Waste the Night >Larry Stylinson<

Waste the Night

Harry can feel the excitement bubble in his stomach as he looks at his outfit one last time in the mirror. He smooths down the pink sparkly blouse, the bow it has on the collar sparkling even more with his movement. He runs his fingers through his short curls and glances down to make sure his cream coloured, wide legged trousers have no stains on them. He knows keeping them spotless all night will be a miracle, but he is still hopeful. It maybe a bit much for a concert however Harry doesn't care. He

to be noticed. He wants to be noticed by one member of the band in particular.

"Harry, if you don't hurry your arse up, I am not going to the concert." Harry's head snaps up at the sound of Niall's voice. He looks up to find his dark haired friend wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. He dropped by over and hour ago, and made himself at home while Harry got dressed. Harry had to beg Niall for months to go with him, promising several baked goods, dinner, and to go to a fucking footie match with him in upcoming weeks. Niall wasn't the biggest fan of No Control. Niall has no taste.

"You can't. You promised!" Harry protests, fiddling with his bow in the mirror one last time before turning to Niall with a pleading look. Niall looks unimpressed, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes looking somehow bluer in contrast to the dark scruff on his face.

"Then hurry the fuck up. I know you have have your hopes up that this Liam..."

"Louis," Harry corrects glaring at his friend who seems unperturbed by Harry's angry stare. Liam and Louis look completely different. Liam has dark hair and brown eyes and is totally not Harry's type. Louis on the other hand is the most beautiful human being Harry has ever laid eyes on. He has told Niall the names of each band member at least one thousand two hundred and seven times in the past week alone. He has even shown him pictures to accompany their names, and Niall still doesn't know them. Harry needs better friends.

"...Louis guy is going to notice you, but don't be upset if it doesn't happen. There are gonna be thousands of people there, H," Niall says, looking at Harry with almost sad eyes. Harry isn't stupid. He understands that the chances of Louis noticing him are slim. He doesn't even know if the guitarist is gay. There are plenty of rumors, but he has never came out or anything. Harry is just holding out hope. He knows a lot about him, like the fact that he is from Doncaster, has six siblings, and even that he hates avocados. He knows there is a lot more to Louis than the media's portrayal of him, but that doesn't stop his heart from fluttering anytime a new picture of him is released. It doesn't prevent Harry's body from freezing every single time hears Louis' raspy voice in interviews or during his solos in songs. Harry has never loved someone he has never met so much.

"I know, Ni. I'm not delusional, but this night is important to me. I still want to look nice, even if it's just for myself," Harry responds, rolling his eyes. He goes over to his bedside table and puts a ring on almost every one of his long fingers, leaving the ring finger on his left hand bare. He doesn't want Louis to think he is taken if he just so happens to actually notice him. He then pats Niall on the shoulder, signalling to him that he is done and ready to leave.

It is an unusually sunny afternoon in London, not a rain cloud in sight, thank the gods, because Harry's ensemble is very expensive. They are still fairly early as they make their way to the arena, Harry having called a car knowing that they will probably drink when they get there. He also didn't want to deal with parking, so calling a car was the best option. He and Niall talk along the way, Harry quizzing him on each band member and the songs he knew were on the setlist. Niall does terribly on the quiz, but takes it all in good spirit, probably planning payback of epic proportions when it's his turn to drag Harry to the football match.

"I can't believe I am going to be in the same room as him," Harry says, his tone taking on a dreamy quality as it often does when he talks about Louis. He can't believe he is going to see him in person and breathe the same air as him. He is going to be mere feet away from Louis' blue eyes and high cheekbones with just the lightest dusting of freckles. Harry hopes he has a bit of scruff on his face, always having thought about what it would be like to kiss him with the beard rubbing against his sensitive skin. He wants to trace every one of his tattoos, even the dumb ones.