The Game of Views

☂Ellis’ POV☂

Louis went off to take a phone call, immediately abandoning me in this library. Bitch.

It’s dusty. And very crammed. Is it bad that I want to push the shelves over like dominoes? And then perhaps lay in the pile of books strewn across the hardwood?

I find my way deep into the rows of books to a set of giant bean bags, plush African animals. I am quite delighted to see the giraffe.

I practically gallop to it, and plop down, smiling widely. I love giraffes, I want one in fact. Half on the bean bag, half on the floor, it cocoons around me, making me feel smushed. I lay, trying to think.

I don’t get far because suddenly I hear piano chords being struck. It ends after six gliding notes.

“No of course not!”

I hear sass. It’s Louis. His voice cracked at the word 'not'.

“It’s not like that, she has a boyfriend,” he pauses, “I mean fiancé.”

I’m hearing the phone call. Is it eavesdropping if it’s an accident? Wait fiancé? I giggle. Who is he talking about?

Oh.

So Louis likes someone. I bet she’s pretty; big boobed, perfect creamy skin, blue eyes like the ocean, tall, long legged. She’s probably perfect, likes to party I’m sure.

“Bloody hell Harry! I wouldn’t fucking do that and you know it,” he snaps.

Well damn Louis, pissed much?

Silence snakes through the library.

My eyes roll as if searching for words, but find no more. I must have missed most of that phone call.

The piano rings out again, this time a longer chord is played. I recognize it.

I’m pleased when it continues, the beautiful music filling the library ever so lightly. It’s Silent Night.

I was humming this earlier, I realize. And now Louis must be playing it.

Some of the notes last elegantly longer than the rest, indicating that pedals are being used. He knows what he’s doing. Louis begins to sing, very faintly, but he’s definitely singing. His voice scratchy and velvet, a unique pitch I've always liked. Louis sings the chorus quietly then stops playing. I frown. I want more.

I hear him sigh deeply and get up. He enters my upside down point of view, smiling at me. I smile back and my eyes trail him until he plops onto the elephant next to me.

I loll my head to the side, looking at him. He stares at the ceiling, not noticing my prying eyes. I want to reach out and touch his jaw, it looks soft and smooth. He shaved. Usually there’s plenty of scruff lying there. I wonder if that’s all he shaved.

I notice, strangely, his fringe is even controlled. And shorter. Okay so he actually got a haircut.

He shaved and cut his hair since this morning when I last saw him. Why?

“Sorry about that phone call,” he starts softly.

He turns his head and faces me. His pretty gem eyes mold into mine, easily, comfortably.

“It’s just Harry, you know. He’s worried.”

I remain silent, studying his face. His skin looks so soft. It glows slightly. He chews on his lip, stressed. Ugh, that’s hot.

“The other lads think it’s cool that I found you,” he points out.

“Oh?” I respond lamely, head foggy.

He found me? What does that even mean?

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Silence falls between us. I loll my head again; chin lightly resting on my collarbone. My fingers fiddle over the gold lettering of my sweatshirt, trying to ignore the thoughts of soccer surfacing because of this. Instead I focus on the nagging music, still stuck in my head, and Louis.

“Louis?” I ask.

“Mmm?”

“How come you don’t sing so much?”

He fumbles to answer, taken by surprise. Why wouldn't a guy in a famous band sing outside of being with the band?

“Oh. Err… I dunno.”

I scoff.

“Bullshit,” I say sassily and flick my wrist at him.

He gulps, “Alright, well. I just, don’t sing much on break.”

That's not an answer I decide, so I don’t offer him a lifeline. He fidgets beside me, sighs loudly, and takes a moment.

“I like to be Louis from Doncaster sometimes,” he says quietly, watching his words, “Not Louis from One Direction.”

I can hear the syrupy stickiness of longing in his voice. He wants to be normal. It’s sad, and I’m sure hardly anyone knows so. Most of us would kill to be famous like him, but Louis has the wish for normality.

“As tacky and cliché as that sounds,” he adds, words floating away.

From the corner of my eye I see him turn away from me, maybe embarrassed.

“Louis?”

He doesn’t answer this time.

“I’m sorry,” I offer simply.

I take a breath and continue, “If it means anything… You’re just Louis Tomlinson, the annoying soccer brat, to me.”

