Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

XLI

He is alone. A lone deer in the abode of hungered lions, not a single person to protect him. He shouldn't be alone. He should have been with Louis. He should have been safe. Instead, he is probably walking into his own grave by now.

Louis tried calling him, every fifteen minutes, helplessly calling someone who wasn't going to answer. He got nothing but the hideous, frustrating voice message beep greeting him every time in response, followed by Harry's sweet, chirpy voice asking him to leave a message.

Within the span of a foreboding hour, after recovering from the initial shock and regaining his mental presence, Louis immediately redialled Niall and explained the twisted situation to the Irishman. His second, desperate call was to Zayn, thankfully awake by that time, whom he asked to get their men prepared, as many as he can gather. Liam said he would try to locate the curly-haired boy, or even Phoenix for that matter. Liam has his way with snitchers around every corner of the UK and has information about every movement regarding their world, at least about the one's that aren't capable enough to mix with their surroundings.

But all Louis knows is that Harry isn't home.

Niall had called him minutes later, after Louis had informed him about the fact that Harry might be in jeopardy. Louis was right; unfortunately. Niall walked into an empty house, door open wide, no signs of a break-in. Of course Harry would let anyone in, he is Harry fucking Styles who used to give away his lunch to "sad-looking" people. After a thorough inspection, the hysteric voice of Niall Horan met his ears, worrisome voice splashing out through the speakers as he delivered the news of Harry's absence.

Louis has been driving nonstop, finally entering the bustling streets of London, skyscrapers peeking through his sunroof, snow fall harsher than he last remembered. He has put his men around the country on red alert, every questionable move has been strictly ordered to be reported to either Louis, Liam, Zayn or Niall. His men in London are all over the city, at every alley, at every exit from the city for inspection.

One cannot leave nor can they enter without Louis knowing about it.

They have decided to meet at Harry and Niall's, the boys Louis means. The familiar French house stands as bright as always, the winter snow matching its shade. Everything looks exactly the same as it did a few hours ago, except, Harry is not there to jump into his arms the moment he opens the door.

"My love," well, fuck Louis' life.

"Stephanie,"

Louis forces a smile, clearly sham, bracing himself for a cheek kiss. "So very awful to see you here." He completes in a faux welcoming elocution, violently wiping the red stain off his pale, winter kissed skin with the back of his palm. Of-fucking-course Stephanie Ramirez had to show up when he thought things couldn't get worse.

"What are you doing here?"

Stephanie shrugs gracefully, elegant steps striding towards the kitchen island, dainty fingers holding a heavy glass of what Louis thinks is wine (or human blood. Louis won't be surprised). He watches her dark eyes scan over the tab Niall is holding from over his shoulder, her free hand on his waist and oh.

"Was she with you the entire time, Irish?"

Louis asks, accusingly. But does he have a right to accuse him? For all Louis knows, Niall thought Harry was with Louis. It was his fault. He should've called Niall the very moment Harry said he wanted to go back to his own place instead of Louis'. It's his fault he doesn't have Harry by his side.

"Perhaps." Stephanie answers instead of Niall, eyes not moving away from the tab. A concentrated, barely-visible crease on her forehead, reflecting her immersion. "Oh for fuck's sake, woman! Answer the damned question straight for once in your fucking life."