When Louis awakens the next morning, it's to the sound of a hammer being pummeled into his skull.Or perhaps that's just a headache. And perhaps that's just his pulse in his frontal lobe.
He's miserable. And Niall is cooking breakfast, whistling, and the TV is flicked on, the news playing at a low volume and, fuck, is that drool encrusted to half of his face? Yes it is.
"Morning!" Niall's voice chirps as he flips eggs, and Louis pulls his heavy, crusty, miserable eyelids open to send forth a glare, nausea and fire consuming his body.
"Hi." His voice sounds like a pile of scrap metal. Consequently, it feels like a pile of scrap metal.
"Sleep well?" Niall then asks, happy and loud and bright-because he has no common fucking sense; who asks The Hungover questions first thing in the morning? Who??-before he sends a suspiciously smug smile Louis' way, his blindingly white t-shirt hanging off of his thin shoulders.
Stretching-ouch-Louis nods, immediately flopping over onto his side to fall back asleep and pretend Niall doesn't currently exist...
When suddenly his hand catches on a crisp, curled bit of paper-that fucking Post-It-and bam! He's awake.
He'd forgotten about the Post-It.
Hastily (or as hastily has his half-deceased body can muster) he glances back at Niall as he curls into himself, shielding it from view. Niall's still smiling that troublesomely smug little smirk to himself, still tending to the eggs and looking like a fresh spring morning in the dead of winter after an unrelenting night of liquor and partying. (Bastard.) So Louis quickly unpeels the Post-It, feels for his journal (resting in the pocket of his nearby jacket) and with silent, stealthy fingers, slips the note in between the pages, careful not to bend the corners.
He's keeping it, alright? Nothing wrong in that. He's just keeping it as a friendly memento from a night of fun. It's fine.
Still though, he's careful to ensure Niall doesn't see.
He flops back down then, his head threatening to burst apart in a flash of white light, but just as he's settling back onto the pillows and pulling the blanket around his shoulders-
"So you fancy Harry, then."
And my oh myyyy, that is the last thing Louis wants to hear right now.
Niall sounds smug as he walks over to deposit a steaming mug of tea on the table beside Louis-which is the only reason that he's not currently being shoved out of a window.
"Excuse me?" Louis splutters, eyes splitting open, his poisoned body immediately hauling itself up into a sitting position, almost sending the mug flying. "What did you just say?"
"You fancy Harry," Niall repeats simply, looking up to meet his eyes before retreating back to the kitchenette. Cloudless and carefree. "He obviously fancies you as well. Suspect he might even be in love already." There's so much amusement in his tone that is it's obscene and offensive. Niall Horan is a shitty person.
It's too early for this.
"No, Niall," Louis sighs, settling back down and swearing he hears his limbs creak. "He's Liam's boy." If he sounds petulant, it's only because he's hungover. "It's got nothing to do with me."
"Except it has."
Louis closes his eyes.
"He's not interested in Liam, you know," Niall then says, and it splits Louis' frail body apart even more. Shut up, Niall. "I can tell. He's only got eyes for you, he has." Shut up shut up shut up.
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Dreaming of You
FanfictionThe Begrudging Starbucks AU. The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watc...