Burn Me Like the Sun

“And I swear, it’s like she’s had her nose glued to that bloody half-witted mobile of hers all week.”

“No I haven’t,” I protested, snapping shut my flip phone and shoving it into my pocket as Valenti laughed in front of me.

Fran turned around in the passenger seat and fixed me with a pointed look, her hands curled around the armrest. “Please.”

She had claimed the spot when she noticed that Valenti had finally cleared out the gossip magazines he kept piled up next to him, beating me to the only other real seat up front – foam cushion, seatbelt, and all. But I couldn’t care less, as if given the chance, I usually opted for the milk crates in the back. Given the choice, I’d rather not have a front row seat to my own impeding doom if I were in a wreck.

“She’s been texing Louis nearly nonstop. It’s driving me to drink.”

“I’m not!” I argued, scrambling for my mobile again. I pulled out the antenna, waving it under Fran’s nose. “Shoddy reception. It can take an entire hour for me to get a text. I don’t want him to think I’ve been ignoring him. I’m already on probation with the way I can’t keep civil around him as it is.” I shrugged and stuffed my mobile back into my pocket. “Might as well answer his texts while I’m still in his good graces.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re proper mates with a pop star, aren’t ya, duckie?” Valenti gave me a playful look in his rearview mirror.

I set my jaw, casting my gaze to my feet as I thought it over. “I… I don’t know. I guess. Are we?”

Fran snorted, turning back around in her seat and ignoring the confusion that was plastered across my face, puckering my features. “Don’t ask me. You won’t even let me see your mobile.” She reached over and smacked Valenti’s shoulder, pointing to me behind her with her thumb. “My phone died the other day while we were out grocery shopping and she wouldn’t even let me borrow hers to check the time.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes,” she shot back easily. “God, Blake, I’m your best friend. I’d like to know what you and your little boyfriend are talking about. Don’t want him taking over my spot as your best mate any time soon.”

I sneered. “He’s hardly dating material, let alone my new best mate. I swear, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“Then tell us!” Valenti demanded, his cigarette dangling loosely between his lips.

I sighed as a wave of warmth came over my cheeks. Val wouldn’t let it go, and I knew the second I left my mobile out, Fran would go through my texts. The two of them were too nosy for their own good.

“We’ve just been chatting about the footie match on Saturday.”

It was the furthest thing from scandalous, but next week’s match between Manchester United and Newcastle was all we’d been talking about. I didn’t know he was such a sucker for football until he messaged me a few days before and asked if I followed my hometown team. We hadn’t stopped arguing over the upcoming match since.

Being a Magpie went with the territory, growing up in Newcastle. But as much as I loved football, both my dad and Cooper lived and breathed it. Come every Saturday, the two of them would don their faded striped Newcastle kits and spend the day yelling at the telly with every shite call. They always made it a point to be as loud as they could, as if it were physically possible for the refs to hear them with the stadium at the other end of the city. It turned out that Louis was just as big a Manchester supporter as I was for Newcastle, if not as die-hard as the rest of my family. Thankfully, no one I knew liked Man U, not even Valenti (who was a dyed-in-the-wool West Ham fan, unfortunately), so we’d been arguing over the outcome of Saturday’s game nonstop.

Obviously, both of us thought our respective teams would win.

“You’ve been talking about football all weekend?” Fran laughed once, as though she found this fact condescendingly adorable. “Oi, and here I thought you two were just sexting and you didn’t want me to find out.”

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Francesca Jane!”

“My bet woulda been on some deep, emotional talk about love and life and all of that poetic shite,” Val offered up in between laughs. He sucked in a last cloud of smoke before he stubbed out his cigarette, tossing it out his window. “What, he a Man U fan?”

I crossed my arms, adamant on ignoring Fran, at least until Valenti finally dropped us off at our flat. “Unfortunately. But at least he knows more about football than the average wanker that gets pissed at the pub every game day.”

My mobile vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it, already afraid that Fran was drumming up a whole list of embarrassing, intrusive questions to shoot my way once we were back home. I didn’t need her asking what Louis had texted me the second she saw me meticulously typing out a reply. And besides, I hadn’t heard a peep from him since late last night when we were arguing over goal keepers. He could wait a little longer.

