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What I Do For A Living

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The following week was rather uneventful, for which Louis was grateful. Nico passes out in their bed almost immediately after eating most nights, tired from the daily events. Work has been busy this week, from what his husband tells the younger boy, and Nico doesn’t go too much deeper into it than that. He is thankful that his husband has not come back banged up recently; he hopes this means the dispute between the Styles company has been settled.

Louis thinks about Harry more than he would like to admit. He doesn’t know why – he loves Nico very much – but he just finds himself so intrigued by him. An air of mystery surrounds him, despite his extroverted nature. Louis couldn’t help but be inherently curious since he spent most of his days cooped up in the house. It would be nice to have another friend besides Suzanna in his life and Harry seemed like he could fit the part. Not that Nico would ever actually let him befriend the curly-haired man, but it was nice to think about.

Louis stays up for a few more hours after Nico has fallen asleep that evening, reading in their study room downstairs. A candle is lit beside him, feeling at ease knowing that Nico is asleep and won’t be bothering him until the morning. It feels terrible to think, that Nico could ever be a nuisance to Louis, but if he was stressed from work, Louis was the last person who wanted to be in his husband’s way.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that Louis realized he hadn’t actually read a single word from the pages he was flipping. It happened often, his mind wandering to other places. The gears in his brain turned the most at night when he was alone, no one but him and his thoughts and no one to tell them to. Not that Nico would really listen to him anyway.

Louis thought about Nico’s profession the most. More so, what he didn’t know about his husband’s job. The long hours, the weapons, the occasional fight and injuries that Louis treated without question. If he tried to inquire, the boy was screamed at and told ‘Not to worry about it’. But he was always so eager to learn more, which is one of the reasons he liked to stay up at night. If he was quiet enough, he could try and rummage through Nico’s things. He could never find much, just guns he didn’t know how to use or documents written in Italian. It frustrated Louis that Nico didn’t let him know more about his business.

But he would keep trying.




His train of thought gets interrupted when he hears knocking from the front door.

Louis checks the clock sitting on the fire place mantle, seeing its already two o’clock in the morning. His eyebrows furrow, wondering what someone could need at such an hour. They rarely had visitors at this time and the only visitors they ever had were Nico’s coworkers.

The young boy doesn’t get up right away to answer the door, hearing mutterings outside the door. He thinks they’re speaking in English, but their whispers are so quiet Louis must strain to hear what they’re saying.

“You sure this is the place, boss? Seems too nice to be a Costa living here.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jesus Christ, how are you not fucking dead yet-“

“I’ll slit both of your throats if you don’t shut your fucking mouths.”

Louis freezes in the armchair, hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles turn white. He wonders what the people behind the door could want, but he definitely doesn’t feel comfortable opening the door this late. He sets his book down, grabbing his candlestick while taking slow steps towards their front door. Louis just wanted to peek through the peephole, then decide if he had to get Nico or not.

The boy’s arms are quaking with fear, trying not to make a sound. Without having to try all that hard, Louis proves to be severely clumsy and ends up knocking his shin against the side table the candle was just resting on, crying out in pain.

Not too long after, the front door bursts open and Louis nearly drops the burning flame to the ground. He can’t recognize any faces, but there’s at least four or five of them in his foyer, too frightened to do much but stand there. The candle clatters on the hardwood, one of the intruders stepping on the flame to put it out. It’s too dark now for Louis to see who trespasses into their home, especially after the blindfold is wrapped around the complacent boy’s eyes.

“If you scream, I’ll spray your brains all over this goddamn room.” A voice whispers in his ears as his wrists are grabbed roughly behind him, tied uncomfortable above the small of his back.

He whimpers quietly, nodding in confirmation to the unfamiliar voice, hoping that Nico has heard the ruckus occurring just a floor below him. The English he first heard as become a language he is unfamiliar with, yet aware that it is not Italian. Orders are being barked in a loud whisper and within a few seconds, Louis’s is being shuffled forward by a man much stronger than him.

A blast of cold air hits him, Louis being forced into the outdoors by the intruders. It’s mid-November, autumn nearing its end as the rustic leaves continue to gather on the ground and the temperature continues to drop. Louis cries quietly, too scared to ask where he is being taken or why this is happening to him.

“Quickly! Get in, get in!” a voice shouts in English this time just as Louis’s head is being shoved down into a vehicle. The voice is strong, deep, accent similar to his own, but his brain is too rattled to try and determine who in the fuck is kidnapping him.

The engine roars to life and the boy is thrown back into his seat as the car speeds away from the house. Louis remains clueless as to why this is happening, growing increasingly frantic with the passing seconds. He tries to decipher through every action he’s performed in the past six days that may have, in some way, bothered someone enough that they would feel the need to steal the boy away from his home. When he realizes that he barely left the house within that timeframe, Louis decides to think of something, anything, to say to these people that would perhaps get him released.

Or killed, really; that was the other possibility.

“W-What the hell do you want? I didn’t fucking do anything,” Louis says, trying to sound stern but instead letting the fear he feels creep into his voice, shaking his words the same way his fingers are behind his back. Good one, Louis, they’re really gonna let you go now.

Instead of receiving an answer, Louis is swiftly cracked across the face, crying out.

“Shut the fuck up, Christ.” The same unfamiliar voice shouts at him, shoving him roughly against the car door. His head hits the window hard, feeling a warm liquid drip down his face. Black creeps around the edges of his vision and the sound he hears slowly drifts from him as he falls into unconsciousness.




He’s in the dark. Again.

Except this time there is no blindfold, simply just a pitch-black room. He might have well been placed in a freezer with how frigid the room is. Clearly no one gave a shit if Louis froze to death in this place.

