Girls? [xxxxxxx]

F I V E

Kicking the unlocked door with his foot, Harry ventures into his apartment just a little after midnight. The spaghetti in the takeaway container projects a lovely smell, so he heaves it in with his eyes closed. Opening them, he notices that all the lights are on.

"Niall?" He calls out, leaving his keys and wallet on the side table. "You still up, mate?"

There are a few moments of silence, before he hears Niall ask, "Did you bring any food?"

Juggling the spaghetti in his right hand, Harry slips out of his jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt with only his left hand as he shuffles towards the living room. He vaguely forgets to answer Niall, but he still does. "Yeah. Just some left over spaghetti. No lobster like last time."

"Harry's a chef, you see," Niall says a little bit quieter, but his voice is still loud.

He frowns, why would Niall have someone over this late without any music on? Shrugging to himself, he enters the living room, scanning all the couches. All he sees are lots and lots of folders, mostly consisting of colour schemes and party themes. Oh, they were supposed to do this on the weekend, together-just him and Niall, like they always do when a party rolls around.

Seeing as no one is seated with Niall, he asks, "Who were you talking to?"

Rolling his shoulders back to stretch them out of their tense position, something jabs him in the hips and yells, "Roar!"

Jumping up with a small squeal and nearly tripping over the cushions on the floor, Harry stabilizes himself on the armrest of the couch, heaving in a breath and listening to the laughs of Niall and Louis. "Yeah, yeah, very funny. Hilarious. I nearly dropped your food." He outstretches his hand with the tub in it, his fingers only hanging off the lid. "No dinner if I drop this."

"Oh, come on, mate. Don't be sour," Louis says and, wow, okay, he looks really good today. The exhausted, hollow look strangely suits him and his calves look great in those tight jeans, tightening around his thighs, but loose at the hips.

"Yeah, mate. Don't be sour," Niall repeats, like a parrot. "We've been waiting for you since nine, since I thought you finished at that time. So, what were you doing for around, like, how many hours is between nine and now?"

"Three," Louis answers, visibly glancing at Harry's exposed chest.

Niall leans forward, ignoring the pages of colour slipping off his lap. "What were you doing for three hours?"

"Nothing." Harry leaves the spaghetti on the coffee table. "I'll get you two forks."

But Niall won't leave him alone. "Did you go on a date or something? Who with?"

"Like Harry could even get a date," Louis scoffs, sitting down on the already dented couch.

Coming back with two forks, Harry says, "What?"

"Harry could get a date any day," Niall defends, acting lawyer, snatching a fork out of his client's hand.

Louis snorts, but it still sounds really lovely. "I really, really, really fucking doubt that. Harry can hardly flirt, let alone get a date."

"Well, you obviously haven't given me the chance, as your mouth is always kissing mine, decreasing my chances of actually flirting," Harry says, not filtering his sentence, and sits on the couch that's far away from Louis as possible. "Uh. I'm sorry, I don't, what am I even saying? I mean-what?"

Niall cackles, cackles, believe it or not, at Harry's blubbering, throwing his head back and clapping like a seal. "I cannot, oh my, God, seriously. I can't."

"You sound very Internet like," Louis comments to Niall and then locks eyes with Harry, blowing him a sweet, short kiss.

Harry sadistically smiles, for the fun of it, and catches it with his fist, smashing it to his lips.

"Oh my, God!" Niall wails.

Acting like the following up events never happened, Harry sighs and asks, "So, what are you guys doing?"

Niall stares at him. "Planning for Louis' party. You and me are doing New Years on the weekend."

"When's your birthday?" Harry asks Louis in a stale voice.

"Christmas Eve," he answers, lips already stained with tomato sauce. "Um, this is really good."

It takes Harry a few seconds to realize what Louis' talking about, but as soon as he looks down at the coffee table it sinks in that the spaghetti is the thing being talked about, he shrugs. "It's my job, so."

"How can you cook and not eat what you're cooking? I don't get it."

"Hey, Lou," Niall says, "We're going with black, yeah?"

Harry shrugs again. "I don't know."

Louis nods towards Niall and frowns at Harry. "Why are you being like this?"

"Being like what?"

"This, this-this dull person? I thought you were witty and intelligent and interesting."

"You can't really judge me when the only thing you do is kiss me and flirt with other girls."

Niall clears his throat. "Lou, do you want white balloons?"

"No, I mean yes. Harry, what do you mean? We like each other and I hoped that we could become great friends."

Harry's jaw drops, but he quickly covers it up by initiating a furious blush. With the heat on his cheeks and neck, he reboots his filter-his filter that washes everything out with niceness. "I, yeah. Sure, we're friends. Great ones, since we like each other and all."

"Cool," Louis says, nodding, "Because I really wanted your help to get El's attention. Maybe plan a few dates with me. Niall told me that you used to help him with his girlfriends. Used to help him be more romantic and all, and I really need the help."

"Would you? He keeps bugging me about her and I don't know shit," Niall adds, as if it would help the conversation move along.

"Sure," Harry states, smiling, though his eyes grim.

Louis pats leans over, patting Harry's shoulder. "Thanks, mate. I'm sure that your girlfriend is a lucky girl."

"If I had someone, sure."

"What? You mean that you don't have a girlfriend?"

Niall gathers the tub of spaghetti on his lap. "Harry doesn't have girlfriends. He has himself and his hand. I mean, who needs vaginas?"

"God bless," Louis sighs.

Yes, Niall, Harry thinks, who needs vaginas when you have dîcks?

[ thanks for reading :))))) ]