Chapter 1: Present Day
Summary:
In a beautiful Italian villa, Harry Styles grapples with post-tour blues and feelings of isolation despite the vibrant world around him. Reflecting on his past, he remembers his close bond with Louis Tomlinson, filled with laughter, inside jokes, and stolen nights out. Despite the passage of time and the complications in their relationship, Harry yearns for Louis's presence. However, he decides to give Louis space and allow him to find freedom and happiness without the weight of their past. A phone call from his former management interrupts his contemplation, hinting at an urgent matter that threatens to disrupt the fragile peace he has found.
Chapter Text
Harry settled into a worn chair on the villa's terracotta-tiled patio, the Italian countryside unfolding before him like a canvas of gold and green. The scent of blooming heather and mature fruit wafted through the air, yet it couldn't dispel the heaviness that had taken up residence within him. His fingers absently explored the weathered tabletop, mapping the grooves and whorls as if searching for a respite from the stillness that shrouded him.
A gentle breeze stirred, but it offered little comfort. The world around him felt alive, vibrant even, while he remained an outsider looking in. Days passed since he’d wrapped up his major tour, a whirlwind of lights and music that had once filled his veins with adrenaline. Now? It all felt like a distant memory—a flickering shadow that danced just out of reach. Other people had talked about it before. That post-tour blues seemed to get to everyone. But this felt different somehow.
His phone buzzed on the table—another reminder of how disconnected he felt. He hesitated before glancing at it. No messages from Louis. Instead, just a junk email. He bit his lip, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Their last conversation lingered uncomfortably in his mind; he remembered Louis’s sharp wit mingling with unsaid words that hung heavy between them.
“Hey, mate,” Louis had said casually enough, but there was a thread of tension woven into his tone. “You good?”
Louis always seemed to pop-up just when he thought he was moving on. He'd figured this time was because he'd seen clips of the last show. Of Harry kissing his black heart tattoo that Louis knew was a copy of the sharpie heart he'd drawn on him decades ago during the X-Factor years. Or maybe he'd notice that Harry had stopped wearing that peace ring Louis had given him that he'd worn for so many years.
“Yeah,” Harry had replied, though even he didn’t believe it. There was nothing else to say but still somehow too much more to say.
He leaned forward now, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the phone’s screen like it held answers. Loneliness gnawed at him with every passing minute without Louis’s laughter or their familiar banter that always made things lighter.
With another sigh escaping him like steam from a kettle about to boil over, Harry pushed away from the table and stood up abruptly. The cobblestone path wound its way toward a small grove of olive trees nearby—a possible escape route or perhaps just another dead end where solitude awaited him.
He walked slowly at first but soon picked up pace as thoughts raced through his mind: missed opportunities, words left unspoken, moments shared that now felt miles away rather than just one phone call apart.
Each step took him further from the world he knew, yet a gnawing loneliness clung to him like a shadow.
Out here, he was just one human amongst nature, free to be anyone he wanted. No stage lights to blind him, no roaring crowd to please. Just him and the whisper of leaves rustling overhead. But freedom felt like a double-edged sword; it brought solace but also reminded him of how isolated he truly was.
He shook his head, trying to dispel thoughts that threatened to drown him. Back in public, thousands surrounded him, yet he felt alone—trapped by their perceptions and expectations. Harry Styles: the "sexiest man alive" with a penchant for flamboyant outfits and magnetic charm. But beneath that exterior lay layers of confusion and heartache that few understood.
His mind drifted back to when it was just him and Louis against the world—a time when everything felt simpler amidst the chaos of fame. He remembered those early days with One Direction, laughter ringing through the air as they shared inside jokes and late-night adventures.
Louis had always looked at him differently than the others—a spark in his gaze that made Harry's heart race with excitement. Those moments where Louis would lean in just a little closer or tease him with a smirk ignited something deep within Harry's chest.
"You're an idiot," Louis would say, laughing as he nudged Harry’s shoulder playfully during rehearsals.
But it wasn’t just banter; there was an undeniable connection simmering beneath the surface. Each glance lingered longer than necessary, each smile holding weight that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He felt seen in those moments, cherished even, amidst all the noise surrounding them.
The pressure they faced back then felt less daunting because they had each other—best friends navigating fame together like sailors on uncharted waters. In Louis’s company, Harry believed they could conquer anything. The world may have demanded their attention, but it could never break the bond they shared.
As he walked on, the memories flickered like fireflies in his mind—bright moments that illuminated an otherwise shadowy present.
Harry wandered through the grove, but memories from their time at Princess Park Manor floated into his mind, vivid and warm against the cool breeze. He could almost hear Louis's laughter echoing through the hallways, feel the weight of their shared secrets lingering in every corner of that sprawling house.
Late nights became a ritual for them. The world outside slept while they stayed awake, talking about everything and nothing at all. They’d often find themselves sprawled on the living room floor, pizza boxes littered around them, as they dissected their latest interview or swapped stories from their childhoods.
Inside jokes formed an unspoken language between them—one glance could spark a fit of laughter that left everyone else bewildered. The way Louis would raise an eyebrow or smirk made Harry’s heart flutter like it was caught in a sudden gust of wind.
They’d sneak out into the London night when sleep eluded them, creeping down the stairs and slipping through the back door as if they were thieves stealing away from their responsibilities.
“Where to?” Harry had whispered one night, grinning at Louis in the moonlight.
Louis shrugged with that signature devil-may-care attitude. “Anywhere but here.”
And that was how Harry had felt ever since they stopped talking. He'd gone all over the world, thinking maybe he'd be happy anywhere but where he was. But he knew the truth. He'd never be happy anywhere without Louis by his side.
The breeze rustled through the leaves, pulling him from his reverie. Harry turned back toward the villa, each step heavier than the last as if gravity had doubled its hold on him. The path twisted and turned beneath his feet; it mirrored his thoughts—uncertain and winding. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d wandered too far from what mattered most.
As he approached the villa, a thought crept into his mind: maybe it was time to reach out to Louis. His heart raced at the idea, caught between hope and fear. Would Louis even pick up? After everything that had transpired between them?
Harry paused at the edge of the terrace, staring at his phone still resting on the table where he'd left it earlier. It lay there like a lifeline—the connection to everything he yearned for but felt too timid to grasp. He hesitated, biting his lip as doubt slithered into his thoughts.
What if he opened up? What if he exposed all those tangled feelings he’d kept buried for so long? Could he risk vulnerability again?
He stepped closer to the table now, heart thudding loudly in his chest as uncertainty churned within him. The weight of all those past conversations hung in the air—each moment layered with meaning and longing.
Harry reached for his phone slowly, fingertips brushing against its screen as though it were a fragile thing that might shatter under pressure. He hovered over Louis’s name in his contacts list, staring at it like it held answers to questions he couldn’t articulate.
With every heartbeat echoing in his ears, Harry wrestled with himself—a dance between courage and hesitation playing out inside him as shadows grew longer around him.
He could almost hear the laughter that used to bubble between them, the way their shared moments had once felt like secret treasures, tucked away from prying eyes. But now, that laughter seemed like a distant echo, fading into the background noise of his doubts.
With a deep breath, he pressed his thumb against the screen and opened Instagram instead. The familiar feed flickered to life, filled with colorful images and snippets of life that felt miles away from his own. He scrolled past endless posts of smiling faces, glamorous outfits, and friends basking in each other's company.
Then he saw it—a recent post from Louis. His heart sank and soared all at once. Louis stood in front of a stage, the sun setting behind him in vibrant hues of orange and pink. The crowd surged around him, a sea of joyful faces dancing to the music that echoed through the air. Louis’s grin was wide, carefree, unburdened by any weight that Harry felt pressing down on his own shoulders.
Harry's fingers hovered over the screen, his heart doing that peculiar flutter it always did when he caught glimpses of Louis like this. The festival lights painted Louis in ethereal hues, his smile unmistakably genuine—the kind that had always been infectious, even in their earliest days.
"Like watching a butterfly break free," he murmured to himself, the words falling soft and slow from his lips. The metaphor felt right; Louis had always been a creature meant for flight, for freedom, for breaking boundaries.
His thumb scrolled to the next photo, and something caught in his throat. There was Louis, suspended in mid-leap, arms spread wide against a backdrop of carnival lights and summer sky. The joy radiating from the image was palpable, nearly tangible enough to touch. Comments flooded beneath the post—a cascade of love and admiration that Louis had always deserved.
Harry let out a low, thoughtful hum, the kind that usually preceded his deeper musings. After everything—the loss of Jay, then Fizzy, the weight of responsibilities that had been thrust upon Louis far too young—seeing him like this felt like witnessing a star finally burning at its brightest.
"Proper beautiful, that," he whispered to the empty room, his voice carrying that familiar slow drawl. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, though something bittersweet lingered in his eyes. This version of Louis—uninhibited, unburdened—was everything Harry had ever wanted for him.
He could almost hear Louis's laugh, could almost feel the electricity of his presence. But instead of reaching out, Harry found himself setting the phone down with deliberate care. Some moments weren't meant to be interrupted; some joy deserved to exist untouched by the complications of the past. Sometimes love meant stepping back, meant watching from afar as someone you cared about finally spread their wings and soared.
* * *
Harry's phone buzzed against the marble counter where he'd left it while making tea. A series of notifications lit up the screen—first Twitter, then Instagram, followed by a cascade of text messages. Before he could reach for it, his manager's call cut through the others.
"Harry." The voice was clipped, professional. "Are you sitting down?"
Something in that tone made his fingers tighten around the mug he was holding. The steam from his tea suddenly felt suffocating.
"What's happened?" His voice came out steadier than he felt.
"It's all over social media already. I wanted to reach you before—" A pause. "Liam Payne has passed away."
The mug slipped from Harry's grasp, shattering against the floor. Tea spread across the tiles like spilled watercolors, but he barely noticed. His ears were ringing, drowning out whatever else his manager was saying.
He fumbled for his phone, fingers trembling as he opened Twitter. There it was—trending worldwide. His brother's name, accompanied by that cruel little word: "dead." Headlines already forming, notifications multiplying, the world learning about Liam's death through cold, impersonal screens.
"We'll need to release a statement," his manager was saying, voice distant. "Harry? Are you there?"
But Harry couldn't respond. His eyes were fixed on a photo of them from years ago—five boys with dreams too big for their shoulders, Liam's arm thrown around his neck, both of them laughing at something long forgotten. Now it was being shared thousands of times, accompanied by condolence messages from strangers.
"I'll... I'll call you back," he managed, ending the call before his manager could protest.
The kitchen floor was cold beneath him as he slid down against the cabinets, barely registering when he'd moved there. His phone kept buzzing—journalists, friends, family—but all he could see was Liam. Liam teaching him vocal runs in hotel rooms. Liam mediating arguments on tour buses. Liam, always the responsible one, making sure everyone was okay.
The world would mourn a star, but Harry mourned the boy who'd shared his dreams, who'd stood beside him on countless stages, who'd known him before fame reshaped them all. And he'd learned about it through trending topics and PR calls, as if their years together could be reduced to headlines and scheduled statements.
A sob caught in his throat, raw and unexpected. Around him, tea soaked into his socks, and broken ceramic scattered like memories he couldn't piece back together. In the sterile silence of his kitchen, Harry grieved not just for Liam, but for the way even this—this final, devastating moment—had been stripped of its humanity by the very industry that had brought them together.
Morning arrived like an unwelcome guest, harsh sunlight reflecting off the broken ceramic still scattered across his kitchen floor. Harry hadn't moved much since the news broke, his designer clothes wrinkled from spending hours pressed against the cabinet doors. His phone lay silent now, battery dead from the endless notifications that had poured in through the night.
His sister Gemma had left seventeen messages. His mum, thirty-two. The thought of responding made his chest tight—how could he find words when breathing itself felt like a betrayal? How dare the world keep spinning when Liam's had stopped?
The kitchen radio clicked on automatically—preset timer, another mundane detail of normal life that suddenly felt obscene. A One Direction song started playing, and Harry lunged for the power button with shaking hands. His palm caught a jagged piece of ceramic he hadn't noticed, slicing into his skin. Blood welled up immediately, bright and startling against his pale hand.
He stared at it, transfixed. The pain felt distant, almost welcome—something tangible to focus on instead of the hollow ache in his chest. Red droplets fell to join the dried tea stains on the floor, and suddenly he was crying again, tears mixing with blood, everything blurring together.
"Fuck," he whispered, the word catching in his throat. His vision blurred as he stared at the mess, a perfect metaphor for everything he couldn't control, couldn't fix, couldn't bring back.
He should call someone. Should clean the floor. Should bandage his hand. Should release a statement. Should, should, should—
Instead, he pressed his forehead against his knees and let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Being with people meant acknowledging this was real, meant facing a world where Liam no longer existed. The thought alone made his chest constrict.
The sunlight continued its relentless advance across his kitchen floor, illuminating the broken ceramic, the spilled tea now dried into stains, the fresh drops of blood. Each piece of evidence marking the moment his world had shifted on its axis, leaving him adrift in a space between was and is.
In the distance, his backup phone started ringing—probably his mum again. He should answer. He would answer. Just... not yet. Not while the morning light was still making everything too sharp, too real, too final.
The ringing eventually stopped, leaving him in silence broken only by his uneven breathing and the steady tick of the kitchen clock, counting seconds in a world that had inexplicably continued turning. His hand throbbed, a steady pulse that matched the ticking, grounding him in a moment he wished he could escape.
Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, ignoring the sting from his cut palm. His mind kept circling back to the others, wondering how they'd found out. Through management? Social media? A quiet phone call like his?
Louis would have been first. Had to have been. Despite everything, despite the distance years had put between them all, Louis and Liam had maintained that connection—writing sessions, late-night calls, sharing the weight of loss that seemed to follow them both. After Louis lost his mum, then his sister, Liam had been there. Steady. Present. Now...
"Fuck," Harry muttered again, reaching for his phone before remembering it was dead. Louis would be drowning right now, and here he was, sitting on his kitchen floor, useless.
Niall would be on a plane already. That's who Niall was—the one who showed up, who kept them connected even when they were trying their hardest to drift apart. He'd probably been calling everyone, making sure they weren't alone. Harry's dead phone probably had dozens of missed calls from him.
His stomach churned as he thought of Zayn. Would he even know yet? After everything—the messy exit, the strained relationships, the attempts at reconciliation that never quite stuck—Liam had been the only one who still regularly got through to Zayn. They'd write together sometimes, Harry knew. Quiet collaborations that never made it to the public, just two friends holding onto what was left of their shared history.
A bitter laugh escaped him as he realized they were back to four again. Four, but not like before. Not like when they'd rallied together after Zayn left, found their footing as a quartet. This was different. Final. Permanent in a way that made his bones ache.
The cut on his palm throbbed as he pushed himself up from the floor, finally forcing himself to move. He needed to plug in his phone. Needed to call his mum back. Needed to reach out to Louis, to Niall, to Zayn. Needed to...
His eye caught the vinyl collection near his record player—the one he'd curated so carefully for this writing retreat in Italy. Their albums were there, of course. They always were, no matter how many times he'd tried to pack them away. Liam's voice would be preserved there forever, strong and clear on those tracks. The thought hit him like a physical blow, and his legs gave out. He caught himself against the counter, knuckles white where they gripped the marble.
They'd been kids, really. Just kids when they started, thinking they were grown enough to handle it all. Now here they were, proper adults, and he felt just as lost as he had at sixteen, looking to Liam for the answers, for the steady guidance he'd always provided.
But Liam wasn't here to guide them through this one. They'd have to figure it out themselves, navigate this new reality where their five-piece harmony was permanently missing a voice. The thought made Harry's chest tight, his breath coming in short gasps.
The backup phone started ringing again. This time, Harry forced himself to look. Niall's name flashed on the screen, and Harry could picture him, probably pacing in some airport terminal, trying to take care of everyone else while barely holding himself together.
He should answer. He would answer. But first, he needed to breathe. Needed to find his voice. Needed to be strong enough to help carry whatever broke in Niall's voice when he picked up.
Just one more minute, he told himself. One more minute to be weak, to be lost, to be the kid who just lost his brother. Then he'd answer. Then he'd be Harry Styles again, whatever that meant in a world without Liam Payne.
Chapter 2: September 2010
Summary:
Harry fumbles with matches in Louis's messy room, sparking a candlelight moment filled with playful banter and introspection. As they confess feelings and insecurities, the tension builds until they share hesitant yet passionate kisses, creating a secret connection amidst the pressures of their public lives.
Chapter Text
Harry fumbled with the matches, nearly dropping the box as his rings caught on the cardboard. The tiny flame flickered to life in the X-factor bedroom they shared with all of the boys, casting shadows across the disaster of a room—trainers everywhere, football kit tossed over a chair, and Simon's "mandatory" vocal exercise sheets crumpled by the bin.
"Mate, you're proper going to burn the place down before we even start," Louis cackled from the bed, sprawled out in his striped shirt and red chinos. He was tossing a bottle of Smirnoff between his hands like it was one of his juggling props from his college days. "Some X-Factor headline that'd be, init?"
"Well..." Harry drawled, focusing intently on the next candle. "Think I'm doing quite alright, actually." His dimpled grin gave away how pleased he was with himself, even as wax dripped onto his fingers.
"To be fair, you've only singed yourself twice tonight. Proper improvement that, Harold." Louis's voice carried that particular mix of fond and taking the piss that seemed reserved just for Harry.
Harry flopped onto the bottom bunk beside Louis, all gangly limbs and uncoordinated teenage energy. Their shoulders knocked together, and Harry felt his cheeks flush. "D'you reckon anyone's noticed we're not downstairs?"
"Listen here, you know what Simon's like—probably got the whole lot of them doing vocal runs till three in the morning." Louis punctuated this with an exaggerated eye roll, then took a swig from the bottle. "Here, go on then."
Harry accepted the vodka, took a drink, and immediately pulled a face that had Louis howling. "That's... interesting," he managed between coughs, his slow voice even more pronounced.
"Interesting?" Louis's eyebrows shot up. "Proper posh lad you are, Curly. What did you drink back in Holmes Chapel? Fine wine and caviar?"
"Heyyy," Harry protested, drawing out the word. "I'll have you know we had... well, actually..." He trailed off, distracted by how close Louis was sitting, how the candlelight caught the blue of his eyes. He didn't really care to admit this was his first time drinking when Louis seemed to be an expert already.
"Cat got your tongue?" Louis teased, but his voice had gone softer, losing some of its usual sharp edges. "You know what's mental though? Like, actually proper mental? Few months ago we were just... normal lads, yeah? Now we're hiding out in some posh flat in London, pretending we know what we're doing."
"I feel like..." Harry started, then paused, collecting his thoughts in that deliberate way of his. "It's like when you're waiting for something really big to happen, but you're also kind of... already in the middle of it happening? Do you know what I mean?"
"Christ, you're deep when you're drunk," Louis laughed, but there was something tender in it. He shifted closer, their thighs pressing together. "But yeah, think I know exactly what you mean."
The room felt smaller suddenly, warmer than the candles could account for. Harry's heart was hammering so loud he was sure Louis must hear it, sure everyone in the building must hear it.
"Lou..." he started, but typical Harry, couldn't quite find the rest of the sentence.
"Yeah, Haz?" Louis's voice had that rare quality to it—the one that wasn't for the cameras or the other lads or anyone else. Just Harry.
The moment stretched between them, full of everything they weren't quite ready to say out loud. Not yet. Not with Simon's warnings about image still ringing in their ears, not with the weight of the competition still ahead of them.
Instead, Harry reached for the bottle again, his rings clinking against the glass. "Tell me about your sisters again?"
Louis's face lit up, and he launched into a story about Lottie's latest drama, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. Harry watched him, barely registering the words, just soaking in this moment—safe in their little bubble of candlelight and possibility, before the world would demand they be anything other than just Harry and Louis.
The vodka sat mostly forgotten between them now, Harry playing with his rings while Louis rambled about football, his hands punctuating every other word. Their shoulders kept brushing—casual touches that didn't feel casual at all, not with the way Harry's heart jumped each time.
"And then, right—" Louis cut himself off mid-sentence, catching Harry staring at him. "What're you looking at, Curly?"
Harry ducked his head, dimples deepening. "Well... was just thinking," he said slowly, in that deliberate way of his. The candles cast shadows across Louis's face, making his cheekbones look sharper, his eyes brighter.
"Dangerous that, init?" Louis's voice had gone soft around the edges, losing its usual bite. He shifted closer, their thighs pressed together now. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"I feel like..." Harry started, then stopped, gathering courage. His curls fell into his eyes as he glanced up through his lashes. "Lou..."
"Spit it out, Haz," Louis whispered, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed his own nerves. The nickname felt different somehow, heavier with meaning.
"D'you ever just..." Harry's words came out slower than usual, if that was possible. "Like, when something's right there, and you want to just..." He gestured vaguely with his rings catching the candlelight.
"Christ," Louis breathed, shifting to face Harry properly. "You're proper killing me here, you know that?"
The space between them felt electric, charged with months of lingering looks and casual touches that weren't casual at all. Harry's hand found Louis's knee, tentative but deliberate.
"Lou?" It came out barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?" Louis's voice cracked slightly, his usual confidence wavering.
"What if we just..."
The rest of the sentence hung unfinished in the air between them, but it didn't matter. They were already moving closer, drawn together like they'd been dancing around this moment since that first day in the X Factor toilets.
Just before their lips met, Louis pulled back slightly. "Simon's going to proper lose his head," he murmured, but his eyes never left Harry's mouth.
"Well..." Harry drew out the word, dimples deepening. "Reckon some things are worth it, yeah?"
The last word barely made it out before Louis closed the distance, and suddenly everything they hadn't been saying clicked into place like the final note of a perfect harmony.
The first press of their lips was gentle, almost hesitant—so unlike the loud, confident Louis that Harry knew. He could feel Louis's hand trembling where it cupped his jaw, could sense the war happening behind that touch. Harry stayed perfectly still, afraid that any sudden movement might spook Louis, might make him pull away and laugh it off like one of his jokes.
When they broke apart, barely an inch between them, Harry blinked slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Oh," he breathed, unable to stop the dimpled smile spreading across his face despite his nerves.
"Yeah," Louis whispered back, and Harry watched the emotions flicker across his features—wonder, confusion, fear, want. "Oh."
They stared at each other for a heartbeat, two, before Louis surged forward again, kissing Harry with a desperation that made his head spin. It was like Louis was trying to outrun his own thoughts, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips. Harry's rings pressed cool indents into Louis's shoulders as he held on, afraid this might be his only chance.
The kiss tasted like vodka and secrets and something uniquely them, something that had been building since that first meeting in the bathroom. Something that felt inevitable, even if they'd never be able to tell anyone else.
Harry pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips brushing Louis's as he spoke. "Been wanting to..." He trailed off, watching Louis's face carefully for any sign of panic or regret.
"Christ," Louis breathed, his usual rapid-fire speech nowhere to be found. His thumb traced Harry's bottom lip, gentle in a way that made Harry's chest ache. "This is... I've never..." He swallowed hard, looking younger suddenly, more vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him.
"S'okay," Harry murmured, slow and careful. "We don't have to—"
"No," Louis cut him off, fingers tightening in Harry's curls. "I want... I just..." He let out a shaky breath. "Simon said we can't... nobody can know, Haz. About anything."
Harry nodded, understanding everything Louis wasn't saying. About how this would look, about what it meant, about all the questions Louis wasn't ready to answer—maybe even to himself. "Well..." he drew out the word, trying to sound braver than he felt. "Reckon some things are just for us then, yeah?"
The relief in Louis's eyes made Harry's heart clench. This time when Louis kissed him, it was softer, less desperate—like they had all the time in the world, even if they both knew they didn't. Harry's fingers played with the hair at the nape of Louis's neck, and he felt Louis shiver.
"You're something else, you know that?" Louis whispered against his mouth, and Harry could hear what he really meant: thank you for understanding, for not pushing, for letting this be whatever it needed to be.
"'M just me," Harry replied simply, earnestly, in that disarming way he had about him.
"Yeah," Louis's voice went tender around the edges, even as his eyes darted toward the door, reminded of the world outside. "You're just you."
But he was already pulling Harry back in, and this kiss felt different—like a secret they'd keep between them, like something precious and fragile and entirely theirs. Harry memorized every detail: the way Louis's hands shook slightly, how he tasted of vodka and uncertainty and hope, the soft sounds caught between them that nobody else would ever hear.
Whatever this was, whatever it would become, it belonged to them alone—hidden in the shadows of candlelight, in stolen moments between interviews and rehearsals, in looks across rooms that nobody else would understand. And for now, Harry thought as Louis's lips found his again, that would have to be enough.
Chapter 3: Present Day
Summary:
Louis reminisces about the success of his recent tour as he arrives at Briana's home. He enjoys time with Freddie, but a call reveals that Liam has passed away, shattering Louis's happiness. Struggling with grief, Louis is encouraged by Briana to reach out to Harry, recognizing the importance of reconnecting amid the pain.
Chapter Text
Chapter Two - Louis
The LA sun hit different after weeks of festival stages—proper mental, that. Louis adjusted his sunglasses, still buzzing from the crowds in South America. Fucking wild, that. The way they'd known every word to "Written All Over Your Face," screaming it back at him like their lives depended on it.
He grinned to himself, remembering the sea of flags and phones lighting up the night sky. Would've proper laughed if you'd told him five years ago he'd be selling out stadiums on his own. After everything—the label dropping him, the industry writing him off, all those articles saying he'd missed his chance.
"Look at you now, eh?" he muttered to himself, fishing for his car keys. The rental wasn't much, but it was close to Freddie, close to the studio where he'd been piecing together ideas for the next album. Proper surprising, that—how easily the songs were coming now. No more second-guessing every fucking line, wondering if it was "commercial" enough.
His phone buzzed—another video from last night's show. The lads in his band going mental during "Out Of My System," the crowd absolutely losing it. Christ, his fans were something else, weren't they? Stuck with him through everything, even when half the industry had written him off as "the One Direction lad who waited too long."
Pulling up to Briana's, he spotted Freddie's skateboard discarded on the lawn. It felt good. Having something solid to come back to after the madness of touring. His mind flickered briefly to Harry—weeks since they'd properly talked, both with their own lives. But he pushed that thought away. No use dwelling, was there?
"Alright?" he called out as Briana opened the door. He was still riding the high from tour, couldn't keep the grin off his face if he tried.
"Someone's in a good mood," she noted, stepping aside to let him in.
"Yeah, well," he shrugged, but couldn't help the pride creeping into his voice. "Tour's been proper mental, hasn't it? Still can't quite believe it sometimes."
"You earned it," she said simply, and that meant something, coming from someone who'd seen him at his lowest. Through the label drama, through the years of uncertainty, through all of it.
"DAD!"
And there was Freddie, proper whirlwind that he was, crashing into him with all the energy of an eight-year-old who'd been waiting weeks to show off his latest adventures.
"Oi oi!" Louis caught him in a hug, heart doing that thing it always did. This right here—this was what kept him going through all the shit years. This and his fans, the ones who'd never given up on him even when the industry had.
"Did you see my Instagram?" Freddie was practically bouncing. "Mum let me post about my science project!"
"Course I did, lad! Proper scientist, you are." Louis ruffled his hair, following him to the kitchen table. The project was spread out everywhere, planets and facts and pure enthusiasm.
Looking at Freddie's beaming face, Louis felt that familiar surge of certainty. Yeah, the road had been proper rough getting here. But he'd done it his way, hadn't he? No compromise, no backing down. From "Walls" to "Faith in the Future" to selling out festivals—he'd built something real. Something that was entirely his own.
"Tell me everything then," he said, settling in to listen to Freddie's excited chatter about outer space. The industry could wait. The next album could wait. Right now, he was exactly where he needed to be. Right now, it was time to let life in a bit.
"Freddie?" Louis called out, finding his son balanced on the couch arm like some proper daredevil.
"Dad! Watch my superhero landing!" Freddie's hair fell in his eyes as he posed, reminding Louis so much of himself at that age it properly hurt.
"Careful there, love," Louis warned, though his heart wasn't in it. He'd been the same way as a kid, hadn't he? Everyone always said Freddie was karma for all the grey hairs Louis had given everyone else.
His phone buzzed—unknown number. Something cold settled in his stomach. He'd been feeling off all day, that same sick feeling he'd had before his mum...
"One second, love. Try not to break anything while I'm gone, yeah?" His voice came out shakier than he meant it to.
"Fine," Freddie flopped dramatically onto the cushions. "But hurry back—we're meant to be saving the world!"
Louis's hands were already trembling as he stepped into the kitchen. "Hello?"
"Louis? It's me... I'm sorry to call like this." His former manager's voice cracked, and Louis knew. He fucking knew before the words came.
"What's happened?" But he didn't want to hear it. Christ, he couldn't hear it.
"It's Liam... He—he passed away."
The kitchen floor seemed to drop out from under him. Louis staggered back against the counter, bile rising in his throat. Not Liam. Not fucking Liam, who'd just texted him yesterday about writing together. Who'd been the first to hug him after he'd told the lads about him and Harry. Who'd stayed on the phone with him all night when his mum passed, just holding him up while he broke apart.
"You there?" The voice seemed to come from very far away.
"Yeah, I—" Louis choked on the words. His chest was too tight. Couldn't breathe properly. "What happened? He was fine yesterday, he was—" His voice cracked. "We were meant to meet up next week."
Freddie appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with concern. "Dad? Are you crying?"
Louis quickly wiped his eyes, trying to pull himself together. "It's alright, love. Just—give me a minute, yeah?"
But Freddie, stubborn like his dad, moved closer instead. "What's wrong?"
"It was sudden," the manager was saying, but Louis could barely hear over the roaring in his ears. Memories were crashing over him—Liam's steady presence through every crisis, every celebration. His voice on late-night calls when Louis was struggling with his solo career: "They're wrong about you, Tommo. Show them what you can do."
"Thanks for... yeah." Louis ended the call, phone slipping from numb fingers to clatter on the counter.
"Dad?" Freddie's small hand found his, and Christ, Louis had to keep it together. Had to be strong for his boy. But Liam was gone. Proper gone. No more texts about writing together. No more late-night calls. No more...
"C'mere, love." Louis pulled Freddie close, probably too tight, but he needed an anchor. Needed something solid to hold onto while his world tilted sideways. "Remember Uncle Liam? From the pictures?"
Freddie nodded against his chest. "The one who sent me the drum kit for my birthday?"
A sob caught in Louis's throat. Of course Liam had remembered Freddie's birthday. He never forgot anything important. "Yeah, that's him. He was... he was my best mate. And he—" His voice broke completely.
"Don't cry, Dad." Freddie hugged him tighter, and Louis had to bite back a proper sob because his son shouldn't have to comfort him, should he? But here they were.
"Want to see what I built in Minecraft?" Freddie offered quietly, clearly trying to help the only way he knew how.
Louis pressed a kiss to his son's hair, tasting salt. "Yeah, show me, love."
They settled on the floor, Freddie tucked against his side, chattering about secret passages and hidden rooms. Louis tried to focus, tried to be present, but all he could think was: I need to call Liam's dad. Need to call Niall. Need to... but not yet. Right now, he just needed to hold his son and pretend the world hadn't just shattered into pieces around him.
Later, when Freddie was asleep, he'd properly fall apart. But for now, he had to be Dad. Had to be strong.
Even if every breath felt like glass in his lungs.
Even if part of him was already screaming.
Even if nothing would ever be the same again.
Louis sat there proper still, Freddie's voice washing over him like static. His phone felt heavy in his hand, like it might break if he gripped it any harder. Liam was... Christ. Fucking hell. The same Liam who'd been there through every shit storm, who'd known about him and Harry before anyone else, who'd—
"Daddy, you're not even looking!" Freddie's American lilt cut through his thoughts.
"Sorry, love. Just... need a minute, yeah?" Louis pushed himself up, legs feeling proper wobbly. Everything felt wrong, like the world had shifted two inches to the left.
He heard Briana before he saw her, typing away in the dining room. They'd got better at this whole co-parenting thing over the years, even if... well. Even if some things never quite healed right.
"Louis?" Her voice carried that familiar edge—the one she'd developed after one too many times catching him staring at his phone during Freddie's football matches, both of them knowing exactly who he was hoping to hear from. "What's wrong?"
"It's..." His voice cracked. Proper broke, if he was being honest. "Liam's dead."
The typing stopped. "Oh my god. What happened?"
"Was sudden, innit?" Louis gripped the counter, needing something solid. His accent was coming out stronger, the way it did when everything went to shit. "Just got the call and... fuck."
"Have you called anyone?" She meant Harry. They both knew she meant Harry.
"Can't yet, can I?" His voice went rough. "Don't even know how to... Christ."
Briana moved closer, setting aside their history for a moment. She'd always been good at that—putting their son first, making sure Freddie had something stable even when everything else was proper mental.
"Stay here tonight," she said, though it wasn't really a question. "The guest room's ready. You shouldn't be alone, and Freddie would love having you here."
Louis nodded, catching the slight tightening of her jaw when his eyes dropped to his phone again. Eight years on, and some things never changed.
"Daddy?" Freddie appeared, all wide eyes and worry. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, love." Louis tried to steady his voice, but it came out proper wrecked anyway.
"Your daddy's staying over tonight," Briana cut in smoothly, American accent a stark contrast to his northern one. "How about we order pizza?"
"Really?" Freddie brightened, though his eyes kept darting to Louis's face.
"I'll handle the food," Briana said quietly. Then, softer: "Louis? When you call Harry..." She paused, something vulnerable crossing her face. "Just... Freddie needs his dad present tonight, okay?"
It wasn't cruel, the way she said it. Just tired. Like someone who'd spent years watching the man she'd wanted always gravitate toward someone else, even when they weren't together. Someone who'd learned to live with being second choice but wanted better for their kid.
"Yeah, course," Louis managed, throat tight. "Thanks, love."
She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Come on, sweetie," she said to Freddie. "Let's pick toppings while Daddy takes a minute."
Louis watched them go, Freddie's excited "Can we get stuffed crust?" mixing with Briana's careful responses. His phone felt like it weighed a proper ton. Liam would've known exactly what to say right now—how to handle this mess, how to... fuck.
But Liam was gone.
And soon he'd have to call Harry, and Briana would hear his voice break over the phone, and they'd all pretend it didn't mean what it meant. Just like they always had.
"Proper fucked, this," he whispered to the empty kitchen, accent thick with grief. And for the first time since his mum passed, he felt properly, completely lost.
Some things never really changed.
But some things changed too fucking much.
Louis picked at a cold slice of pizza, proper lost in his thoughts. The house had gone quiet, just the soft hum of the dishwasher and Briana tidying up. Freddie had finally dozed off, exhausted from trying to make his dad smile all evening.
"You still haven't called him." Briana's voice cut through the silence as she sat across from him at the kitchen island. Not a question, that.
"Called management, didn't I?" Louis defended weakly, his accent thicker with exhaustion. "And Niall. Even got through to Zayn's people."
"That's not who I mean and you know it." She fixed him with that look—the one she'd perfected over years of co-parenting. "You're avoiding Harry."
"Christ, Bri." Louis pushed the pizza away, stomach proper churning. "It's not that simple—"
"When has it ever been simple with you two?" Her American accent carried a bite of frustration. "But Liam's gone, Louis. He's gone, and life's too damn short for whatever this is."
Louis ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "What d'you want me to do, eh? Just ring him up after everything and—"
"Yes!" Briana cut in, then lowered her voice, glancing toward Freddie's room. "Yes, that's exactly what you should do. Because you know what? Our son deserves a father who's actually happy. Not just... existing."
"I am happy," Louis protested, but it sounded weak even to his ears.
"No, you're not." Briana's voice softened. "You haven't been, not really. Not since..." She gestured vaguely, encompassing their whole complicated history. "Look, I wanted it to be me. God knows I tried to be enough. But you've always been half somewhere else, haven't you? With him."
"Bri—" His voice cracked properly.
"Let me finish." She reached across the counter, not quite touching him. "I've made my peace with it. But Freddie? He notices more than you think. He sees when you get quiet, when you check your phone, when Harry's name comes up in the news and you get that look."
Louis felt proper called out, his chest tight. "I never meant to—"
"I know you didn't." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "But Liam's death? It's a wake-up call, Louis. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed. And Freddie deserves a dad who's living his truth, not just... going through the motions."
"It's not that easy though, is it?" His voice went rough. "Can't just call Harry and fix everything."
"No," Briana agreed. "But you can start. Because you know what? Liam would've wanted you to. He always did, didn't he?"
Louis's breath caught. Because she was right—Liam had always been their biggest supporter, even when everything went to shit. Always pushing them to sort things out, to be honest with themselves.
"He used to proper lecture me about it," Louis admitted quietly, accent thick with memory. "Said we were both being right twats about everything."
"He wasn't wrong." Briana's smile was sad but genuine. "So maybe... maybe honor him by finally listening?"
Louis stared at his phone on the counter, screen dark but somehow still demanding attention. "What if he doesn't want to hear from me?"
"Then at least you tried." She stood up, gathering the pizza box. "But Louis? I watched you love him for years while pretending you didn't. Trust me—he wants to hear from you."
The truth of it hung in the air between them, years of unspoken understanding finally finding voice.
"Proper mad, this," Louis muttered, but his hand was already reaching for his phone.
"Yeah, well." Briana paused at the doorway. "Sometimes mad is better than miserable. Call him, Louis. For Liam. For Freddie." She hesitated, then added softly, "For yourself."
* * *
Louis hadn't slept proper. After he'd come back to his rental from Briana's—he'd spent most of the night pacing his rental, the massive LA house feeling too big and too empty.
His phone buzzed around noon. Niall, because of course it was Niall trying to pull them all together.
"Made a new group chat lads. Figured we should have one xx"
Louis stared at the notification, his stomach doing that weird flip thing as four names appeared on his screen. Hadn't been in a group chat with all of them since... well, since everything went tits up, really.
"Hi xx" That was Harry, quick to respond. Always proper polite, that one.
Louis watched the screen, heart racing like he was some teenager again. Zayn's name appeared next—bit of a surprise that. They'd all changed numbers so many times over the years, trying to dodge leaks and paps. Must've taken Niall ages to sort this.
"Been a minute," Zayn wrote, understated as ever.
Louis's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Felt weird this, trying to bridge years of distance through a bloody phone screen. But then again, everything felt weird now. Nothing made sense without Liam here to ground them.
"Alright lads," he typed finally, proper nervous about it. "Suppose we're doing this then."
Three dots appeared immediately—Niall again. "Course we are Tommo. Should've done it ages ago if we weren't all such proper dickheads about everything."
That startled a laugh out of Louis, rough and unexpected. Trust Niall to just put it out there like that.
"Speak for yourself, mate," he replied, falling back into their old banter even as his hands shook. "I'm a delight."
"Sure you are, Lou," Harry wrote, and Christ, even through text Louis could hear that slow drawl, could picture that stupid fond smile.
"Oi, Harold," he typed back before he could stop himself. "No need for cheek."
The response was immediate: "Always need for cheek xx"
"Children, behave," Zayn chimed in, and Louis could practically see his eye roll.
A beat passed, then Niall: "Liam would've loved this."
The mood shifted, reality crashing back in. Louis's throat went tight.
"Yeah," he managed to type. "He would've been proper chuffed, wouldn't he? Probably already planning some ridiculous group workout session."
"God, remember those?" Harry wrote. "He'd get so serious about proper form."
"While Lou just took the piss," Zayn added.
"Someone had to!" Louis defended, but he was smiling now, even as his eyes went wet. "Couldn't let him get too full of himself, could we?"
"Miss him so much already," Niall wrote, always the one brave enough to say what they were all feeling.
Louis took a shaky breath, staring at those words. The massive house felt even emptier somehow, echoing with memories of five lads who used to be inseparable.
"Listen up," he typed, big brother instincts kicking in proper. "We're not doing this alone, yeah? Proper family, aren't we? Always have been."
"Even when we're being dickheads?" Harry asked, and there was something vulnerable in those words that made Louis's chest ache.
"Especially then, love," he replied without thinking, then watched the three dots appear and disappear as Harry processed that.
"Love you lads," Niall wrote, breaking the tension. "All of you. Even when you're being proper twats."
"Love you too," Zayn replied, simple but sincere.
"Always," Harry added.
Louis stared at his screen, at these four lads who'd shaped his entire life. At the space where Liam's reply should've been.
"Right back at you, you soppy bastards," he typed finally, accent thick even in text. Then, because Liam would've wanted him to be honest: "Proper love you lot. Don't forget it."
His phone practically exploded with heart emojis from Niall, making him laugh even as tears proper threatened.
"Payno would be proud," Harry wrote softly. "Us talking again."
"Yeah," Louis replied, chest tight. "He would."
And somewhere, he could almost hear Liam's laugh—that proper delighted giggle he'd get when his boys finally sorted their shit out.
"Miss you, mate," he whispered to the empty house, even as his phone buzzed with more messages from the lads. "But I'll look after them. Promise."
“Can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,” Harry typed, each word a heavy weight that landed on Louis's chest. “Liam was... everything to us.”
The sentiment hung there, raw and unfiltered. Louis’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He felt an urge to reach out, to bridge the distance that had grown between them, but hesitation clouded his mind.
Harry’s words echoed through his thoughts—everything they’d shared, the moments of laughter mixed with painful silences. It all came rushing back like a tide he couldn’t fight against.
What could he say? The knot in his throat tightened as he pictured Harry’s face—those warm green eyes filled with vulnerability and pain. Could he bear seeing that look directed at him again? The tension from their past simmered just beneath the surface, ready to erupt.
He scrolled back through the messages, searching for the right thing to say. Something witty or heartfelt—anything that could break down the walls they’d built around themselves over time.
“Liam wouldn’t want us moping around,” Niall suggested, trying to lighten the mood further.
Louis smirked at that, picturing Liam rolling his eyes and cracking some ridiculous joke about how they were being overly dramatic. But when he thought of Harry reading those words, Louis felt a pang of fear gripping him.
Harry's response came quickly: “Yeah... but it feels impossible right now.”
There it was—the crack in Harry’s facade. The invitation to connect hung tantalizingly in front of him, yet Louis fought against it like a reflex. What if he misstepped? What if they both ended up hurting more than healing?
He clenched his jaw, willing himself to focus on anything but Harry's words. He turned away from his phone for a moment, glancing around the room as if seeking comfort in its familiarity.
Then he looked back at the screen, fingers trembling above the keys again. But instead of typing something meaningful or honest, Louis let out a frustrated sigh and pulled away once more.
The uncertainty felt suffocating—how could he face this without knowing how Harry truly felt? The fear of reopening old wounds paralyzed him while memories of their friendship flickered through his mind like ghosts refusing to rest.
The messages had gone quiet for a bit, everyone proper processing, when Louis's big brother instincts kicked in hard. Couldn't help it, could he? Not with everything going on.
"Right then," he typed, hands still shaking but voice steady even through text. "Think we need proper check-ins, don't we? Daily like. No excuses."
Three dots appeared immediately—Niall again. Always quick to support any plan that kept them together.
"Good idea Tommo. Been proper worried about everyone if I'm honest."
Louis's throat went tight at that. They all had reason to worry, didn't they? Zayn had been through hell lately—they'd all seen the photos, read the concerned messages from mutual friends. And now this...
"I'm fine," Zayn wrote, but Louis could practically hear how not fine he was.
"No bullshit, yeah?" Louis replied quickly. "We're past that. Need to know you're eating proper, Z. Getting rest."
A long pause followed. Louis could picture Zayn on his farm, probably doing that thing where he overthinks every word.
"Been better," Zayn admitted finally. "But I'm trying."
"We know you are, love," Harry wrote, and Christ, the gentleness in those words nearly broke Louis. "But let us help?"
Another pause. Then Zayn: "Yeah. Okay."
"Good lad," Louis typed, then took a proper deep breath before adding: "Same goes for all of you. Watching out for each other now, aren't we?"
"Speaking of," Niall cut in, "how are YOU, Tommo? You and Payno were... well."
Louis stared at those words, grief hitting him fresh. Him and Liam had been proper best mates, hadn't they? Through everything. All the shit with management, the band breaking up, his mum... Liam had always been there.
"I'm..." he started typing, then stopped. Deleted it. Started again. "Feels proper wrong, doesn't it? Him not being here."
"Oh Lou," Harry wrote, and fuck if Louis couldn't hear exactly how he'd say it—all soft and concerned.
"Don't start," Louis typed quickly. "I'm alright. Just... need to know you lot are alright too, yeah?"
"We're worried about you," Niall replied bluntly. "You always take care of everyone else but..."
"But who's taking care of you?" Zayn finished.
Louis pressed his palm against his eyes, willing back tears. Proper pathetic, crying over a group chat.
"I've got Freddie," he wrote finally. "And Bri's been... she understands."
"That's not the same though, is it?" Harry's response was immediate. "You need us too. Need your family."
"Christ," Louis muttered out loud, properly crying now. He typed through blurry vision: "When did you lot get so smart, eh?"
"Learned from the best," Niall wrote. "Our big brother, weren't you?"
"Still am," Louis replied, wiping his eyes roughly. "Which is why we're doing these check-ins. No skipping out. Need to know you're all sleeping proper, eating right."
"Especially you, Z," Harry added gently. "We see you."
"And you, Lou," Zayn countered. "Know how you get when you're hurting."
Louis let out a wet laugh. "Proper gang up on me then."
"Someone has to," Niall wrote. "Liam would've."
That hit hard. Because yeah, Liam would've been right there, making sure Louis wasn't pushing himself too hard, wasn't bottling everything up.
"Miss him so fucking much," Louis typed, hands shaking proper bad now. "Keep reaching for my phone to text him and..."
"We know," Harry replied softly. "We know, Lou."
"Fuck," Louis whispered to his empty house, tears falling proper fast now.
His phone lit up with message after message—love and support pouring in from his boys. His family.
"Right then," he managed to type eventually. "Morning and night check-ins. No excuses. Need to know you're all okay."
"Promise," came three replies, almost in sync.
Louis pressed his phone to his chest, breathing ragged. "See that, Payno?" he whispered. "Still looking after them. Just like I promised."
His phone buzzed again—a private message from Harry:
"I'm here if you need me."
Louis broke properly then, crying like he hadn't since he'd first heard the news. But his phone kept buzzing with messages from his boys, holding him together even from across the world.
Just like they always had.
Just like they always would.
For Liam.
Chapter 4: August 2015
Summary:
A flashback to 2015. Louis struggles with the revelation of Briana's pregnancy, feeling trapped by his past with Eleanor and haunted by memories of Harry. As frustration boils over, Louis admits a desire to be involved, confronting the turmoil his reckless choices have caused. The weight of their situation looms heavily, complicating their relationship.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis splashed cold water on his face for the third time, hands gripping the bathroom sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Maybe it was.
"Get it together," he muttered to his reflection, but the lad staring back looked proper wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess from running his hands through it too many times.
His phone buzzed again—probably Liam wondering where he'd disappeared to. They were due on air in twenty minutes, and he was hiding in the bloody loo like a coward.
But how was he supposed to sit next to Harry for an hour? Act like everything was normal when the whole world knew he'd gotten some girl pregnant? When Harry knew?
He hadn't seen Harry's reaction to the news. They hadn't properly spoken in days, not since... well. Not since everything went to shit. But Niall had called him as soon as Harry found out, voice careful:
"Haz isn't doing great with it, mate. I wouldn't go home tonight."
Louis had hung up before Niall could say more. Couldn't bear to hear how he'd broken Harry's heart. Again.
"Fuck," he whispered, pressing his palms against his eyes until he saw spots. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of it was. The hookups were just meant to be fun, meant to prove he could move on, could want someone else the way he'd wanted—
No. He couldn't think about that. About soft curls and green eyes and hands that knew every inch of him.
His phone buzzed again. Liam: "5 minutes mate"
Louis took a shaky breath, straightening his shirt. He could do this. He'd done harder things, hadn't he? Smiled through interviews while management paraded Eleanor around. Watched Harry date half of Hollywood. This was just another performance.
Except it wasn't, was it? This was real. There was a baby coming—his baby. And Harry...
His hands started shaking again as he remembered that fight months ago that had led to all of this. Harry pressing him against a hotel wall, voice breaking:
"Just tell me you don't love me anymore. Tell me and I'll stop fighting for us."
Louis hadn't said anything. Couldn't. Because lying to Harry had always been impossible.
So he'd pulled away instead. Found Briana. Found others. Tried to drown Harry's voice in perfume and soft curves and—
A knock at the door made him jump.
"Lou?" Liam's voice, worried. "You alright in there?"
"Yeah," Louis called back, voice surprisingly steady. "Just... give us a minute, yeah?"
"Harry's here," Liam said softly. "Thought you should know."
Louis's knees nearly gave out. "Right," he managed. "Thanks, mate."
He heard Liam hesitate, then: "We've got you, yeah? Both of you."
Louis pressed his forehead against the cool mirror, eyes burning. "I proper fucked up, Li."
"I know," Liam replied, gentle in that way he had. "But you've got to face it sometime."
Louis straightened up, wiping his eyes roughly. "Yeah. Suppose I do."
One last look in the mirror. One last desperate attempt to pull himself together.
"Coming," he called to Liam, reaching for the door.
Time to face the music. Face Harry.
Face everything he'd been running from.
His hand shook as he turned the handle, Liam's steady presence waiting on the other side. Down the hall, he could hear Niall's laugh, forced and too loud—trying to cut through tension probably.
And somewhere in that studio was Harry. Harry who he'd loved more than breathing. Harry who he'd lost. Harry who was about to watch him try to explain why he was having a baby with someone else.
"Fuck," he whispered one last time, then stepped out into the hallway.
Time to break both their hearts all over again.
* * *
The studio lights felt proper intense as Louis slid into his assigned seat. Third from the left, which meant—yeah. Harry right next to him, close enough that Louis could smell his ridiculous posh cologne.
"Alright lads!" The interviewer—some proper cheerful morning show type—beamed at them. "Exciting times ahead, eh?"
Louis's stomach lurched. He knew what was coming. They all did.
"Yeah, massive," Niall jumped in quickly, bless him. Always trying to control the narrative when things got proper tense. "Tour's been amazing, hasn't it?"
But the interviewer wasn't letting it go. "And some personal news as well! Louis, mate—congratulations are in order, aren't they?"
Louis felt Harry go completely still beside him. Forced himself to smile, that media-trained grin that never quite reached his eyes.
"Yeah, thanks," he managed, voice rougher than he'd like. "Proper exciting, innit?"
"Must be quite the adjustment! How's everyone feeling about being uncles then?"
Louis wanted to be sick. Because Harry—Harry wasn't supposed to just be an uncle to his kid. It was a cruel twist of fate that the man who should have been his child's other father was going to have to instead be a bystander.
"Thrilled," Liam cut in, always professional. "We all are."
Harry shifted slightly, his knee brushing Louis's under the table. Louis jerked away like he'd been burned.
The journalist leaned forward, proper eager like. "And Harry, how do you feel about Louis becoming a father?"
Louis felt his heart stop. Beside him, Harry went still for just a moment before that media smile slid back into place—but Louis knew him better than that, didn't he? Could see the way his fingers tightened on his thigh.
"I, um," Harry started, that slow drawl of his catching slightly. He cleared his throat. "I think Louis' gonna be amazing at it, actually."
Louis couldn't breathe. Because Harry's voice had gone soft, intimate in a way that made his chest ache.
"He's just...he's got this way about him, yeah?" Harry continued, and Christ, his eyes were getting that glassy look. "Like, he's amazing with kids. Just...singing and telling stories and..."
Harry trailed off, swallowing hard. Louis wanted to reach for him, wanted to squeeze his hand like he used to when Harry got overwhelmed in interviews. But he couldn't, could he?
"We used to talk about it loads," Harry added quietly, and fuck—Louis could feel the tears building. "Being dads. How we'd..."
"Right then!" Their manager's voice cut through sharp as glass. "We'll need to cut that bit. Harry, love, let's keep it simple, yeah? Just the congratulations."
The journalist's face fell, but she nodded. Professional like.
Louis sat there, proper frozen, while Harry's words echoed in his head. Because they had talked about it, hadn't they? Late nights in hotel rooms, Harry's head on his chest, whispering about what their future would look like once they were free. About adoption and baby names and...
"Should we move on to the new single then?" Niall cut in, bless him.
Louis nodded mechanically, not trusting his voice. Beside him, Harry had gone quiet, that careful mask back in place.
But Louis could still feel it—everything unsaid hanging between them like smoke.
* * *
After Radio 1, Louis grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him into one of those tiny meeting rooms. His hands were properly shaking as he clicked the door shut.
"Haz," Louis started, voice going higher like it did when he was nervous. He tugged at his fringe, shifting his weight. "Listen, I'm sorry, yeah?"
Harry crossed his arms, jaw set in that way that meant trouble. "Sorry for what exactly?" His voice was slow, deliberate - that deep drawl he'd developed. Harry was always terrifying when he was mad. His eyes bore holes into Louis. His jaw was sharp as glass. "For getting someone pregnant? For messing everything up?"
"No, I just..." Louis bounced slightly on his feet, restless energy radiating off him. "I didn't think, did I? About how this would affect you and everything."
Harry's laugh was low and hollow. "You think this is just about the baby? Christ, Lou. We had plans, didn't we? Proper plans."
"I know that—"
"Do you though?" Harry cut in, voice dropping even lower. "Did you stop drinking vodka and shagging the whole town for five bloody minuites to think that maybe you'd ruined our entire fucking lives?"
Louis's voice went sharp, defensive. "That's not fair and you know it—"
"What's not fair," Harry said slowly, "is watching someone else raise a child with the same eyes I fell in love with at sixteen. A child that we'd planned to have together. Just like we planned to do everything else together. Getting married and all that. Remember those chats?"
The memory seemed to physically hit Louis - he actually stepped back, shoulders hunching. When he finally spoke, his voice was small. "I didn't know what to do, did I?"
"No," Harry said, each word precise and cutting. "You really didn't."
Harry started pacing, those long legs of his eating up the tiny space. "D'you have any idea what it's been like?" His voice was rough, catching. "Watching you with all of them? Eleanor and now..." He waved his hand, couldn't even say her name.
Louis fidgeted with his sleeves, that nervous energy practically vibrating off him. "It's not like I wanted—"
"But you did though, didn't you?" Harry stopped, turning those green eyes on Louis. "Because it was easier, innit? Easier than dealing with us. With this." He gestured between them.
"That's not—"
"And now you're having a proper baby," Harry's voice cracked on the word. "Everything we talked about, Lou. Everything we planned. Just... gone."
Louis stepped forward, that protective instinct kicking in despite everything. "Haz—"
"Don't." Harry held up his hand. "Just don't, alright? You can't fix this with one of your little speeches."
"I've loved you since I was eighteen!" Louis burst out, voice going high and tight. "You know that! And I want you here, with me, through all of this—"
"Through what exactly?" Harry's laugh was bitter. "Through watching you play happy families? Through pretending it doesn't kill me?"
"We can figure it out!" Louis was proper desperate now, bouncing on his toes. "We always do, don't we?"
"Not this time." Harry's voice was cold, final. "You made your choice, Lou. Now you've got to live with it."
He stormed out, the door banging against the wall. Louis stood there for a moment, chest heaving, before following.
The lads were right there - of course they were. Niall was studying his shoes like they held the secrets of the universe, and Liam...
"He'll come round," Liam said softly, squeezing Louis's shoulder. "Just needs time to process, yeah?"
Louis shrugged him off, that defensive edge creeping back. "Yeah, well, fat lot of good that does me now, innit?"
Niall finally looked up. "Give him space, Tommo. You know how he gets."
But Louis could still hear Harry's footsteps echoing down the corridor, getting fainter with each step, and he wasn't sure anything would work out ever again.
Notes:
https://youtu.be/mrjueYEjTw0
Chapter 5: Present Day
Summary:
Harry struggles with grief and nostalgia in his childhood home after Liam's passing. Memories of Louis and their days together haunt him as he navigates feelings of inadequacy. Seeking solace, Harry wanders the streets of Manchester, reflecting on the weight of shared grief and connections, while a night out at a pub brings reminders of loss and the importance of reaching out.
Chapter Text
The house in North London could wait. Harry wasn't ready for those walls yet - too many memories of Louis sprawled on their sofa, of Liam's loud laugh echoing through their kitchen during late-night takeaways. His mum's place in Manchester felt safer somehow, though his hands still shook a bit as he pushed open the front door.
The smell hit him first - warm sugar and vanilla, like she'd been stress-baking again. Some things never changed, even when everything else had gone proper mental.
"Love?" Anne called from the kitchen.
"Yeah," he answered, voice going rough around the edges. "'M home."
His old room was exactly as he'd left it - posters still blu-tacked to the walls, that stupid Leeds Festival wristband from 2010 hanging off his mirror. He sank onto the bed, letting his head fall back against the wall. Memories crashed over him like waves.
2013, backstage at the O2. His hands were trembling as he held up the sheer black blouse.
"Looks sick," Louis had said immediately, no hesitation. Just that crinkly-eyed smile. "Proper rock star, you are."
Harry had twisted the fabric between his fingers. "You don't think it's... too much?"
"Nothing about you could ever be too much, love." Louis's voice had gone soft, private. "You're perfect exactly as you are."
Perfect. Right. Harry let out a hollow laugh, running his fingers over his painted nails - pale pink today. The press had had a field day with those at first. 'Harry Styles: Pop's Pretty Boy Gone Rogue.' Like painting your nails was some massive act of rebellion instead of just... existing in your own skin.
But Louis had understood, hadn't he? Even back then, when Harry was still figuring himself out, stumbling through fashion choices that felt right but scared him senseless. Louis would just hand him another bottle of polish, grinning as Harry carefully painted each nail.
"Tea?" His mum's voice pulled him back to the present. She stood in the doorway, worry etched across her face.
"Please," he managed. His throat felt tight.
The kitchen was warm, but Harry couldn't stop shivering. Each bite of his mum's shepherd's pie tasted like cardboard. All he could think about was Liam - his stupid dad jokes, the way he'd always known exactly when someone needed a hug.
"Sweetheart," Anne started carefully.
"Don't." It came out sharper than he meant it to. He softened his voice. "Sorry, just... can't talk about it yet."
She nodded, reaching across to squeeze his hand. Her eyes caught on his rings - some vintage, some designer, all carefully chosen to feel like armor against a world that had tried to box him in since he was sixteen.
Later, pacing his old room, Harry felt the walls closing in. Every poster, every photo - reminders of who the world wanted him to be. The charming ladies' man. The fashion icon. The perfect pop star who never put a foot wrong.
He needed air. The streets of Manchester were quiet this time of night, streetlights casting long shadows. His boots clicked against wet pavement as memories kept flooding back.
"You're not broken," Louis had whispered one night, years ago, when Harry had fallen apart after another article questioning his sexuality, his clothes, his very existence. "You're evolving. There's a difference."
Now, standing in the drizzle, Harry wondered if Louis still believed that. If any of them did, after everything. After Liam.
The grief hit him fresh, stealing his breath. He stumbled into the nearest pub - the Hare and Hounds, just a hole in the wall with a few patrons milling about.
The TV inside was showing clips of Liam - young and bright-eyed, then older but still grinning that puppy-dog grin. Harry ordered a whiskey with shaking hands and retreated to a dark corner.
"Gone too soon," the anchor was saying. "Leaving behind bandmates..."
Harry knocked back his drink, letting it burn. They'd been more than bandmates. They'd been family. And now...
His phone buzzed. Louis's name lit up the screen.
Harry stared at it for a long moment, remembering all the times Louis had been his lighthouse in the storm. But he wasn't that lost boy anymore, was he? Even if sometimes, like tonight, he felt just as scared and uncertain as he had at sixteen.
He let the call go to voicemail
as the bitter ale wash over his tongue, anchoring himself in the pub's familiar warmth while memories churned like storm clouds in his mind. The barmaid moved between tables with practiced ease, sparing him only a passing glance. Her indifference was a gift - no questions, no expectations, just space to breathe.
Laughter drifted from a nearby table, the sound both warming and painful. They shared stories with an ease he envied, their joy untainted by the weight of loss. His thoughts strayed to Louis, bringing that familiar ache of longing tinged with anger. They'd fought so hard to chart their own courses, only to end up adrift in separate seas.
The barmaid approached with a fresh pint, her black apron stark against her faded shirt, hair pulled back messily. Recognition flickered across her face as she set down his drink.
"Want me to change the tube?" she asked softly, nodding toward the TV where Liam's highlights played in an endless loop.
Harry blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "What?"
"The channel," she clarified with a gentle smile.
For a moment, he was tempted - to turn away from the memories playing overhead. Instead, he shook his head. "No need."
She slipped away, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the distant sound of other people's joy. His phone buzzed against the table - the group chat. Zayn, Niall, Louis. Their nightly check-in, started after Liam's passing, felt heavier tonight.
The messages flowed like a tide of worry:
Niall: Hope everyone's okay? Zayn? You there?
Louis: Zayn! We're worried about you, mate.
Zayn's response came slowly: I'm fine. Just tired.
Harry's thumb hovered over his keyboard, words failing him. How do you reach across the distance grief creates? The others tried - Niall with concern, Louis with care. Harry managed only: Yeah, mate, we miss you.
The conversation spiraled into familiar patterns - worry met with withdrawal, jokes falling flat against the weight of what remained unsaid. When Harry finally stepped into the night air, their last messages followed him home:
Louis: We need each other now more than ever. Niall: You're right, Lou. Zayn: I'll reach out when I can.
Under the scalding shower later, Harry let the water burn away his defenses. Steam filled his lungs as memories rose unbidden - Liam's laugh, Louis's touch, moments too bright to look at directly. The heat seared his skin, grounding him in physical sensation when emotional pain threatened to overwhelm.
He couldn't hide here forever, but for now, the water's relentless drumming drowned out everything else, leaving him raw and, paradoxically, more whole.
Chapter 6: January 2013
Summary:
Harry examines his pink-painted nails in the dressing room, reflecting on the pressure of fitting into the management's image. Louis enters and the two share a vulnerable conversation about identity and the struggles of their relationship. They contemplate a secret marriage as Harry reassures Louis of his worth.
Chapter Text
The flickering lights of the dressing room cast shadows across Harry's reflection. He studied his painted nails - bright pink today, catching the light like tiny rebellions against the careful image management had constructed. His heart raced slightly, remembering their cutting remarks about his "feminine choices."
The door creaked open, and Louis slipped in, immediately filling the space with his presence. His eyes caught Harry's in the mirror, that familiar mix of fondness and concern washing over his features.
"Brooding again, love?" Louis asked, voice soft but teasing.
Harry shrugged, his fingers curling inward. "Just thinking."
"About?" Louis settled against the makeup counter, close but not touching - always careful, even here.
"Everything. Nothing." Harry paused, struggling to articulate the storm in his mind. "Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating in their version of me."
Louis's expression tightened slightly. "You mean the whole 'ladies' man' routine?"
"Yeah. No." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It's more than that. It's... everything I want to be versus everything they want me to be."
Louis watched him carefully, his own internal battle visible in the tension of his shoulders. "You know you're perfect just as you are, right?"
"Am I though?" Harry's voice cracked slightly. "Because some days I want to wear flowery shirts and paint my nails and just... be. And other days I see how they look at me, how they whisper..."
"Fuck them," Louis said sharply, then seemed to catch himself. His voice softened. "You're not doing anything wrong, H."
Harry noticed how Louis shifted slightly away, maintaining that careful distance - the same distance he kept on stage, in interviews. It hurt, even though he understood.
"Says the boy who won't hold my hand anymore," Harry said quietly, immediately regretting the words.
Louis flinched. "That's different. You know that's different."
"Is it?" Harry turned to face him properly. "Because sometimes I think we're both just scared of different things."
Louis's face clouded with emotion. "I'm not... I can't..." He stopped, frustrated. "I want you to be free to be yourself. I just... I can't..."
"I know," Harry said softly, because he did know. He understood Louis's struggle with his own identity, his fear of being labeled, his desperate need to maintain control over his public image.
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Finally, Louis spoke again.
"One day," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "we won't have to hide anything. You'll wear whatever you want, and I'll..." He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
Harry felt tears prick at his corners of his eyes. "Promise?"
Louis stepped closer, finally breaking their careful distance to brush his thumb across Harry's cheek. "Promise. Even if I'm shit at showing it sometimes."
The moment hung suspended between them, fragile as spun glass - Harry with his painted nails and uncertain heart, Louis with his careful distances and fierce protection. Both of them trapped in their own ways, both fighting different battles in the same war.
Louis shifted his weight, a nervous energy radiating from him. "Sometimes I imagine us..." he trailed off, laughing self-consciously. "It's proper daft, really."
"Tell me," Harry encouraged softly.
"Getting married. Somewhere quiet, like. Maybe that little chapel near my mum's." Louis's voice was barely audible. "Just family. No management, no band, no cameras."
Harry's breath caught. "You think about that?"
"Course I do." Louis's eyes darted away. "But then I think about what happens after. Having to pretend we're just mates. Hiding rings. Living separate lives in public."
"We already do that," Harry pointed out gently.
"Yeah, but..." Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "It's different, innit? Marriage is... it's bigger. And if it got out..." He swallowed hard. "The band's all I've got, Haz."
Harry frowned. "That's not true."
"No?" Louis's laugh was bitter. "Look at you - you're Harry Styles. Everyone loves you. You've got the voice, the looks, the charm. You could go solo tomorrow and be fine."
"Lou-"
"I'm just... I'm the loud one from Doncaster. The one they stuck in the back during photoshoots. The one who gets the least solos." Louis's voice cracked slightly. "Without the band, what am I?"
Harry stepped forward, grabbing Louis's hands. "You're everything. You're the one who holds us together. The one who fights for us in meetings. The one who makes everyone laugh when it gets too heavy."
"That's not enough though, is it?" Louis pulled away, pacing. "Not for the long run. And if we got married, if it leaked... Management would lose their minds. The band would fall apart. And then what?"
"Then we'd face it together," Harry said firmly. "And you're wrong, you know. About being nothing without the band. You're brilliant, Lou. Your songwriting, your voice-"
"Stop," Louis cut him off, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. "Just... stop."
Silence fell between them. Harry watched Louis pace, seeing the scared boy from Doncaster beneath the confident exterior he showed the world.
"We could keep it secret," Harry finally said. "Just our families knowing. Wear our rings on chains under our clothes. Have our own private life away from everything else."
Louis stopped pacing. "You'd do that? Live like that?"
"For you? Yes." Harry's voice was steady. "Because you're worth it. Even if you don't see it yet."
Louis's breath hitched. "But you deserve better than hiding. Than sneaking around and lying-"
"I deserve to be with the person I love," Harry interrupted. "However that has to look right now."
Louis stared at him for a long moment, emotions warring across his face. "I just... I don't want to hold you back. Everyone already thinks I'm not good enough for you-"
"Everyone doesn't matter," Harry said fiercely. "You're the one who believed in me before anyone else did. Who pushed me to be myself even when you were scared to do the same. Who writes lyrics about me and pretends they're about someone else."
Louis gave a watery laugh. "Been reading my notebook again?"
"Always." Harry smiled softly. "So yes, I'd marry you in secret. Yes, I'd hide rings and make up stories and pretend we're just mates in public. Because I know who you are, Louis Tomlinson. Even if you're still figuring it out yourself."
Louis stepped forward, pressing his forehead against Harry's. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything," Harry whispered. "And someday, you'll believe that too."
They stood there, breathing each other in, the weight of their shared dreams and fears settling around them like a familiar blanket. In that moment, they were just Harry and Louis - not pop stars or tabloid fodder or carefully managed public figures. Just two boys from different worlds who found home in each other, planning a future they couldn't quite speak aloud.
Chapter 7: Present Day
Summary:
Louis watches Freddie play in the living room while grappling with his feelings for Harry and guilt over Liam. Briana urges Louis to confront his emotions and return to London. After a difficult conversation with Lottie, Louis resolves to go home, finally recognizing the importance of facing his struggles.
Chapter Text
Louis watched Freddie race around the living room, pausing only briefly to show off his latest superhero move. The sound of his laughter should've lifted Louis' spirits, but his mind kept drifting to the group chat notification lighting up his phone.
"You're doing it again," Briana's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Doing what?"
She gave him that look—the one that always saw right through him. "That thing where you get lost in your head and pretend everything's fine."
Louis shifted against the counter, defensive. "Just tired, aren't I?"
"No," she said quietly. "You're wearing that mask again. The same one you used to wear with me."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. "Bri..."
"It's okay," she assured him, her voice gentle but firm. "We're way past that now. But I know what it looks like when you're pretending to be okay for everyone else's sake."
He swallowed hard. "This isn't about..."
"Harry?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's always been about Harry, Lou. Even when you tried so hard to make it about me."
Louis felt the familiar guilt creep in. "I did care about you. Still do."
"I know," she smiled sadly. "But not the way you care about him. Never could, could you?"
He stayed silent, unable to deny it.
"You're doing the same thing now that you did back then," she continued. "Playing the protective big brother, taking care of everyone else so you don't have to deal with your own stuff. With Liam, with Harry..."
"It's not the same," Louis protested weakly, but even he could hear how hollow it sounded.
Briana stepped closer, her voice softening. "You've been staring at that group chat for days, Lou. Making sure everyone else is okay, checking in on Niall and Zayn, but barely saying anything yourself. And Harry..."
"He's not answering anyway," Louis cut in, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. "No one even knows where he is."
"And that's killing you," Briana observed quietly. "Not knowing. Not being able to reach him."
Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "What am I supposed to do then? Pour my heart out in a bloody group chat when he can barely manage a 'yeah' or 'same'?"
"No," she said simply. "You're supposed to go home."
"I am home," he argued, but the words felt wrong even as he said them.
Briana shook her head. "LA's where Freddie is, and we'll always be here for you. But London's home, Louis. Your family's there. The boys are there." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "And maybe... maybe Harry needs you more than he can say right now."
"Bit hard to know what he needs when he's gone radio silent, innit?" Louis attempted a bitter laugh, but it came out more like a choke.
"You used to know him better than anyone," she said softly. "Maybe you still do, if you'd stop pretending everything's fine and actually let yourself feel it."
Louis felt his defenses crumbling. "It's not that simple."
"Look," Briana sighed, leaning against the counter beside him. "What happened between us... that's ancient history. We figured out how to be proper friends, didn't we? Better co-parents than we ever were trying to be a couple."
"Yeah, we did."
"Because we finally stopped pretending. Stopped trying to force something that was never meant to be." She turned to face him fully. "I knew, you know. Even back then. Every time you looked at your phone, every time his name came up... I could see it in your eyes. The same look you've got now."
Louis stayed silent, his chest tight.
"So let me be your friend now and tell you what you need to hear: Stop hiding. Stop trying to be everyone's protector. The boys need their Louis, not some watered-down version who's too scared to say what he's really feeling." She touched his arm gently. "And Harry... wherever he is, whatever he's going through... he needs the real Louis too. Not just some emoji in a group chat."
"What if he doesn't want to see me?" The vulnerability in his own voice startled him.
"Then at least you'll know," Briana said simply. "But hiding out here, pretending you're fine while checking your phone every five minutes... that's not helping anyone. Especially not you."
Louis stared down at his phone, Harry's contact still open on the screen. "When did you get so wise, eh?"
"Around the same time I stopped trying to compete with a ghost," she replied, but there was no bitterness in her voice. Just understanding. "Freddie and I will be fine. We'll FaceTime every day, won't we love?" she called out to their son, who was now sprawled on the floor with his action figures.
"Yeah!" Freddie shouted back, only half-listening. "Dad, watch this!"
Louis managed a genuine smile as Freddie demonstrated an elaborate battle scene. "Proper superhero, you are."
Briana squeezed his arm one last time before moving to start lunch preparations. "Call your sister," she said quietly. "And then book a flight."
It took him another hour to work up the courage, waiting until Freddie was settled with his lunch before stepping out onto the balcony. The phone rang twice before Lottie answered.
"Oi oi!" she answered, sounding proper cheerful despite probably being knackered from the pregnancy.
"Alright, lots?" he managed, trying to sound normal. "How's the bump treating you?"
"Oh God, don't even start," she laughed. "Lewis is already planning nursery themes and I can barely get off the sofa without help. Lucky's been using my belly as a climbing frame."
The mental image made him crack a smile. "Proper terror, that one. Just like his mum."
"Oi! Watch it, you!" She paused. "You sound off. What's wrong?"
Leave it to Lottie to see right through him. "Just... everything with Liam, innit?" His voice cracked slightly. "Can't wrap me head around it still."
"Oh, Lou..." Her voice went soft. "Have you talked to any of the boys about it?"
"Sort of. There's this group chat..." He trailed off, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. "Harry's in it. Barely saying anything though. No one seems to know where he is, except maybe Gemma."
"Have you tried—"
"Called him earlier," Louis cut in. "Straight to voicemail."
"Ah," Lottie's tone shifted slightly. "About that..."
Louis caught it immediately. "What?"
"Don't be mad," she started, which of course made him instantly tense. "But I might know where he is."
"Lots..."
"He's at Anne's," she admitted. "Has been for about a week now. Gemma says he's not really talking to anyone, just sort of... existing."
Louis felt his chest tighten. Holmes Chapel. A wave of memories hit him – stolen moments, shared secrets, everything they used to be. Everything he'd been running from.
"Right," he said tightly. "Well, that's... good that he's with family."
"Lou," Lottie's voice was gentle but exasperated. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"That thing where you pretend you're fine with everything being left unsaid. You're not fooling anyone."
"Nothing to say, is there?" Louis tried to keep his voice steady. "He needs space. I get it."
"No, you're giving yourself space," Lottie corrected. "There's a difference. You're hiding in LA, same as he's hiding in Holmes Chapel, and you're both proper miserable."
"I'm not hiding," Louis protested weakly. "I'm here for Freddie."
"You can be there for Freddie and still face what's actually going on. Come home, Lou. Stay with me and Lewis."
"And what? Pop over to Holmes Chapel for tea?" The sarcasm in his voice was defensive, and they both knew it.
"No," Lottie sighed. "Come home because your family needs you. Because the boys need you. Because you need to stop running from everything that hurts."
Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. "I'm not running from anything. Just trying to keep everyone together, aren't I? Someone has to."
"You can't keep everyone together if you're falling apart yourself," Lottie said softly. "And you are falling apart, Lou. I can hear it."
"I'm fine."
"You haven't been fine since before Liam—" her voice caught. "And now with Harry being... you're doing that thing again. Where you try to fix everyone else so you don't have to fix yourself."
Louis felt his eyes burn. "What do you want from me, Lots?"
"I want my brother back," she said simply. "Not this... this version of you that's trying so hard to be strong for everyone else that he can't even admit when he's hurting. Mum would've—"
"Don't," he cut her off sharply. "Don't bring her into this."
"Why not? She always saw right through you when it came to Harry. Remember what she used to say? 'That boy's got your heart in his hands whether you admit it or not.'"
Louis felt his chest constrict. "Yeah, well, lot of good that did anyone, didn't it?"
"Lou..."
"No, listen," his voice was getting thick. "I can't... I can't go there, Lots. Not now. Not with everything else. I just need to focus on being there for everyone, yeah? Make sure Zayn's eating, check on Niall, keep the group chat going—"
"While completely ignoring the fact that you're in love with someone who's hurting just as much as you are?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"I'm not—" Louis started, but the lie died in his throat. "It's not that simple."
"When has anything with you two ever been simple?" Lottie's voice was gentle now. "But Lou, you're both suffering. And you're both doing it alone because you're too stubborn to admit how much you need each other."
Louis slid down to sit on the balcony floor, suddenly exhausted. "My house in London feels too big," he admitted quietly. "Too empty. At least here I've got Freddie, got something to focus on besides..."
"Besides the fact that everything's falling apart?"
He let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."
"That house has always been too big," Lottie said carefully. "Because you bought it hoping someone else would help fill it."
Louis didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.
"Come stay with me," she offered again. "Just until you figure things out. Lucky misses his uncle, and I'm proper massive now – could use the help. The house will still be there when you're ready."
Louis pressed his palms against his eyes, fighting back tears. "I don't know if I can do it, Lots. Face everything. Face him."
"You can't keep running forever," she said softly. "LA might have Freddie, but London's got your heart. Always has done."
"Even if..." he swallowed hard. "Even if I came home, there's no guarantee he'd want to see me."
"Maybe not," Lottie agreed. "But staying away... that's killing you, Lou. And you know it."
The truth of her words hit him like a physical ache. "I miss home," he whispered, finally letting himself say it. "Miss you lot. Miss... everything."
"Then come home," Lottie said simply. "Lucky's been asking about you non-stop."
Louis wiped at his eyes, nodding even though she couldn't see him. "Yeah, alright. Let me... let me talk to Bri about Freddie, sort out some things here."
"Already got Lewis looking up flights," she admitted, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Knew you'd cave eventually."
"Proper menace, you are," he managed a weak laugh. "Tell Lewis to make it for tomorrow, yeah? Before I lose my nerve."
"Love you, big brother."
"Love you too, Lots." He ended the call and stayed there for a moment, letting the LA sun warm his face as he tried to steady his breathing.
When he finally stood up and went back inside, Briana took one look at his face and nodded. "I'll help you pack after Freddie goes to bed," she said softly. "He'll understand, Lou. He always does."
Louis looked at his son, still happily playing with his lunch more than eating it, and felt his heart twist. But for the first time in days, the weight on his chest felt a bit lighter. He was going home.
Chapter 8: September 2011
Summary:
Louis enjoys a chaotic night at G-A-Y, performing with Harry and celebrating Niall's birthday. Following a passionate moment in the alley, Louis panics over potential consequences with fans witnessing the kiss. Later, Simon summons Louis to LA, revealing a contract that controls his image and relationship with Harry, forcing Louis to break Harry's heart as a condition of staying in the band.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The backstage of G-A-Y was electric, the bass from the club already thrumming through the walls. Louis knocked back another drink, his head pleasantly fuzzy as he attempted to fix his fringe in the mirror.
"Tommo, you might want to slow down mate," Liam warned, ever the responsible one.
"Lighten up, Payno!" Louis spun around, nearly stumbling. "We're playing a proper club, aren't we? Might as well enjoy it!"
Harry caught his eye across the room, trying to suppress a smile as he watched Louis bounce around the dressing room. Louis winked at him, too drunk to remember why he shouldn't.
Their setlist was small - just covers, but Louis loved that. Loved how they could make these massive songs their own. The moment they hit the stage, the energy was incredible. The crowd screamed as they launched into "Viva La Vida," Louis prancing around like he owned the place.
During "Forever Young," he couldn't help gravitating toward Harry, sharing his mic even though they each had working ones. The audience seemed to surge with every interaction between them, feeding Louis' natural instinct to play it up.
Then came the cake for Niall's birthday. Before Louis could process what was happening, Niall had grabbed him by the back of the neck, cackling that distinctive laugh of his. "Get in there, Tommo!"
Louis' face connected with the cake, and he emerged spluttering, frosting everywhere. But instead of being annoyed, his eyes lit up with pure joy. He licked his fingers slowly, playing it up for the crowd who screamed in response. The frosting became his war paint as he smeared it across his chest through his thin t-shirt.
"Looking proper fit now, aren't I?" he called out, strutting across the stage like it was a catwalk.
During "Chasing Cars," Louis was everywhere at once - grinding against Harry during the chorus, draping himself across Zayn's shoulders, twirling under Liam's arm. For "Torn," he practically sat in Harry's lap, singing directly to him rather than the crowd.
By the time they got to "Only Girl," Louis was putting on a proper show - strutting, dancing, his movements becoming more provocative with each beat.
"Someone tell Tommo this isn't a strip club!" Niall shouted into his mic as Louis attempted what could generously be called a body roll.
But Louis was in his element, covered in cake, performing for a crowd that seemed to love every outrageous moment. He caught Harry watching him during their final bow, eyes dark with something more than amusement, and Louis felt invincible.
The high from the performance was still coursing through Louis' veins as they stumbled off stage, his shirt stiff with dried frosting and hair wild. The dressing room was chaos - all five of them riding the adrenaline rush, but Louis couldn't focus on anything except how Harry kept looking at him.
"Mate, that was mental!" Niall was saying, still laughing. "Think you've found your people, Tommo!"
Louis just grinned, catching Harry's eye in the mirror again. The younger boy was leaning against the wall, still watching him with that same intense look he'd had on stage.
"Need some air," Louis announced suddenly, heading for the back exit. He heard footsteps behind him, knew without looking who it was.
The alley behind G-A-Y was relatively quiet, the bass from inside muffled by brick walls. Louis turned to find Harry right there, closer than he expected, eyes bright in the dim light.
"You were something else tonight," Harry said softly, reaching out to brush some cake from Louis' cheek.
"Yeah?" Louis' voice came out breathier than intended. The alcohol was still buzzing through his system, making everything feel possible. "Good something else?"
"Always good," Harry murmured, and then they were kissing, desperate and messy, Louis' back hitting the brick wall as Harry pressed against him. Louis tangled his fingers in Harry's curls, pulling him closer, tasting frosting and sweat and possibility-
"Oh my god! Look!"
They broke apart at the sound of voices, spinning to see a group of fans at the end of the alley, phones already raised and flashing.
"Shit," Louis breathed, reality crashing back in. "Shit, shit, shit-"
"Louis," Harry reached for him, but Louis was already backing away, panic replacing the euphoria of moments before.
"We can't- I can't-" He turned and ran, leaving Harry standing there in the alley, the sound of excited fans' voices following him into the night.
He knew, even as he fled, that everything was about to change.
Louis jolted awake to his phone vibrating violently against the hotel nightstand. His head was pounding, mouth dry as sandpaper - remnants of too many shots and the adrenaline crash after their G-A-Y performance. The memories hit him in waves: the cake fight, the drinking, Harry's lips in that dark alley, camera flashes-
Fuck. The cameras.
His phone buzzed again. Through bleary eyes, he read the message from management:
"Simon wants to see you. LA. Today. Car picking you up in 45 minutes for the airport."
The nausea wasn't just from the hangover anymore. Simon never summoned anyone to LA unless something was seriously wrong. And after last night...
Louis stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it before emptying his stomach. As he splashed water on his face, he caught his reflection - pale, dark circles under his eyes, glitter still stuck to his cheekbone from the show. He looked exactly like what he was: a boy who'd made a terrible mistake.
His phone kept lighting up with notifications. Texts from the boys, missed calls from management, but nothing from Harry. He couldn't bring himself to read any of them.
A knock at his door made him jump.
"Tommo?" It was Liam. "You up? Car's coming soon."
Louis opened the door to find Liam looking concerned, already dressed and responsible as ever. Behind him, Niall was hovering anxiously in the hallway.
"They're sending you to LA?" Niall asked, voice uncharacteristically serious.
Louis nodded, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Simon wants to see me."
Liam's expression said everything - he understood what this meant, even if Niall didn't. They'd all seen what happened to acts who crossed Simon.
"Just..." Liam hesitated. "Remember what matters, yeah? Your family, the band..."
Louis felt sick again. His mum had just put down a deposit on a better flat, his sisters were finally in good schools. All because of what this band could give them.
"I know," he said quietly, already feeling the walls closing in. "I know what I have to do."
The flight to LA was a blur of anxiety and hangover. Louis kept checking his phone compulsively, but management had been eerily quiet since the initial summons. No mentions of photos, no media scandals, nothing online about last night - just radio silence that felt worse than screaming headlines.
He'd tried calling Harry twice during his layover, but it went straight to voicemail. Liam had texted once: "Simon's already handled the photos. That's why he wants to see you." The message made Louis' stomach turn. Simon never did favors without collecting debts.
The California sun felt like judgment when he landed. A sleek black SUV waited with a driver who didn't attempt conversation, just guided him into the back seat with tinted windows that felt more like a cage than privacy.
Syco's building loomed ahead, all glass and steel and power. Louis caught his reflection as he walked in - rumpled clothes, dark circles under his eyes, looking every bit the scared kid he felt like. The receptionist's smile was practiced, professional. "Eighteenth floor," she said. "Mr. Cowell is expecting you."
The elevator ride stretched eternally. Louis thought about Harry's mouth against his neck in that alley, about the flash of cameras he'd been too drunk to worry about. About how quickly those photos had vanished, like they'd never existed. Simon's reach was terrifying when he chose to use it.
Simon's assistant barely glanced up when the elevator doors opened. "Go right in," she said, gesturing to the heavy wooden doors. "He's been waiting."
Louis' hand trembled slightly as he reached for the door handle. Simon stood at his wall of windows, back turned, looking out over Los Angeles like he owned it. Maybe he did.
"Close the door, Louis," Simon said without turning around. His voice was soft, almost gentle - the way it got when he was about to destroy someone. "Let's talk about what those photos cost me."
Louis stood rigid in Simon's office as sunlight cut across the room. Every word felt like a knife, his hangover making everything sharper, more painful.
"Do you know what I see when I watch those video diaries?" Simon asked, tapping his iPad screen. "I see two boys who can't keep their hands off each other. Who can't stop staring. The fans notice everything, Louis. They analyze every touch, every glance."
Louis's throat went dry. They'd been so careful - or thought they had been.
"And now there's this." Simon turned the iPad around, showing a clip Louis hadn't seen before. Harry in an interview, pink-cheeked and laughing: "First celebrity crush? Um... Louis Tomlinson, actually." The interviewer laughing, Harry blushing harder.
"Your mother called me last week," Simon continued, his voice deceptively gentle. "Lovely woman. So grateful for the opportunities we've given you all. The girls are doing well in their new schools, aren't they?"
Louis felt the blood drain from his face. Simon knew exactly where to hit.
"It would be a shame," Simon said, studying his manicured nails, "if anything were to jeopardize that. If you had to explain to your sisters why they need to change schools again."
"Those photos from last night cost me a fortune to contain," Simon continued. "But they're not the real problem. The problem is your... image. The way you present yourself. The feminine gestures. The touching. The looks." His voice hardened. "It stops now. All of it."
He pulled out a document and slid it across the desk. "This gives Syco full control over your public image. Your relationships, your appearance, your behavior - all of it. You'll do interviews separately from Harry. When you are together, you'll maintain professional distance."
"And when you date," Simon added with a cold smile, "it will be who we choose, when we choose. Your personal life belongs to us now."
Louis's hands trembled as he picked up the contract. "You can't-"
"I can do whatever is necessary to protect this band," Simon cut him off. "Harry is our golden boy, Louis. The one all the girls want. And you..." He gestured dismissively. "You're expendable."
"What if I refuse?" Louis asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.
"Then those photos go public. And the next ones. And the ones after that." Simon leaned forward. "Do you really think no one else noticed you two in that alley? Do you think that fan was the only one with a camera? You won't just lose One Direction; you'll ruin any chance of working in show business ever again. You'll be nothing more than a footnote—a cautionary tale for what happens when you forget your place."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken threats.
"And Harry's career will suffer just as much as yours," Simon added softly. "Is that what you want? To drag him down with you?"
Louis thought of his mum working triple shifts, his sisters' excited faces when he'd told them about the X-Factor. He thought of Harry's smile in that alley, now crushed under the weight of reality.
"The pen's right there," Simon said, gesturing to his desk. "Make the right choice, Louis."
Louis's hand trembled as he picked up the pen, its weight impossibly heavy. The room felt stifling, each breath laden with the knowledge that he was about to change everything. Harry was only sixteen - practically a child caught in this nightmare of Simon's making.
"Just sign it," Simon urged, his voice carrying that dangerous gentleness again. "You know what's best for everyone involved."
With one shaky breath, Louis scrawled his name across the bottom of the page. He felt something break inside him as Simon's lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"Good choice," Simon said smoothly, flipping through the document. "Now, let's be very clear about what this means." His finger traced over the text methodically. "You'll maintain appropriate distance from Harry during all public appearances. No physical contact - not even the playful touches you're so fond of."
"What exactly does that mean?" Louis asked, his voice barely steady.
Simon's eyes hardened. "It means you act like professional colleagues, nothing more. Separate interviews, separate cars, separate tour buses when possible. No more video diaries showing you draped all over each other. No more meaningful glances the fans can analyze."
Each word felt like another nail in a coffin Louis hadn't known he was building. "You're going to monitor every move we make?"
"We'll do whatever necessary to protect our investment," Simon replied coolly. "And if you can't maintain appropriate relationships with women on your own, we'll arrange them for you. Consider it part of your image rehabilitation."
Louis felt bile rise in his throat. "So you're going to control who I date now?"
"You signed away that right about thirty seconds ago," Simon reminded him, tapping the contract. "This isn't about what you want anymore. It's about what's best for One Direction, for Harry's future, for your family's security."
Louis thought of Harry's bright laugh during those video diaries, how freely they'd touched and teased. How none of that could exist anymore under these rules and expectations. The reality of what he'd just agreed to crashed over him like a tidal wave.
"Remember," Simon added, his voice soft but lethal, "one slip-up and those photos find their way to the press. I'm sure Harry would hate to see his career end before it really begins."
Louis stood on shaky legs, the signed contract a death sentence sitting pristinely on Simon's desk. The California sun still blazed through the windows, indifferent to how his world had just imploded.
"One more thing," Simon said as Louis turned to leave. "You'll need to tell Harry yourself. Make him understand the necessity of this arrangement. Make it convincing."
Louis froze, his hand on the doorknob. "You want me to..."
"Break his heart?" Simon finished, his voice clinical. "Yes. Better it comes from you than from me. Make him believe it's what you want. It'll be cleaner that way."
Louis felt the last pieces of his resolve crumbling. Having to push Harry away was one thing, but having to be the one to hurt him...
"Remember," Simon added, shuffling papers on his desk as if they were discussing something as mundane as tour schedules, "if he doesn't believe it, if he fights it... well..."
Louis didn't trust himself to speak. He gave a single, sharp nod and pulled the door open.
"Oh, and Louis?" Simon called after him. "I expect you to be more careful with your... proclivities going forward. No more drunken alley encounters. You represent this band now, and everything that means."
The door clicked shut behind him with a terrible finality. Louis made it halfway down the hallway before his legs gave out, and he slumped against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor. His phone buzzed in his pocket - another message from Harry he couldn't answer.
He pressed his forehead to his knees, trying to steady his breathing. Somewhere in this building, there was probably already a PR team planning his new image, picking out appropriate girls for him to be seen with, plotting how to erase every trace of who he really was.
But first, he had to break Harry's heart. And his own in the process.
Notes:
https://youtu.be/_LSK2XxiK4I?si=7l-XbHND50Uk7FMS
Chapter 9: Present Day
Summary:
Harry returns to his London flat, filled with memories of Louis. A group chat reveals plans for Liam’s funeral, prompting Harry to express concern for Liam's family. Later, Harry visits Lottie's home, where he unexpectedly encounters Louis. Their interaction is awkward but tinged with unspoken emotions as they navigate lingering tensions.
Chapter Text
Harry stepped through the door of his London flat, a familiar weight settling in his chest. The air felt thick with memories, each corner whispering reminders of Louis—his laughter echoing off the walls, the remnants of their late-night conversations still hanging like ghosts. Louis had made this place feel alive, filling it with chaotic energy that now felt like a hollow shell.
He wandered into the living room, glancing at the old sofa where they had sprawled together, fingers intertwined as they binge-watched movies. The coffee table lay bare — a stark contrast to the way Louis would have left takeout containers and bottles of Yoo-hoo littered there. Harry rubbed his temples, wishing he could just erase it all for a moment.
Harry sank onto a barstool and stared out at the skyline of London through a foggy window. Memories flickered in his mind: late-night adventures with Louis under these very stars, laughter spilling from their lips as they chased dreams and danced in reckless abandon. Now those moments felt tainted by loss.
His phone vibrated against the counter, pulling him from the depths of his thoughts. A group chat notification flashed: "TheLads."
Niall: "Can't believe we're back to this. We need to plan a reunion! 🍕🍻"
Zayn: "Sounds great if we're all still standing after this."
Louis: "Hey lads. I'm flying home tomorrow to spend time with family while we wait for news about Liam."
Harry's fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a moment's hesitation, he typed:
"How are they holding up?"
"They're okay," Louis replied. "Bit shaken up but strong as always."
Harry's chest tightened at those words. Strength had always defined the Tomlinsons—they were resilient in ways he admired deeply.
"Tell them I'm thinking of them," Harry typed back quickly, hoping it conveyed even half of what he felt.
His phone vibrated one final time.
"Will do."
The simple words hung between them like an unspoken promise.
As Harry leaned against the counter, he watched the conversation unfold in the group chat.
"Hey, Lou," Niall typed, "you seen Freddie lately?"
"Yeah, spent the weekend with him," Louis replied. "He's proper grown now."
Harry's chest tightened at the casual exchange. He remembered the chaos that erupted when news of Freddie first broke—the media frenzy, the pointed questions, the way Louis retreated into himself. Back then, every headline felt like a fresh wound.
"Has anyone heard what's happening with..." Niall started, then rephrased: "About the funeral arrangements?"
Zayn chimed in first. "Management's already trying to get involved. Pushing for some public thing."
"They can fuck right off," Louis typed, his anger clear even through text. "This isn't about them."
Harry found himself nodding in agreement. "Liam would've hated that," he added to the chat. "All those cameras..."
"Exactly," Niall responded. "He deserved better than their PR bullshit."
"We need to make sure his family gets to do this their way," Louis wrote. "No media circus."
Harry stared at the messages, feeling the familiar protective surge that always came when Louis took charge. Even now, years later, some things hadn't changed.
"I'll talk to our old team," Zayn offered. "Make sure they know where we stand."
The group fell quiet for a moment, the weight of their shared purpose settling over the chat.
"Thanks, Z," Louis finally replied. "Let us know what they say."
Harry set his phone down, lost in thought. Through everything - the management, the silence, the carefully constructed distance - they still found ways to be there. Maybe that was enough for now.
"Lads, have you seen? We're charting again. Number one across platforms," Niall's message read.
Harry's heart twisted. Success had always been bittersweet - a reminder of everything they'd achieved, and everything they'd sacrificed. Well... that's what happens when you're young and scared and told to hide who you are, wasn't it?
Louis hadn't responded right away. Harry could picture him at home, probably having a cigarette, reading the messages with that guarded expression he'd perfected over the years.
Zayn's message cut through: "I'm sorry for how I left. Was proper messed up then... couldn't see straight anymore."
"Well..." Harry typed slowly, then deleted it. Some wounds were still too fresh.
"Always thought we'd do another album someday," Niall added. "Mad how time gets away from you."
Harry stared at Louis's name on the screen, remembering shared hotel rooms and secret smiles and promises whispered in the dark. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between them, even now.
"Need to do right by Payno," Louis finally wrote, his Yorkshire bluntness masking everything else. Harry knew that a reunion was a sore subject for him. He'd never wanted the band to end, much less go nearly a decade without getting back together. "He'd want us together for this."
Harry closed his eyes, feeling the familiar ache of what could have been, what should have been, what never was.
The morning light filtered through his curtains as Harry scrolled mindlessly through his phone. Tributes to Liam filled his feed - candid shots from tour, backstage moments, videos of them all together. His thumb hesitated over one particular photo: the five of them sprawled across a hotel room floor, Louis's head thrown back in laughter, Liam beaming at the camera.
When Gemma's call came through, it felt like being pulled from underwater.
"Well..." he drawled, voice still rough from sleep. "This is quite lovely."
"H," Gemma's voice was warm. "Just got off the phone with Lots. She said Lou told her you'd asked after her."
He hummed, running a hand through his tangled curls. "I feel like... just wanted to know she was alright, you know?"
"Course you did. She was proper touched when Lou mentioned it. Said she'd really love to see you, actually."
Harry's breath caught slightly. "Oh..." he stretched the word out. "That's... that's quite nice actually. Been thinking about them all, really."
"I know you have," Gemma said gently. "Think it might be good for you both, yeah? With everything happening..."
Harry picked at his bottom lip, considering. A visit meant memories, meant possibility, meant maybe... "Well..." he started slowly. "That would be... do you know what I mean? Could be quite special."
After sorting the details, Harry sat in the quiet of his room. Seeing Lottie meant stepping back into a world he'd carefully kept at arm's length. But maybe now, with Liam gone, it was time to stop running from the past.
Gemma's car pulled up to the iron gates of Lottie's estate, a modern masterpiece of glass and stone nestled in one of Doncaster's most exclusive neighborhoods. Harry took in the manicured gardens and the sleek water feature near the entrance, so different from the modest family home he remembered from years ago.
"Well..." he breathed out slowly. "This is quite... do you know what I mean? It's like something out of those fancy magazines you see at the dentist..."
Gemma smirked, pulling up to the circular driveway. "She's done alright for herself, hasn't she?"
Before they reached the door, Lottie appeared, every bit the successful influencer in designer loungewear. "Harry!" She rushed forward, embracing him with familiar warmth.
"Look at you," he said softly. "You've gone and become this proper business mogul and that."
The interior was luxurious but dotted with family photos. Harry's gaze caught on one of Louis and Lottie from years ago, their matching grins infectious.
"He's not here," Lottie said quietly. "Flying in late tonight, so you don't need to..." She waved vaguely. "Proper late flight, after midnight."
Lucky's laughter drew them into the living area, where he sat surrounded by designer toys. The moment Lucky saw him, he launched himself into Harry's arms.
They spent the next hour building towers, Lucky directing with fierce determination while occasionally knocking down their creations just to giggle. Phoebe and Daisy arrived, their chatter filling the space.
"You need to come round more often!" Lottie called from the kitchen. "It's not the same without you."
"I've just been... lost," he admitted.
"Lost?" Lottie scoffed. "You're family, Harry."
The doorbell's chime cut through their conversation. Before Lottie could check her phone, they heard the front door open.
"Oi oi!" Louis's voice carried through the house. "Flight got switched, didn't it? Proper nightmare but—"
He appeared in the doorway, words cutting off as he spotted Harry. His expression shifted to careful neutrality.
"Oh," he said softly. Then, brighter, "Well this is proper random, innit?"
"Ba!" Lucky abandoned his blocks, toddling toward Louis.
Louis scooped him up, face softening. "There's me favorite lad!" His eyes kept finding Harry, who hadn't moved from the floor.
"Thought you weren't getting in till late?" Lottie said.
"Yeah well," Louis bounced Lucky, "got meself on an earlier one. Weren't gonna tell ya, thought I'd surprise everyone but..."
Harry stood awkwardly, hands fidgeting. "I can... if you want, I could..."
"Don't be daft," Louis cut in, gentler than expected. "You're already here, aren't ya?"
"Block!" Lucky demanded, squirming until Louis set him down.
"Alright, alright," Louis chuckled, setting him down. Lucky immediately toddled back to his toys, grabbing a block and holding it up expectantly.
"Alright, alright," Louis chuckled, setting him down. Lucky immediately toddled back to his toys, grabbing a block and holding it up expectantly.
"Ba!" he insisted, looking between Harry and Louis.
"Think we've been summoned, haven't we?" Louis said, his voice softer now. He settled cross-legged on the floor near Harry, careful to leave space between them.
Harry nodded, focusing on helping Lucky stack another block. "He's proper good at this."
"Course he is," Louis said proudly, watching his nephew. "Gets that from me, obviously."
Lottie snorted from where she'd perched on the sofa. "Oh yeah? Since when are you architectural?"
"Oi!" Louis protested, but there was a hint of a real smile playing at his lips. "I'll have you know I built some sick blanket forts back in the day."
"That you did," Harry said quietly, before he could stop himself. Their eyes met for a brief moment before both quickly looked away.
"More!" Lucky declared, oblivious to the tension as he handed Louis another block.
"Proper demanding, this one," Louis murmured fondly, carefully adding to their creation.
The silence that followed wasn't quite comfortable, but it wasn't unbearable either. Just... careful. Like they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what might happen next.
"Dinner's here!" Phoebe called out as the security system chimed, announcing the delivery.
"Thank god, I'm starving," Louis announced, jumping up a bit too eagerly. "Haven't had a proper meal since... well."
Harry stood more slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans. "I should probably—"
"Don't you dare," Lottie cut him off, fixing him with a stern look. "You're staying."
"'Course he is," Louis said quickly, too casually. "Why wouldn't he? We're mates, aren't we?"
The sisters exchanged knowing looks as Harry and Louis performed their careful dance of forced casualness.
"We're fine!" Louis repeated, helping Lucky with his food. "Just because we've been busy doesn't mean—"
"Busy," Lottie repeated flatly.
"Yeah, busy! Harry's got his thing, I've got mine. But we're still friends, always gonna be friends. Right, Harry?"
"Always," Harry agreed quickly, dimples appearing with his forced smile.
As dinner wound down, Lucky began nodding off in his high chair. The sisters made their excuses with exaggerated subtlety, leaving Harry and Louis alone in the kitchen.
"Subtle, aren't they?" Louis muttered, picking up a plate.
Harry let out a soft laugh despite himself. "About as subtle as a brick to the head."
The silence that followed was thick with possibility, broken only by the gentle clink of dishes and the weight of everything left unsaid.
Chapter 10: May 2014
Summary:
Harry waits anxiously in the conference room for Louis, who arrives with defiance after leaking a video. Simon Cowell announces they will be framed as rivals for publicity, which shocks them both. After a heated exchange, Louis reluctantly agrees to comply, believing it's for their future despite Harry's frustration over hiding their relationship.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry sat in the small conference room, anxiety twisting his stomach into knots. When the door swung open, his heart jumped at Louis's familiar stride, that defiant energy he loved so much radiating from every movement.
"Right then," Louis announced, dropping into the chair beside Harry. His voice was quick, sharp - the way it always got when he was properly worked up. "Just properly fucked things up, haven't I?"
Harry's stomach dropped. "What'd you do?"
"That video with Zayn?" Louis's words tumbled out rapidly. "Might've leaked it meself. Proper sick of their rules, weren't I?"
"Lou..." Harry's voice went low, worried. He wanted to reach for Louis's hand under the table, but the door was already opening again.
Simon entered, and Harry felt the air leave his lungs. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Well," Simon began coldly. "Since you're so keen on damaging your image, Louis, we're going to use it. You two are going to be rivals."
"What?" Harry's voice cracked. His heart hammered against his ribs as he watched Louis go completely still beside him - a dangerous sign. Louis was never still.
"The bad boy versus the golden boy," Simon continued. "It's perfect, really. Unless..." He paused, and Harry felt sick at the predatory gleam in his eye. "There are other matters you'd prefer we discuss? Other videos perhaps?"
Harry's blood ran cold. He knew exactly what Simon was implying - all those private moments they thought were safe, all those stolen kisses they thought were secret.
"You can't-" Harry started, but Simon cut him off.
"I can do whatever I want." Simon's smile was sharp. "Harry's our golden boy. We can't have him tainted by association. Think about his future, Louis. His career."
Harry watched the color drain from Louis's face. This was wrong - so wrong. Louis was always the fighter, always the one pushing back. But Simon had found their weakness: each other.
"Don't," Harry whispered, not even sure what he was begging for anymore. He could see the fight dying in Louis's eyes, replaced by something worse - resignation.
Louis's fingers were white-knuckled on the armrest, his rapid-fire energy completely frozen. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow. "Right. Whatever you say."
Harry felt something break inside his chest. This wasn't surrender - this was sacrifice. Louis was giving in to protect him, and Harry had never felt more helpless.
"I can't do this anymore," Harry burst out later when they were back at the house, voice raw. "M'not pretending anymore, Lou."
Louis's pacing faltered. "Haz-"
"No," Harry cut him off, pushing his curls back in frustration. "Every time we get close, every single time we could tell them to fuck off, you just... back down."
"S'not that simple innit?" Louis shot back, that familiar defensive edge creeping into his voice. "The lads-"
"Fuck the band!" Harry's voice cracked. "What about us? I'd give it all up - every bit of it. The fame, the money, all of it. Just to be with you proper."
Louis went still, and Harry could see the war behind his eyes. "You don't mean that."
"I do though," Harry insisted, stepping closer. "But you're too scared to even think about it."
"Scared?" Louis's voice went sharp, Yorkshire accent thickening with emotion. "You think this is about being scared? It's about being smart, innit? The boys are counting on us. Me family depends on this. And your career-"
"Don't care about my career, do I?" Harry shouted, chest heaving. "Care about you. About us. But every time Simon threatens us, you just... fold."
Louis flinched like he'd been struck. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it though?" Harry pressed. "You leaked that video to spite management, but moment Simon mentioned those other videos, you gave in. Again."
"Because he would destroy you!" Louis exploded. "Your whole future-"
"My future's with you!" Harry's voice broke on the words. "Or at least... thought it was."
The fight seemed to drain out of Louis all at once. He crossed to Harry in three quick strides, catching his face between trembling hands.
"Course it is," Louis whispered fiercely. "Always has been, hasn't it? But we've got to be careful about this. Got to protect each other."
Harry leaned into the touch despite himself. "M'tired of being careful. Just want you."
When their lips met, it was desperate and messy, months of tension pouring into it. Harry backed Louis against the wall, pressing closer like he could somehow keep him there forever.
Louis pulled back just enough to breathe, that familiar mischief dancing in his eyes. "Thought we were meant to be enemies now?"
"Enemies can kiss too," Harry murmured against his lips, and felt Louis's smile before he dove back in, kissing him properly this time.
“Just us,” Louis whispered, his breath warm against Harry’s skin, sending shivers racing down his spine. "That's all that matters."
Before Harry could respond, Louis closed the distance between them completely. Their lips met softly at first, a tentative brush that sent sparks shooting through Harry’s veins. But it didn’t take long for the electricity to ignite into something deeper—an urgency born from all the time they had to spend pretending this connection didn't exist.
Louis's hands found their way to Harry’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed together. Harry’s fingers tangled in Louis's hair, deepening the kiss as he lost himself in the warmth of their connection. The world outside faded away, leaving only the intoxicating scent of Louis—cologne mixed with something uniquely him—and the taste of sweetness on his lips.
They kissed like they had all the time in the world, each movement speaking volumes as if trying to make up for lost time. When Louis pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkled with mischief and affection, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Thought we were supposed to be enemies now?” Harry teased breathlessly, trying to mask the urgency coursing through him.
“Enemies can kiss too,” Louis shot back with a playful grin before leaning in again. This time, their lips collided with more fervor—a hunger fueled by pent-up emotion and desire.
Harry let out a soft moan as Louis pressed him against the kitchen counter. The cool surface contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from their bodies as they lost themselves in each other once more. Fingers explored familiar territory—tracing along arms and backs while pressing closer together until there was no space left between them.
Every touch felt electric; every kiss ignited flames that burned brighter than any spotlight they had ever stood under. In this moment, it was just them—no cameras or management—only raw passion that surged like wildfire between them.
Louis's hands were rough in Harry's curls, that sharp tug drawing a low moan that vibrated against Louis's neck. The press of bodies against the wall was desperate, urgent, months of tension finally breaking.
"Fucking hell, Haz," Louis gasped as Harry's teeth scraped his pulse point. His hips jerked forward involuntarily. "Been thinking about this-"
"Yeah?" Harry's voice was pure sin, low and rough. He pressed harder against Louis, making him feel exactly what he was doing to him. "What else you been thinking about?"
"Everything," Louis breathed, head falling back against the wall. His hands slid down Harry's back, nails dragging. "The way you look at me on stage, way you move-"
Harry rolled his hips deliberately, cutting off Louis's words with a choked moan. "Like this?"
"Fuckin' tease," Louis growled, but his hands were already working Harry's shirt open, desperate for skin contact. "Gonna wreck you proper."
Harry's laugh was breathless, dark. "Promise?"
Louis responded by flipping them, pushing Harry against the wall with surprising strength. The thud made Harry's breath catch, pupils blown wide.
"Bed," Louis demanded, already pushing them backwards. "I need you now."
They stumbled across the room, hands everywhere, breathing heavy.
"Gonna have to be enemies after this," Louis murmured, grinding down slowly. His voice was wrecked. "Proper hate each other and all that."
Harry's hands found Louis's waist, gripping tight. "Yeah? Think you can pretend you don't want me?"
"Impossible that," Louis breathed, working at Harry's shirt buttons. His eyes were dark, hungry. "Always want you, don't I?"
The admission hit Harry like a punch to the gut. He surged up, catching Louis's mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing his surprised moan.
"Show me then," Harry challenged against his lips. "Show me how much."
Notes:
The video Louis has leaked: https://youtu.be/BX1FdlBMvvQ?si=TQzsjYpjhmrIrsYw
Chapter 11: Present Day
Summary:
Louis and Harry reminisce about their past, discussing family and music. Harry encourages Louis about his talent and reassures him of his impact on people, while Louis reflects on their history, vulnerability, and the challenges they've faced. They end on a lighter note but acknowledge the weight of their relationship as they prepare for the next day.
Chapter Text
Chapter Six - Louis
Louis fiddled with the dish towel in his hands, trying to steady his racing heart as the girls' footsteps faded down the hall. The kitchen felt charged with unspoken words, and he could feel Harry's presence behind him like a physical weight.
"Your sisters haven't changed a bit, have they?" Harry's voice was warm, amused. "Still plotting and scheming."
"Mad, the lot of them," Louis agreed, grateful for the easy opening. He tossed the towel onto the counter, turning to face Harry. "Think they're proper match-makers or summat."
Harry's dimple appeared as he smiled. "Remember when they tried to set Niall up with that girl from your mum's work?"
"Christ, don't," Louis groaned, but he was fighting a grin. "Poor lad didn't know what hit him."
They fell into a comfortable silence as Louis started loading the dishwasher, muscle memory taking over. Harry grabbed a tea towel, automatically moving to dry the few things that needed hand washing, like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"Saw your post about Faith in the Future," Harry said after a moment, his voice careful but genuine. "Two years, yeah? Must feel good."
Louis's hands stilled briefly on a plate. "Yeah, s'nice," he managed, aiming for casual. "Been keeping busy with other stuff lately though. Family and all that."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, and Louis could feel those green eyes on him. "You writing anything new?"
"Bit here and there," Louis shrugged, focusing intently on arranging cups in the dishwasher. "Nothing special."
"Lou." Harry's voice was soft but firm. "You've never written 'nothing special' in your life."
Louis scoffed, but it came out shakier than he'd intended. "Maybe back then. Different now, innit? Can't all be selling out stadiums and winning Grammys."
The silence that followed felt heavy. Louis kept his eyes down, watching water drip from his hands into the sink.
"You really don't see it, do you?" Harry finally said, and something in his tone made Louis look up. Harry's expression was open, earnest in that way that always made Louis feel exposed. "The way you write about hope, about fighting through the hard stuff - people need that, Lou. They always have."
"Harry-" Louis started, but Harry shook his head.
"No, listen. Remember when you wrote Home? Changed lives with that one. Still does." Harry set down the tea towel, turning fully toward Louis. "Your music gives people strength when they need it most. That matters more than any award."
Louis swallowed hard, fighting the warmth creeping up his neck. "Just trying to write what I know," he mumbled.
"Exactly," Harry's voice was gentle but intense. "You write what's real. What's honest. Always have done."
There was something about the way Harry said it - like it was just a simple fact - that made Louis's chest tight. He remembered countless nights in hotel rooms, scribbling lyrics while the others slept, desperate to prove he belonged. To prove he was more than just the loud one, the funny one.
"Sometimes wonder if I've got anything left to say," Louis admitted quietly, surprising himself with the honesty.
Harry stepped closer, and Louis could smell his familiar cologne. "You do," he said firmly. "You always do. Just got to let yourself believe it again."
Louis looked up then, meeting Harry's eyes properly. The sincerity there made his heart stutter in his chest.
Louis shifted slightly on the couch, the air between him and Harry still thick with unspoken words. “So, what about you? How’s the music coming along?” he asked, trying to bridge the distance that had grown between them.
Harry hesitated, a flicker of something—vulnerability?—crossing his face. “It’s… been a bit quiet lately,” he admitted, rubbing his temples as if to ease some unseen pressure. “I’ve written a few things here and there, but none of it feels right.”
“None of it?” Louis leaned forward, genuinely curious. “Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, frustration evident in his voice. “It’s like I’m searching for something, but nothing seems to fit. The words don’t convey what I want to say.” He shook his head slowly, as if trying to shake off the thoughts that clung to him like shadows.
“Maybe you don’t know what it is you want to say,” Louis suggested gently, watching as Harry’s brow furrowed in contemplation.
“What do you mean?” Harry glanced at him, interest piqued.
“Well,” Louis started carefully, choosing his words with precision. “You’ve gone through a lot lately. With Liam… and everything else. Sometimes when we’re feeling lost or overwhelmed, it makes it harder to find clarity in our art.” He leaned back slightly, gauging Harry's reaction.
Harry nodded slowly, taking in Louis’s perspective. “That makes sense. It feels like I’m stuck between who I was and who I’m trying to be now.”
“Exactly,” Louis encouraged. “Maybe you need to give yourself some space to figure it out instead of forcing it.”
“But what if that means losing momentum?” Harry frowned, uncertainty creeping back into his voice.
Louis shrugged lightly; he knew that struggle all too well—the fear of stagnation gnawing at creative souls. “Sometimes taking a step back is exactly what we need to find our way forward again.”
Harry remained silent for a moment before speaking again. “You always seem to know just what to say.” There was an undercurrent of admiration in his tone that made Louis's heart flutter unexpectedly.
“Just trying to help,” Louis replied softly, feeling warmth spread across his chest at the compliment.
Louis shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. The kitchen felt smaller somehow, warmer.
"Easy for you to say though, innit?" he said softly, a hint of his old defensiveness creeping in. "Everything you touch turns to gold, Haz. Always has done."
Harry's brow furrowed. "That's not-"
"No, it is though," Louis interrupted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "You've got the whole world eating out of your hand. Meanwhile I'm still trying to prove I deserve a seat at the table."
"Lou-"
"And I'm proud of you, yeah? Course I am." Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself for saying too much. "Just sometimes feels like I'm still that kid from Donny, trying to show everyone I'm worth summat."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, and Louis wished he could take it all back, stuff those vulnerable words back inside where they belonged. But then Harry spoke, his voice low and certain.
"You know what I remember from those early days?" He leaned against the counter, eyes fixed on Louis. "You staying up all night working on lyrics. Teaching yourself guitar between shows. Never letting anyone tell you what you couldn't do."
