“Oh my GOD, that was the most insufferable human being I have ever encountered in my entire existence!”
Louis, still passionately irate, has just burst through the door to their flat, eyes seeking Niall instantly.
He’s on the couch, limbs outstretched with one arm on the back of the sofa, discarded crisp bags everywhere, empty beer bottles at his feet, and clad in track pants and an American basketball jersey as he looks up from his laptop, tellie blaring whatever footie match he’s currently halfwatching.
“That bad, eh?”
“Oh, it was WORSE,” Louis exclaims, kicking off his shoes and ripping off his jumper. “I did not know people like that actually existed. I mean—I can’t believe we’re the same species. I can’t believe we’re made of the same stuff—surely there’s a computer chip in him somewhere because that is not a human being, Niall, no, that is a robotic monster with no sense of decency or feelings of any nature!” He’s out of breath from his exuberant tirade, and he stares at Niall wildly, trousers half-done.
Niall’s eyebrows shoot into the air, pausing before he brings a bottle of beer to his lips while Louis storms into his room.
“Really? He always seemed all right to me.”
“All right?? ALL RIGHT??! Niall, have you any brains in that blonde, liquored head of yours?? Has your silver-spooned upbringing clouded your sense of judgment that severely??” Louis splutters, pausing his actions of stuffing on an oversized vest (which might also be Niall’s, he can’t remember).
The rest of the beer is finished in one gulp. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’ve got pretty good judgment. I’m starving—dinner soon?”
But Louis ignores him, his face flushed with all the fury of a thousand suns.
“Niall, I’m going to set him on fire! I am! Honestly, I’m not even sure how I’m going to manage existing around this wanking, piece of shit, ponce-assed, fucking—“
“Whoah, whoah,” Niall interrupts, holding up his hands in what Louis assumes is supposed to be a soothing action. “He can’t be as bad as you say. You’ve only been gone for a few hours!”
“A few hours too many, let me tell you!”
“Well, what happened? What did he say?”
“What did he say? WHAT DID HE SAY?? He said everything! He talked about himself, he talked about his conquests, he talked about his money and his—“
“He talked that much?” Niall blinks, standing up and making his way to Louis (who is now sitting at the table with his fists clenched). “He always seemed so quiet.”
“Is that a joke? You trying to be funny again? No, he’s not fucking quiet. He yaps and yaps and yaps like a little curly fucking…poodle,” Louis finishes with angered triumph, and he glares his frustration at Niall for good measure, thumping the table.
“Zayn? Zayn Malik. Zayn Malik yaps like a poodle,” Niall reconfirms as he leans over the table across from Louis, arms braced.
Louis starts. “Who—what—Zayn? No. No! God, Niall, no, not fucking Zayn Malik! He’s all right, seems like a good enough lad. No, Harry Styles! And, oh God”—Louis brings his hand up to his mouth—“I can’t even say the name. I’m going to be sick from just the sound.”
“Oh, Harry?” Niall says, surprised. He stares at Louis for a moment before a small laugh escapes him, his features set in sunny amusement. “Yeah, I figured he’d be there. You don’t like him?”
Louis stares. “Is that a fucking joke?”
Niall grins. “But everybody likes Harry Styles,” he mocks, and thumps down into the chair opposite Louis.
“Yes, well, then everybody has a personality disorder. Niall,” Louis says, eyes wide with distress as he touches his chest, “I sincerely think he’s evil. There is something seriously wrong with him. He’s cruel, heartless, cold—“
“Those are not words I have ever heard used to describe Harry Styles,” Niall interrupts, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure you’re talking about the right guy?”
“Oh, I’m sure. Harry, ‘Harold,’ Styles, right? He’s not right, mate. When he spoke it was like he was reading lines from a playbook. He said what everyone wanted him to say without meaning a word of it. He acted like he was the life of the party, like everybody wants him—“
“That’s probably true though, mate.”
“I don’t care if that’s true. Which, if that’s true—if that’s true—I refuse to believe that that’s true— what kind of world do we live in?!” Louis’ aware that he’s close to shouting, but he doesn’t care, his cheeks flushed and hair wilting as he bangs fists on the table.
Niall chuckles at his indignation. “Well, he’s definitely a bit off. I mean, I’ve never had a problem with him myself—he’s always shown me a good fuckin’ time. But there is something I don’t trust about him.”
“To put it lightly,” Louis mutters darkly before bursting into humorless laughter. “I’m dead serious, mate. I may just actually rip his head off if I see him again.”
