Kiss Me Goodnight (L.S.)

Five

The walk to the Tomlinson’s front door is short, but it feels like a mile.

“Styles! You came!” Louis nearly shouts as he opens the door, letting me in. I almost laugh at the surprise laced in his voice.

Of course I came.

Rubbing my neck, I shift uncomfortably as his eyes take in my outfit. Trying to shake off the sudden butterflies that I feel, I simply smile as he says, “And you look great,” with a smirk. 

Subconsciously, I pull at my white button up, untucking and retucking a piece from my black jeans.

Louis glances up the stairs, in the direction of his bedroom, and then back down at his own clothes; grey sweatpants and a tank top.

“Am I overdressed?”

“No, no. You look perfect. I just need to get dressed. I uh—” his eyes shoot to the floor, and it’s odd seeing someone so confident seem self conscious. “I was waiting for you.”
Embarrassment washes over me as I remember I was supposed to get ready here, only, I’d thought it was a figure of speech. I stutter out an apology, but he’s quick to dismiss it. Taking a spot on the couch, I watch as he heads up the stairs to get ready.

The house is quiet, but for a few noises coming from Louis’ room. 

“Do you have any siblings?” I call up the stairs. I hadn’t seen anyone else in the house the time that I came for a game night, and I’m starting to think Louis may just live here alone. 

“I have some half sisters. They live in Doncaster though, with their dad. It’s just me and Mum here.”

The silence returns and, in an effort to distract myself from my wild nerves, I begin to explore the photo wall. There’s dozens of pictures, mostly Louis at various ages, and a few pictures of little girls. His half sisters I presume. At the end, there’s a picture of Louis with a woman who I have no doubt is his mother. They're nearly identical. 

There’s a brick wall behind them, and Louis seems maybe four or five years of age. He’s waving to the camera, held in his mother's arms, and they both wear equally large grins. The two seem rather close, and I begin to think about how Louis may have told her about his sexuality. Did she accept it right away? Or was she ashamed? Is that why she always seems to work late?

My heart sinks at the idea of my own mother not accepting something so personal about myself.

My thoughts are interrupted as music fills the air. Digging into my pocket, I pull out the source of the noise. Claire’s face lights up the phone screen.

“Hey.” 

“Hi, Baby!” She yells loudly into the phone. “What are you doing right now? I was thinking maybe we could facetime? Maybe watch a movie? I’ve heard there’s this really cute romantic comedy on Netflix—”

Sitting down to the couch, I lay my head back, as she continues to ramble about whatever movie she’s wanting to watch. I learned early on in our relationship not to try to interrupt her because she will simply keep talking over you until she’s finished her thought.

“Claire, isn’t it like three in the morning there?”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

“Well yeah, but I just got home and I couldn’t sleep.”

“Wow, you were out so late. Where were you?” I ask. We’ve always had pretty open communication, so I’m surprised when she takes a moment before answering.

“I- I was just, you know, I was out with friends.”

I sit up in my place at the stutter, a tell that she’s lying. Claire begins to ramble some story about what she was doing, and for once, I do interrupt her.