Work In Progress |L.T| |A.U|

XXXIII - Tomlinson

XXXIII - Tomlinson

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. Well, I dunno if it's possible to get any fonder of her anymore.

It's been almost a week since I've left London, almost a week since I've held her and, I'll just be blunt here, this is the hardest shit I've ever fucking been through.

They say distance makes your love stronger. Nope. Distance makes the love sharper, not stronger.

And as I lay here, on the comfortable plush bed, I think of her. I think of her smile and her hazel eyes and how her hair swerves when she moves.

It's almost mid-night and I'm itching to hear her voice, but she must be sleeping, it's barely five in the morning there in London.

I close my eyes and try to put myself to sleep, only to be reminded of our goodbye at the airport.

She was upset and she was hiding it pretty well. I knew that she would never agree to me cancelling it all, and she wouldn't come along. There was nothing I could possibly do except try to cheer her up. Which mostly included watching her favourite drama series. Let's just say that I've developed a habit of watching Modern Family and Greys Anatomy every night.

I give a squeeze to our entwined hands before letting my duffle bag drop on the floor and step before her.

She smiles at me; those plump pink lips stretched to their utmost limit, familiar crinkles forming by her eyes. A pathetic attempt to hide the looming sadness creating dark pits in both our stomachs.

I go down on my knees, well aware of her confused gaze on me, but mine is now more interested in her belly.

"Hey there, darling." I caress her stomach from the material of the lose shirt she's wearing. "I'm leaving you in charge, yeah? Take care of your mum." I peck her stomach, (well the part of the shirt that covers her stomach) "Don't do any funny business in there. Only I'm allowed to mess with your mum's body."

"Louis..." She groans, making me chuckle. I stand up just in time to catch her rolling her eyes at my awful joke. What can I say, Harry's rubbing off to me. "You're a proper twat. Have I told you that?" She smiles at me, both hands rubbing up and down my chest to finally rest on my shoulders.

"But I'm your twat."

She rolls her eyes once again, and I can see her lips twitching as she refrains that smile. "That's such an overused line." She deadpans, "You sure you're a writer? I'd thought you would could come up with more original lines."

I open my mouth placing both my hands in my chest feigning hurt. "I didn't know you were Satan's pawn today."

This time she finally chuckles and I can finally smile victoriously. She rests her head on my shoulder, with arms wrapped around my neck, and I lean the side of my head on hers, wrapping my arms around her torso.

I close my eyes, relishing in this moment, letting it soak in. I know I might be back for the weekend, although I'll have to talk about it to the publishers to confirm. That's not my biggest concern right now though.

"I'll miss you." I mutter before pressing my lips to her hair.

She sniffs, standing straight. I look at her eyes that are now a bit glossy. "You better."

"Hey," I raise a hand to cup her jaw, the other remains wrapped around her waist. My thumb runs against her cheek-bones, those wondrous hazel eyes, glistening, "Don't you dare cry on me."