“Calm down!” Niall laughs, leaning across the table to clap Louis on the back. “You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to! It’ll be fine!”
“True. This is true. That is true, and that is comforting.”
Niall nods and promptly stands up. “’M starved. Want some cake?” he asks, making his way towards the fridge.
“Nah, you go ahead,” Louis says absently, bringing a hand to his flushed cheek.
A few beats pass—filled only by the sound of Niall rummaging for a fork as he reveals the pristine chocolate cake from its cardboard box—and Louis really, really doesn’t want to keep talking about Harry Styles.
But.
“So, what’s his story, then?” he asks, and refuses to chastise himself for a curiosity that can’t be tamed. Then again. “Actually, you know what? I take it back. Never mind. I don’t want to hear it. You know why? Because I want no knowledge about anything having to do with Harry Styles. If there is some kind of information that is privy to only those who know Harry Styles, then I want none of it. Because I literally want to forget that he exists. Starting now.”
Niall laughs, mouth full of chocolate cake, walking around with it as if it were a single portion and lightly tapping his feet in a jig. (Jolly. That’s the best word to describe Niall Horan. Jolly.)
“Well,” he swallows, “He’s actually the son of Des Styles. Obviously.”
But what? No. No, that is not obvious.
“Des Styles?” A pause. “As in…the famous bloke? The one from Crue? The one who sang ‘Nine Dreams'?”
“Yeah.”
“The guy from all the mag covers? Who broke records? And was all over the TV and the radio and everywhere in between? The one who wins the ‘Top Rock Groups From the 90’s’ countdowns? Every time?”
Louis is really trying to keep his cool right now, because of fucking COURSE Harry Styles is the son of one of his favorite bands.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“From ‘Crue’?” Louis reaffirms.
“Still yes.”
It takes a moment to process this information.
He looks up, Niall now downing a glass of either water or vodka before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. And Louis’ brain is scrambling.
“But isn’t that guy mental?”
“Oh yeah. He’s a right fuckin’ mess, it’s pretty bad. Me dad said he’s impossible to work with. He doesn’t even know where he is half the time, and if he does, you don’t know which side of him is going to show up, you know?”
Louis swallows, because shit, that’s pretty intense, before Niall takes another gulp from his refilled glass and ponders, lips wet.
“You know, I’m not even sure if he’s living at home right now, actually. He might be institutionalized.”
“Institutionalized?” Louis repeats, shocked. “What, for drugs or…?”
“No, I think he’s clean now. I think. Me dad was never really sure, to be honest. But no, he goes through these breakdowns every now and then. Hospital sets him up then he’s all right to go back home.”
“So he’s a nutter.”
“That’s an understatement.”
Louis nods, more to himself than anything, and clears his throat, refusing to think about the implications of the situation and how it relates to Harry. So he stands up and walks over to Niall, head held high.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and grabbing the tumbler out of Niall’s hand, “I’m sure Harry isn’t even aware of the situation. I’m not quite sure he realizes that anybody else exists in the world.” He takes a drink and—oh, yep. Vodka. He winces as he struggles to swallow while Niall watches in amusement.
“You may have a point there. He didn’t seem too fussed when his mum died.”
“…His mum died?”
“Well, one of them. I’m not sure if she was his real mum or not. He’s had a few.”
Good lord.
“How did she die?”
Niall shrugs. “Nobody knows. It was pretty hushed up, so it could’ve been an overdose or some shite.”
Some shite? Louis feels a little sick.
“It probably was drugs. Seeing that his sister’s a bit of an addict herself.”
This is just getting worse.
“He has a sister?”
“Yeah. She’s a big time model. Gemma Styles? Never heard of her?”
Louis shakes his head. “I’m not really…into models. Well. Female ones.”
Niall smirks. “Well, she’s fit. But a fuckin’ mess. Raised Harry until he could take care of himself, then she was out of there.”
“And this was after their mum died?”
“Yep.” Niall reflects for a moment, clear blue eyes cutting through the shadow of the room. “Yeah, no, I remember when their mum passed. Harry didn’t seem too upset about it.”
And Louis starts at that because—what??
“He didn’t seem too upset when his own mum died??” Louis repeats, perplexed. “What the fuck? What am I dealing with? Is this a monster? Is this an actual monster? I feel like I’m Little Red Riding Hood and I’ve just encountered the big, bad fucking wolf.”
Niall rolls his eyes, but his smile is wide. “You’re going to be fine. Harry’s all right. Maybe he’s not all there, but he’s not dangerous or anything. Besides, you don’t even have to see him ever again.”
