ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴇɪɢʜᴛ
Cherry
The familiar hum of the aeroplane surrounding him offered the briefest semblance of comfort to his similarly whirring mind. A non-stop flight from London to Cape Town lasted over eleven hours and while Louis was used to extensive travel time, the idea of being stuck in the metal contraption relentlessly was suffocating. Although, it might have been the understanding that he was speeding off to fulfil either the best or most idiotic choice of his life that was causing the claustrophobia settling in his chest.
Their lack of fore-thinking left Louis in an economy seat, completely exposed in his vulnerability to probing eyes and sneaking cameras. It was fortunate that the late hour of his flight meant it was unlikely for many hardcore fans to be sharing the facilities with him but years of impromptu hoards had left him paranoid. Any shift in his periphery caused him to shrink into himself so that within an hour he had practically curled up into a ball.
Eventually, he resorted to wearing one of those complimentary eye masks that always made him feel like a diva. The nerves fizzling in his skin awarded him only a few hours of sleep before he conceded to his defeat and stared out the window. The girl sat beside him had been silent throughout their period spent together so he assumed she probably didn't know who he was and definitely did not care. She may have been slightly older than him with straight blonde hair shielding view of her profile. His boredom caused his eyes to wander until they rested on the sight of her, or more specifically, the book that was clenched in her hands.
The strength with which she spread the pages open hinted at her stress. Maybe she was terrified of flying or maybe she was actually one of those fans who were able to remain semi-normal. He had to shake himself from that thought when he realised how presumptuous he was being. Either way, he appreciated the lack of fuss and was restless enough to address her in an attempt to focus his attention.
"That book," he began and she shot up, a startled look in her eyes. He continued smoothly as he tried to recall what Elora had said about it, "it's the one with the short stories in it, right?"
Her tentative nod prompted a flicker of a smile on his lips before he asked which one was her favourite. She paused for a bit, stuck between staring at him sceptically or rambling on about something she wasn't sure he was actually interested in. Eventually, she answered, "The Devoted Friend. I'm not sure why but there's just something about it that hits differently."
When his smile widened, she relaxed slightly and asked him if he'd read it and if so, which was his favourite. The specific phrasing of her words reminded him of an interview and he wondered whether she was a journalist. He decided he wouldn't ask that just yet before admitting, "I've never read it much to the disappointment of my friend. She's gone on long rants about that specific book and the writer in general. I think her favourite is the Remarkable Rocket but I'm not sure."
Her smile shifted into something slightly smug before she quoted, "'The only thing that sustains one through life is the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else.' That one is super quotable."
Louis' smile turned slightly tense as her words burned in his chest with the memory of Elora swinging the door open and greeting him with them. He had been so confused but there was something beautiful about how unashamedly excited she was about that story. Her tangents had been so amusing yet intricately complex as she weaved between cackling at the audacious statements and bursting into an analysis of his language and meaning. He recalled how at one time, Harry had said something so bluntly narcissistic without realising how he sounded that Elora's response was simply another quote from the story: 'I am always thinking of myself, and I expect everybody to do the same.' The poor boy didn't even fully understand what she had done but the mischievous glint in her eyes was enough to show she was teasing him. As he pouted at the realisation, her laughter had bubbled up from muffled chuckles into gleeful giggles.
The stranger was able to spot the shift in his expression as his smile turned fond and the twinkle in his eyes shone reflectively. She smiled similarly and appreciated the clear display of nostalgia. When Louis' bright eyes flickered sideways he blushed awkwardly at the knowing look on the stranger's face. Clearing his throat and shuffling uncomfortably, he searched for something to dissuade her focus.
"So, uh," he coughed, "What are you going down to South Africa for?"
She minisculely raised an eyebrow but answered regardless, "I'm visiting my family for Christmas. I moved to England a couple of years ago but they always urge me to visit so I figured I'd make the trip this year."
