Louis awakens the next morning with a head that may have the potential to spontaneously combust.
“Oh god,” he breathes, blindly reaching for water on his nightstand. But fuck, there is none—and where exactly is Niall? Shouldn’t he be checking on him and fetching him things?
When Louis finally stumbled his way through the door last night, the boy was nowhere to be found, only the remnants of some Irish stew lying in the sink indicating that he had been there at all since Louis had last seen him.
It didn’t irritate him or anything. It’s not as if he had mentally planned out his tirade about the party and Harry Styles on the way home or anything. He really did enjoy the peace of solitude. If Niall HAD been there, he probably would have ended up playing the fucking piano or farting.
But now Louis is awake (only in the most generous sense of the word) and is weakly grasping at air, pillow over his face as he quietly suffers through existence.
“Niall,” he calls weakly, voice burdened from sleep and dehydration.
Champagne is evil. It’s pretty and fun and it loves you and it’s evil.
“Niall,” he tries again, but his door is closed and he knows Niall is nowhere near doting enough to be listening for Louis’ weak pleas.
Thankfully, this is the twenty-first century.
Feeling like he just crawled out of the devil’s ass crack, Louis fumbles for his phone, finding Niall’s name (he’s not talking about the fact that he’s made it to his list of favorites—it was for convenience and nothing else) and pressing it with all the passion his hungover and pitied state can muster.
It rings once.
“Tommo!” Niall answers robustly as soon as he picks up. “Where are you? I was just about to have Rory get us some food.”
“You sound very chipper for being awake so early,” Louis rasps.
“It’s nearly midday.”
“Midday is early. Anytime of the day involving the sun is early.”
“Can’t say I disagree with you there. But even so, I had lecture. Just came back, in fact.”
Lecture.
It’s Monday.
Fuck.
FUCK.
“Fuck,” Louis repeats, and it’s a squeak of despair. “I slept clear through! I’m going to be kicked out of school at this rate.”
“Don’t be dramatic. So what say you, then? Want anything in particular? Salmon? A sandwich? Lasagna?”
“I’m going to need petrol. And a match. Throw in some gunpowder while you’re out.”
“…Does this have to do with Harry?”
“No. Well. I mean, I guess it could. But no—Niall, I think I’m dying.”
“Where are you?”
“In my room.”
“You called me from your room?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in there right now?”
“Yes.”
There’s a pause on the other line, then the sound of heavy footsteps. The door bursts open, and there’s Niall in black jersey shorts, a cream colored long-sleeve shirt, and a snapback, phone pressed to his ear. He looks tired, shadows deep under his eyes, but the brightness of his smile chases any of the darkness away.
“Praise Jesus,” Louis breathes, dropping his phone instantly. “Come here,” he demands, arms outstretched. “Carry me around, bring me water, and drug me. I beg you.”
Niall grins wider, tucking his phone into his pocket before bouncing over to Louis, arms sliding beneath his body.
Ok, then. Apparently he’s actually going to pick Louis up. No complaints there.
“Fun night?” Niall laughs, hoisting Louis into the air. Which does nothing for his stomach.
“What’s ‘fun’? I’ve never heard of it. I’m only familiar with ‘pain’ and ‘regret’,” Louis groans, grasping at his abdomen. “Can you call Rory again and tell him to bring the hospital?”
Niall laughs even louder in Louis’ ear (ouch) before clomping into the living room and dropping Louis inelegantly onto the couch.
“Ow!” Louis whines, shielding light from his eyes. “You could be more gentle!”
“I’ve no time for gentle.” Niall hops away and Louis hears him rummaging through cabinets, turning on the faucet, and humming some intolerably chipper tune.
Death to Irish.
By the time he’s returned, Louis has already made a mental list of the ten best buildings he would fling himself off of right now to escape his misery. Because, true, Louis’ always been a bit of a partier and he’s had his fair share of hangovers. But never like this.
He’s almost entirely sure that Harry poisoned him.
“I think Harry poisoned me,” he voices aloud, grabbing the offered crystal glass of water and pills.
“Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Niall shrugs, hands on hips as he looks down at Louis thoughtfully.
“For what?”
“If you die.”
“Lovely,” Louis glares, but settles his head back down on the pillow.
“So how was it, then?” Niall asks, lifting Louis’ legs as he sits next to him, plopping them onto his lap.
“Not so fast. Where were you? You were gone last night. I came home to an empty flat,” Louis mourns.
“I went out with some mates. Nothing big—just a few pubs and clubs and shite. Oh, I met Mick Jagger!” Niall adds as an afterthought.
Louis releases his hands from his eyes.
“Sorry?”
“I met Mick Jagger. I have a picture, I’ll show you later.”
And Louis really wants to elaborate on this (“YOU MET MICK FUCKING JAGGER AND THAT WASN’T THE FIRST THING YOU SAID TO ME?” and “JUST WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU THAT MICK FUCKING JAGGER WAS PRANCING AROUND MEETING PEOPLE?!”) but his head has a pulse and the bitter aftertaste of liquor and potentiallyimpending vomit fill his mouth.
So instead he just groans his frustration and settles back into the pillow, hands back on his eyes.
“Right then. You’ve just forfeited your turn to speak because you’re a knob," he mutters irritably. Niall only laughs in response. "My night was fun as well. Long, frustrating, sweaty, but fun. Zayn and Liam were a good time. There was a champagne fountain which was potentially poisoned, there was a lot of shitty music, a gorgeous swimming pool filled with too many people, good food, and I even was able to witness Harry Styles’ split personalities firsthand.”
“Did you, now?” Niall asks, surprised, arm slung over the back of the couch. “What did he do?”
“Well, he tried to pull me again. And then again. But then he gave up and he turned into a total wanker—you should’ve seen his face. Then later he climbed onto the fountain and started screaming things and he looked like he was on the verge of mental collapse. And then suddenly,
he was back to normal. Like nothing had happened at all! It was mental, mate. I’ve never experienced anything like that.”
Niall smiles and shakes his head, clapping Louis on the arm. “Well, at least you had fun and he ended up leaving you the fuck alone. You let me know if he ever bothers you, you hear?" Louis nods, a bit begrudgingly, but it smooths the light creases of concern on Niall's face all the same. "Good," he nods. "Now. Since you’re feeling so shite, why don’t we smoke before lunch? When’s your next tutorial?”
“I’ve got one in about two hours,” Louis pouts. Why is he in school again? Who said this was fun? With a sigh, he curls in on himself, sinks deeper into the cushions of the couch.
“Perfect.”
And Niall gets up to get his bowl while Louis whimpers through his pain.
**
“You’d think you’d want to be a better student,” Niall strains as he keeps the smoke held in his chest, passing the small, glass fixture to Louis. “Seeing as how you’re spending all this money that you don’t really have.”
Louis is becoming increasingly aware of Niall’s complete lack of tact.
“It’s Charles’ money, not mine,” he mutters, wrapping his lips around the smooth glass and flicking the lighter. “Besides, I’ve only missed a couple lectures. Today’s an off day. I’ll be back to form come tomorrow.”
“Who’s Charles?”
“M’dad,” he replies the mouth-full of smoke.
“Why do you call him Charles?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” Louis coughs as the smoke spews from him in waterfalls, vision blurring. “Hey, can you get my phone?”
Niall agrees, eyes red and lidded, and heaves himself up off the couch. His movements are less hyper, more measured as he strides to Louis’ room.
He comes back a moment later with the prize in tow.
“Thanks, mate. You’re the best,” Louis says absently, flicking it on.
And oh!
Text from Liam!
‘Picnic today at 4pm. Wear blue. :)’
“Wear blue,” Louis repeats, raising his eyebrows. “These blokes are something else, aren’t they? Bossy.”
Niall smiles hazily. “Anyone born into money is bossy.”
“Well, I know that you are.”
He nods. “Born that way. But you should go.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“I’ve got to go rowing.”
