TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 25 | SEWER STENCH

Y/N 💥

Wednesday, 2:19pm

_

CLEARLY THE WORLD PLAYS BY CLICHE.

I suppose that's what makes it cliche, but still, I happen to be soaring through the sky with only unconventional thoughts in my mind. We were running for our lives on the rooftops of London, and yet I found no worry in the fact that there were bullets and helicopters flying towards us.

I could only follow his lead, hand gripped tightly in between his, watching as he ducked under balconies and hurdled over alleyways.

He often had this look on his face whenever he was focused on something, where he'd furrow his brows and press his lips together, and for some reason I found myself jealous over everything. He usually only gave that look to me. When I'd break into his house, set ruin to the city, or bother him with insults, that's the look I'd get.

I shouldn't be jealous of the fact that he's also running for his life, but I wish I could just stop time and have him look me in the eyes for another moment.

I'm appalled at myself for thinking like this.

I'm usually not one to over-analyze behavior, but now I'm doing it every single second for him. It made me realize some things as well. I told myself that I always run from him, because he's never asked me to stay.

But I was wrong.

He had asked me to stay.

I just hadn't realized it.

I lived most of my life in isolation, never interacting with more than three people, so the gift of 'reading people' that Louis had didn't apply to me. I only heard what they'd say, and I'd take it all to heart. I could only understand their words, not their actions or feelings.

Which is why I didn't know how Louis felt.

His Love-Language was touch.

Mine was distance.

And this whole time, he had been asking me to stay through that, and I had been running away from him—because that's all I knew. Every time I'd walk away, he'd pull me back. Every time I'd let my hands slip out of his, he'd only hold on tighter. I just couldn't read it until now.

But you can't call me a fool for that.

My past is not yours, and my past still lives in my mind. It's tainted my blood with poison, and my fear is that there's no antidote. I'll just have to let myself die this way, without understanding how love works.

"This way," Louis called out, making a sharp right, "watch your head."

We ducked under the balcony of someone's apartment, ignoring the screams of toddlers watching from the window. Giving children trauma was not my forte, but dying wasn't either, and these stupid S.I.S tacticals were making it hard.

Westminster Palace was sitting a mile off from where we were running, and I cursed myself for living in a big city. I didn't feel like I could run another mile. All I wanted to do was collapse to the ground and sleep for the rest of eternity.

"What's the plan?" I yelled.

Louis skipped over to the next building. "We have no plan!"

"Why don't we have a plan?"

"Do you think I had time to make one?"

"Well, we've been running for an hour!" I remarked, "you couldn't have thought of something then?"