Upon her mention of it, Louis could pick up on the slightly unusual accent. It wasn't the same as Elora's so he hadn't been immediately attuned to it. That merely served to remind him of the spiels the aforementioned girl would go on about regarding the misrepresentation of her native accent in the media. However, she would eventually concede that she ardently tried to avoid speaking like that so she was particularly biased.
The blonde smiled when he commented on his approval before she asked, "And you? You're clearly British so I don't imagine it's a trip down to see family."
His smile glitched at the reminder as he averted his gaze and looked at the clear skies surrounding their plane. When he recalled that he hadn't responded he struggled to find the words, "No, uhm, it's going to be a very brief visit for me."
She waited for him to expand so he sighed, deciding that a stranger was the best empty canvas upon which to splatter his story, "Are you a journalist?"
Her expression of confusion would have been amusing had he not been waiting tensely for her reply. Her small headshake was enough for him to go on, "I really hope not otherwise I'm going to sincerely regret this."
He ignored her furrowed eyebrows to rather stare intently at his fidgeting hands, "The, uh, friend who read that book? She was staying in London for six months on some, like, practical-thesis-writing-work-experience thing. I don't know for sure, every time I asked she was speaking about a different aspect to it. For whatever reason she had, she was there but had to go back home in February."
His eyes remained trained on the peeling skin lining his nails, "We were supposed to keep in contact and it was going to be fine but then, uh, something came up and we spoke less and less. Eventually, I wasn't really calling all that much and took super long to, like, respond to messages. Then, uh, then I had to deal with something not so great and she, uhm."
He clear his throat, blinking his eyes and clenching his hands together, "she wasn't there and I really, really wanted her to be but I didn't say anything. Me mates had to knock some sense into me and now, well, now I'm sitting on a plane talking to a stranger and hoping it'll work out."
His chuckle at the end was uncomfortable and he refused to make eye contact as the girl grappled with the garbled story he'd relayed.
"Wow, that was super vague," she laughed and he smiled hesitantly, "but sounds romantic. I hope it works out for you, dude, she seems like someone you want to keep around."
His smile was so endeared her heart clenched for his unravelling love story, "Yeah, yeah, she definitely is."
When he snapped out of his daze, his blush returned tenfold and he stuck out his hand, "Sorry, I'm Louis, by the way."
"I know," her grin was cheeky, "Hi, I'm Mikaya."
The pink tint of his cheeks intensified and he chose to avoid that revelation for the rest of the flight.
When Louis' feet hit the pavement, warmed under the stifling sun, he was abused with the official realisation of how absolutely ridiculous it all was. If he wasn't such a coward he would've just kept contact with Elora and dealt with the painful awkwardness of pretending to support her relationship. Instead, he threw himself into caring for his family and working on his song so that he had an excuse for not knowing when people asked how she was. It really would not have been that difficult to pick up the phone now and then to call and ask what was going on in her life. It would have made his current situation considerably easier as well. He wouldn't be practically stranded in an unknown country, trying to seek out a girl that he barely spoke to anymore.
It was truly and honestly a stroke of luck when, as he was standing in the blistering heat in the great wide open with no protection, he recalled being given Vera's number a while back. He couldn't remember what the motivation was at the time but he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth (he was still very confused about the origin of that saying but it wasn't the time.) Finding the contact of someone he had maybe spoken to twice in his life proved difficult when he was faced with the many, many numbers he had collected over the years.
Eventually, he located the unused number - artfully dubbed 'Vera: Elora's Best Friend' - and selected it with twitching fingers. It was late morning and Louis' exhausted brain vaguely recalled Vera being an early riser so he was banking on that fact (which, no, he wasn't aware of why he knew it.)
The dial tone rang like a death knell in his skull but he clutched the device to his ear and evaded eye contact with any of the surrounding wanderers. The confused 'hello?' that greeted him pushed a relieved exhale from Louis' mouth.
