you're cold and I burn (on hold)

almost eerie <strong>and</strong> unsettling, but that could just be Louis’ nerves. The shadows are dancing off the
walls, the warm glow doing nothing for the drum of Louis’ heart, hammering harshly against his
ribcage. With no more time to procrastinate, he pulls his phone out, biting his cheek at how it's
searing like a hot coal in his palm. He doesn’t want to do this, but he’s got no other choice. A
short debate takes place in his mind, begging him to launch the phone right at the wall with a
valiant, “Fuck you dad, I’ll find a way.” But the loss of his flat <strong>and</strong> being thrown into the
negatives in his bank account are pulling him harder.
So he scrolls to his father’s name <strong>and</strong> presses the little phone icon, crashing his teeth together with
enough force to give him a headache. When the answer comes, it’s not a greeting. “Louis, I was
expecting your call.”
Pretentious fuck wad. “And why is that?” Louis responds, keeping his tone cool <strong>and</strong> relaxed. The
interior of his body is shaking <strong>and</strong> so are his h<strong>and</strong>s.
“I spoke to Liam earlier today, he told me you.. weren’t doing very well.” The sentence carries no
trace of worry, but a matter-of-fact tone.
Louis stays silent, Liam is an asshole. He decides that he’s going to light a bag of shit on his
doorstep. He knows for a fact that Liam will be over in just a few hours to profusely apologize, as
always, for talking to their father about Louis’ problems, so he might push him down the stairs
instead. He’s not sure yet.
“Can’t say that I was surprised, Louis. I told you this-“
“Yeah, I got that. Skip the ‘I told you so,’ bullshit, I already know.” Louis spits, trying to keep the
acid in his voice at a low level. If he has too much of an attitude, he can kiss any hopes of getting
help goodbye.
There’s a deep breath coming from the other end of the line, <strong>and</strong> he’s sure his father can taste the
venom in his words. “I underst<strong>and</strong> that you need help, is that correct?”
“I’ve been eating bread for dinner for the past week, what do you think?”
“Louis.” His father warns, <strong>and</strong> Louis can almost see the frown on his face, “Do you need the help
or not?”
“Yes.” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes.
There’s another silence, <strong>and</strong> with each second Louis’ stomach starts twisting <strong>and</strong> turning. He just
wanted to hear Louis say it, to hear the admission come from his mouth after he had insisted that
he could make this work. It really just hurts to say.
“When I spoke to Liam he gave me a good idea. So I’ve arranged for you to have a flat mate.
Someone who will split the rent with you. I’ll pay this months rent so you aren’t evicted, but
you’ll have to get a real job <strong>and</strong> make it yourself, this will give you some financial relief.”
“You know how much I hate it when you say ‘real job,’ when I do have a job. Just because it
doesn’t involve sitting in a cubicle all day long doesn’t mean it’s not real.” Louis replies, feeling
the anger bubbling <strong>and</strong> he feels like a child again. He feels the way his eyes drop to the floor <strong>and</strong>
his cheek is almost raw from how hard he’s chewing on it. He feels guilty, like he shouldn’t be
doing what he’s doing. He hates the way his father makes him feel.
“Right, because drawing flowers is a job, right?”
“I don’t draw, I paint. And I paint flowers because I love it, I like the colors <strong>and</strong> the shapes <strong>and</strong>