clean » larry stylinson

[05]

four tyres turn sharply on the ice below, pulling him closer to his driveway.

the sound of clicking metal fills the void of silence, juggling his keys between both hands, louis walks through the empty morning air, apparently too crisp for anyone other than a tomlinson to bare. melted snow and earth seep into the cracks and crevasses of louis shoes, sending a shudder down his spine which he prays works as effectively as an ice-cold shower in sobering him up a little.

his face crinkles up in a pathetic attempt at a grin, lips pressed together in greeting when he rounds a corner to both his apartment's door, and mother's waiting figure.

jay tomlinson, a woman of middle-age with hard features and manicured qualities; remove the slightly overdone make-up and you're left with your typical motherly figure, leave it remaining however, and the remnant is a somewhat foreboding individual. tight lipped, cold-eyed, with eyebrows raised expectantly at every move made before her, this was louis' mother.

as the lady in front of him looked up, the faintest flash of surprise washed over her painted face. it was gone in an instant, as soon as her handbag began to swing against her body, pushed up from its resting place against the wooden door.

jay knows better than to try and hug her son, opting instead for a curt nod of her head his way. established, she may not understand that boy for the life of her, but jay at least understands the boundaries their relationship has reached.

much to her son's annoyance, she decides to voice her dissatisfaction towards having to wait for over a quarter of an hour for him to arrive home. her impatience cutting through clear. all rather unfair louis believes, especially considering she hadn't even the decency to let louis know she'd be coming by.

then again, it may have been in one of her weekly voicemails that louis has grown to habitually ignore. he pretends that that isn't the case and continues grimacing ever-so-subtly at her whilst he struggles with the key in the ageing lock.

the boy can sense that on the very tip of his mother's tongue is the question of whether the reason he is stumbling home now, washed up and slightly disoriented is because he spent the night out fucking some girl. of course jay wouldn't phrase it quite so, but that's beside the point. regardless, louis is also certain that she is holding back from asking him this in fear of hearing words of reassurance that still; he continues to be gay.

while his mother walks in past the door he holds open, inspecting the house, one heel clicking against the wooden floors at a time, louis pulls out his phone, needing to text liam a word of warning to not rush home.

given he isn't still verging on unconsciousness, spread out across the loveseat like the others were when louis had left.

earlier, when he had quietly left the scene, whispering a word of thanks to a sleepy zayn, he'd turned his head a moment longer than necessary to simply watch, and smile, at the dangly body of the youngest boy there. brown hair a mess, soft snores escaping his parted lips, harry was stretched out the length of a sofa, a crumpled crown of now torn paper still sitting forgotten amongst his curls.

louis chest coils slightly, heaviness spreading quickly through his chest like vines intertwining through wire. he should be there still, he realises. dismay weighing in on him, heightened by the cold and wet weather wrapping around his building, and the woman observing a painting of trees against a blank canvas.

"why are you here mum?" he asks as simply and straight to the point as he can.

louis never became accustomed to cries of delight from strangers as to the resemblance between his mother and him. he never was given the opportunity because upon first glance, their features simply didn't align with one another. that, and whilst louis frame remained petite, his growth spurt never quite hitting, jay always towered over him, looking down on him from every angle.