Closer

"Honey." Wendy poked her head in to Laurel's bedroom. She was in the same place she'd been all week. The only part of Laurel that Wendy could see was her blond hair spilling over the pillows. The rest of her body was buried in piled of pillows and blankets. "Honey, you're lawyer is here. He says it’s important."

Laurel groaned and shifted around, trying to find her way out of the cocoon she had built. Wendy frowned when Laurel sat up. Even though she's been in bed all week, there were dark purple bags under her eyes. Her porcelain skin was covered in acne, which only acted up when Laurel was stressed. Her hair was matted to her head and was an absolute disaster. Laurel swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up.

She slipped off her pajama pants and pulled on a baggy pair of sweats in their wake. "Do you mind?" Laurel asked her mother in an irritated tone. She was just standing there watching her change and it was weird. Wendy gave her another concerned look then stepped out of the room, leaving her alone. She pulled her hair into a bun on the top of her hair and decided she was presentable enough. She refused to look in the mirror; she knew she would only cringe.

She shuffled out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Her feet were dragging the whole way. It took more energy than she had to walk properly. She heard Wendy having a conversation with her lawyer in the sitting room. Laurel stepped into the room and cleared her throat, interrupting a conversation about the weather. "Hello, Mr. Moore." She greeted the man pleasantly. "How are you?"

"I'm well thank you. Would you care to sit?" He pointed to a spot on the couch next to her mother. When Laurel dropped onto the cushion, Wendy stood up and excused herself. It wasn't really her business and Laurel didn’t seem to want her there.

"Is something wrong?" Laurel asked, picking up on his mood.

"For you, yes." Mr. Moore told her nervously.

Laurel rubbed her eyes. Her brain wasn't able to process cryptic statements. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"Your husband is disagreeing with the petition for divorce." He said carefully while pulling a stack of papers from his briefcase. "It says here that he is choosing to defend the divorce. He hasn't responded to the court yet, so I don't know why he is refusing just yet. Give it a few weeks."

"A few weeks!" Laurel seethed. "I don't want to wait a few weeks. I just want it to be over." Just her luck that she was trying to divorce the most stubborn man in England.

"This happens sometimes. One spouse disagrees with the terms outlined in the petition. It may not mean that he doesn't want to respond. He could be drawing up his own terms?" He suggested.

"No. He's not." Laurel disagreed. He wasn't signing the petition because he didn’t want her to leave him. She knew him too well to think that there was any other explanation.

"Well, either way, since he is defending it, you two will have to meet with the court to discuss the case before the divorce can proceed." He said, scribbling a couple notes down on a legal pad. "It won't be too much of a hassle. If you really want a divorce you'll get it. I can promise you that."

"I really want a divorce." She told him firmly.

"Fair enough. We'll just have to wait for Louis' response. Then we'll see where we stand." He smiled at her. He looked sympathetic. She couldn't decide if it was because he could tell this divorce was killing her, or if it was because it was becoming such a hassle. She zoned out as he continued on about the procedure and their strategy. There was a lot to discuss, like dividing possessions and the properties, but Laurel couldn't listen. She didn't want to think about who would get the house, she just wanted to curl up in the corner and cry some more.



"I'm worried." Harry whispered to Niall. They were at Louis', where they had spent most of their time since he found the papers. "He's too calm. He hasn't said anything about it. He just…does his thing.”

“At least he’s not drinking.” Niall offered.

“He hasn’t even tried! He’s going to snap. Every time he moves I flinch thinking ‘this is it. This is when he loses it.’” Harry said, his brow crinkled in confusion. Before Niall could say anything else, Louis strolled through the room. He smiled at his friends.

“Hey, guys. You might as well move in. You’re always here anyway.” He said with a chuckle. Niall and Harry exchanged perplexed glances. “Tea?” He offered, pointing to the direction of the kitchen. The boys accepted and stood to follow Louis.

“What the hell?” Niall asked no on in particular. Louis was so chipper. Almost like nothing was going wrong. Harry shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know what the hell was going on either. And he didn’t want to ask Louis and cause a problem.

Louis was filling up the kettle, bobbing his head to the silent beat of a song. He felt Harry and Niall’s stars on him and he rolled his eyes. The boys practically had him on suicide watch the past few days.

“You can stop.” He told them conversationally. He placed the kettle on the stove and started it up. They gave him confused looks in response. “Staring at me all the time. It’s creepy.” Louis clarified.

“Oh. We aren’t staring at you.” Niall mumbled sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground. I guess their protection wasn’t as subtle as they had all hoped it would be.

“I’m fine you guys.” Louis told them firmly, trying to stay cool. He didn’t want to lose his temper. That never ended well.

“You’re fine?” Harry asked incredulously. He couldn’t fathom how he could possibly be fine. His wife was divorcing him and he was walking around without a care in the world. This was the same person whom he found curled up next to a bottle of vodka crying his eyes out just days before.

“I’m fine. I’m dealing with this.” Louis claimed. He put his hands on his hips like he always does when he gets defensive. Harry got some satisfaction out of this stance because that meant Louis was getting reactionary.

