Sorry for any mistakes
Louis
Christmas in my family for the past 12 years has been nothing short of pure chaos. From Lottie's very first Christmas when she pulled the whole tree down, trying to chew on the branches, and until last year when Daisy smacked Fizzy in the mouth for stealing her doll and we spent Christmas afternoon in the dental office. Fizzy milked Daisy's guilt for months after that.
Mum has always tried to make it special for us, especially me. Having a birthday that falls on Christmas Eve means that the attention isn't on you too much. Everyone is always too busy with last-minute shopping and making everything as festive as possible that they kind of forget about the little boy who still expected a birthday party.
"Maybe next year, hun." Is what I heard every year as a kid when I'd ask for a birthday party because something just always came up. If it wasn't a medical emergency, then it was a matter of not enough time, not enough money, or just not enough friends for me to invite.
So instead of getting a party or extra gifts, I'd wake up with a special birthday pancake or maybe a cheap sticker book that mum got from the little shop in the hospital she works in.
When you're used to receiving less, you expect less. Big birthday bashes turned into a confetti popper with a new coloring book that would be torn apart within hours by the twins who were just becoming curious of their surroundings.
But for someone whom you've met not even 2 whole months ago to put so much effort into a picnic by a stream and to even go that extra mile to write you a song from the heart, well let's just say little 10 year old Louis with his sticker book would beam with joy right about now.
Harry's cold feet are tucked securely beneath my legs, his mop of curls resting on my shoulder while we watch a Christmas baking show that Harry just can't seem to get enough of.
"Haz come on, your feet are freezing. It's like two icicles beneath my calf." I kick his feet away and adjust my position on the couch, Harry's glare burning holes into the side of my face.
"But I'm cold," he whines, tucking his freezing feet underneath my legs again.
"You already took most of the blanket," I scoff. He pretends not to hear me and focuses on the woman who made her icing too watery. "Maybe you wouldn't be so cold if you didn't insist on getting in a stream of water in the middle of December."
"Quiet," he grumbles, watching the shitty television program attentively.
"Quiet," I mock, Harry rolling his eyes and fighting a smile.
"I want popcorn," he says matter-of-factly, rising from the couch and stretching his arms above his head. I pinch at his small bum, Harry squealing and scurrying away from me and into the kitchen.
The show playing on the television drowns out the sound of popping kernels in the background. I don't know how Harry always ends up in charge of what show or movie we watch, but I won't complain.
A low buzzing begins in my pocket, directing my attention to my ringing phone. I pull the phone out and swipe my thumb over the call button, holding it up to my ear and waiting for the line to connect.
"Tommo! Where the hell are you?!" Zayn drunkenly yells into the receiver. I hear thumping music along with the loud chatter of voices in the background.
"At home? Where else would I be?"
"Get your ass over here," He slurs, honking horns and chilling wind replacing the sound of the party and I assume he's stepped outside.
YOU ARE READING
You Sunshine, You Temptress (l.s)
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