is death an option? / larry ✅

0.5

The Part Where Our Doomed Friendship Begins

I found myself spending more time with Louis than I think I've ever spent with anyone besides Zayn. Perhaps it's because my mother continuously pushed me to go visit him, to see if he'd spontaneously collapsed from death yet. Maybe it was due to the fact that I couldn't watch GoT at my house because Dad feared it was too violent, and that it might stain Betsy's innocence.

Either way, we were together A LOT.

Within the days that we spent together, Louis changed his eyewear three times–sunglasses, Lennon frames, and infamous Steve Urkel frames–and switched between a Dodgers baseball cap to one of those warm, furry hats with flaps used to cover one's ears that should have been worn during colder times, not during the Fall. He wore, at times, one brown–colored contact in his right eye to make himself seem unique.

He was interesting, to say the least. Probably one of the most interesting that I'll ever encounter within my lifetime.

I spent the duration of our shared time talking about myself–revealing that I secretly (though, it's not a secret anymore) had an irrational fear of a bug crawling in my ear and reproducing while I was sleep, and telling him my thoughts about Bush and 9/11. He never really responded that what I'd to say; mostly just nodding with that same, bored expression amongst his face while he busied himself with something else. Most of the time, I thought that he hadn't been listening at all, but he always proves me wrong by bringing up the same conversation later, or on another day.

They mostly occurred like this:

Me: Personally, I'm quite disappointed in humanity. I figured that, by now, we'd have developed some type of flying board that would save us millions of dollars in gasoline.

Louis: Oh.

Me: But, maybe that's what the government wants. They want us to spend all of our paychecks at the gas station because they KNOW that we can't really function without vehicles until you live in New York or Philadelphia.

Louis: Maybe.

Me: But, if it really WAS the government, why would they just exclude two major cities?

Louis: Dunno.

Me: Maybe they've set up bases in New York and Philadelphia, and all the people of importance actually live there–like the president. What if the White House is just a hoax?

Dad: You know, Louis, there's a button on the back of his neck if you ever need to shut him up.

Louis: *twitch of his mouth that I think might have been a smile, but I'll never be sure*

We spent most of our time at his place, as he felt like he should be with his mother quite a bit if the worst happened to him. I didn't have a problem with it. His mom always have us expensive cheeses, and I was able to sleep on his Temperpedic mattress whilst he read over "A Wrinkle in Time" in the sofa that I told him that he should pretend to be dead in.

I told him that about how I had developed a system of cliques within the school. He immediately asked me what group he belonged to. I told him "Wannabe Hipsters Who Kinda Look Like Janis Joplin, Subsection 2A". It was the second time that I saw an actually emotion upon his face–a true, wide smile followed by an indignant look.

I remember wandering around a record shop, staring down at Louis while he observed a Kayne West vinyl. He started talking about college–how he'd hoped that he would get into Juilliard, not to pursue a career in the arts, but to see if it carried an asshole more sarcastic and creative than he. He asked me if I was going to college, and I told him "no", that a boy like me would probably end up killing himself underneath the constant pressure. He scoffed, and called me an idiot.

As he purchased the vinyl, he told me about his father, and how they'd count the pigeons to avoid any awkward conversations when his mother forced the duo to spend time with each other. Then, the man grew tired of them both and ended up leaving his mom for some younger woman named Misty from El Paso.

I told him that his father sounded like an asshole.

He told me that I'd earned myself a pass to sit with "Wannabe Hipsters Who Kinda Look Like Janis Joplin, Subsection 2A".