Burn Me Like the Sun

“You woke me up at five in the morning just so you could drag me to Forbidden Planet?”

I walked around Fran, a cardboard drink carrier in my hands. The sun was still hiding somewhere, not that it mattered as it was still horribly overcast. The weather was so chilly and damp that I could easily see every breath I exhaled. My hands were pink and slightly numb, as I’d been carrying coffee for about four blocks since we got off the tube at Convent Garden. Frost bite just had to be in my future, I was sure of it. And it didn’t help that Fran didn’t want to help me carry the drinks, instead opting to tuck the pastry bag around her wrist with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her navy pea coat. The clouds were darker than pencil on paper, and it had rained all the night before. And even at almost six in the morning, it was gloomy enough that a couple of streetlamps were still on.

I could always sleep through the rain – hell, I loved falling asleep to the familiar sound – but I was up most of the night fretting over the text Louis had sent me just yesterday morning.

Forbidden planet, that huge one in central London, 6 am. Bring your flatmate. Xx

He was far too cryptic, even when I kept on badgering him to at least let me have a clue as to why he wanted to meet in front of a comic book shop so early in the morning, let alone with Fran in tow. I had a feeling he only texted me just so he could have a reason to talk to me for the rest of the day. Lucky for him, dangling a public outing under my nose was enough to make me snap at the hook, no matter how infuriatingly enigmatic he was being.

All I was able to wrestle from him was to dress like normal, make sure Fran knew she’d be hanging out with us for a while, and to bring him a coffee – if I didn’t mind. He also promised that the paparazzi wouldn’t be an issue. In return, I promised him that if they somehow found out he was standing outside a fandom shop at six in the morning and started circling the street like the starving vultures with thousand-quid cameras that they were, I’d throw his coffee away. In his face.

I’d hoped that so early in the morning on a Saturday, the paparazzi wouldn’t be sniffing about. I was sure that anywhere else, like London Heathrow, they would always be on the prowl. But at Forbidden Planet, four hours before they opened, and on the weekend, well… I couldn’t help but take his word on that. It was the only thing I could do, other than flat-out refuse his shady offer and subsequently break Fran’s heart in the process. She’d been nagging me nonstop since Louis and Niall came over for breakfast to hang out with me and whatever pop star showed up on our doorstop next, as long as she didn’t have to, and I quote, “third-wheel for you and your eye-fuck buddy.”

It was hard enough to sell her on the idea of hanging out with just Louis and me without even mentioning that we’d have to be there at the bloody crack of dawn. I was just lucky that Fran could be swayed by the idea of food and a hot coffee just as easily as she was swayed by her love for Louis.

“I woke you up at five in the morning so you could come with me to hang out with Louis,” I reminded her. “You’ve been begging me to let you tag along the next time we went out for the better part of a fortnight.”

“That doesn’t explain Nerd Jerusalem.”

I shrugged, looking up at the huge block letters that spelled out THE CULT ENTERTAINMENT MEGASTORE along the top of the shop’s ground floor. “Lord of the Rings and One Direction don’t really go together, I suppose. Maybe he thought it’d be inconspicuous?”

“What, as a meeting point? Because this shop doesn’t open until ten, love,” she said, shivering a little under her worn coat.

I stepped closer to the glass display cases that lined the outside of the store, getting close enough that my nose brushed the window and my breath fogged up the glass.

“He said he’d text me soon. We’ll see.”

She scoffed, her nostrils flaring as she sniffled. “He better hurry, because if I had bollocks of my own, they’d be frozen off already.” She sighed sharply, running her finger under her bright pink nose. “God, my nipples are probably as hard as rocks by now. But I wouldn’t know because I can’t fucking feel them, Blake.”

I looked at her from the corner of my eye, smirking faintly. “Take it up with Louis when you see him. Threaten to eat the croissant we bought him. You’ll have him groveling at your feet for forgiveness in no time.”

She reached over and pinched my wool jumper between her fingers, a scowl warping her face as she snapped the fabric back against my shoulder.

“Just because I wasn’t raised in Knob-castle doesn’t mean the normal human body was designed to withstand this bullshit,” she quipped. “It’s like two degrees right now. And I’m about two degrees away from ramming my bloody coffee up his massive arse.”

I laughed a little, watching my breath as it rolled above me in small clouds. “Remind me to never drag you back home with me for the Christmas holidays.”

Fran snorted. “The only way you’d get me up there is if I was rotting in a body bag.”

