A/N: Hey guys here's chapter 18! Sorry for the long wait. But high five if you're still here! I know this chapter is unnecessarily long, but there are important character intros and rules! Please pay attention to the warnings. As always, keep calm and laugh on my lovely readers (:

Warnings: Explicit language, mild racism, animalism, and anti-republicanism, plus many pining rhymes ending with a very Larry paradigm.

In New York!

"Anyway boys, sorry 'bout havin' ta roll up outta there as if da po-po were chasin' us-" (Purple Hair) *apologetic*

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,

"But we had ta bounce 'cause them gorillas ain't no joke! Goin' apeshît every time they see fresh meat-" (Purple Hair) *pinches Louis' butt cheek*

There's nothing you can't do,

"But those nosy monkeys should know betta then ta go bananas 'round me-" (Purple Hair) *dark/threatening*

Now you're in New York!

"I'll fuckin' peel their primate åsses real quick off diz car before they can even snap a pic. They'll end up lookin' like McRatchet Cheese Burger ova there-" (Purple Hair) *glances back at the demolished pap who crash landed into the food stand*

These streets will make you feel brand new,

"'Cause honey, I ain't da one. I. Really. Ain't. I'll run a bįtch ova. Those mothafuckin' orangutans - betta - learn - ta - day!" (Purple Hair) *takes one hand off the steering wheel to snap in a zigzag like the ghetto åss bįtch that she is*

Big lights will inspire you,

"But on da flip side, welcome ta-" (Purple Hair) *brightly*

Let's hear it for New York!

"NEW YAWK! NEW YAWK!"

Purple Hair exclaimed loudly. Afterward, she turned down the volume of the car radio, no longer in need of Alicia Keys and her musical authenticity, now that she was finished with her fervently candid, and unnervingly vulgar, welcoming. Then she continued to cruise quietly down the busy and bustling street of 7th Avenue, her pristine white teeth cheesin' happily at the soccer jocks in the review mirror.

The lilac blond loved showing off the Big Apple to first timers because she found it amusing to watch someone lose their "NYC virginity." In her opinion, the newbies tended to display adorable animal-like behavior. The moment sightseers spot the famous kaleidoscopic sphere (also known as the "dropped ball" on New Years Day), their eyes widen like mischievous kittens, who have discovered the yarn of someone's knitting. And when the wonderstruck tourists see the public manic running rampant, their feet freeze upon sight, like deer caught in the headlights.

But Purple Hair couldn't judge their cute fauna stupefaction, for she understood. Like every other born n' raised New Yorker, she knew that her hometown was the epitome of tourism and awesomeness.

As the lavender-headed lady continued to make her way down the yellow-cab speckled street, the beautifully mixed Pakistani and Brit stuck his head out the automobile, to get a better view of the hectic metropolis.

Purple Hair shook her head; the municipal spell had already taken effect. Soon the voyaging boys would adopt beastly demeanors, and turn into animalistic rubbernecks, whose poor porker faces portrayed that they were not playing with a full deck.

"Wow! I can't believe we're in Times Square!" Zayn said in awe, looking at the colorful twinkling lights and flashy advertisement signs, that now surrounded them on all sides.

But then, the windswept lad, too mesmerized by the city's magical energy, suddenly forgot to maintain a firm grip on the moving vehicle, resulting in his arms to go surging into the urban air.

Liam dived heroically in front of a besotted Niall, his ginormous paws taking hold of Zayn's lanky waist, just in time to save the tattoo-spotted giraffe from tumbling neck first out the window. The honey-eyed grizzly sighed in relief when his vegan mate's tizzy was obsolete. He could not bear the thought of his cherished Zee being road kill on the street.

Once puppy boy reeled in his precious guppy, he continued to gaze at the captivating place. He had been to London many times, but there was just something different about America. Everything here was elephantine, enormous, and extensive, especially the edifices.

And then he saw it. The one that trumped them all; the historical man-made achievement that rivaled the Tower of Babble.

"Zayniepie look!" Liam said while wagging an ecstatic finger in the air outside the topless Jeep. The appendage resembled the tail of an excited dog. It was pointing at a tall skyscraper, whose sharp seething tower was foiling a calmly collected cloud. "That's the Empire State Building!"

Too overwhelmed by everything, Zayn's mouth could only open and close dumbly, like a fish out of water.

"Oh my God," Louis neighed delightedly like a happy horse, rudely interrupting Liam's architectural fangirling. "I've never seen so many fast food places in me life!" Blared the front-seated golden-haired mare, who was currently trying to stop himself from drooling all over the dashboard, his mouth watering, wanting nothing more than to devour the entire scene in front of him, his starved stomach rumbling in agreement.

"Wow," the yellow-tailed fox whimpered weakly in famished concurrence, stunned into silence after having seen the holy site. Lo and behold Delicantis, the delectable foodtopia of Niall's dreams! And the only place he wanted to get lost in beside Purple Hair's physical regime.

But just thinking about her regal body was causing the sexually-deprived canine to lose his quickly fermenting mind. The beast's carnal thirst could only be satisfied after he drank every drop of the beauty's cherry wine, that he hoped was still sealed inside the decanter between her soft vanilla thighs.

Just one taste and the Irish jackal would be shîtfaced.

The sweet buzz would make Niall forever drunk in love.

When Times Square finally came to an end, Purple Hair swerved the rosy Jeep right, leaving the celebrated avenue behind. The roads that she was now traveling on were located in the commercial part of Manhattan. They were just as crowded, but for business related reasons. Everyone in New York was always on the run, either having some place be or some place to flee.

Now that she was chauffeuring them on the less glamorous side of town, the zoological voodoo had finally worn off, causing the foreigners to retain ordinary decorum.

However, the faux blond and the lightest brunette still possessed some lingering effects. Niall was travestying a thirsty turkey, wanting nothing more than to gobble Purple Hair up, and Louis was imitating a hungry hippo, licking his chops while he watched the marketed meals that were magnified on billboards, pass them by.

Louis slumped against the pink cushions. He was very overwhelmed. After they had weaved through several blocks, he got to view all the yummy shops. The ravenous lad had noted that McDonald's, Burger King, Chipotle, Sbarro, Taco Bell, Subway, KFC, and Wendy's were all within walking distance of each other. And they had also passed by many franchises that he didn't recognize. It was crazy! Seeing so many take-out restaurants in the same place reminded him of the huge food court in the London shopping center, but only bigger, and better, and outside.

