Burn Me Like the Sun

I took Niall’s advice and waited for Louis. It didn’t end up taking very long, either, because that Saturday night, I was sprawled out on the sofa when he called, my laptop on the coffee table in front of me. I had an essay opened that I hadn’t touched since I popped in the first movie I had planned for the night. Fist of Fury had been playing on the telly for the past hour, but I left it on mute almost the entire time, finding myself too distracted by Bruce Lee’s fight scenes even without the help of sound effects.

Fran had left not ten minutes before on a date with a mystery man, a blind date a friend of hers from her lab group had set up. But I didn’t even get a chance to sneak a peek at the bloke before she shot out of the door, a hasty wave thrown over her shoulder before she slammed it shut.

I always liked it when I was home alone – not that I hated living with Fran, because she was the shit as far as flatmates went. But when I could sprawl across the settee and rest my feet on the armrest without so much as a scolding click of Fran’s tongue dressed in nothing but my knickers and an old paint-stained Newcastle F.C. t-shirt that had belonged to my brother, it was like building a brick wall around my brain. Nothing could get to me – not the racing thoughts about all my class assignments or even my chipped social life. I didn’t even realize how much I needed a break like that until I actually let myself go.

But the sound of my mobile going off in the kitchen was like a sledgehammer straight to the walls I’d so easily put up.

I stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over my own feet, and plucked my flip phone from the counter where I had left it to charge. I flipped it open just before it could go to voicemail, too hasty to even check the caller I.D. It could’ve been Fran needing an excuse to get out of her more than likely disastrous blind date. There was also a chance that it was my mum, calling while the dinner rush at her teashop was at a standstill, curious to hear about how my week went. My dad could have been calling to check in as well, like he usually did late on the weekends when he had nothing to do at night but watch telly and make an obscene amount of coffee. And it could’ve been Val, seeing if I’d be up to grab a pint, even though there was definitely a good chance that he was working that night.

None of those options, however, made more sense than who it actually turned out to be.

All I heard at first was crowd noise – voices, faint music, a couple of shouts, and some heavy breathing. I pulled a face and took my mobile from my ear, glancing at the caller I.D. before I rolled my eyes. I finally heard a voice and pushed it back against my ear, straining to catch the rest of Louis’s sentence.

“…don’t want to hear from me. But I could really use your help right about now, Blake.”

I leaned against the counter and reached for the can of cashews Fran had bought the night before. I popped open the lid and grabbed a handful and tossed a couple in my mouth. “And I don’t even get a hello first?” I shook my head. “You bastard.”

He paused a moment, probably taken aback by my playful tone – and honestly, so was I. “Okay, so I might be a little gone, but did I just hear a bit of sarcasm in your voice?”

I sucked on my teeth, my mouth already fuzzy from the cashews. “Sod off, yeah?” I grumbled, dropping the rest of the nuts back into the can and snapping it shut. “Why are you calling, anyway? I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Don’t even try lying to me, Blake,” he slurred, his words dripping with arrogance and vodka. “I know for a fact that whenever you have a night off, you always make it a habit to stay in and watch old movies. What’s on the queue tonight, a B-rate action movie and an essay you don’t plan on finishing until the very last minute?”

“Fist of Fury is not B-rate!” I scoffed, suddenly miffed if not just for the fact that he had me pegged even while pissed. “And I know for a fact that you’re definitely smashed right now. How many vodka Red Bulls have you had? Three? Four?”

He made a noise of protest, and I could just imagine him scrunching up his nose. “I am not smashed,” he announced indignantly, carefully pronouncing each word as he tried not to slur them together. “I’ve just been out for a pint with Harry. I lost him about an hour ago though. That’s the only reason I gave you a ring. We took my car, but I don’t want to risk driving home. Too dangerous.”

I tore myself from the island and slipped into the living room, reaching for the clicker and pausing the movie just as Bruce Lee was landing a kick to someone’s face. “I hope you’re not so drunk that you forgot that there’s three other versions of yourself running around London at the moment.”

Louis made another noise, something between a high-pitched laugh and a scoff. “Niall and Zayn are off visiting family. Liam’s mobile is off. And I’ve already tried Harry, like, a dozen times. I think he ran off with Grimmy.” His points seemed rehearsed even though his words bled together, and I could just imagine him counting off each one on his fingers.