“Wait, so you never told me what Marge said about the summer hols.” Valenti reached for another cigarette, and Fran helped him light it up. “Thanks, duckie. So? What’s the deal?”

I held on tightly to my milk crate as we rounded a corner, now only a couple of blocks away from our flat.

“As long as I can keep Louis away, I’m golden.”

“Aye, that’s the dog’s,” Valenti mumbled approvingly behind his smoke.

I smiled to myself, already thinking about what I’d do when I got home. My father would probably plan out a nice afternoon barbecue and invite over his parents. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d strain a few muscles in an attempt to get the house somewhat clean, too, even though it always seemed to smell like salt and musk, as my dad worked as a harbormaster. But unlike Dad, I couldn’t help but think Cooper would be somewhat on edge with me coming home.

I’d only visited a week every Christmas in the two years since I started working for Margaret. Since it wasn’t like my half-brother and I got along to begin with, most days it didn’t feel like I was missing much. Nothing seemed to change. We always fought a lot, mostly about stupid things, like Cooper’s dirty boxers he’d always leave strewn about the hallway or the makeup I sometimes left around the sink of our shared bathroom. We bickered about the telly and music in the car, every little thing. Sometimes it’d get so out of hand that we’d give each other the silent treatment. For days, the house would fall completely silent, almost as if someone had died.

But around the year before I left for uni, we started getting along better. It was the small stuff at first, and hardly noticeable, but we started fighting less and sometimes we got on like real siblings. But when I left for university, our relationship became stunted. He gave me hell for every little thing the last time I visited for Christmas, and hardly said a word to me edgewise.

But it hardly mattered anymore, because I was completely anxious to go home. I missed our garden and the old oak tree that towered over our roof, the crisp summers that were so unlike the sweltering heat of London. I longed for my dad’s cooking, and even the crowded beach trips with my extended family. I could even go far as to say that I missed my dad’s hissy orange tabby cat Magpie, named after the football team itself.

I was torn from my thoughts of home by another familiar buzz in my pocket, but I ignored it. It was probably my mobile just getting all of Louis’s texts at once.

“You know, ever since you brought that git with the ripe bum into our lives, I swear, it’s like I keep seeing the same shady-looking bloke with a camera everywhere we go.”

“Really?” I looked between Fran and Valenti, who was too busy driving to pay Fran’s question any mind, then pushed myself between the two of them.

“Black coat, black beanie, same blue jeans.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “What, you haven’t noticed it? I swear I’m not going mad.”

I shook my head. “When did you see him?”

“Earlier, when we drove into the work.” She paused, then snapped her fingers. “And Friday, too, when we were at Tesco.”

I snorted. “Oi, way to be paranoid. Do you know how many people are in London? And how many of them wear black beanies and jeans? I mean, have you ever heard of tourists? They make it a habit to lug around a camera everywhere.”

She bobbed her head like she was considering everything. “Alright, you have a point. But still. It couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out.”

“You’re actually mad. Really? Paparazzi?” I slumped back into my seat and hastily redid the leather belt over my lap. “They didn’t even get a picture of me when Louis showed up Thursday. No way someone’s started following us. I’m not even remotely interesting!” I laughed incredulously. “I’m pretty sure they don’t even know who I am.”

“But you’re hanging out with Louis Tomlinson,” Fran said, all matter-of-fact. “That’s enough to make anyone interesting to the media.”

“If you keep this up, they just might track you down, you know. Even if you ain’t a new girlfriend. Vic dumped him only, like, three weeks ago, duckie.” Valenti crushed the ash from his cigarette on the broken tile on the dash and stuck it between his lips again. “They’re gonna be interested, even if you just turned out to be a hot cousin or somethin’.”

I nodded my head, my lips a thin line. My stomach did a few jumps as my cheeks burned at the thought of getting hounded by nosy photographers. It was nearly enough to make my blood boil. No way would I be able to stomach such an insult to my privacy on a regular basis.

“I swear, if those paps get wind of who you are, I’m gonna be kicking ass and taking names.” I half-heartedly laughed at Fran’s somewhat empty threat, my stomach still throwing a fit. “No, I’m right serious, love. I literally can’t afford to dress up every time I leave the flat. Just not possible.”

I sighed. “Well, I can talk to him about it if you’d like.”

