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“Louis!” the person at the door shouts, and it‟s Niall‟s voice. “It‟s me!

Open up, man!”

Louis is wearing the same smelly pair of joggers he‟s had on for days

and a shirt that has a jam stain on the front, and his flat is an absolute

disaster. There‟s no way anybody is going to be allowed to see this.

However, there is also no way Niall is going to leave without some

kind of answer, so Louis drags his pitiful arse out of bed.

“I‟m fine, Niall,” Louis says, leaning against the door. “Go home.

Don‟t worry about me.”

“Bullshit,” Niall says. “Open the door, Lou.”

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God, he‟s even got Niall worried about him. Niall never worries about

anything, and Louis‟ got him breaking down his door at—he glances at

the clock on the oven—eight o‟clock at night to check on him. He feels

like such a twat.

“It‟s okay,” Louis tells him. “I‟m not—”

“Will you shut up and open the door already?” Niall interrupts. “You

really think I‟m gonna judge?”

Louis clenches his teeth, shoving both hands into his hair. It‟s true,

Niall is probably the friend of his least likely to look at his current state

like it‟s some kind of desperate cry for help. He‟s also the most likely

to call in serious reinforcements if Louis doesn‟t let him in. Louis‟

mum loves Niall. There doesn‟t seem to be much of a choice here.

“Fine,” Louis says, and unlocks the door. Niall storms in and, true to

his word, says nothing about the state of Louis‟ flat or Louis himself.

He just pulls Louis into a bear hug and claps him on the back.

“Have you been eating?” he says, not letting go. Louis nods, and it‟s

mostly true. He hasn‟t exactly been making himself three square meals

a day, but he‟s been snacking enough that he‟s probably fine.

“Drinking?” He shakes his head. At least that isn‟t a path he‟s gone

down just yet. “Good,” Niall says, giving him a squeeze before holding

Louis out at arm‟s length. “Get in the shower, then. We‟re going out.”

“Niall—” Louis starts, exasperated.

“Shut up, Lou. We‟re going out. It‟s gonna be great. Get in the

shower,” Niall says again, and this time he starts pushing Louis

towards the bathroom. Louis resists at first, and then Niall gets a look

on his face like he might forcibly bathe Louis himself if he doesn‟t get

moving, and Louis would rather not see that come to pass.

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“I‟ve already tried that, Niall,” Louis protests, but walks into the

bathroom anyway. Niall pushes in behind him and turns on the shower,

and the sound of the knobs on the wall squeaking is something Louis

hasn‟t heard in a truly embarrassing amount of days. “Going out

doesn‟t work.”

“Trust me, mate, you haven‟t tried this yet. Not what I‟ve got planned,”

Niall says with a grin. He turns around, his back facing Louis, but

doesn‟t leave the room. “Get in the shower.”

“Are you serious?” Louis asks, staring at Niall‟s back. When he gets no

response, he resignedly starts to strip, finally stepping into the the

shower when he‟s naked. He pulls the shower curtain around and

shouts, “Happy?”

“Very!” Niall chirps. “You stay in there and get less smelling like

death, and I‟ll find you something to wear.” Louis feels a twinge of

panic and shame at the thought of Niall rummaging through his filthy

room, but tries to just focus on shampooing his hair since he knows the

matter is beyond his control at this point. Niall turned the water on a

little too hot, but it‟s a nice constant sting. It keeps him from thinking

of reasons why he should kick Niall out and crawl back into bed.

When he‟s shampooed and soaped and practically squeaking, thank you

very much, he turns the water off and makes his way back into the

living room with a towel around his waist. Niall is on the couch, and

when he sees Louis he grins and throws a pile of clothes at him, which

Louis barely manages to catch without dropping his towel.

“Put those on and dry your hair,” Niall says. “And then we are getting

the hell out of here.”

Louis doesn‟t even bother protesting this time, just rolls his eyes and

head back into the bathroom. He‟d rather not go into his bedroom right

now, would rather not have to imagine what Niall thought when he

went inside. He pulls on the white t-shirt and jeans Niall picked out, but

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not before snorting at the tiny briefs Niall apparently thought were an

appropriate underwear selection.

He plugs in his hairdryer and makes a go of it, getting all the way to

“slightly damp” before giving up. It‟ll dry straight and soft by the time

they get wherever it is Niall thinks they‟re going. He can‟t be fucked to

actually style it when he‟s only going out under extreme duress.

When he walks back out, Niall throws his arms up into the air and

whoops. “Wahey! You‟re gorgeous!” he says. “I‟ve already got your

coat. Get your wallet and let‟s roll!”

Louis eventually finds his wallet wedged in his sofa cushions, and then

they‟re on their way, Niall driving them into a corner of the city Louis

hasn‟t visited in at least a year. He feels a stress migraine coming on.

“Where exactly are we going?” Louis asks from the passenger seat,

leaning his forehead against the glass and watching the incoming

headlights slide by.

“We‟re going to a gig,” Niall says gleefully, and Louis turns to see him

smile knowingly as he takes a left turn.

“A gig for who?”

“You‟ll see. It‟s a surprise.”

Louis doesn‟t want to be surprised. Louis doesn‟t want to be surprised

ever again for the rest of his life. Louis wants to turn this car around

and crawl back into bed where he never has to think about anything. He

never should have agreed to this. Matter of fact, he never really agreed

to anything, just sort of got carried along by the oncoming tide of

Niall‟s enthusiasm.

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Niall pulls up outside some building that has flashing lights and a

queue that goes on for ages. Louis‟ pretty sure he‟s parked illegally, but

Niall doesn‟t seem to care, hopping out happily and coming around to

open Louis‟ door for him. “Come on, Tommo!” he says cheerfully.