I turned around when I heard the sharp creaking of metal on metal, still shaking my head at Fran, and saw the thick steel door to Forbidden Planet inching open. A pale bloke with a white blond mullet emerged from behind it, his face blank as he peered around the corner of the display windows.

“Which one of you is Blake?”

It was hard to hear his meek voice over the car that passed by behind Fran and me at the same moment. If he hadn’t said my name, I probably wouldn’t have understood a single thing he said in the first place.

I exchanged a look with Fran, who only shrugged, looking just about as apprehensive as I felt.

“That’s me,” I hesitantly confirmed, my eyebrows pinching quizzically. “How do you know my name?”

“Erm, Louis… Louis’s inside,” he mumbled, finally curling around the corner like a timid cat. He pinched the ends of his hair, which went a little past his shoulders, and stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. “Want to come inside?”

“Please!” Fran nearly knocked me over as she rushed past me, making a beeline for the entrance. I wavered behind, still anxiously eyeing the boy. He couldn’t have been much younger than I was, not with all the acne defiantly dotting his cheeks and the extreme lack of laughing lines around his eyes. He was an adorable sight, just a frail little thing that reminded me of a small puppy.

“W-what?” he stuttered when he caught me staring, his eyes suddenly going wide behind his wire-framed glasses. “Am I bleeding on me chin?” He groaned, swiping his fingers over his face. “Knew I shouldn’t have shaved this morning.”

“Do you work here?” I finally got out, stepping forward. The boy visibly flinched, and he curled back around the corner, his hands nervously fidgeting with the keys he had clipped to his belt loop.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his high-pitched voice cracking just the slightest.

“Well then, you’ve got to learn to speak up, mate!” I reached over and patted him on the shoulder twice, observing his pink cheeks and the way his brow shot up in surprise. “You’re not exactly all that big, yeah? So you should have a big voice,” I suggested, tossing up my hand with my fingers outstretched like I was holding a football. I shot him a quick smile as I brushed past him and through the doorway.

“Thanks?” he confusedly called after me, his voice still as shy as mine was bold.

I’d been to the Forbidden Planet megastore a handful of times before. In fact, it was one of the first stops I made the minute I moved into Met’s dorms my first year. I had a hell of a time on the tube, trying to navigate my way to the Convent Garden station without ending up all the way on the far south end of London. I was mostly successful, at least with the help of a kind stranger in a bowtie, but it nearly took me an hour when it usually only took fifteen minutes on the tube. That first day, I spent enough money on film posters and DVDs that I had to go an entire two days on saltine crackers until my dad wired me more money. It was a foolish thing of me to do, but anyone who’s ever stepped foot in Forbidden Planet with a couple of quid burning a hole in their pocket knows the feeling.

It was probably the biggest fandom shop in central London, if not London itself. If you were a fan of something, almost anything, chances were they had action figures, posters, shirts, or any other sort of knick-knacks associated with it. There was a Planet shop in Newcastle, and I’d stop by every month or so as a teenager just to check out the sale rack to see what movies I might be able to snag for cheap, as movie rental stores all but existed by the time my dad let me explore Newcastle on my own.

They also had an excellent array of movie posters, which I liked to collect even more than the films themselves. I had the bulk of my collection back home, some of which were stuck in cheap plastic frames, all piled back-to-back in my closet, but I brought a couple posters with me to uni, including the Trainspotting poster by my bed and the trio of original Star Wars art posters I kept on the wall just adjacent to my bedroom door.

However many times I’d been to the London megastore though, the long glass display along my left once I walked in, which was filled with hundreds of action figures in all sorts of sizes, always made it hard for me to think properly. There had to be thousands of pounds of merchandise just in that display case alone, and it was all so impressive, including everything from superheroes to G.I. Joes and even masks from horror films. T-shirts lined every spare inch of the walls above, along with cases upon cases of action figures that hung on square kiosks set up in every available corner in the store. There was so little extra space that only one person at a time could easily weave between the shelves.

“Please be careful with your food,” the bloke asked kindly behind me, his voice dipping down in volume as he spoke. “I really can’t afford the trouble.”

Fran was already leaning back against the counter that stood opposite from the glass case filled with action figures. She had her mobile in her hands, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she typed. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was tweeting about how her lame best mate had dragged her to the last shop she’d ever step foot in on a rare day off so early in the morning, or how it was all for nothing but a pimply, shy salesboy with either really good guessing skills or equally impressive connections. I just hoped all of this would pay off and Fran wouldn’t complain about dragging her along after we got home.