Fran waved me off, leaning back into her seat. “No, that’s fine. It’s not like he can do anything about it, anyway. I guess I’ll just have to buy myself a new wardrobe and suffer through it.”

When Valenti parked in front of our flat, I let Fran get out first before I took over the passenger seat. I touched Val’s arm to get his attention so he wouldn’t ride off before I could tumble out of his smelly, smoky van.

He steadied his hand, settling it in his lap. “What’s up, ducks?”

I looked back over my shoulder, making sure Fran had already ducked inside our building, before I shut the door closed and turned around in my seat.

“We’re good, right?”

“What do you mean?” he asked skeptically, his forehead wrinkling under the edge of his snapback. “If you’re talking about the gum, it’s been almost a year now, and I’ve told you, I’m still so sorry—”

“No, no, not that.” I brushed my hands over my work-rumpled hair, tossing him a smile.

The only reason I had such a short pixie cut, as normally I’d never take such a risk, was because Val had accidentally gotten a wad of gum in my previously elbow-length hair when he was aiming for a bin I was leaning next to instead. Even though I absolutely hated the haircut at first, over time I found shorter hair to my liking and I ended up keeping it. Not only was it easy to care for, but I looked well cute in it, too.

“What, then?” he asked warily, pulling out a cigarette from his pack and sticking it behind his ear for later.

“It’s just, y’know, Louis.” I licked my lips, burying my hands in my lap and staring at them. “I’m sorry I kept him from you. But I didn’t want to get your hopes up if he was just looking for a cheap therapist for five seconds.”

“And you were probably afraid I’d sell you two out as well, right?”

I gaped at Valenti, my cheeks nearly going red as I scrambled to defend myself. “No, no, no, I didn’t—”

“Yeah, you did.” He shook his head and sucked at his teeth. “It’s fine, though. I understand. I get it, Newcastle. But no worries. I’ve got it locked down.”

“Alreet.” I sighed. “And… And we’re good?” I asked quietly, my voice barely humming over the air conditioning.

He scoffed and reached over to lightly punch me in the shoulder. “Of course, duckie. I don’t care, honestly.” He smiled at me, his eyes crinkling easily. “I know you’re not a big talker and whatnot. You like to keep everything to yourself. I get that. I don’t mind.” He chuckled to himself, then reached over and pulled at the gearshift.

I reached out and opened the door, jumping down and shouldering it back closed in one swift motion.

When I was at the door to my building, Valenti honked once. I jumped, nearly tripping over the front steps, and turned around. He was reaching over to crank down the passenger window, throwing me a wave. As I waved back, he suddenly yelled through the window, his voice carrying easily.

“But don’t expect me to not blab when you two start shaggin’!”

And then he sped off before he could catch the repulsed look pulling at my lips.

I was just a few feet from the door to my flat when my phone started ringing wildly. I nabbed it from my pocket as I pulled my bowtie from around my neck. By the first flight of stairs, I was blushing, and by the second, I was breathing like I’d just finished a hundred sit-ups. I sucked in one last breath before answering, my palm flat against the wall next to my door as I leaned forward.

“’Lo?”

“Just wondering if you wanted to hang out Saturday.” I winced when I heard Louis’s voice, squeaky and harsh like it was my own alarm clock. It sounded like he just woke up, even though last time I checked, it was already half one. “We could watch the game. I’ll bring the beer if you’re on the fence.”

“You should ask if I’m free first, you twit,” I choked out teasingly. I heaved another breath, then straightened up. I was at least thankful he had called before I got inside, but for half a second, Fran listening in on our conversation almost sounded better than panting on the phone like a stalker. “And speaking of which, as much as I would like to tell you to suck it when Newcastle beats your nancy-arsed Man U, I’ve got work Saturday.”

“Ouch. If you hate me so much, why don’t you just go ahead and say it? Just put me out of my misery already.”

“I hate you so much that I could squash that melon you’re just barely passing off as an excuse for brains without the barest hint of guilt,” I said, smiling all the same.

“Hate you too, babe.”

I ran my teeth over my bottom lip and turned around, leaning my back against the door. “Seriously Louis, why don’t you bother the four other clones you call mates? I’ve got things to do, okay. New term and all of that. Essays due, textbooks to read, projects to plan.”

“Now, what about Sunday? You free then?”

I balked. “Louis!”

