63: Everybody Knows/Mistaken For A Couple + 77: In Vino Veritas
i wanted to write this so here i am writing it
Louis doesn’t remember exactly how many shots he’s taken–he’s lost count at about ten–but judging by how much the room is spinning, it’s probably much more than that. Beside him, Liam’s saying something but Louis can’t really make out his words over the din of the office party and his own drunkenness.
“Liam, stop talking,” he slurs, lifting a hand to mash it into Liam’s face. He misses the first three times, grabbing nothing but air, but on the fourth try he somehow manages to squeeze Liam’s nose. “There, now you can’t speak.”
“Um,” Liam says, his voice a bit nasally. Louis squeezes his nose even tighter.
“Stop talking.”
“Louis,” Liam says nasally, ignoring him, and then starts speaking again; honestly, does Liam not know that he’s had so many fucking shots that even his ears are probably too drunk to listen to him?
“Liam, my ears are too drunk,” Louis says, and Liam just gives him a look.
Liam says something again–honestly, why does Liam not understand the concept of stop talking to me–and then suddenly Louis’ stomach lurches and the whole world starts spinning even more and then there’s a pair of hands under his arms, steadying him.
“Found your boyfriend,” he hears Liam say. “Have fun with him.”
Louis realizes belatedly what just happened. “I’m falling!” He crows, widening his eyes at the person in front of him. “I’m falling, help!”
The person in front of him chuckles. “Don’t worry,” Harry says, a bit amused. There’s a dimple on his left cheek, right within Louis’ reach. “I’ve got you.”
Louis can’t help it, he gasps. “Harry!” He shouts. “Pretty, pretty Harry, I found you!”
Somehow, in between the chaos of the punch being spiked and the bottles of tequila coming out, Louis lost Harry, had probably traded him in for a bottle of tequila. The tequila’s all gone now, snatched from his hands by Liam, so now there’s nothing stopping Louis from keeping Harry.
Harry laughs again, a sound that Louis wants to bottle and drink, if he were still allowed near the alcohol. “Pretty, pretty Louis, I found you,” he parrots. “Pretty, pretty drunk Louis, that is.”
“Only my ears are drunk,” Louis tells him haughtily. He perks up. “Wait, I can understand you! My ears are sober again!”
“Congratulations,” Harry says, grinning. Louis stares at him, stares at his pretty green eyes and his pretty eyelashes and his pretty dimples and his pretty hair.
“What is it?” Harry asks.
“You’re just so pretty.” Louis stares up at him in awe. “Has anybody ever told you how pretty you are?”
Despite how drunk he is, Louis sees Harry’s cheeks turn pink. “Um, you just did,” he says a bit shyly.
It reminds Louis a bit of when Harry had first arrived at their floor three months ago. He’d been their newest member at the newspaper, hired to sketch editorials and write a few opinion pieces. He had introduced himself to Louis, pigeon-toed and shy, and when he’d left, Louis had called up all his friends, told them all that he’d met the love of his life and was now officially off the market.
Of course, at the time, it had been dramatic and mostly in jest–Louis hadn’t known enough about Harry at the time to claim that Harry was the love of his life–but in the three months he’s been at the office, Louis had gotten along with him really well, had come to know him as this amazing artist with enough intellect to back up his opinions. Louis couldn’t get enough of his intellect, and often used Harry as a sounding board for his own articles, spending most of their time in the office together to the point that people thought that they were dating, even though they weren’t.
(It didn’t help that they’d been caught in various awkward positions–which, Louis maintains even when drunk, had been innocent in nature.)
“So smart too,” Louis continues, enjoying the way the blush on Harry’s cheeks deepen. “So pretty and so smart–I think the universe sent you to ruin me.”
Harry’s brow furrows. “Ruin you?”
Louis sighs. “Yeah,” he says a bit forlornly. “You’re like, my office boyfriend, but–” he gestures for Harry to come closer, so he can press his lips against the side of his head, “–between you and me, I want you to be my real boyfriend too.”
Harry’s mouth drops open in shock. Louis grins at him, alcohol drunk and happy. “Don’t tell anyone, pretty, pretty Harry!” He crows, and then pulls away from Harry, stumbles back into the crowd.
He could use another shot.