you're cold and I burn (on hold)

lanky <strong>and</strong> a smirk is plastered on cherry rose pink lips. A messy array of brown curls <strong>and</strong> spirals
are pushed to the top of his head, resembling a quick roll out of bed <strong>and</strong> the inability to use a
brush, if he even knows what a brush is. The sloppy style doesn’t end there, continuing to black
jeans that cover never-ending legs (he’s so fucking tall) <strong>and</strong> a charcoal shirt that has seen better
days, tiny holes peppered along the bottom hem. The entire ensemble is complete with a worn out
leather jacket, which is just so nifty.
He smells like <strong>burn</strong>t rubber, smoke <strong>and</strong> diluted alcohol. He smells like danger <strong>and</strong> bad decisions.
His eyes are an electric green <strong>and</strong> they’re doing an amazing job at burrowing into Louis’ soul,
dropping to his body then immediately being switched into pure confusion. “Are you wearing a
purple bathrobe?”
Really? Really.
The sound of his voice is almost startling, deeper than Louis ever imagined it would be even with
his rough demeanor. It’s smooth <strong>and</strong> raspy at the same time, each word dictated slow <strong>and</strong>
curiously. But, Louis is more offended than anything at the moment, <strong>and</strong> he can’t stop his lips
from pulling into an obvious scowl.
“It’s lavender.” He scrunches his nose up, shaking his head, “Obviously.”
“Obviously.” The boy says, soaked in humor, his eye brows shooting up. His vision flickers
momentarily to the room behind Louis, earning a deeper smirk, “You really like lavender, huh?”
“Who are you?” Louis ignores his question, removing his h<strong>and</strong> from his hip to cross his arms over
his chest. He looks defensive, which is exactly what he’s going for.
“Okay, so we’re skipping the small talk, I see.” The boy raises his h<strong>and</strong>s in defense, his eyes
mockingly cautious, before he can continue, Louis’ eyes catch the strap that’s slung over his
boney shoulder, <strong>and</strong> it’s connected to a backpack that stuffed so tightly it’s barely zipped. The
realization hits almost instantaneously. Oh, fuck no.
“If I made an assumption <strong>and</strong> said you were here as the new flat mate, how right would I be?”
“Ding,” He smiles, pointing up towards the sky, “We have a winner.”
When Louis opens his mouth to speak, well, object, he is interrupted by the boy pushing past him,
straight into the flat. Louis stops with his mouth wide open, eyes not blinking as he turns on his
heel, “Woah, excuse me?” His voice raises in pitch, highlighting his surprise with the brash
actions.
“Why do you have eight c<strong>and</strong>les lit? You doing a seance or some shit?” The boy asks, completely
ignoring Louis’ stunned remark. He’s so rude <strong>and</strong> entitled, <strong>and</strong> who just shoves their way into
someone else’s home? Well, this is technically his home too, but that’s not an excuse to not have
any manners.
“No, <strong>and</strong> the polite thing to do would be to wait for me to invite you in, you know?”
Without missing a beat, he responds easily, “Actually, it’s <strong>cold</strong> as fuck out there right now, <strong>and</strong>
the polite thing to do would be to invite me in from the <strong>cold</strong> instead of trying to have a
conversation with me while I slowly catch pneumonia, you know?”
Louis wants to come back with even more sass, but instead he huffs outs a breathy laugh, in
disbelief at the audacity coming from this complete stranger. He’s debating asking where the rest
of his luggage is, but Louis' almost positive it's hidden in his dimple, the one on his cheek that