“So Sunday’s no good. How about Friday?” he suggested, not skipping a beat.

“For fuck’s sake, mate. When will you let it go?”

“When you toss the act you’re throwing me and agree to hang out with me.” He said it like he was reading it from a set of furniture assembly directions, his voice light and crisp.

“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”

“Good. So… Friday?”

|||

I dropped myself into the settee next to Fran, who was blushing and damn near sweating with the look she had on her face.

“You look constipated.”

“Thanks, love,” she said, glancing at me over he shoulder. She finished writing another sentence on her notepad before leaning back against the couch, her eyes slipping closed.

“What’s all this work for?” I reached out for her notes, but nearly dropped them like they were crawling with spiders when I realized it was all just a bunch of scribbled maths and theories and equations, most of which I could barely even follow. Most of it crawled around the edges of the page in Fran’s infamously messy script, the page nearly filled to the brim with numbers and weird symbols.

“Group project.” I nodded, waiting for her to go on. She opened her eyes, fixating them on the ceiling. “We have to find a way that one could disprove a bunch of early theories that were published a few centuries ago. Write a short essay on each. And it’s just my fucking luck that most of my group members don’t even show up to class half the time.”

“Even though all of that nearly went over my head, I feel your pain.”

“Really, now?” She licked her lips and tucked her pencil behind her ear, eyeing me challengingly.

“Compare and contrast essay, due in a week. It’s on a collection of poems, too.” Fran let out a low whistle, reaching for her textbook and sticking a page of notes inside. “Who knew getting an education would be so much fun?”

Fran laughed, setting her feet on the coffee table. “When’s your new best mate gonna be here?”

“Okay, first of all, he’s not my new best mate. Maybe a friendly acquaintance at best.” I glanced over my shoulder at the clock in the kitchen. “And he’ll be here soon enough. He said he had a surprise with him as well. I tried to pry it out of him, but he wouldn’t have it, so if he ends up burning the flat down with all that hairspray he bathes in every morning while I’m trying to make tea, I’m telling you now that it’s not me fault.”

“I hope his surprise is one of those delicious band mates of his. I could use a distraction.”

“That sounds more like a disaster.” Fran gasped and smacked my knee. I just snorted and shook my head. “I hope his idea of a surprise is beer. Haven’t had a proper drink in ages.”

“Of course, you’re the one that wants beer instead.” She looked confused all of a sudden, watching me from the corner of her eye. “What are you two doing, exactly? Because I’m still waiting for the kitchen to be cleared out so I can have breakfast.”

Throughout the morning, I’d bogarted the entire kitchen, shooing out Fran the second she took a step on the tile. “Got everything out for a fry-up.” I rubbed my hands together. “He’s gonna help me.”

“Sure, that definitely doesn’t sound like a date,” she said, suggestively wiggling her expertly plucked eyebrows.

I batted a hand at her, grinning to the point of nearly laughing. “Oi, you cheeky girl. Abandon that ship before it sinks.”

“Seriously though, why couldn’t he have come over earlier?” She folded her hands into her lap and twisted to face me. “Right, see, I have lab time to reserve and no breakfast to speak of, and you’re making some fry-up while I’m gonna be gone. It’s just loads of bullshit.”

“Why not bunk off your lab work, stay in? You could spend the morning with a fifth of One Direction instead of your lousy study group,” I suggested.

Fran gave me an odd look, then burst out a single laugh that nearly exploded my eardrums. “I am most definitely not third-wheeling for you and Louis.”

I nearly sneered, but bit it back, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“If he eats everything, which is more than likely, I’ll just make some more when you get back, alreet? I’ve got your back.”

“So does Louis,” she muttered, nearly smirking her lips right off.

“I’m… I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” I muttered, shaking my head of the thought.

Whatever predictably bland comeback Fran had opened her mouth to shoot out was cut short at the sound of the buzzer. I made my way to the intercom by the door, taking my time in hopes of calming my nerves. As much as I hated to admit it, having Louis over a second time kind of made me anxious. It almost felt like I was auditioning to become one of his mates with the way my stomach wouldn’t stop twisting all morning.

I didn’t even bother asking who was ringing up the flat, instead opting out of the usual small talk over the intercom and buzzing Louis right up. I waited in the kitchen for him to knock, hoping he’d notice the Post-It carefully placed on my door at what I guessed to be his eye-level with the number 14 outlined in Sharpie.

