Burn Me Like the Sun

I started to ignore every call and every text I got from Louis after I caught him snooping through my bedroom. I was about 99% sure that he had some sort of mega-ultra-unlimited-anywhere-and-everywhere plan for that bloody white iPhone of his, because during the next week, I probably got somewhere near a hundred calls and nearly the same amount of texts. It wouldn’t have even surprised me if he sent more, considering how apt my mobile was at dropping messages.

He didn’t start leaving voicemails until a week after the incident. But they were less actual voicemail messages and more like thirty second-long clips of him fumbling over his words. I hardly listened to them after I played to the first ten and made sure to delete each one before they could blow up my phone, as I still hadn’t gotten an explanation of why he was in my room, nor an apology, which was what I really wanted the most.

I always made it a point to be closed off, mostly because I couldn’t find it in myself to trust most people. In a list of the most important things in life, I practically ranked my privacy just second to breathing. Fran told me I was barking mad for cutting off Louis and not wanting to hear him out. But as much as I disagreed, this didn’t surprise me one bit because Fran was a notorious emotion slut.

She didn’t care if you were a licensed therapist or the bloke that checked out her groceries. She was open about everything and pretty much expected the same thing from everyone else. It was hard for me to get used to when we first started becoming friends, but it got even worse when we moved in together. Since I was splitting the phone bill, the water bill, the electricity, and not to mention the fact that there was now only a few layers of plaster that separated us when we slept, Fran expected me to be open and vocal about everything else in my life, and not just what I had for lunch or how my courses were going.

The past two years, I had gotten better at being open with Fran. It took a lot of coaxing, and even more alcohol, but I was happy where we were at. And I was glad that no one else expected the same from me. But just the simple thought of Louis maybe wanting to be just as serious mates as I was with Fran after three years of constant bickering and head-butting made me want to hurl. So instead, I decided that it would be better to forego all of the coaxing and talking and emotional heart-to-hearts and just not become best mates with Louis Tomlinson.

But even after my week of complete silence, he still hadn’t gotten the memo.

“You’re what?” I nearly screeched, my eyes wide as I struggled to keep my tray balanced on my shoulder.

“Friday night. I know, now I know it’s short notice, but you don’t have any lectures during the weekend. I know this for a fact. And I need all hands on deck for this event. I need you there, Blake.”

Margaret pinned her gaze on me, her fists set on her hips, as she lectured me in the corridor. My face was hot, anger warming up my cheeks. My arm was close to falling off too, as I still hadn’t a chance to set down the heavy silver platter I’d been holding up for the past hour.

“This is the big shit. This isn’t some posh gathering of dick sniffing old bloods donating half the money they collect to Africa and the other half to their wardrobes. This is either gonna make this business or break it.” She crossed her arms, shooting me one of her rare sympathetic looks. “Now, I’ve already got Valenti working that night, so you’ll at least be around someone that knows what’s going on between you and Louis.”

My jaw unhinged like a rusted gate. Someone had told Margret about our tiff – at least, that was how I described it to Fran when she came home to a flat devoid of pop stars and a silently fuming flatmate to match.

“Did Val tell you?” I muttered, certain that Fran had vented to him when they were working a shift together just a couple nights before.

“No, of course not. Fran did.” She reached out to squeeze my shoulder, but pulled back when I flinched. “Louis was nice enough to get me in contact with some people, and I don’t want to squander this opportunity. So I just need you to relax, okay? I need you there, Blake. You’re honestly one of my best servers. Just…” Her eyes slipped shut and she pinched her temples, shaking her head. “If you can get through this one event, I’ll probably be so grateful that I’ll pay for your train back to Newcastle. I need you, alright?”

Realization flashed across my face, and it took everything I had not to point an accusing finger at my boss. “He’s going to be there, isn’t he?” I asked through gritted teeth.

One glance at Marge’s face and I knew the answer.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I muttered under my breath, nearly dropping my tray. “I hate that righteous prick! I’m going to wring his knob until it gets purple a-and falls right off, I swear to god. Oi!”

I tucked my empty tray under my arm and bit my knuckle, my face heating up as I paced in a wide circle.

“I wouldn’t ask you if I had other people to cover for me.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have asked me to serve shrimp cocktails to a bunch of righteous cocks even if bloody ‘Spillmaster’ Sydney was the last server on the roster?” I challenged, throwing up air quotes with my free hand.

Margaret pursed her lips, giving me a hard look.

