• 12.0 ~ Here for you
It’s around seven in the morning when Louis is rudely awoken by the sound of one of the cupboards in the kitchen being slammed shut by a rather zombie esque Zayn, who appears to be clad only in his boxers and a black beanie, first fag of the day already lit and dangling from his lips. Louis groans his protest from where he’s currently positioned face-down on the sofa in their tiny living room, cheek pressed uncomfortably into one of those decorative throw cushion things Zayn had insisted upon buying.
“Oh, sorry bro, didn’t realize you were there,” Zayn rasps, removing the cigarette from his lips and pouring the cornflakes he lifted from the cupboard into a bowl. “See you ended up sleeping out here then. What time did you get back?”
“Not a clue, don’t even remember coming in,” Louis replies, squinting his eyes at the brightness in the room. “Must have collapsed onto the nearest available surface.” Fuck, his mouth tastes like something took a shit in it. Not good.
“Good night, though, yeah?” Zayn asks, already seated at their ancient kitchen table and alternating between spooning cereal into his mouth and sucking on his cigarette. “Niall’s parties are always good for a laugh.”
“Mmm,” Louis agrees, slowly unsticking his face from the couch and unfolding himself into a sitting position before adding pointedly, “Not that you’d know, eh Zayner? Missus making you leave early and all.” There was once a time, back in the days when Louis and Zayn actually pursued some form of third level education (well, before they dropped out), that Louis could rely on Zayn to see through any kind of night out you could imagine. Pub crawl? Duh. Rave? Definitely. Crashing someone else’s birthday party? Of course, but now, ever since Zayn had met the wonderfully angelic Miss Perrie Edwards, all of that had gone to shit. Now, when Louis is just starting to really get into the swing of things on a mad night out, instead of having Zayn right beside him getting just as pissed, he has Zayn in his ear giving him a `We’re gonna head off now, yeah?´ with a cursory thumb aimed in Perrie’s general direction. The wanker. Not that Louis actually has anything against Zayn, or Perrie for that matter. He’s actually very happy that they’ve found each other, Perrie’s been a good influence on Zayn, helped him to settle down, actually focus on his art and earn a bit of cash. It’s just. Now Louis’ all alone with no-one to party with and no-one to be his trusted wingman, and well. He just can’t be having that. So he does the only thing he knows how to do best: wind Zayn up about it at all times.
“Lou, I told you last night I was knackered, I wasn’t leaving because Perrie told me to, I was leaving because I wanted to” Zayn begins frustratedly, setting his spoon down on the table and evidently preparing for a much-rehearsed argument. Unfortunately, Louis is much too hungover to even want to muster up the brainpower that kind of battle requires, so instead he waves a floppy hand in Zayn’s direction with a,
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Zaynie. Just a bit of fun. Do me a favor and stick the kettle on, there’s a good lad.” Zayn rolls his eyes but actually does get up and fill the kettle, while Louis decides to bravely inspect any damage that may have occurred last night. They’d started the night at Niall’s flat before heading to one of their favorite clubs in the city, and usually a night like that spelt disaster for Louis, his money, and the majority of his belongings. It’s a wonder he actually managed to make it into the flat last night. More often than not, his keys usually get lost in the foray of whatever he finds himself doing on a night out, but this time, he evidently managed to keep a tight hold on them. That, or Zayn let him in, but he hasn’t heard any complaints from Zayn about having to get up in the middle of the night to let his `fucking wanker of a friend´ in (yet) so it seems like he’s in the clear. Louis stands up (head throbbing in protest) just as Zayn sets a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him, and does his customary pat down of his jeans, discovering joyfully that he has managed to come home with not only his keys, but his wallet and his phone too, completing the trifecta of things he likes to pray he’ll still have in his possession come the next morning. So, happy days. Already his morning is going better than expected, and to top it off, his hangover isn’t even that bad, not compared to usual. A good cup of tea and a fry should sort him right out. All in all, a successful night then, really.
After having completed his mandatory post-night-out checks, Louis settles himself on the sofa again to drink his tea and check his phone. As he’s sitting, he glances down to his feet and realises his best white Vans are absolutely filthy, as in, beyond repair filthy, and he groans out loud. Those were his favorites, too.
“What’s wrong with you?” Zayn asks, head popping up from whatever he was looking at on his phone.