Why couldn't his back-seated father freaking realize that this was the kind of architecture that should be appreciated? Strategically-built, labyrinthine-designed, fan-fast food-tasticly-crafted architecture - not all those famous buildings, grand churches, and fanzy-smanzy plazas. No, these cheap fatty joints, that held America's legacy in their mal-nutritious recipes, should be outright obsessed over - and in Louis' opinion, fooking worshiped. The divine outlet was the splendagogue of his religion; the Mecca to his healthful Hajj; the fruits of his Hungry Spirit.

Louis licked his lips. He could even smell the hot greasy food from the car, his tummy growling loudly in shameless desire. And damn he'd do just about anything to be able to fine dine in its tasty ecstasy.

Similar to Eve and Snow White, Louis craved a bite out of the Big Apple. But different from the deceived ladies, just one taste would trigger the footie prima donna to reach sweet Nirvana. Just one chew would make his whole world brand new.

Louis' beguiled eyes shown with peckish mirth.

New York was the Garden of Eaten; New York was heaven on Earth.

The starved blond would wholesomely agree with Louis, but he envisioned his heavenly feast a little differently:

Niall would take the woman behind the wheel to a lavish hotel. He'd lead her to the bedroom, and lay her down gently, peeling off her clothes nice and slow, as if unwrapping a saccharine candy. Then he'd spread her legs wide, eating her out until she cried. His moist tongue would lap at her syrupy insides, sampling her matured nectar like an insatiable butterfly. As the aphrodisiac precipitation poured out of her petal-rimmed slit, Niall would greedily devour it. And then his intoxicated eyes would flutter closed, tasting the honey-dew on her pudendal rose. Niall's cheeks would turn pink while he savored the fruity flavor; the delicious gush giving him an indescribable sugar rush.

"Mmm," his salivating mouth hummed aloud.

Juicy. As. Fück.

The horny monarch was unexpectedly taken away his imaginative reign when Purple Hair ran over a pothole. Niall shook his head to clear it of her flowery clit, but it was already too late. He had blossomed a boner.

And it served him right.

The sex-crazed eighteen-year-old shouldn't even be having these kinds of fantasies. They were way too advanced for their nonexistent relationship. He and Purple Hair weren't even at first base, and they didn't even know each other's names! Therefore, Niall had a long way to go until they reached home plate.

But the blond was worried. What if he struck out before even getting a chance to win her heart? He couldn't afford to be ballsy. If Niall wanted them to hit it off, then he needs to be patient, and he needs to be smart. After thinking a bit, he decided to ask her out on a date, hoping the non-suggestive invite would be safe.

However, what the ignorant soul didn't know, was that his beloved queen batted for the opposite team.

"Where's the Nandos at?" Niall asked. He needed to know ASAP. The buoyant boy was going to make the most romantic reservation in the history of courtship, by renting the entire restaurant quarters for twenty-four hours, so that he and Purple Hair could spend quality time alone together, at what Niall considered to be the best place in the universe, on their first date.

It was going to be perfect. Niall could already see it; his lovesick imagination running wild with different scenarios:

He would sit in her lap while she fed him with a spoon, like the loving MILF that she was, sending him over the moon. Purple Hair would stuff a napkin bib in his shirt, so that he wouldn't get food on his clothes when he opened his mouth to flirt. But not even five minutes later, mami Purple Hair would be spanking his scrumptious bum, for being such a filthy boy, because he was completely covered in crumbs. But during his scolding, Niall would only feign guilt, for he absolutely loved to be punished, especially over mash that he spilt.

"Nan-who?" Purple Hair asked incredulous, almost crashing the Jeep into a taxi, annihilating his delicious fantasy. "Is that some kinda Irish slang for a Grandma prostitute? 'Cause we ain't got those on our streets in diz country, ya perverted foreign-lovin' cougar."

Her hypercritical words caused the roasted sinner to turn redder than his aching member. They also brought him back to reality, where the situation was less erotic and more catastrophic.

Niall sat shamefaced in the middle seat, his bad baby blues cast downward in lightweight remorse because her disturbing accusation wasn't too far from the truth. Even though Purple Hair wasn't old enough to be a nan, the blond was still pining over a senescent babe, who was twice adolescent's age.

Titty fück meh with a bucket of chicken and side of chips, Niall cursed in pure panic. She's on to meh...

Louis had to hold in his laughter and look out the window to hide his devilish smirk, the satanic man enjoying the fact that the blond idiot ruined any chance that he might have had to impregnate the lilac beauty with his leprechaun babies. Tough luck you Irish cûnt, he chuckled to himself darkly.

Liam, being the heroic dad that he was, came to his son's rescue. "Miss, Nandos is a chicken restaurant in the U.K." He explained.

"Right," the older woman said sarcastically, not believing the puppy-faced lad for a millisecond. "And lemme guess," she mused sardonically, "He always orders da breasts, huh?"

The Irish elf turned even redder, if possible, at the accurate assumption. His cute little ears shone more vermillion than his Daddy's rosy nose during his airport freak-show.

Louis, realizing Niall had suffered enough from the heartbreaking disease of "my crush doesn't like me back," decided to pull some empathy outta his big, albeit sympathetic, åss. He tried to save his friend from further humiliation, and postpone her inevitable rejection, which would be followed by Ni's unsatisfying wank tonight, by changing the conversation. "Where's the Statue of Liberty? I want to see it!"

Purple Hair rolled her eyes, annoyed that this cutie patootie was like all other typical tourists. Ugh. She had hypothesized that he had had so much potential. Sigh. So to answer his lame question, she responded in a disinterested tone. "On an island out there somewhere," she said and then pointed in a vague direction.

Louis huffed in disappointment at the lack of a decent answer from his suppose-to-be "tour guide." Like wtf? This is New York City dammit! He wanted to see it all - from the nasty sidewalk-scrap eating pigeons to the turquoise lady of freedom. This is such a rip off! How can Nialler even like this two-bit -

"You can see it lay-ta," Purple Hair said, interrupting Louis' insulting conscious. "We've got shît ta do."

She drove off like a bat outta hell, honking at every rude driver that tried to cut her off, and bumper kissing the large American cars in front of them, until she suddenly pulled down a dirty homeless-infested alley, which the boys came to find out, was a shortcut to a large Catholic church that read St. Simon's Cathedral under a gigantic cross.

As they sped by, the four marveled at the ancient-crafted stain-glass windows, that told the mosaic story of Jesus and his twelve disciples. When Purple Hair passed the palace of worship, she swerved into the back parking lot, driving until she entered an empty slot next to a hot pink Convertible Mustang, and then cut the roaring engine off at last.

Purple Hair unlocked the Jeep for Louis - she and the rest of the boys just hopped out of the car, due to their luxury of having taller-than-pocket-sized height. Once they were all standing awkwardly silent on the asphalt in a puzzled semicircle around her, the violet mop-headed goddess spoke, ready to make her ominously Fergalicious decree.