“I’m sorry Marge, but do you really expect me to be civil when the last person I want to see is getting pissed off his favorite fifty-quid ale and tossing a year’s worth of my tuition at some half-baked charity? You already know this won’t work. He’ll try to confront me, and I’m bloody livid enough that I might just go along with it.”

Marge huffed audibly, the dimple under her eye showing for a split second. “It’s either this or I dock you pay, Blake.”

My nostrils flared, and it took all my restraint to not round on Margaret. I knew I was already in deep shit for even getting in a row with her to begin with. If I said another word, she’d gladly give me the sack. Sometimes I didn’t know how she put up with me.

“And I’ll be watching you the whole night, so don’t think I won’t notice when you hide in the kitchen with Valenti.” She pointed a finger at me, her eyes narrowed, then brushed past me for the kitchen.

I followed a moment later, the familiar flame that licked my fingertips growing warmer with every step I took.

In the two days between finding out I’d be catering an event that Louis would be at and actually finding myself in the van on the way to some rich London borough with Valenti, I had finally come to the point where I was ready to get the event over with, even if it meant chancing hiding out in the kitchen with Val when Margaret wasn’t hanging around.

But that all changed the second my foot hit the doorstop to the kitchen. I felt like I was going to hurl all over my trainers, and I could feel my face turn pale as my hands became cold and clammy. If it weren’t for the fact that this always happened to me before I did something utterly nerve-racking – like the class play in grade five where I played a bowl of fruit, or my first dorm party a week into my first term at Met – I would’ve thought I’d gotten a horrid case of the flu or some random stomach bug.

Valenti noticed that I stopped at the doorway after he took a few steps into the kitchen.

“You alright, duckie?”

He carefully stepped towards me as I planted my hands on either side of the doorjamb for support. He had his hands outstretched, probably afraid I’d vomit on his only pair of dress pants.

I straightened up and willed my eyes to open.

“Yeah, just a little queasy.” I reached out and found his hand, tugging myself into the kitchen. Valenti wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. “I’m good.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, because tonight you get to rub elbows with the rich and famous, and I don’t need you skipping out on all the gritty details for a go at the toilets every time you need to blow chunks.” He squeezed me tighter to his side when I tried to pry myself away and made a sweeping motion with his other arm to the kitchen. “I am unfortunately resigned to the backburner, so I need your eyes and ears to feed my jones for all the juicy gossip.”

He hopped in front of me then, all giddy with a madman’s grin, as he gripped me by the shoulders. “I’m gonna need your help here tonight, duckie.”

I shrugged his hands off, giving him a dark look. “I can’t.”

He scrunched up his nose. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t!” I repeated sharply. “Louis, he… Oi. I have other things to worry about tonight besides your weird celebrity obsession.”

Valenti instantly crossed his arms and lowered his voice, his expression cool. “Is this about Louis, ducks?”

“Alex—”

His murky eyes went soft. “Tell me.”

I watched him carefully, then shook my head. “All you need to know is that I’m staying as far away from that git as I can manage tonight. I don’t even care if bloody Michael Caine is sitting next to Louis and having a glass of scotch with fuckin’ Charlie Chaplin’s ghost, alreet? I’m ignoring him, and as soon as it’s over, I’m hiding myself in the van. You can handle breaking down without me.” I heaved another breath, my lip curling. “And for heaven’s sake, stop giving me that look!”

Valenti’s face fell, and he nodded, running his fingers over his stubble as he took in the rest of the kitchen, nearly bare except for the food that Peter had already brought in.

“If you’re so bleedin’ giddy about working for a bunch of socialites, how about you ask one of the newbies to fill you in tonight?” I quipped, waving my hand dismissively. “I’m not your little birdie.”

Valenti shrugged and pinched his neck, looking almost guilty for a second. “I’m sorry I asked, then,” he apologized. But then he straightened up, his features taking on a hardened look that I’d only seen a handful of times in the years I’d known him. “But if you let me know at least a fraction of what’s going on in that little head of yours, I wouldn’t be pissing you off in the first place.” He snorted. “Not that I’d want to rile you up, anyways. It’s a right scary sight.”

“Oh, god,” I groaned. “Not you as well.”

He balked, his eyes bugging. He was getting angry with me and not even making an effort to hide it.

“Not me as well what?” He licked his lips and crossed his arms, taking a step closer. His voice went down only just a fraction, his eyes boring into mine. “I’m your friend, Blake. I’ve been your friend for two years now. And I barely know a thing about you, except that you hail from Newcastle and you fancy a nice movie every now and then, both things which I learned from Fran.” He tossed up a hand, finally tearing his eyes from mine. “Fuck, I don’t even have a clue what you’re reading at Met.”