Louis felt his cheeks warm. "Harry-"
"No, let me finish." Harry's expression was intense now. "You fought for every single thing you got. Nothing was handed to you. And yeah, maybe the industry's shit sometimes, but your fans? They see you, Lou. They see exactly who you are."
Louis swallowed hard, fighting the emotion rising in his throat. "Just want to make music that matters," he admitted quietly.
"You already do." Harry stepped closer, and Louis could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "You always have. Maybe you just need someone to remind you sometimes."
The air between them felt charged, heavy with years of unspoken words and buried feelings. Louis was acutely aware of Harry's presence, of how easy it would be to close that small distance between them.
"Suppose everyone needs a reminder now and then," Louis managed, his voice rougher than he'd intended.
Harry's lips curved into a soft smile. "Yeah, well. That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"
The moment stretched between them, fragile and electric. Louis could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could feel the pull that had always existed between them, stronger now than ever.
"Yeah, well," Louis cleared his throat, trying to lighten the moment. "Proper wise now, aren't you? All sage and that."
Something flickered across Harry's face then - a crack in the carefully maintained facade. "Not wise," he said quietly. "Just tired sometimes. Of all of it."
Louis stilled, recognizing the rare moment of vulnerability from Harry. "Yeah?"
"It's like..." Harry pushed off from the counter, running a hand through his hair in that familiar frustrated gesture. "Everyone wants the show, you know? The outfits, the headlines, the circus act. And I play along because that's what I'm meant to do, isn't it?"
"Haz-"
"But some days," Harry continued, his voice dropping lower, "some days it feels so hollow. Like I'm just this... this thing on display. And the moment I stop dancing, stop giving them what they want..." He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.
Louis felt something sharp twist in his chest, memories flooding back unbidden. Stolen moments in hotel rooms. Careful distances maintained on stage. Every interview a performance, every public appearance a carefully choreographed dance.
"Least you get to be yourself now," Louis said, the words coming out rougher than he'd intended. "No more hiding, yeah?"
Harry's eyes snapped to his, understanding dawning. "Lou-"
"Sorry," Louis cut him off, running a shaky hand through his hair. "That wasn't- I didn't mean-"
"No, you're right," Harry said softly. "We spent so long pretending. Being what everyone needed us to be."
Louis felt his throat tighten. "Yeah, well. Got quite good at it, didn't we?" He tried for a laugh but it came out wrong, too raw. "Regular actors, us two."
"Lou." Harry's voice was gentle in a way that made Louis's chest ache. "I never wanted-"
"I know," Louis interrupted quickly, because he did know. Had always known. "We did what we had to do. Both of us."
The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between them - years of careful lies and practiced smiles, of "just good mates" and strategic girlfriends. Of watching each other from across rooms and pretending not to care.
"Sometimes I think," Harry started carefully, "that's what broke us in the end. Not the pressure or the distance or any of it. Just... all the pretending."
Louis felt like he couldn't breathe properly, like all the air had been sucked from the room. Because Harry was right - it had been the constant performance that had worn them down, had turned something precious into something that felt false.
"Got hard to tell what was real anymore, didn't it?" Louis managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Sometimes," Harry started hesitantly, "sometimes I think about what I said to you. Back in Madrid."
Louis felt like all the air had been punched from his lungs. Madrid. He knew exactly what Harry was refering to. When Harry had finally walked away, convinced they could make it work once the contracts ended. Before everything had gone to shit - before Freddie, before the parade of relationships, before all their desperate hookups that left them both more broken than before.
"Fuckin' don't," Louis managed, his voice rough. "Not tonight, Haz."
"Was so sure, wasn't I?" Harry continued softly. "That we just needed time. That once we were free..." He trailed off, the weight of everything that had happened since heavy in his voice.
"Yeah, well," Louis let out a harsh laugh. "Life's a proper bitch innit? Got meself tied up with Bri, more contracts, more bloody lies." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Made a right mess of everything every time you'd come back."
"Lou-"
"And every time, one of us would leg it. Because staying hurt too fucking much." His voice cracked. "Until lockdown."
They both flinched at the mention. Their last proper try, when everything had gone so spectacularly to shit it had taken losing Liam to bring them back to the same room.
"We were poison by then," Harry said quietly. "Too much history. Too much pain."
"Couldn't keep our hands off each other though, could we?" Louis's voice was rough. "Even when we knew we'd end up tearing each other apart again. Proper stupid, that."
Harry's eyes were soft with remembered grief. "Loving you was never the problem, Lou. It was everything else. The pressure, the lies, watching you self-destruct trying to be what everyone needed."
"While you just wanted me to grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off." Louis felt tears burning behind his eyes. "To choose us, just once."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with fourteen years of love and loss, of desperate reunions and devastating goodbyes. Of watching each other from afar, pretending the sight didn't still rip their hearts open.
"Never thought it'd take losing Li to get us in the same room again," Louis said, emotion thick in his throat.
Harry swallowed hard. "Sometimes I wonder if he knew. How broken things were between us. Why we couldn't even be at the same events anymore."
"Li knew," Louis said quietly, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. "Was there through all of it, wasn't he? After lockdown, when everything went tits up. Showed up at mine with a case of beer and didn't leave for three days."
Harry's face softened. "Sounds like Payno."
"Yeah," Louis let out a wet laugh. "Proper mother hen, he was. Would ring me every time he saw you in the papers with someone new. Make sure I wasn't..." He trailed off, swallowing hard.
"Going off the rails?" Harry supplied gently.
"Something like that." Louis ran a hand through his hair. "Think that's why he kept trying to get us both at things. Thought if we just talked..."
"Instead we kept dodging each other like teenagers," Harry said with a sad smile. "Remember that charity thing in 2022? Think we set a record for avoiding the same room."
"Drove him mental, that did." Louis's laugh was genuine this time. "Rang me after, proper going off about how we were both being dickheads."
"He wasn't wrong."
"Never was, when it came to us." Louis's voice went quiet. "Used to tell me I was being a right coward, running away every time you'd..." He cleared his throat. "Every time we'd..."
"Every time we'd hook up and pretend it didn't mean anything?" Harry finished, his voice rough.
"Yeah," Louis managed. "That."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with memories of desperate nights and morning-after regrets. Of trying to pretend they could keep it casual when nothing between them had ever been casual.
"You still do that thing," Harry said suddenly, "with your hair when you're nervous."
Louis's hand froze mid-sweep through his fringe. "Fuck off," he muttered, but there was no heat in it.
"Some things don't change, I guess." Harry's smile was soft, a bit sad.
"Some things do though, don't they?" Louis met Harry's eyes properly for the first time all night. "We're not those kids anymore, trying to hide how we felt. Sneaking around like it was all some grand adventure."
"No," Harry agreed softly. "Not kids anymore. Just..." He trailed off, searching for words.
"Just two proper fuck-ups who never learned how to sort their shit out?" Louis offered with a bitter laugh. "Christ, H. Look at us. You with your 'I don't like labels' bit, me still..." He gestured vaguely. "Dancing around everything like a twat."
"Lou-"
"Haven't changed that much though, have I?" Louis's voice was raw. "Still hiding behind vague answers and getting pissy when they ask. Meanwhile you're out there making horse noises when someone mentions Sweet Creature."
A startled laugh escaped Harry. "You saw that?"
"Mate, everyone saw that. Proper spectacular, that was." Louis's grin was genuine now. "Though I'll give you credit - still better than me winking at every interviewer like a knob."
"You are terrible at denying things," Harry said, fondness creeping into his voice. "Remember that time you went off about 'respect' for ten minutes?"
"Oi, fuck off," Louis muttered, but he was fighting a smile. "Like you're any better with your 'I don't really think about it' routine."
"At least I don't look like I'm having a panic attack every time someone brings it up."
"No, you just make animal noises and run away."
They both laughed, the tension breaking slightly. But there was still something heavy in Harry's eyes when he spoke again.
"Li used to say we were both shit liars," he said softly. "That we'd have been better off just..."
"Yeah, well," Louis cut him off, his voice rough. "Not all of us can pull off the mysterious act, can we? Some of us just..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Some of us just fuck it up every time we open our mouths."
"You don't fuck it up," Harry said quietly. "You just... you've never been able to lie about things that matter. Neither of us have."
Louis snorted. "That why you're always fiddling with your jacket when someone mentions me? Like it's some sort of security blanket?"
"Better than your method," Harry shot back, dimples appearing despite himself. "'Course I played it for the lads,'" he mimicked, making Louis flush.
"Oi! At least I didn't make horse noises and practically gallop off the sofa. Proper smooth, that was."
"It caught me off guard!" Harry protested, but he was fighting a grin.
"Everything catches you off guard when it comes to those questions," Louis teased. "Lost count of how many times you've done your 'I don't really think about it' routine."
"Says the one who goes off about 'respect' every time someone brings it up."
"Christ," Louis laughed, shaking his head. "And these are just the ones they let air. Should see some of the shit they had to cut."
Harry's eyes lit up with mischief. "Like that time in Australia when you-"
"We agreed never to speak of that," Louis cut in quickly, but he was grinning. "Though not as bad as you trying to crawl under that desk in LA."
"The interviewer cornered me!"
"Mate, she asked if you'd heard my album. Wasn't exactly heavy hitting journalism."
They were both properly laughing now, the earlier heaviness dissipating into something warmer, more familiar. This had always been easy - making each other laugh, taking the piss, falling back into their old rhythm.
Harry's laughter gradually settled into something softer, more wistful. "Remember how Li used to take the piss out of us both? Said we were the worst liars he'd ever met."
"Yeah," Louis's smile turned bittersweet. "Used to say we should just learn to say 'no comment' instead of..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Whatever the fuck we do instead."
"Horse noises and respect lectures?"
"Fuck off," Louis snorted, but there was no heat in it. The room fell quiet for a moment, reality settling back in. Tomorrow they'd have to face everyone - the lads, the families, the press probably lurking outside the church. No more hiding in this quiet room pretending the world outside didn't exist.
"Should probably try to get some sleep," Harry said finally, standing up slowly. "Big day tomorrow."
Louis nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Suppose so." He hesitated, then added quietly, "Glad we... you know. Talked. Properly."
"Me too." Harry lingered by the door. "Lou?"
"Yeah?"
"Think Li would've been proud. Us finally being in the same room without one of us running away."
Louis felt his throat tighten. "Yeah well," he managed, voice rough. "Took us long enough, didn't it?"
Harry's smile was sad but genuine. "Better late than never."
As the door closed behind Harry, Louis let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow they'd have to be strong - for Liam's family, for the boys, for each other. But for now, in the quiet of this room, he could admit that maybe Liam had been right all along. Maybe they'd needed this - needed each other - more than they'd been willing to admit.
Chapter 12: July 2010
Summary:
Louis tries to fix his hair before X-Factor auditions, feeling out of place among younger contestants. He notices Harry, a talented sixteen-year-old, and their interaction leads to unexpected feelings. After being cut, both boys are selected to stay together in a group, igniting Louis's confusion about his emotions towards Harry, which deepens during a phone call.
Chapter Text
Louis stood in front of the mirror in the X-Factor toilets, trying to fix his fringe. He'd spent ages on it that morning - proper important, having good hair when you're trying to be a pop star. The whole building was buzzing with nervous energy, hundreds of contestants all trying to prove themselves. At eighteen, he felt practically ancient compared to some of them.
He'd noticed this one kid earlier - all curls and dimples, looked about twelve but had a voice like nothing Louis had ever heard. Kept finding himself watching him during rehearsals, which was weird. Louis didn't usually notice boys like that. Didn't notice boys at all, really. He had Hannah back home, loved her and everything. So this was... different. Confusing.
The door creaked open and speak of the devil - it was him. The curly one. Harry, Louis remembered. Sixteen and already carrying himself like he belonged here.
"Hi," Louis managed, something unfamiliar fluttering in his stomach.
The boy turned, startled, and - because this was apparently Louis's life now - promptly weed on Louis's shoe.
"Oops!" Harry exclaimed, eyes wide and mortified.
Louis couldn't help but laugh - a proper cackle that echoed off the tiles. The tension in his chest eased somehow. "Mate, if you wanted my attention that badly, you could've just said hello."
Harry's face went from mortified to delighted in an instant, dimples appearing as he grinned. Something twisted in Louis's chest at the sight, but he pushed it down. Just nerves about the competition, probably.
Later, calling Hannah from his tiny room, Louis couldn't stop talking about him.
"You should hear him sing, Han. Proper star material. And he's funny too - bit weird, like, but in a good way?"
"You've mentioned," Hannah teased. "About twelve times now."
"Shut up," Louis laughed, but something uncomfortable settled in his stomach. "Just... there's something about him, you know? Like... I dunno. Never met anyone quite like him."
"Sounds like someone's got a crush," she sang.
"Don't be- that's not-" Louis stuttered, panic rising suddenly in his throat. "It's not like that. He's just... different. Special, like. As a mate."
But later that night, lying in his bed, Louis couldn't shake the way his heart had jumped when Harry smiled at him. Couldn't explain why he kept thinking about those dimples, that ridiculous laugh.
It didn't mean anything though. Couldn't mean anything. He just... admired him, that's all. Nothing wrong with that.
Louis watched Harry across the rehearsal space, chatting animatedly with some other contestants. There was just something about him - the way people gravitated toward him naturally, how his slow drawl somehow made even the dullest stories entertaining.
Louis pulled out his phone, fiddling with it nervously. It was stupid maybe, but...
"Oi, Curly!" he called out before he could overthink it.
Harry's head whipped around immediately, face breaking into that ridiculous grin. Always looked proper pleased to see Louis, that one. Made Louis's chest do weird things he wasn't ready to think about.
"Take a photo with me?"
"Yeah?" Harry bounded over like an overexcited puppy. "What for?"
"Well," Louis tried to sound casual, ignoring the way his heart was racing. "Figure I should get one now, before you're proper famous and too good for the likes of me."
Harry's face did something complicated. "Lou..."
"Come on then," Louis cut him off, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. Tried not to notice how naturally they fit together. "Smile pretty for the camera, pop star."
Harry pressed close to his side, dimples on full display. Louis snapped the picture, then immediately took another because in the first one he'd been looking at Harry instead of the camera.
"Send that to me?" Harry asked, not moving away even though the photo was done.
"Course. Need proof you knew me when, don't you?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "If anyone's going to be a star, it's you."
"Mate, have you heard yourself sing? You're something else entirely."
"We could both be stars," Harry said softly, and something in his tone made Louis's breath catch. "Together, maybe."
Louis forced a laugh, stepping back slightly. These moments with Harry were getting dangerous - making him feel things he didn't understand, didn't want to understand. "Yeah, well. We'll see what Simon says, won't we?"
But he saved both photos carefully - the proper one, and the one where he was looking at Harry like... well. Best not to think about how he was looking at Harry.
Just in case Harry was right. About the together part.
Louis felt numb. Eliminated. Done. Over. Everything he'd worked for, gone in an instant. He couldn't even look at Harry - sweet, talented Harry who'd also been cut. It felt wrong, that voice being rejected. The universe had properly fucked up there.
Then they were being called back. Him, Harry, Liam, Zayn, and that Irish lad Niall. Louis's heart was hammering so hard he could barely hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears.
Nicole Scherzinger was speaking, something about potential and chemistry. Simon was nodding along. Louis caught fragments through his panic - "work well together" and "strong as a group" and then-
"We've decided to put you through as a group."
The world stopped.
Then exploded.
Harry was suddenly in his arms, all gangly limbs and wild curls, practically climbing him like a tree. Louis caught him instinctively, spinning them both around as Harry buried his face in Louis's neck. They were both crying, laughing, screaming maybe - Louis couldn't tell anymore.
"Lou!" Harry was gasping against his skin. "Lou, we did it!"
"We did it," Louis repeated dazedly, still holding Harry tight. "We're staying together."
Together. The word hit him like a physical force. He wouldn't have to say goodbye to Harry. Wouldn't have to watch from afar as that curly-headed boy became the star Louis knew he was meant to be. They'd do it together.
The other boys were hugging them now too, all five of them tangled in a mess of limbs and tears and joy. But Louis couldn't focus on anything except Harry's hand gripping his shirt, Harry's breath against his neck, Harry's heartbeat thundering against his chest.
The adrenaline still pulsed through Louis as they stepped off the stage, the echoes of applause ringing in his ears. They were hustled quickly into position for their first interview as a group - their first interview ever, really. Louis's hands were shaking slightly as they arranged themselves, Harry somehow ending up right beside him.
The interviewer started asking questions about their feelings, their hopes, their plans as a group. Louis tried to focus, to give proper answers - this was important, their first chance to show what they could be. But Harry... Harry wouldn't stop looking at him.
Every time Louis glanced over, those green eyes were fixed on him, bright with something that made Louis's stomach flip. Even when the interviewer addressed Harry directly, he'd barely turn toward her before his gaze was drawn back to Louis like a magnet.
It was distracting. Unsettling. Made Louis's skin feel too tight, his thoughts scattered. He had a girlfriend, for Christ's sake. Shouldn't be noticing how Harry's dimples appeared when he smiled, or how his curls fell across his forehead, or how his whole face lit up every time Louis spoke.
"And Harry, what are your thoughts on being put together as a group?"
Harry barely looked at the interviewer, eyes locked on Louis as he answered, "It's amazing. Like it was meant to be."
Louis forced himself to stare straight ahead, fighting the urge to meet Harry's gaze again. This wasn't... he couldn't... it was just excitement about making it through. That's all. Had to be.
But Harry kept watching him, soft and intent, like Louis was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. And Louis couldn't stop his heart from racing every time he felt those eyes on him.
The interview continued around them, but Louis barely registered it - too caught up in the magnetic pull of Harry's presence beside him, too busy trying to understand why it affected him so much.
What was happening to him?
Louis sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone. Hannah was curled up next to him, watching telly, but his mind was elsewhere. Every few minutes he'd check his messages, pretending he wasn't hoping to see Harry's name pop up.
It was mental, really. He'd only known the lad a few weeks, but somehow Harry had carved out this space in his life that seemed to grow larger by the day. Louis kept catching himself thinking about him at odd moments - wondering what he was doing, if he was as excited about their second chance as Louis was.
His phone buzzed. Louis's heart jumped before he could stop it.
"Hello?" He answered, trying to sound casual.
"Louis!" Harry's voice crackled through the speaker, warm and excited. "You awake?"
"No, I'm sleep-talking," Louis teased, earning a bark of laughter that made his stomach flip. He ignored it. "What's up, Curly?"
"My stepdad's got this bungalow, right? And I was thinking - we should all come stay for a bit. Before everything starts properly. Just us lads, getting to know each other better."
Louis glanced at Hannah, who was absorbed in whatever she was watching. "Yeah?"
"Yeah! We can swim, play video games, proper lad stuff. No cameras, no judges. Just... us."
There was something in Harry's voice - something eager and vulnerable that made Louis's chest tight. "Sounds sick," he managed. "When were you thinking?"
"Friday? For the weekend?" Harry sounded hesitant now. "If you're not busy with... you know. Your girlfriend and stuff."
"Nah, I can make it work," Louis said quickly - too quickly maybe. Hannah looked over at him questioningly. He gave her a quick smile. "Team bonding and all that, innit?"
"Exactly!" Harry's enthusiasm was back full force. "It'll be proper fun, Lou. Promise."
Lou. The nickname sent a shiver down his spine that he firmly ignored. "Course it will be. You're organizing it, aren't you?"
Harry's pleased laugh made something warm bloom in Louis's chest. He pushed it down, hard. This was getting dangerous - these little moments where Harry made him feel... different. Special. It wasn't right, wasn't normal. He had Hannah. He liked girls. Always had.
"Right then," he said brightly, maybe too brightly. "Text me the details?"
"Will do! Night Lou!"
"Night Haz."
Louis stared at his phone long after Harry hung up, trying to make sense of the mess of feelings tangling in his chest. Hannah shifted beside him.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah," he said automatically. "Just... band stuff."
But later, lying awake while Hannah slept beside him, Louis couldn't stop thinking about Harry's laugh, his excitement about them all being together. Couldn't stop wondering why the thought of spending a weekend with him made Louis's heart race like this.
It wasn't... he wasn't...
Louis rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut. He just admired Harry, that's all. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing weird about wanting to be around someone who made you laugh, who looked at you like you hung the moon.
Nothing weird at all.
Chapter 13: Present Day
Summary:
Harry arrives at the church amid chaos outside, grappling with guilt over intruding on a family's grief. Inside, mourners gather, and Louis eventually arrives, delivering a heartfelt speech about Liam, highlighting their bond and familial love. Harry and Louis share a moment of comfort as they hold hands during the service, united in their grief for Liam.
Chapter Text
Harry's hands wouldn't stop shaking. Through the tinted windows of his Range Rover, the scene outside the church made his stomach turn - hundreds of fans pressed against barriers, their phones raised like torches, paparazzi circling like vultures. Even knowing how Liam had always embraced their fans, this felt wrong. Too much. Too loud for goodbye.
His phone buzzed. The group chat.
Niall: "It's proper mental out here. Side entrance is clear if anyone needs it x"
Zayn: "Just got through. His parents shouldn't have to see all this."
Harry watched another wave of fans surge forward as they recognized his car. The screaming started, cameras flashing, people pressing against the windows. Maybe he shouldn't have come. His presence was only adding to the spectacle, turning a family's grief into front-page news.
Paul appeared at his door, face etched with sadness. "Ready?" he asked quietly, creating a barrier with his body. Harry hesitated, wondering if he should just turn around. Leave. Let Liam's family mourn without this circus.
"They need this too, H," Paul said softly, seeming to read his thoughts. "But we'll get you straight inside."
The walk to the church felt endless. Fans called out "We love you Harry!" and "Liam forever!" while photographers shouted demands for reaction shots. Someone thrust a microphone forward - "Harry! How are you coping with the loss?" He kept his head down, guilt churning in his stomach.
Inside, the church's silence hit like a physical force. Harry spotted Niall first, standing near Liam's sisters, who were huddled together, supporting each other. His usually bright face was ashen, eyes red and swollen. When he saw Harry, he crossed the space between them in quick strides and pulled him into a fierce hug.
"Should I even be here?" Harry whispered. "It's turning into..."
"Don't," Niall cut him off. "We're family. He'd want us here."
Zayn stood near the front with Geoff and Karen, Liam's parents. Karen was clutching Zayn's hand like a lifeline, while Geoff stood stoically, his face a mask of grief. The sight made Harry's throat tighten - they'd always treated all of them like sons.
The church filled steadily with faces from their past - crew members who'd become family, industry friends, artists who'd known Liam. Ed Sheeran slipped in quietly through a side door, head bowed. Justin Bieber sat alone in a back pew, head in his hands.
"Where's Louis?" Harry asked, scanning the growing crowd.
"Not here yet," Niall replied, checking his phone. "Traffic's mental. Says he's trying."
The opening notes of "Stop Crying Your Heart Out" began to play softly through the church speakers. Outside, camera flashes continued to strobe through the stained glass windows, turning their private grief into public spectacle. The contrast between the sacred silence inside and the chaos outside made Harry's head spin.
"Should've been just family," Harry murmured, watching another flash illuminate the windows. "We've made it harder for them."
Zayn rejoined them, his own voice shaking. "We are family," he said firmly. "The rest of it... it's just noise."
Through the windows, they could hear chanting starting up - fans singing One Direction songs in tribute. The sound merged dizzyingly with the church music, past and present colliding as they waited for Louis, their circle still incomplete as they prepared to say goodbye to their brother.
Karen caught Harry's eye from across the church and gave him a watery smile. Despite everything, despite the circus outside, despite his doubts about being here, that smile told him he was exactly where he needed to be. They were all exactly where they needed to be - together, one last time, for Liam.
The vicar appeared at the front of the church, a subtle signal that they should take their seats. Harry followed Niall and Zayn to the second row, sliding in behind the Payne family. Bear sat directly in front of them with Cheryl, the boy's shoulders already trembling slightly. Harry's heart ached at how much he looked like Liam.
But Louis' absence felt like a physical wound. Harry kept glancing toward the entrance, each creak of the heavy doors sending his heart racing. The fans' voices outside rose and fell in waves, their songs weaving through the somber church music in an eerily beautiful way.
"He'll be here," Niall whispered, squeezing Harry's arm as if reading his thoughts. "Just give him time."
Zayn remained silent beside them, his usual composure cracking slightly as he stared straight ahead. The space they'd left for Louis between them felt enormous, even as the pews began filling with mourners around them.
The organ music swelled, signaling the start of the service. Harry's chest tightened with panic - they couldn't start without Louis, could they? They needed to be complete, needed to do this together, one last time for Liam.
Then he heard it - the subtle creak of the back door, followed by a shift in the air that made him hold his breath. Harry turned just as Louis appeared in the doorway.
He looked exhausted as he made his way down the aisle, his usual confidence dimmed but not extinguished. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his crisp black suit seemed to hang a bit looser than it should. But even now, even here, he carried that innate magnetism that had always drawn people to him.
"Thank God," Harry breathed, relief washing through him as Louis approached their row.
Niall shifted slightly, making space between himself and Harry. "Lou," he whispered, gesturing to the empty spot.
Louis paused for just a moment, his eyes meeting Harry's, before sliding into the space between them. The brush of his arm against Harry's sent a familiar jolt through him - some things never changed, even after all these years. The pew was crowded enough that they couldn't help but press together, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.
Harry tried to focus on the vicar's words as the service began, but Louis' presence beside him commanded his attention. He could feel the slight tremor in Louis' leg, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. Without thinking, Harry found himself leaning ever so slightly into Louis' warmth, offering what comfort he could.
Memories flooded unbidden - backstage laughter, shared hotel rooms, inside jokes that only made sense to them. The five of them, always the five of them, until now. Harry snuck glances at Louis' profile, watching his jaw work as he fought to maintain composure.
Karen's voice broke through his thoughts as she began her eulogy, strong despite her tears. Harry felt Louis tense beside him, saw Zayn reach across Niall to squeeze Louis' knee. They were holding each other together without words, the way they always had.
The fans outside had gone quiet now, their songs faded to respectful silence. In the stillness, Harry could hear Louis' shaky breathing, could feel the slight tremor that ran through him every time Liam's name was spoken. He wanted desperately to reach for Louis' hand, to offer some tangible comfort, but the years and distance between them felt suddenly vast.
Instead, they sat frozen in their shared grief, their shoulders pressed together, neither pulling away nor drawing closer, as they listened to stories about the brother they'd lost.
As Liam's father stepped away from the podium, Louis shifted beside Harry, his jaw set in that familiar way that meant he'd made up his mind about something. Without a word, he stood and made his way to the front, each step deliberate and measured.
Harry's heart clenched as he watched Louis adjust the microphone, remembering how many times he'd seen him do the same thing on stage - though never quite like this. Never for this reason.
"Right then," Louis started, his voice carrying that distinctive Yorkshire lilt that always seemed to put people at ease. "Our Payno, eh?" He paused, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Proper teacher's pet when I first met him. Thought he was gonna be a right pain in my arse, if I'm honest."
A warm chuckle rippled through the church. Even Karen managed a watery smile.
"But that was Liam, weren't it? Always trying to do everything perfectly." Louis ran a hand through his hair, his voice softening. "Even when we were proper messes, he'd be there with his sensible ideas and his responsible face. Dead boring sometimes, but..." he trailed off, swallowing hard. "But always there when you needed him."
Harry watched as Louis took a steadying breath, recognizing the slight tremor in his hands that he was trying to hide. Louis had done this too many times - said goodbye to too many people he loved. Yet somehow he always found the strength to stand up and speak, to make people laugh through their tears.
"You know what though?" Louis continued, that familiar mischievous glint appearing in his eyes despite everything. "Our Liam learned to let loose eventually. Remember that time in Vegas, Payno?" He glanced upward with a grin. "Actually, better not tell that story in church, mate. Your mum's right there."
More laughter, stronger this time. Harry found himself smiling even as tears tracked down his cheeks.
"Thing is," Louis' voice grew serious again, but kept that warmth that was uniquely him, "Liam knew about pain, didn't he? Knew about fighting through it. And he never let anyone go through their battles alone." His voice cracked slightly. "Even when he was fighting his own."
Harry watched as Louis paused, clearly wrestling with emotions he usually kept carefully controlled. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less strong.
"Been to too many of these, me. Said goodbye to too many people I love." Louis cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. "But Liam... he was there for every one of them. Holding me up when I couldn't stand. Making sure I ate. Telling awful dad jokes just to see me crack a smile."
The church was completely silent now, hanging on Louis' every word. Even the fans outside seemed to have stilled.
"So this one's proper hard, innit?" Louis continued, no longer trying to hide the tears in his eyes. "Because he was always the strong one. Always the one who..." he had to stop, composing himself. "Always the one who knew what to say when there weren't any right words."
"But you know what?" Louis continued, managing a wobbly smile, "Our Liam would've hated all this doom and gloom. He'd probably be stood right here telling us to buck up and do some breathing exercises or summat."
Soft laughter mixed with sniffles echoed through the church. Bear turned in his seat to look at Louis, a ghost of his father's smile crossing his face.
"That was the thing about Payno - even when everything was proper shit, he'd find a way to make it better. Remember during lockdown?" Louis shook his head fondly. "There he was, doing his Instagram lives, trying to get us all to exercise while I'm sat on me couch with me crisps, giving him grief in the comments."
He paused, his voice growing softer. "But that was Liam all over, weren't it? Always trying to take care of everyone else. Even when..." Louis swallowed hard, "Even when he was the one who needed taking care of."
Harry felt the weight of those words settle heavy in his chest. He watched as Louis gripped the podium tighter, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.
"You know, after me mum passed," Louis continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, "Liam showed up at me door. Didn't say anything about it - just brought food and stayed for three days straight. Watched awful action films with me. Let me talk when I needed to, sat in silence when I couldn't."
Louis looked up, meeting Karen's eyes. "That's who your son was. That's who he'll always be to me. The lad who showed up. The one who never let you feel alone."
Taking a shaky breath, Louis straightened his shoulders. "So yeah, I'm proper angry that he's gone. I'm furious that we won't get to do that reunion tour we kept talking about. That Bear won't get to see his dad embarrass himself trying to do those dance moves again." His voice cracked, but he pushed through. "But mostly, I'm just... I'm just grateful I got to call him my brother."
He turned slightly, looking at where Harry, Niall, and Zayn sat. "We were just kids when we started, weren't we? Had no idea what we were doing. But Liam... he helped make us a family. And that never changed, even when everything else did."
Louis wiped roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand. "So thank you, mate. For everything. For being the responsible one, for putting up with our shit, for..." he had to pause again, emotion overwhelming him. "For being exactly who you were. We love you, Payno. Always will."
With that, Louis stepped back from the microphone, his composure finally cracking as he made his way back to his seat. Harry felt his own tears falling freely now, watching as Louis collapsed back onto the pew beside him, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Without thinking, Harry reached over and gripped Louis' hand tightly. This time, Louis didn't pull away.
He kept his eyes fixed forward, but Harry could see him fighting for composure, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. Without hesitation this time, Harry squeezed his hand tighter.
"Y'alright?" Louis whispered, his voice rough. He didn't pull his hand away, but his fingers twitched nervously against Harry's palm.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Harry murmured back, trying to catch Louis' eye.
Louis let out a quiet, wet laugh. "Been here before, haven't I?" He finally turned to look at Harry, his eyes red-rimmed but clear. "Getting to be a proper expert at funeral speeches, me."
The bitter edge in his voice made Harry's chest ache. He thought about all the losses Louis had weathered - his mum, Félicité, his stepdad - each one leaving its mark but never breaking him completely.
"You did him proud, Lou," Harry whispered, meaning every word. "Really proud."
Louis swallowed hard, his grip on Harry's hand tightening for just a moment. "Yeah, well," he muttered, "someone had to tell everyone what a proper pain in the arse he could be."
But there was no heat in the words, only love and grief so tangled together they were impossible to separate. They sat in silence as the service continued, their hands still linked, neither willing to be the first to let go.
The organ music swelled again, filling the church with its somber tones. Outside, the fans began to sing once more - a gentle chorus of "Night Changes" floating through the windows. Harry felt Louis shudder beside him, and without thinking, he shifted closer, offering what comfort he could in the press of his shoulder against Louis'.
Some things, Harry realized, didn't need words at all.
Chapter 14: March 2011
Summary:
Harry watches Liam and Louis interact, feeling jealous and trapped by management's restrictions. Tension rises when Liam confronts Louis about hidden feelings for Harry, leading to a revelation of love between Harry and Louis. Liam offers support, breaking the silence, and Harry finally feels a sense of relief.
Chapter Text
Harry's stomach twisted as Liam's laugh echoed through the studio again, watching as he pulled Louis closer. They'd been like this all morning - Liam's hands constantly finding excuses to touch, Louis playing along with that infectious cackle that usually made Harry's heart soar. Today it just made him feel sick.
The worst part wasn't even Liam's casual touches - it was that Harry couldn't do the same. Wasn't allowed to. He'd been shuffled to the opposite end of the couch at the start of the interview, management's warning looks keeping him firmly in place while Liam got to drape himself all over Louis like it was nothing.
"And then," Liam wheezed, arm wrapped around Louis' shoulders, "he tried to convince security it wasn't even his water gun-"
"Oi, would've worked if you hadn't grassed me up!" Louis protested, elbowing Liam in the ribs. His eyes crinkled at the corners - the same way they did when he and Harry were alone, those private moments that were supposed to be just theirs.
Harry's fingers dug into his thigh, watching another boy casually claim the space he wasn't allowed to occupy. Every touch felt like salt in an open wound - because Liam could do this, could touch and laugh and be close without anyone batting an eye. While Harry had to measure every glance, count the feet between them, pretend his whole world didn't revolve around the boy he couldn't even sit next to.
"Our Tommo's proper sneaky when he wants to be-" Liam grinned, ruffling Louis' hair.
"Do me a favor, yeah?" Harry cut in, forcing his voice to stay light despite the storm brewing in his chest. "Give him some breathing room."
The laughter stuttered. Harry caught Louis' smile falter - that microscopic shift only someone who'd memorized every expression would notice. Behind them, their manager's pen stopped mid-scratch.
"What?" Liam asked, still grinning but confused.
"Just..." Harry shrugged, trying to swallow down the jealousy threatening to spill out. "Been hanging off him all morning, haven't you?"
He could feel Louis' eyes on him now, that steady gaze that usually anchored him but today just reminded him of everything they couldn't show. Seventeen felt too young to carry this weight, this constant need to hide while watching others touch so freely.
"'M always like this," Liam said slowly, not moving his arm but looking between them with growing curiosity. "Never seemed to bother you before..."
Louis cleared his throat, his accent thickening like it always did under pressure. "Right then, speaking of bothering people-"
But something had shifted. Harry could see it in Liam's expression - the subtle dawn of understanding as he caught the tension in Harry's shoulders, the careful way Louis was now holding himself despite Liam's continued touch.
"Cut," their manager called sharply. "Technical issues. Five minute break, everyone."
Louis' foot found Harry's under the table - their secret language of taps and touches, the only contact they were allowed in public. He'd let too much show, let his jealousy crack their carefully constructed facade. But how could he not, when every casual touch from Liam was a reminder of what he couldn't have? When he had to watch someone else claim the space next to Louis that should have been his?
Harry caught Louis' gaze across the table, finding worry there beneath his usual mischief. Some secrets, Harry was learning, were harder to keep than others. Especially when they lived in your chest, threatening to burst out every time you watched someone else touch the boy you loved with the casual freedom you'd never know.
The elevator ride to their floor felt endless, Harry's earlier jealousy still churning in his stomach. Louis kept shooting him worried glances, standing closer than usual but not close enough to touch. The moment their hotel room door clicked shut, Liam rounded on them.
"Right, what was all that about then?" His voice cut through the air like a knife, arms crossed as he blocked their path.
Harry's eyes met Louis', finding his own panic mirrored there.
"Just 'aving a laugh, weren't we?" Louis said, accent thickening defensively as he slouched against the wall. But Harry could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched like they always did before a fight.
"A laugh?" Liam's eyebrows shot up. "Harry looked ready to deck me every time I touched you."
Heat crept up Harry's neck. He busied himself with the mini bar, hands shaking slightly as he poured water into a glass.
"Don't know what you're on about, mate," Louis replied, but his voice had that dangerous edge to it - the Doncaster roughness that emerged when he felt cornered.
"Yes, you do," Liam pressed, taking a step closer. "Something's going on with you two. Has been for ages. And whatever it is, it's starting to affect the band-"
"The band?" Louis pushed off the wall, voice sharp. "That what you're worried about then? Your precious professional reputation?"
"Lou-" Harry started, but Louis was already building steam.
"Think you know everything, don't ya? Mr. X-Factor veteran, always gotta be in control-"
"This isn't about control!" Liam shot back. "This is about you two hiding something that could blow up in all our faces!"
Louis went very still - the kind of still that Harry recognized from outside clubs when someone said exactly the wrong thing. When he spoke, his accent was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Listen 'ere, Payno. You don't get to come in 'ere acting like you're in charge just 'cause you've done a few more talent shows, yeah? I'm the oldest, I look after everyone-"
"Is that what you call this?" Liam gestured between them. "Looking after everyone by keeping secrets?"
Harry saw Louis' hands curl into fists, saw the muscle jump in his jaw. Everything about Louis' body language screamed fight or flight, and Louis Tomlinson never chose flight.
"You better watch your mouth," Louis warned, voice deadly quiet. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Liam challenged. "Because what I saw today-"
"What you saw today was you being a right knobhead," Louis snarled, taking a step forward. "'Anging all over me like some-"
"Oh, so now we're pretending that's what this is about?" Liam laughed incredulously. "Not about Harry looking like he wanted to murder me? Not about whatever's going on between you two that you think none of us can see?"
The glass shattered in Harry's hand before he realized he'd been gripping it too tight. The sound made them all jump, but Louis was already moving, that street-fighter instinct taking over.
"I said watch your fucking mouth-"
Harry's hands trembled against Louis' chest, feeling the wild thunder of his heartbeat. The touch seemed to crack something in Louis' armor - his eyes dropping to where Harry's palms pressed against him, the same hands that had just shoved Liam away from their playful wrestling match moments ago.
"Lou," Harry whispered, voice breaking on even that single syllable.
For a moment, Louis seemed to forget everything else - the scene Harry had just caused, the way he'd practically growled at Liam to stop touching Louis. His expression crumpled into something devastated and wanting. Then Liam's voice shattered their bubble:
"This is exactly what I mean!" he exclaimed. "Harry nearly takes my head off for mucking about with Louis, and you two look at each other like... like that. Like you're drowning and the other person's air."
"I didn't mean-" Harry started, shame coloring his cheeks as he remembered his outburst. "It's just- when I saw you two-"
"You got jealous," Liam finished softly. "Because there's something going on between you two, isn't there? Something you've been hiding from all of us."
Louis jerked under Harry's hands, voice thick with desperation: "We've tried so hard not to let it affect anything, tried to keep it from changing the band-"
"That's why you've been so weird lately?" Liam asked, understanding dawning. "All those times Harry would leave the room when you'd rough-house with any of us, or how you both get this look when someone touches the other-"
"I can't help it," Harry admitted, voice small. "Seeing anyone else touch him, even just messing around... it makes something inside me go crazy. And I know it's not fair, I know we're supposed to just be mates, but-"
"But we can't," Louis choked out, voice raw. "We've tried, Liam. Tried so hard to just be friends, to not let it get complicated-"
His hand came up to grip Harry's wrist where it still rested against his chest - not pushing away, but holding on like he'd been fighting the urge to touch for so long he couldn't bear to let go now.
"It's okay, you know," Liam said gently. "Being gay-"
"I'm not-" Louis jerked back, voice sharp with sudden anger. "This isn't about- fuck's sake, Liam, you're not listening. This is about Harry. Just Harry. Not blokes, not- it's just him, alright? Has nothing to do with anyone else."
"Lou," Harry whispered, feeling Louis trembling beneath his palms.
"No, he needs to understand," Louis insisted, accent growing thicker with emotion. "Everything I thought I knew about meself, everything I was so sure of - none of it matters because it's him. Just him. Could be the only person in the whole fucking world and I'd still-" His voice cracked. "I'd still feel like this."
"I'm sorry," Liam said quickly, looking chastened. "I didn't mean to-"
"'S been killing me too," Louis continued, his grip on Harry's wrist tightening. "Seeing him hurt every time someone touches me, knowing I can't just... can't just tell everyone he's-"
"Yours," Harry finished, voice barely a whisper. "Even though I'm not supposed to be."
Louis finally met his eyes, and the raw anguish there stole the breath from Harry's lungs. "I love you," Louis whispered, voice breaking on every word. "I've tried so hard to fight it, to keep things normal for everyone else, but I love you so much I can't stand seeing you hurt like this anymore. And I'm terrified, Haz, because I don't know how we're going to do this, but I can't keep pretending you're not everything to me."
The confession hung in the air between them, heavy with months of hidden feelings and desperate wanting. Harry could feel Louis' heart racing beneath his palms, could see the relief and fear warring in his eyes at finally having their secret known, even if just by Liam.
"Listen," Liam began, his voice gentle but firm, "I get why you've been hiding it. But you don't have to - not from me, at least." He pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the wall, taking a careful step toward them. "Whatever you need - if someone's getting too suspicious, if you need space, if you just... need someone to know - I'm here."
Harry felt something crack in his chest at the words, at having someone finally see them and not recoil. Louis was still trembling slightly under his palms.
"You don't-" Louis's voice was rough, disbelieving. "You're not worried about what it means for the band?"
"I'm worried about what hiding it is doing to my best mates," Liam countered softly. "The way you both flinch when anyone mentions relationships, how Harry looks like he's being stabbed every time someone touches you, Lou... that's what's hurting the band."
Harry felt Louis's sharp intake of breath, felt his fingers tighten where they still gripped Harry's wrist.
"But," Liam continued, his expression growing serious, "you have to promise me something."
Harry tensed slightly. "What?"
"Stop trying to handle everything alone," Liam said, his voice thick with concern. "I've watched you both tearing yourselves apart trying to protect everyone else. Let me help. Let me... I don't know, run interference or something. Just- just stop suffering in silence, yeah?"
Louis made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "Fuck," he whispered, accent thick with emotion. "Didn't expect- thought you'd-"
"What, freak out?" Liam's smile was sad. "Mate, I've been watching you look at Harry like he hung the moon since day one. Just didn't realize what it meant until today."
Harry felt tears prick at his eyes again. "We thought... if anyone knew..."
"Well, now I know," Liam said simply. "And I'm telling you - you're not alone in this anymore." He paused, then added with a tentative smile, "Though maybe we should get some food first? Before we tackle anything else? Think we could all use a breather."
Louis let out a shaky laugh, finally releasing Harry's wrist to scrub roughly at his eyes. "Yeah," he managed, voice still unsteady but lighter somehow. "Yeah, food sounds... food sounds good."
Harry felt Louis lean almost imperceptibly into his touch, no longer rigid with panic, and for the first time in months, he felt like he could breathe properly.
Chapter 15: Present Day
Summary:
Louis stands at the church entrance with Harry, recalling memories of Liam when Kate, Liam's girlfriend, approaches and offers to share something Liam left for them. After exchanging emails, Niall and Zayn arrive, and they discuss how to celebrate Liam instead of mourning. Later, Louis watches a video from Liam revealing his belief in their love, causing regret to wash over him. At a club, Louis struggles with grief as the night dissolves into fragments until he and Harry connect, sharing a cigarette and reminiscing, momentarily rekindling their old bond amidst their shared loss.
Chapter Text
Louis stood at the church entrance, feeling the weight of grief pressing against his chest. Harry was beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets, both of them lost in their own memories of Liam when a woman approached them - young, American, with kind eyes rimmed red from crying.
"Hi," she said softly. "I'm Kate. Liam's girlfriend."
Louis nodded mechanically, recognizing her from the photos Liam had shared in their group chat. They'd never met her properly - another regret to add to the growing pile.
"He talked about you both so much," she continued, voice wavering slightly. "Especially after your concert, Louis. He was so proud..."
Louis felt Harry shift beside him, their shoulders barely brushing. The simple contact grounded him.
"I actually have something," Kate said, pulling herself together. "From Liam. He showed it to me after the concert, made me promise to share it if..." She trailed off, taking a shaky breath. "I just need your email addresses to send it to you."
Louis exchanged a quick glance with Harry, seeing his own confusion mirrored there. "Yeah, course," he managed, fumbling for his phone while Harry did the same.
As they typed out their emails, Niall and Zayn approached, bringing with them a rush of memories that hit Louis like a physical force.
"Can't believe it's been this long," Niall said softly, his Irish lilt thick with emotion.
The conversation shifted then, memories spilling out between them - hotel rooms and road trips, stupid fights and inside jokes. But it felt wrong somehow, standing in this church with their laughter echoing off stone walls.
"This isn't what Liam would've wanted," Louis found himself saying, voice firm despite the ache in his chest. "All this... proper funeral stuff. He'd want us celebrating."
"We should go out," Harry suggested quietly. "Somewhere with music. Dancing."
The idea caught fire quickly - plans for a private club rental forming between them. Louis watched Harry get increasingly animated about venues and arrangements, and something in his chest loosened slightly. Even now, even here, Harry could still make things feel possible.
But through it all, Louis kept thinking about Kate's words - about whatever Liam had left for them to see. He caught Harry's eye again, saw the same questions there, the same mix of hope and dread about what their friend's final message might be.
Louis sank into the plush leather seat of the hired car, feeling the weight of anticipation in the air. The city lights blurred by outside as they navigated through London’s winding streets.
His phone buzzed against his thigh, drawing his attention. Fumbling for it, he noticed the familiar name on the screen—Liam's girlfriend. The moment felt heavy with significance as he hesitated before opening the email.
The subject line read: Important—For You Both. A chill raced down his spine.
He clicked open the message, scanning through her words filled with warmth and sadness. “He would have wanted you both to have this,” she wrote, her care evident in every line. A link followed—a Google Drive folder titled “Harry and Louis.” His heart dropped like a stone in water.
Louis’s fingers trembled as he clicked on the link. The drive opened before him, revealing a single folder bearing their names—a simple title that suddenly held so much weight.
His breath caught as uncertainty gnawed at him. Why would she send this? What did Liam want him to see? Panic fluttered within him, churning with curiosity and dread.
Louis's fingers trembled as he slipped on his headphones, the city lights blurring past his window. The leather seat felt too big, too empty. One file stood out in the folder: "intro.mp4"
His chest tightened as Liam's face filled the screen - God, he looked so young. 2011 Liam, with his buzzed hair and eager eyes, adjusting the camera with careful precision. Louis could almost smell the cheap hotel shampoo and hear the echo of their laughter down those endless corridors.
"Right then," Liam started, clearing his throat with that familiar nervousness that always preceded his most sincere moments. "If you're watching this..." He broke into a grin so wide it made Louis's heart splinter. "It means you've done it! You've finally told everyone about you two!"
Louis pressed his knuckles to his mouth, fighting back a sound that wasn't quite a laugh or a sob.
"Harry, Louis... I just..." Liam's eyes went soft, the way they did when he really meant something. "I want you to know I've always believed in you. Both of you. What you have - it's proper love, isn't it? The real thing. And I know right now it feels like everything's against you, but..." He leaned closer to the camera, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "I see the way you look at each other when you think no one's watching. That's worth fighting for."
The car hit a bump, but Louis barely felt it. All he could see was Liam, so young and sure, with no idea that he wouldn't - that he'd never -
"So I've started recording everything," Liam continued, practically bouncing with excitement now. "All the little moments. The way Harry makes you tea, Louis, even when you pretend you haven't asked for it. The way you still get stars in your eyes when he sings, even in rehearsal. All of it. Because someday..." He grinned that crinkly-eyed grin that Louis would give anything to see one more time. "Someday people are going to want to know your story. The real one. Not what management says, not what the papers write. The truth."
A tear slid down Louis's cheek. He wiped it away roughly, but another followed.
"Maybe we'll make it into one of those proper documentaries, yeah? Though I suppose by the time you're watching this, you've probably already done that." Liam laughed, running a hand over his short hair.
Louis let out a harsh breath that might have been a laugh. A documentary. The bitter irony of it twisted in his gut. He had made one, hadn't he? Carefully edited footage of his life after One Direction, his 2022 tour, the band's history - every meaningful moment meticulously curated to excise Harry from the narrative. Hours spent with editors, finding ways to tell his story while leaving out the biggest part of it. Making sure every clip, every interview, every candid moment could pass management's scrutiny. His truth, redacted.
"Just promise me one thing?" Liam continued, oblivious to how wrong his hopes would go. "When you tell your story - the real story - make sure they know how many people were in your corner. How many of us knew that love like yours was worth protecting."
Louis pressed pause, his vision too blurred to continue. The driver's eyes carefully avoided the rearview mirror, giving him a moment of privacy with his grief.
Liam had been so certain. So fucking certain they'd get their happy ending. That this video would be watched by two people in love, finally free to show it to the world. Instead, here was Louis, alone in the back of a car, about to go pretend he could handle being in the same room as Harry without falling apart.
He looked down at his phone, at all the other videos waiting to be watched. Each one a moment Liam thought worthy of preserving for their future. Their future. Christ.
The car slowed to a stop, and Louis could hear the bass from the club already. He needed to pull himself together. But all he could think about was Liam, young and hopeful Liam, carefully documenting a love story he believed would someday have its proper ending.
The music hit Louis like a physical force as he pushed through the doors, bass thrumming through his chest where the grief had settled. The familiar faces scattered throughout the club made his throat tight - family and old friends who'd been there from the beginning, who knew exactly what they'd all lost.
Harry was already on the dance floor - of course he was. Even in mourning he moved like music was the only thing keeping him upright, all wild curls and fluid motion. Some things never changed. Ten years on and he still danced like no one was watching, like joy was something you could catch if you moved fast enough.
"Took you long enough," Niall appeared at his side, pressing a drink into his hand. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You alright?"
Louis knocked back whatever it was without tasting it. "Yeah," he lied, watching Harry spin someone around, their laughter carrying over the music. "Course."
The alcohol hit his system quickly, softening the edges of his grief. He grabbed another drink from a passing tray, ignoring the concerned glances. The video from earlier played on loop in his head - young Liam, so full of hope, so certain about their future. Christ.
"To Liam!" The shout went up from somewhere in the crowd. Glasses raised across the room like stars.
"To Liam," Louis echoed, his voice breaking. He drained his glass and reached for another before the tears could start.
The night dissolved into fragments - flashing lights, familiar hugs, the steady pulse of music. Louis let himself be pulled onto the dance floor, desperate for the distraction.
"Remember when he used to try teaching us proper choreography?" someone shouted over the bass.
The memory hit Louis like a punch to the gut - Liam counting steps with endless patience, while Harry stumbled over his own feet and Louis messed up on purpose just to make them laugh. God, they'd been so young. So fucking young.
"More shots!" Niall's voice carried across the floor. Louis nodded too quickly, grateful for anything to dull the ache in his chest. He'd promised himself he'd celebrate Liam's life tonight. He'd keep everyone smiling if it killed him.
But then Harry was there, the way he always seemed to be when Louis was falling apart. His hand caught Louis's wrist as he reached for another shot, touch gentle but firm.
"Lou," Harry said softly, somehow cutting through the chaos. Even now, after everything. "Think maybe you should slow down?"
"M'fine," Louis tried to pull away, but Harry's grip was steady. "Just having a proper send-off, aren't I? S'what he would've wanted."
"Think he'd want you to remember it," Harry countered, eyes too knowing under the flashing lights. "Come get some air with me?"
"Don't need a minder," Louis snapped, but his voice cracked traitorously. "Not your job anymore, is it?"
Something flickered across Harry's face - pain or regret or both. "No," he agreed quietly. "But I still care."
The simple honesty in those words hit Louis harder than any drink. He swayed slightly, and Harry's other hand found his elbow, steadying him.
"What's really going on?" Harry asked, leading them toward a quieter corner. "You've been off all night."
Louis leaned against the wall, feeling the bass vibrate through his bones. He squinted at Harry, vision swimming. "'Ave you checked your email today?"
"No," Harry frowned, pushing back his curls in that achingly familiar way. "Why?"
"His girl," Louis's accent thickened with the alcohol. "She sent us videos. From before. When we..." He couldn't finish.
Understanding dawned in Harry's eyes. "Oh," he said softly. Then, "Oh, Lou."
"Don't," Louis warned, but his voice betrayed him. "Just... don't."
He pushed past Harry, making his way back to the bar where Niall and Zayn were laughing about something, their heads bent together. The bass was still pounding through his chest, but it felt hollow now, like an echo.
"Tommo!" Niall called out, already signaling the bartender. "Perfect timing. We're doing shots."
"Brilliant," Louis said, sliding onto a stool. "Make it a double."
"That bad?" Zayn asked quietly, studying Louis's face.
"Shut up and drink," Louis replied, but there was no heat in it. The tequila burned going down, exactly what he needed to drown out the conversation he'd just had.
"Another," Niall declared, already lining them up. "To Payno's terrible dance moves."
"To his stupid responsible face," Zayn added, raising his glass.
"To-" Louis started, but caught sight of Harry approaching over Niall's shoulder. His eyes were rimmed red, but he wore that media-trained smile, the one that said everything was fine when nothing was.
"Room for one more?" Harry asked, his voice carefully light.
"Always," Niall said immediately, sliding him a shot. "We're honoring Liam's worst qualities."
"His fashion choices circa 2011," Harry offered, downing the shot without flinching.
The music shifted then, something slower and sadder filling the space between them. Louis felt it settle in his chest like a weight.
"Think I need a smoke," he announced, already reaching for his pocket. "Coming?"
"Yeah," Zayn said, pushing off from the bar. Niall was already following, and Harry hesitated only a moment before nodding.
Louis led the way toward the back exit, feeling the others fall into step behind him. Some habits never really died.
Louis pushed through the back door, the cool air a relief after the stuffy club. He pulled out his cigarettes, and before he could even get one lit, Zayn was already reaching for the pack.
"Some things never change, eh?" Louis snorted, handing them over. "Still nicking my smokes after all these years."
"Borrowing," Zayn corrected with a grin. "Been borrowing them since 2011."
"That's a long loan period, mate," Niall laughed. "Think you owe him about three thousand packs by now."
"Please," Zayn scoffed, lighting up. "Consider it payment for all those times I had to cover his high notes when he was too hungover to sing."
"Oi!" Louis protested. "That happened like, twice."
"Twice a week maybe," Harry chimed in, and for a moment it felt like old times.
"Rich coming from Mr. 'Does anyone have honey and lemon?'" Louis shot back.
"That was legitimate vocal care!" Harry defended, but he was fighting a smile.
"You made us stop the bus at three in the morning to find a Tesco," Niall reminded him. "For honey."
"And then Liam tried to make us all drink that horrible concoction," Zayn added, shuddering at the memory. "What was in that again?"
"Honey, lemon, ginger, and about six other things that should never go together," Louis grimaced. "Said his mum swore by it."
"Pretty sure he just made it worse on purpose so we'd stop complaining about our throats," Harry said.
The laughter felt good, felt real, until Harry cleared his throat and said, "Lou? Can I... can I have one of those?"
Louis's hand froze halfway through passing the pack to Zayn. Harry hadn't smoked since... well, since everything had fallen apart the first time. He'd gone all California clean-living, green juices and meditation and whatnot. For him to ask for a cigarette now...
Louis met his eyes and saw everything Harry was trying to hide behind that careful smile. The grief, raw and ragged, threatening to spill over.
"Yeah," Louis said softly, holding out the pack. "Course you can."
The others must have noticed too, because the laughter faded into something quieter. Harry's hands shook slightly as he took the cigarette, and Louis had to light it for him, just like he used to all those years ago.
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the smoke curling up into the night air. The muffled bass from inside the club provided a steady heartbeat to their thoughts.
"Remember when Liam caught us smoking behind the bus in Madrid?" Niall said suddenly. "Thought he was gonna proper tell management."
"Instead he just stood there looking disappointed," Zayn smiled slightly. "That was worse somehow."
"Then made us run extra laps during football," Louis added. "Proper sadist, he was."
Harry took a shaky drag of his cigarette, coughing slightly. "He just wanted us to be better," he said quietly. "Always trying to fix everything for everyone else."
The words hung heavy in the air. Louis watched Harry from the corner of his eye, saw him blinking rapidly at the ground.
"Yeah, well," Louis cleared his throat. "He'd have something to say about this lot, wouldn't he? All of us out here being proper rebels."
"Nah," Niall said softly. "Think he'd just be happy we're all here together."
The truth of it hit them all at once. Here they were, the four of them, standing in a circle like no time had passed at all. Like they weren't superstars who'd drifted apart. Like they were just boys again, sharing cigarettes and secrets in the dark.
"Should probably head back in," Zayn said eventually, stubbing out his cigarette. "Before they send a search party."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, but made no move to leave.
"One more minute," Louis said quietly, and they all understood what he wasn't saying. One more minute in this bubble where they were just them again. One more minute before they had to go back to being who they were now.
One more minute to remember who they'd lost, and who they used to be.
Chapter 16: March 2015
Summary:
Louis and Liam sit in the studio as Louis struggles with emotions following Harry's departure. Liam encourages Louis to write a song about the farewell. Later, Louis confronts Harry, expressing his pain over the band's struggles and their secret love. Despite their connection, Harry insists they cannot continue, leading Louis to leave, feeling shattered.
Chapter Text
The studio hummed with the familiar buzz of equipment as Louis and Liam sat with their guitars. Louis's fingers ghosted over the strings, not quite playing, just seeking comfort in the familiar texture beneath his calluses. The blank notepad mocked him from the coffee table.
"Out with it then," Liam said gently. "What's eating at you?"
Louis swallowed hard. "I think that was it, you know? The last time." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Last week…." He trailed off, throat tight. "We both knew what it was. A goodbye."
"Lou..." Liam's voice was soft with understanding.
"He didn't even stay till morning," Louis continued, the words spilling out now. "With Zayn leaving… He's in his head now. Says it's time. But I can't give up on the band and he doesn't want to hide any more. Christ, everything's so fucked, Li. It's all ending and I can't stop it."
"Write about it," Liam urged, shifting closer. "All of it. The way it feels."
"What, write a song about desperately shagging my bandmate one last time?" Louis attempted a laugh that came out hollow.
"Why not?" Liam started strumming a gentle melody. "It's real, isn't it? The wanting one more night before it's over?"
Louis closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. The melody Liam was playing felt like a goodbye, like sheets rustling in the dark. Words started forming in his mind.
"It's inevitable," he sang softly, voice rough with emotion. "Everything that's good comes to an end."
Liam's strumming paused for a moment, then continued, encouraging.
"Even the way he looked walking out," Louis said, picking up his pen. "Like he was trying to kill me and save me at the same time."
"Write that," Liam urged.
Louis nodded, scribbling: "The way you look, I know you didn't come to apologize." Then, softer: "Why you wearing that to walk out of my life?"
They worked through the verses together, Louis pouring out everything - the desperation of those last moments, knowing they were final but wanting to pretend they weren't. The way Harry's hands had shaken as he'd gotten dressed to leave.
"If tomorrow you won't be mine," Louis sang, his voice cracking, "won't you give it to me one last time?"
When they finished, they sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the words hanging between them. The song was there now, honest and raw and real - a plea for one more night, one last taste before everything changed forever.
"Feel better?" Liam asked.
"No," Louis admitted, staring at the words they'd written. He tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it.
Liam squeezed his shoulder. "Want to run through it again?"
Louis nodded, picking up his guitar. Maybe he couldn't keep Harry, but he could keep this - this moment, this song, this memory preserved in melody. It would have to be enough.
Weeks had passed since Louis poured his heart into "Home." He'd written it like a confession, hiding everything in plain sight. "Told myself I kind of liked her, but there was something missing in her eyes" - the fans would catch it, sure, but it wasn't for them. It was for Harry, always Harry.
Now he sat in his hotel room, surrounded by empty beer bottles, staring at his phone where the message from management still glowed: "Home" wouldn't make the album.
"Fucking joke, innit?" he muttered, taking another swig. The lyrics taunted him: "You'll never feel like you're alone, I'll make this feel like home." Fat lot of good that did now.
His feet carried him down the hotel corridor before his brain could catch up. The wallpaper swam slightly - he'd definitely had too much to drink - but he kept going until he reached Harry's door.
"Come on, you coward," he whispered to himself, then knocked before he could think better of it.
The door opened, and there was Harry in that ridiculous pink hoodie he'd been wearing lately, hair a proper mess. His eyes widened. "Lou?"
"Can I come in?" Louis's voice was rougher than he meant it to be.
Harry hesitated, and Louis could see him weighing it - the same way he weighed everything these days. Finally, he stepped back. "You're drunk."
"Brilliant observation, Harold." Louis stumbled slightly as he entered. "Always knew you were the smart one."
"Lou..." Harry's voice was soft, careful. It made Louis want to scream.
"They cut it," he blurted out. "The song. Our song."
Understanding dawned in Harry's eyes. "Home?"
"Yeah." Louis laughed bitterly. "'When you're lost, I'll find the way, I'll be your light.' Load of shit, that turned out to be."
"It wasn't shit," Harry said quietly. "It was beautiful."
"It was true," Louis corrected, suddenly fierce. "Every fucking word of it. Still high with a little feeling, see the smile as it starts to creep in..." He stepped closer to Harry. "It was there, I saw it in your eyes."
"Louis, don't." But Harry didn't step back.
"Why not? Because management says so? Because you want to be free of me and our secrets? Because we're both proper fucked now and there's no going back?"
"Because you're drunk," Harry said softly. "And hurt. And I can't... I can't be what fixes this."
Louis felt the fight drain out of him. "You used to be, though. You used to be home."
Harry's face crumpled slightly. "I know." He reached out, steadying Louis with a hand on his arm. "Come on, let's get you some water."
"I miss you," Louis whispered, and pretended he didn't see the tears in Harry's eyes.
"I know," Harry said again. "I miss you too."
The silence hung thick in the air until Louis couldn't stand it anymore. He surged forward, crashing his lips against Harry's with the desperate energy of a drowning man reaching for air. Harry's lips were soft, familiar - home.
"Fookin' missed you," Louis slurred between kisses, pressing Harry against the wall. His accent was thick with drink and emotion. "'S not fair, innit? All of it."
"Lou-" Harry started, but Louis cut him off with another kiss, fingers tangling in those ridiculous curls.
"Don't," Louis mumbled against his mouth. "Just... just lemme have this, yeah? Need to feel you proper."
Harry made a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, his hands coming up to Louis's waist. For a moment, everything felt right again - just them, just this, just the heat of skin and shared breath.
But then Harry's hands were on his shoulders, gently pushing him back. "Louis, stop."
"Don't want to stop," Louis protested, trying to chase Harry's lips. "Want you. Always bloody want you."
"We can't." Harry's voice cracked. "You know we can't."
"Why not?" Louis demanded, accent thicker with emotion.
"Because it's killing us," Harry interrupted softly. "Both of us. The band. Everything."
Louis stepped back like he'd been slapped. "So that's it then?"
"I can't keep doing this, Lou." Harry's eyes were wet. "I can't keep loving you behind closed doors and pretending to be someone I'm not..."
"But, it won't be like this forever. Just for now," Louis argued weakly. "Could make it work-"
"Not now." Harry's thumb brushed Louis's cheek, wiping away tears Louis hadn't realized were falling. "Maybe... maybe when the contracts are up. 2022. When we're proper grown and can make our own choices."
"That's forever away," Louis whispered.
"I know." Harry's voice was gentle. "But we have to let go. For now. For both of us."
Louis felt something in his chest crack open. "Don't know how."
The words hung between them, raw and honest. Louis swayed slightly, steadying himself against the wall. The room felt too small, too hot, too everything.
"Then maybe that's our answer," Harry whispered, his voice breaking. "Maybe we need to learn how. Apart."
Louis felt his chest constrict. Through the haze of alcohol, he could see the tears in Harry's eyes, matching his own. "You're really done then?"
"I have to be." Harry's words were barely audible. "For both of us."
Louis nodded jerkily, pushing off from the wall. "Right. Yeah. Course." His accent was thick with emotion, words slurring together. "Suppose I'll just..." He gestured vaguely at the door, unable to finish the sentence.
"Lou-"
"Don't." Louis cut him off, harsh and quick. "Just... don't make it harder, yeah?"
He fumbled for the door handle, refusing to look back. Couldn't bear to see Harry's face, knowing it would break what little resolve he had left. The hallway stretched before him, endless and empty.
Behind him, he heard a quiet sob, but he kept walking. Had to keep walking. Because if he stopped, if he turned around, he'd never be able to leave.
The click of the door closing behind him felt like the end of everything.
Chapter 17: Present Day
Summary:
Harry wakes up overwhelmed with grief and memories of Louis. He watches old videos, reliving moments of their past and the love they couldn't express. As Harry reflects on the songs they wrote about their relationship, the pain of loss intensifies, leading him to break down during a fitting with Alessandro.
Chapter Text
Harry blinked awake, his head pounding in rhythm with his heart. The remnants of yesterday's grief and alcohol lingered like a shadow. His $400,000 mattress felt hollow - empty like everything else in this carefully curated life he'd built.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the space that should have felt like home but never quite managed it. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of his housekeeper somewhere downstairs. Too quiet. Too perfect. Too everything that wasn't Louis.
He fumbled for his phone, ignoring notifications from his team about upcoming projects and appearances. None of it mattered. Not today. Not after yesterday. Not after seeing Louis for the first time in two years, feeling that same magnetic pull he'd fought since he was sixteen.
The email from Maya sat unopened, heavy with possibility. Harry's hands trembled as he clicked play, unprepared for Liam's face to fill the screen - young, alive, vibrant with hope.
"Hey lads!"
A sob caught in Harry's throat. Liam. God, Liam. How was he gone? How were they here, thirteen years later, everything broken and scattered?
"If you're watching this video, it means you've decided to go public with your relationship! That's brilliant!"
Harry pressed his palm against his mouth, tears spilling hot and fast. They'd never gotten the chance. Management had made sure of that. Years of hiding, of "girlfriend" after "girlfriend," of watching Louis slip away piece by piece until they were strangers who shared the most intimate parts of themselves.
"I know things can get tough," Liam continued earnestly, "But you've got each other. Remember that! Don't ever let anyone take that away from you."
"We did though, didn't we?" Harry whispered to the empty room. "We let them take everything."
His finger hovered over the next video, heart racing. Two days ago, he'd seen Louis properly for the first time since lockdown ended. Two years of carefully orchestrated distance shattered by grief and proximity. And now this - Liam reaching through time to remind them of everything they'd lost.
The next clip started playing. Their younger selves, barely more than children, so obviously in love it physically hurt to watch. Harry at sixteen, already looking at Louis like he hung the moon. Louis at eighteen, protective and fierce, always finding excuses to touch, to be close.
"See? You two can't keep your hands off each other!" Liam's voice teased from behind the camera.
Harry watched through tears as moments unfolded - stolen kisses in corridors, meaningful glances across rooms, Louis's hand always finding his when cameras weren't supposed to be rolling. Except Liam had been rolling, capturing everything they thought they were hiding.
Their first tour, Louis sneaking into Harry's bunk nearly every night. Their second album, writing love songs they had to pretend were about other people. Each moment a reminder of what they'd sacrificed for success.
"Don't let Simon find out about this plan until you're ready to go public!"
Harry choked on a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Simon. Management. NDAs and contracts that had shaped their entire adult lives. Two years of Covid lockdown had been their only taste of freedom - just them, isolated together, pretending the outside world didn't exist. Until reality came crashing back in.
Now here he sat, in his multi-million dollar home, surrounded by evidence of his success - Grammys on the shelf, platinum records on the walls, designer everything - and none of it filled the Louis-shaped hole in his heart.
"Fuck," he breathed, watching their younger selves laugh and love so freely. "We were so young. So stupid. Thought we had all the time in the world."
But time had slipped away, hadn't it? Thirteen years of almosts and maybes. Of hurting each other because they couldn't have what they really wanted. And now Liam was gone, taking with him the last threads of who they used to be.
Harry curled into himself, clutching his phone like a lifeline as he sobbed - for Liam, for their lost youth, for every moment they'd wasted pretending they weren't in love. For the way Louis had looked at him yesterday, like nothing and everything had changed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one and everyone. "I'm so fucking sorry."
The videos played on, a testament to everything they could have been, while Harry's tears fell for everything they weren't.
Harry leaned closer to the screen, captivated by the memories flashing before him. Each clip unraveled threads of their history, woven together in a tapestry of stolen glances and whispered secrets. The footage moved to a time when they were younger, brimming with innocence and ambition.
In one scene, they stood backstage before a performance, the air thick with anticipation. Louis adjusted his suspenders, his brow furrowed in concentration. Harry’s heart raced as he watched Louis toss him a cheeky grin. “You ready to blow their minds?” he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Always,” Harry replied, feeling warmth spread through him as he remembered that electric moment. Their hands brushed as they turned to face the audience—a brief touch that sent shivers down Harry's spine even now.
The next clip shifted to their hotel room after a late-night gig. The chaos of their schedules faded into laughter and teasing remarks. Harry had flopped onto the bed while Louis rifled through his bag for snacks. “What are you doing?” Harry had asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Trying to find something to keep us alive until breakfast,” Louis had shot back, flinging an assortment of candy wrappers onto the bed before collapsing beside Harry in a fit of laughter.
Harry’s chest tightened at how carefree they once were—two boys navigating fame hand-in-hand, seemingly invincible against the world’s pressures.
The footage transitioned again, capturing moments on stage where their chemistry was palpable. They danced around each other like magnets drawn together—playful shoves and knowing smirks exchanged between lyrics sung for thousands. It was as if nothing else mattered but that connection—the world outside faded into oblivion when they were together.
A shot flickered to life of them sitting cross-legged on the floor during a quiet afternoon rehearsal, exchanging inside jokes that only they understood. Harry remembered how he’d leaned in close to whisper something ridiculous into Louis’s ear, prompting an eruption of laughter from both sides. He could still hear Louis’s melodic laugh ringing in his ears—a sound that felt like home.
The videos continued to unfold he and Louis' very own love story—full of longing but also heartache and confusion—as if Liam had captured every essence of who they were together in those fleeting years.
Harry pulled up the next video, his heart stuttering as the scene unfolded. The studio was dimly lit, scattered with empty coffee cups and crumpled paper. His younger self sat cross-legged on the floor, curls wild and eyes bright, while Louis perched on the edge of a worn sofa, guitar balanced on his knee.
"If you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms," Louis sang softly, his eyes finding Harry's with a private smile that made Harry's present-day heart ache. They'd been so obvious, writing their own story into every line.
Young Harry leaned forward, adding, "And if you like having secret little rendezvous." The double meaning couldn't have been clearer - their midnight meetings, stolen moments between shows, secret touches under tables.
"Christ," Harry whispered to his empty bedroom, watching how they gravitated toward each other even then, even with cameras rolling. "We really thought we were being subtle."
Liam's laugh came from behind the camera. "You two are about as subtle as a brick through a window."
In the footage, Louis threw a wadded-up paper at Liam, but his eyes never left Harry. "Shut it, Payno. We're creating art here."
"Baby I'm perfect," Louis hummed, working out the melody. His fingers moved over the guitar strings while he watched Harry through his lashes. "Baby I'm perfect..."
"For you," Harry finished in the video, and present-day Harry touched his screen gently, remembering how those words had felt in his throat - like a confession, like a promise.
They worked through the lyrics together, each line laden with meaning. Every "if you like" was really "I know you like" - inside jokes and shared memories wrapped in metaphors just thin enough to pass management's scrutiny.
"What about this?" Young Harry suggested, "'And if you like midnight driving with the windows down?'"
Louis's face softened in recognition. They'd spent countless nights exactly like that, escaping hotels for nowhere drives, music loud enough to drown out their fears, windows down so they could breathe.
"'And if you like going places we can't even pronounce?'" Louis added, referencing their private getaways to remote locations where no one would recognize them.
The intimacy of the moment was staggering. Every line they wrote was a love letter in plain sight, their entire relationship coded into a song that would be played at weddings for years to come - weddings that would never be theirs.
"Perfect innit?" Louis grinned in the footage, but his eyes held something deeper when they met Harry's. "Like it was written just for-"
"The fans," Harry cut in quickly, too quickly, making Liam snort from behind the camera.
Present-day Harry watched his younger self lean into Louis's space, pointing at something on the notepad between them. Their hands brushed, lingered, pulled away. A dance they'd perfected over years.
"'Baby I'm perfect for you,'" they sang together, their voices blending like they were made for exactly this. The look they shared afterward was heavy with everything they couldn't say.
"You two..." Liam muttered fondly from behind the camera where the two younger versions of them couldn't hear. "Just remember this footage when you're finally ready to tell people what this song's really about."
Harry paused the video, his vision blurring. They'd never been ready. Or rather, they'd never been allowed to be ready. Now here he sat, thirteen years later, watching two boys write their love into a song they'd have to pretend wasn't theirs.
The irony wasn't lost on him - how they'd written about being perfect for each other, only to spend years proving how imperfect their timing had been. His finger hovered over the next video, heart pounding with the weight of all their unsung verses.
Harry's fingers trembled as he paused the video of them writing "Perfect," the memory of Louis playing him its sequel hitting him like a physical ache. Late 2018, both of them raw and healing, finding their way back to each other like they always seemed to do.
"Remember this shit?" Louis had asked that night, perched on his studio couch with his guitar, that familiar mix of bravado and vulnerability in his voice. "Us writing about being perfect for each other like proper idiots?"
Harry had smiled despite himself. How could he forget? They'd been so young, so desperately in love, hiding everything in plain sight with lyrics about hotel rooms and midnight drives.
"Well," Louis had continued, fingers fidgeting with his fringe before settling on the guitar strings, "wrote something else, didn't I? About being perfect even when you're not. Or like, when you think you're not, I mean."
The first notes of "Perfect Now" had filled the room, and Harry had recognized their story immediately - not the fairy tale version they'd written years ago, but the real one. The messy one. The one with tears and insecurities, with industry parties where Harry couldn't be himself, with Louis watching helplessly as Harry fought his own reflection in hotel mirrors.
"Proper soppy, this one," Louis had muttered, but his eyes never left Harry's as he sang, "You don't feel pretty and it's hard to miss." Years of moments passed between them - from those early days of "Perfect" to now, their love growing up alongside them, scarred but surviving.
Where "Perfect" had been about all the things they loved about each other, "Perfect Now" was Louis's way of saying "fuck what anyone else thinks" - that Harry was enough just as he was, not because he was perfect for Louis, but because he was perfectly himself, even when he couldn't see it.
"Every insecurity, like a neon sign, as bright as day," Louis's voice had gone rough around the edges, that Yorkshire accent thickening with emotion, "If you knew what you were to me, you would never try to hide away."
Harry had cried then, just as he was crying now in front of his laptop. Because Louis had taken their first love song and grown it up, had looked at all their mess and pain and still found something worth singing about.
"Keep your head up, love," - their old mantra, the one Louis had whispered countless times in countless places, now immortalized in lyrics. A thread connecting who they were to who they'd become.
He stared at the frozen image of their younger selves, so earnest as they wrote about being perfect for each other, not knowing that years later they'd learn that being perfect wasn't what mattered at all. That sometimes love was about Louis watching Harry spiral and simply saying, "Oi, stop that. You're perfect now, you knobhead."
Two songs, one story. "Perfect" - young love thinking it had all the answers. "Perfect Now" - older love knowing it didn't have any answers but choosing to stay anyway. Both of them growing, both of them changing, both songs saying what Louis could never quite say without music: I love you, I see you, you're enough.
Harry's hand hovered over the next video, heart heavy with the weight of their unfinished symphony. Some love stories weren't about being perfect - they were about being perfectly imperfect together. He just wished they'd figured that out sooner.
Harry slammed his laptop shut, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars. The house felt too quiet, too empty, too full of memories he couldn't handle right now. Louis's voice singing "Perfect Now" echoed in his head, mixing with the raw grief he'd seen on Louis's face at the funeral just days ago.
His phone buzzed: "Final Fitting - Gucci Campaign."
"Fuck," he whispered, because right now the thought of standing still while people fussed over him felt impossible. But staying here, drowning in memories and what-ifs... that felt even more impossible.
An hour later, he was in Alessandro's private studio, trying not to fidget as pins were placed in expensive fabric. His skin felt too tight, like it was trying to contain something much bigger than himself.
"Harry," Alessandro's voice was gentle as he noticed Harry's hands trembling for the third time. Not 'tesoro' or 'darling' today - just Harry, like he knew pet names wouldn't help. "Where are you today?"
"M'fine," Harry managed, but his voice cracked traitorously. He caught Alessandro's knowing look in the mirror - they'd worked together long enough for Alessandro to recognize when Harry was spinning out, even if he didn't know why.
"The suit can wait-"
"No," Harry cut in, perhaps too sharply. "No, I need... I need to be doing something. Anything." His voice broke on the last word.
Alessandro nodded, but his hands were gentle as he adjusted the fabric. "You're shaking."
Harry caught his own reflection - designer clothes worth more than a car, carefully styled hair, red-rimmed eyes. A sob caught in his throat before he could stop it.
Alessandro's hands dropped from the fabric immediately. There was something in his eyes - not quite understanding, but recognition maybe. He'd been in the industry long enough to remember the headlines, the rumors, the way Harry's style had evolved alongside his heart breaking.
"I just need a minute," Harry managed, but his voice came out wobbly and young. God, he probably looked exactly like that boy in the videos, the one who thought love could conquer anything. The one who didn't know that sometimes love wasn't enough.
Alessandro was already helping him out of the pins, his movements careful and deliberate. "Some things matter more than perfect suits, yes?"
Perfect. There was that fucking word again. Harry nearly laughed, but it came out more like a sob.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, but Alessandro just squeezed his shoulder, his eyes full of questions he was too kind to ask.
"Go home, Harry. The suit will wait."
He managed to get to his car before properly breaking down, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. His phone buzzed - another notification, another reminder of the real world waiting outside this moment. He ignored it.
He caught a glimpse of Alessandro watching from the window, concern etched on his face, and wondered how much he'd pieced together over the years - from Harry's evolving style to his reaction to certain songs on the radio to moments like this, when grief made him forget how to pretend. But that was the thing about Alessandro - he never asked, just adjusted the clothes to fit whatever version of himself Harry was trying to be that day.
Right now, Harry wasn't sure which version that was anymore. He just knew that none of his designer clothes could cover up the ache in his chest, and no amount of perfect tailoring could make him feel whole again.
Chapter 18: March 2016
Summary:
Harry observes Louis lounging on the sofa, discussing a writing session while Harry makes tea. As they share intimate moments, Harry grapples with his impending departure to LA and the uncertainty surrounding their future. Despite the heaviness of their situation, they cherish their time together, clinging to familiarity and love.
Chapter Text
Harry watched Louis from the kitchen doorway, flour still on his hands from the banana bread. Louis was sprawled across the sofa like he owned it, one leg thrown over the back in that impossibly flexible way of his, scrolling through his phone. He was wearing Harry's Rolling Stones t-shirt - the grey one he'd stolen months ago - and those trackies with the hole in the knee that Harry kept trying to throw away.
"Mate's asking if I want to do a writing session next week," Louis called out, using that carefully casual tone that made Harry's chest hurt. He knew Louis well enough to know it was probably about the EDM stuff - something to tide him over until the band got back together. Because Louis believed that, believed it with his whole heart. Harry could see it in the way he talked about "when we're back," in how he was negotiating with Syco to keep their spot warm.
"Hmm?" Harry stepped back into the kitchen, pressing his palms against the cool counter. "When next week?"
"Tuesday maybe. You'll be in LA anyway, yeah?"
Harry's throat tightened. "Yeah. Meetings and that." He didn't elaborate on 'that' - didn't mention Jeff or the film readings or the way his solo material was becoming something entirely his own. Something permanent. Something that sounded nothing like the band, nothing like the demos Louis was working on while he waited for a reunion Harry knew wouldn't come.
"Tea?" he called out instead, already reaching for Louis's Yorkshire tea bags. Some habits were too ingrained to break.
"Yorkshire-"
"Two sugars, splash of milk, I know, Lou." Harry's hands moved automatically, making the tea exactly how Louis liked it. Six years of practice. Six years of knowing Louis better than he knew himself sometimes.
He watched the tea steep, trying not to think about his meetings next week. About how his new management wanted him to be seen more in LA, wanted him to distance himself from certain... associations. About how Louis was putting his whole career on hold, keeping faith in something Harry couldn't believe in anymore.
The timer buzzed - seven minutes for Louis's tea, always seven minutes. Harry grabbed both mugs and headed back to the living room.
"Budge up," he nudged Louis's legs with his knee until Louis shifted, automatically making space for Harry to slot in beside him. They fell together like gravity, Louis's body fitting against his like it always had.
"Bread's got ten minutes," Harry murmured into Louis's hair, breathing in the familiar scent of his cigarettes and that ridiculous expensive shampoo he pretended not to care about.
"Proper housewife, you are."
"Shut up," Harry smiled despite himself, his hand finding Louis's hip, thumb brushing the warm skin where his shirt had ridden up. "You love my banana bread."
"Love you more," Louis said quietly, and Harry's breath caught. They didn't say it as much anymore - like they were saving the words, hoarding them for when...
"Did you see Liam's tweet?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"About the hiatus? Yeah." Louis took a careful sip of his tea, and Harry watched his profile, watched the determination there. "Just need a break, innit? Reset a bit."
Harry's heart cracked at Louis's certainty. At how firmly he believed they'd all come back, how hard he was working to make sure they had somewhere to come back to. Harry wanted to tell him the truth - that some of them were already too far gone, that they couldn't go back to being those boys in matching outfits singing about midnight memories. But he couldn't bear to be the one to break that faith.
"We'll be alright, yeah?" Harry asked instead, meaning them, just them.
He felt Louis hesitate, felt the weight of everything unsaid between them. Then Louis was twisting around, kissing him with a desperation that made Harry's heart crack further. He tasted like Yorkshire tea and home and everything Harry was afraid of destroying with the truth.
"'Course we will," Louis murmured against his mouth. "We're Harry and Louis."
The oven timer went off, startling them both. Harry pressed one more kiss to Louis's mouth before forcing himself to move. "Don't let me forget to pack that orange jumper," he said, heading to the kitchen. "For LA."
He didn't look back, didn't want to see the hope in Louis's eyes. The bread needed to come out anyway. Needed to be perfect, like everything else he was trying so hard to control while his world shifted underneath him.
Harry stood in the kitchen longer than necessary, hands gripping the counter as he listened to Louis humming something under his breath - probably that new song he'd been working on, the one Harry had heard him playing at 3AM when he thought everyone was asleep. Something about holding on, about waiting. Always about waiting.
"Haz?" Louis's voice carried from the living room. "Think that bread's done, love."
Right. The bread. Harry pulled it out mechanically, the familiar motions a poor distraction from the weight in his chest. The kitchen smelled like home, like comfort, like everything he was about to walk away from.
"Smells good," Louis appeared in the doorway, sleep-soft and familiar in a way that made Harry's throat tight. "Though you've got..." He stepped forward, thumb brushing flour from Harry's cheek. The touch lingered longer than necessary, like Louis was memorizing the feeling too.
"Been thinking," Louis said, trying for casual but Harry could hear the undercurrent of nervousness. "Maybe after the break, we could do more writing together? Like old times? Been working on some stuff that'd suit your voice..."
Harry busied himself with the bread, carefully turning it onto the cooling rack. His hands weren't shaking. They weren't. "Lou..."
"Just ideas, obviously," Louis continued quickly, and God, Harry could hear the hope in his voice, could hear him planning for a future that was already slipping away. "Nothing set in stone. Just thought, you know, when things settle..."
"Louis." Harry turned, catching Louis's hands in his. Louis's fingers were warm, familiar - the same hands that had written "Strong" with him, that had held him through panic attacks before stadium shows, that had mapped every inch of his skin over the years.
"Don't." Louis's voice was soft but firm. "I know that tone, Harold. Don't need you going all serious on me."
"I just-"
"Bread's getting cold," Louis cut him off, squeezing Harry's hands once before letting go. "Come on, then. Show me if this domestic goddess routine of yours has paid off."
Harry watched him retreat to the living room, noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his accent got sharper when he was trying not to feel too much. He wanted to follow, wanted to curl around Louis and promise him everything would work out exactly as he hoped. Wanted to believe it himself.
Instead, he cut two perfect slices of banana bread, arranged them on the plates Louis's mum had given them last Christmas. By the time he returned to the sofa, Louis had queued up some comedy panel show on the TV, volume low.
"Proper feast," Louis smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He lifted his arm automatically and Harry fit himself into the space, breathing in the familiar scent of home.
"Lou?" Harry whispered after a moment, when the bread was half-eaten and Louis's fingers had found their way into his hair.
"Hmm?"
"I love you." The words felt heavy, important. Like maybe if he said them enough times, they could bridge whatever gap was slowly growing between them.
Louis's hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle movement. "Love you too, Curly." His voice was rough. "Always will, yeah?"
Harry closed his eyes, pressed closer into Louis's side. On screen, someone was making a joke about boy bands. Louis didn't change the channel.
They sat there until the bread was gone and the sun had set, both pretending they couldn't feel the future rushing toward them like an oncoming train. Both pretending this wasn't one of their last quiet moments in this house, with these versions of themselves.
Later, Harry would pack that orange jumper and try not to think about how it still smelled like Louis's cigarettes. Later, they would both pretend not to notice how their goodbye kisses tasted more like endings than "see you soon."
But for now, they had this: the warmth of the cooling kitchen, the sound of canned laughter from the TV, and the familiar weight of each other's bodies fitting together like they always had. For now, they could pretend that was enough.
Chapter 19: Present Day
Summary:
Louis awakens to rain and grief over Liam's death, finding solace in whiskey and memories. At 2 AM, Harry knocks on Louis's door, soaked and lost. The two share a bottle and reminisce about their past, culminating in a passionate night together, aware that their love may have no future.
Chapter Text
Louis blinked awake to a pounding in his head that matched the rain hammering against his windows. The bottle of whiskey he'd been nursing - his third? fourth? - had tipped over onto his expensive rug, but he couldn't give less of a shit. Not when one of his best mates was in the ground. Not when his hand still burned from where they'd clutched each other at the funeral, both of them breaking their own rules about staying away.
The funeral suit was still crumpled on his floor where he'd thrown it. Black fabric against dark wood, like a shadow of yesterday's grief. He'd meant to hang it up proper, meant to do a lot of things, but then he'd found that old Madison Square Garden photo in the back of his closet and everything had gone a bit sideways.
The photo was still clutched in his hand, creased now from his grip. All five of them, arms around each other, Liam's smile so bright it hurt to look at. And Harry, pressed against Louis's side like always, wearing that stupid Rolling Stones shirt he'd nicked from Louis weeks before. Before everything went to shit. Before they lost each other. Before they lost Liam.
The knocking started - and oh, that hadn't been his headache after all. Someone was actually at his door. At... he squinted at his phone... 2 AM? In this weather?
He yanked it open to find Harry standing there, soaked to the skin, looking lost in a way that made Louis's chest ache.
"Hi," Harry said, voice deeper than Louis remembered, or maybe just rough from crying. "I, um... couldn't sleep."
Louis looked at him for a long moment, then stepped aside. "Could use a drinking partner, if you're up for it."
They ended up on Louis's floor, passing a bottle back and forth in silence. Just the sound of rain and breathing and memories too heavy to voice. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the way Harry's knee kept brushing his whenever he shifted.
"Remember when Liam caught us?" Harry finally said, slow and careful like he always got when he was tipsy. "Behind the tour bus in Cardiff?"
Louis snorted despite himself. "Proper gave us a lecture, didn't he? All responsible like."
"'You can't just snog anywhere you fancy,'" Harry mimicked Liam's stern tone, then his face softened. "He was trying to protect us, wasn't he? Even back then."
"Yeah, well," Louis took another swig, "fat lot of good it did in the end. Simon still got his way, didn't he?"
Harry's hand tightened around the bottle. "Lou..."
"Sorry," Louis muttered. "Not the time for that, is it?"
They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of thirteen years pressing down on them. Louis could feel Harry watching him, that same intense gaze that used to make him feel like the most important person in the world.
"Those videos he left us," Harry started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "God, seeing us so young... I was so gone for you even then. Dead obvious about it too."
"Wasn't just you though, was it?" Louis's laugh was shaky. "Watching them back... Christ, the way I looked at you. No wonder management panicked."
"We were kids," Harry whispered. "Just kids in love."
"Weren't just kids though, were we?" Louis met his eyes finally. "Those six months during lockdown..."
"Lou, don't-"
"No, let me... fuck." Louis ran a hand through his hair. "We weren't kids then. We knew exactly what we were doing. What we were risking."
"And then I fucked it up," Harry's voice cracked. "Got scared and ran, just like always."
"We both did," Louis corrected softly. "Always been our problem, hasn't it? One of us always running."
Harry shifted closer, until their shoulders were pressed together. "Not running now though, am I?"
Louis's breath caught. He could smell Harry's cologne, the same one he'd worn since they were teenagers. Could feel the familiar warmth of him, solid and real and so fucking close.
"H..." he managed, but his voice gave out.
"Miss you," Harry whispered, turning to face him properly. "Proper miss you, Lou. Not just... not just the physical stuff. Miss making you tea in the morning. Miss your shit jokes. Miss the way you used to call me out on my pretentious bullshit."
"Still pretentious," Louis murmured, but his heart was racing. "Still full of shit."
Harry's laugh was wet. "Yeah, well. Still need you to keep me honest, don't I?"
When Louis finally looked up, Harry's eyes were glossy with tears, reflecting the city lights filtering through the rain-streaked windows. Thirteen years of love and longing and regret, all laid bare in the darkness between them.
"Can I..." Harry's voice was barely a whisper as he leaned closer. "Just... please..."
Louis knew he should say no. Knew they were drunk and grieving and this would only complicate everything. But Harry was looking at him like he used to, like Louis hung the moon and stars, and he was so tired of pretending he didn't want this.
Their lips met softly at first, tentative, testing. Then Harry made that little whimpering sound in the back of his throat - the same one Louis remembered from stolen moments in dressing rooms and tour buses and that last desperate morning in lockdown - and suddenly they were crashing together, years of wanting poured into a single kiss.
Louis could feel every point where Harry's body pressed against his like a brand, burning through the numbness of the past four years. Each touch felt both achingly familiar and devastatingly new - Harry's hands bigger now, more certain, but still trembling as they mapped Louis's skin like sacred ground.
Christ, he'd forgotten how Harry could make him feel stripped bare with just a look. Those green eyes, darker now with want and whiskey, still held that same earnest devotion that used to terrify Louis when they were younger. Still made him feel like the most important person in the world, even though they both knew better now.
"Lou," Harry breathed against his neck, and Louis had to bite back a sound that felt too close to a sob. Nobody said his name like Harry did, like it was something precious, something worth savoring.
He tangled his fingers in Harry's hair - longer than it had been during lockdown, when they'd played at domestic bliss until reality came crashing back in. The silk-soft strands caught on his calluses, and Harry made that little whimpering sound that Louis had spent four years trying to forget.
Every touch felt like muscle memory, like his body had just been waiting to remember this dance. He knew exactly how to make Harry gasp, knew the spot behind his ear that made him shiver, knew the way his breath would catch if Louis pressed just there...
But there was new territory too. New scars and stories written on Harry's skin that Louis hadn't been there to learn. It hurt, knowing he'd missed so much. Knowing tomorrow he'd have to go back to missing more.
Harry's hands slid under his shirt, and Louis couldn't help the way his body arched into the touch. Always so bloody responsive when it came to Harry, always wearing his heart on his sleeve even when he tried to play it cool. Some things never changed, he supposed.
"Missed you," Harry murmured, pressing the words into Louis's skin like tattoos. "So much, Lou. So fucking much."
Louis squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Because this - this right here was why they couldn't do this anymore. It hurt too much, loving Harry Styles. Hurt too much knowing they could have this for one night, one perfect moment, before reality came crashing back in.
Nothing had changed, not really. Tomorrow they'd still be who they were - Harry with his stadium tours and Hollywood friends, Louis with his carefully constructed image and industry ties. The contracts might be expired but the damage was done. They'd spent too long building separate lives, separate careers, separate paths.
But God, the way Harry was looking at him now, all soft edges and desperate want... Louis had never been good at denying him anything. Not when they were sixteen and terrified, not when they were twenty-six and trying one last time during lockdown, and certainly not now, with grief and whiskey making everything feel possible again.
So he pulled Harry closer, poured thirteen years of love and longing into every touch, and tried not to think about how this would feel like losing him all over again come morning. Because right now, in the darkness of his flat with rain still hammering against the windows, he could pretend. Could lose himself in the familiar warmth of Harry's skin, the desperate press of his lips, the way their bodies still fit together like they were made for this.
Just for tonight, he could let himself have this. Could let himself believe in the lie they'd been telling since they were teenagers - that love was enough, that they could make it work, that the world would let them have this one perfect thing.
Tomorrow would hurt. Tomorrow would be reality and distance and carefully maintained boundaries. But tonight... tonight he could hold Harry close and pretend that some loves weren't meant to be tragic.
Harry's hands had always been clumsy with buttons, and tonight was no different. Louis found himself laughing softly into Harry's mouth as those familiar fingers fumbled with his shirt. Same old H, even after all this time.
"Shut up," Harry mumbled against his lips, but Louis could feel his smile. "Not all of us have your dexterity."
Louis's hands joined Harry's, helping with the buttons because he couldn't bear another second not feeling skin on skin. His fingers remembered this dance even if his mind wanted to forget.
Their clothes made a trail from the living room to the bedroom, marking their slow progression like breadcrumbs. Every few steps they'd stop, unable to keep from touching, tasting, remembering. Harry's mouth on his neck, his collar bones, that spot just below his ear that always made Louis's knees weak.
When they finally made it to the bed, Louis had to pause. Harry looked exactly like he remembered - all long limbs and butterfly tattoos and that look in his eyes that made Louis feel simultaneously invincible and terrified.
"You're thinking too loud," Harry whispered, pulling Louis down until they were pressed together from chest to toe. His skin was fever-hot, heartbeat wild under Louis's palm.
"Can't help it." Louis traced the laurels on Harry's hips, remembering when they were fresh and tender. "Keep thinking about tomorrow."
Harry's fingers threaded through his hair, tugging until Louis met his eyes. "Don't. Please. Just... be here with me now."
So Louis let himself fall. Let himself get lost in the familiar rhythm of their bodies moving together, in Harry's gasps and whispered pleas, in the way Harry still remembered exactly how to touch him to make him fall apart. They took their time, relearning each other's bodies like they had all the time in the world instead of just these precious few hours.
Harry was still vocal, still so beautifully responsive to every touch. Still looked at Louis like he hung the moon, even now, even after everything. It was too much and not enough all at once.
They moved together like waves, like they were trying to make up for four years of distance in a single night. Every touch felt like coming home and breaking apart simultaneously. Harry kept whispering his name like a prayer, like a promise they both knew they couldn't keep.
Later - much later - when they were both spent and breathing heavily, Harry traced patterns on Louis's chest with trembling fingers.
"Remember that night in Madrid?" he murmured into the darkness.
Louis's heart clenched. Of course he remembered. Hotel balcony, stars above them, both of them young and stupid enough to believe they could have this forever.
"Yeah," he whispered back. "Yeah, I remember."
Harry pressed closer, like he was trying to climb inside Louis's skin. "This feels like that. Like... like everything's possible."
Louis swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Because it did feel like Madrid - felt like every perfect moment they'd ever stolen together. But Madrid had ended too, just like lockdown, just like this would.
So he kissed Harry again, deep and desperate, trying to memorize the taste of him. They lost themselves in each other over and over throughout the night, until the sky started lightening outside and reality began creeping back in around the edges.
Just before dawn, Harry fell asleep with his head on Louis's chest, curls wild and lips swollen. Louis stayed awake, watching the sunrise paint shadows across Harry's face, trying to burn this moment into his memory. Because he knew - knew with a bone-deep certainty that hurt worse than any contract or threat - that this was the last time.
Some loves weren't meant to last. Some stories didn't get happy endings. But God, they'd had this - had thirteen years of stolen moments and perfect nights and a love so big it had nearly destroyed them both.
Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead and let himself cry, silent tears falling into Harry's curls as the new day dawned, bringing with it all the reasons they couldn't keep doing this.
Chapter 20: June 2020
Summary:
Louis and Harry argue intensely over Louis's decision to sign with BMG, as Louis grapples with his struggles within the music industry. Louis accuses Harry of having an easy path, while Harry pleads for Louis to embrace their love openly. Ultimately, Louis decides to leave, feeling broken and inadequate, despite his deep love for Harry.
Chapter Text
Louis stood in his kitchen, hands braced against the counter as he tried to keep his temper in check. Six months of bliss - of waking up to Harry's curls tickling his nose, of lazy morning coffees and late-night songwriting sessions, of finally, finally being able to just exist together - and now this.
"You're not listening to what I'm saying," Harry's voice was doing that thing it did when he was frustrated, getting deeper, slower. "BMG is still Sony, Lou. They'll still have the same power over you."
"Oh, because you're such an expert on what labels will and won't do to me?" Louis pushed off the counter, spinning to face Harry. "Last I checked, you got your perfect little deal with Columbia, didn't you? All neat and tidy with your personal life clause."
Harry ran a hand through his hair - longer now after months without proper cuts. "That's different and you know it. I had leverage-"
"Because you're Harry fucking Styles?" Louis's voice went sharp, bitter. "Because your music actually sells?"
"That's not what I meant and you know it." Harry's eyes went soft, pleading. "Lou, come on. You just got free of Syco. You just got out from under Simon's thumb. Why would you sign with another Sony label?"
"Because they're offering me a proper chance!" Louis's voice cracked. "A real shot at making my music, my way. Not everyone gets handed golden opportunities like you, Harold."
The nickname came out mean, mocking, and Louis saw Harry flinch. Something shifted in Harry's expression then, a hurt deeper than their current argument bubbling to the surface.
"No, you don't get to do that," Harry said, voice trembling. "You don't get to act like I've had it easy, like everything was just handed to me. I fought for everything I have. Including us. Which is more than I can say for you."
"More than-" Louis's accent got thicker, the way it always did when he was proper angry. "You wanna talk about fighting? Right, let's talk about it then. Let's talk about how I spent years - fuckin' years, Harry - watching every word that came out of me mouth because one wrong move and they'd have ended your career before it started. Let's talk about how I sat there and smiled pretty while they turned me into this... this joke. The loud one. The rough one. The one who wasn't quite good enough."
He was pacing now, words tumbling out faster and faster. "You got to be the charming one, the talented one. Mr. Bloody Perfect Pop Star. And I had to stand there and watch while they stripped away every fucking thing that made me feel like meself. Me voice? Too rough. Me accent? Too common. Me personality? Too much. Everything I was, everything I am - it weren't good enough."
"Lou-"
"No, you wanted to talk about fighting?" Louis's laugh was bitter. "I fought every single day just to keep breathing. Just to keep from screaming every time they made me hold her hand, every time they told me to 'tone it down,' every time they looked at me like I was something to be managed. Something to be controlled."
His voice cracked. "And yeah, maybe I didn't fight the way you wanted me to. Maybe I didn't stand up and announce to the world that I was in love with me bandmate. But I fought in the only way I knew how - by trying to protect the one good thing I had. By making sure they couldn't take you away from me completely."
Louis ran a shaking hand through his hair. "So don't you dare tell me I didn't fight. Don't you fucking dare tell me I took the easy way out. Because there was nothing easy about watching the person you love most in the world become everything they were meant to be while you're stuck being everything everyone else wanted you to be."
Harry stood there, tears streaming down his face. "Lou... I never-"
"Never what? Never knew? Never noticed?" Louis's voice went quiet, dangerous. "Course you didn't. You were too busy becoming Harry Styles, weren't you? While I was just... just Louis. Just the guy who wasn't quite enough. Not quite talented enough, not quite brave enough, not quite fucking anything enough."
"That's not true," Harry whispered.
"Innit though?" Louis laughed, hollow. "Because here we are again, aren't we? You with your perfect career and your perfect deal, telling me I'm making the wrong choice. But what choice do I have, Harry? What fucking choice have I ever had?"
Louis's hands were shaking. He could still remember that final meeting, the way Simon had looked at him with that condescending smile when he'd finally snapped, finally pushed back.
"You wanna know why Syco really dropped me?" His voice was raw. "Because I told them I was done hiding. Told them if they wanted to keep me, they'd have to let me be with you properly. No more pretending, no more games. And Simon-" Louis's laugh was bitter, broken. "Simon just sat there, looked me right in the eye and said 'Let's be realistic, Louis. You're not exactly selling out arenas, are you? Your numbers barely justify keeping you signed as it is. The only reason we've kept you this long is because of your connection to One Direction.'"
He saw Harry flinch but couldn't stop now, the words pouring out like poison. "Said I should be grateful they were still willing to work with me at all. That I was 'demographically challenging enough' without adding sexuality to the mix. That the only marketable thing about me was the relationship with Eleanor, and if I wasn't willing to maintain that, then what exactly was I bringing to the table?"
"Lou-"
"No, the best part?" Louis's accent was thick now, voice trembling. "He said 'Harry can afford to be himself because he has talent to fall back on. What do you have?' And you know what? Maybe he's right. Because here you are, free to do whatever you want, and I'm still fighting just to get anyone to give me a proper chance."
"That's not-"
"BMG is offering me something real," Louis's voice cracked. "Yeah, maybe they want me to keep quiet about us. Maybe they want to control my image. But at least they're willing to let me make music. At least they think I'm worth signing at all. Do you know what it's like to sit across from label after label and watch them try to hide their disappointment? To hear them say 'Oh, we thought you'd be more like... well, like Harry'?"
Harry's eyes were swimming with tears. "Simon's wrong. He's so wrong, Lou-"
"Is he?" Louis laughed, hollow. "Because from where I'm standing, seems like he knew exactly what he was talking about. You get to be yourself because you're talented enough to demand it. I get to take whatever scraps they're willing to give me and be grateful for them."
"I can't do it anymore," Harry's voice was firm despite the tears. "I won't go back in the closet with you. I won't pretend we're just mates, won't watch you play happy families with Eleanor while I-"
"While you what?" Louis cut in, voice sharp. "While you date your way through every beautiful person in LA? Must be nice, having that option."
"That's not fair-"
"No? Because from where I'm standing, seems perfectly fair. You get to live your life, date whoever you want, while I-" Louis's voice caught. "Do you know how many times I could have? How many people have tried? But I couldn't. Couldn't even think about it because every single one of them wasn't you."
Harry's face softened. "Lou-"
"Don't." Louis's voice was dangerous. "Don't look at me like that. Like I'm something to be pitied. Poor Louis, so pathetic he can't even properly move on. Just him and Eleanor and this... this thing with you that I can't seem to shake no matter how hard I try."
"I didn't know-"
"Course you didn't. You were too busy with your models and your actors and your perfect little life." Louis's laugh was bitter. "Must be nice, being able to fall for other people. Being able to actually move on instead of being stuck-" he cut himself off, but the damage was done.
"If you're so stuck on me, then fight for us," Harry pleaded. "We could do this properly, Lou. Together. And if you won't-" his voice hardened. "If you won't, then maybe I need to finally accept that and find someone who will love me out loud."
Louis felt like he'd been slapped. "Someone who will-" his voice cracked. "Right. Because that's what this is about, innit? Finding someone worthy of the great Harry Styles. Someone who won't embarrass you by being too scared, too common, too-"
"That's not what I meant-"
"No? Then what did you mean?" Louis's hands were shaking. "Because sounds to me like you're saying if I don't do what you want, you'll find someone better. Someone braver. Someone more like all those gorgeous people you've been with. Someone who deserves you."
The last words came out small, broken, and Louis hated himself for letting that vulnerability show. But wasn't that always how it was with Harry? Always feeling too much, wanting too much, never quite enough.
"Maybe," Louis's voice cracked, his words coming faster now, accent thick with emotion, "maybe they were right all along, weren't they? Proper idiots, us."
"Lou-"
"No, no, listen yeah?" Louis was up again, couldn't stay still, moving like a caged animal. "We were bloody kids, weren't we? Just two daft teenagers who thought love would sort everything. Proper romantic that, innit? Like some fucking fairy tale."
"It's not-"
"But it is though!" Louis's laugh was sharp, manic. "Look at us! Running around like we're still them kids in the X Factor house, thinking we can make this work when everything's so fucking-" he gestured wildly, "so fucking broken now."
"We're not broken-"
"Aren't we?" Louis spun around, words tumbling out rapid-fire. "Because I'll tell you summat for free - I don't even know who the fuck I am anymore, do I? Been playing this... this character for so long. Proper little puppet, me. Louis Tomlinson, straightest lad in the band, girlfriend of five years, totally normal, nothing to see here!"
Harry tried to reach for him but Louis jerked away. "You're still-"
"Still what? Still that kid you fell in love with?" Louis's voice went sharp. "That's the joke innit? Can't even remember who that lad was anymore. Been living this... this fucking lie so long it's like... like I've got meself convinced sometimes, you know? Like maybe if I just keep pretending hard enough-"
"Lou, please-"
"And that's the real kicker, ain't it?" Louis was practically vibrating now, accent getting thicker with every word. "Still proper in love with you, aren't I? Fucking pathetic really. Can't even look at anyone else because they're not you, but can't be with you proper because I'm too fucking scared and it's just-" he ran both hands through his hair, tugging hard, "it's just proper fucked, all of it."
"We can fix-"
"Can we though?" Louis stopped suddenly, all that manic energy draining away. "Think maybe everyone had the right of it. Simon, management, all them suits telling us we were mental to think this could work. Because look at us now. You're..." he gestured vaguely at Harry, "you're you, aren't you? Proper star, doing everything right. And I'm just... I'm still that scared kid from Donny pretending to be summat I'm not."
"You're everything-" Harry tried.
"I'm nothing," Louis cut in, sharp and final. "That's what they made me, innit? Nothing. And maybe... maybe love's not enough to fix that. Maybe we were proper stupid thinking it could be."
The words came out rough, northern vowels stretched with pain, and Louis couldn't even look at Harry anymore. Because weren't they just kids playing at forever? Thinking they could beat the odds when the deck was stacked against them from the start?
"Maybe," his voice went quiet, all that rapid-fire energy finally burning out, "maybe some things just ain't meant to survive what they put us through, you know? Maybe we were mental to think we could."
"Lou-" Harry followed him from room to room, watching as Louis started gathering things scattered throughout their- through Harry's house. "Louis, please, just stop-"
"Need my stuff, don't I?" Louis's movements were jerky, manic, pulling his clothes from where they'd migrated into Harry's closet. "Can't very well leave everything here, proper awkward that would be."
"This is ridiculous-"
"Is it?" Louis spun around, a handful of t-shirts clutched to his chest. "Because seems pretty fucking clear to me. You want someone who can be proper out and proud with you, and I'm..." his laugh was sharp, "well, I'm not that, am I?"
"That's not what I-" Harry watched helplessly as Louis grabbed a duffel bag, starting to shove things in randomly. "Will you just stop for a minute?"
"Stop what?" Louis's movements got more frantic. "Stop packing? Stop running? Stop being such a fucking coward?" His hands were shaking as he grabbed more clothes. "Where's my blue jumper? The one from-"
"You're wearing it," Harry said softly.
Louis looked down, laughed that horrible broken laugh again. "Right. Course I am. Proper mess, me."
"You don't have to go back to that empty house-" Harry reached for him but Louis jerked away, moving to the bathroom.
"Don't I though?" His voice was getting higher, accent thicker. "Been pretending I don't need it for months now, haven't I? Playing happy families here while keeping my whole fucking life on standby just in case-"
"In case what?"
"In case this happened!" Louis's hands stilled on his toiletry bag. "In case it all fell apart. Because that's what happens, innit? Everything falls apart and I... I need somewhere to fall."
"This is where you should fall," Harry's voice cracked. "With me. We can-"
"We can't do anything," Louis pushed past him, back to the bedroom, grabbing more things at random. Photos, books, that stupid stuffed penguin Harry had won him at a fair. "Can't fix what's broken in here, can we?" He tapped his chest sharply. "Can't fix what they broke. What I let them break."
"You're not even packing properly," Harry's voice was thick with tears. "Half of what you're grabbing isn't even yours-"
"Well excuse me for not being very organized while I'm having a fucking breakdown!" Louis shouted, spinning around. "Should I make a list? Sort everything into neat little piles? Would that make this better?"
"Nothing could make this better-"
"Then let me go!" Louis's voice broke. "Just... just let me go, H. Let me go back to my sad little house with its sad little lies. Where everything makes sense because nothing's real."
"You haven't even been there in months-"
"But I kept it, didn't I?" Louis's laugh was bitter. "Kept paying for it, kept it ready. Because I knew... I knew this couldn't last. Knew I'd fuck it up eventually."
"Lou-"
"I can't breathe here anymore," Louis whispered, all the fight draining out of him. "Can't... can't keep watching you be so fucking free while I'm still... still trapped. Still scared. Still keeping a backup plan because I'm too much of a coward to commit to anything real."
Harry stepped forward, cupped Louis's face in his hands. "Then let me help you-"
"You can't." Louis's voice broke. "You can't help me. Nobody can. I'm just... I'm just broken, H. And I can't... can't keep making you live with that. Can't keep holding you back."
He pulled away, grabbed the bag, started shoving things in again with trembling hands.
"Please don't do this-"
"Already done, innit?" Louis zipped the bag closed with finality. "Been done since the moment I signed that contract with Simon all those years ago."
He shouldered the bag, finally meeting Harry's eyes. "Be happy, H. Please... please be happy. Find someone who can give you what you need. Someone who isn't... isn't such a fucking mess."
"You're all I need-"
"No," Louis's smile was heartbreaking. "I'm really not. And maybe... maybe someday you'll thank me for being brave enough to admit that."
He turned, started down the stairs, each step heavy with finality. Harry followed, silent now, tears streaming down his face.
At the door, Louis paused. Looked around at the home they'd tried to build, at the life he'd been too scared to fully claim. "I do love you," he whispered. "More than... more than anything. That's why I have to go."
The door clicked shut behind him, and Harry stood there, staring at the space where Louis used to be, wondering how something could feel like both an ending and an unfinished sentence at the same time.
Chapter 21: Present Day
Summary:
Harry wakes in Louis's bed, facing a media frenzy after Liam's funeral and their unexpected reunion. Social media erupts with speculation about Harry and Louis, pushing them to confront their past. As chaos swirls, they prepare for Liam’s will reading, realizing they need to navigate their feelings amid the growing pressure.
Chapter Text
Harry woke to unfamiliar sheets and familiar warmth. For one blissful moment, his sleep-addled brain let him believe it was a decade ago - before everything went wrong, before they broke each other's hearts, before Liam...
Reality crashed in with the sound of camera shutters outside.
"Fuck," he muttered, carefully extracting himself from Louis's bed. Their clothes from last night were still scattered in a trail from the living room to the bedroom, evidence of a breakdown neither of them had seen coming. His designer jumper was somewhere near the stairs, probably still damp from standing in the rain outside Louis's door at 2 AM, not even sure why he'd come but knowing he couldn't be alone.
His phone was lighting up with notifications. Twitter was exploding - grainy drone photos from Liam's funeral two days ago, taken despite the heavy security, showing them gripping each other's hands after Louis' eulogy. Someone had even managed to get blurry shots of them leaving the church together, Louis's hand hovering protectively near Harry's back. Now there were pictures of his Range Rover parked outside Louis's house, the paps having descended like vultures as soon as someone spotted it.
#LarryIsReal was trending. Again. Just like old times.
The top tweet was a collection of "evidence" - someone had spotted his watch in the background of Phoebe's Instagram story the other day when he'd went to Lottie's, his reflection barely visible in a mirror. Then the funeral photos, analyzing every gesture, every touch, every tear-stained look between them. And now this morning's photos, his car outside Louis's house looking damning in the early morning light.
"They've been secretly meeting up look at the evidence 😭 #LarryIsReal #AlwaysInMyHeart"
Forty thousand retweets. Two hundred thousand likes.
The post below it was worse - high-resolution drone shots from the after party, showing them standing close together, Louis lighting that ciggarette Harry had taken from him. The caption read: "Some loves never die. They just wait for the right moment to come back. #LarryIsReal"
He could hear Louis in the kitchen downstairs, probably already dealing with his own social media nightmare. They'd been reckless last night, too lost in shared grief and ancient comfort to think about consequences. But now...
Now they had to face a world that had suddenly remembered them, that was watching their every move with the same obsessive attention they'd thought they'd escaped years ago. Only this time, they weren't kids being controlled by management. This time, they were grown men with their own lives, their own careers, their own carefully constructed walls.
And they'd just knocked those walls down in the worst possible way.
Harry pressed his forehead against the cool window glass, watching the gathering crowd of fans and photographers outside. Some were holding signs - "Larry Forever," "We Always Knew," "Love Always Wins." The crowd was growing by the minute, word spreading through social media that Harry Styles' car had been spotted outside Louis Tomlinson's house two days after Liam Payne's funeral.
His group chat with Niall and Zayn was blowing up:
Niall: Might want to check twitter lads
Zayn: Fucking hell, it's 2013 all over again
Niall: You two alright?
Niall: Harry?
Niall: Louis?
He couldn't bring himself to respond. How could he explain what had happened? How grief and loneliness and four years of carefully maintained distance had shattered at 2 AM when he'd found himself outside Louis's door, soaked to the bone and falling apart? How he'd looked at Louis at the funeral and remembered every reason they'd fallen in love in the first place?
His publicist had sent fifteen increasingly panicked messages:
"Harry, we need to get ahead of this."
"Call me IMMEDIATELY."
"Do you want me to release a statement? Something about supporting each other through grief?"
"Harry, please respond. The Sun is running with this."
The familiar anger burned in his chest, but it was tempered now by understanding. He knew why Louis was scared. Knew the weight of the closet Louis still carried, even after all these years. Even without the pressure of management teams and beards, some fears ran too deep to simply shake off.
The sound of something shattering downstairs jolted him from his thoughts. Without thinking, he grabbed the nearest piece of clothing - Louis's old Rovers jersey - and headed for the kitchen.
