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The party is well under way by the time Louis makes it to Harry’s place. It’s his The Kitchen Is Finally Done (No, I Mean It This Time) party. Well, that and a celebration of Harry’s current EP release going over spectacularly well in its release week.
Not that Louis’ surprised at all, to be honest. The first time he’d heard Harry open his mouth and sing all those years ago during X-Factor auditions, he’d known that Harry was going places. Louis hadn’t made it past boot camp, which it still it amazes him he even made it that far, but the friendship he’d forged with Harry during that short time had endured for years.
Not, Louis thinks – snatching up a flute of champagne from a passing tray and nodding at Dale, Harry’s bodyguard – that he’s not done his best to cut himself off from Harry’s life. Harry’s destined for great things and, well, Louis can barely manage to hold onto a job. Every time Louis starts to back off though, Harry always comes after him.
(”You’re the only real thing about this life,” Harry murmurs. The two of them are pissed out of their minds on Harry’s first royalty check. “Need you, Lou. To keep my head out of the clouds.”
Louis snorts. “You’re well fucked then.” They’d both dissolved into giggles at that and drank more.
The next morning, Louis had woken up wrapped in a soft duvet, water and paracetamol on the table next to him and Harry humming quietly in the kitchen. He’s lost track of the number of times since then, but Harry’s still always there the next morning.)
Shaking away the memory, Louis takes a look around. There are a number of faces that look familiar; Harry’s a social butterfly, briefly collecting people. More than likely though, Louis’ seen them in passing, on a gossip mag or such. So many people come and go, that early on, Louis stopped trying to track them.
He jerks his chin at Harry’s stylist, Zayn, who’s in the corner trying to look cool whilst chatting up a pretty blonde, and then heads for the kitchen. A strong drink is the only thing that’s going to get him through tonight. He’d worked a double at the restaurant and it’s only because Harry’s expecting him (Wide, green eyes and a pouty, ”You promised, Louis.” ) that he’s dragged himself here.
Louis’ just started on his third whiskey and coke, half-listening as Harry talks about some cycling class that really “helps align his chakras” or some shit, when a pair of long arms drop over Harry’s shoulders, effectively interrupting Harry’s thrilling tale.
Mouth open to thank whomever is saving his life, or at least saving him from having to do something really drastic, Louis snaps his jaw closed when he sees who the arms belong to.
Nick Grimshaw is more ‒ floppy is the only word Louis can come up with ‒ in real life. His quiff is too high, flopping over to the side. It’s not helped that he keeps running his hands through it. His hands, which flop this way and that as he greets Harry.
His hands, which look like they could span the entire width of Louis’ back.
Not that it’s something he’s thinking about. Not with the way Harry’s face lights up at Nick’s presence. Or the way Nick smiles just as wide as Harry turns, wrapping his own gangly limbs around Nick’s shoulders.
Still, Louis’ not one for not being noticed.
Clearing his throat, Louis arches a brow and says, “I see how it is, Harold. The minute someone comes along and showers you with attention, your affection immediately shifts.”
“Aw, Lou. You know that’s not true,” Harry mumbles. He’s had quite a few already too, practically nuzzling Nick’s neck. It’s a very nice neck, Louis notes, then shakes the thought away as Harry adds, “You’re my favorite forever and always.”
Warmth rolls through Louis and he can tell he’s preening a little because the corner of Nick’s mouth curls up, amusement obvious.
“Tomlinson then, I presume?” Nick reaches out one of his ridiculously giant hands and well, Louis can’t be rude, right?
Ignoring the warmth of Nick’s palm against his own, Louis replies, “You’ve heard of me then?” It’s a bit of a surprise, to be honest.
“Of course,” Nick tells him. “Harry never shuts up about you. Louis this and Louis that.” He takes his hand back and Louis does his best not to curl his fingers up, trying to keep the sensation of skin against skin. Nick doesn’t notice, turning another one of those wide, bright smiles at Harry, who’s now stood back up on his own, watching the two of them. Nick pokes a finger in his cheek, adding, “Been wondering if you actually existed though, never seen you at one of Harry’s parties.”
Harry huffs at that. “He’s always busy working. Told him he could just hang out with me, but noooooo.”
“A man’s gotta make his own way, Harry. I’ve said that before.” It’s true; Louis’ not got the best job in the world, but it pays well and he’s fairly popular. Also, they’ve not fired him which is different from the last four jobs he’s held. Maybe he’s growing up after all.
Louis tunes back into the conversation just as Nick asks, “Are you in the business too, then?”
“Me?” Louis snorts in response, pausing to take a drink. The ice clinks together when he lowers the glass. “No,” Louis says. “Not quite sure I’d have the temperament for this world. Not much for bullshit, to be honest.” He can feel Harry’s fond look, see it when he tips his glass toward his best friend, adding, “Not quite got the charm of young Harold here.”
“You’ve got your own charm,” Harry replies, dimple appearing with his wide grin. Nick looks between the two of them, curiosity evident in the way his brows scrunch together just a bit. It’s not endearing, Louis thinks. It’s not. “Employee of the month, wasn’t it? Just last month?”
Louis scoffs even as pride washes through him. He ignores it though, pushing it away and goes to take another sip of his drink before remembering it’s empty. Which won’t do at all really, not with both Harry and Nick staring at him like they are.
He glances toward the kitchen, wondering if it’d be rude to just walk away and grab another. Then he remembers that he doesn’t really care about being rude. In a distracted tone, he replies, “Not hard though, is it?” He glances back toward the other two; Nick’s practically holding Harry up again, limbs everywhere. “Just a restaurant, yeah?”
“But it’s Cote d’Arthur,” Harry persists. “And you’re smashing out tips on delivery, you said so the other day!” He’s making his earnest face and Louis always has to take the piss out of that face. He holds his tongue this time though, knowing his words would be sharper than he means them to be.
“Oh! I know that place,” Nick exclaims. “Do a mini beef wellington that’s well good.” He frowns. “Didn’t know they delivered though. Aren’t you a bit old to be a delivery boy?”
“Fuck off,” Louis snaps. It may be a sore point, despite how well the job is going, and a snipe he’s heard more than once hanging around Harry’s lot.
There’s a bit of flail as Nick tries to unwind himself from Harry’s limbs. The other boy squawks as Nick nearly hits him the face.
“No, no,” Nick rushes out. “Just didn’t expect it, is all! Fully expected you to be in music, like Harry here. You look the part?” he adds, like a question. There’s a faint red tinge to his cheeks and Louis’ very nearly charmed. He waits as Nick continues to try and dig himself out of his hole.
“You really do look it though.” There’s a wave of Nick’s hand, stupidly long fingers spread wide as he indicates the black, sleeveless Skate Tough shirt Louis’ wearing. Paired with the black skinnies he’s got on with it, Louis can’t actually fault Nick’s logic.
Instead of agreeing though, Louis just shrugs. “Can’t sing for shit, man.”
“That’s not true!”
