The Lost Years || Larry Stylinson

One

The distant ringing of a phone breaks the silence. When he opens one eye, Louis sees the sunlight washing in through the curtains, making everything in the room blurry at the edges. He pushes himself up and rests on his left hand, reaching for his phone with his right. Rubbing his eyes, he swipes his thumb over the glass screen.

"Tomlinson," he answers. "Yes. No change, then?" A sigh escapes his mouth. "Okay, thank you. You have a nice day as well."

The phone locks with a clicking sound as he puts it back on the nightstand. His side of the bed is a mess, and the black cover looks almost gray in the light of the morning sun. He slowly turns his head to look at the other side. The pillow looks like it's new, no traces of a head having slept on it, and the duvet is neatly tucked in on the side. Now sitting up straight against the headboard, he turns his head a bit more to look at the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Next to the same looking lamp as the one standing on his, there is a brown notebook. The leather looks weathered, and the texts and little drawings on it are almost gone. There's a strand made of the same brown leather wrapped around it to keep it closed. He swallows, but then stretches out his neck a bit to look at the pen sitting behind the notebook. They're almost parallel to each other, but he sees that the pen has been moved slightly.

He gets up from the bed and walks over to the other side, the light carpet soft but cold under his bare feet. With a gentle touch, he puts the dark brown pen back in its place. He rests one fingertip on the leather cover and shivers.

A sound coming from across the hallway brings him back to reality, but he doesn't take his eyes off the notebook. He sighs before touching it one more time and then searches the floor for the t-shirt he threw on it the night before. When he sees it in the right corner of the room, he walks over there to pick it up and put it on. It doesn't match the sweatpants he's wearing, but oh well. While making his way to the door, he rushes his hand through his hair, trying to make it somewhat decent. When he steps out into the hall, he hears the same sound, but this time a little clearer. It's a sound that warms and breaks his heart at the same time, and he follows it, walking past a closed door which he refuses to look at. The door of the room where the sound is coming from is already

open and he takes in the sight as he walks in. It's a big, light room with light brown carpet on the floor. The curtains are turquoise, like most accents in the room. Right next to the door is a cabinet made of white painted wood, and on top of it he sees laundry he put there the night before, but forgot to fold. When he looks to the left, he sees a big white wicker basket, with the word 'toys' written on it in the same color as the curtains. He stares at some of the toys inside of it before walking over to the curtains to open them and let in the day.

"Daddy!" He hears the happy voice coming from the little bed standing in front of him, and walking over to it, he sees the little boy lying in it, his arms stretched upwards and a big smile on his face.

"Good morning, James," Louis answers, trying to smile back. He reaches over to pick him up, and he lets him eagerly.

"Good morning, Daddy."

"How did you sleep?" He cuddles him and ruffles his brown curls before putting him on the floor.

James rubs his eyes with his tiny little fists and says, "Okay, I guess. I had a nightmare, though."

"Again? Well, I guess that's no surprise," he murmurs as he walks over to the cabinet to start folding the laundry. It's not much, just a tiny pair of jeans, just as little t-shirts, and a set of pajamas with some animals printed on it. He's still amazed that a human being can fit in clothes that small, even though James used to wear smaller sizes, of course.

"I guess..." James agrees, and his voice is a bit softer now, much less enthusiastic. "Daddy, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Louis answers, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the small pile of clothes in front of him to escape James' questioning gaze.