Time to face the music. Again.
They'd survived this once before. They'd figure out how to survive it again.
Even if it meant breaking each other's hearts all over again in the process.
Harry paused at the top of the stairs, hearing Louis's frustrated voice float up from below.
"No- listen, I don't care what they're saying. No statement. None." A pause. "Because he was our fucking brother and I won't have you turning his funeral into- no. No, I said no."
The sound of Louis's phone being thrown onto the counter echoed through the house. Harry made his way down slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. The kitchen smelled like tea and anxiety, with shattered ceramic by Louis's feet - presumably the source of the crash Harry had heard.
Louis was gripping the counter, knuckles white, still in just his pants and an old t-shirt. His hair was a mess, likely from running his hands through it repeatedly - a nervous habit he'd never outgrown. He didn't turn around when Harry entered, but his shoulders tensed, acknowledging his presence.
"Your security team's on their way," Louis said quietly, still facing the window above his sink. "Jeff called. Said they can create a diversion, get you out through the garage."
Harry's chest tightened. Of course. Back to sneaking around, back to diversions and careful exits. Some things never changed.
"Lou-"
"Don't." Louis's voice cracked. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."
"Harder than what?" Harry stepped closer, careful to avoid the broken mug on the floor. "Harder than pretending last night didn't happen? Harder than pretending we're just old bandmates supporting each other through grief?"
Louis finally turned around, and the look in his eyes nearly knocked Harry backwards. "You know we can't-"
"Can't what?" Harry interrupted, anger suddenly flaring. "Can't be honest? Can't admit that maybe losing Liam made us realize life's too fucking short for this? He'd laugh himself sick if he could see us right now, you know that right? Still dancing around each other after all these years."
"Don't," Louis warned, but Harry was too far gone now.
"He told me once, during lockdown, that we were idiots. Said we'd end up old men still pretending we were just good mates who happened to look at each other like-"
"Stop!" Louis's voice broke completely this time. "Just stop. Please."
The silence that followed was deafening. Outside, they could hear the crowd growing, camera shutters clicking, voices calling their names. Their little bubble was bursting, reality seeping in through every crack.
Harry looked down at himself, still wearing Louis's jersey, still marked up from last night. In the harsh morning light, everything felt simultaneously more real and more impossible.
"Your tea's gone cold," he said finally, gesturing to the untouched mug on the counter. It was easier than saying what he really wanted to say: 'I'm still in love with you' or 'I never stopped' or 'Please don't make me leave again.'
Louis let out a laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob. "Yeah, well. Bit distracted by the circus outside, wasn't I?"
Harry stepped closer, drawn like a magnet despite himself. "We could just... not care. Just this once. Let them talk."
"Harry..." Louis's voice was soft, pleading.
"I know," Harry whispered, closing the distance between them. "I know all the reasons we shouldn't. But Li's gone, Lou. He's gone and I can't- I can't keep pretending that doesn't change everything."
Louis's hand came up to grip Harry's (his) jersey, not pushing away but not pulling closer either. Just holding on, suspended in this moment between what they wanted and what they could have.
"The whole world's watching," Louis murmured, but he was looking at Harry's lips.
"Let them."
The kitchen was silent except for their breathing and the distant sound of chaos outside. Everything hung in the balance - thirteen years of history, four years of careful distance, and one night that had shattered it all.
Louis's fingers tightened in Harry's jersey, and for a moment Harry thought he might actually give in. But then Louis's phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with Zayn's name, and the spell broke.
"Fuck," Louis muttered, dropping his head to Harry's chest. "Fuck, we need to- the reading of the will is today."
Reality crashed back in like a bucket of ice water. They'd have to face Liam's family, Zayn, Niall - all while trying to pretend last night hadn't changed everything. All while the media circus outside grew larger by the minute.
"Right," Harry stepped back, running a hand through his curls. "Right, yeah. We should probably..."
"Get our shit together?" Louis offered with a weak attempt at a smile. "Yeah."
Harry's phone buzzed - his security team was in position. In five minutes, they'd create a diversion at the front of the house while Harry slipped out the back. Like clockwork. Like they'd never stopped doing this dance.
"I'll need to change," Harry gestured at the jersey. "Can't exactly leave in your clothes. That'd give them a field day."
"Bit late for that, innit?" Louis nodded toward the window where photographers were still camped out. "Think that ship's sailed."
They stood in awkward silence, neither quite sure how to navigate this new territory. They weren't kids anymore, couldn't blame management or contracts for keeping them apart. The only things standing in their way now were their own fears, their own carefully constructed lives, and the weight of a spotlight they'd never quite escaped.
"After the reading-" Harry started, but Louis cut him off.
"Let's just... get through today first, yeah? One impossible thing at a time."
Harry nodded, throat tight. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
He turned to head back upstairs, to find his clothes and piece himself back together enough to face the world. But Louis's voice stopped him.
"H?"
"Yeah?"
"Last night... I don't-" Louis swallowed hard. "I don't regret it. Just... needed you to know that."
Harry's heart stuttered in his chest. "Lou-"
But Louis was already turning away, pulling out his phone, probably to deal with one of the thousand fires they'd inadvertently started. Harry stood frozen on the stairs, caught between wanting to push for more and knowing now wasn't the time.
Today. They'd get through today first.
Then maybe, just maybe, they could figure out what the hell they were doing.
As they pulled up to Liam's family home, Harry's grip on his phone tightened. The driveway was mercifully clear of photographers - Karen had made sure of that - but he could see them lined up at the gates, waiting.
Louis's car pulled in behind them, and Harry watched in the rearview mirror as he stepped out, sunglasses on despite the cloudy day. Always the armor when he needed it most.
"Ready?" Niall appeared at Harry's window, making him jump. His eyes were red-rimmed but determined. There was something else there too - a knowing look that reminded Harry of countless times Niall had played lookout, had created diversions, had kept their secret safe with nothing but a wink and a grin.
"No," Harry admitted, but he got out anyway.
"Quite the morning you've had, eh?" Niall murmured, quiet enough that only Harry could hear. His tone was gentle, protective - the same way it had been years ago when he'd distract interviewers with loud stories whenever questions got too close to the truth.
The three of them stood there for a moment, watching Zayn's car approach. Just like old times, except...
"He'd hate this," Louis muttered, lighting a cigarette with slightly shaking hands. "All this... proper serious business."
Zayn joined them, completing their broken circle. He gave Harry and Louis a subtle once-over, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. It was the same look he used to give them when they'd show up to interviews wearing each other's clothes, thinking they were being clever.
"Some things never change, do they?" he said quietly, and Harry knew he wasn't just talking about the paparazzi outside.
None of them spoke as they walked to the door, shoulders brushing occasionally like they used to do before shows. Before everything. Harry caught Niall and Zayn exchanging a glance - the same look they'd share whenever Harry and Louis would disappear together before performances, Liam already making up excuses about vocal warm-ups or costume changes.
Karen answered before they could knock, pulling each of them into fierce hugs. "My boys," she whispered, voice thick. "All my boys."
Harry felt Louis tense beside him, saw his hands clench into fists. They'd always been Liam's boys, hadn't they? His to protect, his to keep together, his to cover for when management got suspicious about two of his bandmates spending too much time behind closed doors.
"Come on then," Karen managed, wiping her eyes. "Let's get this over with. He'd want it that way."
As they followed her inside, Harry felt Louis's pinky brush against his - once, twice, deliberate. An old signal from their early days: I'm here. We'll get through this.
Harry hooked his pinky back briefly, muscle memory taking over. Together.
He caught Zayn's soft smile, Niall's knowing look. They'd seen the gesture - of course they had. They'd spent years pretending not to notice these moments, just like Liam had.
Some things, it seemed, you never really forgot. And some secrets were kept not because they needed to be, but because that's what family did for each other.
"Tea, loves?" Karen asked, falling back on the comfort of routine. They nodded, gathering around the familiar kitchen table where they'd spent so many early mornings before rehearsals.
Karen set down their mugs and a worn leather box. "There's... there's something you should know," she began carefully. "There's no proper will - it was all so sudden. But we found these in his safe. From 2019, after his first rehab."
Five envelopes lay in the box, Liam's messy scrawl familiar across each.
"You first, Z," Louis said quietly, his voice steady even as his knee bounced beneath the table.
Zayn opened his envelope with trembling fingers, a studio key falling into his palm. "'To Z,'" he read, voice rough. "'I'm sorry I let everything get so broken between us. Sorry I didn't fight harder when you left, that I let pride get in the way of brotherhood. The acoustic - the one you taught me on - it's yours. Never could make it sound right after you left anyway. Maybe you can make it sing again.'"
Niall's hands shook as he opened his. "'Ni - I'm sorry for all the times I wasn't there when you needed me. For missing shows, for not being present even when I was there. The golf club membership is yours - all of it. You made me feel like I was good at something outside of music, even when I was just pretending. Remember that night at the Masters? When we were too drunk to stand but you still tried to teach me proper form?'" He laughed wetly, wiping his eyes.
Louis's contained a small USB drive. "'Lou - I'm sorry I kept pushing you away when things got bad. You tried so hard to help and I wouldn't let you. All my unfinished stuff is on here - the album I couldn't quite get right. You always knew what my songs were trying to say better than I did. Maybe you can help them find their way home. Make them into something real.'"
Harry's hands trembled as he opened his envelope. A simple gold ring fell into his palm, catching the light. He heard Louis's sharp intake of breath beside him.
"'H - I'm sorry I made you hide for so long. Sorry I played along with all their games instead of standing up for you. The ring you gave me to keep safe in 2015 - think it's time it found its way back. Some things are worth the wait.'"
He felt Louis's questioning gaze, heavy with unspoken questions about a ring he'd never known existed, bought in Paris when Harry had thought they were finally ready, before everything fell apart.
"One more," Karen said softly, pulling out a final envelope. "'To all my boys - I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger. The Surrey house is yours, together. It's where we were best, where we were just us. Think maybe you need that again.'"
"He wrote these after rehab," Niall whispered. "Never thinking..."
"He wrote these after rehab," Niall whispered. "Never thinking..." His voice cracked and he couldn't continue.
"Never thinking we'd be here so soon," Zayn finished softly, his hand finding Niall's shoulder.
The kitchen fell silent except for the quiet ticking of the clock - the same one that had counted down their minutes before school, before rehearsals, before everything. Karen busied herself making fresh tea, her back turned to hide her tears, ever the mother trying to be strong for her boys.
Louis's pinky was still linked with Harry's under the table, but Harry could feel the tension in him, the weight of questions about a ring he'd never known existed. Questions that would have to wait, though Harry knew they wouldn't wait long.
"The house keys are in my office," Karen managed finally, turning back to them. "When you're ready. No rush, loves."
Niall clutched his letter like a lifeline. Zayn kept running his thumb over the studio key. Louis's USB drive had disappeared into his pocket, but his free hand kept checking it was there. And Harry... Harry held a ring that carried the weight of everything they'd never said, everything they'd never been brave enough to be.
In the photos above them, Liam watched over it all - forever their protector, their keeper of secrets, their anchor in the storm. Even now, somehow, he was still bringing them back together, still giving them what they needed.
One last gift from their brother - the chance to be a family again.
Chapter 22: June/July 2015
Chapter Text
Harry woke to sunlight streaming across white hotel sheets and Louis's warmth beside him. For a moment, he just watched Louis sleep - the way his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, how his face looked younger without the careful mask he wore for cameras. Here, he was just Louis again. Harry's Louis.
They had been sneaking away for these moments for months, navigating their way back to each other in quiet hotel rooms and shared dressing rooms following their last fight. After Zayn's departure, Harry had been adamant that it was time to leave the band behind and finally begin their life together. Louis, however, couldn't let the band go just yet. They had fought dreadfully, and Harry feared it might have marked the end. Yet, something had changed recently. Since Eleanor's contract concluded in March, Louis smiled more easily and touched Harry with less hesitation. They wrote songs together again, Louis crafting such beautiful songs while Harry poured his heart into lyrics about soaring, falling, and rediscovering his path.
Harry slipped out of bed carefully, pressing a soft kiss to Louis's shoulder. "Going for coffee," he whispered when Louis stirred slightly. It wasn't exactly a lie; he'd pick up coffee while he was out.
The jewelry shop was small, tucked away from tourist crowds. Harry's hands trembled as he looked through the cases, heart racing with the enormity of what he was considering. But when the jeweler showed him a simple gold band, everything clicked into place. It was understated, classic - something Louis could wear without drawing attention, yet meaningful in its simplicity.
"Perfect," Harry breathed, thinking of late-night whispers about forever, about doing it properly someday when they were free. About Louis's smile when they'd talked about rings and ceremonies and promises just for them.
He practically floated back to the hotel, ring box secure in his pocket. Louis was on the balcony now, cigarette forgotten between his fingers as he watched the sunrise paint Dubai gold. Harry's heart felt too big for his chest - because this was it, wasn't it? Their moment. Their chance to finally be what they'd always meant to be.
He just needed the right moment. The perfect moment. To give Louis this ring and all the promises that came with it.
The perfect moment never came. Just hours later, Louis's phone buzzed with messages from management - urgent meetings in London, something about contracts and press and all the things they'd been trying to escape in Dubai.
They flew back separately, of course. Always separately. Harry spent the flight with his hand in his pocket, fingers wrapped around the velvet box, planning how he'd do it when they got another moment alone.
But the moments kept slipping away. Management meetings ran long. Promo schedules kept them apart. When they did get time together, it was stolen minutes in dressing rooms or brief touches during interviews - never quite enough space to say everything Harry needed to say.
He kept the ring close, waiting for the right time. Carried it through shows and interviews, through Louis laughing at his jokes during promo and sharing secret smiles across green rooms. Through quiet moments in Cape Town bakeries and hotel pools where Harry thought maybe now but something always interrupted.
Then came July.
Harry's mind reeled. Briana. The blonde from LA. The one from those few weeks when he and Louis were apart, when he'd pushed Louis away. Before Dubai. Before they'd found their way back to each other.
"No," Harry shook his head. "That's... that doesn't make sense. They barely..." He couldn't finish the sentence. The timeline was spinning in his head - those handful of pap walks, those club nights Louis could barely remember, and then nothing. Louis had said there was nothing.
"Mate..." Niall started, but Harry cut him off.
"When?" His voice cracked. "When did he find out?"
"Yesterday, I think," Zayn said. "Management's already planning how to-"
"Yesterday," Harry repeated numbly. Yesterday, when Louis had kissed him goodbye and promised to call after his meetings. Yesterday, when Harry had touched the ring in his pocket and thought about forever.
The room was spinning. He could feel Liam moving closer, could see Niall and Zayn exchanging worried looks, but it all felt distant, underwater.
"Haz, breathe," Liam's voice cut through the fog, his hand steady on Harry's shoulder. "Just... fuck, just sit down for a minute, yeah?"
"This is proper messed up," Niall muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Like, what are the fucking chances?"
Zayn was pacing now, guilt written across his features. "I shouldn't have... shit, I really thought he'd told you."
"He didn't," Harry's laugh was hollow. "Guess he was too busy in those meetings. Planning how to... what? Make it all look good for the press?"
"Hey," Liam's voice was firm. "You know Louis. You know he'd be freaking out right now. He probably doesn't even know how to tell you."
"Yeah, well," Harry's fingers found the ring box again, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. "Guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"
"Course it matters," Niall moved closer, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced with fierce protectiveness. "You two... like, this is you and Louis we're talking about. You'll figure it out."
"Figure what out?" Harry's voice cracked. "How to watch him play happy families with some girl he barely knows? How to pretend I'm fine with-"
"Stop," Liam cut in. "Just... stop thinking ahead. You need to talk to him first. Actually talk to him."
"Li's right," Zayn said quietly. "You can't... you can't let this break you. Not after everything."
Harry pulled the ring box from his pocket, staring at it. His hands were shaking. "I bought this in Dubai," he said quietly. "Been carrying it around for weeks, waiting for the right moment."
"Oh, Haz," Liam breathed, understanding dawning on his face.
"Was gonna do it proper, you know?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper now. "Had it all planned. Just needed the perfect... but now..." He couldn't finish, throat too tight.
"Harry-" Niall started, but Harry was already pushing the box into Liam's hands.
"Keep it," he managed. "I can't... I can't look at it anymore. Can't have it sitting in my drawer, reminding me..."
"You sure about this?" Liam asked carefully, his fingers closing around the box. "Because you and Louis-"
"There is no me and Louis anymore, is there?" Harry's laugh was bitter. "Can't exactly propose to someone who's having a baby with someone else."
"Mate..." Zayn started.
"Just... keep it safe, yeah?" Harry looked at Liam, his oldest friend, the one who'd seen them through every up and down. "Until... I don't know. Until things are different. Or until I can look at it without feeling like this."
Liam nodded solemnly, tucking the box away. They all knew what Harry wasn't saying - keep it until Louis comes back, until we're brave enough, until the world lets us. Until all the things they'd been waiting for finally aligned.
"I need to go," Harry stood up suddenly. "I can't... I need air."
"Let me drive you," Niall offered immediately.
"No, I... I need to walk. Clear my head."
"Text when you get home," Liam said firmly. It wasn't a request. "And Haz? We're here. Whatever you need."
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As he left, he could hear them talking in low, worried voices. Could imagine them trying to figure out how to fix this, like they'd tried to fix everything else over the years.
But some things couldn't be fixed. Some things just had to be survived.
Harry walked through London's empty streets, the summer night air doing nothing to clear his head. Every corner held memories - that café where Louis had surprised him with breakfast, the alley where they'd stolen kisses between meetings, the bench where they'd sat planning their future just weeks ago.
His phone kept buzzing. Louis's name lighting up the screen felt like a knife to the chest each time. What would he even say? Congratulations on the baby with the girl you barely remember? Why didn't you tell me? I was going to ask you to marry me.
The worst part was that he could picture exactly how it happened. Louis, drunk and lonely during those weeks they were apart. When Harry had been so sure that time apart was what they needed. When Louis had been trying to prove he could do casual, could be normal. Could be anything other than desperately in love with his bandmate.
A group of drunk girls stumbled past, laughing. Harry pulled his beanie lower, grateful for the darkness. He couldn't handle being recognized right now, couldn't paste on a smile and pretend his world wasn't imploding.
"Proper family man now, Tommo!" The headlines would scream. Harry could already see them, could already feel the awkward interviews ahead. He'd have to sit there and smile while Louis talked about becoming a father. Would have to watch him build a life that Harry had no place in.
Just yesterday, Louis had kissed him goodbye with that soft smile that was only for Harry. Had promised to call after his meetings. Had said "love you" like it was the easiest thing in the world. And all while knowing...
Harry's stomach lurched. How long had Louis known before management found out? How many nights had they spent tangled in hotel sheets, whispering about forever, while Louis carried this secret?
He thought back to their old flat in Princess Park- the first place that had been truly theirs, before everything got so complicated. Before contracts and beards and carefully constructed lies. Before Dubai and rings and babies that changed everything.
He remembered the day they'd moved in, how Louis had insisted on carrying Harry across the threshold "for practice." They'd been so young, so sure that love would be enough. That if they just held on tight enough, the world would eventually let them be together.
The irony wasn't lost on him. All those years of fake girlfriends and staged photos, all the elaborate schemes to hide their relationship - and in the end, it was one drunken night with some random girl that would tear them apart for good.
A baby. An actual tiny human that would bind Louis to her forever. Their child would grow up calling her mum, calling Louis dad. Family photos and Christmas mornings and everything Harry had dreamed of having with Louis someday.
His chest felt too tight. He'd known, of course, that they couldn't hide forever. That eventually they'd have to face the reality of what being together meant. But he'd thought they'd face it together. Had thought after Eleanor, after coming back to each other, that they were finally ready to be brave.
The ring had been the first step. A promise, just between them, that someday all the hiding would end. That they'd find their way out of the maze of lies and contracts. That love would win, in the end.
Now the ring sat in Liam's pocket, as heavy with broken promises as Harry's heart.
By the time he reached his flat, his eyes were dry but his chest felt hollow. Empty. Like something vital had been carved out of him. The rooms felt too big, too quiet. Every surface held traces of Louis - his favorite mug in the kitchen, his hoodie thrown over a chair, his toothbrush still in the bathroom where he'd left it this morning.
He pulled out his phone, thumbing past Louis's missed calls to send a quick text to Liam: Home. Don't worry.
Then he turned his phone off completely. Tomorrow, he'd have to face it all - Louis, management, the press. Tomorrow, he'd have to learn how to smile through interviews and act like his heart wasn't breaking. Would have to figure out how to watch Louis become someone else's family.
But tonight, in the darkness of their half-shared home, surrounded by the ghostly echoes of all their broken dreams, he just needed to remember how to breathe in a world where their someday would never come.
Chapter 23: Present Day
Summary:
Louis drives home, preoccupied with the chaos outside his house and the flood of messages from Harry. Inside, tensions rise as Louis confronts Harry about secrets, emotions, and the significance of a ring. Amidst their charged conversation, news breaks of their past being revealed, prompting Louis to question their future and the possibility of finally being honest with the world.
Chapter Text
The drive back to Hendon Wood Lane felt like moving through a dream. Louis kept his hand wrapped around the USB in his pocket, trying to focus on anything but the chaos he knew would be waiting. The paps had been camped outside his gate since morning, when someone had spotted Harry's Range Rover still parked in his drive.
His phone lit up with notifications. Twitter was already having a field day - #LarryIsReal trending again, like some sick joke when they were meant to be mourning their best friend.
Harry's messages came in quick succession: "Can we talk?" "About what happened at Karen's." "Please, Lou."
Last night felt both far away and impossibly close - Harry showing up at 2 AM, soaked through and looking lost. The way they'd ended up on his floor with a bottle between them, talking about Liam until talking gave way to something else entirely. And now this - a ring he'd never known about, another secret in their complicated history.
"Already got enough headlines today, haven't we?" Louis typed back, more defensive than he meant to be. He added his address anyway, though they both knew Harry remembered it.
Inside, Louis pulled up Twitter, his jaw clenching at the "evidence" threads popping up. Someone had compiled everything - the funeral photos, his hand on Harry's back leaving the church, the Range Rover in his drive. Fucking vultures, turning their grief into entertainment.
When Harry knocked, Louis took a steadying breath before opening the door. Harry stood there in different clothes than this morning, looking simultaneously like a stranger and the boy Louis had fallen in love with at eighteen.
"The press is having a field day," Harry said softly as Louis let him in.
"Yeah, well, you always did love giving them something to talk about," Louis couldn't keep the edge from his voice. "Suppose finding your car outside my house after Liam's funeral makes for good headlines."
"Lou..." Harry's voice held that familiar pleading note. "That's not fair."
"No, you know what?" Louis whirled around, his accent thicker with emotion. "Finding out about some ring I never knew about at Li's will reading? That's just... that's proper fucked up, that is."
The silence stretched between them while Louis aggressively made tea, hands moving quick and precise despite his obvious agitation. Last night was still too fresh - Harry showing up like some ghost from their past, both of them falling back into old habits like the last four years hadn't happened. Like that massive row during lockdown hadn't torn them apart again.
"Well..." Harry drew the word out. "I never actually told you about it. The ring, I mean. Never found the right... moment."
"When?" Louis demanded, the word coming out harsher than he meant it to. His heart was racing, proper mental how after all these years Harry could still do this to him.
"Dubai," Harry said softly, almost dreamily. "You know, that weekend when everything felt... possible."
"Fuck's sake," Louis muttered, running a hand through his hair. Dubai. Their perfect weekend before everything went to shit. Fresh off the Eleanor mess, finally feeling free. Three days of just them, making proper plans like they were kids again. "That long ago?"
"Got it the last day there," Harry continued, that slow, thoughtful cadence making Louis's chest tight. "But then everything got a bit... well, you remember."
"Yeah, well, I remember a lot of things," Louis snapped, gripping his mug too tight. The heat from the tea burned his palms, but he welcomed it. Better than the other kind of burning - the one in his chest that hadn't properly gone away since Harry showed up at his door last night, soaked through and looking lost.
"Think that's part of the problem, innit?" He continued, unable to stop now that he'd started. "We remember everything different. You remember Dubai like it was some romantic getaway, while I remember what came after. The meetings, the contracts, the-" he cut himself off, that old familiar anger rising. "Always did have a way of making everything sound proper lovely in hindsight."
"That's not..." Harry started, then paused, doing that thing where he searched for just the right words. "It's not about making things sound lovely. It's about... well, about what was real."
"Real?" Louis let out a sharp laugh. "What's real is you gave a ring I never knew about to our best mate instead of, I don't know, talking to me? Having an actual conversation about any of it?"
"Like you talked to me about the record deal?" Harry's voice was still soft, but there was an edge to it now.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Louis set his mug down hard enough that tea sloshed over the rim. "That was different and you know it. That was about my career, my choices. This is..." he gestured between them, frustrated. "This is about us. About whatever the hell we were to each other."
"Were?" Harry echoed, and Christ, the way he was looking at Louis made his chest ache. Like they were kids again, trying to figure out what they meant to each other in stolen moments between shows.
"Were?" Harry echoed, and Christ, the way he was looking at Louis made his chest ache. Like they were kids again, trying to figure out what they meant to each other in stolen moments between shows.
"Fucking hell," Louis breathed, leaning back against the counter. His hands were proper shaking now, tea forgotten. "You still do that thing, you know? Looking at me like..." he trailed off, frustrated at how his voice wavered.
"Like what?" Harry asked, voice slow and careful, like he was tasting each word.
"Like I'm still that lad you fell in love with at eighteen," Louis managed, his accent thicker with emotion. "Like I didn't spend years trying to convince meself that this-" he gestured between them, "-wasn't killing me every fucking day."
Harry took a step closer, and Louis could smell his cologne - different from what he used to wear but still so distinctly Harry it made his throat tight. "Maybe because you are," Harry said softly. "Still that boy. Still... everything."
"Christ," Louis whispered, running a trembling hand through his hair. "You can't just... you can't say shit like that, H. Not now. Not when-" he swallowed hard, fighting against the pressure building in his chest. "Not when I've finally learned how to breathe without you."
"Have you?" Harry was closer now, close enough that Louis could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "Because I haven't. Not really. And your album... Faith in the Future..." he trailed off meaningfully.
Louis felt his jaw clench. Trust Harry to bring that up - to see right through him even through bloody lyrics. "Don't," he warned, but his voice lacked conviction. "That album wasn't about-"
"'Always You'?" Harry pressed gently, that slow careful way he had of speaking making each word hit harder. "'Saturdays'? Come on, Lou."
"Fuck's sake," Louis muttered, running a trembling hand through his hair. His heart was proper racing now. "You can't just... you can't dissect my music like that. Not fair, is it? What about 'Love of my Life', then? Wrote that about me, didn't you?"
Harry's lips quirked slightly. "So you did listen to Harry's House."
"'Course I bloody listened to it," Louis snapped, but there was no real heat behind it. "Just like you've got my album on repeat, haven't you? Proper stalker behavior that is."
The space between them felt charged, electric with thirteen years of wanting. Harry moved closer, and Louis could smell that familiar cologne - the same one he'd worn since they were teenagers. Some things never changed, even when everything else had.
"Remember what Li said to us?" Louis's voice was rough with emotion. "That night during lockdown when he caught us on FaceTime? Said we were proper mental, we were. Writing love songs to each other across continents while pretending we were just good mates."
"He always saw right through us," Harry murmured, close enough now that Louis could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Said we'd end up old men still pretending we weren't..."
"Still in love?" Louis finished, his accent thicker with emotion. "Fuck, H. Thirteen years of this. Of wanting and not having and pretending it didn't kill me every time I saw you with someone else."
Harry's hand found Louis's waist, familiar and steadying. "That's why I fought so hard for that role, you know. My Policeman."
Louis stiffened slightly. "Don't."
"No, listen," Harry's voice was soft but insistent. "When I read that script... Christ, Lou. It felt like reading our story, didn't it? Two people who love each other but can't be together because of... everything. Living with regret until they're old men."
"Proper desperate to get that role, weren't you?" Louis's voice was rough. "Director said you brought 'real life experience' to it. Bet management loved that quote."
"I didn't care," Harry murmured, his thumb tracing circles on Louis's hip. "Maybe I wanted people to know. Maybe I was tired of pretending that watching you walk away didn't break me every single time."
The evening light was streaming through the kitchen windows now, painting them both in gold, making everything feel simultaneously more real and more impossible. Outside, another camera flash went off, but for once, Louis couldn't bring himself to care.
"I'm proper terrified," Louis admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "Of wanting this again. Of letting myself believe we could... that we won't end up like those characters. Full of regret and what-ifs."
Harry's other hand came up to cup Louis's face, and Christ, the way he was looking at him - like Louis was still the most important person in his world, like nothing had changed since they were teenagers falling in love in the X Factor house.
"We're not them," Harry whispered, his voice full of that same earnest devotion that used to terrify Louis when they were younger. "We don't have to be them. Just... let me show you we could be different."
We're not them," Harry whispered, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "We don't have to be them."
Louis could feel Harry's breath against his lips, his heart hammering so hard he was sure Harry could feel it too. Everything felt charged, electric with possibility and terror and thirteen years of wanting.
"Fuck, H," Louis breathed, his hands fisting in Harry's shirt. "I can't... if we start this again, I won't be able to-"
Harry's lips brushed against his jaw, feather-light but enough to make Louis's entire body shiver. "Then don't stop," he murmured against Louis's skin. "Just let me-"
Their phones exploded simultaneously, notifications lighting up the kitchen like a bloody disco. Louis jerked back, instinct and years of conditioning making him put space between them before his brain could catch up.
"What the fuck?" he muttered, fumbling for his phone. His hands were proper shaking as he unlocked it, and beside him, Harry had gone absolutely still.
"Lou..." Harry's voice was careful, too careful. "Don't look at-"
"Fucking hell," Louis felt the blood drain from his face as he read the messages flooding in. Hannah's brother was live on Instagram, spewing hate and secrets that Louis had spent thirteen years burying. "No, no, no..."
"Louis," Harry reached for him, but Louis flinched back.
"Don't," his voice cracked, accent thick with panic. "Just... fuck. He's telling everyone. About X-Factor, about... Christ, management's gonna proper lose it. The contracts, the NDAs..."
His phone buzzed again - his publicist this time. Then his manager. Then his lawyer. Each notification feeling like another nail in a coffin he'd been trying to climb out of for thirteen years.
"They're calling me a..." Louis couldn't even say it, the word sticking in his throat like glass. "Everything we did to keep this quiet, all these years of pretending, and now some wanker with a grudge just..."
"Lou, look at me," Harry's voice was steady, grounding. "We're not kids anymore. We don't have to let them-"
"Don't we?" Louis laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "You saw what they did to us before. What they'll do now if-"
Another wave of notifications hit, and Louis felt his knees go weak. "Fuck," he whispered, sliding down against the counter until he hit the floor. "What are we gonna do?"
Louis sat on the kitchen floor, phone clutched in trembling hands. Hannah Walker - his first girlfriend, the one who'd been there when he auditioned for X-Factor, who'd watched him fall in love with Harry right in front of her. The one who'd kept quiet all these years out of respect, or maybe pity. But her brother had no such loyalty.
"Your team's already working on it," Harry said softly, sliding down to sit beside Louis. "They'll shut it down, same as always. Issue denials, threaten legal action-"
"For how much longer though?" Louis's voice cracked, accent thick with emotion. "Thirteen fucking years of this, H. Of pretending and hiding and... Christ, I'm so tired."
Harry reached for Louis's hand, threading their fingers together. "Then maybe we don't."
"Don't what?"
"Hide anymore." Harry's voice was steady, sure in a way that made Louis's chest ache. "You're not that scared eighteen-year-old anymore, Lou. And I'm not the kid who'd agree to anything just to keep everyone happy."
Louis laughed wetly. "Easy for you to say, innit? You've got your Grammys and your sold-out tours. Everyone loves Harry fucking Styles, the gender-bending fashion icon. But me? I'm still under contracts. Still trying to prove I'm more than just-"
"The greatest songwriter of our generation?" Harry interrupted fiercely. "The one who survived everything they threw at us and still made music that matters?"
Another wave of notifications hit both their phones. Louis's publicist was demanding an immediate meeting. Management was already drafting statements.
"We could let them," Harry said softly. "Let them bury it again. Or..."
"Or?" Louis's heart was hammering so hard he could barely breathe.
"Or we could tell our own story. Finally." Harry squeezed his hand. "No more hiding. No more pretending. Just us."
Louis stared at their intertwined fingers, at thirteen years of wanting and waiting and being too afraid to reach for what they both needed. "I'm proper terrified," he admitted.
"I know," Harry murmured. "But I'm right here. Whatever you choose."
Chapter 24: July/October 2011
Summary:
"Louis speaks with Hannah over the phone, distressed by rumors circulating online regarding his relationship with Harry. Hannah accuses Louis of hiding behind her while developing real feelings for Harry. After the call ends, Louis finds solace in Harry’s embrace, and they confront the reality of their closeness amid scrutiny from management. They grapple with the pressure to maintain appearances while affirming their love, promising to protect each other despite impending challenges.
Chapter Text
Louis paced their shared bedroom, phone clutched tight as Hannah's voice crackled through.
"Everyone's talking about it on Twitter," Hannah's voice trembled. "'Did you see how Louis looks at Harry in the video diaries?' 'Wonder if Hannah knows?' There's bloody hashtags about it."
"'S not like that-" Louis started, his accent thick with distress.
"You've not even replied to me tweets in weeks," Hannah continued. "But you're calling him 'baby cakes' and 'sweetums' online? Living together when all the other lads got their own places?"
Harry shifted on their bed - their bed, Christ - pretending to scroll through his phone but obviously listening. Louis caught his eye briefly before looking away, memories of rushed moments in the X-Factor house making his cheeks burn with shame.
"The show wants us interacting," Louis tried weakly. "'S good for the band-"
"Me mum called today," Hannah cut in bitterly. "Asked if I knew. If that's why you really went on X-Factor. To find yourself a boyfriend."
"Fuck's sake," Louis choked out, panic rising. "You can't just-"
"Can't what? Point out what everyone else sees? The way you look at him in them Manchester United photos... did you ever look at me like that, Lou?"
Louis felt proper sick now, because he hadn't, had he? Had never felt for Hannah what he felt when Harry smiled at him, touched him, held him.
"I look like a right idiot," Hannah's voice cracked. "Everyone in Donny's seen the videos. You hanging all over him, moving in together. They're saying I was your cover. That I didn't even know my own boyfriend was-"
"Stop," Louis pleaded, voice rough. "Please, I'm not..."
"Not what, Lou? Gay?" Hannah laughed hollowly. "Are you sure about that? I won't be your excuse anymore. Won't let you hide behind me while you play house with him."
The line went dead. Louis stared at his phone, trembling.
"Lou," Harry's voice was soft, careful. "Come here, yeah?"
"Don't," Louis's voice broke. "They're all gonna think... everyone's gonna know I'm..."
But he was already moving towards Harry, because he always did, didn't he? Even when it terrified him. Even when wanting Harry felt like drowning.
"'M proper fucked," Louis whispered into Harry's neck. "'S everywhere now. Everyone's gonna..."
"You don't have to be anything," Harry murmured, pressing his lips to Louis's hair. "Just be you. That's all I've ever wanted."
Louis laughed wetly against Harry's skin, even as his hands clutched desperately at Harry's shirt. Because being himself meant wanting this - wanting Harry - and that thought terrified him more than any tweet or rumor ever could.
***
"Can't believe you still can't make tea properly," Louis teased, watching Harry fumble with the hotel room's kettle. "After all this time living together."
"Hey," Harry protested, dimples deepening as he smiled. "I make excellent tea. You're just particular."
Louis came up behind him, pressing against Harry's back to reach around and adjust the kettle. "Like this, love," he murmured, letting his lips brush Harry's ear. He felt Harry shiver against him, and couldn't resist pressing closer.
It had been like this since X-Factor - this magnetic pull between them that made everything else fade away. On stage, Harry would find excuses to touch him, to dance close. In interviews, Louis caught himself staring at Harry's mouth while he spoke, distracted by the way his lips formed words. At home, they orbited each other constantly, sharing space, sharing breath.
Even now, when they should be careful, should maintain distance, Harry was turning in his arms, pressing Louis against the counter.
"Tea can wait," Harry breathed, dropping his head to nuzzle Louis's neck. His hands found Louis's hips, pulling him closer.
"Menace," Louis gasped, but his fingers were already tangling in Harry's curls. "Absolute menace, you are."
Their playful moment was interrupted by management's call. The sound felt like ice water down Louis's spine.
"Boys," their PR rep's voice was sharp. "We need to discuss your recent behavior. The lingering touches during interviews. The constant physical contact on stage. Living together. The fans are noticing patterns."
Louis felt Harry tense against him. They'd been so caught up in each other, in this bubble of happiness, they'd gotten careless.
"We're just-" Harry started.
"Being obvious," the PR rep cut in. "Simon's concerned about the cleanliness clause, Louis. Remember what's at stake."
Louis's stomach churned. Of course he remembered - his family's security, the band's future, everything they'd built. All of it hanging by a thread because he couldn't keep his hands off Harry in public.
"We're introducing you to someone at Niall's birthday party. Eleanor. She's already signed the NDA."
The call dropped and the silence that followed felt like a physical weight.
"No," Harry's voice was sharp, fierce with a determination only a seventeen-year-old could muster. He pulled away from Louis, running his hands through his curls in frustration. "No, I won't let them do this to us."
Louis felt his heart splinter. This was the Harry he'd fallen in love with - passionate, defiant, believing love could conquer all. But he was also young, too young to understand the weight of what they were risking.
"H," Louis started softly, reaching for him.
"Don't 'H' me," Harry spun around, eyes bright with unshed tears. "We're not doing this. I won't share you with some... some random girl they've picked out. You're mine."
The possessiveness in Harry's voice made Louis's chest ache. "Love, it's not that simple-"
"It is that simple!" Harry's voice cracked. "We love each other. Why isn't that enough? Why do we have to hide? Why do you have to pretend to be with someone else?"
"Because Simon owns us!" Louis finally snapped, the words echoing in the hotel room. He softened immediately at Harry's flinch. "He owns our contracts, our future, everything we've worked for. One word from him and it's over - not just for us, but for Niall, for Zayn, for Liam."
"Let him try," Harry challenged, but his voice wavered. "We could go public, tell everyone-"
"And then what?" Louis stepped closer, cupping Harry's face in his hands. "Watch them destroy us? Watch them turn everyone against us? Watch them break apart everything we've built?"
"I don't care about any of that," Harry whispered, leaning into Louis's touch. "I only care about you."
"I know, love," Louis pressed their foreheads together. "But I care about you too much to let that happen. To watch them tear you down, make you into something you're not. To see headlines calling us-" he couldn't finish the sentence.
Harry's hands came up to grip Louis's wrists, holding him there. "So we just give up? Let them win?"
"No," Louis's voice was fierce now. "We play their game. We do what we have to do to protect each other, to protect the band. But this?" He pressed closer, until they were sharing breath. "This is real. This is ours. They can't take that away."
"Promise?" Harry's voice was small, young in a way that broke Louis's heart.
"I promise," Louis sealed it with a kiss, soft and desperate. "No matter what happens, no matter who they make me pretend to be with. My heart is yours, Haz. Always has been."
Harry nodded against his lips, but Louis could feel the tears on his cheeks. They stood there in dim kitchen, holding each other, both aware that everything was about to change. Time would bring Eleanor and cameras and carefully constructed lies. But tonight, they could just be Harry and Louis, desperately trying to hold onto what they had while they still could.
Chapter 25: Present Day
Summary:
Harry embraces Louis in the kitchen, watching a damaging Instagram Live replay revealing their secret past. They discuss the implications of their love and the fear of public scrutiny. Harry expresses his desire to love Louis openly, while Louis grapples with the potential loss of his career and family security. Their conversation turns raw, as they confront years of suppressed feelings and the possibility of embracing their love despite the consequences.
Chapter Text
Harry stood in Louis's kitchen, arms wrapped around him from behind, watching his former bandmate - his forever love, if he was being honest - stare at his phone as Hannah's brother's Instagram Live replay continued. The evidence being presented wasn't what the fans thought - it wasn't texts about them falling in love. It was worse. It was Louis's old tour schedules, hotel bookings under Harry's various aliases, security footage from venues showing them sneaking off together.
"Well..." Harry started, drawing out the word in that slow way of his, "I suppose it was bound to happen eventually, wasn't it?" He tried for lightness, but his voice cracked on the last word.
Louis's shoulders tensed under his touch. "Proper mess this time, innit? Can't exactly explain away CCTV footage, can I?"
Harry pressed his forehead against the back of Louis's head, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. The same brand he'd used since they were teenagers. Four years apart hadn't changed that. Just like it hadn't changed the way Harry's heart still ached every time Louis pulled away.
"I feel like..." Harry paused, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something? Do you know what I mean? First Liam, and now this..."
"Don't," Louis cut him off sharply, accent thickening with emotion. "Don't you dare use Li to guilt me about this."
"That's not what I-" Harry stopped, frustrated. Even now, they kept having the same argument. "Lou, we're not kids anymore. We're not those scared boys Simon could threaten. You've built something amazing on your own, and I'm so... I'm so proud of you for that. But at some point, don't we deserve to just..."
"To what?" Louis turned in his arms, blue eyes fierce. "To blow up everything I've worked for? To let them proper destroy me? Because that's what'll happen, and you know it."
Harry's hands found Louis's face, thumbs brushing over those sharp cheekbones he'd memorized years ago. "Would it really be destruction though? Or would it be freedom?"
Louis's laugh was wet. "Always the romantic, aren't you, Harold?"
"Only with you," Harry murmured, meaning it more than any lyric he'd ever written. "Always with you."
The phone buzzed again between them. Louis's management, probably with another carefully crafted denial ready to go. Another nail in the coffin of their truth.
"I can't watch you hide anymore," Harry admitted, voice barely a whisper. "Can't... can't keep loving you in secret when all I want is to love you properly. Out loud. Even if it means..." he trailed off, emotion thick in his throat.
"Even if it means walking away again?" Louis finished, vulnerability cracking through his defensive walls.
Harry's heart shattered at the fear in Louis's voice. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Not stubbornness or shame - just pure, bone-deep fear of losing everything. Again.
"I don't want to walk away," Harry said slowly, deliberately. "But I don't want to be your secret anymore either. Not after Liam. Not after... everything."
Louis's phone kept buzzing between them, the world demanding answers. But for once, Harry didn't look away. For once, he held Louis's gaze and let all his love, his fear, his hope show plainly on his face.
Harry stared at Louis, memories flooding back - secret kisses in dressing rooms, whispered promises in the dark, that last desperate attempt during lockdown. Every time they'd tried to make it work, every time the world had torn them apart. His hands trembled slightly as he reached up to brush away a stray tear on Louis's face.
"Well..." Harry started, drawing the word out thoughtfully. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is... I'd still choose you. Even after everything. Even knowing how much it hurts when you push me away. Like, do you remember what you told Liam that day? About how I could be the only person in the whole world?"
Louis's breath hitched. "Harold-"
"No, let me... let me finish," Harry interrupted, voice slow and deliberate. "Because that's how I feel too. Always have, really. Through Victoria's Secret models and carefully planned publicity stunts and... everything. It's always been you."
Louis's phone buzzed again, making them both flinch.
"I know you're scared," Harry continued, his voice getting rougher. "And I know... I know what they could do to you. But Lou, we've spent thirteen years loving each other in secret. Thirteen years of goodbye kisses that taste like endings. And now Liam's gone, and life's so bloody short, and I just..." He trailed off, fighting back tears. "I can't keep pretending you're not everything to me."
"Haz," Louis whispered, accent thick with emotion, his hands coming up to grip Harry's wrists where they still cradled his face. "You proper know it's not that simple."
"Maybe it is though?" Harry suggested, with that philosophical tone he often used. "Like, maybe we've just convinced ourselves it's complicated because we're scared of what happens if it's not?"
"It's not?" Louis pulled back slightly, eyes sharp. "Because last time I checked, you're living your truth while I've got six siblings to think about. Got the twins about to start their show, haven't I? Got Freddie to protect. Got me mum's charity work that'd all go to shit the moment this comes out."
Harry's hands fell to his sides, that familiar ache blooming in his chest. Because Louis was right - it wasn't simple. It had never been simple.
"Well..." Harry drew out the word, gathering his thoughts. "I suppose I just... I feel like we're always finding reasons not to be brave. And like, maybe that made sense when we were younger? But now..." He trailed off, running a hand through his curls in frustration.
"Now what?" Louis challenged, that defensive edge creeping into his voice. "Now that you've got your mysterious 'maybe I do, maybe I don't' thing going? Dead easy for you to suggest being brave when you've never actually had to say the words yourself, innit?"
Harry flinched. Because that hit close to home, didn't it? All his careful dancing around labels, all his vague statements about love being love. He'd built a career on ambiguity while Louis had contracts explicitly forbidding even the suggestion of queerness.
"You're right," Harry admitted softly. "I'm... I'm not as brave as everyone thinks I am. Never have been, really. Do you know what I mean? Like, I wear the clothes and wave the flags but I've never... I've never actually said it. Because saying it would mean admitting that everything - all of it - was about you."
Louis's phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. The world wouldn't wait forever for their answer.
"Proper mess we've made of things, haven't we?" Louis's voice was quieter now, some of the fight draining out of him. "Can't even get it right when we're trying to say goodbye."
Harry's heart clenched. "Is that what this is? Another goodbye?"
Harry stared at Louis as he crossed the kitchen, memories flooding back, whispered promises of secret marriages, that devastating conversation when Freddie was on the way. Every goodbye they'd ever said played through his mind like a tragic highlight reel.
But this felt different. Maybe it was Liam's death making everything sharper, more urgent. Maybe it was the way Louis had looked at him last night, like that very first time in the X-Factor house - when they were just two boys with dreams bigger than themselves, before they knew what they'd have to sacrifice to keep them.
"Remember what you said to me?" Harry asked softly, his voice taking on that slow, thoughtful quality. "When we were kids? About how we could both be stars together?"
Louis's breath caught audibly, and Harry watched that familiar flicker of vulnerability cross his face before he could hide it.
"We were proper naive then, weren't we?" Louis tried for dismissive, but his voice cracked slightly.
"Maybe," Harry conceded, taking a careful step forward. "Or maybe... maybe we were just brave enough to believe in something bigger than ourselves? Like, before we learned to be scared?"
Louis's phone buzzed again. The outside world demanding answers. But Harry couldn't look away from Louis's face, from the war playing out behind those blue eyes he'd written countless songs about.
"I'd still marry you in secret," Harry whispered, echoing words from years ago. "Still hide rings and make up stories. But Lou... what if we didn't have to? What if... what if this is the universe giving us one last chance to be brave?"
The silence stretched between them, heavy with thirteen years of love and fear and possibility.
Louis's eyes flashed with that familiar fire, the kind that used to light up X-Factor rehearsal rooms and stadium stages. "Brave?" he echoed, voice rising. "You want to talk about being brave? I've got to worry about me Freddie asking why people at school say his dad's a..." He cut himself off, hands trembling. "Got to worry about me sisters getting harassed online every time someone posts another theory."
"'Course hasn't stopped me from thinking about it, has it?" Louis exploded, accent thick with emotion. "Sitting there at me kitchen table every morning, reading another headline about you and your latest model, knowing it's all bollocks because you still wear that bloody ring I gave you." He ran his hands through his hair roughly. "Been watching you parade around in them suits that look like they've got our whole story stitched into 'em, haven't I? Louis blue? While I'm stuck playing proper family man, pretending I don't know every single word to 'Adore You.'"
He stepped closer to Harry, close enough that Harry could feel the heat radiating off of him. "And you think I don't want to? That I don't look at you in your gorgeous suits and your painted nails and think about how fucking easy it could be to just..." His voice cracked. "To just say it? To tell everyone that yeah, actually, Harry fucking Styles ruined me for anyone else when I was eighteen years old?"
His phone buzzed again. Louis grabbed it and hurled it across the room, where it clattered against the wall.
"Could lose everything," he said, quieter now but no less intense. "Everything I've built. Me family's security, me son's future, all of it. And there's this voice in me head - sounds proper like me mum, actually - saying I should be smarter than this. Should think about everyone else first, like always."
He took a shaky breath, and when he looked at Harry again, there were tears in his eyes. "But then you show up at Li's funeral looking like... like that. Looking at me like you used to. And suddenly I'm thinking about burning it all down. Telling everyone to fuck right off with their contracts and their image and their bloody reality shows."
His voice cracked. "Because maybe they were right to keep us apart. Maybe they knew that even after thirteen years, I'd still choose you. Even if it meant watching everything I've built turn to ash. Even if it meant-" he choked on the words. "Even if it meant losing everything. Because that's what you do to me, Harold. That's what you've always done to me."
Harry's breath caught, because this wasn't their usual dance of careful words and plausible deniability. This was Louis, raw and honest and terrified, admitting everything they'd spent years dancing around.
Harry moved forward slowly, like approaching a spooked animal, until he could reach out and brush away the tear tracking down Louis's cheek. This time, Louis didn't flinch away.
"Remember what you promised me?" Harry whispered, the memory so vivid it made his chest ache. "That night after 1D Day, when we were hiding in that tiny bathroom because we knew management was looking for us?"
His hands trembled where they cradled Louis's face, remembering how young they'd been - how defiant. How Louis had pulled him into that bathroom after hours of forced distance.
"'No one gets to take this from us,'" Harry quoted, feeling the same rush of rebellion he'd felt back then. "'Not Simon, not management, not their stupid rules about sharing drinks or sitting together. Because this - us - it's bigger than their manufactured bullshit.' That's what you told me. Right after they'd spent hours screaming in our ears about maintaining distance."
Louis's eyes were swimming with tears now, and Harry could tell he remembered too.
"Was young and stupid then," Louis muttered, but his hands were still gripping Harry's wrists, holding on like he had that night when they'd hidden from everyone.
"No," Harry insisted, letting years of pent-up emotion color his words. "You were right. God, Lou, you were so right. That's why you kept fighting even when they threatened everything. That's why you..." He swallowed hard, remembering countless stolen moments after that, each act of rebellion getting more expensive.
The discarded phone buzzed again from somewhere behind them, its screen casting shadows on the wall. But right now, all Harry could focus on was Louis's face, those blue eyes he'd written countless songs about, and the possibility crackling in the air between them. Because maybe, finally, they were ready to be as brave as they'd been in that tiny bathroom all those years ago.
Chapter 26: November 2013
Summary:
Harry and Louis face strict restrictions during a livestream, feeling a desperate connection despite being forced apart. Harry defies management, expressing his love through song, while Louis struggles with the fallout. In a secluded bathroom, they share a passionate moment, vowing to protect their love despite potential consequences.
Chapter Text
Chapter 26: Chapter Twenty Six - Harry - November 2013
"Absolutely no physical contact. No sharing of personal items. And under no circumstances are you to sit together." The management representative's voice cut through the conference room like ice. Harry's skin crawled as she detailed their restrictions, her perfectly manicured nail tapping against the seating chart. "This is seven hours of live streaming. We cannot edit anything out."
Harry felt Louis's pinky brush against his thigh under the table - their last moment of connection before being forced apart. The touch sent electricity through him, even after all this time. He wanted to lean into it, to chase that warmth, but instead he forced himself to stay still. Across the table, Liam was watching them with that worried crease between his eyebrows, while Zayn's jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically. Niall had gone uncharacteristically quiet, studying his hands.
"Any deviation from these guidelines will have severe consequences. We'll be monitoring through your in-ears throughout the broadcast." Her words hung in the air like a threat.
Three hours into the livestream, Harry felt like his skin was too tight. He'd been hyperaware of Louis's location the entire time, like there was a magnetic pull between them that grew more insistent with every forced foot of distance. Louis was in the middle of a story, his accent getting thicker the way it did when he was uncomfortable, gesturing with those delicate hands Harry wasn't allowed to hold anymore.
Harry glanced down at his nearly empty glass, condensation beading on the sides. Louis's voice was getting raspy - he always forgot to pace himself when he was nervous. Without thinking (or maybe thinking too much), Harry extended the glass toward him.
For a moment, everything slowed down. Louis's hand started to rise, that automatic response born from years of sharing everything, and then-
The screech through their earpieces was deafening. "SEPARATE IMMEDIATELY. NO CONTACT."
Niall actually yelped, hands flying to his ears. Louis's hand dropped like he'd been burned, his story cutting off mid-sentence. Harry watched the subtle tells most people wouldn't notice - the slight tremor in Louis's hands, the way his accent got just a bit rougher, the tightness around his eyes. Signs of fury only Harry could read after years of studying every micro-expression.
Liam jumped in smoothly, hands raised in that placating way of his, redirecting the conversation with practiced ease. But Harry couldn't look away from Louis, from the way he was holding himself so carefully still now, like one wrong move might shatter everything.
Seven hours of this. Seven hours of being screamed at for trying to hand his boy a drink.
Something hard and defiant crystallized in Harry's chest. Fine. If they wanted to control every movement, every interaction, then he'd show them exactly what they were trying to suppress.
Harry's heart was thundering as they positioned for "Little Things," fury from the drink incident still burning through his veins. From his spot at the far end, he watched Louis squat down on the opposite side, and even from this distance, he could read the anxiety radiating from him. Louis kept throwing nervous glances toward where management stood, their faces already dark with warning.
His part was up, and Harry made his choice. He stared directly at Louis, letting every forbidden emotion show on his face. The screaming in their earpieces was immediate and violent.
Louis's movements became increasingly agitated - first squatting, then sitting, then shifting backward. But it wasn't just to maintain eye contact like Harry had initially thought. He could see now how Louis was trying to break their connection without being obvious, attempting to protect Harry from himself. Each time Harry adjusted to keep their eyes locked, Louis would move again, panic flashing across his features.
"HARRY, FINAL WARNING," exploded through their earpieces.
Harry yanked his out, watching as Louis winced but kept his in, always the one trying to shoulder the burden of their rules. When Louis's solo came, Harry joined in, pouring years of suppressed love into every word. He saw Louis straighten his back, putting his mic down in what looked like an exaggerated joke to the audience, but Harry knew better - it was Louis trying to deflect, to make it seem like banter rather than what it really was.
Liam turned to Louis with that knowing look, and Harry watched Louis's face flash with terror before he masked it with a laugh. Still, Louis couldn't help looking back at Harry, drawn to him even as he tried to protect them both.
The constant glances Louis kept throwing toward management grew more frequent, more desperate.
By the end, Harry's throat was tight with emotion, but not just from love - from the realization that while he'd been making his defiant statement, Louis had been trying to save them both from the fallout he knew would come.
"It just kinda happened," Harry said afterward, watching Louis's shoulders sag with relief that the song was over, even as his eyes held a warning: 'what have you done?'
The consequences would come later - they always did - and this time, Harry realized with a sinking heart, Louis would probably bear the brunt of them. Just like he always had.
The second the livestream ended, Harry felt Louis's hand wrap around his wrist, yanking him away from the chaos erupting behind them. Seven hours of forced distance had left him hypersensitive to Louis's touch - even this simple contact sent electricity racing through his veins.
Louis pulled them through winding corridors, his grip tight enough to bruise. Harry could feel the tremors in Louis's hand, could read the panic in the set of his shoulders. But he followed willingly, desperately, after hours of being told he couldn't even look at the boy he loved.
The bathroom Louis shoved them into was tiny, barely big enough for two people. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Louis's face as he locked the door, his hands shaking.
"You absolute madman," Louis breathed, crowding Harry against the door. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with a mixture of fear and something darker. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
"I don't care anymore," Harry's voice came out rough. Seven hours of singing through management's screaming had left his throat raw. "I couldn't- I couldn't pretend for one more second."
"They're going to destroy us for this," Louis whispered, but his body was already pressing closer, like he couldn't help himself. "They're going to make me- they always make me-"
Harry knew what Louis couldn't say. Knew how management always punished Louis harder, blamed him for Harry's defiance. But after seven hours of watching Louis flinch at every command in their earpieces, of seeing him try to protect them both by constantly shifting position during Little Things...
"Let them try," Harry growled, hands finding Louis's hips. "I'm tired of watching you take the blame for loving me."
Louis surged forward with a desperate sound, kissing Harry like he was drowning. His hands tangled in Harry's hair, tugging just this side of painful, and Harry gasped into his mouth.
"You're going to get us killed," Louis muttered between kisses, but his body betrayed him, pressing closer. "That whole thing with the drink, and then Little Things..."
"Worth it," Harry breathed against his lips. "You're worth everything."
The first pound on the door made Louis jump, terror flashing across his features. But Harry held him close, remembering every second of forced distance, every screamed command, every time they'd been torn apart.
"I won't let them hurt you," Harry promised, even though they both knew it was a lie. Management would find a way - they always did. But for now, in this tiny bathroom with Louis trembling against him, Harry could pretend they were stronger than all the forces trying to tear them apart.
The pounding grew louder, and reality began seeping back in. But Harry memorized this moment - Louis's racing heartbeat against his chest, the lingering taste of him on his lips, the way his hands still shook with equal parts desire and fear.
Some things were worth any consequence.
"I love you," Louis whispered fiercely, his voice breaking. "God, I love you so much it terrifies me."
Harry's hands trembled where they cradled Louis's face, their foreheads pressed together in the harsh fluorescent light. "Then don't let them take this from us. Not again."
Something shifted in Louis's eyes - that spark of defiance that had first made Harry fall in love with him all those years ago. His hands tightened in Harry's shirt, and when he spoke, his voice was stronger.
"No one gets to take this from us," Louis declared, the words tumbling out like he'd been holding them back for hours. "Not Simon, not management, not their stupid rules about sharing drinks or sitting together. Because this - us - it's bigger than their manufactured bullshit."
Harry's breath caught. Even terrified, even knowing what would come next, Louis was still the bravest person he knew.
"One day," Louis continued, softer now but just as fierce, "we won't have to hide anything. You'll wear whatever you want, and I'll..." he swallowed hard, "and I'll be brave enough to stand beside you properly."
"Promise?" Harry's voice cracked on the word.
"Promise," Louis breathed, sealing it with a desperate kiss. "Even when I'm taking the heat for us, even when I have to pretend... this is real. You and me. It's always been real."
The door handle rattled violently - they were trying keys now. Their time was running out.
"They're going to make me pay for this," Louis whispered against Harry's lips, but there was a new resolve in his voice. "But you're worth it. You've always been worth it."
Harry clutched him closer, memorizing every detail of this moment - the way Louis's hands shook even as his words grew stronger, the mix of terror and love in his eyes, the promise that would echo through years of forced separation and careful distance.
The lock clicked. Reality was about to come crashing back in. But they had this moment - this promise - and no one could take that from them.
Not even the gods above.
Chapter 27: Present Day
Summary:
Louis reflects on memories with Harry while struggling with the pressure from his management. Lottie calls and urges Louis to seek happiness, reminding him of their connection. As they share vulnerabilities, Harry expresses a desire to love openly. He presents a ring, symbolizing their commitment to a future together. Louis accepts, marking a new beginning.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis stared at Harry's face, memories crashing over him like waves. The tiny bathroom. The promises. The years of destruction and careful distance that followed. His phone buzzed again from where it had smashed against the wall of his kitchen - probably his management team again.
"Fuck," he muttered, reaching for the Grey Goose bottle over the sink. His hands were shaking so badly he nearly knocked over the crystal tumbler. The vodka burned clean and familiar going down. This house had always felt too big, too empty, but right now the walls seemed to be closing in.
Harry's phone lit up then, Lottie's name flashing across the screen. After seeing them together at her place the other day, seeing him playing with Lucky, it shouldn't have surprised him. Still felt weird though, how easily Harry had slotted back into their lives, like he'd never left.
Harry glanced at him before answering and putting it on speaker.
"Haz?" Lottie's voice filled the kitchen. "Thank god. Been trying Lou for ages but-"
"Because management won't stop fucking calling," Louis cut in, voice rough. "And before you start, I know what you're gonna say-"
"Good, then shut up and listen," Lottie shot back, pure Tomlinson fire. "I've seen what's happening. To be honest, I knew from the moment you walked into my house the other day how this would go. And you know what? For the first time since we lost Mum, you looked... you've looked like you again."
Louis's hand tightened around his glass. "Lots..."
"No, I'm not done. Remember what you said to me, after that day Harry came round? About how it felt like everything made sense again? Well, maybe that's because it does."
His eyes burned, remembering his mum's fierce determination. How she'd always known what they meant to each other, even before they did.
"They'll take everything," he whispered, but even he could hear the fight leaving his voice. "The contracts, the show-"
"Let them," Lottie said fiercely. "We're Tomlinsons. We survive. That's what we do. And this time you won't be facing it alone. We'd rather have nothing than have it cost us you. We can't lose you like we lost Liam."
Harry stayed silent, but his presence across the counter felt like an anchor. Like home.
"Just... be happy, Lou," Lottie's voice softened. "That's all any of us want. All Mum ever wanted."
The line went quiet, and Louis stared at the dark phone screen, his heart hammering against his ribs. Everything felt too bright, too sharp - like when you surface from underwater and the world comes rushing back in technicolor.
He took another sip of vodka, smaller this time, trying to ground himself. Across the counter, Harry remained perfectly still, like he was afraid any movement might shatter whatever was happening between them.
"D'you remember," Louis started, then had to clear his throat. "D'you remember that night in the X-Factor house? When everyone else was asleep?"
Harry's breath caught audibly. "Which time?"
"When I told you I was scared." Louis's laugh was watery. "Proper terrified, actually. Not of... not of us. But of everything else. And you just..." He gestured vaguely with his glass. "You just held my hand and said we'd figure it out."
"Lou-"
"No, let me..." Louis set the glass down, running shaky fingers through his hair. "Been thinking about Liam and how he never thought he was running out of time until it was gone. About how his entire story got cut short." His voice cracked. "And I keep thinking about Mum, yeah? How she always knew. Always saw right through every bit of bullshit I tried to feed. She knew we were meant to be."
He looked up then, really looked at Harry, seeing not just the man he'd become but echoes of the boy he'd been. The one who'd painted his nails in secret and written love songs in code.
"I'm so fucking tired," Louis whispered, and it felt like confession. Like surrender. "Of pretending. Of being angry. Of waking up every morning and having to remember why I can't just..."
He trailed off, but Harry stayed quiet, giving him space to find the words.
"It's like..." Louis swallowed hard. "It's like I've spent so long building these walls that I forgot how to breathe without them. And now Li's gone, and everything feels different, but you're still... you're still looking at me the same way you did back then. Like I'm worth something. Like I matter."
Tears were falling freely now, but Louis didn't bother wiping them away. "And I don't know how to do this. Any of it. But I know I can't... I can't lose anyone else. Can't waste any more time pretending you don't still feel like home."
His voice broke on the last word, and Harry made a soft, wounded sound. But he didn't move closer, didn't try to touch. Just waited, like he always had, for Louis to be ready.
"I'm still scared," Louis admitted, barely above a whisper. "Properly terrified, if I'm honest. But maybe... maybe that's okay? Maybe we can just... take it slow? Figure it out together? Like we used to?"
And there it was - hope blooming in Harry's eyes, cautious but unmistakable. Like sunrise after the longest night.
Harry moved then, rounding the counter slowly, like approaching a spooked animal. His hands found Louis's face, thumbs brushing away tears with a gentleness that made Louis's chest ache.
"Together," Harry whispered, echoing their earlier conversation. "Always wanted that, Lou. Never stopped wanting that."
Louis leaned into the touch despite himself, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling under the familiar warmth of Harry's hands. When their foreheads pressed together, it felt like coming home.
"Just us," Louis breathed, the words barely audible. His hands found Harry's waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor. "That's all that matters now, innit?"
Harry's response was to close the remaining distance between them. The kiss started soft, tentative - nothing like their desperate embrace earlier. This was slower, deeper, heavy with the weight of everything they'd finally spoken aloud.
Louis pressed closer, backing Harry against the counter as the kiss deepened. He tasted like memories - like late nights in tour bus bunks and secret meetings in hotel rooms. Like everything Louis had spent years trying to forget.
Harry's fingers tangled in Louis's hair, pulling a soft sound from him that got lost between their lips. The urgency was building now, years of wanting threatening to overflow, but Louis forced himself to keep it slow. To savor every moment, every touch, every shared breath.
When they finally broke apart, Harry's eyes were glassy, his lips swollen. He looked exactly like he had all those years ago - young and beautiful and so in love it hurt to look at directly.
"Lou," Harry whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I need you to know something." His fingers traced Louis's jaw, mapping the familiar angles like he was trying to memorize them all over again. "All these years, all I've ever wanted..."
He paused, swallowing hard. Louis could feel him trembling slightly under his hands.
"I don't care about what it's going to take to make this work," Harry continued, voice growing stronger. "I used to think I could do it - hide everything, pretend we were just mates. But after losing Liam, after everything... I want to love you properly. Out loud."
Louis's breath hitched, but Harry pressed on, years of bottled feelings spilling out.
"I want to hold your hand at coffee shops. Want to kiss you at premieres. Want everyone to know that every love song I've ever written was about the boy from Doncaster who stole my heart in a bathroom at X-Factor."
"Haz-" Louis started, but Harry shook his head.
"Let me finish. Because I need you to understand. I think... I think maybe we've both spent enough time hiding."
Louis felt fresh tears falling, but this time they felt different. Cleansing. Like rain after drought.
Harry reached into his pocket then, hands trembling as he pulled out the simple gold band. The light caught it, making it glow like a promise.
"Remember those nights at Princess Park?" Harry's laugh was watery. "When we'd lay on the living room floor, planning our future? You said you'd marry me in secret if you had to. Said we could wear our rings on chains and make up stories." He held the ring between them. "I would have done it then, Lou. Would have done anything just to have you. But now..."
The ring glinted between them, a physical manifestation of thirteen years of love and longing. "Now I want everything. Want to wear matching rings in broad daylight. Want to tell our story - the real one. Not the sanitized version management created, but ours. About two scared kids who fell in love and never stopped, even when the whole world seemed determined to keep them apart."
Louis reached out with shaking fingers to touch the band. "H..."
"I know who you are now, Louis Tomlinson. Know every piece of you - the scared parts, the brave parts, all of it. And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you out loud."
Tears were falling freely down both their faces now, but neither moved to wipe them away.
"So what do you say, Lou?" Harry's voice cracked. "Ready to stop hiding?"
Louis surged forward, pressing their foreheads together. "Yes," he breathed. "Christ, yes. To everything. To all of it."
As Harry slipped the ring onto Louis's finger, the sun painted them both in golden light. And for the first time in thirteen years, neither of them felt the need to step into shadows.
Because some love stories deserve to be told in daylight.
And theirs was just beginning.
Notes:
What do you say chat? Do I keep going? Is this the end of their story for now?
Chapter 28: October 2015
Summary:
Louis paces in his hotel room, anxious about the premature baby news and Harry's silence. After a distressing call with Briana, Louis discovers the baby hasn't been born yet, but tensions rise as Briana threatens legal battles. Louis seeks Harry, finding him unconscious on the roof. Despite Harry's struggles and harsh words, Louis vows to help him and pledges to make things right.
Chapter Text
Louis paced the cramped hotel room, his socked feet wearing patterns into the beige carpet. Down the hall, Niall and Liam's laughter filtered through the walls - normally he'd be right there with them, probably planning some ridiculous prank. But not today. Not with Harry ghosting him and this baby mess hanging over his head.
His phone buzzed against the nightstand. The headline made his stomach drop: "Louis Tomlinson's Baby Born Prematurely in LA."
"What the actual fuck?" He grabbed the phone, fingers trembling as he punched in management's number. "Oi, someone better tell me what's going on! There's bloody articles saying me kid's been born!"
The calm voice on the other end just made him more agitated. "Louis, we're looking into—"
"Looking into it? Are you having a laugh? I haven't heard from Briana in weeks and now this? Bit more urgent than 'looking into it,' innit?"
"The show tonight—"
"Sod the show! This is me child we're talking about!" He ended the call with more force than necessary, tossing the phone onto the bed.
The silence in the room pressed in on him. Harry would know what to say right now - he always did. But Harry wasn't here. Hadn't properly been here since the news broke about Briana.
Louis dropped onto the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Everything was spiraling - the band, Harry, this maybe-baby situation. And for the first time since X-Factor, he had no idea how to fix any of it.
"Proper mess you've made this time, Tommo," he muttered to himself, staring at his phone and willing it to ring with answers.
He needed Harry now more than ever. But Harry… Harry was avoiding him like he was some sort of plague. He wouldn't even speak to him unless it was on stage. Wouldn't look at him in band meetings.
“Shit,” Louis muttered under his breath, frustration boiling within him as he stared at his phone, wishing for a miracle that would bring them back together amidst all this chaos.
He couldn't help but think how different this would be if he hadn't lost everything in one stupid night - if he hadn't been so desperate to forget Harry's face after their fight, if he hadn't ended up in that club, if he hadn't ruined the one thing that actually mattered.
"Sod this," he muttered, pulling up Briana's contact. His thumb hovered over her name. Their last conversation had ended in barely concealed threats about lawyers and custody arrangements. As if losing Harry wasn't enough, now he had to navigate this mess too.
"Come on, come on," he urged as the phone rang. Each second felt like an hour until finally-
"Hello?" Briana's voice crackled through, that familiar edge of hostility already present.
"Oi, Briana! Have you seen what they're saying? About the baby-"
"I really don't want to deal with this right now, Louis."
"Deal with it? They're saying you've had our kid!" His free hand gestured wildly even though she couldn't see him. "Has something happened?"
"No! God, no. I'm still very much pregnant. Not due till January."
The tension dropped from his shoulders so fast he nearly collapsed onto the bed. "Bloody hell, that's- that's good then."
The line went quiet for a moment. Then: "I heard he's not speaking to you anymore. Good."
Louis's stomach twisted. Three months of silence from Harry felt like a lifetime. Every closed door, every avoided glance, every empty space where Harry used to be - it was slowly killing him. "That's none of your business."
"It is when it comes to my child," she shot back. "At least now I won't have to worry about him playing house with my baby."
"He wouldn't-" Louis started, then stopped. What did it matter? Harry could barely look at him now. The thought of them ever being a family seemed like a cruel joke.
"Just remember what my lawyers said," Briana continued, voice cold. "When this baby comes, I want everything in writing. And I mean everything."
Louis pressed his fingers against his temples, fighting back the urge to scream. He had millions in the bank, a successful career - but what did any of it matter? He'd lost Harry, and now Briana was making it clear she'd fight him every step of the way.
"We need to sort this," he said finally, trying to keep his voice steady. "Properly sort it. Before January."
"Oh, we will," Briana replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Just be grateful he walked away. Makes everything much simpler."
The line went dead before he could respond. Louis stared at his phone, feeling the walls closing in. Harry's absence felt like a physical ache in his chest, and now this. He'd managed to fuck up every good thing in his life in one go.
The worst part? He couldn't even blame Briana for being bitter. He'd ruined everything all on his own.
Louis pocketed his phone, feeling proper drained. The fake baby news, Briana's threats, Harry's silence - it was doing his head in. He needed a distraction, and soundcheck was as good as any.
He found Niall and Liam in the hotel corridor, both already dressed for the show. Niall was sprawled against the wall, strumming his guitar and humming something that sounded suspiciously like "Sweet Caroline."
"Tommo!" Niall's voice carried that familiar Irish lilt, bright despite everything. "Where've you been hiding, mate?"
"Sorting some stuff," Louis mumbled, not meeting their eyes. "We heading to soundcheck then?"
Liam gave him that look - the responsible one he'd perfected since X-Factor days. "Everything alright? Saw something online about the baby-"
"It's bollocks," Louis cut him off. "Just the papers making shit up again."
"Right then," Liam nodded, always the diplomat. "Has anyone seen Harry? Haven't caught him all day."
Louis's stomach dropped. He hadn't even thought to check if Harry was okay - had just assumed he was avoiding him like usual.
"Probably just having one of his strops," Niall shrugged, but his eyes flickered worriedly between Louis and Liam. "He'll turn up."
The venue was chaos when they arrived - techs running about, security briefings happening in corners, their band warming up on stage. But no Harry.
"This isn't like him," Liam muttered after their third attempt to call him went straight to voicemail. "He never misses soundcheck. Not even when-" he caught himself, glancing at Louis.
"Not even when what, Payno?" Louis snapped, anxiety making him sharp. "Not even when he's avoiding me?"
"Lads," Niall stepped between them, guitar still slung across his back. "Let's not do this now, yeah? Paul's already about to have a coronary."
Their tour manager was indeed looking more frazzled by the minute, barking into his radio about Harry's whereabouts.
"We should split up," Liam suggested, already taking charge. "Check his usual spots. Niall, take the dressing rooms. I'll check catering and the quiet rooms. Louis-"
"I know where he'll be," Louis said quietly, a horrible feeling settling in his gut. Because he did know - knew Harry better than anyone, even now. And if Harry was spiraling like Louis suspected, there was only one place he'd go.
The roof. It had always been their spot - the place they'd escape to when everything got too much. The one place where they could just be Louis and Harry, not One Direction, not closeted popstars, not whatever broken thing they were now.
"I'll find him," Louis promised, already heading for the fire exit. "Just... stall Paul for a bit, yeah?"
"Lou," Niall called after him, face serious for once. "Fix this. Please."
Louis nodded tightly, taking the stairs two at a time. His heart was pounding, but not from the exercise. Something felt wrong. Really wrong.
And if anything had happened to Harry because Louis had been too caught up in his own drama to notice...
He pushed that thought away, focusing on climbing. Harry had to be okay. He had to be.
Louis burst through the roof door, heart stopping at the sight before him. Harry was slumped against the concrete barrier, an empty tequila bottle rolled by his feet, pill bottle lying open beside him. His usually perfect curls were matted to his forehead, face ghostly pale in the afternoon sun.
"No, no, no," Louis's voice cracked as he sprinted forward, dropping to his knees. "Haz? Harry, wake up!"
Harry's eyes fluttered, unfocused and glassy. "Lou?" His voice was barely a whisper, slurred. "Why're you here? You should be going to LA..."
The bitterness in Harry's voice cut deeper than any knife. "That article was fake. The baby's not- it hasn't happened yet."
"Does it matter?" Harry laughed hollowly, trying to push Louis away. "S'happening eventually. You made sure of that, didn't you? One drunk night and you ruined everything we built."
"I know," Louis choked out, hands trembling as he pushed Harry's curls back. "I know I fucked up. But please... please tell me what you took."
"Why?" Harry's eyes were swimming with tears. "So you can save me again? Keep me hanging on like you always do? I can't- I can't do it anymore, Lou."
"Harry," Louis whispered, pulling Harry against his chest despite his weak struggles. "Don't give up on me."
"I'm not giving up," Harry slurred, his head falling heavily against Louis's shoulder. "I'm setting you free. Isn't that what you wanted? Freedom to be normal?"
"I've never wanted normal," Louis sobbed, feeling Harry's pulse weakening under his fingers. He needed to call Paul, needed to get help, but he couldn't let go. Not when Harry was finally talking to him after months of silence. "I wanted you. I've always wanted you."
"Liar," Harry whispered, tears soaking into Louis's shirt. "You wanted easy. Want a family. Can't have that with me..."
"You're my family," Louis insisted fiercely, finally reaching for his phone. "You've been my family since I was eightteen. The baby... that's happening, yeah. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. Nothing could change that."
"Too late now," Harry's grip on Louis's shirt was weakening. "I'm tired, Lou. So tired of watching you slip away..."
"I'm not slipping anywhere," Louis promised, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "I'm right here. And when you get through this, I'll prove it to you. No more running."
"You say that now," Harry mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. "But you always run. You always will..."
"Not this time," Louis whispered, pressing his forehead to Harry's. "Never again. Just stay with me, love. Please stay with me."
Louis's hands shook as he dialed Paul directly instead of emergency services. Management would want this handled quietly. Always quietly.
"Paul. Roof. Now. Just you," he managed, then dropped the phone to focus on Harry. "How many did you take? Harry, look at me."
"Doesn't matter," Harry mumbled, trying weakly to push Louis away.
"Fuck that," Louis's voice broke, tears spilling over. "Just stay awake, yeah? Stay with me."
"Always loved you," Harry slurred, eyes starting to close. "Even when- even after everything. M'sorry I wasn't enough..."
"Don't you dare," Louis sobbed, pulling Harry against his chest. "Don't you fucking dare say goodbye. You're everything, you absolute idiot. You're everything."
Harry's head lolled against his shoulder, breathing shallow. "Tired, Lou..."
The roof door opened quietly, Paul appearing with Alberto close behind. Their faces went grim at the scene.
"Through the back," Paul said immediately, already on his phone. "We'll get the doctor up to his room. No hospitals, no records."
Louis wanted to scream at how familiar this felt - another crisis managed in shadows, another secret kept to protect the brand. But Harry needed help now. Arguments could come later.
They carried Harry down through the service corridors, past confused staff who would later sign NDAs. The show's opening act was already on stage - their music covering the sound of hushed voices and hurried footsteps.
"Cancel it," Louis demanded as they laid Harry on his hotel bed, the on-call doctor already working. "Cancel the whole fucking show."
Paul nodded grimly. "Already done. Official story is food poisoning. Niall and Liam are handling press."
He kept whispering promises against Harry's temple even as the doctor arrived, even as they ran tests, even as they gave shots. Outside, fans were being told about food poisoning and rescheduled shows. But in that quiet room, watching Harry fight to stay, Louis made a different kind of promise.
No more letting fear win. No more watching Harry break himself apart trying to love someone who wasn't brave enough to love him back properly.
"I'll make it right," he whispered, pressing his lips to Harry's knuckles where that silver peace ring still sat - the one Harry had never taken off, even after everything. "Just stay with me, love. I'll make it all right this time."
Chapter 29: Present Day
Summary:
Harry and Louis share an intimate moment, expressing their love and commitment. Louis wears a ring once watched after by Liam, signaling a shift in their private lives. Amid the pressures of management and the past, they vow to face the world together. Their connection deepens as they head upstairs, ready to embrace their love.
Chapter Text
Harry held Louis close, feeling the slight tremor in his body that had nothing to do with the Grey Goose he'd been nursing. The ring - the one that he'd given to Liam to protect all those years ago - caught the kitchen light, now finally where it belonged on Louis's finger.
"We don't have to-" Harry started, but Louis shook his head, pressing his face further into Harry's neck.
"M'not backing out," Louis mumbled, but Harry could hear the fear threading through his voice. The same fear that had been carefully cultivated by men in expensive suits who'd pulled a terrified eighteen-year-old boy into closed-door meetings Harry was never allowed to attend.
Harry ran his fingers through Louis's hair, silver strands mixing with the brown now. Beautiful. Everything about him was still so beautiful it made Harry's chest ache.
"Remember what you used to tell me?" Harry asked softly, his mustache brushing Louis's temple. "Back when I'd get scared about being too obvious?"
Louis's laugh was watery against his skin. "That they could all fuck off?"
"No," Harry smiled, though that had been a common refrain too. "You'd say 'just look at me, love. Nothing else matters.'"
"Christ," Louis pulled back slightly, eyes rimmed red. "Was a proper romantic little shit, wasn't I?"
"Were?" Harry teased gently, thumbing away a tear from Louis's cheek. "You just let me put a ring on you in your kitchen at two in the morning."
"Technically," Louis's voice wavered, "you've had that ring since 2014. Bit slow on the delivery there, Harold."
Harry's heart clenched at how Louis's hand shook as he reached for his crystal tumbler. He knew what this meant - what they were considering. No more careful deflections. No more "private life is private." No more letting other people write their story.
"Hey," Harry caught Louis's wrist gently, feeling his pulse race under his fingers. "Look at me, Lou."
Those blue eyes met his - still the same ones he'd fallen in love with at sixteen, even with crow's feet at the corners now. Still terrified of the same things, even after all these years.
"We don't owe them anything," Harry said firmly. "Not one single thing. If you want to keep this just for us-"
"That's just it though, innit?" Louis's voice cracked. "It's always been just for us. Always been our secret to protect. And I'm so fucking tired of protecting it."
Harry pulled him closer again, feeling Louis's fingers grip his jumper like an anchor.
"They tried so hard to break us," Louis whispered, words muffled against Harry's chest. "All those years, all those meetings. Telling me I had to be different. Had to be normal. Had to protect you by staying away from you."
Harry closed his eyes against the surge of anger - not at Louis, never at Louis. At the people who'd taken a bright, fearless boy and taught him to be afraid of his own heart.
"But they didn't break us," Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to Louis's hair. "We're still here. Still us."
Louis nodded, then pulled back just enough to look up at Harry. His eyes were wet but determined. "Think that's what scares me most, actually. That after everything they did, everything I did... you're still here. Still looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I didn't waste a decade of our lives being too scared to love you properly." Louis's voice was barely a whisper.
"Hey, no," Harry cupped Louis's face in his hands. "You loved me the best way you knew how. And you protected me from so much. But Lou... you don't have to protect me anymore. Let me protect us this time."
The phone buzzed again from somewhere in the house - probably another journalist looking for comment on the latest "insider" story. But for once, Louis didn't flinch at the sound.
Instead, he reached up, fingers tracing over Harry's mustache with a watery smile. "Proper grown up now, aren't you? Meanwhile I'm going grey like some old man."
"You're beautiful," Harry said fiercely. "Every silver hair, every laugh line. They're all mine now. If... if you want them to be."
Louis's answer was to pull Harry down into a kiss that tasted of vodka and tears and thirteen years of waiting.
The ring glinted between them, no longer a reminder of what they'd lost, but a promise finally ready to be kept.
Harry deepened the kiss, tasting the expensive vodka on Louis's tongue, feeling the slight scratch of stubble against his own. Louis's fingers were tangled in his hair now, the cool metal of the ring sending shivers down Harry's spine.
"Missed you," Louis breathed against his lips. "Missed you so fucking much, even when I was trying not to." He pressed closer to Harry, backing him against the kitchen counter while he pulled at his shirt. "Missed these," Louis murmured against Harry's collarbone, fingers tracing the butterfly that had always been his.
Harry's skin burned everywhere Louis' fingers trailed. "M'here now. Not going anywhere." Harry hummed as Louis'' hands slid under his thighs to lift him onto the counter. Even after all these years, his legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer.
"Better not be," Louis tugged gently at Harry's curls the way he used to, making him gasp. "Took you long enough to come back, didn't it?"
"Says the man who changed his phone number three times," Harry mumbled, trailing kisses down Louis's jaw.
"Oi, that was-" Louis's retort was cut off by the sound of keys in the front door.
Harry was perched on the kitchen counter, Louis standing between his thighs, both shirtless and breathing heavy when the front door slammed open.
"Tommo! Management's having a proper meltdown, mate. Have you seen the shit Taylor's old makeup artist is saying on Insta? And some runner from the X-Factor days is- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"
Harry instinctively tried to hide against Louis's chest, but Louis stayed where he was, one protective arm across Harry while reaching for their shirts.
"Christ alive, are we back 'ere then?" Oli's thick Donny accent went from shocked to ice cold. "After everything?"
"Mate-" Louis started, his Yorkshire accent sharp, but Oli cut him off.
"Nah, fuck that. I sat through every meeting in 2020, didn't I? Watched them smirking behind their hands, acting like you were lucky to even get an offer. 'The weakest link from One Direction,' they called ya. While he was getting wined and dined by every major label in the world. And telling you not to take the offers you could get-"
"It's not... it wasn't like that," Harry drawled slowly. "I never wanted him to give up his career. I just didn't want him to have to hide… I wanted him to find a label that understood."
"Understood plenty, didn't they?" Oli barked out a laugh. "Watched him get passed over again and again. Too rough round the edges, they said. Not polished enough. While you were their golden boy, and him? Just the lad from Donny who got lucky-"
"Oi, shut your fucking mouth!" Louis snapped, accent thickening with anger. "You don't get to bring that shit up. Not when I fought my way through every door they tried to close."
"Did ya?" Oli challenged. "Because I remember you proper breaking down after that Sony exec said you were 'punching above your weight' even being in the same room as their A&R team. While he was headlining Wembley without breaking a sweat."
"Please stop," Harry's voice was low, deliberate.
But Oli's eyes were hard and he wasn't done yet. "And where were ya when his album tanked? When they wouldn't even give him proper promo because they said he 'lacked star quality'? While you were on the cover of every magazine?"
"I SAID ENOUGH!" Louis's voice echoed through the kitchen, pure Yorkshire fire. "I know what they think of me, don't I? Know I'll never be the superstar he is. But I made my own music, on me own terms. And I'm proud of that."
The kitchen fell silent except for their breathing.
"If this goes tits up again," Oli said finally, "if they come for him because of this-"
"Then they'll have to go through me," Harry's voice was firm despite its slowness.
Oli studied them for a long moment.
"Right then," he sighed heavily. "I'll tell them where to stick their opinions. But Louis?"
"Yeah, mate?"
"Just... handle it proper this time, yeah? Both of you. And for fuck's sake, put your clothes on before someone else walks in."
The door clicked shut behind him. For a moment there was silence, then Harry snorted softly.
"Your best mate has the worst timing in England, I swear to god."
"In England?" Louis raised an eyebrow, his Yorkshire accent thick with amusement. "Think you mean the whole bloody world, love. Remember Princess Park?"
"Which time?" Harry drawled slowly, fighting a grin. "The shower or the-"
"Oi! We agreed never to mention the kitchen counter incident again!"
"Pretty sure we're making new kitchen counter memories right now," Harry smirked, pulling Louis closer.
"Cheeky bastard," Louis murmured fondly, pressing a kiss to Harry's collarbone. "Though I seem to remember you being quite fond of that particular incident..."
"Mhmm," Harry hummed, trailing his fingers down Louis's spine. "Was quite fond of a lot of things that happened in Princess Park..."
Louis's breath hitched. "Yeah? Like what?"
"Like..." Harry's voice went even slower, deeper. "The way you'd wake me up in the morning... how you'd push me against the wall when you got home from recording... that thing you did with your tongue when-"
"Christ," Louis groaned, pressing their foreheads together. "You can't just say things like that when you look like this..."
"Like what?" Harry's innocent tone was betrayed by the mischief in his eyes.
"Like..." Louis traced Harry's bottom lip with his thumb. "Like every fantasy I've had for the past three years come to life."
The teasing mood shifted into something heavier, more intense. Harry's breath caught as Louis's other hand slid up his bare chest.
"Lou..." Harry's voice was barely a whisper now. "Take me upstairs?"
"Yeah?" Louis brushed their noses together softly.
"Yeah," Harry caught Louis's bottom lip between his teeth. "Want you properly. In our bed."
Louis pulled back just enough to meet Harry's eyes, dark with want but soft with something deeper. "Our bed?"
"Our everything," Harry promised, pulling him in for a proper kiss.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavy, Louis took Harry's hand and helped him down from the counter.
"Come on then, love," he murmured, leading Harry toward the stairs. "Let's go home."
They barely made it up the stairs, Louis pressing Harry against the wall every few steps to kiss him breathless, until they finally stumbled through the bedroom door. But when Louis reached to pull him close again, Harry held back slightly, his eyes searching Louis's face.
"What is it, love?" Louis's voice went soft, thumb stroking Harry's cheek.
"Just..." Harry's slow drawl was uncertain. "Is this real? Are we really..."
"Hey," Louis stepped closer, resting their foreheads together. "M'right here. Not going anywhere."
"You say that now," Harry whispered, vulnerability creeping into his voice. "But what happens when it gets hard again? When the world starts pushing in?"
"Look at me, darling," Louis waited until Harry's eyes met his. "Not letting anything tear us apart this time. Not the press, not management, not our own stupid fears. M'done pretending I can live without you."
Harry's breath hitched. "Promise?"
"Promise," Louis sealed it with a gentle kiss, then another that quickly turned heated.
Harry melted into it, pulling Louis flush against him as years of longing spilled over. Louis's hands slid under Harry's thighs, lifting him just like he used to, making Harry gasp into his mouth.
"Still so strong," Harry mumbled against Louis's lips, legs wrapping around his waist.
"Still fit perfectly," Louis breathed, carrying him to the bed. He laid Harry down carefully, hovering over him with such tenderness it made Harry's eyes sting.
"Lou..." Harry reached up to trace Louis's features, like he was making sure he was real. "Missed you so much. Missed this... missed us..."
"My beautiful boy," Louis pressed kisses to each of Harry's butterfly wing tattoos, making him shiver. "Gonna take care of you properly this time."
Harry's skepticism flickered again. "What if-"
Louis silenced him with a deep kiss. "No what ifs. Just us. Just this."
As Louis's mouth traced down his neck, Harry arched up with a whimper. "Please... need you..."
"I've got you," Louis murmured against his skin. "Always got you."
Harry's hands tangled in Louis's hair as familiar touches mixed with new discoveries. It was desperate and tender all at once - years of separation making them urgent, but love making them gentle.
"Still can't believe you're here," Harry gasped as Louis found a sensitive spot. "Keep thinking I'll wake up..."
"Not a dream, baby," Louis lifted his head to meet Harry's eyes, his own dark with desire but soft with emotion. "This is real. We're real."
Harry pulled him down for another kiss, pouring everything he couldn't say into it. And for a while, the only sounds were their shared breaths and whispered endearments as they lost themselves in each other.
If doubts still lingered in the back of Harry's mind, they were quieted by Louis's reverent touches and fierce promises. Maybe this time really would be different. Maybe they were finally strong enough to face whatever came next.
For now, though, Harry just held on tighter, letting himself believe in the forever in Louis's kisses.
Chapter 30: January 2016
Summary:
Harry receives a panicked call from Louis about Briana going into labor and immediately books a flight. Upon arriving, Harry learns Briana doesn't want him there, intensifying the tension. Post-birth, Harry imagines a stable home for Louis and Freddie, prompting him to buy a mansion. However, Louis faces threats from Briana regarding custody, forcing him to consider living arrangements that appease her demands. As they navigate these challenges, Harry and Louis maintain their connection amidst the chaos.
Notes:
"I think she said, "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business"
Chapter Text
Harry's hands shook as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, Louis's name lighting up the screen at 3 AM.
"He's coming," Louis's voice was tight with panic. "Bri's in labor and I... fuck, I don't know what I'm doing, H."
"I'll be on the next flight," Harry was already out of bed, throwing clothes into a bag. "Just breathe, love. Everything's going to be okay."
There was a pause, then Louis's voice went soft. "You don't have to-"
"Yes, I do." Harry's tone left no room for argument. After everything - the fights, the separation, the overdose, the promises whispered in hospital rooms - there was no question. "I'm coming."
Five hours later, Harry was pacing the worn carpet of Louis's hotel suite, waiting for news. He'd landed an hour ago, only to receive Louis's text about Briana.
She doesn't want you here. Says she won't have her son's birth turn into another chapter of our love story. Her words, not mine. I'm sorry, H.
Harry's chest tightened. He'd heard through mutual friends how bitter Briana had become since learning about him and Louis. Not that he blamed her - no one wanted to be the footnote in someone else's epic romance. During one particularly heated custody negotiation, she'd snapped at Louis, "Must be nice, having someone love you that much. The rest of us just get to be collateral damage."
His fingers traced over the anchor tattoo on his wrist - the one that matched Louis's rope - and tried not to think about how different this could have been if he'd just accepted the secrecy, stayed by Louis's side instead of walking away.
The hotel room felt suffocating. Louis had been living here since One Direction's last show, his things scattered everywhere - tea cups on every surface, unwashed hoodies draped over chairs, half-empty takeaway containers by the bed. It was too temporary, too uncertain, like everything in their lives lately.
His phone buzzed at 10:43 AM.
He's here. Freddie Reign. Healthy. Perfect.
Harry's eyes burned as he stared at the screen. He could picture Louis - sleep-deprived and overwhelmed, trying to process becoming a father while navigating this mess they'd made of their lives.
Can I see you? Harry typed, then deleted it. Then typed it again.
The response came quickly: Please. Just... not here. I'll come to the hotel.
When Louis finally returned, he looked wrecked - hair wild, eyes red-rimmed, wearing the same clothes from yesterday.
"Hi," Louis's voice cracked on the single syllable.
Harry crossed the room in three strides, pulling Louis into his arms. Louis collapsed against him, shoulders shaking.
"M'scared," Louis whispered into Harry's neck. "What if I fuck this up too?"
"Hey, no," Harry pulled back just enough to cup Louis's face. "You're going to be amazing. That little boy is so lucky to have you."
"Bri won't even look at me properly," Louis's voice was rough. "Says she can see it in my eyes when I look at her - that she's just... not you. That she never will be."
"Lou..."
"She's right though, isn't she? About all of it. About us being selfish, about her getting caught in the crossfire-"
"Stop," Harry pressed their foreheads together. "We can't change how we got here. We can only try to do better going forward."
Louis leaned into the touch. "Stay? Just... just for a bit?"
Harry nodded, leading them to the bed. They lay down fully clothed, Louis curled into Harry's chest like he used to do in the X-Factor house when everything felt too big.
"Need to shower," Louis mumbled. "Need to go back to the hospital soon."
"Sleep first," Harry pressed a kiss to his hair. "I've got you."
As Louis's breathing evened out, Harry looked around the impersonal hotel room, at Louis's life packed into suitcases and room service trays. This wasn't right. Louis needed a proper home now, somewhere stable for Freddie. And Harry... Harry needed to stop running.
The next morning, Harry called his realtor. He'd been putting off buying a place in LA, always running back to London when things got complicated. But now Louis needed somewhere stable, somewhere that felt like home.
"Something private," he told her. "Gated, secure. Good for... for a family."
They looked at five houses that day. Each one beautiful, each one wrong. Too exposed, too modern, too cold. The sixth property, though - Harry knew the moment they pulled up to the gates.
The Hollywood Hills mansion sprawled across the landscape like it had grown there naturally, all warm stone and massive windows. A circular drive led to wooden double doors that reminded him of an English manor house. Inside, sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm shadows across hardwood floors.
"The security system is top of the line," the realtor was saying, but Harry was already wandering, seeing it all play out in his mind.
Louis in the kitchen, making tea in the early morning light. A highchair by the breakfast bar for Freddie. The living room with its vaulted ceilings - perfect for a Christmas tree. The garden, private enough for lazy Sunday afternoons, with space for a playground when Freddie got older.
He paused in what would be the master bedroom, staring out at the LA skyline. The ensuite had dual vanities, a massive shower, and a soaking tub. He could picture Louis there already, relaxing after a long day with Freddie, Harry washing his hair like he used to do in hotel rooms across the world.
Down the hall was a smaller bedroom with its own bathroom - perfect for a nursery. Harry's throat tightened as he imagined helping Louis set it up. They could paint the walls something warm, get one of those ridiculously expensive cribs Louis had been eyeing online.
"There's a pool and hot tub on the lower level," the realtor appeared beside him. "And the theater room could easily be converted to a playroom."
"I'll take it," Harry said, still staring at the future he could almost touch. "Whatever they're asking."
That night, back in his hotel room, he pulled up his laptop and started making lists. Furniture, security upgrades, baby-proofing supplies. He ordered a custom mobile for the nursery - tiny silver airplanes and music notes spinning in lazy circles.
As he scrolled through paint samples at 3 AM, he let himself imagine quiet evenings with Louis on the terrace, watching the sun set over the city. Freddie's first steps on the living room floor. Birthday parties in the garden. All the moments they could build together, if Louis would let them.
He knew it was presumptuous, buying a house with space for a family that might never exist. But after years of running, of hiding, of letting fear drive them apart, Harry was ready to plant roots. Ready to create a home where Louis could always find him, where Freddie could grow up knowing he was loved, where they could finally stop pretending their hearts belonged anywhere else.
Harry watched the gossip sites explode from behind his laptop screen. Photos of Louis, baseball cap pulled low, carrying boxes and suitcases out of the Beverly Hills Hotel, splashed across every entertainment news site.
LOUIS TOMLINSON MOVES OUT: WHERE'S BABY MAMA?
1D's LOUIS FINALLY FINDS LA HOME
TOMLINSON SPOTTED: BUT WHERE'S FREDDIE?
His phone buzzed with a message from Louis.
I think someone tipped them off. Fucking circus out here.
Harry's fingers hovered over the keys. He wanted to go help, to carry Louis's things himself, to face the cameras together. But they couldn't. Not yet. Not with everything so fragile.
Almost done love. Home soon.
Home. The word felt dangerous and perfect all at once.
The peace lasted exactly six hours.
Harry was in the kitchen, arranging Louis' Yorkshire Tea boxes in the cabinet he'd designated just for them, when Louis burst through the door, face flushed with anger.
"She's threatening to talk," Louis spat, pacing across the marble floors. "Says NDAs can be broken if the price is right."
Harry's stomach dropped. "What exactly did she say?"
"Got a call from her lawyer. She's requesting a modification to the custody agreement." Louis's voice cracked. "Says she won't let Freddie stay here. That if I want my custody days, I need my own place." He laughed bitterly. "Said she'd hate for the wrong people to find out about our 'special friendship.' Fucking hell."
"She wouldn't-"
"Wouldn't she?" Louis pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "She's got us by the balls and she knows it. One wrong move, one well-placed hint to the right tabloid..."
"Lou-"
"I'm not even on the birth certificate yet, H." Louis's voice broke. "One wrong move and she could... I can't lose him. He's only three weeks old and I already... I can't."
Harry crossed the room in three strides, pulling Louis into his arms. "We'll fix it. We'll figure something out."
"I'll get a place near hers," Louis mumbled against Harry's chest. "Just for show. Just for custody days. But the rest of the time..." He pulled back, meeting Harry's eyes. "The rest of the time I'm here. With you. When we're not in England or touring or whatever."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Louis's attempt at a smile was watery but real. "Can't let that tea cabinet go to waste, can I?"
Harry pressed their foreheads together. "We'll make it work. Whatever we have to do."
Louis's phone buzzed - another email from the lawyers requesting a meeting. He stared at it for a long moment before squaring his shoulders.
"Call your realtor back," he said quietly. "Tell her I need something in Beverly Hills. Close to Bri. Something that looks good for the paps, yeah?"
Harry nodded, throat tight. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be past the hiding, the pretending, the separate houses and careful distances. But Briana held all the cards right now, and they both knew it.
"Hey," Louis touched his cheek. "This is still home. She can't take that from us. Not really."
Harry watched Louis walk out, heading to another meeting with the lawyers. The kitchen felt too big suddenly, too empty. He looked at the tea cabinet - perfectly arranged, waiting for quiet mornings between custody days and meetings and appearances - and let himself feel the anger he'd been holding back.
It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Not to Louis, not to Freddie, not even to Briana really - all of them caught in this web of secrets and money and spite.
But they'd survive it. They always did. So Harry would help Louis find another house, would watch him split his life into careful pieces, would keep loving him in whatever moments they could steal.
Louis spent the next week house hunting in Beverly Hills, sending Harry photos of soulless modern mansions and empty white rooms.
This one's perfect, he texted after the fourth viewing. Absolutely fucking hate it.
Harry knew what he meant. The house Louis eventually chose was everything their home wasn't - all sharp angles and glass walls, devoid of warmth. Perfect for the cameras, perfect for the story they had to sell.
"Just signed the papers," Louis announced, walking into their kitchen that night. Their real kitchen, where Harry was stirring sauce for dinner. "Briana's lawyers wanted to add a fucking morality clause."
Harry's hand trembled slightly on the wooden spoon. Even now, the word "morality" made his stomach clench, pavlovian response to years of conference rooms and harsh voices. Of being nineteen, watching Louis sign away pieces of himself while men in suits explained how "unnatural" they were. How they were "corrupting their young fans." How they needed to be "fixed."
He caught himself taking an unconscious step back from the counter where Louis sat - the ingrained distance still muscle memory even here, in their own home. But Louis reached for him, pulled him close between his legs, and Harry went willingly. Touch had always been their rebellion, their shelter, the one thing management couldn't fully take away no matter how hard they tried.
"You okay?" Louis asked softly, fingers finding their way under Harry's shirt, pressing against warm skin.
"Yeah, just..." Harry leaned into the touch, even as his brain catalogued potential witnesses out of habit. "Thinking about those early meetings."
"The ones where they'd separate us for hours?" Louis's voice was carefully neutral. "Tell each of us the other one had already agreed to everything?"
"The fucking psychological evaluations." Harry stirred the sauce mechanically. "Weekly sessions to 'correct our inappropriate attachment.'"
"Remember that therapist who tried to convince me I was just confused? That I'd been 'led astray by an oversexualized environment'?"
They'd been so young. So unprepared for the systematic dismantling of their relationship, the careful way management had tried to break them down and rebuild them into marketable, straight versions of themselves. Even now, years later, they could both recite the talking points: "unhealthy codependency," "attention-seeking behavior," "manufactured feelings."
Harry found himself checking the windows - an old habit from when being seen together meant emergency meetings and threats. Louis noticed, his fingers stilling against Harry's skin.
"No cameras here," Louis said, but his own eyes darted to the window anyway. Some lessons were carved too deep to ignore.
"I know." Harry turned down the heat on the sauce, then pressed closer between Louis's legs, hands sliding up his thighs. "Just..."
"Yeah." Louis's fingers found Harry's anchor tattoo, tracing the lines they'd both memorized. "Still hear them sometimes, don't you? In your head?"
"All the time." Harry admitted, pressing his face into Louis's neck. "Even here. Even now."
"Me too." Louis's arms tightened around him. "Think we'll ever get it out? All their bullshit?"
"Maybe." Harry breathed him in, grounding himself in the familiar scent. "Someday."
The sauce simmered quietly behind them, filling the kitchen with the smell of basil and garlic. They stayed tangled together, still learning how to exist in the same space without flinching, how to touch without calculating costs, how to love without hearing management's voices in their heads.
They weren't fixed. They weren't free. But they had this - stolen moments in their kitchen, hands finding familiar paths across skin, love that had survived every attempt to break it.
Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's temple, and Harry turned to catch his mouth properly. Even now, kissing felt like victory - every press of lips a quiet fuck you to everyone who'd tried to convince them their love was wrong.
They weren't okay, not really. But they were together. Sometimes that had to be enough.
Chapter 31: Present Day
Summary:
Louis wakes to the weight of promises, feeling Harry beside him, both bound by grief after losing Liam. Their phones buzz with alarming news about the press, but they resolve to stay away from the public eye for now, vowing to confront their past and embrace their love without fear or hiding.
Chapter Text
Louis woke to the weight of promises heavy on his chest - both the one wrapped in Harry's ring on his finger, and the older ones that still bound him like chains. Sunlight streamed through the familiar curtains he'd picked out years ago, back when this house was new and empty of memories. Now every corner held echoes of them - Harry's laughter in the kitchen, quiet mornings, stolen weekends between tours.
Harry slept against him, changed but achingly familiar. His shorter hair tickled Louis's chin, the once-wild curls now barely brushing his nape. Four years since he'd last woken here, but his body still fit perfectly against Louis's side, muscle memory unchanged by time or trauma.
Louis's phone buzzed again - the 47th time since yesterday, not that he was counting. Each vibration felt like another nail in a coffin he'd promised Harry they wouldn't need this time.
We'll do it right, he'd sworn last night, voice thick with grief and determination. No more hiding.
But that was before the headlines started. Before his lawyer's increasingly frantic calls. Before the weight of reality crashed back in, made heavier by the fresh wound of losing Liam. God, they'd only buried him days ago. The dirt was barely settled on his grave, and here they were, about to set the world on fire again.
Harry stirred, pressing his face into Louis's neck like he used to. "Your heart's racing," he murmured, still half-asleep.
"Just thinking," Louis whispered, fingers finding the short hair at Harry's nape, missing the curls but loving this new version just as fiercely.
"About Li?" Harry's voice cracked slightly on their friend's name.
"About everything." Louis stared at the ceiling he'd painted himself years ago, remembering Harry sprawled on the dust sheets below, offering unhelpful commentary and looking at Louis like he'd hung the moon. "About promises."
Harry went very still against him. "Lou..."
"I meant it," Louis said quickly, urgently. "Everything I said last night. I meant all of it."
"But?" Harry propped himself up, eyes too knowing. The same eyes that had watched Louis pull away a hundred times before, always understanding, always forgiving.
Louis's phone buzzed again. His hand shook slightly as he reached for it.
"We have to be smart about this," he said, hating the words even as they left his mouth. "There are contracts, Harry. Legal obligations. If we just-"
"I know." Harry's voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. "I've always known."
"It's not forever," Louis insisted, gripping Harry's arm like he could physically hold onto this fragile thing they'd rebuilt. "Just... we need time. To do it right."
Harry's fingers found Louis's ring, an echo of last night's promises. "Time," he repeated softly. "Like when we were eighteen? Twenty-two? Twenty-six?"
The question hung between them, weighted with years of the same conversation. Different houses, different cities, same fear.
"This is different," Louis said, but his voice wavered. "I'm different. After Li..." He swallowed hard. "Life's too short for fear, yeah? But we have to be careful. Smart."
"Because careful and smart worked so well before?" There was no bite in Harry's words, just tired understanding.
Louis closed his eyes against memories of separate hotels, carefully maintained distance, Harry's face every time Louis chose caution over courage. Every time he'd left this very house empty of Harry's presence, telling himself it was temporary, necessary, smart.
"I can't lose you again," he whispered finally, voice raw. "And I can't... I can't handle them coming for us right now. Not with Li..." He couldn't finish.
Harry's hand found his cheek, thumb brushing away tears Louis hadn't realized were falling. "Hey," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."
"Promise?"
"Promise." Harry pressed their foreheads together. "We'll figure it out. Together this time."
Louis's phone buzzed again. This time, they both ignored it.
"I love you," Louis said fiercely. "And I'm going to tell the whole fucking world that, H. Just..."
"Just not today," Harry finished softly. "I know, love. I know.
Louis finally answered on the 63rd call, if only to stop the incessant buzzing. Oli's familiar Donny accent cut through sharp and worried.
"They're going after Freddie, mate."
The words hit like a physical blow. Louis's hand found Harry's instinctively, gripping until his knuckles went white.
"What exactly are they saying?" His own accent came out thicker with stress, each word clipped.
"You don't want to-"
"What. Are. They. Saying?"
A pause. "DNA shit. Timeline nonsense. They're dragging up every photo from 2011 through 2016, trying to prove... and fuck's sake, Tommo, they're even trying to rewrite the whole band's history now. Making up stories about-"
"Stop." Louis couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the rage building in his chest. "They're talking about a child. And they're using Li's..." He couldn't finish.
"I know." Oli sounded exhausted. "But it's everywhere. The 2011 photos especially - someone must've been holding onto them for years. That New Year's at Harry's mum's..."
Louis's eyes snapped to Harry, who had gone very still beside him. Their first "I love you" - whispered in Anne's garden at midnight, young and terrified and so fucking certain - now dissected for public consumption.
"They can't..." Harry's voice was barely a whisper. "That was private. That was ours."
But it wasn't anymore. None of it was. Their entire history was being rewritten, twisted, turned into something tawdry and sensational. Every genuine moment perverted into scandal.
"Has anyone talked to Zayn?" Louis managed, thinking of their friend about to start his tour, now dealing with this shit on top of everything else.
"He's keeping quiet. Smart, probably." Oli hesitated. "Look, we need to get ahead of this. Issue a statement, set the record-"
"No." Harry's voice was firm. He met Louis's eyes, something sad but determined in his expression. "Not now. Not like this."
Louis knew he was right. Any move they made now would be seen as capitalizing on their grief, using Liam's death for attention. The thought made him sick.
"We wait," Louis said quietly. "Let them talk. Let them speculate. But we're not feeding into it. Not right now."
"You sure?" Oli asked. "It's getting pretty ugly out there."
Louis looked at Harry - at thirteen years of carefully maintained distance and strategic denials. At the ring that meant everything had changed. At the grief still raw in both their eyes.
"Yeah," he said softly. "The truth isn't going anywhere. And right now... right now we just need some peace."
When he hung up, Harry pulled him close, pressing his face into Louis's neck.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For understanding. For not letting them make this... make us... about anything but what it is."
Louis wrapped his arms tighter around Harry, thinking of the friend they'd lost, the family they were protecting, the love they'd fought so hard to keep pure.
"We know what's real." Louis pulled back just enough to look at Harry. "But Z needs to hear from us. Before this gets even more out of hand."
Harry nodded, already reaching for his phone. "Group chat?"
"Yeah. Niall's probably worried sick too."
They stared at the chat - last message from yesterday after the will reading, just a string of heart emojis from Niall. Six weeks since they'd lost Liam, one day since they'd finally laid him to rest.
Louis typed first: You lot alright?
The response was immediate. Niall: Jesus lads, been staring at my phone all morning
Then Zayn: same. seen the papers then?
Niall: Harry's car's still at yours Lou?
Louis glanced at Harry, who looked as uncertain as he felt. Everything between them still felt fragile, precious.
Louis: Yeah
Niall: Since the funeral?
Harry: Yeah
Zayn: something you want to tell us?
Another pause. Louis could almost see Niall and Zayn exchanging private messages, trying to piece it together.
Niall: Look, after yesterday... with the ring and everything
Niall: Just tell us you're both okay
Harry's fingers tightened around Louis's. The ring felt heavy on his hand - Liam's his final push for them to stop wasting time.
Louis: We're okay
Zayn: define okay
Zayn: because last time
He didn't finish the thought. Didn't need to. They all remembered the aftermath of their last attempt, years ago.
Harry: It's different now
Niall: Different how?
Louis took a deep breath. Different because we're done pretending
The chat went quiet for a long moment.
Zayn: about fucking time
Zayn: Li always said
Zayn: fuck
They watched the typing indicator appear and disappear several times.
Niall: Z? You alright mate?
Zayn: no
Zayn: haven't been since
Zayn: keep thinking about all the things we never said
Zayn: all the time we wasted
Louis felt Harry tense beside him. They both knew what Zayn meant - what had always gone unsaid between him and Liam.
Niall: Wish I could be there Z
Zayn: s'fine
Zayn: it's just tour starts next week
Zayn: don't know how
Louis: You don't have to do it now mate
Zayn: have to
Zayn: can't just
Zayn: sitting here's driving me mad
Zayn: keep expecting his texts
Niall: We're here Z
Niall: Whatever you need
Harry: Always
Zayn: just
Zayn: you two
Zayn: don't waste any more time
Zayn: please
Louis looked at Harry, saw his own tears reflected back.
Louis: We won't
Louis: Promise
Niall: Good
Niall: Now about those headlines...
Louis: Let them talk
Louis: We know what's real
Zayn: he'd be proud
Zayn: of you both
Zayn: he always
The typing stopped again. They waited, but nothing more came through.
Niall: Love you lads
Niall: All of you
Niall: Take care of each other yeah?
Louis set the phone down with shaking hands and turned to Harry, really looking at him - at the shadows under his eyes, the grief etched into every line of his face, the quiet determination in his gaze. Every precious detail he'd spent fourteen years learning and relearning, loving and losing and finding again.
His thumb unconsciously found the ring on his finger - not the peace ring Harry still wore faithfully after all these years, not the promise ring he'd thrown in the Thames during one of their worse fights in 2014. This was the ring Harry had bought in early 2015, right before everything had fallen apart. The one he'd given to Liam to hold onto because he couldn't bear to look at it anymore, couldn't face what it represented - all their shared dreams crumbling under the weight of contracts and compromises and fear.
And now here they were, the ring finally where it belonged, Liam's last gift to them both. His final way of saying 'enough waiting.'
"Z's right," Louis said, voice rough. "About wasting time." He traced the band of white gold, remembering how young they'd been when they'd first fallen in love. How certain. How terrified. "All these years, H. All the moments we could have had."
"I know," Harry whispered. "All those nights I had to watch you leave with her, knowing you'd come back to me but never really being mine."
"El understood," Louis said quietly. "More than she should have had to."
"She did. Doesn't mean it didn't kill me every time." Harry's hand found his. "Watching you try so hard to be someone you weren't. Watching you tear yourself apart trying to make everyone happy."
"While you tried to move on," Louis added. "Camille..."
"Was real," Harry admitted. "As real as I could make it. But she wasn't you. None of them were ever you."
"Remember that night in Wellington?" Louis asked suddenly. "2012. You held me like you were afraid I'd disappear."
"I was," Harry said. "You were pushing me away even then. Trying so hard to make it work with Eleanor, to be what everyone needed you to be."
"And then it stopped being pretend with her," Louis's voice cracked. "Because it was easier than admitting the truth. Easier than facing how much I loved you."
"We were so young," Harry said. "So scared of losing everything we'd built. The band, the dream..."
"Lost it anyway, didn't we?" Louis's laugh was wet. "All that careful distance, all those compromises, all the nights of coming to you feeling guilty and leaving feeling worse. And in the end..."
"In the end we still couldn't save it." Harry pulled him closer. "But maybe that was never the point."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe we were supposed to grow up. Figure out who we were outside of each other, outside of the band. Maybe we needed all those years apart to be ready for this - really ready this time."
Louis thought about Zayn's messages, about all the things left unsaid between him and Liam. About how sometimes waiting too long meant never getting the chance at all.
"I don't want to waste another moment," he said fiercely. "No more hiding, no more compromises. I want everything with you, H. Everything we were too scared to have before."
Harry's eyes were shining as he pressed their foreheads together. "You have me. Always have, even when we were pretending otherwise. Even when I was trying so hard to let you go."
Louis kissed him then, soft and deep and full of fourteen years of loving this boy through everything - through the highest highs and lowest lows, through other relationships and separate lives and all the growing up they'd had to do to find their way back here.
Louis kissed him then, soft and deep and full of fourteen years of loving this boy through everything - through the highest highs and lowest lows, through separate lives and all the growing up they'd had to do to find their way back here.
"No more running," Louis murmured against Harry's lips. "No more letting fear win."
Harry pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "You mean that? Because Lou, we've both got so many scars. So many things we've never properly faced."
"I know," Louis said softly, remembering all the times they'd tried to protect each other and only ended up causing more pain. "But I'm not that scared kid anymore. Not letting anyone make me feel ashamed of loving you."
"Sometimes I still feel so guilty," Harry admitted, voice cracking. "For all the times I couldn't help you. All the times I watched you break and couldn't put you back together."
