lookin' so satisfied (ng/lt)

Jan 25, 2013 04:34

title: lookin' so satisfied
pairing: nick grimshaw/louis tomlinson
word count: ~5,300
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
summary: AU. nick's a big fat stupid jerk and he stole louis's favourite kitten.
notes: based on a prompt from and dedicated to my gurls checkthemargins, miss_mady even tho i doubt she'll like this but whateva, and also sadie because she's had a bad few days. also hahahahaha 2 fics in 2 days what the hell is going on. this is just dumb and overly cute and it's about goddamn kittens and it was real hard not to make nick a jerk but i think i did an admirable job. anyway. everyone should write more of this ship bc it's like crack in every sense.



The first thing Louis does when he gets to work is let the kittens out of their crates. There's only three right now, because it's just after Christmas and apparently kittens are popular gifts, and after unlocking the register and feeding them, he lays down behind the counter and lets them crawl all over him. There's never customers until around noon, so Louis has a good two hours to play with the kittens. There's an orange and white tabby that he calls Snap, there's a black and white one he calls Crackle, and there's a tan fluffy ball he calls Pop. Pop is his favourite - he's the tiniest, even with the long hair, and he is the least graceful animal Louis has ever seen. He trips over his own paws and he's got so much fur that he can barely see, so he runs into the little barrier Louis creates with his legs, swaying on his short little legs and looking adorably confused.

His favourite place in the world is curled up in the hood of Louis's sweatshirt, batting at his neck, and crawling up to nestle in the curve of his shoulder.

Louis would adopt him in a minute if he had the time - he would never get to class or either of his jobs on time if he had a warm little kitten to play with - or if he didn't have two insane roommates. Niall would probably mistake him for a sandwich and Harry would hoard all of Pop's attention until Louis felt like the absent father and Louis refuses to be an absent father.

So, basically, the kittens are the reason Louis doesn't mind opening the pet shop in the middle of a dark, cold winter after working the closing shift at the restaurant the night before. He rubs his sleepy face into Crackle's warm stomach and lets Snap nip at his fingers and Pop curls up on his shoulder, apparently just as tired as Louis. It's 9:30 in the morning, and Louis has just turned the sign to open, prepared for at least an hour to wake up and get his kitten-time in before having to deal with anyone.

This Monday, apparently, is the anomaly, though, and really, that's just Louis's luck. The door dings just as Louis closes his heavy eyes, leaning against the shelf behind the desk, and now he has to try to adopt out his favourite creatures on the planet to some unsuspecting customer who's just looking for a dog leash or whatever.

He sighs under his breath, clutching the kittens to him as he pulls himself to his feet. Crackle falls off his chest with a tiny squeak, and Snap wriggles away, cowering around his ankles, displeased. Only Pop stays, digging his little claws into the fabric of Louis's sweatshirt.

"Good morning!" Louis tries to chirp. It's raspy and probably frightening. He winces.

The guy in the dog toy aisle jumps a little, turning to face him. "Oh, hey, good morning."

Louis rubs at his eyes and says, "Can I help you with anything?"

The guy squints a little at the display in front of him, an assortment of balls and rubber bones and squeaky shit, and he shrugs a little. Louis watches his mouth pull to the side. He's tall, a lot taller than Louis, and he's wearing black skinny jeans and a leather jacket over a Dr. Dre teeshirt. His dark, curly hair is shaped into a floppy quiff. He looks rather twatty in the kind of way Harry would adore. Louis feels immediately uncool in his white keds and cuffed khakis and plain zip-up hoodie. He hates feeling uncool. It's too early and he's too tired - an immediate spark of resentment burrows into his belly.

The guy looks back at him after staring at the toys for a moment and he drawls, "What the fuck do you get for the most spoilt dog on the planet?"

Louis sighs and rounds the counter, raising a hand to hold Pop safe against his neck. "I dunno, mate. Dog toys confuse me, to be honest. They're all the bloody same - you either throw them or they make a lot of irritating noise."

Laughing a little, the guy reaches a finger to stroke under Pop's chin. "Cat person, then?"

Louis turns his face to nose into Pop's furry neck. "Yeah," he sighs. "Stupid little things."

The guy's smiling. "Never had a cat, meself. Do you think that'd be a good toy for a dog?"

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Not gonna sell you a kitten for slaughter, mate, sorry."

