Louis’ POV
“Niall, where the *hell* were you, mate?” I ask, playfully bumping my finger against his chest. His brown hair was deliberately tousled, and he wore a dark blue button-down shirt with black skinny jeans—classic Niall going-out attire.
Instead of answering, Niall grinned and grabbed my hand, pulling me into a hug. I’m not much for physical affection (except in romantic contexts), but Niall is practically family. I can never resist a hug from my best mate.
I tried to suppress the smile creeping across my face, turning back to Niall. “So?” I asked, repeating my question. “Sorry, Lou. There was trouble on the N train,” he said, shouting over the music, which was starting back up again.
I bit my lip, wondering if I could believe him. Knowing Niall and his antics, there was a fifty-fifty chance he was fibbing. I raised an eyebrow, following him as he headed towards center stage.
“Trains were the only issue?” I pressed, trying to raise my voice above the pulsing beat. “Alright, you got me. I took a night nap and forgot. Literally woke up twenty minutes ago. Hence the bedhead,” Niall said, pointing to his hair and rolling his eyes.
I lightly slapped Niall on the back, giggling. “Fucking knew it. Alright, let’s go get you a drink,” I said, as we continued walking past the stage to the bar area. Unfortunately, the bachelorette group had been replaced by a cluster of hipster college students, peppering questions about whiskey quality and brewery sustainability.
“Fuck this hipster trash,” I whispered to Niall, though loud enough to be heard across the room. My stomach tightened at the thought of competing for the bartender’s attention against this crowd—a fight I often lost because of my squeaky voice and inability to assert myself. As sassy as I am, aggression just isn’t in my personality… though I’d probably fight my sisters tooth and nail if they tried to steal food from the fridge.
“Don’t worry, mate. I got this,” Niall said, sensing my anxiety, patting me on the back. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd, my shoulders bumping against floral shirts and oversized glasses.
“Hello, Mike! Nice to see ya. Can I get four tequila shots?” Niall yelled to the bartender with a generous smile. I watched in astonishment as the muscular man with tattooed arms stopped what he was doing and began pouring shots, golden liquid filling the glasses to the brim.
“Fuck, Ni. Two shots each? I already had a drink,” I said worriedly. I didn’t like drinking too much—fear of hangovers and extra calories. I wasn’t confident with my body image, though Niall always assured me I had nothing to worry about. He was probably right, but sometimes I couldn’t help but feel insecure.
“Here you go!”
The bartender’s booming voice interrupted my internal monologue. I locked eyes with Niall, who had already grabbed his shot. I picked mine up with shaking hands, focusing hard to avoid spilling on my white T-shirt. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter when Niall smashed his glass into mine seconds later, sending golden drops all over my shirt.
Frowning, I glared at a giggling Niall and then threw my head back, allowing the burning liquid to trickle down my throat.
“Fuck yeah, mate!” Niall said, giving me a high five. “Remember when you used to choke on your shots? You spit one out on me once, Lou!” I shook my head, smiling. “So this was revenge for that?” I questioned, pointing down at my stained shirt. “Looks like I pissed on my shirt.”
Niall chuckled and handed me the second shot glass. I grimaced, remembering that a night out with my Irish best friend often meant spending way more money than I expected and consuming way more alcohol than I planned.
I was starting to feel warm—tequila always had that effect. I took the glass from Niall, laughing as I threw my head back for another rush, the harsh liquid burning my throat.
“Wooh!” I yelled. “Fuck yeah.” Niall and I bumped fists and then started walking back to the stage, ready for the music to accompany our blossoming tipsiness.
“The singer is mad hot,” I told Niall, weaving through the crowd. Suddenly, I didn’t mind the crush of bodies anymore. With Niall here and tequila by my side, I was starting to relax, unbothered by the crowd surrounding me.
“Oooh,” Niall responded, pointing to an open spot next to center stage. “You should talk to him later when he gets off.” Niall was as straight as an arrow, but always felt the need to give me dating advice, assuming all I had to do was talk to a guy and magically be dating him. I scowled at him, squinting to show my annoyance.
“No way. I prefer to admire from afar,” I told him, resting an elbow on the stage. A guitar solo was building, and the strong vibrations nearly knocked me backwards in a panic.
“Suit yourself. But they usually come and get drinks around one when the show’s over, if you wanna stick around,” Niall said, shrugging. “Anyways, this band is so good, right? I discovered them through a friend at work. Their album just came out on Spotify last week. They’re not super big yet, but they will be.”
I nodded excitedly at Niall, making a mental note to binge-listen to that album as soon as I got home. “Yeah, they’re incredibly good. Smooth and calming with an edge. I love the singer’s voice,” I admitted, blushing as I realized I’d mentioned the singer for the second time in five minutes. “Drummer’s cute too.”
“Harry is the singer. Harry Styles. And Liam Payne is the guitarist. Chris Adams is the drummer, I think. They’re a great group,” Niall said, swaying as the guitar solo ended and Harry resumed singing. I felt my heart flutter as his deep voice reverberated through the room, occasionally hitting breathy high notes that made me shiver.
Niall and I stayed by the stage, dancing—clapping or jumping in place, mostly—or shouting over the music to discuss our lives and catch up on drama. Niall and I were total gossips, and right now we were fascinated by Carey from his office cheating on her husband with Dave from finance. Juicy stuff!
After half an hour, we headed back to the bar for another round. Niall wanted whiskey, so I settled on a Moscow mule, biting on my straw as Niall downed his drink. Then, we went back to our usual spot at the stage.
Niall and I, now drunker than before, began dancing again, looser and more uninhibited. I quickly decided my drink was impeding my moves, so I set it on the stage to jump around more easily.
It was a terrible mistake.
A few minutes later, as the song finished, Harry began walking towards center stage, right where Niall and I were standing. I panicked. With Harry so close, inches away on the stage, even alcohol couldn’t help me relax.
As he sang the final note, Harry started shuffling his feet, which I found cute. But just as I was admiring Harry’s long legs—were those man leggings or just tight jeans?—he kicked my drink, sending it flying to the ground with a clatter.
“Oh fuck,” I screamed to Niall, burying my face in my hands. Niall just laughed, hitting me playfully and pointing at Harry, who was jumping off stage. I blinked, making sure it was real, and when I opened my eyes, he was standing directly next to me—inches from my face.
“So sorry about that,” Harry said, breathing heavily from the song. His green eyes connected with mine, and I realized for the second time tonight he was looking at me—talking to me with that perfect, deep British accent that made my ears feel like they were floating to heaven.
Holy shit.
“I… No, it’s my fault for putting it there. Sorry,” I stammered, desperately trying not to sound awkward and panicked. Clearly, I was failing.
“Nah. People always put their drinks on the stage. I should have known,” he said, handing me my mug. “Listen, meet me at the bar at the end of the show. I’ll buy you another one.”
I looked at Niall for help, but he was just standing there quietly, watching me with wide eyes. “You really don’t have to do that,” I said, shaking my head. Why the hell did I say that? I thought immediately after. I was so stupid sometimes…
“I really do. I’ll be looking for ya,” he said, a tiny smirk forming on his lips. Then, he turned on his heel and hopped back onto the stage, his hips flying effortlessly over the platform.
I think, at that moment, I died.