He giggles and kicks my foot. So basicallly, that was the cutest.

“Right,” he replies.

“And you’re just Ellis, the mystery girl to me,” he adds on very quietly, like I wasn’t supposed to hear.

Except that I did. And I'm not one for surprises or patience.

“What does that mean?” I ask without thinking.

“What?” He shoots back, alarmed and defensive.

I close my eyes and take a little breath.

“I’m a mystery?” I ask and remember, “And what, how… You found me?”

He grumbles a few curses.

“It’s nothing,” he says slowly, gesturing with his hands nonchalantly.

I swat one of them from the air.

“C’mon Tommo,” I beg.

For effect I even turn to him and give him a puppy dog look.

“What the fuck,” he declares, causing my eyebrows to go up.

“You’re eyes are… Big, Ellis. Bigger than normal you know? They’re big and brown and all chocolatey,” he babbles nervously, “Has anyone ever told you you've got the biggest, nicest eyes?”

Now I’m nervous. I play with my sleeves consciously. Feck.

“Righto, drunko,” I fire at him, saying it loudly to prove my point.

Yeah I’m drunk too. Talking loudly, believing that Louis is flirting, and well there’s the dizziness too. I want more wine. What the fuck, I really shouldn’t. I result to closing my eyes.

“Lou,” I think he likes when I call him that, “We aren’t done talking about this.”

And yet I know we are. My drunk brain calls me a dweeb and has forgotten what ‘this’ is already.

Out of the blue, I remember one of our conversations in the bar. Regret washes over me.

“For the record,” my voice is delicately low, “We are friends.”

How could I have said we weren’t? Louis is the one person who cares in England. It’s not an act. He actually cares about me. I’ve known him for the shortest time, but we’ve become friends just like that. And it wasn’t to my doing. It was Louis. He put forth the effort. If he hadn’t wanted to be friends, we certainly wouldn’t be. This is why I like Louis. He’s sincere, he’s real. Half the time I forget he’s in One Direction.

Remembering that he's in One Direction scares the hell out of me. He has a world of fans. He’s rich. He’s famous. He probably wouldn’t be caught dead in public with me. He has four best friends that he’s gone through everything with.

It’s weird to imagine this Louis. A Louis who gets his picture taken almost anywhere he goes. A Louis who is in magazines and on the walls of teenage girls. A Louis who was dating a gorgeous girl, a model or whatever. A Louis who is known by almost everyone on this planet by face or association to the band.

This isn’t the Louis I know though, I haven't seen any side to One Direction Louis yet. I wonder if thats deliberate.

He’s normal. Louis is a completely ordinary guy; funny, perverted, obnoxious, strong.

I peak at Louis. He looks deep in thought as well.

I notice the sound of the heater has vanished. Great now I’m cold. I tense up my body and bring my legs together, while my arms fold over my chest. It doesn’t help. A slight tremor of ice runs from my toes to my neck. My body flinches involuntarily. I’m sure it was noticed.

“Ellis?”

I know he says this as a question. But it sounds like he’s saying my name in a whisper, out of awe. Pretending like I don’t hear it, I sigh as though I’m perfectly content, but another rack of chills hits me. I tense once again, muscles forcing themselves sharply.

I flinch into myself too harshly. It was a mistake.

My body reacts and I can’t stop it. My chest suddenly feels as if it’s being pulled towards my back, due to a heavy sinking feeling. I stop breathing and moving. I don’t make a sound. All I do is sit and wait.

Taking what seems like forever, it slowly fades, pinching as it does. It’s been more than six months and my chest still can’t take certain things (like flinching for fuck’s sake).

I hate my chest. I hate every part of it. I hate how weak it feels all of the time, like there’s an anvil sitting on top of it. Or sometimes how it feels like there’s an anchor attached, sinking it into my back. I hate the scar, the scar that make a giant line on what used to be my clean, smooth chest. I hate the memories and joking that come with the scar. I hate everything about my chest.

Stop Riley. Stop it. I repeat the word ‘stop’ in my head until the word seems to be made up. And finally the feeling vanishes .I take a breath, bigger than intended.

“You okay?” His hand falls on my shoulder.

I open my eyes, he leans over. Don’t, I plead silently.

“Ellis? Hey,” His voice is laced with concern.