"We were both breaking," Louis touched Harry's face, traced the familiar line of his jaw. "Both trying so hard to be what everyone needed that we forgot how to be ourselves."
Their phones buzzed incessantly, but for the first time, Louis didn't feel that old familiar dread. He switched his off completely.
"I'm tired of being afraid," he whispered. "Tired of carrying all these ghosts between us. Tired of pretending loving you isn't the best part of who I am."
"Lou..." Harry's eyes were wet. "You've always been the best part of me too. Even when we were apart. Even when everything hurt so much I could barely breathe."
"Think that's why we kept finding our way back? No matter how many times we tried to let go?"
"Some loves are worth fighting for," Harry said softly. "Worth healing for."
Louis felt tears spill over. "I want to heal. With you. Want to face all the dark parts together instead of letting them tear us apart."
"No more hiding," Harry agreed, pressing their foreheads together. "No more pretending we're okay when we're not. No more trying to protect each other by pushing away."
"I love you," Louis said, the words feeling like freedom after years of forced silence. "Through everything. Through all the pain and fear and doubt. Through every time I tried to convince myself I could live without you."
"Love you too," Harry whispered against his lips. "Always have. Always will. Through every storm, every battle, every time we lost our way."
Louis kissed him again, pouring years of longing and hope and healing into it. When they broke apart, they were both crying, but it felt like cleansing rain after a drought.
The world outside was waiting with its challenges and expectations. But right now, they just needed to hold onto each other, to face their demons together and build something stronger from everything they'd survived.
They had each other. Finally, properly, completely.
And this time, they were ready to fight for it.
Chapter 32: November 2010
Summary:
Louis struggles with sleeplessness after a performance and a secret connection with Harry. They meet in a storage room, but get caught by a production manager, leading to Louis's suspension. After a difficult conversation with his mother about love and guilt, Louis resolves to keep his distance from Harry, even as their bond deepens, forcing them to redefine their relationship as best friends.
Chapter Text
Chapter 32: November 2010
Louis couldn't sleep, too wired from their performance, from Harry's hand brushing his during rehearsal, from the way those green eyes had locked onto his during their harmonies. He could hear Niall's soft snoring from the top bunk, Zayn's steady breathing, Liam muttering something in his sleep.
And Harry, in the bunk below him, restless and awake. Louis could feel the energy radiating off him, that same magnetic pull that had been drawing them together for weeks now.
A soft tap on his mattress from below. Their signal.
Louis waited until he was sure the others were properly asleep before climbing down, careful to avoid the creaky spots they'd learned to navigate during their midnight meetings. Harry was already slipping out of bed, curls wild, wearing one of Louis's old football shirts he'd nicked days ago.
God, he was beautiful. Louis felt that familiar ache in his chest, the one that scared him almost as much as it thrilled him.
They'd gotten good at this - sneaking through the house, finding hidden corners, stolen moments. Tonight they made it to the small storage room off the practice area, barely bigger than a closet but private. The moment the door closed, Harry was in his arms, mouth hot and desperate against his.
Louis backed him against the shelving, swallowing Harry's soft gasp as his hands slid under that stolen shirt. He shouldn't want this so much. Shouldn't need the taste of Harry's skin, the sound of his breath catching, the way those long fingers clutched at his shoulders.
"Lou," Harry whispered against his mouth, voice already wrecked. "Please."
The door opened.
Louis froze, hands still under Harry's shirt, heart stopping as fluorescent light spilled into their hidden sanctuary. One of the senior production managers stood in the doorway, flanked by two security guards.
Harry was trembling against him, fingers digging into Louis's arms. The room felt suddenly, impossibly small.
"Mr. Styles," the manager's voice was ice. "Return to your room. Immediately."
Harry's eyes found Louis's, wide with fear. Louis wanted to say something, anything, but his throat had closed up entirely. One of the guards stepped forward, clearly ready to escort Harry if necessary.
"Now, Mr. Styles."
Harry stumbled away from Louis, curls wild, wearing Louis's shirt like a brand of guilt. He hesitated at the door, looking back once with devastated eyes before the guard ushered him away.
The click of the door closing behind Harry echoed like a gunshot.
"Mr. Tomlinson." The manager's voice dripped with disgust. "Do you have any idea what you've done? What you could have cost this entire production?"
Louis felt like a little kid again, small and scared and wrong. "I-"
"He is sixteen years old. Sixteen. Do you understand the liability? The scandal? What this could do to the show's reputation?"
Each word hit like a physical blow. Louis wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold together something that felt like it was shattering.
"You're suspended from the house. Two days. We'll tell the press you went home to visit your mother - a touching story about homesickness, perhaps. When you return, this ends. Completely. Do you understand?"
Louis nodded numbly, throat too tight for words.
"If anything like this happens again, you'll be removed from the competition entirely. Your family's counting on this opportunity, aren't they? Would be a shame to disappoint them."
The threat landed exactly as intended. Louis thought of his mum, his sisters, everything they'd sacrificed to get him here.
"We will get a car to take you home. We'll call your mother, explain you're coming. Remember, Mr. Tomlinson - this never happened. And it will never happen again."
Louis followed them out on shaking legs, past the room they all shared where he could hear muffled crying, past all their shared dreams and secret touches, into the cold London night.
The car door closed behind him like a prison gate.
"Baby," his mum whispered when she opened the door, and Louis crumpled into her arms like he was five again, not eighteen and trying so desperately to be a man.
The kitchen was dark except for the small light above the stove. His hands shook as she made tea, muscle memory leading him to their worn kitchen table where they'd had so many late-night talks before. But never one like this.
"They suspended me," he managed, voice rough. "From the house."
"Why?" She set his tea down - Yorkshire, milk first, just like always. Such a normal thing on such a not-normal night.
Louis stared into his cup, shoulders hunching. "I messed up. Really badly."
"Did you break the rules? Sneak out?"
He shook his head, tears threatening. "Worse."
"Louis," she said softly. "Whatever it is-"
"I can't," he choked out. "Please don't make me say it. I can't- I don't want you to-"
"Is it Harry?"
The sound he made wasn't quite a sob, wasn't quite a laugh. "Am I that obvious?"
"Only to someone who loves you." She reached across the table, took his trembling hand. "Only to someone who's watched you light up every time that boy walks into a room."
"I'm sorry," Louis whispered, tears finally spilling over. "I'm so sorry, Mum. I know it's wrong, I know I shouldn't- I tried not to, I swear I tried-"
"Stop." Her voice cracked. "Don't you dare apologize for loving someone."
"But I'm ruining everything!" The words burst out of him. "This was supposed to be our shot, yeah? Get the girls through school, get you out of working doubles, make something of myself. And instead I'm- I'm sneaking around with a sixteen-year-old boy like some kind of-"
"Louis William Tomlinson," she cut in fiercely. "Look at me right now."
He raised his head, face wet, looking younger than she'd seen him in years. Since his father left, since he'd started trying to be the man of the house at far too young an age.
"There is nothing wrong with you," she said, each word deliberate. "Nothing wrong with loving him."
"But-"
"No buts. I've worked in this industry long enough to know how cruel it can be. How it takes beautiful, natural things and twists them into something shameful. But love is never shameful, baby. Never."
"I'm so scared," he whispered, voice breaking. "All the time. Scared of wanting him, scared of losing him, scared of fucking everything up. He makes me forget to be careful, Mum. Makes me forget everything except how much I- how much I-"
"Love him?"
Louis collapsed forward, sobbing into his hands. His mum moved around the table, pulled him into her arms like she used to when he was small and the world felt too big.
"He's worth everything," Louis managed between sobs. "Everything. But I can't- the girls need this. You need this. I have to make this work, have to be better, have to stop being so- so-"
"Gay?" she supplied gently.
He flinched hard. "Please don't. I can't- I'm not-"
"Okay," she soothed, running fingers through his hair. "Okay, love. We don't have to label anything. But please hear me - you are not wrong. You are not broken. You are my beautiful boy who deserves to love and be loved."
"But what do I do?" His voice was small, lost. "They'll kick me out if it happens again. Said they'd tell everyone why. I can't- the papers, the shame, everyone knowing-"
"There are ways," she said carefully. "Ways people in the industry handle these things. It won't be easy, but if this is what you want..."
"I have to hide it better," Louis whispered. "Have to stay away from him. Stop touching him all the time, stop looking at him like- like-"
"Like he hung the moon?"
Louis let out a wet laugh. "That obvious?"
"Only to someone looking." She kissed his head. "But yes, love. That obvious."
"I don't know if I'm strong enough," he admitted, voice cracking. "To pretend I don't- to watch him and not- to keep my distance when all I want-"
Fresh tears came, and she held him tighter.
"He makes everything make sense," Louis whispered into her shoulder. "First time he smiled at me, was like... like coming home. Like finding something I didn't even know I was missing. And now I have to act like he's just- just another bandmate. Just another friend."
"Oh, baby." She was crying now too. "I'm so sorry. So sorry you have to hide something so beautiful."
They sat there in the dark kitchen, holding each other, crying for different reasons - him for everything he was choosing to give up, her for everything the world was forcing him to hide.
"I'll do it," he finally said, voice hoarse but determined. "I'll be what they want. Keep my distance. Focus on the competition. Make you proud."
"I'm already proud," she whispered fiercely. "So proud it hurts sometimes. But promise me something?"
"What?"
"Don't lose yourself completely in the hiding. Don't let them convince you there's something wrong with your heart. And someday, when you're ready... let yourself love him properly. The way you both deserve."
Louis broke down again, clinging to her like he was drowning, like she was the only thing keeping him afloat in a world that suddenly seemed so much colder, so much darker.
Dawn was breaking by the time they'd cried themselves out. His tea was cold, his heart was heavy, but his path was clear.
Keep his distance. Hide his heart. Protect Harry by staying away.
He could do this. He had to.
No matter how much it felt like dying.
Two days felt like two years. Walking back into the X Factor house, Louis's heart was already racing, knowing what was coming. What he'd have to do.
He heard Harry before he saw him - that deep, slow voice calling his name, followed by the thunder of feet down the stairs. Then suddenly there he was, all wild curls and dimples and bright eyes, practically vibrating with the need to touch.
"Lou," Harry breathed, taking an aborted step forward before remembering they were in the common area. His hands twitched at his sides. "You're back."
Louis forced himself to stay where he was, to not close the distance between them like every cell in his body was screaming to do. "Yeah. Just needed a break, didn't I?"
Harry's smile faltered slightly. "We were worried. I was-" He cut himself off, glancing around. "Can we talk? Maybe in the-"
"Actually," Louis interrupted, hating himself for the way Harry's face fell, "I should probably find the producer. Apologize properly for taking off like that."
"Oh." Harry's voice was small. "Right, yeah. Of course."
Louis turned away before he could see the hurt in those green eyes, before his resolve could crumble. But he heard the soft, confused "Lou?" that followed him down the hall.
It didn't get easier.
Harry kept trying to catch his eye during rehearsals, kept finding excuses to be near him, kept reaching out with those careful, questioning touches that Louis had to dodge. Each time he moved away, each time he pretended not to notice Harry's presence, felt like driving a knife into his own chest.
It wasn't until late that night that Harry finally cornered him in their room, timing it perfectly when the others were downstairs. Louis had been avoiding this moment, dreading it.
"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asked, voice wobbling slightly. He was standing by Louis's bunk, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold something together. "Is it- are you angry with me? About what happened?"
"Haz..." The nickname slipped out before Louis could stop it.
"Because I'm sorry if I got you in trouble," Harry rushed on, taking a step closer. "I'll be more careful, I promise. We can be more careful. Just please don't-" His voice cracked. "Please don't shut me out."
Louis dug his nails into his palms, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to close the distance, to pull Harry into his arms, to kiss away that devastated look on his face.
"We can't," he managed, voice rough. "You know we can't. It's too risky."
"But-"
"No, Harry. This was- it was a mistake. All of it. We have to focus on the competition. On the band. That's more important."
Harry made a sound like he'd been punched. "More important than us?"
Us. The word hit Louis like a physical blow. There couldn't be an us. Not if they wanted this to work.
"There is no us," he forced out, each word tasting like ash. "There can't be."
He watched Harry's face crumple, watched those beautiful eyes fill with tears, and it took everything in him not to break. To not gather Harry close and take it all back.
"You don't mean that," Harry whispered. "Lou, please-"
Footsteps on the stairs. Their time was up.
"I do mean it," Louis said quickly, quietly. "I'm sorry, Harry. But this has to stop."
He turned away as the others burst in, laughing about something. Didn't look at Harry again. Didn't acknowledge the soft, broken sound behind him.
That night, lying in his bunk, he listened to Harry cry silently below him. Pressed his face into his pillow to muffle his own tears.
It was better this way, he told himself. Safer.
Even if it felt like carving out his own heart.
A week of torture. That's what it was. Louis had gotten good at the act - laughing too loud, making jokes, bouncing around like nothing was wrong. But every smile felt painted on, every laugh hollow.
The others bought it, mostly. Niall still challenged him to FIFA matches, Zayn still shared late-night talks on the roof, Liam still rolled his eyes at his antics. But sometimes he'd catch Zayn watching him with those too-perceptive eyes, like he could see the cracks in Louis's performance.
Harry, though. Harry wasn't buying any of it.
Louis could feel those green eyes on him constantly, confused and hurt and wondering. Could feel the way Harry still gravitated toward him unconsciously, still turned to share jokes that died on his lips when Louis wouldn't meet his gaze. Still reached for him before catching himself, letting his hand fall empty at his side.
But worst of all was Aiden.
Louis watched it happening like a slow-motion car crash. Watched Harry start seeking comfort elsewhere when Louis kept pushing him away. Watched Aiden fill all the spaces Louis had left vacant - sitting next to Harry at breakfast, making him laugh during downtime in the common room, always finding excuses to be near him.
What made it worse was that Aiden was actually lovely. He'd been one of Louis's first friends in the house, always up for a laugh, always ready with that dry wit that matched Louis's own. In another world, in another time, maybe Louis would have let himself wonder about those lingering looks Aiden sometimes gave him, about the way their shoulders brushed when they sat together.
But then Harry had happened, and suddenly no one else had seemed to matter.
Now though, watching Harry and Aiden sprawled together on the common room sofa, sharing headphones and arguing about some indie band Louis had never heard of, he felt sick with a confusion of emotions he couldn't name. Jealousy, yes - but also guilt, because Aiden was his friend too. And underneath it all, a desperate longing that threatened to choke him.
"Oi, Tommo!" Aiden called out, spotting him hovering in the doorway. "Come settle this debate. The Smiths or Joy Division?"
"Neither," Louis forced himself to say lightly. "Give me The Fray any day."
"Absolute philistine," Aiden groaned, but he was grinning. "Help me educate young Harold here, would you? His music taste is tragic."
Harry's eyes found Louis's, hopeful and hurt all at once. "My taste isn't that bad," he protested softly.
"Says the boy who still listens to The Script," Aiden teased, ruffling Harry's curls.
Something in Louis's chest twisted painfully. That used to be his move. His nickname for Harry. His right to tease and touch so freely.
"Can't help you mate," he managed. "Got to... rehearsal. Yeah."
He fled before either could respond, ignoring Aiden's confused "But you just finished?" and the weight of Harry's gaze on his back.
The empty stairwell became his refuge. Sat on the steps, head in his hands, trying to breathe through the mess of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Harry having other friends. Being normal. Being safe.
So why did it feel like dying?
Footsteps approached. "Lou?"
Harry's voice. Of course it was Harry's voice.
"You ran off," Harry said quietly, settling beside him on the step. Close enough that Louis could feel his warmth, but not touching. Never touching anymore.
"Just needed some air."
"You've been doing that a lot lately. Running away."
Louis closed his eyes. "Harry-"
"Is it because of Aiden?"
The question caught Louis off guard. He glanced at Harry, found those green eyes studying him intently.
"What?"
"I see how you look at him sometimes," Harry said, voice small. "Like maybe... like maybe you want-"
"No," Louis cut in sharply, then forced himself to soften. "It's not- it was never about Aiden."
"Then what is it about? Because one minute we were-" Harry's voice cracked. "And then you came back and suddenly you can barely look at me."
Louis's hands clenched into fists. "You know why."
"No, I don't. All I know is my best friend won't talk to me anymore. Won't touch me. Won't even stay in the same room as me unless we're rehearsing."
"Best friend," Louis repeated bitterly. "Right."
"What else am I supposed to call you?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper. "When you won't let me-"
Voices echoed up the stairwell. They shifted apart as contestants started filing past, heading to dinner.
Once the footsteps faded, Harry turned back to him. "Lou, please. Talk to me."
Louis's shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. "It's killing me," he admitted quietly. "Watching you with him. With anyone. And I know it's not- I know he's just being friendly, but I can't-" He broke off, voice rough. "I miss you so much I can barely breathe sometimes."
Harry made a soft, broken sound. "I miss you too. Every second. I don't understand why we can't-"
"You know why." Louis's voice cracked. "This thing, whatever it is between us... it's too big, Haz. Too dangerous. If anyone found out-"
"I know," Harry whispered. "I know, but... I can't lose you completely. Not as my best friend too. Please don't take that away."
Louis finally looked at him properly, at those pleading green eyes that had haunted his dreams for weeks now. "We won't be strong enough," he warned softly. "You know we won't. Not with how this feels."
"Then we won't be strong enough," Harry said fiercely. "But I need my best friend back. I need you to stop running away from me. Please, Lou."
The nickname undid him. Louis felt tears burning behind his eyes. "I need you too," he admitted. "More than I've ever needed anyone. And that terrifies me."
Harry's hand found his in the dim stairwell, fingers intertwining like they belonged there. Maybe they did.
"So we'll be best friends," Harry said quietly. "We'll figure the rest out later. Just... don't shut me out anymore. I can't take it."
Louis squeezed his hand, knowing he should let go but unable to make himself do it. "Best friends," he agreed softly. "Even though we both know it's not enough."
"It has to be," Harry whispered, but his thumb was stroking over Louis's knuckles, gentle and intimate in a way best friends never were. "For now, it has to be enough."
They sat there in the quiet stairwell, hands linked, both knowing this resolution wouldn't last. That they were making promises their hearts wouldn't let them keep.
Chapter 33: Present Day
Summary:
Harry observes Louis creating a DIY capo, recalling their comfortable morning routine. After sharing a tender moment, Zayn's distressing message about the Wolverhampton show prompts them to support him. They reminisce about Liam while comforting Zayn, promising to face the upcoming performance together, ultimately reaffirming their family bond.
Chapter Text
Harry watched from the doorway as Louis fiddled with his makeshift capo, a fond smile playing at his lips. They'd spent the morning in bed, Harry working on emails about temporarily stepping back from Pleasing while Louis strummed at his guitar, both of them existing in that comfortable silence they'd perfected over the years.
"Proper MacGyver, you are," Harry commented as Louis secured the pen to his guitar neck with the PlayStation cable. "Could've just used mine, you know."
"Where's the fun in that?" Louis grinned, testing the strings. "Besides, yours is in the studio downstairs and I didn't want to move."
Harry's heart squeezed at how domestic it all was - their laptops side by side on the cream duvet, controllers scattered from their late-night FIFA session, Louis cross-legged in those ridiculous khakis he insisted on wearing around the house. It felt like they'd created their own little world in here, safe from the press speculation and the grief waiting outside.
Louis pulled out his phone, angling it to capture his DIY creation. "The fans'll love this."
"You sure about posting?" Harry asked quietly. He knew what people would see - the obvious intimacy of the setting, their belongings mixed together.
"Let them see," Louis said softly, not looking up as he typed out the simple caption. "I'm done hiding in general. Not ready to make any grand announcements, but... I'm not ashamed of where I am. Who I'm with."
Harry moved to sit beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Love you."
"Love you too, you sap." Louis posted the photo, then immediately turned his phone face-down. "Now, where was I with this chorus-"
Both their phones buzzed simultaneously. Group chat.
Harry's stomach dropped when he saw Zayn's name. They'd all been checking in regularly since... since it happened, but this felt different.
"Fuck," Louis breathed, reading the message. "The Wolverhampton show."
Harry closed his eyes. They'd all known about it - Zayn's first proper tour, stopping in Liam's hometown. Liam had been so excited, had promised to be front row...
"He says he doesn't know if he can do it," Louis continued, voice tight. "Says it feels wrong, being there without him."
Harry read the messages himself, heart aching at Zayn's obvious pain:
dont know if i can lads. keeps hitting me that he was supposed to be there. thought about canceling but. feels wrong to skip his city yeah? like letting him down again
"We have to go," Harry said immediately. "We can't let him do this alone."
"We have to go," Harry said immediately. "We can't let him do this alone-"
"Already texting Paul," Louis cut in, fingers flying over his phone. He paused, then added more softly, "Been a while since we needed a security plan like this."
Harry watched Louis's face carefully. Even after all these years, Zayn was still a complicated subject for him. The bitterness had faded, but the scars remained - though they seemed insignificant now, in the wake of losing Liam.
"Should text him we're coming," Harry said gently. "He'll need to know he's not facing it alone."
Louis nodded, thumbs hovering over his phone. "Remember our first show there? October 2010?"
"God, yeah." Harry's throat tightened with the memory. "Right after you got suspended from the house. Liam was bouncing off the walls, proper hometown hero already."
"Wouldn't shut up about how his mum and sisters were coming," Louis smiled softly. "Kept saying we had to be perfect, couldn't mess it up in front of his family."
They both fell quiet, remembering. That night felt like another lifetime - all of them so young, so unaware of what lay ahead. Harry and Louis still raw from their first attempt at "just friends," failing miserably at keeping their hands off each other. And Liam, sweet Liam, too excited about performing in his hometown to notice the tension crackling between them.
"Heard they're playing Chicago in the VIP," Louis said quietly, staring at his phone. "Bit weird that."
Harry reached for his hand, knowing how much that song had cost him to write - all that longing for reconciliation wrapped up in metaphor and memory. The need to heal old wounds, even if you didn't know how.
"Think maybe that's why he picked it," Harry suggested softly. "His way of saying he heard you. That he remembers too."
Louis squeezed his hand. "Paul's got it sorted. Service entrance through the loading bay, we'll watch from the sound booth." He looked down at his phone again, started typing. "Telling Z we'll be there. No arguments."
"You okay?" Harry asked carefully.
"Yeah," Louis said, and for once it sounded true. "Just wish..." His voice cracked. "Wish Li was here to see us all together again."
Harry pulled him close, feeling Louis's shoulders shake. "He knows," he whispered. "He always believed we'd find our way back to each other. All of us."
Louis pressed his face into Harry's neck for a moment, then straightened. "Right. We should get moving if we want to catch him before sound check."
Harry nodded, squeezing Louis's hand once before letting go. Whatever complicated history lay between them all, whatever distance still needed bridging - none of it mattered now. They were family. The rest could wait.
Louis's phone buzzed with Zayn's reply: please come. need you both here. x
"Come on," Harry said gently. "Our brother needs us."
The tour bus was exactly as Harry remembered - albeit newer, sleeker, but with the same lived-in feeling that came from weeks on the road. Zayn was pacing when they arrived, hands shaking as he tried to light a cigarette.
"Z," Harry said softly, and Zayn's head snapped up.
For a moment, they all just stared at each other. Then Zayn made a broken sound and practically collapsed into their arms. The cigarette fell forgotten as Harry and Louis caught him, lowering them all to the floor of the bus.
"I can't," Zayn choked out between sobs. "Can't do it without him here. He promised- he fucking promised he'd be front row."
Harry held him tighter, feeling Louis's arms wrapped around them both. "He's here," Harry whispered. "He's watching."
"Should've called him more," Zayn was crying harder now. "Should've fixed things properly. Now he'll never- we'll never-"
"Hey, no," Louis cut in firmly, though his own voice was thick with tears. "He knew you loved him. You were brothers. Nothing could change that."
They stayed tangled together on the floor, crying and holding each other as Zayn's team nervously poked their heads in to remind him about stage time. Fifteen minutes late, but none of them could bring themselves to care.
Finally, Zayn pulled back slightly, wiping his face. "Fuck, I must look a mess."
"You look perfect," Harry assured him, helping him up. "Going to sound perfect too."
"Will you..." Zayn hesitated. "Will you stay? Watch?"
"Try and stop us," Louis said, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll be in the sound booth. Right there with you, yeah?"
Zayn nodded, taking a shaky breath. "For Li," he said softly.
"For Li," Harry and Louis echoed.
They watched from the booth as Zayn transformed on stage, his vulnerability channeled into every note. It was different from the Zayn they'd known in the band - more confident in his own skin, his voice soaring in ways they'd never heard before.
But when he reached the end, that vulnerability came crashing back.
"So, I've been doing something at the end of the show every night," Zayn's voice carried through the arena, instantly hushing the crowd. "And it's being dedicated to my brother Liam Payne. Rest in peace."
Louis's hand found Harry's in the darkness.
"I hope you're seeing this in your hometown tonight, Wolverhampton," Zayn continued, voice thick with tears. "This is for you Liam."
As Zayn began to sing "It's You," Harry felt his heart crack open. They'd never heard this song before, but the raw emotion in Zayn's voice made it clear who he was singing to tonight.
The sound booth was small and dark, but Harry barely noticed, too focused on holding Louis as they both cried, watching their brother pour his heart out for the one who should have been there.
When it ended, Zayn practically ran off stage. They met him back at the bus, pulling him into another embrace as he finally let himself break again.
"He should have been here," Zayn choked out. "He promised he'd be here."
"He was here," Louis said fiercely, voice rough with tears. "He saw it all, Z. He was so proud of you."
They stayed like that for hours, sharing stories about Liam, crying together, healing together. Three-fifths of a whole that would never be complete again, but somehow stronger for having found their way back to each other.
Finally, Zayn pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes. "Stay?" he asked quietly. "Just... for a bit longer?"
"Course," Louis said immediately. "We're not going anywhere."
"Course," Louis said immediately. "We're not going anywhere."
The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with a decade of unsaid words and buried pain. Harry could feel Zayn trembling against him, could feel Louis's heart racing where their bodies pressed together.
"I keep reaching for my phone," Zayn's voice cracked. "Keep thinking I need to tell Li about the show. About you being here. He'd-" A sob tore from his throat. "He'd be taking the piss right now, wouldn't he? About how emotional we all are."
"While crying harder than any of us," Louis managed, though his own voice was thick with tears.
Zayn made a broken sound that might have been a laugh. "Remember when he cried watching Finding Nemo on the tour bus?"
"God, and tried to convince us it was allergies," Harry smiled through his tears.
"Always was terrible at hiding how much he cared," Louis whispered. "About everything. Everyone."
The words hung heavy in the air, weighted with all the years they'd lost. All the moments they couldn't get back.
"I'm so sorry, Lou," Zayn's voice broke. "For all of it. For not telling you what was happening. For letting you think Harry was choosing me over you."
Louis was crying openly now. "Should've seen it. Should've known something was wrong. You were my best mate too, and I just- I got so caught up in being jealous, in being hurt-"
"You didn't know," Harry cut in softly. "I should have told you what was happening. Should have found a way to help both of you."
"Wasn't your secret to tell," Zayn insisted. "And Li... he figured it out on his own. Started leaving food he knew I'd eat, started checking on me after shows. Never pushed, just... was there."
"That was Liam," Louis whispered. "Always taking care of everyone else."
"Last thing he sent me," Zayn's voice was barely audible, "was a voice note. Said he missed us all being together. Said life was too short for..."
He broke down completely then, Louis and Harry holding him as he sobbed. Harry felt Louis crying into his shoulder, felt his own tears falling.
"He wanted us back together," Louis choked out. "Not- not as a band. As family. Said he was tired of us all pretending we weren't still brothers."
"Fuck," Zayn gasped through his tears. "Fuck, I can't- how do we do this without him? How do we-"
"Together," Harry said firmly, holding them both tighter. "No more running. No more hiding. No more pretending we're not family."
"He'd be so happy," Louis whispered. "Seeing us like this. Always believed we'd find our way back to each other."
They didn't leave until nearly dawn, when Zayn had finally fallen asleep on the small tour bus couch, exhausted from grief and singing and remembering. Harry draped a blanket over him while Louis left a note - just like old times, when they'd take turns looking after each other on tour.
The sky was just beginning to lighten as they climbed into Louis's car. Without a word, Harry reached over and rolled down all the windows. The cool morning air rushed in, ruffling their hair, and something in Harry's chest loosened.
Louis glanced at him, a soft smile playing at his lips as he started the car. The radio came on low - some indie song Harry half-recognized - and suddenly he was nineteen again, sneaking out of hotels with Louis, driving nowhere just to be alone together.
They used to do this all the time, back when everything was new and terrifying and wonderful. Back when they'd take any excuse to escape, to find moments just for them. Harry would always roll the windows down, no matter the weather. Louis would always pretend to complain about it, even as he smiled that special smile that was just for Harry.
Now, over a decade later, Louis reached over and turned the music up slightly, his hand finding Harry's across the console. His fingers were warm and familiar, fitting perfectly between Harry's like they'd never stopped doing this.
The streets of Wolverhampton were quiet, streetlights still glowing in the pre-dawn grey. Harry leaned his head back, letting the wind whip through his hair, breathing in the morning air that tasted like memory and possibility.
"Remember that night in LA?" Harry asked softly. "When we stole Niall's rental car and drove up to that lookout point?"
"Watched the sunrise," Louis squeezed his hand. "You were wearing that ridiculous headscarf."
"You loved that headscarf."
"Loved you in it," Louis corrected, voice gentle with memory. "Love you still."
Harry turned to look at him, taking in the way the early light painted his profile in gold. There were more lines around his eyes now, more silver in his hair, but he was still the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.
"Can't believe we get to do this again," Harry whispered. "Just... exist together. Drive around with the windows down. Be us."
Louis lifted their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to Harry's knuckles. "Never stopped being us, love. Just got lost for a bit."
The sun was properly rising now, painting the sky in pinks and oranges. Harry closed his eyes, letting himself feel everything - the wind on his face, Louis's hand in his, the bittersweet ache of missing Liam mixed with the profound gratitude of having found his way home.
Home. Such a small word for something that had shaped their entire lives. Harry glanced down at Louis's forearm, where the compass pointed steadily to "home" instead of north. He remembered the day after he'd gotten his ship tattoo, how Louis had shown up with the compass, eyes bright and sure. A promise inked into their skin - wherever they went, they'd always find their way back to each other.
They'd written about it so many times over the years, hiding their truth in plain sight. All those lyrics about coming home, about belonging, about two hearts sharing one space. Even when they couldn't say it directly, they'd found ways to tell their story.
Harry smiled, remembering that first January, barely knowing Louis a few months and already calling his house 'home.' How quickly that word had stopped meaning four walls and a roof, and started meaning wherever they were together. Hotel rooms, tour buses, temporary flats in cities across the world - none of them had felt like proper homes until Louis walked through the door.
They'd owned houses together over the years - the first flat in Princess Park, the place in LA, others that came and went. But home had always been this: Louis's hand in his, music playing soft on the radio, the two of them existing in the same space without having to hide or pretend.
"What're you thinking about, love?" Louis asked softly, thumb stroking over Harry's knuckles.
"Home," Harry replied simply. "All the different versions we've had. How they all came back to you."
Louis's breath caught audibly. "Remember that song you used to sing? The one about Alabama and Arkansas?"
"'Home is wherever I'm with you,'" Harry sang quietly, the words as true now as they'd been when he was sixteen and terrified and already so deeply in love.
Louis brought their joined hands to his lips again. "Always has been, Haz. Always will be."
The sun was fully risen now, painting the streets in soft morning gold. Harry watched the familiar route leading to Louis' house, one he'd driven countless times years ago. Each turn felt like muscle memory, even after four years away. Finally, Louis was turning into the private drive, the gates opening.
Louis squeezed his hand one last time before letting go to park. The house stood quiet and welcoming in the early light, their bedroom window still open from when they'd rushed out last night after getting Zayn's text. The garden was different now - wilder, less manicured than when Harry used to tend to it religiously. But he'd noticed yesterday that Louis had kept the roses Harry had planted all those years ago, even if they grew a bit untamed now.
As they walked to the door, Harry felt the weight of the day settling into his bones - the grief, the memories, the bittersweet joy of having his family back together, even if they'd never be complete again. But when Louis turned to him with that soft smile that hadn't changed in thirteen years, Harry felt the rightness of it all wash over him.
They were home. After everything - the separation, the silence, the years of pretending, the four years of complete distance - they were finally, properly home.
Chapter 34: March 2015
Summary:
Harry talks to Zayn, who reveals his intention to leave the band due to mental struggles and management pressures. Zayn urges Harry to escape as well, but Harry feels he cannot abandon Louis. Louis confronts Harry about his secrecy, leading to a breakdown over Zayn's departure. The band faces tension as Zayn announces his exit, escalating into a confrontation. After the show, Harry comforts a devastated Louis, promising to stay despite his own turmoil. They confront uncertainties about their future and the band's stability.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 34: March 2015
Harry's hands shook as he balanced his phone between his ear and shoulder, trying to keep his voice steady. The hotel room was dark except for the bathroom light - he'd slipped out of bed without waking Louis, padding silently to sit on the cold tile floor when Zayn had called.
"I can't do it anymore, Haz," Zayn's voice was barely a whisper, broken and thin like he'd been these past months. "I'm not- I'm not eating. Can't sleep. Can't fucking breathe."
Harry pressed his palm against his mouth to muffle a sob. He'd watched helplessly as Zayn had gotten smaller and smaller, opening water bottles for him backstage because his hands shook too badly to manage it himself. The panic attacks were getting worse - twice this week already Zayn had disappeared minutes before they were meant to go on stage.
"We can talk to management," Harry tried, knowing it was useless. "Get you some time off-"
"They won't." Zayn's laugh was hollow. "You know they won't. And even if they did... H, I can't keep pretending. Can't keep being what they want me to be."
Harry closed his eyes, thinking of his recent conversations with Jeff Azoff, the new manager he'd hired outside of Modest. Jeff was music industry royalty - his father Irving had managed some of the biggest names in the business. Having Jeff's backing had given Harry more freedom with his image and style, but Modest seemed to be taking their frustration out on Louis instead. And now Jeff was pushing for Harry to consider a solo career when their contracts came up for renewal.
"I know about Jeff," Zayn said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "That you hired him. That he wants you to go solo."
"I'm not-" Harry started.
"You should. After I go." Zayn's voice was stronger now, certain. "They're killing us, H. Slowly but surely. You see what they're doing to Lou, yeah? Taking everything out on him because they can't control you anymore?"
Harry's chest ached. He did see it. Watched Louis shrink under their criticism, watched him work himself to exhaustion trying to prove his worth. But Louis would never want to leave. The band was everything to him.
"I can't leave him," Harry whispered.
"Then save him," Zayn said. "Because this? What they're doing to us? It's not sustainable. And I'm sorry, but I have to go first. Have to show you all it's possible to get out."
Harry pressed his forehead to his knees, tears falling freely now. In the bedroom, he could hear Louis shifting in his sleep, probably reaching for Harry's empty space. Tomorrow, Louis would see Harry's red eyes and assume he'd been up all night talking to Zayn again. Would try to hide the hurt and jealousy behind jokes and sharp comments. Would have no idea that Harry was trying desperately to hold their whole world together.
"When?" Harry managed.
"Tomorrow. After the show. I've got a car waiting." Zayn's voice cracked. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"Don't be," Harry whispered, even as his heart broke. "Just... just be okay. Please be okay."
"Don't be," Harry whispered, even as his heart broke. "Just... just be okay. Please be okay."
The bathroom door slammed open, making Harry jump. Louis stood there, backlit by the bedroom light, face twisted in a way Harry had never seen before.
"Another late night chat with your boyfriend, then?" Louis' voice was pure Doncaster steel. "Must be right important, sneakin' around at three in the morning."
"Lou-" Harry scrambled to his feet, phone still clutched to his chest.
"Don't 'Lou' me." Louis' hands were shaking. "Been watching you, haven't I? Running to his room all hours. Checking your phone every two minutes. Taking care of him like you used to-" His voice cracked. "Like you used to take care of me."
"It's not what you think-"
"No?" Louis laughed, bitter and sharp. "What is it then? Because from where I'm standing, looks like you've got everything sorted now, yeah? Got Jeff bloody Azoff making you proper famous while I catch hell from management. Got Zayn for everything else. What d'you need me for anymore?"
"That's not fair-"
"Fair?" Louis' voice rose dangerously. "You want to talk about fair? How about watching my boyfriend slip away right in front of me? How about knowing you're lying every time you say you're 'just checking on him'? How about-"
"Lou, please-"
"I'll fucking kill him," Louis said suddenly, voice gone deadly quiet. "I swear to God, I'll go over there right now and beat his fucking face in-"
"He's leaving!" Harry burst out, desperate to stop whatever violence was building in Louis' eyes. "The band. After tomorrow's show. He's leaving and he's- God, Lou, he's not okay. He's talking about- about ending it, and I've been trying to talk him down, trying to keep him alive-"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"What?" Louis whispered.
Harry's hands were shaking now too. "That's why I've been- why I couldn't tell you. He's not eating, can barely function, and I thought- I thought if I could just help him hold on-"
"So you shut me out?" Louis' voice was raw. "Let me think you were- let me imagine-"
"Because you would've tried to fix it!" Harry's voice cracked. "Because you always try to fix everything, and some things can't be fixed, Lou! The band, what they're doing to us, what they're doing to you-"
"Don't." Louis cut him off. "Don't you dare make this about me."
"But it is!" Harry was properly crying now. "They're killing us, Lou. Slowly but surely. And you won't see it because you think this is how it has to be, but it doesn't. We could leave. All of us. We could be free-"
"You want to leave too?" Louis' voice went flat. "Is that what this is really about?"
"Only if you came with me," Harry reached for him, heart breaking when Louis stepped back. "Only if we could finally be us, properly us, without hiding-"
"I'm getting a car," Louis said suddenly, turning toward the door. "Going to Zayn's-"
"Lou, stop." Harry caught his arm. "Please. Not tonight. Tomorrow, before the show. We can all talk then. But right now-" His voice broke. "Right now I just need you to stay. Please stay."
Louis stared at him for a long moment, jaw working. Finally, he said, "Tomorrow. Before the show. All of us."
"Okay."
"Come back to bed," Louis said softly, all the fight draining out of him. "Please."
Harry followed him back to the bedroom, knowing tomorrow would change everything. This wasn't just about Zayn leaving - this was the beginning of the end, the first domino in what would become the fall of One Direction. But for now, he curled around Louis in their hotel bed, held him close, and pretended they could stay like this forever.
The green room felt like a powder keg. Harry watched Zayn walk in, noticed the dangerous glint in his eyes, the way his hands were already shaking. Louis was on his feet instantly, practically vibrating with fury.
Liam's face went white, his jaw clenching as he stood up. Harry had never seen him look so betrayed. Niall perched on the arm of the sofa, unnaturally still, guitar pick moving restlessly between his fingers.
"So this is it then?" Louis' voice was lethal. "Just gonna fuck off without so much as a proper goodbye?"
"Don't act like you didn't see this coming," Zayn's voice was razor-sharp. "We all knew this wasn't forever."
"Bullshit!" Louis exploded. "We're at the top! We're fucking unstoppable and you're just-"
"We're puppets!" Zayn shouted back. "Dancing on their strings while they pull us apart-"
"Stop," Liam's voice was dangerous, low. "Just stop."
"What's wrong, Liam?" Zayn turned on him. "Can't handle the truth? Can't handle that this perfect little world we've built is all lies?"
Zayn moved so fast Harry barely saw it, crossing the room and pinning Liam against the wall. "I'm dying here!" he shouted. "I haven't eaten in three days, I can't sleep, I can't breathe-"
"Get off him!" Louis lunged forward, Harry barely catching him around the waist. "You fucking coward!"
"Coward?" Zayn laughed bitterly, still holding Liam. "I'm the only one brave enough to walk away!"
"Fuck you!" Louis was struggling against Harry's grip. "Fuck you and your holier-than-thou bullshit! We're a family!"
"Family?" Zayn released Liam roughly. "Look at us! Look what they're doing to us!"
"No one's doing anything," Liam pushed off the wall, voice shaking. "This is you. You're destroying everything-"
"It's already destroyed!" Zayn shouted. "I've signed the papers. After tonight, I'm gone."
The room went deadly quiet.
"Papers?" Niall spoke for the first time. "What papers?"
"Release from the contract. NDA. Everything." Zayn ran his hands through his hair. "It's done."
"You can't," Liam's voice cracked. "We can fix this-"
"Fix what?" Zayn laughed hollowly. "The fact that I'm falling apart? The fact that this band is killing me?"
"So that's it?" Louis' voice was thick with tears despite his anger. "Five years of brotherhood and you're just walking away?"
"Brotherhood?" Zayn's laugh was ugly. "Is that what you call this cage they've built around us? These lies they make us tell?"
Harry felt Louis flinch in his arms, knew Zayn was talking about more than just himself now.
"I'm not doing it anymore," Zayn's voice was final. "I can't watch us destroy ourselves trying to be what they want. I won't."
"Get out," Louis spat. "Just get the fuck out!"
"Gladly," Zayn turned towards the door, shoulders rigid. "See you on stage. One last time."
The silence that followed was deafening. Harry watched Liam slide down the wall, head in his hands. Watched Niall finally move, crossing to put a hand on Liam's shoulder. Watched Louis turn and punch the wall, once, twice, until Harry pulled him back.
Harry held Louis against his chest, feeling him shake with rage or grief or both. The silence stretched, broken only by their ragged breathing and the distant sound of crews setting up for tonight's show. Their last show as five.
Liam was still on the floor, Niall's hand on his shoulder like an anchor. Harry caught his eye across the room and saw his own fear reflected there - how long could they keep this up? How many more cracks could they patch before it all fell apart?
One more album. That's what their contract said. One more album and then... and then maybe Harry could breathe again. Maybe they could all breathe. He looked down at Louis in his arms, still trembling with anger, and thought about all the secrets they were choking on. All the lies they had to tell.
Zayn was right about one thing - they were puppets. Dancing on strings that got tighter every day. Harry could feel them starting to fray.
A production assistant knocked on the door, calling five minutes to places. Harry watched his bandmates pull themselves together, watched them put on the masks they'd perfected over five years. Tonight they would smile and sing and pretend nothing was broken. Tomorrow they would face the world as four.
But as Harry followed them towards the stage, he wondered how long until he became the next to break. How long until he couldn't pretend anymore either. One more album, he told himself. One more album and then maybe they could all be free.
The roar of the crowd was waiting. Their perfect little world was ending, but the show had to go on.
For now.
The show was a blur of motion and sound, all of them going through choreographed movements like puppets on strings. Harry watched Zayn during every song, saw how he kept his distance, how his smile never quite reached his eyes. They were all trying so hard to pretend nothing was broken.
Then came "Little Things."
The stage went dark except for soft spotlights. Harry took his position, back to the others as management had demanded months ago. He could feel Louis behind him, separated by what felt like miles instead of meters. Niall sat beside Louis, guitar ready, while Zayn and Liam settled with their backs to each other in the center stage, a careful two feet of space between them that felt like an ocean.
When Zayn's voice filled the arena with the opening lines, Harry could hear the barely controlled tremor in it. "Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me..." Tears were already falling down Zayn's face, though his voice never wavered.
Liam's verse came next, and Harry could hear everything he wasn't saying in the way his voice caught on "But I'll love them endlessly." He wasn't looking at Zayn, but his shoulders were rigid with the effort of keeping still.
Their harmonies on the chorus felt like glass breaking - beautiful and dangerous all at once. Two voices that had always found each other, even now, even at the end.
Louis' verse hit Harry like a physical blow. "And maybe that's the reason that you talk in your sleep..." He remembered Louis showing him the changed lyrics, remembered the pride in his voice when he'd explained how he'd worked with Ed to make them perfect. Now Harry could hear tears in Louis' voice too, though he didn't dare turn to look.
His own verse felt like confession, like all the things they couldn't say anymore. "You never want to know how much you weigh..." His voice cracked slightly, and he heard Louis make a small, broken sound behind him.
When Niall sang "You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you," Harry could see Zayn's shoulders shaking, could hear the way Liam's breathing had gone ragged. The truth of it all was too much - they were falling apart in front of thousands of people who couldn't see it happening.
Harry's solo near the end felt like goodbye. Every word was soaked in memory - Louis whispering "I had it changed for you," late nights and shared secrets, all the little things that had made them whole.
The final chorus was almost unbearable. Five voices becoming one for the last time, weaving together in harmonies that would never be quite the same again. Harry could hear the tears in Zayn's voice, the tension in Liam's, the way Louis was barely holding it together. Only Niall's steady guitar kept them from completely breaking.
As the last notes faded, Harry felt wetness on his own cheeks. The crowd was screaming, but all he could hear was the sound of their perfect world crumbling. When the lights came back up, their masks were back in place, smiles fixed and brittle.
Hours later, in the dim light of their hotel room, Louis finally broke. Harry caught him as his knees gave out, lowering them both to the floor beside the bed. Louis' hands fisted in Harry's shirt, his whole body shaking with the sobs he'd been holding back all day.
"He left us," Louis choked out against Harry's chest. "He just fucking left us."
Harry pulled him closer, feeling his own tears start again. This was the Louis no one else got to see - the one who was terrified of being left behind, of losing everything he'd built his life around.
"What if-" Louis' voice cracked. "What if this is it? What if we can't- what if everything falls apart?"
Harry closed his eyes, guilt twisting in his stomach. Because he understood Zayn, understood the desperate need to break free, to breathe. Some days the weight of their secrets, their carefully constructed lies, pressed down on his chest until he couldn't remember what it felt like to just exist without fear.
But Louis was shaking in his arms, raw and vulnerable in a way he never let himself be. "This is all I have," he whispered. "The band, you, the music - it's everything. I don't want anything else. I can't-"
"Shh," Harry pressed his lips to Louis' hair, swallowing back words that would destroy them both. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
The lie burned, acid-sharp and familiar. He thought about all the songs he'd started writing - songs about freedom, about breaking chains, about running until you couldn't remember what was chasing you. Songs Louis could never hear.
"Promise me," Louis looked up at him, eyes red and desperate. "Promise me you won't leave too."
Harry pulled him back against his chest, unable to meet his gaze. "Get some sleep, love," he murmured instead. "I've got you."
Louis clung to him as Harry maneuvered them onto the bed, still trembling with aftershocks of grief and fear. Harry held him until his breathing evened out, until exhaustion finally pulled him under.
Only then did Harry let his own tears fall freely, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Each breath felt like a choice between drowning and betrayal. Stay and slowly suffocate under the weight of their lies, watching the light fade from both their eyes. Or leave, and destroy the only thing Louis had ever wanted to keep.
There were no good answers. So Harry just held Louis closer, memorizing the weight of him, the sound of his breathing, all their little things that he was already learning to resent. Love and obligation tangled together until he couldn't tell them apart anymore.
In the darkness, Harry traced his fingers along Louis' arm, following paths he'd memorized years ago. Louis slept on, face finally peaceful, tear tracks still visible on his cheeks. Outside their window, the city hummed with life, indifferent to their private devastations.
Harry thought about tomorrow, about facing cameras with practiced smiles, about answering questions about Zayn's departure with carefully rehearsed lies. He thought about the shows ahead, the songs they'd have to rewrite for four voices instead of five.
He didn't think about the growing pressure in his chest, the wild, desperate need to run that got stronger every day. Didn't think about how sometimes, late at night, he imagined taking Louis' hand and disappearing together, leaving behind the spotlights and the secrets and the suffocating expectations.
Louis shifted in his sleep, pressing closer, and Harry's heart ached with a love so fierce it felt like breaking. He'd do anything to protect him, to keep him whole. Even if it meant shattering himself in the process.
The night stretched on, and Harry kept his vigil, holding the boy he loved and the secrets that would eventually tear them apart. But he didn't know that yet. Tonight, he just held on, and tried to believe that love would be enough.
It had to be enough.
Notes:
https://youtu.be/DOwAwec7IEw
Chapter 35: Present Day
Summary:
Louis wakes up to find Harry in the kitchen making breakfast. A phone call from Eleanor reveals the strain of public speculation about their past. Eleanor wants to share her side of the story, but Louis feels guilty. After a tense conversation, Louis reassures Harry of his commitment, and they share a moment of connection, dancing together in the kitchen.
Chapter Text
Louis woke to afternoon sun streaming through his windows and Harry's scent on the pillow next to him. For a moment, he let himself pretend this was normal - waking up together, no complications, no history weighing them down.
They'd barely made it home as dawn was breaking, exhausted from the emotional toll of the night with Zayn. Now the clock read 2:47 PM, and Louis could smell coffee brewing downstairs. Harry must have gotten up at some point.
He found Harry in the kitchen, wearing one of Louis' old t-shirts, making what appeared to be breakfast for dinner. The domesticity of it hit Louis like a physical ache - all the mornings they could have had, should have had.
"There's tea," Harry said without turning around, like he could feel Louis watching him.
Louis was reaching for a mug when his phone buzzed. Eleanor's name lit up the screen, and something heavy settled in his stomach. He'd known this was coming since the tabloids started running wild with speculation after Liam's funeral.
"I'll take this upstairs," he muttered, already heading for his bedroom.
"Hey El," he answered, closing the door behind him.
"Have you seen what they're saying about me?" Her voice was steady, but he could hear the strain underneath. "Every single time we broke up, every weekend you disappeared, they're dragging it all up again."
Louis sat heavily on his bed, guilt churning in his stomach. Because it was true - all those times he'd run back to Harry, all those nights in hotel rooms and stolen moments backstage. The weekend trips to Holmes Chapel when Eleanor thought he was visiting his mum. The way he'd curl into Harry's bed in their shared flat the moment she left, trying to erase her perfume with Harry's scent.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, remembering Harry's face each time Eleanor came over - the way he'd go quiet, how his hands would shake when he'd retreat to his room. The night Harry had broken down completely, drunk and desperate, begging Louis to choose him, just him, even if they had to keep hiding.
"It wasn't just publicity," Louis continued roughly. "You know that, right? We were- it was real, even when it wasn't."
Eleanor was quiet for a moment. "I know," she said finally. "That's what made it so complicated, wasn't it? We actually cared about each other. But Louis... you were in love with Harry the entire time. Even when you were trying so hard not to be."
Louis closed his eyes, remembering how he'd tried to convince himself he could be happy with Eleanor. How for brief moments he even was - her sharp wit matching his, her quiet understanding on his bad days, the way she'd curl into him while they watched movies. But then Harry would walk into a room and Louis' entire world would shift on its axis, like it always had.
"They're calling me your beard," Eleanor's voice cracked slightly. "Saying I knew about you and Harry the whole time, that I helped cover it up. They're posting screenshots of every time you looked at him instead of me, every time I was conspicuously absent when you two disappeared together."
"El-"
"And the worst part is, they're not wrong, are they? I did know. I watched you break his heart over and over because you were too scared to choose him. I held you when you cried about it, and then I still let you kiss me in public the next day."
Louis' throat felt tight. Because she had known - had seen the way he looked at Harry when he thought no one was watching, had pretended not to notice when he came home with marks on his neck that she hadn't put there. Had waited patiently each time he ran back to Harry, knowing he'd eventually return to their safer, easier fiction.
"You deserved better than that," he said quietly.
Downstairs, he could hear Harry moving around his kitchen, humming something under his breath. The sound made Louis' chest ache with two decades of wanting and running and breaking each other's hearts.
"Maybe," Eleanor sighed. "But that's not why I'm calling..."
"Louis," Eleanor's voice hardened slightly. "I need to know if there's a plan here. Because right now I'm getting torn apart online, and I can't even defend myself."
Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, tension headache building. "What do you want me to say, El?"
"I want you to let me tell the truth. My truth, at least. The NDAs-"
"You know I can't," Louis cut her off, standing to pace his bedroom. "It's not just about me anymore. It's about Harry's career, the band's legacy, everything we built-"
"Everything you built on lies," Eleanor snapped. "Do you know someone threw a drink at me yesterday? Called me a fame-hungry beard who helped trap you in the closet. I can't even post about my work without getting thousands of comments asking how much management paid me to ruin your life."
Louis' stomach twisted. "I'm sorry-"
"Stop apologizing and do something about it!" Her voice cracked. "I've kept your secrets for thirteen years, Louis. I watched you destroy yourself and Harry trying to maintain this image. I let them paint me as the girlfriend who couldn't keep you interested, who was too stupid to notice you were in love with someone else. I did everything they asked of me, everything you asked of me."
"I know," Louis said quietly. "I know you did."
"Then let me tell my story. Let me explain that it wasn't black and white, that we cared about each other, that it wasn't just some elaborate PR stunt. Let me have my dignity back."
Louis closed his eyes, remembering all the times Eleanor had covered for them - making excuses when he disappeared with Harry, playing along with the narrative management created, staying quiet through every reconciliation and breakup. She'd been more than just a beard; she'd been his friend, his confidante, sometimes even his savior when the pressure got too much.
"The NDAs are ironclad, El. Even with my permission, there are things you can't say without risking everything."
"Then help me figure out what I can say!" Her frustration was palpable. "Because I can't keep living like this, watching my entire relationship with you get reduced to a contract and a paycheck. Thirteen years of my life, Louis. Thirteen years of loving you in whatever way you'd let me, of watching you love him more, of playing my part in this endless drama. Don't I deserve to at least tell people it meant something?"
Louis sank back onto his bed, guilt and obligation warring in his chest. Downstairs, he could hear Harry moving around his kitchen, probably wondering what was taking so long. The irony wasn't lost on him - hiding from Harry to talk to Eleanor about hiding from everyone else.
"Give me time," he finally said. "Let me talk to the lawyers, figure out what's possible. Just... don't do anything yet. Please."
Eleanor's bitter laugh cut through the line. "More waiting. More hiding. Some things never change, do they, Lou?"
The truth of it stung, but before he could respond, she continued, her voice tired and sad...
"You know what hurts the most?" Eleanor's voice had gone soft. "Everyone thinks I was some mastermind keeping you apart. That I was this obstacle. But we both know the truth, don't we? For thirteen years, I watched this endless cycle. You'd run to him whenever it got too real with me, then come running back when being with him got too scary."
Louis' throat tightened. Because she was right. How many times had he done this dance? Princess Park, stadium tours, late-night studio sessions, stolen weekends, lockdown - a decade of choosing Harry and then choosing safety, over and over and over again.
"El-"
"No, let me finish. Even when I left during lockdown, I knew how it would end. You'd go to him, love him completely for a while, then something would scare you - a contract, a headline, a threat from management - and you'd come crawling back to me. Like clockwork. Like always."
The truth of it stung. Every time he'd convinced himself it would be different. Every time he'd promised Harry "this time, this time for real." Every time he'd broken that promise.
"I have to go," Eleanor said. "Just... think about what I said. I deserve better than being written off as the villain in your love story."
The line went dead, leaving Louis sitting in deafening silence. He stayed there for a long moment, trying to gather the courage to go back downstairs. To face Harry, who had lived through all of this, who still carried the scars of every time Louis had chosen safety over love.
When he finally made it back to the kitchen, Harry was sitting at the counter, picking at now-cold eggs. He looked up when Louis entered, his expression unreadable.
"Eleanor?" he asked, his voice taking on that careful edge it always did when she came up.
Louis nodded, dropping heavily onto the stool beside him. "She wants to tell her side of the story. The internet's being brutal to her since the funeral, since... since they spotted your car here."
Harry let out a bitter laugh. "Her side of the story? What, how she watched you come home to me every night in Princess Park, then played the perfect girlfriend for the cameras the next day? How she sat on our sofa, in our home, knowing you'd been in my bed the night before?"
"H-"
"Or maybe she wants to tell everyone how she'd conveniently disappear whenever things got too hard for you to pretend? How she'd show up again the moment you got scared of what we could be?" Harry's voice was shaking now. "Does she want to tell them about 2020? How you came running back to her the second we had a disagreement?"
Louis reached for Harry's hand, but Harry pulled away, standing abruptly.
"She knew what she was doing, Lou. She knew exactly what she was part of. And she stayed. For the fame, for the money, for whatever reason she told herself made it okay to watch you break me over and over."
"It wasn't that simple-"
"It never is with you," Harry's voice cracked. "Do you know what it did to me? Watching you play house with her? Having to smile and act normal when she was around, pretending I wasn't in love with you? Pretending I couldn't still taste you on my lips from the night before?"
Louis felt sick. Because he did know - he'd seen it happening, had watched Harry slowly crumble under the weight of their secrets. Had held him through countless breakdowns, promised things would be different, then gone right back to Eleanor when the pressure got too much.
"She was my safety net," Louis admitted quietly. "When loving you felt too big, too dangerous. When I couldn't handle what I felt for you, she was... easier."
"And now she wants sympathy?" Harry laughed darkly. "For knowingly being part of something that nearly destroyed us? For taking the paycheck and playing along? She doesn't get to rewrite history now that it's inconvenient for her."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with years of pain and resentment. Finally, Harry spoke again, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion.
"But maybe she should tell her story. Maybe everyone should finally know exactly what we all did to each other."
Louis looked at Harry - really looked at him - and saw the echoes of that younger version of himself, the one who used to cry himself to sleep in their shared flat, who drank too much and wrote songs about heartbreak, who loved Louis so completely it nearly destroyed him.
"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Louis whispered.
"Are you ever?" Harry asked quietly, and the resignation in his voice felt like a knife to Louis' heart.
Louis stood up slowly, moving into Harry's space. His hands found Harry's waist, thumbs brushing over the familiar ridges of his hipbones through his shirt. "No more running," he said softly. "No more safety nets. Just us."
Harry's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. "You've said that before."
"I know." Louis reached up, cupping Harry's face with one hand. "But this time I'm not saying it because I'm drunk, or lonely, or scared. I'm saying it because I've finally realized that nothing feels safe without you anyway."
Harry's eyes softened slightly, leaning into Louis' touch despite himself. "Lou..."
"Dance with me," Louis said suddenly, pulling back just enough to extend his hand.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Dance with me. Like we used to in Princess Park when we couldn't sleep. Remember?"
A small smile tugged at Harry's lips. "At 3 AM, in our pants, to Fleetwood Mac."
"Exactly." Louis pulled out his phone, and the opening notes of "Dreams" filled the kitchen. "Though we can keep our clothes on this time."
Harry let out a wet laugh, but he took Louis' hand, letting himself be pulled close. They swayed together in the afternonn sunlight, and Louis could feel some of the tension leaving Harry's body.
After a moment, Harry pressed his face into Louis' neck. "I'm sorry for being harsh about Eleanor," he murmured. "It's just... there's so much pain there. So many memories."
"I know, love. I know."
"But you're right," Harry continued. "About not letting her tell her story right now. It's barely been a week since we buried Liam. The fans are still processing that. They don't need more drama."
Louis tightened his arms around Harry. "We've got time. To figure out how to tell our story - all of it - the right way. When we're ready."
"Together?"
"Together." Louis pulled back just enough to meet Harry's eyes. "No more running. No more hiding. No more letting fear win."
Harry studied him for a long moment, then leaned in to press their foreheads together. "I love you," he whispered. "Even when I'm angry, even when it hurts, I love you."
"I love you too." Louis brushed his lips against Harry's temple. "Always have. Always will."
They kept swaying long after the song ended, holding each other in the quiet afternoon light, both understanding that confronting their past - all of it - was necessary for healing. But for now, in this moment, they could just be.
"H?" Louis murmured after a while.
"Hmm?"
"Your eggs are definitely cold now."
Harry's laugh, bright and genuine, echoed through the kitchen. And for the first time in days, maybe even weeks, it felt like they might actually be okay.
Chapter 36: 2012
Summary:
Louis reflects on the aftermath of his interview stating he is seeing someone, causing turmoil between him and Harry. Both struggle with their emotions, while Louis juggles feelings for Eleanor and his deep love for Harry. Despite the pain they cause each other, they find solace in a passionate night together, acknowledging their complicated bond.
Chapter Text
Louis stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, knuckles white against the sink. His stomach churned as he replayed the interview in his head. "Yeah, I'm kind of seeing someone." Such simple words. Such devastating impact.
He could still see Harry's face - the way his smile had frozen, professional and plastic, while Zayn subtly squeezed his knee under the table. The way Liam had quickly jumped in to change the subject, ever the protector. The way Niall's eyes had darted between them, worried and knowing.
But it was after, in their shared flat, that truly broke him.
"Did you mean it?" Harry had asked, voice small, standing in their kitchen with his arms wrapped around himself. Eighteen and hurting and so, so young. "About Eleanor?"
"H..."
"Because if it's just for the cameras, just for management, I can- I can handle that. I can-" Harry's voice cracked, and Louis felt sick. Because it wasn't just for the cameras anymore, and they both knew it.
"I care about her," Louis had whispered, hating himself for the truth of it. "Not like I care about you, but..."
Harry had crumpled then, sliding down the kitchen cabinet to sit on the floor, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Louis had tried to hold him, but Harry flinched away.
"Don't," Harry had choked out. "Please don't touch me right now."
Now, hours later, Louis could hear Harry in their bedroom, playing The Fray on repeat - the same song he'd been playing for three hours straight. The silent treatment would have been easier than this quiet devastation.
His phone buzzed - Eleanor.
"How did he take it?"
Louis typed back with trembling fingers: "About as well as expected."
"Lou... maybe we should stop this. It's killing him."
"I don't know how to stop anything anymore."
Because that was the truth of it. He was falling for Eleanor - slowly, genuinely - even as he remained desperately in love with Harry. Management was thrilled. The fans were buying it. Everything was going according to plan.
Except for the boy in their bedroom, playing sad songs on repeat. Except for the way Louis caught Harry watching them sometimes, like he was trying to memorize Louis' face before losing him completely. Except for the nights Harry would curl into himself, as far away from Louis as possible in their bed, pretending to be asleep.
Louis splashed water on his face, trying to wash away the guilt. In their bedroom, the music finally stopped. The silence that followed was deafening.
When he finally found the courage to enter their room, Harry was curled up on his side of the bed, face pressed into Louis' pillow. His eyes were red and swollen, but dry now - like he'd run out of tears to cry.
"I love you," Louis whispered into the darkness. "More than anything. You know that, right?"
"Then why isn't it enough?" Harry's voice was raw, broken. "Why am I never enough?"
Louis crawled into bed, pulling Harry into his arms despite the weak protest. "You're everything," he murmured into Harry's curls. "You're too much, sometimes. Too big, too real. It terrifies me."
"So you run to her?"
"I run to what's safe. What's expected." Louis tightened his hold. "What doesn't feel like it could destroy my entire world if it goes wrong."
Harry's breath hitched. "But you're destroying mine anyway."
They lay there in silence, both aware that nothing was solved, nothing was fixed. That tomorrow, Louis would go on another public date with Eleanor, and Harry would sit at home with a broken heart, and they'd continue this dance of loving and hurting and breaking each other in new ways.
Because at twenty, Louis wasn't brave enough to be who he really was. At eighteen, Harry loved too deeply to walk away. And Eleanor was caught in the middle, falling for a boy who could never fully be hers, watching him break someone else's heart while slowly stealing pieces of her own.
None of them would emerge unscathed. None of them knew how to stop.
Louis' fingers were still tingling from where Eleanor's hand had fit so perfectly in his as they walked through London. The date had felt... real. The way she laughed at his jokes, the gentle brush of her shoulder against his, the soft press of her lips when the cameras clicked. For a few hours, he'd almost forgotten it was all orchestrated.
Almost.
Now, standing outside his and Harry's flat, reality crashed back as piano notes drifted through the door. His hand froze on the doorknob, heart clenching at the raw emotion in Harry's voice. The melody was new - something he hadn't heard before - but the pain in it was achingly familiar.
Louis pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door, listening. Harry's voice cracked as he sang about standing right in front of someone, about how hard it was getting to breathe. Louis' chest tightened as Harry's words painted their story - a photograph lying in broken glass, a bed meant for one instead of two. Each line felt like an accusation, a reminder of what Louis was doing to him.
The paparazzi photos would be online by now. Harry would have seen them - seen Louis and Eleanor's "spontaneous" moment of affection, carefully staged to look natural and loving. Would have watched as Louis gave someone else what belonged to him.
The piano stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of something being knocked over and a choked sob. Louis couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't make himself open the door and face what he'd done.
Then Harry started again, his voice breaking as he pleaded not to be let go, confessing his exhaustion with feeling alone. The raw honesty of it made Louis' eyes burn with unshed tears.
Because how could he walk in there and hold Harry after spending the day holding someone else? How could he wipe away Harry's tears when he was the one causing them? How could he promise it would be okay when they both knew he'd do it all again tomorrow?
The piano continued, Harry's voice stronger now but somehow more broken as he sang about bringing back stars and watching from afar. Louis slid down the door, sitting in the hallway with his head in his hands, listening to Harry turn their pain into poetry.
This was the moment, he would realize later, when the walls between their public and private lives began to crack. When their hurt started bleeding into their music, their truth hiding in plain sight within lyrics about loneliness and secret love.
But right now, all he could do was listen as Harry's heart broke in melody, knowing he was the one breaking it.
"Don't let me go," Harry's voice pleaded through the door, "'cause I'm tired of feeling alone."
Louis couldn't take it anymore. He pushed the door open, the sound making Harry's fingers still on the piano keys. Harry didn't turn around, his shoulders tense, curls falling forward to hide his face.
"H..." Louis' voice was barely a whisper.
"How was your date?" Harry asked, the words sharp enough to cut.
Louis crossed the room slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. "Harry-"
"Did you enjoy the kiss? The one that'll be all over Twitter by now?" Harry's fingers pressed random keys, discordant notes filling the space between them. "Was it everything management hoped for?"
Instead of answering, Louis pressed himself against Harry's back, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Harry stiffened for a moment before melting back against him, like he couldn't help himself.
"I heard you," Louis murmured into Harry's neck. "The song..."
"Good," Harry's voice cracked. "You should hear it. You should know what this feels like."
Louis spun the piano bench around, forcing Harry to face him. His eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks stained with dried tears. Without thinking, Louis straddled Harry's lap, taking his face in both hands.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm right here."
"For how long?" Harry's hands gripped Louis' hips hard enough to bruise. "Until the next photo op? The next-"
Louis cut him off with a desperate kiss, pouring everything he couldn't say into it. Harry responded immediately, one hand tangling in Louis' hair while the other pulled him closer.
The kiss tasted like salt and sadness and something like desperation. Harry's fingers dug harder into Louis' hips, pulling him impossibly closer, like he was afraid Louis would disappear if he loosened his grip. Louis tangled his hands in Harry's curls, tugging gently in the way he knew drove Harry mad.
"Mine," Harry breathed against Louis' throat, voice raw with need and possession. "Still mine."
"Always yours," Louis promised, meaning it with every fiber of his being, even as guilt twisted in his stomach. He pushed Harry's shirt up, needing to feel skin against skin, to remind himself that this - this connection, this electricity, this love - was real in a way nothing else was.
Harry stood suddenly, lifting Louis with him, strong hands gripping the backs of his thighs. Louis wrapped his legs around Harry's waist as they stumbled toward their bedroom, neither willing to break contact for even a moment.
They fell onto their bed in a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothes, hands trembling with urgency. Every touch felt like marking territory, every kiss like a plea. Harry mapped Louis' body like he was trying to commit it to memory, while Louis whispered endless strings of "I love you" and "I'm sorry" into Harry's skin.
It wasn't gentle - couldn't be, with the weight of everything unsaid between them. But it was honest in a way nothing else in their lives could be. Here, in the darkness of their room, there was no pretending. No cameras, no management, no expectations. Just them, stripped bare in every way that mattered.
"Look at me," Harry demanded softly, cupping Louis' face. His eyes were dark with desire but swimming with unshed tears. "I need to see you."
Louis met his gaze, his own vision blurring. He could see everything in Harry's eyes - the love, the fear, the desperate need to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping away. Louis pressed their foreheads together, breathing the same air, letting their tears mingle.
"I love you," Louis whispered against Harry's lips. "More than anything. More than everything."
Harry's answering kiss was bruising, possessive, full of all the words they couldn't say. Louis surrendered to it completely, letting Harry take what he needed, giving everything he could.
Harry's hands were everywhere at once, touching, claiming, memorizing. His mouth traced paths down Louis' throat, across his collarbones, marking places that would need to be covered tomorrow. Louis arched into every touch, gasping Harry's name like a prayer.
"Tell me again," Harry demanded, voice rough with emotion. "Tell me you're mine."
"Yours," Louis breathed, pulling Harry back up to kiss him deeply. "Always been yours. Only ever yours."
They both knew it wasn't entirely true anymore - couldn't be, with Eleanor in the picture. But here, in this moment, it felt real. Felt right in a way nothing else did.
Harry's hands shook as they explored familiar territory, like he was touching Louis for the first time all over again. Like he was trying to brand himself into Louis' skin, leave marks that would last longer than the ones that would fade by morning.
Louis could feel Harry's tears falling onto his skin, mixing with his own. Could taste the salt of them when they kissed. Could feel the desperation in every touch, every movement, every shared breath.
"I hate it," Harry confessed between kisses, voice breaking. "I hate seeing you with her. Hate watching you fall for her. Hate that I can't- that we can't-"
"I know," Louis cut him off with another kiss, not wanting to hear the rest. Not wanting to face the reality of what they were doing to each other. "I know, I know, I know."
Harry's hands gripped harder, movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. Louis yielded to it all, letting Harry take whatever he needed, giving himself over completely. Because this was the only time they could be truly honest - when they were wrapped up in each other, when the world outside ceased to exist.
"Love you," Harry gasped against Louis' mouth. "Love you so much it hurts. Love you even when I hate what this is doing to us."
Louis tangled his fingers in Harry's curls, pulling him down into another desperate kiss. Because he couldn't bear to hear anymore. Couldn't bear to face the truth of what they were doing to each other. Couldn't bear to acknowledge that this - this desperate, messy, beautiful thing between them - was slowly destroying them both.
But he couldn't stop. Couldn't walk away. Couldn't deny himself this, even knowing the pain it would cause. Because Harry was woven into his very being, was part of his soul in a way that terrified him. Because even as he was falling for Eleanor, even as he was choosing the safer path, he knew no one would ever compare to this.
No one else would ever know him like this - know exactly how to touch him, how to kiss him, how to love him. No one else would ever make him feel this complete, this whole, this understood.
So he let himself be selfish. Let himself have this moment, this night, this love - even knowing tomorrow would bring more lies, more pain, more heartbreak. Even knowing he would continue to choose the easier path, continue to break Harry's heart in new ways, continue to let fear guide his decisions.
Because right now, with Harry's hands mapping his skin like sacred territory, with their hearts beating in perfect sync, with their bodies moving together in a dance they'd perfected over countless nights like this - right now, nothing else mattered.
They were just Louis and Harry, just two boys who fell in love too young and too hard, who found something rare and precious and real in a world of manufactured moments. Two boys who loved each other enough to endure the pain of hiding, enough to sacrifice their truth for their dreams, enough to keep choosing each other even when it hurt.
And if their love was messy and complicated and painful - well, maybe that just made it more real. Maybe that's what made it worth fighting for, worth hiding for, worth hurting for.
Maybe that's what made it last.
Chapter 37: Present Day
Summary:
Harry prepares breakfast in Louis's kitchen, enjoying the morning together as Louis struggles with songwriting. Suddenly, a disturbance outside escalates into a break-in attempt by a young woman, leading to panic. After police arrive, Harry suggests escaping for privacy as they navigate the chaos. Louis agrees, and they quickly make plans to leave, affirming their commitment to each other.
Chapter Text
Chapter 37: Present Day - Harry
Harry swayed gently to The Cure playing through the kitchen speakers, bare feet padding across the hardwood as he gathered ingredients. He'd grown used to cooking in Louis's kitchen over the past weeks - knew which cabinet held the spices, which drawer stuck unless you wiggled it just right. Morning sun streamed through the windows, catching on his rings as he chopped vegetables for a proper breakfast.
From the living room came the soft, familiar sound of Louis working through chord progressions on his guitar. He'd been up since dawn, which usually meant the lyrics were really flowing or really fighting him.
"Fucking hell," Louis muttered, followed by the distinctive thud of him flopping backwards onto the couch.
"Fighting you today, darling?" Harry called out, whisking eggs with oat milk and a pinch of turmeric.
"'S like... I can hear it, yeah? In my head. But getting it onto paper..." Louis's voice got closer until he appeared in the doorway, guitar still strapped across his chest, notebook crumpled in his hand. His trackies were slung low on his hips, hair soft and messy from running frustrated hands through it.
"C'mere then," Harry said, setting down the whisk. "Let me feed you first. Brain works better with food."
Louis made a show of peering into the pan. "Those better not be your weird mushrooms again."
"They're shiitake, and you liked them last time."
"Did not."
"Did too. You had seconds."
"Was just being polite, wasn't I?"
Harry rolled his eyes fondly, hip-checking Louis as he reached for the kettle. "Yorkshire's in the usual spot."
"Course it is," Louis said softly, and something in his tone made Harry turn. Louis was looking at him with that expression - the one that still made Harry's heart stutter after all these years. Like he couldn't quite believe Harry was really there, in his kitchen, knowing where he kept his tea.
"What?" Harry asked, feeling his cheeks warm.
"Nothing," Louis shook his head, setting his guitar carefully against the wall. "Just... like having you here, is all."
Harry hummed, turning back to the stove to hide his smile. "Like being here."
Louis hopped onto the counter next to the stove, legs swinging. It was such a familiar position - Louis perched above him, watching him cook, stealing bites and making commentary. They'd done this in a hundred kitchens over the years, from their first flat to tour buses to hotel rooms.
"Show me what you're working on?" Harry asked, sliding mushrooms into the pan. "While this cooks?"
Louis pulled his notebook closer to his chest. "S'not ready yet."
"Lou."
"It's... it's about him." Louis's voice went quiet. "About Li."
Harry's hand stilled on the spatula. "Yeah?"
"Keep thinking about that stupid video he sent all of us last Christmas. Remember it? Him trying to get Bear interested in the piano, but he just kept smashing the keys and laughing?"
Harry nodded, throat tight. He remembered. Remembered Liam's delighted laughter, the way he'd looked at his son like he'd hung the moon.
"Want it to be perfect," Louis continued. "For him. For when he's older."
Harry abandoned the food entirely, stepping between Louis's legs to pull him close. Louis came easily, burying his face in Harry's neck.
"Play it for me?" Harry murmured into his hair. "Please?"
Louis nodded against his shoulder before pulling back, reaching for his guitar. His fingers found the opening chords - something soft and aching that made Harry's chest tight.
The smell of burning mushrooms made them both jump.
"Shit," Harry spun back to the stove, quickly moving the pan off the heat. "Sorry, sorry-"
But Louis was laughing, that bright, crinkly-eyed laugh that Harry had fallen in love with at sixteen. "Domestic goddess, you are."
"Shut up," Harry fought his own grin, dumping the ruined breakfast into the bin. "This is your fault, distracting me."
"Oi, you asked me to play!"
"Yeah, well," Harry turned back to him, settling between his legs again. "Always been a bit stupid for your music, haven't I?"
Louis's expression softened. He set the guitar aside, pulling Harry closer by his t-shirt (which was actually Louis's t-shirt, stolen from his drawer this morning). "Bit stupid for you in general, I'd say."
Harry leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "Guess we match then."
They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, until Louis's stomach growled loudly.
"Right then," Harry pulled back with a laugh. "Take two on breakfast?"
"Could just order in," Louis suggested hopefully.
"Absolutely not. You've had nothing but takeaway all week."
"Not true! Had that quinoa thing you made Tuesday."
"Three bites doesn't count, love."
The first security beep barely registered - they were used to the occasional alert from delivery drivers or wandering paparazzi. But when the second chime came, followed quickly by a third, Harry felt the familiar prickle of unease down his spine.
Louis was already moving to the security monitor, brow furrowed. Through the grainy footage, they could see someone in a dark hoodie testing the gate, running their hands along the fence line.
"That's not normal," Harry said quietly, turning off the stove. Years of being in the public eye had taught them both to trust their instincts.
"Security's already been notified," Louis replied, but his voice was tight. They watched as the figure disappeared behind the hedges, out of camera view.
Seconds stretched like hours. The kitchen felt suddenly too quiet, save for Robert Smith's voice floating eerily through the speakers. Harry jumped when Louis's phone buzzed - security, confirming they were four minutes out.
A sharp crack from outside made them both freeze.
"Was that-" Harry started, but Louis held up a hand, head tilted. Another crack, closer this time. Someone forcing their way through the dense shrubbery.
"Get away from the windows," Louis murmured, pulling Harry toward the interior wall. They'd done this before - had protocols for overzealous fans, for threats, for the times their private spaces were invaded. But something about this felt different. More desperate.
A shadow passed across the kitchen window. Footsteps on gravel.
"Louis? Harry? I know you're both in there. I have proof!" The voice was young, female, vibrating with a desperate sort of conviction. "I've been tracking the patterns. Harry's Range Rover was here last night - I have the photos! The same car that was at Liam's funeral!"
Louis's whole body went rigid.
"I've spent months documenting everything - your cars, your schedules, the ways you coordinate your social media posts. The secret messages in your lyrics!"
Harry's hand found Louis's, squeezing tight. Even though the voice was young, that didn't make it less threatening. They'd learned that lesson the hard way over the years.
"The matching tattoos! I've analyzed every interview since 2010! I know what they're making you do! Let me help you tell the truth! The world deserves to know! After Liam... how can you keep hiding? Don't you see this is a sign?"
Harry felt sick at the mention of Liam's name, at this stranger using their grief as a weapon. Louis's grip on his hand became almost painful.
They heard her trying door handles, testing windows. "Please! I'm not leaving until you talk to me! Until you admit the truth!"
The security system suddenly blared - she'd broken the seal on a window. The sound of shattering glass was followed by her triumphant laugh.
"I'm coming in! I just need proof! One picture of you together and I'll-"
The security lights flooded the garden with harsh white light, transforming their peaceful morning into something clinical and stark. Harry could feel Louis' heartbeat through his back even as Louis stood slightly in front of him, protective even after all these years.
The kitchen suddenly filled with noise and movement as uniformed figures converged on the girl - her screams turning to sobs. "Please! I wasn't going to hurt them. I just need to know."
JD burst in through the back door, two officers close behind him. His familiar bulk was oddly reassuring - he'd been with Louis for years now, knew their routines, their concerns.
Harry caught Woolsey's momentary surprise at seeing him there. Though the headlines had been screaming about Harry's car in the drive, he assumed seeing it in person must have been different.
"Everyone good?" Woolsey asked, his eyes darting between them before settling firmly on Louis. Professional. Discrete. It's why Louis had kept him on so long.
Louis had already shifted away from Harry, muscle memory from years of practiced distance. "She get in?"
"Broke the window downstairs by the pool," Woolsey confirmed. "Got someone boarding it up now. Found camera equipment on her - long-range lens, night vision capabilities."
Harry felt the familiar twist in his gut. After his recent court case with the stalker in LA, this felt like a sick sort of déjà vu. Different country, same violation.
As someone else approched the back door, Louis shoved Harry toward the pantry before Harry could even process what was happening. Years of instinct, of protecting each other, kicked in without thought.
"Stay there," Louis hissed, already moving to clear evidence of their breakfast together. Harry's jacket, his phone on the counter, the two mugs of tea - all traces of him had to vanish but he wasn't fast enough.
The police officers filed in, notebooks ready. Louis stepped forward, taking control of the narrative with practiced ease.
Through the pantry slats, Harry watched the organized chaos unfold. Louis handled it with practiced ease, but Harry could see the exhaustion in his shoulders. The past month had been intense enough with the funeral photos and subsequent speculation. This would make it exponentially worse.
"The media's already gathering at the gates," Woolsey reported quietly to Louis. "We've got maybe an hour before this hits the news cycle."
Louis nodded, his media-trained voice steady as he gave his statement to the police. But Harry could see his fingers tapping against his thigh - a nervous tell from their X-Factor days.
Woolsey moved closer to Louis, keeping his voice low. "We should think about moving you, at least temporarily. Once this breaks..."
The rest went unsaid. They all remembered the media circus back in their One Direction days. This would be worse. A break-in, both of them present, right when the press was already watching their every move.
Harry shifted in the pantry, mind racing. They needed space - real space, not just careful timing and back entrances. Somewhere to breathe, to grieve properly, to figure out what this tentative thing between them could be without the world watching and waiting.
The sound of more police radios filled the kitchen. In a few hours, their quiet morning would be transformed into breaking news. Harry watched Louis maintain his composed facade, knowing underneath he was as exhausted by it all as Harry was.
Maybe it was time for a different approach. They had options - places where cameras couldn't follow. They just needed to move fast, before the story broke. Before their private reconnection became public property again.
Harry's mind was already forming a plan. He just had to convince Louis there was another way to handle this. That maybe, just this once, they could choose themselves first.
The front door closed with a final click, leaving them in sudden silence. The only sound was the quiet hum of the security system resetting. Louis stayed by the window, watching the last police car disappear down the drive, his shoulders tight with tension.
Harry moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Louis's waist and making himself smaller despite their height difference - an old habit from when they first got together, this instinct to yield to Louis's natural dominance. Louis exhaled slowly, one hand coming up to grip Harry's forearm where it crossed his chest.
"You okay?" Harry murmured, nuzzling against Louis's neck.
"Brilliant," Louis said dryly. "Love having me morning tea interrupted by breaking and entering."
They stood there for a moment, watching the gathering media through the gaps in the curtains. Harry could feel Louis's heartbeat gradually slowing, matching his own.
"Come to Italy with me," Harry said softly, almost shy with the suggestion.
Louis let out a breath. "Haz..."
"Or Japan. They're different there - more respectful. People notice but they don't... intrude." Harry pressed closer, seeking comfort as much as giving it. "We could have space to breathe. To properly process everything that's happened."
"I can't just leave," Louis said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. "The studio sessions, the new album..."
"They can wait." Harry pressed his lips to Louis's shoulder. "Everything can wait."
"This is home," Louis protested, but Harry could hear the exhaustion creeping in.
"I know." Harry did know. Louis's connection to England ran deep - his accent he'd never softened, his fierce pride in his roots. But they both knew those ties weren't as binding as they once were. His visits home were rare these days, his life more nomadic than he'd ever planned.
"But we can't keep doing this," Harry continued, voice small but determined. "Hiding in pantries, scheduling our lives around paps. We need... we need space."
Louis's hand tightened on Harry's arm, anchoring them both.
"Just for a bit," Harry pressed. "My place in Tuscany - no one knows about it. Or that little town outside Tokyo where we stayed that time, remember? How peaceful it was?"
Through the window, they could see more media vans arriving. Their sanctuary shrinking by the minute.
"We could just... exist for a while. Figure out what this is without the whole world watching and waiting." Harry's voice was barely a whisper now. "Choose us first, just this once."
Louis was quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on Harry's arm. Finally, he turned in Harry's embrace, one hand coming up to cup Harry's cheek. Harry leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes closing.
"Two weeks," Louis said softly, his thumb brushing Harry's cheekbone. "Let me sort things at the studio, make some calls." He pressed their foreheads together. "Then maybe... maybe Italy doesn't sound so bad."
Harry felt relief wash over him as Louis said those words. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Louis's thumb traced along his jaw, and Harry leaned into the touch instinctively. "Been a while since I've had proper Italian coffee anyway."
Harry couldn't help the small smile that broke through, feeling his dimple appear. "The villa has an espresso machine. And that little cafe in the village..." He stopped himself, not wanting to push now that Louis was actually considering it.
"The one with the cranky old man who pretended not to know who we were?" Louis's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Just glared at us over his newspaper every morning?"
"Giuseppe," Harry nodded, pressing closer into Louis's space. "He's still there. Still pretends he doesn't speak English when tourists come in."
A commotion outside drew their attention back to the window. Another news van had arrived, and Harry could see photographers setting up their long-range lenses.
Louis's jaw tightened. "Vultures, the lot of them."
"We don't have to decide everything now," Harry said quietly, fingers playing nervously with the hem of Louis's shirt. "But maybe... maybe we could at least get out of London tonight? Before this hits the news?"
Louis studied him for a moment, and Harry watched his expression soften. "You're really worried about this one, aren't you, love?"
Harry ducked his head, but Louis caught his chin, tilting it back up. "Hey. None of that. Talk to me properly."
"It's just..." Harry took a shaky breath, feeling vulnerable under Louis's steady gaze. "We've only just found our way back to each other. And I can't... I can't bear the thought of losing this again as soon as it gets complicated."
Louis pulled him closer, and Harry melted as he felt Louis's fingers slide into his curls - that familiar touch that always made everything feel right. "Not going to lose me this time, baby. Promise."
Harry couldn't help but lean into the touch, earning a fond smile from Louis that made his heart flutter.
"Could go to the Erskine house," Harry suggested, nuzzling into Louis's neck. "No paps allowed anywhere near there. Give your team time to sort things here. Then Italy?"
He felt Louis considering it, those gentle fingers still carding through his hair. "Would need to call the studio first. And me security team..."
"I can have my security here in twenty minutes to hold off the cameras." Harry pulled back just enough to meet Louis's eyes, knowing he was probably pushing but unable to help himself.
He watched Louis's expression soften further - that look that had always been reserved just for him.
"Alright, love." Louis pressed a kiss to his forehead that made Harry's chest tight with emotion. "Pack a bag while I make some calls. But you're driving - don't trust meself driving with this headache coming on."
Harry beamed, already mentally planning what they'd need.
"And H?" Louis called as Harry turned toward the stairs. "No stopping at that bloody farm shop this time. Don't care how good their organic whatever-it-is is."
Harry couldn't help his laugh, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. "No promises!" he called back, already knowing they'd end up stopping anyway. Louis always gave in eventually, even if he pretended to be annoyed about it.
As he headed upstairs, he could hear Louis on the phone with his team, that authoritative tone he used for business. Harry smiled to himself. They were really doing this. Finally choosing them first.
Harry moved through Louis's closet with practiced familiarity, selecting pieces he knew would work together. "Lou, where's that cream jumper I got you last Christmas?" he called down the stairs.
"Fuck if I know," Louis shouted back, his voice carrying that edge of stress Harry recognized from his phone calls. "Just pack whatever, love."
Harry rolled his eyes fondly, carefully folding the few decent items Louis owned into his weekender. He could hear Louis downstairs, his voice sharp as he dealt with his management team. Something about studio commitments and contract obligations.
By the time Harry came down with both their bags, three black Range Rovers had pulled up outside. His security team was already moving into position, creating a barrier between the house and the growing mass of photographers.
Louis was by the door, ending another call with a curt "Sort it" before shoving his phone in his pocket. His jaw was set tight, but his expression softened when he saw Harry.
"Ready?" Harry asked quietly.
Louis nodded, reaching for Harry's hand and squeezing once. "Your lot's still efficient as ever."
They waited for the signal, then moved quickly. Harry's Range Rover was already running, positioned for a quick exit. The security teams formed a tight formation around them as they rushed to the car, camera flashes going off like strobe lights despite the human barrier.
Harry slid behind the wheel, Louis beside him, and didn't waste any time. The engine roared as he accelerated, tires gripping the pavement as they shot forward. Two security vehicles fell into formation behind them.
"Christ alive," Louis laughed, gripping the door handle as Harry took a corner faster than strictly necessary. "Still driving like you're running from the bloody law."
Harry flashed him a dimpled grin, feeling some of his anxiety dissolve with every mile they put between themselves and the chaos. "You love it."
"Do not," Louis protested, but his hand found Harry's thigh, squeezing gently. He reached for his phone, pairing it to the car's system with familiar ease. After a moment, the opening notes of Arctic Monkeys' "505" filled the car.
Harry's breath caught slightly - their song from those early days, when everything was stolen moments and hidden meanings. He glanced over to find Louis already watching him, something soft and private in his expression.
"Remember the first time I played this for you?" Louis asked quietly.
"'Course I do," Harry replied, his voice a bit rough. How could he forget? Their tiny flat, rain against the windows, this song playing while they pretended the outside world didn't exist.
Louis's thumb traced patterns on Harry's thigh as they navigated through London's outskirts, taking the less traveled routes they both knew by heart. The familiar streets of Hampstead Heath were approaching, but Harry wasn't ready for this moment to end - just them, the music, and memories of all the times they'd chosen each other despite everything.
Chapter 38: February 16, 2012
Summary:
Harry struggles with the pressures of an interview while sharing a charged space with Louis. As they defy management's expectations, their camaraderie intensifies, leading to thinly veiled references about their relationship. Despite the looming consequences, the thrill of rebellion brings them closer, igniting hopes for future stolen moments together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 38: February 16, 2012
Harry stifled a yawn as they were herded into yet another interview room, his body still on Paris time despite the two days that had passed. The orange racing suit they'd given him was stiff and scratchy, and he had to fight the urge to reach for Louis every time their shoulders brushed.
His phone buzzed again - probably another passive-aggressive text from management about his "night out" with Nick and Alexa. The pictures had been taken days before the left, but according to the offical narrative - they'd been on Valentine's night. As if any one would actually beleive he'd spend his Valentine's out drinking rather than with…
He caught Karen's watchful eye from where she stood by the door, clipboard clutched to her chest, and deliberately turned away. He was already in trouble from those Paris interviews. But, in his defense, they shouldn't have let him and Louis have interviews alone together on Valentine's if they didn't want them to flirt on camera. How were they possibly supposed to act when every moment between interviews they were fooling around in the most romantic city on earth?
"Right lads!" The Sugarscape interviewer breezed in, carrying a tray of Red Bulls. "Thought you might need a boost!"
"Fucking hell, yes," Louis grabbed one immediately, and Harry bit back a groan. Louis on Red Bull was a force of nature on a good day. Louis on Red Bull when he was already vibrating with barely contained fury was something else entirely.
"You sure that's wise?" Liam muttered, but Louis was already cracking it open, shoulders tight with defiance.
Harry watched him drain half the can in one go, knowing exactly what this was - Louis's own special brand of rebellion. Two could play at that game. He grabbed a can himself, ignoring both Liam's warning look and Karen's sharp clearing of her throat.
"Harry, love, why don't you sit in the back with Liam?" Karen's voice cut through the moment, sickeningly sweet. "For the camera angles."
Harry felt Louis tense beside him, watched his fingers tighten around the Red Bull can. But they both knew the drill by now. Harry moved to the back row, feeling Karen's approving nod like a physical weight.
Louis downed the rest of his Red Bull, grabbed another, and flashed that brilliant, dangerous smile that meant he was about to make management's life difficult.
"Ready when you are," Louis announced, bouncing on his toes.
Even from the back row, Harry could feel the electricity crackling off him. This was them - finding ways to push back, to stay themselves, even when everything around them tried to force them apart.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as the interviewer settled in, their orange racing suits crinkling with every movement. Harry's head was still fuzzy from lack of sleep, the memory of Paris lingering like perfume - stolen kisses in empty corridors between interviews, hands brushing under tables, Louis's eyes bright over wine at lunch.
"Nice to see you! Nice you're back from Paris."
They murmured their rehearsed responses. Harry watched Louis's leg bounce, Red Bull already coursing through his system. He wanted to reach forward, press his hand to Louis's thigh to still it, but Karen's eyes never left them.
"I'm going there soon, so where's good? What was the best restaurant, if you went to a restaurant?"
"If you go to l'Entrecôte." The words caught slightly in Harry's throat. He could still taste the wine, still feel Louis's ankle hooked around his under the white tablecloth, still remember how Louis had smiled at him over their identical plates. "Yeah, it's like a steak place, there's no menu, you just have steak."
"Also," Louis interrupted, voice pitched higher with that manic energy that always made Harry's stomach flip, "there's this place in Paris, you probably haven't heard of it. Eiffel Tower. It's great, not many people have heard of it."
"It's triangle," Zayn offered.
"Like a Black Tower but bigger," Harry added, catching Louis's eye. For a moment, he was back there - Louis pulling him into shadows beneath it, whispering "Happy Valentine's Day, love" against his lips.
"Valentine's Day," the interviewer leaned forward, and Harry's chest tightened. "Was that quite a romantic occasion for you?"
Harry watched Louis's jaw work, saw the muscle jump as he stared at Karen between carefully timed camera glances. The fury radiating off him was almost tangible. Zayn shifted nervously next Louis, while Liam's concerned gaze burned into Harry's profile.
"We were actually working for a lot, which was a bit upsetting," Niall jumped in.
Louis's voice took on that rehearsed quality that made Harry's heart ache. "We got home at half eleven, I think." His eyes flicked to Karen for confirmation, and Harry felt his lips form a pout before he could stop himself, remembering how different the reality had been.
"Yeah, we came straight back to England when we were finished," Niall continued, which wasn't exactly true for Harry and Louis, but was for Niall, he guessed. "So we didn't get to spend a lot of time there. But maybe next time when we got a bit more time, we'll uh, have a look around."
"Louis and Liam, did you get to speak to the ladies?"
Bile rose in Harry's throat as he glared at Karen, hatred burning hot and fierce. Two days ago he'd had Louis all to himself, and now they were back to this circus.
"Oh, I made home in time," Liam offered.
"Oh, you got home in time!"
"Yeah."
"Like a romantic romcom-"
"I came home-" Louis started trying to deliver his part of the script, but she talked over him.
"A mad dash to the door?"
"I think we had about forty minutes at the end." Louis's eyes were locked on Karen, cold and hard until he delivered the practiced line: "I came home to some sausage and mash."
Harry had to turn away from the camera and face the wall, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. When he composed himself, his dimple was still threatening to show. Because really - sausage and mash? When they both knew exactly what had actually happened after that train ride? If only the interviewer knew what kind of sausage Louis' had been enjoying this interview would be going a bit differently.
"Slippers warm and dinner ready?"
The script deviation threw Louis visibly. "Huh?"
She repeated herself, and Louis managed a tight "Exactly."
"Yeah," Niall echoed for absolutely no reason, throwing a panicked glance at management.
"I came home..." Harry started, feeling reckless, high on Louis's proximity and their shared secret. Louis's head whipped around, eyes wide with panic. "To an empty bedroom."
Louis's fingers reached behind him to find Harry's ankle, not even really hidden from the cameras, and Harry forgot everything - the lights, the cameras, Karen's hawkish stare. For a moment it was just them, just Louis's touch burning through his sock, just those blue eyes holding his until-
"You went out on the lash though. We have pictures."
Reality crashed back. Harry startled, heat rising in his cheeks. "Me? Oh yeah. I saw." The lie felt like ash in his mouth even as he smiled, tasting nothing like Louis's kisses from two nights ago.
Louis's eyes found Karen again, checking they'd performed their roles correctly in this elaborate fantasy. Harry leaned back in his chair, the scratchy orange fabric suddenly suffocating, and wished he could go back to Paris, back to when they were just them, if only for a moment.
The monitor caught Harry's eye - another reminder of how they looked to the world. He watched Louis in the small screen, noticed how his eyes kept darting to management, noticed the tension in his shoulders. Karen was gesturing frantically about something, and Louis mouthed "what is it?" with exaggerated confusion that Harry knew was purely to wind her up.
Then Karen did something - Harry couldn't quite catch what, but he felt Louis's entire energy shift. The air crackled with it, that familiar electricity that meant Louis was about to go off-script. Harry's fingers twitched against his thigh, wanting to reach out, to steady him.
"Actually," Louis announced, voice dripping with faux innocence, "Liam says he can't drink at the wedding, but we've done our research, haven't we lads? Turns out he absolutely can." He paused for effect. "Been trying to corrupt him ever since we found out."
Harry kept his face carefully blank, even as his stomach flipped. They weren't supposed to talk about drinking - it was right there in the contract, along with all the other things they weren't supposed to do or be or want. Niall's laughter burst out, sharp and genuine, while Zayn seemed to shrink into himself, avoiding management's glares.
"So you're going to America soon?"
The question startled Harry out of watching Louis. "Yeah," he drawled, his vowels stretched long and Northern in a way his Holmes Chapel accent had never been before.
"For the American tour?"
"Yeah." He was still distracted by Louis, by the way he was practically vibrating with defiance now.
"How do you think American fans compare to British fans?"
"Ye-" Harry caught himself, realized he needed actual words. His accent came out thick as syrup: "American fans seem a lot more confident."
He saw Louis twist around to Liam in his peripheral vision, pointing his head toward Harry with raised eyebrows. His heart stuttered when Liam mouthed "you've changed him" to Louis, because yes, yes he had. Every day spent curled together in bus bunks and hotel rooms had left its mark on Harry's voice, his mannerisms, everything.
"They're more likely to come up and have a conversation with you," Harry continued, but then Louis lost it - throwing his head back with uncontrollable laughter, slapping his knee, trying and failing to muffle it behind his hand. The pure joy radiating off him made Harry's chest ache.
Liam reached forward, pulling Louis back against him, and Harry's initial flash of jealousy melted when he realized what Liam was doing - creating an excuse for Louis to lean back, to press against Harry's legs where they hung over the platform. Harry could feel Louis's warmth through the scratchy orange fabric, could feel him practically purring with satisfaction at the contact.
"Do you think British fans are scared then?"
Harry barely registered the question, too focused on Louis nestled against him. "I wouldn't say they were scared, just, um, I don't know." The words came out distracted and vague as Louis squirmed in Liam's arms, deliberately pressing closer to Harry's shins.
His breath caught as he watched Louis play-fighting with Liam, letting himself be fake-choked, dramatically going limp. It was all a show, all designed to push Karen's buttons, but God, Louis was beautiful like this - playful and defiant and so perfectly himself.
When Karen finally snapped, clearing her throat sharply enough to make Louis sit up straight again, Harry had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. Even trying to behave, Louis radiated satisfaction, and Harry could feel the promise in it - whatever was coming next would be worth Karen's rage.
The interview drifted until Mario Kart came up, and Harry's stomach dropped as he caught management's sharp glares. After so many months of trying to keep their hands off each other in public, they'd developed a sixth sense for when things were about to go sideways.
He tried to play it safe: "One of them's called Wiggly, Honey Queen, I don't know the other ones... oh uh, Metal Mario." But his mind was already wandering to last night's "gaming session" that had ended with Louis' controler wire bound around his wrists.
"For those of you who passed your driving test, does it make it easier?"
Harry watched Louis's face transform with that look - that devastating look that meant he was about to burn everything down just to watch the flames. After all this time, Harry still couldn't resist him when he got like this.
"It's very similar to driving, actually. You carry bananas with you when you drive. You can throw them at people."
"Is that something that you-?"
"I sometimes throw them out my car, yeah. When there's time."
"So then Harry and Lou, obviously you guys have a special relationship-"
Harry's blood turned to ice. Louis's finger froze against his lip, and Harry couldn't look at him, couldn't move. Stolen moments he couldn't admit to flashed through his mind - tour bus bunks, stadium bathrooms, hotel rooms across three continents. Every secret touch, every muffled moan, every "I love you" whispered in the dark.
"That people have picked up on."
His pulse roared in his ears. Management was going to kill them. Karen looked ready to spontaneously combust.
"So you must get quite competitive when you're playing things like Mario. So who usually is in front and who usually gets behind?"
Harry's brain short-circuited. Christ, they weren't even trying to be subtle anymore. He watched Louis's smirk spread and knew they were about to cross a line they couldn't uncross. He had to be sure they were talking about the same thing. "So between me and Louis who is in front and who is behind?" he clarified.
"Yeah."
Louis turned, their eyes meeting, and Harry saw so many memories reflected back at him - every city, every stolen moment, every time they'd defied the rules just to be together. His whole body thrummed with the electricity of it.
"I think we kind of share that really," Louis said, his voice dripping with a suggestion that everyone in the room could read.
"Yeah," Harry managed, dimples betraying him.
"Uh, sometimes you take the front-"
"Sometimes I take the front-" Harry admitted. Like backstage in Manchester, Tokyo, Sydney...
Louis smile was radiant. "Sometimes I take the front." Like every hotel room from here to LA.
"If he's a bit tired, I'll go behind and push him along." Harry bit back a laugh, remembering countless nights of exactly that. It wasn't often that Louis let him take control, but in the rare instance when it happened - it was fucking magical.
He could practically feel Louis' breath on his neck as Louis spoke even though they were meters apart. "Yeah, yeah, but you know we're both quite generous to each other. So, I think that sometimes he should get to do what he wants to do and go first."
Harry couldn't contain his smile anymore, adrenaline rushing through him. They were laying it all bare - their sex life, their relationship, everything management had tried to bury - coded just thinly enough to maintain plausible deniability while making it blindingly obvious to anyone with eyes.
"So a bit of give and take?" the interviewer said with finality, cutting off the conversation.
"Yes," Louis declared, radiating defiance, and Harry wanted to kiss that smug look right off his face, consequences be damned.
The conversation devolved into Daisy Hills and two-minute records, but Harry's mind was still reeling from their blatant admission. When Louis cracked about endurance, Harry lost it completely, high on the absolute madness of sitting here in matching orange suits, telling the world exactly what they'd been doing in every dark corner they could find for the past eighteen months.
He caught Louis's eye again, both of them flushed and electric with shared rebellion. Management was going to eviscerate them later, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Because for once they'd gotten to be almost honest about this thing between them that had survived every attempt to stamp it out. For once they'd gotten to acknowledge what everyone already suspected, even if it was wrapped in the thinnest veneer of Mario Kart metaphors.
His heart was still racing when the interviewer moved on, but Harry stayed lost in the echo of Louis's words and the promise in his eyes. Later, they'd face the consequences. Later, they'd endure the lectures about image and contracts and appropriate behavior. But right now, watching Louis radiate satisfaction at their shared defiance, Harry could only think about how many hours until they could be alone again, how many new memories they'd make tonight to add to their growing collection of secret moments and stolen touches and love that refused to be hidden.
Notes:
https://youtu.be/xHclIjGG-0M?si=uBS_NIVaq4g8WS4H
Chapter 39: Present Day
Summary:
Louis wakes up in Harry's bedroom, recalling shared memories as he searches for tea. Harry helps Louis find Yorkshire Tea, showing that he has preserved their connection. Their dynamic remains electric, laced with tension as they navigate the morning. They discuss the upcoming future, contracts, and the weight of their past, revealing deep emotional undercurrents.
Chapter Text
Chapter 39: Present Day
Louis woke to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains, momentarily disoriented until the events of yesterday came rushing back. Harry's bed smelled like him - that same fancy cologne he'd worn since he was sixteen, now mixed with something earthy and expensive.
The room had changed since 2020, when they'd spent those desperate six months here during lockdown, trying to rebuild something that had always felt inevitable. Gone were the edgy rock posters from their youth, replaced by abstract paintings that probably cost more than his first house in Doncaster. There was definitely... a lot of nudity in that one across from the bed. Very artistic nudity, but still.
He padded downstairs in search of tea, memories hitting him with every step. Harry teaching him to bake bread in that kitchen. Late night FIFA tournaments that always ended with them tangled together on the sofa. Morning tea shared in comfortable silence while the world outside went mad.
The kitchen was all green ferns now, sprawling across the walls like a Victorian conservatory gone mad. It suited Harry somehow, though it made his chest ache thinking about all the changes he'd missed.
"Fuck's sake," he muttered, rifling through cabinet after cabinet of pretentious loose leaf teas. "How hard is it to keep proper Yorkshire-"
"Third cabinet on the left, bottom shelf," Harry's voice came from behind him, sleep-rough and fond. "Behind the matcha."
Louis found it exactly where Harry said - a box of Yorkshire Tea, tucked away like a secret. He stared at it, throat tight. All these years, through all their separations and reunions, Harry had kept his tea. Waiting.
"You kept it." His voice came out rougher than intended.
"Always do." Harry's eyes were soft, vulnerable. "Couldn't not."
Louis had to turn away, blinking hard as he focused on the kettle. Some things were still too raw to look at directly. Behind him, Harry moved around the kitchen in nothing but silk pajama bottoms that probably cost more than Louis's entire wardrobe. Well, the wardrobe Harry had packed for him anyway - all his nicest stuff, coordinated like they were going on a bloody photoshoot instead of hiding out.
"Want some breakfast? I can make you that tofu scramble you pretended to like during lockdown."
Louis laughed, the tension breaking. "Think I'll stick with toast, love. Some things haven't changed."
Harry hummed, pulling out ingredients anyway. Louis watched him move through the kitchen with practiced grace. He couldn't help but look down at his own wrinkled shirt and feel like an imposter standing somewhere he didn't belong.
But then Harry was pressing a perfect cup of Yorkshire Tea into his hands, made exactly how Louis liked it, and for a moment the years fell away. Same boy, different packaging.
Louis took a sip of his tea, watching Harry flutter around the kitchen in those ridiculous silk pajamas. He moved differently now - all controlled grace and deliberate sensuality. Gone was the gangly teenager who'd trip over air, replaced by someone who knew exactly how to use his body. But underneath it all, Louis could still see traces of that sixteen-year-old boy who used to look at him with those huge green eyes like he hung the moon.
Harry bent to retrieve something from a lower cabinet, the silk clinging in ways that had to be intentional. Louis's fingers twitched with muscle memory as his eyes caught on Harry's hip bones. He remembered when those words had been there - "might as well..." - before the laurels covered them. Remembered the night that inspired them, Harry trembling beneath him in some forgotten hotel room, flushed and wanting as Louis' trailed kisses across his chest… his stomach… his hips… "Lower," Harry had breathed, and Louis had looked up at him with that signature smirk, one eyebrow raised. "Might as well," he'd drawled, before taking Harry apart for the first time.
Harry had gotten the tattoo a week later, and Louis had traced those words with his tongue countless times over the years. Now they were hidden beneath leaves and branches, like so many other pieces of their shared history, visible only if you knew where to look.
The morning light caught on the laurels now, and Harry's knowing smile said he hadn't forgotten either.
"See something you like?" Harry glanced over his shoulder, dimple deepening. His hair was still sleep-mussed, hair wild in a way that made Louis's hands itch to grab it.
"Behave yourself," Louis said, voice dropping to that particular register that he knew still worked. Sure enough, Harry's movements stuttered, a subtle shiver running through his frame. The wooden spoon he'd been holding clattered against the counter.
It had always been like this between them - this delicate dance of power. Harry, who commanded stadiums and had the world at his feet, who could bring thousands to tears with a single note, would melt at just the right tone in Louis's voice. One firm word could turn him from international sex symbol back into that sweet boy who just wanted to be good for his Lou.
But there was something new in the way Harry carried himself now - a confidence that hadn't been there before. He'd grown comfortable in his skin during their years apart, learned to own his softness in ways management had never allowed. His nails were painted a soft pink, rings glinting on nearly every finger. The Harry of ten years ago would have hidden these parts of himself, worried about looking too soft, too feminine, too much. This Harry wore his gentleness like armor.
Meanwhile, Louis still caught himself checking corners for cameras, still felt the phantom pressure to maintain certain appearances. Still heard those voices in his head about what a man should be, how a man should act. Harry had broken free of those chains. Louis was still learning how.
Harry was watching him now, eyes dark with understanding and want. He took a deliberate step closer, crowding into Louis's space. "Make me," he whispered, challenge clear in his voice.
Louis's hand shot out, wrapping around Harry's wrist. Not tight enough to hurt - never that - but firm enough to make his point. Harry's breath hitched, pupils dilating.
"Careful what you wish for, love." Louis kept his voice steady despite the way his heart was racing. This was familiar territory - the one place he'd always known exactly who he was, what he wanted. "Don't start something you can't finish."
Harry's free hand came up to play with the collar of Louis's t-shirt, touch deceptively innocent. "Maybe I want you to finish it."
"Your toast is burning," Harry added sweetly, not moving to help, clearly enjoying the way Louis was torn between maintaining his grip and saving breakfast.
"Menace," Louis muttered, but he was smiling as he rescued his toast. Some things really hadn't changed at all. The dynamic between them was still electric, still perfect - even if everything else felt like shifting sand beneath their feet.
Harry pressed against his back as he stood at the counter, all warm skin and silk. "But I'm your menace," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Louis's shoulder.
Louis closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the familiar weight of him, the scent of his skin. "Yeah," he managed. "Yeah, you are."
Harry hummed against his skin, arms tightening around Louis's waist. The silence stretched between them, comfortable but loaded with unspoken words. Louis turned around in Harry's arms and let his fingers drift to Harry's hip, tracing where he knew those words used to be.
"Remember when you got this?" His voice was rough with memory.
Harry's breath hitched. "Which part? The words or what's covering them?"
"You know which." Louis turned in his arms, meeting those green eyes that still held the same heat they always had. "Proper scandal that was. Everyone trying to figure out what 'might as well' meant."
Harry's dimple deepened. "Almost as mad as when Zayn got his 'don't think I won't' a month later."
Louis tensed slightly. Even now, years later, he hated thinking about those weeks of endless theories about Harry and Zayn's "matching" tattoos. The fans had gone wild, convinced the two phrases were connected messages between them. They'd never know the truth - how Zayn had gotten his after that night when he and Liam were proper pissed and arguing over FIFA. How Zayn had told Liam to suck his dick, and Liam had looked him dead in the eye with that spark that only Zayn could bring out in him and said "Don't think I won't." The rest of that night was between them, but Zayn had shown up with the tattoo a week later. Insipired by Harry's and the stories they'd told him about it.
"Still drives me mental," Louis admitted, "thinking about all those theories about you two. Even though we knew..."
"Hey." Harry's hand came up to cup his jaw. "Was only ever about you. Just like Zayn's was only ever about-" He cut himself off, something sad flickering in his eyes. They didn't talk about that anymore, about what had been lost when everything fell apart.
"Only we knew," Harry murmured instead, pressing closer. His thumb brushed Louis's bottom lip. "Only we'll ever know about that night. About you looking up at me with that fucking smirk, about how you-"
"Christ, H." Louis cut him off with a kiss, backing him against the kitchen island. His hands settled on Harry's hips, thumbs pressing into the laurels. Marking his territory, even after all these years. "Still get me going just thinking about it."
"Yeah?" Louis could barely think with Harry's fingers curled into his shirt. "Could've gotten it removed, you know. Instead of covering it."
"Never." The word came out fierce, Harry's eyes blazing. "Wanted to keep it. Just... needed to hide it better."
Like so many things between them. Always there, just beneath the surface, hidden in plain sight. Louis leaned in, letting his lips brush Harry's ear. "Show me."
Harry's breath caught as Louis's fingers traced the silk waistband. With trembling hands, he lowered the fabric just enough to reveal the laurels, the morning light catching on pale skin and dark ink. Louis sank to his knees, reverent, pressing his lips to the familiar design. He could almost see the ghost of those words beneath the leaves - their secret, their beginning, preserved beneath layers of art and time.
Harry's fingers threaded through his hair as Louis mapped the tattoo with careful attention, relearning every line and curve. Above him, Harry's breathing grew ragged, his grip tightening when Louis's mouth wandered to the sensitive skin of his hip.
"Lou," he breathed, voice rough. "Please."
Louis looked up, finding Harry's eyes dark with want, his bottom lip bitten red. The sight of him - flushed and wanting, silk clinging to his frame - made Louis's heart stutter. Still so beautiful. Still his, after all this time.
He rose slowly, pressing Harry back against the counter, letting his hands slip beneath silk to find warm skin. Harry arched into the touch, a soft sound escaping his throat as Louis's mouth found his pulse point.
He rose slowly, pressing Harry back against the counter, letting his hands slip beneath silk to find warm skin. Harry arched into the touch, a soft sound escaping his throat as Louis's mouth found his pulse point.
The morning light painted shadows across Harry's skin as Louis took control, one hand tangling in the short hair at Harry's nape. He tugged gently, exposing more of that elegant throat, and Harry yielded with a soft gasp that made Louis's blood sing. The silk pajamas were obscene against Harry's frame - classic Harry Styles, really, even at home - and Louis wanted them gone.
"Missed you," Harry breathed as Louis's free hand slipped lower. "Missed this. Missed us."
Louis hummed against his throat, using his grip on Harry's hair to guide him into a deeper kiss. Harry melted into it, pliant and eager, his fingers clutching at Louis's worn t-shirt. Even now, after all these years, after all the stadiums and screaming fans and solo careers, Harry still went soft for him like this.
"Bed," Harry managed between kisses. "Need-"
"Yeah," Louis breathed, already walking them backward through the kitchen. They stumbled slightly, caught between urgency and the desire to keep touching, to stay connected. Harry's back hit the doorframe and they paused there, Louis pressing closer as Harry's hands found his hair.
The bedroom was awash in golden morning light when they finally made it there, casting everything in warm honey tones. Harry looked ethereal like this - silk clinging to long limbs, curls wild, eyes dark with want. Louis took a moment just to look at him, to memorize him in this light, in this moment.
"You're staring," Harry murmured, reaching for him.
"Can't help it." Louis responded as he gently grabbed Harry's wrists and pinned them to his sides. "Look at you."
Harry's answering whimper was soft and needy, just for him. Louis guided him down onto the bed, taking his time now, making Harry wait as he stripped off his own t-shirt. Harry watched him with dark eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath that ridiculous silk.
Time seemed to slow, stretch like honey as they relearned each other. Every sigh, every whispered word, every touch was both familiar and new - the same story told in a different language. Louis traced old tattoos with new reverence, finding all the places that made Harry gasp his name like a prayer.
The morning light caught in Harry's eyes as he arched beneath Louis, their fingers intertwined against the sheets. Everything felt infinite in that moment - their love, their control, their shared history stretching behind and before them like an endless road.
When they finally stilled, breathing heavy in the quiet room, Harry tucked himself into Louis's side like he'd never left. His fingers traced tracing the "It is what it is" tattoo on Louis's chest, mapping the letters like constellations.
When they finally stilled, breathing heavy in the quiet room, Harry tucked himself into Louis's side like he'd never left. His fingers traced the "It is what it is" tattoo on Louis's chest, mapping the letters like constellations.
Louis let his eyes wander around Harry's bedroom, still adjusting to the change from his own house. After the break-in yesterday, Harry's place felt like a fortress - which, really, it was. No fans could scale these walls, no photographers could catch a glimpse through these windows. The tabloids would be going mental now, he thought, Harry's car disappearing from outside his house only to vanish completely.
The morning was grey beyond the curtains, but the room was warm, almost too warm with their body heat and the heavy duvet. Louis could still feel the adrenaline from yesterday thrumming under his skin, making him hold Harry just a bit tighter. The fan had gotten so close before security caught them. Too close.
