World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

8.0

“Now I know I look good, bubu,” he laughs, “It turns you on to see me wearing your clothes I can tell.”

“Shut up,” I go back to the bathroom to get dressed there.

“I’ll lose the Wi-Fi when we leave,” he yells again, “Give me your instagram user so I can follow you and we can stay in touch.”

“No need for that,” I answer as I come out from the bathroom, “I’m sure you’ll find me anyways. Stalker,” I mumble.

“Looking good, homo,” he stares at me, “That color brings out your eyes. I love it.”

“Didn’t you say you were done calling me homo?”

“Sorry about that. I completely forgot, bubu.”

God, he is so annoying. “Okay, goodbye then,” I open the door for him to leave.

“We are leaving together,” he doesn’t seem to care.

“Nope,” I answer roughly, “We’ll meet at the airport. I’m sure.”

“We are going to city sight together. I already planned the day,” he pouts, “Come on, it will be fun. We still have the whole afternoon before the time we have to check in at the airport.”

“I’d rather do that by my own,” I lie. It was actually interesting to do it with someone but I wasn’t sure about him being my trip partner.

“You love to have people begging you, don’t you?” I don’t answer anything, “Please let me come with you, Harry,” he fakes an American accent and I don’t even know why.

“Hurry up. It’s too late already,” I say before we leave the room.

The tourist greets and waves at everyone we meet on our way to the streets. I try to walk a few steps behind him because I don’t want people to think we are a couple or something.

“Louis?” an Irish accent calls his name when we reach the lobby and we both turn around. The hottie.

“Niall?” the tourist seems uncomfortable and I wonder why.

“I think I know you,” he tells me. Yes, you know me. And you were a dick to me.

“I’m not sure,” I lie.

“Yeah. We’ve met on the plane,” he inspects my face, “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he turns to Louis.

“I didn’t know you’d be here either,” his reply is so short and he doesn’t seem as bubbly as he usually does. There’s something going on.

“Mr. Horan?” the lady from the counter calls him.

“Just a sec,” he tells us, “I’ll be right back.”

“Please, let’s leave already,” the tourist begs with a weird expression on his face. He seems sad or bothered, I don’t know.

“Who is he? He was a douche to me.”

“He is always a douche,” he adds as he fidgets with his hands, “You remind me of him.”

“What? I’m not like him at all,” I keep staring at the hottie by the counter, “He is hot though,” I regret my comment as soon as it leaves my mouth.

“It’s sweet to see your gay side coming out but I need to leave right now.”

“What’s wrong with you? Who is this guy?”

“He is Niall,” he says and he is still trying not to look at him.

“I know that. He already mentioned his name,” I frown at him. I’m starting to pity the tourist because he looks so nervous and different. Like he needs protection or something, “Are you about to cry?” I’m surprised because I could actually swear that I’m seeing some tears forming on his eyes.

“He is my ex,” he coughs nervously, “Please let’s leave.”

“Your ex?” I’m shocked because the hottie doesn’t seem gay at all.

“Yes,” he answers, “He’s the reason why I don’t date anymore. He is acting nice now because he is probably curious about who you are,” I can see his small body trembling and that’s making me feel weird stuff inside.

“Relax,” I tell him, “You can’t let him affect you like this,” I have no idea why I’m being so nice to him but I guess he is my friend now and I can’t stand to see him so unprotected and acting like that. I can’t believe I’m feeling this but I kind of miss the old tourist.

“I’ll tell you the story later,” he rushes to answer, “He is coming back. I’ll come up with an excuse. Just follow my lead. Please?”

The hottie walks to us and I can tell he is inspecting me, “So,” he says and stays in silence, as we all do, “Weird to see you with someone,” he tells Louis, “You are always alone.”

That was rude and I saw how much it hurt him, “Um,” the tourist is actually stuttering, “He is Harry,” he struggles to find the words.

“I’m Harry,” I interrupt him, “His boyfriend.”

Oh, No. Where did that come from?

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