Unbelievers

Chapter 6.3

It's four PM. Louis cannot believe he's doing this.

The essentials were easy to find at the shop, and the key to Harry's backdoor under the empty pot, too. His parents weren't home yet, thank god, and Louis snuck into Harry's room, bag full of decorations and shit he did not know were that fucking expensive.

He shoves it all onto the bed, flailing somewhat. Even if he's been at Harry's house a few times, it never stops bothering him how prominent the uncomfortable ambience in this house is. It's too clean, too stiff – all wrong. Harry's room is so impersonal and it doesn't fit him. Louis dislikes this house a great amount and he thinks he gets why Harry likes to be around his more, even though this bed is pretty great.

He made up some lie to Niall that he didn't feel well enough for getting high in his car, to which his friend answered that that was the actual point of why they were going to get stoned in the first place. Louis didn't answer that text. He hasn't spoken to Lottie either, or his mum who was going to make dinner tonight. Somehow this is really fucking important and the rest has to be subordinate right now, because Louis will actually admit it: Harry actually means a tiny little bit to him. He wouldn't be here right now if he didn't. Louis isn't fucking slow.

He starts by changing Harry's sheets. He bought ones in golden glitter when he skipped the rest of the classes for the day. He quickly strips Harry's bed of the old ones, stuffing them underneath the bed because he doesn't quite know what to do with them. It takes him several minutes to get the new ones on, and maybe he falls once while he's working on the duvet, but otherwise there are no major problems.

Next, he rolls Harry's navy colored blinds down, making the room darker. He stands on a chair, tangling a cheap strand of light bulbs into the curtain rod above his windows behind his bed that makes up the outer wall. He turns them on and then proceeds to tangle gold glittery garlands into the strand. He's not exactly efficient and it doesn't turn out completely like he had in mind, but he's nonetheless pleased with the result. It looks nice, homey, like someone actually lives here. Someone who really likes glitter.

After that he blows up the balloons. They're in some kind of rainbow color, resembling petrol on asphalt mostly, and he ties them to various obstacles in the room with silver strings usually meant for wrapping gifts, that were fifty percent off price at the store. The balloons shine a little in the light from the lamp on Harry's desk. Louis thinks this might actually work out.

He adds the last touches quickly, realizing it's almost five. Harry could be home any minute. He pulls down the big, framed poster of Ronaldo off Harry's wall, replacing the picture with another one he stole from the footie team's locker room, having added a few things on it with a black marker. He unceremoniously throws the Ronaldo poster under Harry's bed (please, Messi is the only one, thank you very much), and then he brings out the other stuff.

He strips, gingerly pulling on the briefs he found back home. They're black and way too tight, making Louis uncomfortably walk around the room, stretching them out with his hands. He tries to get a look at his bum from behind in Harry's mirror, and is satisfied with the result of that at least. The glitter spray is a lot harder to handle, though. It flies a little bit of everywhere, but fastens to his oiled skin at least. He's careful not to let it get on his neck, though, because he knows that's probably for the best, unless Harry likes the taste of body oil and glitter.

The last touch is the party hat that he fastens on his head, a little bit askew. He fixes his fringe, making it look a little disheveled, and then he stares at himself through the mirror. Skin golden, oily, and sparkling with golden glitter. He can literally see his own cock through the thin material of these too small briefs, and he looks more or less like a stripper at a New Year's Eve party.