Delicate - Emily Blunt x Reader

6 - It's Nice To Have A Friend

"'Wanna hang out?' Yeah, sounds like fun."
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You have the weekend off set because of how far ahead of schedule you've shot. You're not sure what to do. You can't remember the last time you had a day off, as you've picked up shifts to pay rent for as long as you can remember. Las Angeles isn't cheap, but you love the town more than anything. You can't imagine yourself thriving anywhere else. Not that you're thriving now.

You wake up at work time even though you were planning on sleeping in. With the sun already risen above the window, you can't force yourself to go back to sleep.

You have always been a morning person, in love with routine and productivity. With this, you change into a pair of shorts and a tank top, put on your tennis shoes, and take off for a run around town.

For as long as you can remember, running has been your way to calm down and clear your mind. Lately, you've found that everything reminds you of Emily. Nothing helps. You see her in the ocean as you run along the pier, hear her in the music outside of the local shops, feel her as the sun beats down and kisses your skin.

Defeated, you return home feeling worse about yourself than when you left. You take a shower, shivering from the cold water but tell yourself you deserve to struggle through the drastically chilly temperature. Besides, you read somewhere it's good for your skin.

You finally warm up in a fluffy white towel, wrapping it beneath your arms. You leave your hair out to let it air dry, not caring that it's dripping on the floor and leaving a trail of water everywhere you go. When you're slipping on your pajamas, as you plan on staying in for the rest of the day, you hear a knock at the door.

Impatiently, another knock follows right after. Then another. You sigh and stalk to the door, not caring about your appearance in the slightest.

Louis stands in the hallway outside your apartment, his hair tousled and dark circles evident under his eyes. A backpack is thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

He looks at you for a second as if you look worse than him, then ducks past you into your apartment.

"Okay," you mutter to yourself and shut the door behind him.

Louis has been to your apartment just once before to drop you off after a long day at work. He didn't even come inside.

He digs through your freezer, grabs a pint of ice cream, collapses on the couch, and turns on the television.

"Shoot, can you grab me a spoon?" Louis calls over to you as you're still standing in the entranceway.

You scoff and march to the kitchen, pulling out two spoons. Then, you grab the remote and pause the television which is on a commercial for a new smoothie blender.

Louis extends his arm to take one of the spoons, but you hold it out of reach. "Hey!" He whines.

"What the hell, Louis?" You say, more confused than ever.

"Sorry, manners," he says, "Can I have my spoon, please?"

"Your spoon?" You raise your voice now.

"My bad, our spoon." He adds a smile at the end.

"No, you can't have it! And what do you mean our spoon? This is my apartment, you know."

"Our apartment," Louis says confidently, dipping his finger into the ice cream and licking it off.

Annoyed, you chuck the spoon at his chest.

"Thanks," Louis shrugs and proceeds to eat only the chocolate part of the Neapolitan.

You sit down next to him, taking a bite of the strawberry with your spoon. "Did something happen?"

Louis takes a deep breath and lays down across the couch, resting his head in your lap. You run your hands through his messy curls as he looks up at you with big brown eyes.

"My mom found out about Michael," he says, almost a whisper.

Michael. Louis has never been romantically involved with anyone as far as you know. Michael is a code name for any boy that he's crushing on. Louis's mom knows he's gay.

Louis's mum is one of the most religious people you've ever heard of, even more so than the Pope. She hates the new generation, more and more people confidently joining the LGBTQ community. While Louis grew up in Las Angeles, his mom sent him to small Catholic schools growing up, and he didn't go to college.

You're the first gay person he'd ever met, before he even knew he was himself, though he was having thoughts. That's why you two have always gotten along. You understand each other. You keep each other's secrets and trust each other immensely.

"So now what?" You reply softly, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

"She wants nothing to do with me, so I'm moving in with you," Louis forces a smile. He never wants to be upset about anything even at times when it's perfectly acceptable to be.

Usually, now would be a time for you to combat him with a sassy remark, but instead you smile and nod, "Anything you need."

Louis sits up. "Don't think I'm freeloading or anything. I'll pay half of all of the bills. I can pay even more than that for water! You know how long I take in the shower."

"Full performances of Broadway musicals," you remember him telling you. "Half is perfect, Louis. The spare bedroom is yours."

Louis throws his arms over your shoulders. "Thank you, Y/N."

The two of you spend the rest of the day watching gossip channels and eating junk. After you finish the ice cream, Louis calls and orders pizza. His treat.

"I'm not sure I can ever eat again for the rest of my life!" You exclaim, your arms and legs sprawled out across the couch.

"So now wouldn't be a good time to tell you that I also ordered Shake Shack?" Louis smirks.

"Funny," you reply unenthusiastically.

Louis flips through the channels, stopping on one discussing Taylor Swift. He is a die hard Swiftie and sings "Cruel Summer" along with the television.

After the Taylor Swift segment, the screen changes to a couple on a beach in the Bahamas. There's a series of photos shown, clearly taken with a poor quality camera and from a distance.

The first photo shows the two walking hand in hand along the shore. The woman is blonde and wears a light blue bikini, scandalous enough to make you wonder who she is and why she's is significant enough in pop culture for people to be taking private photos of her. The man is tall with dark hair. He wears navy blue swim trunks and no shirt. His muscles are evident even from the far distance the photograph was taken.

The next photo takes place of the first one. The couple is now in the water kissing. The girl's arms are around the man's neck, and you can only imagine where his hands are to hold her up. Her face is tilted away from the camera, but his is not. Unfortunately, he's wearing sunglasses, so you can't make out any more features to distinguish who this man might be.

The third photo shows the couple lying in the sand. The woman is laying face down, tanning in the bright sun and reading a book. She is also wearing sunglasses, so the side profile of her face is indistinguishable. The man is face up, his hand resting on the woman's bikini bottoms.

A fourth and final photo takes up the screen. Time seems to stop.

"No," you say, leaning forward.

Emily Blunt is riding piggyback on Nolan Eldridge's back as they walk towards the camera along the shoreline.

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"Have my back, yeah, everyday."