Harry straightens up at that, brows furrowed together in a frown. Somehow or another, the tip of his boot catches on the floor and he stumbles. Both Louis and Nick move to catch him, just in case, but Harry waves them off though, even as he protests again, “You’ve a perfectly lovely voice, Lou. Just needs a bit of practicing, that’s all. I’ve said it before.”
He turns toward Nick, nodding, “He does, Grimmy. Keep trying to get him in the studio with me, but he won’t have none of it.”
He sighs at that, face sad as he looks back at Louis.
Louis shakes his glass, the ice clinking against the sides again. Raising an eyebrow, he says, “That face isn’t going to work no me. If I can resist Liam’s eyebrows of doom, you’re small time.”
For a split second, Harry’s frown is real. It shifts a second later, clearing up into a very pronounced pout. “I’m a bit like Grim here, not sure Liam actually exists. Seeing as you’ve not brought him around so I can meet him.”
And that’s a different story altogether, really. Liam’s a neighbor, met one night when he’d come over to complain about Louis’ too-loud music. They’d not got along very well at first, Liam a music production student at uni with classes far too early in the morning for Louis’ late night schedule. They’d managed to work it out eventually and now Louis can’t imagine what it would be like without Liam’s warm, sincere nature in his life.
It doesn’t hurt that Liam sings like a fucking angel, as good as Harry in Louis’ opinion. They’ve gone to karaoke a few times and Liam’s got it, underneath that earnest exterior is a star waiting to shine. Louis’ just trying to figure out how to make it happen without Liam fighting him the whole way.
“Keeping him to myself a bit longer,” Louis finally says, realizing he’s been quiet too long. “Don’t want your lot corrupting him.” Which, not necessarily a lie.
Harry snorts at that. “Ha! You’re the one he ought to be worried about!”
Hand to his chest, Louis drops his mouth open in shock. “I have no idea what you’re talking about Harold. I am a bastion of saintliness and purity, only here to promote peace and goodwill upon this earth.”
Louis manages to keep it together. At least until he glances over at Nick, who looks like he’s about to start crying, eyes bright with laughter.
“Oi,” Louis grins, “you don’t know me. I could be a fucking saint.”
It’s Harry that barks out a laugh this time and Nick finally loses it at that, the two of them curling into each other, beset by giggles.
That’s pretty much how the rest of the evening goes. He’s fairly certain he catches Nick watching him a couple of times and he contemplates it, he does. Pulling Nick, taking him home and getting those hands all over him. It’s a good enough thought that his jeans get a little uncomfortable at one point.
But then, as Louis watches, Harry will lean into Nick, laughing into Nick’s neck or smiling bright and wide at him. It’s a face that Louis recognizes, that he’s seen before. It wouldn’t be so bad if Louis wasn’t watching Nick look back at Harry the very same way. They’re touching more often than not through the evening, Harry’s hand spread wide on Nick’s shoulder. Or Nick’s hand low at Harry’s back as they chat with whichever bigwig wants a piece of Harry at the moment. So, no, Louis’ not going to go there.
In the end, he goes home and pounds on Liam’s door until he lets Louis in. It’s not the first time Louis’ done this and he knows it won’t be the last.
Louis’ half-distracted by a lyric Liam read off earlier, before Louis left for work, when he gets to his next stop. It’s a new thing they’ve gotten into, trying to write songs together. He might not be able to sing but he’s fallen in love with this, putting words and chords together.
He even thinks he might be pretty good at it. At least, if the way Liam’s eyes squinch closed when he smiles up at Louis are any indication.
It’s still rolling around in his head when he pushes the button for the buzzer. He’s got a good set of regulars, but this is a new stop for him. Leaning back, Louis takes a look around. It’s a good size flat, bigger than some, not as big as others he delivers to.
There’s a sharp bark from inside and Louis’ turning his attention back just as the door opens. A familiar voice says, “No, it’s not for you. Not everything is about you.”
“Rude.” Louis can’t help but smirk as Nick’s face comes into view. “It’s always about me, Nicholas.”
Nick murmurs, “Tomlinson,” not quite looking at Louis. He shifts from one foot to the other and Louis can feel the smile on his face fall away. One night of partying with Harry doth not friends make, it seems. Well noted then.
“Right,” he says, voice sharp. Holding the bag out, he adds, “The total was £22.54.” Nick takes the bag, finally looking at Louis. He opens his mouth, but Louis talks over him. “The receipt’s in the bag.”
It’s Nick’s quick, “Wait! Wait, I’ve got a bit of cash,” that stops him from leaving. “Come in, yeah? It’ll just take a mo.”
He waves Louis in, turning back down the hallway. Over his shoulder, he says, “You’ll have to excuse Pig though, she’s a curious sort.”
Louis’ about to ask what Nick’s talking about but he can hear the shuffle of paws against the tiled floor of Nick’s entryway. Glancing down, he finds a white bull terrier staring up at him. She yips, loud in the small space, then sniffs at his feet. A second later, she’s flopped on the floor, tummy bared for petting.
“Oh for goodness sake, Pig‒” Nick flails a hand about and Louis finds himself reluctantly charmed by the fond exasperation on Nick’s face, “‒have some dignity.”
It looks like there’s a bit of a flush to Nick’s cheeks, but Louis’ not quite sure if that’s it or just the low lighting. “Likes a bit of attention,” Nick adds.
“Sounds like her owner,” Louis can’t help himself. Whatever odd mood Nick was in a few minutes before seems to have disappeared, the other man gasping in feigned appall at Louis’ snark.
Throwing Louis’ own words from the party back at him, he says, “You don’t know me, I could be a paragon of humility.”
Louis just gives him a look, eyebrows lifted in disbelief. Rolling his eyes, Nick waves a hand around. Louis likes the way he talks with his hands. “Suppose it is a bit of karma,” Nick is saying. He bends down, giving the dog a quick scritch. “She’s much cuter though.”
“Disagree,” tumbles out of Louis’ mouth before he can stop it. Nick’s hand stills and from where he’s stood, Louis can see the tops of his cheeks color. Louis’ fairly certain his own match at the moment. “Harry seems to prefer you over this one,” he adds. Nick stands up then, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Seeing as he’s never mentioned Pig and he talks about you all the time.”
“He does?” Nick looks surprised at that, then pleased. All it does is remind Louis that Nick’s off limits. Not that he’s interested anymore.
Even if Nick’s fingers tugging on the material of his shirt give Louis flashbacks to some of the thoughts he’d had the night of that party.
“Of course he does,” Louis says, shaking his head to clear out the ridiculous thoughts going through it right now. “Won’t shut up about you.”
The words must sound sharper than Louis meant as Nick tilts his head, brows pulling together. “He’s always like that,” Louis rushes to add before Nick can comment. “At the beginning of a new‒” He finds he can’t force the word ‘relationship’ out and instead, ends up with, “‒friendship.”
It sounds stilted, even to Louis. Definitely time to go.
“Love to stay and chat more, Nicholas, but time is money and all that,” Louis says. He shoves the cash Nick gives him then in his pocket, turning towards the door. “These orders won’t deliver themselves.”
He’s not got any other deliveries to make, but Nick doesn’t know that. Louis can feel Nick’s gaze on him as he slips back down the hallway, but he ignores it.
