these bountiful silences

xv. guise

"I was a rebel with a cause, and now that I look back at it, I wonder if I ever was."

xv. guise

If there's one thing that Louis hates with a burning passion, it's his Superior kit. It's ill-fitting, an annoying shade of white, and generally uncomfortable. At least he's not alone in his total distaste for the offending outfit, if Zayn's weak snort is anything to go by.

"You look like a tosser." Zayn projects from where he's lying on the small nest of blankets Louis made for him. "They didn't even give you the right size."

"Of course they didn't," Louis says aloud and sits on his small rolling chair by his work desk, rolling up the cuffs of his too-long trousers and mentally planning the demise of several Movement Officials. "The Movement never makes a mistake unless they're pissed off."

Louis checks how many words he has left- 48 -and shakes his head, pressing one of the panels on his wristband, watching smugly when the number shifts to the standard 04. It took him a lot of work to manipulate the wires of the band to give him more words, and even more to assure that he blends in with all of the civilians; it will always be the invention that he's most proud of.

"Well, you're quite good at pissing them off. A natural havoc supplier."

"You do woo me, Z. Now, get some rest. And just call for Liam if you need to change your bandage. Or if you're hungry. Just- don't strain yourself, alright?"

"Noted, Tommo. But I'm probably not going to ask for anything. It's not worth speaking to him if I don't have the strength to clock him just yet."

"You can't punch my mate." Even though you're more than justified to, and I kind of want to punch him, too.

"He's a twat, Lou. A twat that bashed me in the back of the head with a vase. I think I should get a free pass to punch him in his terrifyingly large doe eyes."

Louis opens his mouth, gearing up to inform Zayn that perhaps he'll allow it, as long as Louis, himself, is not present for said punch but is cut off by the whoosh of the door opening. Liam whisks in with his eyes set on the ground and a scribe in his hands; he refuses to wear the Thought Projection Prototype any longer, having told Louis as soon as he returned to their flat from his kip with the Styles bloke that he felt guilty using it, that him using that puts him on the same "disgraceful" boat that Zayn's on. So he stopped, and Louis let him. Now Liam just totes his scribe around everywhere and projects bits of words to him. There's a strain between the two of them now, and Louis can feel the heavy weight of Liam's disappointment pressing in his chest. He just can't quite bring himself to care; not when he's disappointed in Liam, too.

"Your port departs in 15 minutes." Liam projects the words in to the air, staring stonily at Louis. He doesn't acknowledge Zayn; hardly has. "Don't want to be late for your first day."

Louis nods and stands, wiping his hands against his trousers and sparing Zayn a nod in parting; one that he returns. He looks odd like this, with guaze wrapped around his head and deep circles under his eyes. He's still unnaturally beautiful; but just not the radiant Zayn that Louis is used to. The dark, angry part of Louis blames it all on Liam. Liam hit Zayn over the head, Liam was going to let Zayn bleed out. The illusion that Louis built of Liam shattered completely in just a few quick seconds. Gone we the innocent Liam with his whole-hearted trust and loyalty. Gone was the person that Louis fell asleep wrapped around some nights, feeling this luxury of saftey that he hardly comes by anymore. It was like the ground was swept out from beneath his feet in a few short seconds, and Louis is trying to just find new purchase.