"Nah," the guy says, still grinning a little. "But do you think a little thing like that could get along with a little stupid dog?"

Fighting the urge to curl protectively around Pop and hide him away, Louis just shrugs. "They'd both have to, like, adjust. And assuming the dog hasn't got, like, violent tendencies, I think this little guy could stand his ground. He's a feisty thing."

"Hmm." The guy's tilting his head, smiling down at Pop and still tickling at him with his long, pale fingers. Pop is staring at them with bemusement through his insane fur, batting lightly. The guy chuckles. "Can I hold him?"

Louis nods grudgingly. He really, really doesn't want to give up Pop, but he can't imagine his boss would be pleased if he scared off all potential adopters. He scoops Pop into his palms and breathes, "Don't you dare like him better than me," into his ear before handing him gently to the guy.

"Cheers," the guy says. "I'm Nick, by the way."

Louis nods again. "Louis," he says. He watches Nick carefully handle Pop until he's holding him like a baby, cradled in his arms. Nick makes him look even tinier, and Louis is trying incredibly hard not to snatch him back and hide him away.

The look on Nick's face is entirely enamoured, though, and Louis sighs to himself.

"I love him," Nick coos. "I love him. I want to take him home and spoil him forever." He's tickling into the fluffy fur of Pop's stomach and Pop is squirming around, flailing his paws.

"Our adoption policies are in this pamphlet," Louis says, walking back to the desk and pulling a bright blue and yellow slip of paper from the holder. "It's a ninety quid rate, but all our kittens are spayed and neutered, de-wormed, and fully healthy. We include a crate and enough food for the first week. If he doesn't fit into your lifestyle or you need to return him for whatever reason, we ask you do it sooner rather than later," Louis rattles off.

Nick nods, not taking his eyes off Pop until the last minute, glancing up at Louis and smiling. "You kind of look like him," he says.

Louis arches an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"You know," Nick says, laughter in his voice. "Small and sleepy and fluffy."

Louis scowls a bit - it's enough he might have to give up his favourite playmate, he's not going to be mocked by some twatty twentysomething. "Cheers."

"Oh, c'mon, love, it's a compliment," Nick says, looking back down at Pop. "Isn't it, buddy? Don't you want to look like cute pet shop boy? Sure you do, don't you. Sure you do."

Louis rolls his eyes.

Nick looks back up. "I'll take him. He's going to be Thurston's best friend."

Louis nods shortly and rounds the desk, pulling out the paperwork. Nick awkwardly tries to hold Pop as he scrawls his information, eventually setting him down on the desk. Pop immediately stumbles toward Louis, ramming his little soft head into the back of Louis's hand. Scooping him up, Louis stares into his little blue eyes and sticks out his bottom lip, pouting. "I'll miss you, little guy," he whispers.

Pop mews back, chewing on the drawstring of Louis's hoodie. Louis scratches behind his ears and drops a kiss onto the top of his head. "I'll go get the crate and food," he says to Nick. Nick nods absently, still writing, and Louis goes to the back, carrying Pop, holding him close to his chest.

*

The next day, at 10:30 in the morning, when Louis is mourning the loss of Pop and pouting his sorrows into Crackle's belly, the door dings. Louis sighs, hoisting himself to his feet, and slings Crackle over his shoulder. Crackle's a weird sort of kitten - a rag-doll type, content to be handled like a teddy bear. He's got the softest belly in the world, perfect for burrowing faces into. Louis tries to resist when there are customers around. He supposes it looks a little weird.

"I need your help."

Louis looks up, and Nick's standing there, wringing his hands and looking worried. Louis immediately panics a bit.

"What? Is P-the kitten okay?" he asks sharply.

Nick blinks a bit, before saying, "Yeah, yes, he's fine, but, like, he wants to play all the time and I totally forgot about cat toys, like. I know they like, like, feathers on string and little squishy footballs and allsorts, but like. All the toys we have are dog toys and they're too big for him and-"

Louis holds up a hand. "Alright, mate, relax. I'll show you what we've got." He leads Nick toward the cat toy shelves, asking over his shoulder, "What'd you name him, anyway?"

"Bertrand," Nick answers absently, gazing over the toys with a lost expression.

Louis nearly snaps his neck turning to look at Nick. "Bertrand? You named an innocent little kitten Bertrand?"

