Mr Styles

So much for his quiet afternoon. That parking lot encounter had been an absolute shitshow. Who knows if Shawn would leave him alone. And he didn't even want to think about what Louis thought of all this. He'd seen the emotions flashing across the boy's face and each one pained him. Confusion, fear, anger, then settling into uncertainty and discomfort.

How did everything become such a convoluted mess? The man shut his front door behind him with more force than necessary. He decided a good long boxing session was in order.

Harry quickly changed into a white tee with the sleeves pushed up, black gym shorts, white socks and his neon nikes. He was still seething with anger as he adjusted his gloves and started working on the bag.

Jab, jab. Why was this asshole so obsessed?

He hopped to the left and right, light on his feet. What did he mean when he said 'you're lying?' Was he guessing or did he know something?

Jab, jab, a cross punch with his right hand, duck, followed by an uppercut. Sweat began to gather at his hairline, a few tiny curls escaping from the little bun on top of his head. Had he said something he didn't remember while he was drinking?

He bounced on his feet, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Jab, jab, then a shoeshine - close to the bag he pummeled it, rapid punches moving almost as fast as his thoughts. Did Louis think he'd hooked up with Shawn? Was everything he'd gone through for his boy now ruined? Was it just another failure?

His movements became faster, going into more advanced combinations. He was fluid and graceful as he bobbed and weaved, striking like a wild animal whose predatory instincts had been triggered. He didn't know what he would have done if Shawn had laid a single finger on his Louis. He didn't want to know.

He kept going until he was exhausted, hugging the bag and catching his breath. He recalled his brave boy, scrutinizing every detail he'd observed. His bright eyes, his sassy mouth. The way his delicate hand had tensed on his duffel bag strap as that wretched Shawn had approached him, how he'd been ready to fight for his daddy.

Mr. Styles had practically seen red when that happened. If he weren't on school grounds, he would have made the jerk wish he'd never come looking for him. Louis was like a fragile flower whose perfection and purity must be protected at all costs. If anyone so much as stepped too close to his little daffodil, well, let's just say they wouldn't be walking for quite some time after that.

He would have never asked Louis to approach such a volatile situation on his behalf. He'd sooner break his own hand than allow Louis to break a single fingernail. He'd put himself through agony, just to prevent Louis from feeling the slightest twinge of discomfort.

What he wouldn't do to have been able to explain the situation to Louis. To tell him that though they were on a break he'd desired no one else, and had lusted only for Louis while they were apart. He'd draw the boy close for an intimate embrace, he'd stroke his hair and kiss his face until every trace of worry had vanished.

He didn't regret his decision to take a step back from Louis while the boy was grounded. It was for the best, he truly believed that. But it was still hard. And he didn't know if and when it would be safe for them to pick up where they left off.

The man tore back the velcro strap on one of his gloves with his teeth, pulling the gloves off and tossing them aside. His neat freak tendencies overtook him of course, so he picked the gloves up and placed them side by side on his end table instead.

He stretched his muscles, their definition bulging as he reached his arms above him and pulled first one elbow behind his neck, then the other. A lot of men didn't value being limber and flexible, but he did. After sitting down to stretch his long legs, his large hands wrapped around his toes and pulling, he took a moment to meditate and empty his mind. God he needed it.

He rearranged himself into the traditional position, cross legged on the floor. Closing his eyes he waited patiently for his energy to slow its chaotic state and he focused on a single thought, one wish.

The word 'peace' repeated in his mind as he relaxed his body from head to toe, pointer finger and thumb forming a circle as his wrists rested on his knees. The flow of his blood pulsed and rushed in his ears. His breaths steadily slowed as he inhaled a deep breath that expanded his entire diaphragm. He sat tall, seeking something he hadn't felt since he'd last laid in bed with his Louis that last Wednesday morning, his boy pressed against his side, hair messy from sleep, and face soft in the early morning light - right where he belonged.

Louis

When he'd finished eating, Louis decided that a shower would be amazing right now. He was feeling mentally overloaded, practically having whiplash from the way his emotions had been yanked from one extreme to the other, and the day wasn't even over yet.

The hot water felt soothing, slowly relieving the stiffness in his joints from the tension they'd been holding. He sighed and water dipped into his parted lips and ran down the sides of his face. He turned away from the droplets and let the water flow through his sweaty hair. He hummed in satisfaction and scratched his polished nails across his scalp.

As he soaped up and lathered himself, he forced his thoughts to stop worrying over the ambiguity of that encounter this afternoon, and instead look forward to the interview on Friday, and consider how he would present himself. What would he wear? Should he remove his polish and go for a natural look? Where were his dress shoes? Should he write out ideas for what he might have to say?

