Strawberries & Cigarettes

Empty Swimming Pools

                                                            Song(s):

                                   "Step up the Morphine" - The DMA's

Louis had been writing for hours. It surprised him to see sunlight already falling onto the papers on his bedroom floor, letting him know that actual time had passed. Niall was lying on his bed, snoring softly. His blond hair looked like an aflame halo in the streaming sunlight. He was surrounded by Donley and dozens of papers filled with his and Louis' messy handwriting. The songs.

Louis had never thought that one day he would write an actual song, especially not for a 'Peter Pan' amateur musical of all things, but here he was. And the songs weren't even half bad. The sudden urge in his fingertips, the restless thoughts in his brain, and surprisingly not even one joint had awoken his creative fuels and before he had known it, the words had been pouring out of him, seemingly inexhaustible. Not feeling the pain in his wrist from all the writing, not caring for the bad lighting and Niall's endless humming and guitar strumming, the pen had flown over the paper as Louis had bitten his lips bloody and watched.

Now, leaning his aching back against the wooden frame of his bed, the sunlight dusting the floor golden, he let himself breathe for the first time all night. It was done. He had written an entire fucking horrible script for an entire fucking horrible theatre production without even stopping to consider it. What the fuck?

This was unexpectant. This was strange. This felt weird and itchy on Louis' skin, made him want to crawl under the warm dark safety of his blanket and stay there until all of it was gone again, until the floor wasn't littered with his thoughts and stupid words anymore. He did.

Pushing Niall to the side, he grabbed the blanket from under him and formed a tight cocoon, locking out that annoying sunlight giving him a headache. Maybe if he stayed in here long enough, he would turn into a glimmering blue butterfly and could just fly away. God, he was sleep-deprived. That was something Harry Styles would definitely think. Maybe that's why he wanted to fly for the play. To become a butterfly. Probably a glittery one. Whatever.

What the hell was happening? He hadn't even planned or wanted to join that stupid theatre group and now he was even writing a script for them? What the fuck?!

Suddenly, his beautifully dark cocoon burst as a finger peeled up the edge of the blanket and a tired blue eye stared at him. "Morning, Tommo," Niall's muffled voice came from reality. As reply, the blanket caterpillar that was Louis rolled over him like a small, soft, comfortable barrel.

"How long did you keep writing for?" Niall's voice came from somewhere under him.

"Until now." Louis voice sounded raspy from singing all night and then neither singing nor speaking in any form for an even longer amount of time. Just writing.

Niall's head popped up as he pulled the blanket layer from Louis' face again. "Really? Are you done now?"

"I think so."

"That's great! Then we can show it to the others today. They'll be thrilled. After we've assembled all these sheets, that is," he added with a look to the messy floor.

"What have I done?" Louis asked.

"From the looks of it, written something. A lot."

"Why have I done that?"

Niall shrugged. "Because it's your passion?"

"No, it's not."

"But it certainly looks like the scene of a very passionate encounter in here."