Only The Brave ⟨⟨ʟᴏᴜɪs ᴛᴏᴍʟɪɴsᴏɴ⟩⟩

⟨⟨ sᴘᴀᴄᴇs ⟩⟩

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-sɪx
Spaces

Receiving the message from Elora was not how Louis had pictured his day going. He had expected waking up to screaming twins and a steaming cup of tea, maybe even a large breakfast. He'd spend the day playing footie in the garden with his siblings, possibly seeing some of his friends and hopefully even reading one of the books Elora had recommended. Eventually he planned on calling Elora and pretending he didn't achingly miss her and they'd discuss the dreadful weather she was suffering through.
What he didn't account for, however, was reading:

So... Richard asked me on a date and I kind of don't know what to do with myself.

Louis decided that there were a few possible routes of discourse:
1) He calmly reminds her of how difficult it was to get over Richard (the self-righteous prick (that's actually a genuinely sweet guy)) and questions why she'd want to go through that again.
2) He breaks down in sobs and confesses his hopeless love for her.
3) He completely ignores her and runs away to Jamaica.

Considering he was not reasonable or level-headed enough to discuss it civilly; mentally prepared enough to face the backlash of her rejection and had promised his mother he'd be staying for a few weeks – he decides on the only other option at his disposal.
When she picks up the call on the fifth ring, probably because she was fretting over an impromptu call, he announces, "I know you've never been on a date before but the normal proceedings include getting dressed and then talking to the person."
Ah, humour: the backbone of denial.
"Ew, conversation. You know I hate speaking," she responded without a beat.
"Okay that's a blatant lie," he argued, sitting on his bed and staring at the floor with a clenched fist.
Her laughter softened his clasp on the phone slightly, "Alright, alright but you're different. Also, I have been on dates, thank you very much – I mean, I didn't think they were dates. I thought we were just hanging out and everyone else thought they were dates but the point still stands."

He couldn't help but release a breathless laugh at the absurdity of that statement before he shook his head and asked, "Well, now that you've clearly been asked, did you say yes?"
Pretending not to hold his breath grew difficult when she didn't answer immediately.
"I did," she admitted, "I'm not sure why actually."
"What?" he questioned, surprised and with barely concealed hope.
"Well," the rustle of her shuffling interrupted, "I don't think I really like him like that anymore, which I've told you, but it doesn't mean I couldn't. Isn't that the point of dates? To see if you like them?"
"Yes but," he paused, "you can't just lead him on."
"I don't think I am."
"You very well could be. You often don't realise the effect you have on guys and the impression you could be leaving."

There was a pause of silence in which he registered what he had said and the sinking in his chest was immediate.
"What are you saying, Louis?" she asked, a coldness seeping into her tone, "Are you insinuating that I enjoy toying with guys' feelings as some type of ploy?"
"No, no, that's not what I meant," he rushed to correct.
"Then what did you mean because I'm currently trying to not be offended."
Exhaling with a harsh rubbing of his nose, he tried to arrange his words, "I just meant that sometimes you don't, like, realise how attractive you are. Like, you're beautiful and your personality naturally draws people to you and it's difficult to not be, like, a little bit infatuated."
"Oh..."
"I- I mean," he coughed stiffly, "just take a look at young Harold, he's absolutely besotted."
     
Her laughter was slightly strained so Louis swiftly moved to ignore the close call, "Seriously though, if you feel like this guy might be the one for you, you should definitely go for it."
"It's not 'some guy' though," her sigh was drawn out, "It would be so uncomfortable if it didn't work out and then we couldn't be friends anymore."
"