“My Vans are fucked,” Louis answers, awkwardly holding up one leg to show Zayn the damage. “Forty five quid they cost. Brand new and all.”
“Serves you right,” Zayn answers smugly. “Probably happened after we got a taxi from Niall’s to the club, and you had to be the arsehole who decided to jump in every puddle we came across on the street. You soaked Leigh all up the back of her new white dress, she was angry as fuck. Surprised you don’t remember.”
“Oh. Shit.” Louis replies. He does remember, actually, now Zayn mentions it. He’s probably going to have to buy Leigh-Anne a bottle of wine to say sorry. He sighs, glancing down again at his Vans. He’s such an arsehole when he’s drunk. Liam always says alcohol makes Louis revert back to having the mentality of a six year old. He can imagine Liam rolling his eyes right this second and saying, `Jumping in puddles, honestly,´ and really, it’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it. After shaking off his embarrassment and taking a very fortifying gulp of tea, Louis settles back to check his phone. It’s always interesting after a night out to look through his contacts to see if he can spot any new additions, he and Niall have started a mini-competition to see who can wind up with the weirdest name in their contact list with zero explanation. So far, Louis is winning with `The One with the Eyes´, Niall coming in a close second with `Old but Still Fit (?)´. Somewhat disappointingly, there doesn’t seem to be any exciting new additions to Louis’ phone book, but he makes a mental note to text Niall and check if he’s had any more luck, which, knowing the charming bastard, he probably has. Next Louis goes for his texts. He opens one from Zayn, his usual `pls don’t get too plastered. on my way home with Pez now, stay safe u wanker! aha x´ , after he leaves halfway through the night, and there’s another one which says it’s been opened but Louis has no recollection of ever reading, meaning he must have opened it at some point last night while he was halfway to monkied. It’s from his manager, Sarah, at the cafe he works in round the corner from their flat and it says, `Hi Louis. Sorry to bother you on a Sat night but Michelle’s phoned and said she’s got a bug and won’t be able to make it into work tomorrow morn. Would you be able to cover for her? Shift starts at 8.30am. Need to know asap, thanks. Sarah.´ Now, if Louis doesn’t have a very clear recollection of reading the text, then he certainly doesn’t remember replying to the text, and judging by said reply, he was well past halfway to monkied. He’d managed, `Sure thnig sarak ! b there in the monring ! lou xc´, which he can find multiple things very wrong with. The first of which is the fact that he hadn’t received an angry text in reply from Sarah telling him how unprofessional he was, and the second was that somehow, someway his very drunk self had thought that agreeing to a Sunday morning shift was a good idea. That is never a good idea. Sunday morning is always the dreaded shift, and this weekend was one of the blessed few Louis didn’t have to work, so fuck you drunk self, really. Louis sighs (he feels like he’s been sighing all morning) and slides deeper into the couch, kicking his shoes off and tucking his knees up under his chin.
“What’s wrong with you now?” comes Zayn’s voice from the table once again.
“Go text Perrie somewhere else if you’re just going to be an arsehole to me during this troubled time,” Louis replies flatly, closing his eyes.
“Oi, fuck off,” Zayn squawks, sounding mildly indignant even though he knows Louis is right. “Seriously though, what’s wrong?”
“Just looked at my phone and saw that I texted Sarah and told her I’d work at half eight this morning ‘cause she asked me to cover Michelle,” Louis replies with yet another deflated sigh. “What kind of person does that kind of thing to himself? Like, really. A hungover Sunday morning shift is less preferable to like death. Or something.”
“Oh. I thought it was something serious,” Zayn says, sounding like his usual arseholey self while getting up and rinsing his cereal bowl in the sink. “Think of the money, Lou, and stop your whining. It could be worse and go shower, I can smell the vodka fumes off you from here.” Louis flips him the bird in response, head still tucked between his knees, before accepting his fate and going back to reading any other messages he may have missed before he showers. There’s nothing else to read, except one from his mum, which makes him wrinkle his nose a little before proceeding to open it.