"After Bertrand Russell," Nick says, reaching out to check the price on a dangly feather toy.

Louis closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath.

Nick glances at him. "What? It's a perfectly good name."

Louis grunts. Twat twat twat twat twat, he thinks.

"What do you suggest, toywise?" Nick asks. "Anything you've had particular, er, success with?" He winks lewdly.

Louis kind of wants to punch him in the face. He clenches his jaw and picks out the most expensive toys he can think of - determined to make this pretentious arsehole pay out the nose for Bertrand.

He may be a little irrationally furious.

Shoving the toys in Nick's hand, he stalks back to the counter, picking up Crackle and muffling a frustrated noise into his furry white tummy. Crackle squirms against him, and Louis gets fur up his nose. He sneezes loudly. Nick laughs.

Scowling, Louis looks up at him.

"I'll take these," Nick says grandly.

Ringing them up, Louis says, "That'll be forty twenty-nine," he says. Nick blinks a little, but grins, handing over his credit card. Glancing at the name on it, Louis squints up at him.

"Nicholas Grimshaw? Grimmy?" he asks, incredulous.

Nick brightens immediately, preening like a twat, Louis thinks.

"You've heard of me?" Nick says, batting his eyelashes.

Louis sighs, ripping the receipt from the machine. "My roommate listens to your show religiously," he says.

Nick raises an eyebrow, putting his hand over his heart. "And you don't? I'm wounded, love."

Louis shrugs. "Don't play the same ten songs over and over again, and maybe I would."

Laughing, Nick scrawls his signature on the receipt and hands it back. Louis bags up the toys and slides it across the counter.

Nodding at Louis, Nick heads to the door and pauses with his hand on the doorknob, turning back to say with a smile, "Listen tomorrow, yeah?"

Louis just rolls his eyes.

*

The thing is, Louis really, really doesn't mean to listen to Nick's show the next morning. But, like, Harry's got it on in the kitchen when Louis is drinking his tea, and usually Louis smacks him until he changes it because, really, every living human on earth has heard that fucking Muse song enough. But this morning, Louis is tired and he spaces it out until he hears that now-familiar voice drawling over the airwaves. He jerks his head up, and blinks at Harry, who blinks back slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"I know him," Louis says.

Harry's forehead furrows. "Who?" he rasps.

Louis nods in the direction of the radio. "Nick. Grimmy. Whatever. He stole Pop from me." Louis frowns.

Harry frowns back, all exaggerated and big eyes. "I'm sorry, Lou," he says, holding out his hand to Louis. Louis rolls his eyes at Harry, at himself, but lets Harry rub over his knuckles comfortingly.

But then Harry remembers what he just said and squawks, "Hold on a minute, you know Grimmy? Ohmygod, Lou, is he amazing? Is he so cool? God, you have to make him be your friend and bring him over. Or just call me the next time he comes in. Oh my god."

Louis socks Harry in the shoulder. "He's a pretentious little twat, is what he is. He named Pop Bertrand." He wrinkles his nose.

"Bertrand," Harry repeats slowly. "Oh my god, he's so smart."

Louis hates Harry with fiery intensity, and he glares at him through the entirety of that fucking Muse song. Harry doesn't notice, just gazes into the distance with an adoring look on his face. Louis just knows he's imagining how he'd impress Nick if he met him.

"I hate you," Louis says, but Harry shushes him as Nick's voice comes back on the radio.

This next song is for my little pet shop boy, the radio says, before leading into the opening chords of 'Cat Scratch Fever.'

Louis's mouth drops open, and Harry turns to look at him with wide eyes. They stare at each other in silence.

That afternoon, Louis is getting ready to close - scooping up Snap and Crackle and easing them into their crates, making sure they have enough food and water, and scratching his goodbyes behind their ears. He's about to flip the sign and close the register when Nick slips in the door.

He looks unbearably smug, and Louis still wants to punch him.

"Did you listen?" he asks, leaning against the counter entirely too familiarly, smirking at Louis.

Scoffing, Louis nods. "Against my will. Ted Nugent? Really?"

Nick looks even more smug, and Louis has no idea how that's possible. "Listen tomorrow, too, yeah?" He pushes off the desk and winks at Louis. "Have a good night, pet shop boy."

