☀

LOUIS

_

SHE STILL HASN'T ADMITTED IT.

It's strange, though, knowing that each time I say a phrase from our past, she gets flustered inside. I can see it in her eyes, and I wasn't lying when I said I could read her like a book. The only problem was that she wrote me like one.

I still don't understand how she pulled me into her dream.

After a day by the Thames, I offered to bring her to my house to bake cookies. It was...not entirely a lie, because I was hungry and didn't hate her company, but with each second she refused to admit she used me like a puppet, I grew more annoyed. What game was she playing at?

"Can't get me if I leave the kitchen," I said, winking, "I'll be right back."

Leaving through the doors and into the hallway, I caught sight of my two sisters lingering around. It was time to set the plan into motion—if she wouldn't tell me the truth, maybe she'd let it slip around them.

"Issie, you can head in," I said, before turning to Millie, "do you have the parcel?"

My sister narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, but I don't know why you can't just ask her about it."

"Plenty of reasons."

I waited until Issie went into the kitchen, holding a polaroid camera in her hand while she went to talk to Tewks—or [y/n], Louis, don't forget that name—about whatever.

Turning back to Millie, I exhaled stressfully.

"If I ask her about it, then she'll know I went through her things," I frowned, "and she probably won't be more-than-eager to explain herself after that."

My sister looked doubtful. "And you're convinced she did this to hurt you?"

"It's not a matter of what I think, it's just the fact that she did."

"Well, believe what you want," Millie said, "but running after your bike is proof enough that she cares about you. I think you need to hear her side of the story first."

I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of Issie's voice from the Kitchen ("it's like he's known you forever, honestly"). Waving at my younger sibling, I watched her disappear into the room with the parcel in hand, about to roll out the final part of the plan.

Maybe the tea box would be the tip of the iceberg.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

Where are we going?

Globe Theatre.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

"LOUIS, LOOK AT ME," Millie said, holding out her hand, "it's going to be okay."

I'd never been more grateful for her friendship than right now, when I felt like my world was crumbling into dust. She'd been flown over to London for some secret Netflix project, but had a few days to spare before they started filming—and was now standing outside of a bakery to make sure I didn't die inside.

"She knows," I said, my heart pounding, "she knows I took the page."

Millie sighed, squeezing my hand. "Admit it to her then."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

I didn't respond, glancing onto the concrete. Admitting that I took the paper would give her the upper-hand, and she could use that against me. I could see it. I didn't want it to happen. All I wanted was to know why she made me fall in love with her, and why she broke my heart three times.

"I think you need to admit something to yourself first," Millie said, "I don't know what happened in those dreams of yours, but you need to figure out whether or not your feelings were a result of your own actions, or hers."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She smiled. "I think you're using your fear as an excuse."

"What?"

"Any normal person would confront her and move on with their life, but you've been pulling these elaborate plans as excuses to talk to her," the girl explained, "maybe you just miss her."

"I don't miss her."

"Then you miss what you had."

And those words hit me like a mallet. Miss what you had. What I had was her, and what we had was a love that felt like it was worth dying for, crying for, and living for. After the dreams I remembered laying in bed with my eyes closed, urging myself to fall back asleep so I could see her again.

So maybe Millie was right.

I had to figure my own feelings out before I asked about hers.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

I DON'T REGRET IT.

Kissing her, I mean. It gave me a sort of clarity that left my heart panicking and my head reeling. The feeling of her lips against mine like a forgotten puzzle piece sent my mind spinning into a galaxy of life and color.

I called her a star.

And being with her was like living among them in the sky.

It felt familiar in a way, and it almost felt like I was...home. No, that makes no sense. I'll say it felt like remembering. Like taking a blurry mirror and wiping it clean until you could finally see your reflection staring back at you.

But I was scared—scared that she'd see the fear running through my mind—and hurt me. I had to win, I had to take my gun and win the game, because I my mind was telling me I'd get hurt again if I didn't. Mental, I know, but it was all happening so fast I couldn't even think.

Bzz!

I said I wanted nothing if I won.

But now I wanted her.

So, maybe, when you think about it, "I win."