“Don’t you have any other mates? Didn’t you try them?”

“I can’t count on them.” There was a scraping sound, like someone was rubbing sandpaper against the speaker. “And while we’re going through the list, I’m about ninety percent sure that I called me mum first… Oi, she’s not gonna be happy with me.” He groaned, and his words turned from groggy to jumpy and pleading. “C’mon, babe. Please. No one else is picking up and I’ve had one too many drinks,” he begged, his breaths ragged and disjointed. “Help me, Blake Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

“But apparently you’re not too pissed to quote Star Wars. Nice touch.”

“Thank you,” he twittered smugly.

“God, you’re a proper mess.” I folded my arm over my chest and pinched my temples, slumping back into the warm sofa cushions. “What about your ever so capable security? Aren’t they paid to handle crap like this?”

“They don’t follow me everywhere, Blake. I’m an adult.”

I laughed once. “Well they should start, because you certainly never act like one.”

“Stop it,” he snapped. “I called because I need your help and I knew I could trust you. I can’t have them hearing about this. Giles would find out and have a fucking field day, and that’s the last thing the lads need right now.”

I sighed gruffly, eager to find a new excuse. Any other time, I’d help him out. In fact, I’d already been planning on what I was going to say to him to let him know I’d forgiven him – not completely, but just enough that I could finally swallow the sight of him. But I hadn’t planned on starting everything over while he was pissed off his arse, no matter how hard he was trying to hide it.

“It’s your fault, though, innit? Shouldn’t have gone on a pub crawl with Harry. You already know how reckless he can be when a pint of Stella gets involved.”

Louis moaned, and I heard an audible thump, like the smack of angry skin on wood. “Blake. Please.” His voice dropped even lower, his words doused in desperation, and I pressed on my mobile so hard that my ear started to buzz lethargically. “I need you,” he finally murmured.

My heart slunk down in my chest, hitting each of my ribs like a xylophone. I could feel my neck warm up with a blush as I ducked my head and closed my eyes. I suddenly felt exhausted, the kind of exhausted where even sleeping for twelve hours straight and drinking an entire pot of coffee after waking up still wouldn’t do me any good. I was absolutely drained.

“Where are you? I’ll drive you back to your flat, but that’s it.” I could hear him sigh out of relief, but I plowed on. “I can’t handle this—I can’t handle you right now, even if you were completely sober. So you best make it quick, mate, because if I get there and find you doubled over in a pool of your own vomit, the only thing you can count on me for is cab fare. And even then, you’d still get no sympathy from me.”

He chuckled lowly, and there was a short scuffle before I heard his voice again. “Austin’s. On City Road. Don’t think it’s too far from your flat, but hell if I can remember at the moment.”

“Yeah, I know exactly where Austin’s is.” This was true – in fact, whenever Fran and I would deign to grab a pint with Val, that was always where we’d meet up since it was just a short bus ride away and only a block from Val’s flat. “How the hell did your pub crawl end up in north London? It’s not exactly a short drive to Islington.”

“Dunno,” he muttered, sounding distracted. “So is that a yes?”

“Aye, and a resentful one at that. You owe me big time, mate.” I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair, staring down at my thighs and already dreading the thought of having to find a clean pair of trousers and put them on. “Stay exactly where you are. I’ll be there within the hour.”

But by the time I sauntered into Austin’s, expecting to find Louis slouched over the bar, all I found was a bunch of older, potbellied men in Manchester kits drinking a depressing round over their team’s loss to Arsenal that afternoon. I took a look around the rest of the pub, but all I saw were booths filled to the brim with uni students and older people alike, a rainbow of drinks sloshing around me.

I was about to give up and turn around and head back home, but that was before I heard the intro synth riff to “Kiss You.”

I whipped around to the small stage at the end of the bar. There were a couple of blokes laughing too hard to not spill their drinks as they cast the fog light that Austin’s used as a makeshift spotlight directly on Louis, microphone in hand. He pushed his droopy bangs off his forehead with his other hand as he licked his lips, his cheeks a dangerous shade of red that I’d only seen on him when he nearly got sick from eating too many Danish cookies the day I officially met Vic.

