He clears his throat. “Oi. Can you move your mating ritual somewhere else?”
The boy lifts his head up, obviously amused by Louis’ shortness.
“Sorry, mate,” he says, voice low, hoarse and broadly British, “no need to get all snappy.”
His eyes are too far apart and large, like Louis’, and his mouth is plump and pursed. Under his hair, you can’t see his ears, and his chin is perfectly peach, rounded and smooth as he pouts.
It makes Louis want to punch him.
He clears his throat. “Well, your little card game is in my way, so…”
“Is it?” The boy remarks, amusement in his tone. “It matches the poker you have in your arse, mate.”