“Louis‒”
Louis cuts over him with a, “Ta for the tip, hope you enjoy your meal!”
Still, he can’t help but look up as he slips out the door. The two of them are stood there, Nick with a hand in his quiff and looking a bit like he’s been hit by a lorry. And Pig, calm and serene, staring after Louis whilst leaning against Nick’s leg.
It’s a lovely shot, framed by the light pouring in from outside. Louis shakes his head and closes the door.
“You always order the same thing?” he asks three days later, when Nick opens the door. His heart rate is jumping a bit, but Louis leans against the door frame, nonchalant as fuck. He smirks. “Seems a bit boring.”
“Excuse me, Tomlinson, nothing about me is boring.” Nick looks slightly affronted. None of the awkwardness from a few days ago seems to be evident. The smirk on Louis’ face shifts into actual amusement, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Remains to be seen,” Louis replies. “As I only have Harry’s testimony and he does talk some shit.”
“What? You don’t hang on every word he says?”
Louis loves Harry, but it can take forever for him to reach a point sometimes. Nick seems to agree, laughing.
He’s about to say something else, when there’s a crash from inside the house. With a huff, Nick waves Louis inside and goes to check it out. When he returns to the hallway a few moments later, it’s with fond exasperation and a familiar four-legged companion. She rushes past Nick and scrambles to a stop at Louis’ feet, snuffling at his Vans, her tail wagging.
“Hello, love,” Louis says. Reaching down, he gives her a scratch behind her ear. He looks up at Nick, to find him watching the two of them. It’s a little disconcerting, the intensity on his face. “She’s a friendly sort, yeah?”
“Definitely,” Nick replies. He seems to shake off whatever’s on his mind then, laughing and gesturing to the sack in Louis’ hand. With a laugh, he adds, “She also knows who’s got the food.”
That makes Louis smile. “True. Guess, if I hand it over, we’ll know where her true loyalty lies.”
Nick hums an agreement. Louis doesn’t move though, just continues to give Pig a good scratch. He lifts the bag, raising an eyebrow. It makes Nick huff, rolling his eyes as he steps forward to take the bag from Louis.
“I see how it is, Tomlinson,” he says, moving back, “using your wiles on my dog.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis replies. Pig looks in heaven, both of Louis’ hands on her now. Louis can’t help but grin; she really is a lovely dog. “This girl’s an angel and deserves all the love. Don’t you, Pig dog?” he coos at her. She huffs happily back at him and Louis laughs.
He stands up then, reluctant to leave, and looks up to find a strange look on Nick’s face. It’s gone a second later though.
“Right,” Louis coughs after an awkward pause. “End of shift, I should head back–”
Nick jerks, “Yes! Soz, I’ve got–” He shoves a hand into his pocket and Louis can’t help following the motion. Nick’s wearing a pair of skinnies, artfully shredded at the knees. They look really nice, making Nick’s legs look even longer. “–here.”
Blinking, Louis focuses on the notes that are being held toward him. His face feels hot.
“Thanks, mate,” he forces out and manages to take the money Nick’s giving him without brushing their fingers against each other. Louis tries to take a step back, needing to leave before he does something stupid, when there’s a weight on his feet.
Looking down, he finds Pig sat there. She looks up at him, the back of her head set against his knee.
“Looks like someone doesn’t want you to leave.”
Louis gives a laugh at that, one that sounds half-strangled to his own ears. He really needs to get out of here. Adorable dogs with stupidly attractive owners that are dating his best friend are terrible for his state of mind.
“If only people were so easy,” Louis jokes. Slipping his feet out from under Pig, he reaches down to give her one last scratch. To Nick, who’s watching him again, head cocked to the side, “See you in a few days, Nicholas.”
“That’s a bit presumptuous,” Nick says. He pouts a bit at that and it’s cute. Louis rolls his eyes, shoving the thought away. He manages to make it to the door, despite the fact that Pig keeps trying to get his attention.
By the time he’s to the doorway, the pout on Nick’s face is real and he’s giving his dog a very disgruntled look. “I’m supposed to be your favorite,” he mutters. Pig ignores him, and this time the laugh that bubbles out of Louis’ mouth is real.
“She’s definitely got the better taste here,” Louis throws out as he heads up the few short stairs to the pavement. Behind him, Nick shouts an expletive while Pig barks. Louis grins all the way back to the restaurant.
Louis hasn't said much about delivering to Nick. He knows Harry's aware of it though:
"Nick's well-impressed with your professionalism," said with a slow grin.
"Piss off," Louis replies, giving him the finger.
That exchange had ended with Harry a laughing mess on the sofa, spending twenty minutes telling Louis a story about one of their nights in LA a few months ago where only by the grace of Harry's bodyguard, the two of them didn't end up smashed and married in an Elvis-themed chapel.
Louis' both endeared as fuck and annoyed at the relief that rushes through him at the thwarting of their drunk adventure. It's amazing that the papers never got hold of the story either. It's a hot topic, Harry's romantic life. Usually Harry just shrugs it off, but Louis' told more than one pap to fuck off. It's the main reason Louis rarely goes in public with Harry anymore, much to Harry's dismay.
And Harry never gives them anything either, which is probably why they're always out for blood. Nick being famous in his own right just complicate the matter further. It's not a situation Louis can imagine being in, and having a relationship in it must be a shit storm. Louis' not sure it would be worth it, even says that aloud.
"It's just that," Harry pauses, getting a thoughtful look on his face, "Nick's a bit ridiculous, right?"
Louis rolls his eyes.
"No, no," Harry smiles at that. "Of course he is, it's part of the reason he's great on the radio, and why people feel at ease with him." The look on Harry's face goes a bit more serious. "But he's also smart, you know? Easy to have a conversation with, he talks to me instead of at me. He gets me, my sense of humor--"
Harry keeps going, Louis sinking under the weight of the guilt about his crush with every word.
Then Harry says softly, "And he's loyal."
"Like you in that regard," Harry continues, voice still quiet. "He sticks with me." There's a content look on Harry's face, serene and happy as he watches Louis.
Louis doesn't bring it up again. He'll get rid of this stupid crush, he will.
Except that each time Louis stops by to make a delivery, he ends up spending longer and longer there.
If he were a wishful thinker, Louis would say that Nick's even waiting to order just so that Louis can make that the last run on his shift.
He likes it though, hanging out with Nick. Like Harry's said, he's a good listener and Louis enjoys just talking with him. He's funny, too. Not that Louis lets him know that, giving him shit or disagreeing just to see the offended look on his face. Louis takes great delight in seeing how often he can make Nick sputter with outrage.
Neither of them seem to notice that Nick's food has gone cold by the time Louis leaves.
“We have to stop meeting like this.”
“I’m just here for the dog, Grimshaw,” Louis drawls, ducking under Nick’s arm and making his way down the hall.
“Where’s my lovely girl?” he coos. Pig’s nails make an excited clatter on the floor as she comes running out of the living room and down the hallway.
“Rude.”