“Well. Not necessarily. I actually quite like Zayn and Liam,” Louis explains thoughtfully. “The other lads were good, too. It was just Harry that set my teeth on edge. If they offered, I’d be happy to hang about again.” He heaves a sigh, dropping his head onto Niall’s shoulder. “What should I do? They seem like good friends, so I doubt I’ll be able to completely avoid him.”
“Oh, they’re definitely good friends. Zayn and Harry used to be step-brothers.”
And the plot thickens.
“What?” Louis asks, his head shooting back up.
“I told you that already.”
“No you did not!”
“When you asked about Zayn—I told you his mum married Des Styles for a bit.”
“Well I wasn’t listening. How did that happen? Mira is too classy of a woman to sign up for that mess!” And no, Louis doesn’t actually know her, but he’s seen all of her movies and that’s the next best thing to a personal relationship.
Niall shrugs. “Dunno. It didn’t last very long. Two years, tops.”
“Shit. I suppose they’re pretty close, then. Seeing that they’re essentially brothers. Or ex-brothers. Or whatever. Fuck.” Louis’ head drops back onto Niall’s shoulder, closing his eyes in despair. “What’s worse is that Zayn was actually pushing us together.”
Niall’s shoulder stiffens ever so slightly. “Really?” And he does not sound impressed.
“Yeah. I think he thought it was funny or something. Are these people bad seeds?”
“All I know,” Niall says, but his voice has already returned to its normal joviality, “is that Zayn’s a good bloke. He’s rich and powerful as fuck and his father’s a cunt, but he’s good. Liam Payne—“
“Oh, is that his last name?”
“Yeah. He’s Zayn’s boy and a good enough bloke as well. Not too sure if I trust him all that much, though.”
At this, Louis is genuinely startled. “What? Why? He seemed so kind and welcoming. He was the nicest person there.”
“No particular reason. He’s just a bit of a wild animal.”
“A wild animal," Louis repeats flatly. "Are we talking about the same person? He was like a bloody houseplant!”
“I’m not saying he’s like Harry Styles. But he’s definitely a big partier. And he knows what people want to hear.”
“He’s phony?”
“No, I don’t think he’s phony. I think he’s a nice guy but I also think he knows how to play people. He’s smart. Extremely well-bred, as you’d say. Just keep that in mind, all right?”
“All right,” Louis agrees, watching Niall. “And Zayn, too? Should I watch out for him as well?”
“Nah. Unless you feel like you need to. But.” Niall pauses. “Just, watch out for Harry especially.”
Louis’ head might actually be spinning in circles. Too many warnings. Too much new information.
“I thought you said he was this great guy that everybody loved. And that he wasn’t dangerous,” he says, on the verge of exasperation.
“He’s not. But. He’s not right in the head, I don’t think.”
“I could’ve assumed that much.” Louis watches as Niall chews on his lip, surprised by the boy’s sudden solemnity. “Do you have a specific reason why you’re saying this?”
“No, nothing specific. But I’ve seen him during some dark moments. And he fucks everything that walks, as well, so don’t let him take advantage of you.” Niall gives him a hard look, tone protective, hand firmly planted on the counter.
Louis grins despite himself. Because he now realizes that Niall is clearly being a mother hen. And since his own mother (who hasn’t called since Louis left her that voicemail reminding her to focus on his sisters and not him) never really gave helpful advice, Louis feels rather touched.
“Awwww, Nialler!” Louis teases, pinching his cheeks. “You’re starting to be all protective of me like a mum!”
“Fuck off,” Niall laughs, but doesn’t deny anything.
“Well. I appreciate it, mate,” Louis says more seriously with a grin that he hopes displays as much. “But next time they invite me to something, you’re coming with me.”
“Sorry. Not my crowd. Too pretentious and…weird. They have tea parties and play croquet and talk about the theatre and…no. I’ve had enough of that growing up.”
“Hm, yes, well, you’re still coming. Now. Let’s play FIFA before you take me out to dinner, all right? Loser gives Rory a piggyback all the way home from the pub.”
“Better rest your back then, Tommo.”
“Not a chance, Nialler,” Louis counters, and doesn’t even flinch at the nickname.
**
Two hours later, Louis’ phone buzzes with a text and his social life has become so monopolized
by Niall at this stage in his life that that really is a momentous occasion.
“Who is it?” Niall asks absently, focusing on the game at hand.
Louis drops the controller and brings his phone up to his face. “It’s Liam,” he says with surprise. He mumbles through the text, eyes darting across the screen.