"So listen up y'all, 'cause diz is it. I'm about to tell y'all what's up real quick." At these words, the three brunettes gave her their undivided attention, while the blond, too dumbstruck by her sexy body to even remember his own name much less listen to her informational words, stared at her slim curvy waist.

Satisfied with three-fourths of their adequate observation, she decided to continue. "My name is Perrie, but y'all can call me Pez," She introduced warmly. "How-eva," Her voice suddenly turned cold, her odious tone making the boys shiver down to their bones. "If y'all refer ta me as that cross-eyed, box-shaped, flat-tailed, web-footed platypus," she described menacingly, "I will kick y'all's mothafückin' åsses."

Purple Hair glared at Liam, Louis, and Zayn, eyes sharp and dark, irises pointy icicles piercing their hearts.

"I fuckin' dare ya," she challenged. "Mention that blue rodent's stupid name, or mimic its retarded bark within twenty feet of me," she seethed, "And I swear to God, I'll beat yur British butts so bad, that y'all be wishin' that you was back in England, sippin' tea with Nanny McPhee."

Then she angled her body toward the bleach-haired youth, who had clear saliva dripping from his mouth. "What are ya lookin' at drool boy? Do ya wanna hear da Irish version? Or you good?"

Before Niall could reply with something unintelligent and masochistic, his dad swooped in to save him yet again.

"Well actually he's more turquoise than blue, don't you think?" Liam corrected Perrie wisely, ignoring the rest of her speech entirely in an attempt to steer the conversation away from his entranced friend. The sympathetic man found it quite tragic when lust at first sight was only one sided.

"Yeah, he's definitely more like a deep shade of aquamarine," Zayn agreed, adding his professional opinion. He was the artist of the group. If anyone knew the precise color of the cartoon animal, it would be him.

"Brilliant word choice Zayn! Since, you know, platypuses are semiaquatic mammals." Liam praised lovingly, very impressed with his boyfriend's intelligent commentary.

"Isn't the plural of platypus, platypi though?" Zayn asked, curious.

"No, it's platypodes, since it's Greek," Louis responded sassily with an eye roll. The lovers were clueless. Thank goddess Athena that he was here to educate their dumbåsses.

"Word nerd-" Zayn muttered bitterly under his breath before he was abruptly cut off by the violent clearing of someone's throat. The three boys slowly turned their head's in the direction of the attention-seeking sound and were meet with a fist-clenched, red-faced, nostril-flaring Perrie.

Liam, Zayn, and Louis gulped in unison, and then looked down to the ground in fear of being chastised, or more realistically, castrated.

"If y'all are finished discussin' da color and plurality of that blue platypūssy, I would like ta continua," Perrie interjected, annoyed.

Not even giving them a second to process her words, she proceeded without their permission. Perrie Edwards waited for no one.

"I'm da direct-a of diz homeless shelt-a, which is funded and operated by da church we just passed," she said while flicking a perfectly manicured hand in the direction of St. Simon's, and then went on. "As y'all have probably guessed, I'm ya boss for da next month."

Perrie stated the information indifferently, much to the boys' surprise. This caused the three footie players to sigh in relief, having realized that she would not be a totalitarian ruler, nor abuse her sovereign power by making them scrub filthy floors with only their toothbrushes.

The blond baby, however, was slightly disappointed. He wouldn't mind cleaning toilets or peeling one hundred potatoes for her, especially if he could reap some potential benefits that came with his hard work - like a break-time shag or a free meal. Or wait - even better! What if she offered him a free meal during break-time? Niall could see it now:

Perrie would call him into her office at a quarter past noon. The perspiring blond would walk in wearing his cleaning uniform: yellow gloves on his hands and a frilly apron tied around his waist.

The summoned man would stand courteously, waiting patiently for the full figured woman to give him some much-needed attention, whether that be being reprimanded or ravished, it didn't matter. He just wanted to be noticed.

Then suddenly, with a saucy grin on her lips, the classy lady would stop her furious typing and twist the black swivel chair to the left.

Sensually batting her eyelashes, Mrs. Perrie would beckon him forward with her French-tipped finger.

Once he was at the edge of her mahogany desk, his sexy superior would scoot back and uncross her long legs, revealing her soft coral hole that was hidden beneath her fleshy folds.

Next, pantie-less Perrie would open a drawer and retrieve a stashed can of whip cream. She would smirk at Niall, her blue salacious eyes locking with his, completely transfixed, as she aimed the canister down at her glistening entrance, and sprayed a generous amount on her dripping clitoris.

"Lunch, big boy?" She would ask the riveted custodian.

He would hesitate, not knowing what to say when his integrity was at stake.

"It's on me, sweet cheeks," she'd murmur pornographically, tempting him on with a wink.

Finally, he'd cede, shouting "Yaaaaa buddy!" as he dropped to his knees; at the mercy of her palatable pūssy.

Perrie would laugh at his eagerness, and then softly cup the back of his head with her gentle palm. She would run encouraging fingers through his vanilla quiff, and whisk soothing nails in his chocolate roots, slowly bringing him closer and closer to her succulent mousse.

"Dessert before the main course, m'lady?" Niall would tease playfully, licking a fat stripe of the creamy delight.

"Oui, venez ici. Bon appétit, cheri." She'd whisper in his ear coquettishly, pulling the Irish beast toward her fancy feast.

Niall had to hold back a groan, wanting to kitten lick all her fantasized bits.

Disregarding his amour's unrealistic French linguistics, the blond bonbon liked the idea of having secret rendezvous with his authoritative boo.

That being said - or in this case imagined - "Boss Perrie" didn't sound so terrible. The dominant relationship actually sounded rather wonderful to a submissive Nialler.

But back in the real world - out of Niall's fictional and greyscaled one - purple-haired Pez was currently giving them a verbal tour of their new whereabouts.

"That buildin' ova there," she pointed to a tall five-story concrete construction, "is da hostel, where da homeless stay ova night. And that buildin' ova there," she pointed to the large community center adjacent to the sleeping shelter, "Is da cafeteria slash kitchen where they eat - where we serve 'em three meals a day. And lastly, that buildin' ova there," she turned toward the third structure that was a hybrid between a hotel and a frat house, "Is da sleepin' courtiers for da long-term volunteers. So that's where y'all will be stayin'."

The four athletes, who were used to living in affluent apartments, had to hold back their aversion for their current residence. Oh well, there was nothing they could do about it. The wealthy boys sighed. They would just have to embrace the outdated place.

Perrie had to hold in her satirical laughter at their grim facial expressions. This thirty-one-day experience was definitely going to be humbling for them.

