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“Look, Liam, you should take this thermos to my..” Harry’s gaze wanders around the room before Louis’ voice resumes “aunt. You definitely have to take this chicken soup to Harry’s aunt. Harry’s very sick aunt, I have to specify.” Liam can not quite grasp the meaning of the blatantly fake smile Louis throws in Harry’s direction, with a weird look halfway between I-would-eat-several-kinds-of-fruit-from-your-naked-body and I-don’t-even-know-why-I-bother-wasting-my-time-wich-such-a-dumbass, but hey, Harry’s aunt is sick, who is he to deny some help? “Sure thing guys, just give me the address, I’ll be there in no time.” He even tries to make some kind of cub scout oath which results in an aborted Vulcan salute. The two boys shoo him outside, talking over one another; Liam can barely hear the address before the door slums shut in his face.
And that’s how he ends facing the already closed gates of Hyde Park. Dusk is rapidly falling behind him, the large avenue lined by oaks straight in front of him. His phone directs him right through the gates, and the alternative route would take him like two hours of walking, which no thanks. Shrugging he holds the thermos tight to his chest, pulling up the hood of his red sweatshirt, and climbs the iron bars, landing safe on the other side. He starts walking to a fast pace, chills running down his spine. It has been a strangely cold April so far, and his sweatshirt and sweatpants can do little against the chilly breeze blowing against him.
Lost in his thoughts he doesn’t hear the steps until they’ve almost reached him; he stops suddenly, turning quickly, and his eyes widen in disbelief. In front of him stands a boy covered in fur. Like, a human boy with some kind of furry rag draped all over his head and shoulders. A human boy with a stupidly attractive face, why was anyone allowed to walk around with a face like that? Amber eyes, long eyelashes, sharp cheekbones, and that stubble; oh, Liam has a very clear idea of what that stubble would feel against his skin. “Riding alone in the woods, Little Red?” the weird boy asks him. One of his – very sexy – eyebrows is raised, and a grin is plastered on his – sinfully lustful – mouth.
“I.. I.. I..” Liam starts blabbering incoherently, before he can pull himself together. He clears his throat, tugging at the strings of his sweatshirt. “I have to take this to Harry’s aunt. You know, she’s very sick, so..” he says weakly, while the other boy steps forward. “So I have to thank this Harry guy for our fortunate meeting” he says, stepping in his personal space. Red alert, DEFCON 1, all systems operative and ready to attack. Wolfboy – because you have to give a name to people who lurk in the night – leans close, very close, their eyes mere inches away, and he.. sniffs. He inhales deeply, making a pleased sound, almost as if Liam smells like Earl Grey tea cake and scones and muffins and cookies and all the good things his mom used to cook for him.
The next moment everything he knows is that something rugged is sliding up his neck, making him shiver from head to toe. The boy is licking him, long sways of his tongue running from his collarbone to his jaw, the stubble rasping against his sensitive skin. Liam doesn’t whimper. Absolutely not. No way in hell he whimpers. Except he does. His hands cling to the other boy’s arms desperately, his eyes widen with lust and his mouth makes incoherent sounds while he pulls Wolfboy closer.
And suddenly Wolfboy is no longer there. He looks at the ground, where the boy is lying unconscious, a dart poking from his neck. Liam looks around and he sees another young man in a white coat approaching, shouting something like “goddamnit Zayn, you fucker, next time I catch ya outside the institute I’m gonna kick your little furry ass ‘till fucking dawn!” The boy crouches beside the boy, throwing him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I’m sorry mister, this little cunt keeps running away from the institute, I hope he didn’t bother you! Have a nice evening!” he shouts (does that boy even have a normal tone of voice?), before turning with Wolfboy – Zayn? – over his shoulder, his blonde head bouncing while he hops away.
Liam shakes his head in disbelief, looking where the two weirdos have disappeared beneath the trees. Definitely, tomorrow he is going to search all the mental institutes in the surroundings of Hyde Park. “Oh my dear, the chicken soup!” he exclaims, starting to run toward the other end of the park. Harry will be so disappointed if his poor aunt won’t receive the chicken soup in time.