17 Black

26•

Just so you guys know, I'm making up all of this shit. Like, I've never been to England so I'm just gonna wing it and come up with random places. Anyway, though, YOU GUYS R FUCJING INSANE AND I WANNA MAKE U ALL HAPPY SO DONT WORRY I WONT KEEP U WAITING MUCH LONGER FOR THE REAL ACTION. LOVE U BABIES KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. PS AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS CHANGE YOUR TICKET IS SO UNDERRATED? LIKE THAT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE SONGS AND NOBODY EVEN TALKS ABOUT IT LIKE OK
-Bella
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For a minute, Louis gets lost in the prettiness of the view outside the window as he sits at one of the bar stools behind the counter, waiting for his next customer. It's not really a memorable city, not even that nice, really, but today, it seems oddly beautiful. The sky is a majestic purple color, little wisps of darker clouds scattered along the horizon. The lights from inside of far away buildings and from cars that drive past the street in front of the bar contrast very nicely with those colors, and it's almost hypnotizing to watch--relaxing. That is, until some blond-headed bloke plops down on a stool right in front of Louis' line of sight, practically breaking the whole chair off its hinges. He shoots Louis a dopey looking smile and places his weirdly big hands on the counter, scooting forward.

"Hey, mate," the guy says, definitely overenthusiastic, definitely Irish, and definitely on Louis' nerves already. "Would ya mind gettin' me a beer?"

Louis removes his hand from underneath his chin and puts on a polite smile. Yeah, I kind of would mind. "Coming up."

Louis drags himself out of his barstool, cringing at the soreness in his thighs, Louis takes a pint glass from the shelf and fills it to the brim with beer from the nozzle thing that he sometimes drinks out of when no one's in the bar (no, not with his mouth touching it, ew), and then slides it across to the Irishman who is way too hyper for nine at night.

"Thanks, Louis," the guy says, and Louis has a momentary internal freak out, because how does this guy know his name? The Irishman must see his discomfort on his face, because his smile widens, revealing a straight row of perfectly white teeth, and one of his hands comes up in an apologetic gesture.

"Sorry, that was creepy," he says, erupting into a loud, hearty laugh that Louis winces at. Yeah, no shit. "I'm a friend of Liam's. I've seen ya at the football games, you're one helluva player, mate, I gotta tell ya. Surprised we haven't met yet, to be honest though, from what I've heard from Liam, you're a pretty great lad."

Louis wonders of this guy can get any weirder, and why someone as conservative and shy as Liam has wound up being friends with such a person. He's quite a character, Louis will give the guy that.

"I'm from Westchester, it's like, twenty minutes away," the guy rambles on--he's still talking. And Louis fucking knows where Westchester is. "I met Liam--this is a funny story, ha--in the grocery store," Wow, sounds like a real knee-slapper.

"He was buyin' some eggs and I saw the football jacket he was wearing; it said Rovers on it, and I asked him about it. Turns out, we played your team last season," the Irishman continues, eyes lighting up like the whole damn thing is a miracle or something. Louis almost wants to laugh. "We got the mercy, though, shame. Ya know, I didn't even realize there was an eight goal limit until that game. Was quite embarassin', though, if ya ask me. But anyway, I invited Li over for some FIFA, 'nd the next thing ya know, we're like proper mates. Funny thing, that."

Louis tries not to openly stare, and hums in reply. "Yeah, I dunno, I don't remember last season that great. It is weird, though, that Liam didn't mention you before. I'm sure I would've remembered," he adds, and judging by the guy's responsive grin, he doesn't catch on to the sarcasm.

"You're right, it is kinda weird. Oh shit, mate, I'm sorry, I feel like a proper idiot," the guy keeps going, suddenly thrusting his hand across the counter. "M'name's Niall, can't believe I didn't introduce myself before, ha."