"Right. So now I'm gonna show y'all yur rooms. Afterward, I'll give y'all a tour, and tell y'all yur duties." The director announced. Then Perrie led the way toward their temporary home, the boys following her like depressed ducklings waddling to their doom.

"So y'all are boyfriends, amirite?" Perrie questioned knowingly, nodding her lavender head at Zayn and Liam.

"Is it that obvious?" The black haired boy wondered aloud, slightly skeptical. Were him and Liam that couply?

"Yes." She assured, rolling her eyes. "But I did do my research." She finished, chuckling at the lovers, a combination of horror and disbelief etched on their features.

When the five finally approached the shabby in-desperate-need-of-a-paint-job building, Perrie pulled open the old double doors located on the bottom floor of the huge three-story structure. She walked passed the vintage reception center and stopped in front of the staircase, that led to the inadequately furnished living courters.

"Okay," Pez said, clapping her hands to get their attention once again - Niall however, was still trapped in an enamored daze, which Liam prayed would soon fade. "Room distribution time!"

"Since I don't wanna have ta worry about y'all sneakin' in each other's rooms at night," She pointed at the same-sex partners already knowing that it was stupid to try to prolong the evitable, "I decided to let y'all share. So here." Perrie handed them each a rusty key, that had the number twenty-two engraved on its silver surface.

"But if I get one noise complaint about y'all bein' too loud - and y'all know exactly what I'm talkin' about - I'm separatin' you sluts."

Liam and Zayn's cheeks flushed a pretty pink at her reference to their naughty business. Not even Coach was this blunt when condemning their shameless shenanigans that took place in the locker room before and after a game.

Perrie glanced at Niall next, almost making the infatuated fellow cum in his pants.

"'Cause you're da only straight one, you'll be roomin' with two otha male volunteers ta discourage ya from bringin' females into yur room." She stated wisely. Louis had to hand it to Perrie. She wasn't a purple-bleached bimbo.

"I gotta keep them nice "nandos" livin' at da nursin' home across da street safe and sound." She proclaimed protectively, giving the speechless freak a key marked twenty-three.

"And you." She smiled at Lou. Despite his disappointing desire to fire clichéd questions at her concerning New York and its tourist attractions, the handsome lad was definitely her favorite by far. "I've heard you're gay and single, is that correct?" She asked, deciding to get a little revenge by interrogating him with her own idiotic question.

Louis nodded his head in affirmation. He had to refrain from rolling his beautiful blues. Everyone and their grandma knew that was true.

"Okay then. So ta discourage ya from minglin' with any guys, you get a room ta yourself." Their lilac-headdressed chief reasoned intelligently while inserting an identical key into his tiny hand, a twenty-four carved into its flat metal exterior.

"We gotta keep diz place holy," she said, addressing them all, giving the newbies a brief explanation for their specific, albeit slightly strict, housing arrangements.

"Now before I let y'all go put yur stuff away in yur rooms," Perrie's face turned emotionless and despotic, "I need ta tell y'all about da rules."

Her eyes instantly turned to stone, the topaz gems looking sharply from one boy to another, making sure that each and every last one of them had given her their undivided attention - especially Niall.

Wow, Louis thought after witnessing this grand phenomenon, which involved Perrie doing a few vociferous snaps in front of the blond's blank besotted face. What the director had to say must be serious, if she needed to sober up the Mr. drunk-in-love.

"Y'all can view most of the stupid ones that I won't give a whooha about like 'no smoking'..." She causally side-glanced Bob Marley's protégé, who only shrugged indifferently, unashamed of his love for Mary Jane. "...and all that jazz yourself on that a big åss sign ova there." Pez pointed to a large poster above the lobby counter that spelled out VOLUNTEER RULES in faded ink. Under the bold font was several bullet points, which the roommates assumed to be your typical dormitory mandates.

Liam would be sure to read over the edict index tonight and regurgitate any guidelines to his pals that applied. Daddy dearest had to point his boys in the right direction. Because it was his duty. Coach had put him in charge while they were away in the U.S.A.

"How-eva," her pitch dropped an ominous octave, the note of levity in her voice going flat, "There is one commandment on da list that I care about." Director Pez said, all jokes aside, excluding biblical allusions that she felt inclined by the church to mention. "And if not kept, there will be major consequences and wrathful repercussions."

Zayn and Louis had to do their best not to crack up. They - contrasting solemn Liam and smitten Niall - could tell that Perrie's speech was rehearsed and mocking.

"Around here," she continued dramatically using contemptuous air quotes, "We call it da 'unforgivable' sin." The footie players could already tell that she didn't personally agree with this righteous decree, but nevertheless, they still grasped the severity of the crime if committed, since redemption wasn't permitted.

"Which is: do not," she stopped and then repeated her words twice as loud and three times as strict. "DO NOT, under any circumstances, bring a homeless person inta yur room."

Perrie's stern aggression ended at the finish of her ruinous sentence, but her no-nonsense attitude remained when she requested Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn for complete comprehension.

"Am I clear?"

"Crystal," they said in unison.

"Good. Now I know that it's a dumb rule and probably pretty obvious - like why would ya bring a bum inta yur room in da first place?" Perrie asked rhetorically. "But bear with me, 'cause its church ordas. And Lord knows what Priest Simon would do if word got out that one of his volunteers was foolin' around with da helpless homeless."

Niall noted that Perrie's sarcasm was thicker than her voluptuous thighs, and Louis had to hold in a laugh as she rolled her deriding eyes - because same. Louis was in one-hundred percent accordance. Who would even fück a hobo? And if they did, who cared?

"If one of da staff catch ya sneakin' one up here, or - God forbid - fornicatin' with one of 'em, not only will y'all be in deep shît but so will I," Perrie stated humorlessly

Apparently, the Catholic Church did, Louis riposted his unspoken query.

"Lemme put diz inta perspective for ya," the director took her hands off her hips, using them to illustrate the inherent situation.

"Y'all are famous international athletes, while I am just a New York shelt-a direct-a." She emphasized the word 'I,' creating a clear distinction between herself and the boys, utilizing her pitch to verbally differentiate between their social standing in society; hers being ranked low, and theirs being ranked high.

"And 'cause I'm yur boss, if y'all fück up, I have ta take responsibility for y'all's actions - even if you're ta blame." She further explained. "I mean, y'all might get some backlash for díckin' around instead of workin', but eventually it'll blow over. Whereas I, on da other hand, could lose my position here. And y'all don't even know how many years it took me ta get it." Pez paused to let that sink in.

Despite the fact that he felt like the "offense" of having sex with the homeless was mild, even Lou's unreligious åss knew that that rumor could not be reconciled. For if the unholy union really did transpire, the gossip would spread throughout the congregation like hell fire. It could essentially destroy the whole church and their impeccable reputation for purity and charity, thus bringing down the whole amenity and its entire participancy.