Louis sticks his tongue out at his back as he saunters out of the shop.

*

Another one for my feisty little petshop boy, says the radio the next morning. Here's 'Kitty' by the Presidents of the United States of America.

"He's in love with you, Lou!" Harry crows. "I'm so jealous! I am going to faint with jealousy. I am going to curl up and cry in the corner. Louis, oh my god, what are you going to do? You have to ask him out."

Louis scowls down into his tea. "I should set him on fire, actually," he says.

"Nooooo," Harry moans. "Marry him and have little cuddly babies. I call best man! Oh my god, Lou, Grimmy." He sighs longingly, closing his eyes, a content smile on his face. "I want to hate you so badly right now."

"He's a twat, Haz, honestly," Louis says. "He's unbearably pleased with himself and he stole Pop from me and he named him after a fucking philosopher like a twat and he's just... the worst."

"He's in love with you," Harry all but shouts. "How could you resist?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "Easily, shockingly enough."

He half hopes Nick comes into the shop today, just so he can tell him off. Or at least tell him he's very much interested in woman. Pussy. Louis smirks to himself. Harry watches him suspiciously.

"I'm going to tell him I'm straight," Louis says.

Harry narrows his eyes. "If you make a pussy joke..."

Louis smiles serenely.

Nick doesn't come into the shop that day. Louis closes the shop angrily. Typical fucking wanker.

*

Louis gets into the kitchen before Harry the next morning. He makes his tea in silence, drumming on the counter with his fingertips, shifting from foot to foot.

"Fuck him," he mutters to himself, flipping on the radio. Nick's in the middle of a story, stupid club beats in the background. My kitten is sad, he's saying. He keeps pouting around the flat, gazing up at me with these big sad blue eyes. I think he misses someone.

Harry pads in, smacking Louis on the bum, grumbling a good morning. Louis grunts back, ears trained to the radio. He's staring at his tea.

My kitten - Bertrand is his name, very clever, I think, a proper solid name for a kitten - is this little tan squirmy thing, you see, and the first few days he was well excited to have someone to cuddle him every day, but now he's pouting. Finchy, what do you think the problem is?

Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis, a smile threatening to explode over his features.

"Don't say a bloody word," Louis growls. Harry's lips twitch and his eyes are shining.

"Oh, Lou," he says, excited.

Louis kicks him swiftly in the shins.

Well, Grimmy, a voice that is apparently Finchy's is saying, I don't know. What do you think would make him happy?

Nick hums into the microphone, before saying, I think he needs a fluffy, tan, squirmy, blue-eyed companion. I'll have to see what I can do about that.

Louis makes a furious noise under his breath, stalking over to the radio and unplugging it. "What a wanker," he hisses.

Harry's shaking with uncontrollable laughter. "Oh my god, Lou, oh my god."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Harry just smiles at him hugely. "You love him. Oh my god, I can tell. You think he's adorable. He's wooing you. Oh my god."

Louis throws a dishtowel at him. "I think he's a complete horrible knob and you're not much better. Traitor."

"You want him to hold you! You want him to loooove you! You want him to wrap you up in his big, strong arms and rock you to sleep!" Harry grabs Louis around his waist, burying his own face into Louis's stomach, making cooing noises into his teeshirt. Louis yanks on his hair harshly before thumping him hard on the neck.

"You're a shit friend and a shit person," Louis mutters.

Harry's smile fades a little. "Louuuu," he says. "A cute guy is in love with you! Why are you being this way?"

"Firstly, you have no idea if he's cute or not, Haz. He just has the same shit taste in music as you. Secondly, he stole my kitten." Louis frowns at his hands and slumps back into his chair.

Harry rests his chin in his hands. "Lou, you couldn't have kept that kitten anyway. You're never home and kittens need attention and if he liked me better than he liked you, you'd kill yourself."

Louis scowls.

"And, furthermore," Harry says, "you're totally lying to yourself because you think he's super hot."

"I absolutely, categorically do not," Louis snaps.

"Then what's the problem?" Harry blinks innocently.

Louis wants to poke him in his stupid big kitten eyes. "He's-he's just. Intolerable! He rolls in with his fucking quiff and leather jacket like he thinks he's goddamn Elvis and then he fucking takes my kitten," Louis splutters, "and then he names it Bertrand like a complete twat and now he's making fun of me to thousands of people who just want to fucking hear Muse for the eleventy billionth time!"

