if you want me to write a poem (about you) [e.c]

Chapter 2

It could easily have been longer before Louis saw Eleanor again, if ever, but-- something about her sticks in his mind. She hovers at the edge of everything he does, the softness of her hair a ghost brushing against his skin late at night, the colour of her eyes refusing to be described in a way he likes.

It's becoming a problem, albeit one Louis kind of likes. (He thinks he'd like to see Harry again more.)

When Niall flops down onto his bed a week and a half later with a packet of crisps and announces she's going to a party Saturday night, ostensibly just as her usual FYI, Louis asks, "Can I come with?"

Niall looks surprised, narrows her eyes at him a bit. "Why? I thought you had that important essay?"

Louis shrugs. "Usual suspects going to be there?"

"Is this about that girl?" Niall asks, laughing when Louis scowls at him, mentally cursing Zayn for never keeping her mouth shut. "Can't promise you she'll be there."

"Whatever," Louis says. "I like parties."

"Yeah," Niall says, and Louis rolls his eyes at the smirk on his lips. "I know you do."

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Louis Tomlinson @Louis_Tomlinson
Heading to a party tonight with @nialler1993 should be siiick !!
4:39 PM - 22 Oct 12

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So that's how Louis meets Eleanor again--because this time when he walks into the party he's immediately scanning faces, and when he finally spots her, it's almost surreal, because it seems like she spotted him first.

"My own personal pillow!" she says, waving him over. "Told you he's real, Liam."

Her smile when she playfully jabs an elbow into the guy standing next to her could be its own star, tiny and beautiful.

"I didn't say he wasn't," Liam says. He holds out a hand to Louis. "I'm Liam."

Shaking hands is weirdly formal, not something Louis was expecting. Louis does it anyway. He kind of likes it from this tall broad shouldered dude. "Louis."

"Heard you took good care of my girl the other weekend," Liam continues, and Eleanor rolls her eyes loudly. How she makes an eye roll loud, Louis has no idea. Idiosyncrasy. Louis likes that word.

"I'm not your girl, Liam," Eleanor says. "Don't go giving people the wrong idea." She winks at Louis, and the heartbeat Louis hadn't even realized he'd skipped at Liam's words catches up, beating triple time.

It's weird. Louis didn't know he opened his eyes this morning in a world where university students shook hands and actually winked at each other.

"Can I get you another drink?" he asks, nodding toward the cup in her hand.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, you can."

Louis returns her smile. This, at least, is something he understands.

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Other things Louis understands include: the basics of English grammar, the simple enjoyment of whatever stupid things you want, the proper way to have a tea party, the rules of football, and--

And this, the easy act of grabbing a pretty girl's hand and falling onto a bed with her, breathless with laughter and alcohol, the simple trick of pressing his fingers in just such a way that she makes the most beautiful noises, of letting her own fingers press back until all he knows is skin and heat and feeling.

He understands that. Sometimes, like now, there are parts he doesn't understand, like why this girl wants him, or what he's meant to do when it's over, but the basics--Louis has always been good at basics.

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Louis wakes to incessant prodding at his shoulder and opens his eyes to see Eleanor's face hovering above his, hair falling down around her like a fucking halo or something. Maybe someday, he hopes desperately, he'll get used to how pretty she is.

"G'morning, sleepy," she says.

"Hi," Louis says, pushing himself up on his elbows. Eleanor sits back on her heels—she's already dressed in a simple jeans and a t-shirt combo, different from the dresses Louis has seen in her in before.

"It's nearly midday," Eleanor says.

Louis cringes a bit. "Sorry. I should probably go, yeah?" It comes out as a question, but he doesn't mean it. She'd told him to stay last night, but this is probably overstepping—it was just sex. It's not like they're going to fall in love and be together forever now. He swings his legs out of the bed and looks around for his clothes instead of looking at Eleanor.

"You don't—I mean, you can if you want, but I thought we could go out for lunch?"

Louis nearly gives himself whiplash he looks up from where he was grabbing his pants so fast. "Like—"

"I mean, you seem like a great guy from what I can remember us talking about last night? I don't want things to be weird."

Louis blinks, then nods. "All right."

"Great," Eleanor says. "I'll go, you get dressed—would you rather we stop by wherever yours is to get fresh clothes, or do you want to borrow something of Liam's? He won't mind."

"You have a car?" Louis asks.

"Yeah."

"Stop by mine, then?" he decides. "Where is Liam, by the way?"

Eleanor shrugs. "Probably at some girl's."

"Ah," Louis says. He feels better for the news—despite Eleanor's protests that she doesn't belong to him, Liam still seemed pretty protective of her, and he doesn't really fancy running into that immediately after having woken up the morning after what was some rather enthusiastic sex.

"See you in a minute," Eleanor says, smiling at him before closing the bedroom door behind her.

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