Having acknowledged the motivation behind her concern, Louis finally understood why Perrie's was so perturbed.

"Anyways my point is, is that if y'all break that rule, y'all will continua ta walk on water, while I, on the other hand, will be beneath ya, drowning in it. So please don't fück diz up for me."

The woman's words came out harsh, but the guys could hear an undertone of desperation and begging. Even though her face maintained a strong façade, her amethyst ringlets shook with unease and anxiety. They all guessed that - for whatever reason - it must have been a struggle for Perrie to land her exalted employment. Though Louis was surprised that the acquired job was in such demand, he still respected her devotion toward it and would do everything in his power to help her preserve it.

"We won't," Liam reassured confidently, speaking for himself as well as his teammates, his voice laced with promise and professionalism.

"Good," Perrie replied, satisfied with their leader's poised answer.

"Now go put yur shit away." She shooed them off toward their rooms. "I've gotta tour ta give ya."

...

Ten minutes later she called after the fatigued fellas, who were still unpacking their rucksacks.

"Tick tock ya lazy jocks! I ain't got all year."

At the sound of her onoclockopoeia, their feet began to race down the squeaky staircase.

The purple-haired mother laughed at the boys' ridiculous obedience, however, she had to admit, that it was a great trait compared to her daughters' promiscuous expedience.

Soph will love 'em, she believed, smiling, thinking of her beautiful wife. But once the four appeared around the corner, she let out an envious sigh. If only our girls were less defiant and more compliant like deez guys.

Pez shook her head to clear it of the longing thoughts and then carried on with her escort job.

"Now," Perrie shouted, "Who's ready for da most exciting escapade of their life?" Her fake enthusiasm was followed by four groans as they left the building behind.

~x~

After an hour of venturing in and out of the shelter's two non-profit establishments (the hostel and the meal center) and exploring their essential rooms (the launderette and kitchen), followed by a brief description of their duties and the time sheet, the grand tour was finally over.

Thank God, Louis thought. He was already exhausted from a long bloody plane ride and a five-fücking-hour jet lag, and now - because of this long unnecessary tour (actually it was very necessary but the blue-eyed boy will never admit it) - he was fücking done. Louis Tomlinson was ready to hit the hay. Or hell, if he didn't get some tea soon, somebody better hit him with a bale of hay to wake him the fück up. He wasn't going to survive that much longer caffeine free.

Now that they had come full circle, the fantastic four were currently standing in front of their rundown dormitory, while Perrie was summarizing the most important points of information that she had given them. But all Louis heard was blah blah blah as his head miraculously landed on LiLi's muscly-yet-paradoxically-squishy shoulder. His eyelashes fanned prettily downward as he snuggled his cheek against his friend's hard-pillowy flesh.

Liam being the great dad he was, automatically wrapped his arm around Louis, doing his best to maximize his baby boy's comfort. Zayn, so in tune with his tiny nuclear family, did his designated part as mummy in Jay's absence, and began petting Lou's fluffy fringe, that glowed a soft golden color in the sunset, giving their devil child an angelic halo.

But Louis wouldn't be able to catch any z's for Perrie might have seen him starting to sleep. The next thing he knew there was a can of Red Bull being thrown toward his face. But it was okay because Louis' reflexes were still ace even while in his zombie state. He caught it in his fist and then straight away began to sip it contents, absorbing its energy until the tin was empty. Soon after the energizer bunny was drumming at full speed in his head, chasing away the soporific fog so that Louis could pay attention to what their director was saying.

"So 'bout y'all's work schedule." She repeated rapidly, halting her feet in front of the four, who respectfully formed a staggered oval around the controller. "Just remember that from eight to twelve, y'all will be doin' laundry in da hostel, and then from five to nine, y'all will be cookin' in da cafeteria and servin' dinna. Durin' da hours in between, y'all can do whateva y'all like. Capisce?"

Once she was finished describing their daily responsibilities, Perrie raised a perfectly contoured eyebrow at her new recruits to check for understanding.

"Capisce." They echoed simultaneously.

Subsequent to her new employees' agreement, the director retrieved her phone to check the time. After a quick glance, she pocketed the cellular device with a pensive grimace. "Since it's a quarter past five we better head over to da soup kitchen," Pez said and then began walking toward the cafeteria again, the footie players following in her foremost footsteps.

As Perrie, Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Liam approached the building's entrance, they were greeted by a loud booming cry which resonated off the dining hall's walls from inside, the offensive salutation was so sonorous that it could be heard audibly from the outside.

"THE RED COATS ARE COMING! THE RED COATS ARE COMING!"

The three British boys looked at each other totally bewildered.

Last time they checked, the Revolutionary War was long over. So why were they being addressed like the English were still a present threat?

The blond, on the other hand, was staring down at his chest very perplexed. He wasn't wearing a scarlet jacket. He was sporting a green tee! What did this guy mean by the red coats were coming?

As the confused troopers marched through the open door, they were met with a tall burly man, who was most likely in his late fifties if the silver tint in his hair was anything to go by. As they stepped closer to him, the old timer flashed them an American manufactured grin. His teeth were perfectly straight, highlighted with a yellowing tinge that framed the aligned edges. Louis couldn't decide if the smile was welcoming or just a fax expression of friendliness.

His body language, however, portrayed a different message altogether. The aged man's big arms were crossed over his broad pecks, the skin that covered them bulging out against his chest, in a classic "tough guy" manner. Yet it was hard to take his macho stance seriously when he was wearing a thin fishnet cap over his salt-and-pepper hair coupled with a food-stained apron atop his faded navy jeans and collared shirt.

The four boys, however, did not let the innocent outfit fool them, for even though the senior volunteer appeared to be unintimidating, he was still their alleged adversary due to his bygone savagery.

Then a gorgeous woman with long coffee-colored hair, who was around the same age as Director Pez, stepped from beside the ill-mannered man, chiding him as she sauntered by.

"Oh hush up, Paul!"

The slanderous kitchen-help only smirked devilishly, which caused the pretty lady to release a hopeless breath. She rolled her hazel eyes and shook her head disapprovingly as she strode forward, her chestnut hair swishing gracefully from side to side not in the least bit bemused by the eldest employee's rudeness.

The four new volunteers watched the strange interaction confusedly, all of them still not sure what to make of their senile co-worker, who was currently chuckling at the woman's reaction. She was now actively ignoring his displeasing presence, her gaze transfixed on their supervisor next to them, her soft tourmaline eyes connecting with Perrie's pearly blues.

Louis then realized that their shared look of fondness wasn't platonic or remotely innocent. However, his blond brother didn't make the connection as quick, causing him to almost lose his fücking shît.

