Larry Stylinson ~ Poor Little Rich Boy AU

7.

Chapter Seven:

Louis was well and truly sick of being turned down. Tonight he was going to do something absolutely spectacular; he would win Harry over and show that he wasn’t just a stupid slut. In fact, he wasn’t planning on any kind of sexual advances whatsoever – just romantic ones.

He’d spent a long time picking out a shirt of Zayn’s which, strictly speaking, he hadn’t been given permission to borrow. On a point of accuracy, he’d snuck into Zayn’s hotel room while the other boy was in the shower and snatched the shirt in question from over the back of a chair, feeling pretty pleased with the speed with which he did it. After all, he’d been planning to acquire that particular item of clothing for a while; it was a grey shirt with a picture of a skull on it, and black roses – a morbid garment, but it looked pretty cool and brought out some of the more subdued greyish tones in his eyes. After fixing his hair like it was a military operation, finding some trousers which were perhaps a little less revealing –see, Stan, I am so not a slut! Louis thought – and far looser on him, and choosing his least ratty shoes, he was ready. Kind of.

If anyone had known what he was planning, he knew full well what they’d have said. Told him he was an idiot. Who did he think he was, bloody Spiderman? It was the stupidest plan ever and he’d hurt himself and even if he didn’t, it was just plain creepy, climbing the walls to get someone’s attention; Harry would probably be utterly horrified and think he was seriously weird, and be put off him for good! Well, Louis knew all of that, and he didn’t care a bit.

It was somewhat of a consolation that Harry was a weirdo, too, and a friendless weirdo at that – so he couldn’t object too strongly to Louis being completely bonkers. Anyway, he was at a loose end, and he’d run out of other ideas. This was seeming like a better and better idea by the minute, now there was nobody hanging around to change his mind.

Feeling pretty pleased with both himself and his plan, he stared up at the wall beneath Harry’s balcony and grimly spat on his hands. He was going to end up with an awful lot of grazes on his palms by the time he had reached his destination, but he’d heard people say enough times that love cures all ills, and people will do anything for love, etcetera, etcetera. Previously, he’d snorted with laughter at sappy nonsense like that, but if it gave him an excuse…well, who was he to scoff? He didn’t know what love was like, after all. And it made him feel slightly less crazy if he had some way of justifying his actions.

He took a good run up before rushing forwards, springing at the wall and grabbing hold of the first handhold he came to, namely some kind of ivy or other creeping plant that was growing up the wall. It turned out to not be the steadiest of items, something that he abruptly realized when he found himself lying sprawled on the floor with a large handful of the stuff wound around his fingers. Shaking his head, he hurled it to the ground, stormed over to the wall and made a great show of thoroughly examining it for crevices which he could use to drag himself up.

The first place he found to shove his foot was rather a tight fit, and he almost panicked when he thought that he’d trapped his toe in the crack – but before too long, he managed to shake his foot free and then he was scrambling up the next little section of wall, scrabbling ineffectively to try and rip some of the ivy away and find a slightly more steady place to put his hands. It was by no means the easiest wall he’d ever climbed – and yes, he’d climbed walls before! He was a teenage boy who liked to get drunk; of course he’d climbed plenty of walls in his time. This one was proving to be a particular challenge; his hands were burning and he could feel Zayn’s shirt sticking to him as he struggled to try and gain a little height. It felt like he’d hardly moved.

Don’t look down, he warned himself, and then repeated it out loud, with more emphasis, like he didn’t expect himself to obey; “Don’t. Look. Down!” Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he breathed out heavily through his mouth, pulled a face, and then stretched his hand out, arm aching as he forced himself to reach out further than his arm was intended to reach in order to grab a brick which was suitably placed for him to pull himself up a little higher. Inch by inch, he was slowly making his way upwards. If Harry didn’t appreciate this, Louis would be sorely tempted to punch him. Seriously. Either that, or he’d throw himself off the balcony.