Tangerine

Chapter 81

Soundtrack: Tal Bachman - She's So High

Dedication: (@sammy321) thank you for such kind comments, i love how thrilled you are for each update and how dedicated you are to tangerine! i'm so glad you like this story enough to drop everything and read haha too cool love :)

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It takes an extra step for me and Louis to navigate around the hotel unseen. He didn't opt for a bodyguard or any type of security this time, which is a dumb idea in hindsight, but it's Louis, so. Well. He's always been a bit reckless.

We use the staff lift, and then another, then we're turning a corner or two, and Louis is rambling, yet I still haven't said a word, and I'm almost about to ask where the hell it is that we're going, until we're suddenly breaking through a weighted metal doorway and I'm blinded.

Daylight.

"Wasn't too sure if I'd actually find it, but hey!" Louis beams, spreading his arms out wide. "Here we are!"

The two of us take a moment to squint up at baby blue skies and cotton white clouds.

"This is... the roof," my temporary shock leads me to do nothing but laugh. "We're on the roof!"

"I think that's what it's called," Louis feigns confusion, the bugger.

"The fucking roof, Louis," I laugh out loud, running over to hit the lad on his chest.

"Ow," Louis rubs the centre of his chest with his small hand, showing off his tattooed wrist. "Didn't know the fresh air would make you so violent, Scar."

"We are up pretty high," I laugh, casually kicking around the barren rooftop.

Endless hotels and still-taller buildings stretch into the distance, held together by a canvas of blue, blue sky. There is gravel at my feet and large machinery, air ducts and pipes and such, scattered at different locations all over the otherwise-flat space. There are no barriers, but the concrete walls of the hotel roof are waist-high, allowing us to look over the city of Houston without so much of a loose nerve.

"High above me... she's so lovely..."

Something rings clear in my mind, distracting me from my view. It's not until I turn to my side and realise that it's Louis. It takes an extra moment for me to clue in that he's not just saying those words. He's singing them.

"She's so hiiigh," Louis smiles as he sings to me, "like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite."

"Oooohhh!" we sing together, cracking up in giggles and raspy chuckles alike.

And it's not until now that I recall something I probably shouldn't be so mindless to continue to forget: Louis suggested that we should try an open relationship, and to that suggestion, I said yes.

Does this mean that I'm Louis' girlfriend? We never really cleared that up. We used the "relationship" word plenty, sure, but calling each other "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" would seem so... real.

Slowly, I warm up to the lad, taking in his soft, shaggy fringe and growing haze of stubble, "Lou..."

Louis acknowledges my advances, but he carries on happily singing.

Not that I'm complaining.

I've always dated musicians. Not necessarily by choice, but it's always seemed to turn out that way. As incredible as musical boys can be, however, I have the softest spot for those who can sing.