“Party don‟t start „til we walk in!”

With a groan, Louis drags himself out of the car. “You are a menace,”

he says, and Niall just smiles wider. “We‟re going to be queuing for

hours,” Louis whines, wondering if he can be annoying enough that

Niall will just give up and take him back home.

“Nah,” Niall says, and grabs Louis‟ hand to drag them toward the front

of the queue. Louis is fully prepared to get thrown onto the pavement

by the bouncer, but when he sees them he just grins and lets them

through, ignoring the complaints of the people in the queue.

“About time you got here!” he yells over the din, clapping Niall on the

shoulder. Niall just tips his hat at him and leads Louis through, off the

street and into the dark interior of the club.

“How the fuck do you always pull that off?” Louis shouts, and Niall

just shrugs mysteriously. He pulls Louis over away from the dancefloor

and towards the bar.

“Stay here,” he says, shoving Louis onto a barstool. “Get a drink, tell

them it‟s on my tab, they‟ll know who I am.”

“Where are you going?” Louis says, starting to panic as Niall starts

walking away from the bar. The last thing he needs is to be alone in a

crowd right now.

“I‟ll be back!” Niall shouts over his shoulder. “Just stay there!” And

then he‟s gone.

Great. He‟s stuck at a club that he has no desire whatsoever to be at,

and he‟s just been abandoned by his only friend in the building,

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probably to go chat up the birds or something. Just great. Somehow his

life has gotten even more pathetic.

He catches the bartender‟s eye and orders a beer. For a moment he

contemplates asking her to put it on Niall‟s supposed tab, but he‟s

pretty sure Niall is just overestimating how infamous he is. There‟s no

way that he and the lads have ever been to this place before, and if

they‟ve never been then there‟s no chance Niall has been here enough

times to have a regular tab.

Taking a sip of his lager, he pays the bartender. “Question,” he says,

counting out his bills. “Who exactly is playing here tonight?” He tips

generously. If he‟s going to deal with this night he‟s going to need to

be on good terms with the woman in charge of the booze.

Smiling, the bartender takes his money. “You‟re in for a good show,

love. The Craic is playing tonight.”

Louis feels a ping of familiarity at the name, but can‟t place it. “Who‟s

that? I‟ve heard the name before.”

“Bit of a local legend, he is. Pretty much just plays locally. Completely

mental, but a brilliant DJ. He‟s got a decent following in the city,

mostly among the kids,” she says, nodding over at a few tables full of

students.

That‟s right. Louis had heard some of his kids mention this guy, talking

in poorly-hushed whispers about trying to sneak into 18+ clubs to see

him. When he looks at the crowd rapidly filling up the floor, bobbing

along to the half-decent opening act, he sees that the first few rows

seem to be primarily composed of people who barely look old enough

to be there, a few of them wearing homemade t-shirts with The Craic‟s

name on them in bold letters. He‟s not sure why Niall thinks this show

is going to cheer him up, exactly, but then again he‟s not sure of why

Niall does about half of the things he does. He‟ll ask him when he gets

back.

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Except Niall doesn‟t come back. It‟s been twenty minutes and Louis is

still alone at the bar, feeling like a complete tit while the opening act

clears out and the headliner gets ready to come on. Some night out this

is. He‟s just flagging the bartender down to order another beer when the

lights go down and the crowd goes absolutely mad, making his head

pound with the volume of their cheering. Looks like he‟s going to have

to sit through this alone. He is going to absolutely murder Niall, and

then he is going to steal his car and drive home and never speak to

anybody but Duchess ever again.

The headliner, whoever the hell they are, jumps out from backstage,

and the shouts pitch up even higher, hands and drinks going up in the

air all over the room. The DJ‟s got on a backwards snapback and a

loose tank and sunglasses, and Louis nearly drops his beer when he

puts it all together.

“How the fuck are ya?” Niall shouts into the microphone. The crowd

screams back.

Niall. Niall is The Craic.

Louis stares, mouth hanging open, as Niall takes his place behind the

turntables and puts his headphones on, waving his arms to get the

crowd even more worked up. Louis does not know how to process this.

Then the music starts and things go absolutely mental.

The floor explodes with dancing, pulsing under the lights, and Louis is

one of the few people left at the bar as patrons abandon their drinks to

go join the crush. Niall is in control of it all, smile wide on his face as

he switches from record to record. Louis‟ seen him do this before, has

had him DJ at countless parties, but he‟s never seen him with a couple

hundred people going mad for him. They‟re clearly there for him, too,

recognizing tracks he plays and cheering for their favorites. He

deserves the cheers. He‟s good.

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Louis knew that Niall had a knack for making insane mashups and

remixes, but he‟s never heard Niall play anything like this. It‟s a mess

of samples of rap songs and top 40 and things Louis has never heard

before all laid over a pounding bassline, and then weaved into it all are

sounds that Louis can tell are recordings of Niall himself, guitar riffs

and vocals looped and worked into the beat. It sounds fucking great,

and the crowd is jumping and sweaty and waving their arms around,

and Niall is just as animated behind the tables. There‟s even a light

show, one that Louis imagines Niall probably created himself. It‟s

amazing.

Louis can‟t quite bring himself to get up and throw himself into the

crowd since he isn‟t up for being touched by that many strangers

tonight, but he can‟t help dancing along in his seat a little, bopping his

head and swaying to the beats. It looks like fun out there, like the kind

of scene he enjoyed once. Next time he‟ll go and dance, he finds

himself thinking, and oh, that‟s unexpected. That‟s a sort of thought he

hasn‟t had in a while.

Niall‟s set lasts an hour, and then he‟s thanking the crowd for a “great

fucking night,” and heading backstage, laughing like a lunatic all the