I’d just finished using the bathroom and was making my way back to the kitchen when I heard voices – not just Louis’s – on the other side of the door. I smiled to myself and crept to the entrance, taking a peek at Louis through the peephole before I pressed my ear to the door.

I could definitely make out Louis’s voice, loud and harsh as it called down the hallway for another person to catch up. But then I heard an Irish bloke speak up, nearly breathless, just like Valenti would get after climbing up the stairs to our flat.

“I hope her cooking is worth this, or I’m taking a cricket bat to your piano next time I come ‘round, mate,” he said, gasping in between his sentences. “If you had told me she lived fucking four floors up and we had to use the bloody stairs, I wouldn’t have come along.”

“Oh, come off it. I’m starting to think that I should’ve just left you, Niall.” He chuckled then, and his voice got louder, his footsteps vibrating the floor under my feet. “I promise you she’s quite the girl. I think you’ll like her.”

“Like her?” I mouthed, my brow screwing up.

“Because I do.”

I nearly heaved a sigh of relief. The last thing I needed was to be set up with the loud-mouthed, childish Irish bloke in the band.

Before Louis could knock on my door, I pulled it open in one swift motion, the force spitting out a gush of air that fluttered my copper bangs off my forehead.

“Hiya,” I said after a moment. Louis was speechless, his fist still held up in the air as he stared at me.

“I knew you’d hear us before we even got to the door. So much for the first half of my surprise.”

“Half your surprise was a giddy blond Irish fellow?” I snorted, tossing Niall a wave over Louis’s shoulder, one which he belatedly returned, as he was too focused on Louis and I and his severe lack of regular exercise to make any sudden movements. “I hope whatever else you brought can at least attempt to make up for the current severe lack of surprise in my life.”

“Okay, first of all, he’s less giddy now that he’s climbed up four flights of stairs, so I’m sorry if he doesn’t absolutely blow your socks off. And secondly…” His arm swung from behind his back, and I only then did I realize that he was hiding something behind it. “Well, I just grabbed the one with ‘Newcastle’ in the name.”

Louis held up a six-pack of glass-bottled Newcastle Brown Ale, his muscles straining under his raglan t-shirt. I reached for the brews, and he gladly let me take them before he waved Niall forward.

“Newkie Brown?” I gasped, my accent coming out in full force. “I don’t know whether to take offense or to kiss your idiotic face.”

Niall opened his mouth to say something, but whatever look Louis shot him over his shoulder made him bite back his words and smile sheepishly.

“I said I was gonna bring the beer, right? Did I come through?”

“Definitely.” I nodded and reached out to Louis’s shoulder, pushing him into the tight-fit hallway. I waved Niall in after him, nodding a quick greeting.

“So, uh, this is Niall.” Louis pointed behind his shoulder as we walked down the corridor in single file.

“Hiya. Again.”

Niall nodded and smiled at me over his shoulder. “Blake, right?”

I returned his cheeky grin, though only half-heartedly. I wasn’t expecting a whole other person to entertain while Fran would be at class. Speaking of which, she was going to flip a shit when she saw her second favorite member of One Direction waltz into our flat.

“This way, right?”

I nodded at Louis, who was parked right outside the kitchen. Niall followed him out of the hallway, quick on his heels.

“Beer and a fry-up. What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”

I walked around Niall, who was practically drooling all over his tank top while staring at the ingredients I had set out, and yanked open the fridge. I stuck the beer inside, hoping it’d be at least somewhat cool by the time I finished making breakfast.

“Nothing just yet. You’re going to have to keep working for my love, mate,” I told him, setting my arms on the top of the fridge door. “And you can start by helping me make breakfast!”

The corner of Louis’s mouth picked up in a sneer, his lips twitching as he tried to hold it back.

“What?”

He reached up and brushed his fingers over his bangs, which were blow-dried straight above his forehead. “I can’t cook.”

“No way.” I snorted, then looked over at Niall, who was dangerously close to stealing a biscuit from a box that I had pulled out earlier for my morning tea. “He’s lying, yeah?”

Niall’s hand shot back into the package, and he gave me a carefully blank look. “He almost burned down the tour bus once,” he admitted.

