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As luck would have it, the next day the cosmos have aligned and, praise, Louis doesn't have to work until six PM. Therefore he will only have to endure a blissful four hour shift and the world and celestial beings love him. And he loves them, too.

So he sleeps until eleven before taking his time finally waking up, tapping out snippets of stories onto his laptop while perched atop his bed, still swaddled in blankets and flannel. After he's sufficiently satisfied, he snaps the device shut with a definitive click, slides off the achingly soft mattress, and trots into the kitchen, combing his fingers through the soft hair of his two sisters as they pass him by, mounds of toys piled in their small arms-toys he'll most likely have to pick up later.

Ah, the joys of family.

"Morning," his mother greets with a smile as he pads his bare feet into the kitchen, the cool linoleum smacking lightly beneath his warm soles. She glances up from the counter where she's plucking groceries out of brown paper bags, a calm serenity painted upon her face-most likely due to the fact that the majority of his sisters are at school and the younger, homebound ones are currently sufficiently occupied. The usually chaotic air flows only with the smooth bump of radio voices that drift in and out like the tide, the occasional clunk of a can being set upon the counter, and the soft crinkle of the bags.

He grins, rubbing the remnants of sleep away from his eyes, goose pimples forming on his skin. "Morning, mum."

"You work today?" she asks, carrying a small tub of ice cream to the freezer. Strawberry. Louis' favorite. Good mum.

"Not till six," he yawns, scratching his stomach and poking at the bags before filling the kettle with tap water.

The sun is pouring through the windows, glinting beautifully upon the ice that lines the sill. Everything is blue and white gold outside and the mounds of snow and ice just make it all brighter, louder, more blinding.

It's nice.

"Oh, lovely," she smiles. "We have some time together today, then. Feels like it's been ages since I've proper seen you."

He nods, smiling fuzzily through the sunbeams as he sets the kettle atop the stove, clicks it into life; the flame ignites immediately, clawing at the bottom of the black iron. Louis yawns again, breathe wavering the flame.

"I know. It's like a day off, innit? Feel like a proper prince with all this royal treatment." He shuffles to the table, sitting down heavily in one of the creaky wooden chairs and stares out the window, humming Coldplay under his breath. He absorbs the tranquility of the moment, cherishes that he has nowhere to be, that he can just exist.

He's just shutting his eyes, his body humming a bit too peacefully and the threat of falling back asleep looming over him, when his mother's soft voice breaks through the surface.

"Found an advert for a job in the papers this morning," she says, eyes following her movements as she removes a carton of eggs, the paper bag scraping her hands. "Thought you might be interested."

A job.

Now. It's not like Louis isn't interested-he needs to get the fuck out of Starbucks, and fast-but... There always seems to be an unspoken pressure within his mother's soft words. A pressure that Louis just doesn't feel ready for, doesn't want to touch or even look at.

So he opens his eyes against the hazy sunlight warming the floorboards, shifts his gaze over to her, and sets his chin atop his hand in feigned nonchalance.

"What kind of job?" he asks politely.

"A reporter for the paper."

"I didn't study journalism, mum," Louis sighs, shutting his eyes again.

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