Evidence of Us.

3

The curly haired man was sitting in a cafe before work. He needed caffeine before all the things he had to do today. His job was making him so tired and sick all the time. Don't get him wrong, he loved what he did. He loved helping people, he loved having authority over them. But at the same time, it was so damn boring most of the time. He sighed as he looked out the window, watching the people walking hurriedly in the rain. They all had their own lives, their own struggles. And here was Harry - just a young man trying to prove his family wrong. Suddenly something, or rather someone, interrupted his thoughts. He looked up, only to see the same man he had encountered the day before. He raised his eyebrows "Yes?"

"I just saw you sitting here. Thought you could use some company." Those blue eyes pierced him once again.

"Oh, um, yeah. Have a seat." Harry gestured to the seat opposite his own. He watched the stranger's every move as he sat down, biting his lip nervously.

"So, what are you up to?"

"I just needed to grab some coffee before work. What about you?"

"Same. I never got your name, by the way."

"Right. I'm Harry. And you are?"

"Nicolas, pleasure to meet you." He smiled and shook his hand.

"You too." Styles smiled awkwardly.

The truth was, Harry struggled with meeting new people. He was naturally shy and a bit awkward; people made him nervous, and he worried about being judged. He knew it was irrational, maybe even a little foolish, but he couldn't help himself.

"So, what do you do for work, Harry?" Nicolas asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Oh," Harry hesitated briefly, "I'm a detective."

The blue-eyed man wanted to smile smugly but held himself back. If things went this smoothly, his task would be over in no time.

"That's so interesting," Nicolas replied, feigning enthusiasm. "And what exactly does a detective like you do?" Just as the curly-haired man began to answer, he glanced at his watch. "Shit, I'm sorry—I've got to run, or I'll be late for work," he said, jumping up from his seat.

"Oh." His new acquaintance frowned. "Well, could I at least get your number? I'd like to get to know you better, Harry." With a quick nod and a small smile, Harry gave it to him.

Louis gripped the gun, aiming it steadily at the older man, his patience wearing thin. "You stupid son of a bitch," he snarled. "Thought you could fuck with my people, huh?" The man dropped to his knees, pleading desperately for Louis to spare him. "You're not getting away with trying to steal my drugs," Louis said, his tone disturbingly calm. "If you'd been smart, you wouldn't have done this. Now, you're going to pay the price."

Before the man could respond, Louis fired a single, precise shot through his head. He looked down at the lifeless body, scowling. "Piece of shit." he muttered. "Clean up this mess." he ordered his people as he walked away towards his car.

He drove to his apartment, craving some time alone. As he settled in, he remembered that he needed to contact Harry. He had to get closer to him as quickly as possible. Pulling his second phone from the car's drawer, he texted the green-eyed man.

"Hey, it's Nicolas. Can we meet up sometime this week? Maybe tomorrow, if you're free."

He didn't have to wait long for a response; Harry agreed almost immediately.

Tomlinson smiled smugly to himself; everything was going according to plan. Yet the thought of having to spend time with the shy, irritating man filled him with reluctance. It didn't matter, though. He would do whatever it took to keep him and his people safe from the cops. Soon, he would find out everything this awkward detective knew, and he would make his life a living hell, ruining all his accomplishments on the case. Harry Styles was messing with the wrong people, and Louis would make sure the boy understood just how bad of an idea that was. Nobody messed with THE Louis Tomlinson.