19 | Loving Louis

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[y/n]

_

WE WERE MAKING THE MOST OF FOREVER.

It seems dismal, that word, like something fragile made to be broken—but being with him makes me feel like it's true. I love every moment I see his face, and I hate every moment I'm away.

Monica and Heather nearly threw a fit when I broke the news to them, and they didn't speak to me for an hour out of shock. I still remember the googly-eyed look on their faces; a combination of a jack-in-a-box and a cabbage patch kid.

I met Millie through a facetime call a few days ago, and she basically ranted at Louis the entire time for wasting her time ("you could have just asked her, you bloody idiot, I spent hours doing research on mind control for nothing!").

But despite all the little nuggets of memories, I had three favorites. More was to come sure, but when I reminisce on where we are, all I can think about are these:


─ ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ─


"WOAH, WOAH, WOAH," Louis laughed, nearly falling off the bench, "we aren't in a rush!"

We had planned to see a play at the Globe Theatre for fun—midsummers, I think—and we lost track of time on the way there. My boyfriend was complaining about his thirst, so we stopped to get tea, but then we realized we had 10 minutes to travel twelve blocks to get to our destination.

So, yes, we were in a rush.

"Don't drink your tea so quickly," he said, pulling me along the pavement, "if you do that, you'll end up getting—"

I cut him off when a loud hiccup escaped my lips.

"Those," he grinned, "exactly what I meant."

I slapped a hand over my mouth, trying to suppress the feeling of bubbles in my throat. I knew that if I covered my airflow, I'd just internalize the noises, and if I didn't, then they'd be louder than a phone on full blast (okay, exaggeration, but still).

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, dodging a stroller, "but we're going to be late!"

Louis squeezed my hand. "That doesn't mean you have to chug an entire mug of tea!"

"I panicked!"

"Stop panicking!"

"I would if—" I began to say, before another hiccup escaped, "never mind."

Letting go of his hand, I stopped in the middle of the pavement, digging my eyes into the ground as I tried to focus. Stop hiccuping, stop it, I told myself, this is embarrassing. It was, really, even though I knew Louis wasn't one to judge.

I saw him double back from my peripheral vision, but I was far too focused to notice the smirk on his face.

"What are you doing?" He asked slyly.

I narrowed my eyes at the concrete. "Trying to get rid—hic!—of my hiccups."

"Doesn't seem to be working."

"Now is not the time for sarcasm, this is of dire importance."

"Tewks."

"Not now, Lou."

"Tewks."

"Just give me a second—"

Before I could finish my sentence, Louis had grabbed my chin lightly with his hand, tilting my head back as he pressed his lips against mine in a lovely version of a kiss. The only thing wrong with it was that it only lasted a few seconds.

When he pulled away, I stood there dumbfounded on the sidewalk.

"Oh, would you look at that?" he laughed, resuming his path down the pavement, "your hiccups are gone."

Snapping out of my daze, I shuffled after him. "You idiot."

"Your idiot."

"Thank you, though."

"Always, darling."


─ ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ─


"LOUIS, WE LIVE HERE," I smiled, "why do you want to go sightseeing?"

I had barely left my house when the boy sprung the idea upon me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his navy jumper as he flashed me a cheeky grin. We had planned to go out today, but we haven't decided on where until now.

"I don't know, but it seems fun," he shrugged, "pretending to be tourists for a day."

I laughed. "Should I go back and get my camera then?"

"Yes, very good idea."

"Lou, that was a joke."

"Was it? Didn't notice," he said, shoving me back inside, "now go get that camera."

An hour later we were traipsing around London, pretending that we didn't know every street we strode down. It was magical, almost, seeing it through new eyes. London seemed anything but pretty when you've lived there your whole life, but to the unassuming eye, you could recognize just how beautiful it was.

We made our rounds through the busy market places, into book and tea shops, past the Big Ben, and across the gardens. Time flew by before we knew it.

"Oh, quick!" Louis said, grabbing my hand, "let's go in here!"