He was absolutely, clearly pissed. And he was also shamelessly belting out one of his band’s own songs. I could either march up to the stage and pluck the microphone from his hand and drag him out of the pub by the ear, or I could sit back and watch the train wreck in front of me.

As I had never heard Louis sing on stage before, I obviously chose the latter.

I pulled myself a chair at the only empty table in the back, hidden away in the dim lights that reflected off the bar. It wasn’t hard to see Louis from my seat as he dangerously teetered on stage, and I could only hope that he couldn’t spot me and my mop of copper hair with the fog light aimed directly in his eyes.

Once the chorus hit, he started dancing around a little on the stage, or at least as far as he could get, which only ended up being a few strides on either side. He clutched his hand to his chest and tossed his head back, belting out the lyrics hard enough that his voice crumbled and cracked like someone had shoved sawdust down his throat. A couple of boos chorused through the crowd, as well as a few other hearty, drunken cheers, and Louis beamed during the breakdown, missing his cue for the second verse as he laughed to himself. He ducked his head and pushed his damp bangs from his forehead again, his cheeks rosy and his hair matted with sweat.

I smiled to myself, completely enthralled even though his drunken singing was just barely a level above utter shit, and watched as he hit the microphone into his opposite hand, smiling out to the thin crowd as the karaoke machine kept playing. I could hear a few people around me sing along quietly for the rest of the verse, as though they were embarrassed to even know the lyrics to a One Direction song, let alone to even be singing it at Austin’s of all places.

But of course I couldn’t have all the fun, and when the chorus started up again, he saw me, doing a double take as his eyebrows knitted together.

At first, I stupidly expected his grin to grow wider at the sight of me like it had a few times before, when his eyes would crinkle at the corners as he actually showed off his teeth for once. I thought too highly of myself, thinking I’d be the one thing to turn a depressed, drunk Louis’s frown upside-down, when in reality, all I made him do was scowl so sullenly that he looked like he’d had a botched Botox job.

He hung the microphone back up on the karaoke machine that teetered on a barstool at the foot of the stage, and a waiter in an apron stopped the CD, shooting Louis an annoyed look over his shoulder as he hopped off the platform. I was glued to my spot, too hung up in the sight of Louis stalking towards me like some sort of predatory animal, his shoulders hunched and his eyes dark. He had to balance himself on the backs of a few chairs as he walked, and he almost tripped when he reached me, his foot catching on a chair leg that stuck out from under the table I was sitting at.

I stood up last minute, catching his arm before he fell to the ground. I could feel the sweat seep through the thin fabric of his white t-shirt.

“Oh, god,” I groaned, pushing him up, “you seriously stink, Louis.”

He frowned even deeper. “Give me a break, will you? I’m pissed. This place isn’t exactly the O2.”

I rolled my eyes. “I meant you smell.”

He tore his arm from my grasp, his brow pinching as he let out a tired sigh. “It’s like a million degrees in here, babe.”

“What do you expect? It’s Austin’s. They’re cheap. Their beer is watered down enough that even I could have a couple of pints and still make it home in one piece.” He glanced at me as he pulled his fingers through his hair, worrying at his lower lip. “Which begs the question, what the hell did you even drink? You smell like the floor of a pub.”

“That’s probably because I fell off the barstool right after you hung up.”

I bit back a laugh and shook my head instead. I reached for Louis’s arm and pulled him along, guiding us to the back wall under a string of neon signs, already fully aware of the dozens of stares aimed at the two of us.

“Shite, mate. How many vodka Red Bulls have you had?”

He glanced at me from under his hair, his eyes red and guilty. “Lost count.” He groaned softly, his chin tucked to his neck in shame as he massaged his temples. “Fuck, I can’t think straight.”

“Where are your keys?” I demanded, holding out my hand.

Louis grunted and stuck his hand inside his pocket, finally fishing out a carabiner, which held the key to his townhouse, a Doncaster Rovers fob, and finally, the shiny purple key that matched his shiny purple Z4.

“I’m parked a couple of blocks away.” He held the keychain above my open palm between his fingers, the corner of his mouth twitching, but then closed his hand around his keys at the last second. “You can drive stick, right?”

