“I wanna save ya, wanna save your heart tonight, he'll only break ya, leave ya torn apart, oh. I can't be no superman, but for you I'll be superhuman. I, I wanna save ya, save ya, save ya, tonight.” - Save You Tonight
FEBRUARY 14. 2012
11:15 A.M.
Louis rolled over and shut his phone off without even looking at the screen to quiet the incessant ring tone he'd assigned to Liam's texts. “What time is it?” he shouted.
Harry poked his head in the door clad only in a towel. “It's nearly half past eleven. I gotta go. Mystery girl is waiting.”
“Go on then,” he said. “Behave yourself. And remind mystery girl there are four more of us where you came from. And we're all probably better choices. And put a pair of pants on.”
Harry's mouth dropped in mock horror. “I will do no such thing.” He leaned down and picked up a shoe that lay strewn on Louis' floor, whipping it at his roommate, narrowly missing Louis' head.
Louis jerked to move and when he did, he thought maybe he should've let the shoe hit him. His head might hurt less. A deep rooted pain was making its way from his frontal lobe straight down the back of his neck. Maybe he should have left that party the night before sooner than he did.
“Ugh,” he placed a pillow on top of his head and tried to fall back asleep. No such luck.
Very reluctantly he swung his legs around to hit the floor. Rubbing his face with his hands, he picked up his phone and switched it back on to see what was so important that Liam couldn't leave him in peace. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and when he saw the text, he figured it was worth getting up for.
Sarah Olsen.
The lad had finally done it. Well good for him.
Louis groggily walked to the shower, hoping Harry had bothered not to use all the hot water. Steam filled the room quickly, proving his theory wrong and he stepped in. The warmth of the water felt good and by the time he was ready to get out, the pounding in his head was no more than a steady, shallow throbbing. It never ceased to amaze him what a good shower could do.
Now the only thing he needed was a good cup of strong tea. He threw on a pair of sweats and a striped t-shirt and made his way to the kitchen. The cupboards housed an array of warm beverages: hot chocolate, coffee, apple cider, and tea. He retrieved the box from the top shelf and opened it only to be met with monumental disappointment. It was empty.
He cursed Harry for a moment until he realized perhaps he was the guilty party in question. He tossed the empty box in the trash and shrugged, slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing his car keys. What good was it if you couldn't roll with the punches?
As he drove, One Direction came on the radio. “It's a quarter to three, can't sleep at all, he's so overrated, if you told me to jump, I'd take the fall and he wouldn't take it. All that you want's under your nose, you should open your eyes, but they stay closed.”
It really didn't matter how often it happened, it was still weird to hear himself on the radio. As if it were an urge he was simply unable to resist, he cranked the music and sung along.
