Hands On Learning

28. how it feels

L

After Louis spent a few minutes feeling sorry for himself, he sat up with a start, realizing that although his text notifications were set so that they would not appear on the screen and the phone had to be unlocked to view them, any phone calls would appear and show the contact name. So, if Mr. Styles called for some reason and his mom was still holding onto his phone, she might ask who this 'H' was. Or answer it. Shit.

Louis wracked his brain for how to warn Mr. Styles not to contact him. Then he hustled downstairs, hearing his mother vacuuming in the living room. Perfect.

He speed walked into the small den where the desktop computer was set up, his heart pounding as he turned it on. "Hurry up," he muttered, moving the mouse around. He logged into his school email, rushing to compose a short message.

grounded 2 weeks. mom has phone don't contact
love, louis

He cursed and backspaced, deleting the 'love' part and simply signing it as 'louis', then clicked send. He deleted it from his sent folder, and checked the replies from his other teachers giving him the homework for the day since he'd missed school. It felt good to be reminded that Mr. Styles had been thoughtful enough to email his teachers for him while he recovered from subspace, and rearrange his own day to stay at home with Louis. Even if he was maybe just covering his own ass to keep themselves under everyone's radar and Louis supervised while he was so out of it.

He wrote down the assignments, logged out and turned off the computer. The sound of the vacuum silenced and he made it into the kitchen so fast that he skidded on his socks.

His mother entered the kitchen to begin dinner, the mood between them still tense. "Um, mom?" Louis asked and she acknowledged him with a hum.

"I left my bag in the car from practice and I need to bring it in to wash my uniform. Can I have my keys for a minute?"

She sighed and disappeared to another room, apparently having hid them. For god's sake. She handed them over wordlessly and Louis went out to his car, not really giving a shit about the uniform, it was something else he was after.

He rustled through his duffel bag, finding the already worn white tee he'd borrowed/snuck from Mr. Styles and stuffed it into his practice bag, along with his toothbrush and moisturizer, before zipping it up and going back inside. His mom was chopping vegetables and paused to take the keys and cell phone back, pocketing them and waiting until Louis was upstairs to return them to the hiding spot, behind the large silver platter in her china cabinet. She hadn't felt the need to hide Louis' possessions as punishment since he was in seventh grade and got in a fight with another boy at school, named Nick or Rick or something.

He'd been teased about the flamboyant way he walked and Louis had snapped back, saying Nick looked like 'a cold, crusty ass grilled cheese of a person that no one wanted to fuck.' Yeah, Louis got in a bit of trouble for that. Detention for a week and his video game controller taken away for two. He'd had a meltdown when he couldn't get his fix of soccer games and it was pointed out to him that he could just practice for real in the backyard. Louis'd never been able to handle being told he couldn't do something.

Eighteen years old and still getting grounded like a fucking child. Louis went upstairs, stuffing the white tee under his pillow, and decided he might as well catch up on the work he'd fallen behind on while he'd been occupied with being all spacey and cuddling with Mr. Styles today. He sighed, missing the man already.

-

That night he fell asleep with the collar of Mr. Styles' shirt pulled up close to his nose, softly sniffing the comforting scent of his daddy, the bunched fabric clutched in his fists and pressed against his chest, soothing him into the slow breaths that came right before falling asleep. As he drifted off he noted that the smell was a little different, lacking one less element, and a little sweeter. He couldn't place what was missing (the pungent scent of alcohol), but regardless, it was still familiar, and he still loved it.