i would name the stars for you [e.c]

chapter 3

& l &

Louis grabs the remote and clicks the TV off with resounding finality.

"Fuck that stupid, heartbreaking, bitchy asshole," he spits, resting his head in his hands.

"Cheer up lad, I'm sure they're just rumors," Niall remarks, rubbing his back in comforting circles.

"D'you really fink so?" he blubbers, looking up at Niall with wide eyes.
It takes mere seconds before his doe-eyed, hopeful façade has the Irishman in stitches.

"C'mon," he protests, throwing his hands in the air indignantly, "that was brilliant!"

"Jesus Christ Lou," Niall wheezes between spouts of raucous laughter, "Just be thankful that you've perfected this whole 'bookkeeping poet with a bizarre indie music fetish' thing you've got going, because the rest of your acting is absolute shite."

"Excuse you!" Louis replies with mock disdain, "I'll have you know that I graduated with a double major in English and drama from one of the UK's top universities!"

"Now the English part I believe," Niall quips, a chuckle escaping his lips before he's even finished the sentence.

His attempt to leap over the back of the couch before Louis can tackle him is ultimately futile; he's pinned to the ground and begging for mercy within a millisecond of his wry utterance. Louis puts a finger to the blonde boy's lips as he wriggles beneath him, effectively silencing his desperate cries for mercy.

"In all seriousness," he says, well, rather seriously, dusting himself off and helping Niall up from his place on the floor, "I could honestly care less what flavor-of-the-week middle-aged socialite that pretty popstar is sampling for afternoon tea. It's just an awful coincidence that my love for trashy gossip telly and his tendency to be featured on said trashy gossip telly happen to coincide."

"Right, of course," Niall says, giving him a patronizing look, "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that‒ and I quote‒ 'her hair is worth salivating over' or 'imagine tugging on those curls with that pretty face nestled between your legs' or my personal favorite‒"

"Out of context!" Louis cries, "Out of context! I was right pissed when I said that and you know it!"

"Doesn't make it untrue, does it?" Niall replies, "Power of the subconscious mind 'nd all that... And anyway you'd be on your knees in a blink if that bubblegum crooning self-proclaimed popstar suddenly discovered a newfound passion for dusty old books."

The Irishman playfully fluffs up his hair and pouts his lips. "Hello I'm Louis Tomlinson and welcome to Tales Resold," he continues, pitching his voice an octave higher in an awful attempt at femininity. He starts down the stairs to the main level, swinging his hips and waving his hands around dramatically.

"Could I interest you in our evening special?" he squeaks, turning back briefly to flutter his eyelashes as Louis follows him down. "It's called 'fuck me and the books are free'."

"Niall!" Louis squawks, looking indignant, "I'll have you know that I would never proffer away my expensive high-quality merchandise in exchange for sexual favors."

They reach the main floor then, with Niall still giggling elatedly at his frankly awful impersonation.

"And anyway," Louis continues flippantly, "even lovely whore Eleanor Calder would forget all about the books the minute she laid eyes on the devastatingly fit bookkeeper."

"You're right, of course," Niall replies, sighing dramatically, "S'pose I'll have to take down that FREE CUNNI FOR POPSTARS sign I put in the window on me way in."

Louis pauses, pretending to consider this seriously.
"Nah, leave it up," he says after a moment, tidying up the front desk and pulling his wallet out of the side drawer, "Never know when we might have Adele strolling by feeling a bit randy."

"Sick Lou," Niall replies, wrinkling his nose, "She's like forty... and married."
Louis shrugs, pocketing his wallet and plucking the shop keys off a hook on the wall.

"No popstar can resist free cunni, young Niall," he says sagely, ruffling his mate's bleach blonde hair. He puts away the last of the scattered pages of manuscript, tucks his trusty miniature moleskine into his back pocket, and double checks the cash register before leaning down to grab a pair of faded red VANS from under the desk.

"Business is slow today," he says as he slips them on, looking up to see Niall already collapsed on the old floral sofa by the front door. "Think I'll close up early. Fancy a pub night? I know it's a Sunday, but we've no reason to pretend we've got lives anyhow."

Niall's spirits are apparently revived at the mere suggestion of a pint as he shoots up into a sitting position and whips out his mobile to invite Oli and Josh to join them.

"I'll take that as a yes, then?" Louis remarks with a fond smile, locking the door behind them as Niall hails a taxi to their favorite pub near Oli's flat. He plans on having fun tonight, and dammit, he's going to have it.

Never mind that his agent and publisher are going to kill him if he puts off finishing the last of his poetry collection any longer or that he's promised himself to call his mum and the girls at least a dozen times this month and he's resorted to lusting over a daft, curly-haired popstar who probably has more STDs than he's got books in his shop...

Really. Never mind all that.

Louis Tomlinson's got his life absolutely under control...

Absolutely.

a/n: updated 07/07/2021