Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

XVII

The days go by as the sky religiously changes its hues, soft morning skies turn into bright afternoons, melancholic evening shades take over later and the world soon wraps up in a blanket of darkness with the moon outshining the million stars, as ever.

Before Louis knows it—it's Harry's payday, meaning he's officially completed a month working with him. Louis continues to be hopelessly infatuated by the boy, no matter how hard he tries to force himself to think otherwise. He's slowly coming to terms with the fact that the green eyes have pierced through his shell and marked a permanent spot in Louis' heart—that is, if there is one.

In the present moment, Louis is seated in his shrine of silence, the Roman clock ticking without a fail while he takes secret drags of his cigarette here and there. With the acceptance of being intrigued by the curly-haired boy, Louis has also accepted that he will never stop bugging Louis about his lifestyle choices. So, Louis—being an understanding and respectful person—doesn't smoke in front of the boy. Not that he's scared of the younger; it's just that he does not want him to worry about Louis.

Louis Tomlinson isn't scared of anyone.

Period.

Harry has officially labelled them as friends, not giving a fuck about Louis' 'Louis Tomlinson doesn't have friends' motto. Louis has also heard filthy whispers through out the office about the two, whispers no one dares to say out loud.

It mostly started when the two of them took a sick-leave on the same day over a week ago, and since then, the entire office has been eyeing Harry with disgust and envy. It bothers Louis, but he also knows he can't stop the people from talking, he knows there will always be whispers, filthy words contaminating the air, so Louis decides to wear a mask, pretend he isn't aware of the dirt they pass around.

As the days have passed, Louis also feels a bit relaxed since Phoenix hasn't made any attempts that can be taken as threats. He's somewhat relieved and thankful.

Maybe they have buried the past behind after all.

This doesn't mean Louis let's loose, though. Louis is still as alarmed as a watch dog, reading every person he meets with hawk eyes and observing them with equal determination. He will not make the first move but, he's ready to fight back when or if assailed.

Knock.

"Come in, Harry," Louis says, throwing the cigarette inside a drawer blindly and spraying some flower-scented room freshener as though his life depends on it. He tries to act cool, as if his heart isn't beating like a drum because of the cheap thrill he just had. Harry's smiling, duh, placing Louis' 'I'm big' mug—the one that Harry bought him the day before yesterday—on the weighty desk and letting out a giggle after eyeing Louis' nervous face with coy eyes.

"I know." He leans forward and whispers, pretending they are in a room full of people and anyone can find out Louis' little secret if he speaks in a higher decibel.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Styles." Louis plays along, grabbing the cup by the handle and sipping the life-giving liquid. He still doesn't get how Harry manages to make his coffee this addictive, he has utterly ruined machines and cafés for Louis.

Maybe it's because (in Harry's own words) "I worked in a bakery."

"You can not fool me, Tomlinson, there's still some ash on the desk. Try harder to hide the evidence next time," Harry says in a detective-like tone, straightening his posture while pointing out the evidence in a prideful dance of his fingers, a smirk tattooed on his lips. "Guilty as charged, your honour," Louis confesses, graciously maintaining character and bowing his head in defeat, offering Harry a puppy-eyed face; silently asking him to not lecture him for his little slip.