Louis ignores him, bending down to scratch at Pig’s belly as she sprawls out on her back for him. He’s used to Nick’s routine now, almost always a Wednesday evening delivery and then another Saturday afternoon. Always the same order, always a good tip and some fun back-and-forth. He’s doing his best to shove his attraction to Nick as far down as possible and thinks they might actually be friends now.
“Who’s my best girl?” Louis murmurs. Pig’s tongue lolls out the side of her mouth. Behind them Nick huffs, making Louis grin.
“I swear you like the dog more than me.” Nick sounds disgruntled, and Louis can’t help the zing of happiness that goes through him. “I’m the one with the money.”
“But Pig is the one with the looks,” Louis replies, standing up. He sets the takeaway on the little table in the hallway and turns around. “We all know she’s the star of this show, Nick. How could you begin to compare?”
“Well,” Nick says, “for one, I don’t wee on the floor. That should count for something.”
“You’re a prize, for certain,” Louis says, tone dry. The, “Would you like some belly rubs for that achievement?” falls out of his mouth before he can stop it though.
“Ooooh kinky, Tomlinson.” Louis’ not sure, but he thinks Nick might be blushing. His own face might be a shade or two more red than usual so he does what he always does in situations like this: forges ahead with bravado.
Or in this case, a distraction.
“I like her more than you.” Louis rolls his eyes. “I thought we already went through this, Nicholas.” Snapping his fingers, he adds, “Keep up.”
"In fact," Louis continues before Nick can reply. He reaches into his pocket then squats back down beside Pig and gives her the small boot-shaped chew toy. "I've got this especially for her."
Watching the array of emotions that cross Nick's face nearly makes Louis laugh out loud. Just last week, Pig had destroyed half of a pair of Saint Laurent boots, the third such incident in as many weeks.
"You're a menace, Louis Tomlinson," Nick mutters.
"No idea what you mean," Louis says, standing up again. Pig is already gnawing on the toy, snuffling happily at his feet. "She chews on this, less on your ridiculously expensive shoes."
"Right, like the state of my best shoes is a high priority in your life." Nick's eyebrows are high, disbelief evident in his face.
Louis grins. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“More like I know you too well,” Nick mutters. Louis laughs and ignores the warmth in his chest when Nick smiles at the sound. At his feet, Pig chews happily away at her new toy.
They’d had a pact: Louis wouldn’t mention Liam singing if Liam didn’t mention that the two of them were writing together.
It doesn’t take much to make Liam agree. He’s not big on lying, but he’s even more into doing things the old-fashioned way. Honest, hard work is Liam’s forte and for once, Louis is more than willing to go along. He doesn’t want Harry helping him out of sympathy and he knows Harry would do it in a heartbeat. Louis’ biding his time, wants to pick the right time to introduce Liam into Harry’s world.
Watching the way Liam’s eyes are scrunched nearly closed with the way he’s listening to Harry talk, Louis realizes he might have something even more serious to worry about.
“They seem to be getting along well.”
Nick’s voice is quiet, but there’s something off about it and when Louis glances over his shoulder to where Nick’s hovering, there’s a frown on his face. It’s not just Louis then.
He hums, agreeing. Beside him, Louis can feel Nick fidgeting.
With a sigh, he says, “I’ll take Liam, yeah? You take Harry?”
Nick jerks a bit at that, then murmurs, “Shouldn’t you take Harry?”
Louis waves him off. “You’re not used to Liam,” he replies. “You can barely tell Harry no, Grimshaw; you’ll be useless against Liam’s eyebrows.” The disgruntled noise from over his shoulder makes him smile, at least until Harry’s laughter carries across the room.
“Right,” he mutters. “1, 2, 3, break.”
Behind him, Nick lets out a befuddled, “What?”
“Do you watch any sport?” Louis asks, exasperated, and turns around to look at Nick.
Nick shrugs. “Much rather watch a spot of cooking, to be honest.”
“No wonder you and Harry get along so well,” Louis mutters, and wishes he wasn’t so endeared. Before Nick can retort, Louis turns back around, heading towards Liam and Harry. Time to keep temptation away from Harry.
Nick better appreciate his selflessness.
In a stroke of genius, Louis introduces Liam to Zayn.
The two of them get along like wildfire, Zayn settling almost immediately into Liam’s side as the two of them spending the rest of the evening discussing movies and music and such. Louis’ almost jealous, except that every so often, Liam will lift his head and look about. When he sets his eyes on Louis, who’s never too far away, he smiles. Louis makes a face each time and Liam just shakes his head, turning back to his conversation.
He knows he’s ridiculous, especially when hearing Nick and Harry’s laughter ringing out brings a surge of real jealousy. Always need to be loved best, Louis thinks, and ignores it all in favor of another drink.
It’s a day off for Louis, a rare one in which Liam’s off at classes all day and Harry’s scheduled from sun up to sun down doing promotion. He’d been invited along, Harry looking a bit hopeful, but Louis’ not in the mood to deal with preening and falseness of that world today.
Instead, he’s taken his writing notebook and laptop out, spending most of the day tucked away in the corner of a small coffee shop. The traffic in and out is steady, but not overwhelming. Perfect for the day really.
Louis has his earbuds in, a rough recording of a melody Liam had come up with the night before piped in, when a familiar set of fingers waves in his peripheral vision. Nick’s standing there, a cup in each hand, when Louis looks up.
“Hiya,” Nick says. “Thought that was you over here. Wasn’t sure I should interrupt; you were looking pretty intense.” Nick nods his chin toward the notebook in front of Louis, which is a mess of words, phrases, and half-arsed doodles. Louis can feel his face heating up as he drags his earbuds out and hits stop on his computer.
“Just trying to put some words to Payno’s music.”
And that’s not what he meant to blurt out, not at all. He keeps this to himself usually, hasn’t even told Harry yet, but Nick’s face is open and curious and, well.
“Sick,” Nick replies. Then frowns. “I thought you said you weren’t in the music business.”
Shaking his head, Louis says, “I’m not. It’s mostly Liam, to be honest. He’s the one with the real talent.”
Nick’s frown only deepens at Louis’ words. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Before Louis can protest though, he sets one of the cups down in front of Louis. Steam curls up from the cup, dissipating after a moment.
“What’s this then?” Louis asks. He waves at Nick to sit down, adding, “Getting a crick in my neck, you giant. Sit.”
“We can’t all be pocket-sized like you, Tomlinson,” Nick replies. He settles into the seat opposite Louis though, tucking his long legs under the table. Louis resists the urge to tap at his ankles with his own foot.
“Fuck off.”
There’s no heat in Louis’ response though. Ignoring the widening grin on Nick’s face, he wraps his hands around the cup and takes a deep breath. It’s tea, of course, perfectly made. Louis may or may not have ranted for ten minutes last week during one of his delivery visits.
It’s stupid, ridiculous even, how pleased Louis is that Nick remembered. He takes a sip, pushing that pleasure away. Arching a brow, he murmurs, “Thought you said you weren’t sure if it was me over here.”
Nick laughs, running a hand through his floppy quiff. His hair is so ridiculous, Louis thinks. His entire being is ridiculous.