Harry's phone lay silent on the nightstand. They'd both stopped checking weeks ago, after Zayn's show in Wolverhampton. That night had broken something open in all of them - performing in Liam's hometown, the empty space on stage where he should have been. Zayn had barely made it through his set, and afterwards...
"Remember what Zayn said?" Harry murmured against Louis's chest. "After the show?"
Louis nodded, his hand absently running along Harry's spine. "About how none of it matters anymore. The secrets, the hiding..."
"He was right." Harry shifted, propping himself up to look at Louis. "These past few weeks, being back together, even if it's just been us hiding out at yours..."
"Until some fan decided to join us for breakfast," Louis tried to joke, but it fell flat. They both knew how badly that could have gone.
"Two weeks," Harry said softly. "Two weeks and we'll be in Italy. Where no one can find us."
Louis closed his eyes, imagining it. A villa in the countryside, somewhere paparazzi couldn't reach. Somewhere they could breathe. Somewhere to figure out what came next.
"The papers are going mental," he said. "Making up all sorts of theories about why we've both disappeared."
"Let them." Harry's voice was firm. "They can't hurt us anymore. Not after..." He trailed off, but Louis knew. Not after losing Liam. Not after finding each other again.
Louis pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "One day at a time, love," he murmured. "One day at a time."
The laptop on Harry's desk pinged with an email notification - the only form of communication they hadn't completely cut off. Harry tensed against him, and Louis knew without asking. The studio. The label. The machine that never stopped turning.
"Have to check it?" Louis asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Harry sighed, pressing closer. "Later. It's probably just Jeff with more dates for next year's studio time."
The casual mention of Harry's future plans settled like a weight in Louis's stomach. He had his own studio sessions lined up, songs he'd been writing these past weeks - good ones, he thought. But there was always that voice in the back of his head, comparing, measuring. Harry's Grammy sitting on a shelf in his LA house - their LA house, technically, though Louis hadn't been there in years. The house Harry had bought for them the week Freddie was born, for a future that never quite happened.
"You know," Harry said carefully, "the house in LA is still there. Still ours."
Louis swallowed hard. "H..."
"I know you've got your studio time here, but after... you could write anywhere. And Freddie's there..."
"And your whole life is there," Louis finished. The unspoken words hung between them - the movie premieres Louis couldn't attend, the fashion shows where Harry sat front row with beautiful people who understood his world in a way Louis never quite could, the stadium tours while Louis played smaller venues.
"You're my life," Harry said fiercely, but they both knew it wasn't that simple. It had never been that simple.
"Got my own album to think about," Louis said lightly, but his grip on Harry tightened. "Can't all be Grammy winners, can we?"
"Lou-" Harry started, the hurt clear in his voice.
"Sorry, sorry," Louis backtracked quickly. "Bad joke. I just... it's different now, innit? Than when we were kids. You're..." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything Harry had become. "And I'm..."
"The only person I've ever wanted," Harry finished. "The only person I've ever loved like this."
And that was true, Louis knew it was true. In here, in their bubble, Louis was everything. He was the one Harry turned to, the one who could make him laugh, the one who knew every inch of him.
"The lawyers have been emailing," Louis said quietly, the words heavy between them. "About the contract."
Harry's body tensed against his, and Louis knew they were both remembering their last fight about it - the way Harry had looked at him when Louis told him about signing with Sony, about the clauses, about choosing security over truth. The way Harry had said, voice breaking, that he couldn't watch Louis choose the closet again. The way Louis had walked out, convinced Harry deserved someone who could love him properly, openly, not someone too scared to even hold his hand in public.
"How bad?" Harry asked now, his voice carefully neutral.
"Bad enough." Louis's laugh was hollow. "Turns out hiding in your house and not denying the rumors breaks about six different clauses."
"Lou-"
"I know what you're going to say," Louis cut him off. "That we'll fight it, that we'll figure it out. But H... maybe you were right. Back then. Maybe you deserve-"
"Don't." Harry's voice was sharp now, hurt. "Don't you dare try to make those choices for me again. Don't you dare walk away thinking it's for my own good."
"But look at you," Louis gestured helplessly. "Look at everything you've become, everything you are. And I'm still here, still trapped in contracts I signed because I was too fucking scared to-"
"You signed them because you thought you had to," Harry interrupted. "Because of Freddie, because of your family, because the industry is shit and you didn't have the options I did. But it's different now. We're different now."
"Are we?" Louis asked quietly. "Because I'm still terrified, H. Still watching you shine while I..." He trailed off, unable to finish.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they'd lost, everything they'd found again, everything they could still lose.
Chapter 40: August 2011
Summary:
Louis and Harry drive to Leeds for a festival, feeling excited to be away from management. They navigate the muddy campsite, meet friends, and celebrate freedom. As the night unfolds, they dance and share intimate moments, culminating in a private encounter outside the festival, where they express their love and connection. Back at their tent, they continue their affectionate exchanges despite teasing from friends, ultimately cherishing the unforgettable experience together.
Chapter Text
The air was thick with anticipation and late summer heat as Louis drummed his fingers against his knee, watching London fade behind them. Harry was next to him in the car, scrolling through his phone and occasionally letting out little huffs of laughter at whatever he was reading.
"What's so funny then?" Louis asked, leaning over to peek at Harry's screen.
"Just reading about Leeds," Harry grinned, tilting the phone so Louis could see. "Everyone's going mental about the lineup. Two Door Cinema Club's playing tomorrow night."
Louis felt a flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with the band. They'd been planning this for weeks - their first proper festival together, away from the increasingly watchful eyes of management. Just them and their mates, anonymous in a sea of festival-goers.
The morning had been a blur of rehearsals and filming, Louis going through the motions while his mind wandered to what was coming. Now, finally headed north, he could feel the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
"You remembered your wellies, right?" he asked, eyeing the threatening clouds overhead. August had been unusually wet, and he knew the festival grounds would be a mess.
"'Course I did," Harry said, patting his bag. "Got my Ramones shirt too."
"Proper rock star, you are."
Harry dimpled at him, and Louis had to physically stop himself from reaching over to touch. Even here, in the relative privacy of the car, they had to be careful. The driver might report back, might mention something casual that would set off alarm bells.
But soon, Louis thought. Soon they'd be lost in the crowd, just two more lads among thousands. No cameras, no schedule, no carefully maintained distance.
The sky darkened as they drove, and by the time they reached Leeds, the first fat drops of rain were splattering against the windscreen. The air was thick and muggy, promising more to come.
"Gonna be proper muddy," Louis observed as they collected their bags. The festival grounds stretched out before them, a chaos of tents and flags and distant music.
Harry was practically vibrating with excitement beside him, all long limbs and barely contained energy. He was nearly a year older than when Louis first met him, but he still had moments of looking impossibly young. There was something else there too, though - something in his eyes that made Louis's breath catch.
"Stan texted," Louis said, checking his phone. "They've got the tents sorted already. Yellow camp."
"Think we can find it?" Harry asked, already starting forward through the mud.
"Mate, I could find my way through Leeds blindfolded," Louis scoffed, though privately he wasn't entirely sure. The festival was its own sprawling city, and the gathering darkness wasn't helping. He knew that he was just boasting so Harry thought he was cool - though they should have been long past that now.
A cheer went up from somewhere in the distance - some band starting their set, maybe, or just the general roar of thousands of people determined to have the time of their lives. Louis felt it in his bones, that electric anticipation.
He glanced at Harry, caught him already looking back with that soft, secret smile that was just for Louis. Three days stretched ahead of them, full of possibility. Three days where they could just be Harry and Louis, two lads at a festival, instead of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson of One Direction.
The rain was picking up now, but Louis barely noticed. His whole world had narrowed to Harry beside him, to the promise of what was coming, to the fierce joy of freedom - however temporary - burning in his chest.
The mud squelched under their wellies as they picked their way through the campsite, Louis cursing every few steps when he nearly lost his balance. The rain was proper pissing down now, and his fringe was plastered to his forehead, but he couldn't stop grinning. Two whole days of freedom stretched ahead of them.
"Fucking hell," he laughed as Harry slipped slightly, grabbing Louis's arm to steady himself. Outside their little circle, they had to be careful with touches like this, but Louis loved that Harry's first instinct was still to reach for him.
"Lou!" Stan's voice carried over the noise. "Over here, you knobhead!"
Their tent setup was proper sick - Stan and the lads had managed to create a little fortress with tarps stretched between poles to create a makeshift common area. Several of Louis's mates from Donny were already sprawled in camping chairs, beers in hand, and Louis felt his chest warm at how they immediately called Harry over too.
That was the beauty of his Donny mates - they didn't give a fuck about any of it. Since that drunken night months ago when Louis had broken down and told Stan everything, they'd been nothing but supportive. No weird looks, no awkward questions, just acceptance and the occasional good-natured ribbing they'd give any of their mates about their relationship.
Louis watched as Harry settled into a camping chair, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he accepted a beer from Stan. He'd been so isolated lately, refusing to reach out to his Holmes Chapel friends because he couldn't bear to lie to them about Louis. But here, in this little sanctuary they'd created, he could be himself.
"Two Door's on in a bit," one of the lads called out. "We heading over?"
"Yeah, just let me grab another beer," Louis said, ducking into the tent he'd be sharing with Harry. Harry followed him in, and as soon as the zip closed behind them, Louis pulled him in close.
"Alright?" he murmured against Harry's neck.
"Better than," Harry said softly, his hands finding Louis's waist. "Love your mates. Love that we can just..."
"Be us?" Louis finished, pressing a quick kiss to Harry's jaw. "I know, love."
When they emerged, no one batted an eye at their slightly rumpled appearance or the way they sat pressed together under the tarp, sharing a beer and trading casual touches. Outside their sanctuary they'd have to be more careful - quick brushes of hands, dancing close but not too close, the kind of touches that could be written off as mate behavior. But for now, they could just be.
"Right then," Louis announced, already feeling warm and loose from the beer and the freedom. "Let's go get fucking mental, yeah?"
The roar of agreement from their group made him grin wider. Here, with his best mates from home and Harry pressed warm against his side, with music pumping through the muddy ground and two days of possibility ahead - here he could breathe.
Harry was beaming too, dimples deep and eyes bright as he laughed at something Stan said. Louis wanted to bottle this moment - Harry happy and relaxed, surrounded by people who knew them and loved them exactly as they were.
They stumbled out into the festival proper as a group, the mud making everything more challenging and hilarious. Louis kept finding excuses to steady Harry, to grab his arm or shoulder, those brief touches sending electricity through him even after all these months.
The crowd thickened as they got closer to the stage, and that's when it started - the double-takes, the whispers, the phones coming out. Louis watched a girl practically throw herself at Harry, crying about how much she loved him, and felt that familiar twist in his gut. Harry handled it with grace, of course he did, but Louis could see the slight tension return to his shoulders.
"Drinks?" Stan suggested, catching Louis's expression. "Think I saw a tent back there."
Louis nodded gratefully, letting Stan pull him away while the others stayed with Harry. They queued for overpriced beer in plastic cups, and Stan didn't comment on how Louis was proper scowling now.
"He always comes back to you, mate," Stan said finally, quiet enough that only Louis could hear. "You know that."
"Yeah," Louis sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Just wish... fuck, I don't know."
"Wish you could tell them all to back off?"
"Something like that."
When they returned, Harry immediately gravitated toward them, accepting the beer Louis handed him with a private smile that made Louis's heart stutter. The crowd was properly packed now, the energy electric as Two Door Cinema Club took the stage.
And then the music started, and nothing else mattered.
They jumped and sang and spilled beer and screamed the lyrics at each other. The rain came down harder but no one cared - if anything it made it better, more wild and free. Louis found himself pressed against Harry's back in the crowd, and for once he didn't have to worry about cameras or management or what anyone might think. They were just two more bodies in a sea of people losing their minds to "What You Know."
Harry turned his head slightly, singing "Something good, oh something good" directly into Louis's ear, and Louis felt it in his bones. Even soaked through and muddy, even with random girls trying to catch Harry's eye, even knowing this freedom was temporary - this was everything.
Stan caught his eye across their little group and grinned, raising his cup in a toast. Louis returned it, grateful beyond words for friends who understood, who helped create these precious pockets of freedom where he and Harry could just be.
The music swelled around them, and when Harry reached back to thread his fingers through Louis's, hidden in the press of bodies, Louis held on tight, protective. Through the entire Two Door set, they stayed connected, Louis occasionally pulling Harry back against his chest, grounding them both.
Louis watched as another group of girls spotted Harry, their phones coming out immediately, cooing over his dimples and soft curls. He felt that familiar twist of complicated emotions - pride mixed with jealousy, not just of their attention on his boy, but of how easily they gravitated to him. They were in the same fucking band, weren't they? But Harry had that something special, that sweet, magnetic quality that made everyone want to protect him, cherish him. And here was Louis, just... Louis from Doncaster, rougher around the edges, holding onto his hand in the dark.
"Oi!" Stan appeared with more drinks, breaking Louis from his thoughts. "You two want shots?"
"Fuck yes," Louis grabbed them both, passing one to Harry who wrinkled his nose adorably before taking it. The burn of cheap vodka felt good, making everything softer around the edges. Harry was properly glowing now, hair wild from the rain and dancing, cheeks flushed as he sang along, pressing back against Louis's chest.
The set ended and they stumbled through the mud toward the silent disco, Louis getting progressively more drunk and handsy. Every time they had to stop for fans, he found himself with a protective arm around Harry's waist or shoulder, maybe a bit more possessive than strictly necessary.
"Love you in this," he growled at one point, tugging at Harry's flannel. "But you'd look better without it, baby."
"Lou," Harry blushed, ducking his head. "Stop it."
"Never," Louis shot back, squeezing Harry's hip where no one could see.
Stan appeared again, ever the guardian angel. "Silent disco time, lads! Louis, help me grab more drinks?"
In the drinks queue, Louis swayed slightly. "He's so fucking precious, Stan. S'not fair."
"What's not fair?"
"That everyone else gets to look at him too. Want him all to myself, don't I? All soft and sweet and mine."
Stan just laughed, steadying him. "Come on, lightweight. Let's get you back to your boy before someone steals him."
The silent disco was magical - hundreds of people dancing to different songs in their headphones. Louis kept finding excuses to touch Harry - adjusting his headphones, pulling him close, keeping him safe in the crowd. When "SexyBack" came on, Louis proper lost it, pulling Harry back against his chest while their friends whooped and hollered.
The night began to blur into perfect moments: Louis wrapping Harry in his coat when he shivered, both of them jumping and screaming to Mr. Brightside, Louis stealing kisses from Harry's neck in dark corners when no one was looking. Every time fans approached, Louis felt that twist of possession and jealousy, but then Harry would give him that private smile - the soft, sweet one reserved just for him - and Louis would remember that at the end of the night, it was his tent Harry would be crawling into, all soft limbs and gentle touches.
They were proper smashed now, Louis more than Harry, but neither of them cared. This was their weekend, their moment of freedom, and Louis was determined to keep his boy close and make the most of every second.
"Lou, Lou, c'mere," Harry whispered urgently around 3 AM, tugging at Louis's wrist. His eyes were bright in the darkness, curls wild from dancing. "Need you for a minute."
"Mmm, do ya now, darling?" Louis slurred, letting himself be pulled away from the tents. He was proper gone, stumbling slightly, but Harry's hand was steady on his waist. "Where we going, baby?"
"Just... somewhere quiet," Harry's voice had that rough edge that made Louis's stomach flip. They picked their way through the mud toward the edge of the festival grounds where the lights grew dimmer.
"Oi! Is that- OH MY GOD, HARRY STYLES!"
"Fuck," Louis laughed, grabbing Harry's hand. "Run!"
They took off across the field, slipping and sliding in their wellies, proper cackling as they heard the fan chasing after them. Harry was practically giggling, his long legs tangling with Louis's as they stumbled through the grass.
"M'gonna fall!" Louis wheezed, clutching Harry's arm. "Hazza, m'too drunk for this!"
"Sorry!" the fan called out, still following them. "I know I shouldn't chase people through fields but I'm proper smashed!"
That set them all off laughing again. Louis finally had to stop, doubling over and gasping for air. Harry caught him around the waist, both of them swaying slightly.
"Right then," Louis called out, still chuckling. "C'mon over, love. Might as well get a picture since you've chased us halfway to London."
The fan approached, apologizing but beaming. Harry, sweet as ever, asked her name and how she was enjoying the festival while Louis draped himself over both of them, still giggling.
"Jump on three?" Harry suggested as she held up her phone.
The resulting photo caught all three of them mid-air, mud-splattered and grinning like loons. Louis was properly draped over Harry's back, while Harry's dimples were on full display.
"Thanks loves!" she called as she headed back toward the festival. "Sorry again about the chase!"
Once she was gone, Harry turned to Louis with dark eyes. "Now, where were we?"
"Think you were about to get me alone, weren't you?" Louis pressed closer, sliding his hands into Harry's back pockets. "Better hurry up about it before someone else decides to chase us through a field."
"Menace," Harry muttered fondly, already pulling Louis onto the ground with him. "Proper menace, you are."
"Yeah," Louis breathed against Harry's neck as they tumbled onto the damp grass, hidden in shadows. "But m'your menace, aren't I?"
Harry's only response was to pull him closer, one hand tangled in Louis's hair while the other slipped under his borrowed jacket. The bass from the distant festival throbbed through the ground beneath them, matching their heartbeats. Louis was everywhere - hands, lips, teeth - marking Harry as his in the darkness.
"Lou," Harry gasped when Louis found that spot below his ear. "Lou, please-"
"Shh, baby," Louis murmured, but his own voice was wrecked. The vodka made everything soft and spinning, but Harry beneath him was solid, real. "Got you, don't I? Always got you."
They moved together in the darkness, desperate and sweet, muffling sounds against each other's skin. Harry's hands trembled as they mapped Louis's back, his sides, anywhere he could reach. Even drunk and wild, Louis was careful with him, protective - his boy, his Harry, all soft curls and bitten lips and whispered devotion.
Later, when they'd caught their breath and fixed their clothes, Harry pressed his forehead to Louis's. "Love you," he whispered, so quiet it almost got lost in the night air. "Love you so much sometimes I can't breathe with it."
Louis's throat went tight. He was still proper pissed, but some moments cut through everything else. "Love you too, Haz. More than anything."
They helped each other up, giggling as they stumbled through the dark toward their campsite. Louis kept stopping to press Harry against trees, unable to keep his hands off him for long. The festival lights painted everything in soft colors, and Harry's smile was brighter than all of them.
"Our tent's the green one, yeah?" Louis squinted at the cluster ahead.
"Blue," Harry corrected, steering him with gentle hands. "The green one's Stan's."
"Right, right." Louis paused to nuzzle into Harry's neck again, breathing him in. "Gonna take such good care of you when we get there, baby. Gonna-"
"Oi oi!" Stan's voice cut through the darkness. "Look what the cat dragged in!"
Louis and Harry froze, finding their friends sprawled outside the tents with more beers. Naz was properly cackling at their disheveled state - Harry's curls a right mess, Louis's borrowed jacket half off his shoulder.
"Went for a walk, did you?" Stan smirked, tossing them each a beer. "Through some bushes maybe?"
"Shut it," Louis groaned, but he was grinning as he collapsed onto the ground, pulling Harry down with him. "Just getting some air."
"Is that what they're calling it now?" Naz wheezed. "Getting some air?"
Harry buried his face in Louis's shoulder, but Louis could feel him shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Your shirt's on backwards, mate," Oli pointed out helpfully to Harry, setting everyone off again.
"Right, that's it," Louis announced, struggling to his feet and pulling Harry up with him. "We're going to bed before you lot get any more ideas."
"Going to bed, are you?" Stan waggled his eyebrows. "To sleep, like?"
"Yes, Stanley," Louis said with exaggerated patience, though he was having trouble keeping a straight face. "To sleep. Because some of us need our beauty rest."
"Think Harry's got enough grass stains for one night anyway," Calvin muttered, sending another round of laughter through the group.
Harry was properly red now, but he was smiling as Louis tugged him toward their tent. "Night lads," he called over his shoulder.
"Use a rubber!" Stan shouted after them, followed by more howling laughter.
"Wankers, the lot of them," Louis grumbled fondly as they crawled into their tent. But he couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop touching Harry, couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world right now.
The festival throbbed in the distance as they created their own little universe inside the tent, sleeping bags pushed together to make one bed. Harry's curls were wild from Louis's fingers, his skin glowing in what little light filtered through the canvas.
"You're so beautiful," Louis breathed, reverent despite the vodka still coursing through his system. "My boy."
A pleased sound escaped Louis's lips, too loud in the quiet night.
"Shh," Harry giggled, pressing a finger to Louis's mouth. "They'll hear us."
"Can't help it when you do that," Louis whispered defensively, biting gently at Harry's finger.
From the next tent over came Stan's voice: "Oi! Some of us are trying to sleep!"
"Trying being the operative word," Naz added.
Harry buried his face in Louis's neck to muffle his laughter, but Louis wasn't done with him yet. He rolled them over, pressing Harry into their makeshift bed. "Then you'll have to be very, very quiet, won't you baby?" he murmured against Harry's ear.
They moved together in the darkness, trying and failing to stay silent. Every rustle of sleeping bags, every hitched breath drew commentary from their friends.
"Oh for fuck's sake," came Oli's voice. "I'm getting my headphones."
"Think they forgot we can see their shadows," Stan stage-whispered, setting off another round of laughter.
But Louis and Harry were lost in their own world, trading whispered "I love yous" between kisses. The tent walls could have fallen down around them and they wouldn't have noticed. Everything narrowed to touch and taste and the sound of their breathing.
Later, curled together in their joined sleeping bags, Harry traced patterns on Louis's chest. "Best festival ever," he mumbled sleepily.
"Mm," Louis agreed, pulling him closer. "Though we might have to find new friends after this."
"Worth it," Harry yawned, already drifting off.
Louis pressed a kiss to his curls. "Always worth it with you, love."
Chapter 41: Present Day
Summary:
Harry sits in the music room, struggling to write as thoughts of Louis and their unresolved issues cloud his mind. Louis joins Harry, and they contemplate abandoning their Italy plans for Jamaica instead, a place filled with memories. They discuss the importance of writing freely, suggest handling their careers carefully, and plan to escape together, finding solace in each other.
Chapter Text
Chapter 41: Present Day
Harry sat cross-legged on the music room floor, surrounded by scattered papers of half-written lyrics and coffee-ringed chord progressions. The December rain tapped against the windows, creating a gentle percussion to match the melody he couldn't quite catch. He'd been trying to write for hours, but his mind kept circling back to Louis's words from earlier - about contracts and lawyers and all the walls still standing between them.
The vintage guitar in his lap was one he'd bought in Jamaica, actually. Back in 2016, when everything had felt both impossible and inevitable. He ran his fingers along the worn wood, remembering humid nights at Geejam, the way the studio had smelled of salt air and weed and possibility. How Louis had sprawled on the control room couch, eyes heavy-lidded but intense, watching Harry find his voice for the first time.
His phone lit up with another email from Jeff about studio bookings for February. They needed to start laying down tracks for the next album, but everything felt wrong. Forced. Like trying to write a new story before finishing the old one.
Down the hall, he could hear Louis pacing. That restless energy that always preceded either brilliance or breakdown. Harry closed his eyes, letting his fingers find familiar chords - the opening notes of "Sweet Creature," though he'd never admit it.
Maybe that's when the idea started forming. Or maybe it had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to surface.
"Lou?" he called softly, knowing Louis would hear. The pacing stopped.
Louis appeared in the doorway, all nervous energy contained in his compact frame. His hair was a mess from running his hands through it, songwriter's frustration written in every line of his body. He'd been wearing Harry's jumper all morning, the soft grey wool falling past his fingertips, and something about that made Harry's chest ache.
"Yeah, love?" Louis's voice was carefully neutral, but Harry could hear the strain underneath.
Harry set the guitar aside, unable to stop his fingers from trailing along the wood one last time. "Come sit with me?"
Louis crossed the room and folded himself down next to Harry, close enough that their knees touched. The rain was falling harder now, drumming against the windows, creating a cocoon of sound around them. For a moment they just sat there, surrounded by Harry's scattered lyrics and the ghost notes of songs not yet written.
"I've been thinking," Harry started slowly, watching Louis's profile. "About the Italy plans..."
"Having second thoughts?" There was something vulnerable in Louis's question, hidden beneath the casual tone.
"Not about getting away with you," Harry clarified quickly. "Never that. Just... maybe Italy isn't right. Not now."
Louis turned to face him properly then, eyes sharp and curious. "What are you thinking?"
"Was thinking about Geejam, actually," Harry said softly, watching Louis's face carefully. "'Member how it felt there? Like... like we could breathe properly for the first time in ages."
Louis's eyebrows drew together slightly. "That was different times though, innit? We were proper messed up most of it."
"Yeah, but..." Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking. "The studio's still there. The beaches. That little room with the balcony.
"Harold," Louis's voice had that fond exasperation that Harry had missed so much during their years apart. "You suggesting we fuck off to Jamaica instead?"
"Maybe?" Harry couldn't help the dimple that appeared with his hesitant smile. "Could be good for us, couldn't it? Quiet. Private. No paps hanging round Port Antonio. And I... I've been stuck on these new songs. Nothing's coming out right."
Louis was quiet for a moment, fingers absently playing with the too-long sleeve of Harry's jumper. The rain filled the silence between them, steady and soothing.
Louis's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and Harry realized too late how it must sound - him talking about his music when Louis's whole career was hanging by a thread. Before he could backtrack, Louis spoke, his voice rough.
"Christ, last time we were there..." He ran a hand through his already messy hair, turning to stare out at the rain. "Did a proper number on Dani, didn't I? Sweet girl, she was. Deserved better than me sneaking off to write love songs with you while she thought..." He let out a hollow laugh. "Fucking mess, the lot of it."
The rain seemed louder now, matching the tension in the room. Harry stayed on the floor, watching Louis's profile, the way his shoulders carried all his guilt.
"And now what?" Louis continued, softer but with an edge of bitterness. "You need somewhere quiet to work on your next masterpiece while I..." He gestured vaguely. "While I sort through this shit show I've made of everything? Again?"
"Lou-"
"Nah, you're alright." Louis shoved his hands in his pockets, still not looking at Harry. "Just... bit rich innit? Me running off to Jamaica with you while my whole fucking career's going up in flames."
The words hung heavy between them. Harry wanted to stand, to go to him, but something in Louis's posture kept him rooted to the spot
Harry watched Louis at the window, rain casting shifting shadows across his face. Even now, after everything, the sight of him made Harry's chest tight - especially in moments like this, when Louis looked so much like that boy from 2016. The one who'd shown up at Geejam at three in the morning, eyes wild and guilty, still wearing his airport clothes.
"Your career's not going up in flames," Harry said softly, though his throat felt thick with everything else he wanted to say. With how much he hated seeing Louis trapped again, caught in the same web of contracts and clauses that had nearly broken them before.
"It's what, Haz?" Louis's voice was tired now, forehead pressed against the glass. Harry recognized that defeated slope of his shoulders, the same way he'd looked after every meeting with their old management, after every forced denial.
"It's..." Harry trailed off, surrounded by scattered lyrics he couldn't quite finish. Just like in Jamaica, when every song had somehow turned into Louis - Louis leaving, Louis with someone else, Louis listening from the control room while Harry poured his heart out through metaphors about dining tables and ghosts.
He remembered how Louis had spent those weeks: sprawled on the studio couch, joint between his fingers, watching Harry with eyes that said everything his mouth couldn't. How he'd flinch every time his phone buzzed with messages from his management, from Danielle, from the lawyers. How he'd pick up his notebook only to put it down again, muttering about contract obligations and image clauses.
"Was different then," Harry said carefully, though his heart ached with how similar it felt. Back then, he'd at least been allowed to write his truth, even if he had to hide it in clever wordplay. Louis hadn't even had that. "We were different then."
"Were we though?" Louis turned from the window, and Harry's breath caught at the raw emotion in his eyes. "Because I remember sitting in that control room, watching you turn everything we'd been through into something beautiful, and I couldn't..." Louis ran a hand through his hair, that familiar agitated gesture that always made Harry want to reach out, to soothe. "Couldn't even write a single fucking line without thinking about what the lawyers would say."
The guilt hit Harry fresh - how he'd been so caught up in his own catharsis, in finally being able to tell their story, even in code. He hadn't fully understood then what it cost Louis to listen, to want, to stay silent. How every song Harry wrote was another thing Louis couldn't say.
"And now here we are again," Louis continued, voice rough in a way that made Harry's stomach twist. "Got seven different people emailing about breach of contract because I won't deny something that's already out there. Label's probably having a fucking meltdown. Can't even finish this song about Li without..."
Harry watched Louis gesture vaguely, remembering how his hands had shaken last week playing that demo. How beautiful and broken it had sounded, that raw love for Liam bleeding through every note. How quickly Louis had turned it off, muttering about the label wanting something "more commercial," his eyes avoiding Harry's like he couldn't bear to be seen.
"That's why we should go," Harry said softly, fighting the urge to cross the room, to pull Louis into his arms. "Not for my album. Not for... for any of that. But because there, you could write whatever you need to write. About Li, about..." He hesitated, heart pounding. "About anything."
Louis's hollow laugh felt like a physical pain. "Yeah? And what happens when we come back? When the suits start picking apart every word?" He crossed the room, dropping down beside Harry with a heavy sigh that Harry felt in his bones. "Got enough contract violations as it is, haven't I? Don't need to add 'writing unauthorized content' to the list."
Harry picked up the guitar, needing something to do with his hands, something to keep from reaching out. His fingers found the chords automatically - the same ones he'd written watching Louis sleep in Jamaica, sunlight turning his eyelashes gold, guilt and love warring in Harry's chest because even then, even there, they hadn't been free.
"Sometimes," Harry said quietly, playing softly, remembering how Louis had looked at him back then - like he was both salvation and damnation - "the songs we write for ourselves are the most important ones."
The rain filled the silence between them. When Louis reached out to still Harry's hands on the guitar strings, his touch was gentle in a way that made Harry's eyes burn.
"Proper dramatic, you are," Louis said softly, but there was a familiar fondness in his voice that made Harry's chest tight. "Sitting here with your sad eyes and your guitar, looking like some tortured artist. Bet you've already got half an album planned about this, haven't you?"
Harry ducked his head, trying to hide his smile even as his heart raced at Louis's continued touch on his hands. "Maybe."
"Course you have." Louis shifted closer, his knee pressing against Harry's thigh. "Let me guess - something about storms and windows and..." He waved his free hand dramatically, putting on that posh accent he used to tease Harry with. "The metaphorical implications of geographical distance."
"Shut up," Harry mumbled, but he was properly grinning now, dimples deep. He could feel the tension bleeding out of the room, replaced by something warmer, something that felt dangerously like hope. "My metaphors aren't that obvious."
Louis raised an eyebrow. "'Two Ghosts' literally has the line 'same lips red, same eyes blue.' Real subtle there, Harold."
"You liked that song," Harry said quietly, watching Louis's face. Remembering how he'd looked in the control room when Harry first played it - like he'd been punched in the gut, like he couldn't breathe, like he wanted to run and stay forever all at once.
"Yeah, well." Louis's thumb was drawing absent patterns on Harry's wrist now, just above where the guitar rested. "Always was a sucker for your voice, wasn't I? Even when you were writing about what a prick I was."
"Never wrote that."
"No?" Louis's voice was teasing, but his eyes were soft in a way that made Harry's stomach flip. "What about that bit in 'From The Dining Table' about wanking in hotel rooms? Proper romantic, that."
Harry felt his cheeks heat. "That was... that was different. Was missing you."
"Must've been missing me something fierce to put that in a song, love." Louis's smile turned wicked. "Remember when Radio 1 tried to get you to explain those lyrics?"
"Stop," Harry groaned, but he was laughing now, letting the guitar slide off his lap so he could shove at Louis's shoulder. "You're the one who flew out at three in the morning after hearing a shit voice memo draft of it."
"Yeah, well." Louis caught Harry's hand, holding it against his chest. Harry could feel his heartbeat, quick and steady. "Wasn't exactly my finest moment, was it? Running off to Jamaica because my ex sent me a dirty song about missing me."
"Worked though, didn't it?"
Louis's expression softened, thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. "Yeah. Suppose it did."
They sat like that for a moment, the rain creating a gentle backdrop to their breathing, to the quiet thump of Louis's heart under Harry's palm. Harry watched Louis's face, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, how his mouth curved just slightly at the corners like he was holding back a smile.
"Could work again," Harry said softly, barely above a whisper. "Different this time. Better."
Louis's eyes met his, and Harry saw everything there - the fear, the want, the careful consideration. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry turned his hand in Louis's grip, threading their fingers together. "No more hiding. No more pretending. Just... just us. Writing whatever we want to write."
"Even if it never sees the light of day?" Louis asked, but his thumb was stroking Harry's palm now, gentle and sure.
"Even then." Harry squeezed his hand. "Some things are just for us anyway."
"So, Jamaica then," Louis said, the words hanging between them. "Not Italy."
Harry's heart skipped. "You sure?"
"If we're doing this..." Louis's thumb was still stroking Harry's palm, but his eyes were intent now, serious. "If we're really doing this, running away from it all for a bit, then let's run away properly, yeah? Like spur of the moment and all."
Harry tried to keep his voice steady, though his pulse was racing. "Thought you wanted two weeks first. To get ready."
"Changed my mind, didn't I?" Louis's mouth quirked. "Besides, everyone on our teams thinks we will be in Italy. We could just… disappear completely for a while."
"But I know how much you hate being away from home," Harry said softly, searching Louis's face. "Especially now, with everything..."
"Yeah, well." Louis squeezed his hand. "Home's not feeling particularly safe at the moment, is it? Some nutter climbing through my window trying to catch us in the act."
Harry winced at the memory of the other day - the police, the press, Louis shaking with anger and fear, the invasion of it all. "Lou-"
"No, listen." Louis shifted closer, his knee pressing against Harry's thigh. "You were right about needing to get away. And if we're going to do that..." He took a deep breath. "Might as well go somewhere that means something. Somewhere we know works."
Harry could hardly breathe, hope expanding in his chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Louis's smile was small but real. "Got that meeting with Jonathan tomorrow, yeah? About the nail polish with the butterflies?"
Harry nodded, surprised Louis had remembered that detail from their earlier conversation about Pleasing. He did properly listen sometimes.
"Right then," Louis said, voice gaining confidence. "You do that, I'll sort the rest and let the team think we're still Italy-bound, and we'll run away together. Proper together this time, not just me running to you in middle of the night because you wrote a song about wanking."
"Hey," Harry protested, but he was grinning now, dimples deep. "That worked out alright in the end. A least for a little while."
Louis's expression softened. "Yeah," he said quietly, thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. "Suppose it did."
"We'll do better this time," Harry said with quiet conviction, bringing their joined hands to his lips. "No more running away from each other."
Louis's breath caught slightly at the gesture. "Just running away together instead?"
"Exactly." Harry smiled against Louis's knuckles. "And this time we'll actually use the studio instead of just-"
"Shagging on every available surface?" Louis supplied, eyes twinkling.
Harry felt his cheeks heat even as he laughed. "Was going to say 'getting distracted,' but yeah. That too."
"Might still get a bit distracted," Louis murmured, and the tone of his voice made Harry's stomach flip. But then his expression turned thoughtful. "Should probably tell your mum though. Don't want her worried."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, sobering slightly. "And Gems. She'll kill me if she finds out after the fact again."
"God, remember when she caught us that first time at your mum's?" Louis shook his head, but he was smiling. "Bursting into your bedroom like a proper hurricane because she thought she heard you crying. Never seen you move so fast."
"You hid behind me!"
"Oi, your sister's proper scary when she's mad!" Louis protested. "Though at least she kept quiet about it. Actually helped us keep everything under wraps, didn't she?"
They both chuckled at the memory, but there was something steady in the quiet that followed. Something sure.
"Two days," Harry said finally. "Give me two days to sort the Pleasing stuff, yeah? Then we'll go."
Louis nodded, squeezing his hand. "Two days. Should give me time to talk to Oli about handlling the business end of things anyway. And maybe..." He hesitated. "Maybe call the lawyers back? At least to put them off for a bit?"
Harry's heart clenched at the vulnerability in Louis's voice. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Louis took a shaky breath. "They'll keep pushing for a statement if I don't. Rather not deal with that while we're away."
Harry brought their joined hands to his chest, holding them there. "We could... we could have them say you're taking time off. For your mental health or something."
"Suppose not." Louis's thumb traced absent patterns on Harry's skin. "Though the fans'll probably think it's about Li."
"Isn't it?" Harry said softly. "You're allowed time to greive properly."
Louis nodded, throat working. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Right then. Two days. You sort Pleasing, I'll handle the lawyers and Oli. Then Jamaica."
"Then Jamaica," Harry echoed, watching the rain trail down the windows, feeling Louis's heartbeat against his palm, steady and sure. Outside, the world was chaos - fans and theories and speculation pressing in from all sides. But in here, in this moment, everything felt possible. Everything felt right.
This time, they'd get it right. This time, they'd disappear together.
"Might need to borrow some clothes though," Louis added after a moment, a hint of mischief returning to his voice. "You only packed my fancy shit and I can't exactly pop home to grab anything, can I?"
Harry grinned, dimples deepening. "You can raid my closet. Though everything might be a bit..."
"If you say 'fashionable,' I'm staying right here in England."
"Was going to say 'long,' actually," Harry teased. "But now that you mention it..."
Louis groaned, but he was smiling as he pulled Harry closer. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Harry just laughed, letting himself be tugged in, letting himself believe that this time, finally, they'd found their way back to something real. Something lasting.
This time, they'd run away together. And maybe, just maybe, they'd stay that way.
Chapter 42: Autumn 2016
Summary:
Harry struggles with emotions while cradling his guitar, reflecting on Louis and their past. After recording a raw song, Harry sends it to Louis, who responds quickly. Louis books a flight to see Harry, and they share a passionate reunion filled with longing. They spend days together, confronting their feelings before Louis receives a call from his girlfriend, forcing him to choose between his relationship and Harry. Despite their love, Louis leaves to fulfill his obligations, leaving Harry to grapple with their unending cycle of love and sacrifice.
Chapter Text
Harry slumped against the studio wall, guitar cradled in his lap as the world tilted pleasantly around him. The mushrooms he'd taken earlier were wearing off, but there was still enough in his system to make everything feel soft around the edges, more honest somehow. The bottle of tequila probably wasn't helping either.
He'd been in Jamaica for weeks now, trying to write, trying to forget. But everything kept coming back to Louis. To that night in New York. To the look on Louis's face when he'd realized Harry wasn't coming back.
His phone lay next to him, open to Instagram where he'd been torturing himself with pictures of Louis and his new girlfriend. Long brown hair. Green eyes. She even dressed like him sometimes, and wasn't that just fucking hilarious?
The worst part was, Louis looked happy. Proper happy, in a way he hadn't been in those last months with Harry. When everything had been secrets and fights and Harry knowing he was going to sign a solo deal but not knowing how to say it.
His fingers found the chords without thinking, muscle memory from hours of playing around with the melody. The words had been stuck in his throat for days, but now, with the drugs and the alcohol and the late-night loneliness, they finally spilled out.
He sang about hotel rooms and missing calls. About seeing Louis's friends and old t-shirts that used to be his. About waking up with someone else and almost saying the wrong name.
When he finished the rough recording, his cheeks were wet. He didn't remember starting to cry.
The voice memo icon blinked at him. Without letting himself think too hard about it, he pressed send.
It was three in the morning in London. Louis probably wouldn't even see it until-
His phone buzzed. Louis's name lit up the screen.
"Fuck," Harry whispered, suddenly very, very sober. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He had about thirty seconds to decide whether to answer or not. Whether he was ready to hear Louis's voice again. Whether he was ready to face what he'd just done.
The phone kept buzzing in his hand.
Harry's thumb hovered over the screen, heart hammering. On the last ring, he swiped to answer.
"Hi," he breathed, barely a whisper.
There was a rustling sound, then Louis's voice, equally quiet. "Fucking hell, H."
Harry's stomach clenched. He could picture Louis perfectly - probably standing in his garden, having snuck out for a cigarette. Away from her. "Lou-"
"That song," Louis's voice was rough, wrecked. "You can't just... you can't just send me something like that. Not after..."
"I know." Harry's free hand twisted in his shirt. "I know, I'm sorry, I just... I miss you."
He heard Louis inhale sharply. "Christ." A pause, the familiar click of a lighter. "That first verse..."
Heat flooded Harry's cheeks. "Yeah?"
"Tell me you didn't actually..."
"I did." Harry's voice went low. "Last week. Woke up thinking about you. Kept thinking about your hands. About how you used to..."
Louis made a sound that shot straight through Harry's body. "Fuck. Harry."
"I know I shouldn't have sent it. I know I fucked everything up. But seeing those pictures of you with her, I just..."
"Stop." Louis's voice cracked. "Just... stop. Don't talk about her. Not when you're..." He took another drag, exhaled slowly. "Not when you sound like that."
Harry's whole body felt hot. "Like what?"
"Like you're still mine."
The words hung between them, loaded with everything they weren't saying. Everything they couldn't say.
"Lou..." Harry's voice was barely there.
"Where are you?" Louis asked suddenly. "Exactly where?"
"Jamaica. The studio near Ocho Rios. Why?"
There was a long pause, just Louis breathing. Then: "Because I'm about to do something really fucking stupid."
Harry's heart stopped. "What?"
"I'm going to book a flight. Right now."
"Louis-"
"Don't." Louis's voice was steel. "Don't tell me not to. Not when you just sent me that. Not when you're... fuck, H. I can hear how high you are. How lonely you are. And I just..." He broke off, frustrated. "I shouldn't still care this much. You lied to me. You left. But I can't... I can't just listen to that and stay here."
Harry's hands were shaking. "What about..."
"I'll tell her it's work. Writing session or something." Louis sounded like he was already moving, probably heading inside to pack. "Just... tell me you want me to come."
"Lou..."
"Tell me."
Harry closed his eyes, head falling back against the wall. "Please," he whispered. "Please come."
He heard Louis's sharp intake of breath. "Text me the address. And H?"
"Yeah?"
"Stay where you are. Don't... don't move until I get there."
The line went dead before Harry could respond. He stared at his phone, heart racing, body humming with something between terror and hope.
Louis was coming.
Louis was coming, and Harry was still too high, too drunk, too raw and open and honest. But maybe that's what they needed. Maybe they needed to be stripped bare, needed to face each other without all the walls they'd built.
Maybe this time, they could actually talk about everything that had gone wrong in New York. About why Harry had kept the solo deal secret, about why Louis had run instead of fighting.
Maybe this time would be different.
Harry looked at his phone again, at the voice memo that had started all this. With trembling fingers, he typed out the studio's address and hit send.
Now all he had to do was wait.
Harry hadn't slept. Had barely moved from his spot in the studio, watching the sun rise through the windows, the mushrooms wearing off into a hollow sort of sobriety that left him raw and aching. Every time he checked his phone, another hour had crawled by. Another hour closer to Louis.
When he finally heard footsteps in the hallway, his heart nearly stopped.
The door opened, and there was Louis, looking travel-worn and beautiful and so achingly familiar it hurt. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He was wearing joggers and an old t-shirt that Harry recognized as his own.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
"Ten hours," Harry said finally, voice rough. "You actually..."
"'Course I did." Louis's voice was tight. "You think I could just... after that song? After hearing your voice like that?"
Harry stood on shaky legs. "Lou-"
"The band was all I had," Louis cut him off, taking a step forward. His eyes were fierce, burning. "It was everything. And you just... you didn't even tell me about the deal. Let me find out from management that you weren't coming back."
"I never wanted to leave you," Harry whispered. "Just needed to... needed to figure out who I was outside of everything. But you left before I could explain. Before I could-"
"Because it hurt too fucking much to stay." Louis's voice cracked. "Watching you plan your escape. So I ran first. Thought maybe if I..." He gestured vaguely, and Harry knew he meant Danielle. "But she's not..."
"She looks just like me," Harry said softly.
Louis made a broken sound. "Yeah. Yeah, she fucking does." He took another step forward. "But she's not you. Nobody's you."
Harry's breath caught. "Lou..."
"Play it for me," Louis demanded suddenly. "The song. Live. Right now."
"What?"
"Want to hear you sing it. Want to watch you sing about getting yourself off thinking about me."
Heat flooded Harry's body. With trembling hands, he picked up his guitar. Started the familiar chords.
He barely made it through the first verse before Louis was moving, crossing the room in quick strides. The guitar clattered to the floor as Louis grabbed him, pushing him against the wall.
"You did this to me," Louis breathed against his mouth. "Made me need you so much I can't even... even when I'm trying to hate you, I still..."
"I never wanted to leave you," Harry repeated desperately, hands finding Louis's hips, pulling him closer. "Just the band. Never you."
Louis kissed him then, hard and desperate, all teeth and tongue and months of wanting. Harry melted into it, letting Louis pin him to the wall, letting himself be taken apart.
"Missed you," Louis gasped between kisses, hands sliding under Harry's shirt. "Missed you so fucking much. Even when I couldn't look at you, I still..."
"I'm sorry," Harry breathed, arching into Louis's touch. "I'm so sorry. Should have told you. Should have made you understand..."
"Shut up," Louis growled, biting at his neck. "Just... just let me..."
"Yes," Harry gasped. "Anything. Everything. Please."
Louis pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes dark and intense. "Mine," he said roughly. "Still mine?"
Harry's heart cracked open. "Always," he whispered. "Always yours."
Louis's forehead dropped to Harry's shoulder, his whole body trembling. "Fuck," he breathed. "This is... I shouldn't be here. She trusts me. She's good to me, and I just..."
"I know," Harry said softly, fingers threading through Louis's hair. "I know, Lou."
"But I couldn't..." Louis's hands tightened on Harry's hips. "Couldn't just listen to that song and stay away. Couldn't bear thinking about you alone in some hotel room, thinking about me, missing me..."
"How long?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer. "How long can you..."
"Two days," Louis said against his neck. "Maybe three before people start asking questions. Before she starts..."
Harry swallowed hard. "Okay."
"This isn't..." Louis pulled back to look at him, eyes wet. "This isn't me coming back. I can't... I can't do that right now. The band's done, and everything's changing, and I just..."
"I know," Harry said again, even as his heart splintered. "I'm not asking you to. Just... just stay with me now. Just for a little while."
Louis made a broken sound and kissed him again, desperate and messy. Like he was trying to memorize the taste of Harry's mouth. Like he knew they were on borrowed time.
"Shouldn't want you this much still," Louis gasped between kisses. "Shouldn't need you like this."
"But you do," Harry breathed, pulling him closer. "You do, and I do, and we're here now."
"Here now," Louis repeated, like a prayer. Like a promise he knew he couldn't keep.
When Louis's hands slid under his shirt again, Harry let himself get lost in it. In the familiar touch, the familiar heat. Let himself pretend, just for now, that this was more than what it was. More than a desperate, guilty collision in a Jamaica studio. More than two people who couldn't stay apart, even when they knew they should.
Harry woke to the sound of voices in the hallway, sunlight warm on his bare skin. For a moment, he was disoriented - why was he on the floor? Then Louis shifted against him, and everything came rushing back.
"Fuck," Harry whispered, suddenly very aware they were both naked with clothes scattered everywhere. "Lou. Louis, wake up."
"Mm?" Louis blinked slowly, then his eyes went wide as he heard the voices getting closer. "Shit."
They scrambled for clothes, Louis diving behind the couch just as Jeff pushed open the door. Harry had barely managed to pull his pants on.
Jeff stopped dead, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene - Harry shirtless, hair a mess, obvious marks on his neck. His gaze caught on a familiar Adidas hoodie thrown over the microphone stand. Harry watched the realization hit, followed by barely concealed frustration.
"Thought you said you had a girl coming over yetsterday," Jeff said tightly.
"I never said that," Harry replied, quiet but firm. "You assumed."
Louis chose that moment to stand up from behind the couch, wearing just his joggers and that familiar smirk that had always driven management crazy. "Morning, Jeffrey."
Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tomlinson. Of course." He set down the bags he was holding with more force than necessary. "Harry, can we talk? Privately?"
"Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of him," Harry said. He could feel Louis's eyes on him, could practically feel the pride radiating off him at Harry standing his ground.
"Fine." Jeff's jaw clenched. "Need I remind you about the Columbia deal? The image we're building?"
"Need I remind you about our agreement?" Harry countered. "About my freedom to express myself honestly in my music?"
They stared at each other for a long moment before Jeff deflated slightly. "Just... keep it out of the papers. Please."
"Always do, mate," Louis said cheerfully. His hand found Harry's lower back, a subtle claim that had Jeff's eye twitching. "Don't suppose one of those bags is breakfast?"
"Breakfast," Jeff confirmed flatly. "And the other thing Harry asked for."
Louis's eyebrows shot up as Jeff pulled out a small bag of mushrooms. "Well well, Harold. Didn't know you had it in you."
Harry felt his cheeks heat. "I've been... experimenting. With writing."
"With writing," Louis repeated, looking delighted. "That what they're calling it these days?"
Jeff cleared his throat. "I'll be back around dinner. Try to be..." he gestured vaguely at their state of undress, "decent by then."
As soon as the door closed, Louis burst out laughing. "His face when he saw me. Christ."
"Lou," Harry groaned, but he was fighting a smile.
"No, but really," Louis turned to him, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Mushrooms? My sweet, innocent Harry?"
"'M not that innocent," Harry muttered.
"No?" Louis pulled him closer, voice dropping low. "Prove it then."
Harry's breath caught. "What?"
Louis nodded toward the bags. "Show me what you've learned. How to do this properly."
"You've... you've never?"
"Weed, yes. Other things... maybe," Louis grinned. "But this? Been saving it for a special occasion."
Something warm bloomed in Harry's chest at that. At Louis trusting him with this. "Okay," he said softly. "But breakfast first?"
"Breakfast first," Louis agreed, then smirked. "And maybe a shower?"
They barely made it to the shower. Barely made it through breakfast. By the time they finally settled on the studio floor with the mushrooms, it was nearly noon.
"Start slow," Harry said, carefully measuring out their doses. "Let it build. And if you start feeling overwhelmed..."
"H," Louis interrupted fondly. "You're cute when you worry."
Harry flushed. "Just want it to be good for you."
"It's you and me," Louis said simply, taking his portion. "Course it'll be good."
They settled back against the couch, Louis's fingers finding their way into Harry's hair as they waited. Harry couldn't help watching him, searching for any sign of discomfort.
"Stop staring," Louis laughed. "Tell me about what you've been writing instead."
"It's... different," Harry admitted. "More honest. About everything. About..."
"About me?"
"About us."
Louis was quiet for a moment. Then: "Good." His hand tightened slightly in Harry's hair. "Want everyone to know what they're really about. Even if they don't know they know."
Harry leaned into his touch, feeling the first waves of warmth starting to wash over him. "Lou..."
"Oh," Louis breathed, pupils dilating. "This is... fuck."
"Yeah?" Harry watched, fascinated, as Louis's free hand traced patterns in the air.
"Everything's... god, H. You're fucking glowing."
When their lips met, it was gentle, exploring. Different from the desperate kisses of last night. Every touch felt electric, heightened by the mushrooms coursing through their systems. Louis's fingers traced constellations on Harry's skin, mapping familiar territory that somehow felt brand new.
"Can feel your heartbeat everywhere," Louis breathed against his neck. "Like you're glowing from the inside out."
Harry arched into his touch, overwhelmed by sensation. The studio lights painted kaleidoscopes behind his eyelids. Louis's mouth was fire against his skin, leaving marks that would tell stories tomorrow.
"Need you," Harry gasped. "Lou, please..."
Louis took him apart slowly, reverently, like they had all the time in the world. Every touch deliberate, every kiss deep and searching. The room filled with soft sounds and shared breaths as they lost themselves in each other.
After, they lay tangled together on the studio floor, sweat cooling on their skin. The ceiling seemed to breathe above them, patterns shifting in the afternoon light.
"Should be writing," Harry murmured, trailing fingers down Louis's spine, mesmerized by the way his skin seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light. The mushrooms were still flowing strong through his system, making everything feel profound and interconnected.
"Think you just did," Louis replied, pressing a lazy kiss to his shoulder. "Whole album's worth in those sounds you were making."
Harry laughed, shoving him lightly. Then something tugged at him - a melody that had been haunting him for weeks, one he'd only played alone in the dark. "Actually... want to hear something?"
Louis propped himself up on an elbow, and Harry had to catch his breath. Even after all these years, the blue of Louis's eyes still hit him like a punch to the gut, especially now with his pupils blown wide from the trip.
His hands shook slightly as he reached for his guitar. The wood felt alive under his fingers, warm and humming with potential. He settled back against the couch, Louis's bare skin pressed against his side.
"Wrote this after..." he swallowed hard. "After that day in Brooklyn."
The first notes rang out, somehow both sharper and softer than usual in his altered state. Harry closed his eyes, letting himself sink back into that moment - the headlines about his solo deal hitting the papers, the empty hotel room that still smelled like Louis, the prayers he'd never believed in before falling from his lips like desperate wishes.
As he sang about swimming pools with no water, about words that couldn't fix what was broken, he felt Louis go completely still beside him. The air seemed to thicken with shared memories, with all the things they'd never said.
When the last note faded, Harry kept his eyes closed, afraid to look. But then Louis's hand was on his face, thumb brushing away tears Harry hadn't realized he'd shed.
"There's more," Harry whispered. "Other songs, about... about seeing you with..." But he couldn't finish, didn't want to invite those ghosts into this golden afternoon.
Louis nodded, understanding in his eyes. Always understanding, even when it hurt.
But then Louis shifted closer, pressing their foreheads together, and something else stirred in Harry's chest. Something lighter, warmer. His fingers found new chords without conscious thought.
The melody came easy, flowing like honey, like coming home. He sang about gardens where nothing could touch them, about two stubborn hearts learning to beat together. About how, no matter how far he ran, Louis was always his true north.
The mushrooms made everything feel cosmic, like he could see the golden threads connecting every moment they'd ever shared, leading right to this one. Each note seemed to paint colors in the air between them.
When Harry sang about home, he watched the word land soft and sure in Louis's eyes. Watched those eyes go bright with tears.
"Still your home," Louis said roughly when Harry set the guitar aside. His fingers traced the ship on Harry's arm.
Harry caught his hand, thumb brushing over Louis's compass tattoo. Home. Such a simple word for something that had never been simple at all. They'd written it into song after song, hidden it in plain sight - ships and compasses, anchors and rope, always finding new ways to say what they couldn't say directly.
"Remember the day after I got this?" Harry asked, nodding to his ship. His mind was still floating, the mushrooms making memories feel like movies playing across the studio walls. "Woke up and you were gone. Thought you were mad about it."
Louis smiled, soft and secret. "Wasn't mad. Was at the tattoo shop getting this." He tapped his compass. "Needed you to know..."
"That you'd always come home," Harry finished. The words hung between them, weighted with years of coded lyrics and careful metaphors.
"Still do," Louis whispered against his lips. "Always will."
The next kiss tasted like promises kept, like every song they'd ever written about finding their way back to each other.
Three days later, Harry was listening to playback when Louis's phone started buzzing. The sound cut through the peaceful haze they'd been living in, and Harry knew - could read it in the way Louis's whole body went rigid, the way his face drained of color.
"She knows I'm not in LA," Louis said quietly, staring at his phone. His hands were trembling slightly, and Harry remembered all the times he'd seen those same hands shake after meetings with management, after another threat, another contract. The way Louis would come home with haunted eyes but always, always smile for Harry.
Harry's fingers stilled on the guitar strings. The familiar ache bloomed in his chest, the one that had lived there since they were teenagers. Since the first time Louis chose safety and compliance over their love.
"Go ahead," Harry said, voice carefully neutral even as his heart cracked. "Call her back."
"H..." Louis looked wrecked, the afternoon sun casting shadows under his eyes that made him look young and scared again, like that boy who'd once promised to protect Harry from everything, not knowing how much it would cost him.
"Don't." Harry set the guitar aside, hands shaking slightly. "Just... don't pretend this isn't exactly what always happens. Don't pretend you're not going to walk out that door."
Louis ran a hand through his hair, desperation evident in every movement. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Harry laughed, hollow. "What was it last time? 'El needs me right now, H.' Or the time before that? 'Management says...'" He swallowed hard. "Or my personal favorite - 'I'm doing this to protect you.'"
"Harry-"
"And I let you," Harry continued, years of pain spilling out. "Every single time, I let you come back. Let you sleep in my bed, write songs about me, mark up my skin like you have any right to claim me anymore. While you're out there pretending to love a golden cage."
"You think this is easy for me?" Louis's voice cracked, and Harry could see the tears gathering in his eyes. "You think I want to live like this? You think I don't remember every fucking time they..." He cut himself off, but Harry knew what he wasn't saying. Every time they'd hurt Louis, threatened him, used him as pawn because Harry couldn't hide how much he loved him.
"I never asked you to protect me," Harry said softly. "I never wanted you to sacrifice yourself."
Louis crossed the room, cupping Harry's face in his hands. "They would have destroyed you. Your light, your joy... everything that makes you you. You were so young, so talented. I couldn't... I couldn't let them take that."
"So instead I get to watch them destroy you?" Harry leaned into the touch despite himself. "Watch you sign your life away contract by contract? Watch you let them turn you into someone you're not?"
"Better me than you," Louis whispered, and Harry's heart broke all over again at how much he meant it.
"You're scared," Harry said.
"Terrified," Louis admitted. "Been scared since I was eighteen and realized loving you meant I'd do anything to keep you safe. Even this."
"You loved me before all this," Harry said. "Before the fame, before the contracts. When I was just..."
"Just Harry," Louis finished. "The kid with the curls who sang in my ear and looked at me like I hung the moon. Before I knew what it would do to us to hold on to this love."
"Nobody else sees me like you do," Harry whispered. "Nobody else knows..."
"I know." Louis pressed their foreheads together. "Christ, H, I know. You're the only real thing in my life sometimes. The only thing that makes all of it worth it."
"Then stay." The words hung between them, a challenge they both knew Louis wouldn't accept. "Choose me for once."
The silence stretched, thick with so many years of almosts and not quites. Harry watched Louis's face, watched him struggle with the same choice he'd been making since they were kids - safety or love.
"I have to go make this right," Louis finally said, voice breaking. "Dani didn't deserve this. And their are contracts, things set in motion…"
Harry nodded, throat tight. "Of course you do."
"H, please..."
"It's fine," Harry said, even though nothing had ever been less fine. "Go home to your girlfriend, Lou. I'll be here when you need your next fix of whatever this is."
"Don't do that," Louis pleaded. "Don't make it sound cheap. What we have... it's the only thing that's kept me going. The only thing that makes it all bearable."
"Real things don't hide," Harry said softly. "Real things don't leave."
He turned away, picking up his guitar again. After a long moment, he heard Louis gather his things, heard his footsteps pause at the door.
"I do love you," Louis said, voice thick with tears. "More than anything, more than my own life, I..."
"I know," Harry interrupted, not looking up. "That's what makes it worse."
The door clicked shut behind Louis, and Harry started playing - something raw and aching about women and pretending and the curse of loving someone who would always choose to protect him, even if it meant destroying himself in the process. Lyrics that Harry knew would never see the light of day.
The Jamaican sun kept shining, indifferent to the way his world kept ending in the same way, over and over again. He would write these feelings into songs, turn their love into metaphors about sweet creatures and coming home. And somewhere in London, Louis would go back to his carefully constructed prison, carrying their secrets like scars that never quite healed.
It was their story, written in the sacrifices they made for each other, in the songs they couldn't help but write. A love too big for the box the world tried to put it in, too real to ever truly let go.
Chapter 43: Present Day
Summary:
Louis and Harry arrive in Jamaica after midnight, where they enjoy each other's company in a private house on the beach. They reminisce about their past and express the desire to create new memories together. Later, in the studio, they begin to write a heartfelt song, acknowledging their shared history and raw emotions, feeling the deep connection that has always existed between them.
Chapter Text
The private jet touched down in Jamaica well after midnight, the darkness providing the cover they needed. Louis watched Harry doze against the window, long legs curled impossibly into the seat, looking softer than anyone had a right to in designer sweats.
"Oi, Harold," Louis nudged him gently. "We're here, love."
Harry blinked awake slowly, that same drowsy smile Louis had been falling for since they were kids spreading across his face. "Mmm, already?"
"Some of us actually slept instead of doing bloody sun salutations at dawn," Louis teased, remembering Harry's morning yoga routine on the balcony of their safehouse before they left.
The plane's door opened to reveal two discrete black SUVs waiting on the tarmac. No customs, no immigration - money still talked, and Louis had arranged everything through private channels. They'd switched planes twice since leaving London, using different names on each manifest.
"Still can't believe you changed our destination last minute," Louis said as they climbed into the back of the first SUV. "Proper dramatic, you are."
Harry dimpled at him. "Italy was too obvious. Everyone knows I love Italy." He tangled their fingers together in the darkness of the backseat. "Besides, Jamaica's... ours."
Louis squeezed his hand, thinking of mushroom-hazed confessions and tequila-soaked kisses from years ago. "Even if last time ended shit?"
"Especially because of that," Harry said softly. "Want to make new memories."
The drive took them past Kingston, winding along coastal roads until they reached a hidden driveway. The house sat on its own private stretch of beach, modern and sleek but somehow organic against the landscape.
"Proper boujee, this," Louis commented as they carried their bags inside. Harry had packed enough flowing shirts and ridiculous trousers to clothe a small village.
"Says the man who brought three gaming consoles," Harry shot back, already wandering toward the kitchen. "Did you pack anything besides FIFA and Pot Noodles?"
"Oi, I brought proper food!" Louis protested. "Got those weird protein bars you like and everything."
Harry's smile went soft around the edges. "You remembered?"
"'Course I did." Louis stepped into his space, hands finding Harry's hips like muscle memory. "Remember everything about you, don't I?"
Harry hummed, draping his arms over Louis's shoulders. "Even that I hate when you leave your wet towels on the floor?"
"Especially that," Louis grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of that smart mouth. "Proper domestic, aren't we?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Harry murmured, and Louis felt something in his chest crack open at how much he meant it.
The sound of waves drifted through the open windows, and Louis could feel the tension of the past weeks - the paps, the lawyers, the break-in - starting to dissolve. Here, they were just Harry and Louis again. No contracts, no images to maintain, no carefully constructed lies.
"Want to see the beach?" Harry asked, already tugging him toward the door despite the late hour.
"It's pitch black out there, you menace," Louis protested halfheartedly, but followed anyway. He'd always follow Harry anywhere.
The sand was still warm under their feet as they walked down to the water. Harry immediately stripped off his shirt, moonlight catching on the scattered ink across his skin.
"Show off," Louis muttered fondly.
Harry just laughed, that full-bodied cackle that Louis had loved since they were teenagers. "Coming in?"
And really, what else could Louis do but follow him into the waves, their laughter echoing across the empty beach as they chased each other through the surf like the boys they used to be?
Harry's skin was slick with saltwater as Louis caught him around the waist, both stumbling in the gentle surf. The laughter died in Louis's throat as memories crashed over him - Harry, younger and heartbroken, writing songs about loving someone who always left. This same beach, different choices, different pain.
"Lou?" Harry turned in his arms, reading the shift in his mood with the same uncanny perception he'd always had. "Where'd you go, baby?"
"Last time I left you here," Louis whispered. The guilt of it still ate at him sometimes - Harry high and vulnerable, pouring his heart into songs Louis pretended not to recognize when they hit the radio.
"Last time you were trying to hold onto a life you thought you had to live." Harry's hands came up to frame Louis's face. "Last time we were both so fucking young and scared."
"Still scared," Louis admitted. The waves lapped at their legs, warm as bathwater. "Terrified, actually."
Harry's thumb traced Louis's bottom lip. "Of what?"
"Everything. Nothing." Louis laughed wetly. "Losing you again. Keeping you and fucking it up. The whole world watching us fall apart if we get this wrong."
Instead of answering, Harry kissed him. It was salt and desperation and years of wanting, and Louis got lost in it until he couldn't tell where the ocean ended and they began.
"Take me inside," Harry breathed against his mouth.
They stumbled up the beach, unable to stop touching. Harry's hands were everywhere, like he was trying to memorize Louis's skin. They barely made it through the door before Harry was pressing Louis against it, mouth hot on his neck.
"H," Louis gasped as Harry's teeth grazed his pulse point. "Fuck, love-"
"Want to make new memories," Harry murmured, hands sliding down Louis's wet shorts. "Want to replace every time we had to say goodbye with this."
Louis's head thudded back against the door. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry dropped to his knees, looking up at Louis through wet lashes. "Want to remember you like this instead of watching you walk away."
The sight of Harry on his knees, moonlight silvering his wet skin, nearly undid Louis completely. "Christ, H. You can't just-"
"Can," Harry insisted, already mouthing at Louis through his shorts. "Want to. Need to."
Later, much later, they lay tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and ocean air. Louis traced his fingers along Harry's arm, marveling at how right it felt to be here with him. No cameras, no contracts, no pretending. Just them.
And yet.
The happiness kept catching in his throat, tangled up with an ache so deep he could barely breathe around it sometimes. He should be texting Li right now, telling him they'd finally got their shit together. Should be getting a string of laughing emojis back, followed by some terrible innuendo.
"Can almost hear you thinking," Harry murmured, pressing closer. His mustache tickled Louis's shoulder.
"Just..." Louis swallowed hard. "Keep wanting to tell him, you know? Keep reaching for my phone before I remember."
Harry's hand found his, fingers linking together. "Yeah. Me too."
"He would've been unbearable about this," Louis said, managing a wet laugh. "Proper smug bastard. Always telling me I was being thick, pretending I wasn't mad for you."
"He was terrible at keeping us secret," Harry said softly. "Like he couldn't quite believe anyone wouldn't see how obvious it was."
"Worst secret keeper in history, that one." Louis's voice cracked. "But the best fucking friend I could've had. Always in my corner, even when I was being a right mess about everything."
Harry shifted up onto an elbow, looking down at Louis with eyes that saw straight through him. "It's okay to be happy and sad at the same time, you know. To want this and still miss him so much it hurts."
The permission in those words broke something in Louis's chest. "Just feels wrong sometimes. Being this happy when he's not here to see it."
"Lou." Harry's free hand came up to cup his face. "He saw it. Every day, even when we were being idiots about it. He knew."
Louis turned his face into Harry's palm, pressing a kiss there. "Yeah. He did, didn't he?"
They lay in silence for a moment, the sound of waves filling the room. Then Harry spoke again, voice soft but sure.
"Think that's why he kept the ring all those years. Because he knew we'd figure it out eventually."
Louis looked down at the gold band on his finger, remembering Liam's fierce belief in them even when they couldn't believe in themselves. "Always did see the best in us, didn't he?"
"Still does," Harry whispered, and Louis pulled him down then, needing to kiss him, to hold him, to feel the solid reality of this love they'd carried for so long.
When they broke apart, Harry's eyes were bright in the darkness. "Love you," he said simply. "Always have."
"Love you too," Louis breathed against his mouth. "Always will."
Harry pulled back to look him in the eyes. "Want to show me what you've been working on?"
Louis hummed, running his fingers through Harry's short hair. He'd been itching to get into a studio with Harry, to show him the songs he'd been writing. Songs that, for the first time, didn't need hidden meanings or careful pronouns. Just in case they ever had the chance to see the light of day. "Yeah. Could head there after breakfast?"
Louis had never properly seen Jamacia like this, winding along the coast with the windows down. Harry was behind the wheel, one hand resting on Louis's thigh, his rings catching the morning light. Last time he'd been here was 2016, stealing moments with Harry while he wrote his debut album. Everything had been different then - them, their relationship, the weight of secrets between them.
Louis watched Harry's profile, the way his mustache twitched when he smiled, how his jaw worked when he concentrated on the road. A decade of loving this man, and somehow it still took his breath away sometimes.
The studio looked smaller than Louis remembered - guitars still lined the walls, that old piano still tucked in the corner where Harry had written so many of his early songs. Walking in felt like stepping into a time capsule, but the air wasn't heavy with the goodbye they knew would inevitably come this time.
Harry made his way to the sound system, fingers hovering over the controls. Harry pressed play, and the opening notes of Louis' All this Time filled the room.
Louis's breath caught. He'd written that after running into Harry at some industry event, one of those nights where they'd both been pretending to be okay after their last break-up. The polite, distant small talk had felt like thorns in his throat. 'We should catch up properly sometime.' Empty words they both knew they wouldn't follow through on.
"Really, mate?" His voice came out rougher than intended. He settled into one of the studio chairs, remembering how many times he'd rewritten those lyrics, trying to capture that ache. The way Harry's eyes had met his across the room, both of them wearing masks that didn't quite fit anymore. Both of them still building mountains, trying to find their way back home.
"'Our eyes meet,'" Harry sang along, and Louis could hear the understanding in his voice. The recognition. Because Harry had been there too, hadn't he? On the other side of that moment, wearing his own careful smile, both of them pretending they weren't still orbiting each other even after all this time.
Harry's hand found his, fingers intertwining. "I heard it. Every word." His thumb brushed over Louis's knuckles. "The doubt. The hope. The way we keep building these mountains..."
"Hoping they'll turn to gold," Louis finished quietly. "Hoping they'll somehow lead us home."
Harry tugged him closer, until Louis could feel his heartbeat. "We made it, though. Worth all this time, wasn't it?"
Louis pressed his face into Harry's neck, breathing him in. "Worth every second."
Louis lifted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I wasn't the only one being too obvious, love... 'Using someone else's name in hotels?' Really?" The fans had figured that one out though. After he'd done an interview where he accidentally admited that "we use fake names in hotels". That had been almost painful to watch. Being apart from Harry but everyone still catching on to their love story, just years too late.
Harry laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest where Louis was pressed against him now. "Officially, Love of My Life is about London, you know."
"London?" Louis pulled back to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Didn't realize you were checking into hotels under fake names with the whole city, Harold."
"Oh, shut up," Harry grinned, but his eyes were soft.
Louis snorted. "And I'm sure you took London with you every time you went away?"
"Could've been," Harry said with mock seriousness. "Very portable, London is. Fits right in your pocket."
Louis shook his head, laughing. "And I suppose you and London used to hang out at Jonny Harvey's place? Just like we used to?"
"Absolutely. Me, London, and Jonny. Lovely Sunday afternoons," Harry's dimple deepened. "Watching the news we didn't like."
"God, we're terrible at this," Louis said, still chuckling.
Harry's fingers drifted over the piano keys, not quite pressing down. The tension in his shoulders was visible - they'd never written together in this room. Their shared songs had always been crafted in cramped tour buses, anonymous hotel rooms, London studios with too many people watching.
"We could..." Harry started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "Never mind."
But Louis knew. Could read it in the way Harry's fingers kept returning to that familiar C chord they'd always started with, back when they were kids writing love songs they pretended weren't for each other. "Write something?"
The word hung between them, heavy with history. They hadn't written together since One Direction, since they'd learned to craft lyrics that could mean anything to anyone but everything to each other.
"Yeah," Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. "Just... just for us this time. No one else."
Louis's heart hammered in his chest as he moved toward the piano. Each step felt monumental. They'd spent years writing about each other, but it had been so long since it was with each other. Never directly addressing the grief and love that had shaped them both.
He settled carefully beside Harry on the bench, the familiar warmth of him both comfort and terror. "Bit scary, innit?"
Harry let out a shaky laugh. "Terrifying." His fingers finally pressed down, drawing out a soft minor chord that made Louis's chest ache. A slow, haunting melody that held so much pain. Then, his deep, smooth voice, barely audible:
"Compass pointing home but I'm still lost at sea
Following your eyes of blue, they're guiding me..."
Louis's throat tightened, but he joined in, their voices finding that old harmony. His rasp perfectly complementing Harry's silk, the way they'd rarely gotten to do back in the band:
"Every shade of green still leads me there
To all the words we couldn't share..."
They stopped, both breathing hard. Harry's hands were trembling on the keys. Louis didn't know what to make of the electricity that poured through his veins. It was similar to how it felt when they made love, moving in sync with each other in a delicate balance of need and want. But it was also different, somehow even more intimate.
"Too much?" he whispered.
Louis shook his head, glazed eyes staring at Harry's hands on the piano, overwhelmed with emotion but not wanting it to end. He found the next line ssomewhere deep within him:
"Missing pieces of a story left untold
Years of silence turning into gold
But darling all those metaphors we wrote
Couldn't heal the distance in our throats..."
Harry's voice went up a full register into one of those perfect key changes as he belted out what was clearly going to be the chorus:
"We're caught between the truth and lying
Lost between the seas we're trying
To cross the distance that we're hiding
Always somehow halfway..."
Harry stopped, the word 'home' hanging unsung between them. Louis felt tears burning behind his eyes. This wasn't like writing any of his other songs- songs wrapped in metaphors and plausible deniability. This was them, stripped bare, acknowledging every moment they'd lost. "Fuck," Louis said, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "This is..."
"We can stop," Harry offered immediately, but Louis shook his head.
Louis dropped his hands, looking up to meet Harry's eyes - green meeting blue, the way they always had, even across crowded rooms and careful distances.
"No, I..." Louis's voice was rough. "Keep going. Please."
Harry nodded, his fingers finding their way back to the keys. They'd written hundreds of songs apart, but this felt different. Raw. Like peeling back layers of carefully constructed facades they'd built over the years.
Harry's voice dropped lower, vulnerable, steady:
"Anchored down by secrets we both kept
Watching as the tides pulled and swept
Every signal that we dared to show
Hidden in the lines they'd never know..."
Louis caught the weight of it - their matching tattoos, all those times they'd found their way back. His own voice was barely steady as he added:
Harry's breath hitched. His hands stilled on the keys for a moment before finding a new chord progression, something that ached with longing. Together, their voices found the chorus:
"We're caught between the truth and lying
Lost between the seas we're trying
To cross the distance that we're hiding
Always somehow halfway..."
Louis took a shaky breath, every word feeling like it was being torn from the deepest parts of him - from late nights in hotel rooms, from passionate reunions followed by tearful goodbyes, from watching Harry on stage and wanting him so badly it hurt:
"Burning bridges just to build them back Like moths to flame, we always track..."
His voice cracked on the last word, remembering countless times they'd sworn 'never again' only to find themselves tangled in sheets, in promises, in each other. Harry's hand squeezed his knee, and Louis could feel the heat of his touch even through his jeans, the same electricity that had always sparked between them.
Harry took over, his voice dropping to that deep, sensual register that still made Louis's spine tingle:
"The taste of whiskey on your tongue at dawn The way you shake when I sing your song Every touch becomes a memory That haunts me when you're not with me God, the way you move beneath the sheets Like every time's our first and last heartbeat..."
Louis had to close his eyes, overwhelmed by the flood of memories - Harry's hands on his skin, the way they'd always fallen back together like gravity, how even their fights had ended in desperate kisses and promises they couldn't keep. He remembered watching Harry perform "Fine Line" from the back of an arena, knowing exactly which lyrics were about their nights together, about the way they couldn't seem to stay apart no matter how many times they broke each other's hearts.
The raw need in Harry's voice made Louis's breath catch. Even now, after all these years, after all the pain and passion and times they'd tried to let go, that pull was still there. Still impossible to resist. Still worth every moment of heartache.
When he opened his eyes again, Harry was watching him with that intense green gaze that had always seen right through him, right down to where every song he'd ever written had Harry's name carved into it. They'd both lived this love story. Both tried to walk away from it. Both failed spectacularly every time.
The piano notes hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of a thousand reunions, a thousand goodbyes, a thousand moments when they'd chosen each other despite everything. Louis realized with a start that maybe they'd always been destined for this - always finding their way back, always wanting more, always, always, always.
Chapter 44: December 2013
Summary:
Harry stands in the kitchen of Louis' grandparents' house, helping Jo, who is eight months pregnant with twins. As the family celebrates Louis' birthday, Harry feels both at home and like an intruder, longing for a life with Louis. Despite strong feelings, Harry grapples with the reality of Louis's public relationship with Eleanor, feeling the strain in their bond.
Chapter Text
The frost on the windows of Louis' grandparents' house painted delicate patterns that reminded Harry of baby's breath flowers. He traced them with his finger, standing in the kitchen at dawn on December 23rd, waiting for the kettle to boil. The house Louis had bought them was warm despite the Yorkshire winter, but Harry felt a familiar hollow ache in his belly as he heard Jo moving slowly in the living room.
Eight months pregnant with twins, she'd been having trouble getting comfortable lately. In the few days they'd spent here, Harry had quickly taken to waking early to make her tea, something Louis teased him about - "proper mother hen, you are" - in a way that made Harry's chest tight with longing.
"Morning, love," Jo called softly. Harry could hear her settling into the oversized armchair Louis had insisted on buying when her back pain started. "You don't have to keep getting up with me."
"Want to," Harry answered, carefully carrying her tea out. He'd learned exactly how she liked it - just a splash of milk, no sugar since the pregnancy had changed her taste. The simple domesticity of knowing these little details made him feel simultaneously at home and like an intruder in this family moment.
Jo's belly moved visibly as he approached, and Harry couldn't help the way his hand instinctively reached out before he caught himself. She smiled, taking his wrist and placing his palm against the spot where one of the twins was kicking.
"They always get active when they hear your voice," she said softly. "They know their Harry."
Harry's throat tightened as he felt another strong kick. He sank down to sit beside the chair, keeping his hand in place. "I think that one's got Louis' football skills already," he managed, voice rough.
"God help us if they both do," Jo laughed, then looked at him more carefully. "You're so natural with this, love. You'll be an amazing parent someday."
The words hit him like a physical ache. He wanted it so badly - wanted to settle down with Louis like proper couples do. Wanted to raise children and have supper ready in the evenings.
"I dream about them sometimes," he admitted quietly, knowing Jo would understand. "Little ones with his eyes or my curls. A boy with his smile or a girl with his laugh." He swallowed hard. "But I know we can't-"
"Oh, sweetheart," Jo's fingers carded through his curls, maternal and soothing. "It will all come in time. Slow down. Enjoy your youth with each other."
Before Harry could respond, thundering footsteps on the stairs announced the twins' arrival. Daisy and Phoebe burst into the room in matching pajamas, immediately climbing all over Harry.
"Hazza! You promised pancakes!" Daisy reminded him, while Phoebe started braiding his hair with sleep-clumsy fingers.
"Did I?" Harry asked, pretending to think about it while shifting to accommodate them both. "I don't remember that at all."
"Yes you did!" they chorused, giggling when he tickled them.
"Well then, I suppose we better get started," he said, letting them pull him toward the kitchen. He caught Jo's knowing look as they went - she'd seen how naturally he'd adjusted his body to protect her daughters, how instinctively he cradled them close even while playing.
In the kitchen, Harry lifted each girl onto a counter, keeping them safely away from the stove while still letting them feel involved. "Right then, my little sous chefs, what shapes shall we make today?"
He lost himself in the simple joy of teaching them, showing Daisy how to measure flour carefully ("Like this, love, nice and level") and helping Phoebe crack eggs without getting shells in the bowl. When some batter splashed onto Daisy's cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb.
"You're better at this than Lottie," Phoebe declared, licking batter off a spoon. "She never lets us help properly."
"That's because you two are menaces," Lottie's voice came from the doorway, but she was smiling. At fifteen, she was already so perceptive, and Harry knew she saw right through him as she watched him with her sisters.
"There's batter left if you want to help," Harry offered, and something in his voice must have given him away because she crossed the room to hug him from behind.
"You're so good with them," she whispered. "Lou's an idiot if he doesn't see what's right in front of him."
Harry tensed slightly, but the twins were arguing about pancake shapes and didn't notice. "Lots..."
"I mean it," she insisted. "The way you love us, the way you take care of everyone. You're meant to be part of this family properly, not just-"
"Morning all," Louis' voice cut through the kitchen, and Harry's heart did its usual stumble at the sight of him sleep-rumpled and soft. Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment Harry let himself imagine this was their kitchen, their children making morning chaos, their life together without complications.
Louis seemed to read something in his expression because he crossed to Harry immediately, pressing against his back and hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder to watch him flip pancakes. "Proper domestic goddess, aren't you, love?" he murmured, quiet enough that only Harry could hear.
The words sent a shiver through Harry - acknowledgment of something they never quite talked about directly. Louis' hand spread across Harry's stomach, warm and possessive in a way that made Harry ache with want. Not just physical want, but the bone-deep desire to have that this moment every day.
"Lou," he breathed, but Louis was already pulling away as Fizzy appeared in the doorway.
"Harry, did you know El's coming tomorrow," she announced, and Harry's hands tightened on the spatula. "For Lou's birthday."
"Fizz," Lottie snapped, but the moment was broken. Louis stepped further away, running a hand through his hair.
"Right, well, I should call her back about plans," he said, not meeting Harry's eyes. "Save me some pancakes, yeah?"
Harry focused on pouring batter, on making perfect shapes for the twins, on not showing how much it hurt. But when he felt small arms wrap around his waist, he had to bite his lip hard. It stung. The thought of her in this house with the people he considered to be his family. These were his sisters. His mother-in-law. Not hers. Never hers.
"It's okay, Hazza," Daisy said solemnly. "We like you better anyways."
A laugh that was almost a sob escaped him, and he turned to gather both twins close, breathing in their sweet morning scent. This was enough, he told himself. It had to be enough.
The day unfolded in a series of moments that felt both precious and painful. Harry helped Fizzy with her homework, automatically running gentle fingers through her hair when she got frustrated with maths. He watched Louis playing football in the garden with Stan, showing off for the younger siblings, and his heart clenched at how beautiful Louis was with children, how naturally paternal.
In the afternoon, Harry found himself sitting with Jo again, unable to resist the pull of her presence, of the life she carried. She was knitting something tiny and perfect, and without thinking, Harry reached out to touch the soft yarn.
"Would you like to learn?" she offered. "My mum taught me when I was pregnant with Louis. Said it was good practice for patience."
Harry nodded, not trusting his voice, and let her guide his hands through the motions. As they worked, she told him stories about Louis as a baby - how he used to fall asleep only if she hummed specific songs, how his eyes were blue from the very start, how he used to reach for her hair with perfect tiny fingers.
"He was such a beautiful baby," she said softly. "Your children will be gorgeous one day, love. Whenever the time is right."
Harry's vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall. "I dream about them so much," he whispered. "Sometimes I wake up and I swear I can feel them in my arms. I want-" his voice broke.
"Oh, sweetheart," Jo set aside her knitting to pull him close, careful of her belly between them. "The love you have to give is so big. But you don't have to rush it."
"But what if-" Harry swallowed hard. "What if he doesn't want that with me? What if all this with Eleanor isn't just for show? What if he wants a normal life, a wife, someone without all the complications?"
"Harry Edward Styles," Jo said firmly, taking his face in her hands. "That boy has been gone for you since you were sixteen years old. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching... trust me, love. A mother knows."
Before Harry could respond, they heard Louis calling from the kitchen, followed by the twins' laughter. Harry wiped his eyes quickly and stood to help with dinner, but Jo caught his hand.
"You're already part of this family," she said softly. "No matter what management says, no matter what the papers print. You belong here."
The evening brought a different kind of ache as Harry helped prepare dinner, Louis's grandmother insisting he learn her secret recipe for Yorkshire pudding. "Every wife should know how to make a proper Sunday roast," she said, then paused when she caught herself. But Harry just smiled softly, memorizing every detail of how she folded the batter.
"Like this, Gran?" he asked, the name slipping out naturally as he whisked. Her eyes went soft and fond, and she squeezed his arm.
"Perfect, love. You've got the touch for it."
From the corner of his eye, Harry caught Louis watching from the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. Their eyes met across the kitchen, and Harry couldn't help wondering if Louis was imagining the same thing he was - future Sundays in their own home, teaching their children these same recipes, carrying on family traditions.
Later, after the younger ones were in bed, Harry found himself in Louis's childhood bedroom, looking at old family photos on the walls. Louis found him there, wrapping arms around him from behind as they looked at a picture of Louis holding baby Fizzy.
"You were so natural with her even then," Harry observed, touching the photo gently.
"Didn't have a choice, did I? Had to help Mum." Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "But you - you're like that with everyone around you. It's just who you are."
They ended up on Louis's small bed, Harry's head on Louis's chest, talking in whispers about their dreams. About a house full of music and laughter and love. They fell asleep tangled together, forgetting for a moment that the world outside even existed.
Dawn crept differently into Louis's bedroom on his birthday, painting golden stripes across Harry's face where he lay watching Louis sleep. Twenty-two. Sometimes it felt impossible that they'd already had nearly three years together, other times it seemed like he'd loved Louis for lifetimes.
"Can feel you thinking," Louis mumbled, eyes still closed but hands reaching for Harry. "Too early for thinking."
"Happy birthday, love," Harry whispered, letting himself be pulled closer. This was still theirs - the sleepy morning intimacy, the way Louis's hands automatically found his favorite places to touch, the soft press of lips against his throat.
"Mmm, best present," Louis murmured, nuzzling into Harry's curls. "Just want to stay here with you all day."
The words sparked a familiar ache in Harry's chest. "El's coming at ten," he reminded gently, hating how his voice caught on her name.
Louis's hands tightened on his hips. "Don't. Not yet. Just... let me have this moment with you."
And that was the problem, wasn't it? These stolen moments, these beautiful bubbles of privacy that kept getting shorter, less frequent, more precious. Harry pressed closer anyway, memorizing the feeling of Louis solid and warm against him.
Downstairs, they could hear the twins already awake, their excited chatter drifting up. Louis smiled against Harry's skin. "Remember my birthday last year? When you made me breakfast in bed. Panckaes, maple syrup, hashbrowns?"
"Your mum caught us," Harry laughed softly. "Not exactly eating breakfast."
"Worth it though." Louis pulled back to look at him properly, eyes soft. "Love you so much, Haz. You know that, right?"
"I know." Harry did know - that wasn't the problem. The problem was whether love was enough to balance out the pain that came with it.
The moment broke with Daisy and Phoebe bursting in, launching themselves onto the bed. Neither girl batted an eye at finding Harry and Louis tangled together - this was normal, this was family.
"Happy birthday Lou!" they chorused, squirming between the two men. Harry started to pull away but Louis caught his hand, keeping him close even as they adjusted to accommodate the twins.
"What time's Eleanor coming?" Lottie asked from the doorway, her tone carrying an edge that made Louis sigh.
"Lots..."
"Just asking." She crossed her arms. "Since apparently we're all pretending this is fine now."
"Not now," Louis warned, but Harry felt the way his hand tensed.
The morning unfolded in a series of beautiful moments tinged with approaching shadow. Harry helped the twins make Louis birthday pancakes, complete with chocolate chips and whipped cream smiley faces. Louis kept finding excuses to touch him - a hand on his lower back, fingers brushing as they passed plates, kisses pressed to his shoulder when no one was looking.
But Harry noticed how Louis checked his phone more frequently as ten o'clock approached. Noticed the small smile when Eleanor texted. Noticed how Louis's "management makes me" had somehow evolved into "El's actually quite fun to be around" and then "she gets it, you know?"
Jo caught Harry's eye across the table, her expression knowing and sad. When Louis stepped out to take a call, she reached for Harry's hand.
"You don't have to watch this, love," she said softly. "No one would blame you if-"
"I'm not leaving him," Harry interrupted, but his voice wavered.
"Maybe that's the problem," Lottie muttered. "Maybe if you did, he'd finally-"
"Lottie," Jo warned, but Harry saw the agreement in her eyes.
Eleanor arrived at ten sharp, bearing beautifully wrapped presents and her perfect smile. Harry watched from the kitchen window as Louis hugged her, spinning her slightly. Watched how natural they looked together now, how the awkwardness of their early staged dates had evolved into genuine affection.
"She's not a bad person," Fizzy said quietly, appearing beside Harry. "That almost makes it worse, doesn't it?"
Harry swallowed hard. "Yeah."
Inside, Louis introduced Eleanor around as if she hadn't met the family multiple times before, his hand lingering on her lower back the same way it had rested on Harry's that morning. Harry busied himself making tea, grateful when the twins attached themselves to his legs.
The afternoon stretched endlessly. Harry watched Louis open Eleanor's gifts - thoughtful, personal things that showed how well she'd gotten to know him. Watched them share private smiles and inside jokes. Watched Louis drift between them, touching Harry's knee under the table while laughing at Eleanor's stories.
"This isn't fair to either of you," Lottie said later, finding Harry in Louis's room where he'd retreated to compose himself. "Or to her, really."
"He's just trying to keep everyone happy," Harry defended automatically, but the words felt hollow.
"No, he's trying to have everything his way without making hard choices." Lottie sat beside him. "And you're letting him."
Before Harry could respond, Louis appeared in the doorway. "El's leaving," he said softly. "Come say goodbye?"
Harry did, because he always did what Louis asked. He smiled and hugged Eleanor because that was his role now - the best friend, the roommate, the secret kept in plain sight. He watched Louis walk her to her car, saw the lingering goodbye through the window.
"I love you," Louis whispered later, when they were alone again. "You know you're it for me, Haz. Always have been."
"Am I?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. "Because sometimes it feels like-"
"Hey, no." Louis kissed him fiercely. "Don't let them get in your head. This thing with El, it's just for show. Just making management happy."
But Harry had seen the texts, seen the private smiles, seen how Louis's "someday" promises were becoming vaguer, less certain. He'd seen the way Louis relaxed into his public relationship while their private one became increasingly strained.
"Lou," he started, but Louis kissed him again.
"It's my birthday," he pleaded. "Can we just... can we just be us tonight? Please?"
And Harry gave in, because he always did, because he loved Louis more than his own heart. But later, watching Louis sleep, he wondered how many more birthdays they would spend like this - caught between reality and dreams, watching their someday slip further away with each passing year.
The twins had left a birthday card they'd made on Louis's desk. Harry picked it up, smiling at their wobbly drawings of the whole family. They'd put him next to Louis, holding hands, while Eleanor floated separately in the corner.
Children's honesty, he thought. Seeing truth when adults had learned to look away.
Chapter 45: Present Day
Summary:
Harry enjoys a tranquil morning at their Jamaican villa, contemplating the unexpected news of a One Direction reunion while Louis prepares tea. As they share memories and discuss past dynamics, Harry reflects on the weight of their unexpressed feelings and the evolving implications of their relationship amid the pressures of fame.
Chapter Text
Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains as Harry traced patterns on the weathered deck of their Jamaican villa. The wood was warm beneath his bare feet, worn smooth by salt air and time. Inside, he could hear Louis puttering in the kitchen - probably hunting for his beloved Yorkshire Tea that Harry had secretly packed.
These mornings felt sacred somehow. No stylists, no schedules, no careful distance between them. Just the rhythm of waves and Louis's off-key humming drifting through open windows.
Harry's phone buzzed against his thigh. The group chat.
He didn't check it immediately, too caught up in watching a gecko skitter across sun-bleached boards. Everything moved slower here, like they'd stepped outside time. Even the air felt different - heavy with possibility rather than pressure.
"Oi!" Louis' voice carried from inside. "Have you seen where I put my- nevermind, found it!"
Harry smiled, remembering countless mornings like this. Tour buses and hotel rooms where Louis would tear everything apart looking for tea bags while Harry pretended not to know exactly where they were. Some things never changed.
His phone buzzed again insistently. With a sigh, he glanced down.
The Daily Mail headline made his stomach drop: "ONE DIRECTION REUNION CONFIRMED: Band to Play O2 for 15th Anniversary"
Below it, messages from Niall and Zayn piled up rapidly:
Niall: Lads have you seen this??
Zayn: fuckin hell, they're really running with it
Niall: Should we say something?
Zayn: string of eye roll emojis
The screen door creaked as Louis emerged, two steaming mugs in hand. His hair was sleep-mussed, wearing one of Harry's old t-shirts that hung loose on his smaller frame. The sight made Harry's chest tight with affection.
"What's got you looking so serious, love?" Louis asked, settling beside him and passing over a mug.
Instead of answering, Harry tilted his phone screen. He watched Louis's face fall slightly as he read the headline, saw the way his jaw tightened.
"Bit soon, that," Louis said quietly, accent thick with emotion.
Harry nodded, taking a sip of perfectly made tea - just a splash of almond milk, too much sugar. Even after all these years, Louis remembered exactly how he liked it.
Louis shifted closer, their shoulders touching as he leaned in to read the messages. Harry caught the familiar scent of sleep-warm skin and his own shampoo - the domestic intimacy of it making his heart flutter even now.
"S'pose we should've expected it," Louis murmured. "Media's always been vultures, haven't they?"
Harry watched another gecko dart past their feet, gathering his thoughts. "It's different this time though. Feels... wrong. Without him."
Louis's hand found his, fingers intertwining automatically. The weight of the gold ring - the one Liam had kept safe all these years - pressed between their palms.
Their phones buzzed again:
Niall: Remember when Li used to make those stupid performance schedules?
Zayn: color coded and everything
Zayn: proper teacher's pet
"God, he was though," Louis laughed softly, but his eyes were damp. "Remember when he tried to ban FIFA before shows because we'd get too worked up?"
Harry smiled, remembering Liam's exasperated face as Louis and Niall ignored him completely, trash-talking their way through matches right until soundcheck. "He just wanted everything to be perfect."
"Yeah," Louis's voice cracked slightly. "He did."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the ocean. Harry's tea cooled beside him, forgotten as he traced absent patterns on Louis' knuckles with his thumb. The morning sun painted everything gold, making the moment feel suspended - precious.
"We would've had to hide again," Harry said finally, voicing what they'd both been thinking. "If we'd done the reunion. Even now, even after everything..."
Louis tensed slightly beside him. "Your Columbia contract?"
"And your team still pushing for that statement."
"Told you, love. Not doing that anymore." Louis turned to face him properly, blue eyes fierce. "Not letting them dictate us again."
Harry traced the rim of his cooling mug, lost in thought. "Been thinking about how it would've been, doing those songs again. Still having to be careful, but different now."
Louis hummed in understanding. "You mean like how you used to scream '16' during '18'?" His eyes crinkled with fond remembrance. "Subtle as a brick through a window, you were."
"Says the one who nearly had an aneurysm every time I changed the lyrics in 'Little Things,'" Harry grinned. "'I'm in love with Lou and all his little things.'" He sang it softly, watching color rise in Louis's cheeks even now.
"Management used to get so pressed about that," Louis shook his head. "But everyone just thought you were being your usual chaotic self, didn't they? Master of plausible deniability, you are."
"It's different now though," Harry said, more seriously. "Like, I can talk about gender not mattering in relationships, wear what I want, but..."
"But Columbia's contract still has those old clauses," Louis finished. "No explicit confirmation."
Harry nodded, watching another wave crash against the shore. "Sometimes I think about how it would've been, doing those songs now. Still having to keep distance on stage, but everyone knowing I'm... you know, not straight."
"The ultimate plausible deniability," Louis mused. "'Course Harry Styles changed those pronouns, he's always been open about that. Doesn't mean anything specific.'"
"That's what scares me about doing it again," Harry admitted quietly. "The songs... they mean something different now. Everyone's more aware. One wrong look from me during 'Little Things' and Twitter would explode."
Louis shifted closer. "You mean like that time you practically serenaded me with 'If I Could Fly' at O2? Even though no one was supposed to know I was there. Even though whats-her-name was in the pit right beside you."
"Camille," Harry supplied, the name still opening wounds. "And yeah. But that was different. People expected me to be dramatic on stage. Now..."
"Now everyone's looking for proof," Louis finished. "Analyzing every breath we take within fifty feet of each other."
Harry nodded, remembering the headlines after Liam's funeral. How standing next to Louis during the service had sparked a week of speculation. "Can't even grieve properly without it becoming a story."
"Remember when we thought it would get easier?" Louis's voice was soft, tinged with old pain. "That eventually people would stop caring who we loved?"
Their phones buzzed again:
Niall: ffs the theories are starting already
Zayn: what now?
Harry watched as Louis thumbed through his notifications, his expression shifting between amusement and exasperation.
Niall: apparently H's latest insta is full of "clues"
Zayn: it's literally just a sunset
Louis: when isn't it full of clues according to them
A particularly strong gust of wind swept across the deck, making Louis burrow closer into Harry's side. Harry adjusted automatically, wrapping an arm around him. Louis had always gotten cold so easily. Harry had long ago accepted his fate as his personal heater.
Niall: someone's got a thread analyzing the shadow angles
Zayn: proving what exactly?
Niall: that we're all secretly living together in LA apparently
"Remember when they thought you were sending messages through fruit arrangements?" Louis murmured against Harry's shoulder, his voice caught between fond and irritated.
Harry snorted. "Still not as bad as the butterfly theory."
Their phones lit up again:
Zayn: saw my old purple hoodie trending
Niall: the one from 2013??
Zayn: apparently harry wore something similar last week
Louis: here we go again
Harry felt Louis' slight tension at that exchange, remembered years of strained friendships and jealousy that had taken so long to heal. He pressed a kiss to Louis' temple, wordless reassurance.
Niall: at least they're not analyzing our breathing patterns anymore
Harry: Spoke too soon mate, saw that thread yesterday
Zayn: surely there's better things to analyze
Louis: you'd think
"S'funny really," Louis said, scrolling through the theories. "How they'll analyze a random purple hoodie but miss the fact that you've been wearing my jumpers since 2011."
Harry glanced down at the soft blue cashmere he was wearing - obviously too small, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He'd grabbed it from the Erskine house which had a hearty supply of Louis' clothing, even after all their years apart. "To be fair, half my wardrobe is your jumpers."
Niall: now they're analyzing our color choices
Zayn: apparently we're all part of an elaborate color coding system
Louis: that one's actually true though innit?
Harry: Don't tell them about the green and blue thing love
Niall: hang on what green and blue thing?
Zayn: ...you two color coordinated?
Louis: we didn't exactly plan it
Harry: More like gravitated to each other's colors
Niall: even during...?
The unspoken question hung in the air. Harry felt Louis shift beside him, both of them remembering those painful years apart.
Louis: yeah... even then
Zayn: fucking hell how did we miss that??
Niall: just checked your pics from 2020
Niall: HOW DID WE MISS THAT
Niall: THIS WHOLE TIME
Zayn: feel proper shit for missing all this
Louis: mate you had your own stuff going on
Harry: We all did
The silence that followed felt heavy with understanding. They'd all had their demons to fight these past few years.
The waves crashed below their deck, a rhythm as familiar as their heartbeats. Harry's stolen jumper - soft blue cashmere that had long stopped smelling like Louis - rode up his wrists as he reached for Louis' tea.
"Still can't believe you were prancing around in me eye color," Louis said, voice caught between fond and exasperated.
Harry hummed, remembering lonely stages and empty hotel rooms, how wearing Louis' blue had felt like carrying a piece of home. "Says the one who showed up to the biggest livestream in the world wearing a giant H."
"Fuck off," Louis laughed, but there was something raw beneath it. Four years of distance living in that laugh.
Their phones kept lighting up - Niall and Zayn's delayed realizations flooding their screens - but Harry was caught on the way Louis' fingers were absently tracing patterns on his knee. How even during their worst years, they'd never quite learned how to let go.
"Mental," Louis muttered, watching another wave roll in. "All that time apart and we're still..."
"Yeah," Harry said simply, because they'd never needed many words. Not really.
Louis shifted, reaching for his rolling papers with practiced ease. "Pass us the grinder, love?"
Harry watched him work - the familiar way his fingers moved, how his tongue poked out just slightly in concentration. Some things hadn't changed at all.
Niall: wait is that Lou's bedroom door on the album cover of Harry's House??
Harry: No comment
"Cheeky bastard," Louis muttered around the spliff, but his eyes crinkled. "Could've at least tried to be subtle about that one. There's pictures of my house online, you know."
Harry shrugged, remembering photoshoots and carefully describing the arch of the doorway. "Didn't want to be."
The morning stretched lazy around them, salt air mixing with sweet smoke.
Niall: so like
Niall: hypothetically
Niall: if I wanted to post about being right all along...
Zayn: mate.
Louis snorted around his spliff, passing his phone to Harry. The screen showed Niall's drafted tweet - a simple "told you so" that would set the internet on fire. Harry's chest went tight, remembering how long Niall had been keeping their secrets.
"Still can't," Harry murmured, watching Louis take another drag. The sweet smoke curled around them, mixing with salt air and morning heat. "Not yet."
Louis: Not yet.
Louis' foot nudged Harry's thigh, casual and proprietary. "Proper killing him, innit? All these years of knowing."
Niall: BUT THE SONGS
Niall: I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE SONGS
Niall: do you know how many interviews I had to play dumb in??
Zayn: we all did mate
Zayn: "no comment" squad for life
Harry smiled, remembering Niall's creative deflections over the years. How he'd master the art of answering questions without really answering them at all.
Louis: maybe someday Neil
Louis: for now just continue enjoying being smug in private yeah?
Niall: fine
Niall: but I'm keeping receipts
Niall: for POSTERITY
The ocean crashed below them, waves hitting their private beach. Harry reached for Louis' free hand, intertwining their fingers. Some habits were old as breathing now - seeking touch, staying close, gravitating toward each other like planets in orbit.
Louis: alright captain larrie, settle down
Louis snorted, passing the spliff to his other hand so he could card his fingers through Harry's hair. "Think he's got a conspiracy board somewhere. Probably got our lyrics connected with red string and everything."
"Probably blue and green strings actually. Think he's been waiting for this moment since 2011," Harry laughed as he leaned into Louis' touch.
"Proper fan account behavior," Louis agreed, but his voice was soft with fondness.
Harry felt Louis press a kiss to his hair, casual and proprietary, sweet smoke still clinging to his lips. He lifted his head and watched Louis take another drag. His eyes traced the familiar profile without meaning to - a habit he'd never quite broken, even during those four years apart.
"Proper creepy, that," Louis muttered, catching his gaze. The corner of his mouth lifted, teasing. "Still doing the creepy love stare, then?"
Harry felt his cheeks warm. He'd seen the compilations back in the day, all those moments caught on camera - him watching Louis like there was no one else in the room, mirroring his movements without thinking. "Shut up."
"Make me." Louis' eyes crinkled as he passed the spliff, fond and knowing. "Remember those fans that we're scared for my safety back in the day?"
"They'd stare at you too if they got the chance,'" Harry groaned, but he was smiling. Some things hadn't changed - like how his body still oriented toward Louis automatically, how his eyes still found him first in any room.
The waves crashed below them, steady and constant. These weeks hadn't been long enough to forget four years apart, but it was long enough for old habits to resurface - seeking touch, staying close, gravitating toward each other like they always had.
"To be fair," Louis said softly, fingers finding their way into Harry's hair, "you did follow me around like a baby duck."
Harry hummed, leaning into the touch. "Still do, probably."
Louis' hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its gentle movement. The morning stretched sweet and lazy around them, just the sound of waves and their steady breathing.
Harry's stomach growled softly, breaking their comfortable silence. Louis chuckled, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Proper time for breakfast, innit?"
"Mm," Harry agreed, but made no move to get up from their oversized lounger. The Jamaican morning was already warm, sun glinting off the private beach below their deck. "Could do eggs and that bread from the village."
"As long as you're not trying to feed me any of that weird fruit," Louis said, but his voice was fond. After all these years, he still treated most new foods with deep suspicion - unless they came from Harry's hands. "Saw you eyeing those strange looking things at the market yesterday."
"Soursop's actually really good, Lou." Harry pressed closer, nose brushing Louis' collar. The tank top Louis wore was actually his - a faded black thing from years ago that had somehow survived their time apart. "But I'll stick to proper breakfast for you, yeah? Maybe French toast?"
Louis hummed, taking one last drag before stubbing out the spliff. "Spoiling me already at-" he squinted at his phone, "fuck, half ten in the morning?"
It was an old dynamic between them - Harry's need to nurture, to feed, to care for. Even at sixteen, he'd been the one making tea and cooking dinner in their first flat, watching Louis eat with pleased eyes.
"Always," Harry murmured, finally lifting his head. Louis' eyes were soft in the morning light, crinkled at the corners. His skin had gone golden in just a few days here, freckles darker across his nose. Something about being back in Jamaica made Harry's chest tight - remembering when Louis had flown out in the middle of the night. Remembering how it all ended, yet again. Just like they knew it would.
Harry forced himself back to the present, to Louis warm and solid against him. His stomach growled again, more insistent this time.
"Right then," Louis said, stretching lazily. "Feed me, Harold."
The kitchen was all open windows and gauzy curtains, salt breeze carrying the sound of waves. Louis hopped onto the counter, legs swinging as he watched Harry move around the space with practiced ease. Some things were muscle memory - knowing Louis would want tea first, exactly how he took it, the way he'd steal bites of whatever Harry was preparing.
"No," Harry said without looking up from the bread he was slicing, feeling Louis' hand creep toward the bowl of batter.
"Didn't even do anything," Louis protested, but he was grinning. He'd been pulling this same move since they were teenagers, nicking bits of whatever Harry was cooking just to make him laugh.
"Yet." Harry pointed the whisk at him accusingly, trying not to smile. "I know you, Tomlinson."
Louis' eyes went soft around the edges, fond in a way that made Harry's chest tight. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You do."
Harry turned back to the stove, hiding his own smile. The routine was familiar - Louis stealing sips of his tea while Harry pretended not to notice, commenting on Harry's "proper housewife behavior" while secretly preening at being taken care of.
The morning stretched sweet and lazy around them, just the sound of waves and quiet domesticity. Harry plated their breakfast, adding fresh fruit to his own plate and none to Louis', who pulled a face at the mere sight of it.
"Philistine," Harry muttered fondly, settling between Louis' legs to steal a syrupy kiss.
"Your philistine," Louis corrected, pulling him closer.
Harry watched Louis demolish his French toast, syrup catching at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, he reached up to swipe it away with his thumb. Louis caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm - casual, proprietary, like they'd been doing this for years instead of just weeks.
In a way, they had been. Different kitchens, different circumstances, but always this - Harry feeding Louis, Louis letting himself be taken care of, both of them gravitating toward each other like it was as natural as breathing.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" Louis asked softly, setting his empty plate aside. His feet were tangled with Harry's under the table, one hand absently playing with Harry's rings.
Harry shrugged, unable to put it into words. How perfect this felt - just them, no cameras, no contracts, no carefully crafted images to maintain. Just Louis in Harry's old tank top, hair soft and unstyled, letting Harry fuss over him like they were nineteen again.
The world was waiting outside their little bubble. Tours to plan, albums to finish, carefully worded statements to craft. But right now, with the Jamaican sun painting everything gold and Louis' eyes crinkling at him over his tea cup, Harry couldn't bring himself to care.
"Just happy," he said finally, simple and true. "Being here with you."
Louis' expression went soft, understanding everything Harry wasn't saying. He tugged Harry closer, until Harry was standing between his legs again, Louis' arms draped loose around his waist.
"Me too, love," Louis murmured against his collar. "Me too."
Chapter 46: June 2016
Summary:
"I've been praying ever since New York." - Harry Styles
"And I know you left a part of you in New York under your bed in a box." - Louis TomlinsonLouis wakes to a call from management about Harry signing a solo deal. Louis, upset and feeling betrayed, leaves their flat in NYC to clear his head. He finds solace in a dive bar, drowning his sorrows in vodka while grappling with Harry's departure. Returning home leads to a confrontation with Harry, who he feels lied to about their future together. Devastated, Louis decides to leave New York and calls Oli to arrange a flight home.
Chapter Text
Louis woke to his phone buzzing against the nightstand, harsh and insistent in the pre-dawn quiet. Harry was curled against his back, one arm slung heavy across Louis' waist, breathing deep and even. For a moment, Louis let himself sink into the warmth, pretending they were back in some hotel room on tour, when everything made sense. When he knew exactly who he was - one-fifth of One Direction, Harry's boy, somebody who mattered.
The screen showed Dana Jones' number. Louis' stomach turned to lead. Management never called this early unless something had gone wrong - or was about to.
Carefully extracting himself from Harry's grip, Louis padded to the ensuite, closing the door with a soft click before answering.
"Bit early for a chat, innit?" His attempt at bravado felt hollow, even to himself.
"Louis." Jones' tone made his knees weak. He gripped the counter. "The news is about to break. Columbia Records. Harry's signed a solo deal."
The words hit like a physical blow. Louis stared at his reflection in the mirror - at the lad from Doncaster who'd once thought he could be something. Who'd walked into X-Factor thinking maybe he had a shot, only to find out he wasn't good enough on his own. Never had been.
"What do you mean, solo deal?" His voice cracked embarrassingly.
"Three albums. They're announcing it this morning. I wanted you to hear it from me first."
Louis' free hand curled into a fist. Through the door, he could hear Harry shifting in their bed. Their bed, in their flat, where they'd been playing at forever while Harry had been planning his exit strategy. All those nights Louis had laid awake, scribbling lyrics in notebooks, thinking maybe if he worked hard enough, proved himself enough, the band would come back together. That he wouldn't lose the only thing he'd ever been good at.
"How long?" The words tasted like ash. "How long has this been in the works?"
The pause told him everything.
"Louis-"
"How. Long." He barely recognized his own voice.
"A few months. The papers are running it in an hour."
Louis ended the call, pressing his forehead against the cool mirror. In the bedroom, Harry was still sleeping peacefully, probably dreaming about his bright solo future. Harry, who'd always been the star. Harry, who'd never needed the band the way Louis did. Harry, who'd promised they were in this together, while signing papers behind Louis' back.
He couldn't look at Harry right now. Couldn't bear to see that face he loved so much and know it belonged to someone who'd been lying to him for months. Someone who was leaving him behind, just like everyone else eventually did.
Louis grabbed his wallet and keys, not bothering to change out of his trackies. He needed air. Needed to think. Needed to be anywhere but here when those headlines hit, because if he stayed, he'd either break down completely or break everything in sight.
The pre-dawn New York air hit him like a slap. Fifth Avenue stretched empty before him, all gleaming windows and neon signs - nothing like the familiar streets of London or Manchester where he'd learned who he was supposed to be. Six years ago, he'd been nobody. Then he'd been somebody. Now he was... what? The has-been from that boyband, with a baby he barely saw and a career that was slipping through his fingers like smoke.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket. Harry, probably finally awake and wondering where he'd gone. Louis switched it off entirely.
The city was starting to wake up as he walked, aimless and burning with something he couldn't name. Early commuters rushed past, already clutching their phones. Soon they'd all know. Soon the whole fucking world would know that Harry Styles was ready to fly solo, leaving the rest of them - leaving Louis - in his dust.
A newsstand caught his eye. The vendor was just setting up, stacking fresh papers with practiced efficiency. There it was, splashed across Page Six: "1D's STYLES SIGNS SOLO DEAL WITH COLUMBIA." Harry's face stared back at him, all careful curls and practiced smile. The same face that had been pressed against Louis' neck just hours ago, keeping secrets while whispering 'I love you.'
"Want one of these?" the vendor called out, thick New York accent cutting through the morning air as he caught Louis' eyes boring holes into the paper. "Kid's gonna be huge on his own, watch."
Louis' laugh came out harsh. "Yeah. He will. On his own."
He walked faster, hands shoved deep in his pockets. More headlines caught his eye with each block: "STYLES GOES SOLO," "ONE DIRECTION STAR STRIKES OUT ON HIS OWN," "HARRY STYLES: THE NEXT JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE?"
The sun was properly up now, the streets filling with people who had somewhere to be, something to offer. Louis kept walking until the fancy shops gave way to grubbier streets, until he found what he was looking for - a dive bar with lights still on from the night before. The kind of place no one would look for a former boyband member at 7 AM.
The bartender barely glanced up as Louis slid onto a stool. "Little early for the hard stuff, buddy," he drawled, already reaching for a glass anyway.
"Been that kind of morning." Louis' voice was rough. "Vodka and Redbull. Heavy on the vodka."
"Rough night or rough morning?" The bartender asked, sliding the drink across the sticky bar top. His name tag read 'Mike.'
"Both. Neither." Louis knocked back half the drink in one go.
Mike set another drink next to him without comment. The TV above the bar flickered to life, morning news starting to roll. Louis checked his watch - 7:45. The story would be everywhere by now.
As if on cue, the screen filled with a group photo - all five of them on stage, back when everything made sense. The ticker at the bottom spelled out what Louis already knew: "ONE DIRECTION'S HARRY STYLES SIGNS MAJOR SOLO DEAL."
Louis tensed, waiting for the recognition, but Mike just continued wiping down glasses. Then the photo changed to a more recent shot of Harry alone, and Mike's hands stilled. His eyes darted between the screen and Louis, then to the empty bar around them.
"Hey, aren't you-"
"Please," Louis cut him off quietly, shoulders tight. "I just... I can't today."
Mike studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Look, buddy, this place is dead till noon anyway. Only regulars we get this early are Joe the plumber and Sandra who works nights at the hospital. Neither of them know One Direction from The Rolling Stones. Your secret's safe here."
Louis' shoulders dropped slightly. "Thanks, mate."
His phone lay heavy in his pocket, still turned off. Harry would be properly awake by now, would have seen that Louis was gone. Would know why. All those nights Louis had spent watching Harry write in that little black notebook, thinking he was working on songs for when they got back together. For their comeback. What a fucking joke.
The vodka burned going down, but not enough to dull the ache in his chest. Not enough to forget the way Harry had held him last night, knowing all along he was planning his great escape. Because that's what this was, wasn't it? Harry finally breaking free. From the band. From management. From Louis.
"Want me to change the channel?" Mike asked, something like understanding in his voice as Harry's face appeared again.
"Nah." Louis' laugh was bitter. "Might as well watch the show, right?"
"'S funny, innit?" Louis said after his third drink, watching Harry's pre-recorded interview playing silently on the screen. Harry looked perfect, of course. Practiced smile, carefully tousled hair. Probably wore his best Saint Laurent for the occasion. "Always knew he was the star. Rest of us were just... what'd they call it? Oh yeah. 'The others.'"
Mike slid another Red Bull his way without being asked. "Media's brutal, huh?"
"Brutal?" Louis' laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "Nah, they were right, weren't they? Look at him." He gestured sloppily at the screen where Harry was probably saying all the right things, being his perfect charming self. "Born for this, he was. Meanwhile, I..." He trailed off, taking another long drink.
