Unbelievers

Chapter 9.2

In the morning, Louis wakes up with a head pounding like a fucking bongo drum. It's annoying, is what it is. Somebody might as well pick up a loudhailer and breathe through it into his ear incessantly for two hours straight. He's going to punch the first person he sees today.

As it is, the first person he sees is Jasmine. His head is throbbing as he makes his way downstairs. He wasn't able to find the shirt he wore the night before, feeling awkward as he sneaks towards the front door in only his jeans. He smells disgusting, too.

There are remnants of the house party everywhere; plastic cups in every corner and on every table, empty packs of cigarettes, furniture disarrayed. When he passes the kitchen—which is placed similarly to Louis' house by the front door—he's stopped by the sound of the tap running in the sink.

"What are you standing there for?" Jasmine asks, and Louis turns around, finding her with a bowl of waffle mixture. Her dark hair is in a bun, Abercrombie & Fitch sweats and an old grey t-shirt on. She looks somewhat like a female version of Harry, and Louis thinks if he were into girls (which doesn't seem to be the case) he'd be attracted to her.

"Was going to sneak out," he says truthfully.

"Hmm, too bad. I was making waffles."

Louis is ravenous, stomach completely empty and growlingly craving substance. He doesn't want to linger here, though. He wants to go home and fill his veins with Advil.

He doesn't know what to say. He clears his throat. "Can't find my shirt."

"I'll find it and put it in the wash," she shrugs. "You'll get it back."

"Alright," Louis says awkwardly. "Alright."

He nods to himself before he leaves, opening the front door to be met by a tepid morning breeze. It's already warm, despite only being the end of April. His nipples harden against the breeze, but other than that he's fine as he leaves the house, traipsing down the stone path. He isn't entirely sure where he parked his car the previous night, but it can't be far away. He starts looking, heading down the street.

His phone starts buzzing after ten minutes, which is also when he realizes that he didn't even drive to the party last night. He caught a ride with Oli. Christ. He turns around, realizing he's going to have to hike home. Might as well start walking then.

"Hullo," he answers his phone, shoes scraping against the asphalt.

"Are you still drunk, mate?"

"Oh, hey." Louis clears his throat, shaking his head to try to shake himself awake. The sun still feels too bright for his eyes. "Were you there last night, Ni?" he wonders in confusion.

"Nah, although Zayn told me you were pretty messed up."

"Right. Zayn," Louis mumbles. He didn't know he was there either.

"Yep."

They're silent for a moment. "Can I ask you something?" Louis asks as he treks. He feels a bit strange strolling about the area, half naked on a Saturday morning.

"Sure." Niall's voice is easy, just like it used to be when they were close friends. Maybe they still are.

"Why did you become friends with him?" The question should be loaded, should bring on an awkward silence filled with tension. It doesn't. When Niall answers he seems composed.

"Louis," he says calmly. "I have to admit something to you."

"Okay?" Louis frowns.

"I've known Zayn for a while."