That's Me In The Spotlight {The Jesus Fic}.

Chapter 1

Je deteste Paris, Louis muttered under his breath as he stepped off the curb straight into a fresh pile of dog shit. Fantastique. Fan-fucking-tastic.
It honestly didn't matter that he'd ruined a suede pair of Saint Laurent boots – he'd nicked them from work and he'd do the same once he arrived there in ten minutes. Of course, sample size was a bit big for him, but having to wear thick socks every day had become part of his routine years ago.

Having several thousand euro worth of clothing at his fingertips didn't excite him one bit, which said something about how jaded he'd gotten since moving to Paris from the French countryside thirteen years ago. Louis' eyes cast over to the dome of the Louvre just visible in the distance. So tacky. Stupid fucking pyramid, this isn't Egypt for fuck's sake...
Definitely jaded.

He'd arrived in Paris at the fresh age of nineteen and back then, the Louvre was his Mecca, a shiny glass lid that contained everything that mattered to him: Fashion Week. He'd only gone to two shows and had to sit way in the back, but that didn't matter. Actually, it was probably for the best that he was hidden at the back, because Balmain had actually made him cry – 2002 had a lot of shiny blacks and daring textures that looked so good they were like a visual massage. That's what fashion was to Louis: something so perfectly beautiful that it actually hurt.
Nothing else ever made him feel that way.

Louis took to the fashion industry like a duck to water – and perhaps the industry took to him just as well, a clear-skinned young boy with a light tan, neatly trimmed hair moulded in to a messy quiff, cute Peter-Pan features balanced out by just the perfect amount of scruff on his jaw.

He was well-dressed, too, and had the confidence that made lesser-known brands go from 'pedestrian' to 'independent designer'. Louis wasn't saying that he brought Nevalia to Paris, but – well, yes. He was saying that. At his second fashion week a paparazzo had grabbed him by the arm, practically slamming him against the backdrop yelling, 'Who are you wearing, who are you wearing?' That was all it took. Nevalia had been featured in the next month's issue of Vogue Paris.

By his fourth fashion week, he was working backstage and had to catch a model as she fainted. Later that year in Milan he'd dealt with his first celebrity overdose at an afterparty – he suddenly realised that was why his boss had made him take a full course of first aid for a simple senior assistant job.

As for this year? The models had only gotten thinner. He'd spent more time lining up coke for them than actually seeing the clothes themselves, and that wasn't anything other than expected. He did get a special invitation to Valentino, which he'd thought he was really looking forward to, but in half the photographs of the runway models you could see him there in the front row; yawning.

Casually tossing €3,500 shoes into a bin before stepping barefoot into the foyer of his work, 32- year old Louis Tomlinson was a far cry from the teenager who had pranced around Paris with Madonna's Vogue on repeat off his iPod.
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It was unfair, and Harry Styles told his pastor exactly that: “This is completely unfair!” He'd waited his whole life for this.
Each year he watched his older cousins go overseas; Indonesia, Ghana, India, Malta, Samoa, the list went on. They'd return a year or so later, skin tanned and faith strengthened tenfold. That was what Harry lived and breathed for, that was why he had fast- tracked his schooling to graduate early, that was why he spent his babysitting money on a big hiking backpack.
A backpack he wouldn’t even get to use now. It was so unfair.

Harry had watched in despair as the breaking news came up on the Christian Network TV channel. Due to escalations of violence in several developing countries, the United Nations had passed a new regulation: no religious missionaries under the age of 25.
Sixteen-year-old Harry had thought he would be on a plane in a matter of months, now he had to wait almost ten years? It was so, so unfair.