Despite the lack of light, the young boy’s head is pounding. Louis groans softly, trying to grab and hold his head until he realizes that his hands are bound tightly behind him. His ankles are too bound in thick rope, unable to do much unless he decided to make like an inchworm and slide himself across the floor which wouldn’t get him too far. He briefly remembers the car ride, recalling that his head had been practically smashed against the window for no goddamn reason. He’s part annoyed at that, but is mostly about to piss himself in fear.

A door opens and light floods into the room from the hallway. Louis begins to quake all over again, shutting his eyes as the light assaults his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the room, but he’s just tired and feels ill and just wants to go home.

“P-Please let me go, I-I haven’t done anything, I d-don’t know anything, you can have anything, I’m sorry.” He cries quietly, flinching away from the body moving towards him, afraid of being hit again. Louis desperately wished he was more confident like Nico and not so… weak in the face of danger. Oh God, Nico, what if they come for him next?

“Good God, I’m real sorry, lad, I don’t know what got into my friend there,” the Irish boy whispers quietly to the younger boy. What in the hell had Zayn done to the poor boy? They had strict orders from boss to keep the boy unharmed, yet here he was with angry, chaffed wrists and dried blood on his forehead. Even worse, he had fallen back on the bed he was placed on, trying to inch away despite only trying to help. Although, Niall thinks, he would be reacting the same way if he had just been kidnapped from his home without warning. “Hey, pal, I really am sorry about Zayn, he’s got a poor temper but,” he pauses, reaching behind the boy to untie his wrists.

Louis opens his eyes and allows them to adjust to the light. His eyes are still glassy but through the tears stands a small blonde boy, built similar to Louis except a bit more muscular. His face is soft and gentle as he unties his wrists, Louis pulling them to his chest immediately while rubbing the injured skin.

“Sit up now, c’mon,” the blonde boy whispers to Louis, helping him up into a sitting position, “Now if I untie your ankles too, you have to promise me you won’t run. I know it’s a fucked up thing we’ve done, taking you and all, but if you try to run I would be afraid to shoot you in the leg,” He goes on matter-of-factly, as if shooting someone was the most casual thing in the world, “And boss would not like if I did that to ya.”

Louis nods slowly, still whimpering quietly. He rubs the tears away from his eyes, wondering what he did to deserve to be in this current situation. This would be just his luck.

The blonde boy squats down to untie the younger boy’s ankles, not as injured as his wrists but still feeling sore. He then walks over, flipping a switch to finally light the room. It’s dim in here, definitely meant to be romantic, but Louis feels far from comfortable in the strange bedroom.

“Thank you,” Louis murmurs, moving his legs so that they are crossed indian-style, looking around on the bed. The comforter is a deep chocolate color, the pillows behind him white with matching brown detailing on the front of them. The bed itself feels massive to Louis. He guesses that it must be California King, or even bigger somehow. The floor is hardwood, a similar color to that of the sheets. The walls are dark gray that is dangerously close to black, the color of the Costas, but are just off. It’s a gorgeous room, but it is alien to Louis. His heart has not yet ceased its loud thumping, the sound of blood pumping filling his ears.

“No problem, lad,” the Irish man responds with a smile. Louis notes that he looks younger than him because he looks so boyish, his all-teeth grin slightly lopsided paired with a mop of white-blonde hair on his head. “I’m Niall, by the way, figured you should know since I’m the one helping your ass out and all,” he says, the irony in the situation causing him to chuckle.

“Niall,” Louis repeats, letting the “L” fall off his tongue slowly.

“And you’re Louis, if I’m correct,” Niall says before the young boy can get another word out, that same lopsided grin on his face. “I’m gonna go grab boss, you gotta stay here though. The doors are guarded so if you try to run, like I said, they’ll probably just shoot you and we don’t want that happening, now, do we?” Niall says, laughing as if he just told Louis a funny joke. He gets up from his spot on the bed and darts out of the room, leaving Louis to his own devices.

He sits there dumbfounded, partially confused as shit and partially scared shitless. The Niall fellow looked so familiar, but Louis couldn’t place a finger on why he recognized his face. He blamed it on the fact that his head was still pounding. He wanted nothing more than to go home, growing more anxious with each passing minute.

Instead, Louis just puts his head down and starts to weep. He just hopes Nico wakes up soon, realizes Louis is absent, sees the damage downstairs, and somehow finds where he is and saves him.

Meanwhile, voices are speaking beyond the bedroom doors.

“He’s in there boss, look, I’m very sorry about hurting the boy, I-I didn’t mean i-“

“Don’t fucking apologize to me, Zayn. I gave you strict instructions to keep the boy unharmed. So, naturally, you defy me and smash his head against the fucking window.”

“Sir, it was a mistake, I’m so sor-“

There is a loud crunch, presumably bone, with a pained cry following. Blood gushes from the center of Zayn’s face, his nose split down the middle.

“Get him out of my sight. I’ll deal with him later.”

The door opens again, quietly enough that Louis cannot hear over his sobs. Instead of getting up to try and, I don’t know, beat the shit out whoever walked into the room, Louis can’t stop crying. He feels so pathetic – not that he’d be able to beat someone up anyway because he knows he’s the size of a toothpick – but Louis didn’t even feel inspired to try. This is simply another unfortunate event in the life of Louis Costa.

“Hello, Louis. Lovely seeing you again. I apologize for the circumstances, really, but there’s something we have to discuss.”

The younger boy looks up to meet emerald eyes, the same ones he had been dreaming thinking about this entire week. He doesn’t know whether to be afraid or relieved, tears still dribbling down his scarlet cheeks.