I set the coffee on the counter tentatively, eyeing the blond shop keeper out of the corner of my eye. It was one thing thinking that Louis just wanted to meet up in front of the shop, but it was another thing entirely finding out that we were meeting inside. Maybe instead of flouncing about town in a darkened SUV with his security in tow like I initially thought, we’d be hiding away in the shop before it opened.

But for the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything in this shop that Louis would be impressed with. He was like Fran was with math and Twitter and Hollyoaks: his likes were very specific, verging on neurotic. All that came to mind when I thought of Louis was brooding music and tea and footie and sold-out arena concerts. That was it. So seeing a Halloween-masked bloke dressed in cuffed jeans and an oxford blue Harrington jacket kind of threw me off, especially because I didn’t see him sneak up from behind the wall of action figures.

It also didn’t help that he screeched, “Boo!”

If I ever needed an in with the film industry, my dad always told me that I’d be well off doing voice-overs for horror movies. Whenever something caught me off guard, completely and utterly so, like for instance the Michael Meyers mask that was currently being shoved in my face, my vocal cords abandoned their usual huskiness and all that was left was a shrill, high-pitched scream that was almost powerful enough to break a wine glass.

I nearly knocked the coffee off the counter and onto the ground as my hands flew up in front of me defensively. I whipped around, a snarl on my face, just as Louis was pulling the mask off while he laughed.

“You’re a fucking twat,” I finally got out between staggering breaths, my hand set on my chest.

He backed away slowly as he smirked, like I’d start throwing punches at any second. He reached a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of thick-framed rectangular glasses, setting them on his nose. “And you’re fun to tease.”

I caught the look Fran was shooting my way out of the corner of my eye, her face still pink as her eyes bugged, pressing her lips together as she fought back a suggestive grin.

I jerked my chin to him as he tugged at the collar of his grey shirt, stretching it out a little. “You wear glasses?”

He smiled sheepishly, twirling the Michael Meyers mask around on his finger. “I got up so early that when I went to put on my contacts, I dropped one of them down the sink. They were my last pair, so I thought fuck it, I’m wearing my glasses today.” He shrugged and took a step closer to me, setting down the mask on the counter just next to my elbow.

“You’re the one who wanted to meet up at bloody six in the morning,” Fran smugly reminded him, pulling the bag of pastries from her wrist. She set it on the counter next to the coffee and grabbed herself a cup, taking a long sip as she eyed Louis and me curiously.

I couldn’t help as I openly stared at Louis. I didn’t even know he wore glasses, and seeing him so undone and carelessly casual, especially with the tired lines under his eyes behind his frames, set me off.

I mean, I obviously knew he was good-looking. There was no way you couldn’t notice it. You had to be attractive in order to be in a boy band, and Louis could put a big old check by that requirement with his mischievous grin and crinkly-eyed laugh and delicate Keebler nose. But I didn’t care that he was, and I barely took notice of it either. It was the same way with Niall and Harry and Zayn – all of them were fit, I just didn’t find it in myself to think about it all the time.

But seeing Louis so unkempt and disheveled and normal sparked something in me, making my stomach jump and my hands start to shake a little. It was like someone had lit a match in my chest and lined my insides with gun powder.

Louis gave me an odd look after I finally dragged my eyes away, then reached around me and grabbed the coffee with his name scribbled on it. He watched me for a moment, like he was waiting for me to say something, as he took a ginger sip of his drink.

“What, do you not like me in glasses?”

“No, no.” I shook my head, and I could feel my cheeks give way to the heat in the store and the warmth that had sprung in my fingers. “You look good in glasses.”

He beamed behind his coffee, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Is that my favorite Geordie I hear?”

Fran whipped around, her coffee nearly falling out of her hands when she heard another voice come from the maze of shelved displays around the store. I tried to hide my laugh with a snort, but Louis noticed anyway, peering at me amusedly from behind his drink.

“BLAKE!” Harry bellowed at the top of his lungs from his spot behind a display of Hellboy figures. I could just see his curly hair peeking over the top shelf as he scurried out from behind it like a rabbit being chased by a dog.

Next to me, Fran was just seconds away from having an aneurysm. She was painfully trying to hide it as well, but she was already damn near in full star struck mode. I’d seen it a few times before when we ran into random celebrities while shopping around London. Her lower lip would get stuck between her teeth and her fingers would fidget uncontrollably, and she was doing the exact same thing now, her fingers tapping against her cup as she fought to look disinterested. Her eyes shot around, never focusing on one thing for more than a second. She was having a fit and trying so hard not to freak out in front of everyone.