Louis’ jaw drops in outrage as he turns to him. “That’s just becoming an excuse now, isn’t it?”
“Nah, mate,” Niall chuckles, stretching his legs.
“But I promised them you’d come. Now you look rude. You can’t be rude to Zayn Malik.”
“I’ll go next time. I mean it,” he adds at Louis’ wry glare, “I think I’m going to quit.”
“Why? Because you miss me?” Louis teases, scrunching his face (which maybe hurts his still slightly pounding brain) and smashing it into Niall’s neck who laughs and wiggles away.
“Too much rowing,” he explains amidst chuckles, then gets up, ruffling Louis’ hair on his way past.
“You better not be going to that damn pian—“
But Louis is cut off by the beginnings of “A Thousand Miles.”
“I’m going to smash that thing,” he grumbles to himself as he collapses onto the couch, face down.
And if his head begins hurting a little bit less at the tinkling notes, Louis will never admit it.
**
When Louis goes to lecture that day (like the good boy that he is—Niall was trying to convince him to play football instead) he hears Zayn’s name repeated amongst the swirls of whispers over. And over. And over.
“I saw Zayn Malik today!”
“Zayn Malik just invited me to a party!”
“Did you know Zayn Malik had his boys throw Gilbert Fopp into the lake?”
“Zayn Malik shags everyone at his parties. That’s why he only lets all the pretty girls go.”
“I just heard Zayn Malik telling someone that he bought a share of the school so that he could comanage it with his father.”
“Ohmygosh, Zayn Malik just threatened to hire hitmen because a boy cut in the queue!”
And it goes on, each whisper more outrageous than the next.
The first dozen times, Louis calls them out.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he snaps at a cluster of giggling girls, Louis Vuitton bags pressed to their chests, hair glimmering. “He would never say that. Stop spreading that shit around.”
But he’s only met with blank stares before they return to their conversation in full animation.
It’s going to be a long day.
And though Louis really shouldn’t listen, really shouldn’t take any of it to heart, he can’t help but feel a mixture of annoyance—he probably knows Zayn better than any of these boys and girls and Zayn is nothing like he’s painted out to be—and curiosity.
Because even though Louis gets on with Zayn and has grown increasingly fond of him in the two instances they’ve knocked about, he doesn’t really know him. And Louis has never been the naive type. He knows that people are capable of many unsuspecting things.
For all he knows, Zayn really could have hired a hitman because he grew impatient waiting for his latte. It’s entirely possible, and Louis really can’t make an argument one way or another. The boy certainly has the power to do something to that effect.
Feeling a little dazed (because what has his life become?) Louis spends the rest of his tutorial in a half-daze, envisioning the various scenarios in which he would be moved to such extreme measures as to hire a hitman.
**
“I’m off to go to club now!” Niall greets as soon as Louis comes through the door, dazed from having heard far too many playwrights’ names in too short a time. Can’t they just stop at Shakespeare? Isn’t he the only one that really matters? Why is he in drama, again?
“Row, row, row your boat,” Louis sings in a mumble, pumping a falsely enthusiastic fist into the air as he dumps his shoulder bag on the floor and kicks his shoes off.
“Have fun at your picnic. Good luck with Harry. Text me if he’s being a cunt,” Niall says, blue eyes pointed in authority, and Louis can’t help but laugh.
“Stop fussing and get on.”
“I mean it, though. Text me if there’s trouble. Promise?”
“Will you just go?”
“Promise?”
Louis literally kicks Niall out the door and slams it in his face. “I PROMISE!” he shouts through the heavy wood with a grin and roll of the eyes.
He hears Niall’s muffled, “Damn straight,” before his footsteps recede into nothing.
And now, it’s Louis vs. Picnic.
First and foremost on the agenda? The outfit.
So Louis bustles to Niall’s closet.
**
Once Louis is properly garbed (blue button-up, gray skinny jeans, and leather shoes) and has received a helpful phone call from Liam (“Meet at our rooms and don’t bring anything except yourself!”) he exits his flat, the knowledge that he needs to do his homework at some point tonight tucked in the back of his mind.