"Uh, hi," he cleared his throat and turned to face the wall, "It's Louis, Elora's friend?"
A sound similar to a choked gasp – he couldn't be certain and didn't want to assume – was followed by very many beats of silence before the girl responded, "Yeah, I remember a 'Louis'. What can I do for you?"
Coughing into his fist caught the attention of some bystanders so he folded into himself before admitting, "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me that. I'm currently standing outside Cape Town International Airport on a mission to find Elora but I'm not entirely sure how to go about that."
Further silence followed his confession and Louis was beginning to wonder if Vera had a speech impediment before the confused chuckle crackled in the speaker, "I'm sorry but could you please clarify that you are currently in South Africa?"
He hummed his confirmation and she muttered a quiet 'wow' before clearing her throat, "Didn't you literally just perform on the X Factor?"
His affirmative hum was slightly strangled that time around and despite her curiosity, Vera could tell that it wasn't her place to intrude so she continued, "Alright, I won't ask questions, it's just— no, it's fine. Uh, you're looking for Elora? Might be a bit difficult if you're all the way in Cape Town."
"I take it she's home, then?"
"Yeah, I'm actually supposed to meet up with her later today so your timing is impeccable."
He smiled tensely, trying to prod the conversation along, "So that means you'd be able to help me see her?"
His desperation was clear in the pitch of his accent and Vera's heart raced in both envy and adoration. Of course, it would be Elora who gets a famous, British guy racing across the globe for her.
"I can, even though I have so many questions and remain very confused. Do you have transport?"
"Uh," he blushed, incredibly grateful that she couldn't see him, "no. It was a very rushed journey."
"Oh gosh," she sighed, a slightly wistful tone to it, "It's like a Rom-Com."
Louis decidedly ignored her comment and they moved to discuss how the day would proceed. When he mentioned a possible time constraint, she sighed and grumbled about bad planning before making him promise to explain it all to her. They struck a deal for her to act as his 'guy in the chair' so that they could sneak up on Elora whilst she remained unaware. It seemed to be the only way to get Vera's full co-operation so Louis didn't complain too much. Once they settled upon a plan, the excitable blonde promised to be there as soon as possible so that he didn't have to pay for the Uber. He didn't comment on the fee not being a problem for fear of sounding like a prick so he humbly accepted and waited for the inevitable interrogation that the carpool would entail.
As it turned out, Louis didn't account for how far Vera could have been from the airport and was left in the unknown place for approximately an hour. The fear of being discovered left him sweating nearly as much as the sweltering sun so he decided that hiding out in the lounge would be the best course of action. Upon her arrival, he nearly ran out of the building to where she had said she was waiting. Their greeting was typically awkward despite them sharing a common interest in Elora. Although, Louis hoped that Vera's interest was a little less romantic than his.
It was fortunate for the singer's nerves that The Best Friend was a talkative extrovert and seemed to be more loquacious whilst driving. That left him to sit in silence for the first part of their drive as she blabbered about how weird it was seeing him in their home country and how ecstatic Elora would be when they reunited. When he finally dared to ask how she was, Louis was met with silence for the first time in their journey.
Her sigh had tinges of sadness to it that Louis never wanted to be associated with Elora ever again, "You know how she is – always advocates for vulnerability and talking about your struggles but heaven forbid it if she ever spoke about her own issues."
The pause in her dialogue allowed Louis room for the thought as he reflected on the months they had spent together, even the period they had been separated. She had always urged him to be honest with himself, sometimes even encouraging him to talk about it when she saw he needed the extra push. Her wisdom and comfort had been one of the largest motivating factors for him when it came to dealing with the upheavals in his life. He hadn't been too fantastic at that lately but her words often circled his head like a broken record – whispering her consolations when he found himself lost in a haze of grief or panic.