He won’t back off.

“What? Oh yeah, just uh cold,” my voice shakes.

Gotta work on that Riley.

-----

ツLouis’ POVツ

She’s lying. It makes my head itch.

“Uh huh,” I say dubiously, “Just cold.”

Just let her be Tommo.

“Why don’t you c’mere then?” I ask, trying to sound bold.

Failure. That was a mother fucking question. Wait it’s okay for friends to cuddle right? I mean this is strictly for warmth so…

“Kay,” she mumbles anyway.

That’s it? She’s just going to agree that like? No being difficult?

My jaw clenches as she flips onto her front. Her crew neck falls to the middle of her back, tugging her shirt with it, exposing skin.

The small of her back is perfect, tan (by contrast with the black fabric and beige denim). It curves and looks soft as hell. I want to run my hands over her back, but pin them to my lap in restraint instead.

She gets on all fours in the space between the bean bags and stretches. Her head and shoulders drop to the floor and her arse goes into the air. Jesus fucking Christ. She holds for a minute, taking a deep breath.

Then her back arcs, catlike. Holy shit. Holy shit shit shit shit shit. Even in my drunken state, I know I shouldn’t look; she has a fiancé for god’s sake. I slap my legs together and look away for a moment, consciously taking a quiet breath of air as the want tries to build between my legs.

Think of something Louis, anything else. Salmon. Smoked salmon. Like the color of Ellis’ lips? Fuck, what she could use them for…

I let out a strained, definitely audible breath. No salmon the fish. Salmon, Louis, salmon.

When composed, I turn back to her. She crawls over to me and I scoot over. Good thing this is a big bean bag.

Her little body plops down, and immediately slides into me, colliding into my side. Maybe it’s not such a big bean bag.

I raise my arm and she slides further into me. Her small body noticeably quivers. I wrap my arm around her and she cuddles in, no questions asked. Right then.

Ellis burrows into my side and drapes her arm across my torso. She sighs, comfortable. Me too love, me too.

Every part of me that she touches burns. So basically the entire side of my body is on fire. Fuck.

Her smell is intoxicating. Like when you walk in to Victoria’s Secret with your girlfriend to appease her and you try to look bored, but all you can smell is that wonderful smell and it leads you to seeing the bright pops of lace and imagining dirty things? That’s what this is like. I can’t even think of what she smells like. It’s not like those strong perfumes or standout scents like sour apple, she doesn’t smell chemically. I don’t know what it is, but I’m addicted already.

I bite my lip and look down at her. She looks quite cozy in the crook of my arm. All of the tension in her face has vanished, leaving soft, delicate skin to rest. She looks peaceful. For the first time, Ellis appears without stress and worry. She doesn’t look as if she’s about to run or panic. Ellis looks… okay. She looks even more beautiful, which I didn’t know to be possible.

Her soot lashes are long enough to brim her cheekbones. I wonder what it would be like to feel them on my cheek.

Should I think about her lips? No I shouldn’t. But they’re so tantalizing, especially with that shade: cotton candy or a pretty shade of nail varnish, some type of pale rose maybe. They look incredibly soft… I wonder how they would feel on my own, though mine would probably be a contrast with their chapped textures. How would they feel on my collar bone, my neck? I wonder how amazing it would feel to run my tongue over her lips. Fuck.

Randomly her hair falls over her eyes, caught by gravity I guess. My hand immediately brushes it behind her ear and then returns to her cheek. I stroke her skin with my thumb and run my fingers down her jaw, testing her.

Her nose crinkles and she yawns. My hand freezes, unsure. I see her eye peek open and a small huff is released from her nose. My hand continues its path towards her chin. Her eye closes, satisfied. Ellis falls still, like her body has paused.

My hand circles back, dipping lower, fingers angling more sharply. I trace the skin on her neck, but here only barely. My hand reaches the top of her cheek and then restarts its journey. Damn her skin is soft as brand new cotton sheets. I want to kiss her cheek.

Ellis’ breathing has evened out, completely silent. I wonder if she’s asleep.

Does someone as sad as her dream about the one memory that causes her sadness? For some reason, I know she does.

