In Too Deep (Dancing With The Shadows)

one

Peter chuckles that deep laugh of his, shaking his head. He scratches at his thinning salt and pepper hair. "Stop your bloody complaining, kid, and get going. It's not Tom, it's a new customer under the name Barry, so we want his experience here to be a gooden."

Louis huffs. "How long are they staying?" he might be frustrated that a new person is coming to stay because he gets a little anxious over new people, expecially after that incident, but he's got some fucking decency not to misgender them.

After last time his dad misgendered Frankie, my God, Frankie was close to using his fists.

"Four weeks. They've booked the cottage outside so at least it's not a big treck for you." Peter winks.

Louis fakes an ecstatic smile. "How gripping," he grits out, leaving the room.

He goes down the hall and passed the kitchen with its old fashioned argon, opening the boot room door, then the front door. His feet crunch under the stones that make up the courtyard.

The cottage that the new customer is going to be staying at, is the one that overlooks the main house. It's less than six steps to the left of the mansion, its pink walls bright in the sun that it almost looks white.

Louis opens the black front door of the cottage, stepping in. The key is inside the lock already indoors, as the fear of robberies are low due to the security precautions around the place. Not only do you need a code to get past the black gates, but there's always a guard in their little shed thing to stop any unwanted people twenty four seven.

The cupboard directly to the left of the front door creaks open when Louis pulls on the handle, letting the sheets flop from the top shelf. He slams the cupboard shut after retrieving a set of clean sheets, not wanting the rest to tumble out like a cotton avalanche on top of him.

He passes the small yellow front room, up the two (yes two) steps into the hallway and into the masters bedroom.

The walls are light grey, with black carpets. The bed is queen size, and the windowsills home a few fake plants and some insence that fills the room in pleasant woody smell.

Louis flails with the sheets. He can't help not flail in the sheets, what with his short frame, getting the massive duvet in the new fresh daisy printed covers.

He uses the bed for extra hight, and almost topples off the bed when the dips from his feet make him unbalance. He giggles to himself, hearing it bounce off the high beams.

He hops down once the duvet is sort of snug inside the duvet set and he wanders over to the large bookcase laying beside the window opposite the bed. He thumbs over the vinyls laying vertical in their rightful alphabetical place. His hand hovers over a newer vinyl that his sister Felicite insisted they have here.

The pink spine of the cover pops against the darker shaded vinyl covers around it. He takes the pink vinyl out its sleeve (Felicte also insisted it had to be the limited edition vinyl, saving all her money up for it) and pops it on the record player, pressing the on button and pushing the needle arm to its spot before it naturally drops down.

The small faint crackles from the disc wash out the silence in the room, and the first mellow chord drifts along the walls, and bouncing back into Louis' ears.

He will never admit that he is in fact a fan of the kid. He can't help being infatuated by his voice, especially when all four of his sisters listen to him.

He hums along to the song, the solemn sound tugging at his heart strings. Whoever hurt this boy in the past must have been a bitch of a woman.

He shouldn't assume that it was a woman, not really, but with all the news outlets saying about how he's had girlfriends and heartbreak over the years from many famous women, he can't help but assume.