Just Another Prank (A One Direction/Larry Stylinson Fan Fic)

Chapter Eleven

Louis

 

            There was a certain ease to being in Niall’s flat, a sense of familiarity and comfort. We used to use his place as our central hang out spot, but as we got older, we got busier and more accustomed to being alone after a full day’s work. Don’t get me wrong, there was hardly a day that went by when we didn’t hang out all day long, but this was….different. Sitting there on his couch, with Harry on the floor between my legs and Liam on the other side of me, I felt like I was eighteen again. If I closed my eyes, I could almost convince myself that we would be waking up the next day to rehearse our next number for the show, nervous down to our very bones but excited beyond belief. I smiled at the memory. Time had gone by so fast.

            Niall put Piper in his bed soon after she fell asleep and rejoined Harry, Liam, and I in the living room. He sat down on the other side of me and leaned back, closing his eyes. “My God, I’m getting too old for this.”

            We all turned to look at him simultaneously. “What?” we asked in unison.

            He opened one eye to look at us. “You heard me. I’m not sixteen anymore. It’s awful getting old. I’m freakishly tired and it’s only—“ he stopped to check his watch—“11:30!”

            Liam snorted. “Niall, you are not old. You’re eighteen. Turn forty and we might be able to have this conversation.”

            “Oh, God, I don’t even want to think about turning forty,” he groaned.

            “Well,” Harry said, “luckily, you’ve got a while to go.” He stood up and stretched. “You ready to go, Lou?”

            “Yeah,” I yawned, starting to get up, but Liam stopped me.

            “Wait,” he said. “Why don’t we just hang out for a little while? It seems like we haven’t done that in forever. Of course, if it’s okay with Niall.”

            The Irish boy shrugged. “I don’t care. But if we’re staying up late, we’re going to have to start drinking. It’s the only way I’ll be able to stay awake.” He disappeared into the kitchen and started rummaging through his liquor cabinet.

            I glanced at Harry. “Do you want to? You did just get out of the hospital. I’m fine if you want to go home and go to bed.”

            He shook his head and then winced, massaging his newly-placed stitches. “No, I want to stay. I’m already going to have a headache tomorrow—adding a hangover to it shouldn’t be a problem.”

            I chuckled. “Alright, then. I guess we’re on.” I sat back down and accepted the beer Niall handed me when a horrible thought occurred to me. “Wait, are you even allowed to drink, Harry? It’s not going to react with the stitches or the transfusions or anything, will it?”