Heroes of the Orange Skies

Part 10

Harry comes over as Zayn has his ninth fit of reluctance about the date, but Louis and Harry manage to calm him down by assuring him that Liam knows he smokes, so if it’s really unbearable, he can excuse himself for a smoke break and then head off home before Liam even knows what hit him.

Louis thinks vaguely that he and Harry probably aren’t very good people.

As expected, Zayn makes some sort of transformation from adorably dorky to sexy and charming five minutes into Liam’s arrival, fluttering his eyelashes at him until Liam’s cheeks are bright red and Harry’s face has turned purple from trying not to laugh. Louis insists on taking pictures of the two of them with his phone, exclaiming that “it’s just like prom!”, and Zayn stares all broodingly into the camera with his lower lip pushed out in a pout, arm around Liam, whose face is open and happy like he really has won the champion prom date.

Louis hopes for both their sakes that the date is perfect, because he’d hate to see the puppy like smile on Liam’s face slide off when he realizes his date has ditched him, and Zayn will turn into some kind of Ms. Havisham, lying like kind of melancholy poet on the couch, smoking cigarettes until he burns a hole in his throat.

Yes, this date has to go well, for everyone’s sakes.

Louis and Harry hang out the front door, waving to Liam and Zayn as they awkwardly trip down the hallway, shoulders bumping shyly. Louis has a fleeting image of what it must be like to be a parent and watch your firstborn head off on their first date. It’s an awkward thought.

He calls out down the hall after them, careful not to step on Harry’s head where he’s lying on the floor, face sticking out past the door frame, his cheek smushed on the hallway’s ugly green carpeting that looks like cauliflowers. “Liam!”

The two boys turn around, Liam’s eyebrows raised. “What?”

“If you fuck him up, I’ll fuck you up.” Louis frowns at Liam so hard, his forehead actually hurts, and he shoots double guns at the two boys, and then pulls Harry back into the apartment and slams the door behind them.

Harry stares up at him from the floor, mouth pulled into a loose and lazy grin. “Hey.”

Louis drops down beside Harry, foot knocking into their umbrella stand. “Hi.” His skin is itching just looking at Harry, so he turns his head away from the inch of skin shown at Harry’s hips where his tshirt rides up. The fabric is so thin Louis can see Harry’s nipples through it. Fuck.

“What should we do tonight?”

Louis’s silent, contemplating Harry’s question. They could play Guess Who; he found the game under his bed the other day and he’s been wanting to dominate Harry in it for days. The game, not the bed. Although maybe the bed too.

They could make dinner and watch Zayn’s taped episodes of What Not to Wear. Zayn claims he actually likes watching people’s transformations, but Louis knows Zayn only watches for Clinton.

“Let’s go out,” Harry says after a while, and leans up on one elbow to peer down at Louis, his hair falling in his eyes, mouth quirked up cheekily.

The concept is foreign to Louis these days, since all his time has been spent wandering around eating food and discussing the philosophy of life with Harry. He hasn’t shagged anyone in a month and a half, it’s a weird feeling for Louis. Maybe that’s what he needs, to get Harry out of his system and have a good fuck in a dirty bathroom stall at a seedy club. He can’t imagine that’s really Harry’s style, and it’s absolutely Louis’s, so they probably wouldn’t even be compatible. He disregards the fact that relationships are not built on correlation between hook-up methods, and decides that yes, they will go out, he will get drunk, and he will fuck someone who is not Harry.