He retraces his steps from that very first luncheon, finding his way to the tower and winding his
He retraces his steps from that very first luncheon, finding his way to the tower and winding his way up the steps until he meets with that familiar oak door, stood ajar in the exact same fashion as it had been only a few short days ago.
“The party’s started, I’m here!” Louis calls, pushing the door open.
Liam is standing by the window bedecked in a sky blue waistcoat, pristine white button-up underneath, and sky blue slacks, efficiently texting on his Blackberry, the light from the window illuminating his right side, before he looks up with a happy grin at Louis’ arrival.
“Louis!” he exclaims, sounding genuinely excited.
Louis categorizes Liam as a puppy. Niall’s the dragon, Zayn’s the snake, and Liam’s the puppy. And considering the puppy’s in love with the snake, it all makes for a very interesting scenario.
Speaking of the snake, Zayn stands on the other side of the room in front of the mirror above the fireplace, carefully fixing any and all hairs that are out of place, face serious and full of concentration. He looks as if he’s been ripped out of a fashion mag, the spitting image of perfection in his cornflower suit, sapphire cufflinks, and white leather shoes (that Louis may or may not be salivating over). His signature fedora rests on the mantle.
“Hey mate,” he deadpans as he fusses with a particularly stubborn strand. “Glad you could come.” He doesn’t exactly sound excited, he never does, but the boyishness in his tone is warm and at ease, and Louis smiles, wondering how he could have questioned his character.
Of course Zayn Malik wouldn’t hire hitmen. What even were these rumors?
He’s not the kind of snake that wraps around unsuspecting throats and strangles the life out of helpless victims. He’s the kind that lies in the sun and winds down garden paths, peering curiously at you from the thistles.
“SO glad you came,” Liam emphasizes, walking up to Louis and shaking his hand.
Louis looks down at their hands. “Do we have to do this every time we greet each other? Cuz I gotta be honest—I’m not a fan.”
Zayn chuckles.
“Oh,” Liam says in surprise, and immediately lets go of Louis’ hand. “My apologies. Habit, I suppose,” he reasons with a smile, before his eyes return to their squinted glee. “Well, shall we? Zayn, darling, are you ready?”
“My hair’s shit today,” Zayn mumbles in answer, adorning his fedora in defeat.
Liam smiles fondly, immediately walking over and standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. They lock eyes through the mirror and Liam’s grin widens as he rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Your hair is never shit! I think you’re perfect. But we should go before the flowers wilt.”
With a reassuring press of lips to Zayn’s neck, Liam guides Zayn over to Louis who watches the pair with a stubborn fondness in his chest. He’s not a sap, never was, but even a block of ice would admit that they’re cute.
“Off we go then, lads,” Louis smiles, allowing them to walk ahead, before following closely behind and smiling contentedly at the thought that Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen.
**
He should have known that a picnic with Zayn and Liam was less of a ‘blanket on the ground’ and more of a ‘white bistro tables and salmon tablecloths with wine and chocolates and violins.’
And let’s not forget the piano.
“You brought a fucking piano? You actually called someone to deliver a piano to your picnic?” Louis questions, disbelief bugging his eyes.
“Of course! Every picnic needs a piano!” Liam laughs.
Zayn’s own pressed grin admires Louis. “Do you play?” he asks mildly.
“Not even a little bit. Niall tried to teach me but it didn’t do anything but piss me off.”
“Do you sing? Zayn’s classically trained,” Liam gushes, smiling over at him like he’s the sun.
“Are you now?” Louis asks, genuinely intrigued. “That’s brill! I’ve always wanted to sing.”
“We’ll make a night of it!” Liam exclaims happily.
“He sings, too,” Zayn says by way of explanation. “A lot.”
“Not that much,” Liam protests. “Just when the opportunity arises. Now. Can we get you anything to drink Louis? Please, take a seat.”