I was about to question where he was directing to, but I was promptly shoved into a red telephone booth in a matter of seconds. Slipping in behind me, the boy shut the door. Gathering my wits, I tried not to internally scream when I locked eyes with him hovering over me in the cramped space. God, I love this boy, he can be so adorable sometimes.

"Flip a coin," he grinned, "whoever loses has to make a phone call."

I squinted my eyes deviously. "To who?"

"Any random number."

Reaching into his pocket, Louis pulled out a small euro, holding it up to the light streaming in from the checkered window panes. I called Heads, he called Tails, and soon the coin was tossed into the air with the flick of a thumb. It came crashing down into his palm seconds later—Tails.

"Oh, piss off," I smiled, nudging him, "I'm not calling someone."

He cocked a brow. "Scared?"

"Yes," I smiled.

"Stop being cute, I might give in," he smiled, taking the phone off of its holder, "but go ahead and dial a number."

I knew he wouldn't let up until I did it, so I rolled my eyes and put in random numbers without batting an eyelash. That didn't take away from the sudden surge of anxiety in my heart when I heard the dial tones start to ring.

And someone picked up.

"School Of Sock," they said, "how may we help you today?"

I froze. "Huh?"

"We have all your sock needs. If you don't buy a pair of socks or more, we will sock you."

I hung up immediately, face-planting into Louis' shoulder in embarrassment. Of all places, I ended up calling a sock store with ridiculous phrases and titles—how utterly embarrassing. Louis was just cracking up.

"Maybe I should buy you a pair of socks for your birthday," he chuckled, "red or blue?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Purple?"

"Lou!"

"I'm just messing with you, Tewks," he smiled, wrapping me into a tight hug.

And we just stood there, in the telephone booth, pretending to be tourists in a city we called home. Life was perfect.


─ ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ─


THE FLOWER PROJECT.

I had completely forgotten about the event until I was passing Queen's Bouquet on a date with Lou and Lauren brought it up again. I had exactly two days to design, decorate, and propose a flower design for the Impressionism wing.

And I was out of creative ideas.

Slumping onto my bed, I groaned into my pillow in annoyance. I didn't work well under pressure. It was like asking me to hold five plates in my right hand, while telling me to make toast with the other.

"How many bouquets do you have to make?" Louis asked from across the room.

I sighed. "It's up to the designer."

"Well, let's do some research then."

Moving over to my desk, Louis opened my computer and typed in the password—which, to be clear, I did not give him. He was being nosy and watched me type it in a few days ago—to do research. He pulled up the British Museum's website, and then scrolled through the tabs.

I just glowered from afar.

"Let's see," he said, scratching the bottom of his chin, "it says this year's focus will be on Monet, Renoir, Matisse, and Degas."

"That doesn't help."

"Yes it does."

"How?"

"Four artists for four wings," he said, "anything come to mind when you think of the number four?"

When I said I was missing creativity, I meant it. Shaking my head, I stared at him blankly in confusion. Louis just smiled adoringly.

"Maybe you should design a bouquet for each of our stories," he suggested, "pink and purple for Cheeky, blue and yellow for Neverland, white and black for Wonderland, and gold for this one."

My eyes lit up. "Wait!"

"I'm waiting."

"No, no, I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge how brilliant you are," I said, sliding onto my feet and scampering over to him, "thank you!"

Planting a kiss on his forehead, I danced around the room, ideas already sprouting into my mind. Pink and purple for Cheeky—it made sense because we often watched the sunsets. Blue and yellow for Neverland—similar to the second star in the sky. White and black for Wonderland—playing cards.

"But why gold?" I asked, spinning around, "I don't understand that one."

Louis shrugged. "Gold is the color of stars."

"Ahhhh, like us."

"Exactly."

Resuming my dance, I let my mind drift off into the sea of flowers and memories. Louis reminded me of daisies. The warmth I felt when I saw the white and yellow petals was the same warmth I felt when I was around him, and I would never give that feeling up for anything else.

And as we threw our hands in the air excitedly, dancing to silent music of celebration, I knew one thing to be true:

There's no one luckier in the world than the one who gets to be loved by Louis.

_
four more chapters!
should I post a teaser for my next Louis book?

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