Roses | ziam.

Innuendo

The spotlights shone down on them relentlessly, writhing hotly against glazed, sleek bodies. Oiled, smooth expanse of skin sparkled as though dusted with glittery stars as the women pranced and twirled their way across the catwalk in an undulating trail of avant-garde couture, like how a necklace would unravel all the way down to their pearls. Accessories such as rhinestone bracelets and chunky rings winked coquettishly from the willowy limbs of the models.

The air swelled with the scent of opulence, pleasure and of course, the fecundity of sheer, domineering money. From Liam's vantage point, he could see the rich and the famous ensconced in cozy little circles of part-conversation and part-bragging at the pier. Wives compared the size of their diamond rings and their wardrobe, each barbed insult cleverly hidden behind their counterfeit smiles and cutting eyes. Their husbands, on the other hand, stood just out of earshot of their wives while they, similarly, boasted, but about their own stashed-away mistresses.

Thumbprints of pomegranate cloud lingered stubbornly in the sky, nothing but mere dregs of the sunset. Liam tipped his head back and finished off the last remnants of his champagne, but before he even could place the glass down, a waiter had swiftly appeared out of nowhere and refreshed his glass.

Only two people were present in the highest level: Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne, one an upcoming fashion designer whose radical outfits were the latest trend and so in vogue and another an equally rising star in the hospitality industry.

Both lads were safely sequestered away from the hoi polloi. Liam could only hear the muffled, thumping bass from the music below them and the gentle lapping of waves against the dock.

Louis pursed his lips in mild irritation, his sharp eyes hooking onto one particular model.

"She's wearing the sodding thing all wrong! The ribbon's supposed to be on the other side! How many bloody times have I told them, those imbeciles!" The brunette huffed angrily. Without preamble, he picked up a pencil on the table and began to sketch, his hand a blur with each frolic and frill of evening wear.

Seeing the agitation on his friend's face, Liam chuckled and leaned back into his cushioned chair. Liam knew that that meant Louis was concentrating hard, so he wisely kept quiet and enjoyed the ambience. He had always known Louis would eventually become a designer. Back when they were still in school, it was uncanny how Louis could just come up with an eclectic mix of outfits that, even to Liam's practiced eye for fashion, would never work well together, yet when he wore it, it just seemed to… fit.

Gradually, the stroke and rhythm of Louis' hand decelerated as he placed the finishing touches on his drawing.

"Are you free tomorrow evening? I'm hosting a dinner," Liam asked, a long fingernail tracing the rim of his wine glass judiciously.

"Who'll be there?" Louis replied in a distracted tone while he valiantly tried to rub away a dirty smudge on the paper.

"Well... the usual. Emma, Victoria, Vincent, and... Harry," Liam ended in a croon, dangling Harry's name craftily like a wanton treat. The lad knew that Louis had always had a soft spot for Harry. True to his suspicions, Louis blinked and paused in his rubbing, his ears pricked with interest.

"Oh really. He's back in town?" Louis asked lightly, the exclamation in his voice camouflaged. But Liam didn't miss the way his eyes lit up like twin beacons, the tell-tale twinkle giving his attentiveness away.

"He's just returned from Italy, having made a proper name for himself as a prominent wine connoisseur. And yes, he's staying for good this time. It's just such a shame that you're probably going back to Tokyo after this," Liam sighed plaintively. He loved spending time with Louis; his bubbly, lively presence rejuvenated him. He never failed to give him a good laugh whenever he needed it, and Liam just… missed Louis whenever the lad wasn't around.