“It’s either this or public transportation.” I plucked the keys from his fingers and stuffed them into my pocket, shooting him a dirty look. “And I already know you’d rather die than chance a fan encounter on the bus this time of night, especially considering the state you’re in.” He rolled his eyes. “And I do know how to drive stick, alreet? It’s just… It’s just been a while!”

He smirked to himself and rested his head against the wall, his hands shoved in his pockets and his body twisted towards me. “I guess if you’re rusty on how to downshift, you can always try going at it like a handjob.”

I groaned and shoved his shoulder hard, pulling a face. “You’re absolutely vile.”

He bit out a yawn, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he reached up and massaged his shoulder. “And I’m absolutely shitfaced, so nothing I say counts against me.”

“You want to test out that theory? Because I don’t mind bruising a few knuckles teaching you a lesson.”

He whistled lowly, sliding his eyes over the length of my body, from my busted trainers, the jeans I’d shimmied into last minute, all the way to my Newcastle F.C. t-shirt that I hadn’t bothered to change out of and the frown I’d been sporting since he came over to my table. “I know better than to get you riled up, but I just can’t help it. It’s just too damn sexy.”

My jaw dropped, and I shook my head slowly, my eyebrows shooting up hopelessly. “Oh my god, you’re completely fucked.” I tossed up my hands and turned on my heel, making my way straight to the exit, white-knuckled fists swinging at my sides. I didn’t have to turn around to know Louis was following me, a loose grin hanging from his lips as he sauntered forward like a baby taking its first steps, utterly cocksure and with no coordination whatsoever.

Valenti once said that there was no man on the face of the earth that could have sex once and survive the rest of his life with just a helping right hand. Thinking about it now, it still made me gag, but I should’ve figured that Louis would need to rebound at some point. It wasn’t like he’d been slagging off with a bunch of girls ever since Vic broke his heart, at least not that I knew of. If he had, he wouldn’t have even needed to use the paparazzi to begin with; leaving a club with a girl or two on his arm would be quite enough to cause a stir. So I told myself that he was just drunk and in a desperate need for a shag. Anyone who was having as much trouble as he was walking in a straight line wouldn’t think twice about making a slurred pass that they wouldn’t even remember in the morning at a mate.

Either way, I’d have to be just as pissed as he was to even consider it, if only for a second.

For some reason, in the five minutes I’d been in Austin’s, the weather outside had cooled substantially, so much that a fresh layer of goosebumps crawled over my arms the second a breeze came barreling down the busy footpath. I could hear Louis struggle to push the door open behind me, a staggered groan leaving his lips until he finally stumbled forward, slinking next to me.

“Where’d you park?”

He ran his hand over his face, brushing his eyebrows the wrong way until it looked like he had buried his face in a pillow.

“That way,” he mumbled, pointing ahead of us. “It’s around the corner.”

By the time we found his Beemer on the top floor of the car park, Louis had caught himself climbing up the stairs a total of five times, and actually fell over the last step to the top. I decided to guide him to his car, parked all the way at the end of the lot, as I didn’t want him setting off any alarms by balancing himself on a stranger’s tailfin. His back radiated heat through his t-shirt, and I had to wipe off the perspiration from my hand once I helped him into the passenger seat. I made sure he didn’t bonk his head on the roof as he flopped into the chair like a ragdoll.

“Take your foot with you, too,” I told him, nudging his trainer. He groaned but obliged, throwing his head against the seat like a sleep-deprived child. At least the alcohol was finally making him drowsy, which seemed like a better version of Louis to be driving home than the hyped-up version that I’d seen before, where his volume surpassed that of a One Direction concert itself.

“Okay, how do I get back to your flat?” I asked after I’d brought his Beemer to life.

His head bobbed against the seat as he turned his head to look at me, his eyes glassy and tired.

“C’mon, mate,” I groaned, reaching up and flicking his ear.

He yelped and brought his hand up to his ear, which was already redder than the deep blush he was sporting.

I sighed and shook my head, then reached for the gearshift, setting it in reverse. “Sleepover it is, then. But if someone nicks your car, don’t you dare blame me.”

He only turned his head to face the window in response, his chest collapsing as he sighed.

I had just turned onto the street from the car park when Louis suddenly spoke, his voice brittle like burnt toast. “I’ve never been so distraught in my life when you said you hated me.”

