Euphoria | Larry A.U

(x) - Love

Love : An intense feeling of deep affection.

Louis being the oldest of six kids and having a strict mum around had been woken up in many many different ways.

A three year old straddling his chest saying "bubby! Bubby wate up! Wate up!" To his mum waking him up with a smack to his bum, or occasionally his face when all else hadn't worked. Or worse the infants (at the time) crying for milk, walls so thin he could hear their sad wails and small whimpers.

In uni he would be woken up by pans beating pots because Liam was a proper twat.

Or when he finally got a job and got a shitty flat mate named 'Phil' (who the fuck names their child Phil?) who'd wake Louis up in the morning with a scream, that sounded like a Cheetahs' mating cries.

But never never has he been woken up to - what felt like a bucket of cold water splashing his face and body. So this - this was a first.

"What the fu-," his exclaimed question is cut off by a smack - a literal smack to the face. His wet face - might he remind.

"Why're ye here," an Irish accent asks.

What in the actual f-

"I said why're ye here ye fooking dick?"

Smack.

"L-look I don't know who the hell you are but I'd strongly advise you to stop hitting me," Louis says through a wet face - scratch that - wet body, and a shot to hell voice. His head was pounding more than necessary too. He only tasted Gregs' drink. Or maybe it was the X?

"No I won't stop answer me question ye twat,"

Smack.

Louis' just about had enough, he hops out of the bed and punches the - now he can see - blonde boy straight in the jaw. He stumbles back and as soon as Louis' going to punch him again, Harry comes running into the room screaming like someone just killed his pet.

"Louis!"

"Uh-uh.... It's not what it looks like? He-he hit me first," Louis felt like a little boy again being scolded.

"Louis leave," Harry says calmly. Spoon in one hand and a apron tied around his narrow waist. The poor thing was probably specifically cooking for Louis because he thought he'd be hungover.

"C-come on Harry," Louis can't help but plead - he did not - he did not do all he did last night just to be kicked out the next morning. "Out, Lou" Harry repeats exasperatedly. "Just leave," the voice whispers.

"Ye heard 'im. Out," Niall cheekily adds, even though his jaw clearly looks like it's going to bruise and his shirts bunched up where Louis' holding it.

"No, no, no and no, I'm not going anywhere," Louis stubbornly says. He gets up and sits on the bed folding his wet arms over his wet shirt. The voice, Harry and Niall were no match to Louis' petulantly persistent behaviour.

"Why're you all wet," Harry asks, finally noticing Louis' state.

"Ask yer Irish friend here," Louis says raising an eyebrow in Nialls' direction. Who was the cheeky one now?

Harry gasps, scandalized.

"Niall did-did you?"

"No?"

"Ni... Out. Go. Out. Now," Harry says with a stern glare on, waving the spoon in Nialls' direction.

"Bu-but. Ugh fine. Fook ye Louis Twatlinson. I'm gonna repay ye fer that punch," Niall gathers himself to his feet and stumbles out of the room, before he leaves he whispers something in Harrys' ear that makes him coo then takes off one of his - used to be white now yellowish brown sock - and throws it straight at Louis' face. When Louis finally takes it off, heaving as he does so because he's always been told he had stinky feet - but no - no Nialls' feet take the gold. Niall's already dashing out of the room with a middle finger waved in Louis' direction.