Louis obliges as he takes in his surroundings. It’s a beautiful clearing by a lake, the grass green and soft, wildflowers peppering the landscape. There are soft willows grazing in the wind, ivy twining up the trunks, and the soothing sound of water licking at rocks blends perfectly with the violinists.
It feels alarmingly like a wedding.
It’s a gorgeous place, though. They drove there, Zayn taking out that antique car that Louis had seen on that first day he’d arrived (and he feels the tiniest big smug about being right—he knew it was them in that car; he also realizes with a hit of annoyance that the curly head that had been laughing in the back, balancing on the top of the seats and thrusting the champagne? Yeah, that was Harry, of fucking course, but he’s not thinking about him right now if he doesn’t have to) and it’s a ways from school, but not incredibly far, tucked enough away that it feels private and different.
“Have some wine. And a cigar,” Liam offers, taking the seat next to him.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Louis says, smiling sunnily up at the gentleman pouring his glass as Zayn slides him a thick, meaty cigar that costs more than his shoes.
**
With the warm breeze ruffling his hair, the undertones of cigar smoke permeating the smell of blossoms and cheese, and the sunlight that catches on his eyelashes and throws prisms off of the crystal, speckling the world with rainbow droplets, Louis finds himself falling in love with the way Zayn Malik holds social gatherings.
And, okay, maybe he understands the dress code now-- the various blues of their outfits compliment the grass and sky perfectly, brightening the atmosphere and providing for perfect pictures.
These are his people. They understand him.
“You throw a lovely picnic, Mr. Malik,” Louis smiles, downing another glass of Pinot Grigio and selecting yet another cigar.
“I’ve been told as much,” Zayn smiles, lounging in his chair and occasionally looking over to Liam who has begun playing the piano.
“I notice none of the lads are here,” Louis says through the cigar between his teeth as he attempts to light it against the breeze.
Zayn leans over and cups his hands around the end until a successful flame has established. “Harry’s on his way,” he smirks, “if that’s what you mean.”
“Who? Harry? Never heard of him,” Louis clips, breathing out the woody smoke.
“I haven’t invited the other lads. I can though, if you like.”
Louis shrugs. “Up to you, mate. It’s your picnic.”
“Actually, it’s yours.”
He stares at Zayn. “What do you mean?”
“Liam asked me to have this in your honor. Didn’t he say?” Zayn asks mildly, motioning to the server for another refill.
“No,” Louis says and he feels his cheeks flush at the idea. “This is all for me? The chocolates, the cheese, the wine, the violins, the delivered piano? For me?”
Zayn smiles lightly, observing him. “We already told you we like you,” he says, as if that explains anything.
“Wow,” Louis laughs, uncrossing his legs and fumbling a bit with his shirt. He’s not a sentimental person, but he can’t deny that he’s flattered and secretly very pleased. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, love. I think we’re going to get on real well.” He grins winningly and salutes him, hoping his voice held his emotions in check.
“I very much agree,” Zayn says in his silken tone, and just as he opens his mouth to say something more, the sound of an engine comes rumbling up.
They both turn to see a sleek black car pull up, its tinted windows cold against the peaceful ambiance of their surroundings.
The driver gets out, dutifully walks to the side, and opens the door, back stiff and attentive.
Louis’ disappointment begins to prickle already because who else could this be but one person?
And yep.
Harry Styles, wearing a sapphire blue velvet suit and silver bow tie, holding a cluster of white lilies, climbs out of the car, his thick curls catching in the wind and light, his venomous smile blooming as he takes in the scene before him.
But he’s not alone.
Five girls follow him.
Five.
Louis bites back the surge of annoyance that floods him and instead settles for another swig of wine.
“This is going to be fun,” Louis breathes through gritted teeth, and Zayn glances at him with a light smirk.
“Harry,” Zayn greets lazily, head tilted to the side.
“Well, hello there, beautiful,” Harry purrs, and passes one of his lilies to him as dabs a kiss to his lips. “Hold this at all times. Lilies make everything better and I refuse to talk to anyone who isn’t holding one.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Louis bites back yet another surge of distaste with yet another gulp of wine. This is going to be a long day.