“Took a chance,” Nick tells him, breaking into Louis’ thoughts. He grins, wide and bright. “Paid off, yeah?”
Louis is so fucked.
***
Nick knows he’s a bit obsessed.
It’s in his nature, innit? That bloke in drama back in sixth form. His Communications professor in uni. Ian, for the first three months the producer had been at the BBC. At least until Nick had introduced him to Aimee and, well, that was that. He can’t get in the way of true love.
Plus, Aimee’s nails are really fucking sharp and he likes his bollocks where they are, thank you very much.
So yes, Nick’s well familiar with obsession.
It’s been a few months now and both his budget and his waistline are going to shite because he can’t stop ordering takeaway. It’s just that Louis always looks amazing in his khaki shorts and blue polo that makes his eyes even more blue, which seems impossible.
And his stupid tattoos. God, Nick could wax poetic over Louis’ stupid tattoos and his golden skin. Nick wants to lick him so badly.
Groaning, Nick flings himself onto the sofa. Pig scrambles up on the sofa a moment later, the toy that Louis brought for her between her teeth.
“Traitor,” Nick tells her, scowling.
Unperturbed, Pig settles on the floor and chews happily away. Nick’s mildly jealous, if he’s honest with himself.
Jealous.
Of his dog.
With another loud groan, Nick does his best to suffocate himself on a throw pillow. It’s pointless though, the pillow’s not very dense but it is comfortable. He ends up falling asleep instead.
“He’s just, I think, a really good person, you know?” Harry does his best to find his straw, tongue out as he looks back at Nick. He gets distracted a moment later, another one of those dopey smiles he’s had all day, spreading across his face. “Also, he can totally carry me around with, like, no effort.”
Nick shakes his head, not really wanting to know. Harry tells him anyway, about Louis and Liam visiting him on set of a shoot a couple days ago.
“And I was stuck on the top of a ladder–” That surprises Nick. Niall knows better than anyone how Harry has a hard time keeping up with his limbs; the whole thing sounds like a disaster in the making. “–got a bit dizzy. The photographer’s assistant looked like she wanted to throttle the lot of us. Probably because Louis was tossing crisps at my head and Liam thought it was mad funny.”
Harry finally finds his straw and drains nearly half of his iced coffee. “Liam’s got a great laugh. His eyes do this crinkly thing and he just gets really excited about thi–”
“What’d Louis have to say about all this?” Nick wants to call it flirting, that’s obviously what it is, but it seems bad form to accuse Harry outright of that.
Harry shrugs, managing to stab his chin searching for his straw again. He gives the straw a hurt look, like it’s betrayed his trust and Nick can help the fondness that rolls through him. Still, Harry using his natural charms on poor, unsuspecting Liam – not that Liam doesn’t deserve it; from Nick’s own dealings, Liam’s just as lovely and nice as Harry’s been wagging on about all day – seems a bit rude even for Harry, flirting so blatantly in front of his boyfriend.
“You know Louis,” Harry shrugs, “thinks all these things are a waste of time, yeah?”
He’s about to say something else when his mobile buzzes. Nick watches in amusement as he works to dig it out of his too-tight trousers. The mirth changes to concern when Harry’s face lights up only to immediately fall, corners of his mouth turning down and brows pulling together.
“Everything alright then?” Nick asks. Harry tilts his head, frowning harder. “Harry?”
“It’s Li, says he can’t meet up later because he’s writing with Louis.” His mobile vibrates again and Harry’s frown deepens at whatever is on the screen. “Almost finished with the latest tune,” he reads off, glancing up at Nick.
Nick smiles, uncertain. “Not let you hear it then?” Harry shakes his head, looking back down to his mobile. “Lou’s been a bit excited about this one apparently, says it’s his favorite so far.”
“You’ve heard it?” Harry asks, head still down. His voice sounds odd and Nick feels something twist in his gut. He coughs, unsure.
“No, no. Just, um. Louis mentioned it last time he delivered my dinner.”
Nick’s expecting Harry to take the piss, tease him about ordering takeaway like he’s done more often than not lately. Instead, Harry finally looks up, mouth tight.
“That’s interesting,” he says eventually, after long enough that Nick’s shifted from one foot to the other. “As he’s not said a single thing to me about writing. And definitely not that he’s writing with Liam.”
He’s not quite sure what to say in response. It’s obvious Harry’s hurt; it’s written all over his face. “I’m sure he was going to? Maybe it just slipped his mind?”
Harry presses his lips together harder. They both know Louis wouldn’t just ‘forget’ to tell Harry something like this. Not with Harry’s connections, not with the way Harry’s always trying to get Louis involved with that side of his life.
“I’m sure he’s a good reason,” Nick says, voice quiet. Reaching out, he curls his hand around Harry’s elbow. “Maybe you should go talk to him?”
Harry nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.” He gives Nick a soft smile. “Raincheck on lunch?”
“Of course, dear Harold.” He gives what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze before dropping his hand, shoving it into his pocket. Nick raises his other hand in a fist, shoving out an enthusiastic, “Go get ‘em!” that earns him an odd look from Harry, before he shakes his head.
“Weirdo,” he murmurs, sending Nick a quick, dimpled grin, before turning and heading down the pavement toward the tube station.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Nick shouts because it’s obvious his brain to mouth filter is broken. Thankfully Harry ignores it, waving over his shoulder and then disappearing around the corner. Running a hand over his face, Nick lets out a huge sigh.
“Get it together,” he mutters. This whole thing is getting ridiculous.
“Way to open your big, fat mouth, Grimshaw,” Louis snaps when Nick answers his call. “Now Harry’s sat on my sofa, giving me the sad face. Which is almost as bad as Liam’s disappointed face. That I’ve also seen today.”
“You can’t be mad at me,” Nick insists. “You’re the one hiding things from him! How was I supposed to know that you hadn’t told him?!”
Louis huffs, a sign that he knows he’s in the wrong but won’t admit it. Nick wonders when he figured that out about him.
“Whatever,” Louis finally grumbles. “It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell him eventually.” Then, quieter, “I hate it when he’s mad at me.” The vulnerability in Louis’ voice is making Nick’s stomach turn.
“Just–” Nick waves a hand about, even though Louis can’t see it through the phone. “Just, I don’t know, kiss and make up?”
Please don’t do that, Nick thinks and then immediately hates himself for it. There’s a long pause on the other end of the line and Nick bites his lip, waiting.
“You’re so fucking odd,” Louis finally says. His voice sounds lighter, amusement evident. “S’probably why you and Hazza get along so well. You’re always together, being weird.”
Nick feels compelled to say, “Contrary to popular belief, young Harold and I aren’t attached at the hip.”
Louis scoffs.
He’s always talking about you anyway, Nick almost blurts out. Thankfully, he manages to hold his tongue. There’s another moment of quiet until Nick hears Louis draw a breath. He lets his own out then, unaware he was holding it until then.
“Anyway, I should, um, go fix this,” Louis says. He sounds reluctant to get off the phone though and Nick can’t help but wish it was because he wanted to talk to Nick and not just because he’s reluctant to face a hurt Harry.