‘Mate! It was so good to meet you yesterday! Had an absolutely incredible time. There’s going to be a party tomorrow at The Priory Hotel. We would love you to come. :)’
‘Sounds incredible. U hosting ?’
‘Harry is’
“Ah,” Louis voices, and Niall looks over.
“What?”
‘Text me the details and I’ll see you then.’
‘Excellent!’
“Niaaaalllll!” Louis suddenly wails, falling face down into the couch. “I’m upset,” he mutters, voiced muffled in the cushions.
“Why are you upset?” comes the immediate response. And, okay, Louis can admit that Niall has the patience of a saint.
“Because I’ve just been invited to a party hosted by Harry and I hate Harry and I might end up committing homicide at a nice party and thus jeopardize my entire future, well-being, and crime record.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic! I’m sincere and heartfelt and I express myself,” he snaps, lifting his face. “If that’s wrong then I don’t want to be right!”
“I see. Well. Good luck with tha—“
“Please come.”
“No.” It's spoken without a seconds' thought.
“Oh come on!” Louis exclaims, sitting up and climbing toward Niall. “They’d like you! You’re rich like them! And you get along with everybody, even that stuffy old hag who throws me nasty glances when we check our mail. It’ll be fun!”
“I like Mary.” At Louis’ pointed glare, Niall sighs, setting down his controller. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, well then I actually can’t. Honestly. I’ve got the rowing team tomorrow.”
“You’ve joined the rowing team?”
“Yeah, I dunno. I’m just testing out how I like it. Gives me something to do.”
“What do you mean it gives you something to do? Am I chopped liver? Are you going to be at practice all the time now while I’m at home, alone and bored?” Louis nearly screeches, hand splayed over his heart. He might be a touch offended. But if he were asked, he'd deny it.
“You’ve got your new friends. You'll be fine.”
“Be that as it may, I really don’t appreciate just being abandoned. I’m not one of those people who finds new friends and ditches their old friends.”
A Cheshire-cat grin spreads immediately upon Niall's lips, eyes caught in a glint. “You just said we’re friends,” he smirks, pointing an accusatory finger.
Fuck.
“No I did not,” Louis immediately responds, looking away as if struck. “You misconstrued my sentence. I meant…" He struggles for words momentarily, before finally settling with a," Shut up, Niall. I was just saying that you should come to the party and not join the rowing team because everybody on it is a prat.”
“I’ll go next time, all right?”
“But I can’t go alone! I need somebody to talk to! I need somebody to cry with!”
“Yeah, no, I'm definitely not going then," he chuckles.
“Come on! Please? Please??”
“I promise next time I’ll go. I promise,” Niall says with as much sincerity as he’s allowed, before averting his eyes back to the TV screen, controller back in hand.
“All right. Fine. That’s fine. I understand. I’m going to text you the whole time and send you pictures of my tears, but it’ll be fine.”
“It’ll be fine,” Niall agrees.
**
When Sunday arrives, Louis still hasn’t heard from Liam.
“He was obviously just texting me to be polite. You were right all along, Niall. He’s a swindler. A right phony. With no moral fiber whatsoever.”
He’s currently pacing around the flat, only breaking his stride to occasionally jump on Niall (who is lying on the floor, strumming his guitar and burping the lyrics to “Danny Boy”) and scream panicked obscenities in his face.
Which he does now.
“IT’S ONLY THE FIRST WEEK AND I’VE ALREADY BEEN REJECTED!!” he screeches, pouncing on Niall and grabbing his face between his hands.
Niall blinks up at him between squished cheeks, the guitar uttering a sad twang at the impact. “You can come rowing with me?”
Louis releases Niall’s face and glares down at him. “Honestly, Niall, sometimes I wonder if you just speak to hear your voice. NO, I WILL NOT GO ROWING WITH YOU.” He sniffs and disengages himself from the boy. “I have more class than that.”
disengages himself from the boy. “I have more class than that.”
“So what will you end up doing?”
“My studies. I am going to excel in all my courses and will become so supremely intelligent that I won’t need any friends.”
“What about me?”
“You don’t count, you’re Irish.”
Niall bursts into laughter. “You are such a fuckin’ cunt,” he says, but there’s enough fondness in his voice that Louis lets it go.
“But you’re not honestly gonna go rowing now, are you? When I’m home all alone?” Louis pouts as he sits next to Niall on the floor, cross legged, hands neatly folded in his lap like a good boy.
Niall sighs a chuckle as he sets aside the guitar and sits up. “Well—“
And, luck be there, Louis’ phone vibrates at that exact moment.
