365 . larry stylinson fanfiction

chapter 1

Day 1: Beginning

Well, one boy band is certainly bringing the new year in with a bang – or several each, from the look of the night. Unfortunately, pulling on the job is frowned upon, so I was left regrettably lonely, drunk, and horny this evening. This is just the beginning of the emotional and sexual blight I expect suffer during this year as personal reporter and consort to that boy band from hell, Hi5. The band, I may remind you readers, that I specifically DID NOT WANT to cover in any capacity, let alone a comprehensive one. (If you are wondering, this IS directed at you, Greg. I hate you. You’re just the absolute worst. We aren’t speaking any longer, and there certainly won’t be a repeat of the events at last year’s Halloween party. Bastard.)

Louis needs a pen. His mental first draft of his blog post is actually rather brilliant, and he knows he’s too drunk to remember tomorrow morning when he’s typing it up.

Except maybe he should cut all the material in the parentheses. Greg is the one giving him an impressive paycheck for this assignment. Louis knows he deserves it; he wouldn’t be stupid enough to take it without, and no one else was stupid enough to do it at all. Nobody but the rookie reporter who’s a little desperate for cash.

365 days with the world’s biggest boy band. He’ll eat with them, drink with them, travel on their first world tour with them. He would be surprised if Greg wants him to keep track of their shits and sleep cycles.

Fuck.

Louis knocks back another whiskey. His thought are altogether too serious and coherent for eleven forty on New Year’s Eve. There must be someone in this crushing throng of people who’s gay and up for a quick fuck.

Actually, come to think of it, there probably isn’t. This party was thrown by a couple of the band members – the bland one and the blond one, Louis thinks. It’s full of groupies, B-list British musicians, and people from their management company. Nobody looking for anonymous sex, especially with a reporter. And he can’t even go home early.

Fucking pop stars.

He hates his job.

“Can I buy you a drink?” a deep voice says in his ear.

For a fraction of a second, Louis lets himself hope he’s wrong. Then he turns to look and recognizes the lad. It’s the young one from the band, the one that’s all hair and no brain.

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s an open bar,” he informs him coldly.

The youngster doesn’t give up. “Right,” he smiles nervously. “Well could I get you one?”

“I’ve got it, thanks.” Louis half turns away, trying to be dismissive, but the young one doesn’t move. He stays right there, hovering and fussing with his bracelets anxiously. “Can I help you?” Louis asks after another couple minutes.

“I’m trying to be friendly,” the kid says, biting his lip. “You’re our reporter, right? You’re coming with us everywhere this year?”

“Don’t remind me,” Louis mumbles grumpily. “Can I get another whiskey?” he asks the barman. He waits for it and then drinks half in one sip. The pop star is just watching him. “You’re still here?” Louis says.

“I’m just trying to be friendly,” he repeats quieter, almost too soft to hear.

Louis finishes his drink. “What do you want me to write about you?” he says flatly. “Just tell me. I don’t want to do this cat and mouse, yeah?”

“What?”

“You expect me to believe you came over here without any ulterior motive?” Louis arches an eyebrow. “Really?”