Chapter Text
The sun is breaking through the window in small bursts, like its fighting the shades with nothing but a weak muster of energy. The sun’s weak attempt of entering the room is the only thing I can focus on. The beams are the only thing grounding me. I could never wish to attempt and be whisked away from the warm ambience of the waltzing light. But as all good things come to an end, I am forced to break my trance.
There is mumbling next to me.
I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. I should’ve expected this, but I always forget by morning. I do guess that is always the plan during the night. Forget everything, everyone, and especially forget him. But, by forgetting ‘him’ I am forced to remember him by defauly. It is like trying to tell yourself ‘don’t think of a pink walrus’. Of-fucking-course you are going to thing of the damn walrus.
But, back to the mumbling.
I force myself to stop focusing on anything but the peron next to me on this morning. I sneak a glance, and am pleasantly surprised. Drunk louis picks them well. This boy has warm tan skin, that looks like he either was just on a long holiday, or was gifted by the gods. I am assuming he is gifted by the gods after I’ve taken in his curls.
Oh god his curls.
I wouldn’t call myself religious by any means, but there is no explanation but a holy power. No earthling could create those curls. The chocolate-moose is swirling and dancing on his head like only Van Gogh himself painted them. I could write sonnet after sonnet about those godly curls. They dance their way onto his shoulders like they were made for the sole purpose of destroying me.
God I must have been cross faded.
Only crossed Louis goes on religious manhunts. I’m assuming this curly, ethereal, god-like person has a face, but you can never know. The mumblings must have come from a mouth, so if there’s a mouth there must be a face.
Curly rolled over still making incoherent noises, and by god if his curls were heavenly what was his face?
“I should go on religious man hunts more often”, I spewed out the words before they could register in my brain. I must still be intoxicated. There is no other explanation to why I would spill those words from my mouth.
Those green, forest like eyes stared at me with confusion. My words, as embarrassing as they were true, seemed to still be registering in his morning-numbed brain.
His pouty, downright obscene, lips parted as if they were going to respond to my words, but he shut them again. He seemed to look over the room for a moment, as I continued to stare at him like the complete creep that I am. He opened his mouth and said 7 simple words:
“I doubt anything religious happened last night”
Who knew you could fall in love after 7 words? Sure, he said nothing spectacular or even really world shattering. And maybe I didn’t fall in love. But his voice for sure sealed the deal on my new religious awakening.