Louis Tomlinson had lived a hard life. The scars of his past ran too deep to ignore, etched into him like a second skin. Despite the wealth and constant glare of the media, his world had been anything but charmed.

Tired of the ghosts that haunted him, Louis fled as far as he could from the bright lights of the city, settling in a small, quiet town. He rented a room in an unassuming guesthouse, where the hum of gossip and flashing cameras couldn’t reach him.

Months had passed since he arrived. The girl who managed the guesthouse didn’t seem to recognize him, and Louis preferred it that way. Here, he could vanish into the background, just another face in an anonymous crowd.

Pulling his coat from the closet, he bent down to slip on his shoes. The laces gave him trouble, and frustration curled at the edges of his composure. From the counter, her soft voice broke the silence.

“I don’t see you out of your room very often,” she said gently, her attention still on her work. There was no pushiness in her tone, no attempt to pry—just quiet concern. “Are you okay?”

Louis straightened, jaw tightening as he managed a strained smile. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice clipped as he wrestled with his shoe.