I can see her prepped in a uniform, navy or white. Both would tan her skin. Her jersey would be too big, slightly choosing one shoulder to lean towards, but perfect in length with her long torso. Her shorts would stretch upon her hips, but tie in a perfect bow in the front. I’m fully confident her socks would be folded in a precise manner, matching each other in height deliberately.

Ellis is a perfectionist.

I wonder way too much about this girl. And yet I let my mind wander onto more thoughts of Riley Ellis.

-----

I flinch so hard that I wake myself.

I feel a weight clamped to my side, and immediately idle further movements. Ellis is definitely asleep.

I don’t know how long we’ve been asleep, but it doesn’t feel as though much time has passed and yet I feel completely refreshed. It’s late, that’s for certain. I frown to myself and wonder how long we could stay like this, how long Ellis would stay like this. It feels beyond nice.

I’m excessively comfortable and there’s no way Ellis isn’t.

I groan quietly. I know it’s time to go. I have a match tomorrow and Ellis does too.

My hand gravitates to her cheek, stroking it softly to try to wake her. She doesn’t show any sign of waking up. I move to her shoulder and am about to shake it when she stirs, twitching a bit.

“Mmf,” comes from the heap glued to my side.

“Ellis?”

She’s frozen again, still unmoving, still asleep. Her eyes roll under her eyelids frantically and I notice her breath is audible in subtle puffs. I can feel her legs trembling.

Ellis is dreaming.

Fuck. Wake up a dreaming Ellis, not high on my list of ‘want to do’.

“Riley?” I try, voice darkly distraught.

For effect I shift my body back and forth, dismantling our comfortable position.

The small Ellis attached to my side growls. She literally lets out a deep, throaty growl, warning me.

“Oh come on now,” I pry gently, chuckling at her wolf-like behavior.

She lifts her head slightly and finds my eyes. Her eyelids droop lazily and her lips pout. (Is it possible for her eyes to look even bigger, even slightly closed?)

“No,” she counters like a stubborn child.

Her face looks utterly circular and cheeks puffy. She looks like a sleepy puppy.

Ellis frowns at me and pouts her lips, declaring war. Super.

Jesus Christ this is gonna be a long journey home.

-----

☂Ellis’ POV☂

I’m floating.

This is my decent explanation.

Lights drift over my head, dull shapes of glowing gold. I’d like to wave my hand through them, they look soft.

My feet lob with an undecided feeling. Do they feel heavy as bricks or light as down?

Why am I being carried like I’m the thing that’s light as down? I’m not exactly a stick thin girl. Oh hey, I’m being carried would ya look at that.

My head nods against a sturdy, padded something. It’s enough to make a tired me curious. I tilt my head back, dropping it over the support behind my neck.

I let my eyelids tilt too, just enough to see a silhouette holding me. Ah.

“Hey cotton candy,” sultry silhouette saunters, “We’re almost there.”

Soft, crinkly voice. He doesn’t have a strong voice, and I like it. His voice doesn’t make me feel like flinching or cowering. It’s just a nice voice. I like it.

I close my eyes again, thinking about his voice saying my name over and over and over…

-----

ツLouis’ POVツ

It’s been a strange night. That’s for damn sure.

Ellis is drunk. I’m drunk. But between the two of us I have to be the sober drunk, considering she’s the sleepy drunk.

I carried Ellis home. It was easy. I met her cat upon entering her room. It was scary.

She’s in the bathroom changing right now. I didn’t want to leave, worrying that she could fall asleep in there or something. I’ve deciding on staying until she’s tucked away in bed.

“Louis?” She calls from behind the thin, white door.

“Close your eyes,” she orders, voice scratchy and deep.

I do as I’m told, looking at the floor for effect.

The door crawls open, screeching as it does. I hear Ellis pad across the floor and get into bed. I open my eyes and look.

Her back faces me. Her bare back. She slips beneath what must be five or six blankets, and the beauty of her skin vanishes.

I turn off the light in her bathroom and go to her.

Ellis is comfortably nestled into a nest of blankets and pillows… and her scent. She turns over, facing me. Her prominent collar bone practically begs for me to touch it.

“Hi Louis,” she murmurs, voice delicately clean, removing me from my desire.

I’m taken aback by her voice. It’s like she just sang the most beautiful verse in the most beautiful singing voice I’ve ever heard and yet she simply said two words out of drunken tiredness. Not only that but she said my name just as a French person would say. Loo-weeh. Huh.

