Just Like Any Other Day (Larry Stylinson Short Story) - DISCONTINUED

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My eyes widen.

I'M GAY?! But... But I can’t be...

I turn page to the page and quickly read on.

I was the one you fought with. I was the one who sat by your side for the two weeks you were in a coma. I was the one who you didn't recognise... and it hurt... I don't want that to happen again, so I wrote all of this out for you.

We hadn't told anyone but the other boys in the band that we were an item - not even our mentor, Simon Cowell. It was a secret. It was our secret. But now, every morning, you don't believe me until I've proven we were together.

I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready to get up, cooking you breakfast.

And that's where it ends.

I flip through the last few pages of the book, but they are all empty. Just line after line after line. And every single one of them blank.

But wait, what? Seriously? I'm GAY? I have a BOYFRIEND?

I roll my eyes at the irony of it all. I guess I'd better go out and meet him then! I think sarcastically. Of course it still shocks me that I was in a car crash, that I'm famous, that the band has had to cancel everything because of me and even had to move (apparently we now live in a smaller building with only two apartments - Harry and I in one, Liam, Niall and Zayn in the other), that I can't even remember my own family without being reminded and that tomorrow I won't remember any of this... But a boyfriend? It just doesn’t sit right with me. Not that I have anything against gays, but... me? I don’t understand.

Still, it begs the question: If Harry were to go to all this trouble for me, what reason would he have to lie?

So I slowly slide my legs out of the unfamiliar bed and cast a glance at the clock on the wall; 8:03. Quite early in the morning I guess - no matter what day of the week. Crap, I think. I don't even know what day of the week it is. There is no calendar in here so I'll just have to ask Harry - he'll be in the kitchen making breakfast like he said he would be. He described himself as tall, with curly brown hair and blue-green eyes. But that only brushes the surface. I vaguely wonder what he'll really look like.

I see I'm only wearing a pair of plain red boxers and think I should probably get dressed. I head over to what I think is the wardrobe and fling open the double doors. Sure enough, a great load of clothes hang inside. All the clothes are unfamiliar to me but seem like something I'd probably like to wear. My eyes land on a pair of red jeans and a white t-shirt with small black stripes. They seem to be the most worn items of clothing. It’s as if I probably wear them a lot. Well, in that case, it's probably my favourite outfit. I guess I wouldn't know if I wore them yesterday, but I want to wear them today!

Halfway through putting on the red jeans, I hesitate. If I wear these pants and that top often, then maybe it'd be good to be a little different today? Change it up a bit? I vaguely wonder if I think this every day, but somehow I don't really think so. So I take off the pants and put them and the t-shirt back on their hangers and return to the wardrobe for another look. Eventually, I decide on a pair of beige trousers and a plain white tee with some light brown braces that I find in the back of the wardrobe. I look at myself in the full-length mirror that's on the inside of one of the wardrobe doors. The suspenders don't look that bad. In fact, apart from the fact I haven't tidied my hair or freshened myself up yet, I am quite good-looking if I do say so myself. I give my reflection the smallest of smiles. Now... to find a bathroom...

I don't want to show up to meet Harry - my... boyfriend - without freshening up first. When I slowly open the door, thankful it doesn't creak, I hear noises coming from what is probably the kitchen near the end of the hallway. The hallway has wooden floors and the same plain-coloured walls as the room I woke in. There are two doors across the hall and one to my right. At the end of the hallway to my left is a set of stairs that are carpeted in a light blue colour. The sounds of clinking glasses and pots and pans - accompanied by a delicious smell - floats up the stairs.

Unfortunately, all of the doors up here are closed, so I'll have to try them and see what's inside. I head for the door on my right first. The room is exactly the same as mine, but somehow ten times tidier and covered in a light layer of dust. I guess it's probably the spare room. I quietly shut the door and head to the one directly across from it. It's the bathroom, a white and blue room with tiled walls and tiled floors and bright lights. It's kind of messy, with things like shaving cream and toothpaste around the sink and mirror. I pick up a red toothbrush and an orange one and inspect them, wondering which one is mine. Then I remember something - or rather, two somethings - I read in the book.

Your favourite colour: red

And then in Harry's description...

My favourite colour: orange

I put down the orange toothbrush and it's only then that I see Harry's name written on the orange toothbrush. I'm somewhat proud of myself for choosing the right toothbrush without seeing the name, but then am discouraged that I can't even remember something so simple without having been told by the book.

I brush my teeth and find a hair comb to tidy my hair. I shave even though I don't really need to. I wash my face and find a towel that I hope is clean  - well, it looks clean - and dry my face. And when I finally feel presentable, I leave the bathroom.

Standing at the top of the stairs, I suddenly become nervous. I don't know why but walking down those stairs and meeting Harry, my possible boyfriend who is making breakfast for me right now, suddenly seems like a daunting thing to do. So many questions run through my mind in this moment, standing here at the top of the stairs, slightly reeling from the flood of thoughts I just let into my mind. Someone accidentally opened the floodgates.

What if I really am gay? What if it wasn't a joke and he is my boyfriend? What if I don't like him back today? What if I don't like him at all? Will I get to see my family today? Before I fall asleep and forget again? What about the band - will I meet them again? What are they like? The book said we were all the best of friends, like brothers, but what does that really mean? Just how close are we? Could I ask to hear the one CD of our songs we released before... the accident? How am I expected to act? Do I usually do or say something special that I should know of? Argh! Shut up, Louis! I snap to myself in my mind. Just... go down the stairs. One step at a time.

I force myself to put one foot in front of the other and, slowly, get down the stairs. At the last step I see two doors and one is obviously the front door. The other door is open and through it I see a lounge - two couches, a TV, a stereo, CD's, you know. The works. Appropriate lounge-room furniture. I peer my head around the door and see that behind one of the couches is an open space where a dining table sits - big, square and wooden. Things seem normal so far. Not quite like the mad-house I was expecting to be a possibility. Past the table is one more closed door. I get the feeling that this is the last door - the only one I have yet to see inside. It's where all the noise and the smell of food - possibly pancakes? - is coming from. One last door... and Harry will be inside...

I'm right in front of the door, my hand on the handle, when I freeze. Inside, a voice starts signing. I don't recognise the song but... he's a good singer. Well, of course he is. I roll my eyes at myself.

"Baby you light up my world like nobody else,

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed,

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell-"

"You don't know you're beautiful..." I mutter to myself, just as Harry sings it.

"That's what-"

"Makes you beautiful..." I frown, totally confused, as the words just flow out of my mouth.

I don't know the song, I'm sure I don’t, why would I? But somehow I know the lyrics. I just know them.

Maybe it's a popular song? I'll ask Harry about it later. But first, I tell myself, you have to open this door and actually meet him. So I take a deep breath, shut my eyes for a moment to gather up some courage, and when I open my eyes I also open the door and take a step inside the kitchen.