Seventeen-year-old Louis Tomlinson leaned against the bathroom door, listening to his best friend, Delilah Queen, fidget around inside.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait out here?” he called through the door and heard her quiet denial. He shrugged and continued waiting, glancing at his watch.
Only another minute or so, and they’d know for sure.
“Shit,” he heard muttered through the door. Then he heard sobbing. Louis’ chin dropped to his chest and he reached for the knob, hoping she hadn’t locked it behind her.
He was relieved when it turned. He stuck his head in the door. “DQ?” He kept his voice low, afraid to startle her.
She was sitting on the floor, legs folded with her arms wrapped around her knees, face buried between them. He saw the stick in her hand and moved closer cautiously.
His eyes fell on the indicator and his breath caught when he saw two pink lines.
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