The ticker now read: "STYLES: 'IT'S TIME FOR SOMETHING NEW.'"
"Something new," Louis echoed mockingly. "Right. Because five years of me wasn't enough. Because sharing a stage with your best mates isn't enough. Because-" He cut himself off, realizing he was saying too much. The vodka was making him loose, dangerous.
"Hey, weren't you guys pretty successful though?" Mike asked, keeping his voice casual as he restocked the mini fridges. "Like, pretty damn successful?"
"Oh yeah, massive. Proper rock stars, we were." The sarcasm dripped from every word. "Sold out stadiums, broke records, made history. And now?" He spread his arms wide, nearly knocking over his empty glass. "Now I'm drinking in an empty bar at 8 AM while Harold fucking Styles signs the deal of a lifetime. Proper fairy tale ending, that."
His phone buzzed in his pocket - he must have turned it back on at some point, though he couldn't remember when. The screen showed three missed calls from Harry, seven texts. He turned it face-down on the bar.
"You know what the worst part is?" Louis continued, the words spilling out now. "I actually believed him. All that 'we're in this together' bullshit. 'The hiatus is temporary' bullshit. Probably been planning this since before we even stopped. Probably laughing about it with his new fancy LA mates. 'Poor Louis, still thinking we're gonna get the band back together.'"
Mike stayed quiet, just letting him talk. Above them, the TV had moved on to weather, but Louis could still see Harry's face every time he blinked. Harry's face this morning, peaceful in sleep, no hint that he was about to blow Louis' whole world apart. Again.
"Should've known better, really," Louis muttered, more to himself than Mike. "Nobody stays. Not for me."
"Bet he practiced that smile in the mirror," Louis continued, voice getting slightly slurred. "'I'm sorry, lads, but it's time for me to spread my wings.' Like a bloody greeting card." He fumbled for his cigarettes, then remembered where he was. "Can I smoke in here?"
"Not legally," Mike said, but slid an ashtray over anyway. "Just blow it towards the window."
Louis lit up with shaking hands, the vodka making his thoughts loose and dangerous. "Y'know what's proper funny? Last night he was in my bed, telling me he loved me, and now..." He stopped abruptly, the weight of what he'd just revealed hitting him through the alcohol haze. "Fuck. I shouldn't have... forget I said that."
Mike's eyes widened slightly, but he kept his voice carefully neutral. "Secret's safe here, remember?"
Louis laughed, a broken sound. "Secret. Yeah. Story of my fucking life, innit?" He took a long drag, watching Harry's face on the screen again. "Five years of secrets. Five years of... and he just..." The smoke shook as he exhaled. "He knew what he was going to do. Knew when he kissed me last night. When he said..." He cut himself off again, but it was too late.
"Oh," Mike said softly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Oh."
"Don't," Louis warned, though his voice cracked. "Just... don't."
His phone buzzed again. Nine missed calls now.
"He's probably sitting there in that bloody flat, thinking he can just..." Louis gestured vaguely with his cigarette. "That he can just call and explain and everything will be fine. Like always. Because that's what I do, right? I fix things. I make them okay. I..." The words were spilling out now, vodka-loose and raw. "I make everything okay for Harry fucking Styles."
"Think maybe you've had enough," Mike said quietly, not unkindly. "Want me to call you a car?"
Louis stared at his phone, at Harry's name lighting up the screen again. He could almost hear Harry's voice: Lou, please come back. Let me explain. Baby, please.
"Yeah," he said finally, crushing out his cigarette. "Yeah, alright."
The ride back was a blur of city lights and billboards that all somehow seemed to feature Harry's face. Louis stumbled slightly getting out of the car, the morning sun too bright, making his head spin. The doorman gave him a knowing look - he'd seen Louis come and go enough times over the last year to know he belonged here, even if his name wasn't on any paperwork.
The elevator felt too small, too close. Louis leaned against the wall, watching the numbers climb. Harry had picked this place for the view, said something proper pretentious about "seeing the whole city spread out like possibilities." Louis had just liked that it was high enough that the paps couldn't get good shots through the windows.
His key (unofficially copied, of course - couldn't leave a paper trail) felt heavy in his hand. He could hear movement inside before he even opened the door. Harry always paced when he was anxious.
The door clicked open. Harry spun around from where he'd been wearing a path in the expensive hardwood floors, phone clutched to his ear. His hair was a mess, like he'd been running his hands through it for hours.
"Lou," he breathed, dropping the phone. He was still in his sleep clothes - Louis' old t-shirt and boxers. "Thank god. I've been calling-"
"Yeah, noticed that," Louis cut him off, kicking off his shoes where they didn't belong. Harry always hated that, always lined his up neatly by the door. Well, tough shit. "Bit busy this morning, were you?"
"Please let me explain-"
"Explain what?" Louis stumbled slightly making his way to the kitchen, needing water, needing distance. "Explain how you've been planning this for months? How you sat right there-" he pointed at their couch, where they'd spent countless nights tangled together, writing songs, making plans- "and told me we'd get the band back together soon? How you let me believe-"
"Lou, please-" Harry's voice cracked. "I wanted to tell you, I just... I didn't know how-"
"So you thought telling me by letting me wake up to it on the fucking news was better?" Louis turned, gripping the counter to stay upright. "Christ, Harry, I can smell the vodka on my own breath and I still know that's bullshit."
"Did you even-" Louis' voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "Did you even mean to tell me at all? Or were you just gonna keep pretending everything was fine until the announcement dropped?"
Harry took a step forward, then stopped when Louis flinched back. "Course I was gonna tell you, Lou. I just... everything's been so complicated lately, with Briana, and Freddie, and-"
"Don't." Louis' voice went sharp, northern accent thickening with anger. "Don't you fuckin' dare use my son as an excuse."
"'That's not what I-" Harry ran his hands through his hair again, making it stand even more on end. His usual slow drawl was quicker now, anxious. "Been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks. But you've been so... and every time I tried, you'd start talking about getting the band back together, about our next album, about-"
"Because that was the plan!" Louis' voice cracked up an octave. "That was always the bloody plan! Take a break, sort ourselves out, come back stronger. That's what you said, innit? That's what we all said."
"Plans change, Lou-"
"Not this one." Louis could hear the desperation in his own voice, hated it. "Not this. The band is all I- it's all we-" He stopped, trying to steady himself. The room was spinning slightly. "What am I supposed to do now, eh? What am I supposed to..."
"You could make your own music," Harry said softly, that familiar deep rumble that usually calmed Louis now setting his teeth on edge. "You're so talented, Lou. You don't need-"
Louis' bitter laugh cut him off. "'Right. Yeah. Louis Tomlinson, solo artist. Dead brilliant that'll be." He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the counter. "We both know I were never the star, Haz. That was you. Always you."
"That's not true-"
"No?" Louis gestured wildly at the living room windows, at the city beyond. "This posh flat that only you could afford? The rags that only care when you sneeze? The meetings you've obviously been having behind me back?" His voice broke. "Face it, Harry. You're the one everyone wanted. I was just... I was just lucky enough to-" He cut himself off, the words too raw, too honest.
"Lou, please," Harry's voice was soft, pleading. "I need this. Need to find out who I am as an artist. I've been in the band since I was sixteen-"
"Since you were sixteen," Louis repeated, voice hollow. The words hit him like a physical blow. Sixteen - scared and beautiful on the X-Factor stairs, curls wild and eyes wide, looking at Louis like he hung the moon. Sixteen - sneaking into Louis' bunk, whispering "I need you". Sixteen - when everything started, when their whole world became about hiding and hoping and holding on to each other through it all. "Right. Since you were sixteen. That's what this is about then?"
"What? No, I just meant-"
"You meant you want to know who you are without us. Without me." Louis could feel his hands shaking, gripped the counter harder. Five years of loving Harry in secret, of watching him grow from that wide-eyed boy into the man standing before him. Five years of being the only constant in each other's lives. "Been holding you back, have I? All these years?"
"That's not- Lou, you're twisting everything-"
"Am I?" Louis' laugh was sharp, bitter. "Tell me something I don't already know, then. Tell me this isn't about getting away from everything." His voice cracked. "Getting away from me."
"I'm not-" Harry stepped forward, reaching for him. "Baby, please-"
"Don't." Louis jerked back. "Don't 'baby' me. Not when you've been planning this for months. Not when you've been lying to my face, crawling into our bed every night knowing you were gonna-" The memory of last night hit him again - Harry's hands gentle on his face, whispering 'I love you' like always, knowing what morning would bring. "Knowing you were gonna leave."
"I'm not leaving you," Harry's voice was desperate now. "I'm just... I need space to grow. To make my own music. To be my own person-"
"Your own person," Louis echoed, the vodka and hurt making everything spin. He thought of all the times they'd hidden, all the fake girlfriends, all the careful distance in public while their private life became this tangled, beautiful thing that belonged to just them. "Right. Because being with me, being us, that's what? That's been holding you back?"
"No! God, Lou, you're not listening-"
"I'm listening just fine," Louis pushed off from the counter, swaying slightly. His eyes caught on the photo hidden behind their coffee maker - them in Paris, Harry kissing his cheek, the only place they'd ever felt safe enough to be that public. "You want your freedom? Want to spread your wings? Want to be Harry Styles, solo artist, instead of Harry from One Direction?" His voice broke on the next words. "Instead of my Harry?"
"That's rich, innit?" Harry's voice went hard suddenly. "You talking about freedom when you're the one who wouldn't-" He cut himself off, but the words hung between them anyway. When you wouldn't come out. When you chose the contract over us.
"Don't." Louis' hands were shaking now. "Don't you dare bring that up. That was different and you know it."
"Was it?" Harry ran his hands through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "Because from where I'm standing, you were the one who chose safety over-"
"I chose our careers!" Louis' voice cracked. "I chose not getting sued into oblivion! I chose not letting the band implode because you wanted to make some grand statement when Zayn left-"
"It wasn't about making a statement!" Harry's voice rose to match his. "It was about being honest! About not having to hide anymore! And now you're standing there acting like I'm betraying you by wanting to make music where I don't have to lie about every bloody thing-"
"So that's what this is? Revenge?" Louis felt sick. "Getting back at me for not burning everything down with you last year?"
"No!" Harry took a step forward, eyes desperate. "Lou, please, I just need-"
"Need what?" Louis started backing toward the door again. "Need to be free? Well congratulations, love. You've got it. All of it. Hope it was worth it."
"Louis-" Harry's voice broke on a sob. "Please don't go. Not like this."
Louis paused at the door, hand trembling on the knob. Behind him, their flat seemed to pulse with memories. The kitchen where Harry taught him to make banana bread. The sofa where they'd spent coutless nights together. The hallway where they'd slow danced at midnight, drunk on wine and each other.
"You know what hurts the most?" Louis' voice was barely a whisper. "It's not even that you want to go fucking solo. It's that you didn't trust me enough to tell me. Had to find out from fucking management, of all people."
"I was scared-"
"Of what?" Louis turned, and the devastation on Harry's face nearly brought him to his knees. "Of me? After everything we've been through? After five fucking years?"
"Of losing you." Harry's voice cracked. "Of you looking at me exactly like you are now. Like I've ruined everything."
"Well." Louis smiled, bitter and broken. "Guess that worked out brilliantly for you, didn't it? Can't lose what you've already thrown away."
He pulled the door open, stepping into the hallway. The last thing he saw was Harry reaching for him, tears streaming down his face, looking so much like that sixteen-year-old boy that Louis' heart shattered all over again.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Louis made it almost to the elevator before his legs gave out. He slid down the wall, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands. The screen showed 9:47 AM - fucking New York time, still throwing him off. It took three tries to dial Oli's number, his vision blurring with tears.
"Lou?" Oli answered on the second ring.
"I need-" Louis' voice broke on a sob. "Need to come home. Can you... can you book me a flight? To Donny? Don't care how much it fucking costs."
"Shit, Louis." Oli's voice sharpened with concern. "What happened? Are you-"
"Please," Louis whispered, pressing his forehead to his knees. "Just... need to get out of New York. Need to get away from-" From Harry. From the memories. From the way everything in this fucking city reminded him of late-night walks and stolen kisses and promises that turned out to be lies.
"I've got you," Oli's voice went soft. "Give me five minutes. You at the Tribeca place?"
Louis laughed wetly. "In the hallway. Couldn't... couldn't stay in there. He's still-" His voice cracked. "Fuck. He's still in there."
"Right." Louis could hear typing in the background. "There's a flight at noon. I'll send a car, yeah? Twenty minutes."
Louis nodded, then remembered Oli couldn't see him. "Yeah. Thanks, mate. I just... fuck. I can't-"
"I know," Oli said quietly. "You don't have to explain. Just... hang on, yeah? Car's on its way."
Louis closed his eyes, letting his head thunk back against the wall. Down the hall, he could hear music starting to play - that bloody Ed Sheeran song Harry always put on when they fought, like a peace offering.
"Yeah," he whispered, as the first notes of "Thinking Out Loud" filtered through the wall. "Cheers, mate."
Chapter 47: Present Day
Summary:
Louis struggles to balance on a boogie board while watching Harry sunbathe on the beach, reflecting on their complicated history and the years wasted apart. Harry notices Louis's unease and reassures him, affirming their commitment to each other. The two share a private dinner where they discuss past issues and the toxic dynamics of their relationship. As they reconnect through flirtation, intimacy, and shared memories, they create new, stronger bonds, embracing their love and the present moment.
Chapter Text
Louis balanced precariously on the boogie board, squinting against the Caribbean sun. He'd meant to actually try the thing properly - Harry had gone on about how fun it was all morning - but he kept getting distracted by the sight on shore.
Harry was stretched out on their private strip of beach, completely starkers because of course he was. The years had been kind to him, all long limbs and defined muscles, skin golden in the afternoon light. His ridiculous mustache shouldn't work, but somehow did. The mullety bits of his hair were curling damply at his neck.
"Absolute nightmare," Louis muttered fondly, watching a drop of water trail down Harry's chest. Some things hadn't changed - Harry had always been insufferable about sunbathing, even back when he was all gangly limbs and baby fat.
The wave Louis hadn't been paying attention to caught him off guard, sending him tumbling. He came up spluttering, board floating away forgotten.
"Having fun there?" Harry called out, propping himself up on his elbows with that shit-eating grin Louis had spent over a decade simultaneously wanting to kiss and smack off his face.
"Peachy," Louis shouted back, trying to maintain some dignity while spitting out seawater.
Christ, but he was gone for this man. Had been since Harry was sixteen, all wide eyes and clumsy limbs, stumbling after Louis and copying his every move. Now look at him - sprawled out like some Greek god, successful beyond their wildest teenage dreams, still watching Louis with that same fascinated amusement, like Louis was the most entertaining thing he'd ever seen.
Louis' chest went tight, familiar fear creeping in. Four years. They'd wasted four fucking years this last time, both too stubborn and scared to reach out first. And before that - how many times had they tried and failed? How many tearful goodbyes in hotel rooms, how many "this is the last time" promises they'd broken?
The more perfect things felt here in their Jamaican bubble, the more terrified Louis became of fucking it all up again. Because that's what he did, wasn't it? Got scared, pulled away, let other people's voices drown out the only one that mattered.
"You've got that look again," Harry said suddenly, much closer than before. Louis hadn't even noticed him wading out.
"What look?" Louis asked, but his voice was thin. Harry's hands found his waist under the water, warm and solid.
"The one where you're convinced everything's about to go tits up," Harry murmured, pulling him closer. "Can see you working yourself up from a mile away."
"Just..." Louis swallowed hard, hands coming up to trace the familiar swallows on Harry's chest. "Sometimes I look at you and can't believe we're here. That we made it through all that shit. That after everything - all the times I walked away, all the years we wasted - you still..."
"Lou," Harry cut him off gently. "We both walked away. We both let fear win. But we both kept coming back, didn't we?" His hands tightened on Louis' waist. "Maybe that's what matters more."
Louis let out a shaky breath, letting himself be pulled closer. The water was warm around them, waves gentle. Harry smelled like coconut sunscreen and salt air.
"Besides," Harry added, voice going teasing, "got a bit too much invested now, haven't I? Already told Gems you're coming round for Sunday roast when we get back."
Louis laughed wetly, pressing his face into Harry's neck. "Using your sister against me now? Proper ruthless, you are."
"Learned from the best, didn't I?" Harry's smile was soft when Louis pulled back to look at him. "Was quite the manipulative little shit yourself back in the day."
"Oi," Louis protested, but he was grinning now. "Show some respect for your elders, you curly bastard."
Harry's answering laugh was bright and familiar, head thrown back. Louis couldn't help pressing closer, mapping the column of his throat with his lips.
"Love you," Harry murmured, simple and sure. "Even when you're being a right diva about it all."
"Shut up," Louis grumbled, but he was smiling against Harry's skin. "Love you too, you absolute twat."
The waves lapped gently around them, Jamaican sun warm on their shoulders. They'd have to face reality eventually, but for now, Louis let himself have this - Harry solid and real in his arms, both of them finally brave enough to stay.
That night, the hostess led them through the restaurant's winding paths, torch-lit steps leading to a private deck overlooking the beach. She looked to be in her early twenties, wearing a crisp white uniform, her braids swept up elegantly.
"Me father said you'd be wanting our most private spot," she said, her Jamaican lilt warm and professional. "No one can see up here from the beach or main dining room."
Louis' shoulders finally dropped from where they'd been tensed around his ears. The deck was completely isolated - just them, the ocean, and the setting sun painting everything in soft pinks and golds.
"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "This is perfect."
She hesitated, then squared her shoulders. "I hope you don't mind me asking... I've been a fan since I was in school. Would it be possible to get a photo?"
"Course, love," Louis said kindly. "But we'd need to do them separately, yeah? And if you wouldn't mind waiting a few weeks to post?"
Her face fell slightly in confusion. "Oh, but-"
"It's just..." Harry ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying his nerves. "We had a bit of trouble recently. Someone broke into Louis' place while we were there."
"Jesus," she breathed. "I heard about the court case with your stalker, but I didn't know..."
"Different person, actually," Louis said grimly. "There's quite a few of them. They track flights, hotel bookings, restaurant reservations. Even got laws passed about photographs near H's house after everything that happened there."
Understanding dawned on her face. "Of course, I completely understand. No photos for a month, and separate shots only. I promise."
They took the photos quickly - Harry first, then Louis, both keeping it casual and friendly. She left them with another genuine apology for their troubles, clearly shaken by the reality of what they dealt with.
"Still can't believe they actually passed that injunction," Louis said once they were alone, settling into his chair. His sun-warmed skin felt tight, probably burnt despite Harry's constant nagging about sunscreen.
"After the eighth break-in attempt, even the council had to admit there was a problem," Harry said dryly. He shifted in his seat, wincing as his own sunburnt shoulders brushed the chair. "Though this last one at yours... that was different. Worse."
"Because you were there," Louis said quietly. "Because they finally had proof we were-" He cut himself off, old habits die hard.
Their wine arrived, giving them both a moment to collect themselves. The sun was sinking lower, casting long shadows across their private deck.
"Been thinking a lot," Louis started again, watching the condensation drip down his glass. "About how fucked up everything was. Not just the management stuff, though God knows that was..." He shook his head. "But us too. How toxic we were to each other sometimes."
Harry's hand twitched like he wanted to reach out, but he held back. "Lou..."
"No, let me finish. I was so angry all the time. At them, at myself, at the whole fucking world. Couldn't deal with who I was, what I felt. Every time someone called me... those names... I'd see red. Lash out. And you-"
"I was terrible," Harry admitted softly. "So jealous I couldn't see straight. Every time someone touched you, talked to you... God, I was such a mess. So desperate to keep you I nearly drove you away."
"We were kids," Louis said, finally reaching across the table. Harry's hand met his instantly. "They fucked us up proper, yeah? Made me hate myself, made you think love was something to be ashamed of. Christ, we never had a chance to learn how to do this right."
Their food arrived - jerk chicken for Louis, grilled fish for Harry. They ate slowly, trading bites and weighted silences.
"Remember that fight in Hampsted?" Harry asked eventually, voice careful. "When I threw that vase because you flirted with Liam through that whole interview?"
"No, but I remember punching Grimmy at that party because he was flirting with you," Louis countered. "Broke my own bloody hand."
"We were disasters," Harry said, but there was a fondness in his voice now. "Proper walking trauma responses, weren't we?"
"Still are, sometimes," Louis admitted. "But it feels..."
"Different," Harry finished. "Like we've finally grown into ourselves. Learned how to love without drowning in it."
The stars were emerging now, ocean breeze carrying the smell of salt and night-blooming flowers. Louis looked at Harry across the table - at the man who'd grown from that sweet, possessive boy who'd claimed Louis' heart at sixteen. At all the scars they both carried, all the therapy they'd done apart, all the work it took to get here.
"Still scared sometimes," Louis admitted, thumb tracing Harry's knuckles. "Of falling back into old patterns. Of letting fear win again."
"Me too," Harry said simply. "But think maybe that's the difference now? We can talk about being scared instead of just reacting to it?"
Louis brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to Harry's palm. "Yeah," he said softly. "Think maybe it is."
The last light was fading now, torches casting warm shadows across their faces. They had more to work through, more to heal. But for now, this was enough - just them, choosing to be better, choosing to stay.
The walk back to their villa that night meandered longer than necessary, both of them warm from wine and confessions. Harry kept stopping to point out stars, making up increasingly ridiculous names until Louis grabbed him by the hips, spinning him around.
"You're proper insufferable, you know that?" Louis murmured, reaching up to card fingers through Harry's shorter curls. Still felt the same, even if he couldn't properly tug on it anymore. "Going on about constellations like some posh twat."
Harry's answering grin was devastating in the moonlight. "You love it though."
"Lord help me, I do," Louis admitted, using his grip on Harry's hair to guide him down into a kiss that tasted like wine and salt air. Harry went pliant immediately, melting against him with a soft sound that had Louis pressing him back against a palm tree.
The days began bleeding together after that, sun-soaked and sweet:
Mornings were Louis' favorite - watching Harry emerge from sleep, shorter curls wild against white pillows, that mustache he pretended to hate hiding sleepy smiles. He'd learned to wake before Harry now, just to have these moments. To trace the familiar butterfly on his chest, the laurels on his hips, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.
"Creep," Harry would mumble eventually, eyes still closed but dimples deepening. "Can feel you staring."
"Can't help it when you look like that, can I?" Louis would reply, already moving to pin Harry's wrists above his head, drinking in the way Harry's breath hitched, the way he arched up seeking more.
Afternoons found them in the villa's private pool, Harry showing off with lazy laps while Louis lounged on a float, pretending not to watch the play of muscles under wet skin. Until Harry would get that glint in his eye, tipping Louis into the water, shrieking with laughter until Louis caught him against the pool wall.
"Menace," Louis would growl, pressing closer as Harry's legs wrapped around his waist automatically. "Proper brat, aren't you?"
"Maybe," Harry would breathe, already tilting his head back in invitation. "What are you going to do about it?"
The answer usually involved Louis marking up Harry's throat until he was whimpering, begging so pretty that Louis had to drag them to the outdoor shower. Had to press Harry face-first against cool tiles, making him fall apart with fingers and tongue until he was sobbing Louis' name into his own bicep.
Their attempts at cooking usually ended similarly - Harry trying to teach Louis proper Jamaican recipes, both getting distracted by flour-covered hands and the way Harry looked in just an apron. Louis crowding him against counters, making him recite ingredients between gasps and moans until whatever they were making was thoroughly burnt.
"Your fault," Harry would pout later, surveying the ruins of their dinner. "Can't focus when you get all... like that."
"Like what, love?" Louis would ask innocently, already backing Harry toward their bedroom.
Harry's blown pupils and bitten lips were answer enough.
Evenings were softer - Louis burning spliffs on their balcony, trading smoke-flavored kisses and old hurts. Harry admitting how lonely touring got, how empty hotel rooms felt without Louis there. Louis confessing he still woke up sometimes thinking he was back in those early days when management's control and abuse had been so prevalent, panic clawing at his throat until he remembered they were more free now.
"Never again," Louis would whisper fiercely, pulling Harry into his lap, holding him close as the stars emerged.
Late nights found them dancing in their living room, Harry's head tucked into Louis' neck despite being taller, swaying to old records. Louis would run fingers through Harry's short curls, remembering all the times he'd wanted to do this during performances years ago. Sometimes the music would shift to something faster and Harry would try to recreate their old stage antics, all horrible hip thrusts and excessive winking until Louis tackled him to the couch, shutting him up with kisses between laughs.
"We should head back soon," Harry murmured one morning, stretched out naked on their bed as Louis traced the fern tattoos on his thighs. "Got that charity thing in London..."
"Few more days," Louis answered, nipping at the sensitive skin near Harry's hip, smirking at the way he jumped. "Want to keep you like this bit longer. All mine, no cameras, no hiding."
Harry's answering whimper when Louis' mouth moved lower was agreement enough. They both knew their bubble had to burst eventually. But for now - for these precious remaining days - they could pretend the world outside didn't exist. Could focus on relearning each other, on replacing old wounds with new memories, on building something stronger from the ashes of what they used to be.
"Yours," Harry gasped later, wrists pinned above his head, Louis moving inside him slow and deep. "Always yours, Lou, please-"
"I know, baby," Louis soothed, free hand gentle on Harry's face even as his hips kept their maddening pace. "Got you. Never letting go again."
The morning sun painted everything gold, turning Harry's skin to honey beneath him. They had time. They had each other. For now, that was more than enough.
Chapter 48: April 2021
Summary:
Louis struggles with anxiety as Jedward’s tweets unsettle him, causing memories and fears to resurface. Panic escalates as messages from BMG's legal team intensify, leading Louis to feel trapped in a contract he signed. During a meeting with management, Louis plays the part of a compliant pop star, dismissing the threats against him. Later, Liam confronts Louis about their past, and they contemplate the abusive industry, leading Louis to cling to a fragile hope for a future where the truth might emerge.
Chapter Text
Louis had been awake since 4 AM, chain-smoking on his balcony and watching Jedward's tweets roll in like bombs. Each notification made his hands shake harder, memories hitting him like physical blows.
The first tweet had seemed harmless enough - typical industry criticism. But then they'd mentioned contracts. NDAs. Their old management.
By tweet fifteen, Louis was throwing up in his bathroom.
"Fuck," he whispered, pressing his forehead against the cool porcelain. His phone buzzed again - another message from BMG's legal team. He'd stopped reading them around 7 AM, but they kept coming. Kept reminding him just how precarious his position was.
His new contract sat in his desk drawer, the ink barely dry. Another five years of carefully worded clauses about "public image" and "brand maintenance." Another five years of...
His phone lit up with a call from Simon.
"No," Louis breathed, scrambling back from the phone like it might bite him. "No, no, no."
Simon hadn't called him directly since 2018, since he was a judge on X-Factor and his contestant almost let the truth of him and Harry slip. Since that meeting in his office where he'd made it very clear what would happen if Louis stepped out of line again.
The memory hit him hard - that familiar office, those familiar threats. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to Harry's new projects, would we?"
Louis barely made it back to the toilet before throwing up again.
His phone kept buzzing. Messages from the boys now:
Liam: "You seeing this mate?" Niall: "Don't do anything stupid Tommo" Zayn: "breathe bro. we got you"
And then, like a knife to the heart: Harry: "Lou?"
"Christ," Louis whispered, fingers hovering over Harry's name. They hadn't properly spoken since... since Louis had signed the new contract. Since Harry had looked at him with those devastating eyes and whispered "I can't watch you do this to yourself again."
Another tweet from Jedward popped up: "Victims in the music industry need to be heard!"
Louis laughed, the sound raw and broken. Victims. Right. Like they had any fucking clue. Like they knew what it was like to be eighteen and terrified, signing away your life because you didn't know any better. To be nineteen and in love and told that love would destroy everything you'd built. To be twenty-one and still so fucking scared that you'd sign another contract just to keep everyone safe.
His phone rang again - management this time. He let it go to voicemail, lighting another cigarette with shaking hands. The message would be clear enough: handle this, or we will.
He knew how they'd handle it. Had watched them destroy too many careers, too many lives. Had seen what happened to people who spoke up, who fought back.
The sun was setting now, casting long shadows across his flat. Twelve hours of watching his past being dragged into the light by two attention-seeking twats who had no idea what they were playing with.
His phone buzzed with an email from legal: "Immediate Action Required - Breach of Contract"
The words swam before his eyes. More threats, more carefully worded reminders of what they could do. To him. To the boys. To Harry.
Another tweet: "Justice for 1D & Little Mix!"
"Justice," Louis whispered, bitter and broken. There was no justice in this industry. Only survival.
His phone lit up again - Harry's face filling the screen. Louis' heart stopped.
"Hello?" His voice cracked embarrassingly.
"Lou." Harry's voice was soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Louis lied automatically, the word tasting like ash. "Just some attention-seeking-"
"Don't." Harry cut him off. "Don't do that. Not with me."
Louis closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of his balcony door. "What do you want me to say, Haz?"
"The truth?" Harry's voice went even softer. "For once?"
The truth. Louis almost laughed. The truth would get them all killed. The truth would...
His phone buzzed with another email. This one had pictures - old ones, private ones. Him and Harry in 2011, young and stupid and so in love. The threat couldn't have been clearer.
"I can't," Louis whispered, his voice breaking. "You know I can't."
Harry was quiet for a long moment. "Lou..."
"Don't." Louis' hand tightened on his phone. "Please, Haz. I just... I need to handle this."
"By falling on your sword again?" Harry's voice cracked. "By letting them use you as their puppet? Again?"
"Better me than-" Louis cut himself off, but the words hung between them anyway. Better me than you.
"That's not your job anymore," Harry whispered, but they both knew it was a lie. It would always be Louis' job, contract or no contract, relationship or no relationship.
Another tweet from Jedward appeared: "The truth will set you free!"
Louis laughed, the sound raw and broken. Free. Right. Like any of them had ever been free.
His phone buzzed with another message from management: "Meeting. Tomorrow. 9 AM."
He knew what that meant. Knew what they'd want him to do. Knew he'd do it, because the alternative was...
"I have to go," he whispered to Harry. "I'm sorry, I..."
"I know," Harry's voice was impossibly gentle. "Just... be careful, yeah?"
Louis looked at the email again, at those old photos, at everything they could take away. "Yeah," he whispered. "Always am."
The line went dead, leaving Louis alone with his ghosts and his fears and the weight of everything he couldn't say.
His fingers shook as he opened Twitter, typed out a dismissive response to Jedward. Had to play his part. Had to protect... everyone.
The next morning, Jedward tweeted: "People are desperate to stay in certain industry cliques just to undermine the truth they will try and discredit those that speak up! Be a Leader not a little bitch!"
Louis stared at the words, tasting blood from where he'd bitten through his lip. Leader. Right. Some leader he'd turned out to be.
The conference room was too cold, like always. Louis sat with his hands tucked under his thighs to hide their shaking, watching his management team file in with their pressed suits and careful smiles.
"Louis," Sarah from PR started, her voice professionally concerned. "About these tweets-"
"Already handled it," Louis cut in, pulling up Twitter on his phone. "Called them out last night. Got some of the bigger fan accounts spreading it around that they're just using us for clout." He forced a smirk. "Which they are, aren't they? Promoting their own stuff right alongside it."
The tension in the room shifted slightly. Good. He knew this dance.
"Besides," he continued, keeping his voice casual, "who's gonna believe two has-beens from X-Factor series 6?" He ignored the way the words tasted like acid. "They're taking legitimate industry issues and making it about themselves. Makes the whole thing look ridiculous."
Marcus from legal studied him carefully. "And if they actually have the contracts?"
Louis shrugged, remembering all those nights practicing this exact nonchalance in the mirror. "Then they've got some standard NDAs and image clauses. Nothing that hasn't been reported before." He met Marcus's eyes steadily. "Nothing worth burning bridges over."
The unspoken message was clear: I'm playing ball. I'm being good. Don't make me regret it.
"Still," Sarah pressed, "we should have a strategy-"
"Already got one," Louis cut in again. "Keep dismissing them as attention-seeking. Maybe leak some stories about their own behavior. Let them discredit themselves." His stomach turned, but he kept his voice steady. "Trust me, they're doing half the work for us with these conspiracy theory posts."
The room relaxed further. This was the Louis they knew how to handle - the team player, the practical one. The one who understood how the game worked.
"Besides," he added, hating himself a little more with each word, "not like I've got room to complain, have I? X-Factor gave me everything." The lie came easily after all these years. "Could still be stuck in Donny, working at Toys R Us."
Could be dead, he didn't add. Could never have met Harry. Could never have known what it felt like to have thousands screaming your name, to write songs that meant something, to be loved so completely it scared you.
"Some hard times along the way," he continued, playing his part perfectly, "but that's the industry, innit? Nothing worth having comes easy."
Nothing worth having comes without sacrifice, he meant. Without pain. Without giving pieces of yourself away until there was hardly anything left.
Sarah smiled, satisfied. "Well, we appreciate your understanding of the situation, Louis."
Understanding. Right. He understood perfectly. Understood what they could take away. Understood what they could do to the people he loved.
"Course," he said easily, standing up. "We done here? Got some writing to do."
They let him go, pleased with their docile pop star. Their good little soldier.
In the elevator, Louis finally let his hands shake. Let himself feel the weight of what he'd just done - thrown two people under the bus for daring to speak up. Protected the machine that had nearly destroyed him. That was still destroying him.
His phone buzzed - Harry again: "You ok?"
Louis stared at the message, thinking of that council flat in Doncaster. Of X-Factor auditions and Harry's dimpled smile and everything that came after. Of contracts and closets and carefully worded lies.
"Always," he typed back, the biggest lie of all.
Louis made it back to his flat before the panic attack hit properly. He barely reached the bathroom before his knees gave out, chest heaving as he tried to remember how to breathe.
"Fuck," he gasped, pressing his forehead against the cool tile. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
His phone buzzed again - Harry. Louis ignored it, hands shaking too badly to type anyway. What would he even say? "Sorry I'm still their puppet"? "Sorry I'm not brave like you"? "Sorry I'm still so fucking scared"?
The room spun sickeningly as memories crashed over him - being pulled into offices alone at eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Threats wrapped in gentle smiles. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to the band, would we?" "Such a shame if Harry's writing credits got disputed." "Accidents happen all the time in this industry."
He barely made it to the toilet before throwing up again.
His phone kept buzzing. Liam now: "Answer your phone you knobhead"
Louis laughed wetly, the sound verging on hysterical. Good old Payno, always trying to fix everything.
"M'fine," he typed back, fingers still trembling. "Just need a kip."
The response was immediate: "Bullshit"
Another wave of nausea hit as he remembered the meeting. How easily he'd played their game. How smoothly he'd thrown Jedward under the bus, knowing exactly what it felt like to be there.
His phone rang - Liam again. Louis let it go to voicemail, dragging himself to the balcony instead. Needed a smoke. Needed air. Needed...
"Fuck," Louis whispered again, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. The nicotine helped, barely. At least it gave him something to focus on besides the voice in his head screaming coward, puppet, sellout.
His phone buzzed with a text from his therapist - the one management had "suggested" after his last anxiety attack. "Checking in after today's meeting?"
Louis ignored it. What would he say? That he'd played their game perfectly? That he was fine with being their attack dog as long as it kept everyone else safe? That sometimes he still woke up tasting fear and bile, remembering all those careful threats?
Another text from Liam: "Coming over"
"Don't," Louis typed back quickly. "Really am fine mate"
The response was immediate: "Sure and I'm the Queen"
Louis closed his eyes, letting his head thunk back against the wall. He couldn't deal with Liam's concern right now. Couldn't deal with anyone's concern. Didn't deserve it.
His timeline was already filling with fans attacking Jedward, calling them attention-seeking, desperate. Just like he'd planned. Just like management wanted.
The cigarette burned down to his fingers, making him curse. The pain helped, grounding him in the present. Away from memories of contracts and threats and Harry's devastated face when Louis signed away another five years of his life.
His phone buzzed one more time - Harry again: "You don't have to protect us anymore"
Louis laughed, bitter and broken. As if he knew how to do anything else. As if he could ever stop trying to shield them all, even now. Even after everything.
Even if it killed him.
The knock came twenty minutes later. Louis hadn't moved from the balcony of his North London home, surrounded by cigarette butts and empty thoughts, staring out over the tree-lined garden that had sold him on this place. Somewhere private. Somewhere he could breathe.
"It's open," he called, not trusting his legs to hold him.
Liam's footsteps were familiar - steady, purposeful. Like everything about Payno. He appeared in the doorway with two beers and a worried frown, squeezing through the narrow French doors.
"You look like shit, mate."
"Cheers," Louis muttered, accepting the beer. His hands had mostly stopped shaking. Mostly.
Liam settled beside him on the small balcony, shoulder-to-shoulder like old times. The evening air was cool, rustling through the trees below them. For a moment they just sat there, watching the shadows lengthen across the garden.
"Saw what those Irish twats were posting," Liam finally said, voice tight with anger. "Proper attention-seeking that."
Louis hummed noncommittally, taking a long pull from his beer.
"Using our shit for their comeback or whatever," Liam continued. "Like they have any fucking clue what-" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "The shit we went through. The tours, the promo, being locked in hotel rooms like fucking animals."
Louis glanced at him sideways. Even now, years later, he could see the shadows under Liam's eyes. Could remember finding him passed out in studio bathrooms, running on pills and pressure and perfect fake smiles.
"Remember Zayn?" Liam asked suddenly, voice low. "Before he left? How thin he got?"
Louis' hands tightened on his beer. Of course he remembered. Remembered counting Zayn's ribs backstage, watching him push food around his plate, seeing him get smaller and smaller until there was almost nothing left.
"And after," Liam continued, bitter now. "When they found out about the heroin. Just... cut him off. Left him to deal with it alone."
"Some support system," Louis muttered, lighting another cigarette with trembling fingers.
"But that's the thing, innit?" Liam leaned back, staring up at the darkening sky. "The work... the grind... that part was worth it. We earned everything we got through that. But the other stuff..."
"The control," Louis supplied quietly. "The threats."
"Yeah." Liam's voice went hard. "Remember that meeting in 2013? When Simon caught me trying to refuse the... the stuff they were giving me?"
Louis exhaled smoke into the cool air. "Yeah." How could he forget? The threats, the implications. The way Liam had looked afterward, young and scared and so fucking lost.
"Should've burned the whole place down then," Liam muttered.
Louis laughed, harsh and bitter. "Yeah? And what would that have gotten us? Blacklisted? Sued into oblivion?"
"Is that better than being their puppets?"
"Is it though?" Louis turned to face him properly. "Better than having a career? Better than being able to make music at all?"
Liam studied him for a long moment. "That what you tell yourself? When you're signing those contracts? When you're playing their good little soldier?"
Louis flinched. "Fuck off."
"No, I mean it." Liam's voice went softer. "That what you told yourself when you let Harry go? When you signed with BMG instead of fighting?"
"Don't." Louis' voice cracked. "Just... don't."
The trees rustled below them, a peaceful sound at odds with the storm in Louis' chest.
"We owe them everything," Louis finally whispered, hating how true it felt. "Would've been nothing without X-Factor. Would've died in that council flat in Donny."
"Maybe," Liam agreed. "And yeah, the work was worth it. The touring, the music - that was ours. We earned that. But the rest?" His voice hardened. "The control, the abuse, what they did to Zayn, what they did to you and Harry..."
Louis closed his eyes, remembering contracts and threats and careful smiles. Remembering Harry's face when Louis chose safety over love. Again.
"When it all burns down," Liam said quietly, "when someone finally exposes it all properly - not this attention-seeking bullshit but really exposes it - I want to be holding the fucking match."
"Yeah," Louis whispered, looking out over his darkening garden. Somewhere out there, Harry was mostly free. Somewhere out there, the truth was waiting to be told.
Just not today. Not by some attention-seeking ex-contestants trying to revive their careers. But someday.
Louis smiled, small and sad and maybe, just maybe, a little hopeful.
"Someday," he whispered again, like a promise.
Chapter 49: Present Day
Summary:
Harry packs as he and Louis discuss plans for the upcoming holiday and family events. On the plane ride home, he reflects on his firm beleif that home isn't a place or a property. For him, home is Louis Tomlinson.
Chapter Text
Harry folded another ridiculously expensive silk shirt and laid it next to Louis' t-shirts in the bag, the hollow feeling in his chest growing deeper. Each item packed was another step closer to reality - to navigating the delicate balance they'd have to strike between love and secrecy, family and safety.
"Freddie's flight's booked for the twentieth," Louis said quietly from where he lay on their stripped bed, phone held above his face. "Bri's being... well, Bri about it. Wants to enforce the Christmas agreement again."
Harry's hands stilled on the shirt he was folding. Eight years of lawyers and contracts and carefully worded agreements just so Louis could have his son for Christmas if Harry was going to be there. Eight years of Harry watching from the sidelines as his teenage dreams of family crumbled and reformed into something more complicated, more painful.
He remembered being seventeen, lying in their Princess Park flat, whispering about their future - marriage and kids and a home they'd build together one day. Remembered being twenty-one, heart shattering when Louis told him about Briana's pregnancy. Then later when they'd reconciled, for one brief, beautiful moment, he'd thought maybe this was fate's way of giving them their family, differently than planned but theirs all the same. He'd imagined helping raise Freddie, being there for midnight feeds and first steps, making their unexpected blessing into something beautiful.
Then came the lawyers. The contracts. The complete severance of Harry from anything to do with Freddie's life, starting before he was even born.
"How much this time?" Harry asked, voice rough with old pain.
"Doesn't matter," Louis sat up, expression fierce. "Worth every penny to have him here. Just..." he hesitated, "been thinking maybe we could try to renegotiate... I mean, after everything with Li, she seems more..."
"Lou," Harry breathed, abandoning his packing to sit beside him. "Don't... don't give me hope unless you're sure." He couldn't bear having that dream dangled in front of him again only to be snatched away.
"Not sure of anything," Louis admitted, finding Harry's hand automatically. "But he's eight now, asking questions. And after losing Li..." his voice cracked slightly, "just seems stupid, doesn't it? Keeping family apart when life's so fucking short."
Harry squeezed his hand tight, understanding all the words Louis couldn't say. The grief was still too fresh, the loss too raw. Made everything else seem smaller somehow.
"Would have to be careful," Harry said softly, trying to protect his heart even as hope bloomed traitorously in his chest. "Take it slow. Let him set the pace."
"Yeah," Louis agreed, thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. "No pressure, just... being around a bit. Maybe help with the tree at Nan's? He proper loves decorating..."
"Still got that box of ornaments?" Harry asked, thinking of all the Christmases they'd spent together in the past - the great ones, and the not-so-great ones. "The ones your mum..."
"Course," Louis' voice was rough. "Got everything she saved. Including that ridiculous 'Baby's First Christmas' one she got for Freddie before..." he swallowed hard. "Before she got sick. Never even got to give it to him properly."
Harry pulled Louis closer, pressing his face into his hair. Sometimes it felt like too much - all the loss they'd carried, all the time they'd missed. Jay never getting to see their family come together the way she'd always believed it would. Never getting to see her grandson grow up. And now Liam...
"We'll make it work," Harry promised fiercely, wanting badly to beleive it himself. "Whatever it takes. However much money, however careful we have to be. Your family is my family - always has been. And Freddie..." his voice caught on years of complicated feelings, "he's part of that too. Even if it has to be slow, even if we have to be careful..."
"Love you," Louis turned to kiss him properly. "So fucking much. Even when everything's complicated and messy and..."
"Wouldn't want it any other way," Harry smiled against his lips, though his heart ached with the memory of simpler dreams. "Well, maybe with less lawyers. But the complicated, messy family bit? That's ours. That's home."
Louis shifted closer, his kiss deepening as his hand slid into Harry's curls. Harry melted into it, the familiar comfort of Louis' touch grounding him after the weight of their conversation. The packing forgotten, Harry let Louis guide him down onto the stripped mattress, their bodies fitting together with practiced ease.
"Should finish packing," Harry murmured against Louis' lips, even as his hands slipped under Louis' t-shirt.
"Mmm, plenty of time," Louis replied, trailing kisses down Harry's neck. "Car's not coming for hours..."
Two hours later, they were frantically throwing things into suitcases, their earlier careful organization completely abandoned.
"Fuck, where's my passport?" Louis called from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his mouth.
"Kitchen counter!" Harry shouted back, trying to zip a completely overstuffed bag. "Next to your keys!"
"Car's five minutes out," Louis emerged, hair still damp from their shower. "Why didn't you stop me distracting you?"
Harry snorted, abandoning the zipper to steal another kiss. "When have I ever been able to say no to you?"
"Fair point," Louis grinned against his lips before pulling away. "But seriously, we need to- shit, is that the car already?"
They barely made it, bags haphazardly packed and hair still messy, but Harry couldn't bring himself to regret a single minute. Some things were worth being late for.
"Next time we pack the night before," Louis declared as they settled into the car.
"You say that every time," Harry laughed, finding Louis' hand and linking their fingers together.
"Mean it this time," Louis insisted, but his fond smile said otherwise.
The private jet hummed quietly as Harry watched Louis doze beside him, phone tilted precariously in his slack grip, an unfinished Sudoku puzzle glowing on the screen. They'd pushed the seats back as far as they would go hours ago, tangled together in the limited space like they used to do on tour buses, stealing moments where they could.
Twelve hours into their flight, and Harry's mind wouldn't quiet. In less than three hours, they'd land at Heathrow and have to separate - Louis to his house in Barnett, Harry to Hampstead Heath. The paps would be waiting, of course. They always were. Another carefully orchestrated dance of appearing apart while being closer than ever.
Harry gently extracted Louis' phone before it could slip, his thumb brushing over the screen. Such a Louis thing, to fall asleep mid-puzzle. Some things never changed, even after all these years.
The cabin lights were dimmed, creating that strange liminal space that always reminded Harry of their early days - of whispered conversations in the Princess Park flat, of scribbled lyrics about finding their way back to each other, of matching tattoos that said everything they couldn't say out loud.
His hand drifted unconsciously to his ship tattoo, remembering the day he'd gotten it. How Louis had shown up at the same parlor not even a day later, getting his compass with its arrow pointing "home." They'd been so young then, but so certain - home wasn't a place, it was a person. Was each other.
It still was.
Harry had properties scattered across three continents now. Louis had his own collection of houses. But home? Home was right here, in the quiet dark of a private jet, watching Louis sleep with his face pressed into Harry's shoulder. Home was shared breaths and tangled limbs and the knowledge that no matter how far apart they had to be, they'd always find their way back.
Like that Edward Sharpe song they'd seen at Leeds Festival, back when everything was new and terrifying and wonderful. "Home is wherever I'm with you." He'd tweeted those lyrics, wanting so badly to tell the world, to shout it from rooftops - that he'd found his home at seventeen in a boy with sharp wit and soft eyes.
Louis shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible as he pressed closer. Harry's heart clenched with a familiar ache. In a few hours, they'd have to pretend again. Separate cars, separate houses, separate lives as far as the world was concerned. The speculation wasn't something they could handle yet, not with everything else they were dealing with.
But maybe... maybe someday. Maybe after they sorted things with Freddie, after the wound of losing Liam wasn't so raw, after they'd found their footing in this new version of them...
Louis had promised him once, in lyrics leaked to desperate fans - "you'll never feel like you're alone, I'll make this feel like home." He'd kept that promise through everything - through forced separation and painful secrets and years apart. Through loss and grief and finding their way back.
Harry pressed a soft kiss to Louis' temple, careful not to wake him. Three hours until landing. Until separate cars and separate houses and carefully orchestrated photos. But that was okay. Because home wasn't Barnett or Hampstead Heath or any other property they owned.
Home was Louis' sleepy mumbles and messy hair. Was shared jokes and private smiles and the knowledge that no matter where they were, their hearts were together. Was the compass always pointing home, the ship always finding its way back to harbor.
Home was them. It always had been.
And really, what were a few hours apart compared to that?
The landing at Heathrow was smooth, but the goodbye wasn't. Even knowing it was just for show, just for a few hours really, Harry hated watching Louis grab a single overnight bag and head toward his waiting hired car.
"See you in a bit, yeah?" Louis muttered, quiet enough that only Harry could hear, squeezing his hand briefly before they separated.
Harry watched Louis' car disappear toward Barnet before climbing into his own. Most of their luggage - Louis' included - was loaded into Harry's Range Rover. No point taking it all to Louis' when they both knew where he'd actually be sleeping tonight.
The drive to Hampstead Heath was quiet, Harry's mind already on his planned run. Get photographed, let everyone know he was back in London, act normal. Well, his version of normal anyway.
Unpacking was quick - he'd gotten efficient at it over the years. Louis' things went straight into their proper drawers and closet spaces, they'd sat empty long enough. Harry changed into his running gear, pulling on the shortest blue shorts he owned just to be a bit of a menace about it. Louis would see the photos later and roll his eyes, but Harry always caught the fond smile he tried to hide.
The December air was crisp as he started his usual route. It took approximately seven minutes before the first fans spotted him.
"Harry! Oh my god, Harry!"
He grinned, already moving toward the road where it was safer to stop. "Hi! How are you?"
The girls were shaking, phones out, and Harry posed easily with them, pulling his signature silly faces and throwing peace signs.
"Is Louis in London too?" one of them asked breathlessly. Brave, that one was. Most fans didn't ask about the other to their faces.
Harry just shrugged, grin turning mischievous. "Haven't checked his postcode lately, love."
More fans gathered as he continued his run, and he could spot the paps his management had called trying to be subtle (and failing). He made sure to step into the road for clear shots each time he stopped for photos, giving them what they needed while keeping the fans safe.
"Have you been resting? Maybe a holiday?" another fan asked as he posed for a selfie. She seemed genuinely concerned, which he guessed was to be expected. The last most people had seen of him was his best friend's funeral.
"Might've done," he answered with a sweet nod.
"But were you with-"
Okay, maybe she wasn't concerned. Fishing for clues instead.
"Lovely weather for a run, innit?" he interrupted cheerfully, making the small group giggle.
He kept running, stopping for every fan who asked, chatting about everything and nothing. Christmas plans ("Might pop round me mum's"), New Year's resolutions ("More sequined trousers, obviously"), his shorts ("Bit brisk, yeah?").
The paps kept their distance but he could hear their shutters clicking. Good. Mission accomplished - Harry Styles, definitely in London, definitely alone, definitely not just off a private jet with Louis Tomlinson.
By the time he made it home, his phone was buzzing with notifications. Fans posting their photos, speculating about his "suspicious" answers about Louis, analyzing his every expression.
He opened his messages instead, finding one from Louis:
Shorts that short in December? Menace. x
Harry grinned, typing back:
Coming home soon? x
The response was immediate:
Already on my way. Make tea? x
Harry headed for the kitchen, warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with his run. Home. They were home.
Chapter 50: February 2015
Summary:
Harry and Louis take a private jet from LA (where they've just written "Perfect") to Sydney for the upcoming On the Road Again Tour. (Otherwise known as Lariport) When they arrive to the hotel, they gossip with Lou Teasdale, have a strained meeting with management, and then retreat to their hotel room. Once Louis falls asleep, Harry writes down the lyrics that have been forming in his head all day (If I could fly).
Chapter Text
Harry couldn't stop staring. The soft cabin lights caught on Louis' eyelashes, casting delicate shadows across his cheekbones, and Harry felt that familiar ache in his chest - the one that had been there since he was sixteen, stumbling into a bathroom and finding his whole world waiting by the sinks.
"You're staring again," Louis murmured, eyes still closed but lips curving into that soft smile Harry had spent five years trying to capture in lyrics.
"Can't help it," Harry admitted, voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. "Been ages since I got to look properly. Without..." He trailed off, not wanting to mention the cameras, the careful distance they had to maintain, the way they'd perfected the art of looking anywhere but at each other.
Louis' eyes fluttered open, crinkling at the corners in that way that still made Harry's heart stutter. "Three years of sneaking around hotel corridors not enough for you, love?"
Harry shifted closer on the oversized seat, unable to resist reaching out to trace Louis' jawline. His skin was warm, familiar, real. "Never enough."
Louis caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm that made Harry's breath catch. "Sap."
"Your sap."
"Christ," Louis laughed, but his eyes were impossibly soft. "LA's made you proper soppy, hasn't it?"
Harry grinned, feeling his dimples deepen. A week in LA, writing together, tangled up in hotel sheets and each other. Writing a song about secret rendezvous and midnight drives, about being perfect for each other even if they couldn't be perfect on paper.
"Writing love songs will do that."
"Love songs," Louis snorted, but his fingers tightened around Harry's. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Perfect for me," Harry sang quietly, watching Louis' face soften. He remembered writing that line, both of them laughing at how blatant they were being. How they'd managed to write their entire story into a pop song - hotel rooms and secret meetings and all the things they weren't supposed to do.
"Shut up," Louis muttered, but he was smiling that real smile, the one that made his eyes disappear completely. The one Harry hadn't seen enough of lately.
"Still can't believe they're letting us fly together," Harry said, shifting to rest his head on Louis' shoulder. Fourteen blessed hours of uninterrupted time stretched ahead of them - no management, no cameras, no carefully orchestrated hatred.
Louis tensed slightly. "Don't."
"Lou-"
"Just..." Louis exhaled slowly. "Let's not talk about them, yeah? For once?"
Harry nodded against his shoulder, understanding. Tour would start soon enough, and with it all the complications. Sure, they'd have their hotel rooms, their stolen moments between shows. But they'd also have the boys rolling their eyes at their inability to keep their hands off each other, management's threats hanging over their heads if they slipped up in public.
One wrong move and they'd be separated - different hotels, different cars, different everything. Harry still had nightmares about last tour, when they'd been caught kissing in a corridor and spent two weeks unable to even look at each other without permission.
"Remember the last time we got to fly together?" he asked instead, smiling at the memory.
Louis laughed, the sound vibrating through Harry's chest. "When you tried to convince the flight attendant you were allergic to sitting away from me?"
"Worked, didn't it?"
"You're ridiculous," Louis said fondly, running his fingers through Harry's curls. "Can't take you anywhere."
Harry hummed contentedly, pressing closer. "Missed this."
"What, me insulting you?"
"You," Harry said simply, pouring years of love into that single word. "Just... you."
Louis was quiet for a moment, his fingers still moving through Harry's hair. "Yeah," he finally whispered. "Me too."
Harry had been vibrating with anticipation since they'd stepped onto the jet. A week of writing together in LA, of waking up tangled in hotel sheets, of stealing kisses between lyrics - and now fourteen uninterrupted hours stretched ahead of them. No management, no cameras, no carefully maintained distance.
Just them.
His skin felt electric where Louis touched him, oversensitive from a week of constant contact. He'd thought seven days together would take the edge off this desperate need, but it had only made it stronger. Made him greedy for more.
Harry shifted, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot behind Louis' ear. "Can't believe we have the whole plane to ourselves," he murmured, voice dropping low and rough.
Louis' breath hitched. "Dangerous thought, that."
"Maybe I like dangerous," Harry breathed against his skin, smiling as Louis shivered. His hand slid under Louis' shirt, tracing the familiar planes of his stomach. "Maybe I like trouble."
"Menace," Louis whispered, but his hand tightened in Harry's curls.
"Your menace." Harry grazed his teeth against Louis' pulse point, feeling it race beneath his lips. "Been thinking about this since we took off."
"Yeah?" Louis' voice was strained. "What exactly have you been thinking about?"
Harry hummed, trailing his lips down Louis' neck. "About how we've got hours ahead of us. No boys telling us to get a room. No interviews to make us look like we hate each other." His fingers dipped beneath Louis' waistband. "Just us."
"Haz," Louis warned, but his head tilted back, giving Harry better access.
"I need you," Harry murmured against his collarbone.
Louis made a broken sound, and suddenly Harry found himself being pushed back against the leather seat, Louis straddling his lap. "You can't just say things like that," he breathed, pupils blown wide.
Harry's hands settled on Louis' hips, steadying him as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. "Why not?"
"Because-" Louis cut himself off with a groan as Harry rolled his hips up. "Because you make me want to do very inappropriate things on this very expensive jet."
"If you like causing trouble up in private jets," Harry sang softly, grinning as Louis laughed.
"You're ridiculous," Louis said fondly, fingers already working to slide off the flannel Harry was wearing over his t-shirt. But his hands were shaking slightly, movements urgent and clumsy with need.
"Lou," Harry breathed, catching his wrists. "We've got time."
"Don't care," Louis muttered, tugging harder. There was a ripping sound as the fabric gave way in several places across the sleeve. "Shit, sorry-"
Harry cut him off with a kiss, deep and desperate. "Don't be," he whispered against Louis' lips. "Love when you get like this."
Louis pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes dark and intense. "Like what?"
"Like you need me as much as I need you."
Something vulnerable flashed across Louis' face. "Always," he whispered, and then he was kissing Harry again, hands sliding beneath the torn fabric to trace familiar patterns on his skin.
Harry arched into the touch, head falling back against the seat. So many years together, and Louis still made him feel like it was the first time all over again, breathless and overwhelmed and completely, hopelessly in love.
"Lou," he gasped as Louis' lips found his throat. "Need-"
The plane hit another patch of turbulence, sending them both lurching sideways. Louis caught himself with a hand on Harry's chest, laughing breathlessly.
"Maybe the sofa?" he suggested, eyes dark with promise. "Bit more stable than these chairs."
Harry nodded, already dizzy with want. The few steps to the sofa felt endless, especially with Louis pressed against his back, fingers tracing the small tears he'd made in Harry's flannel.
"Can't believe you actually ripped my shirt," Harry mumbled, breath catching as Louis' fingers found skin through one of the tears.
"Your fault," Louis breathed against his neck. "Looking like this, making me wait..."
"We've been together all week," Harry pointed out, finally reaching the sofa and turning to face Louis.
"Not enough." Louis pushed him down onto the soft leather, climbing into his lap again. "Never enough time with you."
Harry's hands found Louis' waist, pulling him closer. "We've got hours," he reminded him softly. "Just us."
Louis' eyes softened even as his grip tightened on Harry's shirt. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry breathed, watching Louis' pupils dilate. "Drive me crazy, you know that? Even after all this time."
Louis made a sound low in his throat and yanked Harry forward, crushing their mouths together. The kiss was messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and need.
"Love you," Louis gasped against his lips. "Love you so fucking much."
Harry's heart stuttered in his chest. No matter how many times he heard those words, they still made him feel like he was falling and flying all at once.
"Love you too," Harry whispered, arching up as Louis' mouth found his neck. "So much, Lou-" His shirt was still mostly intact despite the tears, but Harry could feel Louis' fingers finding each one, teasing the sensitive skin beneath.
"Tease," Harry breathed, squirming as Louis nipped at his collarbone.
"Says the one who's been looking at me like that all day." Louis pulled back just enough to smirk down at him. "Batting those pretty eyes at me..."
Harry flushed, both at the words and the heated look Louis was giving him. "Wasn't-"
"You were," Louis interrupted, rolling his hips down deliberately. "Always are. Such a pretty little vixen."
Harry's breath caught, head falling back against the sofa as Louis continued his slow torture. "Lou, please-"
"Please what, love?" Louis' voice was rough but playful. "Use your words."
"You know what," Harry whined, tugging at Louis' shirt.
"Maybe I want to hear you say it." Louis caught Harry's wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head. "Maybe I want to hear exactly what you need."
Harry's whole body felt like it was on fire. "You," he gasped. "Need you, Lou, please-"
Another sudden burst of turbulence made Louis grip Harry's wrists tighter to keep his balance. "Careful what you wish for," he teased, eyes dancing. "Might make the pilot think we're having engine trouble."
"Oh my god," Harry groaned, but he was laughing, heart so full of love for this ridiculous boy above him. "You're the worst."
"You love it," Louis murmured, leaning down to kiss him softly.
"I do," Harry agreed breathlessly as Louis released his wrists, only to slide his hands under Harry's t-shirt. "Love everything about you."
"Even my terrible jokes?" Louis grinned against his neck, fingers tracing patterns on Harry's ribs.
"Especially those," Harry gasped, shivering at the touch. "You're hilarious."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, darling." Louis nipped at his earlobe, making Harry squirm beneath him.
Hours passed in a blur of touches and kisses, soft laughs and desperate moans. They dozed off occasionally, tangled together on the sofa, only to wake and start all over again. The sun set and rose through the small windows, painting them in gold and shadow.
"How much longer?" Harry mumbled against Louis' chest, feeling boneless and content.
Louis checked his watch, his other hand still running through Harry's curls. "About an hour til Sydney."
Harry hummed, pressing closer. "Don't want this to end."
"Who says it has to?" Louis' voice was soft but determined. "Got a whole suite waiting for us."
"True." Harry tilted his head up to look at Louis, taking in his messy hair and kiss-swollen lips. "But it won't be like this. Just us, no one else in the world."
Louis' eyes softened. He cupped Harry's cheek, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "We'll make more moments like this. Promise."
When the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom to announce their descent into Sydney, Harry reluctantly pulled away from Louis, both of them working to make themselves presentable.
"Your hair's a proper mess, love," Louis smirked, watching Harry run his fingers through his wild curls, only managing to make them even more disheveled.
"Wonder whose fault that is," Harry shot back, but he was grinning, dimples deep as he straightened his white t-shirt. The flannel hung open, the tears near his shoulder and under his arm obvious now in the morning light.
Louis pulled his grey hood up, adjusting his sweat shorts. "Ready for the circus?"
Harry's smile dimmed slightly. Management had already texted - separate cars, separate entrances. Like always. He wanted nothing more than to hold Louis' hand, to lean into him like he had been doing for the past fourteen hours.
"Hey." Louis' voice was soft. He stepped close one last time, fingers brushing Harry's arm. "Just a little longer, then hotel, yeah?"
Harry nodded, heart swelling at the tenderness in Louis' eyes. They could hear the plane's wheels touching down, feel the gentle bump of landing.
The moment they stepped onto the tarmac, camera flashes erupted from behind the barriers. Harry immediately fell into his public persona - all bright smiles and blown kisses, throwing peace signs to the screaming photographers. Louis walked several paces behind, practically glowing with happiness, his smile genuine and crinkly-eyed as he watched Harry work the crowd.
"Harry! Louis! Over here!" "How was the flight?" "Harry, what happened to your shirt?"
They split off toward their separate cars, but Harry could feel Louis' presence behind him like a physical touch, could still taste him on his lips. He slid into the back of his assigned SUV, watching through tinted windows as Louis was led to another vehicle.
Just a little longer.
The side entrance of the hotel felt too quiet after the chaos outside. Harry's skin was still buzzing from the flight, from Louis' touches, as he took the lift to their floor. The moment the doors opened, familiar voices washed over him, settling something in his chest that had been tight since they'd split into separate cars.
"Oi, look what the cat dragged in!" Niall was sprawled in his doorway, already changed into swim shorts, his pale Irish skin practically glowing under the hallway lights. "Had a good flight, did ya?"
Heat crept up Harry's neck as he approached, the tears in his shirt suddenly feeling more obvious. "Shut up, Niall."
"Leave him alone," Lou Teasdale's voice carried from her doorway, and Harry's heart lifted at the sight of her. She had her makeup bag in one hand, eyebrows raised as she took in his appearance. "Though Harry love, you might want to change before the meeting. And let me do something about that hair."
"Lou!" The tension in his shoulders eased as she pulled him into a hug. She smelled like hairspray and her familiar perfume, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until now.
"What did you do to yourself?" She pulled back, touching one of his wild curls with familiar fondness.
"More like what did Louis do," Zayn drawled from where he was leaning against the wall, a knowing glint in his dark eyes.
"Speaking of," Liam appeared, looking around. "Where is he?"
"Different car," Harry said softly, trying to keep the words neutral. Lou's hand squeezed his shoulder, and he was grateful for her silent understanding.
The lift dinged again and Harry's heart jumped before he could help it. Louis stepped out, his whole face lighting up as he took in their little gathering.
"There he is!" Niall shouted. "The man responsible for Harry's new fashion statement!"
"Don't know what you mean, Neil," Louis said with perfect innocence, but his eyes found Harry's with heated promise. "Haz always dresses like that."
"Right," Lou shook her head, but Harry could see her fighting a smile. "Harry, come on. Let's get you sorted before management shows up. Louis, you too - you're not wearing shorts to the meeting."
"Yes ma'am," Louis saluted, following them into what was technically his room but had been theirs since the beginning, since they were sixteen and eighteen and falling in love for the first time.
"Sit still, love," Lou scolded as Harry fidgeted in the chair she'd positioned him in. She was working her usual magic on his curls while Louis rummaged through his suitcase for proper trousers.
"Sorry," he mumbled, trying to focus on the soothing sensation of Lou's fingers in his hair. It had been their ritual for years now, these quiet moments before meetings or shows, her steady presence a balm to his nerves.
"That flight must have been something," Lou teased quietly, working through a particularly stubborn tangle. "Haven't seen you two allowed to travel together in ages."
Harry's dimples deepened, warmth spreading through him at the memory of fourteen uninterrupted hours with Louis. "Was nice."
"I bet," she snorted, glancing meaningfully at the torn flannel he'd discarded. "Speaking of nice things - how's LA? Heard you two were writing?"
"Yeah," Louis piped up, emerging from the bathroom in black skinnies that made Harry's mouth go dry. "Proper good song, actually. Harry's got a way with words."
"When he's not studying rainbows," Lou said dryly. Harry barked out a laugh, remembering the rush of defiance he'd felt hitting send on that tweet.
"Hey Lou," Louis flopped onto the bed, and Harry's eyes found him in the mirror again, drawn like always to the familiar curves of him. "Lottie's been asking about you, actually. She's proper serious about the makeup artist thing now."
"Is she?" Lou brightened. "She's got a good eye for it. Could train her up proper if she wants."
"Yeah?" Louis sat up straighter, and Harry's heart swelled at his obvious big brother pride. "She'd love that."
"Better than some of these new stylists management keeps forcing on us," Harry muttered, thinking of the increasingly restrictive wardrobe choices they'd been pushing on him lately.
Lou tugged his curl in solidarity. "Speaking of management... heard about that livestream with Ben. Nice dodge, boys."
"Should've seen Ben's face," Louis grinned. "Proper panicked when we wouldn't play along with the denial."
Harry's stomach twisted, remembering the aftermath - management forcing that awful tweet, the fans calling Louis homophobic. The way Louis had held him that night, whispering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" into his skin even though it wasn't his fault.
"Hey," Lou set down her brush, squeezing Harry's shoulder like she could read his thoughts. "You two are doing amazing. And that performance at the AMAs? Stunning."
Harry perked up, grateful for the change of subject. "Did you see what that old man said?" Louis groaned, but Harry could see the fondness in his eyes.
"Harold, I swear if you tell that story one more time-"
"He called you 'the one with the cheekbones,'" Harry said gleefully, heart lifting at the way Louis tried to fight his smile. "And me 'the prince.'"
"And said you were in love with me, yes, we know," Louis rolled his eyes, but his voice was soft, intimate.
"Well he wasn't wrong," Lou murmured, making Harry's chest flood with warmth. "There, you're done. Try to keep your hands out of it during the meeting, yeah?"
"No promises," Louis winked, and Harry felt his cheeks heat, remembering exactly why his hair had been such a mess in the first place.
The meeting room felt suffocating. Harry sat between Louis and Niall, watching Zayn's trembling hands. Louis' thigh pressed against his under the table, tense as a wire.
"The set list needs to be thirty songs," one of the suits was saying. "We've arranged them for maximum impact."
"Thirty songs, six shows a week, plus press," Zayn's voice was rough, anger barely masking exhaustion. "You trying to kill us?"
"Mr. Malik," their manager's tone dripped with disdain. "If you have concerns about your ability to perform-"
"He's right though, innit?" Louis cut in, and Harry's stomach twisted at the cold fury in his voice. This wasn't like their early days, when Louis and Zayn were thick as thieves. Everything had soured since that night Zayn had offered Harry a line, since Louis had walked in and seen red.
Zayn didn't acknowledge Louis at all, but his jaw clenched. Liam looked between them wearily, probably remembering the screaming match that had ended with Louis shoving Zayn against a wall, snarling "Stay the fuck away from him."
"The schedule is non-negotiable," Management stated. "Now, about your accommodations. Mr. Styles, you'll be in room-"
"He'll be with me," Louis said, quiet but deadly. Harry pressed closer, trying to calm him without words.
Their manager's lips thinned. "After your recent... behavioral issues, we feel it's best-"
"He'll be with me," Louis repeated. Under the table, his hand found Harry's knee, grip possessive.
"Fine," Management snapped. "But one toe out of line, Tomlinson, and-"
"Yeah, yeah," Louis' voice was acid. "Tweet something straight, kiss a model, we know the drill."
The rest of the day dragged like molasses. After the meeting, they were shuttled between radio interviews and photoshoots, each one requiring a careful dance of distance between him and Louis. Harry's skin felt raw from it, from watching Louis laugh too loudly with the interviewers while maintaining careful inches between their bodies.
Zayn disappeared twice. Harry found him the second time, hands shaking as he tried to clean his nose in the tiny bathroom of the radio station. "Let me help," Harry had whispered, wetting paper towels while Zayn avoided his eyes in the mirror. Louis' face when they emerged, the hurt and anger warring in his eyes, made Harry's chest ache.
By the time they made it back to the hotel, Harry was exhausted down to his bones. Louis keyed them into their room, the silence between them comfortable after so many hours of forced conversation.
"Shower?" Louis asked softly, already pulling off his shirt.
Harry nodded, following him into the bathroom. Under the hot water, Louis washed his hair with gentle fingers, working out the remnants of Lou's styling products. Harry leaned into his touch, letting the day's tension slowly seep away.
"I've got you," Louis murmured against his shoulder. "Always got you."
Later, Harry lay awake watching Louis sleep, moonlight painting silver across his cheekbones. His little black notebook was open on his lap, pen hovering over the blank page as words started to form in his mind.
The idea had been growing all day - watching Louis navigate their cage of secrets and lies with fierce grace, feeling the way they gravitated toward each other even when forced apart. Feeling seen, truly seen, only in moments like this.
'For your eyes only,' he wrote, the words flowing out like they'd been waiting. 'I show you my heart.'
Harry glanced at Louis' peaceful face, remembering how he'd practically vibrated with joy at the airport when they'd realized management was actually letting them fly together. Fourteen hours where they didn't have to pretend, didn't have to measure every glance and gesture. Just them.
'If I could fly,' he wrote, the metaphor feeling right. 'I'd be coming right back home to you.'
He thought about the endless meetings, the constant strain of touring, the way management wielded their careers like weapons. Thought about Louis fighting for them to share a room tonight, about how simple it could all be if they just...walked away.
'I think I might give up everything, just ask me to.'
His pen paused, heart racing at seeing the words on paper. It was true though. The band, the fame, the fortune - he'd leave it all if Louis asked. Some days he wanted to beg Louis to run away with him, find a quiet corner of the world where they could just exist.
Looking at Louis' sleeping form, Harry's chest tightened at the familiar sight of dark circles under his eyes. The past months had been brutal - fighting management, protecting Harry from the worst of it, watching his friendship with Zayn crumble. Still, Louis never broke.
'I've got scars,' he wrote, knowing these lines were for Louis to sing. 'Even though they can't always be seen.'
Louis shifted in his sleep, reaching unconsciously for Harry. Even now, they gravitated toward each other like magnets.
'And pain gets hard, but now you're here and I don't feel a thing.'
The words felt raw, honest in a way they rarely got to be publicly. Harry thought about their coded tweets, their careful interviews, the constant dance of revealing and concealing. But here, in the quiet dark of their room, they could be completely themselves.
'For your eyes only,' he wrote again, the chorus cementing itself in his mind. 'For when you're lonely and forget who you are.'
Harry traced his fingers lightly over Louis' arm, remembering their whispered conversation on the plane. "Feels like coming home," Louis had murmured against his neck, both of them giddy with the simple pleasure of being close. They'd said it so many times over the years - in hotel rooms across the world, in snatched moments backstage, in late-night phone calls when management kept them apart. Home wasn't their London flat or Louis' house in Doncaster. Home was this, them, together.
'I'm missing half of me when we're apart,' he wrote, the truth of it catching in his throat.
His mind drifted to earlier, watching Louis bristle at management, at Zayn, at anyone who got too close. The way his walls went up around others, that sharp-edged armor he wore like a second skin. But here, in their room, Louis let himself be soft. Vulnerable. Real.
'Now you know me,' Harry added to the chorus. Because Louis did - knew every dream, every fear, every scar. Knew him in ways no one else was allowed to see.
He thought about the way Louis' voice would sound on these lines, how it would crack with emotion on certain words. Started mapping out their harmonies, where their voices would twine together like their bodies did in sleep.
'I can feel your heart inside of mine,' he wrote, remembering countless nights like this one, Louis' heartbeat under his palm. 'I've been going out of my mind.'
His pen hesitated over the next lines. There was always that fear, wasn't there? That one day the pressure would be too much, that Louis would decide it wasn't worth it. That they'd lose each other in the chaos of it all.
'Know that I'm just wasting time, and I hope that you don't run from me.'
Louis stirred beside him, blue eyes blinking open slowly. "Y'alright love?" he mumbled, reaching for Harry's hand.
Harry closed the notebook, sliding down to curl against Louis' warmth. "Just writing. Go back to sleep."
"'bout what?" Louis pressed a sleepy kiss to his shoulder.
"About coming home," Harry whispered, feeling Louis smile against his skin.
"Mmm, I'm already home," Louis murmured, pulling Harry closer. His voice was rough with sleep, that soft Yorkshire accent more pronounced. It made Harry's heart squeeze, how Louis could say such enormous things so simply.
The notebook slid off Harry's lap as he turned to face Louis properly. In the dim light, he could just make out the shadows of exhaustion under Louis' eyes, the tight line of worry that hadn't quite relaxed even in sleep.
"Lou," Harry whispered, tracing his thumb over Louis' cheekbone. "About today, with Zayn-"
"Don't," Louis tensed slightly. "Not now, love. Just..." He pressed his forehead against Harry's, breathing deep.
Harry understood. During the day they had to be bandmates, professionals, dealing with Zayn's spiral and management's demands and a thousand other pressures. But here, now, they could just be Harry and Louis.
"Okay," Harry kissed him softly. "Okay."
Louis' hands found their way under Harry's t-shirt, warm against his skin. Not seeking anything, just wanting to touch. To ground himself. Harry hummed contentedly, letting his fingers card through Louis' messy hair.
"Wrote you something," Harry whispered after a while, when Louis was nearly asleep again.
"Yeah?" Louis smiled without opening his eyes. "Proper love song?"
"Maybe," Harry pressed a kiss to his temple. "Might let you sing some of it."
"Generous of you," Louis chuckled, then yawned. "Tell me tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Harry agreed, watching Louis drift off again. The lyric notebook lay forgotten on the floor, but new lines were still forming in Harry's mind as he held Louis close.
'For your eyes only,' he thought, memorizing the peaceful look on Louis' face, storing it away like a treasure. These moments were theirs alone - no cameras, no fans, no management. Just them, finding their way home to each other over and over again.
He fell asleep eventually, Louis' heartbeat steady under his palm, fragments of melody weaving through his dreams.
Chapter 51: Present Day
Summary:
Louis watches Harry anxiously prepare for their first dinner with friends since reuniting. As guests arrive, tension brews with Jeff and Xander, who both hold complicated legacies with Harry. Louis confronts Xander about past betrayals, asserting his enduring love for Harry despite their tumultuous history. After the guests leave, Louis expresses insecurity about fitting into Harry's new life, but Harry reassures him that their bond remains fundamental. They agree to build a new life together, embracing both of their worlds.
Chapter Text
Louis stood in their kitchen, watching Harry fuss over the place settings for what had to be the tenth time. Being back in London after their Jamaica bubble felt surreal - like waking from a dream where everything was simple and stepping right into the complicated mess of their real lives.
"Haz," he said, unable to keep the fond exasperation from his voice, "if you adjust those napkins one more time, I swear to god..."
Harry looked up, anxiety clear in the set of his shoulders. "It needs to be perfect. This is the first time we're having people over since..." He trailed off, but Louis understood. Since they'd found their way back to each other.
"It's just dinner with friends, love." Louis moved to squeeze Harry's hip reassuringly, though 'friends' felt like a stretch for some of the guest list. "Well, mostly friends," he amended, thinking of Jeff's calculating looks and Xander's... everything.
"I know, I just..." Harry leaned into Louis' touch. "Two weeks ago we were just us. No phones, no paps, no..." He gestured vaguely at the dining room where every trace of their relationship had been carefully hidden away.
"No Jeff trying to set you up with whatever fit young thing he's found this week?" Louis couldn't quite keep the bite from his voice. Four years of watching Harry's manager parade potential beards past him had left its mark.
"Lou..." Harry's tone was warning, but fond. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice, me." Louis grinned, all sharp edges. "Proper gentleman, aren't I?"
Harry snorted, finally abandoning the place settings to turn in Louis' arms. "You threw a drink at Xander last time we were all together."
"That was years ago. And he deserved it, the way he was hanging all over you."
"We were broken up then," Harry reminded him softly.
"Yeah, well..." Louis tightened his grip slightly. "Not anymore, are we?"
The doorbell interrupted whatever Harry was going to say. "That'll be Mitch and Sarah," Harry said, pulling away reluctantly. "Remember-"
"No phones past the entrance, no social media, no evidence," Louis recited. "I know the drill, love. Been doing this since I was eighteen, haven't I?"
Harry's expression softened. "Not much longer though, yeah? We'll find a way to do this properly soon."
"Yeah," Louis agreed, stealing one last kiss. "Now go answer the door before Sarah starts thinking we're up to something inappropriate."
The doorbell chimed and Louis watched Harry's face light up, even as anxiety flickered in his eyes. Mitch and Sarah would be easiest - they'd become Harry's family during the years Louis was gone, watching him try to rebuild himself after 2020.
Louis took a steadying breath as Harry moved to answer the door. He could do this. For Harry.
"Uncle Harry!" Scout's delighted shriek echoed through the entryway as the toddler launched himself at Harry's legs. Louis watched Harry scoop the boy up with practiced ease, remembering how Harry had always been brilliant with kids. Some things hadn't changed.
"Hi loves," Sarah beamed, hugging Harry while Scout babbled about his new toy car. Her eyes landed on Louis, softening with understanding. "Good to see you home where you belong."
Mitch clasped Louis' shoulder as he passed, voice low. "He never got over you, you know. Not really."
Louis swallowed hard, watching Harry with Scout. These were the years he'd missed - the quiet moments, the family dinners, the way Harry had built a life without him while carrying the weight of their past. Different from the forced separation during One Direction, when Modest had kept them apart with threats and manipulation. This break had been their own doing, their own wounds too deep to heal.
The doorbell rang again, and Louis felt his shoulders tense. Jeff Azoff and his wife stood in their doorway, every inch the polished Hollywood manager. While not as openly hostile as Modest had been, Jeff had never hidden his belief that Louis complicated Harry's career unnecessarily.
"Louis," Jeff nodded, his wife offering a warmer smile beside him. "Nice to see you... settled in."
The emphasis wasn't lost on Louis. Four years of watching Jeff try to keep Harry "focused" - which apparently meant surrounding him with attractive men who wouldn't ask for anything real.
"Thanks, mate," Louis replied, proud of how steady his voice remained. "Feels right, being home."
Something flickered across Jeff's face - resignation maybe, or reluctant acceptance. He'd lost this battle and they both knew it. Harry had chosen Louis again, despite everything.
The final doorbell nearly had Louis reaching for his vodka. Xander and a couple other blokes he seemed to always run with. The man who'd been there every time Louis and Harry fell apart, ready with open arms and a convenient shoulder for Harry to cry on. And other things Louis tried very hard not to think about.
"Lou," Harry murmured, appearing at his side, Scout still chattering away in his arms. "You promised."
"I know, love." Louis pressed a quick kiss to Harry's temple, ignoring Jeff's slight frown. Different from the days when such a gesture would have earned them weeks of separation and thinly veiled threats from Modest. Now it just earned them careful calculation of public perception.
Because this time was different. This time they weren't scared kids being kept apart by abusive management, or young adults too broken by years of forced separation to know how to be together properly. This time they knew exactly what they were choosing - each other, finally and completely.
Even if it meant entertaining people who'd rather see them apart.
Louis watched as Harry settled Scout into a special chair they'd bought just for him - another reminder of the life Harry had built while Louis was gone. The domesticity of it made his chest ache in a way he wasn't quite ready to examine.
"Proper host you are now, eh?" Louis teased, trying to mask the emotion in his voice. "Remember when you could barely make tea without setting something on fire?"
"That was one time," Harry protested, but his dimple appeared as he smiled. "And you weren't much better, were you? Living off pot noodles and Red Bull."
"Oi, those were the days though, weren't they?" Louis caught himself, realizing how that might sound to their guests. The early days had been simultaneously their best and worst - falling in love under the spotlight while being torn apart by external forces beyound their control.
"Uncle Harry," Scout interrupted, saving them from the weighted silence. "Can I have the sparkly water like yours?"
"'Course, love." Harry moved to pour Scout some sparkling water in a plastic champagne flute, and Louis couldn't help but notice how natural Harry was with him. It made something in his chest twist - want and regret and hope all tangled together.
"So," Xander cleared his throat, clearly trying to break the tension. "Louis, Harry mentioned you've been working on new music?"
Louis took a long sip of his vodka, noting how Harry's shoulders tensed slightly. "Yeah, been in the studio a bit." He kept his tone carefully neutral, though he couldn't quite resist adding, "Think this will be the most raw album yet."
Jeff's eyebrows rose slightly. "Any... particular inspiration?"
"Oh, you know me," Louis smirked, accent thickening the way it always did when he was being deliberately difficult. "Just speaking me truth, aren't I?"
"Lou," Harry warned softly, but his eyes were fond.
"What? 'm not saying anything that ain't true, love." Louis reached over to squeeze Harry's thigh under the table, a gesture so familiar it made his heart hurt. "Besides, your lot can't exactly complain about love songs anymore, can they? Not after that last album of yours."
Sarah snorted into her wine. "He's got you there, H. What was that line again? Something about blue eyes and home?"
"Think we've all written enough songs about each other to fill a bloody greatest hits album," Louis said, unable to keep the edge of bitterness from his voice. All those years of coding their feelings into lyrics, trying to tell their truth without saying too much.
"Well," Mitch offered, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "at least now you can write about being happy, yeah? After so many albums of pining over one another, I think the world might need a break."
"Yeah," Louis agreed softly, watching Harry help Scout with his napkin. "Reckon we can."
"Within reason," Jeff added pointedly.
"Christ, mate, give it a rest for the night, yeah?" Louis snapped, patience finally wearing thin. "We know the drill, don't we? Keep it quiet, keep it private, keep everyone guessing. Been doing this dance since we were kids, haven't we?"
"Louis," Xander started, but Louis cut him off.
"Nah, you don't get to weigh in here, mate. Not after everything."
"Lou," Harry's voice was soft but firm. "Please."
Louis deflated slightly, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, love. Just... bit different from Jamaica, innit?"
Harry's expression softened with understanding. They'd had two weeks of just being them - no cameras, no speculation, no carefully worded statements. Just Louis and Harry, finding their way back to each other.
"We'll figure it out," Harry promised quietly. "Together this time, yeah?"
"Yeah," Louis agreed, managing a small smile. "Together."
Later Louis found himself loading plates into the dishwasher - a task he'd claimed to escape the stilted small talk in the living room - when he heard footsteps behind him. He knew without looking who it was; the universe had never been that kind to him.
"Alright there, mate?" he asked without turning, voice dripping with false cheerfulness. "Lost your way to the loo?"
"Louis." Xander's voice had that particular tone that came from expensive wine and misplaced courage. "I think we should talk."
"Do we?" Louis straightened, finally turning to face him. "Because I reckon we said all we needed to say years ago. Right before you fucked my boyfriend."
"Ex-boyfriend," Xander corrected, then winced at Louis' sharp laugh.
"Mate, if you think Harry was ever properly my ex, you're thicker than I thought." Louis leaned against the counter, studying him. "We both know what you were. Convenient distraction, wannabe replacement... pick your poison."
"That's not fair-"
"Life's not fair, love. Thought you'd have figured that out by now." Louis couldn't quite keep the bite from his voice. "Look, Harry wants us to play nice, so I'm trying here. But let's not pretend, yeah? You were there every time we fell apart. Ready and waiting. Like a bloody vulture in designer clothes."
Xander had the grace to look somewhat ashamed. "I cared about him. Still do."
"Course you do. Everyone cares about Harry, don't they? How could anyone not?" Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "But you never understood him. Not really. Never understood us."
"And you do? After walking away?"
Louis' laugh was sharp enough to cut. "Walked away? Mate, I've loved that boy since I was eighteen years old. Through management abuse, forced closeting, fucking death threats... you have no idea what we've been through. What they put us through." He took a steadying breath. "So yeah, we broke. More than once. But I never stopped loving him. Never will."
"Lou?" Harry's voice from the doorway made them both jump. "Everything alright?"
Louis softened immediately, the way he always did around Harry. "Fine, love. Just having a chat with your mate here."
Harry's eyes darted between them, concern evident. "Lou..."
"Proper civilized, we are," Louis assured him, though his smile held too many teeth to be entirely convincing. "No drinks thrown or anything."
"Yet," Xander muttered, then immediately looked like he regretted it.
"Careful there, mate," Louis warned, though his tone stayed light. "Don't want to tempt me."
"Both of you, please," Harry sighed, but there was fond exasperation in his voice. "Can we just..."
"What? Be friends?" Louis raised an eyebrow. "Bit ambitious there, love. How about we settle for 'won't actively try to murder each other at social gatherings'?"
Harry tried to hide his smile and failed. "I suppose that's a start."
"There you go then," Louis pushed off from the counter, pausing to press a kiss to Harry's cheek as he passed. "Progress, innit?"
He could feel Xander's eyes on them as he left, but for once, he didn't care. Let him watch. Let him see what real love looked like - messy and complicated and absolutely worth every moment of pain it took to get here.
Because this time, Louis thought as he heard Harry's laugh float in from the kitchen, nobody was going to come between them. Not Jeff with his career concerns, not Xander with his designer clothes and convenient timing, not anyone.
This time, they were doing it right.
Once the house cleared out, Louis found himself sprawled across their bed, thumb hovering over Twitter. He knew he shouldn't look - had notifications turned off for exactly this reason - but he couldn't help scrolling through his mentions, anxiety building with each tweet.
The 28 website change was causing the expected chaos - just the logo against a soft green, everything else password protected. Bold move, but fuck, he was nervous about this drop.
"You're doing it again," Harry murmured from beside him, not looking up from his book. His glasses were slipping down his nose, mustache twitching slightly as he read.
"Doing what?"
"Looking for things that'll wind you up."
Louis sighed, scrolling past another tweet theorizing about him and Taylor. "Can't help it, can I? Proper mess out there."
"Speaking of messes," Harry set his book aside, "have you seen what they're fighting about now? Apparently it's controversial to call me princess these days."
Louis snorted. "Bit late for that, innit? Been calling you princess since you were sixteen."
"That's what I'm saying!" Harry threw up his hands. "They're proper tearing each other apart over pronouns and pet names, when I've literally said I don't mind. Gender's weird anyway."
"Still remember when you tried explaining that to management," Louis said fondly. "Think their heads nearly exploded."
"Would've served them right," Harry muttered, then frowned at Louis' phone. "What are you looking at that's got you all tense?"
Louis grimaced, caught out. "Just... that old interview about Zayn's making rounds again. The one where I said we weren't mature enough to talk about forgiveness yet."
"Oh, Lou."
"Proper shit timing, innit? Just when we're starting to..." He trailed off, thinking of the group chat they'd been running since Liam passed. "Don't want him thinking I'm taking shots at him again."
"He won't," Harry said softly. "He knows you better than that."
"Does he though? After everything?"
Harry was quiet for a moment. "You could always text him? Tell him yourself?"
"Yeah, maybe." Louis scrolled further, jaw clenching at a string of tweets about Taylor Swift. About how iconic it would be if they collaborated, how the fans think he might be her elusive co-writer William Bowery...
"Lou," Harry's voice was gentle. "Stop torturing yourself."
"'m not-"
"You are." Harry reached over, fingers threading through Louis' hair with one hand while he extracted his phone from his hand with the other. "Life is good right now. And you don't owe anyone anything - not your management, not the fans, not even Zayn if you're not ready."
Louis let out a shaky breath. "When did you get so wise, eh?"
"Learned from the best, didn't I?" Harry smiled softly, locking the phone and leaning across Louis to put the phone on his nightstand. "This incredible boy once told me to be brave. To be proud of who I am - princess days, masculine days, all of it."
"Sounds like a proper knob, that one."
"Bit of one, yeah," Harry agreed fondly. "But I loved him anyway. Still do."
Louis' throat felt tight. "Even after everything?"
"Especially after everything." Harry tugged him closer until Louis was tucked against his chest.
Louis tried to relax into the touch, but he could still hear the echo of Jeff's carefully measured words, see Xander's studying glances now that he wasn't distracting himself online. The whole night had left him feeling raw, exposed in a way he hadn't felt since those early days with Modest breathing down their necks.
"Alright?" Harry asked softly from beside him.
"Yeah, just..." Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Bit different from how we imagined it, innit?"
"What d'you mean?"
"This. Us." Louis gestured vaguely. "Remember when we were kids? Thought we'd get a little flat together, maybe in London. Somewhere we could just... be us."
Harry shifted closer, expression soft. "We did that. But now, you've got stuck with our pretentiously large selection of properties."
"That's not-" Louis started, then caught Harry's teasing smile. "Well, it is a bit pretentious, innit?"
"Proper wanker I've become," Harry agreed, but his eyes were serious. "Talk to me, Lou. What's really bothering you?"
Louis was quiet for a moment, trying to find the words. "Sometimes I look at your life now - all these sophisticated people with their art shows and wine tastings - and I wonder where I fit in it. Still just a loud lad from Donny who'd rather have a pint at the pub than discuss... whatever the fuck Jeff was on about tonight."
"Lou-"
"No, let me finish." Louis sat up, needing to move. "We've gone in such different directions, haven't we? You're all... cultured now. Proper gentleman. Meanwhile I'm still watching footie with my mates from school, still prefer a greasy kebab to those fancy vegan places you love."
"And that's bad because...?"
"It's not, is it? But..." Louis sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "Your friends look at me like I'm some roughened Northern lad who's not good enough for you. Like I'm going to break your heart again because I don't understand your world anymore."
"That's not-"
"It is though." Louis turned to face him properly. "Been watching it all night, haven't I? The way they whisper, the way they look at us. Probably wondering how long it'll last this time before I fuck off again."
"Lou." Harry's voice was firm now. "Come here."
Louis hesitated, then let Harry pull him back down onto the bed. They lay facing each other, close enough that Louis could count Harry's eyelashes in the dim light.
"You want to know where you fit in my life?" Harry asked softly. "Everywhere. Always have. All that other stuff - the fancy parties, the art shows - that's just... window dressing. None of it matters without you."
"But we're so different now-"
"Good," Harry cut him off. "We were kids when we fell in love, Lou. Of course we've changed. But the important bits?" He reached out to trace Louis' cheekbone. "Those are still the same. You still make me laugh harder than anyone. Still know me better than anyone. Still the only person I want to come home to, whether it's after some posh gallery opening or just a night down the pub."
Louis swallowed hard. "Even when I'm making your fancy friends uncomfortable with my common ways?"
"Especially then," Harry grinned. "Love watching you wind Jeff up. Makes his eye do that twitchy thing."
That startled a laugh out of Louis. "Proper dick, that one."
"Yeah, but he's my dick of a manager," Harry shrugged. "Doesn't mean he gets a say in us. No one does. Not anymore."
Louis was quiet for a moment, processing. "Still don't know how to fit into your world sometimes," he admitted finally. "Feel like I'm playing dress up at your dinner parties."
"Then we'll find our own way," Harry said simply. "Make our own world. One where we can have both - fancy wine tastings and pub nights with your mates. Art galleries and footie matches. Because I love all of you, Lou. The rough edges and the soft parts. Always have."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry leaned in to kiss him softly. "And for what it's worth? I love that you're still that boy from Donny. Love that you haven't let all this change who you are."
Louis pressed their foreheads together, something tight in his chest finally loosening. "Even when I'm embarrassing you in front of your posh friends?"
"Especially then," Harry smiled. "Besides, reckon they could use a bit of shaking up. Getting proper boring in their old age."
Louis laughed softly, tucking himself closer to Harry's warmth. Maybe they were different now, maybe their worlds didn't quite align perfectly anymore. But maybe that was okay. Maybe they could build something new - something that had room for both of them, exactly as they were.
"Love you," he murmured against Harry's skin. "Even when I don't know how to do this properly."
"You're doing just fine," Harry assured him, arms tightening around Louis. "We both are."
Chapter 52: March 2012
Summary:
Louis learns from their handler that their relationship is affecting album sales, prompting him to agree to deny it in the upcoming interview. Returning to Harry, Louis struggles with the forced denial and their contextually heavy feelings. The boys head to the interview, where tension rises as they navigate around management's demands. After, management threatens Louis with Eleanor's extended presence on the tour, leaving him and Harry to face the emotional fallout together.
Chapter Text
Louis drifted slowly into consciousness, immediately aware of the warm weight pressed against him. Harry's curls tickled his chin, those impossibly long legs tangled with his own beneath hotel sheets that smelled of Harry's coconut shampoo and something distinctly them. Weak Dallas sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains they'd been too distracted to close properly last night, painting stripes of gold across the smooth expanse of Harry's bare shoulders.
For the first time in a week, Louis could breathe properly. No Eleanor hovering at the edges of their space with her apologetic smiles, no carefully orchestrated photos to stage, no "casual" pap walks. Just them, the way it should be. The way it had been before management decided they needed to "manage expectations."
"Time is it?" Harry's sleep-rough voice vibrated against Louis' chest, sending a familiar warmth through him.
"Early enough." Louis couldn't help but trace mindless patterns across Harry's back, mapping the dips and curves he knew better than his own. These moments felt increasingly precious lately - stolen minutes between the endless march of interviews and shows and PR obligations.
"Mmm." Harry shifted closer, all morning-soft and pliant in a way that made Louis' chest ache. Then, with a hint of that cheeky grin Louis loved so much: "Three whole days without your girlfriend, Lou. However will you cope?"
"Cheeky little shit." Louis tugged one of Harry's curls in retaliation, his heart swelling at Harry's sleepy laugh. God, he loved him like this - playful and loose and completely his. "You love having me to yourself and you know it."
A sharp knock shattered their bubble. "Tomlinson. Five minutes."
Louis' entire body tensed at their handler's voice, recognizing that particular tone. Harry must have felt the change because he lifted his head, sleep-heavy eyes suddenly alert, brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, love." Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, already extracting himself from their warm tangle of limbs even as everything in him screamed to stay. "Go back to sleep. Early interview prep, probably."
But Harry was sitting up now, sheets pooled around his waist, his abs on full display. "Lou-"
"Really, Haz." Louis forced his voice to stay light, even as dread pooled in his stomach. "I'll be right back."
The hotel hallway was too bright, too sterile after the warm cocoon of their room. Louis immediately missed Harry's sleep-warm skin against his, but straightened his shoulders as he faced their handler. Her expression made his stomach drop - he knew that particular blend of disapproval and calculation all too well by now. Had seen it in too many meetings about "public image" and "brand management" and "appropriate behavior."
"The Larry situation is getting out of hand," she said without preamble, voice clipped. "The tweets, the touching, the interviews - it's affecting album sales in conservative markets. We've worked too hard to let this derail everything now."
Louis fought the urge to cross his arms defensively. "We've been careful-"
"Careful?" She barked out a laugh. "You tweeted about his curls and his smell yesterday, for God's sake. And that radio interview last week? Did you really not see that camera before you mouthed "I love you" at him or are you just trying to fuck up on purpose? The fans are going wild with it."
Because I do love him, Louis wanted to scream. Because sometimes it bubbles up so strong I can't keep it in. Instead, he clenched his jaw and stayed silent.
She stepped closer, voice dropping. "Think about Harry's career. His future. He's eighteen, Louis. Eighteen. You want him labeled as the gay boyband member before he's even had a chance? You want death threats in his mail? Because that's what happens. You know that's what happens."
Louis' chest constricted painfully. He did know - had seen the handful of violent letters that made it past their security screening. Had watched Harry's face fall reading Twitter comments about "that fairy from One Direction." Had held him through nights when it all felt like too much.
"One clear denial," she continued, each word precise and cutting. "That's all we need in today's interview. Unless you want Eleanor extending her stay on the tour? I'm sure she'd love to see more of America."
The threat hung heavy in the recycled air. Louis thought of Harry just minutes ago, peaceful and happy in their bed, making jokes about Eleanor because it was easier than acknowledging how much her presence hurt them both. Thought of Eleanor's careful smile when she had to watch them pretend not to love each other, the guilt in her eyes when she took his hand for the cameras.
"Fine," he managed, the word tasting like ash. "One denial."
When he slipped back into their room, Harry was dozing again, curls wild against the white hotel pillowcase, looking impossibly young and vulnerable. Louis crawled back into bed, pulling him close with slightly desperate hands, trying to memorize this moment before they had to face the day.
"Okay?" Harry murmured against his collarbone.
Louis buried his face in Harry's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him. "Yeah, love. Everything's fine."
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking, and when Harry reached for him, Louis kissed him hard enough to bruise, trying to say everything he wouldn't be allowed to later. Trying to brand this truth into Harry's skin before he had to deny it to the world.
They managed another fifteen minutes of quiet before Paul knocked to hurry them along. Louis watched Harry pull on a simple white t-shirt that made him look even younger somehow. His hands were steady now, but his chest felt tight, watching Harry hum while he tried to tame his curls in the mirror.
"Haz." Louis' voice came out rougher than he meant it to. "They want me to... in the interview today..."
Harry's hands stilled in his hair, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Louis watched understanding dawn across his face, followed quickly by hurt. "They want you to deny it."
"Yeah." Louis crossed the room in three steps, wrapping his arms around Harry from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder. "M'sorry, love."
Harry's breath hitched. "But we've been so careful."
"Not careful enough, apparently." Louis pressed his face into Harry's neck, breathing him in. "The tweets, the touching... they're saying it's affecting sales."
"Fuck sales," Harry whispered, but Louis could feel him trembling. "Lou-"
"I know, baby. I know." Louis turned Harry in his arms, cupping his face. Harry's eyes were wet, and Christ, Louis couldn't handle that. "Hey, no. Look at me. It's just words, yeah? Just stupid words for the cameras. Doesn't change anything real."
"But it will." Harry's voice cracked. "It always does. They'll make you do more stuff with El, and-"
"Shh." Louis kissed him, soft and desperate. "Don't think about that now. Just- just let me take care of you today, okay?"
Harry nodded against his lips, fingers twisting in Louis' t-shirt. When they broke apart, his eyes were still glassy, but he managed a wobbly smile. "Gonna have to be more subtle than yesterday though. Your tweet about my smell..."
"Subtle's not really my strong suit, love." Louis ran his thumb along Harry's bottom lip, committing the feel of it to memory. "Especially not with you."
Another knock. "Two minutes, boys!"
Louis watched Harry pull himself together, watched him straighten his shoulders and paste on that camera-ready smile. Eighteen years old and already so good at hiding. Sometimes Louis hated himself for being part of the reason Harry had to learn that skill.
"Ready?" Harry asked, reaching for the door.
Louis caught his hand, squeezing once before letting go. "Together, yeah?"
Harry's real smile flickered through, just for a moment. "Always."
But in the elevator, Louis couldn't stop touching him - a hand on his lower back, fingers brushing his wrist, shoulder pressed to shoulder. Each touch a silent apology for what was coming. Each touch a promise: I'm here, I'm yours, no matter what I have to say out there.
By the time they reached the lobby, Louis felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, too much nervous energy with nowhere to go. The other boys were already waiting, Zayn taking one look at them and raising an eyebrow.
"You okay, mate?" Liam asked Louis quietly as they headed for the van. "You seem..."
"Peachy," Louis chirped, too bright, too sharp. He could feel Harry watching him, concerned. Could feel management's eyes boring into his back. "Absolutely fucking peachy."
"Louis, if you put that gum in my hair, I will actually murder you," Niall announced thirty minuites later without turning around. Louis quickly retracted his hand, shooting a wounded look at Harry.
"Snitch," he mouthed, because Harry's dimpled grin told him exactly who had given him away. Harry just shrugged, unrepentant, and Louis had to physically restrain himself from kissing that stupid smirk off his face.
They were crammed into the interview waiting room, the five of them sprawled across various surfaces. Zayn was half-asleep on Liam's shoulder, while Niall attempted to balance a water bottle on his forehead.
"Ten quid says you drop it," Louis called out, desperate for any distraction from the churning in his stomach.
"You're on, Tommo!"
The bottle promptly fell, smacking Niall in the face. Harry's loud bark of laughter mixed with Louis' cackle, and for a moment everything felt normal. Then their handler appeared in the doorway.
"Two minutes. And Louis, remember what we discussed."
The laughter died in Louis' throat. Harry's knee pressed against his, a warm point of contact that both grounded and devastated him.
"What's that about?" Zayn asked quietly, suddenly more awake.
Louis forced a grin. "Just the usual 'try not to swear or cause an international incident' chat."
But he could feel the others watching him now, concerned. They'd all gotten good at reading each other over the past two years - had to be, living in each other's pockets. He knew they could see through his act.
Liam opened his mouth, probably to say something supportive and earnest that Louis absolutely couldn't handle right now, but then they were being ushered into the studio.
"Remember when Niall tried to chat up that interviewer in Cardiff?" Louis said loudly, desperately. "And she thought he was asking about her cat?"
"Oi!" Niall squawked, but he was grinning. "That was a misunderstanding!"
"She was like forty, mate," Zayn drawled.
"Distinguished women are sexy!" Niall protested as they settled onto the interview couch. "Tell 'em, Haz!"
Harry, bless him, launched into an elaborate defense of the appeal of older women, complete with ridiculous hand gestures. Louis watched him, heart in his throat, as the cameras started rolling. Harry was trying so hard to keep things light, to pretend everything was normal, even though Louis could see the tension in his shoulders.
The interview started typically enough - questions about the tour, about their new single. Louis forced himself to joke around, to be the loud, silly Louis everyone expected. But his skin felt too tight, knowing what was coming.
The lights were too bright, making Louis feel exposed. He couldn't stop touching Harry - a hand on his back, fingers brushing his arm, leaning into his space. Each touch felt like rebellion and surrender both. When Harry shifted beside him, Louis instinctively bit at his shoulder through his jumper, earning that bright laugh he loved so much. Harry grabbed his legs, pulling him closer, and Louis' heart stuttered even as he caught management's warning glare from off-camera.
"So bromances," the interviewer asked, smiling. "Liam and Niall, and of course, Harry and Louis..."
Louis forced a laugh, aiming for casual. "We've got one big five-part romance bromance?" He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, earning chuckles from the others.
"Yeah," Liam jumped in, ever helpful. "The fans do this thing where they mash our names together - it's quite funny actually."
Louis caught another pointed look from management and his stomach dropped. Not enough. He had to do more.
"Some people genuinely think Harry and I-" he started, hating how his voice wavered slightly.
"Yeah, I saw that," Harry cut in smoothly, his media smile perfectly in place. Only Louis could hear the slight strain in his voice.
Louis swallowed hard, trying again. "Some people genuinely, seriously think that Harry and I are in a relationship." He forced his tone to sound incredulous, like the very idea was absurd, even as his knee pressed harder against Harry's.
"You are though, aren't you?"
Louis' heart stopped at Liam's confused question. Sweet, oblivious Liam, who had seen them curled up together countless times, who had walked in on enough heated moments to know better, who couldn't understand why Louis was suddenly denying what everyone in the band knew to be true.
"I've seen that with me and Harry as well," Zayn cut in quickly, and Louis could have kissed him for the save. "The fans get pretty creative with their theories."
Under the bright lights, Louis kept his media smile firmly in place, even as he felt Harry trembling slightly beside him. His hand found Harry's lower back, hidden from the cameras, and pressed gently: I'm here, I'm sorry, I love you.
The air felt different when they crossed the field, less stifling than the interview room. Louis kept his arm firmly around Harry's shoulders as they walked, thumb stroking absently against his neck. The failed denial sat heavy between them, but Harry leaned into his touch like always, like breathing.
"Oi, save some Harry for the rest of us!" Niall called out, but his tone was gentle, understanding. He'd been shooting them worried glances since Liam's slip-up.
"Never," Louis shot back, pulling Harry closer. The word felt like defiance after everything that morning.
The baseball stadium sprawled before them, and Louis felt some of his manic energy return. He needed movement, needed distraction from the mess in his head. Harry seemed to sense it, because he didn't protest when Louis started dragging him around, pointing out random baseball facts he'd definitely made up.
In the locker room, Kidd Kraddick's crew was setting up for their next interview. Louis spotted the pitcher of apple juice and something restless under his skin made him grab it, approaching Kidd with what he hoped was an innocent smile. But Kidd handed it to Harry instead, and Louis watched, transfixed, as Harry started chugging it.
Before he could think better of it, Louis was behind Harry, hands on the pitcher, forcing it up higher. "All of it, love," he ordered, voice low enough that the mics probably missed it. Harry complied instantly, throat working as he swallowed, and Louis' body responded embarrassingly quickly to the sight.
They were handed jerseys and helmets next, and Louis nearly choked when Harry's shirt rode up, exposing most of his torso. He tried to adjust his own jersey to hide his very obvious reaction, but based on Zayn's smirk, he wasn't entirely successful.
"You're not subtle, mate," Zayn murmured as they positioned themselves for the interview.
"Never claimed to be," Louis whispered back, eyes still fixed on where Harry was struggling with his helmet, abs still partially visible. After the morning they'd had, he couldn't bring himself to care about subtlety anymore.
The moment they escaped the cameras, something in Louis snapped. He'd spent hours watching Harry across interview tables, maintaining careful distance while inside he was burning up. The instant they rounded the corner into an empty corridor, Louis shoved Harry roughly against the wall, hands fisted in his shirt.
Harry's breath hitched, pupils already blown wide. "Lou—" He was cut off by Louis crushing their mouths together, all teeth and desperation. The stadium stretched endless around them, but they needed somewhere now.
Harry stumbled backward until he found a maintenance door handle, dragging them both inside. The small room smelled of leather and dust - equipment storage, lined with shelves. Louis slammed Harry against the concrete wall hard enough to knock a gasp from his lungs.
"Driving me mad," Louis growled, pinning Harry's wrists above his head with one hand. "Having to sit there, having to pretend—" He attacked Harry's neck, sucking bruising kisses that would have their stylist in fits later. Harry arched into it with a broken sound, head falling back against the wall.
The darkness felt safe, private. Here they could be real, could let out everything they had to bottle up. Louis kept Harry pinned as he claimed every inch he could reach, determined to erase the memory of every forced denial. The concrete must have been rough against Harry's back, but he just pushed into it, surrendering completely to Louis' desperate need to mark and possess.
When they finally emerged, Harry looked absolutely wrecked - curls a wild mess from Louis' hands, face flushed crimson with a raw scrape on one cheekbone from the wall. His lips were obscenely swollen, neck already blooming with marks, and his glazed eyes held that soft, blissed-out look that made Louis want to drag him right back into the darkness. He could barely walk straight.
They found Zayn lounging against a wall a little ways down the hallway, smirking as he took in Harry's thoroughly debauched state.
"Christ, Tommo," he drawled, "left enough of him for the fans, did you?" He tossed them each a water bottle. "Signing's in fifteen. Might want to sort out that sex hair, Styles. And maybe borrow some concealer for..." he gestured vaguely at Harry's entire... everything.
"Shut it," Louis muttered, but he was grinning, still thrumming with satisfaction as Harry swayed beside him looking thoroughly claimed and completely content about it.
"Like a bloody teenager," Zayn snickered, falling into step beside them. "Actually, scratch that - even teenagers show more restraint. You're animals, you are."
"Jesus Christ," Zayn snickered as they stumbled into the nearest bathroom. Under the fluorescent lights, the damage was even more obvious - and completely unfixable.
"Lou," Harry whined, catching sight of himself in the mirror. His neck was a masterpiece of red and purple marks, his hair looked like he'd been in a hurricane, and the scrape on his cheekbone stood out angry and red. The flush hadn't faded from his face, and his lips were still swollen and bitten raw.
"Don't 'Lou' me," Louis smirked, running possessive fingers over a particularly dark mark below Harry's jaw. "You weren't complaining five minuites ago, love."
Harry attempted to tame his curls with shaking fingers while Zayn just leaned against the wall, laughing. "Management's going to absolutely murder you both."
"Here," Louis said softly, batting Harry's hands away from his hopeless hair. He wet his fingers under the tap and gently worked the curls into something less obviously sexed-up. Harry leaned into the touch like a cat, eyes going half-lidded again.
"Oh for— I give up," Zayn threw his hands up. "You're going out there looking exactly like what you are - thoroughly shagged in a closet. The fans are going to lose their minds."
"Your shirt's inside out too, by the way," he added helpfully as Harry fumbled with his collar, trying to hide the worst of the marks. It was a lost cause.
"Proper mess, you are," Louis murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself as he watched Harry struggle.
"Yeah, wonder whose fault that is," Zayn rolled his eyes. "Come on then, can't hide in here forever. Though watching security try to explain this to management might actually be worth it."
The fans were a blur of screaming and tears, too caught up in their own excitement to notice Harry's thoroughly debauched state. They got through the signing with minimal incident, though Paul kept shooting them suspicious looks, and one of their handlers nearly choked when she first caught sight of Harry.
"You're dead after the show," Zayn muttered as they headed backstage to change for the performance. "Twitter's going to explode when these pictures hit."
Louis just shrugged, adjusting his mic pack. The marking on Harry's neck had darkened beautifully over the past hour, and watching him try to act normal while looking so obviously claimed was doing things to Louis' head.
On stage, the adrenaline hit hard. During "Up All Night," Louis made sure to add extra emphasis to his hip thrusts, watching Harry's eyes go dark from across the stage. Harry retaliated during "More Than This," his voice going particularly raspy on his solo, throwing his head back in a way that had Louis gripping his mic stand white-knuckled.
They circled each other through "One Thing," trading loaded looks and provocative movements. By the time they hit "What Makes You Beautiful," Harry was practically strutting across the stage, lips bitten red and curls wild, looking exactly like he had stumbling out of that closet. Louis nearly missed his cue, transfixed.
Zayn kept rolling his eyes at their antics, mouthing "subtle" sarcastically whenever he passed them. But he was grinning too, covering their occasional missed lyrics when they got too distracted by each other.
By the end of their short set, they were both sweaty and breathless for reasons that weren't entirely performance-related. As they took their final bow, Louis could see one of their managers on the side of the stage, face like thunder as he finally got a proper look at Harry's neck.
"Worth it," Louis whispered in Harry's ear as they headed backstage, and felt him shiver in response.
Louis was barely off stage when he was yanked into one of the production offices. The door slammed behind him, leaving him facing three thunderous management faces.
"What part of 'discreet' is so difficult to understand?" Richard's voice was deadly quiet. "Do you have any idea the damage control we'll have to do when those signing photos hit the internet?"
Louis' defiance withered slightly under their cold stares. The adrenaline from the show was fading, leaving a creeping dread.
"Eleanor will be staying with the tour." The words hit like ice water. "Every city, every public appearance, for the rest of the North American leg."
"What? No—" Louis started.
"This is not a discussion." Richard cut him off. "You've left us no choice. And Louis?" He stepped closer, voice dropping even lower. "One more incident like today, one more visible mark, one more obvious display, and Harry will be getting his own arrangement. Perhaps that nice actress from LA who's been asking about him. Do I make myself clear?"
Louis felt sick. The thought of Harry being forced into the same suffocating pretense, having to watch him parade around with someone else...
"Crystal," he bit out.
"Good. Eleanor's flight lands at 9am. You'll be photographed picking her up." Richard opened the door. "Don't test us on this, Louis. You won't like the consequences."
Louis stood frozen for a moment after they left, hands clenched into fists. When he finally emerged, Harry was waiting in the hallway, concern written all over his face. Louis couldn't quite meet his eyes.
"Lou?" Harry's voice was soft, worried. "What did they—"
"Eleanor's coming, back" Louis cut him off, voice flat. "For the rest of the American leg."
Harry went very still, the color draining from his face. "The whole thing?" he whispered.
"Every city." Louis' laugh was bitter. The rest of the threat from management sat heavy in his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Harry. Wouldn't put that weight on him too.
"Oh." Harry's voice was small. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for Louis, but they were still in the venue hallway. Always somewhere public. Always watching their every move.
"I'm sorry," Louis said roughly. "If I hadn't... in the closet earlier..."
"Don't." Harry's eyes were fierce despite his pale face. "Don't apologize for that. It was both of us."
"Yeah, well..." Louis trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Nine AM tomorrow, I get to pick her up from the airport."
Harry stepped closer, not touching but near enough that Louis could feel his warmth. "We'll figure it out. Together, yeah?"
Louis looked up at him then - at his earnest eyes, the marks still visible on his neck, the unwavering certainty in his expression. His chest ached with how much he loved this boy who would follow him anywhere, even into this mess.
"Together," Louis agreed softly. He wished he could protect Harry from all of it - the hiding, the pretending, the constant watching eyes. But Harry had already made his choice. They both had.
"Come on," Harry murmured. "Let's go back to the hotel."
The drive was quiet, but Harry's pinky stayed linked with Louis' between them on the seat, hidden from view. In the lobby, Eleanor's arrival was already being coordinated, handlers discussing photo ops and scheduled appearances.
Louis felt Harry's finger tighten around his, just slightly. A promise. A reminder.
Whatever came next, they'd face it like they did everything else - together.
Chapter 53: Present Day
Summary:
Harry contemplates Louis' upcoming birthday while recalling their past at the Doncaster Dome. He expresses a desire to make the day special, battling insecurities rooted in their complex past. Louis reassures Harry about their relationship, emphasizing the significance of love over grand gestures. After they discuss plans, Harry contacts Oli to organize a birthday celebration at the Rovers' stadium, despite feelings of jealousy towards Luke, Louis' close friend. Harry seeks help from Gemma and Lottie to ensure the celebration feels like home, while navigating his renewed relationship with Louis and Freddie.
