𝒾𝒻 𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 (𝓁.𝓈.)

twenty-five

Opening the door to your two best friends with stony but determined looks on their faces when it's 8 am and you're hungover is not the best feeling in the world. It's probably one of the worst. Right after getting drunk off your arse because you made a stupid decision and now the most important thing in your life has gone to shit.

But it's not like I have personal experience or anything.

"What the fuck is this?" I demand.

"An intervention," Liam declares, shoving his way past me into my house. I move so Zayn can follow, managing to avoid his killer shoulder bone, and close the door behind them.

"Yes, come right in, make yourselves at home," I say sarcastically. Liam raises an eyebrow at me and Zayn leans against the wall next to the door, arms crossed and expression betraying no hint of emotion whatsoever.

"Okay, honestly, what is happening right now?" I'm sick of lies and secrets and half-not-really-betrayals, so they'd better spit it the fuck out before I flip my shit.

When neither man answers immediately, I throw my hands up in exasperation. "You know what? Never mind. Follow me if you'd like. I'm going to get an Advil."

"Were you drinking last night?" Liam asks, and I find the question endlessly annoying. Isn't the answer obvious?

"Yes," I answer anyway.

"Alone?" Liam continues. And what is this, a fucking interrogation?

"Yes," I repeat before opening a cabinet and pulling out the bottle of pills, unscrewing the lid with more force than is really necessary and dropping a pill into my hand. I toss it back into my throat, swallowing it dry. I've been hungover enough times that it's practically second nature by now.

"Louis, you shouldn't be drinking alone. And definitely not that much." Liam, who's followed me into the kitchen, gestures to the empty bottle of vodka sitting on the kitchen counter. Zayn is now leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, his arms still crossed, but his expression almost...impressed?

"There wasn't that much left, to be fair," I mumble, but Liam isn't having it.

"How much was there?"

I don't answer.

"Louis." It's Zayn. The first word he's spoken since coming here. Liam's the one who does the talking, but Zayn always backs him up. If he finds the situation serious enough to intervene, I'm in deep shit. Like I didn't already know that.

"Fine. Like three-fourths of the bottle. Why do you care?"

"Because you're our friend, Louis," Liam says. "We care about you. And this isn't good for you."

He tries to put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off, not having it. "Oh, yeah? And how the fuck would you know? It's not like I've seen you at all this past month."

"Who's fault is that?" Liam replies, eerily calm. "You always came over to ours, every week. You're the one who's been skipping."

"I don't remember getting any calls when I was forced into an engagement I didn't want."

Liam trades a look with Zayn. "How's it been going with Harry?" Liam asks, carefully, as though he's walking through a conversational minefield.

Well, he just stepped on a bomb. The biggest one.

"Shit," I reply angrily. "It's shit. We're just never on the same page and we're trying to save each other but we're failing and I love him but he—"

I stop and blink, realizing what my stupid, unfiltered mouth just let slip.

"You love him?" Zayn asks, only his second line of dialogue since arriving at my house.

I look up at him, and the look on his face isn't judgmental, but sympathetic. "I...uh..." I try, but I can't get words past my lips.

"It's only been a month, Louis," Liam says gently. I glance at him, then at the ground.

"I know," I whisper. "I don't—that was stupid. Ignore that. I didn't mean—I mean, I didn't—"

"Louis, it's okay if you meant it." Liam smiles softly at me. "Sometimes you just know, you know?"

I breathe out a sigh of relief. "Yeah."

Zayn and Liam trade another look before Liam steps closer and Zayn pushes himself off of the wall, both of them coming in and wrapping their arms tightly around me. I'm squished between them, but they're my best friends, and they love me, and I know I love them, even when we argue. They've always been here for me, and they are now. Something warm blooms in my chest and spreads throughout my entire body. I bury my face in Liam's shirt, not caring that tears and snot are probably going to be all over it.

Zayn's rubbing soothing circles on my back and Liam's running his hands gently through my hair, and I pretend to be this tough guy, but I'm a sucker for cuddles. I really need them right now.

Just maybe not from them.

I wriggle free eventually, and Liam glances down at his tear-stained shirt, but doesn't say anything.

"I need to go," I choke out, wiping my eyes and nose furiously. "I have to go and talk to him. He'll probably just tell me to leave again, but I have to try."

Liam and Zayn both nod seriously.

"We'll be back at ours. Come there if you need anything, yeah?" Liam says, and I nod. Zayn gives me one last squeeze, and then they're gone.

Intervention handled.

For a second I think about sitting down, maybe opening another bottle of vodka, and slipping back into my depression and lovesickness. But that wouldn't get me any closer to what I really want.

I huff out a sigh and lean over the kitchen sink, turning on the tap and splashing some water onto my face. I don't have a mirror in here, so I can't see myself, but I'm sure my face is red from crying. There are probably marks from the folds in Liam's shirt. But I don't care.

My feet carry me over to the front door, my hand reaching out to grab my keys where they're tossed haphazardly on the table next to the entrance. I close and lock the door, feeling like I'm on autopilot, and less than a minute later I'm in my car. All I can do is hope I won't get papped, but at this point I don't give a fuck. The only thing running through my mind is Harry, Harry, Harry.

I drive to Harry's house, my brain cloudy, but my internal GPS working its magic. When I get there, I open the door and immediately almost get run over by a car driving too fast down the road. I press my body against the side of my car, breathless. That was close.

Shaking my head to clear it, at least as much as possible right now, I walk up to the front door and knock. I debate doing one of those cheesy ones Harry does, from Disney movies or some shit like that, but I stick with a nice normal one. Three knocks in quick succession.

I wait, tapping my foot nervously, my hands itching to grab a cigarette, but I didn't bring any. That's definitely for the best.

I hear a click and the door swings open slowly, inch by inch, and half of Harry's face is visible, then all of it. He blinks in surprise.

"Louis? What are you..."

"Hi," I breathe out when he trails off. "I'm—"

My eyes focus on something over Harry's shoulder. It's none other than Taylor Swift, sitting in Harry's living room, her legs crossed, sinking into the back of the sofa, looking comfortable and at home.

I can't do this.

A/N: Oop. I really love those cliff-hangers, don't I? Well, even I can't wait, so I'll publish the next part soon, because this story is just flowing out of me. I love it so much.

Let me know what you think!! Love you all, thank you so much for reading. Always treat people with kindness <3.

xo, K