I Hate You (Larry Stylinson) ✅

1. bullshit

January 3

Louis' POV

It's about 9:45pm when I finally arrive at the bar. I rush inside, flustered by how late I am, and try to flag down Liam, who I had spotted at one of the tables in the back.

"Oy," Liam groans, slapping me on the back as I approach him. "You're always fucking late."

"That I am," I reply, rolling my eyes. "Good to see you."

"Hey," Niall says, waving from the booth.

"Hey there," I reply. I wave to him and begin to take a seat next to Liam. It's not until after I remove my jacket and gloves that I notice a third person sitting at the table, next to Niall in the corner.

"I don't think we've met," I say to the new guy, extending a hand. He grips it roughly, giving it a shake that was more thorough than I was comfortable with.

"We haven't," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm Harry."

I nod. "Nice to meet you, I'm Louis."

It's sort of hard to see Harry because of how dimly lit the bar is. But from what I can make out, he has curly, shoulder length hair, and colorful eyes. Blue, maybe?

He has this nose that's really prominent, and these lips that are plump and pouty. Overall, he's a very good looking guy.

Normally, I'm not one for meeting new people, and I was kind of annoyed when I realized Niall had brought someone outside our usual trio.

But I guess Harry could be an exception. Let's just hope he was into guys...

"Harry's my friend from uni. Moved to London not too long ago," Niall explains, hopping up from the booth. "I'll get us another pitcher of Guinness, yeah?"

"Sounds good," I say with a nod.

I didn't care, I would drink anything, especially if Niall was paying. With my writer's salary, I probably couldn't even afford one drink at a high scale bar like this, let alone pitchers.

Liam and Niall, on the other hand, worked in consulting and pretty much walked around carrying at least 500 quid at all times.

Ironically enough, they still had the alcohol preferences of uni students, and they often chose to spend their money on overpriced beer rather than the fancy cocktails the bars are actually known for.

"How's it going, Liam?" I say, turning to him. I grab his glass and take a sip -- nearly spitting it out. "The fuck is that?"

"Angry Orchard," Liam replies, chuckling. "If you had asked me before chugging it down, you would have known you weren't going to like it."

Harry folds his hands on the table, smirking at me. "Impulsive one, aren't you?" he asks. His voice is deep, monotone almost.

I can't tell if he's joking with me or laughing at me. Either way, I brush off the comment, handing Liam his beer back and grabbing some peanuts to get the gross flavor out of my mouth.

"So Harry, what do you do?" I ask, crunching on the nuts.

Harry shrugs. "This and that," he replies.

"So you're in art?" I ask, narrowing my gaze.

"Bingo," Liam says. "He's a poet."

"A poet?" I ask, flashing Harry a wide smile. "That's pretty fucking cool. I'm a writer myself. Well, at least I try to be. Freelance isn't going amazingly right now."

Harry leans closer towards the table, folding his hands behind his head and letting out a tiny yawn. "Yeah, I've done some freelance. Prefer to just do poetry though. I was a Spanish major in uni, so I write in both languages," he says.