When I looked back at Louis, he had a smug look waiting for me, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t handle a knife properly.” I shut the fridge and pulled one out of the block, setting it on the cutting board. “Wash up first. I don’t know where your hands have been.”

“You don’t want to know, either,” Niall mumbled behind a stuffed mouth, closing the box as a biscuit dangled dangerously between his lips. “Where’s the loo?”

“Down the hall, to your left. Don’t mistake it for my room or I’ll throttle you.” Niall stopped just at the mouth of the hallway, both hands planted firmly against the jamb. “And if you get piss all over the floor, my flatmate’s gonna kill me, alreet?”

Niall only laughed once before he disappeared.

“He’s a character, yeah?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Sure, that’s one way to put it. Seems nice enough, anyway.”

Louis laughed and made his way to the sink, washing his hands quickly with the dish soap. I fetched him a clean towel when he couldn’t find one, tossing it in his direction. It hit his face, falling into his waiting hands as he glared at me.

“What, afraid I messed up your hair?” My fingers danced above my head as I smirked.

“Impossible with the way Lou fixes it up,” he joked, wiping off his hands. He threw the towel back at me forcibly, but I caught it before it smacked me in the face, much to his chagrin.

“Lou? That’s your hairdresser, right?”

“Mmm, yeah.” He nodded and leaned his folded arms on the island. “She comes over sometimes and fixes up my hair. She did it this morning. Brought Lux over.” He smiled to himself, then reached for a couple grapes that Fran kept in a small bowl in the middle of the island, her lame excuse for healthy eating under our roof.

I couldn’t help as a smile of my own worked its way to my lips. Louis talking about that little girl like that made him seem, well, almost human to me. At least for a moment, it made me forget he was world famous and absolutely flush on top of it all.

“Blake!”

My head snapped to the living room, and I pushed myself off the counter and took a peek from the kitchen sink next to Louis.

Niall had planted himself on the coffee table directly in front of Fran, his legs wide open as he stared her down, a blithe smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?” I called tentatively, eyeing Fran as she gripped her textbook to her chest.

“You could have at least warned me that another one of those five idiots would be here instead of letting me nearly spill my tea all over my notes, you know.”

Niall’s cheeky smile stretched into a shit-eating grin as Fran said this, his brow shooting up as propped his elbows up on his knees. Fran visibly jumped, tossing him a stiff look.

“I’m trying to get some coursework done here, you gorgeous git.” She sat up straighter, pushing her wavy bangs back behind her ear as she put on a resolved face, a blush tickling her cheeks. “So please, as much as it pains me to say this, go away.”

Niall’s grin only fell slightly before he shrugged and hopped off the coffee table. He winked at Fran, who, if she weren’t so cheesed off, would’ve fainted right off the couch, and made his way back to the kitchen, his hands shoved into his jeans.

“You sure know how to win a girl’s heart, don’t you?” I teased, clapping him on the shoulder.

Niall’s cheeks got pink as he stole the stool under the counter right from Louis’s hands and plopped straight onto it.

“Does she go to Met with you?”

I nodded at Louis, picking up the knife from the cutting board and handing it to him. “In any other situation, she’d be screaming her head off, so it’s not you, mate. Not that you need your ego massaged any more than it already is.” Niall bit back a smile as he stared at his hands in his lap.

I plucked a couple of tomatoes from a bag and set them on the cutting board, then reached over the corner of the island. I pinched Louis’s shirt sleeve and pulled him towards me, ignoring his protests, and pointed to the tomatoes. “Start cutting.”

Enough sausage and eggs to feed Fran and me for a week and five beers later, Louis, Niall, and I were spread about the settee, the telly quietly playing some rerun of an American buddy cop show that Niall always loved to watch on tour.

“I don’t get it. Is he a psychic or is he not?” I mumbled, too preoccupied with Louis’s legs in my lap to really pay any attention to the show.

They were huge and heavy, and I had been trying my damndest for the past half hour to keep myself from accidentally taking a whiff of his feet as they dangled over my thighs. His leg hair stuck out from under his socks just under the folded cuffs of his jeans, all gnarly and weird. I hadn’t been that close to another person’s feet since the weekend my dad volunteered to work a carnival for Cooper’s school almost five years ago. I felt bad enough for him that I massaged his feet when he came home that night, though it took a crisp fiver for me to even swallow the thought of touching those smelly things.