Niall watched in the utmost horror as this motherfücking bįtch, grabbed Pez around the hip, and saucily whispered "Hey," while kissing her ruby red lips.

"I missed you, Periwinkle." She said as she cutely - or disgustingly in begrudging boy's opinion - giggled, twirling her long pink nails in Pez's lavender ponytail.

"Hey there Sophie," Perrie greeted in the softest whisper, but then upon second thought added dotingly, "my wifey."

The boss lady flashed a crooked smile at the blond callously, but he could only return it with a grimace, as he watched the lovers embrace happily.

Louis' sadistic laughter rang in his head at the revelation that Perrie was a lesbian. Even Zayn's usually unaffected åss couldn't help but turn his head away and smile at his Irish mate's comically uncharacteristic frown. Liam was the only one who took pity on the heartbroken boy, who was currently trying to contain his tears while he watched the women openly make out in front of them. Each provocative smack of their lips caused Niall to flinch, triggering Louis to reach borderline hysterics. It has always been funny to him when straight people accidentally crushed on homosexuals. Now those hets know exactly how it feels to be completely limerent with someone who will never be interested. That's how Louis felt during his entire high school experience. Being the only openly gay teen in the entire academic body, meant that his chances of finding a partner, who would express their feelings mutually, were the same as winning the fucking lottery.

Since it was Niall's first time being subjected to this kind of rejection, Louis could tell that the despair was hitting him hard.

And it certainly was.

Upon realizing that all of his fantasies would never see reality, Niall's face twisted in pain. Not being able to bear watching the scene, he turned away. But his cerulean eyes were still streaked with envy green. Not even his rapid blinking could wipe them clean.

Louis bit his lip. Seeing his friend on the brink of tears jerked him out of his pensive sadism.

All four boys watched in horror as Niall clutched his achy chest, and released several shaky breaths. His lungs were having a hard time functioning properly due to his shattered heart, the pieces piercing him with their broken shards.

Witnessing the bubbly boy's moment of sadness, Louis and Zayn quit their malicious giggle fits, and Perrie let up on her affectionate display that was quickly turning into foreplay.

"Awe, distracting the teabag cadets with a sapphic burlesque? That's quite the brilliant plan, director Pez!" The senior staff said, halting the exhibitionists' sexual show. The three boys briefly wondered why he was insistent upon referring to them as British combatants. What had they done to initiate a crusade against the soup kitchen theocracy?

The assumed-to-be-pseudo warlord veteran began slowly walking in a circle around them, rubbing his hands together evilly, smiling like a crazy revolutionary. "We can get our revenge by besieging the little graffiti army. We'll take these brats as prisoners of war, and lock them in the pantry."

Suddenly it all made sense!

After hearing the word 'graffiti,' it clicked in their minds. This Paul guy was using military jargon for the sole purpose of orchestrating punitive retaliation. Like many die-hard U.S. soccer fans, he wanted justicefor heinous caricature that his arch nemesis had painted. But the footie stars couldn't tell if he was being serious about his promised reprisal or just pulling their leg. Shît became real, however, when the old sports supporter stopped behind Louis, whispering a warning in his ear.

"And if they try to resist, we'll make their leader America's bįtch!"

Louis clinched his fists in anger, knowing all too well that the elderly díck was referring to the vandalizing script that he had been framed with. The innocent victim rolled his blustery blues, refusing to acknowledge the undeserved threat.

Fück Grimshaw and his lying åss, the suspended captain cursed in this breath. And fück this ancient fart believing it!

Before Louis could open his mouth and voice his opinions, his boss decided to come to the players' defense.

"Ha-ha, how about ya get off yur high horse shut that trap of yurz, Revere," Perrie said, letting go of Sophia's waist. "There's no need to go all warmonger on 'em. They're already gonna suffa enough puttin' up with yur stupid åss for an entire month. And why are ya puttin' so much effort inta announcin' their arrival? They ain't nothin' special." She remarked the last word fondly, winking in Niall's direction. Then she spoke offhandedly in regard to the inappropriate nicknames that he had called them earlier. "And the blond's Irish anyway, you dipshît," she finished.

The archaic codger roared with laughter at their boss's sarcastic humor, not minding in the slightest being addressed as a demeaning profanity as well as a historical celebrity.

Niall, on the other hand, was the one feeling like a dumbåss at the moment. How had he not realized that his woman crush was into lassies? Having three very openly gay best friends, the blond's gaydar was usually on point. He was going to have to ask the lads to give him some more pointers so that he would never have to experience unrequited love ever again.

"Fine. I sincerely apologize for not being politically correct. Let me rephrase." Paul sorrowfully expressed, feigning great penitence. Then he repeated his hello with twice as much gusto.

"THE RED COATS AND THE ALCOHOLIC ARE COM-"

Slap.

"That's enough you racist bastard!" Their superior shouted, silencing their co-worker with the back of her hand. "Quit it before I can ya." She chided darkly, threatening him with resignation.

"You can't fire me if I work here for free." He taunted back.

Honestly, how much balls did this old tosser have? The foreigners wondered.

Before they could contemplate the inquiry, Paul responded with something that would probably get his sack severely butchered.

"If anything Sophia's daddy will excommunicate you before me, pūssyeater."

All the boys shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond to the offensive term in this situation, debating if they should stand up for Perrie and her wife or let them handle Paul themselves.

However, the women didn't need rescuing, because the vulgar American was apparently joking?

"Oh boys, it's okay Pauly here isn't homophobic - or racist for that matter." Sophia guaranteed, patting him on the shoulder. "He's just a big silly goofball, who has a very ... uh ..." She paused for a second, thinking of the right word, smiling kindly when it came to her, "unorthodox sense of humor."

Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Niall all visibly relaxed after hearing her considerate clarification.

"So please don't mind him." She continued benevolently. "He means no harm right, big fella?"

Paul nodded in affirmation. But the next thing he said made them question him all over again.

"There are worse people than gays, gentlemen."

"Like who?" Zayn quizzed, raising a challenging ebony eyebrow.

"Like Donald Trump for Christ sakes!" He shouted. "There's a brainless idiot in office, who might start World War III over a rude tweet and you think that I'm worried about homosexuals?" Paul shook his head. "Honestly, you boys need to get your priorities straight. Well, you should at least try," he suggested, uncrossing his arms to point at Ni. "There's no hope for them." He said, gesturing to the other three, poking fun at their sexuality. "Besides, the U.S. made it legal for them to marry anyway," Paul nodded his hair-netted head in the direction of Sophie and Pez, who currently had their arms wrapped around each other. "So what's the point in being anti?" He asked the boys rhetorically and then ogled the couple once more. "And why would I condemn something so hot?" He smirked. "It's one of the perks of working here."

