Walk on Water or Drown

Chapter Six

Two days later, Louis found himself sitting on the side of the pool. His legs dangled over the edge, toes submerged beneath the crystal clear water. He hummed quietly, his sweet voice bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout the pool hall.

His mind wandered carelessly, thoughts stuck on a loop of precious memories from earlier that week, more specifically: his coffee date with Harry.

They had sat there for hours, Martha politely telling them that they were going to close for the day. They had forgone their homework, dropping every aspect of reality and focusing on that single moment, the time they spent together in the secluded corner of their local coffee shoppe, the time spent making idle chatter and learning more and more about one another.

The sound of shuffling feet and a low murmur of angered voices snapped Louis from his thoughts, but it was too late.

The splash as he collided with the once placid surface was deafening, all consuming. The blue eyed boy was blinded by the darkness, completely paralysed with fear as he plummeted to the bottom of the pool.

And suddenly, he wasn't alone. He was standing on a boat, the eerily familiar setting sending chills down his spine.

 

'Hello?' He called out, looking around and finally deciding to go below deck. He seemed to know the layout of the ship like the back of his hand, strange.

 

'Hello?' Louis called out once more as he descended the stairs, ducking just enough to miss the doorframe. 'Is anyone down there?'

 

'Boobear, darling!' a woman shouted jovially, startling Louis. 'Dinner's ready, dear. Come on, your father wants to eat!' Cautiously, the Doncaster lad creeped into the small kitchen area, watching the scene unfold before him with a burning ache in his chest.

 

A small boy, no older than five or six, rushed past him. He entered the kitchen area and sat himself down at the adjacent table, waiting patiently for his meal. The woman walked over to him, a plate filled with delicious smelling food balanced on her arm. She placed it before him, using her other arm to pour him a cup of milk.

 

'Aweh, Maaaa,' The young boy whined, sighing exasperatedly. 'Milk again? Haven't I had enough? And plus, it's not like it has the same vitamins in it, it's powdered.' Louis laughed silently as the boy picked up the cup and brought it to his mouth, scrunching his nose in distaste as he sipped the offending beverage reluctantly.

 

'Louis Tomlinson, you will drink your milk. You're a growing boy and you need the nutrients. And yes, it is powdered, but it has the same nutrients as regular milk, too.' The smile disappeared from the blue eyed boy's face.

 

Louis Tomlinson? He thought to himself, examining the woman and the small child with more scrutiny than before. He was Louis Tomlinson… where was he? What was going on?

 

A man- a few centimetres taller than the woman, descended the ladder and seated himself next to the young Louis. He smiled at the woman, who was presumably his wife and Louis' mother- making him Louis' father, and tucked into the plate that was ever so carefully placed before him. The woman sat down, and for a while, all was well.

 

And then everything was falling.

 

From the shelves, the counters, the net of gear stationed along the ceiling of the cabin. It was all sliding towards the bow. The boat rocked and rolled, waves crashing against the lone hull and water spilling down into the galley.

 

Then Louis was shaking. Tendrils of water tugging viciously at his ankles and curling up his calves until he was pulled onto his knees, grasping in vain at every piece of furniture within his reach to keep him from being pulled under.

 

The churning waters swallowed him whole, swaddling his helpless body in a blanket of dark perverted serenity.

 

And the next thing he knows he's gasping for air and he just can't get any. His  vision  is blurred and his thoughts are racing with phrases words questions like: green eyes and baby tarzan and oh my god I can't swim, why am I in the water?

 

And the darkness is back and he can't breathe and he can't move and he's being pulled from the water and suddenly there's a mouth on his and hands on his chest pressing, pressing, pressing.

 

Then he's choking, air filling his lungs in a rush. His eyes open and all he sees is green, green, green, and wet curls and porcelain skin and full lips and dimples. He hears hurried steps, frantic calls for a teacher; but it's all muffled and fuzzy and everything is rushing by in a blur because the boy with the eyes so green and the lips so full and the skin so perfect is smiling- and it takes his breath away.

 

Then those sensuous full lips are moving, pink tongue pulling out consonant sounds against pearly white teeth and mouth forming a perfect 'o' and then those lips are stretched against those teeth so white that they're almost blinding and he thinks he needs sunglasses to look at the boy another second and then he hears it.

 

Louis.

 

Its his name. Its his name and he knows it well. Its his name and he knows it well, but he's not paying any attention because he's too caught up in the eyes and the hair and the lips and the skin and all he wants to do is touch, touch, touch.

 

Louis.

 

There it is again. His vision is clearing up, the fog in his mind receding and allowing him to focus. He can see and his vision is filled with the same green, the same wet curls, the same full lips, the same dimples, and the same porcelain skin. Its all the same but it's all so different. The eyes are worried, he can see it now- the green dark and swirling and he finds himself getting lost. The curls are wet and dark chocolate, same as before- but they're longer, more unruly, he realizes. The lips are full, cherry red and glistening with small droplets of water, just as he remembers, but instead of being pulled over pearly white teeth so blinding they rival the sun- they're pulled tight and pressed together in a concerned frown, dimples following suit. And that skin, once unblemished and so pale and white and perfect, was the same; there was more colour in it, as if someone had put him in the oven like a cookie and baked until he was a light golden brown around the edges, just like recipe said.

 

Louis

 

The name rolled off of the tongue, and he was spellbound as he watched the lips curve out the sounds and the sight was oh so familiar.

'Louis'