But quite unlike my dad, Louis just plopped his legs into my lap the second I fell onto the couch, and all my teasing and shoving couldn’t win over the fact that the couch Fran and I had was only just big enough to fit two people comfortably. But then halfway through the episode, Niall got up to grab his third beer and Louis quickly took his place in the absence of dibbs. He still hadn’t moved his feet when he settled in the roomy corner of the sofa, but by then, I was too buzzed and comfortable to care anymore.

“No, of course not,” Niall answered for about the fifth time, his voice tight and exasperated. “He’s just really good at reading people.”

“Sounds a lot like you,” Louis pointed out, nudging his heel into my kneecap.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said, pinching his socked foot. He laughed at the tickling sensation, his toes dancing.

“Where’s the loo again?” he asked a moment later.

I pointed to the mouth of the corridor, letting my arm fall and smack against his thigh. “Take a left. You’ll find it well enough.”

It felt like a breath of fresh air to my crotch when Louis finally slid his legs off mine. He jogged out of the room just as the commercials started, probably eager to get back before the stupid cop show came back on.

I was taking a pull of my beer when Niall asked, “Are you two fucking?”

I nearly spat out my sip and rounded on the boy sitting on the floor against the couch, his cheeks once again the color of raspberry lemonade. I couldn’t stop the same hot, embarrassing blush that pooled under my skin.

“Had yer gob, gutterface,” I seethed, shooting him the darkest look I could muster. “My flat’s not as soundproof as your brain seems to be.”

Niall looked almost taken aback, like he hadn’t expected himself to even ask such an awkward question to begin with. “C-come again?”

I threw my hands up and crossed my legs underneath me. “Oh my god, listen to yourself. Seriously? I’m not sleeping with Louis. Like hell I would.” I licked my lips, my head still shaking back and forth like a pendulum. “He just broke up with Vic, remember?” I gestured to the corner of my flat with my thumb, somewhere near where the bathroom was.

“Alright, I get it.” Niall nodded, reaching up and ruffling his hair as he turned his attention back to the telly. “Sorry I asked.”

Another commercial played before I piped up again, my voice significantly softer and apologetic. “I just, I’m sorry if I… I don’t know. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, we’re… We’re not. Definitely not.”

“Aye.” He nodded again, carefully ignoring my steady gaze, then reached for his unfinished beer on the floor next to him and took a quick swig. It was his third one this morning, as Louis and I only had one bottle each. Come to think of it, Niall had probably eaten as much as Louis and I had put together. It was damn near unnatural how he could eat as much as he did and not even sprout out a food baby under his tank top.

“What? Are you, I don’t know, disappointed or something?”

Niall glanced at me as he drank, then pulled the bottle from his lips, the smack and pop that followed echoing around us. “Nah.” He shook his head and set down his beer. “I just think Louis needs a good shag. Vic fucked him over big time, you know.”

I nodded. “I know. Most of it, anyway.”

Niall nodded like he understood. “I’m sorry, though. Didn’t mean to offend you. I probably sound like the biggest fuckin’ prick to you right now, don’t I?”

I glanced at Niall, who was slowly taking the shape of a scorned puppy, sitting at the foot of the couch like that with his cheeks red and his hair mussed. “No, no. It’s alreet. And I’m not offended. It’s just...” I trailed off, biting my lip.

“Yeah?” Niall urged after a brief pause.

“I’m not surprised, I guess. It’s kind of weird though, yeah? Making friends with a complete stranger?”

Niall’s face was nearly blank, his eyes bright. I wouldn’t be surprised if everything I just said went over his head.

“No, you’re completely right.” He nodded his head finally, then focused back on the telly, where the last advert was just finishing up. “But seeing Louis making a new friend, especially someone like you?” Niall shrugged, setting his chin in his palm, his elbow digging into his knee. “It definitely trumps him feeling shitty about what happened with Vic.”

I started, just realizing something. “Speaking of Louis, does it usually take him this long to take a piss?”

Niall snorted loudly. “With the way he attacked the beans, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just taking a nice dump.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Niall shot me a smile over his shoulder.

