SPACES [Editing]

Metaphors

There will be several POV switched for this chapter!

Enjoy! (Or not)

Louis Tomlinson

He has green eyes, just like Harry and his dad. But his eyes are different. They're cold and empty and they're staring at me, enough to send shivers down my spine. And I know I should've left, I know I should've ignored him, but it's too late now.

"Your phone's buzzing in your pocket. S'that Harry?" He said, walking to the corner of the room, picking up a bottle of champagne.

"He doesn't know." I answered him as he rolled his sleeves up.

"Are you just gonna stand there? Come on, sit down." He popped the champagne and poured them into glasses as I sat down hesitantly. Because shit, I shouldn't be here. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Benjamin. Ben. Ben Styles."

He handed me the glass and clinked his against mine, producing a sound which I hope is loud enough to drown out the sound of my irregular breathing.

He stood by the window, looking out the city with his back facing me. What he's wearing fits him so well, almost like every piece was tailored for him. He looks so manly, so posh. Like everything's expensive-- his shoes probably cost more than all of my life's savings. He drinks the champagne and puts his glass down on his table before undoing the first two buttons of his top. He checked the time on his watch and then poured himself another glass. His entire being screams that he's Scott Disick.

"I'm pretty sure you're wondering why you're here," he finally turned around, giving me more time to see his face. He's probably a few years older, probably in his thirties. He doesn't look like Harry and Gemma and he doesn't have a British accent. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he was born and raised here, in one of the biggest hotels in the state, surrounded by the elite.

"You're Louis Tomlinson, aren't you?" He asked me, sitting at the couch that's adjacent to where I'm sitting. I simply nodded. "You can talk, you know? This conversation isn't recorded or anything. I'm not into that creepy type of shit."

"Yes, I'm Louis." I answered dryly.

"Harry's husband. Yes?"

And I nodded again, losing the ability to produce any sound. There's no point in denying it, he probably hired a private investigator to follow us around or something. That's probably the 'creepy type of shit' he's into. But what does this bloke need from me?

"So it's true? You really are married, aren't you? Did he turn you gay or were you lured by the money?" Words carelessly flowed out of his mouth.

"Neither," I cleared my throat.

"Ah, so it's love?" He asked, his eyes squinting a bit before returning back to their normal state, like he's trying to analyze me or something. I couldn't stare at him that long, not when I want to punch him dead. I clenched my jaw and rolled my fist into a ball, anything to stop me from hurting him physically.

"You know I'm engaged, right? With a girl? And I heard that you're also engaged, which is weird because you're already married. I wouldn't blame you, though. You're probably the type who's into the whole paper process. I know you know how expensive your husband is, but he's even more valuable than that. Harry's worth more than you know, I'm telling you. You made the right decision, choosing a rich husband considering that the school you're working at is going bankrupt. You're a smart kid, Louis. I'll give you that. You'll go far in life." He said, and I could tell that he's convinced that his words bear such truth in them.