Home - Nouis

Chapter 1

Louis Tomlinson sat alone in the cavernous greenroom, surrounded by blinding mirrors and the stale scent of makeup and leather jackets. He was fiddling with the broken clasp of his bracelet, his thoughts a relentless cycle of stress and dread. Simon had been relentless in the last meeting, tearing into him over everything from his wardrobe choices to his latest song's tone, insisting he lacked the "marketability" needed for a chart-topping artist. The words had clung to him, heavy as weights on his chest.

His manager, Mike, had tried to stand up for him, reasoning that Louis's authenticity was his strength. Simon had dismissed him with a cold laugh, shifting his gaze back to Louis as if daring him to argue. Louis had learned long ago that defiance only led to harder blows—psychological, but still devastating.

The door creaked open, and Mike stepped in, his expression worn and hollow. The usual comforting grin he flashed after every brutal meeting was gone, replaced by something colder, more final. Louis felt the temperature in the room drop.

"Louis..." Mike's voice was steady but strained, and Louis's heart plummeted.

"What is it?" Louis asked, attempting to hide the tremor in his voice.

Mike took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't... I can't keep doing this. I've tried to hold on, to help you, but Simon..." He swallowed, searching for words. "Simon's not going to change. He's dead set on this... on tearing you down to fit his mold, and I can't keep watching it happen."

Louis blinked, the meaning behind Mike's words settling in with the weight of a sledgehammer.

"You're... quitting?" Louis barely managed to whisper.

Mike's shoulders slumped, and he nodded, guilt shadowing his gaze. "Louis, it's not you. I'd stick it out if I thought there was any way I could protect you from him. But I've reached my limit. I've fought as hard as I could."

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Mike had been one of the few constants in Louis's career, someone he could rely on to pull him back from the edge when Simon's words bit too deeply. And now he was leaving. Louis felt a cold sense of betrayal mixed with understanding. He wanted to hate Mike, to blame him for abandoning him, but he knew—he could see—how broken he was. Simon's brutal, relentless tactics wore down everyone.

Louis forced himself to speak, a sharp edge to his words to cover the hurt. "So that's it? You're leaving me right when the tour's about to start?"

Mike's face softened, regret pooling in his eyes. "I know the timing's terrible. And I know this is going to make things harder for you. But I don't see any other way. I have to take care of myself too." He placed a hand on Louis's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You're stronger than you think, Louis. And I know you'll get through this, one way or another."

Louis wanted to scoff, to push him away, but he didn't have the energy to lash out. Instead, he sat motionless, nodding stiffly as Mike left the room, the echo of the closing door pressing on his chest like a final, shattering silence.

After Mike's departure, everything felt colder, sharper. His absence was a hollow ache that Simon's criticisms only seemed to amplify. Rehearsals were a grueling parade of backhanded comments, demands to tone down his "sensitive image," critiques of his "flamboyant" style—all under the guise of helping him become more marketable. Simon's scowl alone made his stomach twist with a fear he hated admitting to. Without Mike there to shield him or at least throw in a word of defense, Louis was exposed to the full brunt of Simon's vision for him—a hollow version of himself molded into something he could barely recognize.

Louis was exhausted, the fire that once drove him now barely a flicker. Late nights were spent rewriting lyrics Simon had rejected, scrapping chords he'd once loved because they weren't "commercial" enough. Simon's voice filled his mind like a relentless echo, stripping away the music he'd made for himself, turning it into a hollow shell.

In a rare moment of quiet, Louis sat on the stage alone, the darkened seats in front of him stretching out like an endless sea. He ran his fingers along his guitar, feeling the rough edges of the strings under his calloused fingertips. It was hard to believe he had once found solace in this, that he had once believed he could be both true to himself and successful.

The door creaked open, and a production assistant approached him hesitantly, as though afraid to break the fragile silence. "Simon wants you in his office," she murmured, her voice laced with a hint of pity.

Louis stood, feeling the weight of the request settle over him like a shroud. Another meeting, another endless tirade about what he was doing wrong and how he needed to change. He felt the heaviness of it before he even reached Simon's door, a suffocating cloak he wore every time he entered that room.

But for all his frustration and weariness, he knew there was no way out—at least, none he could see yet. The thought of walking away had crossed his mind, but he couldn't stomach it. He had worked too hard, given too much, and despite everything, he still loved music. He couldn't let Simon rob him of that too.

As he entered Simon's office, he steeled himself, tightening his grip on the guitar strap slung over his shoulder. Whatever Simon threw at him today, he would endure. He had to. For now, at least, survival meant bending until he could find a way to break free.