It was almost ten minutes later when the murderer was caught and Niall had finally finished his beer, letting out a belch loud enough to wake any sleeping children on our floor. I finally got caught up in the show and hadn’t even noticed that Louis still wasn’t back from his marathon dump until the credits started rolling.

“If that git hit his head and is lying in a pool of blood on my bathroom floor, I’m telling you now that I’m not one to be sued,” I told Niall, shooting up from the couch.

“You’ll have to tell that to Dadrian. He’ll throw a fit before any lawyers get involved.”

I stopped at the mouth of the hallway and scoffed. “I don’t doubt it. His arms are big enough to give me nightmares.”

Niall only laughed, carefully rolling his empty bottle between his hands.

I braced myself against the doorjamb and peeked into the hallway. The light in the bathroom was on, seeping through the wide-open door, and I could hear the fan hum quietly. For a second, I hoped that Louis hadn’t left the door open to use the loo like he was at his own house, but then I noticed another light coming from the opposite side of the hallway.

Louis was in my bedroom.

I nearly sprinted down the hallway like I was in a bid for a new world record, my arms flailing around me as my feet smacked against the shag carpet. But once I reached my door, I bumped straight into Louis’s chest, and the both of us toppled to the ground, right back into my bedroom.

And for once, I was thankful that my floor was nearly covered with slightly-less-than-clean clothes.

My teeth clashed together when I fell to the ground, a searing pain shooting up through my jaw. Louis’s face was somewhere near my boobs, his knee digging painfully into my thigh as his arms flailed near my waist. I pushed him off of me and sat up, gingerly picking off a pair of maroon knickers that had clung to my jeans in the landing and tossing them aside before Louis could get a better look than the one he probably already had while I was still hanging out on the couch with Niall.

“Sorry about that, babe,” he mumbled, fumbling to his feet like a baby deer. He reached down and offered me his hand, and before I could really put up a front and start berating him for snooping through my things, I accepted it and let him pull me to my feet.

His hand was cool and slightly wet, probably from washing his hands. I just caught a peek of the four birds along his wrist as I stood up, as the sleeve from his raglan tee covered most of the ink along his right arm.

“What are you doing in my room?” I asked through gritted teeth, busying myself with brushing off imaginary dust from my shirt so I wouldn’t have to face the blush I’d already saw crawling across his cheeks.

“I—”

“And think about your answer carefully, because if there’s one thing you should know about me, I despise liars.”

Louis sighed heavily, then wrapped his fingers around my wrist, pulling me out of my room. He reached to shut the door behind us, but my maroon knickers got caught in the doorway. He kicked them inside, his cheeks burning, and shut the door behind us. In the light coming from the bathroom, I could easily see that the deep blush that had crept across his cheeks had spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

He kept his head down as he leaned against my bedroom door, shoving his hands into his pockets. His jeans nearly fell off his waist, and I could clearly see the elastic waistband of his briefs peeking out from under the hem of his shirt.

I was torn for my stupor when he cleared his throat, a blush not unlike his own blotching my cheeks. The last thing I needed was for Louis to think I was staring. I’d rather he see I was absolutely seething.

“Your door was open,” he quietly offered. “And the light was still on.”

I crossed my arms.. “So? It’s not like I have a sign on my door welcoming any and every nosy tosser that walks by!” I nearly yelled, my words clipped.

Louis winced and set his jaw, his eyes still focused on the negligible amount of shag carpet between us.

“Fine.” I tossed my hands up and let them smack against my sides. “Don’t explain yourself. I get it. I know that I’m closed off, alreet? I know I’m not a bloody open book. Just…” I sighed, pushing my fingers through my bangs as I shook my head. “Please don’t do anything like that again.”

I was almost halfway down the corridor when he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “You love movies, don’t you?”

I stopped mid-step, balling my hands into fists. I was sure with my grip, I’d pinch crescent moons into my palm hard enough that my skin would break open.

“I wasn’t in your room for long. Honestly, that’s… That’s all I noticed. Well, I mean, that, and you must really love Star Wars if you have six different versions of it.”

I bit down hard my bottom lip, glancing just over my shoulder. I could hear Louis’s feet padding against the floor, his footsteps light and careful.

“As good as you are at reading people, you forget that everyone isn’t just like you.” He weaved around me, then glanced over his shoulder once more before walking back into the living room, a dark blush still burning his cheeks.