“Buck up, young Jedi,” he tells Louis, because he’s kind of an idiot. It makes Louis laugh though and Nick can’t help the warmth that spreads inside him at the sound.
“Have you even watched any of those films, Nicholas?”
“Of course I have! The Force, um, is–” Nick searches his brain; he knows this. “Uh, it’s–”
“Pathetic.” Louis sounds fucking delighted.
“Oh shut it,” Nick laughs. “Not all of us are obsessed with superheroes as you.”
“That’s science fiction, you idiot. I can’t believe–” A noise in the background, cuts Louis off. He’s back a moment later, his voice somber again as he says, “We’ll finish this discussion later, yeah? I’ve got to go take care of this.”
“Of course,” Nick replies. “Look forward to the beating my ego is going to take.” That earns him a small laugh, at least. That warm feeling rolling through Nick again.
“You’re alright, Grimshaw,” Louis tells him. Nick grins, thankful no one can see his face right now.
“Not too terrible yourself, Tomlinson,” he manages to get out, another quiet laugh from Louis ringing down the line as he ends the call.
Nick’s still standing there, staring dumbly at his mobile when Pig comes trotting into the room. She comes over, sitting at Nick’s feet and staring up at him.
“We are in deep, deep trouble, Pig Girl,” he tells her. She yawns at that, then flops over the tips of his shoes and bares her belly. “Same,” Nick mutters. “So much same.”
They’ve already had couple, a few glasses of wine at Nick’s ﹘ “Posh fuckers,” Louis mutters. He drinks it though. ﹘ when they hit the club. Nick and Harry are used to the paps, ignoring their shouts for the most part.
“This is shit,” Louis mutters, blinking as a series of flashes go off.
He stumbles a little and Nick shoots a hand out, fingers curving into his waist as he steadies him. Harry, a few steps ahead of them, glances back over his shoulder. He’s got that carefully blank face he’s perpetuated over the last year. The one that Nick hates but knows it’s necessary. He sends Harry a small nod and does his best not to notice how perfectly his hand fits into the curve of Louis’ waist.
Nick’s so focused on that then it’s not until he feels Louis tense under his hand that he realize something’s going on. He only catches the last bit﹘
“﹘two for one tonight? Bit of a slag, eh, Harry?”
And then Louis is gone, headed toward the pap who’d mouthed off, before Nick can even think. The guy stumbles back, shouting as Louis takes a swing. He’s not quite fast enough, Louis’ fist catching his chin and sending him flailing back.
NIck’s there as quick as he can, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him back. Cursing a blue streak, Louis barely notices.
“Get a fucking real job, you arse!”
The pap shouts back, something that Nick doesn’t quite catch; it’s not nice, he can tell, by the way Louis jerks back toward the guy, growling another curse. Nick uses his height to drag him back again, barely missing getting hit in the face as Louis throws up his arm to flip the pap off.
Nick glances over his shoulder, toward the entrance, and finds Harry being held back by his security. Under his hands, Louis’ nearly vibrating with rage.
Tipping his head down, Nick quietly says one word. Harry.
He does his best not to notice that his mouth brushes the shell of Louis’ ear, or the way Louis goes almost still at that, his harsh breathing pressing him back into Nick. For a moment, Nick’s not sure it’s going to work but in the end Louis mumbles a low, “Shit fucker paps,” sending a final glare towards the guy before letting Nick lead them towards the club.
Harry’s there, reaching out for Louis, immediately drawing them both into the club before pulling Louis a few steps away. Nick feels a bit superfluous now, watching as Harry leans in and wraps his hands around the back of Louis’ neck. He sees it, sees the exact moment that Louis lets it go. His shoulders slump and Harry presses their foreheads together as Louis says something. Nick can’t hear them, but Harry does this thing where he hugs Louis tight, just kind of collapsing into him and it makes Nick chest hurt.
Louis hugs him back just as tight and Nick spends the next three hours getting spectacularly drunk.
Nick orders takeaway the next day. One, because he’s pretty much got a standing Saturday order and two, he’s god-awful hungover and this is the only thing that doesn’t make him want to vomit immediately. The knock on the door startles Nick out of the half-doze he’s settled in on the sofa. It feels like an act of god to push himself up and make his way over to open the door.
“You look like shit, mate,” Louis says immediately.
And it’s not like Louis looks much better, if Nick’s honest. He looks bedgraggled – a bit pale with his hair a jagged mess of spikes, the skin under his eyes a little bruised. Unfortunately for Nick, he still looks amazing, the dark circles only making Louis’ eyes more blue.
It’s there, standing in the open doorway of his flat and looking like last month’s rubbish, that Nick has an epiphany. He’s gone and fallen in love with Louis Tomlinson.
Nick may well vomit again.
“Hey.” Louis’ voice sounds muffled, far away, as Nick turns and heads back down the hallway. “You alright?”
Nick doesn’t answer him, too busy thinking. It’s ridiculous, really, to think he’s in love with Louis. He doesn’t even know Louis that well, right?
It’s not like he hasn’t been there to see how Louis takes care of his friends, of Harry. Or the way he’d calmed one of his sisters down after she’d called, half-hysterical about some boy. How, when it’s obvious he’s out of his depth, that Louis still manages to be heard, to speak his mind. But on the other hand, there’s the Louis that wants to make it on his own. The one that’s employee of the month – three months running now – at what amounts to a shit job, but he tries anyway.
And there’s the Louis, when Nick finally makes himself turn around, who’s followed him into the flat and is currently crouched down, petting Nick’s dog and smiling that stupid, soft smile he always gets around Pig.
“I’ll bring you a treat next time alright, Pig dog,” Nick hears Louis murmur. Then he’s looking up at Nick. “You alright then?”
“No, you won’t,” Nick says, instead of replying to Louis’ question.
Louis frowns. “Won’t what?”
“Bring her a treat,” Nick tells him. God, he can’t keep his mouth shut. “You won’t bring her a treat.”
Standing, Louis arches an eyebrow. Challenging. “Why not? S’my right to bring a bit for her own.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up, Nick’s brain is saying. His mouth, however, has other plans. “Cuz it’s no more takeaway for me.”
“Right,”Louis snorts, the corner of his mouth curling up.
“No, really,” Nick insists. “Going on a health kick. Got to get in shape for Sports Relief.” That’s a good one. “Got a cycling challenge this year. Need to lay off the goods here.”
The frown is back on Louis’ face.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t bring her a treat,” he says. There’s something off in his voice. Nick’s stomach rolls.
Stupid hangover.
“No point then, yeah?” Nick says. He’s dug this hole, might as well go all in. “If you’re not bringing me food.”
He sees it, the exact moment Louis shuts himself off. The coolness that descends over his gaze and the way the smile slides off his face.
Pulling his shoulders back, Louis sneers, “Right. Right, no reason at all for me to be here, yeah.” He holds the bag with Nick’s order out – Nick had completely forgotten about it, to be honest; it’s not like he’s hungry anymore – and says, “Here you go then. Last supper and all.”