“Lou sing to me,” she barely says it, I barely hear it.

I’m caught off guard.

“Why?” My voice comes out sharper than intended.

I hate singing to someone specifically. I can’t do it. All I can hear is my voice and it makes me doubt everything. And yet I feel encourage to give in, just like that.

She still hasn’t responded.

“Ellis,” I say, demanding an answer.

“I’m scared.”

The irritancy I was feeling drops, my faces loosens and falls. I bite my lip.

That’s all she has to say. That’s all she has to say to get me to break. Two words of vulnerability and I’m staying by her side.

“Ellis…”

“Just until I’m asleep,” she begs gently, eyes leaving mine.

A speckling of pink dances over her cheeks. She’s ashamed about this.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

I give up on standing, feeling too intimidating to the small figure beneath me. I crouch and sit myself on the edge of her bed, angling myself towards her.

“Please?” I add.

“When I get drunk,” she pauses immediately, quieting her voice and neutralizing her tone, “I get bad dreams.”

She sounds unbelievably young right now.

My hand snakes beneath the covers, and my fingers lace through hers. Her fingers of ice curl into the back of my hand.

“Nightmares?”

“Yes. But really bad,” Ellis says, like I don’t understand.

I’m about to tell her everyone gets them when her grip tightens around my hand.

“No, bad,” she draws out the word, “I get attacks…I’m in bad shape by morning, when I wake up, if I wake up.”

I almost miss that last part. My eyes pinch together, confused.

“What do you mean: ‘If you wake up’?”

“I’ve slept over 34 hours because... I don’t wake up from them easy. Once I do, s’like I’m sick, mono or something. Really bad.”

Holy shit.

“Jesus Ellis I didn’t know,” my voice wobbles.

She doesn’t answer, but her grip wavers. I’m freaked out to say the least.

“Really Ellis, I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

She nods.

“I know,” she replies, and I believe it.

I start to worry and panic slightly at the emotions flying between us. I begin to babble.

“But look we had a fun night right? How about you go to bed thinking about that?” I suggest.

“And guess what tomorrow is?” I smile happily, “Tomorrow is Halloween! We’ll go to the match together. I’ll pick you up. And afterwards we’re doing something for Halloween.”

Ellis turns onto her side beneath the blankets, smiling.

“Shit we need costumes… Oh! How about you be Niall Horan and I’ll be Louis Tomlinson!”

I laugh. She giggles.

I just laughed at my own shitty joke. I’ve been spending too much time with Harry.

“Nah you’re too pretty for him, hmm let’s see,” I continue down the path of distraction.

I really don’t want to sing.

“You could be a princess. That would suit you. I think I’ll be Justin Bieber.”

She bursts out laughing in a quiet manner, “Why would you be him?”

“Because swaggie,” I respond.

Ellis falls into a fit of giggles.

“You’re silly,” she whispers.

“I know Ellis.”

My free hand moves to her hair, and begins to play with it; stroking and weaving through it.

She yawns tiredly.

An idea pops into my head.

I snatch my phone from my pocket and open it up to my music folders. No one’s ever heard my private recordings except Sandy (we help each other record private stuff). I go to the lullaby playlist; a set list of me soloing slow, sleepy songs. I actually made it for Eleanor, but never gave it to her. She didn’t care for the music I like (The Frey, One Republic, Arctic Monkeys, etc).

I set my phone to the lowest volume and hit play. I place my phone on her bed frame and sit still for a moment, listening to my weak voice ring out.

“Thank you, Louis,” Ellis draws out through a yawn.

I continue to play with her hair through four or five songs, until I notice the stillness of Ellis. She’s asleep.

Carefully, I maneuver my hand out of her grip. Sucking in a breath, I slowly stand.

Nothing. She’s out.

I want to leave my phone playing for her, but retrieve it knowing it will do no good for both of us tomorrow. I slip it into my pocket.

Ellis looks angelic on her grey pillow. How can she be this beautiful?

I lean over decisively and place a lingering kiss on her temple. I’m happy about tonight and just happy about her in general. I love being around her. Honestly I had the greatest night just because I was with this girl, even just as her friend.

“Goodnight Ellis, my love,” I whisper and gently leave her to sleep, singing The Frey on my way out.