As soon as Louis gets home, he falls onto the couch, feeling miserable and terrible and horrible and really bewildered by his own emotions—most of which scream Harry’s name and that stupid fucking Dorian Gray quote and throw a lot of question marks behind the lids of his eyes.
“You go to see Harry, then?” Niall asks from the kitchen, having now woken up and currently eating what appears to be an apple pie with his hands, great clumps of it dripping down his fists as he licks it off, sleepy and blissfully happy. He’s disgustingly endearing. Or maybe it’s endearingly disgusting? Louis buries his face deeper into the couch.
“No,” he lies, voice muffled by the velvet that feels more grating than luxurious.
“How did it go?” Niall asks seamlessly, not even pretending to indulge Louis, syrupy apple chunks clinging to his chin.
“I hate everything,” Louis groans, relenting. “I’m leaving and never coming back.”
“You’ve only got two weeks before term ends. You barely have to see the bloke. You’ll manage fine,” Niall mutters through sticky lips.
“No I won’t,” Louis says pitifully.
At that Niall grins, licking his hands clean before he hops like a fucking rabbit over to Louis, flouncing down atop him and blanketing him in his entire body, causing Louis to emit coughed wheezes.
“Jesus Christ!” he gasps, Niall’s weight nearly crushing him. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Having a cuddle,” Niall says simply, but he just lays there, limbs loose, smiling into Louis’ hair.
“Is this your way of comforting me?”
“No. This is how I comfort myself.”
“Ah. I see,” Louis struggles, trying to shift their bodies until he has room to breathe. He manages to find a happy medium of balance, his air passageways no longer obscured by dead Irish weight, so he figures he might as well just let Niall stay there now that he won’t die. It might feel a little bit nice, even. Maybe.
“Harry’s a cunt,” Niall grunts after a pause.
“No he’s not,” Louis sighs. “He’s Harry.”
“Harold,” Niall mockingly corrects.
Louis laughs.
There’s a peaceful silence, filled only by the distant sounds of student chatter from the other side of the tightly locked windows, and Louis is just wondering if Niall fell asleep when:
“My father’s asked me to come into the studio tomorrow morning, first thing.”
Hm?
Louis’ attention perks. “The studio? I thought the track was just about ready to be released? Isn’t the release party coming up?”
Niall shifts until he’s staring at Louis, lips pursed.
“It was.”
Louis raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Niall nods, slowly disengaging himself from Louis and sitting up, kicking his feet up on the table. His face looks oddly trepid, something Louis isn’t used to seeing from Niall, and he feels spikes of curiosity begin to shoot through him.
“I heard Des is having a bit of a time of it,” Niall says, and he locks eyes with Louis. “Had a fit this morning. Bad.”
Oh.
“He doesn’t like the song. Says he won’t let it be released.”
“I thought he wrote it,” Louis says, attention piqued even more. He does his best to keep his thoughts of Harry to the far corners of his mind, keep his face and emotions neutral.
