baby honey ; l.s

04. not

a/n
oh god oh god this chapter is so cliché u can literally cannot differentiate this from a bad high school sweethearts romcom i'm so sorry.
if u give up on this book i won't be offended promise but if ur still here i love u so much.
also this is a long one! if it's late where you are youve been staying up binge reading other fics, go to bed and continue in the morning!! take care of yourself loves xx (me saying this as it's 3:47 am)

5:23 PM — showing messages from curly

curly: good afternoon how was your day can we pls meet
curly: today maybe
curly: our club @8 ? if you don't respond in one minute it's a yes

5:25 PM — showing messages from curly

curly: amazing see you there
curly: oh nicks gonna be there too
curly: you guys can finally meet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
curly: be nice

***

he thought of bailing.

fuck that, he almost did. louis sits in-front of his telly in his empty flat (zayn is never around nowadays, over at liam's or at his studio) 45 minutes before 8. he never responded to harry.

which is rude, he'd admit, but he left harry on seen enough times for it to be normal between them. harry's feelings won't be hurt, and he'd understand if louis get back to him saying he won't be able to make it, 'sorry hazza, law student things, you know how it is'. albeit he'd be angry. very, very angry. nothing louis can't handle, though.

but now louis is lounging on his sofa, bored out of his mind with the greatest british baking show playing in front of him. he could do better things.

like meeting harry and his new boyfriend. the thought of harry actually having a boyfriend still stabs like shards through louis's heart but he doesn't acknowledge it, he's a grown, twenty two year old man. he's no teenager moping through his first unrequited heartbreak.

it does seem like that, though. anyway.

louis glances at the clock. 40 minutes. he could get ready in 40 minutes. hell, he could get ready in 10.

he switches off the telly and got in the shower.

***

he cannot get ready in 40 minutes.

25 now, counting the 15 minutes louis spent scrubbing his fucking pores off. he's never made the effort to apply body scrub before in his life, jesus christ, what the fuck is he doing? he smells like a fucking strawberry from his mum's pies and now he's raiding through his wardrobe but nothing works, goddammit, and he can't find that one pair of jeans that makes him arse looks nice. he abandons the search for it the moment he had the thought though, because why would your arse need to looks nice tonight, louis? who have you got to impress?

no one, that's who. he's still the moping teenager he said he wasn't.

in a fit of obscured panic, he dials zayn. zayn makes everything better, after all, and if louis is interrupting him in the middle of something with liam, then...fuck it. bros before hoes, they've always promised each other.

the moment zayn picks up, louis starts ranting.

"z, thanked god, you've got to help me mate. harry texted me to meet up with him and first i thought it was alright, right, even though i'd rather eat rocks than see his face at the moment it's still harry, so i was like fine i can manage that, but then he says that he's bringing his boyfriend. boyfriend! to meet me, at our club, our club zayn, the place we met and the place that has the bathroom where i sucked his fucking dick in. whatever, it doesn't matter. anyway, so i obviously thought no, there's no chance i'm stepping into that fucking club to meet harry's new fucking boyfriend, but then i've got nothing to do so i got ready last minute and zayn, zayn i don't know what i'm doing. do you remember the stupid the body shop scrub lottie put into my christmas stocking last year? and i swore off of using it ever? i finally used it today, i don't know the fuck why but i did and i smell like a bloody ice cream sundae now, and—"