twist of fate » larry stylinson

chapter six

louis takes his time getting ready friday night. he knows he has time, as the party doesn't start until 8 and it's only 7:30, but he's also trying to delay the inevitable: getting on harry's bike.

you see, since harry and louis are twins, they know each other relatively well. and louis knows that harry will want to show up at the party on his bike, showing off to all the girls. that's the pro to being bisexual: he can impress everyone, male and female. 

anyway, louis doesn't want to get on the damn thing. it's unsafe and just... unsafe. like those fucking cigarettes. harry's either going to get cancer or die in a crash because he doesn't wear a helmet, whichever one comes first. probably the crash. or worse - he'll get diagnosed with cancer and then crash on the way home from the hospital.

yeah, that's what's going to happen. it's inevitable. 

"louis!" harry calls down from the attic. "i'll be ready in a few minutes!"

"take your time!" louis calls back. "we don't have to be early!"

the music upstairs is turned up a few notches and louis knows harry intends to do just that - take his time. something by the kooks begins to play and louis huffs, throwing himself down on his bed. he looks good - he knows he does - but he also knows that harry is going to look better.

you see, harry goes for sophisticated-yet-lazy while louis just looks like a fratboy. he's wearing a white cheap money t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and white converse (no socks). harry will probably be wearing something that would make anyone else look like a hobo, but on him he looks like a god.

yeah, in case you're sensing the jealousy, you're right. louis wishes to the gods above he could be like harry, just for a day. he wants the attention, the followers, the... everything. harry is so god damn good at what he does and he doesn't even try. he can wrap even the rudest, most ignorant person around his finger in moments. he can ask people to stop being total assholes and to just behave.

to make things worse, he does it all with a smile on his face. harry can be rude as fuck and you'd think he's giving you the best compliment in the world. 

still, louis can't help but love the fucker. 

harry, on the other hand, is pacing around his room in his underwear. he doesn't know what the fuck to wear because he knows no matter what louis will look ten times better than him anyway. all eyes will be on louis the moment the motorcycle's engine is cut off and louis removes his helmet. 

that's why harry does half of the shit he does. it's why he smokes, why he bought the motorcycle - why he goes for girls in addition to guys. with louis being gay, all of the male attention (as well as most of the female, if harry's being honest) is sucked onto him the moment he enters a room.

sure he might get cancer, but it'll be worth it. someone will pay attention to him for once - maybe. 

no, harry isn't depressed. no, harry isn't mental. he's just a boy - a twin - with, who he thinks, the most perfect human being as his brother. he's got the biggest fucking shadow to live under and it fucking sucks. 

but he loves his twin to death, and he doesn't think he'll be able to not love him ever.

twenty minutes later, at 7:50, harry comes waltzing downstairs in, admittedly, louis' favorite outfit. it's a button-up, black and white, aztec print shirt buttoned half way up, black skinny jeans, and tan boots. a black bandana is holding his hair back, and an unlit cigarette is perched between his pink lips.

"you ready?" he asks, knocking on louis' bedroom door. louis sits up off his bed and stuffs his phone into his pocket.

"yeah," he replies, opening the door. louis looks harry up and down once and groans.

yeah. louis will be getting no attention tonight.

"well, come on then," harry laughs, nodding toward the stairs. "we're going to be late if we don't hurry."

"harry, we're already late," louis points out, following his twin down the steps into the foyer. 

"no," harry grabs the keys to his motorcycle off the table by the door. "we would have been fashionably late. now, we're just late."

"now we're just late," louis mocks him, pulling open the front door. "not if we hurry."

"alright," harry smiles. he walks over to the motorcycle and sits down, picking up the helmet. "get on."

"do i have to?" louis mumbles, staring at the death trap. it's already getting dark and harry's driving is bad enough as it is when the sun is out.

"yes," harry nods, staring at louis with a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. "now hurry up."

louis groans and takes the helmet, strapping it on. gingerly he sits down and wraps his arms tight around harry's stomach. the bike lurches forward and he squeezes his eyes shut.

why the fuck does he keep getting on the damn bike?

[ boats & hoes. that is all. ]