“We’re right here, you dimwit,” Louis called, slinking against the display case next to me. He took another sip of his coffee and hummed. “Thanks for getting this, by the way. You’re a doll.”

Harry finally emerged from behind a wall, dressed in black jeans and a worn gray knit jumper. His hair was a wild, curly mess on top of his head, and his trousers were tight enough that I could clearly see the outline of his mobile in his pocket. I wasn’t sure how Fran was still standing up, as I was certain she’d pass out the second she saw Harry Styles walking up to the counter.

He pecked me on the cheek before I could pull away, then waved at Fran flirtatiously, his fingers wiggling. I smacked his elbow, and he shot me a grin, his dimples pulling at his cheeks.

He reached over and grabbed the bag of pastries on the counter next to Fran, then pulled out a croissant, ripping it in half and stuffing a piece in his mouth. He chewed a few times then beamed with closed lips at Fran, who was staring at him like he was the reincarnation of Princess Di. Her cheeks were a blotchy pink and she was biting hard enough on her lower lip that I was afraid she’d start bleeding.

“Biz, you need to start carrying maps or something. I thought I was going to get stuck forever next to the Iron Man kiosk.”

Another boy emerged from the shelves where Harry had just been, and I knew the second I saw him that he was the last member of One Direction I had yet to meet. He had tattoos along his arms, all of them black and bold. His wafer-colored hair was cut short except for a small quiff at the top, which had been combed back. His blue jeans and dark Henley were crisp and clean, and even his cuffs, which were rolled up to his elbows, looked ironed. He looked like he had spent more time than both Harry and Louis combined that morning to get ready.

The bloke smiled when he spotted us, then made a beeline for Louis and me, his shoulders rolling forward as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Liam,” he greeted. “You’re Blake, yeah?”

When he smiled again, he looked like he could have been the poster boy for any one of the Catholic schools Fran had been kicked out of, he looked so innocent. He was adorable as well, though it was a different kind of attractiveness from the other boys, like he was raised by puppies and had mastered the wide-eyed, naive look by the time he could walk. Not to mention he kind of reminded me of my brother Cooper with those honey eyes of his. It took all I had not to reach out and pinch his stubbly cheeks.

I settled with nodding at his question as I dug my hands into my pockets. “Yeah, that’s me. And this is Fran,” I said, pointing to my best mate just a few feet away as she stared at Harry. She tore her eyes off him when she heard her name, her expression going back to the wide, surprised look she always wore when she was trying to pull off a lie.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving a little.

I could see the two small blotches on Fran’s cheeks multiply tenfold, spreading all the way to her neck and the tips of her ears. She could only hum and smile back at Liam without bursting into bits.

Louis shuffled next to me, staring at his coffee like it was the telly, and his arm brushed against mine. I looked at him curiously, but I could barely make out a thing, as his head was ducked and his eyes were hidden behind his glasses.

Fran started for me not a second later, her eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets as Harry trailed not too far behind, his lips pink and shiny with the butter from the croissant he had commandeered. He was sucking on the ends of his fingers, smirking as he staggered forward, absolutely relishing in putting Fran on edge. I wouldn’t hear the last of it when we got back home.

“Are you gonna tell me now why you dragged Fran and me all the way here at dawn on a Saturday?” I pressed, turning to look back at Louis.

He was already staring back at me, his coffee pressed to his mouth as his eyebrows shot up. He wrapped his fingers around his cup and smacked his lips before nudging his head to Biz behind the counter, just a few feet away.

“Biz is Liam’s friend from school,” he explained.

Liam took over then, his voice gravelly and sweet. “Louis said you liked the cinema! So I suggested he invite you here so we could shop a little, maybe get to hang out some. We were planning on having brunch after back at my flat if you’re free.” He swiped his tongue over his lips and nodded to Biz. “Lucky for us, Marcus was nice enough to open the shop early.”

He glanced over my head at Biz, who was busy stacking shrink-wrapped action figures in a pyramid on the counter. I looked over my shoulder at the boy, my eyebrows screwing up.

“Why do they call you Biz, then, if your name’s Marcus?”

He whipped his head around, and he looked like I’d just caught him looking at dirty pictures on his mobile, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

“Me last name’s Bismarck,” he said softly, his high-pitched voice still timid.

“For god’s sake, mate, I can barely hear a thing you’re saying,” I told him, trying my best not to scare the frail thing off by sounding too commanding. “Speak up or I’m going to be forced to buy a hearing aid a few decades early.”

