When Louis arrives back at his flat, he’s buzzing with the chaos of the day—more specifically, Harry—but it’s all soon replaced with the harsh reality of his mum and the aftermath that Louis will most certainly have to deal with in her wake.
Because, sure, she’s almost certainly gone. But she was there, Louis knows she was there, and Niall was the one who had had to pick up the pieces.
And fuck, Niall’s going to be livid. Raging, Irish-ly, throwing-whiskey-bottles-at-the-walls livid.
So, pushing the very currently pressing and discombobulating thoughts regarding one Mr. Styles to the back of his mind, Louis braces himself as he opens his door, fully prepared for a tirade of incoherent Irish hatred.
He closes his eyes, just in case.
“There you are!” a pleasant voice greets him as he closes the door behind him with a dreaded click, and the voice sounds like Niall, but it’s far too kind to be Niall, so Louis peeks a curious eye open, back pressed against the door.
And it really is Niall.
Which…what?
“Yes. I am here,” Louis says suspiciously and nearly fearfully, eying the boy. He's sitting at the piano, half-dressed in preparation for the party, having obviously gotten distracted mid-primping; he's got on black trousers, a half-done belt, a vest, and hair that is still damp from the shower. Calmly, he tinkers at the keys while his phone sits on top of the instrument displaying sheet music he must’ve found online. Ever the musician, Niall.
“You just missed your mum,” he comments offhandedly, mastering a tricky little ditty with his clever fingers, and Louis really has no idea what’s going on right now, because he had just been beginning to suspect Niall’s general pleasantness was attributed to his mum having not come after all…but apparently that is not the case.
So.
What?
“And?” Louis tempts, slowly walking towards Niall, prepared for any attack.
Niall looks up then, an easy smile painting his features as he shrugs his shoulders, hands still working the keys. “She’s nice. We had dinner.”
And Louis stares.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I took your mum to dinner.”
What the actual fuck.
“What—Why did you do that?” Louis splutters, staring at him as if he’d just spoken in tongues.
Which, to be honest, he sort of did.
“She was pretty upset when she came. So we had a nice chat, then I offered to take her to dinner. She felt better after that, stopped trying to call you, and we had chocolate mousse for dessert. Then she went home. Gave her a kiss on the cheek as she left, promised to ring. I think she misses having a son to dote on,” Niall says casually, and it’s so simplified and clear and utterly fucking random, that Louis can only continue to stare.
Because of fucking course Niall took his mum to dinner. And of course they bonded.
“Did she tell you why she came?” Louis asks wearily, heading toward the kitchen for a glass of water.
“Not really. Said something about missing you, being worried about you. I dunno.”
Niall’s concentration is back to the piano, and Louis is tempted to press the matter (because, still, what the fuck?) but he doesn’t, feeling too emotionally demolished enough as it is.
