liam/louis liam is the owner of a boxing gym & louis is a prostitute wahhh /o\
Louis lights up as he makes himself comfortable on the bench across the street from the gym, watching the figures moving around inside with a detached interest. He looks up and down the street; this spot used to be Zaynās, but Zayn hitched a ride south, aiming for Miami. As far as Louis knows, this spot is free game now.
Not too long and a man slips out of the gym and heads toward the bench. Louis checks him out as best the dim street lamp light allows; he appears lean in his hoodie but it fits him well. His calves, exposed by his shorts, are nicely toned. His head boasts a dark buzz cutāno funny business, Louis muses.
"Hey," the stranger says as he draws close. He sounds wary so Louis braces himself mentally.
"Hullo," Louis responds in kind, low and husky as he can pitch it without sounding contrived and none too catty in case this is trouble.
The guy looks down at him, critical, frowning. āA guy named Zayn usually sits here this time of night. Black hair, skinny, tattoos. You seen him?ā
Louis rolls his shoulders against the hard back of the bench, feels his back pop a little. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette and exhales at his leisure before answering. āHeaded south. Miami.ā He watches the manās lips thin further, his eyes closing. āMaybe you need some cheerinā up, huh?ā Louis purrs. āTaught Zayn everything he knows myself so maybe I could help you out.ā
Buzzcut lets out a hollow laugh and shakes his head. āI neverāā he starts, but stops himself as he opens his eyes again and stuffs his hands into his hoodie pouch. āLook, man, I just bought him food a couple nights Ā a week, nothinā else.ā Louis covers up his surprise by taking another drag, careful to keep his face neutral. Zayn never mentioned any john buying him dinner.
"If you wantā¦," the guy trails, supremely awkward, freeing one hand from the pouch to bashfully scratch the back of his neck. "Thereās a diner down the road."
Louis flicks his gaze up, makes eye contact that he holds with a measured intensity. He licks his lips. āI donāt need your charity. You wanna do me a favor? Let me suck your dick for twenty-five bucks. Otherwise, scram.ā He keeps his voice monotonous and calm the whole time, refusing to be intimidated by some muscles but not looking to earn a sucker punch.
The man scoffs. āScram? Youāre in front of my gym.ā
So, the gym owner. Interesting. āIām across the street,ā Louis says, pausing to grind the stub of his cigarette out on the bench. āPublic property.ā
For some reason this makes Buzzcut Gym Owner laugh. āOkay. Well. You ever catch trouble out here, just step inside. Ask for Liam.ā
"Fuck off, Liam," Louis says without much bite, making a flippant shooing gesture with his hand. Liam pivots, waving over his shoulder as he returns to the gym. "Douchebag," Louis mutters under his breath as he reads the back of Liamās hoodieāSoul of a Lion. Louis doubts that. All men are mice before the end, he thinks as he digs his pack out for another smoke. He lights it then props one elbow up on the bench, fingers dangling restlessly as he waits.
