Slight Pressure

17. Bad Boys Behaving Badly

written by alessandra

Louis Tomlinson is an effortless bad influence. It just comes naturally to him. A catalyst, if you will. And while he can also be a really great influence when he needs to be, where that needle lands on the morality spectrum is often as unpredictable as the weather.

Since today is Saturday it is by default a Bad Influence Day. It's nobody's fault, really. It just happens to be the side of the bed Louis wakes up on after his rejuvenating post-party nap. He wakes to the searing pink glow of the autumn sunset coming in from the window, a growling stomach, and the unmistakable twinkle of mischief in his lidded blue eyes.

The first thing Louis sees after he peels himself out of bed and shuffles towards the kitchen is Harry, polishing a butter knife so intensely he's nearly gone cross-eyed.

"You know, if you paid that much attention to your dick, you'd be smiling a hell of a lot more instead of--" Louis starts to quip as he takes a step forward. Unfortunately for him, the cutlery isn't the only thing Harry has paid attention to, and before he can warn him, Louis' slips and falls ass over tea kettle onto the wet linoleum floor.

"Oh my god, am I dead? I think I've just died," Louis gasps, pawing at his eye sockets where all the stars in the universe are currently exploding.

"You're not dead," Harry's voice carries no sympathy whatsoever but he steps over Louis anyways and reaches his hand down.

Louis takes it, and as he does he notes the deep crease in Harry's brow. It's a tell-tale sign that Overthinking Harry, the droopy alter-ego who is always hell-bent on ruining all fun forever, has come for an extended visit. Louis sighs, trying to wrack his brain for a snarky retort, but all he can come up with is his own exasperation.

"So Riley sneaks away on you at the arse crack of dawn and your first reaction is to clean the entire apartment like a deranged, dickless Mr. Clean? Honestly, Haz, your coping mechanisms are kind of shit."

Harry heaves Louis back onto his feet and shrugs. "Erm, yeah, well...I've just been trying to keep myself busy."

Louis surveys the kitchen, and yeah, he's been busy all right. Every surface is sparkling like a diamond. Every dish and utensil cleaned and organized by size, colour, function. It's so sterile in here it might as well be a hospital.

"Did you actually do the entire apartment?" Louis asks incredulously, but he already knows the answer. It's almost 8 p.m., which means it's been almost ten hours since Harry walked into his room holding a tray of breakfast-in-bed only to discover it vacated without a trace. And while he played it off as no big deal, the current antiseptic state of the apartment could not have been accomplished by anyone with a sane mind.

"We should go out," Louis suggests. Harry ignores him, turning the water up in the sink and letting the steam rise up and billow around his face. "Harry. Harbear, Hazza, Curly!" Louis practically leaps on his back. "STYLES!"

"What the hell, Louis?"

"We can't stay in this house tonight," he says. "You'll drive yourself nuts. In fact, I can already see you are on the brink. You're going to light yourself on fire or bite off the head of a live chicken or some shit if you keep at this." Louis gives Harry a stern look, "Go get yourself prettied up. C'mon. Tonight is on me."

It's the least he can do.

***

"I really don't feel like being here," Harry whines but Louis is already preoccupied by the gang of Sailor Moons skipping by them on the sidewalk.