Timeless - A Larry Stylinson FanFiction

Chapter 1

Stepping off of the train and into the familiar station sent a rush of relief through his body, heat gripping him from the tips of his toes to the slightly tousled state of the hair on his head, simulating the friendly embrace Louis Tomlinson knew he would not receive. Coming home from war meant being relieved of all his duties, and sure, he was thrilled to be alive. But leaving a dusty cot in which he had made his home for the past few years also meant he would need to resume life living in the one he had back in England. It was tough not having anything to fall back on after having been gone for so long, but his own pride in himself was enough to lessen the dull ache of loneliness in his heart.

It wasn’t his choice that he was left without a mom or dad to welcome him home. It wasn’t by his choosing that the only family he’d ever known was taken from their home too early. The wishes he made on shooting stars dancing ever so delicately across the sky without so much as a sound as he looked out his bedroom window at age eleven did not hold the faintest trace of what his future had become. Louis Tomlinson was alone, and there was no such thing in existence to change that.

“Sir?” a small voice interrupted his thoughts. Louis spun around on the his heels, instantly snapping to attention and being on guard as he prepared to be directed his next orders. But wait. He was home. A new flood of unsteady relief came rushing over him as he realized he was back where he came from, feeling like a never-ending loop with no escape.

There was a young, gangly-limbed boy standing in front of him, looking to be only a few years Louis’ junior, holding something concealed in his fist.

“Can I help you?” Louis asked the kid, trying to be respectful, but the clearly superior attire the boy sported causing a rude edge in his tone. Was it jealousy that caused this, or just a general annoyance of the world around him?

“Um, I uh…” The kid stammered, clutching the fist to his chest and, with the other hand, nervously fiddled with the spear-like lapels on his belted jacket. “You dropped something.”

With that he held out his fist, slowly overturning it and opening it up to reveal a pin no bigger than the size of a coin. Louis glanced at the boy’s opened palm, seeing the familiar half-rusted swallow pin he had on him at all times, the one thing that kept him from being truly alone. It was a mixture of the anger and spite that caused Louis to say what he said next.

“Keep it,” he told the kid without a second thought, taking a step back to show he did not want to take the pin back. “Merry Christmas.”

The kid gave Louis a lighthearted sort of half smile, steadying his eyes on the pin and slipping it into his pocket. “You too, sir,” he said before turning around and walking back to his family, most likely to await the arrival of whoever it was they were waiting for to return home safe.

“I didn’t even get the lad’s name,” Louis whispered quietly to himself, taking one final glance in the general direction of the curly haired bloke before resuming his lonely walk down a path he’s seeing there is no purpose walking over any longer.

He made his way wistfully to the shabby home he had once known so well, not having to linger his thoughts too long on the subject of where he was headed. It was perceived to Louis now as new and off-putting, causing a hesitant pause in his repetitive steps, eyes flicking up from the decaying leaf floor he walked upon. Getting a good look at his home, he felt returning memories, flooding in like constant raindrops, gathering up quickly, he shook them off before they overflowed. Pulling the old key from his pocket, twisting it effortlessly and kicking the door closed behind him, the easiness then set in. He was back home, and despite the loneliness ringing in the dark hallways, he felt somewhat comforted for the first time in nearly two years.

Darting up the steps two-by-two like the spritely child he once was, Louis collapsed into the sweet abyss that was his cold, stiff bed. The sheets had not been touched in so long, and knowing him, they were rustled from the last time he had been curled up in the warmth they never failed to provide.

“Good night,” he said to no one in particular, the words hanging motionlessly in the air almost as if they were waiting for someone to hold their meaning in their arms, and maybe, hold Louis just as close too.