If I Stay (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter One

I wake up early in the morning to a fine sheet of white coating our front garden. It's barely an inch, but in this part of London, a slight sprinkling brings everything to a complete standstill.

It's is enough snow to shut down pretty much every school in the country. My older sister, Gemma, let's out a loud 'whoop' after my dad's radio reports the closures. "Snow day!" she bellows. "Dad, can we make a snowman?"

My step-father, Robin, grins and taps on his pipe. He started smoking recently as part of the 1950s, 'Father Knows Best' retro kick he is on. I like the smell of the pipe tobacco, the sweet yet smokey scent that I have become accustomed to.

"You can have a go" Robin tells Gemma. "But it's not really sticking to the roads"

I can tell Robin is cheerful. Hardly and inch of snow means that most schools are closed, including my secondary school and Gemma's university.

My mother, Anne, who works for a travel agent, turns off my dad's radio and pours herself the second coffee she's had this morning. "Well, if you three are playing in the snow today, there is no way that I am going to work, knowing that you are enjoying yourselves without me. It's simply not right" she chuckles and makes her way over to the red, matte phone we have hanging onto the vanilla painted walls. Once she's done, she looks at us. "Should I make breakfast?"

Dad and I laugh quietly at the same time. All mum can make is cereal and toast. Even then, it can seem like a task for her so we came to the mutual discussion that dad is the cook in the family.

Pretending not to hear us, she reaches into the cupboard for a box of pancake mix. Having pancakes for breakfast was a very rare occasion. "Please. How hard can it be making simple pancakes? Who wants some?"

"I do! I do! I do!" Gemma chants like an excited eight year old. "Can we put chocolate chips in them?" She asks.

"Gem, don't make it anymore complicated than it already is for her!" Dad shoots a wink in mum's direction.

Mum hands me a hot cup of tea in my favourite mug along with a newspaper with the corners curling up. "There's a lovely picture of your man in there" mum chirps.

"Really? A picture?" I asked, I'm rather surprised, actually.

Coming to terms with my sexuality has been hard but it's been even more difficult for both mum and dad. Obviously, all they care about is whether I'm happy or not, which I am. I think they were slightly disappointed if anything. Disappointed that I am the only male Styles left and I won't be able to continue the name my father gave me. My boyfriend of five months is called Louis Tomlinson and he is unbelievably beautiful. His chestnut brown hair that falls perfectly onto his forehead. His sea blue eyes that I almost get hypnotised with every time I stare into them. His smile. His smile is his best feature, I reckon. The way his nose and eyes crinkle up. I practically drool over his very unique features, mindful of the fact that I have just zoned out of the conversation I was having with my mum. Oh well. I'm sure she's used to it by now.

I flick through the newspaper to the calendar section. There's a small review about Louis' band, Maximum Autopsy, with an even smaller photo of the four of them, next to a large article about Shotgun Kings and a picture of the band's lead singer, Greg Forman. It basically says that local band, Maximum Autopsy is opening for Shotgun Kings on the European leg of SK's national tour. Sadly, it doesn't mention the more exciting news (to me) that last night, Maximum Autopsy headlined at a club in Manchester and apparently, that gig was sold out, according to Louis' text to me.

"Are you going tonight?" Dad asks, interrupting my deep thoughts.

"I was planning to. It depends if they shut down the whole city, taking into account that it is still snowing outside."