Biz’s cheeks were still a shy pink for all my effort, but he cleared his throat and tried again. “Also, the, err, the mullet…” He pointed to his plucky haircut, the corner of his mouth picking up in a hesitant smile.

“Yeah, that ‘business up front’ thing,” Liam chimed in, crossing his arms over his chest as he smiled supportively at Biz. But with the way his muscles pushed against his sleeves, it made me want to reconsider pinching his cheeks and maybe just pinch his bum instead.

“So, is this what you celebrities do for fun?” I mused, looking back at Louis. “Rent out shops and buy thousands of pounds worth of toys you don’t need?”

“Your words hurt,” Louis whined, pouting a little.

“She’s seen your Nerf guns, hasn’t she?” Harry piped up from behind Fran, leaning sideways into the counter.

Fran snorted, staring at her feet. “I hope that isn’t a euphemism,” she muttered, quiet enough that I barely caught it even though she was just a foot away.

“What’s a euphemism?” Harry wondered, giving Fran an odd look. But she just glanced at him over her shoulder and swooned a little, effectively ignoring his question.

Before anyone else could answer him and make me more embarrassed than I already was, I pushed myself off the counter and walked up to Liam. I smiled up at him, as he was taller than Louis, and tucked my hand around his arm, steering him in the direction of the open part of the shop where all the six-foot-tall kiosks were situated together.

“Would you like to join me?” I asked him, squeezing his arm a little. “I feel like you would be a joy to shop with.”

“No, I’m horrible. I dart everywhere. Don’t stay in one place for long.” He chuckled easily, reaching over to pat my hand as he eased into my side. “But I think I spotted some Batman action figures back there. They looked pretty sweet,” he admitted, glancing at Louis over his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine with Harry and Louis, right, Fran?” I called just as I disappeared behind a shelf filled with Doctor Who shirts. But all I got in response from Fran before I vanished was a look somewhere between utter shock and delight.

“You’re from Newcastle, right?” Liam asked quietly, walking with me as I stole swift glances at all the shelved displays we passed.

I took a moment and stopped in front of a kiosk filled with Tarantino action figures, unraveling my arm from his as I stepped closer to inspect a collection of Reservoir Dogs figurines.

“Raised there. I’m originally from West Yorkshire, though.”

“Your accent says differently,” he pointed out, reaching for a double figure set of a blood-splattered Jules and Vincent from Pulp Fiction.

“Moved there when I was around five,” I explained shortly, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched Liam examine the price tag on the box. “I consider it home. Why do you ask?”

He looked at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows perked considerably. “Me mum’s from Newcastle, is all. I’ve always loved the accent.”

I broke out into a smile and ducked my head to stare at my trainers, which were still drying from my walk to Forbidden Planet in the leftover rain.

“So, Louis brought some cookies over to my flat a couple of days ago. Superman ones. He said you made them.”

“Oh?” When I looked back up, Liam was already looking at another display of Scott Pilgrim paraphernalia a couple kiosks away, his hands deep inside his pockets. I followed him quickly, my steps short and light.

“They really were brilliant,” he told me, shooting me another smile. “Louis was gutted he couldn’t have any.”

“Gutted.” I snorted, glancing at some over-priced t-shirts. “Sure he was.”

“I’m not lying!” he promised. “He hates the dentist to begin with. Won’t have any work done with high-powered tools in his mouth unless he’s drugged up, bless his soul.” He pulled a graphic novel from the rack, flipping the pages in his hands. “He’d do anything to stay away from the doctor, even if it meant skipping out on some of his mate’s sweets.”

My jaw went slack as I stared at the side of Liam’s face, my cheeks buzzing with warmth. I didn’t know how to respond to that. For one thing, it was great knowing that my baking didn’t absolutely suck, since my mates from Met-a tended to be a bit soft when it came to being honest outside of critiquing films. But when Liam said I was Louis’s mate, it gave my heart a start. As much as I knew that was true, that Louis and I were in fact mates, it still kind of shocked me to hear it from someone else. It was odd that Liam, who I had only known for a couple of minutes, knew that I was mates with one of his best friends. It wasn’t like when Niall assumed I was sleeping with Louis, either. Liam just didn’t have to ask. He just knew.

That meant that Louis had talked about me to his band mates. And just the thought made me pause, if only for a moment.

“Think we should go back to the others?” I asked, pointing with my thumb behind me. “I feel bad for leaving Fran all alone with a couple of celebrities.”

