Louis Tomlinson's Book of Imagines

From Paris With Love

"Wow." He'd gone all out for this meeting, the next gift being your very own beret in an onyx colour. "Je vous ai apporté un béret (I brought you a beret)."

"Louis, these are so cute." Three baguettes lie in the basket at the side of two candles with cherry blossom and pink grapefruit scents. "You didn't have to bring me all this."

The French boy leans forward and kisses your cheek before pulling back and covering his mouth with the paws of his grey cotton sweater.

"Is that your way of being friendly in France?" you joke, heart racing from the sudden burst of affection.

"Je ne sais pas, il pourrait être (I don't know, it could be)." Oh, how his crystalline eyes glisten as he glances back up into your eyes shyly.

"And I didn't bring you anything, I'm so sorry. I was absent the day my teacher originally assigned this and I don't want you to think I'm a terrible host." No lie, you really hadn't been prepared to accept him with open arms because you'd been pretty ill with a bad flu.

He shakes his head in disagreement, still bent on the fact he's been welcomed so nicely regardless of returned presents.

"You sure, Louis? I don't want your first impression of an American to be a bad one." Louis nods again and you take one of the baguettes, unwrapping the ivory plastic and breaking off a piece from the top. "I bet the airplane food wasn't good, you want some of the bread you brought?"

"Je ai souvent baguettes, mais je vous remercie (I have baguettes often, but thank you)." The brunette wiggles his black Vans with shyness and you swallow the bread before you notice he hasn't taken his eyes off you. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Louis? You haven't stopped looking at me ever since I let you in."

"Can't help it, you're ever so gorgeous." Perfect English. It's now apparent that he's not entirely uneducated in the language.

"Y-You speak English?" A feeling of puzzlement runs through you, and he nods again to confirm.

''I don't speak a lot of English, I understand better than I speak it." The accent is still able to be detected in his words, showing French is still his first tongue. "Pardonne-moi, je continue à oublier que vous savez seulement tellement français (Forgive me, I keep forgetting you only know so much French)."

"C'est d'accord (it's okay)," you reassure him, picking up the remote from just a short distance behind you. "I say we start off our first night together with a movie, we could check the channels first and if not I have plenty of DVDs." A large stack resides not far to the right of the TV, shelf after shelf containing titles organized from A-Z.

The television turns on, and on the screen a porno is being displayed with an older blonde woman sitting by the side of a brunette teenage boy who appears to be no more than 17. "I've always loved younger men," the female star tells him, trailing her hand up his leg. "I bet you've never been with an older woman before."

"Oh my God," you gasp, mortified that of all things to appear, it had to be a porno. "This isn't even mine, my friend Bella was over yesterday and was probably watching it. I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" he insists, not embarrassed at all by what's playing. "Nous Français amour de nudité (Us French love nudity)."

"It would still be pretty awkward if I left it on, I'll find something with a little more modesty." It would be wrong to leave a porno on for someone you've just met, and so you get up to head towards the DVD when you realize halfway that you haven't even asked what he'd like to watch. "Is there anything in particular that you want to-"