Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

V

Louis wishes he was rather anywhere but walking into the buzzing air through the office doors. His morning had been nothing intriguing which he was thankful for; no servants fired today. Religiously, he opts for his private lift, lighting up a cigarette while waiting for the lift to reach the top floor. His poseydon blue suit adding a tinge of vibrancy to his blank blue eyes and the Rolex on his wrist highlighting the fact that he has arrived earlier than he should've.

Once the door unravels his comparatively dead floor, Louis goes straight for the comforts of his office with long, urgent strides.

Much to Louis' dismay, he is greeted by the toothy smile of none other than summer boy, Harry Styles. At least he was on time today.

His smile is so flashing that Louis' scared he's hurt his eyes which still carry traces of sleep. He should probably start wearing shades inside too if he is going to be greeted with that awfully bright grin for the coming mornings. Nodding in response, Louis enters his grave-like office and scans around, making sure nothing had been displaced; a sign of intrusion.

Soon he settles himself on the grand, comfortable chair, cigarette burning in one hand. He takes a moment to prepare himself for the shit of a day he is going to have, because every single day is. He knows.

Knock.

A firm knock; summer boy.

"Come in," Louis says retracting the fuming roll from his lips, straightening his posture into a more authoritative one.

Right there, with his chin held high and with those excruciating sapphire eyes, Louis reeks of power and dominance.

With a dimpled smile plastered on his face undeniably enticing face, strolls in a warm looking Harry Styles. He places the coffee cup on the weightful desk and looks at Louis with big benign moss eyes. "Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson!" he chirps in his ever so honey abysmal voice and Louis thinks he can just die, because he's not used to being around such a raptured person. He's not used to change.

Louis, though, notices something odd and something he felt was impossible to come from Harry Styles. A grimace, he fucking grimaces when he sees the amount of cigarette butts lying on the ashtray and the still burning one in between Louis' tatted fingers.

Louis feels accomplished, shocked at himself to why making the younger lad not jolly for a split second brought such a sense of accomplishment within him that didn't even come from cracking the biggest of the deals. But Louis' atrocious mind felt like dimming the merry boy's mood is like a grave challenge that he just has to win.

"Something wrong, Mr. Styles?" Asks Louis intimidatingly and smirks, expecting the other to stutter like a frightened child.

"That thing is going to kill you!" Harry almost scolds, words firm and fused. "And may I ask why would that concern you?" Louis spits back with narrowed eyes, feeling like a child arguing with his strict teacher. He doesn't need some awfully happy curly-head telling him what he should and should not do. Louis is his own person. Louis Tomlinson does not listen to anyone but himself.

"Because you are a fellow human who also happens to be my source of income." Harry smugly replies. "Oh, so you are one of those 'spread love' kind of people. Explains a lot," Louis counters back in a mock-full tone but again, the glee-blinded lad just grins "Yes I am! I believe in treating everyone with love and kindness as one should. They say 'you get what you give' and I believe if I treat the world with kindness and love, I'll get that back someway or another."

And in that moment Louis feels fucking guilty, because the young boy is so hopelessly naive and hopeful that it almost hurts Louis knowing the reality of the hungered world; that if you care and give, it will always thirst for more but never once will the gluttonous thing return it back to you. It will take and take until the boy is nothing but empty, sucking his innocence and hope, leaving him voided and broken and so fucking hurt. And for the first time in a very long years, Louis just wants to pack the boy up and keep him safe; never let him unfurl the cruel reality of the world, the feeling almost felt strange and foreign to Louis.