I groaned again, this time louder, and pulled Valenti by his wrist as Peter rushed by us with a large tray of spinach balls in his hands.

“What do you want me to say?” I sighed, folding my arms around my middle, my stomach’s acrobats suddenly replaced with a burning, snarling sensation at the pit of my throat. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“No!” He pulled off his snapback and fit it back on, his buzz cut just poking out. “I’m just saying that you need to be less of a robot sometimes and more like an actual human with… With, well, y’know, feelings and the like. I mean, as much as I hate to admit it, I could use a genuine heart-to-heart sometimes, yeah?”

I gaped, my cheeks heating up. “I am not a robot!” I told him, poking him in his notoriously muscular chest as hard as I could.

Valenti’s brow shot up, and he gave me a quick once-over. “Then you should start acting like a actual person, duckie. And if you ask me, opening up to those of us that genuinely care about you is a right good place to start.”

Then he stalked past me for the exit, his face the most pale shade of pink as his elbow brushed against my shoulder. I stared at him as he hopped down the stairs, heading for Peter’s van to help him bring in the rest of the food.

“Blake!”

I shot my head back around and saw Margaret struggling with a stack of trays. Her face was the shade of a cherry lolly as her arms strained under the weight of all the food in her arms. I rushed to her side and plucked a few trays from the top of the pile, setting them down on the aluminum prep table next to me.

Margaret wiped her forehead after she set down the food, watching me carefully. “Did you drive up with Valenti?”

I nodded and pressed my palm to my forehead, brushing away my bangs as I stared at the food, warily avoiding her steady gaze.

“Will you tell him to hurry? There are already a few early birds sniffing about the corridor, and I still haven’t gotten all the food inside. We start in a half hour.”

I nodded, making sure to keep my eyes off my boss.

“I’m sorry about Friday,” I muttered, surprising both myself and apparently Margaret with the way she quirked one of her eyebrows.

She reset her expression and gave a curt nod. “You can start apologizing by just doing well tonight. That’s all I want from you right now.”

I nodded, eyeing Margaret hesitantly. “I know I’m an arse.”

“You’re lucky I know, too. I’m never caught off guard.” She bit back a smile and nodded to the exit, shooing me away with her hand.

“Half an hour, you said?”

She only nodded before starting in on the plastic wrapped trays she had brought in.

I knew it was best to give Valenti some space for the time being. He liked to blow off steam when he was angry. Usually it just amounted to working out, running the block around his flat and lifting weights and the like, but since no one really dragged along barbells to a charity fundraiser, he decided to busy himself with lugging two stacks of trays up the service ramp in the back all by himself.

I passed by him, not wanting to disturb his silent fuming, and headed straight to Peter, whose bum was sticking out of the boot of Margaret’s van. I stopped by the taillights, my hands on my hips, as I watched Peter struggle to pull out a wooden crate of scotch.

He wrapped his arms around the case and hauled it out of the back, but nearly dropped it on the ground when he finally noticed me lurking next to him.

“Oi!” He gripped the crate closer to his chest, letting out a haggard breath. “Damn it, Blake.”

He sniffed once as he flushed a bright red, his cheeks almost matching his strawberry hair. He had on the same tux that Valenti wore, except his fit like a used trash bag around his awkwardly lean body. Even his black cummerbund was loose enough that sometimes it’d fall past his narrow hips while he was prepping the food.

He frowned at me as he reached for the door to the boot, shutting it closed with his elbow. “What’s up?” he offered, his voice clipped.

I was kind of thrown off by his tone, as when Peter would toss aside his shy guy act, he’d always become unnervingly friendly.

“Marge said to be ready in a half hour.” I nodded to the van, biting my lip as I thought over my words. “You need any help bringing out the liquor?” I offered. “I hear musicians hit it harder than middle aged divorcées.”

I could almost make out a sneer pulling at his lips. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” He cleared his throat. “Luke and Rudy are supposed to be here any second, so we’ll be set.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Hey, uh…” He pulled the tattered box of liquor closer to his chest and started for the building, his huge feet smacking against the pavement like swimfins. “If it’s true what they say about musicians and booze, then they might need your help,” he called over his shoulder.

My eyes bugged, and I struggled to catch up with Peter, as with those gangly legs of his, he took steps twice as long as mine. I pulled at his shirt sleeve, and he stopped suddenly, looking well perturbed. He must have noticed Valenti fuming, and I wouldn’t put it past him if he got it out of Val why he was fuming and had set to giving me the cold shoulder, too.

