Chapter Text
Muffled voices drift through the creaks of the old house, the stale scent of washing detergent flooding in the hallways mixing with the smell of freshly cut herbs and mashed potatoes coming from the kitchen. The hem of the comforters hanging in the garden to dry are damp with the dew of the early morning, the bright sun peeking out over the tops of the trees causing a wet shift in the air, like a picture with an accidental blot of water on it.
In one of the rooms, Louis pulls up his blanket to his nose, whimpering a little from the cold of March coming through his open window. He slowly turns around, feels the mattress dip a little where Zayn is laying, still fast asleep, and Louis happily curls up against his brother and sniffles in his warmth. The voices coming from downstairs grow more heated and Louis sighs as he hears his mother raise her voice, the tone all too familiar in their household. “I wonder what it is this time,” he mumbles against the skin of Zayn’s neck. The long weaves of Zayn’s hair tickle against his cheeks and he rolls back to his own half, curling in his abandoned heat and enjoying every bit of these mornings. It’s a Sunday, so they can sleep in until nine before they all head off to church.
The door of their bedroom opens, revealing Ms. Hill, one of their chamber maids. “Goodmorning, Louis, lovely day, innit?” she smiles, carrying his and Zayn’s clothes in her hands and she lies them down at the foot of the bed. “He still asleep?”
Louis looks over to Zayn for a second and then shakes his head. “No, he just doesn’t want to get up and socialize like normal people do,” he grins. Zayn aims a languid kick to his crotch but misses and Louis pouts, rubbing his sore knee. “Told you he wasn’t asleep,” he then tells Ms. Hill.
She just smiles at the two boys, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “Your mother wants you washed and dressed, and attending breakfast in thirty minutes, boys. And as you might’ve heard already, today is not the day to make her wait.”
Louis hums in agreement. “I heard. What’s it about this time? Did father forget another anniversary, or something along those lines?”
“There’s a new man in town, moved into Netherfield Park a few days ago and dad hasn’t visited him yet,” comes Zayn’s sleepy mumble, his body flexing underneath the covers as one of the first signs that he’s preparing himself physically, and also mentally, to get out of bed and into the madhouse that is his family.
Louis looks at the mop of unruly black hair sprawled onto a pillow. “Oi, how do you know?” he frowns.
Ms. Hill smiles and leaves the room, but not before adding a reminding, “Thirty minutes, boys,” before closing the door.
Louis is still staring at Zayn, who finally has mustered up enough energy and mostly willpower to turn his head and look at his younger brother. “Some of us can actually read a book and still listen to the conversation around them, unlike you,” he yawns.
As Zayn burrows his face in Louis’ pillows, Louis gets out of bed and tiptoes over to where his clothes are. It’s his freshly washed Sunday outfit and even though he would rather do anything than going to church, he can’t deny that he loves the way his trousers fit snugly over his plump arse. He gathers his clothes in his arms and trots off to the bathroom, ignoring Zayn’s sleepy mumbling about leaving some warm water for him.
-
A little more than thirty minutes later both he and Zayn sink down in their chairs at the table, Louis smiling at his father who just chuckles at the boys’ tardiness. Their mother, however, isn’t so forgiving. “Louis, look at you,” Mrs. Tomlinson sighs, shaking her head, “Did you even comb your hair after you got out of the bath? And those trousers, they’ve become too small, again.”
“Just be glad the boy is still growing,” his father Paul says, clapping a supportive hand on Louis’ narrow shoulders. “You will look like a grown-up soon enough.”
Louis just blushes and quickly says his prayer before starting to eat, trying to ignore his mother as she rages on about the way Zayn shouldn’t be wearing those flimsy scarves around his neck because they make him look provocative and that, apparently, gives men wrong ideas. Zayn just shrugs as he munches on a piece of bread and then Mrs. Tomlinson redirects her attention to their younger sisters, the three of them cackling loudly, and Louis mouths along with the words as his mother cries out; “Children, think about my poor nerves!”
Each and every morning it’s the same routine and all of them are used to it by now, but at the same time it continues to drive them crazy. Eventually, there is about a three-second gap of silence and Louis quickly uses it to butt in; “Is it true, did someone move into Netherfield Park?”
This question causes his father Paul to sigh and sink lower in his chair, and his mother perks up with a defiant glint in her eyes. “Well, yes, dear. Yes, it is. By a nobleman named Liam James Payne, he originally comes from London,” she gushes.
Zayn looks up from his glass of orange juice. “London? What’s he doing here then? It’s boring as f—” Louis nudges Zayn with his elbow to prevent his brother from swearing in front of their parents.
Their mother didn’t notice, obliviously continuing to talk, “Oh, you know how these people are, Zayn, they get sick of the city and they want to explore the countryside.”