“Takes a while to get used to, yeah?” he teased, smiling at me as he put back the graphic novel he’d been flipping through.

“I’ve had some practice.”

I turned around when I heard some rustling come from a display of Marvel superhero masks behind me, and then emerged Fran, her face gaunt and her eyes pleading as she blushed fire trucks.

“You can’t leave me alone for another second, or I swear I will murder Harry Styles right here in this goddamn store.” She brushed her hair behind her ears, tossing a fleeting glance in Liam’s direction. “I swear it took every ounce of restraint I had to not go for a purple nurple on all four of his tits.”

Liam guffawed softly behind me, and I smacked my hand against my face, shaking my head.

“What the hell is he doing that made you go from sixty to zero so quickly?” I groaned, peeking at Fran from behind my fingers.

She gasped, crossing her arm over her chest and hooking her hand on her elbow. “Don’t be so crass.” She took a sip of her coffee as Liam brushed past me, eyeing a miniature Joker statue that stood in front of a row of shelves to my right. “He’s just… so annoying. I think he’s trying to get a rise out of me.”

I smirked. “A rise?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know you told him that I fancy him, Blake,” she snapped, her face heating up even more. “I’m going to get you back for this, just you wait.”

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more awkward, Louis himself rounded a corner, nearly knocking off a couple of Classic Who figures off the top of a display. He steadied them before they could fall to the ground, then stumbled backwards, nearly bumping into Fran.

“Oh! Hey, Fran,” he greeted, sidestepping her as he pushed his glasses further up his nose. “I’ve been looking for you guys. Didn’t want you wandering off too far. I’ve, err…” He glanced at Fran, rubbing his palm over the short hair at the nape of his neck, then looked back at me. “I’ve got something to show you, actually.”

Fran looked between Louis and me, clearly biting back a laugh.

“What’s that?”

He pointed over his shoulder to the front and smiled, his eyes twinkling as they crinkled in the corners. “Biz just brought it out from lockup. Just something I thought you’d like to see.”

I fought to keep the bored expression on my face, but I couldn’t help the smile that dimpled my chin.

“C’mon now, babe, before he puts it away for safekeeping.”

I looked over at Liam, who was busy comparing two different Batman action figures. “You want to come back with us?” I asked.

Liam looked at me over his shoulder, then glanced at Louis. He bit his lip and went back to looking at the toys in his hands, diligently ignoring the hopeful look I was giving him. I’d only known Liam for a few minutes, but it didn’t feel right to leave him be just yet. I thought we were getting along pretty well so far and wouldn’t mind a few more minutes alone in his company.

“Nah, I’m good,” he mumbled, slightly shaking his head. He set one of the figures back onto the shelf, and pulled out another Batman that didn’t even look any different from the first one he’d grabbed. “You two go ahead. I feel like browsing. Just call me when Dadrian gets here.”

“Dadrian?”

I looked at Fran, whose snarl when she first found me in the back with Liam had faded to a small grimace. Louis and I both answered at the same time, our voices overlapping each other.

“Their babysitter.”

“Our bodyguard.”

“Babysitter?” Louis repeated incredulously, his voice squeaking. He narrowed his eyes at me puckishly.

“They have the same job description,” I pointed out haughtily.

He broke out into a blithe grin and shook his head, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He sighed quietly, his hands finally stilling as he slipped them into the pockets of his Harrington jacket. “You want to come back with us, Fran?”

Fran nodded eagerly, stealing a glance at Liam, who was too busy comparing two Catwoman action figures to pay her any mind.

Louis and I followed Fran back to the front of the store, but we took our time walking. It took us longer than before because Fran had no clue where she was going, and ended up leading us in between a couple of shelves and past a lone kiosk filled with Pokémon cards. By the time Louis and I spotted the glass display at the front, she still hadn’t noticed it, busy weaving between a set of shelves filled with manga.

Neither of us pointed Fran in the right direction, and instead we took our time strolling behind her as she stopped to look at a display of Hello Kitty lunch boxes.

“Why film? Why not, I don’t know, TV?”

Louis’s question caught me off guard, mostly because it was dead quiet in the store and he hadn’t said more than a handful of words to me all morning.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, glancing at me before turning his attention back to his Vans. “Just wondering.”

I took a deep breath as I eyed Louis warily. I’d thought about the same question before, right when I was considering what GCSEs I was going to take. It took a while for me to figure out why exactly it was that I was drawn to film more than anything else, but when I figured it out, it made complete sense to me. I’d never really had to explain it to anyone before now, though. No one had ever asked.

