falling for your hallelujah // l.s.

three

Day Three: A hot chocolate and a banana and chocolate muffin (topped with rich cocoa frosting)

"I think I talk too much." Louis says, in complete solemnity, as the boy takes baby nibbles of his muffin. Louis heard once that the more bites you take, and the longer you chew something, the more filling it seems. Obviously they both hear the same things. "Like, I don't even know your name, and all I do is talk to you. I don't stop. I'm even talking now. Obviously it's your choice if you wanna talk or not, but I think I ramble. I know I ramble. Oh God, I'm rambling about rambling, who even knew that was possible. That's like protesting against protesting, or something."

When Louis leaves for work, dead on the dot of five like every other day (just like clockwork, the girls and boys come out to play), the boy is gone, and that's like usual. Louis spares his cursory glance towards the place where he sleeps, and there's a small sheet stuck onto the glass.

This, Louis decides, is probably something that requires further inspection, so he steps towards the note. His heart rate picks up, and he doesn't know why (or even why he noticed, really) in time with his pace, so he tries to slow both. Only one of them does.

By the time Louis's crouched down in front of it, he can see that it's a small yellow square, and he thinks they're called post-it notes. Maybe.

He should probably ask his boy just how he came to acquire a stationary supply when he's sleeping in a bag outside a coffee shop every night, but he knows he won't get an answer.

There's a single line written on in looping writing, so different to Louis's scrawl.

It looks like it belongs on an old-age parchment sheet, or something. Louis peels it off the glass, gently, so as not to leave a mark on the window, and tucks it inside his jacket pocket, and begins his walk home with measured strides. The air around him feels like it's flaying the skin off of his face, so he keeps his hands buried inside his pocket too, the fingers on his right hand curling around thin

paper.

I like it when you talk.