Mum: Hi darling, mummy here, just checking in to see how you’re doing. Hope all is well in London town, tell all the gang we say hello! While I’m here I may as well ask if you & the boyf want to come up to Donny and pay us all a little visit over Easter break? I know it’s short notice but please say yes Lou, I would love to meet the lovely boy making you so happy recently. Lots and lots of love and hopefully see you soon xxxx
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Louis actually can’t bring himself to read the message through again. He’s honestly half convinced that it’s not real, and that’s it’s some sort of hangover-induced hallucination, even though the message is still open on the screen and sitting squarely in the palm of his hand, taunting him. He knew it was a mistake to even open the message from his mum, especially after how the past month has gone. Louis brings his hands up to cover his face and slowly sinks down into the fold in the center of the sofa, contemplating his life choices and cursing whoever approved the decision of allowing him to become an adult. So far, it’s not been working out too brilliantly for him. He casts his mind back to about a month ago, around the middle of March, to what was undeniably one of the worst months he’s ever had to endure (and for once, he’s not even being dramatic or anything.) At the start of February, Louis had met this amazingly good looking guy called Ronan in a bar somewhere in Soho. Ronan was Irish, had a beard, and wore the same leather jacket absolutely everywhere. Louis was maybe a little bit in love (or maybe a little obsessed, whatever way you wanted to look at it, really.) For all of the three and a bit weeks Louis knew Ronan, they basically made it their mission to get pissed in as many bars throughout London as possible, as often as possible. Louis loved this idea, especially when most nights Ronan came back to his at two in the morning and let Louis blow him on the couch, both of them absolutely hammered. Unfortunately, Louis’ friends didn’t love the idea all that much, and especially didn’t like the fact that Louis was constantly passing up on going out with them in favor of being with Ronan. Particularly Zayn, who didn’t really appreciate coming to get a drink of water in the middle of the night and instead managing to receive an eyeful of Louis on his knees on their living room floor.
After about three weeks of constant Ronan, Ronan, Ronan, fortunately for Louis’s friends and actually rather shitily for Louis, Louis woke up one morning (in his own bed for once) and found no sign of Ronan, even though he was 98% sure he’d passed out beside him the night before. There was no `see you later´ note, no stray items of clothing left behind, nothing and Louis, like the absolute sap he was, had been spending nearly every waking minute of his time with Ronan and hadn’t even bothered to get his number because there was `really no need´, according to the arsehole of the century. Louis wasn’t an idiot, and knew what it was to have been dumped. Fucked and chucked. He had told Zayn as much as he stared into the distance and nursed his hangover over a cup of tea the morning it had happened.
“I’ve been fucked and chucked.”
“Good,” is all he’d gotten in return, and yeah, he kinda deserved that.
“I’m sorry. I’m a dick, I know.”
“Don’t need to say sorry to me,” Zayn had said, nonchalant as ever, spooning his Sugarpuffs into his mouth. “Say sorry to Perrie though, she’s angry as fuck. She phoned your mum this morning before she left, so you should be expecting a call, like, now.”
“She fucking what-”
“She never said anything about Ronan, though. Just that we’re worried about you, so chill out,” Zayn had continued, having noticed that Louis was decidedly not `chill´ with his wild pacing around their tiny kitchen. Obviously that had to be the moment Louis’s phone had started ringing, caller ID flashing `Mum´ at him, because of course that would fucking happen. He’d answered the phone tentatively, expecting a barrage of `I’m so disappointed´ and `you’re such a bad example´ and instead had received tears and `I’m so, so worried about you´, succeeding in making him feel like the worst person on the planet. After a half an hour of grovelling apologies and more than a few tears shed on both sides, the conversation had started dying down, when his mum said something that had made Louis clutch his phone like a lifeline. He’d felt his heart skip a beat.
“Lou,” his mum had sighed, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do. I thought London would be good for you- spreading your wings and all that, but now I just- I don’t know. Maybe coming back home is something we need to look at-” Louis had felt his breath catch in his throat. Going home was definitely not something they had to look at. Not now, not ever. He couldn’t go back and live in stuffy, shitty Doncaster with his mum again after experiencing London and meeting the amazing people he was lucky enough to call his best friends. Definitely not an option, no matter what.
“You need something more stable,” his mum had soldiered on, “Maybe you could even meet someone nice here, my friend Sheila from down the road knows a lovely boy and I’d be happy to introduce you" Louis had had to do something, so he did the only thing he was ever really able to do well: Lie.
“But- Mum, mum-" Louis interrupted with a forced laugh that he hoped sounded more faintly amused than extremely terrified, “I- er, I have met someone, it’s early days, but, um, it’s going quite well. I think. I didn’t want to say anything cause like, it’s all very new, but, yeah.” He was greeted with silence at the end of the phone, something he knew from experience could either be a very good thing or a very bad thing. It wasn’t often his mum was rendered speechless. Eventually, he’d heard an intake of breath, before.