Despite his crude comedy, the new employees found themselves chuckling softly at the end of the senior staff's speech. After hearing the old timer talk, the boys came to the conclusion that he was harmless. His jesting was definitely unusual and unconventional, but there was no trace of legitimate contempt. So they might as well give him a chance.

"Get back to work you dirty old man!" Perrie barked, but it held no bite. Then she turned to her spouse, leaning in close. "Okay babe, I gotta show these kids the ropes, but we can continua where we left off late-a tonight." The violet-maned lioness pawed her mate's ass through her rose-colored dress.

Sophie's bashful giggles did not last long before they were lewdly mocked by the Disney-loving cøck, who stood next to her.

"I'm on it Agent P and Dr. Sophenshmirtz." Paul said with a sardonic salute.

Upon seeing the flare of sapphire in her angry orbs in response to those offensive words, the boys were reminded of her threat to beat them black and blue if they dare associated her with Phineas and Ferb. Perrie went to slap her hand once more against the cartoon-alluding man, but he expertly dodged her assaulting mitt like Neo from the Matrix. Before she could try again, Paul made his grand escape, shouting, "Don't forget to send me the sex tape!" as he ran away.

"Imma drown that son of a bįtch in your father's holy water," Pez growled under her breath.

"Isn't that called baptism?" Liam hesitantly amended.

Perrie rolled her eyes. "Same difference."

Sophia laughed good-naturedly. "If anyone needs to spend time in confession with Daddy, it's Paul alright."

"No amount of Hail Marys can make up for all the sinnin' that one's done, and Simon sure as hell knows that." The director shook her head disapprovingly, her tied-back lavender ringlets resembling a veil of wisteria rippling through the wind.

But the small grin that graced her ruby lips, let the boys know that there were no hard feelings, that she was only amused by Paul's unprofessional absurdities.

As soon as the smile disappeared, Perrie was back to business. She grabbed her clipboard that hung from the nail on the wall. The white sheet attached to it listed all of the jobs that were taken, as well as the available spots that needed to be filled.

"Okay boys, come with me." The newbies followed their purple-haired superior to the storage closet, where she gave them all cloth aprons and disposable gloves. "So which one of y'all is da best cook?"

The footie players pointed at Liam in unison. None of them could create anything good, but Li's food was by far the most editable.

"Okay puppy boy, you're on kitchen duty with Paul." Perrie decided, and then upon second thought added, "and yur lova boy can help him chop shît or whateva with ya." She handed them both hairnets and shooed them off in the direction of the kitchen.

Next, she singled out Niall. "You Blondie can go ova there and greet da homeless when they come in by givin' 'em a tray n' silverware." Pez pointed at a tall rectangular stack of plastic platters and a large bucket that held the eating utensils. Louis' Irish brother nodded his head and walked over to his station located near the entrance.

After he went, she viewed her clipboard again. "And what's left..." The lavender-haired lady mumbled aloud, her pedicured fingernail going down the lines searching for an empty slot. When she found one she looked up. "You, my dear, can pass out bread when it's servin' time." Pez assigned softly, but then her voice turned sharp and serious.

"Now listen up, Louis. These homeless people can be pushy and grabby. But do not let 'em put their hands in da contain-a - we don't want 'em contaminatin' da food." She spoke firmly, her instructional voice ringing with authority. "And just give 'em one piece of bread, don't let 'em pick. We gotta keep the line movin' as quickly as possible. So ya gotta be tough with 'em. Kay!? Can't be feelin' sorry for 'em."

"Okay. Sounds easy enough." Lou replied casually. He didn't know why she was acting so stern, the task seemed like a piece of cake.

"That's the spirit!" She patted him on the back. "Servin' starts at six p.m. sharp." She told him and then peeked down to check her pink-banded Apple watch. "That's in ten. Ya betta go wash up. Da sink is ova there." His boss motioned to the right. "If ya have any otha questions, then just ask someone. Don't be a strang-a, we're all family here." Perrie flashed him an encouraging smile before she left to go direct another volunteer.

Louis sighed.

After washing and drying his hands, he snapped on his mint-green latex gloves and took his place behind the counter. The apron-smocked blue-eyed boy glanced at the clock. It was finally time for him to do what he had been sent here to do.

Truth be told, Grimshaw should have been standing where he was right now, in a fucking soup kitchen, about to serve morsels of bread to dirty New York City plebs.

Louis should be in his shoes - but not literally! He hated Grimmers' lame Nike sneaks because the Tommo had class; he much preferred Adidas cleats. He should also be dressed in his silky jersey with the number 28 on the back, running across the long evergreen field, waving to his fans as he scored goal after goal, hearing nothing but the sexy swish of the net. Awe what a sound, paired with the wild crowd.

Louis could envision it if he closed his eyes. He could even taste the Gatorade on the tip of his tongue and feel the nice cool air weave through his sweaty fringe and swirl in his lungs.

Being there at the stadium was the most amazing experience. Absolutely nothing compared.

Well except for seeing the girls on Christmas - but that was it! Louis thought as he reminisced.

The family man smiled, thinking of his mom and younger sisters. Everything in life aside from spending time with them fell short of playing his favorite sport. Liam, however, told him that was because he had never been in love before.

Louis decided to call bullshît until he found a boyfriend prove the testament.

His happy remembrance was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door opening, signaling the inevitable approach of the ravenous vagrants. Their arrival triggered Louis' rancorous memory to brood over the Grim, who, without respite, haunted his mind.

Since he had stepped off the plane, the postponed player had kept his bitter thoughts at bay. But now, when it was finally time to face the music, the only hymn that Louis heard, came from the broken record inside his head, playing the same poignant lament over and over again. It was the same sad tune that he had remixed on the aircraft after it departed from London. And now he was whistling That Should Be Me on the churchyard of broken dreams.

As he watched the blond shamrock pass out trays to hungry hobos with a smile on his face, Louis realized that he was being overdramatic as usual.

What else was new?

He released another sigh and quit his high-pitched rendition of Bieb's angsty anthem.

Louis took a deep breath and picked up a white slice in his hand.

It was time bite the bullet and feed the fucking homeless.

~x~

An hour later, Louis was tired. It wasn't that giving out pieces of bread was physically draining; he was just drowsy. The energy that the red bull had supplied was now exhausted. The footie star wouldn't normally complain about standing for an hour straight, but jetlag was a bitch, and he just wanted - no needed - to rest.

Louis had to restrain himself from rubbing his half-shut eyes that were probably rimmed with red. The sleepy boy made sure to halt his palm before he touched his face, not wanting to challenge his immune system with his germ covered glove and get himself sick. Though contracting a cold might get him kicked out of the kitchen...