Nick hesitates a moment, unsure, then steps forward. Before he can grab the bag though, Louis lets go. It hits the floor and Nick winces. He opens his mouth, to say what he’s not sure, but Louis gets there first.
“Have a good fucking day, Nicholas.”
And then he’s gone.
“Did you and Louis have a fight?” Harry’s digging through Nick’s closet, murmuring to himself and feeling the material of each one that catches his eye. He glances over his shoulder at Nick, sprawled across his bed. “He’s been a terror every time I mention your name lately.”
Nick shrugs, doing his best to ignore the way his stomach twists. It’s not like he misses Louis or anything. Maybe if he tells himself that often enough, it might become true.
Pig, be the traitorous puppy she is, comes trotting in the room just then with the ridiculous squeaky boot toy Louis gave her weeks ago. It’s like she’s got a homing beacon for any time someone mentions Louis. Jumping up on the bed, she flops down on Nick’s chest, toy still in her mouth.
Running a hand over her head, Nick sighs. Same, Pig. Same.
“And that as well,” Harry says, poking his head out. “You’ve been moony all week.” He holds out a hanger for Nick, the shirt white splashed with black. Nick nods and Harry hums in agreement, moving back into the closet. “Aimee’s texted and said you’re a right sob story.”
On the bed, Nick scowls. Aimee’s a traitor too, it seems.
“I’m fine!” he calls out. In the closet, he can hear Harry scoff. “I am!” he insists.
Pig, disgruntled about the shouting, hops off the bed. The boot, a bit wet from Pig’s mouth, is left set on his chest. Nick thinks it might be a metaphor or something.
“You should just apologize and move on,” Harry tells him, stepping out of the closet in Nick’s shirt. It’s unbuttoned halfway to his navel and Nick hums his approval. Good Look, that is.
“Wait, why should I apologize?” Nick splutters, struggling to lean up on his elbows. Then, “And there’s nothing to apologize about anyway.”
“Uh-huh.” Harry studies himself in Nick’s mirror for a moment, then reaches down to unbutton another button. That seems to satisfy him and he turns to look at Nick. “We all know Louis won’t ever apologize and I’m tired of you both acting like children.”
He doesn’t even wait, give Nick time to protest, adding, “So just apologize so we can move on and hey, can I borrow those suede Topman boots you got last month?”
With a sigh, Nick flops back down on the bed. Everything is the worst.
After two weeks, it’s obvious that Harry is tired of dealing with both of them.
“You’re going,” he insists, fingers loose around Nick’s wrist. “Louis’ going to be there and you’re going to be pleasant to each other and everyone is going to have fun.”
Nick’s very doubtful of that, but it has been awhile since he’s had a night out.
The venue isn’t one that Nick’s familiar with, but Harry seems excited enough. It’s full enough that Nick’s certain that they’re going to end up standing for most of the night. To his surprise though, Harry maneuvers them through the crowd to a table a little to the right of the stage, still empty.
A few minutes later, they’ve got drinks, courtesy of a blushing waitress. Nick rolls his eyes, but takes a sip. “Who’re we here to see?” he half-shouts at Harry. Before he can get an answer though, a familiar face slides into the chair next to Harry.
Zayn gives Nick a nod before leaning into say something into Harry’s ear. Irritation flashes across Harry’s face and he glances towards Nick, even as he turns to respond to whatever Zayn’s said. All it does is earn him a shrug and a moment later, Zayn’s up again, heading behind them. Towards the bar, Nick presumes, losing him in the crowd.
“What was that?” Nick says.
“Louis’ being a twat,” Harry replies. “Says he’s staying at the bar.”
It hurts, a bit, knowing that Louis doesn’t even want to be near him. Worse though, is that Nick feels terrible for keeping the two of them apart.
“Look–” he starts, just as a roar goes up from the crowd. He glances over his shoulder, someone is messing with some stuff on stage, and turns back. “I can just–”
That’s as far as he gets before another round of applause rises from the crowd. Harry’s eyes light up and he sits forward, raising two fingers to his mouth and letting out a piercing whistle. Nick looks back over his shoulder again, curious, and finds his mouth dropping in shock.
And really, Zayn’s presence should have bought Nick a clue.
“We’re here to watch Liam?”
Harry nods, grinning. “Finally managed to talk Zayn into telling he was playing here tonight. Guess he thinks my intentions are honorable or summat.”
That makes Nick frown. “Why would you have–”
That’s all he manages to get out before Liam’s voice cuts through the room. “So happy you’ve come out tonight. We’ve got some special people in the crowd tonight–” Nick could swear Liam glances their way, Harry’s way, with a blush on his cheeks. “–Not that you’re not all special to me, of course–” The crowd sighs and Nick can pretty much feel the heart-eyes. Sees it, when he turns back towards Harry.
No wonder Louis doesn’t want to sit at the table. Not if Harry’s looking so besotted for someone else, right in front of him.
“I need another drink,” he mutters, shoving up from his seat. Harry just waves him away when he asks, eyes glued to the stage.
He gets two. One’s for Harry, but Nick’s fairly certain he’s the one that will be needing it.
Halfway back to their table, Nick sidesteps a couple snogging each other’s faces off and bumps into someone else. The alcohol splashes over his hands and he bites back a curse over his own clumsiness. With a grimace, he looks up, ready to apologize.
Only to find Louis standing there.
Louis, who looks so good Nick feels a bit weak in the knees.
His hair’s a tousled mess, spiky yet soft, and the loose, scoop-necked shirt he’s wearing dips low enough that Louis’ collarbones are sharply on display. The blood red color only makes Louis’ eyes even more blue in the low light of the room. Nick wants to touch him so badly it hurts. Instead, he tightens his grip on the drink in his hand.
“Nick.”
He has to lean forward in order to hear him, Liam’s smooth tones rolling over the room. “You should come sit up with us,” Nick replies. He’s far too close now, can smell the cologne that Louis only ever wears when he’s out. Nick can feel Louis shake his head even before he pulls back a little.
“Nah, mate,” Louis says, looking over Nick’s shoulder, not meeting his eyes. “Not in the mood to sit tonight.”
Frustrated, Nick bites out, “Harry’s up there.” Louis shrugs. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out on him?” He’s two seconds away from jumping Liam, onstage or not. Don’t you care?
“Isn’t that your job, mate?”
Louis finally looks at him and Nick would say it’s almost bored, except for the way a muscle in Louis’ jaw twitches. Before Nick can get his brain to work, to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Louis’ slipped away, swallowed up by the crowd.
Nick’s had two more drinks and he’s not sure if it’s that or that he’s been sat here watching Harry’s disgustingly besotted face as Liam sings that’s making him sick to his stomach. It makes it even worse, as Liam’s got a lovely voice; even Nick can tell there some real winners in the tunes he’s played.
Still, the whole evening isn’t sitting well with him, and it doesn’t help that every so often Nick catches a glimpse of Louis’ red shirt. Every time Nick turns to look, the other lad is long gone.
It’s Harry’s “M’gonna go say hi,” that makes Nick realize that Liam’s taking a break. Harry’s slid out of his chair and is making his way toward the side stage before Nick can respond. Nick hangs out for a few minutes, but he’s terrible at sitting still without someone to distract him.