“You’re not fine.” Harry shot back. He felt bad for provoking Louis, but he needed it. “You’re wife just left you, Louis. You can’t just walk around like everything is alright! We all know it’s not.

“Fuck off, Harry. You don’t know anything.” He said in a warning tone. The last thing Louis needed right now was Harry telling him that things weren’t okay. Obviously Louis knew that his life was going to shit and he didn’t need Harry to remind him.

“I know you. And this is not you. Get mad! Break your wedding china! Bawl your fucking eyes out, just DO SOMETHING!” Harry yelled, throwing his arms in the air.

“I can’t!” Louis responded. His anger was completely gone. “I can’t do anything without her. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t yell, I cant cry anymore. I can’t even bring myself to drink. So please Harry, don’t tell me that I’m not fine, because I know that. I’m barely keeping it together right now.”

Harry recoiled when he looked into Louis dull blue eyes. The life was completely sucked out of them. His usually flawless quif hung limp. He looked exhausted and sad and Harry couldn’t believe had hadn’t been able to notice it.

“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbled clumsily, now unsure of what to say. Louis shrugged and offered him a weak smile. He turned back to the kettle that was now screaming. He lifted it off the stove and filled three cups.

“At least I’m not drinking. Right, Ni?” Louis said bitterly. In any other situation it could have been taken as a joke. Niall colored at the reference to the conversation he and Harry were having about him earlier. He’d obviously overheard it and Niall was insanely embarrassed.

Niall made no reply. Once Louis had prepared his tea he left the kitchen without acknowledging his friends further. Niall and Harry looked at the steaming cups he’s left for them, but neither boy could stomach it.

Louis stepped back into his bedroom. He was in the process of de-Laureling it. He had no intention of giving her a divorce, but for the time being he couldn’t stand everything in the room reminding him of her.

Last night he had decided that a new paint job was in order. So this morning he ventured out and bought the supplies. He’s always hated the color that walls were. But Laurel had fought for them, and he really didn’t care that much in the end.

”Lo.” Louis said with a humor in his tone. “We are not painting our walls green.” They had house hunted for months before the wedding and finally decided on one just days before they got married. Now they were moving into it as newlyweds. However, the excitement was dampened by the horrible color she was holding up to the wall.

“Louis. It’s not green. Its call Antique Moss.” She countered, still holding the paint sample up to the wall. It was white for now, but Laurel intended to change that. The furniture that she had purchased would match it perfectly.

“It’s green and it looks like vomit.” He said dryly, his distaste for the paint color growing more and more.

“It does not look like vomit. It’s nice. I like dark colors. It’s easier to sleep.” She argued, swatting his chest with her hand.

“Well then get blue or something. Not vomit.” He whined, trying to pull the sample from her hand. Laurel moved away, trying to prevent him from stealing it. He was taller and stronger, so he eventually pried it from her grip.

“Blue will not match my throw pillows, Louis.” She told him feistily. She scowled when Louis started laughing. He doubled over and rested his hands on his knees. After a moment, he looked up at Laurel, who was still glaring, and he laughed even harder.

“Why are you laughing?” She demanded.

“It won’t match your throw pillows?” He said between laughing fits.

“No! It won’t. It’s not funny, Lou. Throw pillows are a very serious matter. I refuse to sleep in a room where the bedding doesn’t match my walls. That’s not going to happen. Not in our house.” She told him, trying to be serious. She was unable and a smile spread across her lips.

Louis stood up straight and smiled back. He wiped a few tears away that had slipped out during his episode. He slipped his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her to him. The tips of their noses brushes, and Louis smiled even wider.

“I like the way that sounds.” He whispered.

“What? Matching throw pillows?” Laurel teased, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

“Our house. Can you believe we bought a house?” Louis said astonished. It all of a sudden felt so real. He was moving in to a house with his wife. This was the place they were going to start a family. “When people call, I can answer the phone and say ‘Tomlinson residence.’”

Laurel laughed. “You can say whatever you want, you crazy man.” She said, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Laurel Tomlinson.” He declared, loving the way it sounded coming from his mouth.

“And I love you, Louis Tomlinson.” She said back. They smiled at each other before sharing another kiss. This one wasn’t as reverent as the first one. Louis slipped his tongue in her mouth and skimmed his fingers under her shirt. She stopped moving and pulled away.

“We have a lot of work to do.” She told him with a smirk. He groaned and tried to put his mouth on hers again, but she covered his lips with her fingers. “Not until the throw pillows match the walls.” She said. He groaned again, earning him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Antique Moss, my ass.” Louis muttered to himself as he mixed the new paint color. “It green and it’s fucking ugly.” He seethed. He poured the paint into the tray and ran the roller through it. A slapping noise sounded through the room as he place the wet roller on the wall.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the white paint covered the vomit colored walls. Any traces of Laurel were now gone from the bedroom. He’d thrown out the bedding the first night he had to sleep alone in that bedroom. The furniture followed soon after. The only thing that was left was their old mattress that was set up in the middle of the room. Now the walls had lost their claim to his and Laurel’s old life.

Despite his best intention, Louis didn’t feel any better.