Harry's stupid smile is back. "You looooove him."

Louis kicks him again and goes to get dressed for work.

*

At 11:30, Louis is sprawled out on the floor, letting Snap and Crackle wrestle on his belly. He's got his eyes closed, letting them thump around on top of him. It's kind of like a particularly spastic massage. Except when he gets kitten-butt in his face.

The door dings and Louis hears the now fucking familiar click of boots on the wood floors. He sighs to himself, cracking an eye open. Nick is standing over him, peering down in his face.

"Oh!" Nick says when Louis looks at him. "Brilliant, you're not dead!"

Louis closes his eyes again. "I wish I was. Or I wish you were."

"Darling, you wound me," Nick says flippantly. "I'm here on a mission, I'll have you know."

Louis grunts.

"Bertrand's depressed, sweetheart." Nick slides down the wall to sit next to Louis's head.

"Maybe because his name is Bertrand and he's owned by a wanker," Louis mutters.

Nick laughs. "If I dangle my fingers in your face will you bite at them, too?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "I don't know what you want me to do about it. You're the one who stole him away from his soulmate."

Nick raises his eyebrows.

"Me," Louis clarifies.

"Aww!" Nick looks delighted. "You miss him!"

Louis frowns. "Of course I do. He was my best friend."

"Perfect! You have to come visit him."

"I absolutely am not going to your flat. You're awful." Louis sits up with a groan, spilling kittens onto the floor. He leans against the desk and brings his knees up to his chest, glaring at Nick. Nick smiles back, eyes soft.

"What have I done, love?"

Louis squints over at him. "I hear your stupid show every stupid morning at stupid o'clock and you're stupid."

Nick grins. "I'm charming. You think I'm charming."

Louis closes his eyes and bangs his head against the desk. "You and my roommate would get along. Can I call him in here and maybe you can charm him instead, how about that?"

Nick hums, as if considering it. Louis cracks open an eye. He doesn't honestly know what he'd do if Nick said yes, because Harry would be here in a heartbeat and if Nick took Harry from him as well as Pop, he'd probably have to turn Nick over to the mob or something.

"Nah," Nick says, finally, grinning. "I think I'll keep you. Have you got paperwork, too? Do you come with a crate?"

Louis kicks him in the shin, or he tries to, but Nick just grabs his ankle and strokes his thumb over it. "Come over after work. See the kitten and have dinner with me," he says softly.

Halfheartedly attempting to free his foot from Nick's grasp, he sighs. "Fine," he says grudgingly. "But only because of Pop."

Nick smiles, then, big and brilliant. It makes him look younger, Louis thinks uncharitably. "Of course. Bertrand," he corrects, smirking.

Louis shoots a rubber band from the floor at Nick's forehead. It hits his quiff and stays there. Nick sighs and it sounds fond. "You're just like him," he says. "I'll pick you up at closing."

Louis sticks out his tongue.

*

Louis is oddly hyper and anxious for the rest of the day, and it's slow, so he has nothing to do but tease the kittens and rearrange all of the paperclips into rude words across the desk. He does not google image search Nick Grimshaw or go through his twitter or read his wikipedia page. Definitely not. But if he stumbles across pictures of Pop being held against a chest covered in twatty indie band teeshirts, he's not gonna admit to it.

When 5:30 finally rolls around, he tries to drag out closing as long as possible. He gives Snap and Crackle extra cuddles, checking on them three times after putting them away. He counts the cash in the register as slowly as possible, double checking his math. There's a posh car idling outside the shop, and a stupid, quiffed twat leant against it, smoking a cigarette.

Louis frowns down at his outfit: cuffed light blue trousers and a thin white henley of Harry's and glances back out at Nick, who's dressed in his apparent uniform of black skinny jeans and an oversized jumper underneath a leather jacket. Louis hates feeling uncool. He fixes his fringe primly and slowly makes his way to the door, double checking the lock before turning to face Nick.

Nick smiles slowly at him, eyes looking him up and down. Louis gives him a half-smile back. "Wow me, Grimshaw. Wine me and dine me."

"Oh, darling, I plan to," comes the smug reply, and Louis's eyes roll of their own accord.