Languid Louis also had to stop himself from plugging his button nose. It wasn't that the soup kitchen quarters smelt bad, it was just that the homeless people, venturing in and out it, were a completely different story.

Louis noticed that the majority of them were dressed in clothes adorned with dirt and holes. The older men's beards were uncut and matted, the fuzz on top of their heads, if there was any, was uncombed and saturated with sweat. The women, half the time, were braless and their hair was a freaking mess. Strands stuck up in every direction and knots festooned the center of their flaky scalps. The younger bums who were in their twenties and thirties, though, were a tiny bit better kept. Regardless of their age, each was due for a thorough washing. Truth be told, it would probably take a few showers to completely get rid of the horrible stench that was embedded into their greasy skin.

But their hands.

Jesus Christ, their filthy hands were the bloody worst!

Every single time a vagabond's grimy fingers accidentally brushed his latex digits while reaching out for a slice of bread, it took literally all of his strength not to jump back in utter repulsion.

The sports prodigy didn't consider himself a condescending snob, but when some of the beggars opened their decaying mouths to grunt out "thanks," he couldn't control his gag reflex after he got a whiff of their stinky breath, which reeked of rotten eggs and boiled cabbage. The scent was absolutely horrendous.

Sometimes when the smell became unbearable, Louis would breathe in the food's delicious aroma to mask the repellent odor.

Luckily for him, there were a few exceptions. Thank God.

The soccer volunteer realized that not everyone in line was "homeless". There were some poor families and immigrant workers who simply came for a free meal.

The little ones that they sometimes brought with them were - so far - his favorite part of community service. Louis Tomlinson, the well-known kid lover, smiled at the young boys and girls and made funny faces at the fussy babies. When Perrie wasn't looking, Lou slipped them some extra pieces of bread. Their parents would return grateful gestures as they moved on to the next server, who gave them a hardy helping of spaghetti and meatballs.

As the minutes ticked by, the lethargic lad's long lashes began to flutter lower and lower. His thin lips releasing a yawn every other second. Louis wished that he could just lay his head on the soft pillowy looking loafs and take a short nap. Though the bums probably wouldn't like the drool on their food.

When he saw the silhouette of the next guest approaching, Louis robotically picked up another white slice from the bin. His blue eyes briefly slipped closed as he held out the square loot in front of him. After a moment passed, he let go. As he retrieved another piece for the next hobo, Louis heard a flat splat from the ground below, telling him that the portion of bread had not reached the person's hand.

Crap.

Before he could murmur a slumberous "sorry," the bum in front of him released a deep apologetic squeak.

"Oops!"

Louis' eyes snapped open, his ocean orbs climbed up from the shores of the tile floor like a tidal wave, as if they were summoned by the moon to witness something great:

As soon as the sleepy server saw the boy before him, he wondered if he was fully awake.

The pretty bum was too pretty to be real.

Not only was Lou questioning the existence of the young man standing in his presence, but he swore he was also imagining his heartbeat speeding up, going faster and faster, its rate escalating the longer he dazed.

The boy, who frankly looked more like an overgrown child than a young adult, had the body of a teenager and the face of an angel. His hairline was adorned with cute corkscrew curls and his ears were festooned by their chocolate puffs that resembled a pair of soft winter muffs. He had a frayed scarf wrapped around his pale neck, the warm fabric tucked into a purple sweater that hugged his broad chest. It had buttons down the middle and twin pockets on the bottom. The garment would have been quite fashionable, especially in England, but its royal color was worn and faded. The violet yarn that was probably foreign spun was now washed out by the brutal American sun. His lower half was dressed in stained trousers that hung loosely on his thin legs. The lad's baby flamingo feet were in a pair of filthy white sneaks. Their laces were so soiled that even the strongest bleach wouldn't wash them clean.

Despite the rags covering his body, the boy's face was rich in beauty.

His irises were prettiest shade of green. The emerald rings resembled a lush field in the middle of spring. Gold specks sparkled like glitter around the black centers as if there were tiny dandelions blossoming behind his attractive eyes. His nose was straight and a little rounded at the base, the skin rosier than his pink cheeks, which housed an adorable dimple in each smiling crease. And his lips. God, his lips were simply luscious. They were the personification of Cupid's bow, their petal-like complexion the same color as a crimson rose.

What he would give to kiss those soft succulent lips...

And then Louis felt it.

It wasn't an electric spark that shocked his racing heart.

It wasn't the fluttering of butterfly wings in his empty tummy.

No.

It was a rough tug - that felt more like a hard wrench - pulling him in the direction of the penniless orphan.

Louis had not believed in love at first sight, but now it was impossible to deny.

Because he had felt it.

Louis couldn't explain the feeling. The emotion was corporal yet mental and totally out of his control. The only way to describe the experience was by closing your eyes and imagining that the muscle in your chest worked similar to Jack Sparrow's mysterious compass, which instead of pointing due North, guided you to the person that you wanted most. But the sensational tug was even stronger than that. Louis' body, mind, and soul felt as if there was a powerful magnetic pull anchoring him to the beautiful boy like a metaphorical rope.

Is this what true love feels like? Louis wondered. Will I be tethered to this handsome lad forever?

But Louis didn't care; the loveless lad would follow him to the ends of the earth. Just like the shipless pirate when he retrieved the Black Pearl.

The heart wants what the heart wants, his subconscious knowingly taunts.

The moonstruck idiot disregarded the potential consequences when he felt another relentless tug on his heartstrings. He prayed that he was worthy of love's mercy before finally whispering a friendly greeting.

"Hi."

Louis was startled out of his lucid dreaming when he heard an impatient grunt from behind the breathtaking bum.

The enamored man quickly sprang into action.

"Uh...sorry 'bout that. Here you go, love," he said grabbing another piece of bread and placing it in the kid's outstretched hand.

"Thank you." He replied kindly in a deep melodious voice that, if Louis was not mistaken, was spoken in a thick British cadence.

Before the blue-eyed server could whisper your welcome and marvel over his accent slash attractiveness, the green-eyed boy moved on to the next soup-kitchen stewardess, leaving the New York-bound player stunned, his heart beating like the wings of a free dove.

Fück.

Louis Tomlinson was hopelessly in love.

X

A/N: So there's the update for you! Hope you enjoyed it. I couldn't resist not doing the oops!hi. moment. Sorry! The text in italics near the end did happen to an extent. Harry was there, but Louis in his sleepy state thought of all that lovey dovey crap. If you haven't noticed, he thinks of Pirates of the Caribbean analogies when he's dreaming. Also, sorry for the rhyming. I can't help it. Maybe I was a poet in a past life? lol