Chapter Text
Harry stood in their kitchen, staring at his phone calendar while absently stirring his morning coffee. The next few days were a complicated puzzle of family obligations and secret plans, but his mind kept drifting to Louis' birthday. He'd been quietly making calls, trying to arrange something special.
The Doncaster Dome. Just thinking about that night in 2011 when he rented out the entire place made his chest tight - how young they'd been, how desperately in love. Louis had looked ethereal under the dim lights, their breath visible in the cold air as they'd whispered promises neither of them had been able to keep. He remembered the way Louis had laughed when Harry's bare arse hit the ice, remembered how that laugh had turned to gasps as midnight approached.
Maybe they could recreate it? Or the Rovers' stadium - Louis would love that. Something grand and romantic and perfectly them. After four years apart, after losing Liam and finding their way back to each other, Harry wanted to make this birthday count.
But there was that voice in the back of his head, the one that remembered every time Louis had run when things got too intense. The one that noticed how Louis still tensed up around Harry's LA friends, how he sometimes looked lost in their expensive house with its pretentious art.
His phone buzzed with a text from Jeff: "Need to discuss the January schedule. Keeping things low-key with LT?"
Harry's jaw clenched. Even now, there was always someone trying to manage them, contain them, keep them "appropriate."
"Morning, love." Louis' voice made him jump. He hadn't heard him come downstairs.
"Hi," Harry turned, taking in Louis' sleep-rumpled appearance. He was wearing one of Harry's old jumpers, the sleeves pulled over his hands the way he did when he was feeling vulnerable. "Coffee?"
"Please." Louis hopped onto the counter, watching Harry move around their kitchen. "What are you stressing on, love?"
Harry handed him a cup, perfectly made the way Louis liked it. "Just... planning things."
"Ah," Louis nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Nothing too much, yeah? Don't need all that fancy stuff anymore."
And there it was - that slight edge in Louis' voice, the one that suggested he still felt out of place in Harry's world sometimes.
"Lou..." Harry stepped between his legs, hands settling on Louis' thighs. "Let me do this? Please?"
Louis studied him for a moment. "Why's it so important to you?"
"Because..." Harry struggled to find the words. "Because we lost so much time. Because I want to give you everything. Because sometimes I'm terrified you'll realize this isn't what you want anymore - this life, me, all of it."
"H," Louis' voice went soft. "Not going anywhere, love. Thought we established that."
"I know, I just..." Harry pressed his forehead to Louis' chest, breathing him in. "Remember the Dome? That night of your birthday?"
Louis' breath hitched. "Course I do."
"We were so young," Harry continued quietly. "So sure about everything. About us. Want to feel that way again, but I'm scared of pushing too hard. Scared you'll feel trapped by all my grand gestures and run again."
"Hey," Louis tilted Harry's face up, eyes serious. "Listen to me. Was never about your grand gestures, love. Was about me being too fucked up to handle how much you loved me. Too scared to let myself have what I wanted."
"And now?"
"Now?" Louis smiled softly. "Now I'm old enough to know what matters. And yeah, sometimes your world feels a bit big for a lad from Donny. Sometimes I worry I'm not enough for you anymore. But I'm not running. Not ever again."
Harry surged up to kiss him, pouring everything he couldn't say into it. When they broke apart, both slightly breathless, Louis pressed their foreheads together.
"So," he murmured, "what exactly are you planning for my birthday then?"
"Thought you didn't want anything fancy?"
"Changed my mind, didn't I?" Louis grinned. "Besides, proper curious now. Haven't seen that particular gleam in your eye since you planned that massive thing for my 21st."
Harry laughed softly. "No spoilers. But..." he hesitated. "Think you might like it. Bit of old us, bit of new us."
"Yeah?" Louis' eyes sparkled. "Not the Dome again? Bit old for shagging on ice these days, aren't we?"
"Speak for yourself," Harry protested. "I'm very flexible."
"Don't I know it," Louis waggled his eyebrows, then sobered slightly. "Just... whatever you're planning... make sure there's time for Freddie too? Want him to be part of it, you know?"
Harry's heart clenched. "Course, Lou. Wouldn't have it any other way."
They stayed there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, until Louis' phone buzzed with a text from his grandparents about Freddie's arrival.
"Better get going," Louis sighed reluctantly. "Still got to check everything's ready at me grandparents'."
"Want company for the drive?"
"Nah, you've got planning and work to do, haven't you?" Louis pressed a quick kiss to Harry's lips. "Just... nothing too crazy, yeah? I know how you can get."
Harry watched him go, heart full of love and hope and just a touch of anxiety. He wanted this birthday to be perfect - wanted to show Louis that they could have it all now. The grand gestures and the quiet moments, the public victories and the private joy.
He picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the number he needed. Time to see if the Rovers' stadium was available for a very special Christmas Eve.
Harry stood in the kitchen, staring at his phone and trying to ignore the tight feeling in his chest. Getting the stadium had been the easy part. Now came the hard bit. He'd been in the background of Louis' calls to Oli several times since he'd caught them back together, but he and Oli hadn't interacted one on one since. And that last time hadn't gone well. Oli was still quite irritated with Harry about how everything had played out, and Harry couldn't blame him.
"Styles." Oli's voice was cool when he answered.
"Need your help with Louis' birthday," Harry said quietly. "Got the Rovers' stadium for the 23rd. Want to get the whole Donny crew there."
A weighted pause. "All of them?"
Harry's fingers tightened on the counter. He knew what Oli was asking. "Yeah. Stan, Calvin... Luke." The last name tasted bitter on his tongue.
All of those years of watching Luke and Louis together - the inside jokes, the casual touches, the way Louis lit up around him. Years of wondering if anything had happened during those long stretches when Harry and Louis were "off," especially during these past four years apart. The photographs that would surface occasionally - Louis and Luke at some club somewhere, heads bent close together as they danced, Louis wearing that soft smile Harry used to think was just for him.
"You sure about that?" Oli's voice held something knowing that made Harry's jaw clench.
"Just get everyone there please," Harry managed. He needed to focus on the logistics instead. "Getting decorators in, catering. Need it to feel like home for him, you know?"
"Right," Oli agreed, surprisingly without argument. "I'll sort the lads. But Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't fuck this up again."
The line went dead. Harry set his phone down carefully, trying to steady his breathing. This wasn't about him or his feelings about Luke. This was about Louis, about showing him he could have everything he wanted - his regular life and Harry too.
He pulled up his contact list, scrolling through decorators. Needed fairy lights - thousands of them. Louis always loved fairy lights ever since he was a kid. His mom used to take him around right before Christmas just to look at them and tell him that everyone had decorated just for him - for his birthday. Maybe he could string them across the stands, creating a ceiling of stars over the pitch. Music too - but nothing too posh. A mix of Louis' favorites, from The Fray to Arctic Monkeys.
His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Hey, it's Luke. Oli says you're planning something for Tommo's birthday. Need any help?"
Harry's thumb hovered over the message. Luke's casual use of "Tommo" - the nickname that had always felt too intimate coming from him - made Harry's teeth grind. But he forced himself to type back: "All sorted, thanks."
Another buzz: "Could help with the music if you want. Still got all his old playlists."
Of course he did. Because Luke had been there through everything - tours, breaks, reunions, final splits. Always there, always waiting...
Harry switched threads, texting Gemma instead: "Need help planning something. Promise not to get weird about it."
Her response came quickly: "Already being weird about it if you have to say that. What are you planning?"
"Birthday thing for Lou. At Rovers' stadium."
"Give me five minutes to get Lottie on FaceTime," Gemma texted back. "She'll kill us both if we plan anything without her."
Harry smiled despite himself. Minutes later, his phone lit up with the group call. Lottie appeared first, propped up in bed with her massive belly visible under her duvet. Gemma joined seconds later, hair wet from the shower.
"Right then," Lottie said immediately, no preamble needed. "Rovers' stadium? Proper romantic that, H."
"Too much?" Harry worried at his bottom lip.
"Nah," Lottie's face softened. "He'll love it. Just needs to feel like him, yeah? Not like some fancy Hollywood party."
"That's what I was thinking," Harry nodded. "I'll get decorators coming in, but need help with the details. The things that'll matter to him."
"Fairy lights," both women said simultaneously.
"Already on it," Harry confirmed. "Thousands of them."
"Need Yorkshire Tea," Lottie added. "Proper tea, mind, not that fancy stuff you drink."
"And those awful crisps he likes," Gemma chimed in. "The cheese and onion ones that stink up the whole house."
"Proper food too," Lottie continued, shifting uncomfortably against her pillows. "None of those-"
"Avacados," all three said together, then laughed.
"What about music?" Gemma asked carefully. Harry's face must have done something because Lottie's eyes narrowed.
"Luke offered to help with that," he admitted reluctantly.
"Of course he did," Lottie muttered, then caught herself. "Sorry H, but you know how close they've always been."
"Yeah," Harry's voice was tight. "Know exactly how close."
"Stop it," Lottie said firmly. "We're not doing that tonight. This is about making my brother happy, yeah? And you make him happy, H. Even when you're being a jealous idiot."
"Not jealous," Harry protested weakly. Both women gave him identical looks of disbelief.
"Anyway," Gemma cut in diplomatically. "What about that playlist from his 21st? The one mum helped you make? He loved that."
Harry's face lit up. "Still got it somewhere. Could update it maybe, add some newer stuff..."
"But keep The Fray," Lottie insisted. "And Arctic Monkeys. And that awful Robbie Williams song he pretends not to love."
They spent the next hour going through details - the exact shade of Donny Rovers red to incorporate, Louis' favorite foods, the pictures they could project onto the stadium walls ("Not the baby photos, Lots, I'm begging you").
"Wish I could be there," Lottie said finally, voice going quiet. "Haven't missed his birthday since..."
Since their mum died, Harry knew. None of them said it.
"We'll FaceTime you," Harry promised. "Multiple times. And we'll do something special when the baby comes."
"Speaking of," Gemma interjected, "have you thought about how to include Freddie?"
Harry smiled. "Got plans for that too. Want to run something by you both..."
As they continued planning, Harry felt some of his earlier tension ease. This was what mattered - family, memories, the little details that made Louis who he was. Luke and all that old jealousy could wait.
This birthday needed to be perfect. Not because it was grand or expensive, but because it would feel like home.
Like Louis.
Harry's phone lit up just as he was finishing going through decoration quotes. Louis' face filled the screen, and Harry could hear shuffling in the background.
"Hi love," Louis' voice was soft, tired from the drive. "Got someone here who- Freddie, come say hi?"
There was a hesitant pause before Freddie appeared in frame beside Louis, looking shyer than his usual self. Harry's heart clenched - four years was a long time in a child's life. The last time he'd properly been around, Freddie had been barely four, calling him 'Hazzy' and demanding piggyback rides. Now here was this lanky eight-year-old with Louis' eyes and blonde hair falling in his face, watching Harry uncertainly.
"Hi Harry," Freddie said quietly.
"Hi Freddie," Harry replied just as softly, trying to mask how much it hurt that the easy relationship they'd once had was now something they'd have to rebuild. "Your dad says you've gotten proper good at football."
Freddie brightened slightly. "Yeah! I play striker like Dad."
"'Course you do," Harry smiled. "Bet you're faster though."
"Oi!" Louis protested, but he was watching them both with soft eyes. "No taking sides, Harold."
"Dad's just jealous because I scored three goals last weekend," Freddie said, a hint of his natural cheekiness peeking through.
"Right, that's enough from you," Louis ruffled Freddie's hair fondly. "Go brush your teeth, yeah? Gran's waiting to read with you."
"Okay. Night Harry," Freddie gave a small wave before disappearing off screen.
Louis' face fell slightly once they were alone. "Miss you."
"Miss you too," Harry murmured. "Could still drive back tonight if you wanted."
Louis looked tempted, but shook his head. "Roads are proper icy. Plus..." he hesitated. "Think it's good for Freddie, having this time. Just us and family, you know?"
Harry's chest ached with understanding. They needed to take this slow, needed to give Freddie time to adjust to Harry being back in their lives. "Yeah, 'course. Better stay then."
"Yeah," Louis agreed, looking grateful and guilty at once. "Proper adults we are, making responsible decisions."
"Look at us growing up," Harry said softly, trying to hide how much he wished he'd been there for all the growing up that had happened in between.
"Speak for yourself," Louis attempted a grin, then sobered. "This is good though, right? Being able to do normal life stuff? Not just living in our bubble?"
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Still hate sleeping without you though."
"Same. Bed's too big without your octopus limbs everywhere."
"Oi!"
"Dad?" Freddie's voice called distantly. "Gran's waiting!"
"Coming!" Louis called back, then turned to Harry. "Better go. Love you, H."
"Love you too." Harry hesitated. "Tell Freddie... tell him I said goodnight?"
Louis' eyes went soft. "Course, love."
After they hung up, Harry lay in their too-empty bed, feeling the familiar weight of loneliness pressing down on him. His chest felt tight, constricted by the realization of everything he had missed over the years—bedtime stories that went untold, football matches he should have cheered for from the sidelines, and countless moments of growing up that he should have been a part of. Each memory felt like a ghost haunting the space beside him, a reminder of the life he longed to share but had been kept away from.
His phone buzzed with a text from Louis: "He asked if you're coming over tomorrow to decorate. Think he wants to see you."
Then another: "It's a start. We'll get there, H. Promise."
Harry hugged his phone to his chest, eyes a bit wet. They had time now. Time to rebuild, to create something new. His phone buzzed one more time:
"Now stop getting emotional and go to sleep. Love you xx"
Harry sent back a heart and closed his eyes, smiling despite the ache. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
Chapter 54: October 2018
Summary:
Harry and Louis journey through Montana in a '66 Mustang, enjoying their freedom away from public scrutiny. They stop at a diner, reminiscing about their past road trips and sharing breakfast, while Harry captures moments with his camera. Their exploration leads them to a ghost town where a caretaker's harsh words remind them of their need for secrecy regarding their relationship. As they continue their trip, the pressure of their public lives looms, prompting Harry to propose the idea of simply keeping on the road.
Chapter Text
Harry drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of the '66 Mustang Convertible, watching Louis fiddle with the radio as they crossed into Montana. The October air was crisp, biting at their cheeks, but neither suggested putting the top up. There was something freeing about the wind whipping through their hair, the open road stretching endlessly before them.
"Your team thinks you're still in Japan?" Louis asked, finally settling on some indie station Harry didn't recognize.
"Mm," Harry hummed, adjusting his sunglasses. "Jeff's covering. Said I needed a proper break after tour." His lips quirked. "Though I doubt this is what he had in mind."
Louis snorted, propping his feet on the dashboard. "Probably pictured you at some fancy wellness retreat, drinking kale smoothies and doing sunrise yoga."
"Instead I'm roadtripping through Montana with a menace who puts his dirty Adidas on my vintage leather interior." But Harry was grinning, dimple deep in his cheek.
"Oi!" Louis kicked his shoes off dramatically. "Better, princess?"
Harry just rolled his eyes fondly. The familiar banter felt like slipping into a warm bath - comfortable, easy. It had been too long since they'd had this, just them and no expectations. No carefully orchestrated public appearances, no management breathing down their necks, no fans analyzing their every move.
"Where are we actually headed?" Louis asked after a while, voice softer.
Harry shrugged. "Thought we'd just... keep driving? See where we end up?" He glanced over. "I've got a week or so before anyone expects me back."
Louis was quiet for a moment, studying Harry's profile. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, alright."
Their first stop was a small diner off Route 2, the kind of place where truckers stopped for black coffee and locals knew each other by name. They'd dressed down for the trip - Harry in worn jeans and an old band t-shirt, Louis in trackies and a plain hoodie. The yellow sunglasses perched on Harry's head were his only concession to style.
Harry lifted his black and white film camera as Louis slid into the booth, the familiar click-whirr making Louis roll his eyes fondly. After all these years, he must have gotten used to being Harry's favorite subject.
"Getting my good side, Haz?" Louis teased.
"All your sides are good," Harry murmured, not lowering the camera until he'd captured the way the morning light caught Louis' profile, soft and unguarded in a way he rarely allowed himself to be anymore.
The waitress brought coffee in chipped mugs, and they ordered enough breakfast for four people - sharing bites of syrupy pancakes and trading forkfuls of eggs across the table. Harry watched Louis dunk his hash browns in egg yolk, a habit from when they were teenagers though Harry had been on him about eating healthier lately.
"Remember our first road trip?" Harry asked suddenly, watching Louis demolish his hash browns. "That Audi you were so proud of?"
Louis' face softened with the memory. "Back when we'd just moved into the flat. God, what was it - spring 2011?"
"Mm. Snuck away during that week of promo." Harry smiled, remembering how young they'd been - him barely seventeen, Louis just turned nineteen. "We drove up to the Lake District with nothing but those burned CDs I made and that paper map you refused to replace with a GPS."
"Because GPS ruins the adventure, Harold," Louis said, the old argument familiar on his tongue. "Besides, got us to that little spot by Windermere, didn't it?"
Harry nodded, chest tight with the memory. They'd parked somewhere quiet, watching the sun set over the water. Louis had brought his Yorkshire tea in a thermos, and they'd stayed there for hours, talking about everything and nothing, stealing kisses between conversations. Already so desperately in love, unable to keep their hands off each other even for a moment.
"You were proper paranoid about getting back before Paul noticed," Harry said softly. "Now look at us - hiding out in Montana while your PR team thinks you're in London and mine thinks I'm in Japan."
Louis reached across the table, brushing his thumb across Harry's knuckles. "Been running away together a long time, haven't we, love? Seven years of finding places where we can just... be us."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, turning his hand to catch Louis' fingers. Back then, they'd thought they were invincible - that nothing could touch what they had. They hadn't known about contracts or beards though that would come later that year. "Sometimes I miss that car though. The way you'd sing at the top of your lungs with the windows down."
"Like you don't still have videos of that on your phone somewhere," Louis teased, but there was something sad in his eyes too - remembering when things were simpler, when they could drive through Manchester holding hands and not get a thousand blurry pictures on the internet later.
Harry lifted his camera again, capturing the moment - Louis backlit by morning sun, fingers still tangled with Harry's on the formica tabletop, looking at Harry like he had by that lake seven years ago.
Back in the car, Harry let his camera rest in his lap, watching Louis navigate them back onto the highway. Three months since they'd crashed back together, and sometimes it still felt raw - like touching a bruise to see if it still hurt. July had been a hurricane of emotions: ending things with Camille (guilt, relief, inevitability), the headlines that followed, about running home to Louis as if he'd never left.
They'd always been like this - gravitating back to each other no matter how far they drifted. Since that first audition, since Louis had taken one look at him, this gangly sixteen-year-old boy, and decided to love him fiercely, completely, despite everything that would come after.
Hot Wax played softly through the speakers - it was different, not the stuff they'd made. Harry could never listen to their own songs together on drives like this, too many memories wrapped up in every lyric. Too many hidden messages, too many promises they couldn't keep. Besides, he knew which lines were about him, about them, about everything they'd lost and found again. He'd heard "Miss You" enough times in December to last a lifetime.
Harry studied Louis' profile as he drove, the morning light catching on his cheekbones. He looked tired but happy - the kind of bone-deep contentment Harry hadn't seen in him for years. Even with the pressure of X Factor judging and mentoring his boys, Louis seemed lighter somehow. Maybe it was the deal with Simon finally giving them more freedom, or maybe it was just them finding their way back to each other.
Harry had spent the summer touring, singing songs he'd written about Louis to crowds who thought they were about someone else. Now he was working on new material, trying to capture this feeling - this careful hope, this tentative rebuilding of everything they'd almost lost. Some mornings he'd wake up early, slip out of bed, and write while watching Louis sleep, the words flowing easier than they had in years.
"What're you thinking about?" Louis asked softly, catching Harry's contemplative look.
"Us," Harry admitted. "How far we've come since Princess Park. How some things haven't changed at all."
Louis reached over, tangling their fingers together on the gearshift. This at least was the same - the way their hands fit together, the quiet understanding between them. They'd weathered Danielle, and management, and Camille, and a hundred other storms. Maybe because deep down they'd always known they'd find their way back here.
Back in the car, Harry let his camera rest in his lap, watching Louis navigate them back onto the highway. Three months since they'd crashed back together, and sometimes it still felt raw. July had been a hurricane of emotions: that first tentive text from Louis, falling back into him even though he knew he shouldn't, ending things with Camille (guilt, relief, inevitability), the headlines that followed.
The words kept coming lately, filling notebooks in the early morning hours while he watched Louis sleep. Songs about devotion and fear, about sunshine and golden moments, about the fine line they'd always walked between love and destruction. About kitchen kisses and morning light, about loneliness and falling and finding their way back. Different from his first album - less anger now, more hope mixed with the lingering fear of losing this again.
They were coming again now. A stream of conciousness that waws forming into a melody about these little snippets of time when he realized Louis was his entire world. When, regaurdless of the problems that might be looming, he just wanted to keep this time streatching on forever. He wanted to just keep driving.
"Writing again?" Louis asked, thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. He always knew, could always tell when Harry was lost in lyrics.
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Different this time though. Not like the first album." Not all heartbreak and anger and loss. These new songs felt softer, more hopeful. Like finally breathing after being underwater too long.
Louis smiled that private smile that had launched a thousand lyrics. "Better be careful love, or people might start guessing who they're really about."
"They always do. But let them," Harry said, meaning it. He'd been tired of hiding, tired of watching Louis on X Factor every weekend and pretending his heart didn't still skip when Louis laughed. Tired of metaphors about sunflowers and golden light, tired of dancing around the truth in every interview. Their media training had prepared him for this, for carefully dodging questions behind philosophical waxing on about how the meanings could be interpreted. They'd had to learn, ever since Louis started writing the lyrics back in 1D. Couldn't excactly tell James Corbin on live air that No Control had been about a morning on tour when Harry and Louis had been an hour late to press junkets because they couldn't make themselves leave the hotel room. Though, he still had to admit that watching Louis squirm in that interview had been worth every second.
Louis squeezed his hand, understanding everything Harry wasn't saying. They'd been having this conversation since July - about being more open, about not hiding quite so carefully. The X-factor judging deal Louis signed with Simon deal had given them some room to breathe away from the public eye, but they were still testing the boundaries. As much as it killed him to watch Louis sell himself to that man over and over, he couldn't deny that he was enjoying this quiet period of their lives when management seemed to back off a little. They were still running the Eleanor narrative, but didn't make them go on public appearances or pretend to be anything more than friends. Eleanor and Oli had essentially taken over the Barnet house, but that was okay because Harry and Louis had seldomly been there anyway.
"One step at a time, yeah?" Louis said softly. "Got to be careful still."
Harry nodded, swallowing down the familiar ache. The words came easier in the dark than here in the car, those moments when Louis was asleep beside him and Harry could pretend they lived in a world where he could sing these songs honestly. Where he could explain that 'golden' wasn't about California sunshine but about the way Louis looked in morning light. Where he could admit that every line about feeling lonely, about coffee shops and phone calls and wandering hands, was about the months they'd spent apart while he was with Camille. He'd made a carerr out of all the things he couldn't say to Louis hidden in his songs. Sometimes he wondered if he'd have anything to write about if they ever made it to a quiet, peaceful life.
"Sometimes I worry," Harry said quietly, watching the sunrise paint everything in shades of amber, "that we'll run out of things we can say. That there are only so many ways to write around the truth before it all becomes..."
"Hollow?" Louis offered, understanding in his voice. He'd done it too - Back to You, Miss You, Just Like You - dancing around their story in metaphors, and pronouns.
"Yeah." Harry traced patterns on Louis' palm. "But then you'll do something simple, like make coffee in the morning or laugh at one of my terrible jokes, and suddenly I'm writing about kitchen kisses and sunflowers."
Louis huffed a laugh. "Proper poet, you are. Should've known you'd turn domestic bliss into metaphors."
"Can't help it," Harry smiled. "You're sort of inspiring."
"Always wanted to do this," Louis said suddenly to shift the conversation, taking them around another bend in the mountain road. He'd never been good at accepting compliments. "Proper American road trip, like in those films. Just..." He gestured vaguely at the landscape stretching endlessly before them.
Harry hummed in agreement, watching a hawk circle overhead through his camera viewfinder. They'd been sticking to the back roads, the small towns where people moved slower and minded their own business. Still, there was always that underlying tension - baseball caps pulled low when they stopped for gas, careful distance maintained if they crossed paths with anyone who looked under thirty.
"Look," Harry pointed to a hand-painted sign. "World's Largest Ball of Yarn, next exit."
Louis barked out a laugh. "Proper tourist, you are. Next you'll want to see the biggest rubber band ball."
"Don't pretend you're not curious," Harry grinned, lowering his camera. "Come on, when else are we going to see the world's largest anything without getting mobbed?"
They'd learned to be strategic about it - choosing places off the beaten path, towns where the median age was well over sixty. Earlier they'd spent an hour in a dusty antique shop, Louis trailing behind Harry as he cooed over vintage cameras and vinyl records. The elderly owner had squinted at them once but seemed more concerned with their potential purchasing power than their familiar faces.
"Alright, but we're stopping at that ghost town after," Louis conceded, taking the exit. "The one with the old gold mine. Reckon we could find some proper historical artifacts."
"You mean like that 'genuine' Civil War bullet you bought in Nashville that was actually made in China?"
"Oi!" Louis reached over to flick Harry's ear, but he was laughing. "Was a good story though, wasn't it? Better than your collection of 'authentic' Victorian doorknobs."
The yarn ball turned out to be exactly what it promised - enormous, gathering dust in a converted barn that also sold local honey and handmade quilts. Harry insisted on taking pictures, directing Louis to pose with exaggerated enthusiasm beside it while the owner, a woman who had to be pushing eighty, told them about its history.
"Don't get many young folks out here," she said as Harry examined the quilts. "Mostly truckers and retirees."
Louis tensed slightly, but she just smiled and wrapped up the honey Harry had chosen. If she recognized them, she didn't let on. Sometimes Harry forgot there were still places where they were just two boys on a road trip, not headlines waiting to happen.
Back in the car, Louis pulled out his phone to check the route to the ghost town. "Says here it's about forty minutes, mostly dirt roads." He glanced at Harry. "Still want to risk the Mustang's suspension?"
"For a genuine piece of American history?" Harry grinned. "Absolutely."
The road wound higher into the mountains, asphalt giving way to gravel. Harry kept his camera ready, capturing the way the afternoon light filtered through the pine trees, how Louis looked with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gearshift between them.
"Proper film camera today?" Louis noted, nodding at the black and white film Harry was using. "Going artistic on me?"
"Digital leaves too much evidence," Harry said quietly. They both knew any photos that made it to the cloud could be hacked, leaked, used against them. But these - these would be just for them, developed in the dark room he'd built in his LA house, stored safely away with all their other stolen moments.
The ghost town emerged slowly from the trees - weathered wooden buildings with sagging porches, an old saloon with broken windows, the skeletal remains of the mine's scaffolding reaching toward the sky. The parking lot was empty except for a rusty pickup truck that probably belonged to the caretaker.
"Looks proper spooky," Louis said appreciatively, pulling into a spot far from the other vehicle. "Reckon we'll see any actual ghosts?"
Harry shouldered his camera. "Wouldn't that be a headline - 'Former Boy Band Members Encounter Supernatural Entity in Montana.'"
"Still better press than some we've had," Louis quipped, but there was an edge to his voice that made Harry reach for his hand, squeezing gently.
The caretaker turned out to be a gruff man in his seventies who barely glanced at them as he took their entrance fee, more interested in warning them about loose boards and rattlesnakes than whatever had brought two English boys to his ghost town.
The ghost town felt frozen in time, dust motes dancing in beams of sunlight that cut through broken windows. Harry trailed his fingers along weathered walls as they explored, imagining the lives that had played out here a century ago. Louis walked ahead, testing floorboards before Harry stepped on them, always protective even after all these years.
In what must have been a general store, Harry found a shelf of antique bottles, their glass turned purple with age. "Lou, look at these," he called softly, holding one up to the light. Louis appeared behind him, chin hooking over Harry's shoulder as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist.
"Pretty," Louis murmured, but he was looking at Harry's face, not the bottle. Harry turned in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to Louis' temple because he could, because they were alone here in this forgotten place where time stood still.
They wandered through empty rooms hand in hand, Harry stopping occasionally to take photos - Louis silhouetted in a doorway, sunlight catching the dust they stirred up, their joined shadows stretching across warped floorboards. It felt sacred somehow, this peaceful exploration, this ability to just exist together without fear.
The saloon was their favorite - almost perfectly preserved with its long wooden bar and antique mirror, piano sitting silent in the corner. Louis ran his fingers over the keys before sitting down, patting the space beside him. Harry settled close, their thighs pressed together as Louis picked out a gentle melody.
"Remember teaching me this?" Louis asked softly, playing the opening notes of "If I Could Fly." Harry nodded, throat tight. Those early morning hours in their flat, Louis determined to learn piano properly, Harry guiding his hands over the keys. Back when they thought love would be enough to survive everything being thrown at them, before they learned how cruel the world could be.
Harry rested his head on Louis' shoulder, watching their reflection in the clouded mirror behind the bar. They looked right together, like two pieces of the same whole. Louis turned to press a kiss to Harry's curls, his fingers never faltering on the keys.
"You boys brothers?"
The voice shattered their bubble like a gunshot. Harry felt Louis go rigid beside him, that familiar fear flooding his system - fight or flight response honed by years of careful training. They weren't supposed to sit this close, weren't supposed to touch, weren't supposed to look at each other like that.
"Just friends," Louis said automatically, the words bitter and practiced on his tongue as he slid away from Harry. The six inches between them felt like an ocean. Harry's hands were shaking where they rested on his thighs.
The caretaker stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from curiosity to something harder as he looked between them. Harry knew that look - had seen it in Simon's eyes, in management's, in countless strangers who'd caught them in unguarded moments over the years. That mixture of disgust and judgment that made him feel small, dirty, wrong.
"Might want to be careful how you act around here," the man said gruffly. "Some folks don't take kindly to... that sort of thing."
Harry could hear his pulse roaring in his ears. Suddenly he was seventeen again, sitting in Simon's office as their whole world crashed down around them. "America won't accept you if they know. The conservative markets will drop you completely. Is that what you want? To ruin everything for the whole band?"
Louis stood abruptly, the piano keys jangling discordantly. "Think we're done here, mate." His voice was steady but Harry could see the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands, the way he was positioning himself between Harry and the caretaker like he'd done countless times before.
They walked back to the car in silence, maintaining that careful professional distance they'd been taught. Harry's chest felt too tight, memories flooding back - all the times they'd been caught in moments of thoughtless intimacy, all the lectures and punishments that followed. The way management had trained them like dogs to fear their own instincts.
He could still feel the phantom pain of having Louis ripped away from him on stage when they got too close, still hear the sharp voices telling them to "tone it down," still see the way Louis' eyes had dimmed over the years as they learned to hide, to fear, to apologize for loving each other.
It wasn't until they were back on the main road that Louis spoke, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," he said roughly. "I shouldn't have - we should've been more careful."
"Don't," Harry choked out, his voice cracking. "Please don't apologize for..." For loving me, he wanted to say. For being the only thing that's ever felt real. For still wanting to be close even after everything they've done to make us afraid of it.
Louis reached across the center console, catching Harry's trembling hand in his. "Hey," he said softly. "We're okay. We're safe."
Harry nodded, trying to steady his breathing, but tears were already falling. They were safe, they were together, no one could hurt them anymore. But the damage was done - that bone-deep training that told them their love was something shameful, something to hide. Sometimes Harry wondered if they'd ever truly unlearn it - if they'd ever stop flinching at unexpected voices, stop maintaining careful distances in public, stop apologizing for wanting to be close.
"I hate this," he whispered, voice breaking. "I hate that they made us like this. That we can't just... exist without being afraid. That every time we forget to be careful, someone reminds us why we should be."
Louis lifted their joined hands to his lips, pressing a fierce kiss to Harry's knuckles. His own eyes were wet. "I know, love. I know."
They'd crossed into Wyoming two days ago, the Montana ghost town and its bitter memories fading into the rearview like so many other moments they'd had to leave behind. Now, parked at a rest stop near the Colorado border, reality was creeping back in. Louis' phone had been buzzing more frequently - reminders about X-Factor filming schedules, meetings with producers, the life waiting for him back in London.
Harry sat on the hood of the Mustang, watching the sunset paint the prairie in golden light. They'd managed almost a week and a half of this - existing in their own world, stealing moments in sleepy towns where no one looked too closely. But time was running out, like it always did.
"Got an email from Jeff," Harry said quietly as Louis joined him, their shoulders brushing. "Wants to know when I'm heading back to LA."
Louis made a noncommittal noise, pulling out his cigarettes before remembering he'd quit again. His fingers drummed restlessly against his thigh instead. "Simon's been texting. We're getting ready to film again soon" His tone was bitter.
Harry watched another hawk circle overhead, remembering all their midnight conversations about escape routes. The little house they'd dreamed up somewhere quiet - Louis coaching kids' football at the local school, Harry baking bread and taking photography classes at the community college. Simple lives, normal lives. The kind of lives where they could hold hands in public without making headlines.
But they both knew it was just a dream. Music wasn't something they did - it was woven into their DNA, as essential as breathing. Even in their fantasies of running away, they always ended up writing songs, performing at local pubs, unable to truly walk away from that part of themselves.
Still, as the sun sank lower and their borrowed time grew shorter, Harry couldn't help asking:
"Should we just keep driving?"
Chapter 55: Present Day
Summary:
Louis feels anxious about Harry's arrival while sharing breakfast with his gran and Freddie, who asks about Harry's nail polish. Louis reassures Freddie that Harry is still his best friend. As they play soccer, Louis reflects on the past with Harry, who arrives to visit. Freddie casually mentions seeing videos of Louis and Harry together, prompting an emotional response from both men. As Harry bonds with Freddie over nail polish, Louis realizes how their relationship has grown, embracing the acceptance in their new dynamic.
Chapter Text
Louis pushed his eggs around his plate, only half-listening to his grandad's story about the shop. His phone sat face-up beside his tea, screen frustratingly dark. He knew Harry wouldn't be up for hours - the man could sleep through an apocalypse - but he couldn't help checking.
"You're proper missing him, aren't you?" his gran's gentle voice cut through his thoughts.
Louis looked up, feeling caught out. "That obvious?"
"You've checked your phone six times in the last five minutes," Freddie supplied helpfully through a mouthful of toast.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, lad," Louis chided automatically, but his chest felt tight.
"Dad?" Freddie asked after swallowing properly. "Is Harry really coming up later?"
"Yeah," Louis smiled softly. "Gonna drive up after he's done some work stuff."
Freddie seemed to consider this, pushing his eggs around. "I remember him a bit. From when I was little?"
Louis' heart squeezed. "Yeah, you would've been about four last time..."
"He used to do funny voices," Freddie said slowly, like he was trying to piece together fragments of memory. "When reading stories?"
"Yeah," Louis said softly, remembering Harry sprawled on the couch in that old LA rental Briana made him get instead of the house Harry had bought for them, tiny Freddie tucked against his chest as he gave each character its own ridiculous accent. "He's proper good at those."
"Why'd he stop coming round?"
Louis carefully set his coffee down. How do you explain to an eight-year-old that sometimes love isn't enough? That sometimes people who care about each other still need space to figure out who they are? "Sometimes grown-ups need time apart from their friends to sort things out."
"But he's back now?"
"Yeah," Louis smiled. He couldn't help it. Having Harry back felt like everything was finally falling into place. "He is."
"Is that why you're so happy lately?"
Louis nearly choked on his tea. "What?"
"Mom told grandma you're really happy now that Harry's home. What did he mean, home?"
Christ, he was going to have words with Bri about watching what she said around perceptive eight-year-olds. It was a nice change from what she used to say about them behind their backs, but still a little too revealing for his tastes. "Harry and I... we've known each other a very long time."
"And you were best friends?" There was something he couldn't place in Freddie's voice - a tentive curiousity, a searching. Louis chalked it up to him trying to understand why this man who he hadn't seen in four years was so important to his dad.
"Still are," Louis said carefully. It wasn't a lie. They'd been bestt friends from the very start, even if it had always been with an undercurrent of attraction that neither of them could deny. Even when they weren't together, during breaks and forced seperations, he'd still considered Harry his best friend. But they hadn't discussed how to explain their relationship to Freddie yet. Didn't want to overwhelm him or confuse him. Their relationship was a tangled web of secrets and drama. Too much for an eight year-old to naviagte.
"I remember his nails were pretty colors sometimes," Freddie said, changing topics with the lightning speed of childhood.
"Still are. He's got his own nail polish company now, actually."
"Really?" Freddie perked up. "Could I... maybe... try some?"
"'Course you can, love," Louis said immediately. "Any color you want."
"Even though I'm a boy?"
"Especially because you're a boy," Louis said firmly. "Your Uncle Harry helped make it okay for boys to wear whatever makes them happy."
Freddie nodded, seeming satisfied with this. Then: "Will he still want to do story voices? Even though I'm big now?"
"Oh, Fred," Louis reached across the table to squeeze his son's hand. "He'll want to do whatever you're comfortable with. No pressure, yeah?"
His phone finally lit up with a text from Harry: "Morning lou. Miss your face xx"
Louis couldn't help his smile as he typed back: "Finally awake then? Fred's asking about your nail polish collection..."
The response was immediate: "!!!!!! bringing my whole kit up. does he like butterflies?"
Looking at his son's curious face across the table, Louis felt something settle in his chest. Maybe they could build something new here, something better. Something real.
"Yeah," he typed back. "Think he might."
Louis watched Freddie scraping the last bits of egg onto his toast, his own breakfast barely touched. His mind kept drifting to Harry, even though they'd already exchanged their morning texts. It was pathetic really, how after all these years, after everything, he still couldn't go a day without feeling this constant pull. Like a phantom limb, this need to have Harry within reaching distance.
"Dad, can we play soccer after breakfast?"
The American term yanked Louis from his thoughts. "Soccer? Did you really just say soccer in this house? In Doncaster? I'm wounded, Frederick."
Freddie rolled his eyes - a perfect mirror of Louis' own expression that made his gran chuckle from across the table. "That's what Mom calls it."
"Well, your mum's American, innit? But you're in England now, love. It's football here."
"But that doesn't make sense," Freddie argued, his accent doing that endearing wobble between American and Yorkshire that he got when he stayed in England for a little while and that Louis secretly loved. "You use your feet in soccer-"
"Football-"
"And American football barely uses feet at all!"
"Listen here, you little traitor," Louis said, fighting a grin. "If you want to play, I've got something special for you."
Louis jogged upstairs to his old room, pulling out the kit he'd had specially made months ago but hadn't found the right moment to give. The red and white Rovers stripes, sized perfectly for an eight-year-old, with number 28 on the back. He'd ordered it in a moment of hope, wanting something to connect his son to this part of his life, to his home.
Sometimes Louis wondered if that was his problem - always trying to hold onto everything at once. The band, Harry, his son, his hometown roots. Maybe if he'd learned to let go earlier, learned to give Harry the space he needed earlier...
"Dad?" Freddie called up the stairs. "You coming?"
Louis shook off the thought. "Coming, love!"
He presented the kit with a flourish. "Brand new, proper Rovers kit. Even got my number on it."
"You really played for them?" Freddie's eyes went wide.
"Sure did. Even got the number tattooed, see?" Louis wiggled his fingers where the 2 and 8 were inked, carefully avoiding mentioning the real reason behind the number. Some stories weren't ready to be told yet.
Freddie handled the kit like it was made of gold, despite his dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I'm still calling it soccer."
"The disrespect," Louis clutched his chest. "Did you hear this, Gran? The absolute cheek of him?"
His gran just smiled knowingly. "Wonder where he gets that from?"
Out in the frost-covered garden, Louis watched Freddie running drills, the kit fitting him perfectly. His phone felt heavy in his pocket - he'd promised Harry updates throughout the day, but something held him back. Maybe it was healthy, this small distance. Maybe they needed to learn how to exist in these separate moments.
"Right then," Louis clapped his hands, pushing away thoughts of Harry. "Show us what they've been teaching you in those fancy American soccer camps."
Freddie's face lit up with the challenge, his footwork pure Tomlinson as he started doing step-overs.
"Not bad," Louis admitted, moving to steal the ball. "But can you do this?"
He demonstrated a trick from his Rovers days, heart swelling at how intently Freddie watched, trying to copy exactly. This, at least, was simple. Just a father and son in a frosty garden, playing football (or soccer, as his traitor son insisted).
The rest - Harry, their past, their future - could wait. For now, Louis had some proper football lessons to teach.
Even if every other thought still drifted to Harry, like a compass finding north.
Louis trudged inside, pleasantly worn out from chasing Freddie around the garden. His muscles ached in that satisfying way they always did after a proper kickabout, though he wasn't as young as he used to be. Freddie had already disappeared upstairs to change, leaving muddy footprints that made Louis' gran tut fondly.
Under the hot spray of the shower, Louis' mind wandered inevitably to Harry. It always did in these quiet moments. The way they'd been at the start - so young, so desperate to be near each other every possible moment. Like magnets, Liam used to say, always finding their way back together even across crowded rooms.
He closed his eyes, remembering their first flat together. How the other lads had their own places in the complex, but Harry and Louis hadn't even considered living separately. They'd been so sure then, so certain of everything. Maybe that had been part of the problem.
Louis pressed his forehead against the cool tile. Christ, Harry had been so young. Sixteen and already looking at Louis like he was the only person in the universe, trying to mirror his confidence, his humor, his everything. Louis had tried to be careful, so careful, but Harry had been impossible to resist. "Jumped in feet first and landed too hard," Harry had written years later. The lyrics still made Louis' chest ache.
The water ran down his back as he remembered how gradually things had shifted. Harry finding his own voice, his own style, his own way of moving through the world. Louis had encouraged it, had always wanted Harry to be himself, but somehow it had created this distance he hadn't known how to bridge. The kid who'd once looked to Louis for everything had become this incredible man who knew exactly who he was.
And Louis loved that man, loved him desperately, but sometimes... sometimes he missed being Harry's whole world. Missed being the person Harry turned to first, always. It was selfish, he knew. Harry deserved to be his own person, deserved to have grown into himself. But after spending so many years being HarryandLouis, sometimes Louis still struggled to understand where he fit in Harry's life now.
The water was running cold. Louis shut it off, wrapping a towel around his waist. Through the bathroom window, he could hear Freddie in the garden again, probably still practicing those step-overs. His phone on the counter lit up with another text from Harry.
Maybe that was the real challenge now. Finding the balance between who they were then and who they are now. Between the desperate teenagers who couldn't bear to be apart and the grown men they'd become. Between the past they shared and the future they were trying to build.
Louis picked up his phone, Harry's message making him smile despite his heavy thoughts. They'd figure it out. They had to. Because even after everything, after all the years and hurt and growth, Louis still couldn't imagine his life without Harry in it.
He just had to learn how to love him differently now. How to love him better.
Louis sprawled across the bed in what had become 'his' room over the years, the one he'd made his own after buying this house for his grandparents back in 2011. His hair was still damp, dripping onto the pillowcase as he held his phone above his face. His skin was still flushed from the hot shower, goosebumps rising as a cool draft hit his bare chest.
His phone lit up with Harry's text: "Bet you've been proper showing off your football skills this morning. How's Freddie doing?"
Louis' heart squeezed. "Getting proper good actually. Quick on his feet like his old man."
"Course he is. Got those Tomlinson genes doesn't he?"
Louis smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. He could picture Harry in their Hampstead home, probably surrounded by marketing samples for Pleasing, wanting to ask more about Freddie but holding back, trying to take it slow, careful.
"Miss having you here," Harry's next text came through. "Bed's too big without you hogging all the space."
Heat pooled in Louis' belly, grateful for the subject change. "Funny that, I'm in bed right now..."
The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared several times. "Lou..."
"Just got out of the shower actually..."
"Are you trying to turn me on? In your grandparents' house? Scandalous."
Louis shifted against the sheets, his body responding to just the thought of Harry. "Not doing anything... yet."
"You're terrible. I've got work to do."
"So do it. I'll just be here... thinking about you..."
His cock twitched with interest as Harry's response came through: "About what exactly?"
Louis bit his lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The thrill of this - of still being able to affect each other so easily, of feeling like teenagers sneaking around - it was intoxicating. Even after everything they'd been through, all the breakups and makeups, the pain, the seperations... they could still make each other feel this way.
"About how you looked yesterday morning. All soft and sleepy in our bed. Wanted to stay there all day."
"Louis..."
"Love when you say my name like that."
"Dad!" Freddie's voice carried up the stairs, making Louis jump. These precious days with his son were rare enough - he shouldn't be wasting them. "Gran says lunch is ready!"
"Coming!" Louis called back, then quickly typed: "Duty calls. Try not to think about me too much while you're approving your posh nail polish adverts x"
"Bit impossible now innit? Already planning all the ways I'm going to get you back for this when you're home."
Louis' whole body flushed hot. "Promise?"
"Always. Now go spend time with your boy. Love you x"
"Love you more x"
Louis stared at the ceiling for a moment, willing his body to calm down. They were supposed to be taking things slower this time, being more mature about it all. But something about Harry still made him feel eighteen and reckless with want. Maybe that was okay though. Maybe keeping that spark alive, that ability to make each other blush and squirm with just a few words, was part of what made them work this time around.
His phone buzzed one more time as he reached for the door: "Your birthday present just got delivered. Think you're going to proper lose it when you see it."
Louis grinned, shaking his head. That man would never stop trying to spoil him rotten. "Wasn't letting you plan a party enough of a present?"
"Never enough when it comes to you x"
Louis' chest tightened with emotion. After everything - the band breakup, the fights about coming out, the custody battles that kept Harry at arm's length from his son - Harry still loved him like this. Still wanted him like this. Some things never changed. And Louis wouldn't have it any other way.
They had sandwiches for lunch, Louis watching his son absolutely demolish his lunch while he picked at his own. Months of touring had proper fucked with his eating schedule.
"Dad?" Freddie's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Tommy says his sister's been, like, totally crying about your band and Uncle Liam a lot."
Louis' chest tightened. "Yeah?" was all he could manage. Everything was resurfacing lately - old videos, old songs. New grief.
Freddie seemed to sense the shift, switching topics to his science project with all the rapid-fire enthusiasm of an eight-year-old. Louis found himself grinning despite everything, watching his son's hands wave about as he described the solar system that had one him a prize.
Later, sprawled on the sofa while Freddie sat cross-legged on the floor, Louis was properly getting his arse handed to him at FIFA when Freddie dropped his bomb.
"So like, the girls at school are obsessed with these TikToks of you," Freddie said suddenly, thumbs still working the controller.
"Yeah?" Louis kept his voice carefully neutral, the way he'd learned to do in interviews when they'd ask about Eleanor. The thought of Freddie already being exposed to some of the things people said online filled him with a bone-deep terror. Most of their fans were lovely, though the zoomed-in shots of his crotch were a little much for his tastes. But there were theories. Of course, there were theories. You don't cover peoples entire lives in secrecy, create false narratives, and force them down the publics throats without them wondering where the lie ends and the truth begins. Though his favorite was that he and Harry had been queer-baiting from the start and feeding into the Larry Stylinson conspiracy to sell records (life would have been so much easier if that were true), his least favrotie involved Freddie. He couldn't much blame the fans, he wouldn't have beleived it either if it hadn't happened to him. And they wanted to think the best of him, that he couldn't possibly have had a one-night-stand and broken Harry's heart. But still, the way they went after Freddie online, it was vicious sometimes. They took it so far he'd had to call them out during an interview earlier this year when he was supposed to be denying his relationship with Harry - again.
"Especially the ones with Harry."
Louis' fingers went numb on the controller. His character on screen ran straight into a wall. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, old instincts screaming at him to deflect, deny, redirect. The same instincts that had him posting about "bullshit rumors" on Twitter all those years ago. He knew the kind of things that showed up about him and Harry - sometimes watched those compelation videos when he was feeling particularly masochistic and had missed Harry so bad that he just wanted to feel something - even if it was the pain of seeing their younger selves so in love. He particularly liked watching the yearly timelines. Seeing how much people picked up on and how much they missed. Loved watching them draw conclusions where there were none and yet leave so much out.
"What..." his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "What kind of videos?"
Freddie paused the game, turning to face him with those earnest eyes that always saw too much. "Just you guys looking at each other and stuff. Like, the way Mom looks at her boyfriend?"
Christ. Louis felt like he couldn't breathe properly. That damn love stare. All those years of careful distance, of practiced lies, and his eight-year-old had just casually cut through it all.
"Freddie, I-" he started, not even sure what he was going to say. The practiced explanations he'd rehearsed in his head all felt hollow now.
"It's okay," Freddie shrugged, American accent making everything sound so simple. "I think Harry's cool. When Mom lets him come around, anyway."
Louis stared at his son, this brilliant, perceptive kid who'd figured it all out and didn't seem bothered in the slightest. No disgust, no confusion, none of the reactions management had sworn would come if they'd ever been honest.
"Your mum..." he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "She's got her reasons-"
"They're stupid reasons," Freddie muttered, turning back to the game.
Louis felt something crack in his chest, years of careful walls crumbling in the face of his son's simple acceptance. He opened his mouth, ready to finally have the conversation he'd been trying to figure out how to have, when the distinct rumble of Harry's Range Rover cut through the moment.
Freddie's face lit up. "Is that Harry?"
"Yeah," Louis managed, still reeling. "Yeah, love, it is."
The sound of footsteps on the porch gave Louis a moment to collect himself, to push down the tangle of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Then Harry was there, pink-cheeked from the cold, hair tucked under that ridiculous beanie, and everything else fell away.
"Hiii," Harry drawled from the doorway. Louis felt something settle in his chest at the sight of him - a single day apart shouldn't feel this long, but after two weeks of waking up to Harry in Jamaica, his grandparents' house had felt a world away.
Louis felt a rush of warmth as Harry stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an energy that sent butterflies fluttering in Louis' stomach. Freddie jumped up, excitement radiating off him like sunlight.
“Harry! Do you want to play FIFA?” Freddie said as he stole Louis' controller out of his hand, his wide eyes sparkling with eagerness.
“Of course! Just let me take my jacket off,” Harry replied, smiling back at Freddie. He turned to Louis, who leaned back against the couch, heart swelling at the sight of them together.
As Harry rummaged through his things by the door, Freddie piped up, curiosity lighting his expression. “Dad, can you tell me more about when you were on X-Factor? Did you guys really not know each other before?”
Louis blinked, caught off guard by the question. Memories of their chaotic journey flooded back—the sleepless nights, the rehearsals that stretched into dawn, and Harry's infectious laughter echoing through it all.
"Actually," Harry settled next to Louis on the sofa and picked up the cotroler, their thighs pressing together naturally, "we met in the toilets at bootcamp."
"Proper romantic, that," Louis grinned, remembering how his heart had raced even then. He'd played it cool, but something about Harry had drawn him in immediately - that slow smile, those ridiculous curls, the way he'd seemed both incredibly confident and endearingly awkward all at once. "Asked him for a photo and everything."
"You did?" Freddie's eyes went wide.
"Told him he was gonna be a star, didn't I?" Louis felt Harry's silent laugh against his shoulder, the familiar warmth of him settling something in Louis' chest. "Though I reckoned he'd do it on his own, not get stuck with me in a band."
"How did that happen?" Freddie asked, abandoning his controller entirely now. "Like, did they just put you together?"
"Sort of," Harry said, shifting to face Freddie better. His thigh pressed more firmly against Louis' with the movement, and Louis found himself thinking about that first week at the bungalow, how every accidental touch had felt electric. "They cut us from the solo competition-"
"Sent us backstage thinking it was all over," Louis added, remembering the sick feeling in his stomach, how he'd been planning what to tell his mum. "But then they called us back out-"
"Made us into a band right there on stage," Harry finished. "Your dad nearly knocked me over hugging me."
"Did not," Louis protested, though he remembered exactly how tightly he'd held on, how Harry had squeezed back just as hard. "Anyway, after that, this one invited us all to his dad's holiday house-"
"A bungalow," Harry explained to Freddie. "Like a little house in the countryside. Had a pool and everything."
"Spent a week there, just the five of us," Louis said, memories washing over him - late night FIFA tournaments, trying to teach Niall to swim, Harry making them all breakfast every morning. The way Harry had looked in the moonlight during their midnight swim, water droplets sliding down his bare skin catching the light. "Living on junk food and playing video games."
"Your dad nearly burned the place down," Harry grinned.
"That was Niall! I was nowhere near the kitchen-"
"You were encouraging him!"
"Was not! I was..." Louis paused, remembering how he'd actually been rather distracted watching Harry trying to teach Zayn the macarena in the garden. "Actually yeah, might've been egging him on a bit."
"Bit?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "You told him the smoke alarm was just being dramatic."
"My favorite part though," Harry said, his voice going soft and fond in a way that made Louis' heart clench, "was when we found out we were in the paper. Walked to the newsstand and back, passing it around like we couldn't believe it was real."
"You looked so proud," Louis said quietly, remembering Harry's dimpled smile as they'd walked back, how their hands had kept brushing between them. He'd wanted to reach out and take Harry's hand properly even then, before he'd really understood why.
"The girls in my class are obsessed with Harry. Sophie has your picture in her locker and keeps saying she's gonna marry you."
Louis felt his heart rate spike, the conversation from just minutes ago still fresh. Before he could deflect, Freddie continued, excitement making him bounce on the couch.
"Sophie's going to lose it when she finds out you're my dad's boyfriend!"
Louis felt Harry go completely still beside him. When he glanced over, Harry's face had drained of color, his expression carefully blank in that way that still broke Louis' heart. They hadn't had a chance to discuss the bombshell Freddie had dropped mere minutes before Harry arrived - hadn't even processed it himself.
"I-" Harry started, then stopped, looking lost. His hands were twisting in his lap, that nervous tell Louis knew so well.
"Just found out myself, H," Louis said quietly, trying to catch Harry's eye. "Freddie and I were just talking about it when you got here."
"Oh," Harry's voice was barely a whisper. Louis could read everything in that single syllable - the fear, the hope, the careful distance Harry had always maintained with Freddie out of respect for Briana's wishes.
"I saw the videos," Freddie explained, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "On TikTok. Where you look at Dad like Mom looks at her boyfriend."
Harry made a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and something more painful, like a sigh that got stuck in his throat. He pulled his hand from Louis's knee, the warmth of their connection fading as he bit at the skin around his thumbnail, a nervous habit he'd had since he was a teen.
"Your nail polish is cool. Did you do that yourself?"
Louis watched Harry blink at the sudden change of topic, still clearly processing everything. "I- yeah," he managed.
"Can you teach me?" Freddie asked. "Dad's rubbish at anything artsy."
"Oi!" Louis protested automatically, but his heart was soaring at the tentative smile starting to form on Harry's face.
"Your dad actually helped me start wearing it," Harry said softly, some of the panic leaving his eyes as he looked at Louis. "Held me down at an interview once to get my nails done."
"Because you wouldn't sit still," Louis squeezed Harry's hand. "Kept saying 'just one, just one' like a proper dramatic-"
"I wasn't being dramatic-"
"You absolutely were, love."
Harry's shoulders relaxed slightly at the easy banter, but Louis could see him processing Freddie's complete lack of hesitation about the nail polish. It was striking really - the difference between now and then, between Freddie's casual acceptance and the way Harry's hands used to shake just picking up a bottle of clear polish.
"Why were you being dramatic about it?" Freddie asked, genuinely confused. "It's just nail polish."
Louis felt Harry's sharp intake of breath beside him. Because how could they explain it to this LA kid who'd grown up with painted nails in his classroom, who'd never known a world where Harry Styles hadn't already helped make it okay?
"It was different back then, love," Louis said carefully. "People weren't always kind about boys wearing nail polish or... lots of things really."
"That's stupid," Freddie declared with all the certainty of an eight-year-old.
Harry let out a wet laugh. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "It was."
"You helped change that though, didn't you?" Louis squeezed Harry's hand. "All those kids who saw you wearing whatever you wanted, being yourself-"
"We both did," Harry interrupted, voice thick with emotion. "You standing beside me, defending me-"
"Pretty sure you defending yourself by looking so gorgeous in whatever you wanted to wear did more than me yelling at people on Twitter," Louis grinned, though they both knew it had been more than that - every subtle touch, every quiet 'you look amazing' backstage, every time Louis had physically put himself between Harry and someone's judgment.
"Can we do mine now?" Freddie asked, breaking the moment. "I want sparkly ones like Harry had in that video where he's singing about watermelon."
"Watermelon Sugar," Harry smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Though the thought of his baby boy watching the Watermelon Sugar music video made Louis cringe. "Think we can manage that, yeah? Though your dad might need to order takeaway first - this could take a while to get right."
"Pizza!" Freddie bounced up. "Can I pick the toppings?"
"No pineapple," Louis and Harry said together, then caught each other's eyes and laughed.
"That was one time," Harry protested. "And you liked it."
"Did not," Louis argued automatically, though they both knew he had. "Proper crime against pizza, that."
But watching Harry dig through his bag for nail polish, Freddie practically vibrating with excitement beside him, Louis couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come. From hidden moments and careful distances to this - his son asking Harry to paint his nails like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because it was now. And maybe that was the most amazing part of all.
Chapter 56: April 2011
Summary:
Louis wakes to Harry nestled against him on the tour bus, reflecting on their recent admission of love to the other lads. Morning chaos unfolds as the band teases Louis and Harry about their relationship. They prepare for a school visit, and during the event, Louis admires Harry’s natural rapport with the children. Later, Louis confides in Zayn about envisioning a future with Harry, but Zayn cautions Louis about the intensity of their youth. Despite his concerns, Louis feels deeply connected to Harry, believing in their loving future together.
Chapter Text
Louis woke to Harry's curls tickling his nose and the familiar rumble of the tour bus beneath them. His arm had gone numb where Harry was using it as a pillow, but he wouldn't move for anything. He just layed there, staring. Sixteen and already the most beautiful thing Louis had ever seen.
The bus hit a pothole, making Harry stir and press closer. Louis bit back a groan - morning wood and tight quarters were a dangerous combination, especially with three other lads within earshot. They'd already gotten enough shit since the boys found out about them last month.
Louis smiled at the memory, despite himself. Harry getting stroppy during that Radio 1 interview because Liam kept draping himself over Louis (as he'd done a hundred times before). Later, Liam confronting them about how deep everything had gotten. Louis finally admiting that they were in love. And Harry, eyes bright with unshed tears, admitting he couldn't stand watching anyone else touch Louis, when he couldn't. They'd ended up telling the boys that night, after months of denial.
"You're staring," Harry mumbled against his chest, voice rough with sleep.
"Just thinking about how beautiful you are, love," Louis whispered back, pressing a kiss to Harry's curls.
"For fuck's sake," came Niall's thick Irish accent from the bunk above. "It's too early for your romantic shite."
"Language, Neil," Louis called back, making Harry giggle.
"Rich coming from you, Tommo," Zayn drawled from somewhere near the front of the bus.
"Didn't know you were awake, Malik," Louis said. "Thought you'd still be in your vampire coffin."
"Hard to sleep through your morning flirting," Zayn replied, but Louis could hear the fondness in his voice.
Harry started to extract himself from the bunk, all gangly teenage limbs. His sleep shirt (actually Louis' old Rovers jersey) rode up, exposing a strip of skin that Louis couldn't resist touching. Harry shivered, shooting him a look that promised revenge later.
"If you two start grinding again, I'm calling management," Niall threatened.
"We weren't grinding!" Harry protested, face flushing. "The bus hit a bump."
"Really?" Liam appeared from the front lounge, already dressed for their morning workout. "Because I distinctly heard-"
"Payno!" Louis interrupted, finally rolling out of the bunk. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, mate."
"We all knew before you even said anything," Niall said. "You two were proper obvious."
"We were not," Louis argued, following Harry to the tiny kitchen area. "We were the picture of subtlety."
Four identical snorts of disbelief answered him.
"You literally sit in his lap during interviews," Zayn pointed out.
"You feed each other at restaurants," Liam added.
"You sleep in the same bunk every night," Niall continued.
"And you stare at me like I'm a work of art," Harry finished cheekily.
"Oi!" Louis protested. "You're supposed to be on my side, Harold."
Harry just grinned, dimples deep, and Louis had to kiss him - just a quick press of lips, but it made his heart race like always.
"And that's our cue to leave," Zayn announced, heading back to the front lounge. "Try to keep it PG, yeah? We've got that school thing later."
"No promises!" Louis called after him, pulling Harry closer by his belt loops. "Have you seen how fit my boyfriend is?"
"I'm going to be sick," Niall groaned dramatically. "Proper sick. All over your love nest."
"Don't you dare desecrate our bunk," Louis warned. "That's sacred ground, that is."
"Sacred's not the word I'd use," Liam muttered, ducking the tea towel Louis threw at his head.
Harry wrapped his arms around Louis' waist from behind, hooking his chin over Louis' shoulder. "Love you," he murmured, too quiet for the others to hear.
Louis' heart did that familiar flip. Seven months together and those words still made him dizzy. "Love you too," he whispered back. "Even if you are a menace who steals all the blankets."
"Right lads, we're here!" Paul called as he opened the bus doors at Sheffield Arena, and Louis could already hear the screaming fans.
Harry was practically in Louis' lap as they brushed their teeth in the tiny bathroom, both still sleep-warm and handsy. Louis couldn't resist pressing kisses to Harry's neck between rinses, making Harry giggle and squirm.
"Some of us need the toilet!" Niall banged on the door. "Stop snogging and move it!"
They stumbled out, Harry's curls even more of a mess than usual, Louis' shirt somehow unbuttoned. Zayn just rolled his eyes as they passed.
The arena's backstage area was already bustling. Louis kept an arm slung around Harry's waist as they followed Paul to the green room, pressing him against a wall for a quick snog when they rounded a quiet corner.
"Lou!" Harry laughed against his mouth. "We're going to be late-"
"Don't care," Louis mumbled, sliding his hands under Harry's shirt.
"You've had all night of this," Liam's voice made them jump. "We're meant to be at breakfast already. The hair people are waiting."
"Five more minutes," Louis bargained, not taking his eyes off Harry's mouth.
"That's what you said yesterday and we ended up twenty minutes late to radio," Liam reminded them. "Paul was proper cross."
"Worth it though," Harry whispered against Louis' ear, making him shiver.
"Disgusting, both of you," Liam declared, but he was fighting a smile. "Come on, there's bacon."
"About time," their tour manager said as they entered. "Hair and makeup's backed up with other contestants now so you'll be on your own - try to look presentable for the school visit at least?"
"I always look presentable," Louis protested, dropping into a chair and immediately pulling Harry back into his lap.
"Your shirt's still unbuttoned," Zayn pointed out, sliding them both tea.
"That's the style now," Louis said loftily. Harry snorted, stealing bacon off Louis' plate and feeding him pieces between kisses.
"The style is not having your boyfriend's lovebites on display during children's television," their tour manager muttered.
"They can't see them from far away," Harry said helpfully as he brushed his fingers over a recent one on the edge of his jaw. He yelped as Louis demonstrated his marking technique on Harry's exposed collarbone.
"We've got kids to meet in an hour," Niall reminded them. "Try not to traumatize anyone?"
"No promises," Louis grinned, but he did stop attacking Harry's neck. For now.
"Right, if we're going au naturel..." Louis' eyes got that dangerous glint that always meant trouble. He lunged for Liam, trying to mess up his carefully styled hair.
"No- Louis, don't you dare!" Liam yelped, ducking behind Zayn who immediately put up his hands.
"Leave me out of this, mate. My quiff is sacred."
"Nothing's sacred when Tommo's in a mood," Niall warned, already backing away. But he was grinning - Louis' chaos was infectious and they all knew it.
"Come on lads," Louis advanced on them, hands raised like claws. "If me and Haz have to look like we've been through a tornado, it's only fair..."
"Harry chose to look like that!" Liam protested, still using Zayn as a human shield. "By choosing to let you maul him all morning!"
"Oi!" Harry tried to sound offended, but he was giggling too hard. "I didn't choose this jam stain."
"No, but you chose him," Niall gestured at Louis, who was now stalking Zayn in circles around the breakfast table. "Same difference, innit?"
"Best choice I ever made," Harry said softly, and Louis paused his pursuit just long enough to blow him a kiss.
That moment of distraction was all Liam needed. He grabbed Louis from behind, lifting him off his feet while Louis shrieked and flailed.
"Hazza! Save me from this brutish behavior!"
"My hero!" Harry called back, making no move to help. Instead, he stole Louis' abandoned tea and settled in to watch the show.
"Some boyfriend you are," Louis complained, still dangling in Liam's grip. "Right then, new plan. Nialler! Help me destroy Payno's perfect hair and I'll buy you Nando's."
"Sold!" Niall launched himself at them both, sending all three tumbling to the floor in a mess of limbs and laughter.
Zayn took advantage of the chaos to steal the last bacon, sharing it with Harry as they watched the impromptu wrestling match unfold.
"Should we help?" Harry asked, wincing as Niall accidentally kneed Louis in the stomach.
"Nah," Zayn said around a mouthful of bacon. "This is better entertainment."
"MY HAIR!" Liam's wail of despair suggested Louis had finally achieved his goal.
"Victory!" Louis crowed, somehow having ended up sitting on Liam's chest while Niall held down his legs. "Now you match the rest of us properly disheveled boyband members!"
"I hate you all," Liam groaned, but he was laughing too.
"No you don't," Louis singsonged, climbing off him to survey his handiwork. "You love us. We're your brothers in arms. Your partners in crime. Your-"
"Pains in my arse?" Liam suggested, accepting Harry's offered hand up.
"That too," Louis agreed cheerfully. He turned to Zayn, who immediately backed away.
"Don't even think about it, Tommo. I will end you."
"But Zaaaaaayn," Louis whined, "we need to complete the set! Can't have four messy boys and one perfect quiff, can we?"
"Watch me," Zayn replied, but he was already calculating escape routes.
"Get him!" Niall yelled, and chaos erupted again as they all chased Zayn around the green room.
Paul found them ten minutes later, all five sprawled breathless on the floor, hair thoroughly destroyed and tears of laughter in their eyes.
"I don't even want to know," he sighed. "Van leaves in five, looking like that or not."
"We look amazing," Louis declared from where he'd ended up with his head in Harry's lap. "Proper rockstars, we are."
"Proper disasters," Paul corrected, but he was smiling too. "Come on then, rockstars. Those primary school kids won't traumatize themselves."
The drive to the school was chaos, as usual. Louis had declared an impromptu karaoke session, which somehow devolved into all of them belting out Spice Girls songs while their tour manager pretended not to laugh.
"IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER," Niall screamed, using a banana as a microphone.
"YOU GOTTA GET WITH MY FRIENDS," the others joined in, Louis dancing in the aisle while Harry filmed on his phone, dimples deep as he watched his boyfriend's ridiculous shimmy.
"Making memories for the grandkids?" Zayn teased, nodding at Harry's phone.
"Absolutely," Harry grinned. "Future blackmail material."
"Oi!" Louis spun around, pointing accusingly. "I heard that! No blackmail from my own boyfriend!"
"But you look so cute doing the Scary Spice moves," Harry protested innocently.
"I'll show you Scary Spice-" Louis launched himself at Harry, making him squeal and drop his phone as Louis tickled his sides mercilessly.
"Children," Paul called from the front. "We're almost there. Try to look somewhat professional?"
"Professional is my middle name," Louis declared, still half on top of Harry.
"Thought it was William," Liam said.
"Louis Professional William Tomlinson," Niall nodded sagely. "Has a ring to it."
"Better than Niall James 'Can't Hit The High Notes' Horan," Louis shot back.
"Excuse you! I hit those notes perfectly!"
"Two minutes to arrival," Paul announced over the ensuing scuffle. "Please try not to teach these children any new swear words this time?"
"That was one time!" Louis protested. "And that kid definitely already knew 'bloody hell' before I said it."
"He was six, Lou," Liam sighed.
"A very advanced six," Louis insisted. "Probably reading Shakespeare and everything."
"Shakespeare didn't write 'bloody hell'," Harry pointed out helpfully.
"How do you know? Were you there?"
"Were you?"
"Maybe I was," Louis sniffed. "Maybe I'm secretly immortal."
"That would explain your maturity level," Zayn muttered, still trying to fix his hair using his phone camera.
"Says the man who just lost a wrestling match to an Irishman half his size."
"Oi!" came Niall's indignant voice from somewhere under a seat. "I'm not that small!"
"It's okay, Niall. You're our very own tiny leprechaun," Louis cooed, reaching down to pinch Niall's cheek. Niall bit at his fingers.
The bus rolled to a stop, and they could hear the excited screaming of kids through the windows.
"Right lads," Paul stood up, trying to look stern but failing. "Best behavior. No swearing, no inappropriate touching-" he looked pointedly at Louis and Harry "-and try not to start any more food fights."
"That was also one time!" Louis protested.
"That was yesterday," Liam corrected.
"Ancient history," Louis waved him off, but he did straighten his shirt and help Harry smooth down his curls a bit. "Ready to charm some tiny humans, love?"
"Born ready," Harry grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Louis' cheek before Paul could stop them.
"God help those teachers," Zayn muttered as they filed off the bus. "They have no idea what they're in for."
The moment they stepped into St. Mary's Primary, Louis felt himself shift into what Simon had drilled into them - professional, camera-ready, proper boyband material. Even if there weren't actual cameras here, they were still representing the show that had given them everything.
"Welcome!" The headmistress beamed. "The children are so excited - they all voted for you on X-Factor!"
"Brilliant!" Louis grinned genuinely. "Hope we don't disappoint then."
They were led into the assembly hall where about two hundred primary school kids sat cross-legged on the floor, barely containing their excitement. Harry tripped slightly on the stage steps - still growing into those long legs - and Louis had to stop himself from reaching out to steady him.
"Hello everyone!" Louis called out, taking charge as he'd gotten used to doing. "Who watched X-Factor then?"
The screaming was deafening. Niall winced but kept grinning. The larger the crowds grew, the worse Niall's anxiety was getting, Louis noticed.
They started with "Torn," their signature song from the show. Louis found himself automatically wanting to gravitate toward Harry during their harmonies - a habit they'd developed during rehearsals - but kept his distance, remembering management's recent talks about keeping things discrete.
But it was during the meet-and-greet portion that Louis found himself distracted, not by his usual urge to touch Harry, but by watching Harry interact with the kids. A tiny girl, couldn't have been more than five, had attached herself to Harry's leg, and he'd immediately crouched down to her level, speaking softly and making her giggle.
Something warm unfurled in Louis' chest at the sight. Harry was so natural with kids, all gentle hands and patient smiles, his whole face soft as he listened intently to a rambling story about someone's pet hamster.
"I want to be a teacher when I grow up!" one boy told Harry excitedly.
"Yeah? That's amazing!" Harry's eyes lit up. "I wanted to be a teacher too, before all this happened."
"Really?" The boy looked starstruck.
"Still might someday," Harry shrugged. "Have my own little ones to teach."
The warm feeling in Louis' chest expanded until he felt like he might burst with it. The image hit him suddenly - Harry with their kids, teaching them to bake, reading bedtime stories, singing them to sleep...
"Lou?" Zayn nudged him. "You're staring."
Louis startled, realizing he'd completely lost track of his own conversation with some students. "Sorry, just... thinking."
Zayn followed his gaze to Harry, who now had two kids in his lap as he showed them how to make silly faces. "Dangerous," Zayn said quietly, but his eyes were kind.
"Yeah," Louis agreed softly. "Very."
After the show that night, Louis was quieter than usual, lost in thoughts of futures he probably shouldn't be imagining at eighteen. But then Harry dropped into the seat beside him, still glowing from the performance, and Louis couldn't help but ask:
"Did you mean that? About wanting to teach someday?"
"Yeah," Harry smiled, dimples deep. "Love kids, me. Want a proper big family and everything."
"Me too," Louis said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I mean- with my sisters and all, I've always..."
Harry's eyes went soft and knowing, and Louis had to look away before he did something stupid like kiss him right there.
"Someday," Harry said quietly, and Louis felt their fingers brush briefly between their seats, hidden from view.
"Someday," Louis agreed, and tried not to think about how much that sounded like a promise.
"Oi!" Niall called from the front. "Are we doing Torn again at Sheffield tonight or switching to Suck Without You?"
Louis gratefully latched onto the distraction, jumping into the setlist debate, but he caught Harry watching him with that same soft expression he'd had with the kids, and his heart did something complicated in his chest.
Eighteen was probably too young to be planning forever, but Louis had never been good at doing things by halves anyway.
The bus hummed quietly through the night as Louis padded to the front lounge, leaving Harry curled up in their bunk, drowning in Louis' jumper that he'd nicked again. Louis couldn't help but smile - Harry was always stealing his clothes lately.
Zayn was sprawled on the couch, focused on FIFA. He wordlessly handed Louis a controller as he sat down.
They played in comfortable silence for a while, just the quiet clicking of buttons and occasional muttered curses when Zayn scored. Around 2 AM, Louis found himself speaking without really meaning to.
"He's really good with kids," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the screen.
"Hm?" Zayn glanced over. "Oh, Harry? Yeah, was sweet with them today."
"Not just sweet though," Louis continued, his character missing an easy shot. "Like... proper good with them. Patient. Natural, you know?"
Zayn raised an eyebrow. "Sure, mate."
Louis paused the game, fiddling with the controller. His heart was pounding weirdly. "Is it completely mental that I can... that I think about..."
"About?"
"The future," Louis said in a rush. "Like, proper future. With him. Kids and everything."
Zayn's other eyebrow joined the first. "Mate... you're eighteen."
"I know."
"And this thing with Harry... I mean, it's fun yeah? But you can't seriously be thinking..."
"I am though," Louis said quietly. "Can't help it. Saw him today with those kids and just... could see it so clearly. Him as a dad. Us, like, proper family and everything."
Zayn set down his controller, turning to face Louis fully. "Lou... you know this is just... I mean, we're on tour, everything's intense right now. What you and Haz have is great, but..."
"But what?"
"But we're young, yeah? And this lifestyle... relationships don't really..." Zayn hesitated. "Just don't want you getting hurt, thinking this is more than..."
"More than what? A fling?" Louis' voice came out sharper than he meant it to.
"That's not... look, I know you care about him. We all do. But planning kids? That's..."
"Mental. Yeah. I know." Louis laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Forget I said anything."
"Lou..." Zayn's voice softened. "It's not mental to care about him. Just maybe... keep it in perspective? We've got the band to focus on right now. Plenty of time for all that serious stuff later."
"Right," Louis said tightly. "Course. Just got carried away I guess."
He unpaused the game, effectively ending the conversation. They played in silence for a while, but something had shifted in the air.
"You're good with kids too, you know," Zayn offered eventually. "With your sisters and all."
"Yeah," Louis managed a small smile. "Thanks."
When he finally headed back to bed, Harry immediately curled into him, still half-asleep.
"Missed you," Harry mumbled into his neck.
Louis held him tighter, thinking about Zayn's words. Maybe he was being naive. Maybe this was just teenage intensity, puppy love that would fade. Maybe everyone else was right.
But then Harry pressed closer, sighing contentedly, and Louis thought about how he'd looked today with those kids. How right it had felt. How everything with Harry felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
"Love you," he whispered, so quietly he barely heard it himself.
He was probably too young to know what forever felt like. But he was pretty sure this was it anyway.
Chapter 57: Present Day
Summary:
Harry untangles Christmas lights when Daisy and Louis burst in with coffee. Phoebe introduces Harry to his niece, Olive, evoking emotions about family and memories. The family decorates the tree, sharing laughter and tenderness, while Louis and Harry exchange affectionate banter. Later, Harry discusses a surprise party for Louis with the twins, planning to record Freddie talking about Louis. After a tense phone call with Briana, Harry joins them for bedtime stories, feeling the weight of their past but focusing on the comfort of the present.
Chapter Text
Harry was carefully untangling a string of lights, trying to sort out which bulbs needed replacing, when the front door burst open with familiar chaos.
"Caffeine delivery!" Daisy's voice rang through the house. "Fair warning, we're letting in all the cold air!"
"Worth it for coffee," Louis called back from where he was sorting through boxes of ornaments.
The twins swept in, Phoebe managing a baby carrier and drink tray with practiced ease. Harry's heart still wasn't used to seeing them so grown up - these girls he'd known since they were tiny, who used to braid his hair and beg him to paint their nails, now adults with Phoebe even having a baby of her own.
"One cavity-inducing vanilla caramel concoction with extra everything for Harry," Phoebe announced, holding out his drink. "And boring black coffee for our brother who thinks being pretentious about coffee makes him sophisticated."
"Oi!" Louis protested. "Just because I've developed actual taste-"
"You used to drink Yorkshire Tea exclusively," Harry pointed out, accepting his elaborate drink. "This whole coffee snob thing is new."
"People change, Harold."
"Your sweet tooth didn't," Daisy smirked, watching Harry take a happy sip of his sugary drink.
Harry moved to peer into the baby carrier, and Phoebe's voice went soft. "This is your niece," she said. "Olive."
Harry's hand froze where he'd been reaching to touch the baby's tiny fingers. That word - their word - combined with 'your niece' made his throat tight with emotion. He caught Louis' eye across the room, saw the same memories reflected there: whispered 'olives' backstage before performances, coded tweets posted in perfect synchronization, all the ways they'd hidden 'I love you' in plain sight when they were young and scared and desperate to say it somehow.
"That's..." Harry had to clear his throat. "That's a beautiful name."
Phoebe's knowing smile told him she understood exactly why it meant so much. Before he could get too emotional about it, Freddie came barreling in from the kitchen, still in his Christmas pajamas, purple nail polish catching the light.
"Can we decorate now?" he bounced on his toes. "Dad said Harry always puts the star on top 'cause he's tallest!"
"Well someone has to do it properly," Louis grinned. "Last time I tried, I nearly destroyed Gran's vintage angel."
"Harry had to catch you mid-fall while Gran had a heart attack," Daisy laughed.
"I was being dramatic on purpose," Louis sniffed. "For entertainment value."
"Sure you were, love," Harry smirked over his elaborate coffee.
"Betrayed by my own boyfriend," Louis clutched his chest. "And so close to my birthday too."
"Your birthday's not for two more days," Harry pointed out.
"Birthday weekend," Louis corrected. "We've been over this."
"Can we get the ornaments now?" Freddie interrupted their banter. "The special ones from when you were little?"
"'Course love," Louis ruffled his hair. "Though some of those are probably as old as Harry's boots."
"These are vintage!" Harry protested, a familiar argument.
"They're decomposing, babe."
"They're classic!"
"They're a health hazard."
"Your face is a health hazard."
"The romance truly never dies with you two, does it?" Daisy deadpanned.
"Shut up," Harry and Louis said in unison, then caught each other's eyes and grinned.
"God, you're still disgustingly in love," Phoebe groaned, but her smile was fond. "Come on Freddie, let's get the boxes while these two make heart eyes at each other."
"We do not make heart eyes," Louis objected.
"You really do," Freddie said matter-of-factly. "It's all over TikTok."
Harry choked on his drink while the twins dissolved into laughter. Louis just looked betrayed.
"Me own son," he lamented. "Corrupted by social media."
"Right, that's it," Louis announced. "No star-putting-up privileges for you, Harold."
"But Dad!" Freddie protested. "You said Harry always does it!"
"Yeah Louis," Harry smirked. "I always do it."
"I hate you," Louis declared, but he was fighting a smile as he pulled Harry down for a quick kiss.
"Olive you too," Harry whispered against his lips, quiet enough that only Louis could hear. The answering squeeze of Louis' hand told him he remembered - of course he remembered. Some things were written too deeply on their hearts to ever forget.
"Come on then," Louis tugged him toward the garage. "These ornaments won't hang themselves. And mind those vintage boots - wouldn't want you breaking a hip."
The garage was cold, their breath visible in little puffs as Louis pulled the chain for the light. Stacked neatly in one corner were the familiar red and green plastic bins, each labeled in Jay's neat handwriting. Harry's chest tightened at the sight.
"This one first," Freddie declared, pointing to the bin marked 'Special Ornaments.' "That's where mine are!"
They carried the boxes back inside where it was warm, setting them carefully on the floor near the tree. Gran and Grandad had joined them now, Gran already fussing with cups of tea despite the coffee they were all still holding.
Harry opened the first box, and the memories hit him like a wave. There was the little ceramic star Louis had made in primary school, slightly chipped now but still precious. The matching baubles they'd bought their first Christmas living together, when they'd been so young and scared but so in love. The delicate glass snowflake Eleanor had given Louis one Christmas Eve, appearing unexpectedly with birthday presents - Harry still remembered how tight his chest had felt that night, watching her kiss Louis' cheek while he pretended it didn't matter.
"Oh," Gran's soft exclamation drew everyone's attention. She was holding something carefully in both hands - a simple 'Baby's First Christmas' ornament. "Jay bought this... she was so excited to hang it up that first Christmas with Freddie, but..."
The room went still. Harry remembered that December - how quickly Jay had declined, how desperate Louis had been trying to split his time between his newborn son and his dying mother. She'd passed mid-month, just days before she would have hung this ornament.
Louis' hand found Harry's, squeezing tight. The twins had gone quiet, Phoebe hugging Olive closer while Daisy wiped quickly at her eyes.
"Well then," Grandad cleared his throat roughly. "Think this one should probably be the first to get hung up then, yeah?"
"Can I?" Freddie asked quietly, reaching for the ornament. "Since it's mine?"
"'Course love," Louis' voice was thick. "Your Grandma Jay would have loved that."
They all watched as Freddie carefully picked up the ornament, treating it with a gentleness that showed he understood its importance. He studied the tree seriously before selecting the perfect spot, right at eye level where everyone could see it.
"There," he said softly. "Now she can see it too."
Harry heard Gran's muffled sob, saw Louis duck his head as tears fell. The twins moved as one to sandwich their brother in a hug, while Grandad wrapped an arm around Gran's shoulders.
"Right then," Harry managed, voice rough. "What else have we got in here?"
The moment gradually lifted as they continued unpacking ornaments, each one carrying its own stories. Louis started telling Freddie about the ones from his own childhood, the twins chiming in with memories of decorating the tree all together when they were small.
"Remember this one?" Daisy held up a glittery pinecone. "Harry helped us make these one year."
"We got more glitter on Harry than the pinecones," Phoebe laughed.
"Some things never change," Louis smiled, brushing some stray tinsel from Harry's hair.
Harry caught the twins' eyes and subtly nodded toward the kitchen. "Lou, love, we're out of those biscuits your Gran likes. Girls, help me check the pantry?"
"Subtle," Daisy muttered as they followed him, but she was grinning.
Once in the kitchen, Harry leaned against the counter, keeping his voice low. "So, about the party..."
"You mean the absolutely massive blow-out you're throwing at the Rovers stadium that Louis definitely doesn't suspect?" Phoebe smirked, adjusting Olive on her hip as the baby dozed.
"That's the one," Harry smiled. "Everything's sorted with the decorator and caterer, but I had an idea about Freddie. For the family portion, before it gets... you know."
"Before it turns into a proper piss-up, you mean?" Daisy raised an eyebrow.
"Right. Well," Harry glanced toward the living room to make sure they were still alone. "I was thinking - what if we got Freddie to talk about Louis? You know, memories, things he loves about his dad, whatever comes to mind. I've got some mates who produce, they could turn it into something special, maybe lay it over music..."
"Oh my god," Phoebe's eyes lit up. "Louis would absolutely lose it."
"In a good way," Daisy added quickly. "He'd proper cry."
"That's what I thought. But I'd need your help getting Freddie alone to record without Louis catching on. I don't really know what he's into yet, but..."
"We can help with that," Phoebe nodded. "Take him out for ice cream or something, make it seem casual."
"You're sure it's not too much? With the baby and everything?"
"Please," Daisy waved him off. "As if we'd miss the chance to help make our brother cry on his birthday."
"Speaking of crying," Phoebe lowered her voice further, "you know he's going to absolutely break when you transform the stadium for part two. All those lights and memories..."
"That's the plan," Harry admitted. "Though the vodka should help with that."
"You're evil," Daisy said admiringly. "I love it."
"What are you lot plotting in here?" Louis' voice made them all jump.
"Nothing!" they chorused, too quickly.
Louis narrowed his eyes. "Right. Well, Gran's starting to do that nervous cleaning thing she does when people are over."
"Oh god," Phoebe hurried back to the living room, Daisy following.
Harry moved to do the same, but Louis caught his wrist. "You're up to something."
"Always am, love," Harry kissed him quickly. "Now come on, before Gran decides to steam clean the baseboards."
Back in the living room, Gran was nervously rearranging the already-tidy coffee table while Freddie sat cross-legged by the tree.
"Dad, can we do the color-changing lights this year?" Freddie asked, his slight American accent contrasting with Louis' Yorkshire one. "The ones that go all rainbow?"
"'Course we can, darling," Louis answered, settling onto the floor. "Though last time we had those up, Harry got well distracted by them, didn't he?"
Harry sat down carefully, leaving a bit of space between himself and Freddie. "Oi, they're proper mesmerizing, those lights."
"You literally walked into a wall watching them," Louis teased, his eyes crinkling with fondness.
"That was one time!" Harry protested, his slow drawl making Freddie giggle.
"Actually," Freddie piped up, "I remember when I was really little, you made the tree dance. Like, you'd shake the branches to make the lights move."
Harry's breath caught - he hadn't expected Freddie to remember that far back, from before... everything. "You remember that?"
"Yeah! I was super little though. You didn't have your mustache then, and your hair was different."
"He had this whole proper quiffed thing going," Louis said softly, watching them both with careful eyes. "Very posh."
"Says the one who used to steal my hair products," Harry replied, trying to keep his voice light despite the emotion threatening to choke him. He ran a hand through his cropped hair, curls just barely forming back at the nape of his neck. He'd needed a change last year after his tour wrapped. Had too much time on his hands to sit around and think about Louis. Heard that hair held memories. Was desperate to escape the venomus memories of Lou that plauged him daily. He'd shaved it all off, to the displeasure of most. But it had been freeing. No longer being "the curly headed one" that people connected to Louis and One Direction. But it hadn't stopped the memories. Hadn't changed the fact that he was, in fact, still the curly headed one that loved Louis in One Direction on the inside.
Freddie looked between them, seeming to pick up on the undercurrent. "I like your hair now too," he offered. "Very rockstar."
"Thanks, mate," Harry managed, fighting the urge to reach out and ruffle Freddie's hair like he used to.
"Right then," Louis cleared his throat. "Let's get these lights sorted before Gran wears a hole in the carpet."
"I can help!" Freddie jumped up, nearly tripping over the box of lights in his enthusiasm.
"Careful there, love," Louis steadied him automatically.
Harry watched them work together, the easy rhythm between father and son evident in every movement. They had their own shorthand now, little gestures and inside jokes he wasn't part of anymore. But then Freddie would turn to include him in the conversation, so naturally, as if the past four years hadn't happened at all.
"Harry should do the high parts," Freddie declared. "He's like, super tall."
"That's what we keep him around for," Louis winked. "Our personal tree-decorating giraffe."
"Heyyy," Harry drew out the word in his familiar slow way. "Is that all I'm good for then?"
"Well, you're decent at making tea too," Louis grinned, the same cheeky smile Harry had fallen in love with at sixteen.
"Can you still reach the star without the stepladder?" Freddie asked eagerly. "Dad said you used to do that every year."
Harry glanced at Louis, uncertain, but Louis gave him a small nod. "Let's find out, yeah?"
He stood, retrieving the star from its box. With a bit of stretching (and maybe standing on his tiptoes, though he'd never admit it), he managed to secure it at the top.
"Still got it!" Freddie cheered.
"Show off," Louis said fondly, and for a moment, it felt just like before - just them, decorating their tree, being a family.
After the twins left with an overtired Olive, Harry stood at the kitchen counter, mindlessly rearranging the tin of Christmas biscuits as Louis ran through Freddie's evening routine. .
Louis' voice drifted down the stairs from Freddie's room: "FaceTime with your mum before it gets too late, love."
The familiar ring echoed through the house. Harry's fingers traced the counter's edge as he stilled himself for the complicated memories that hearing Briana's voice would bring.
"Hi Mom!" Freddie's voice was easy, comfortable. "You should see the tree - Harry just reached right up and put the star on. Dad was so annoyed he didn't need the ladder."
The pause that followed was heavy. "Harry's there?"
"Yeah! He painted my nails and-"
"Louis." Briana's voice cut through sharply. "A word?"
Harry heard Louis' quiet "Go brush your teeth, mate" and Freddie's retreating footsteps.
"So after four years you just bring him back into your life like nothing even happened? No time to adjust or anything, just jumping right back in to practically being married?" Briana's voice was taut.
"It's not like that, Bri. We've been-"
"Been what? Because when I asked before I let Freddie come out, you wouldn't answer anything about him other than he was there."
"Because it wasn't your business," Louis snapped. "You don't get to play concerned now when you're the one who-"
"Who what, Louis? Who protected our son from becoming tabloid fodder? Who made sure he had stability while you figured out your shit?"
"While I paid through the nose for it, you mean."
"Don't." Her voice was ice. "Don't pretend this was about money. This was about you wanting to play house with your boyfriend and drag our child into your secrets and lies."
Harry's chest tightened. He knew it was true. That even if he'd gotten his wildest dreams - to raise their family together - it wouldn't have changed how the press hounded them, how everything in their lives had to be hidden.
"That's not-" Louis started.
"He wrote a whole fucking song about it, Louis. Don't tell me what it wasn't about."
Silence stretched between them.
"Is he sleeping in your room?" Briana asked finally.
"Yes." Louis didn't elaborate.
Another pause and a long sigh before she spoke again. "Freddie seems... very comfortable with him being back."
"Because he is. Harry's... he's always loved him."
"That's what I'm worried about." Briana's voice softened slightly. "The last time..."
"We're not kids anymore," Louis said quietly. "After Liam... everything's different now."
"I know. That's why I suggested... but I didn't realize you'd just dive in head first again."
Thundering footsteps announced Freddie's return. "All clean!"
Harry listened as the conversation turned to safer topics, his heart heavy with old grief and new hope. When the call ended, he heard Louis: "Ready for that story?"
"Can Harry come up?" Freddie asked, something vulnerable in his voice.
"Haz?" Louis called down. "Got a request for your services."
Harry took the stairs slowly, each step weighted with memory. He found them in Freddie's room - Louis perched in the armchair by the window, Freddie already tucked under the covers, looking suddenly young and uncertain.
"What's this about my services being requested?" Harry asked softly, hovering in the doorway.
Freddie fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. "Would you... I mean, if you want... Dad's been reading this book but he sucks at the voices and I remember you used to..."
Harry's heart squeezed as Freddie trailed off, clearly worried he was too old for this now. He settled carefully on the edge of the bed, taking the offered book. "Dragons, eh?"
"Yeah," Freddie's face brightened. "There's this whole council and everything."
Harry opened to the marked page, sneaking a glance at Louis. He was curled in the chair, chin propped on his knee, watching them with soft eyes that made Harry's chest tight.
"Right then," Harry cleared his throat. "'The Great Dragon Council convened at midnight...'"
He fell into the familiar rhythm easily - the posh dragon elder with his affected accent, the young dragon's nervous stutter, the ancient dragon matriarch's gravelly wisdom. Freddie giggled at all the right moments, occasionally shooting triumphant looks at Louis as if to say "See?"
Louis just smiled, something tender and private in his expression that made Harry's voice wobble occasionally. He remembered other nights like this, years ago - Freddie so small, Louis exhausted from trying to hold everything together, Harry desperate to make everything perfect, to prove...
But now Freddie was older, lounging against his pillows with gangly limbs, thoroughly unimpressed by his father but watching Harry with bright, hopeful eyes. Now Louis looked settled in his skin, peaceful in a way he hadn't back then. Now Harry knew better than to try to prove anything - he just read the story, let himself enjoy making Freddie laugh, let himself feel Louis' fond gaze.
"'And so the council adjourned until-'" Harry paused as Freddie yawned hugely. "Think that's our cue to stop, love."
"One more page?" Freddie pleaded, but his eyes were already heavy.
"Tomorrow," Harry promised, marking their place. "Big day ahead, yeah?"
"'kay," Freddie mumbled, sliding further under his covers. "Night Dad. Night Harry. Thanks for... y'know. The voices."
"Anytime," Harry said softly, meaning it with his whole heart. "Sleep well."
He looked up to find Louis watching him with suspiciously bright eyes. Their gazes held for a long moment over Freddie's already-dozing form - all the years between them, all the pain and longing and hope, crystallized in that quiet look.
Harry carefully set the book aside and stood, his hand brushing Louis' shoulder as he passed. They'd learned the hard way that some things couldn't be rushed, that love sometimes meant waiting, meant earning trust back step by careful step.
But Freddie had asked for him tonight, had remembered his voices, had wanted him here. And Louis was looking at him like like a sailor who had been lost at sea finally come home.
Chapter 58: December 2012
Summary:
The one with Haylor
Notes:
This one has a part two because I couldn't help myself!
Chapter Text
Harry stared out the car window at the familiar streets of Holmes Chapel, his stomach in knots. Taylor sat beside him, her long legs crossed elegantly, typing away on her phone. The December chill seeped through the windows, but that wasn't why he felt cold.
Louis' birthday was in three days, and instead of being home with him, Harry was here, playing the perfect boyfriend for the cameras. His real boyfriend was probably curled up on their sofa in Hampstead Heath right now, scrolling through Twitter with a bottle of something strong nearby, reading every cruel comment and speculation about Harry and Taylor's "romance."
The thought made him feel sick.
"We should probably hold hands when we get out," Taylor said, not looking up from her phone. "The paps are already at the bakery."
Of course they were. Management had made sure of that. They'd been particularly insistent about getting shots of Harry bringing Taylor "home" to Holmes Chapel. Something about making the relationship seem more serious, more real.
"Yeah," Harry mumbled, twisting the anchor ring on his finger - the one that matched Louis' rope. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Another tweet from Louis, probably. He'd been doing that more and more lately - sending out cryptic messages that only Harry would understand, usually when he was drunk and hurting.
Taylor sighed. "Look, I know this isn't ideal-"
"Bit of an understatement."
"-but we both have to do this. The least you could do is try to seem interested."
Harry bit back a bitter laugh. Try to seem interested? He'd been trying. God, he'd been trying so hard. But every forced date, every staged photo op, every fake smile felt like another betrayal. Especially now, with Louis withdrawing more each day, drowning himself in alcohol and social media, obsessively reading every article and comment about "Haylor."
The car pulled up to the bakery where he used to work. Where he'd first told his mum about the boy with blue eyes who'd changed his life. Where Louis had visited him last Christmas, before everything went to hell.
"Ready?" Taylor asked, fixing her lipstick in a compact mirror.
No. He wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to parade another relationship through his hometown, wasn't ready for the pictures that would inevitably end up all over the internet for Louis to torture himself with, wasn't ready for how empty their bed would feel tonight when he finally got home.
But he nodded anyway.
They got out of the car, and Harry automatically reached for Taylor's hand. Her fingers were long and slim, nails perfectly manicured. Nothing like Louis' small, strong hands that fit perfectly in his.
The cameras started clicking immediately.
"Smile," Taylor muttered through her teeth, already working her angles.
His phone buzzed again. He wanted desperately to check it, but knew he couldn't. Not here. Not with all these cameras watching.
"Harry! Taylor! Over here!"
"How does it feel bringing Taylor home to meet your family?"
"Taylor, are you enjoying England?"
Harry let Taylor handle the questions, plastering on his media smile and trying not to think about how Louis wouldn't even look at him during interviews anymore. How he'd started drinking before shows just to get through them. How he'd flinch every time someone mentioned Taylor's name.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of staged photos and careful statements. By the time they finally got back in the car, Harry felt hollowed out.
He checked his phone immediately. Three tweets from Louis, each more obviously drunk than the last. The most recent one just said "Missing home." Three years of inside jokes and secret messages, and now they were reduced to this - Louis drunk-tweeting his pain while Harry played happy couples with someone else.
"You know," Taylor said carefully, watching him clutch his phone, "it might be easier if you just... let it cool off for a while. The constant contact, it's-"
"Don't," Harry's voice cracked. "Please don't."
"I'm just saying-"
"You don't understand," Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "He's... he's everything. He's my home. And I have to sit here and pretend like I don't see him falling apart. Like I'm not the reason he's falling apart."
Taylor was quiet for a long moment. "You really love him, don't you?"
Harry laughed wetly. "Since I was sixteen. Since the first moment I saw him."
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "That this is hurting you both. I can't imagine. I… I don't think I've ever been loved that much."
Before Harry could respond, the car pulled up to his mum's house. More photographers were waiting.
"Ready for round two?" Taylor asked.
Harry wiped his eyes quickly, straightening his jacket. "Yeah. Let's go meet my family."
His mum was waiting at the door, her smile a bit too bright. Gemma stood beside her, arms crossed.
"Taylor, lovely to meet you properly," Anne said warmly, pulling Taylor into a hug as the cameras clicked away. "Come in, come in. I've made tea."
Harry caught Gemma's eye as they walked in. She raised an eyebrow at him - their silent sibling language for 'you okay?'
He shook his head slightly.
Once inside, away from the cameras, some of the tension eased. But not much.
"So Taylor," Anne said, pouring tea, "Harry tells me you're quite the baker yourself?"
"Oh, I dabble," Taylor smiled charmingly. "Though probably not up to your family's standards."
"No one is," Gemma said, a bit sharp. Harry kicked her under the table.
His phone buzzed again. Everyone pretended not to notice how quickly he checked it.
Louis: miss you curly x
Harry's hands shook as he typed back: miss you more x
"Harry?" His mum's voice pulled him back. "The photographers want some shots of us in the garden. With the fairy lights?"
Right. The staged family photos. Because bringing your new girlfriend home for Christmas was supposed to be romantic, not whatever this hollow performance was.
"'Course," Harry stood up. "Taylor?"
"Actually," Gemma cut in, "Can I borrow Taylor for a minute? Always wanted to ask about that bridge in 'All Too Well.'"
Taylor looked surprised but pleased. "Of course!"
As soon as they left the room, Anne pulled Harry into a proper hug.
"Oh love," she whispered. "How's he doing?"
"Not good," Harry's voice cracked again. "Mum, he's not good. And I can't- I can't fix it."
"I know, baby. I know." She stroked his hair like she used to when he was small. "Have you talked to him today?"
"Just texts. He's been drinking since morning probably. Reading everything online."
Anne sighed. "That boy. Always did feel everything so deeply."
"I'm hurting him," Harry whispered. "Every time I do this, every picture, every article - I'm hurting him."
"You're protecting him," Anne corrected firmly. "Both of you are protecting each other the only way you can right now."
Before Harry could respond, they heard footsteps. He quickly wiped his eyes again as Gemma and Taylor returned.
"Garden photos?" Taylor asked brightly, though her eyes lingered on Harry's red-rimmed eyes.
"Yes, yes," Anne clasped her hands together. "Gemma, grab that platter of cookies I made. We'll make it look festive."
They filed out into the garden, arranging themselves under the twinkling lights. Harry could see the photographers through the hedge, cameras already clicking.
"Smile everyone," Anne said through her teeth. "We're having a lovely time."
Harry felt Gemma squeeze his hand briefly as they posed. A silent I'm sorry. A silent I know.
His phone buzzed in his pocket again. He didn't need to look to know it was Louis, probably three drinks deeper now, watching these very photos pop up online in real time.
"Lovely to meet you properly," Taylor said as they prepared to leave, hugging Anne again. The cameras were still clicking through the windows.
Gemma's hug was stiff. "Take care of yourself," she said pointedly to Taylor, who had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.
"Drive safe, love," Anne whispered as she hugged Harry last, holding him a bit longer than necessary. "Give him our love."
Harry just nodded, throat too tight to speak.
The car ride started in silence, both of them lost in thought as the familiar Cheshire landscape faded into motorway darkness. Harry's phone had been suspiciously quiet for the last hour, which worried him more than the constant tweets had.
"He really watches everything, doesn't he?" Taylor asked suddenly. "Every article, every photo."
Harry closed his eyes. "Yeah."
"That must be... God, Harry. That must be hell."
"It is." His voice was barely audible. "But he can't stop. Says he needs to know what they're saying about us. About me."
Taylor was quiet for a moment. "Does he know it's not real? Between us?"
"Course he does," Harry said quickly. Then, softer: "But knowing something and feeling something are different things."
"I get that," Taylor sighed. "The whole world thinking they know who you love, who you are... it messes with your head after a while."
Harry looked at her properly for the first time that day. "Is that why you agreed to this? The PR relationship?"
"Partly," she admitted. "Better to control the narrative than let them make up their own. But mostly... mostly I was tired of being alone."
"But this isn't real."
"No," she smiled sadly. "But sometimes pretending to be loved is better than nothing."
Harry's heart ached for her then. "You deserve real love, Taylor. Not this... performance."
"So do you," she said softly. "So does he."
They pulled up to her hotel before Harry could respond.
"For what it's worth," she said, gathering her things, "I hope you get to keep him. Through all of this. I hope it's worth it."
Harry thought of Louis - his laugh, his touch, the way he looked at Harry like he hung the moon. "He's worth everything."
The drive to Hampstead Heath felt endless. When he finally pushed open their front door, the house was dark except for the blue glow of the TV.
Louis was curled up on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles, phone clutched in his hand even in sleep. Harry's heart cracked at the sight.
He carefully extracted the phone, wincing at the open tabs - dozens of articles about his day with Taylor, Twitter threads analyzing their body language, Tumblr posts comparing "Haylor" pictures to old photos of him and Louis.
"Lou," he whispered, brushing the hair from Louis' forehead. "Baby, wake up. Let's get you to bed."
Louis stirred, blinking slowly. "Haz?" His voice was rough. "You're home?"
"Yeah, love. I'm home."
Louis reached for him blindly, and Harry gathered him close, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin under the alcohol.
"Saw the pictures," Louis mumbled into his neck. "You looked happy."
"I wasn't," Harry's voice cracked. "Lou, you know I wasn't."
"I know," Louis sighed. "Just... hard to watch. Everyone saying how perfect you are together. How you've finally found someone worthy."
"Hey," Harry pulled back to cup Louis' face. "You are worthy. You're everything. You're my home, remember?"
Louis' eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry traced the compass on his arm - the one that pointed to Louis' ship. "Always have been. Always will be."
"Stay?" Louis asked, small and vulnerable in a way he only ever was with Harry.
"Forever," Harry promised, gathering Louis closer. "Let's go to bed, yeah? Just us. No phones, no articles, no pretending. Just us."
Louis nodded against his chest. As Harry helped him up, steadying him when he swayed, Louis mumbled, "Love you, Haz. Even when it hurts."
"Love you more," Harry whispered, leading them to their bedroom. "Especially when it hurts."
Tomorrow would bring more pictures, more articles, more pretending. But tonight, in the darkness of their room, they could just be Harry and Louis. No cameras, no management, no expectations.
The drive to Doncaster on Christmas Eve morning was quiet, Louis dozing against Harry's shoulder as Harry drove. The radio played softly - some Christmas song about being home for the holidays that made Harry's throat tight.
Twenty-one. His boy was twenty-one today.
Louis' grandparents' house was already decked out for both Christmas and birthday celebrations when they arrived, the chaos of the Tomlinson-Deakin clan spilling out onto the snow-dusted front steps. Daisy and Phoebe spotted them first.
"Harry!" they shrieked in unison, launching themselves at him before he'd even fully stepped out of the car.
"Oi," Louis protested, grinning properly for the first time in weeks. "What about the birthday boy then?"
"We see you all the time," Daisy explained, while Phoebe added, "We missed Harry."
"Yeah," Louis said softly, watching Harry hug his sisters. "Me too."
Inside was warm and loud and perfect. Jay immediately pulled Harry into a fierce hug while Louis' grandfather clapped him on the back, wishing Louis a happy birthday. No one mentioned Taylor, or Eleanor, or anything outside this bubble of family and love.
"Need help in the kitchen?" Harry asked Jay, already rolling up his sleeves. "Birthday cake still needs decorating, yeah?"
"Yes please, love. These lot are useless," she smiled fondly at her children sprawled around the living room.
"Excuse you," Louis followed them into the kitchen. "It's my birthday, I shouldn't have to help."
"When have you ever helped?" Lottie called after him.
"That's beside the point!"
Harry felt something in his chest unlock as he worked beside Jay, carefully piping Louis' birthday cake while Louis perched on the counter, stealing frosting and making Harry laugh. This felt real. This felt right.
The day passed in a blur of food and family and warmth. Louis kept finding excuses to touch Harry - a hand on his back as he passed, their thighs pressed together on the sofa, fingers tangled under the dinner table.
That night, curled together in Louis' bedroom, Harry traced the "Oops!" on Louis' arm.
"I still can't beleive you got this" he whispered.
"Course," Louis smiled against his chest. "Couldn't leave you hanging with just half of the conversation, could I? Though managements still pissed."
"Worth it though."
"Always worth it with you."
Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. They exchanged sleepy kisses and presents with Louis' family before heading to Holmes Chapel, where Anne, Robin, and Gemma were waiting.
"My boys," Anne hugged them both tight. "Come in, come in. Robin's just made hot chocolate."
They spent the afternoon opening presents and playing board games, Louis and Gemma ganging up to absolutely destroy Harry at Scrabble while Anne and Robin watched fondly.
"Stop using made up words!" Harry protested as Louis laid down another questionable combination.
"It's totally a word," Louis insisted. "Back me up, Gems."
"Absolutely," Gemma agreed solemnly. "Very common word. You're just uncultured, H."
Harry threw a pillow at them both, but he was grinning so hard his face hurt.
Later, after dinner, they all piled onto the sofa to watch Love Actually - a Styles family tradition. Harry sat between Louis' legs, head resting back against his chest, Louis' arms wrapped around him.
"This is nice," Louis murmured into his hair. "Being able to just... be."
Harry squeezed his hand. "Yeah. Wish we could stay here forever."
"We will," Louis said firmly. "Maybe not here exactly, but... one day. We'll have this all the time. Promise."
Harry twisted to look up at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Louis kissed him softly. "One day we'll have our own family Christmases. Our own traditions. Our own everything."
"Get a room," Gemma threw popcorn at them, but she was smiling.
Later that night, in Harry's old bedroom, Louis traced the "Hi" tattoo on Harry's arm.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For choosing me. Every day. Even when it's hard."
Harry pulled him closer. "Always choose you, Lou. Always will."
They fell asleep tangled together, Christmas lights twinkling through the window, the world outside temporarily forgotten.
Harry's hands were white-knuckled on his knees as he sat in the parked car outside Heathrow. The December air was biting even through the heated interior, or maybe that was just the cold dread settling in his bones. His empty hands felt like a condemnation where his passport should be.
"I can't find it," he said flatly, voice hollow even to his own ears. Something like hope fluttered in his chest - maybe this was his way out. "Guess I can't go."
The driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes meeting Harry's in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Styles, management was very clear about today's schedule-"
"Well I can't exactly fly without a passport, can I?" Harry snapped, the words sharp with weeks of pent-up frustration. He immediately deflated, guilt washing over him. "Sorry, mate. Not your fault."
His phone buzzed against his thigh, management's name lighting up the screen. Harry's stomach lurched. For a moment, he considered not answering, considered throwing the phone out the window and driving back to Louis, back home.
But they always found a way to make him answer.
"No," he said immediately upon answering, trying to inject strength he didn't feel into his voice.
"Harry," the voice was arctic cold, the kind that burned. "Get your passport and get on that plane."
"I told you, I can't find it-"
"Really? Because I distinctly remember seeing it on your kitchen counter this morning when I stopped by to check on Louis." A pause. "Interesting conversation I had with Simon, actually. About Louis' solos. About his future with the band."
Harry's blood ran cold. "What?"
"It would be a shame if certain people started questioning his value to the group. If his parts started getting smaller. If rumors about attitude problems started circulating. If his solo career prospects... disappeared."
Harry's hands shook. They knew exactly where to hit - Louis' biggest fears, his deepest insecurities. The constant whispers that he wasn't good enough, wasn't talented enough, was just the loud one riding on the others' coattails.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me." A pause. "The passport, Harry. Now."
Harry closed his eyes, defeat bitter in his mouth. "Take me home," he told the driver.
Harry's hands shook as he unlocked their front door. The house was quiet - too quiet. Usually there'd be music playing, or the TV, or Louis singing absently as he moved through rooms. The silence felt like a warning.
He found Louis in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed they'd barely left during the precious few days after Christmas. His shoulders were curved inward, making him look smaller than he was.
"Lou," Harry's voice cracked on that single syllable.
Louis looked up, and the devastation in his eyes knocked the air from Harry's lungs. "Thought you'd left already."
"Tried to," Harry moved closer, drawn to Louis like gravity. "Forgot my passport."
"Convenient that," Louis attempted a smile but it wobbled dangerously. "Almost like you didn't want to go."
"I don't," Harry knelt in front of him, hands finding Louis' knees. "Lou, I don't want any of this."
Louis covered Harry's hands with his own, thumbs stroking over his knuckles. "I know, love. But they called Simon, and-" his voice caught. "They'll ruin everything we've worked for. Everything you deserve."
"Everything I deserve?" Harry's laugh was bitter. "What about what you deserve? What they're threatening to do to your career-"
"Haz," Louis cupped Harry's face, fingertips gentle against his jaw. "My career doesn't matter if-"
"Don't," Harry turned to press a fierce kiss to Louis' palm. "Don't you dare say it doesn't matter. You matter. Your voice matters. Your talent matters."
Louis' other hand found Harry's curls, tangling gently. "Just hurts," he whispered. "Watching you with her. Knowing everyone thinks... knowing I can't..."
Harry surged up to kiss him, tasting salt on Louis' lips. He wasn't sure which of them was crying. Maybe both.
"You're it for me," Harry breathed against Louis' mouth. "You know that, right? All of this - it's just a game. Just pretend. You're real. You're everything."
Louis pressed their foreheads together, eyes squeezed shut. "You have to go."
"Lou-"
"You have to go, or they'll take everything." Louis' fingers tightened in Harry's hair. "Just... come back to me, yeah?"
"Always," Harry promised, kissing him again, trying to memorize the feel of him. "Always come back to you."
His phone buzzed - another warning from management. Louis pulled back with visible effort.
"Your passport's on the counter," he said roughly. "Car's probably waiting."
Harry stood on shaking legs, still holding Louis' hand. "I love you."
"I love you too," Louis managed a real smile this time, small but genuine. "Now go be a proper popstar and kiss a pretty girl at midnight."
Harry's chest ached. "Rather kiss you."
"Next year," Louis said softly. "Maybe next year will be different."
They both knew it was a lie, but Harry nodded anyway. He grabbed his passport, then turned back for one more desperate kiss.
"Happy New Year, Lou."
"Happy New Year, love."
Walking out that door was the hardest thing Harry had ever done. Each step felt like moving through mud, his body fighting to turn around, to run back to Louis.
But he kept walking. Because staying would mean watching Louis lose everything he'd worked for. Would mean watching management slowly destroy him.
So Harry got in the car. He didn't look back at their house, at their life, at the boy he was leaving behind.
He couldn't. If he looked back, he'd never leave.
The flight was torture. Seven hours trapped with his thoughts, with the memory of Louis' face, with the knowledge of what was waiting in New York. Harry kept checking his phone even though he knew there'd be no service - a pathetic habit he couldn't break.
They landed at JFK in chaos. Harry was immediately surrounded by a wall of handlers, phones out, all talking at once.
"We're behind schedule-" "Taylor's already performed-" "Need to get you changed-" "Press is waiting-"
Harry let them hustle him through the airport, mind still seven hours behind in a quiet bedroom in London. Someone shoved a new outfit at him - pre-approved, no doubt. Designer jeans, casual but expensive jumper, carefully styled to look effortless.
"Hair and makeup in the car," someone barked, pushing him toward the exit.
His phone finally connected. Three messages from Louis:
miss you already x hope your flight was ok trying not to watch taylor's performance but zayn's making me. she looks nice.
Harry's thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but what could he say? Sorry I'm about to kiss your replacement? Sorry the whole world thinks I'm in love with someone else?
In the car, someone was attacking his hair with product while someone else dabbed concealer under his eyes.
"You look exhausted," his PR manager said sharply. "Try to look more... besotted."
Harry bit back a hollow laugh. He knew how to look besotted. He'd spent two years trying not to look besotted with Louis in public.
"Where exactly are we going?" he asked, watching Manhattan's lights blur past.
"Times Square. Taylor's team is coordinating the meetup point. You'll approach from 45th, she'll come from 47th. Natural, casual, like you couldn't wait to see each other."
Harry's stomach churned. "What if I'm late? Traffic looks bad-"
"You won't be late." The tone left no room for argument. "This needs to look perfect."
Perfect. Right. Because that's what people wanted - perfect love stories. Boy meets girl, boy kisses girl at midnight. Simple. Clean. Marketable.
Not boy meets boy. Not stolen moments and secret touches and love that had to hide.
His phone buzzed again. Louis: get there ok?
yeah, Harry typed back. chaos here. miss you
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: me too. more than you know.
"Phone away," someone snapped. "We're almost there."
Times Square was a nightmare of bodies and noise and lights. Harry was passed from handler to handler like a relay baton, each one with new instructions:
"Walk slower-" "Smile more-" "Look around like you're searching-" "Perfect, she's approaching-"
And there was Taylor, looking exactly as manufactured as he felt. Her smile was professional, practiced. They'd gotten good at this dance.
"Hi stranger," she said, just loud enough for nearby phones to catch.
"Hi," Harry managed. "Sorry I missed your performance."
"You're here now," she took his hand, camera-ready. "That's what matters."
They were positioned carefully in the crowd - visible but not too obvious. Taylor's team and his team creating a careful buffer of space around them.
The countdown was starting. Harry's phone felt heavy in his pocket. He wanted desperately to check it, to find some last message from Louis to cling to.
