Sυρєя Sтαя [Lαяяу Aυ]

•Chapter One•

Five years is an awfully long time. Four years is also an awfully long time. So when you are close to someone for four years, and then have them stripped away from you, it hurts. It feels like apart of you is ripped off. How can you walk with only one leg? How can you survive when you were missing a large chunk of who you are?

That's precisely the way Louis Tomlinson felt. Even though it's been four years since he really spoke to Harry, and five since he's actually seen him despite all his promises of visitation, it still felt like he knew him fairly well. It was hard not to when he worked for another magazine company as a photographer, which he had decided to go to college for. He had always been an artistic lad. He just had an eye for detail and a knack for art.

Anyway, he felt like he knew Harry just as well as he had so many years prior, especially since all his sisters ever talked about was him, most especially the younger ones. They always gushed about how he knew someone who was famous now, someone that everyone knew about and everyone either wanted to be or be with. Louis always bit back his snarky, sarcastic replies. They were his flesh and blood after all, and he may as well try to be kind to someone.

Louis had grown to be your average twenty-three year old. Bitter, sarcastic, and all around anti-social. That wasn't your average twenty-three year old?

Oh well. He didn't really care.

He liked his life. He spent his days taking pictures, traveling around to distant lands to get the best shots and sell them to a magazine. It wasn't always the best pay, but it was better than nothing. He would rather make the smallest amount of money than to be another street rat, living in rags amongst the garbage.

Harry seemed happy enough without him. In every photograph Louis' seen, he had the largest smile on his face. He hated seeing those dimples, and his pretty, piercing emerald eyes. And his hair that lost the tightness to his curls and got more and more wavy as he aged.

Louis hadn't realized he had been digging his nails into his palms until he felt the blood seep underneath them. He grimaced. He really ought to clip them soon, he noted, so he didn't accidentally hurt himself any more than he already had.

A resentful sigh fell past his thin lips, and his cerulean eyes looked around his room. He had heaps of clothes all over the floor, some of his sister's toys were scattered around, and half of his blanket was on the floor whilst the other half was wrapped around his waist in a cocoon. Wriggling out of his cushiony prison, the young man sighed and stretched out his back. He already knew by the dreary sky that today was going to be a very long day.

~~~

"You what, now?" Louis gawked at them, eyeing his manager up and down as if he had gone ill with insanity.

Louis, as one of the best photographers in the building, has been called when they needed new pictures for one of the magazine articles. He had easily complied and came in, but what he heard had him extremely concerned. He could feel the twisting feeling growing in his stomach. He truly felt sick.

"We need you to go out this afternoon to the airport. Harry Styles is said to be flying in this afternoon to visit his family, and we need someone to get goods shots of him," Tom, his manager, replied smoothly. He was a slightly larger man, but his copper eyes held a friendly sparkle to him. He was the type of person you were naturally inclined to gravitate to.