city lights; larry au

one

louis;

Cold, bloody cold,  is all Louis could think as he rushed out of the warmth of the town car and into the frigid New York air. He rushed into the tall building that he knew an entire staff of photographers, interns, and his management team had been waiting in for the last forty-five minuets. He wasn't purposefully late, this time, but his most recent one-night stand didn't seem to get the memo that she was just that, a one-night stand. 

Louis wasn't a particularly terrible person, he just simply didn't care much if his actions inconvenienced others. He tried to ever so nicely kick her out, but she practically insisted on staying for breakfast. (Stacy, Susan, Sally? he couldn't, didn't care to remember) had just gotten out of a relationship that she drunkenly droned on about until they ended up in Louis' flat.

So this whole ordeal resulted in Louis waltzing into the room of the photoshoot, forty-five minutes late and very, very hungover. 

"Louis," the awful, nagging voice of one of his managers pierced through the room and into his ears. 

It was something he was used to by now. He would show up late to a photoshoot and every time he would hear the same voice in the same condescending tone, scolding him even though he knew they wouldn't fire him. 

They couldn't fire him really.

So when he was greeted by Jessica, the awful, nagging voice, he would roll his eyes but otherwise she was simply ignored. 

He knew the routine well, it was like second nature: an overly caffeinated, overly eager intern would direct him to wherever the clothes were that he was modeling, all the while bombarding him with questions that aggravated him to no end.

Too many would you like coffee, sir?  followed by oh you can't eat or drink on shoot days? i'm so sorry sir were being thrown around for his liking.

A string of mumbled profanities and profuse apologies seemed to forever follow these interns.

Once in his dressing room, Louis heard the (awful, nagging) voice again, but this time the anger and frustration it held seemed to be directed at something else instead of him, and he (couldn't, didn't care to) know what it was.

"Louis, we have to speed this up. We've only got the place booked for another hour before someone else gets it," he heard Jessica call from the other side of the partition that separated his nearly naked body from hers.

"Who's got it booked after us?" He surprised himself by asking this because the truth was, he didn't actually care who it was.

"The jackasses at YSL swooped in and practically stole this place from us," Louis could practically see her rolling her eyes and frustratedly tapping away at her phone, "but I've managed to convince the owners of the space to allow us an extra hour."

She emphasized the fact that she was the savior of the day.

It wasn't that Adidas and YSL were some type of rivals, considering they were hardly marketing to the same types of customers, but fashion week was approaching rapidly and every company that mattered were fighting tooth and nail for shots for their ads. 

Louis decided that was about all he cared to hear so he proceed with his mundane routine of a shoot day.

What felt like hours later (really it was only thirty minutes) the crew was packing up and Louis had changed into loose-fitting joggers and no shirt. 

Jessica informed him they needed to be out in five minutes because the next shoot's crew was ready to set up. 

So Louis put on his jumper. It wasn't that he was self conscious because of the (assumedly gorgeous) male models that were beginning to arrive. He had an amazing body and he knew it, but he didn't feel like being tapped shirtless and reading some bullshit story about it tomorrow, and it was cold, bloody cold outside. 

Just as he had his jumper halfway slipped over his head, he felt he was being watched. He turned around and his blue eyes met with green ones and he froze. He didn't know why he was reacting this way, but he soon snapped himself out of it and thought of something to say to the (beautiful, but he would never admit that) boy.

"Enjoying the view?" he cocked an eyebrow and smirked the way he knew made most people freeze up and stutter.

"Very much so, actually," and the curly haired boy smirked right back at him (didn't so much as bat an eye at Louis' cockiness) and this time Louis was the one who was frozen to his spot and stuttering. 

So he turned around and marched right out of the room, steam practically coming out of his ears, down to the lobby, and into the (cold, bloody cold) New York air trying desperately to get green eyes and smirks on bubblegum lips out of his head.