Liquid Lunch: 2p!FrancexReader

Liquid Lunch

Warning: Cursing and alcoholism (not Louis though).

I grabbed my bottle and finished the wine. I’ve already sobered up, but I’m working on getting drunk again.

“(Name).” A voice growled.

“Is that the sound of my French boyfriend?” I spun around on the bar stool and saw Louis. “Hey Lulu!” I sang.

He gave me a series of short commands. I almost felt like a dog obeying them, but I didn’t want another lecture and argument. “Put the bottle down. Stand up. Come over here. Faster. Don’t fall over.”

“Yes, my dear.” I did everything he said.

“How much did you drink?” He asked.

I looked over to the bartender, and he held up eight fingers. “Eight bottles of...something. I don’t remember, but it smelled really good and didn’t taste half-bad.”

“Did you pay the tab?” He dug out his wallet ready to pay.

I shoved my hands into my pocket. In my wallet, I found no bills left. I only found fifty cents.

“I must have. I only have to two quarters Allen gave me.” I replied.

“I lent you two hundred Euros, and you spent it all.” Louis grumbled and griped about me wasting money under his breath.

I gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “And I’m grateful for that. Thank you.”

A sound of surprise came from my lips when Louis threw me over his shoulders. He walked to his apartment and threw me down on his bed.

“I had a few drinks. What’s the big deal?” I complained. “Why are you so uptight?”

Louis slammed his fist against the wall and marched over to me with a deadly expression. He snatched my collar and pulled me up so our lips barely touched.

His voice was low and growly as he spoke. “Everyone paints France as some fucking magical shitplace, but it’s not. There’s ugliness everywhere, and France isn’t an exception. I don’t want you to see that ugly. Stop drinking heavily.”

I didn’t have the courage to speak up until Louis was almost out of his bedroom.

“S-S-Says the chain-smoking, wine-guzzler with commitment issues.” I retorted.

Louis grunted. “At least my friends don’t talk shit about me behind my back.”

He closed the door behind himself, and I was left to mull over his words. Who’s been talking badly about me? What have I done?

About an hour later, my hangover came back, and I felt awful. I crawled into the bathroom and vomited three times. I panted afterwards and tried to get the disgusting tastes out of my mouth by using mouthwash. I was too weak to stand up for too long, so I fell to the floor heaving nothing. I didn’t notice Louis’ presence until he spoke.

“Drink this.” Louis sat down and pulled me into his lap. He put a glass to my lips. The liquids flowed into my mouth slowly.

“Vitamin water? Ugh, how about some aspirin? A terrible headache to starting to form.” I whined.

In his other hand were two aspirins. Louis popped them into my mouth, and he made me finish the glass of vitamin water.

“Can we cuddle?” I whispered.

 He set the glass down and wrapped his arms around me. “Whatever.”

“I know you like this. Your heart is speeding up.” I teased.

“Whatever.” He whispered, but tightened his grip on me.

I dozed off for a minute and woke up to see that I was in Louis’ living room. Louis was still holding me.

“Hey.” I kissed his neck. “What are you watching?”

He shrugged.

“Can you get me a glass of water?” I asked. “Oh! And can you make me tomato soup?”

One of my hangover remedy traditions is having tomato soup made by Louis.

“I don’t feel like cooking. You’ll get soup from a can.” Louis pushed me off his lap and walked away.

“Please, baby!” I whined, begged, and pleaded. “Please? Please? Pretty please? Make it from scratch, please? No one does it like you!”

Louis didn’t answer me. When he came back into the living room, he brought me a bowl of his homemade soup. He kissed the top of my head as well.

“Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi?” I blew a kiss and winked. I took the bowl of soup and happily ate.

He tried to hide it, but Louis smiled.

Rinse, lather, and repeat. I keep getting drunk, Louis picks me up from the bar, he helps me while I’m hangover while scolding me, and I repeat everything a few days later. Again and again and again and again. The 2ps laughed at me and my misery like it was a little not instead of a serious problem. Louis, on the other hand, was furious with my constant relapsing.

“Shut up and sleep.” Louis grumbled.

“Come on. Give me Zhao’s number.” I whined. Louis didn’t answer me, so I knew that I needed to explain myself. “He probably has some exotic medicine like a magic pill to cure my aches. What kind of hangover remedies do you think he has?”

“Listen to me for once!” Louis slammed his fist down. He stomped over to the bed and shouted. My headache intensified, and I got dizzier, but he continued to shout despite my whimpering. “What you are doing to yourself will kill you! Stop this behavior now!”

“I may not be immortal like you, but I’m still going to live for a few hundred years.” I whispered.

“And I plan on spending every minute with you!” Louis shouted. When he covered up his mouth, his blush was partially hidden by his hands.

“What?” I jokingly call him my boyfriend, but this... “So you like me?”

I sang “Liquid Lunch” by Caro Emerald quietly. My voice didn’t sound as best as it could be because of my dry throat and hangover, but I carried on. “I just can’t apologize for what I do to myself. My bed’s an ocean liner, and I can’t call for help.” I grabbed Louis’ collar and pulled him down to meet my pursed lips. “I promise on a dime. It’s the last time that I’ll ever have a liquid lunch.”

“Stop singing.” Louis mumbled. He pecked my lips.

“I promise that I’ll stop.” I whispered. A little sigh escaped from my lips. “No more binge drinking. I swear.”

“Good.” Louis ruffled my hair. “Go to sleep and get over this hangover.”

“Yes, sweetheart!” I blew a kiss. “Good night.”

“Bonne nuit.” Louis mumbled. “Ma petite.”

I said in a songlike manner as sweet as honey, “Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi.”

“I don’t fall for the romantic bullshit.”

“Explain your blush.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Louis turned off all the lights before leaving the room. “Je t’aime.”

No louder than a whisper, I spoke. “Je t’aime, my favorite kiss.”

I dreamt about Louis that night.