“I am not mixing drinks tonight,” I told him roughly, pointing a threatening finger at him.

Peter laughed, his voice bouncing around the building’s brick walls. “No, no, of course not. You’re shit with the bartending. No. You’ll probably serve them if we don’t have enough wait staff. Food’s in the air tonight, but they get to order their drinks. Unfortunately, there’s no bar in the event hall.”

I pursed my lips, biting hard on my tongue before I could mutter an undeservingly seething retort as Peter went on. I’d be just as aloof if someone had riled up Fran, especially because like Val, it was kind of a hard thing to do.

“And don’t try talking yourself out of this one, because I know you have the memory of a bleedin’ elephant,” he told me, a wily smile tugging at his lips.

I huffed, leering at the side of Peter’s head, and brushed past him, throwing him a v over my shoulder as I climbed up the steps to the kitchen. I felt like I was going to burst into flames with all the extra anger that was coursing through my body.

Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any worse, I’d probably end up having to take drink orders. I’d have to actually interact with the guests instead of silently offering them small bits of food like they were harmless, mouthy dogs. Even working the kitchen like I used to, lugging around refill racks and sweating like a pig, seemed like a better idea at this point. Any chance of having to take Louis’s drink order, no matter how slim, was enough to push my temper over the edge.

I spent the half hour before the event started hidden in the toilets, my bum planted firmly on the skink as I ranted to Fran in a handful of text messages she wouldn’t even see until she was out of the science lab. She was studying some weird kind of engineering, electrical or mechanical or something that ended in al. If she wasn’t either back at our flat studying, working for Margaret, or catching up on Hollyoaks, she was usually stuck at Met working on her research. As we were inching closer to graduation – Fran more so than me, since I was going for a double first and still had another year to go – she’d spend most of her weekends holed up in the Science Centre.

Even though she wasn’t there to take Valenti’s side and to scold me and tell me I was overreacting, I still felt better about being able to rant to Fran, despite the fact that I wasn’t usually one to complain. I think it had something to do with the fact that by the time she’d get my messages, I’d already be in bed and she’d just be leaving the Science Centre. And as much as I hated to admit it, I could feel myself start to unwind as I typed away, like someone had pulled out the stopper at the bottom of the dirty bath that was my attitude.

Val was still silently fuming by the time I grabbed my tray from the serving table. He forcibly kept his eyes off me as he slid the food down the line, his lips set in a grim line. At least he wasn’t visibly frowning anymore, so there was already a sliver of hope that at least we’d be back to speaking terms by the end of the night. I could only wish, especially because he was my ride back home.

I followed a few other servers down the corridor to the event hall, keeping my distance as I listened in on them. There was a small, excited titter in the group as an announcer’s voice carried past the thick mahogany-paneled walls.

“I’d like to welcome all of you to PRS’s 21st Annual Silent Auction Night!”

As much as I dreaded running into Louis, or even any of his band mates, I was admittedly jittery as well. It almost felt like I was ten years old again and waiting in the queue for the midnight premiere of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

The only thing I really knew about this event, other than what food we were serving and how the floor was set up, was that it was supposed to be smaller than the charities we usually catered. Margaret had pulled all the people she could spare (though it wasn’t all that much, as it was short notice and on a previously free Friday), and she even brought out the few brands of top-shelf liquor she usually kept stashed away in her van.

I heard some servers whisper about catching a glimpse of a few different pop stars that had been wandering about looking for the loo. The thought of seeing some big-time artist put me on edge even though I usually kept calm while on the floor, especially during the crazier events. I wasn’t one for Valenti’s wince-inducing, confrontational fanaticism, but the few times I had seen celebrities roaming around while out with Fran in my three years living in London, my tongue for once would twist up and I’d never have anything to say. I felt the same way now, and with the added stress of possibly running into Louis while working, my insides were going on a rampage. At least I didn’t have to worry about keeping my mouth shut while working the floor. Our clientele would take care of that for me.

Unless I ran into Louis. I had some choice words for him.

The applause just started when I pushed open the doors, and then the rest of the servers trailed behind me with the first wave of appetizers.

The room was elegantly decorated with white linen on each of the round tables that were scattered about the floor, with matching curtains covering the windows and marble-patterned paper nameplates on every table. The vaulted ceiling made the room seem bigger than it actually was, and the sunset bled through a row of skylights, the orange hue casting shadows against the opposite end of the room.