I finally spoke after a moment, staring at my trainers as I ambled forward. “Okay, you know how with any telly program, they can have a shit episode one week and the next it’s all rave reviews and whatnot?”

“I don’t watch that much telly, so no,” he laughed. “But alright. I suppose. Go on.”

When he smiled back at me, I tore my eyes from him, instead focusing on Fran walking ahead of us, finally disinterested by the Hello Kitty display. She stopped again, though, and stood up on her tippy toes to try and gauge exactly where we were in the store.

“So, with movies, it’s always a hit or miss. It’s a huge gamble on people’s emotions. Half the time, most people won’t get a film. Not entirely. But when people understand what a film is trying to say, en masse, that’s… that’s fucking magic, Lou.”

He stopped walking for a moment when Fran finally spotted the glass case at the front of the store and left us huddled alone together, making a beeline to where Biz and Harry stood without looking back.

“Okay,” he said carefully, still looking at me ardently. “Then what about music?”

I raked my fingers through my cropped hair as I thought about my answer, keenly ignoring the curious look Louis had aimed at me. I sighed, finally chancing a glance at him.

“Well… that’s magic, too.”

Louis smiled, the sort of particular smile that actually reached his eyes and made his pale irises glint.

I started for the front of the store again, desperate to catch up with Fran, and Louis followed close by.

“Does that mean you don’t like Doctor Who?”

I laughed a little, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he waved his arms against his sides, his hands still stuck inside his jacket pockets.

“I mean, do I change the channel when I see it’s on?” I shook my head, biting my lip. “Not usually. It’s entertaining most of the time. But it doesn’t really keep me coming back. I couldn’t be arsed to keep up with the plot.”

Louis chuckled lowly, the sound unusually warm and creaky, like the floorboards in my grandpop’s attic. He walked close enough next to me that I felt his thrumming laugh vibrate against my skin. “Better not let Biz hear you say that unless you want to get a nice, long lecture on why it’s the best TV show ever made.”

“No way!” I let out a weak laugh, wary of the effects early mornings had on my already gravelly laugh. “I can’t imagine it. He’d surely bust a blood vessel, no?”

“Well, he gets a little red in the face,” he admitted, another puttering chuckle making my fingertips hum.

I pinched my bottom lip between my teeth, watching Louis as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “So, what’s this that you wanted to show me?”

His eyes twinkled again as he snuck a look at me, sucking his lips between his teeth and smiling back at me.

I pulled a face, the corner of my mouth picking up far enough that I probably looked something like a female version of Popeye. “It’s not another Nerf gun, is it?”

He snorted and shook his head. “No. Even better.”

“Better than a Nerf gun? Now you’ve got me all excited,” I teased, bumping my shoulder into his as we rounded a corner.

Fran was already looking downright bored as she leaned against the glass counter across from Harry, though she’d only been a few steps ahead of us. It especially surprised me considering that she wasn’t mauling the pop star a few feet in front of her to begin with. I knew Harry had been taking the mickey out of her while I was with Liam, just being cheeky and annoying and a right pain in her arse so he could get a rise out of her. That mischievous grin of his he’d been wearing since the second he saw us hadn’t disappeared, but only grown in size.

But it wasn’t Harry that was making Fran bored. Biz was standing between them on the other side of the counter, two Matt Smith dolls in his hands as he talked erratically, his lips moving faster than a striker’s feet on the pitch.

Someone must have brought up Doctor Who.

“…and that’s why Moffat ruined the sixth series!” he finished emphatically, his knuckles white as he forcefully gripped the figurines.

Louis cleared his throat, his fist pressed against his lips. “Biz?”

Biz’s mullet flopped against his neck as he whipped his head to Louis and me. Harry looked over his shoulder, giving me a pleading look, one that matched the expression Fran had on her face. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who wanted to stuff the action figures down Biz’s throat.

“Did you bring out the, err, the thing I asked you about?”

Biz’s eyes widened and he dropped the action figures on the counter. He left Harry and Fran, both of whom looked the kind of relieved after you piss after holding it in all day. He made his way to an open door behind the counter near the entrance, his keys jingling at his hip. Louis shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the counter, beckoning me to follow him. Then he circled around the open end of the counter and followed Biz, and I belatedly trailed behind, my curiosity suddenly piqued.