Niall lunges for it before Louis can. “It’s from Liam!” he laughs as he holds it in the air as Louis struggles to grab it.
“What does it say? Is it a rejection? He’s probably just jealous cuz Zayn fancies me!”
“Zayn fancies you?” Niall laughs, surprised, as he continues to keep the phone out of the realm of Louis’ arm span.
“Yes! Maybe! Probably!”
With a shake of the head, Niall unlocks the text. “Party in an hour at Priory Hotel. Bring swimming trunks. See you there!” he reads, before tossing the phone to a grasping Louis. He nods in approval. “That’s a nice place. You’ll have fun.”
But Louis is still getting over the bit about swimming trunks. “Is there a pool there?”
“Yeah. A damn good one, too.”
“Shit. I haven’t exercised in ages. And I’m pale as the moon! I can’t just put my body on display when I’ve such little time to prepare! I’m not going,” Louis says, setting down his phone with steely determination and resolutely ignoring Niall’s rolling of the eyes.
“Don’t be a cunt, just go. It’ll be fun. Besides, you can’t be paler than Harry.”
“Oh, but fuck. He’s going to be such a piss ant about all this, isn't he? He probably won’t even let me in.The prat.”
“If the boys are inviting you, then you’ll be allowed. Now calm the fuck down and get ready. I gotta go soon.” Niall whips out his own phone and begins tapping out a text. “I’m having Rory pick up a few things for me. Do you need swimming trunks?”
“I’m not having Rory buy me swimming trunks.”
“He won’t. I’ll buy them.”
“I don’t need your money!” Louis immediately spits like a baby kitten. “I’m not a charity case. I can afford—“
“Right, I’m telling him to pick you up some,” he interrupts seamlessly. “Black?”
“I refuse to be part of this.”
“Nah, blue. It’ll bring out your eyes more,” Niall says conversationally as if he knows what the fuck he’s talking about. Those are big words coming from a boy who’s currently wearing an oversized t-shirt with the words “Crazy Mofos” scribbled onto it.
But Louis can’t help but smile. “You’re such a good lad. Noticing my eyes ‘n all.” And he throws forth a wink because he can.
“You talk about your eyes all the time, Lou. Every day since I’ve met you you’ve told me that you like to wear blue because it brings out your eyes.”
Oh. Yeah.
“Shut up.”
And before Niall can respond, Louis jumps up and blows a raspberry on the back of his neck before prancing away.
“Ya cunt!” is all Louis hears as he shuts the door of his bedroom and begins assembling himself for the party.
**
Niall promises to leave only after Louis becomes reassured (repeatedly) that he looks good—good in the sense that he appears naturally disheveled and not like he’s been working on himself for the past hour.
He’s playing the piano again, crafting songs to mock Louis under melodies that sound like nursery tunes. (“Louis, your hair looks fine, Louis, stop wasting your time” “Louis is a boy, Louis’ not a girl. But if he was, he’d be the prettiest in the world” “Don’t be such a cunt, don’t be such a nut, relax your-fucking-self and roll up a blunt”) He's really clever. Just so extremely clever. Louis is so impressed. (That's a lie.)
Eventually Rory arrives, delivers several bags with “Ralph Lauren” branded onto them over to Niall, before handing a smaller one to Louis.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” Louis says, a little sheepishly.
Rory merely winks. “It’s my job, son. No worries. But I made sure to get you the best they had to offer.”
Oh, great.
“Thanks, mate," Louis mutters, inspecting the bag hesitantly. He glances up, catches the older man's eye. "But I will poison you if you’ve set me up for disaster. I’m trained in potions.”
But Rory only smiles before asking Niall if he needs anything else.
“Tell Nelson I’ll be ready in a minute!”
And then Rory exits.
“Nelson? It’s not that far of a walk, man. You’re getting spoiled,” Louis berates, slowly emptying
the contents of his bag. And, oh. They’re not bad at all! They’re actually quite nice. “Your boy did good!” he calls, holding the trunks up to himself. “I might just win best dressed.”
“Let’s hope so,” Niall says, tumbling out of his room in freshly purchased sporting clothes, price tag still on his vermilion polo. Which looks ridiculous.
“Come here, you knob,” Louis says, shaking his head before unpinning it from the collar. He gives him a final once over. “There. Good and proper. Off you go, then.”
“Good luck at the party,” Niall grins, mussing up Louis’ hair. “Show him who’s best!”
“I will. FYI, I’m going to be texting you the entire time.”
With one last shake of the head, Niall leaves.
So.
It’s Louis vs. Party right now.
Game. On.