My hand on the steering wheel tightened, and I glanced at Louis as I slowed at the light. That was only a week ago, but it felt longer, more distant, so far away that it might as well have been someone else’s memory.

“No. Wait. That’s a lie. X Factor takes the cake. But that day comes in at a close second. Hearing you say I’m worthless…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, still facing the street. He locked eyes with my reflection, and my heart stuttered, suddenly burdened.

“What about when Vic broke up with you?” I asked gently, staring back.

He closed his eyes and just barely shook his head, clenching his jaw once. I finally looked away when the light changed, too focused on the gearshift and my feet to even so much as glance at Louis. It was almost a minute later when he decided to answer, and it had become so quiet in the car that I thought he had finally fallen asleep.

“It was worse than what happened with Vic. You have no idea.” He sighed deeply, then rolled his neck, finally facing me. “I’m so sorry. You know I mean it, babe, right?”

“I know,” I forced out, my voice sort of fluttering from me.

His words became jumbled, slurring together pathetically. “I’m on your side. You know that now, yeah? You have to, Blake.”

I only glanced at Louis over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of his curly hair matted against his forehead. His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were burnished like antique wood, and he looked quite the pitiful sight. My tongue felt heavy, and I could only muster a broken smile before turning my eyes back to the road, my grip tightening on the gearshift. A moment later, Louis shifted in his seat and turned back to the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his reflection smile, and this time it reached his eyes.

It was when I stopped at another light that I finally plucked up the courage to ask him something that had been weighing me down for a week. And it wasn’t that I was scared of bringing it up, I was just scared of Louis’s answer.

“Do you think that my mum might actually be thinking of using me?”

He twisted around in his seat, and I could feel his eyes simmer against me. Then he reached over to my hand choking the gearshift and draped his fingers over my wrist, his thumb twitching nervously against the back of my hand.

“I don’t think any mother could ever do that to a daughter like you. I think you’re brilliant, Blake. You’re bloody incredible, and I’m clearly not the only one who knows it.” He sighed softly, like he was frustrated with himself. “I don’t think she’d be so despicable as to do something like that to you. You’re irreplaceable.”

He didn’t take back his hand for the rest of the drive.

I had to hold Louis up by his arm as I walked him up the four flights of stairs to my flat. When we first stumbled into the foyer, one of my neighbors was fetching his mail and offered to help us upstairs, but I profusely denied him, too eager to shove my pride in his face until it was too late and I was sweating through my shirt as I practically dragged Louis up the last stairway.

By the time I’d closed my door behind me, Louis was holding himself up by the doorjamb just outside of my living room, his head hung low as he breathed unsteadily.

“Want a cuppa before you fall asleep? I promise it’ll help in the morning.”

He shook his head as I inched behind him. Without thinking, I brought up a hand and rubbed his back, and his muscles instantly relaxed.

“Come along, then. I’m not forcing you to sleep on the sofa. It’d be hell on your back. Trust me, I’ve done it before.”

“You sure Fran won’t mind bunking with me?” he asked suggestively, shooting me a lazy grin.

I chuckled just to humor him and led him down the hall, reaching over and pushing my bedroom door open. “If anyone’s bunking with someone else tonight, I’ve got a hot date with the settee and Bruce Lee.”

In Fran’s haze of nerves before her date that night, she had spent the entire day cleaning the rest of the flat. My room looked especially impressive after she spent nearly three hours in and out, dragging plastic bags filled with trash and piles of laundry with her every time she emerged. The end result was fantastic; there wasn’t even any dust covering the bookshelf where I kept all of my favorite movies. Even a cardboard box of DVDs I’d left next to my bed had been alphabetized halfway through. I had to swallow the urge to kiss Fran when she dragged me from the sofa to show me what she’d done. My room hadn’t been this clean for the entire year. I was damn impressed.

But in the span of five hours, I’d still somehow managed to leave two mugs on my nightstand, a small pile of laundry by the foot of my bed, as well as a second cardboard box of DVDs next to my desk, which I’d brought out from my closet with the intent of alphabetizing as well. I had to guide Louis by the shoulders through my room on the fear alone he’d trip over a t-shirt and split his skull open on the corner of my desk, and he finally fell onto my bed, his hip crashing into the mattress, followed by the rest of his body.

