luiza

Louis stares at his phone like it might start talking back.

It’s past midnight in the dorm, the kind of quiet that only happens when everyone’s either asleep or pretending to be. The hallway lights bleed faintly under the door, and from the other side of the room he can hear one of the members shifting in his sleep, sheets rustling, a quiet cough. Louis is sitting cross-legged on his bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, phone balanced in both palms.

Your contact is already open.

He hasn’t pressed the button yet.

He missed you all day.

No—longer than that.

Comebacks always do this. Rehearsals that stretch until his legs feel like jelly, vocal lessons that leave his throat raw, cameras everywhere, staff reminding them to smile, to wave, to stay bright. He’s good at it—he really is—but some days it feels like he’s running on muscle memory alone.

And every break, every quiet second, his thoughts drift to you.

To the way you laugh when you’re trying not to.

To how you always complain about your phone overheating but refuse to get a new one.

To how you send him blurry selfies on purpose because you know it makes him laugh.

Louis exhales softly and finally taps FaceTime.

It rings once.

Twice.

He’s already smiling before your face appears on the screen.

“Hi,” you say, voice soft like you’re smiling too.

There you are.

Your hair’s a little messy, like you just washed it and didn’t bother styling it properly. You’re wearing one of your practice hoodies, the one with the sleeves that are slightly too long, and the background looks familiar—your dorm room, warm light on, posters barely visible behind you.

Louis’s shoulders drop instantly, tension melting away like it was never there.

“Hi,” he echoes, quieter.

For a second, neither of you says anything. You’re just… looking at each other. Like you’re both trying to soak in the fact that this is real, that you’re here, even if it’s just through a screen.

You tilt your phone a little. “You look tired.”

He laughs under his breath. “Is it that obvious?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Your eyes are doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The squinty thing,” you say, grinning. “When you’re exhausted but pretending you’re not.”

Louis groans dramatically and lets himself fall back against his pillows. “I knew it. I should’ve worn my good face.”

“You always wear the same face,” you tease. “It’s just… extra sleepy right now.”

He angles the camera so you can see more of him sprawled across the bed, hoodie bunched at his waist, hair falling into his eyes. “Today was long,” he admits. “Like, really long.”

Your expression softens immediately. “Did you eat?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly.

“Louis.”

“I did!” He lifts his hand in mock surrender. “Twice.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied. “Drink water?”

“…Earlier.”

You give him a look.

He reaches off-screen and grabs a water bottle, shaking it a little so you can hear it slosh. “See? Hydrated.”

You laugh, and the sound settles something warm in his chest.

He missed that laugh.

There’s a comfortable pause, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward at all. Just the quiet hum of being together, even from far away. Louis watches the way your eyes flick across the screen, the way you lean closer without realizing it.

“I missed you,” he says suddenly.

It slips out before he can overthink it.

Your smile turns smaller, softer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Like… a lot.”

You shift on your bed, tucking your legs under you. “I missed you too. You didn’t text as much today.”

“I know,” he says apologetically. “I wanted to. We just—” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Everything was nonstop.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “I get it. I just like hearing from you.”

His chest feels tight in a good way. “I like talking to you.”

You roll your eyes lightly. “You say that like it’s a confession.”

He smiles. “Maybe it is.”

The screen shakes a little as you laugh again. “You’re so corny.”

“But you like it.”

“…Sometimes,” you admit.

Louis props his chin on his hand, studying you. “What did you do today?”

You tell him—about practice, about how one of your members forgot choreography and bumped into you, about the vending machine stealing your money. Nothing huge, nothing dramatic, just pieces of your day. He listens carefully, nodding, reacting at all the right moments, like this is the most important thing in the world.

To him, it kind of is.

When you finish, you glance at him. “What about you? Besides being tired.”

He shrugs. “Same stuff. Dance practice. Vocal lessons. The choreo change almost ended me.”

“Already?”

“It’s brutal,” he insists. “My legs were shaking.”

You frown slightly. “You should stretch more.”

“I do stretch.”

“Not enough.”

He grins. “You sound like our trainer.”

“Someone has to keep you alive,” you say.

He looks at you for a long second, smile fading into something softer. “You do that really well.”

Your cheeks heat up. “Louis…”

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Stop being like that.”

“Like what?”

“Cute.”

He laughs quietly, the sound warm and shy. “Can’t help it.”

The call settles into an easy rhythm. Sometimes one of you talks, sometimes neither of you does. You brush your hair back absentmindedly. He traces patterns on his blanket with his thumb. Every so often, one of you smiles for no real reason at all.

“You’re really pretty,” he says out of nowhere.

You blink. “What?”

“I said you’re really pretty.”

You groan softly and cover part of your face with your sleeve. “You’re so annoying.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…No,” you admit.

He beams, clearly proud of himself.

There’s a moment where you both just stare again, like you’re memorizing each other. Louis wishes—really wishes—that he could reach through the screen, sit next to you, lean his head against your shoulder like he used to when schedules weren’t so packed and everything felt simpler.

“I wish you were here,” you say quietly, almost like you’re reading his mind.

“Me too,” he answers immediately. “I’d steal your snacks.”

“You already do that.”

“And I’d sit way too close.”

You smile. “You do that too.”

“Exactly,” he says. “I’m consistent.”

You laugh, then yawn, covering your mouth. “Sorry.”

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “But I didn’t want to hang up yet.”

His heart flips. “We don’t have to.”

“Good.”

He checks the time. It’s late—too late, probably—but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re right there, eyes heavy but still bright, still focused on him.

“I like FaceTiming you,” you say softly. “It makes it feel less… far.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It feels like we’re in the same room.”

Another pause. A comfortable one.

“I’m really glad you called,” you add.

Louis smiles, slow and genuine. “Me too.”

Eventually, your voice grows quieter, sentences trailing off. Your eyes flutter shut for a second, then open again when you realize it.

“Hey,” he says gently. “You should sleep.”

You pout slightly. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” he says. “But you need rest.”

You sigh, defeated. “You’re right.”

He watches as you set your phone down beside you, the angle shifting so he can see you lying back against your pillow.

“Stay until I fall asleep?” you ask.

“Of course,” he says without hesitation.

Your eyes soften. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

The room on his end is dark, the only light coming from his screen. He stays quiet, just watching you breathe, watching the tension leave your face as sleep slowly takes over.

Right before your eyes close completely, you murmur, “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers back. “I love you.”

You smile, already half asleep.

The call stays connected long after you drift off. Louis doesn’t mind. He just lies there, phone warm in his hand, heart full in a way that makes all the exhaustion worth it.

Even through a screen, even miles apart—

you’re still his favorite place to be.

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