Can I dip? | Larry Stylinson

F o r t y - t w o

"Fucking dick he is." Zayn mutters, breathing in the narcotic as a 1975 song plays in the background.

"I swear he wasn't like this before. Harry has told me a lot about him and he seemed pretty nice." Niall explains. He shakes his head. "I mean they just met like a week ago. I'm sure Harry doesn't really know this guy that well."

The limo jumps as it passes a hump. They are currently on their way to the after party. They're riding the limo that Harry provided so they could easily get in the venue without any security suspicion.

Louis blows out the smoke into the window. "Yeah damn right he doesn't."

Louis doesn't even want to go anymore because—one, this lovey dovey shit that they have right now is sickening.

Two, the fucking douche insulted them just because they're poor—to make it clear they're not that poor that they're desperate enough to eat DELISH food—even if they are that's just damn low.

Three, he might just actually knock the lights out of this bloke if he makes another god forsaken move that he swears to god he can't budge another limb after it. That's how fucking pissed he is.

So yeah, it's for the better but then they're still going.

They're only going because Zayn wanted them to. Again, because of that Little Mix thing.

"I swear to god he'll be regretting every single word he'll ever think of telling us. If he just makes one more wrong fucking move he's gonna get it." Louis says through gritted teeth. Niall peers at him. "Dude calm down, yeah? S'not like what he said wasn't true. I really like food." Niall chuckles lightly to lighten the mood.

"Still not justifies what he said." Zayn coughs, taking a deep breath. "What does he even have to prove? That he's rich? Pfft, everyone knows that."

"He doesn't have to remind us."

—

"Goodevening, madame, sir?" The guard nods at the two vips.

The trio falls in line as the huge queue slowly becomes smaller and smaller.

Louis looks up and sees the most luxurious looking building he's ever seen. "Bloody hell, we're living."

After five minutes, they finally reach the front. The guard checks the invitation list. "Uh—Are you Mr.Dicaprio?" He eyes the list and looks at Louis.

"No, I'm—uh—Tomlinson." Louis states, fixing his stance as the two boys peer behind him.

The guard clicks his tongue, "wait a minute—seems like you guys aren't under the list. Hmm—"

"Maybe an exclusive insider would know. Wait a second, gentlemen." He excuses himself and looks around to catch the attention of another guard. He whispers to him.

Louis huffs, crossing his arms on his chest. He is utterly uncomfortable.

"Does Harry Styles ring a bell to you? Uh—we're actually here for him. He invited us to come along." Zayn says, stepping towards the guard.

The big guy perks up and smiles, "Oh yeah, I'll go ahead and call Mr.Styles." He coughs and grabs his walkie talkie. "To make sure."

"Can you please tell Mr.Styles that he is needed up the front? Thanks." He talks into it and puts it back on his desk.

Louis sighs, he chuckles dryly. The other two nod slowly.

Harry comes up the front. He nods his head immediately. "Yeah, yeah. They're with us."