His glass is empty too, so it’s rather fortuitous timing.
Except for the fact that everyone else in the place has also had the same thought. It’s three deep to the bar and Nick’s trying to decide if he should just go sit back down and wait, when a familiar red shirt catches his attention.
It’s Louis, of course. Glass of who knows what in one hand, the other currently stealing some poor girl’s black frame glasses. She doesn’t seem too disgruntled, Nick notes, as she curls forward with a giggle, obviously delighted by whatever is coming out of Louis’ mouth.
Shaking his head, Nick snorts. His chest aches and he’s just so tired all of a sudden. He runs a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. When he lifts his head, it’s to find Louis staring at him, face blank.
Nick grimaces. “You both deserve each other, ” he says.
There’s no way Louis can actually hear what he said; Nick didn’t even raise his voice. It doesn’t matter though, because Nick’s done. He’s going to hit the loo and get the fuck out of this place. The two of them can sort their own shit out without him.
Finding his way to the toilet doesn’t take any time and miraculously, there’s no line. He’s two seconds away from opening the door when fingers wrap around his elbow, jerking him around.
“What’s your problem?” Louis snaps.
Nick jerks his arm out of Louis’ grip, turning back toward the door of the toilet. “Don’t know what you mean. Just need to use the loo.”
“Bullshit!” There’s fingers curling back into the sleeve of his shirt, pulling hard.
“Louis–”
He presses in close – too close – to Nick, up on his toes and in Nick’s face.
“That’s crap,” Louis tells him. “You’ve been giving me looks all night and I want to know what’s crawled up your arse.”
“Christ, Louis–” He really is too close. Nick can smell him again, the cologne and the layer of smoke that means he’s had a fag or two this evening. It shouldn’t smell as good as it does on him.
Taking a step back, Nick tries to put some space between them. “I’m not getting in the middle of you and Harry’s problems–”
Louis’ having none of it apparently, planting his hand on Nick’s chest and giving him a little shove. Frustration is evident in his tone as he loudly repeats, “That’s crap, Nicholas!” He shoves at Nick again and Nick fumbles to stop him, fingers wrapping around Louis’ wrists; they feel too delicate under his hands.
But Louis’ not and he shoves at Nick again, sending the both of them stumbling back into the door to the toilet. It gives under them and they crash against the wall just opposite.
“S’occupied, sorry,” Harry slurs, pulling back from where he’s obviously been snogging Liam. The two of them are crowded up against the sink, Liam’s hands tight around Harry’s hips. He’s blushing like mad, Nick notes absently, before the situation in front of him sinks in.
“What the –”
“–fuck’s going on?”
It’s Nick that starts the exclamation, but it’s Louis’ sharp tone that finishes it. He straightens up and Nick finds himself pressing his fingers into the skin just under the edge of Louis’ sleeves. He must have grabbed at Louis when they stumbled.
Louis doesn’t even seem to notice, glaring at the two men across from them, so Nick doesn’t move.
“What the actual fuck, Harry?” Louis repeats.
He’s angry, which makes sense, but the way he’s shifted the two of them around, it seems like he’s trying to block Nick’s view. Which, while sweet and very confusing, is pointless as Nick has more than a few inches on him. Still, Nick’s curious as well and doesn’t move, waiting for Harry to answer.
“Should think it’s fairly obvious,” Harry drawls. “I’m trying to get into Liam’s pants.”
Liam makes a strangled noise at that, Nick thinks it might be Harry’s name, before turning an even brighter shade of red and burying his face in Harry’s neck. Harry looks extremely pleased with himself and Nick’s half-tempted to throw something at him, saying it so blatantly in front of Louis.
“That’s a bit shit, don’t you think,” Nick nods at Louis’ words, “or did you forget to tell Nick who else you’re shagging?”
Nick stops nodding and frowns instead. He looks at Louis. “Wait, why would he need to tell me who he’s shagging? Shouldn’t you be the one he tells?”
“I don’t give a shit where Harry puts his dick–” another squawk from Liam, “–but I should think his boyfriend would like to know.”
“Right,” Nick agrees, “which is why he should have told you.”
Louis looks at him like he’s gone mad. “No,” he says, like Nick is slow in the head, “you’re his boyfriend.”
NIck’s fairly certain that his eyebrows have flown right off his face, they go up so high.
“What??!”
Uncertainty flits across Louis’ face, followed by a frown. He’s just about to reply to Nick when Harry lets out a bark of laughter that draws both their attention across the room.
“This is amazing,” he wheezes, leaning into Liam as he continues to laugh. A moment later, he straightens up and starts tugging Liam toward the door. He’s still laughing, breaking into a new set of hiccuping giggles every time he looks over at them.
Louis’ gone very, very still next to Nick. Almost like he’s holding his breath. Nick swallows hard.
“You’re both idiots,” he tells them, patting Nick on the shoulder. “Now, I’m going to take Liam home and make him blush some more.” Which he promptly does, leaving Nick and Louis standing there, still so close.
Dimly he can hear Harry’s Sorry, it’s occupied to someone waiting on the other side as the door closes.
They’re alone now and Nick’s not sure where to look since he’s a bit afraid to look Louis in the face. He ducks his head in the end, and ends up looking at the hollow, the dip of shadow of Louis’ neck. The red shirt has slipped, and now the line of his collarbones is fully on display. Nick really, really wants to put his mouth there.
He glances up before he can do anything stupid, like follow through on that urge.
Louis’ watching him, eyes narrowed like he’s doing his best to read whatever’s going through Nick’s head. The thought that he might be able to has Nick flushing; he can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks. The corner of Louis’ mouth tilts up then, the look in his eye going sharp.
“You’re not Harry’s boyfriend,” he states, tone sure. Louis goes loose then, against Nick, sending him back against the wall with the suddenness of it.
“No,” he manages to gurgle out before Louis presses all the way in to him. “No, I’m not.”
“I’m not Harry’s boyfriend,” Louis adds.
“Yes. Yes, I think Harry’s hysterical laughter has made that abund–” Louis slides his thigh between Nick’s legs, “–abundantly clear by now.”
“Is this why you’ve been acting like a tit for the last few weeks?”
Nick frowns, moving his hands down to settle on Louis’ hips. His fingers are long enough to press into the top of Louis’ arse. It’s a nice fit. “I wasn’t the only one, you brat. I distinctly remember having to clean up takeaway off the floor in my front hallway.”
The only response is a bored hum, then a slightly disgruntled, “Are you going to kiss me now?”
“I dunno,” Nick shrugs, “you’ve been doing all the talking and–” That’s as far as Nick gets before there’s teeth set into his bottom lip, just this side of sharp, that settle the moment Nick groans and pulls Louis in as close as he can.
It’s brilliant, kissing Louis, even better than all of Nick’s fantasies. Still, he can’t help himself.
“Are you absolutely sure you’re not Harry’s boyfriend? I just need to make sure before we go any further,” he teases.
“Fuck off,” Louis replies, no heat in the words, and kisses him again.
That’s a good enough answer for Nick.