hotfoot - tomlinson

chapter two

chapter two

ethel

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Louis wasn't some ordinary boy that I just met. He was much, much more. His cologne made my nose tickle and my stomach queasy. He did stupid things like drinking tea even though he hated tea. He even drank it to the very last drop, and kept the same beautiful grin on his face all through. He made the Sun in my eyes melt, he made the ache in my heart ebb away. Louis wasn't ordinary at all, and we didn't just meet, it was something much, much more.

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WHEN MAKING acquaintance with him, Louis, I didn't know he liked to sing. I didn't know how he spelt his name, or what he thought of himself or the people he met along the way. But after I met Louis, three hours into that long flight, he was able to explain these things, writing the messy letters of his name on a post-it, or explaining these endless sentences of himself, expressing each word fully until he gasped at the end of his sentences because of his breathlessness.

It wasn't until seven hours in the flight that I found out about his pure ardent for music. Some pesky child had been crying so I resorted in putting my earphones in and shutting my eyes. I kept the music off, not quite in the mood for the usual reruns of my phone's shuffle. Louis didn't seem to mind the child's obnoxious sounds, light lively in his bright eyes, a smile braced softly on his lips. He had reached down to grab something in his bag or even tie his shoe, humming something that I couldn't hear.

From under my blanket, I pulled on the earbug wires, letting them fall and get lost in my mess of brown hair. I kept my eyes closed, forcing myself not to let my lips grow up or shrivel down so he would believe I was asleep - which is what I assumed he thought I was doing right now.

"Cast out of the night, well you've got a foolish heart ..." He sang mindlessly, volume low and gentle as he sat back up, pushing one of his hands up his forehead, fingers sinking slowly into his hair while the other was buried in his pocket. He rested his head up, staring at the ceiling. I watched him as his eyes traveled over the overhead lights. He turned his neck to the right, positioning his chin on his shoulder to look at me.

"Oh, your awake, how lovely." He murmured, laughing with a solemn nod of his head. "They just came around to ask if we'd like our meal. I hope you don't mind, I said yes." His eyes looked cloudy, hair wispy and bunched together unevenly in some spots. He must have been sleeping earlier, when I was too busy muting the sounds around me.

"Nah, I'm hungry." I laughed, but it was genuinely true. The gods forbid I ever went a day without stuffing my face until my tummy plumped. I kept heard something soft replaying in my head while all this was said, but just up until there was a silence between us could I hear the melodies of his voice. Goddamn.

I just then realized we would be arriving in the airport in an hour or so, which made me decide to stay up and chat more with Louis. He was a fun one to talk to, he wasn't just interested in himself, he liked to guess about people, especially me, I should say. He had already asked me so many things that ended up being true.

"Hey, Ethel, have you dyed your hair?" He asked, just like I'd said, right out of the blue. He took a strand of my straight hair, fiddling with it between his fingers, just then before giving it a tug much harder than necessary.

"Yea-ow." I spat, ducking my head and laughing a little. "When I was eighteen. 'Thought I was being rebellious but it's only a few shades darker than my natural." I laughed.