Nick holds the passenger door open for Louis, and he slides inside. Nick rounds the car, dropping into his seat and turning the key. The Beatles come blaring out of the stereo, and Louis sighs, grinning to himself as he realises the song is 'Leave My Kitten Alone.'

"I really hate you," he says.

Nick smiles out into the traffic. "Oh, I know."

Twenty minutes later, fighting London rush hour traffic, Nick pulls up to a series of posh flats in Primrose Hill. Louis steps out of the car gingerly, afraid of breaking the sidewalk or some shit, because, honestly, it's probably worth more than he is. Nick comes around and guides Louis toward the door of his flat by the small of his back. Louis's skin feels too tight. He is most certainly out of place.

"Relax, love," Nick says, glancing at him. "Everything alright?"

Louis shrugs. "Bit out of my element, to be honest. There's no, like, trash on the ground. Or drunks vomiting in alleys."

Nick chuckles. "Well, I have a lot of wine, if you'd like to fix that."

"Ugh," Louis says. "Just lead me to my kitten."

Unlocking the door, Nick steps into the front hallway of his massive flat, ushering Louis inside. "Bertrand!" he calls. "Bertie!"

Louis pulls a face. "Bertie. God, poor thing," he mutters.

A tiny tan ball of fluff comes skittering across the floor, running headfirst into the doorjam between the living room and the hallway. "Pop!" Louis cries, sinking to his knees and holding out his fingers. Pop regains his bearings and barrels over to Louis, sniffing cautiously at him first, before piling in his lap. Louis laughs delightedly, falling back onto his bum and holding Pop close to his chest. "Hey, love," he whispers into his fur. "How are you? You look good. I've missed you."

Pop immediately starts kneading at his stomach as Louis runs his fingers through his long fur. He glances up to where Nick is still standing, watching them fondly. A small smile plays across Nick's mouth.

"He missed you," Nick says.

Louis huffs a little sigh, burying his smile into Pop's side as he scrabbles up Louis's chest to burrow into his neck. Louis stands gingerly, holding the kitten against him. He looks up at Nick, who's watching Louis hesitantly now. Louis arches an eyebrow, questioning.

Nick shakes his head and tosses his jacket up onto a hook beside the door. "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asks.

Louis shrugs. "Sure," he says, following Nick into the kitchen, unable to stop smiling as Pop starts gnawing on his hair. Nick stands at the granite countertop, pouring two glasses of wine and sliding one over to Louis. He's still got this hesitant expression on his face.

"What?" Louis asks, exasperated.

Nick opens his mouth and pauses, closing it again. Louis gives him a look. Nick chuckles and shakes his head. "This is stupid," he says.

"What is?" Louis widens his eyes.

Nick shrugs, still chuckling a little. "You do know this was meant to be a date, right?" he asks.

Louis blinks for a few seconds, staring up at Nick. He shakes his head slightly, before turning to the kitten on his shoulder. "Hey, Pop," he says. "Your owner is probably the thickest man alive."

Pop presses his paw to Louis's cheek and Louis grins down at him before setting him gently on the floor. He turns back to Nick, who's watching him, biting his cheek. Louis rolls his eyes and grabs the hem of Nick's stupid jumper, pulling him around the island and in front of Louis.

"Of course I know it's a date, you insufferable twat," Louis grumbles, but smiles up at him.

Nick grins back and fits his hands around Louis's hips. "Oh, good," he mutters. "Then I'm gonna kiss you."

"If you mu-" Louis starts, but his reply is muffled by Nick's lips pressed against his own. Nick's hands tighten briefly, before one slides around to press against the small of Louis's back, pulling him into Nick's body, so Louis has to wind an arm around Nick's neck and press up onto his tiptoes.

Nick pulls back after a moment, before it can really turn into anything, and drops a kiss onto the tip of Louis's nose. "I've found a way to shut you up!" he crows.

Louis's fingers find a lock of Nick's hair and he tugs sharply. "Smug fucking bastard," he says, and god damn it, but it comes out fond.

Nick pinches his side and Pop bites at his ankle and Louis sighs. "You still have to wine and dine me," he says, untangling himself from Nick and scooping Pop back up into his arms. Pop makes a small noise and scrambles up to rest on the join of Louis's shoulder and neck and Nick scratches first behind Pop's ear and then Louis's.

"My little pet shop boys," he coos.

Louis kicks him in the shin.

why is this my life

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