ILTHY | l.p.

12 | dear diary, louis is...

CHAPTER TWELVE
❛ 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮, 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗽.
𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮
'𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶'𝗺 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁. ❜
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[ y/n ]

"Can you pass me the remote?"

"It's right next to you."

"I don't see it." Sam says in his bratty tone, lazily waving his hand around to shoo me off my place and listen to him like a servant would. So, in response, I threw the remote at him.

"Hey—ow!"

"You're welcome," I grumble, returning to my notebook. I knew Sam was mocking me under his breath without even looking. He really is just that type of person (not that I want him to change).

"What are you even writing in that thing? Is it a diary?" Sam suddenly sounds interested as he sits up on his bed, and I lean away out of instinct.

"I don't do diaries."

"You?" Sam scoffs. "You write in notebooks with glitter pens and those really annoying puffy puff balls on the ends of those pens. You are definitely the type of girl to write in diaries."

I can't deny the truth, so I responded again by throwing a nearby pillow on his head.

"You're bonkers, woman!" Sam narrowly avoided it, then looked at me with widened eyes like I just threw a bomb on him. "It's a pillow. It won't even do damage to your already damaged head." I rolled my eyes at his dramatics.

"You're just heartless. I'm already injured!"

"Don't tempt me to break the other arm, Sam."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes, and he laid back down on his bed with a soft 'thud', his arms crossed against his chest. I tried ignoring the huge pout on his lips and continued writing, but I was already distracted enough to realize I forgot what I was writing in the first place. I sighed and closed the notebook, narrowing my eyes at the big adult baby on the bed.

"Entertain me."

Sam snorts at me. "Aren't you supposed to be the one entertaining me? I'm the one bedridden here."

"Even without injury, you never left your bed." I deadpan and move, sitting on the edge of the bed instead. "And it's your arm that's broken, idiot, not your legs."

"It's really sweet to hear how much you're concerned with me, drummy." He replies sarcastically and then lets out a breath. "How's the band coming up? Is Partridge good enough to have starstruck all of you to get rid of me?"

I could've acted differently—acted on how I usually would act whenever I hear his name—but I must've slipped because the next thing I know, Sam's tugging my arm.

"He did, didn't he?"

"What? No, he didn't. I still have never heard him play. The song is still a rough draft." I stammer in between my words, feeling as if I was caught stealing, or at least caught in something even I couldn't understand.

"So pretty boy never charmed you with songs yet? What is honestly taking too long?" Sam sighed exasperatedly. "Maybe you don't shower. Or maybe he'd already seen inside your glitter diary and decided you're just one weirdo with the sticks."

I frown, plopping on beside Sam, laying flat on my stomach. "No way. I shower more times than you do, that's for sure. And Louis isn't the type to read diaries. If he sees one open, he'd close his eyes and close the journal."

Sam snorts.

"I'm serious!"

"Bottom line is," he said, tapping his index finger on my forehead. "He's a great guy, but you hate him. Why? Too good for you?"

"What? No, I—" I pause, suddenly at the loss of words while I look for any excuse. I know Louis is a good guy, but he's just not good good! He's a control freak; he's someone who treats me gently but would bring me up to bring me down. He's unpredictable and frustrating, and, oh my god, he hates me! Louis Partridge is a good guy, but he just hates me.

"I guess I'm a special exception." I shrug, settling with that.

"Has anyone ever told you how highly you think of yourself?"

"Sam," I hiss, making him laugh.

"I'm not sure he hates you, Y/n." Sam grins. "No way. I'm a man; I'd know all those sneaky glances he'd give you. When men hate, we do absolutely everything we can to ignore the ass, not stare at it."

"I don't exist in his world."

"Oh, you do, drummy."

"As someone he hates."

"Oh my god, you're hopeless," Sam groans. "Louis doesn't hate you."

"He acts like it!" I defend, crossing my arms as I sit up in his bed. "All my life, with all the times I hung out with Millie, he always treated me like I'm sort of a bug he'd want to step on. A parasite on his family, I guess. Maybe right now he's a bit different, but it still doesn't cover the fact that he hated me once in his life."

"At one point," Sam pressed on, and his grin only widened. "Pretty boy is redeeming himself. Whatever hard feelings he felt long ago are obviously gone now."

I look away, remembering the day I spent with Louis all over my head again like a broken record. It was sweet and bitter; it was cold and warm. He was being himself, and I was being myself, but that day ended better than it could have been.

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