“Louis Tomlinson, you better not be having me on, because if you are-” Louis had laughed for real then, a bark that hurt his throat on its way out. A bark that summed up the huge ironic hell-hole that Louis had just voluntarily sucked himself into
“No, Mum,” he’d let out weakly, contemplating what his life had become all the while, “Not having you on.” His mum had squealed then, that kind of high-pitched scream only other mums and dogs can hear, while Louis had held the phone away from his ear and sighed. After his near-deafening, all Louis can remember is a constant stream of never-ending questions from his mum, starting with `What’s his name, Lou? Tell me, quick,´ and ending with `Does he have any allergies?´ what felt like fifteen minutes later.
“Um,” Louis had started very eloquently, still mildly shocked from the onslaught, “Like I said mum, it’s, um- it’s early days, and we’re taking it really slow. I actually wasn’t even going to mention anything for another couple of weeks or so, but-”
“Oh, go on Lou, tell me one thing about him at least, it’s not the bloody secret service!” his mum had butted in, starting to sound more and more like an excited puppy.
“Shit, okay, um, he’s allergic to cats?” As it came out of his mouth he knew it was a shit lie. He didn’t execute it well at all. He needed to get himself out of the conversation, and fast. “But, er, anyways mum, I’ve- I’ve got to go, I think I can, um, hear Zayn calling me from his room. So yeah, talk to you soon, okay?”
“But Louis,” he heard his mum start, “You didn’t tell me-”
“Sorry mum, really got to go, Zayn’s looking for me. Love you, bye!” Louis had ended the call before his mum could say anything else, throwing his phone and head onto the kitchen table and letting out a long
After that fateful conversation with his mum, Louis had sat himself down and decided on his plan of action. It consisted mainly of the word `Shit´, but he had eventually decided on letting his mum believe he was in this wonderful burgeoning relationship for a week more at most. That would keep her happy and off his back, at least. Unfortunately, like most of his well laid plans (and well, the majority of his life choices really), that didn’t really work out for him. Instead, what he got was his mum texting him almost everyday, asking stupid questions about his fantasy boyfriend, and he was fast running out of polite ways to say `please stop asking me questions about this please please please´. Eventually, he started giving out the vaguest of details, just to placate his very persistent mother. To her, `So what does he do for a living??´ question, he had replied, `A bit of this and a bit of that, goes in and out of jobs bit like me x´ and to her `Any brothers and sisters then? :-)´ he had replied, `I've never asked him lol. bad boyfriend, me. we like to talk about all the girls and Ernie most of the time x´ because he knew the mention of his siblings would throw him mum onto a completely different track, and sure enough, she had started gushing about how big Ernest and Doris had gotten and how she wished Louis could see them more often. Louis would have given himself a pat on the back at how well he could read his mum, but he was too busy being shit scared of fucking up, so. It had carried on. Louis fed his mum the tiniest, vaguest details and yet still managed to build up some semblance of a boyfriend that she seemed happy with and that was the thing. She was so happy. So, so utterly delighted that Louis had seemed to find himself someone stable and that he seemed content with, that Louis couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth, or even that he and this mystery boyfriend had broken up, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself it was the right thing to do and yes, thank you, he knows that’s a fucked up way to look at things, but honestly, when had the whole thing even come anywhere remotely close to not being fucked up.
So now, it’s back to a mildly hungover, very firmly still-in-disbelief Louis, sitting on his shitty leather sofa in his tiny living room and staring blankly into the distance, mind running over who exactly was in charge of letting him do anything ever. Louis taps the screen of his phone to bring it back to life and decides to check just one last time if the message is actually real and not something he dreamt up in his hangover haze, and nope. The message is definitely real and definitely scaring him shitless. He drags a hand through his already messy hair, closes his eyes and leans even further back into the sofa, groaning out a,
“Zaynnnnn”, before bringing his knees back up underneath his chin. As predicted, Zayn appears almost immediately, still in his boxers and beanie but this time, instead of a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he’s got his toothbrush and a mouth full of foamy toothpaste.
“What is it now,” Zayn slurs around the brush, looking very pissed off having been interrupted during his precious dental hygiene routine.
