Uptown Boy (Narry Storan)

Prologue

HS

"Why're you back so late?" Was the first thing I heard the second I stepped foot into my house.

"You know how it is." I sigh out. "There's this major project coming up in the studio and-"

"Bull-fucking-shit." He barks, cutting me off. I slam the door shut behind me, squaring my eyes at him.

"What's your problem?" I snap in response, feeling frustration building up within me.

"It's always work with you isn't it? 24-7. Is it that hard for you to just take a break from work? It's a fucking Saturday night for fucks sake." He exasperates. I groan, rolling my eyes and toeing my shoes off.

"Do you think I want this, Louis?" I snap.

"Well, you're the fucking boss, why can't you just-"

"Exactly why I'm the boss that's why I can't simply 'take a break'." I add finger quotations, dropping my bag on the sofa before striding towards my kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

"Well, because of your damn studio, we-"

"Damn studio?" I cut him off, anger slowly starting to build up in me. "This 'damn studio', Louis, is my life. I brought it up from scratch all by myself. Seriously, how selfish can you get? This is my livelihood." I say, vexed.

"I know it is, but when you're down in that office of yours for like what- fourteen hours a day? You can't expect me to not worry. You're making this relationship go down the drain." He retorts. I couldn't help the scoff spilling from my lips.

"Yeah, when I'm out there making a living for myself, it's wrong. And when you go down to the fucking club almost every weekend doing who-knows-what, it's okay?" I retaliate. He narrows his eyes at me.

"Oh quit being so whiney. At least I bother coming over, wishing to spend some time together. And all you've done is come back at freaking midnight, and when you're back, you continue working until it's three in the morning." He snaps.

"You know how the design line is like, Louis." I groan. "Being a designer isn't as easy as it looks you know."

"Don't give me that bullcrap. You know what, I'm sick of this. Your work's always in the fucking way. And you," he shoves a finger in my face rudely, "obviously don't give a damn rats arse about us." He shouts, coming up closer to me. That's when I notice something's off.

"You've been drinking." I state, matter of factly. He rolls his eyes.

"So fucking what? A guy needs a drink once in awhile. Stop being such a little bitch about it." He speaks harshly.

"You know what, just get out of my place Louis. I'm stressed enough at work, I don't need you coming over to my place, telling me that my career is causing our relationship to go down the drain." I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath. I want to shout, throw a tantrum. I want to vent, let it out, but I don't want to say words that I don't mean.

But clearly, he wants to say words that he does mean.

"Fuck you, Harry." He spits harshly, close to my face, shoving at my chest angrily, causing me to smell the all too familiar hint of alcohol in his breath.