Louis finished showering, glad that he had managed to focus on something he could actually do anything about. Worrying over this was productive and practical. If he'd let himself surrender to his anxieties about the break, and wondering what the relationship was between Mr. Styles and Shawn, he'd go out of his mind for sure. He'd probably find himself searching for his car keys at midnight, desperate to sneak out and go see his daddy. As tempting as that would be, it was way too dangerous and would probably just make things worse, and anger the man.

Louis carefully combed his darkened caramel hair, pushing it to the side of his forehead. It had been so pleasing when his daddy brushed it for him. He yearned for those lazy days they'd spent together, alone and secluded from the rest of the world. He'd give anything to return to that place, and that passion.

Louis dressed in comfy clothes and took stock of his nicest outfits. He had plenty of fancy clothes, he prided himself on the range from skinny jeans and tee shirts to khakis and colorful button downs. He put together a few options, neatly moving hangers to have each complete look next to each other. He nodded, satisfied with the choices.

Researching potential interview questions would be for another day. He still had homework and though the shower was refreshing, his nerves felt like they'd been deep fried. He played soft music and sat at his desk, working diligently on his assignments.

A few hours later he snapped his textbook shut and leaned back in his chair, stretching and yawning unnecessarily loudly. Before everything had gone to absolute hell, he'd been craving some piano practice, so that's what he'd do.

He warmed up his fingers with slow scales, gradually increasing the speed. Instead of staring down at his hands, he looked out the window and watched the cars passing below on the street, the occasional squirrel or bird hurrying from tree to tree. He felt a pang of loneliness, it seemed like he was missing out on life being trapped in his house.

After running through Little Things, inspiration struck and he hopped up from his chair, not wanting to forget the seedling of an idea that had started to form in his mind. He grabbed his notebook and favorite pen, throwing himself on his bed.

He may have managed to stop mulling over this afternoon's events, but his subconscious had stubbornly returned to Mr. Styles when he'd practiced Little Things. Might as well succumb to his emotions and heartache. At least he'd get a song out of it.

He allowed himself to feel everything he'd been pushing down, down to where he could almost forget it. Betrayal, envy, anger, possessiveness, yearning, love that still thrived despite everything that tried to tear it apart.

He sniffled a little as tears threatened to fall. He couldn't help it. Your first love would always have a particular hold over your heart. 'First love', that particular phrase stuck out to him and he put pen to paper.

Boy, it should be me
Driving to your house
Knocking on your door
Kissing you on the mouth
Holding on your hand
Dancing in the dark
'Cause I was the only one who loved you from the start

But now when I see you with him it
Tears my world apart

Because,
I've been waiting
All this time to finally say it
But now I see your heart's been taken
And nothing could be worse
Baby, I loved you first.

Louis paused halfway through the verse and lifted his pen, tapping it thoughtfully against his chin as he brainstormed. It was a good start. He hummed a little tune that seemed fitting. Upbeat. Like a hopefulness underlying the bittersweet lyrics.

He remembered how helpless he'd felt as he watched Shawn fight for the man that Louis loved, the first and last person he thought of every day. The one who he'd fallen in love with so fast that it scared him. He felt foolish for not having proclaimed his love when he had the chance, before someone else more bold tried to snatch away what he loved the most. 'Missed chances.' Inspiration returned.

Had my chances
Could've been where he is standing
That's what hurts the most,
Boy, I came so close
But now you'll never know
Baby, I loved you first (I loved you first, loved you first)

Louis sat up, wanting to add a bit of music now that he'd fleshed the song out. He unplugged his keyboard and lifted it from the stand, setting it on his bed and trying out a melody. He sat cross legged as he continued writing.

Boy, it should be me
Calling on your phone
Saying you're the one, and that I'll never let you go
I never understood, what love was really like,
But I felt it for the first time looking in your eyes
But now when I see you with him
My whole world falls apart

He paused to plan the rest, the outpouring of words had waned for a moment. He tossed down the pen, flopping on his back and staring at his ceiling. "Kiss... what rhymes with that? Miss... his... no, not really... this... hmm, like this? yeah. Yes bitch."

He rolled over and snatched up his pen, the fickle inspiration churning once again. He smiled to himself as he wrote furiously; it was so satisfying when the words arrived all at once and provided a welcome distraction from his chaotic afternoon.

The first touch
The first kiss
First boy to make me feel like this
Heartbreak
It's killing me
I loved you first, why can't you see?

He didn't want to force the whole thing at once, though it felt a bit unfinished he was the type of writer that once it wasn't flowing easily he'd set it aside for later and think it over. He changed mental gears and placed his hands hesitantly upon his keyboard.

He had a loose idea of the music he'd put to this song. He wanted it to be upbeat and catchy. Something you could sing at the top of your lungs for everyone to hear and envy the fearless depth of your love.