“These people?” Louis inquires.
“You know, the rich and powerful, my love. I heard he’s one of the richest men in the province. So, Zayn…”
Zayn lets his spoon dangle halfway up to his mouth and stares at his mother. “What?”
“Oh, don’t be ignorant, boy!” she fusses. “He’s single, and he is our neighbour.”
“So?” Zayn’s expression is still blank, and Louis rolls his eyes. Of course Zayn knows what their mother is talking about, but his brother has decided a long time ago that he doesn’t care or to pretend he doesn’t care. It might be working out fine for him, but for Louis and their sisters and especially their father, it means that their mother will keep on talking until Zayn shows some sign of understanding. It’s safe to say that it’s irritating the hell out of him.
“Shouldn’t we be introduced first?” he asks, looking at his father. At the stricken look on his father’s face, and the huff his mother lets out, Louis decides that might’ve been not such a good question.
“Your father hasn’t visited him yet,” his mother bristles. “It’s been four days and he hasn’t done a thing.”
“Why not?” Zayn asks, sipping from his glass. The rising sunlight coming in through the windows cast a beam onto his face, his honey-coloured eyes appearing lighter.
Their father opens his mouth to answer, but suddenly their mother jumps up from the table and points at the clock. “We’re running late, kids. We can continue this conversation after church, which my nerves would highly appreciate.”
Louis just hums and finishes his breakfast quickly, all the while thinking about their exciting new neighbour.
-
Louis normally dozes off during the church service, in between the singing and standing, and he’s glad Zayn usually offers his shoulder for him to lean on. Today is no different, he’s sleepy and tucked warmly in his thick coat and it’s just so easy to just close his eyes and drift away…
“Louis, open your eyes!” his mother hisses and she leans over Zayn to pinch his knee. Louis lets out a small squeak but sits up straight again.
“That neighbour of ours apparently sits two rows up,” Zayn mumbles as explanation, keeping his eyes firmly on the clergyman reciting the Ten Commandments.
Louis curves a little, tries to look through the people in front of him but he only sees the back of the heads and quickly gives up and tries to fall asleep again as inconspicuously as possible.
After the service, he’s standing in the square with Zayn, keeping an eye on their three sisters as they talk to their friends and to make sure to be able to call them over as soon as their parents are done talking. “Look, there he comes,” his mother mutters and Louis looks over, Zayn also following his line of sight. “Which one is it?” he frowns.
“The broader one is Liam Payne, your neighbour and the taller of the two is Sir Harry Styles, his best friend. He owns more than half of Cheshire and is even richer than mister Payne,” Mrs. Lucas informs them, one of their mother’s friends.
Louis squints his eyes, studying Sir Harry Styles who is moving through the people, his jaw set firmly and he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. There is a woman at his side, her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Is that his wife?” Louis asks, nodding towards them.
Mrs. Lucas shakes her head. “That’s Miss Taylor Swift, one of their friends from London. As far as I know, Sir Styles doesn’t swing that way.”
Louis just hums and shrugs, “Whatever,” and he looks at Zayn. His brother’s eyes are following the steps of Mister Payne, who is getting in his four-span carriage. “Zayn, are you coming?” Louis asks.
Zayn swipes his finger along his stubble, his gaze still fixed on the man who just got into the carriage.
“Zayn, man, stop ignoring me,” Louis whines and he grabs Zayn’s hand and tugs him along.
Their sisters follow, their chatter and laughter filling their ears as they make their way back to the house. After a few minutes, their parents have caught up and Louis can’t suppress a smile when their mother starts asking Zayn about what he thought of Liam Payne, to which Zayn dryly responds with, “He has a nice arse.”
Scandalised, their mother turns to Louis and asks the same question. “Well, uhm, he and his fancy friends kind of look out of place,” Louis grimaces. “Especially that tall one. I saw him looking at a few people like they were dirt on his shoe.”
His mother hums, “Well, love, that tall one, as you put it, makes twice as much money as Mister Payne does and therefore you shouldn’t judge so quickly. Not that it matters, though, because without your father visiting them and introducing us, we won’t even talk to them.”
“Why won’t father visit him?” Zayn asks, a small crease between his eyebrows.
“I don’t know, but well… It doesn’t matter. We can live without them. Like you said, Louis, they’re too fancy for this place anyway.”
They can hear their father’s low chuckle coming from the back of their little group and they turn around. “What’s so funny, dear?” mother asks.
“Nothing, nothing,” their father is still laughing, “But if I had known that you thought them too fancy and didn’t want to meet them, then I wouldn’t have visited him yesterday. That would’ve saved me some precious time.”
Their mother’s face clears and her eyes shine bright with excitement. “You visited him?” she cries out. Louis and Zayn wince at the shrill sound of their mother’s voice and roll their eyes at each other, while their father just grins.