The back room of Forbidden Planet was about the size of the run-down event halls that Veal on Wheels usually frequented. The walls were about two stories high, lined with metal racks that were filled to the edge with shrink-wrapped action figures, ranging from six inches to a whopping four feet in height. Comics and graphic novels were piled in the corners, still cased in cellophane. There were DVDs pushed together on the bottom shelves next to piles of framed posters and pictures, all stacked one on top of the other. Cardboard shipping boxes took up most of the floor space, some opened with packing peanuts littering the ground around them and some still taped shut.

When I stepped past the doorway, Biz was opening a thin, large cardboard box with a box cutter, his sinewy arms straining under his Forbidden Planet t-shirt as he gripped the package to his chest. He finally got it open, grunting as he set it down, and picked out a few packing peanuts before he reached for whatever was inside.

It was still wrapped in bubble wrap, the corners padded with polystyrene, but Louis took the rectangular framed poster from Biz and ripped off the packaging himself. I took a few tentative steps forward, still trying to figure out what exactly was encased in three layers of bubble wrap as Louis started to rip it all off.

When he tossed the packaging aside, he turned his back to me, looking down at the frame in his hands. I took the liberty of circling around him, far too excited for my own good to even wait a moment longer.

“Jaws?”

Louis’s face fell and his jaw went slack. His face became blank until his brow swiftly pinched at the middle as he looked at me quizzically.

“What?” He was trying not to sound skeptical, I knew it, but his voice still came out tense and harsh, like he was ready for me to snap at him for thinking I’d be impressed by a simple movie poster.

It wasn’t just any old movie poster, though. It was glossy and practically mint, framed in glass and cherry wood with a prop shark tooth encased in a glass box underneath. The movie poster was signed by Steven Spielberg just next to the eponymous shark that was reaching for a swimmer on the ocean’s surface. The shark’s mouth was graffitied with a fake, pompous French mustache as well, which I could only assume was Spielberg’s handiwork, as it was done with the same silver marker as his autograph.

It broke my heart to utter my next sentence, as I was sure Louis was expecting some over-the-top reaction from me. Anyone else in Met-a, or really, any other human being would flip a shit over the poster, which just had to cost a fortune. But here I was, standing in front of Louis, with nothing but a small, uncomfortable smile tugging at my lips as I spoke, hoping his face wouldn’t crumble even further than it already had by my complete lack of reaction.

“I’ve never seen Jaws before.”

He blinked once, one of his eyebrows perking up as he looked at me. He stayed like that for a few seconds before he broke out into a grin, a half-laugh and half-hiccup bouncing from his throat.

“You’re shitting me.”

I shook my head slowly as I stared at Louis, trying to figure out what he was getting at.

“Miss Stop Mixing Up Blade and Blade Runner Or So Help Me I’ll Smack You has actually never seen one of the biggest suspense thrillers from one of the most famous directors of all time?”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t even know how you could mix those two films up, because one is about a vampire and the other is about bloody robots,” I started, pointing my finger at Louis as he bit back a grin, his cheeks flushing. “And secondly, I was going to get around to it.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tossed an incredulous look at Biz over his shoulder, who was too busy picking up fallen packing peanuts to even notice. “Seriously, yeah? I was!”

“Okay, whatever, sure. Blake, you need to see it. Like now,” he told me, not skipping a beat as he looked down at the poster in his hands. His head shot back up, and he was practically beaming. “Oh, I have to watch you see it. It’s absolutely brilliant.”

“Now when you say that, it makes me want to not watch it even more, especially if you’ll be staring at me the entire time.”

The tips of his ears went pink and he ducked his head, reaching up and pulling at the collar of his shirt.

“But maybe,” I compromised. “When I’m not knee-deep in coursework,” I promised, stepping closer to examine the frame in Louis’s hands.

I kneeled down, my bum touching my heels as I stared at the shark that stretched across the length of the poster. The prop tooth underneath was nearly the size of a playing card, stained red at the tip with old, fake blood that had already begun to chip off.

“This is bloody impressive, by the way,” I said, looking back up at Louis.

He had his head bent as he peered at me behind his glasses, his hair falling back over his face as he leaned forward.

“Thank you for showing it to me,” I said softly, brushing my fingers over the frame. “And I’m sorry my reaction wasn’t quite what you expected.”

He smiled to himself, running his palms over the cherry wood as he averted my steady gaze. My stomach suddenly knotted up, most likely from hunger and the assault of caffeine from the coffee I’d downed on the tube on the way to the shop, and I stood up, pocketing my hands and scuffing the toe of my trainer against the ground.

Louis nodded, glancing at me one more time before he picked up the heavy poster and handed it back to Biz, who was waiting patiently behind him, his arms crossed.

“It was even better.”