People were already up from their seats and scattered about, most of them huddled in conversations. A balding photographer with a bag slung over one shoulder and a huge camera hung around his neck was making rounds, snapping the occasional posed photograph. Some guests were even on the makeshift dance floor up at the front, set up next to a long row of tables that had been pushed together. On top were neatly arranged and seemingly professionally shot photos of mostly music-related items, stuff like vinyl records and a couple of instruments. A couple of photos stood out, unconventionally odd, like a derby hat and even a golf club with matching leather gloves.

I couldn’t help but do a quick sweep for Louis, but I couldn’t even find him in the waves of well-dressed musicians and producers and industry executives clambering up to the front before the servers could start spreading out. I was lucky enough to duck in between two heavily bearded blokes amidst the confusion and make my way to my assigned corner before someone knocked over my tray.

But as luck would have it, as I was never really one to get my way, a tall, blond half-man, half-boy was leaning against the wall, hurriedly banging away on his phone, the screen lighting up his face.

I turned my back to him the second I caught sight of him, but I should’ve expected Niall to call out my name since we locked eyes right before I twisted around. It was hard to not stare at one of the best mates of the person you were ignoring, especially with the way Niall stood out among all the suits and cocktail dresses with some expensive polo and baggy navy trousers, not to mention his blindingly white, thick-soled trainers.

“Blake!”

I winced, my feet all of a sudden feeling heavier than cement blocks as they stilled beneath me. I could already see a few of my coworkers stare from across the room, their interest easily piqued with the way Niall’s voice carried. In the least, I suddenly realized that neither Val nor Fran had gossiped about my adverse, however casual association with a certain cheesy, dressed-to-match boy band, and the thought was just enough to keep me from chucking my tray and hiding in the toilets for the rest of the night.

“Blake, hold on.”

“I can’t exactly leave my area,” I muttered, hoping he couldn’t hear me over the DJ that was playing. “Aren’t you lucky you don’t have to beg me to stay.”

But apparently Niall’s hearing hadn’t been too damaged from what I once thought was a lethal combination of earthquake-like concerts nine months out of the year and the near constant screeching of young, impressionable female fans.

“You’ve got an assigned area?” he exclaimed, circling around me. “That’s fucking brilliant!”

“And that’s fucking brilliant... why, exactly?” I asked, biting back a disgusted look as Niall reached for the stuffed zucchini on the tray that I had balanced on my shoulder. He shoved a handful into his mouth and crumbs spilled across his white polo. He brushed them off, his jaw nearly unhinging as he struggled to chew.

He shrugged. “Y’know, as big as One Direction is, we barely know anyone in the industry. So I’ll know where to find you if I get bored. Which I will, I reckon.”

I gave him a doubtful look.

“Aye, seriously!” he mumbled through half-mashed zucchini, his smile unfazed. He was almost as refined as Fran when she was shoveling food into her mouth. “It’s always the studio if we’re not touring or doing interviews. Doesn’t—” He swallowed hard, his face red and his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. “Doesn’t leave a lot of time for socializing, yeah?”

“Oh.” I nodded, and Niall did she same, reaching for the pickled veggie rolls stacked on the other side of my tray. “Wait, wait, hold on. What do you mean ‘we’?”

He ignored me and leered at the veggie rolls. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at them, sucking on his teeth. “Now, what’s this greenish shite? Looks like me grandpap’s saggin’—”

“Niall,” I begged, my voice hitching as I winced. “I’ll pay you in sex favors if you don’t finish that sentence.”

His eyebrows suggestively shot up once, a laugh at the edge of his throat. “Really, now.”

Since my arms were otherwise preoccupied, I jabbed his shin with my trainer, hard enough that he yelped and started to reach for where I’d hit him. “Ugh, of course not, you giant prick!”

He shot back up and glanced down, studying the front of his pants. One of his eyebrows perked up considerately as a lazy grin slipped across his lips.

“It’s not very nice to stare, Blake,” he scolded, planting his hands on his hips. “Though I can appreciate a compliment when it’s given.”

I shook my head, my eyes fluttering shut as I dropped my head. “I… I have no words for you,” I sighed. He tried hard to bite back a grin, probably well aware I’d wring his neck if he said another word, especially with all the murderous looks I’d been doling out.

“‘S just me and Zayn and Louis. Though by the end of the night, I reckon it might just be me and Zayn. Louis’s always down for a nice piss up.” He snatched another slice of stuffed zucchini off the tray, holding it precariously between his fingers. “What is this, some kind of veg?”