“You’re actually not even going to believe what’s happened, to be honest,” Louis answers, hands covering his face. He’d decided to let Zayn in on his grand pretending-to-have-a-boyfriend plan about two days after it happened, because a) Louis has never been any good at keeping secrets, especially from Zayn, and b) he was struggling to come up with good answers to his mum’s questions that would keep her suspicions down and really, he needed a bit of a hand. When he’d told him, Zayn had first stared at him for about a minute in complete and utter disbelief that someone could be so stupid (and Louis didn’t really blame him), before bursting into a fit of laughter. So, really, he’d taken it better than Louis had expected and if Louis had thought telling Zayn would have resulted in useful avoidance-type answers to throw his mum off the scent, he was sadly mistaken.
“Tell her that he’s a secret service agent and that for legal reasons you can’t reveal his name, like, upon pain of death. Actually, that’d be quite sick,” was one of his helpful suggestions, with another being, “Tell her that he’s a notorious serial killer who’s on the run, and you know that getting into a relationship with him is a mistake but you just can’t help how you feel,” that came to him while they were sat watching Crime watch at home one Wednesday night. So technically, Louis wasn’t facing the mammoth task of convincing his mum that he was seeing a completely made-up human being alone, but for all the good Zayn was doing, it certainly felt like he was.
“What’s happened, then?” Zayn interrupts Louis’ train of thought, removing the toothbrush from his mouth and placing one hand on his bony hip, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “Need me to lift you from the sofa to the bathroom? Lost all power in your arms and legs?”
“No,” Louis whispers from his cocoon on the couch, “Not exactly.”
“Well what then, for fuck’s sake Lou,” Zayn says, sounding exasperated. “Haven’t got all day, spit it out.”
“Just got a text from my mum,” Louis replies, just as quietly. Zayn snorts and says,
“That's it? What’s she want to know now? Mystery man’s blood type?”
“Nope,” is all Louis can muster, before holding out his phone in Zayn’s general direction and waiting for him to take it from him.
“Lou, you’re actually freaking me out now. What the fuck’s going on?” Zayn says worriedly, advancing towards Louis and grabbing the phone from his hand, before proceeding to read the message still open on the screen.
“Oh,” is all Zayn manages after about fifteen seconds of reading. “Well. That’s, um, not good.”
“Ha,” Louis laughs flatly. “No. Not really.” Zayn gives the text another read.
“What’re you gonna tell her?”
“Dunno, to be honest,” Louis answers, still staring into space. Suddenly, an idea hits him. A really, really stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. He lifts himself up off the sofa and shoots his best pleading look in Zayn’s direction.
“Zaynie, how would you feel about-”
“But you didn’t even-”
“No, Louis. No way.”
“But she already kind of thinks there’s something-”
“I said no, Louis,” Zayn says, sounding very serious. “Don’t make the situation worse than it already is. Come up with some kind of excuse not to go, text her and end this stupid thing before it gets out of control, okay?”
“Okay. Yeah. You’re right. I’ll sort it out,” Louis nods determinedly, standing up and stretching. “Time s’it?”
“Twenty to eight,” Zayn informs him. “Go shower and get dressed or you’re gonna be late for work.” As he makes his way to his bedroom to grab a towel, Louis resolves to have this situation sorted by the end of the day. He just needs to come up with a plan of action, get rid of this hangover and clear his head, and he should be boyfriend-free by this evening.
Dusja Louis heeft een beetje gelogen tegen zijn moeder,
Eigen schuld, dikke bult zeggen we toch altijd haha
Deel 12 zal 6 hoofdstukjes bevatten, dus tot 12.5
EN EN EN EN EN EN ik wil kaleidoscoop even heel erg bedanken,
we gingen gisteren namelijk proberen om tickets te kopen voor in België,
maar onze hoop was al snel weg toen we erachter kwamen dat je met een creditcard moest betalen,
dus wij beide rond gevraagd naar wie er een creditcard heeft, ik ken er wel een paar,
maar die waren niet te pakken te krijgen. Gelukkig kwam kaleidoscoop er toen mee,
dat haar buurman een creditcard heeft, maar hij zou pas later thuis zijn.
Ik was op die site er allang uit gegooid, maar zij dus niet.
Dus kaleidoscoop thank you so much voor het vast houden van die tickets,
je bent een held en ik ben je zo dankbaar.
WIJ GAAN DUS NAAR 1D IN BELGIË.
Wie gaat er nog meer?