Y/N

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LOUIS PARTRIDGE confused me.

This morning I clearly remembered him wearing jeans and a navy t-shirt, and yet he was standing at the bottom of the steps in a completely different outfit.

This time it was a red button-down with beige, twill pants. He looked completely different. If I wasn't more worried about him being a creep in disguise (which is what Caleb told me), I would have described him as handsomely proper.

"What's the occasion?" I blurted out, skidding to a stop behind him.

Louis jumped back in surprise, but once he saw it was me, his gaze softened. He was too busy staring at his shoes previously to have noticed I was hopping down the stairs.

"Hey," he smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets, "what do you mean?"

I nodded my head at his new ensemble, "you changed your clothes."

"I did."

"But for what occasion?"

Louis pushed a stray piece of hair out of his face, grinning from cheek to cheek, "meeting you."

I was only asking in curiosity, since he looked rather dressed-up, but his answer surprised me. He was definitely grazing along the line of — flirtation. Don't get me wrong, he's quite a cute boy, but the fact that we haven't known each other for 24 hours made me hesitant to flirt back.

"Well, I'm here now," I said quickly, glancing elsewhere bashfully, "let's go."

"Are we taking the tube?"

"No, not today."

"Why not?"

"In all honesty," I said, letting out a teasing scoff, "I don't really trust you and trains."

Taking it in play offense, Louis clutched his right hand over his heart, and pretended to be wounded. I almost let a laugh escape my mouth, but I quickly caught myself before it happened. I was still on guard.

As we began to cross the street, the boy glanced at me in interest. He looked like he was trying to figure something out.

"What?" I pressed, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm trying to figure out where you're from," he shrugged.

"What if I said I was from London?"

"Then I'd know you were lying," he smirked, "besides the fact that you ordered a Panini for breakfast, you also called the tube a train."

"Isn't that what they are?"

"Possibly, but if you were from London, you wouldn't bother calling it something else."

"You're smart, Partridge," I smiled, "I'll give you that."

"But will you tell me where you're from?"

"Nope."

"At least tell me something about yourself," he sighed, "considering we don't know each other all too well."

Kicking a sidewalk pebble off into the busy street, I began to rack my brain for things to say. We had quite a long way till I reached the dorms, and getting to know Louis might be helpful.

It would help me decide whether or not he's a creep (like Caleb said).

"Let's do a trade," I blurted out, "let's tell each other something unexpected about us."

"Unexpected?"

"Exactly. What's something unexpected about you?"

Scratching the bottom of his chin, Louis let out a soft hum, "I like to do the dishes."

I chuckled, "that's definitely unexpected."

"What about you?"

"I don't like doing the dishes," I laughed, "I don't do much for the unexpected, so my answer won't be something as surprising as yours."

"Washing the dishes isn't surprising."

"But it definitley is unexpected."

"Then let's do something expected," he suggested, running a hand through his hair, "what's something everyone knows about you?"

"I like theater."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I smiled, "what about you?"

"I'm an actor."

"Oh, stop messing with me," I said, rolling my eyes, "you're only saying that because I  said I like theater."

"No, I'm being serious."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay, I suppose I believe you," I said, shrugging my shoulders, "what have you been in, then?"

"A movie that's not out yet," he laughed, "so I can't really say."

As much as I wanted to like him, this new information was quite bothersome. I was someone who had very strong opinions, and wasn't afraid to show them (respectfully, of course).

"Why are you making that face?" Louis asked, noticing the wrinkle of my nose.

"I don't really like actors," I stated.

"Why not?"

I wasn't saying that just because Louis was an actor, I was saying it because of my past experiences in theater. They weren't very good ones when actors were concerned.

"Because I'm a stage-hand," I explained, clasping my hands behind my back, "from what I've seen, actors rarely say thank you, think they're the only people who put on a show, are the only ones who get to bow, and honestly? Some of them are snobs."

Louis nodded his head, taking in the paragraphical explanation I had laid out of him. I wasn't trying to be rude, but sometimes the past can really bite you in the present. When I was working on my high school production, all of the hard work I had put into the show was disregarded, while the cast got to claim thier awards.

I was told Stage-hands just stay to the wings, and let the actors take all the credit. That's why I wasn't too keen when it came to them.

"I see," Louis said, dodging a sidewalk crack, "but you can't hate all actors."

I raised an eyebrow, "and why not?"

Giving me the cheekiest smirk of all time, the boy winked, "because I'll get you to like me."