Prompt: can you do Louis centric, when He Is songwriter, really shy And insecure
"Alright, boys?" John asks in a huff. He immediately commands the room as he strides purposefully into the room they're meeting in. He's a wide man, with a laugh that echoes from his gut and a bit of a belly protruding from the pristine fit of his suit. He's been their sound manager since their first single, and through his tough exterior, they knew he genuinely cared for all of them. It had taken awhile to crack his grisly voice and harsh critique however, once they did they discovered that he only wanted what was best for them.
That, and that he had a bit of a soft spot for talent. This fact was easy to see in his subconscious smile whenever Zayn hit a particularly high note, or the little quirk of his left cheek when someone sung their verse perfectly on the second or third try.
Another man comes bustling in behind him. He's a stark contrast from the striking bigness that John is, in the fact that he is small, and hunched in on the folder he's rounded over. There's a violet beany perched on top of his hair, and all the boys can see from where they're seated is his small hands where they clutch the pen he's using to scratch at the paper and the feather of his fringe underneath his hat.
John falls heavily into a seat opposite the boys, adjusting his position. As if remembering himself, he glanced up sharply and snaps his finger towards the man still lingering in the doorway.
"Tomlinson," he says, pointing towards the chair beside him, "Sit."
The boy looks up, blinking owlishly as if he'd been awoken from a daze, and then blushes fiercely. He sets his gaze downwards once more, closing his folder with an audible snap and obeying John's command.
The boys are stunned into a surprised quiet. Who is this attractive lad that John has hauled into their meeting? It's obvious that they'd never met him before, as they would have remembered such a face as his.
He sits down gingerly, as if afraid to make too much noise, avoiding their eyes as he focuses on the table.
"Okay," John states, emphasizing his words with a clap that startles them all into focus. Harry can't help but sneak lingering glances at the new man, whose profile shouldn't be fair. "We all know that Loyd is a little twat who went and sold what was supposed to be your next single to some group no one cares about."
He punctuated his last few words with enough venom to poison them all in the room. Lloyd had been their thirty-year-old songwriter, doing more than 50 % of the songs on their first album. It had come as a shock when the man flipped sides without so much as a word, especially when the boys treated him with nothing but respect. It had been a particularly large slap in the face to John, who had discovered the man three years ago writing commercial jingles and throwing away his talent. It was understandable that the older man held a certain amount of animosity.
"However, he's been appropriately blacklisted and whatnot so we'll just erase him from our memories and move on, yes? Yes. Especially because I have found someone five times better in the form of Louis here," he paused, before adding in a low voice, "And he's signed a much more binding contract so that's taken care of. Louis, why don't you hand out their next single."
Louis, who seemed to have spaced out slightly, gave a small jump and hurried to gather several packages of stapled paper. Without a word, he began to slide them down the table to each boy, blank side up.