It was true, though, that Elora rarely opened up about her own life. She reasoned that there was nothing for her to complain about but he could recall the brief moments of transparency in which she had shared some of her story with him. It had usually arisen in shared periods of vulnerability between them and she felt promoted to draw from her own life to display proof of hope. Those fleeting glimpses were enough for him to realise that there was definitely more behind the warmth of her eyes.
"Do you know what the matter is?" he softly inquired, all thoughts of anxiety and guilt momentarily dulled by concern for his dearest friend.
Vera's gentle smile was a confusing mix of endearment and sympathy, "I think she just really misses you, bro."
The faded ache in his heart returned with a pang, "Oh."
"Yeah," she chuckled, "she hasn't blatantly said anything, of course, but I've known her for long enough. She gets really quiet as soon as England is brought up and barely mentions you. Only Richard and I know about you but she won't even talk about her time with you with us. I was worried something had gone down and she was hiding some immense hurt or something but I've caught the look on her face when you message. I even walked in on her once while she was on a call with Harry; she didn't say much but there was a noticeable shift in her energy."
The stinging behind his eyes must have been due to the blue irises' sensitivity to the harsh sun. Clearing his throat also proved to be more difficult than expected so he must have been dehydrated. The blonde offered a bottle of water with a tentative smile and he bashfully accepted it before hiding his emotion in the large gulps he swallowed.
"Uh," he tried to divert, "so she doesn't speak about any of us?"
"Nope," she popped the p, "I would ask Kiera if she knew anything but even I'm intimidated by that woman."
It took him a moment to recall the identity of Kiera but he chuckled lightly when he did, "Yeah, I met her briefly in London and it was a strange experience."
They shared a slightly stilted silence before Vera explained that it wasn't really that bad. Elora was going about life in her usual introverted manner and seemed to be enjoying her Master's programme – that information nearly made Louis physically clutch his chest. He knew that she had been planning on the endeavour but it was a testament to their minimal communication that he wasn't aware she had begun that next phase of her life. He refused to contemplate the implications of that, deciding it was somehow less painful to focus on the guilt of not being there to congratulate her.
Their conversation shifted over to what the other South African was doing and Louis was grateful for the distraction. They managed to avoid circling back to Elora's emotional state, rather weaving through various random topics that Louis' was certain only a friend of Elora could discuss. As the time drew near for the brunet to face his actions, Vera assured him that it would work out. She promised to be back for her plans with Elora after a suitable amount of time and made him swear to have sorted out all their issues by then. His attempted laugh was more reflective of a strangled cat.
Throughout their travels, One Direction wasn't permitted the leisure of exploring the smaller towns of the countries they visited. They had only been to South Africa once and while they were allowed the rare pleasure of experiencing some of its attractions, Stellenbosch wasn't even on their radar. Unfortunately, Louis wasn't in the mental space to recall that and pay attention to the verdant trees lining pavements, stretches of vineyards or the barrier of mountains encircling him. His eyes stared at the passing scenery with the blankness of a dull crayon while he remained so distant that he had to be physically shaken out of his reverie by his exasperated sidekick.
When he eventually came to, Vera was scrutinising him with the scepticism of a wary best friend.
"You're not going to run out on me, are you?" she interrogated and he blushed with a jerky shake of his head in response. Her grin was wide as she patted his leg and retold him all the logistics he required. She gestured to where The Dream Girl would be in a few moments and reminded him that she might not be alone so he may want to be discreet to avoid a fiasco. It took a few more complacent nods in understanding before the protective girl permitted him to exit her vehicle. She waved him off excitably as he stepped onto the grey pavement, emerging into the streaks of sunlight that blared down upon all in the public area. His blatant lack of protection became rather apparent to him as his eyes raked over the setting of his demise.
Standing before the lethargic assemblage of people, most lazing in the sun while a select few moved leisurely from one place to another, Louis' nerves flickered beneath his skin. Although none of their eyes were even glancing in his direction, he felt scrutinised and the desire to bolt from the scene became overwhelming. Unfortunately, Vera had managed to uphold her promise of not staying to watch the events unfold so he had no getaway ride.
