Summary:
Louis and Harry are best friends, they go for chocolate milk at 2 AM. Shenanigans ensue.
***
It's two am when a text lights up Louis' phone. He was awake anyway, wallowing in a cloud of his own pathetic singleness and trying to build up the motivation to wank. But, alas, he is very lazy and apparently his sloth-ism has no limits. He reaches over and picks up his phone, glaring at the porn on his screen that has failed to do anything helpful.
The text is from Harry:
be ready in 5, I saw ur lights on, lets drown our sorrows in chocolate milk
Louis taps out a quick reply:
business casual or black tie?
Harry's response comes only a moment later:
the usual
Louis smiles to himself, rolling his eyes at his absolute loser of a best friend, before going to his closet and pulling out his tux. He gets dressed quickly, stumbling only over tying the tie, something he still hasn't mastered but he knows Harry will fix it for him and he won't even have to ask.
He clicks off his light and walks into the living area, where his roommate Zayn is still curled up on the couch with his boyfriend Liam. Sickening, the two of them. Movie nights and romantic dinners and nights Louis really wishes he was deaf. Assholes.
Oh god, Louis' so alone.
And there they are and Liam is snuffling softly into Zayn's neck and the TV screen has gone blue. Zayn looks up, blinking sleepily at Louis. He looks so fucking innocent. He can't fool Louis, he's found the whip and the fucking handcuffs. Gross, god.
"Going out." Louis mouths, but Zayn has already dropped his head down on Liam's and pressed his lips to the bigger boy's short hair. Disgusting.
He grabs his wallet and heads out of his flat, face changing from a scowl to a grin when he sees Harry. Harry's leaning against his car puffing his breath into his fingers. He has his larger-than-average bowtie situated below his neck and black blazer over a crisp white button down. He's really an awful wingman, because whoever Louis tries to pick up usually ends up going home with Harry. It's the damn baby greens, Louis always says, and Harry pokes his hollowed cheek and says maybe Louis should try showing off his baby blues more, they're always trained on the guy's crotch.
Louis usually hits him.
"Top o' the morning!" Harry greets him, pushing himself off the chipped blue paint of his car and opening the door for Louis with a grand gesture.
"Spent the day with Niall, did you?" Louis asks sliding into the warm leather. Harry thought to preheat his seat for him, how lovely. It's really the only good thing about the godforsaken vehicle, those heated seats. Harry slides into the driver's side and puts the car into reverse, pulling out of his parking space.
"That, my friend, is a story for the third or fourth chocolate milk." Harry says, with a deep sigh.
"Niall and Gemma?" Louis asks and picks a cat hair off his trousers. Damn it, Lady, must you shed?
"Zip!" Harry says, making some sort of dramatized motion with his hand, "I must be properly drunk to discuss this."
Louis holds up his hands in a surrender, laughing at the curly haired boy.
They pull into the Friendly's parking lot and Louis grudgingly opens the door to the cold January air, flurries of snow floating into the car and a snowflake uncomfortably invading his nostril. They walk toward the decomposing restaurant. The F R I L Y and the apostrophe are all out, so at night it reads " end s".