I groaned, snapping my fingers under his nose. “Focus, you wanker.”

“I am!” He licked his fingers and pointed at something over my shoulder, his brow curling. “You’re the one who’s not.”

I whipped around, my eyes instantly focusing on Louis across the room. His cheeks were red and blotchy as he sipped a tall glass of some piss-colored liquid, a lime slice haphazardly balanced on the rim. He had on a jumper made out of a mish-mash of colors, with one of his sleeves pushed up near his elbows and the other slipping slowly down his forearm. He had his hand stuck in his pocket as he sat at the lip of a table, talking up to an older man with frost-white hair piled messily in a tiny bun at the nape of his neck.

He gestured at one of the wait staff in a distinct red cummerbund with his drink, pointing to it as his forehead wrinkled. He grinned at the server – Thomas, I’d just noticed – then went back to listening to whatever the bloke he was chatting with was saying as he sucked on his straw.

“That’s his first vodka Red Bull. Looks like he just ordered a second one.” Niall shook his head, watching at Louis over my shoulder like he was a charity case. “He thinks he can hold his liquor, but he’s a fuckin’ awful drunk. It’s even worse when he’s hyped up on all that caffeine,” he muttered, clenching his jaw once. Another server brushed by the two of us, most likely just hoping to catch a bit of our conversation, and Niall blindly grabbed another trinket off their tray. He stuffed it in his mouth before I could even tell what he had in his hand and wiped off his fingers on his trousers. “Honestly, he’s been beating himself raw over sneaking into your room like that.”

I started. “How’d you—?”

Niall gave me a knowing look, swallowing his food. “Blake, I hate to break it to you, but your flat’s walls are thinner than ice in the Sahara.”

I tossed my head back and groaned. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Talk to him,” he simply said. “And let him have it, because he was a git to do that.”

I scoffed, not even flinching as someone came from behind me and plucked a few pickled veggie rolls from the tray. “Now that, I can do.”

“Hold on!” He grabbed my arm before I could walk away and wagged a finger at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I want you to forgive him, too.”

I blushed fast and hard, blood instantly pooling under my cheeks. Forgiveness was even harder to coax out of me than my National Insurance number.

I set my mouth in a firm line. “Nice catching up, Niall,” I snapped, yanking my arm from his grasp.

I hadn’t taken but a couple of steps before he grabbed my arm again, sidestepping me and planting himself in front of me before I could escape him. I snarled, as I still had yet to make my rounds in my sector. Three minutes with the annoyingly chipper bloke and he was already trying my patience.

“Just talk to him or something,” he nearly begged, giving me the most pleading look he could muster. “If you’re going to ignore him forever, at least let him know what he did wrong. He’s still kind of fuzzy on the details, even without the help of vodka.”

Niall’s lips were set in a dismal line as he glanced at Louis again. I turned around and properly drank him in, down to his disheveled hair and the untied laces of his left trainer. Even from across the room, I could still tell he was already tipsy. He balanced his nearly empty highball glass in one hand as he casually hugged the man with pearl hair with his free arm, the grin on his face not faltering for a second.

“Be careful, ‘cause when he’s pissed, he can be a bit of a wanker. Just… Take everything he says with a grain of salt. He’s a right fun drunk, but not so much when he’s around the birds.” He eyed me up suggestively, as if I was just as lethal to Louis while pissed as his car keys.

“The only way you’d get me to talk to Louis is if he were on his deathbed, and even then it’d take some convincing. Alreet? I’m not going anywhere near him, especially when he’s on the piss.”

I licked my chapped lips, giving Niall a hard look as he finally let go of my arm and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“It’s embarrassing enough as it is with all you decently famous folk hanging around, but my coworkers are here, Niall. They’re crawling everywhere tonight like a bunch of roaches. And they’re not exactly known for their sense of tact. Gossip is kind of their thing ‘round here.”

He sighed and gave me one last pleading look, his forehead wrinkling as his lips just barely pouted. “For me? Just please, please consider it. I can’t stand the thought of driving him home while he talks nonstop about letting you slip away. It’s depressing enough when he’s sober and thinking aloud about Vic. I don’t need him regretting scaring off a new mate because he was too busy being the worst possible version of himself.”

“You boys really don’t understand the meaning of ‘no,’ do you?”

Then I brushed past Niall, making sure my free shoulder shoved his as I navigated my way out of the serving hall and back into the empty corridor.

At least I had hoped it was empty, but unfortunately, I’ve always been short on luck.