Before further contemplation over running away could be undergone, he caught sight of the sole reason for his adventures. The tension coiled in his shoulders unwinded as his breathing hitched to a halt, cerulean eyes trained on a view worthy of a fresco. Her shoulder-length waves had grown to brush against the dainty collarbones contoured by the sun's spotlight. The elegant hands that had so often ran through his feather-light hair were clutching a leather side purse and gliding down the gleaming metal railing. Even from his distance, the silver of her ring glinted on a thin finger and Louis smiled at the reminder of how she twisted it when bored.
He waited in angst for her head to lift and reveal the ethereal gaze that had comforted him through many rough moments. When she eventually looked up and presented the melted chocolate irises, it was only to briefly display how they turned amber in the light before she was turning her head. The object of her attention appeared to be a man exiting the building behind her, his long legs hopping down each step to reach her with a giddy enthusiasm that Louis could relate to. His blond curls were highlighted into a halo by the sunlight as his hand gently reached out to clasp her elbow. The smile he got in greeting was so blinding that Louis nearly averted his eyes but some masochist streak in him needed to watch as he gifted her a sweet grin and wrapped his arms around her. Louis could hear her mellifluous laughter from where he stood and that was so much worse because he knew – he knew that meant it was genuine and joyful and pure. He knew that was Richard.
Richard, Elora's best friend. The best friend she had called for hours in Doncaster. The best friend she had known her whole life. The best friend she had liked for her entire adolescence. The best friend who had asked her on a date. Her boyfriend.
Suddenly Louis was hyperaware of the crinkles in his clothes and the creases formed by his frown. The oily state of his hair because he didn't wash it, the measly packed bag clutched in his hand and the aching heart Elora held in hers. He couldn't look away from the unadulterated glee etched onto her expression and the way Richard's arms were secure around her frame. They were giggling together about some joke only they knew as they made their way down the pavement, wrapped up in each other.
The breath that had hitched at the sight of her rushed out of Louis' lungs in one fell swoop, leaving him gasping with an incurable pain coursing through his bloodstream. There was nothing he could do. He could beg her to come back with him and help him through the grief. He could pour out his heart and admit to his fraudulent excuses for not calling. He could even get down on his knees and serenade her a confession of his infinite love.
She would probably even go with him and be an amazing support system. She may even forgive him and joke about his ignorance – but he knew that it would do nothing. She would never be able to return his heart to his chest because there was no way he could tell her that she held it.
He couldn't draw her away from the bliss she was living in only to condemn her to his grief and chaos and the awkwardness of rejection. He would never put her in the position to stare into his eyes with pity in her own and a frown weighing down her lips. He would never cope if she tentatively handed his stuttering heart back to him and told him that it didn't belong to her (even though it really did.)
So it seemed perfectly reasonable for him to spin on his heel and pull out his phone with shaking hands. He deemed it understandable to call up an Uber and book the soonest flight back to London. It made sense for him to sit in the car and stare out the window, ignoring the buzzing of his phone and the pressure of disappointment compressing his limbs. It was completely logical for him to sit on the plane seat and attempt to forget the gaping cavity in his soul.
Maybe when he got home he had to face the destroyed expressions on his friends' faces and had to pretend not to cry himself to sleep. He may have had to brush off their questions and shake his head at their pleas for an explanation. The funeral two weeks later may have been the worst experience of his life and he could have possibly yearned for the comfort of a peaceful girl with wire-rimmed glasses and coconut-scented hair. It didn't matter though, because it was the most sensible thing to do.
Except it wasn't logical or reasonable when he got home that evening and saw a letter addressed to him in the artful calligraphy of the girl he had let go of. It definitely didn't feel like the best plan of action when he broke down in sobs while reading the words that had been written with so much love. It didn't matter though, because it was the choice he had made.