Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

LVII

The Apocalypse: Part I

"You leapt from crumbling bridges
Watching cityscapes turn to dust"

His eyes a deep shade of blue, hints of sunlight through the curtains as he fixes the boutonnière on his suit. The fabric feels like feathers against his skin, the astronomical price paying off as Louis smiles at his reflection in the vintage, Victorian mirror, gold lining and excellent carvings. The soft rustle of the crowd from a few yards away meeting Louis' ears while he clicks the lock of his watch, smoothening his suit of hale navy, ivory flower buds resting on his lapel.

Louis smiles, a shy curl of the tips of his lips as he sprays the musky cologne, mind racing with thoughts of Harry in the other room. Blushing perhaps, Louis thinks, his dimples popping as he bites back a grin, how his eyes must crinkle and then he would give in, letting himself have a big smile, the one that gives a peek of his bunny teeth, smiling like a fool for no reason at all and he will yet manage to be the most ethereal thing to Louis' eyes.

He shakes his head, ending his thoughts for the sake of not being late as he runs a hand through his perfectly roughed hair, a fringe as always with messy ends. He did, in fact, spend half an hour on his hair alone—it's ought to be perfect. With a hint of narcissism, Louis steps away from the mirror, burning a cigar as the piquant scent of tobacco fills the room.

"Oi! I'll fuck you raw if you get that filthy stench on my fuckin' suit." Louis rolls his eyes, defeatedly placing the cigar on the ashtray and turning towards a nerved Zayn. He grins maniacally at Zayn's misery, the raven-head pacing around the room with a still open shirt. "Stop looking at me like that, ya cunt."

"Can't help it when you promised me a raw fuck, darlin'," Louis chuckles, walking towards the distressed man. Zayn sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks when Louis steps in front of him, gentle hands buttoning Zayn's onyx shirt. "Calm down, mate. You've been mentally married to him for ten years now, it's just a piece of paper—it'll be alright," Louis slaps Zayn's stubbled cheek lightly, making the younger groan and roll his eyes.

"We shall see who calms down when he is proposing to Harry."

"Oh, sod off!" Zayn pouts — a rare sight — when Louis helps him into his vest, gold details on minimal black. He fixes Zayn's tie underneath the vest next, placing a small pin in the center and smiling as he reminisces the day he had given it to Zayn year ago. They were just kids, trying to work it out in a world where they felt lost, but Zayn had Louis and Louis had Zayn and the rest did not matter. Yes, Liam came along, but it had been Zayn and Louis since before Louis remembers remembering.

Fuck, Louis feels like an emotional sap.

Fuck Harry and his sappy fucking movies.

He wouldn't mind fucking Harry, though.

"Stop thinkin' 'bout Harry, ya twat. Help me!" Zayn slaps Louis' bum as he turns around to grab his blazer, Louis letting out a manly squeak and turning to face his best mate.

"How'd you know 'm thinking about him?" Louis asks, tapping Zayn's hand to indicate him to raise it as he slides the blazer. Zayn drops dead silent while Louis helps him into the blazer, rich, black velvet with gold encrusted with details. Zayn almost appears as if he's afraid that if he speaks now, he'll ruin his attire.

Louis walks up to the dresser, retrieving a box and walking back, only to find Zayn hasn't moved an inch with a crease in his brows. "You've got that look on your face," he says just as Louis hands him his nose ring. Watching Zayn put it on, Louis helps him with a steam iron for the barely there crease that is apparently too astronomical for Zayn's liking.