Habit

Chapter 2: Little Things

Aside from the somewhat poetic mess she'd created with Harry, Y/n genuinely loved her job. She loved the time she spent with the band, how appreciative they were of her work, and how they made her feel like she was a friend, not just an employee. To make things even better, in some crazy stroke of luck her best friends Katie and Sylvia had been hired to work on the tour as well, with Katie being the boys makeup artist and Sylvia as a dance instructor. It almost felt too good to be true. She definitely didn't mind the paycheck, either. And the travel—being able to explore the world while someone else footed the bill—was a dream come true. It was perfect... except for one small detail. Louis.

Louis made things... complicated. He was never still. Always moving, always fidgeting, always with something cheeky to say. And even when he wasn't puffing away on one of his ever-present cigarettes—though that was rare—he always smelled like smoke. Y/n hated that smell, the way it clung to him, to everything he touched, even to her clothes after she'd finished styling his hair. It wasn't just the smoke that drove her crazy, though. No, Louis had a talent for masking it with an overwhelming cloud of cologne that was so strong it practically choked her. The mix of stale cigarettes and overpowering fragrance gave her an instant headache, so her skull was constantly throbbing when she was around him, even when he wasn't talking her ear off, which, of course, he usually was. It was a lot to deal with—especially when she was already trying to navigate the tangled web of everything else going on around her.

Louis took a slow, unhurried drag, blowing a cloud of smoke directly into Y/n's face as he leaned back with a grin.

"Keep that up, and you'll be dead by next week," she muttered, fanning the smoke away with a look of practiced irritation.

Louis arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "You really think one cig's gonna do me in that quick, do you, love?"

"I wasn't talking about the cigarette," Y/n replied coolly, holding up her shears with a pointed glare.

Louis's eyes widened, and he jerked back, his hand reflexively reaching for his head. "Alright, alright, I'll quit it, easy on the threats! Thought I was the menace here," he muttered, but with a smirk that didn't quite hide the glint of amusement in his eyes. He stubbed out the cigarette on the edge of her station, leaving a small, scorched mark on the wood.

"Are you kidding me Louis?! You just put a burn mark on brand new custom wood, you freaking idiot!" Y/n smacked the back of his head, hard enough to make him wince.

"Oi!" Louis laughed, rubbing the spot, unbothered as ever. "What, I'm not allowed to have a little personality around here? It's like having a mum on tour, I swear. Can't breathe without supervision."

Y/n rolled her eyes, setting down the shears with a sigh. "I'm your stylist, not your babysitter."

Louis crossed his arms, his grin growing wider. "Could've fooled me. Besides, maybe I'd behave if you let me breathe once in a while, yeah?"

"Maybe you'd behave if you were actually capable of it," she muttered, grabbing her comb and motioning for him to sit down. "Now sit down and shut up."

Louis dropped into the chair with an exaggerated sigh, his eyes twinkling. "Good thing you know your way around a head of hair, Y/n. Because I've gotta say, your personality? Bit of a nightmare."

She smacked him once again as she fought a smile, shaking her head. Somehow, despite everything—despite him—he had a way of making the long hours and endless tasks feel a little less like work.

As she leaned in to work, fingers threading through his hair with precise, almost surgical care, Louis settled back, though his leg continued to fidget, swinging slightly. He watched her in the mirror, his expression a blend of amusement and something quieter, almost thoughtful, though he quickly masked it with his usual smirk.