It Comes in Waves

Fourty Three

"No, Gemma, I don't think I want to." I say, my voice trembling.

She stops, her brief confusion evolving into full blown astonishment. I never shoot down her ideas, because as a general rule, she does always know what is best for me.

But suddenly I know something is different, because I know without a doubt that going into the water isn't what's best for me at all. It's very dangerous, and I don't know why, but I just keep thinking that I can't do it without Lou and he isn't here.

"No?" Gemma inquires uneasily.

I'm nodding then, certain for once.

"No."

Maybe I can take care of myself after all.

I come back to Louis reciting one of his new poems that compares our love to a sandcastle made out of gold. I give him a skeptical look that always makes him laugh, and he knows I'm back.

"Sandcastle made out of gold, huh?" I tease.

He grins broadly, straightening the collar of his coat as if he's about to say something rather important.

"It's horribly cliche, so I knew you'd love it. Copyright Louis Tomlinson."

I smile back, rising from the chair I was in so I can stand beside him. I grab his hand and bump my hip against his jokingly.

"I'll be sure no one takes it."

His arm is secure around my waist.

Mags enters the kitchen again, and I'm not sure where she went or when she left, but she's got a long, flat box covered in a layer of dust in her arms.

She mumbles something excitedly and then motions for us to follow, walking with a little trouble out of the kitchen and presumably to the living room. Louis lowers his hand from my waist and takes my hand, swinging our arms as we walk with a large smile on his face.

Mags is sitting on the floor, lifting the top of the box off to reveal thousands upon thousands of puzzle pieces. Louis groans a little, but I'm excited.

"Help?" Mags requests.

I nod eagerly and let go of Louis' hand, walking across the smooth floor and sitting down beside Mags. She smiles fondly at me and pushes the top of the box behind her. She lifts the bottom and dumps out the mountain of puzzle pieces.

The puzzle ends up being the image of a rainbow over the water and each piece is handpainted with colors so soft but so rich all at the same time. I pick up each piece and study it for a few moments before trying to place it, because I am in love with the strokes of the paintbrush on each and the hues. The violet pieces are the best, especially the ones that are gently blended with deep blue.

In comparison Louis is relatively unimpressed by it. He questions why we find it so fun, but he seems content enough to sit beside me and watch as Mags and I do it.

He gives live commentary for the entire event-("STOP! By your left elbow! There's the red-orange piece!" "Yeah, I don't think that goes there." "Turn it to the side!")-but other than that he has nothing to do with it.

He has a lot to do with his hands, though. He spends the better part of the first hour braiding and unbraiding my hair and then takes to simply stroking his fingers through it.

My heart swells with each passing moment until it's very difficult to pretend he isn't doing it, because I just want to hug or kiss him or preferably both.

The evening is going so well that I try to ignore my exhaustion. By the time ten rolls around, I'm about to fall asleep sitting up.

I think puzzles are more mentally exhausting than I had originally expected. I'm hovering between conscious and unconsciousness, dropping off to sleep for a few moments at a time, only to jerk back awake when Louis' fingers brush my scalp.