Fooled (Larry Stylinson) ✅

2. Starstruck

  Louis' POV  

"Niall, where the fuck were you, mate?" I ask, playfully pushing my finger into his chest. His brown hair was lazily combed into a tussled quaff and he was wearing a dark blue button down T-shirt with black skinny jeans. Classic Niall going out attire. 

Instead of answering my question, Niall shot me half smile and grabbed my hand off his chest, pulling me in for a hug. I'm not really the touchy-feely type (outside of romantic contexts), but Niall is basically family to me, and I can never resist a hug from my best mate. 

Trying to wipe away the smile that was growing on my face, I turned back to Niall, asking him for a second time where the fuck he had been. "Sorry, Lou. There was trouble on the N train," he said, shouting over the music, which was now starting back up again. 

I bit my lip, contemplating whether or not I could believe him. Knowing Niall and his antics, there was a 50/50 chance he was fibbing. I cocked an eyebrow in his direction, following after him as he made his way closer to center stage. 

"Were the trains the only issue?" I asked, trying to raise my voice over the drumbeat that was now pulsing in my ears. "Alright, you got me. I took a night nap and forgot. I literally woke up 20 minutes ago. Hence the bed head," Niall said, pointing to his tussled hair and rolling his eyes. 

I slapped Niall lightly on the back, giggling. "Fucking knew it. Alright, let's go get you a drink," I said, as we continued walking past the stage to the bar area. Unfortunately, the bachelorette group had been replaced by a group of hipster college students, asking detailed questions about the quality of whiskey and if the brewery the malt beer came from used sustainable practices. 

"Fuck this hipster trash," I whispered to Niall, though it was so loud I was practically using my outdoor voice. My stomach flipped as I thought about having to compete for the bartender's attention against this crowd -- a fight I often lost because of my squeaky voice and inability to assert myself. As sassy as I am, aggression is just not part of my personality... though I would probably fight my sisters tooth and nail if they tried to eat my food from the fridge. 

"No worries, mate. I got this," Niall said, sensing my anxiety and patting me on the back. He grabbed my hand and helped to pull me through the crowd of hipsters, my shoulders hitting against their floral shirts and oversized glasses. 

"Hello, Mike! Nice to see ya. Can I get four tequila shots at the bar?" Niall yelled to the bartender with a generous smile. I watched in astonishment as the muscular man with tattooed arms stopped what he was doing and began pouring us shots, the golden liquid filling the glasses to the brim. 

"Fuck, Ni. Two shots each? I already had a drink," I said, worriedly. I didn't like to drink too much -- for fear of both hangovers and extra calories. I wasn't the best when it came to body confidence, though I didn't have anything to worry about according to Niall. He was probably right, but sometimes I couldn't help but feel insecure... 

"Here you go!" 

The bartender's booming voice interrupted my internal monologue and I locked eyes with Niall, who had already grabbed his shot. I picked mine up with shaking hands, concentrating hard and trying not to spill all over my white T-shirt. Unfortunately, that didn't really seem to matter when Niall smashed his glass into mine a few seconds later, sending yellow drops all over my shirt. 

Frowning, I shot a dirty look to a giggling Niall and then threw my head back and allowed the burning liquid to trickle down my throat. 

"Fuck yeah, mate!" Niall said, giving me a high five. "Remember when you used to choke on your shots? You spit one out on me once, Lou!" I shook my head, smiling. "So was this revenge for that?" I questioned, pointing down to my stained shirt. "Looks like I pissed on my shirt."