London [Louis Tomlinson]

5: Back Home

A/N: lol hey sorry for the wait.

thank you for all the messages on my last two author's notes. They meant so much to me, and I love you all so much okay

______________________________

Three more hours, I told myself as I boarded the train, just three more hours and I'd be in Doncaster.

Right, Doncaster; the place which would undoubtedly be overflowing with all things Louis. Everywhere I'd go in the small town which I called home, I knew I'd run into something which would spark some sort of memory of him or something we did together. Even my own bed, the most private and personal place I could think of, would still be laced with his scent and memories of waking up with him beside me.

I mean, yes, I was excited to see my family and other friends from Hall Cross, who'd also be returning back for Christmas break, but I also knew that going back would be difficult.

As I stuffed my suitcase into a compartment, I thought of my mother and all the contact I'd had with her while I was away. While it was obvious that I wasn't my happiest these first few months at university, I didn't dare tell mum that over the phone. Instead I kept conversations about how I was doing to a minimum, always eager to change the subject. Louis was asked about once or twice, and I'd lied to her, quickly said we were doing fine together before averting to another topic. She still had no idea, and I was worried that now, when we'd be meeting in person, she'd quiz me even more on this matter and be able to see through my lies.

I found a seat by the window at the far end of the carriage, the space next to it vacant. It remained that way until a guy boarded at Peterborough and dropped down onto it, his phone already out as indication that he, thankfully, had no intentions for small talk. He played Temple Run while I stared out the window at the passing countryside, took note of the names of towns we passed through, recalling a few of them from the train journey down here. I was anxious yet excited, kind of like when I was backstage, waiting to perform Grease in front of a theatre full of people. Those performances felt like a lifetime away, compared to all the things which had happened in my life since.

After an hour or so, the buildings of Doncaster began to appear, rushing by in a blur of red bricks and white windows. I closed the novel I'd been half reading, tucking it under my arm and preparing to stand up as soon as the train came to a halt. It stopped with a jolt and a loud hissing noise, and I hurried over to collect my suitcase from its compartment before stepping off the train, wheeling behind me.

The first thing I did was take a deep breath. Close my eyes, shut off everything else, and just inhale. The air was fresher than London; less polluted and smoky. And the scent was familiar.

Places and rooms and objects and people all have distinct smells, and your brain has a nasty habit of remembering them exactly, even when you'd rather forget. I walk past a bunch of teenage boys on the street, smell the Lynx deodorant they've doused themselves in and think of Hall Cross hallways after Louis' had P.E, think of his arm wrapped around my shoulder, guiding me out in a display of affection - possession, more so - eyeing off all those who dared take a second glance at me. A guy sits by me in the lecture hall with a warm, musky scent and suddenly I'm back in Louis' bedroom, topless, with his hands bracketing my hips and his face pressed into the curve of my neck, nipping playfully, his smooth skin melding with mine, the ends of his feathered hair tickling my cheeks. Scarlet buys some new incense for our dorm and it's the exact one Jay kept in the lounge, where Louis would nestle with me on the couch under an assortment of woollen blankets, a film playing on the TV which often would be left ignored, the sound of his soft giggling in my ear as we'd snuggle and sip tea and mutter sweet nothings. And now, as I inhaled the fresh air surrounding me, I thought of leaving it all behind, thought of train windows with curved edges and dashing country sides and waiting on texts which never came.