Timeless - A Larry Stylinson FanFiction

Chapter 12

“Who are you?” Louis asked, sitting up in his bed - yes, the bed in his home - staring at the curly haired boy with the red tipped nose, place a cup of tea at his bedside. “How did you get in here?”

Louis thought some more to himself, remembering how he had fallen asleep not in his bed, but outside in the cold.

“How did I get in here?” he asked, weak voice cracking as he realized how sore his throat was, and also how bitterly tinged with cold his toes were.The last thing he remembered was fighting the heartless wind whipping at his cheeks, though he couldn’t feel them anyways. The illumination from the fresh-fallen snow had caused him to squint, restricting him from returning the strange glances he received from passers by as he collapsed against the lamppost due to the numbness overtaking his feet. After that, it was just a moment of white flurry before nothingness. And now he was here, back in his bed? Did he sleepwalk there? Nonsense, he thought. He’d never walked a foot in his life without being awake to see where he was going.

“I um..” the boy said, clearing his throat in an attempt to calm his visible nerves. Why was he nervous? If anything Louis should have been the one who was frightened, having lost every scrap of memory pertaining to returning to his bedroom.

“You what?” he prompted the boy, eager to hear his side of the story.

“I brought you home, sir,” he said at last, looking down at his feet clad in shining new leather boots, probably hand made from the shoe maker himself seeing as though the lad was of much wealth given their quality appearance and new luster.

“I recognized you, from your umm..” the young man hesitated, scratching the back of his neck where a few bedraggled curls lay, almost wrapping their cocoa color around each of his fingers as he wound the strands one by one until he regained composure.

“Your jacket,” he finally said. “I’ve seen you walking around town with that jacket on and though I know little of you, heck, I don’t have an inkling of an idea as to what your first name is, I recalled that your rather large family lived up on the hilltop here. I couldn’t stand to watch you freeze to death out there in such weather, and on Christmas, none the less. I’m sorry for entering your home uninvited, it is just that I wanted to ensure your safety on such a joyous holiday, sir.”

Louis took a moment to let this new information set in, putting a hand to his forehead as he realized the young boy must have carried him all the way here.

“Call me Louis,” he said, in spite of the fact that the only title the lad had given him was sir. It was getting on his nerves to be referred to as someone of higher status than was necessary.

“I beg your pardon?” the chestnut haired boy asked.

“My name,” Louis clarified, voice becoming stronger after sipping from his hot beverage. “Is Louis.”

“Louis,” the boy repeated, the name flowing almost effortlessly from his lips nearly as though it was a word nestled at the tip of his tongue for centuries and this was the moment when the lethologica was discovered. “Louis Tomlinson.”