Fooled (Larry Stylinson) ✅

7. Disappointed

  Louis' POV  

"Niall, oh my god! What are you doing?" I yelled, running out to meet him on the street corner. He had been slurring his words pretty badly on the phone, telling me 'I'm bumselfie' instead of 'I'm by myself,' but when I saw him, it was worse than I had imagined. 

I'm not quite sure how he even made it out of the bar without knocking into something -- or someone -- because right now, he was drifting around the sidewalk like he paper bag in the wind. In fact, he would have crashed head first into a stop sign if I hadn't pulled him back a few seconds prior.

"Ni, are you okay?" I asked, holding him steady as I called an Uber. I had planned to take the train home to save money, but Niall was clearly in no state to go up and down the endless stairs--and I was in no state (or physical shape, rather) to carry him. 

"Just peachy," he said, giggling at me with sleepy eyes. "Your face is so funny." He pointed at my face, falling forward a bit and nearly poking me in the eye with his extended finger. I rolled my eyes, hoisting him up, and checked my phone. 

My Uber was 4 minutes way. Four minutes too many if you asked me...

"Niall," I said, slowly, taking a deep breath. "Answer me honestly, because we've had this issue before. Are you going to throw up?" Niall immediately burst out laughing as if I had just created the greatest meme of all time. Really?

"Already did, mate," he snickered. "Three times. Twice in the loo and once on the dance floor." I shook my head, bracing myself for the nightmare of a ride that I was about to experience. I was really not in the mood to play the 'when and where is Niall going to throw up?' game tonight.

"God damn it, Niall," I replied, shaking my head. "I'm going to hope you stopped drinking after that happened. But knowing you...."

I didn't need to finish my sentence, because Niall was now leaning over the sidewalk, gagging and vomiting for a fourth time tonight. I sighed and patted his back, before jogging over to the adjacent 7-11 to get him some water. Why did I always have to be the responsible one?

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"Going out tonight, mate?" Niall asked me, pulling on a grey and white striped T-shirt. It was over a week later-- Friday night to be exact, and Niall still hadn't learned from his antics just a few days prior. 

"I'd rather not be your babysitter for the night, Ni," I said, chewing on my pen as I tried to think of a lead to my next article. This one was about a murder that had happened on 18th Street. My professor had asked me to go to the scene of the crime a few hours later and interview witnesses, though most of them hardly knew anything about the victim.

I looked down in my notebook, which read, "he was really old" and "he liked tomato and basil wraps from Starbucks." I tapped my fingers against my keyboard, wondering what in the bloody fuck I was going to do with this useless information. 

"You won't have to be. Honestly, I'm gonna be more careful. Meeting up with a lass tonight," Niall said, distracting me from my angsty brainstorming session. 

He was holding up his phone, which displayed the Tinder profile of a red-headed girl named Rebecca on the screen. Apparently, she was 22 and liked kittens and rock music. I chuckled a bit, widening my eyes and forming an "o" shape with my lips. 

"Always looking for a ginger, aren't ya?" I replied snarkily, poking fun at the Irish stereotype. "Well I hope you have fun." I was smiling as I said it, but as I looked away, my eyes fell a bit--and it wasn't just because I was angry at the hopeless state of my story. 

I was upset because ever since last Thursday night when we first met and he got my number, Harry hadn't texted me. He hadn't called either... and he certainly hadn't friended me on any form of social media. I'ts not like I found his profile within ten seconds on Facebook and saw that we had 8 mutual friends or anything like that. 

Rude as fuck. 

But I guess that's what I should have expected from a guy like that. He was so beautiful, it was no wonder he was leading me on, with his pouty lips and his glistening long hair. "I'd love to see you again." His husky voice replayed in my mind over and over again, causing me to wrinkle my eyebrows and clench my fists. I'd love to see you again? More like I'd NEVER like to see you again. 

I wished people could just say what they meant. 

"Oh, fuck, Lou. I forgot that you're still down about Harry," Niall said, his face falling. "I shouldn't have told you I was going to meet with a girl. Fuck, I'm sorry, lad." 

When Niall said 'down' he was probably referring to a few days prior when he had walked in on me crying into my pillow while scrolling through Harry's Twitter page. He had just posted something about 'love meeting new people, always wondering where things will lead....' 

"Nowhere!" I had screamed to myself internally. 

"No, it's really alright. Wasn't meant to be," I replied, shutting my laptop and heading to the kitchen to make dinner. Stir fry was the only thing I knew how to prepare besides Trader Joe's pre-made meals. So it was going to be chicken, noodles, and veggies for the third time this week. 

"Well, he's missing out, mate," Niall said with a cheery smile. I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but sometimes I just wanted someone to listen to me pout and be negative. Being positive wasn't really part of my repertoire. 

But even though I was still sad, I smiled for Niall, deciding that if I couldn't believe him, I should at least appease him. "Maybe you're right, Ni. Well let me know how the night goes, or if you need help getting home," I said with a small smile. "Remember, no puking on your date, okay?"

Niall giggled as he reached for his wallet and keys. "Only if my date's name is Louis Tomlinson. Then I have permission," he responded, shooting me a silly look and sticking out his tongue. "And Lou, don't torture  yourself going on his social media. Next weekend, when you're up for it, we'll go out again. To the gay bar, even, if you wanna. And you'll forget all about Harry What's-His-Name." 

I laughed, thinking about the last time we had gone to the gay bar -- Niall had gotten hit on more than I did, and one guy even tried to take him home. That was probably the only time Niall had made an effort not to get too drunk... 

"Sure thing, Nialler. See you later. Night!" I replied, watching over my shoulder as he closed the door to the apartment. 

Of course the first thing I did once he left was scroll through Harry's Instagram for the fourth time today (it wasn't on private -- who still leaves it public?). I didn't stop scrolling until I got to a photo of him doing the ice bucket challenge in 2014 -- that blue bathing suit did wonders on his long legs -- and that was only because I was burning my fucking stir fry.  

Jesus, I thought to myself. Fuck this Harry Styles guy. He's fucking up my life.