He sits there as Harry and Zayn chat, clutching his wine glass a little too tightly, and waits for the inevitable “Louis Tomlinson” and all the fake charm that he’s so accustomed to. Perhaps he’ll double his efforts to win Louis over since yesterday was such an utter disaster for him.
Harry smiles one last dead smile at Zayn before he disengages himself from the conversation. “You look perfect, by the way. I should’ve snatched you when I had the chance. Shouldn’t I have, ladies?” Harry grins, his arms sliding over the shoulders of the stack of girls on either side of him as Zayn’s smile falters very momentarily (odd).
“We’re all very impressed,” Louis grumbles quietly, rolling his eyes.
And there, he’s spoken. Now he’s going to get the classic Harry act and have to deal with—
“Liam, love!” Harry calls suddenly, looking straight through Louis, and walking past him as if he were an insect on a log.
What the fuck?
Appalled, Louis twists in his seat and watches him depart with his harem, hoping very much that his jaw is not too dropped. He whips back over to Zayn.
“He just ignored me. That wanker just ignored me!”
Zayn shrugs. “He does that sometimes. Probably for the best.”
“Of course. No, of course you’re right. I’m happy he’s not talking to me,” Louis fake laughs before delving into a half-assed conversation with Zayn, fervently ignoring the outrage and wounded pride that have settled in his bones.
**
Harry ignores Louis throughout the whole fucking picnic. He also chooses to give lilies to every single person (even the servers) except Louis.
Even when Louis whips out a bitchy comment, it’s met with complete indifference, Harry opting to either check his phone, sip his wine, or bury his giggling face into one of the girls’ necks.
It’s great, really. Splendid, even.
So Louis texts Niall.
‘THAT FUCKER IS ACTING LIKE I DON’T EXIST. HE’S IGNORING ME !!!!!’
Soon his phone alights.
‘Congrats! Goal accomplished! Have fun mate x’
And no, that wasn’t helpful at all.
But Niall is right. He is. Louis needs to appreciate being ignored by the single most repulsive human being on the planet.
So, stuffing his cheeks with chocolate, Louis stands up and joins them around the piano, Liam still playing, his lily draped on his lap, and Zayn sat next to him still clutching his, Harry (who now has one in his button hole as well as in his fist) and the prostitutes engulfing them.
“You should try them out. They’re lovely,” Harry says, petting the girls beneath their chins as they coo.
And fuck no, he better not be talking about those girls like that.
Zayn shakes his head with a light laugh. “We’re not interested in your girls, Harry. They’re all yours.”
Okay, fuck. That is it. No more restraint.
“You do realize those are people and not objects, Curly? And they’re not to be ‘tried out’?” Louis bites, folding his arms and staring hard at Harry.
Harry’s grin freezes, eyes fixed on one of the girls. His expression transforms to one of complete annoyance, but he doesn’t look at Louis.
The blonde cranes her head to look at Harry, clearly unimpressed, and not-so-subtly asks with distaste, “Who’s that?”
“Nobody,” Harry snaps, then returns his gaze to the piano.
Louis’ tendons seize. His temper flares. And he begins a slow and steady mantra in his head: ‘I will not attack Harry Styles. I will not attack Harry Styles. I will not attack Harry Styles.’
It’s not calming him at all, but it is preventing him from smashing his face in the dirt.
The conversation continues, Louis firmly excluded; once in awhile Liam will ask him a polite question, features set in a smile. His answer is usually cut short by Harry however, who manages to fill the space with superficial, ridiculous comments (at one point he drawls “I want to get drunk and look at myself” to one of the girls) and only agitates Louis further.
“What happened to Cleopatrick?” Louis suddenly asks, glaring full on at the bastard.
Harry sips his wine and stares at the sky.
“Zayn found him the perfect home,” Liam smiles. “He was even able to keep his name!”
“Was he?” Harry suddenly asks, seeming genuinely delighted.
“Yeah, they loved it!”