So maybe Louis was a bit conceited when it came to his talent, and what about it? He'd found a way to channel the chaos into a creation he was proud of. He wondered if in another life he would've pursued a career in music, behind the scenes as a songwriter or even as a performer. It seemed so unpredictable though, and he wasn't one to roll the dice on his future. A career in sports medicine or something was more practical. Regardless, making music was a nice hobby. Maybe someday he'd put out an EP if he felt brave enough and got the means to do so.

He wrote some chords in his notebook, and a bit of the melody giving himself a frame of the music he'd like to pair it with. Then he powered off the keyboard and returned it to the stand. His pillow looked very inviting and he snuggled into his blanket. This day had been exhausting to say the least. He slowly closed his eyes and drifted to a sleep that was somewhere between awake and unconscious.

He had vague dreams that shifted between Mr. Styles' lovely face, delicious touch and deep voice whispering in his ear, and long journeys in which he was seeking something that he couldn't quite reach, in an unknown city.

The shifting stopped, settling into a clear and purposeful dream that felt very real:

It was Friday afternoon and Louis had just finished dressing for his interview. He stood in front of his mirror, carefully smoothed his collar down and ran a hand through his hair. The doorbell rang.

"Louis?" his mother called him from downstairs. "Your ride is here!" Her tone was playful, how one speaks when teasing about a crush.

"Coming!" he yelled as he ran through the house. Louis threw open the front door and there he was, waiting.

Mr. Styles, smiling softly, an absolute vision in his classic white shirt, black tie and matching dress pants. "Ready? You look stunning by the way."

Louis had the sense one does when logic isn't quite right and you almost realize you're dreaming. He didn't quite grasp it though, and instead leaned up for a gentle kiss. He called out a goodbye to his mother and stepped outside.

"Thanks, daddy," he replied bashfully as he was led to the man's car. "You look handsome."

They bantered about who would control the music on their little road trip and Louis eventually won. They stopped at a gas station for drinks and Mr. Styles surprised Louis by pushing his back against the car, pressing himself against the boy and kissing him hungrily.

"So proud of you baby," he murmured, and Louis all but purred from the praise. "Love how smart you are, you'll be perfect." Louis greedily tipped his head back, offering his neck and Mr. Styles unbuttoned a few of Louis' dress shirt buttons as he kissed down the side, holding his jaw.

"Uh, daddy? I think we're scarring that family for life." Louis said, embarrassed as hell when he noticed a family with children hurrying past them, the mother shaking her head disapprovingly.

"Good, I hope the father's jealous."

Louis squirmed away, as wrong as it felt and fixed his shirt. Then they were back on the road. Snacks were shared, and hands were held whenever Louis could seize the chance. Familiar roads turned to unknown highways. Suburbs were left behind and soaring buildings came into view.

If Louis was alone, he probably would have been intimidated. But he wasn't, so he was just filled with nervous excitement and anticipation. Eventually they arrived at the campus, Louis rolled down the window to take it all in. The chatter and laughter of passing students, occasional music of passing cars.

"We're here," Mr. Styles announced after parking and turning off the car. They sat in silence for a moment, the boy rubbing his sweaty palms across his thighs. Louis had something he really wanted to say before he got out of the car, so he turned to the man.

But Mr. Styles was gone, vanished. Louis glanced around, confused.

"Mr. Styles?" he called out. "...Daddy?" The scene changed, Louis was now the one in the driver's seat, and it was his own car. His phone was on his lap, open to a gps app that was signaling he had reached his destination.

"I love you," he said, but there was no one there to hear it.

-

That evening he was awoken by his mother calling him for dinner. They had chinese food and she asked him about how his day was. Louis skipped over the weird love triangle of course, talking about classes and his new friends, and that he'd had a good soccer practice.

He cracked open a fortune cookie when he'd finished eating and stuffed the dessert into his mouth before unrolling the little slip of paper. It read, 'you'll be disappointed if you fail, but doomed if you don't try.' He got up from his chair and scraped his plate into the trash. He held the fortune over the open trash to throw away, then changed his mind and pocketed it instead.

He helped his mother clean up and she remarked on his change in demeanor, having not shown interest in household chores before.

"I guess I'm growing up," he shrugged, knowing who he had to thank for the domestic influence.

Once in his room he took the fortune from his pocket and read the words again. He went to the hiding place for Mr. Styles' house key in his desk drawer and opened the old eyeglasses case, revealing that it was just as he'd left it. He neatly slid the paper underneath the key, and stroked his finger down the cold metal. He felt kind of silly. What was he creating, a shrine to his daddy? A time capsule to bury in the backyard and dig up later? Whatever. He didn't know what had compelled him to do it, but this felt right - it was a comfort and a source of courage amidst this uncertain time.