it me who thinks to much to themselves?

"You alright, Lou?" Michael says, not bothering to stand up. My eyes shoot up to meet his very dark eyes, in his kind face. He looks amused, and I'm sure he was expecting this scenario. I don't do things halfway. He's seen me like this before. And worse.

"Michael. My bro. My buddy. I love you so much!" I shout deeply with emotion, exaggerating with my arms as to how much. God, he is so fucking cool. Wow, I'm getting a little emotional.

I just remember that I bought two footlong Subways (for myself). They're flailing around in their carrier bags.

"Mate! Subway." I'm in love with these sandwiches and it takes me at least thirty seconds to take my eyes off of them to realise Michael has company. There are at least six pairs of eyes on me, from what I can tell. My vision isn't too great right now. Where did I leave my glasses? Are you kidding yourself, Louis? You're drunk as fuck.

"Who the fuck is this?" I slur with a smirk, not remembering that I only talk to Michael like this, and only usually he gets it. It doesn't bother him. Oh well, I'm drunk and I don't care.

"Language, Louis." He says sternly in his deep London accent, and I giggle because I'm just not taking it seriously. He sighs, running his hand through his thick black hair. "This my old mate, Liam and his band mates Zayn, Harry and Niall." He gestures to each one of them, sat on our brown L shaped sofas. I'm definitely drunk enough that I have an excuse to look a little while at each of them.

Liam has very clean cut brown hair which is swept over precicely, and he has brown eyes. His face is lined with a good amount of stubble and he looks very friendly. I notice he's wearing just a plain white tshirt and light grey jogging pants. I've seen him many times to be fair, nothing new here.

Zayn has very dark hair which goes great with his flawless tanned skin, and huge brown eyes framed with a thick set of eyelashes. He nearly has a full on beard, and beards are always sexy, in my books. He has a lot of tattoos on his arms, peeking out of his black tshirt. He's also wearing jogging bottoms, but they're a darker grey than Liam's.