Tired Tired Sea

1

Chapter 1 of Tired Tired Sea

By MediaWhore

The wind howls early in the morning, a comforting lullaby for a man who has lived on Fair Isle for almost a decade. Where some would be awakened by the sounds of birds chirping, Louis Tomlinson"s eyelids flutter open at the wailing harmony of the wind and sea. Not quite a storm, not yet, but the end of October always brings forth more temperamental weather, like nature slowly preparing herself for the difficult winter months to come. Louis shivers a little as he brings his comforter closer up to his shoulder, hiding his neck under the covers. Most of the B&B"s windows are closed, the one in his room certainly is, but the wind"s whistling can still be heard so clearly, an impatient and demanding companion that can never fully be ignored.

Louis sighs, reaching blindly under his pillow with one hand until he feels the shape of his phone. He turns it on, blinking quickly as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. He doesn"t actually need to turn the phone on to know it"s half past five. There are no clocks in his bedroom, but his body is so accustomed to the routine he"s cultivated for years that it"s basically a given. Louis almost smirks when the phone confirms his suspicion, but it barely lasts a second when he notices that he"s only at 40%. He"ll have to wait until seven o"clock to charge it considering that"s when the power comes back on the island every morning.

Louis inhales slowly, then lets out a deep sigh before putting the phone away. He always prefers a higher percentage when he gets up. Most days, music in his ears is the only thing that makes his morning jog bearable and the thought of it dying right in the middle is... less than optimal. Still, there"s nothing he can do but pray his old iphone won"t be a dick today, which, knowing how battery draining the device finds literally every single operation, seems unlikely. Speaking of his morning ritual, Louis half smiles when he hears a small clatter right outside his bedroom, followed by a loud whine. Clifford certainly knows the routine just as well as Louis" body does and he"s already nosing at the door in anticipation, nails clinking against the bottom. Louis usually rarely sleeps with the door closed because Cliff doesn"t like being alone at night almost as much as his master, but he suspects a strong gust of wind from a forgotten open window must have forced it shut, locking his dog outside. Just at the thought enters Louis" brain, Clifford lets out a louder whine.

""Kay," Louis mumbles to himself with a raspy voice, "time to get up."

It"s a matter of urgency now, considering he needs to walk the dog – and jog in the process, even though his body loathes the idea of keeping fit – then shower before the guests start waking up and demanding breakfast from him. Luckily, there"s only one room currently occupied at the South Lighthouse B&B, a married couple in their mid-sixties who, braver than most, booked time off on Fair Isle late in the autumn. Louis" establishment is usually eerily empty this late in the season, tourists somehow not eager to spend their winter on a cold, practically deserted island further up north than necessary and subjected to the harsh weather. Louis, who has witnessed more than one visitor end up trapped for days after their planned departure date because of violent storms, can"t really blame them. Money is always tight in the winter though, so he can"t say he doesn"t appreciate Mr and Mrs Jackson"s late holiday. It wouldn"t be the end of the world if he served them breakfast late, they"re an understanding bunch and their ferry back to the mainland only leaves in the afternoon so they wouldn"t mind a late checkout. But Louis prides himself on the quality of service in his establishment, which means he serves breakfast every day between half-past eight and ten o"clock. No delays. No exceptions.

He pushes the duvet off his body, fighting his strong instinct to stay curled up and warm, then he shivers as he makes his way down the ladder of his single bed. He"s been teased mercilessly and often by his army of siblings for essentially being an adult with a bunk bed, but the old lighthouse keeper"s accommodation was always the most logical choice for his permanent residence. It"s the smallest bedroom on site, first of all, cramped and mostly uncomfortable, with nothing but the bed, a dresser and a small window to fill it. It was built to be functional rather than comfortable.