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

Chapter 11

By the time they arrive at Meghan's house in Mayfair, the party is already in full swing.

There are gaggles of half-naked girls around the backyard pool and equally as clothed men shooting pool in the basement. It takes them about fifteen minutes to actually locate Meghan, who is lounging languidly on the living room sofa, a fresh joint between her fingers.

Meghan blinks owlishly at the pair as they greet her, laughing loudly at something a pink-haired girl in a classically unoriginal cat costume leans over to whisper in her ear.

"Louis! Niall!" she says eventually. Her voice is slow and syrupy sweet, though not lacking in enthusiasm.

"Sick party!" Niall cheers, reaching out to swipe a joint from a blonde, leopard-clad girl to Meghan's left.

"Hey," she protests, though her eyes settle fully on Niall a moment later and she seems to change her mind.

Niall smirks and plops down next to her, Meghan and Pink Kitty scooting closer together to make room for the Irishman and his new spotted lady friend. Louis just rolls his eyes and heads off in search of the kitchen for a much-needed drink.

He finally finds it about five minutes later after climbing two flights of stairs up and down before realizing that it's located on the same level as the living room he'd started in. He's singing along to the catchy pop anthem currently blasting through the high-tech sound system and mixing himself a nice, strong drink.

When he turns back, the couch is empty. Niall's getting frisky with Leopard Girl in the corner, his aviators somehow having switched owners and her furry ears tucked into his blonde quiff. The rest of the partygoers on this level are all grinding in the middle of the carpeted area or lounging about on the leftover furniture not occupied by fondling duos (or... trios? Louis notices, and downs the rest of his drink with a grimace).

He sighs, glancing once more around the room and spying a sliding glass door leading out to what looks like a large balcony. He pulls it open and steps out, immediately shivering at the cold October wind. There's a zebra print blanket lying on one of the black lounge chairs and he grabs it, wrapping it around himself to combat the chill. He leans against the edge of the balcony and stares out at the city lights, remembering his very first night alone in London and how small and insignificant he had felt in that moment, just one life surrounded by millions of others, his own flat just one little light amongst the stars.

"Not into orgies, then?" a familiar voice asks behind him.

He turns around and smiles softly at the image of Eleanor leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"Hey shut the door wanker! It's bloody cold!" someone yells from inside, and Eleanor laughs awkwardly, standing up straight and yanking it closed.

As she steps out into the light of the balcony, Louis gets his first good look at the popstar's costume, and it's... not a lot of fabric. He gulps, eyes traveling down Eleanor's almost naked upper half to where her thighs are clad in skintight peach-colored spandex. She's holding a foam finger, her hair done up in two miniature buns on either side of her head. She looks like an idiot, but a very, very hot idiot nonetheless.

"Miley Cyrus?" Louis guesses.

"And we can't stoooop," Eleanor croons in response, and Louis has to muffle a giggle with his stupid zebra blanket. He watches as the popstar eyes his little cocoon appreciatively, teeth chattering and arms wrapped around her torso in a futile effort at warming herself up.

"C'mere you idiot," Louis says, finally, lifting up one end of the blanket and motioning for Eleanor to join her on the chaise, "That dumbass inside is right. S'bloody cold out here."