“I hate the world,” Louis grumbles, but doesn’t press the subject further.
The conversation continues in this manner, Harry telling them all about how Native American necklaces are his “new thing” and repeatedly showing the one he’s wearing underneath his starched collar.
“My father has a whole collection I didn’t even know about. Mine now,” Harry winks, stuffing the arrow head and feathers back underneath his shirt.
“What do you mean, ‘mine now’?” Louis once again spits, and he curses himself and his complete lack of control over his temper.
Unsurprisingly, Harry completely ignores him.
“Is Des back home?” Liam asks, looking up.
Harry’s smile catches instantly. For a moment he stares at Liam, eyes lost, the cocky glow of his face replaced with an almost imperceptive tension before he blinks rapidly and averts his gaze.
“Yes.”
The answer is short and packed with a pressure that lies just beyond reach, as if locked away in a chest at the bottom of the sea.
It surprises Louis, enough to stare closely at Harry and his brief bite of lip, and whereas Harry’s charm usually resurfaces instantly, he appears to be reassembling himself with slight difficulty.
Zayn watches closely. “Would you like to sing a song, Harold?” he asks, voice gentle enough to invoke Louis’ curiosity. Because what does he know? What do they all know? Niall had said Des was a bit of a loose cannon, but there’s something intangible that suggests there’s more to the story.
So Louis watches Harry and those eyes that reflect nothing.
“I don’t sing during the day. If you’ll excuse me, lads,” Harry says, tone flawless but expression still off kilter, and glides away, girls in tow.
**
Eventually, Harry returns to normal, preening, cracking bad jokes, and making odd observations, so any curiosity Louis had begun to feel for him has successfully evaporated, his annoyance back in place.
Which is when, of course, Harry approaches Louis for the first time. Well, more Zayn than Louis, but Louis is right there so it still counts.
“Zayn, precious,” Harry rumbles, the words dripping. “I don’t suppose you have any herbal jazz cigarettes on you, do you?” His grin is mischievous and sly.
What the hell did he just ask for?
“Not on me, no. Sorry, mate.”
Harry purses his lips, eyes never leaving Zayn, his shoulders tensing with annoyance. “Does he?”
he then asks, jerking a thumb in Louis’ direction.
Wow.
Zayn looks to Louis. “Louis, mate, do you have any weed?”
“No,” Louis says, and allows the word to soak with his irritation.
Harry’s brow furrows. “How about pills, or anything like that? Does he have those?” he asks Zayn, who is now apparently playing messenger.
Zayn looks to Louis again. “Do you have any pills or—“
Louis smiles out his impatience and places a gentle yet firm hand on Zayn’s shoulder.
“I hear him, love.” Zayn nods and continues to look expectantly at him while Harry looks expectantly at Zayn. “And no, I’m fresh out of narcotics.”
Harry scowls, downing his glass of wine in one go. “Well,” he sighs, licking the remnants of the purple liquid off of his ruby lips, “thank you for your trouble, beautiful. But I best be on my way.”
“So soon? I thought you were going to serenade us when the sun went down,” Zayn muses.
“I thought you were,” Harry counters, poking a finger into Zayn’s chest. “I miss your professionally trained falsetto.”
“I was waiting for you,” Zayn smirks and they grin at each other.
Harry brushes his creamy knuckles against the caramel of Zayn’s cheekbone. “That’s what makes you beautiful, darling. Text me when you’re back.”
With that, he presses a chaste kiss to Zayn’s lips and turns on his heel, the light of the sun illuminating his velvet back, the lilies hanging limply in his grip.
“I think I’m going to leave as well. I’ve got homework I absolutely need to do.”
Without missing a beat, Harry spins around.
“You know what, Zayn, I may just stay after all. The girls are enjoying themselves.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Subtle,” Louis glares, and though Harry does not return his gaze, he visibly smirks.
Zayn shakes his head as he looks between the pair, just as Liam joins them.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Liam asks Louis, eyes wide.
“I am indeed. Homework. You know. Being a student and all that.”
