“I wanna suck your dick,” Lottie screams and Louis desperately wants to clamp his hand over her mouth or join in on her screaming; he can’t quite flesh out which urge is deeper. Instead he stands there with a semi-disgusted look on his face and hopes it passes off as brotherly disdain.
Louis and Zayn begrudgingly agreed to let their sisters stay at their flat for the Harry Styles concert; though on Louis’s part it wasn’t as resentful. He will lie if anybody asks him about his obsession. He will vehemently deny that after everybody’s left the building for the night that he jams out to the spiced-up bubblegum-pop while he grades papers in his classroom. Occasionally, taking breaks to shake his ass at the front of his classroom as he erases the lesson off the board.
“Teenage girls,” Zayn gripes in his ear as he watches the gangly but oddly muscular singer hop around the stage as girls from every direction scream vulgarities or just plain incoherently. The noise is eardrum-shatteringly loud and Louis can barely hear Harry Styles crooning the lyrics over the din. They calm down after the first chart-topper has played and Harry lulls them with his drawling Cheshire accent that Louis would like to say drives him bonkers because Louis hates anything slow, but instead it just makes Louis want to hear him moan slow and smooth as Louis sucks his dick. He sings an acoustic version of one of his songs and Louis sways with the melody, humming the notes.
Lottie, Waliyha, and Fizzy are drinking the water bottles Zayn bought them after his latest smoke trip. Harry is now chatting to his guitarist who, Louis is pretty sure, is Niall Horan; okay, he knows it’s Niall Horan. The fangirls are giggling at their banter, and Louis feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips with their chatter. Harry’s best friend from uni, or rather the one year he spent at uni before auditioning and winning The X-Factor. Louis may or may not have watched the documentary on ITV, so he knows a decent bit of information on the pop sensation. He knows that the reason Liam Payne opened for Harry is that they shared a room in The X-Factor house. He also knows that his mom’s name is Anne and his sister’s is Gemma. Harry will do this forever, as long as he can keep doing it with the same people, or so he says. Louis thinks it’s ridiculously adorable how fucked up Harry thinks being famous is. He has a right proper celebrity crush on the lad if he’s being quite honest with himself.
Zayn is really good at acting like he’s unaffected by the world. Louis knows it’s a fucking ruse because Zayn has watched all the documentaries on Harry Styles andThe X-Factor. Not only the televised shit, but also the crazy ass stuff that gets put online. Zayn is just good at blank-facing it; Louis knows it comes from his endurance of the shit people spew about his religion and ethnicity. Louis wishes he could adapt one of his own that was stronger than the one he’s got so far. He knows his adoration for the stupid curly-haired boy is showing on his face because Zayn keeps glancing at him with a smirk plastered on his face. Louis pulls a face at Zayn who laughs heartily; his face moving beautifully and Louis hates his overly attractive friend.
“Fuck me, Harry!” The girl behind him screams, and she can’t be more than fourteen.
He shares a glance with Zayn who looks dumbfounded and then leans over to whisper-shout in his ear, “First of all, gross. She’s like twelve. Second of all, he’s not even the hottest person that’s been on stage. That Liam bloke is much more fit.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You’re in a Harry Styles-charm daze. Objectively, Liam is far more attractive.”
“Shut up,” Louis hisses.
“Touchy-touchy.”
