larry- one shots

then we talk slow

...mitochondria is?

Louis shuffled around his flat, cup of tea in hand, music loudly thrumming throughout the space. It was a bright Saturday morning, and Louis had just woken up after sleeping an incredible thirteen hours.

"I'm a motherfuckin' starboy," Louis sang along to the track, and completed a small twirl in the middle of his hallway. The past few weeks had drained him physically, but Louis honestly couldn't remember a time in the past few years when he felt so much hope, so much optimism.

Liam would be insufferable if he saw just how happy Louis was right now.

Liam Payne, Louis' best friend and manager, eternally annoying optimist that he was, swore up and down to Louis that the trouble they went through switching record companies would eventually pay off. He promised Louis with everything he had, swearing on his own father's life, that moving to Starry Night Records was going to change everything. Louis had bet his left nipple that it wouldn't.

Now every time Liam greeted Louis, he would yell through laughter "That's mine!" while trying to pinch Louis' chest mercilessly.

Louis was too thrilled with the outcome of his new record company to really argue with him about it.

He continued to dance down his hallway with tea in hand, bopping his head to the beat of the music. Passing by his living room, he saw the remnants of last night's writing session strewn about his coffee table – notebook lying face open covered in writing, bits of paper torn out and thrown balled up to the ground, three pens scattered about, and an empty mug sitting precariously close to the edge. Nearby the writing wreckage, letterhead from Starry Night was visible – a letter from the company welcoming Louis wholeheartedly to the family.

Starry Night Records: Louis never thought his name would be linked with a label that valued and respected their artists. Since he was eighteen, he had only ever associated with record executives and companies that made him feel like a product- something to be used, something to profit off of, but not someone who mattered.

For a while, Louis was able to compartmentalize all of that. He pushed away the gross feelings he got when the execs would talk about him like he wasn't sitting right in front of them. He made excuses when they strategized about his image without once taking his opinion into account. And most importantly, he kept his mouth shut when they branded him as a teen heartthrob, printing stories about him breaking girls' hearts left and right.

It will all be worth it eventually, he had told himself over and over. But one year turned into two which turned into five, and 'eventually' never seemed to show up.

It was on the eve of his twenty-fourth birthday that he admitted to Liam, drunkenly, secretly, that he was so tired of pretending – pretending to be straight, pretending to be okay with the way his career was handled. Louis thought Liam would give his typical pep talk and move on, but to his manager's credit he started researching what they needed to do to be released of their contractual hold.

A year and a half and quite a few legal fees later, Louis was finally free.

"Hundred on the dash get me close to God, we don't pray for love, we just pray for cars," Louis continued singing along as he entered his bedroom, steaming cup of tea still in hand. His floor to ceiling windows shed incredible light on his room, hardwood floors gleaming as his messy, unmade bed sat in front of him with his laptop in the middle. Louis sat his tea down on his bedside table and flopped onto his white duvet. He had spent the first half hour after waking up perusing social media, checking out the buzz surrounding his new song.