“Yes, I did. Exchanged a book or two as well, nice young man. He’s coming to the ball tomorrow, Zayn.” He winks at his eldest son.
Zayn just groans and stomps away in the direction of their street.
“Oh, what a funny joke! Louis, isn’t your father the funniest man ever?” his mother giggles.
“Sure, mum. I don’t know why the rest of us even tries anymore,” but Louis smiles nevertheless when he sees his mother happily hugging his father, and he turns around on his heel to follow Zayn back to their small manor.
He catches up with his brother on the front lawn and gently takes hold of his wrist. “Don’t worry, Zayn, father was just joking,” he says as Ms. Hill opens the door for them.
Zayn huffs as he steps inside. “Yeah, well, that specific sense of humour belongs to mum and I would appreciate it if it stays that way. I am not going to flaunt myself like some prostitute tomorrow at that ball,” Zayn spits.
Louis’ eyes grow wide, “A p-prostitute? Zayn, what are you talking about? Of course not, all mum and dad want is to introduce us and hoping he will like us, since we’re neighbours and all that.”
Zayn scoffs. “You’re so naïve. Just be glad your aren’t the eldest and get your head out of your arse, Louis. The only reason mum is taking us to all these balls is to get rich, old men to notice our poor souls and marry us so we can save the family honour instead of going broke. That’s all there is to it, baby brother, and the sooner you get used to it, the better.”
Louis just stands still in the hallway as Zayn storms off, going back outside.
He flies past their parents as they make their way inside and his mother fusses. “It’s about time that boy found his manners,” she says, smoothing the wrinkles of her dress. “And why is he going outside, into the garden again? We have people coming over for tea in twenty minutes!”
“Calm down, love. Just let him be for a while, okay?”
Louis watches his mother’s tensed stand. “He’s almost eighteen, Paul, he should know better than to isolate himself all the time. Who is going to take care of everything when you are dead? That’s him! And it’s not going to happen if he keeps drawing and reading all day in the garden. He needs to go out, meet people and be social!”
“Come, come, love. He's coming along to the ball tomorrow, isn’t he? You shouldn’t be so hard on him. When he meets the right person, he meets the right person. It doesn’t matter how many hours of his day he spends out in public.”
Louis turns around and walks to the drawing room, picking up his book on the way there. To be honest, he doesn’t want to sit here and socialize with his parents’ acquaintances either, but he figures his mom can’t handle two of her sons absent, so he decides to suck it up.
From where he’s sitting on the couch, he can make out Zayn’s hunched shoulders, he’s sitting on the side of the lake, in the high grass reaching up to his elbows. As far as Louis can see, Zayn isn’t drawing or reading. He’s just looking in the distance, watching the flock of birds flying over the lake and shooting off into their freedom.
Even though he doesn’t understand everything Zayn just said to him, he does know that there is a specific weight on Zayn’s shoulders because he is the eldest son. He sees it in the way Zayn holds himself, his reserved, sometimes cold character. It’s like he’s wearing some kind of corset, both to keep himself in check but also to keep others out from knowing his true character underneath the cool pretence.
“In your own little world again, I see?”
Louis looks up from where he was watching Zayn and smiles at his father. “Just thinking,” he mumbles, pulling his knees to his chest and putting his closed book on the cushion next to him.
His father hums, sitting down in his worn leather chair and sparing a fleeting glance through the window before he looks back at Louis. “You and your brother, you’re both dreamers,” he remarks, smiling. “But different dreamers. Zayn, I think, dreams of freedom and rest, whereas you—you dream of excitement. I know, son, I see it in your eyes. But, just be careful, okay?”
Louis nods slowly, albeit a bit confused. “Of course, father. But, for what should I be careful?”
“For dreaming past your reach,” his father clarifies, thoughtfully staring at the flock of birds still circling the lake. “The beauty of dreaming is that there are no boundaries. But son, real life isn’t like your dreams, otherwise there wouldn’t be any dreams. Your mother, for instance, believes she can ship you both, but mostly Zayn, off into marriages and save the family fortune for when I am dead. But I want you to know, there is more to life than marrying wealthy, okay? You need to be able to live with yourself, before you can live with someone else. Don’t go around thinking about income first, and taking the personality for granted. I am being realistic here when I say you might not marry out of love, Louis, but please, don’t marry out of greed. No matter what your mother says.”
With those words, his father stands up from his chair, patting Louis’ knee as he moves to leave the room again. Louis sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.
When he glances out the window again, he sees Zayn pacing through the grass, hands pushed deep into his pockets and a frown above his eyes which Louis wants to smooth out with his thumb.
He averts his eyes, picks up his book and finds the page he was on. It’s always easier to escape in someone else’s world than to deal with the problems of his own one.