I reached over and switched on the lamp I kept on my desk, recoiling at the shock of light that cascaded across my room. When I turned back around, Louis was bent over his lap, struggling to untie his Vans. I clicked my tongue at him and leaned down, pushing his hands away as I brought his foot onto my bent knee.

His head touched mine, his hair brushing against my cheek. I could feel his sugary breath on my face as I undid the tight knot of his laces, my eyes struggling to see in the dim light of my room.

“Did you catch the match today?”

“What, and watch Man U cheat their way into the finals? No thank you,” I mused, finally getting the knot undone. “Is that why you went out for drinks? Couldn’t handle losing?”

He shook his head, his hair tickling my face. “They lost to Arsenal.”

“Ah.” I nodded.

“It wasn’t Harry’s idea to drive to Islington.”

I chuckled a little. “Figured as much. Missed me, did you?”

“Yes,” he answered promptly, his voice soft. “You have no idea.”

I smiled. “What do you mean? Of course I do.” I laughed a little, poking the Rogue tattoo on his ankle with one of the aglets at the end of his laces. “But it’s easier for me since I can’t so much as check out at Tesco without seeing your band plastered on the front of every last magazine.”

I finally got the second knot undone and then went for his socks, yanking them off without a word and tossing them aside. When I sat up, Louis was already struggling with the zipper of his jeans, and I sighed as I felt my cheeks go hot. I turned away, busying myself with reading over the sticky note reminders I’d left for myself on my desk over the past week, suddenly recalling the upcoming oral presentation Lassiter had planned for us. When I turned back around, Louis was hanging his dark jeans over the end of my bed, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

I reached over and took them from him, folding them neatly over my desk chair. “Need anything else?” I asked, twisting back around and setting my hands on my hips.

He licked his lips and nodded, looking up at me with bright eyes. “Could you fetch me a glass of water?”

After I grabbed a cup, I was in the bathroom filling it up when I heard his footsteps padding across the floor. Louis stuck his head into the bathroom, far enough that I could tell he had decided to go without his shirt as well.

“Can I help you?” I asked playfully, shutting off the faucet and watching his reflection.

He glanced off to the side and shook his head, his movements jittery. I turned around and switched off the bathroom light, then placed a hand on his lower back, guiding him back into my room. I sat him down on my bed and handed him the glass of water, then took the spot next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that already,” I told him, watching him as he sipped on his drink.

“Not… not for that. I mean, I am.” He swallowed, his eyes flicking over me. “But also for calling you. I know I’m a horrible drunk.”

“You may be a little moody, but you’re loads better than Fran,” I admitted with a low chuckle. “Every birthday of hers is just a night ending in tears and vomit waiting to happen.”

He let out a choked-back laugh then took another sip of water. I watched him, tracing his bobbing Adam’s apple with my eyes, as well as the horns of the stag on his shoulder.

“Arsenal’s not the only reason you went out tonight, is it?” I asked gently.

He shook his head, then handed me his cup as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I got pissed because I was sad and lonely and desperate.” He sighed. “I got pissed and, and honest to god, all I could think about, all I wanted was to see you.”

“Well, now you’ve seen me,” I said, lowering my voice to match his. I reached up and played with the ends of his hair and watched him as he took in a few shaky breaths, his back slouched and his chin pressed to his chest. My heart hammered away, always so annoyingly honest. “And you’ll see me again in the morning. But you need to sleep it off first, because I think I like sober Louis more than drunk Louis.”

He barely let out a proper laugh, just a short huff as the corners of his mouth perked up for a split second.

I stood up and patted his back, then leaned down and kissed his hair, smoothing his bangs back from his eyes. “We’ve got Tylenol in the cupboard in the bathroom, as well as mouthwash if you end up needing it.”

He only nodded, averting his eyes from mine, before he leaned into my bed, pulling the comforter over his body as he curled onto his side.

I had already shut off my lamp and was closing my bedroom door when he spoke again, his voice trembling and embarrassingly hoarse.

“You’ll stay?”

I steeled myself, then nodded, watching Louis’s expression turn from taut to elated. And even in the dark, with his face buried in my pillow, I could still see his eyes – blue, always so blue, like what I imagined an untouched lake in the mountains would look like.

I smiled softly. “Unfortunately, always.”