The wanted murderer L.S.

Raspberry Rose.

Louis froze.

The sirens were getting closer and the rain seemed to fall much heavier than it was a few seconds ago.
He heard everything much louder all of a sudden, which meant that the gold-plated gun brought up to nudge against his temple was very quickly the only thing he could understand.

It nudged once more, before being pulled away.
The man behind Louis pressed his chest against Louis' back and leant over to the handlebars of the bike.

"Fine. I'll do it myself."

The bike hurtled forwards, narrowly missing a curb, and roared down the street with Louis still on it. His motorbike usually calmed him, only right now he felt as if nothing in the world could stop him from screaming his head off. The police cars were chasing after him, and the man pressed to his back seemed to lean more and more over as the speed increased. The bike skidded right over a roundabout, straight over a flight of steps, down a grassy bank and through a long tunnel leading to a man-made river below a bridge.

It was under this bridge that the man stopped the motorbike. The sirens were loud, and Louis' ears were covered by his hands, yet as he tried to calm himself down, the police cars drove straight over the bridge. right nast them.

Sheltered from the rain and light, the world suddenly became very quiet, and very soothing.

Louis sat up, shook his hands a few times to ground himself, and looked around. He could see the silhouette of a person beneath the bridge with him:
A man, looking up at the road to make sure no one was chasing him. His hair seemed to be shoulder-length and curly, he wore a hoodie with a jacket on top, and he had long legs. That was all Louis could see.

Once the man had decided that he was safe, he turned to Louis and walked up to him. Once in front on the bike, he lifted an arm and pointed the gun to Louis' forehead, Louis saw two initials on the plating, but it was too dark to read them.

The stranger didn't shoot, nor did Louis speak, and so they stayed like that for a while.

"It's not loaded, you know."

The voice sounded younger than it had earlier, probably because the man now spoke clearly. He put the gun in his jacket. Louis watched him take out a cigarette and lighter. The orange glow hit a now-visible face.

The man was young, perhaps a few years older than Louis, with a handsome face and pink hair.

He had wide green eyes that looked up at Louis.

Just as their gaze met, the man cried out and threw his lighter to the ground where it bounced and fell with a "plop" in the water. A string of curse words came out of the man's mouth, followed by the sound of air blowing on a burnt finger.

Louis laughed.

It came very unexpectedly and stopped the stranger in his tracks. The man pulled a torch from his pocket and turned it on, shining it on Louis.
The light stayed in his face as Louis was studied from head to toe, before being placed on the floor where they could both finally see each other clearly.

"Your hair is pink." Louis said, rocking from side to side.

"It's not pink! Why does everyone say that? It's Raspberry Rose. I don't have pink hair."
"It's pink and purple."

"It's raspberry rose with lavender tips." The man took out the gun and pointed it for the third time to Louis' head. "I'll shoot you."

Louis, who didn't have time to process the situation, said, "Are you the murderer everyone is looking for?"

The man replied, "What?"
He tapped the gun in his palm as if it were broken and looked back at Louis. His palms, like Zayn's, were tattooed with large black letters, but his read
'JACK' on his right, and 'JILL' on his left, "Would you like to find out?"

The gun was pointed to Louis once more, yet Louis rocked side to side, which the man had trouble keeping up with so the weapon was yet again lowered and tucked into his jacket.

"You're interesting." The man said. "If someone threw you into a pit of lions, you'd walk right up to them."

Louis stopped swaying and instead cracked his knuckles one by one. "No, I wouldn't, they'd kill me. Did you know that lion cubs are spotty? Once I went to the zoo, and the females all had cubs. Also, lions sleep a lot."

The man leant against the wall and put another cigarette between his lips. He tapped his pockets for a lighter, then groaned.

"Are you autistic?" he asked abruptly, putting his cigarette back into his pocket.

"Why?" Louis asked.

"Just curious. I don't mean anything by it."

"Oh.. Most people do. But yes. Sorry."

The man looked at him and put his hands in his pockets. "What are you apologising for?"

Louis didn't in fact know what he was saying sorry about, and the man could tell. Louis leant back as the stranger got up from the wall and walked over to him. He put his hands on the bike handles and leant over the vehicle until he was almost nose to nose with Louis.

"We're not friends." He said.

Louis blinked a few times, "I know that."

"Then unless you want to stick around forever-which, trust me, you really don't-you need to tell me your name and where you live."

The man stood up straight and tapped his shoe on the floor. Louis looked at the water, becoming rapidly hypnotised by a dead rat floating calmly on the surface. It was lying on its back, and although dead, seemed to be having quite a nice time.

"Jill? Oh. Louis. My name's Louis Tomlinson." Louis said. "I'm eighteen. I live on King Henry's street. Number seven with the statue of Winston street. Churchill by the gate."

"Finally." The man said. He scooted Louis to the back and the bike and sat in front of him.

"Are you kidnapping me? Please don't." Louis said as the engine turned on. "My dog will be sad. His name is Lilly."

"That's a girl name.

"Lilly's a male.

The stranger, who couldn't be bothered with the rest of the conversation, said, "I'm not kidnapping you. I'm taking you home. Hold on."

He drove the bike through the bridge and up the grassy bank.

"Hold on, Louis." He said again, harsher than the time before.

It was dark outside, and Louis preferred it that way. He always enjoyed looking at street lamps and how the light reflected in the puddles. There was something very calming about it, especially when he was in a car or on a motorbike. Right now, there were plenty of other vehicles around them, as if the man driving the bike was trying to hide among the crowds-which, looking back on past events-was probably the case.

"Home." The man said after a long while. He stopped the bike outside of the huge brass gates and swung his leg over it. He looked at Louis who was in somewhat of a daze from daydreaming for so long.

"Don't tell anyone where you've been. Don't tell them who you saw."

"I don't know who I saw. I don't know your name." Louis said.

"Then it's all fine."

The stranger tucked his hair behind his ear and nodded briefly to Louis. He began to walk away, back down the street, pulling his hook up so no one could see how his dyed hair shone beneath the street lamps. Louis watched him leave, then stop.

Suddenly, he turned around, gun pointing to Louis.
Louis heard it click.

He sat there, on the bike, with the gun pointed to him again. He rocked gently back and forth, he felt as if something was wrong, but couldn't place it among all of the other unusual events that had happened that day. Nothing was as it usually was, and it made everything else seem like a big blur of mess.

The man put the gun away. He hummed as if he'd heard the answers to a question he'd never asked.
"As long as the handcuffs stay off of my wrists, I'll see you again. Good evening, Louis."