“Can’t you just get somebody to do it for you? Just for tonight?”
“Uh…”
“He’s a good student, our Louis. Likes to do his homework himself. Don’t you?” Zayn asks.
“Not really, no. But I need to try because I need to do good here. So, lads, it’s been a pleasure,”
Louis smiles, clapping Zayn and Liam on the shoulders.
Harry busies himself with his cufflink.
“Tomorrow,” Liam says before Louis departs, “we’re having a tea party at three. Zayn’s rooms. You must come. I’ll text you a reminder.”
Louis nods and begins walking towards the road, getting out his phone to call Niall. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then, lads.”
“Let me drive you back,” Liam suddenly calls, jogging to catch up with him.
“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
“I’d be happy to,” Liam says cleanly, teeth perfect. “It gives us a chance to talk.”
All right then.
Louis laughs, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “As you wish, love. Thanks.”
Liam beams and holds Louis’ door open for him. “Any time at all,” he replies, and smiles at Louis for a bit longer than is necessary before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car.
**
“Liam Payne just asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with him and Zayn Malik!” Louis shrieks as soon as he bursts through the door to his flat.
Niall stares up from the tub of gelato he is currently devouring by the counter, giant headphones shoved on his head. He flicks one off of his ear. “What?”
“Liam Payne just asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with him and Zayn Malik!!” Louis repeats, an octave higher.
Niall stares for a moment, gelato dripping off of his spoon, before bursting into laughter.
“It’s not funny!” Louis screeches. “What if that’s the only reason they’ve been nice to me?? To add me to their twisted, sex games? Am I just a body to them?”
“Mate, mate, mate,” Niall guffaws, nearly doubled over, “That is classic! That is the best thing I’ve ever heard!”
Louis folds his arms and glares. “Are you finished?”
“No!” Niall manages, pounding a fist on the counter.
“Great,” Louis breathes with a roll of the eyes. “I’m serious though, Niall. What kind of people are these? I was just beginning to like them!”
“I’m sure that’s not the reason they like you,” Niall chuckles, his laughter finally dying down as he wipes tears from his eyes. “Did you agree?”
“OF COURSE NOT!”
“Did he take it well?”
“Yeah. I mean…yeah. He was fine, actually. It was just a casual offer. I don’t think he was
planning it out or anything,” Louis says, sitting down on one of the velvet armchairs and feeling a bit sick.
“How did it come up?”
“Well, he was talking about his and Zayn’s relationship then he asked me if I was single, then he asked why, and then he just asked me!”
“Was it a pity invite? Because you’re alone?” Niall asks, putting the lid on the gelato and returning it to the freezer.
Oh god.
Louis shrinks in horror. “OHMYGOD. You don’t think it was, was it? Does he think I’m pathetic? And so lonely that he was offering his and his boyfriend’s bodies to me?” Louis ponders this good and hard, then suddenly clutches a hand to his chest, gasping. “Ohmygod, but that’s sort of beautiful.” He looks up at Niall with shining eyes.
Niall faces him and stares, eyebrows nearly lost in his hairline. “Beautiful? Are you being serious? Tommo, is that you? Are you drunk?” Niall asks, and walks up to Louis and inspects his face suspiciously.
“I mean it, Nialler! If that’s what he really meant, that’s so sweet!”
“Not really. Still a bit fuckin’ creepy.”
“Creepy, yes, but much less so than when I thought he was just after my perfect body. He was just being polite,” Louis exclaims with sentiment, smacking Niall on the arm with enthusiasm. “Awwww, you lads and your posh manners. You’re a bunch of nutters, but I think you’re growing on me.”
Niall shakes his head and laughs, pulling Louis off of the chair and into a standing position. “Funny that it took a sexual proposition for you to see that and not, say, us being mates. But I don’t look a gift horse in the fuckin’ mouth. So. Let’s play FIFA.”
“Then dinner? My choice?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Your choice,” Niall agrees, then hops over the back of the couch and settles himself on it, Louis following with a pleased grin.
