Oblivious || larry

always you

au where soul marks get coloured when they realise they're in love with their soul mate. His best friend having a coloured mark shouldn't bother him so much, yet it does.

Harry is in love Louis is oblivious.

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"'M just saying, Harold, there is no harm in going to a wedding once or twice," Louis slurs, knocking back whatever was left of his beer. It was the sixth or tenth, he cannot be arsed to count.

Harry, equally plastered as him, nods with his lips pushed out like a fucking goldfish. "Deffo, we should go to a weddin' or two, clean up and dress proper posh," he agrees, a hiccup punctuating the end of his sentence.

Now, if Liam, Zayn or even the Irish cunt Niall had been present with the duo, the idea would've been thrown out of the window. But luckily-depending on however the fuck you view it-they weren't and that meant all their stupid ideas could be brought to life.

Like attending his ex boyfriend's wedding that he had gotten an invite for with Harry. The same Harry who Damien-the infamous ex-had grilled around a million times about his soul mate. Yeah, so, it was an ace plan, still not set in marble or whatever stone but, yeah.

It is not that Louis is a bitter ex, nope, nada, he's the farthest thing from it, but that doesn't make him a sage either. Consider it as payback for dumping him while he was driving his mum to the hospital because she was in labour.

Plus, Harry agrees with him. It must've not been too bad or evil then. That boy has a heart of gold and is too kind to be exploited by Louis' partially evil schemes.

Harry extends his hand to snatch a nacho from Louis' stash all neatly piled up on the napkin. Louis catches his wrist, thumbing over the small, colourful sunflower on the inside of his wrist, coaxing gentle purrs from him.

"S'not a bad idea, yeah?"

"Not at all," he replies in full sincerity, nacho forgotten, fingers closing around the chilled glass, chugging back another pint, pushing one to him.

He drinks.

//

It is a bad, bad idea.

The wedding part, not so much but drinking, yes. Hell yes.

The next day when Louis wakes up sometime near two pm, he is in various states of undress, feet clad in duckie slippers Liam bought him as a joke, a shirt with sleeves roughly cut off stolen from Zayn and finally, a pair of candy themed boxers he's sure is Harry's.

His skull is being constantly hit by a hammer, a sledgehammer perhaps, the pain heavy and present behind his lids, breath stale and stinky from all the alcohol he downed, the lack of water too.

In short, he's a comedic, disgusting mess.

He brushes his teeth, slow and lethargic, letting the minty foam drip down the sides of his lips before getting too weirded out by it and brushing a bit harder. It makes his gums bleed a tad.

He finds Harry passed out on the couch, a plate beside him teetering precariously on the arm of it, smell of cold greasy food making his stomach grumble.

He picks it up, shoves Harry so hard that he promptly ends up on the floor, picks at the food with his hands.

Harry groans pathetically and tries to pinch his calf from his position on the floor, failing miserably.

Louis thinks he should take pity and offer his calf for a pinch lest the boy blind himself flapping his limbs around.

It doesn't come to that. Harry sits up and raises a knuckled fist to his eyes. He grouches until Louis shoves a piece of bacon at his face.