"You okay?" Taylor whispered, adjusting her position for the cameras.
"No," Harry admitted. "You?"
She squeezed his hand briefly. "Never gets easier, does it? The pretending."
Harry looked at her sharply, but her face gave nothing away. Sometimes he forgot she had her own secrets to keep.
The countdown roared around them, a wall of sound that made Harry's head spin. Or maybe that was the guilt, the dread, the bone-deep exhaustion of pretending.
"TEN!"
Taylor's hand tightened on his - a warning, a reminder. Cameras were everywhere.
"NINE!"
His phone buzzed. Harry's heart lurched, but he couldn't check it. Not now.
"EIGHT!"
Taylor shifted closer, her perfume sweet and unfamiliar. Nothing like Louis' familiar scent.
"SEVEN!"
God, Louis. Was he watching? Had he turned off his TV, unable to bear it?
"SIX!"
Taylor's other hand found his waist, positioning them just so. The perfect angle for the waiting cameras.
"FIVE!"
Harry's mouth went dry. He could still delay, could turn his head at the last second-
"FOUR!"
But no. They'd just make him do it again. Make it worse. Make Louis pay.
"THREE!"
Taylor's eyes met his briefly. Understanding flickered there, then disappeared behind her camera-ready smile.
"TWO!"
I'm sorry, Lou. I'm so sorry.
"ONE!"
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Taylor's lips met his, sticky-sweet with gloss. Five seconds. He counted them in his head, each one an eternity. Her hand cupped his jaw - a practiced gesture they'd rehearsed. Natural but photogenic.
When they broke apart, the crowd was still cheering. Phones everywhere, capturing the moment that would be splashed across every tabloid by morning.
"Sorry," Taylor whispered, barely moving her lips. She was still smiling, still playing her part.
"'s okay," Harry managed, matching her expression. "Not your fault."
His phone buzzed again. He couldn't check it. Not yet. They had to be seen celebrating, had to sell this perfect midnight moment.
Someone pressed champagne into their hands. They toasted, laughed, posed for more photos. Harry felt like he was watching himself from outside his body, going through motions that had been choreographed weeks ago.
The after-party was at some exclusive club. Harry let himself be guided through the motions - more champagne, more photos, more careful positioning next to Taylor.
"Dance with me," she said around 1 AM, loud enough to be heard. Another photo op.
On the dance floor, hidden by the press of bodies, she leaned close. "You can check your phone, you know. I'll cover you."
Harry could have cried with gratitude. He pulled out his phone while Taylor shifted to block him from view.
11:58 PM - Lou: almost midnight there. wish you were home
12:00 AM - Lou: happy new year haz
12:03 AM - Lou: you looked nice. hope the gloss wasn't too sticky
12:15 AM - Lou: i'm fine. stop worrying. go be seen
1:07 AM - Lou: i love you. always.
Harry's vision blurred. Taylor's hand squeezed his arm gently.
"Bathroom's through there," she murmured. "Take five minutes. I'll tell them you're fixing your hair."
He practically ran to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall. His hands shook as he typed:
i love you. so much. more than anything. want to come home.
Louis' response was immediate: soon love. play your part. i'll be here.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. "Harry? Car's ready for the next club."
Right. Because one party wasn't enough. They had to be seen at multiple locations, had to really sell this magical New Year's romance.
Taylor was waiting when he emerged, her smile softer now, more real. "Ready?"
"No," Harry admitted. "But when has that ever mattered?"
They went to three more clubs that night. Each one carefully chosen, each appearance timed and photographed. By 4 AM, Harry was running on empty, going through the motions on autopilot.
"Last one," Taylor promised as they entered yet another exclusive venue. "Then you can go back to your hotel. Back to your phone."
Back to the only connection he had with home, with Louis, with anything real.
The sun was rising when Harry finally made it to his hotel room. He pulled out his phone with trembling fingers.
Louis had sent one last message: proud of you. did so well love. get some sleep. dream of home.
Harry curled up on the massive hotel bed, still in his clothes from last night, Louis' words glowing on his screen.
He typed back: always dreaming of you.
Then he let himself cry - for the boy he'd left behind, for the love they had to hide, for another year of pretending ahead of them.
But mostly he cried because even this - this painful, hidden, complicated love - was worth it. Would always be worth it.
Because it was Louis. And Louis was home.
Part Two (because I couldn't help myself)
August 2013
Harry lay sprawled across their hotel room bed, phone pressed to his ear, watching Louis pace by the window like a caged animal. His boyfriend's jawline was tight, that telltale tension that appeared whenever Taylor's name came up.
"Okay, so don't freak out," Taylor's voice crackled through the speaker, that familiar mix of enthusiasm and nervous energy. "But I may have written three - well, technically four - songs about you and Louis for the new album."
Harry's breath caught. "Four?"
"Well, 'Style' is still the PR one everyone's expecting," she clarified quickly. "You know, the whole 'James Dean daydream look in your eye' thing, which by the way - genius move comparing you to James Dean. Like, here's this gorgeous guy everyone thinks is this massive ladies' man, but actually..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"Subtle, Tay," Harry couldn't help but laugh, even as Louis shot him a look.
"I'm just saying! It's literally perfect PR coding. Anyway, the other three are the real ones. The ones about... you know. Your actual love story."
She read him the lyrics, and Harry felt his chest tighten with each verse. Every word was so painfully accurate - the polaroids they'd taken in secret, the furniture they'd pushed aside to dance in their first flat, all those nights of silent screams and wildest dreams.
"The ship metaphors..." Harry started, his voice rough.
"Too much?" Taylor asked. "I mean, the ship and compass tattoos alone were practically begging to be written about. And don't even get me started on the fact that the compass is literally pointing to 'Home' instead of North. You two are literally walking poetry."
Louis had drifted closer despite himself, probably drawn by the way Harry's breathing had gone shallow. He always knew somehow, always felt when Harry needed him.
"And the waistline thing," Taylor continued, "God, H, I had to include that. Do you know how many photos I've seen where his hand is just automatically there? Like muscle memory or something. It's ridiculous. You two are ridiculous. I want someone to touch me like that someday, like they physically can't help themselves."
Harry caught Louis' eye, saw the softening there despite his boyfriend's determination to stay annoyed. Because yes, even now, Louis' hand was hovering near Harry's waist, magnetic.
"The hunting metaphors in 'I Know Places'..." Harry swallowed hard. "That's... that's exactly how it feels sometimes."
"I know," Taylor said softly. "I saw it up close, remember? All those vultures, the dark clouds. But you two just kept finding places to hide, kept choosing each other anyway. It's like... it's like the most beautiful fuck you to everyone trying to keep you apart."
Harry let out a wet laugh, aware of the tears threatening.
"Oh god, are you crying? I'm sorry! Here, let me tell you about the time I tried to write a metaphor about Louis' suspenders and ended up with something that sounded weirdly kinky-"
"Taylor!" Harry choked out, laughing for real now.
"What? I'm just saying, some metaphors are better left unwritten. Unlike the paper airplane ones, which are obviously staying because they're perfect and I'm a genius."
Louis had settled on the bed now, close enough that Harry could feel his warmth. His expression was complicated - still wary, but softer around the edges.
"They're beautiful, Tay," Harry managed. "They're... they're everything we can't say."
"That's the point," she said gently. "Everyone thinks 'Style' is your song, but these? These are your real songs. Your real story. Hidden in plain sight, just like you two."
Harry looked at Louis, at the way his boyfriend's fingers were absently tracing patterns on the bedspread, like he was trying not to reach out.
"Use them," Harry said firmly. "All of them."
After Harry hung up, silence filled the room. Louis was still tracing patterns on the bedspread, a habit he'd developed whenever he was processing something difficult.
"You're proper crying," Louis finally said softly, reaching up to brush a tear from Harry's cheek with his thumb.
"They're just... so us, Lou," Harry whispered. "The hospital room after the car accident, how you wouldn't leave even though management was having a fit. The monsters turning out to be trees - remember that night in Central Park when we thought we'd been caught but it was just shadows?"
Louis' hand finally found its way to Harry's waist, settling there like coming home. "Still think it's mental that you're letting your ex-beard write love songs about us."
"Former PR girlfriend," Harry corrected, turning to face Louis properly. "And she gets it, Lou. She really does. That line about 'love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out' - she understands what it's like having the whole world trying to blow out your candle."
"Yeah, well," Louis muttered, but his thumb was stroking Harry's hipbone now, gentle circles that betrayed his softening mood. "Suppose the ship ones are quite clever. Even if they're bloody obvious to anyone with eyes and Google."
Harry laughed wetly. "Says the man who got a compass tattoo pointing to 'Home'."
"Oi, you're the one with a massive ship on your arm," Louis countered, but he was smiling now, that fond look he could never quite suppress around Harry. "Besides, worked out alright, didn't it? You always find your way back to me."
"Always," Harry agreed, pressing closer. "Even through the silent screams and wildest dreams."
"Christ, you're going to be quoting these songs at me forever, aren't you?"
"Obviously. Especially the bit about your hand on my waistline."
Louis' fingers tightened slightly at Harry's waist. "Can't help that though, can I? S'where my hand belongs."
Harry felt warmth bloom in his chest. "You know what else she said? About the James Dean comparison?"
"What, in that other song? The PR one?"
"Yeah. She said... she said it's perfect because everyone thought James Dean was this legendary ladies' man, but really he was in love with men too. They just couldn't talk about it back then, so they coded it into everything. Like we do."
Louis was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes serious. "Bit different now though, innit? People can talk about it."
"Just not us," Harry said quietly.
"Yet," Louis corrected firmly. "Not us yet. But we will, love. Someday we'll tell our own story."
"Until then," Harry gestured at his phone, "Taylor's telling it for us. Through metaphors about ships and foxes and paper airplanes."
"And my apparently very obvious hand placement," Louis added dryly, but he pulled Harry closer, pressed a kiss to his temple. "You know what though? Maybe... maybe it's not the worst thing. Having someone document it all. Even if it is Swift."
Harry smiled against Louis' shoulder. "She really does ship us, you know. Said we're 'walking poetry' and 'literally ridiculous' and she wants what we have."
"Course she does. We're fucking amazing."
"You're just saying that because she wrote about your protective boyfriend tendencies."
"Protective boyfriend- I do not have tendencies!"
"Your hand is literally on my waist right now, Lou."
"That's different! That's just... that's just where it goes!"
Harry laughed, bright and real, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Because yes, they were still hiding, still running from hunters and dark clouds. But their love story was being preserved in these songs, in metaphors about ships coming home and finding places to hide and hands that couldn't help themselves.
"Hey Lou?" he murmured.
"Mm?"
"Want to push the furniture aside and dance?"
Louis groaned but was already standing, pulling Harry up with him. "You're going to be insufferable about these songs, aren't you?"
"Only until we're out of the woods," Harry grinned.
"I actually hate you," Louis said fondly, but his hand was already finding Harry's waist, muscle memory, home.
And as they swayed together in their cleared hotel room space, Harry thought about Taylor's words - about love being alive back from the dead, about being bulletproof together, about coming back to what you need. About how some loves left permanent marks, glowing in the dark.
Some stories couldn't be told outright. But they could be hidden in plain sight, in song lyrics and tattoos and hands that always found their way home.
Chapter 59: Present Day
Summary:
Louis celebrates his birthday with Harry and Freddie, who surprises him with a heartfelt song. As the night progresses, Louis revels in the joy of friends and family, including a surprise visit from Lottie. Harry creates a nightclub atmosphere at Keepmoat Stadium, where Louis and Harry enjoy a passionate moment together. The following morning, Louis prepares for charitable hospital visits with Harry and Oli while reflecting on his impactful relationships. As Louis relaxes at home, he feels the love and support of his fans, anchored by Harry's presence.
Chapter Text
Louis dozed against Harry's shoulder in the back of the car, trying not to focus too hard on where they might be heading. Freddie was practically vibrating with excitement beside him, having been sworn to secrecy about whatever Harry had planned.
"Almost there," Harry murmured, his fingers threading through Louis' hair.
Louis kept his eyes closed, content to exist in this moment - his son's eager energy, Harry's solid warmth, the quiet hum of the car. Thirty-three. Christ. Sometimes it felt like yesterday he was that scared kid at X-Factor, sometimes it felt like several lifetimes ago.
The car slowed, turned. Louis felt Harry shift slightly.
"Open your eyes, love."
Louis blinked, then sat up straight as he recognized the familiar approach to Keepmoat Stadium. His throat went tight immediately.
"Dad, look!" Freddie pointed eagerly as they pulled up to the entrance.
The stadium was lit up against the December darkness, but not with its usual harsh floodlights. Thousands of fairy lights twinkled along every surface, creating a soft golden glow that made the whole place look magical.
"Haz," Louis managed, his voice already rough.
Harry just smiled, sliding out of the car and offering his hand. As Louis stepped out, he could hear music drifting from inside - not the usual match day sounds, but something softer, more intimate.
"Come on," Harry tugged him forward, Freddie bouncing ahead of them.
Louis followed in a daze as they entered through the tunnel. The pitch opened up before them and he stopped dead, overwhelmed.
The entire stadium was transformed. Fairy lights draped every tier of seating, creating waves of golden light that rippled up into the dark sky. The pitch itself had been covered with what looked like a dance floor, surrounded by elegantly set tables. And the people...
"Lou!"
Suddenly he was being crushed in a hug by Calvin, then Oli was there, then Stan. His oldest friends, the ones who'd known him before everything, who'd stuck through it all.
"Happy birthday, mate!"
"Can't believe you're properly ancient now."
"Oi!" Louis protested weakly, but he was laughing, trying to hug them all at once.
"Louis!"
He turned just in time to catch Phoebe, Daisy right behind her. His baby sisters, not so baby anymore, both of them glowing.
"You made it," he breathed, holding them tight.
"'Course we did," Daisy sniffed. "Wouldn't miss it."
"Though someone else almost did."
Louis looked up at Phoebe's words and his heart stopped. Because there was Lottie, heavily pregnant, being carefully helped to a seat by her husband.
"Lots, I thought you couldn't travel right now," he choked out.
"Surprise," she smiled wetly. "Baby's not due for two weeks, I wasn't missing this. I'll probably pay for it later."
Louis made his way to her carefully, aware he was properly crying now. She pulled him down into a fierce hug.
"He did good, didn't he?" she whispered, nodding toward Harry who was watching from a distance, giving Louis space with his family.
"Yeah," Louis managed. "He really did."
The night unfolded like a dream. All his favorite foods appeared at perfectly timed intervals. The music was a carefully curated mix of everything he loved, from punk rock to old school hip hop to the cheesy pop he'd never admit to loving. His friends and family moved around him in a constant flow of love and laughter.
Louis was mid-laugh at something Stan had said when the music faded out. He turned to see Harry standing by the DJ booth, microphone in hand, looking nervous in a way Louis hadn't seen in years.
"Hi, everyone," Harry's voice carried across the stadium, deep and slow. "Thank you all for being here tonight."
The crowd quieted, gathering closer. Louis felt Oli's steadying hand on his shoulder.
"I had this whole speech planned," Harry continued, his dimple showing as he smiled. "About how Louis Tomlinson is the bravest person I've ever known. About how he faces every challenge head-on, how he loves so fiercely it takes your breath away."
Harry's eyes found Louis' across the space between them. "I was going to talk about how he's the best father, the most loyal friend, the strongest brother. How he makes everyone around him feel special just by being himself."
Louis' vision blurred as Harry's voice roughened. "But then I realized - you all already know that. Everyone in this stadium tonight is here because they've experienced that love, that loyalty, that strength. We're all here because Louis Tomlinson changed our lives just by being in them."
Harry paused, swallowing hard. "So instead of telling you what you already know, I thought I'd share something new. Something that shows exactly who Louis is through the eyes of someone who loves him most."
The opening notes were soft - a piano melody that made Louis' breath catch. Then Freddie's voice filled the stadium:
"My dad's like... he's kind of magic, you know? Even when he's far away, he makes everything better."
The voice was layered over the music perfectly, Freddie's LA accent clear and sweet. More piano notes, then:
"Sometimes I miss him so much it hurts. But then he'll call and make these stupid jokes and do all these funny voices and suddenly everything's okay again."
Louis spun to find Freddie, who was grinning from between Daisy and Phoebe, clearly in on it the whole time.
"He always says 'I love you to the moon and back' but that's not far enough, 'cause sometimes he has to go further than the moon. So I say 'I love you to infinity' and he says 'Plus one' and that means he'll always come back."
The music swelled, other instruments joining in as Freddie's voice continued, talking about football matches watched over FaceTime, about late night calls when he couldn't sleep, about how his dad made him feel brave even when they were apart.
"And now Harry's back and Dad's smiling all the time again. Like, real smiles, not the tired ones. And I remember when I was little, they used to sing me to sleep together. I pretended to be asleep but I could hear them laughing in the hallway after. I think... I think that's what love sounds like."
Louis was openly crying now, Harry's arms suddenly around him from behind.
"My dad's a superhero," Freddie's voice declared confidently as the music built to a crescendo. "But like, a secret one. The kind that saves people just by loving them. And I'm really lucky 'cause I get to be his son."
The music gentled back to those opening piano notes as Freddie's voice softened: "I love you to infinity, Dad."
The last notes faded into silence. Louis turned in Harry's arms, unable to speak.
"Plus one," Harry whispered, wiping Louis' tears with his thumbs.
Then Freddie crashed into them both, and Louis dropped to his knees to hold his son properly, while Harry's hand stayed steady on his back, anchoring them all together under the thousands of twinkling lights.
The silence held for one breathless moment before the stadium erupted. Louis could hear Lottie sobbing (though she'd blame it on hormones later), Oli and Calvin whistling loudly, Stan shouting something that was lost in the general chaos. But it was Luke's "Fucking hell, Styles!" that broke the tension, making everyone laugh through their tears.
Freddie pulled back from Louis' embrace, looking uncertain. "Was it okay?"
"Okay?" Louis choked out. "Come here, you absolute legend." He pulled Freddie close again, pressing kisses to his hair. "Best birthday present ever. How long have you been plotting this with these two menaces?" He gestured at Harry and the twins.
"Since yesterday," Freddie grinned, proud now. "Aunt Phoebe said we had to do it when you weren't around, and Harry's friend helped make it sound good."
"Proper brilliant is what it was," Louis managed, finally standing but keeping an arm around Freddie's shoulders.
The crowd surged forward then - more hugs, more tears, more exclamations about the song. Louis watched as person after person pulled Harry into fierce embraces, saw Lottie grab Harry's hand and say something that made his eyes go wet.
As the initial excitement settled, Louis noticed Freddie trying to hide his yawns.
"Alright love?" he asked softly.
"'m not tired," Freddie protested immediately, but he was swaying slightly where he stood.
Lottie waddled over (though Louis knew better than to use that word). "Think that's my cue. Lewis' already has the car ready."
"You don't have to-" Louis started.
"Please," Lottie cut him off. "I need my bed and this one," she ruffled Freddie's hair, "needs his sleep. Everyone is coming to mines tomorrow anyway. Besides," she smirked, "I have a feeling the next part of the evening isn't exactly child-friendly."
Harry appeared as if summoned. "Got his overnight bag in the car already. And the security detail is ready."
Of course he'd thought of everything. Louis hugged Freddie tight, breathing in the smell of his hair. "Thank you for my song, darling. Best present ever."
"Love you to infinity," Freddie mumbled against his chest.
"Plus one," Louis whispered back. "Always."
He watched as Lewis helped both Lottie and Freddie into the car, waited until they'd disappeared into the night. When he turned back, the atmosphere had already shifted.
The soft lighting had taken on a different quality - less romantic, more club-like. The DJ was setting up something new, and Louis spotted several familiar faces from various clubs in London joining the crowd.
"Phase two?" he asked Harry, who was watching him with dark eyes.
"If you're up for it."
Louis pulled him close by his shirt front. "Always up for it with you, love."
The music shifted dramatically - heavy bass thrumming through the stadium as bottles appeared from somewhere. Louis recognized the opening notes of one of their old favorites from nights out in LA.
"Did you seriously turn Keepmoat into a nightclub?" he shouted over the music.
Harry's grin was wicked. "Maybe!" He pressed a shot into Louis' hand. "Drink up, birthday boy!"
The night blurred into flashes after that - dancing with Calvin and Oli like they were twenty again, Harry's hands on his hips, the twins showing off moves that made Louis want to cover his eyes, Stan trying to recreate their old choreography and failing spectacularly.
At some point, Louis found himself in the center of it all, Harry plastered against his back, moving together like no one was watching (though everyone definitely was). The music pounded through him, the vodka sang in his veins, and Harry's lips found that spot behind his ear that made him shiver.
"Having a good birthday?" Harry's voice was rough in his ear.
Louis turned in his arms, pulled him down into a proper kiss, ignoring the whoops and whistles around them. "Best one yet," he said against Harry's lips. "Take me home?"
Harry's eyes darkened. "Not done with you yet, birthday boy."
And as Harry pulled him back into the dance, Louis thought hazily that thirty-three was shaping up to be a very good year indeed.
As midnight approached, Harry caught Louis' eye across the dance floor, tilting his head subtly toward the tunnel. Louis felt his pulse quicken at the familiar mischievous glint in Harry's eyes.
They slipped away from the crowd, the music fading to a distant thrum as they made their way through the familiar corridors. Louis' heart was racing, remembering countless similar escapes in venues across the world.
The locker room was pitch black when they first entered, until Harry found the switch. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed to life, casting stark shadows across the tile walls.
"Bit different from Wembley," Louis joked, voice rough as Harry crowded him against the wall.
"Shut up," Harry murmured, already sinking to his knees. "It's your birthday."
"Almost," Louis managed, breath hitching as Harry's fingers found his belt. "Few more minutes."
Harry glanced up, eyes dark. "Then I better make them count."
The music was just a distant pulse now, matched by Louis' racing heart as Harry showed him exactly how special this birthday was going to be.
Later, significantly more disheveled, they slipped back into the party. Calvin raised an eyebrow at Louis' flushed face but said nothing, just handed them both fresh drinks as the celebration continued around them.
Harry's satisfied smirk lasted the rest of the night.
The harsh December morning light filtered through the curtains of Louis' grandparents' spare room. His head throbbed slightly - more from exhaustion than alcohol - as he carefully extracted himself from Harry's arms.
"Time is it?" Harry mumbled, reaching for him.
"Half six," Louis whispered. "Got to be at the hospital by eight."
Harry's eyes opened fully then, understanding dawning. "Want me to make coffee while you shower?"
Louis pressed a kiss to his temple. "Please. Need to look somewhat presentable."
While Louis showered, he mentally reviewed the list he'd memorized. Timothy, age 6, terminal leukemia, obsessed with dinosaurs - Louis had found a rare animatronic T-Rex that actually responded to voice commands. Sarah, 12, going on her third year in long-term care, loved art - he'd gotten her professional-grade supplies and convinced a local artist to give her virtual lessons.
He dressed carefully - comfortable but put-together. The parents needed to trust him, to know he took this seriously.
Downstairs, Harry had coffee and toast waiting. Oli was already there, laptop open, triple-checking delivery schedules and gift locations.
"Everything's sorted," Oli assured him. "All 47 presents are labeled and organized by ward. I've got the special delivery for Jenny's room..." he trailed off, seeing Louis' face tighten.
Jenny was nine. This would be her third Christmas in the hospital. Last year she'd barely been able to speak, but she'd lit up at the fairy lights Louis had strung around her room. Her mom had told him yesterday that this would likely be Jenny's last Christmas.
"Added extra lights this year," Oli said softly. "The color-changing ones she liked from the catalog."
Louis nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Harry's hand found his under the table, squeezing gently.
"I'll wait in the car," Harry said quietly. They both knew he couldn't go in - it would draw too much attention, and this wasn't about them. This was about the kids, about giving them one bright moment in the midst of their struggles.
The drive was silent, Louis reviewing his mental notes about each child. He knew their stories, their fears, their hopes. Knew which ones put on brave faces for their parents, which ones were angry at the world, which ones just wanted to feel normal for a moment.
In the hospital parking lot, Harry pulled him close before he got out. "You're amazing," he whispered. "I'll be here when you're done."
Louis pressed their foreheads together briefly, drawing strength. Then he straightened, nodded to Oli, and headed inside.
No cameras would capture the next few hours. No one outside would know about the mother who broke down crying when Louis remembered her son's favorite superhero, or the teenager who finally smiled for the first time in weeks when she opened her new guitar, or the tiny boy who insisted on showing Louis every single dinosaur fact he'd learned since last Christmas.
And if Louis had to step into the stairwell occasionally to compose himself, if some of the presents were slightly damp from tears as he handed them out, if he held some of the parents longer than strictly necessary - well, that was between him and the quiet hospital halls.
Because this wasn't about being Louis Tomlinson, celebrity. This was about being human, about showing these families fighting the hardest battles that they weren't alone. That someone remembered them, cared about their stories, wanted to bring a bit of light to their darkest days.
And when he finally emerged hours later, emotionally drained but knowing he'd done what he could, Harry was there waiting, ready to hold him while he processed it all. Ready to listen as Louis told him about Jenny's smile when she saw the lights, about Timothy's dinosaur roar, about Sarah's newest paintings.
Ready to love him through the weight of it all, and help him carry the hope that next Christmas, some of these rooms would be empty - not because of tragedy, but because their occupants had finally gone home.
Louis had barely managed to process the emotional morning at the hospital before they were herding Gran and Grandad toward their coats, Harry quietly packing up the few overnight things they'd brought.
"You're sure you don't want to stay?" Gran asked for the third time, watching Louis adjust his cream cardigan. "It's not too late to do Christmas like we always have..."
"Lots can't travel, Gran," Louis reminded her gently. "And the little ones should wake up in their own homes on Christmas morning. Start their own traditions, yeah?"
She nodded, but her eyes were suspiciously bright. Louis pretended not to notice as he helped Grandad with his scarf.
"Besides," Harry added softly, "you'll have everyone at Lottie's tonight. And FaceTime tomorrow."
"It's not the same," Grandad said gruffly, but he squeezed Harry's shoulder as he passed.
The drive to Lottie's was a parade of cars - Gran and Grandad following Louis and Harry, who followed Daisy and Phoebe, their little convoy winding through the streets like a string of Christmas lights, all still connected even as they stretched in different directions.
Lottie answered the door in what appeared to be three different Christmas jumpers layered over each other. "Before anyone asks, it's hormones," she announced. "I'm cold and emotional about everything."
The house was chaos - exactly as Christmas Eve should be. Lewis was attempting to wrangle Lucky while simultaneously checking the turkey. The twins were supposedly helping in the kitchen but seemed to be mostly taking photos for their social media. Phoebe's boyfriend was entertaining Olive with some rather dramatic puppet shows using her stuffed animals. Freddie, who'd stayed over with his cousins the night before, was already deep in some elaborate game he'd invented with Lucky and Olive, involving what looked like a complex system of pillow forts.
Louis caught Daisy very deliberately arranging his cardigan over the back of Gran's empty chair, angling her phone just so.
"Really?" he asked, amused. "Baiting the fans on Christmas Eve?"
"What?" she asked innocently. "It's a nice cardigan. Very aesthetic. The fact that it might drive Tumblr insane trying to decode the meaning of 'pleasure is pain' is purely coincidental."
"Just keep H out of frame," he warned, but he was grinning. Let them analyze his fashion choices. It was practically a holiday tradition at this point.
The dinner itself was lovely - if slightly chaotic. There were tears (mostly Lottie), laughter (mostly at Lottie's tears), and several near-disasters with the gravy boat. But beneath the noise and chaos was an undercurrent of bittersweetness.
Tomorrow morning, Louis and Harry would wake up in their own home, FaceTime the family while they opened presents, then head to Holmes Chapel to spend the day with Anne, Gemma, her husband and their little one. Freddie would be waking up in LA with his mum, opening the presents they'd carefully packed in his carry-on. Lottie would stay put with her growing brood. Phoebe would do Christmas morning with just her little family. They were growing up, spreading out, creating their own traditions.
"You okay?" Harry murmured, finding Louis staring at his empty plate.
"Yeah," Louis said softly. "Just... end of an era, innit?"
Harry squeezed his knee under the table. "Beginning of a new one though."
Louis looked around the table - at Gran showing Lucky how to fold napkins into shapes that the toddler immediately crumpled, at Lottie and Daisy conspiring in the corner, at Phoebe helping Olive carefully cut her turkey while her boyfriend made faces to keep the little one giggling. Freddie was telling an elaborate story about his video game, complete with sound effects that had Lucky in fits of giggles. Different, yes. But still family. Still love.
"Yeah," he agreed, leaning into Harry slightly. "New beginnings."
Daisy's phone buzzed repeatedly - presumably her Snapchat blowing up over the cardigan reveal. Louis caught her eye and winked. Some things would never change - like his sister's ability to cause chaos with a single photo, or the fans' dedication to analyzing every detail of their lives.
But some things had to change, had to grow. Like families expanding, like children creating their own Christmas memories, like love taking new shapes while keeping its core intact.
Besides, Louis thought as Harry's hand found his under the table, some changes were definitely worth it. Even if it meant having to say goodbye to Freddie early, watching him wave excitedly from the security line at the airport later that night, overnight bag packed with carefully wrapped presents to open on Christmas morning in LA. The goodbyes were worth it to see his son's face light up as he tried to teach his baby cousins the proper way to build a house out of dinner napkins, to know that he was loved and celebrated in all his homes. Especially the one home that had always been his true home. The one that wasn't a place, but a person.
Back home, Louis sprawled across their sofa, head in Harry's lap while he scrolled through his phone. The house was quiet now - almost too quiet after the chaos of dinner and the emotional airport goodbye with Freddie.
"'The talented Louis Tomlinson,'" he read out, showing Harry his screen. "Since when do MTV and Radio 1 call me talented in their birthday posts?"
Harry's fingers carded through his hair. "Have you seen what your fans are doing though? That compilation of all your self-written bridges is actually incredible."
"Yeah," Louis said softly, watching a fan-made video that tracked his journey from X-Factor to now. "They've always been like that though, haven't they? Dead supportive. Think I've seen about fifty different edits of that bit from Made in the A.M. sessions where I'm working out the 'Home' harmonies."
"The one where you're conducting with a teacup?" Harry grinned. "That's because it's adorable. And brilliant."
Louis hummed, typing out his tweet: "Thank you for all the birthday messages! Been a lovely day with family. Sending love to you all. Have a great day tomorrow"
He scrolled through the responses, shaking his head fondly at the flood of fan photos and video edits. "Look at this - someone's made a whole thread of every time I've talked about writing 'Copy of a Copy of a Copy.' Proper detailed, that."
"They've always known how good you are," Harry said softly. "Remember that fan project where they tracked down every song you'd ever written, even the unreleased ones?"
"Still can't believe they found that demo from 2012. Think I'd forgotten about it myself."
His phone buzzed with more birthday messages - media outlets keeping it simple with "talented" and "star," but his fans filling in all the spaces between with their endless encyclopedic knowledge of his career, their passionate defenses of his artistry, their pure love for not just his music but him as a person.
"This one's got every time I've ever mentioned Sheffield Wednesday," Louis laughed. "With timestamps!"
"That's nothing - remember the spreadsheet they made of every song you've ever referenced as an influence?"
"Could probably write my biography at this point, couldn't they?"
Harry pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. "They already have. Several times. With citations."
"Massive nerds, the lot of them," Louis said fondly, already feeling sleep tugging at him. It had been a long day - hospital visits and family dinners and airport goodbyes. But a good day. A proper birthday.
His phone buzzed one more time, but he left it. The industry's simple acknowledgments were nice, but it was the fans - with their meticulous documentation of every lyric, every laugh, every small moment that made him who he was - who'd always seen him clearly. Them, and Harry, who'd never needed convincing. That was worth more than any official recognition in the world.
Chapter 60: February 2020
Summary:
Louis watches Harry's Adore You video in his studio, grappling with memories and emotions while drinking alone. When Oli advises Louis to talk to Harry instead of wallowing, a call from Harry disrupts his thoughts. They argue about their past and current situations, and Louis admits he misses Harry. They agree to meet at their secret house, where they share an intense reunion, wrapped in bittersweet love and longing, before retreating to a day of stolen moments, knowing their reality awaits.
Chapter Text
Louis sat cross-legged on the floor of his home studio, empty shot glass beside him, watching the Adore You video play for what had to be the hundredth time. 3 AM and he was here again, torturing himself with Harry's elaborate metaphors, with the way he'd built an entire fictional world just to tell their story.
The studio still smelled faintly of Harry's cologne from three weeks ago - one of those nights when they'd both been in London, both been drunk enough to pretend they could handle just one more time. He'd pushed Harry against these same walls, desperate and angry and so fucking in love it hurt. Then watched him leave again in the morning, both of them pretending they wouldn't repeat this destructive dance the next time loneliness won out over pride.
Now, Louis traced his finger over Leeds on the Eroda map, remembering that festival, that night when everything felt possible. Before the contracts, before the beards, before they'd learned how to hurt each other with surgical precision.
"You're torturing yourself," Oli's voice cut through his thoughts. "Again."
Louis didn't look up from where Harry was cradling that damn fish on screen. "Did you know he put Leeds on the map? Right there in the corner, like a fucking signature."
"Course he did." Oli's sigh was heavy with years of watching this tragedy unfold. "When has Harry ever done anything subtle?"
The fish was outgrowing its tank now. Louis took another drink, straight from the bottle this time.
"He had to let it go," he said, voice rough from whiskey and unshed tears. "The fish. Had to set it free because it kept growing. Kept getting too big for where he was trying to keep it." His laugh was bitter. "Bit fucking obvious, that."
"Lou-"
"What? Going to tell me it wasn't like that?" Louis finally looked at his friend, eyes burning. "Going to remind me how young we were? How scared? How we let them tear us apart piece by fucking piece?"
"You were kids," Oli said quietly. "They took advantage-"
"And now we're grown and still playing their game." Louis gestured down the hallway to the room where Eleanor stayed when she spent time there. "Still pretending. Still hiding. Just with more expensive chains."
His phone buzzed - Harry's name lighting up the screen. Another video, this time Falling.
"Don't watch it alone," Oli warned, already backing away. "And maybe try actually talking to him instead of whatever this is - drinking alone and analyzing his music videos at 3 AM."
Louis waited until Oli's footsteps faded before pressing play. The opening piano notes filled the room, and there was Harry - wearing silk the exact shade of Louis' eyes, the same blue he'd been obsessed with since they were teenagers sharing a flat in Princess Park.
He watched Harry drown in slow motion, in a room filling with water, singing words that felt like confessions. Like apologies. Like everything they'd never managed to say sober.
By the end, Louis was properly crying, chest tight with too many emotions to name. His hands shook as he pressed call, muscle memory taking over before his brain could stop him.
Harry answered immediately. "Lou?"
"You absolute bastard," Louis choked out, the words wet with tears and whiskey. "You fucking bastard."
A pause filled with shared breathing. Then, softly: "Did you watch it?"
"Course I watched it. Watch everything you send me, don't I? Even when it feels like getting my heart ripped out. Even when I know we're just going to end up drunk and desperate in some hotel room, pretending we can fix this."
"Lou," Harry's voice was rough, like maybe he'd been drinking too. "I didn't- I wasn't trying to hurt you."
"No?" Louis took another drink, letting the burn steady him. "Just wanted to show the whole world how I dragged you down? How loving me was like drowning?"
"That's not-" Harry made a frustrated sound. "You know that's not what it means."
"Do I? Because from where I'm sitting, watching you literally drown in my fucking eye color seems pretty fucking clear."
"It's about drowning without you," Harry snapped, composure finally cracking. "About how fucking lost I am when we're apart, when we're pretending, when I have to watch you play house with-"
"Don't," Louis warned. "Don't you dare make this about her when you're the one who-"
"Who what? Who couldn't handle watching you slowly destroy yourself trying to protect me? Who couldn't keep pretending everything was fine while they systematically broke you down?"
Louis' laugh was bitter. "Right, because running away to LA and fucking your way through Hollywood was so noble. Such a brave stand against management."
"At least I'm honest about who I am," Harry shot back. "At least I'm not still playing their perfect straight boy puppet-"
"Fuck you," Louis' voice shook. "You have no idea what I've sacrificed to-"
"To what? Keep their secrets? Keep their contracts? Keep pretending you're in love with someone else while we both slowly lose our minds?"
The truth of it hit like a physical blow. Louis pressed his forehead against his knees, suddenly exhausted.
"I miss you," he whispered, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Even when I hate you, I fucking miss you."
Harry's breath hitched. "Lou..."
"Don't. Don't do that thing where you get soft and I forget why I'm angry and we end up-"
"End up what?" Harry's voice dropped lower. "End up like three weeks ago? When you pushed me against that wall and-"
"Stop."
"When you marked up my neck and told me I was still yours-"
"Harry, I swear to God-"
"When you fucked me until we both forgot everything except-"
"I'm leaving El," Louis blurted out, effectively shutting Harry up. The silence that followed was deafening.
Finally, Harry spoke, voice carefully controlled: "What?"
"Well, not publicly obviously," Louis ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Can't break contract. But... I'm moving out of the Barnett house. Told her today. Said unless management requires it for photos, I don't want her on tour."
More silence. Then: "Why now?"
Louis looked at his laptop screen, paused on Harry drowning in blue silk. "Because I'm tired. Because your album is breaking my heart. Because I'm about to release mine and every fucking song is about you and I can't-" his voice cracked. "I can't."
"Lou," Harry's voice was barely audible, fragile in a way Louis hadn't heard since they were teenagers. "Are you drunk?"
"Bit," Louis admitted. "Doesn't make it less true."
"Last time..." Harry trailed off, and Louis could picture him biting his lip, choosing his words carefully. "Last time you said something like this, you disappeared for three months."
The accusation stung, mostly because it was fair. "That was different. We were different."
"Were we?" Harry's laugh was hollow. "I mean, we're still just as fucked up. Still hiding. Still hurting each other. Still ending up naked and desperate whenever we're in the same city."
"You think I don't know that?" Louis pressed his palm against his eyes. "You think I don't hate myself every time I let you walk away? Every time I go back to that fucking house and play happy couples for the cameras?"
"Then why now?" Harry's voice cracked. "Why after all this time?"
"Because you built a whole fucking island just to tell our story," Louis' voice was raw. "Because you're drowning yourself in my colors. Because every song on my album screams your name and I can't... I can't keep pretending it's fiction."
"I land in London tomorrow morning," Harry said softly. "Early. Before the paps set up for the day."
Louis' grip tightened on his phone. "Thought you were in LA until next week."
"Changed it after your voice note about Walls." A pause. "And after El tweeted about heading to New York."
Of course he'd seen that. The very public announcement of her 'business trip' - careful breadcrumbs laid to explain her absence while Louis promoted his album.
"She's not happy," Louis admitted, thinking of their fight just hours ago. The way she'd slammed around their public house, throwing designer clothes into suitcases while Oli hovered awkwardly in the doorway.
"You're fucking everything up," she'd hissed. "All these years of careful planning-"
"Careful planning?" Louis had laughed bitterly. "You mean careful pretending? Careful lies?"
"You're just going to run back like you always do when he's done with you. But one day - one day you'll have properly done it in. You'll have nothing to come back to because you insist on throwing away everything we've built."
"Built?" Louis had stepped closer, voice dropping dangerously. "You mean everything they forced us to build? The perfect little house, the perfect little relationship, the perfect fucking prison?"
She'd slapped him then. Not hard - they both knew better than to leave marks - but enough to make her point.
"You're going to regret this," she'd warned, wheeling her suitcase toward the door. "When he breaks your heart again, when management comes down on both of you-"
"Just go to New York, El," he'd said tiredly. "Focus on building your own life instead of playing a role in mine. You'll need a proper career one of these days when your contract finally ends."
Now, hours later, Harry's voice pulled him back to the present: "Meet me at Great Budworth?"
Louis' heart stuttered. Their house - the real one. The one buried in the countryside, protected by about fifteen different shell companies and more security than the crown jewels. The one place they'd never let go of, even during their worst periods of not speaking.
"Yeah," Louis breathed. "Yeah, okay."
"Don't overthink it," Harry said softly. "Just... be there when I land? Have the lights on?"
"Like always," Louis whispered.
He had hours to drive up to their real home, their secret home, where no cameras watched and no one could script their movements. Hours to decide if they were really brave enough this time.
His phone buzzed - a text from Harry: Already packed. Don't run. Don't overthink. Just come home.
Home. Such a simple word for such a complicated thing.
The next night Louis drove through the darkness, muscle memory guiding him along familiar back roads they'd only traveled a handful of times each year - precious stolen moments when schedules and secrets aligned. The house was exactly as they'd left it months ago - pristine thanks to Mrs. Whitaker, the elderly widow from the village who kept it ready just in case, never asking questions about the two young men who appeared and disappeared like ghosts.
Just in case they ever got brave enough. Just in case they ever got tired enough of pretending.
He let himself in through the service entrance, punching in the code (2894). The house smelled like fresh polish and baking - Mrs. Whitaker must have been by recently, keeping up her routine of making it feel lived-in enough not to draw attention.
Louis moved through the rooms slowly, turning on lights, touching familiar surfaces. The piano where they'd written together during that week in 2017. The sofa where they'd fallen asleep watching movies last spring. The kitchen where Mrs. Whitaker always left them homemade bread,.
He looked down at his phone, checking the last text he'd gotten from Harry hours ago.
Harry: Just boarded. Try to sleep? x
Louis snorted. Sleep. Right. As if he could sleep when everything felt balanced on a knife's edge. Instead, he wandered upstairs to their bedroom. The bed was made with fresh sheets - pale blue, because Harry had never been subtle about his obsessions. Louis ran his fingers over the cotton, thinking of three weeks ago in his Barnett studio, how desperate they'd been, how they'd pretended it was enough.
He settled onto the window seat in the bedroom - the one that overlooked the overgrown garden they never had time to properly tend. In a few hours, the sun would rise over those wild roses. In a few hours, Harry would land and make the drive up here.
For now though, Louis just watched the darkness and waited for dawn, knowing sleep wouldn't come until Harry was there.
Louis watched from the window as Harry's Range Rover crawled up the dark drive, headlights cutting through the pre-dawn mist. His heart slammed against his ribs - the same desperate rhythm it had kept since he was eighteen, since the first time Harry had smiled at him and rearranged his entire universe.
The sound of the front door opening echoed through the silent house. Louis couldn't move, frozen at the top of the stairs, listening to Harry's familiar footsteps in the entryway below. How many times had they done this? Stolen moments in hidden places, pretending they could outrun everything chasing them?
When he finally forced himself to descend the stairs, Harry was standing in the moonlit foyer, looking up at him with those impossible eyes - the ones that had launched a thousand metaphors, the ones Louis had spent years trying to capture in lyrics.
"Lou," Harry breathed, and that was all it took.
Louis didn't remember moving. One moment he was on the stairs, the next he had Harry pressed against the wall, kissing him like he was dying, like he was drowning, like Harry was air and water and salvation all at once. Harry made a broken sound against his mouth, hands coming up to grip Louis' hips with bruising force.
"Fucking hate you," Louis gasped between desperate kisses, but his hands were gentle as they tangled in Harry's hair. "Hate what you do to me-"
"I know," Harry panted, arching as Louis' mouth found his throat. "I know, I'm sorry, I'm so-"
"Don't," Louis bit down, making Harry whine. "Don't apologize. Just- fuck, H, just-"
He couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't find words for the storm raging in his chest - love and anger and fear and want all tangled up together until he couldn't breathe with it.
Harry seemed to understand anyway. He always had. Always knew how to read the things Louis couldn't say.
"I'm here," he whispered, pulling Louis impossibly closer. "I'm here, I'm here."
Louis wanted to scream. Wanted to remind him that he wouldn't stay, that they'd wake up tomorrow and have to go back to pretending. Instead, he kissed Harry harder, trying to memorize the taste of him, the feel of him, the quiet sounds he made when Louis touched him just right.
They'd destroy each other again tomorrow. But for now, in this house where no one could find them, they could pretend they were just two people in love.
They stumbled up the stairs, unable to let go of each other long enough to move properly. Louis' back hit the wall at the landing, Harry pressing against him like he was trying to crawl inside his skin.
"Your fucking album," Louis groaned as Harry's mouth found that spot behind his ear. "Every song- Christ, H."
"Yours too," Harry's voice was wrecked. "Been listening to the rough cuts for weeks. Torturing myself with them."
Louis tangled his fingers in Harry's hair, yanking his head back to look at him properly. In the dim light filtering through the windows, Harry's eyes were wild, desperate.
"Did you have to make a whole fucking island?" Louis demanded, something raw in his voice. "Did you have to make it so obvious?"
Harry's laugh was more like a sob. "Says the man who wrote All Along? You want to talk about obvious?"
"Fuck you," Louis kissed him again, hard enough to hurt. "Fuck you for making me love you like this."
"Like what?" Harry's hands slid under Louis' shirt, familiar calluses mapping old paths.
"Like I can't breathe without you," Louis admitted into the skin of Harry's throat. "Like I'd rather hurt with you than be okay with anyone else."
Harry shuddered against him. "Lou-"
"Take me to bed," Louis cut him off before either of them could say more dangerous things. "Need you- fuck, always need you-"
They crashed through the bedroom door, months of separation and years of pretending making them clumsy with urgency. The pale blue sheets were cool against Louis' back as Harry pressed him into the mattress, both of them fighting with buttons and zips.
"Missed you," Harry breathed against Louis' collarbone. "Missed you, missed you-"
Louis arched up, desperate for more contact. "Show me. Show me how much-"
In the end, it was almost unbearably gentle. For all their desperate urgency, Harry touched him like he was something precious, something sacred. His hands trembled as they traced paths they'd known for years, relearning every mark and scar.
"Look at me," Harry whispered, and Louis had to close his eyes against the intensity of it. "Lou, please-"
"Can't," Louis' voice cracked. "You know I can't-"
Because looking at Harry now, in their bed, in their house, would undo him completely. Would make him forget about contracts and careers and careful lies. Would make him want to burn down everything they'd spent years building.
Harry pressed their foreheads together, his breath shaky against Louis' lips. "Then feel me. Feel how much I-"
"Don't say it," Louis begged, fingers digging into Harry's shoulders. "Please don't-"
But Harry was already moving, slow and deep and devastating, making Louis feel everything he couldn't say. Every thrust was a confession, every kiss a promise they couldn't keep.
Louis broke first, Harry's name torn from his throat like a prayer. Harry followed moments later, face buried in Louis' neck, tears hot against his skin.
They lay tangled together afterward, hearts racing in sync, neither willing to be the first to move. To break the spell. To remember the world outside.
"Stay," Harry whispered into the morning light. "Just... stay this time."
Louis pressed his face into Harry's hair, breathing him in. Memorizing this moment to get him through the months ahead.
"You know I can't."
"We could-"
"H," Louis' voice was gentle. "Don't. Please."
Harry's arms tightened around him. "One day?"
"One day," Louis agreed, the same promise they'd been making for years. "When it's all over. When we're free."
They both pretended to believe it.
They dozed fitfully as dawn broke, trading slow kisses and softer touches, neither willing to waste precious time on sleep. Around mid-morning, Louis slipped downstairs to make tea, returning to find Harry sprawled across their bed, morning light turning his skin golden.
"Stop looking at me like that," Harry murmured without opening his eyes.
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to memorize me."
Louis set the mugs down harder than necessary. "Maybe I am."
Harry rolled onto his side, watching Louis with those impossible eyes. "We have time. Today, at least."
"Do we?" Louis' laugh was bitter. "Got that interview tomorrow. Eleanor's in New York having a proper strop about me being here. Management's probably already-"
"Stop," Harry sat up, sheets pooling around his waist. "Just... stop. For one day, can we pretend none of that exists?"
Louis wanted to argue. Wanted to remind Harry that pretending hadn't gotten them anywhere good. But Harry was looking at him with such raw hope that he felt his resolve crumbling.
"One day," he agreed softly, climbing back into bed. "What do you want to do with it?"
Harry's smile was blinding. "Everything. Nothing. Just... be here. With you."
So they stayed in bed until hunger drove them to the kitchen, where Harry made breakfast while Louis perched on the counter, stealing bites and trading stories they'd missed in each other's lives. They played piano in the sitting room, Harry working out new melodies while Louis added lyrics, both pretending they weren't writing about each other again.
In the afternoon, they walked through the overgrown gardens, shoulders brushing, talking about everything and nothing. Harry told stories about LA that carefully avoided mentioning anyone who might make Louis tense up. Louis talked about the tour he was planning, deliberately not mentioning who would be coming with him.
As dusk fell, they ended up back in bed, moving together with less urgency now but no less intensity. Every touch was weighted with tomorrow, with goodbye, with all the things they couldn't say.
When exhaustion finally claimed them, Louis slept deeper than he had in months, Harry's heartbeat steady under his ear, their legs tangled together like they'd never learned to sleep apart.
The morning light filtered through the study's windows as Louis adjusted his earbuds, settling in for what he knew would be a lengthy interview. He'd chosen this room carefully - neutral beige wall behind him, nothing identifiable in frame. Professional. Controlled. Safe.
Then Harry appeared in the doorway.
Shirtless, hair still damp from their shared shower, wearing nothing but those obscenely low-slung grey joggers that Louis had always wanted to burn. Their eyes met over the laptop screen, and Harry's lips curved into that slow, devastating smile that had been ruining Louis' life for over a decade.
"You look great today, Louis. You look fresh - I like it!"
Louis couldn't help the genuine grin that spread across his face as he glanced behind the camera, where Harry was now mouthing absolutely filthy promises. "Yeah, had a good night's sleep finally last night."
Twenty minutes in, Harry decided to stretch, arms raised overhead, muscles rippling, joggers slipping even lower on his hips. Louis licked his lips unconsciously, then caught himself, dropping his eyes to his keyboard as heat flooded his face. When he looked back up, he had to physically swallow before he could speak, fighting to contain the smile that threatened to break free.
Thirty minutes passed in a blur of professional answers and increasingly less professional glances. Harry had settled into the armchair across the room, sprawled out like sin incarnate, occasionally running his fingers through his hair or along his chest in ways that made Louis lose his train of thought mid-sentence.
Forty-five minutes in, Louis had found a rhythm, trading stories about songwriting and tour preparations while stealing glances at Harry between answers. He was relaxed, genuine, smiling more than he usually did in interviews. Every time his eyes drifted off camera, his whole face softened with barely contained joy.
Then the interviewer mentioned Eleanor.
The change was subtle but immediate. Louis' smile froze, the light in his eyes dimming as reality intruded on their perfect morning. His gaze found Harry's automatically, seeking anchor, and found him suddenly still, that playful energy evaporating.
Louis forced himself through the answer, something rehearsed about privacy and respect, his voice steady even as his fingers curled tightly around his knee, out of frame. Harry remained in the armchair, no longer teasing, just watching Louis with that intense focus that held a decade of understanding.
The final twelve minutes of the interview felt endless. Louis kept his eyes trained carefully on the screen, knowing if he looked at Harry now, everyone would see exactly what they were trying to hide. His answers became shorter, more professional, the warmth from earlier replaced with practiced precision.
The moment the call ended, before the laptop had even fully closed, Louis was out of his chair. Harry met him halfway, their bodies crashing together with enough force to knock the breath from Louis' lungs. Harry's hands came up to frame his face as Louis fisted his fingers in Harry's hair, pulling him down into a desperate kiss.
"I'm sorry," Harry breathed against his lips, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"Shut up," Louis growled, biting at his lower lip. "Just- shut up."
Harry backed them into the wall, hands sliding under Louis' jumper as Louis wrapped a leg around his waist. There was an edge to it now, something desperate and defiant that always seemed to surface after moments like these - when the reality of their situation crashed up against the fantasy they'd built in stolen moments.
"Looked so good during that interview," Harry murmured against his neck, voice rough. "Trying to be professional while I-"
"You're such a menace," Louis gasped, head falling back against the wall as Harry's teeth grazed his pulse point. "Could've ruined everything-"
"But I didn't." Harry's smile was wicked against his skin. "You held it together. Mostly."
Louis tugged sharply at Harry's hair in retaliation, drawing a low groan that sent heat spiraling through his body. "You're going to pay for that stretch thing."
"Yeah?" Harry pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, pupils blown wide. "Seemed like you enjoyed it though."
The knowing smirk on his face made Louis want to simultaneously kiss him and smack him. He settled for both, pulling him into a bruising kiss while digging his nails into Harry's bare shoulders.
They shouldn't get off on this - the secrecy, the risk, the thrill of almost getting caught. Shouldn't find it hot that millions would analyze that interview, never knowing that just out of frame...
Harry's hands tightened on his hips, and Louis stopped thinking altogether.
Later, sprawled across the study's couch with Harry's head on his chest, Louis traced idle patterns along his skin. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting long shadows across their tangled limbs. The laptop sat forgotten on the desk, screen dark - evidence of another performance completed, another mask carefully maintained.
"Think anyone noticed?" Harry murmured against his skin, voice lazy with contentment.
"God, I hope not." Louis tugged lightly at Harry's curls, earning a pleased hum. "You're terrible, you know that?"
"Mmm, but you love it." Harry lifted his head just enough to flash that dimpled smirk.
Louis shoved at his shoulder, fighting back a smile. "Shut up."
Harry caught his hand, pressing kisses to his knuckles, his wrist, the inside of his arm. "Make me."
The challenge in his eyes sent heat coursing through Louis' veins again. They shouldn't want this - the secrecy, the dance of almost getting caught, the thrill of fooling everyone.
But as Harry moved up his body with devastating intent, Louis decided they'd done enough of what they should do for one day.
Besides, they had the whole afternoon to themselves, and Harry was still wearing those damn joggers.
Chapter 61: Present Day
Summary:
Louis enjoys a night out in Donny with friends, celebrating the success of his fashion brand. As he interacts with fans, he juggles lighthearted banter about past antics and upcoming releases. Louis receives texts from Harry, discussing music and personal connection. After a night of drinking, Louis reflects on the pressures of fame, management’s demands, and the struggles of authenticity. Through heartfelt conversation, Louis contemplates his identity outside of celebrity and the implications for his relationship with Harry.
Chapter Text
Louis stumbled slightly on the cobblestones of Silver Street, pleasantly buzzed from their last round at The Angel. His phone buzzed again - another notification from the 28 team about items selling out. He grinned, remembering Harry's delighted laugh when he'd shown him the website design. "Subtle, babe," Harry had drawled, watching the screen shift from green to blue.
"Oi, Tommo!" Stan called out, "Your fancy clothes making you too good for us normal folk now?"
"Mate, have you seen what this dickhead charges for a t-shirt?" Calvin added, throwing an arm around Louis's shoulders. "Proper robbery, that."
"Fuck off, you got yours for free," Louis shot back, but he was grinning. The lads had been taking the piss about the brand all night, but he knew they were proud. They'd been there when it was just a dream, back when he was still bound by contracts that limited everything he did.
A group of girls approached, clearly recognizing him. Louis smiled, already reaching for his phone - he'd gotten good at this over the years, especially in Donny. "Alright, loves?"
After taking photos and chatting briefly - they were proper sweet about it, like most fans here were - Oli smirked. "Watch this," he told the girls, pointing at a giggling blonde. "Lou here can get you straight to the front of the queue at Boogie."
"Christ, Oli," Louis groaned, but he was laughing. The lads had been using his fame to pull birds for years now. "Sorry about him, he's a right menace."
They made their way toward Establishment, Louis stopping twice more for photos. One lad nearly fell over himself explaining how his girlfriend was going to kill him for not getting a picture.
"Speaking of birds," Stan said as they waited for their drinks, "did I tell you about that absolute nightmare date last week?"
"The one with the ghost hunter?" Calvin asked, already cackling.
"Fucking hell, mate," Stan shook his head. "She pulled out a fucking EMF reader in the middle of Nando's. Said the place was haunted."
"Still better than Oli's Tinder date who turned out to be a clown," Louis pointed out, earning a shove from Oli.
"We agreed never to mention that again, you wanker!"
Louis's phone buzzed again - Harry this time. "How's the 28th treating you? Everything selling like mad xx"
Louis smiled, typing back: "like you didn't know it would. your design input might have helped ;) miss you H x"
"Christ, you're still gone for him," Calvin observed, but his voice was fond. He'd been there through the worst of it, after all. Had seen Louis fall apart more than once under the weight of having to hide.
"Speaking of gone," Stan interrupted, "remember when this one," he pointed at Louis, "got so pissed at my wedding he tried to convince the DJ to play What Makes You Beautiful?"
"Fuck off, I did not!"
"You absolutely did," Oli confirmed. "Then you spent twenty minutes explaining to my nan why Golden was actually about you."
"Your nan loved me," Louis protested, but he was laughing too hard to be properly indignant.
They were interrupted by another fan approach - this time a mum with her teenage daughter. Louis softened immediately, the way he always did with young fans. "Hello loves, you alright?"
After taking photos and signing the girl's phone case, they moved on to Pop, Louis's cardigan now slightly askew from all the hugging. The skulls on the front caught the streetlight, the words "what happened to you? what happened to me? Pain is pleasures?" barely visible on the back.
"Remember when we used to actually pull in here?" Stan mused as they found a table.
"Speak for yourself mate," Calvin grinned. "Some of us still got it."
"Yeah? That why you're still single then?" Louis shot back, ducking the napkin Calvin threw at his head.
"Fucking hell," Louis muttered, checking his phone again. "The hoodies are gone already. Entire archive's nearly sold out."
"Look at you, proper businessman," Stan teased, returning with another round. "Remember when your big plan was opening a pub?"
"Still might," Louis shot back. "Call it 28, really fuck with everyone."
The lads roared with laughter, knowing exactly what he meant. The number had become something of an inside joke among fans - Louis had seen the theories, the detailed threads about how often it appeared. If they only knew.
A loud group stumbled past their table, one of them doing a double-take. "Oi! It's Louis Tomlinson!"
"Alright mate?" Louis raised his pint in greeting. More photos, more chatting. One lad was practically vibrating with excitement, explaining how his sister had cried when she got tickets to Away From Home.
"Proper festival that," Calvin chimed in proudly. "Our boy does it right."
"Speaking of doing it right," Oli waggled his eyebrows suggestively once the group had moved on, "how's that bird from last week, Cal? The yoga instructor?"
"Fucking flexible, mate," Calvin grinned wickedly, launching into a story that had them all howling with laughter and groaning in equal measure.
Louis's phone lit up again - another text from Harry. "Just heard rough mix of the new one. It's shit. Everything's shit."
Louis frowned, typing quickly: "it's not shit love. you're just in your head again. i'll call when we turn in, yeah? xx"
"Trouble in paradise?" Stan asked, noting Louis's expression.
"Nah, just... you know how he gets with the music sometimes. Proper perfectionist."
"Unlike some people," Oli smirked. "Mr. 'Let's record this whole verse in one take, I'm gasping for a cig.'"
"Oi! I'll have you know that verse was fucking brilliant," Louis protested, but he was grinning. It felt good, being able to joke about this stuff with them. These lads who'd known him before, during, and after everything.
They made their way back onto Silver Street, Louis now properly drunk and warm despite the December chill. More fans stopped them - a group of uni students who'd clearly just started their night out, an older woman who said she'd watched him on X-Factor with her daughters.
"Must be weird," one of the students said, "coming home and everyone knowing you."
Louis shook his head. "Nah, love. These are my people, aren't they? Proper Donny folk."
"Christ, you're getting soppy," Stan announced. "Time for shots!"
They piled into Flares, the familiar cheese-pop hitting Louis like a wave of nostalgia. He'd practically lived here before X-Factor, back when fame was just a mad dream.
"Remember when we used to actually dance?" Oli shouted over the music.
"Speak for yourself grandad," Louis shot back, already moving to the beat. The cardigan came off, thrown over the back of a pub chair. A few phones came out, probably filming him - it would be all over Twitter tomorrow, Louis Tomlinson having a proper night out in Donny.
"Your PR team's gonna love this," Calvin laughed.
"Fuck 'em," Louis grinned, genuinely not caring. He was home, with his best mates, his brand was smashing it, and somewhere in London, Harry was probably still up writing, wearing one of Louis's hoodies and driving himself mad over chord progressions.
Around 2 AM, the lads stumbled out of their final pub, Louis wrapping his cardigan tighter against the December chill. His phone showed three missed texts from Harry and dozens of notifications about 28 - the winter collection had completely sold out.
"Right lads," Stan announced, swaying slightly. "Need to get home before Sarah murders me."
They ended up in Georgia's, the kebab shop that had saved their drunk arses more times than Louis could count. The fluorescent lights were harsh after the dim pubs, making them all squint as they waited for their orders.
"Christ, remember when we could drink all night and still function?" Oli groaned, already looking rough.
"Speak for yourself," Louis grinned, though his head was properly spinning. "Some of us are still young. Though I might need a place to crash tonight. Don't see me making it back to Grans at this point."
"You're thirty-fucking-three, Tommo," Calvin laughed. "But yeah, you can crash at mine. Spare room's made up."
After demolishing their kebabs - Louis already knowing he'd regret the garlic sauce tomorrow - they said their goodbyes. Oli nearly fell over trying to hug everyone at once, declaring his undying love in that way only drunk mates can.
"Text when you're home, yeah?" Louis called after him, earning an elaborate salute in response.
The walk to Calvin's was familiar, even drunk. A few late-night stragglers recognized Louis, but most just nodded - that Yorkshire understanding that everyone's just trying to get home.
Calvin's house was warm and quiet, bottles of water already set out - he always thought ahead like that. "Night, Tommo," he called as Louis collapsed onto the spare bed. "Try not to have phone sex too loud, yeah?"
"Fuck off," Louis laughed, flipping him off even as he was already reaching for his phone.
Harry answered on the second ring, his voice deep and warm. "Hi honey."
"Hi sun," Louis smiled, the nickname falling easily from his lips. "Still up then?"
"Mm. Been working on that bridge section. Think I might have finally cracked it."
"Yeah? Play it for me?"
There was shuffling, then the soft sound of Harry's acoustic guitar filled Louis's ear. The melody was haunting, beautiful in that way only Harry's music could be. Louis closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.
"S'gorgeous, H," he mumbled when Harry finished. "Told you it wasn't shit."
"Maybe," Harry conceded. "Had a good night?"
"Yeah, proper laugh. Miss you though. Bed's too big without you in it."
"Oh yeah?" Harry's voice dropped lower. "What would you do if I was there?"
"Harold," Louis grinned, voice playful. "Are you trying to have phone sex with your drunk boyfriend?"
"Depends. Is it working?"
Louis laughed, soft and fond. "Always works with you, doesn't it? But m'proper pissed, love. Might fall asleep on you."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry teased. "Remember that time in Tokyo?"
"Oi! There was a bit more than alchohol involved in that one."
They talked for nearly an hour, voices getting softer as exhaustion crept in. Harry told him about the album, about the frustration of trying to make it perfect. Louis listened, offering quiet encouragement and gentle teasing in equal measure.
"Love you," Louis mumbled, finally losing his battle with consciousness. "More than anything."
"Love you more, honey. Sweet dreams."
"Not possible," Louis argued automatically, making Harry laugh.
"Go to sleep, Lou. Call me tomorrow?"
"Course. Night sun."
Louis let the phone drop beside him, smile still on his face as he drifted off. His last coherent thought was about Harry, probably still up writing in London, wearing one of Louis's hoodies and driving himself mad over chord progressions. Tomorrow he might post something for 28, maybe something in their colors. Let the fans go wild with their theories - they were usually right anyway.
Louis woke to the sound of Calvin cursing softly in the kitchen, followed by what sounded like a spoon hitting the sink. His head was pounding, mouth tasting like something had died in it. Checking his phone - nearly noon, Christ - he had a text from Harry.
"Morning honey. Hope the hangover isn't too bad. Made that soup you like, it's in the fridge when you get home xx"
Louis smiled despite his headache. Harry always did this - took care of him even from miles away. There were other messages too - the lads checking in, his team ecstatic about 28's success, fans going mental over some blurry pictures from last night. His inbox was full of unread emails, several marked urgent from his legal team. He ignored them, like he had been since before Christmas.
"Alright?" Calvin appeared in the doorway, looking about as rough as Louis felt, holding two bowls of Coco Pops.
"Fucking hell," Louis groaned, sitting up slowly. "Why do we still do this?"
"Because we're idiots," Calvin handed him a bowl. "Match of the Day's about to start if you want?"
They settled in the living room, eating their cereal in comfortable silence. Louis's phone buzzed again - Harry sending a photo of himself in the studio, wearing one of Louis's hoodies, looking soft and sleep-rumpled.
"Miss you xx" the caption read.
Louis stared at the photo longer than necessary, that familiar ache in his chest. He could leave now, be back in London by dinner. Harry would probably cook something healthy, try to counteract the hangover. They'd curl up on the sofa, Harry would play him more of the new stuff...
But the thought of London also meant facing everything waiting there. The lawyers, the contracts, the carefully worded statements they wanted him to make. Another round of denials, right when he'd promised Harry he was done with all that.
"You've got that look," Calvin observed, not taking his eyes off the TV.
"What look?"
"Like you're overthinking everything again."
Louis sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Just... lot happening after New Year's, innit?"
Calvin nodded, understanding in his expression. They'd been through enough of these cycles together. "You'll figure it out, mate. You always do."
Louis typed out a quick reply to Harry: "miss you more sun. might stay up north another day or two if that's alright? love you xx"
Harry's response was immediate: "Course it's alright honey. I'm proud of you. The soup will keep ;) love you most xx"
Louis stared at his phone until the screen went dark, Harry's messages fading away. The familiar ache in his chest wasn't just missing Harry anymore - it was something deeper, something that had been building since October. Since...
"Used to be Payno I'd call about stuff like this," he said quietly, the words feeling like they were being pulled from somewhere deep inside him. Calvin looked over, expression careful. He'd been there through some of it, but he'd never really understood. How could he? "He always knew exactly what to say, you know? Even when he was being a proper dickhead about it. Because he got it. The whole... everything."
Louis gestured vaguely, unable to put into words exactly what 'everything' meant. The contracts, the PR nightmares, the way they'd all been shaped and molded since they were kids. The shared trauma that bound them together in ways no one else could understand.
"Zayn and me, we're talking again but..." Louis trailed off, remembering tense phone calls and careful conversations. "Think we both know too much about each other's demons to ever really go back, you know? And Niall..." He shook his head fondly. "Love him to bits, but he's always been about keeping the peace. Takes whatever deal they offer, signs whatever they put in front of him."
"What's really going on, Lou?" Calvin asked, and Louis could hear the concern in his voice, even if he couldn't fully understand.
"They want another denial," Louis finally admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. "Proper official this time, like a flat out 'no, nothing is or has ever happened between us'. And I told H I wouldn't. Promised him, actually. Said I was done pretending." He laughed, but it came out hollow. "But if I don't play ball..."
"The'll shelve the new album?"
"Could do, yeah. Could shelf everything. Tours, releases, all of it." Louis rubbed his face roughly. "Keep thinking what Li would say. He'd probably call me at 3 AM, drunk off his arse, telling me to stop being such a fucking coward. Go on about how we're not kids anymore, can't let them control us like they used to."
His throat felt tight. Liam would have understood exactly what this meant - not just the business side, but the bone-deep fear of finally stepping out of the carefully constructed box they'd been placed in all those years ago.
"Maybe he'd be right," Louis continued softly. "Been running from this since I was eighteen, haven't I? Even when I was making it bloody obvious. Remember that rainbow bear?"
Calvin smiled slightly. "To be fair, mate, subtle was never really your strong suit."
"Yeah well," Louis sighed, thinking about all the times he'd nearly slipped up, all the moments of defiance that had earned him stern talks in corporate offices. "Maybe that's the problem. Can't keep pretending I'm good at hiding it when I've been shit at it this whole time. Just..." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Used to have four other people who understood exactly what this felt like. Now..."
Louis picked up his phone again, scrolling through his camera roll until he found a photo from last week - Harry asleep on their sofa, one of Louis's songs playing on his phone beside him. He'd been listening to the rough cuts, giving feedback, being the supportive partner he always was when they let him be.
"Thing is," Louis's voice was barely above a whisper now, "if they shelf the albums, that's one thing. Could fight it, probably. But..." He swallowed hard. "Last time they threatened to tank my career, they didn't just go after me, did they? Used him too. Made it clear they'd make his life hell."
Calvin shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of what Louis was sharing. This was the part outsiders never really got - the depths management would go to, the ways they'd learned to hurt each other to keep them in line.
"But Harry's bigger now, isn't he? They can't-"
"They can always find a way," Louis cut him off, years of experience heavy in his voice. "Might not be able to control him like they used to, but they can still hurt him. And I promised him, after last time... promised I'd never let them use me against him again."
Louis stared at his phone, the memory of all his past denials, and the destruction they left in their wake, sitting like a stone on his chest.
"Last time they went after him because of me," Louis said quietly, "was when My Policeman came out. Watching him in that role..." He shook his head, remembering sitting alone in his flat, seeing their story played out on screen. A gay couple forced apart by society, one taking a wife, living a lie. The parallels had been too obvious, and fans had started putting pieces together.
"People were making these detailed threads online, yeah? Connecting everything - the film, our story, all of it. They wanted me to put an end to it. They made it clear - either I put out another denial, or they'd go after him. Keep undermining everything he worked for. And, when I didn't? Suddenly there's all these articles appearing. 'Harry Styles: Actor or Popstar?' 'Critics Question Styles' Acting Abilities.' Just ripping him apart."
Calvin shifted uncomfortably. "But his performance was brilliant in that."
"Course it was," Louis said fiercely. "He wasn't acting, was he? He was telling our fucking story, the only way he could." He swallowed hard. "Took ages before I gave in."
"The eclipse interview," Calvin said quietly.
"Yeah." Louis ran a hand through his hair. "Thought I was being smart about it. 'Nothing I can do, nothing I can say.' Fucking Bonnie Tyler lyrics during a solar eclipse." He laughed without humor.
"Sometimes I think about 2020," he continued softly. "After Syco dropped me. Could've been done with it then, but..."
Louis picked at a loose thread on his joggers, a familiar wave of self-loathing washing over him. "Truth is," he said quietly, "I could've walked away. H wanted me to. Said we'd figure something else out. But I..."
He trailed off, the admission stuck in his throat. Calvin waited, patient in a way that reminded Louis painfully of Liam.
"I couldn't give it up, could I? The crowds, the buzz of it all." His voice was thick with self-contempt. "Been chasing that high since I was eighteen. First time I heard thousands of people screaming my name, felt that rush... Nothing else comes close, does it?"
He stood up abruptly, nervous energy making him pace. "Been telling myself for years it was about the music, about not letting them win. But maybe I'm just fucking addicted to it. The validation, the adrenaline of performing. Even when Syco dropped me, even when Sony offered the same closeting bullshit... I signed anyway. Because the thought of not being on stage anymore..."
Louis stopped at the window, staring out but not really seeing anything. "H understood it, you know? He gets that same rush, that same need. Difference is, he found a way to have both. To be himself and keep performing. Me?" He laughed bitterly. "I just keep choosing the easy way out. Keep signing whatever because I'm too scared to find out who I am without all this."
"Sometimes I watch him on stage now," Louis continued, still staring out the window. "Way he gets to be... freer, at least. Even if he still can't say it directly. Dancing around with pride flags, wearing whatever mad outfit he wants." His voice softened with pride and longing. "And then there's me, still singing songs where I have to change the pronouns, still doing these careful little interviews where I dance around everything."
He turned back to Calvin, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "Keep telling myself it's different now because I write my own music, yeah? Put all these little hints in, thinking I'm being dead clever. But end of the day, I'm still letting them control the narrative. Still letting them decide what parts of me the world gets to see."
"But H still can't be completely open either," Calvin pointed out. "He's never confirmed anything about his sexuality or relationships."
"No, but..." Louis dropped back onto the sofa. "He found ways to say it without saying it, didn't he? 'Boyfriends,' 'Golden,' 'Love of My Life'... everyone thinks they're about his beards, but..." He trailed off, remembering the first time he'd heard each song.
He picked up his phone again, scrolling through his camera roll to a photo from one of Harry's shows - Harry in the spotlight, radiating joy, completely in his element. "Think that's what scares me most about these new demands from management. Not just losing the music, but..." He swallowed hard. "What if this is it? What if this is all I'll ever be? Just... Louis Tomlinson, the one who's still hiding, still playing their game. While he keeps finding these beautiful ways to tell our story, even if people don't realize what they're hearing."
Louis stared at the photo a moment longer before locking his phone. "Been chasing that rush since X-Factor, haven't I? The screaming crowds, the validation... thought I needed it to feel worth something. But watching H, the way he's grown into himself even with all the restrictions..." He shook his head. "Makes me wonder if I've just been using it as an excuse. Been so focused on not letting them win that I forgot how to just... be."
"You've both handled it differently," Calvin said carefully. "Doesn't make either way wrong."
"Maybe," Louis conceded. "But I'm tired, mate. Tired of pretending the songs aren't about him, tired of watching people think 'Two Ghosts' is about Taylor or 'Falling' is about Camille when I know... when I remember exactly..." He cut himself off, swallowing hard. "Just tired of letting fear drive everything. Of choosing fame over freedom every time."
He stood up, stretching. "Think maybe it's time to start figuring out who I am without all this. Who we could be if I stopped being so afraid of losing the spotlight."
Calvin smiled slightly. "Might find out the music means more when it's truly yours."
"Yeah," Louis said softly. "Maybe."
Chapter 62: July 2015
Summary:
Louis feels Harry's tension during a photoshoot despite Liam and Niall's presence. The atmosphere is filled with unresolved issues as the performance begins, and Harry avoids Louis' gaze. Tension escalates with a flag stunt during the show that hints at deeper feelings and frustrations. After the show, Harry and Louis confront their emotions back in their dressing room, which culminates in a passionate yet tumultuous encounter that leaves both feeling more isolated than before.
Chapter Text
Louis shifted his weight, hyper-aware of Harry at the other end of their lineup. Even with Liam and Niall between them, he could feel the tension radiating off Harry in waves. The cross necklace caught the light as Harry moved, and Louis couldn't help but track the familiar glint of the ring on Harry's finger - his ring, the one that used to mean something.
"Bit closer together, lads," the photographer called from behind his camera. Louis saw Harry's shoulders tense, watched those ringed fingers clench slightly at his sides.
They were meant to be professionals, weren't they? But Harry was doing that thing - that deliberate, careful stance that screamed 'don't touch me' louder than words ever could. Two weeks of this ice, this careful distance that felt like drowning.
"Harry, could you move in a bit?" Liam tried, using his responsible-one voice. As if they were just being difficult about a photo and not slowly imploding in front of everyone's phones and cameras.
"M'fine here," Harry drawled, not even bothering to look over. His voice was pitched low enough that the fans by the barrier probably couldn't hear, but Louis caught the edge in it.
"For fuck's sake," Louis muttered, quiet but sharp.
Harry's jaw ticked. "Got something to say?"
"Boys, come on," Liam warned, shifting uncomfortably between them.
"Piss off," Louis bit out, too loud, earning startled looks from the nearby crew.
"Wanker," Harry shot back, voice cold as he finally met Louis' eyes for a fraction of a second before turning away.
The photographer had stopped shooting. Niall was scratching the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, while Liam looked between them like he was watching a tennis match. The fans at the barrier were suspiciously quiet, phones raised, and Louis knew they'd have to do damage control later.
But right now, all he could focus on was Harry's back as he walked away, that stupid white shirt somehow making him look both younger and unreachable all at once. Like everything else these days - so close Louis could touch him, but further away than ever.
The harmonies of "Don't Forget Where You Belong" filled the stadium, Louis hitting each note with practiced precision, even as his stomach churned with tension. Only their second song and already the air felt thick with everything unsaid. Harry wouldn't meet his eyes, hadn't since they'd taken the stage. Instead, Louis kept catching him watching the big screens whenever the cameras found Louis' face, like it was easier to look at him through a lens than directly.
They were positioned perfectly - Louis and Niall to one side, Niall's guitar between them, while Liam and Harry stood together on the other. Everything choreographed, everything professional, until Liam casually draped his arm around Harry's shoulders.
Louis was moving before he could stop himself, stepping off the platform and around to the back of the stage. Three steps. Turn. Back again. Quick enough that most fans probably didn't even notice, but long enough that his absence felt like a crack in their carefully maintained facade.
As the lights dimmed for transition, he heard Harry's voice carry across the platform, mic off but clear enough: "Real mature, Lou." The words were bitter, meant to sting.
Liam was at his side instantly, concern etched on his face. "Alright?"
Louis gave a sharp nod, but he knew his face was betraying him. Across the platform, Harry sank down, his white t-shirt practically glowing under the stage lights. Even from here, Louis could see the slight tremble in Harry's hands as he prepared for "Little Things."
The opening notes felt like torture. Every line was a memory - Harry whispering to Ed about how he loved Louis' crinkly-eyed smile, Louis confessing his fascination with Harry's sleeptalking. Ed had woven their love story into verses, and now they had to sing it back to each other with this ocean of hurt between them.
Louis could hear Harry struggling with his breathing during the verses, that subtle catch in his voice that most wouldn't notice but Louis knew meant he was fighting tears. Louis himself couldn't keep the sadness off his face - management's warning glares be damned. This song had been theirs, and now it was just another reminder of everything they were losing.
They ended up sitting back to back on the platform, three feet of careful distance between them that felt like miles. During Niall's solo, Louis forced himself to pull faces, to act like everything was fine. Like his heart wasn't breaking with every note Harry sang. Like he couldn't feel Harry's presence behind him, so close but unreachable.
Professional. They were meant to be professional. But some songs cut too deep to fake it.
Louis stalked backstage, pulling his in-ear piece out with more force than necessary. Through the monitors, he could hear Harry working the crowd - that slow, honey-thick drawl getting tens of thousands to go from screaming to complete silence, then exploding again with choreographed "Oh yeah!"s. Louis caught a glimpse of him on one of the screens, grinning as he wrapped a Canadian flag around his shoulders like a cape, playing to the Vancouver crowd.
"Mate-" Niall started, hovering uncertainly nearby. His hands fidgeted with his guitar strap, clearly wishing he was anywhere but in the middle of this.
"Don't." Louis' voice came out sharp enough to make Niall wince.
"Lou, we've got to be back out there in like thirty seconds," Liam cut in, ever the professional. He was doing that thing with his jaw that meant he was trying to be patient. "I know it's rough right now, but-"
"Rough?" Louis spun around, letting out a harsh laugh. "He won't even look at me, Liam. Won't even fucking look at me unless it's through those bloody screens."
"Maybe he just needs time-" Niall tried again.
"Time for what? To perfect his fucking avoidance act?" Louis ran his hands roughly through his hair. "Real professional, that."
"Speaking of professional," Liam said firmly, checking his watch. "We need to-"
"Yeah, yeah, get back out there," Louis muttered, jamming his in-ear piece back in. "God forbid we let down the adoring public."
"Lou-" Niall reached for him, but Louis was already heading back toward the stage.
"I'm fine," he called over his shoulder, the lie tasting like copper in his mouth. "Let's just get through this fucking show."
The start of Night Changes filled the arena, and Louis found his mark at center stage. Four microphone stands, perfectly spaced - Niall, Liam, himself, Harry. A formation they'd done hundreds of times. Louis kept his eyes forward, muscle memory carrying him through the verses, through the harmonies.
He waited for it - that moment that always came, that subtle head turn from Harry during "it will never change me and you." The moment management hated, the one Louis always had to pretend not to notice even as his heart leaped into his throat. But tonight... nothing. Just empty air where Harry's gaze should have been, and then Harry was practically running to the other end of the stage the second the final note faded, dragging his mic stand with him like he couldn't get far enough away.
Louis moved his own stand mechanically, spacing them evenly again as the first chords of 18 started. Ed's words - their words really, the story Ed had pieced together from late night conversations and knowing looks. Usually this song felt like a secret shared between them, but tonight...
Harry's voice rang out clear and strong: "I have loved you since we were 18." Their eyes met finally, properly, for the first time all night. But instead of the usual softness, there was something else in Harry's face - something hard and angry that made Louis' chest constrict.
By the time Louis' solo came around, his throat felt too tight. "I have loved you since we were 18," he sang, voice wavering slightly as he blinked back tears. He could feel Niall shifting nervously beside him, could sense Liam's concerned glance, but he kept going. Because that's what they did - they kept going, even when the words that used to feel like promises started to feel like accusations instead.
The banter with Liam felt natural, at least - something normal to grab onto. Louis gestured at the retractable dome above them. "So what do we reckon, Vancouver? Is this inside or outside?"
"Bit of both, innit?" Liam grinned, playing to the crowd. "Speaking of both - Action 1D, you lot have been incredible with that."
"Absolutely incredible," Louis agreed, finding his footing in the familiar back-and-forth. "And while we're thanking you lot - everyone involved in the No Control project? Proper amazing, that was."
The crowd erupted at the mention, and Louis felt the first genuine smile of the night tugging at his lips. He remembered writing this one, sprawled across Liam's hotel room floor at 3 AM, still half-drunk and completely unable to get the memory out of his head - Harry's sleep-warm skin, the way he'd stretched and muttered "good morning" in that gravelly voice, how impossible it had been not to touch. Liam had helped with the melody while trying (and failing) not to smirk at Louis' obvious inspiration. Niall had actually groaned when he'd seen the lyrics, muttering "For fuck's sake, Tommo, now I have to sing about your morning wood every night?" but he'd been grinning while he said it.
The opening beats kicked in and Louis felt something in his chest loosen. This was his song, really his, even if the fans didn't know exactly what (who) had inspired those desperate "waking up beside you I'm a loaded gun" lyrics. His voice carried strong through the verses, confidence building with each line that was so much more confession than fiction.
And Harry... Harry was in his element, all long limbs and wild energy, trading his usual controlled movements for something almost manic. Louis caught glimpses of him spinning, jumping, working the crowd into a frenzy. Harry always came alive during this song - loved knowing what he did to Louis, loved feeling sexy and wanted and beautiful. Usually he'd dance closer, throw knowing looks Louis' way, make it obvious who the song was really about. But tonight Harry kept his distance, contained his whirlwind to the far side of the stage, never quite crossing that invisible line between them.
Still, Louis let himself relax into the performance, riding the high of the crowd's energy and his own prominent vocals. For these few minutes, he could almost pretend things were normal. Almost.
The transition into Alive was smooth, all of them falling into the familiar choreography as they made their way down the catwalk. Louis found himself gravitating toward Liam naturally, the two of them working their section of the crowd while Niall bounced between them and Harry. The careful dance of avoidance continued through Diana, though Louis couldn't help but feel proud watching the crowd's reaction. He and Liam had written this one from the heart, and it showed.
He caught sight of the flag in Harry's back pocket - just another prop for the show, nothing unusual there. Harry had been collecting them all tour, leaving a trail of various national flags in his wake. Louis forced himself to focus on his own performance, on the fans reaching up toward him.
The opening notes of What Makes You Beautiful hit, and Louis' chest tightened involuntarily. Malibu memories flooded back - salty air, sandy kisses hidden from the cameras, realizing this thing between them was so much bigger than either of them had imagined. Then Harry was running past him, and Louis' breath caught in his throat.
The pride flag billowed behind Harry like some kind of defiant battle standard as he strode down the catwalk. When he turned, his eyes locked onto Louis' with an intensity that made Louis' knees weak. "Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but you," Harry sang, voice strong and clear, each word deliberate as the rainbow colors rippled around him.
Louis felt more than saw Liam tense beside him, could practically hear management screaming in their earpieces already. But Harry was beaming, playing to the crowd with a kind of reckless joy that felt like a challenge. When he tossed the flag back to the screaming fans, his smile had an edge to it.
Liam's jaw was set in that way that meant he was properly angry, though he kept his stage smile firmly in place. Niall's movements had gone slightly rigid, his usual bouncy energy somewhat contained as he shot nervous glances between them all. But the show had to go on. Louis forced himself to keep singing, to keep moving, even as his mind raced with the implications. This wasn't just Harry being careless - this was calculated, deliberate. This was Harry throwing a match on four years of carefully constructed PR plans and watching it burn.
The tension simmered through the rest of the show, crackling beneath the surface of every performance. During one of Liam's crowd-work segments, Louis ducked backstage and emerged in one of Harry's tanks - the black one that hung almost to his thighs. It was such an obvious choice, such a clear statement, though Louis himself couldn't have said if it was defiance or desperation that made him do it.
Later, when Liam was working the crowd solo, Harry and Louis ended up backstage at the same time. The tension finally snapped.
"What the fuck was that with the flag?" Louis hissed, keeping his voice low despite his anger. "Are you trying to get us both killed?"
"Oh, now you care?" Harry's voice was cold, brittle. "Thought you were too busy pretending I don't exist."
"That's not fair and you know it. We agreed-"
"No, management agreed. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of pretending."
"You know what they'll do to us. To the band-"
"When's the last time you even looked at me, Lou? Really looked at me?" Harry's eyes were bright with hurt. "Because all I see lately is you running away."
Before Louis could answer, they could hear their cue coming up. He stormed back onstage, heart pounding.
During Girl Almighty, Louis felt his heart stutter as Harry approached that line - "I get down on my knees for you." His mind flashed unbidden to how Harry usually performed it, dropping to his knees with his hands clasped behind his back, and Louis silently prayed he wouldn't do it tonight. Not with the tension already crackling between them, not when Louis was barely holding himself together. The position was too familiar, too intimate, brought back too many private memories that Louis couldn't afford to think about on stage. Thank god Harry kept it simple, just singing the line without his usual choreography.
The relief was short-lived. Later, Harry was doing his typical crowd work when he spotted a middle-aged couple. Louis' stomach dropped as Harry chatted with them, knowing somehow something was coming. Sure enough, Harry's dimples flashed as he said, "Is this a date? Kiss her you fool, before someone else does."
The memory hit Louis like a physical blow. That ratty old sofa backstage in 2011, chocolate coins everywhere, their legs tangled together comfortable as anything. Harry poking at his ribs, trying to mess him up but getting distracted by Louis' laughter. Both of them knowing the camera was rolling but not caring, riding that dangerous line between public and private. "Now kiss me you fool," Harry had said, eyes sparkling with something that was definitely not just friendship, and Louis had tackled him, play-acting at kissing while their hearts raced for real. Their stylist watching fondly from across the room, having no idea what was really happening between them. They'd been so young, so reckless, falling in love right in front of everyone while pretending it was all just a game.
Story of My Life ended and they rushed backstage for the brief break before the encore. The tension was thick in the narrow corridor as they grabbed water bottles and dabbed at their sweat with towels. Louis couldn't take it anymore - the cold shoulder, the pointed avoidance.
"Are you going to ignore me forever then?" he demanded, stepping into Harry's space.
Harry didn't even look up from adjusting his headpiece. "Not everything's about you, Louis."
"No, just talk to me properly for once. Stop being so-"
"There's nothing to say." Harry's voice was flat, distant. "You're doing what you need to do, right?"
"If you'd just let me explain-"
"Two minutes!" Paul called out, cutting off whatever Louis was about to say.
They filed back out for the encore, the unfinished conversation hanging heavy between them. You & I started, and Louis felt every word like a knife. When he got to his verse, his voice was rough with emotion: "I see what it's like for day and night, never together, 'cause they see things in a different light, like us." The anger bubbled up, hot and fierce, as he spat out "they never tried like us," glaring directly at Harry. Because Harry wasn't trying at all, was he? Just shutting down, turning away, refusing to even have a real conversation about what was happening.
Usually he had to dodge Harry's glances during this song, but he never even took his eyes off the crowd. It wasn't until "we don't want to be like them" that Harry finally glanced his way, just for a second. The hurt in his eyes made Louis' chest ache.
They launched into Started From the Bottom, and Harry's crowd work felt like another deliberate dig when he told the audience to turn to the person next to them, kiss them and say I love you. Louis kept his eyes fixed on the opposite side of the stage.
The rest of the set passed in a blur - Act My Age, Little White Lies, and finally Best Song Ever. The usual playful energy was strained - Niall trying extra hard to keep the mood light, Liam professional as ever but clearly tense, while Harry and Louis maintained their careful distance.
The show ended in a rush of confetti and final bows, the roar of the crowd still echoing in Louis' ears as they made their way beneath the arena. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, heart still racing from the performance high that usually had them bouncing off the walls. Tonight though, the energy was different. Heavy.
Their shared dressing room had always been their space - their sanctuary away from everything else. Harry stormed in first, kicking his boots off with enough force to send them flying. Louis followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that felt somehow final.
Harry went straight for his bag, yanking out a bottle of tequila with trembling hands. He took a long swallow, throat working, before slamming it down on the counter. The sound made Louis flinch. He lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers, needing something to do, something to ground him. He could hear the usual post-show chaos starting up outside - music thumping through the walls, people laughing, the crew celebrating another successful night. But in here, the silence between them was suffocating.
When Harry stripped off his sweat-soaked white t-shirt with shaking hands, Louis couldn't help but stare. He'd seen Harry change thousands of times, but something about tonight made his breath catch painfully in his throat. Harry's skin was still gleaming with stage sweat, the cross necklace Louis had given him years ago catching the light as it swung against his chest. Louis remembered how that skin felt under his hands, how Harry would come apart for him, how even when everything else was complicated, this - their bodies finding each other in the dark - never was.
Harry must have felt him staring because he stilled, then slowly straightened up. When their eyes met in the mirror, the heat there made Louis' mouth go dry. But there was something else too - a rawness, a vulnerability that made Louis' chest ache.
"Baby," Louis whispered, taking a step forward.
"Don't." Harry's voice cracked. "Don't you fucking dare call me that. Not now." His hands were white-knuckled on the counter, shoulders hunched like he was trying to hold himself together through sheer force of will.
Louis' cigarette burned forgotten between his fingers.
"Why not?" Louis' voice came out rougher than he intended. "You are. You've always been-"
"Because I can't-" Harry whirled around, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I can't be your baby and watch you have one with someone else. I can't- I can't fucking breathe, Lou."
The nickname hit like a physical blow. Louis took a shaky drag of his cigarette, buying time, trying to find the right words. But Harry wasn't done.
"You didn't even tell me yourself. I had to find out from fucking Liam." Harry grabbed the tequila again, but his hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped it. "Do you know what that felt like? Do you have any idea-"
"I was trying to protect you!" Louis' voice cracked. "I didn't know how to- it was one fucking night, H. One mistake. And I didn't know how to tell you because you're the only person I've ever-" He cut himself off, running a trembling hand through his hair.
The music from the party was getting louder, the bass thrumming through the walls. Someone knocked - probably Liam checking on them - but they both ignored it.
"Protect me?" Harry laughed, but it was a broken sound. "I'm not sixteen anymore, Louis. I don't need you to protect me. I needed you to trust me. To choose me."
"I did choose you. I do choose you. Every fucking day, I-" Louis stubbed out his cigarette violently. "Christ, H, do you think I want any of this? Do you think I want anything but you?"
Harry's breath hitched, and when he spoke again his voice was smaller, younger somehow. "Then why does it feel like I'm losing you?"
The words hung between them for a moment before something snapped. Louis wasn't sure who moved first - maybe they both did, like magnets finally giving in to an inevitable pull. One second they were staring at each other, the next they were colliding, Harry's mouth crashing into his with devastating force.
Louis' back hit the door hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, but Harry's hands were already there, skating up under his shirt, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin. Louis arched into the touch even as he bit Harry's lower lip in retaliation, swallowing the broken sound Harry made.
"I hate you," Harry gasped, but his hands were frantically working at Louis' belt, his breath hot and uneven against Louis' neck. "I hate you. I hate-"
Louis tangled his fingers in Harry's hair and yanked, exposing the long line of his throat. "No you don't," he growled, scraping his teeth over Harry's pulse point. "You love me. That's the fucking problem, isn't it?"
Harry's hands faltered for a moment before gripping Louis' hips hard enough to bruise. "Shut up," he breathed, grinding forward in a way that made Louis' vision blur. "Just- shut up."
The bass from outside was vibrating through the walls as Louis spun them around, pressing Harry face-first against the door. Harry's skin was burning under his palms, still gleaming with stage sweat, muscles trembling as Louis ran his hands down his sides. When Louis pressed closer, Harry pushed back against him with a broken moan.
"Please," Harry whispered, and Louis couldn't tell if it was a plea for more or for mercy.
What followed was desperate and rough and over far too quickly. The music outside covered any sounds they made, but Louis would remember the way Harry's breath hitched, the way his hands shook even as they gripped bruisingly tight, the way he wouldn't meet Louis' eyes.
Afterwards, Harry pulled away immediately, grabbing his discarded t-shirt from the floor. His movements were sharp, angry again. He yanked the shirt over his head, ran a hand through his wrecked hair.
"Harry," Louis started, still trying to catch his breath, still feeling split open and raw.
But Harry was already reaching for the door handle. He paused for just a second, shoulders tense. "This doesn't fix anything," he said quietly. Then he was gone, leaving Louis alone with the smell of sex and tequila and the distant sound of the party that Harry was walking into without him.
Louis slid down the door until he hit the floor, legs shaking too badly to hold him up anymore. He could still taste Harry on his tongue, could still feel the ghost of his hands. But he'd never felt more alone.
Chapter 63: Present Day
Summary:
Berlin :)
This one has a bit of spice, fyi.
Chapter Text
Harry stood at the window of their Soho House Berlin suite, forehead pressed against the cold glass as he watched snow drift down onto the dark streets below. His phone buzzed again - the fifth time in an hour. He didn't need to look to know it was Jeff.
"Just turn it off," Louis called from where he was sprawled on the massive bed, scrolling through his own messages. "He'll still be angry tomorrow."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, thumb catching on the edge of his mustache as he scrubbed at his face. "Can't. Mum's worried."
"Anne can call me if there's an emergency," Louis pointed out. "She has for years anyway."
That was true enough. Even during the worst times, their mums had kept in touch. Harry turned from the window, taking in the sight of Louis in one of his old jumpers, looking soft and sleepy and exactly like everything he'd ever wanted. The contrast between this - this quiet, perfect moment - and the chaos swirling around them made his chest ache.
"Did you see the article?" he asked finally.
"The one making you sound like a proper dickhead about the tribute? Yeah." Louis set his phone down, propping himself up on his elbows. "Load of shit, that. Everyone knows you'd do anything for Li."
"Jeff let it through." It wasn't a question. Harry had been in this game too long not to recognize a warning shot when he saw one. "Probably because I told him to fuck off about FireAid."
"Which you had every right to do," Louis said firmly. "It's your first proper break in what, three years? And he's got half of Los Angeles lined up anyway."
Harry dropped onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "He's trying to force my hand about the album. About all of it really. New contract, new tour, new..." He waved his hand vaguely, encompassing the whole machine that had been running his life since he was sixteen.
"New closet?" Louis asked quietly.
Harry let out a humorless laugh. "No, they love the mystery now, don't they? Let Harry prance around in whatever he wants, wave whatever flag he wants, write whatever songs he wants - just never actually say it. Never confirm anything." He flopped back onto the bed. "Keep everyone guessing forever while they profit off the speculation."
"At least you get to be yourself on stage now," Louis said, shifting to run his fingers through Harry's hair. "Remember when they used to lose their minds if you so much as skipped?"
"Yeah, now they just lose their minds if I consider taking a break." Harry turned his head into Louis's touch. "Did you know Jeff actually said 'the algorithm waits for no one' when I told him I needed time off? Like I'm some sort of content machine instead of a person."
His phone buzzed again. Louis plucked it from Harry's pocket before he could reach for it, glancing at the screen. "Your mum," he said, handing it over.
Harry took the call, putting it on speaker. "Hi Mum."
"Love, are you alright? Jeff called..."
"Of course he did," Harry muttered.
"He's worried about you, H. Says you're not yourself lately."
Harry caught Louis rolling his eyes and had to bite back a smile despite his frustration. "I'm fine, Mum. Just tired. And dealing with..." he trailed off, thinking of Liam, of the legal mess, of Louis's sister getting dragged into the Caroline documentary drama, of all of it.
"I know, baby." Anne's voice softened. "But you can't just shut everyone out. Even when things are hard."
"I'm not shutting everyone out," Harry protested, looking at Louis who was now pretending not to listen while typing something on his phone. "I'm just... I need to figure some things out. About what I want. About what's next."
"H..." Anne's voice took on that careful tone he knew too well. "You're taking care of yourself, yeah? Not just... coping?"
Harry closed his eyes, feeling Louis's hand tighten in his hair. They all remembered 2016 - the breakdown after the band ended, after the exhaustion finally caught up, after years of trying to be perfect for everyone else had left him hollow.
"I'm okay, Mum. Promise. Just..." he swallowed hard. "Just tired of pretending everything's fine when it's not. Tired of Jeff acting like any of this is just business as usual."
"Have you been talking to Dr. Moore?"
"Weekly. Sometimes twice." He opened his eyes to find Louis watching him intently. "And I'm not alone. I've got Lou." The nickname slipped out naturally, even though he usually tried to be more careful on calls that could be recorded.
"I know, love. But you've had Louis before and still..." she trailed off, the unsaid hanging heavy between them.
"It's different now," Harry said quietly. "I'm different. I know when to ask for help. Know I don't have to be perfect all the time."
Louis shifted closer, pressing his forehead against Harry's temple in silent support.
"Just wish you'd let more people help," Anne sighed. "You don't have to figure everything out on your own."
"M'not," Harry protested. "Got Dad coming to Italy next week. Talking to Gem almost every day. Even been texting with Niall about... about everything really."
"And the drinking? The pills?"
"Clean and sober," Harry assured her. "Well," he amended with a small laugh, glancing at Louis, "might get proper fucked at Berghain tonight, but that's different. That's just... living. Not hiding."
Anne let out a startled laugh. "Love, there are things a mother doesn't need to know about what her son gets up to in Berlin nightclubs."
"Sorry," Harry grinned, feeling some of the tension ease. "But see? Being honest, aren't I?"
"Too honest," she said fondly. "Just... call me tomorrow? Let me know you're alright?"
"Course. Love you, Mum."
"Love you too, H. You too, Louis!"
Louis smiled at the phone. "Love you, Anne. I'll make sure he calls."
After they hung up, Harry checked the time - nearly midnight. "Should probably start getting ready if we want to make it for Ben's set."
"You sure about this?" Louis asked, sitting up. "Could just stay in. Order room service. Watch that weird German gameshow again."
Harry shook his head, already moving to the closet. "Need to dance. Need to..." he gestured vaguely, "get out of my head for a bit."
"Fair enough." Louis pulled the black knit beanie low over his forehead, making sure every strand of his hair was tucked away. The long-sleeve black mesh under a loose black tee disguised his tattoos without looking like he was trying to hide them - just another Berlin club kid in all black. "You know even with Ben putting us on the list it's not guaranteed, right? Place is proper strict."
"That's why I love it," Harry said, pulling on his own mesh top and leather trousers. "No one gets in just because they're famous. Actually, might hurt our chances." He paused. "Though that bouncer, Sven? Think he liked my Gucci campaign. Said something about the aesthetics last time."
Louis snorted, adjusting his thick-framed Saint Laurent sunglasses. Even in the dark club they wouldn't look out of place - half the crowd wore shades inside. The frames changed the whole shape of his face. "Only you would get into the world's most exclusive club because the terrifying bouncer appreciated your fashion spread."
"Hey, I'll take what I can get." Harry turned to the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. He'd learned over the years that trying too hard was the quickest way to get turned away.
"Got everything?" Louis checked his pockets - cash, the little bottle of poppers. His outfit was carefully chosen: high-end but understated pieces that blended perfectly with Berghain's fashion-conscious crowd. The loose black cargo pants and chunky boots could have come from any high-fashion Berlin boutique.
"Yeah," Harry patted his pockets. "You remember the timing?"
"Course. I go first, through the side queue. You wait an hour, use the main entrance. I'll stick to Panorama Bar mostly, you do your thing in the main room."
In the mirror, Harry watched Louis do a final check of his outfit. Even knowing exactly who he was, Harry had to admit the transformation was remarkable. The all-black outfit, the beanie, the glasses - he looked like any other fashion-conscious raver. Just alternative enough to fit in, but nothing that screamed 'disguise.' Harry had always admired how Louis could make invisibility look effortless.
Louis went first, disappearing into the Berlin night an hour before Harry. Getting past Sven was almost too easy - Louis had mastered the perfect balance of confidence and nonchalance that Berghain's door staff appreciated. Inside, the familiar assault of sound and darkness wrapped around him as he made his way up to Panorama Bar.
Harry took his time moving through the industrial space, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The concrete walls seemed to breathe with the bass, the scattered lights creating moving shadows that made everyone look like creatures of the night. He could feel the music changing him with each step, transforming him from pop star to just another raver seeking transcendence in techno.
The deeper he ventured into the main room, the more the outside world fell away. No phones, no cameras, no expectations - just the honest sweat and collective energy of hundreds of bodies moving in the dark. This was why they came here, why they went through all the elaborate planning. In here, they could just... be.
The rush mixed with the natural high of movement, of freedom, of being just another body in the dark. No one cared who he was here. No one was watching, judging, analyzing his every move. The bass consumed him as Harry found his spot near one of the concrete pillars. He closed his eyes, letting his body move with the music, feeling it pulse through every cell. This was what he'd needed - this primal connection between sound and movement, this pure physical release.
He lost himself in it, arms raised, hips swaying, head thrown back. Sweat dampened his mesh top, his skin glowing in the sporadic strobe lights. When the music peaked, he took careful hits from the poppers, riding the rush as it amplified everything - the bass, the heat, the press of bodies around him.
Someone moved into his space, matching his rhythm. Harry opened his eyes to find a tall German guy dancing near him, all lean muscle and sharp cheekbones. They moved together naturally, the way good dancers do, feeding off each other's energy. The guy was good - clearly a regular, someone who understood the rhythm and ritual of Berlin's most notorious club.
"I'm Klaus," the guy shouted over the music after what could have been minutes or hours, his hand brushing Harry's waist as they moved. His accent was thick, sensual.
"H," he replied, continuing to move. Klaus's hands found Harry's hips during a particularly deep bass drop, and Harry let him - this too was part of the dance, part of the heady freedom that made Berghain legendary. Here, in the shadowy main room of this former power plant turned temple of hedonism, boundaries blurred and inhibitions dissolved.
They danced through another track, Klaus moving closer, his body radiating heat. His fingers traced patterns on Harry's exposed skin where the mesh top had ridden up. It was seductive but not aggressive - he knew the delicate choreography of club flirtation.
"You move like sex," Klaus murmured in his ear, hands sliding lower. "There are rooms here, you know. Dark rooms." His lips brushed Harry's ear. "Where anything can happen. Where no one can see what happens between two bodies in the dark."
Harry knew about the dark rooms - everyone did. They were part of what made Berghain infamous: maze-like spaces where the club's philosophy of absolute freedom reached its natural conclusion. Where strangers met in total darkness for anonymous encounters, where the throbbing techno provided a soundtrack to more primal rhythms.
"Thanks, but no," Harry smiled, continuing to move with the music. "I perfer the Panorama Bar."
"Shame," Klaus said, but he was smiling too, hands still playing at Harry's waist. "One more dance? Maybe I can change your mind."
Harry nodded, letting himself get lost in the music again though he knew his mind wouldn't change. This was what he loved about Berghain - the openness, the lack of judgment, the way you could connect with someone for a moment and then let them go, no expectations, no complications. Where propositions weren't offensive and rejections weren't awkward. Where everything was possible but nothing was required.
Harry danced one more song with Klaus, enjoying the pure physicality of it, before they parted with easy smiles and no regrets. The encounter had left him buzzing, not from desire but from the freedom of it all - the ability to be desired, to flirt, to say no, all without the weight of his public persona.
He made his way through the labyrinth of the club, past the heavy metal stairs where people sat catching their breath, through the industrial corridors where the bass became more distant. The journey from the main room to Panorama Bar was like crossing between worlds - from the dark, thundering techno temple below to something lighter, more playful above.
The music changed as he climbed, techno giving way to house, the crowd different too - less intense, more jubilant. Beneath the massive windows, now covered to keep the morning light at bay, he spotted Louis exactly where he knew he'd be. Dancing with natural grace, lost in his own world but somehow still aware of everything around him.
Harry watched for a moment, letting the sight wash over him. Louis was beautiful like this - free, uninhibited, moving with the kind of confidence that came from not giving a fuck what anyone thought. His white t-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his body in a way that made Harry's mouth go dry.
He made his way through the crowd, sliding in behind Louis, hands finding his hips. Louis leaned back immediately, recognizing his touch without having to look.
"Had fun downstairs?" Louis asked, turning in his arms, eyes knowing.
"Yeah," Harry grinned, pulling him closer as they moved together. "Got propositioned. Dark rooms."
Louis laughed, the sound barely audible over the music. "Course you did. Can't take you anywhere."
"Wouldn't want to go anywhere else," Harry said, and they both knew he meant more than just the club.
The poppers were hitting just right, making everything feel heightened and soft at the edges. Louis reached up, fingers brushing Harry's jaw, and for a moment the music seemed to fade away. This was what freedom felt like - not the ability to do whatever he wanted, but the ability to just be. No cameras, no expectations, no carefully crafted image to maintain. Just him and Louis, moving together in a crowd of strangers who couldn't care less who they were.
His phone felt heavy in his pocket, turned off but still somehow radiating with all the messages he knew were waiting. Jeff's name would be there, along with his mum's, probably some increasingly passive-aggressive texts about the FireAid benefit. But here, in this concrete sanctuary, none of that existed. Here, he could just dance.
The music shifted, something darker and more sensual, and Harry turned to face Louis. The poppers were making everything feel electric, heightened. Louis immediately took control, one hand gripping Harry's hip while the other slid up his neck into his hair.
"Been watching you dance all night," Louis murmured, tugging gently at Harry's hair. His voice was rough, commanding despite the thundering bass. "Driving me mad, seeing everyone looking at you."
Harry melted into the touch, heat flooding his cheeks. They were just another couple getting lost in the music, hidden in plain sight. No one paid attention to the way Harry whimpered when Louis pulled his hair, to how pliant he became under Louis's hands, to the desperate way he pressed closer.
"Lou," Harry breathed, already feeling dizzy with want. The poppers made everything feel dreamlike, his usual self-consciousness evaporating with each beat of the music.
Louis smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing to Harry, and guided them toward the shadowy edges of the dance floor. He backed Harry against one of the concrete pillars, mostly hidden from view. The contrast between Louis's smaller frame and the absolute control he commanded made Harry's knees weak.
"Look at you," Louis said, voice low and possessive as he pressed closer. "All done being a tease now, aren't you baby?"
Harry could only nod, lips parted, completely at Louis's mercy as practiced hands found their way under his shirt.
Louis leaned in, lips brushing Harry's ear. "Everyone out there wanted you," he murmured, pressing Harry harder against the pillar. "But they don't get to have you like this, do they?"
Harry shook his head, breath catching as Louis's thigh pressed between his legs. The poppers were making him hypersensitive, every touch electric. "Just you, Lou. Only you."
Louis's hand tightened in Harry's hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck. "That's right," he breathed, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath Harry's ear. "All mine."
Harry whimpered, hips rolling against Louis's thigh without conscious thought. The music pulsed through them, the bass matching his racing heart. Louis's other hand slipped beneath Harry's shirt, fingertips tracing the familiar lines of his tattoos.
"So pretty for me," Louis murmured, pulling back just enough to watch Harry's face. His eyes were dark, possessive. "Could make you come right here, couldn't I? Just like this?"
Harry nodded desperately, past caring about where they were. The shadows hid them well enough, and the poppers had stripped away any remaining inhibitions. "Please, Lou."
Louis smiled, dangerous and knowing. His hand slid down to grip Harry's hip, controlling his movements. "Ask nicely, baby."
"Please," Harry breathed, the word nearly lost in the thundering bass. His fingers clutched at Louis's shoulders, seeking anchor.
Louis pressed closer, one hand still tangled in Harry's hair while the other gripped his hip possessively. The music seemed to pulse through them both, matching the rhythm of their movements. Harry was lost in it - the poppers making everything feel dreamlike, Louis's touch electric on his skin.
"Got you, baby," Louis murmured, voice rough against Harry's ear.
Harry's head fell back against the concrete, overwhelmed by sensation - the heavy beat of the music, Louis's body against his, the knowledge that they were hidden but not entirely alone. Louis knew exactly how to touch him, how to reduce him to nothing but desperate want.
When release finally came, it was with Louis's name on his lips, muffled against his shoulder. Louis held him through it, murmuring praise that Harry felt more than heard over the music.
They stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath, before Louis pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to Harry's temple. "Ready to head back to the hotel?"
Harry nodded, still dazed but smiling. "Take me home, Lou."
The exit had to be carefully orchestrated, like everything else. Louis left first, disappearing into the concrete corridors of Berghain while Harry waited exactly seven minutes, counting them on his phone. They'd done this dance so many times it was almost choreography.
Harry made his way to the coat check alone, still floating slightly from the poppers and everything else. The girl behind the counter started to say something about him looking like someone famous- but he just smiled and held his index finger to his lips, soft but warning. She nodded, understanding, and handed over his coat without further comment.
Outside, the pre-dawn Berlin air hit sharp and sobering. Harry pulled out his phone, checking the message that had already come through:
Taking the long way round. See you in 20 x
He walked the shorter route back to the hotel, hands shoved deep in his pockets against the cold. The streets were quiet except for the distant thrum of bass from the club and the occasional sounds of other clubbers heading home. Every time he passed someone, his heart jumped a bit, but no one paid him any attention. Just another tall boy in an oversized coat, walking home in the blue light before sunrise.
The back entrance of the hotel was exactly where Alberto had described - discrete, monitored but not obviously so. Harry slipped inside, taking the service elevator up as planned. His hands were shaking slightly as he keyed into the room, but whether from the cold or anticipation, he wasn't sure.
Louis was already there, cigarette dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the windowsill. He turned at the sound of the door, smile soft in the pre-dawn light.
"Hi," Harry breathed, finally letting himself relax as the door clicked shut behind him.
"Hi yourself," Louis murmured, already moving to close the distance between them. "Missed you."
Louis stubbed out his cigarette and crossed to Harry in three quick steps. Finally in their room, they could be themselves - though they'd already stolen that freedom in the darkened corners of Berghain. Harry immediately gravitated into Louis's space, drawn like a magnet as always.
"Longest seven minutes," Harry murmured, referring to their staggered exit. His coat hit the floor, forgotten. "Kept thinking you might get recognized on the way back."
"Not likely at this hour in Berlin," Louis said, backing Harry against the door. Despite his smaller frame, he commanded the space between them entirely. "Besides, everyone's too spaced to notice anything."
Harry's breath caught as Louis's fingers found their way into his hair, still damp from dancing. The residual effects of the poppers lingered, making everything feel dreamlike and electric. "Still feel you from before," he admitted, voice already going soft and pliant.
"Yeah?" Louis tugged gently at Harry's hair, drawing a whimper from him. "Want more, baby?"
The nickname made Harry's knees weak, just like it always did. "Please, Lou..."
"Shh," Louis soothed, though his eyes were dark with want. His hand found bare skin, making Harry shiver. "Got you now. Properly this time."
Harry could only nod, already lost in the feeling of being completely, safely Louis'. Here in their hotel room, away from everything, the night could stretch on forever.
"Bed," Louis directed, already walking Harry backwards. His hands never left Harry's skin, like breaking contact would somehow shatter the moment. "Need you horizontal before your legs give out completely."
Harry laughed softly, the sound catching in his throat as the backs of his knees hit the mattress. "My legs are fine," he protested, even as he let Louis push him down onto the crisp hotel sheets.
"Sure they are, love." Louis followed him down, bracketing Harry's body with his own. "That why you were swaying in the doorway?"
"Was not," Harry said, but his indignation melted into a gasp as Louis's mouth found that spot below his ear. "That's- oh..."
"That's what?" Louis murmured against his skin, clearly pleased with himself.
"Menace," Harry managed, though his hands were already working their way under Louis's shirt, needing to touch. The familiar planes of Louis's back were warm under his fingers, grounding him in their own private world.
Louis lifted his head, eyes bright with mischief despite the late hour. "It was your idea to go to a famous sex club. Wasn't it?"
"I just wanted to go dancing somewhere without cameras," Harry protested weakly, though his flushed cheeks told a different story. "Didn't hear you complaining an hour ago."
Louis's laugh was warm against Harry's throat. "Course not. Think I'd ever complain about getting my hands on you?"
Harry's retort dissolved into a soft sound as Louis's teeth grazed his pulse point. His fingers tightened reflexively against Louis's back, pulling him closer. The heat between them was dizzying, familiar and new all at once.
"Besides," Louis continued, voice dropping lower as he worked his way down Harry's neck, "watching you dance like that..." His hand slid down Harry's side, fingertips teasing at the waistband of his trousers. "Should be illegal, really."
"Lou," Harry breathed, arching up into the touch. The hotel room felt too warm suddenly, his clothes too tight. "Please-"
"Please what, love?" Louis asked, but his teasing tone was starting to fray at the edges, betraying his own desperation. His fingers were already working at Harry's buttons, each new inch of exposed skin met with kisses that made Harry's breath catch.
Harry managed to get Louis's shirt pushed up, needing more contact, more everything. "Need- need you to-"
"Yeah?" Louis lifted his head to meet Harry's eyes, his own dark with want. Even after all this time, the way Louis looked at him made Harry's heart stutter. "Tell me what you need."
Harry pulled him down into a proper kiss instead, deep and hungry. Louis made a soft sound against his mouth, pressing closer as Harry's legs wrapped around his waist. The weight of him, the heat of skin on skin as their clothes gradually found their way to the floor - it was everything Harry had been thinking about since they'd first stepped into that club hours ago.
Louis broke the kiss to rest his forehead against Harry's, both of them breathing heavily. "You're everything," he whispered, with such raw honesty that Harry's chest ached.
"Stay with me," Harry murmured back, threading his fingers through Louis's hair. The city lights filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across Louis's face. "Come to Italy."
Louis's body tensed slightly against his. "H..."
"Just for a few days," Harry pressed, knowing he was pushing but unable to stop himself. "Dad's coming soon and I- the house feels so empty alone."
"Lottie's due any day," Louis said softly, but Harry could hear the waver in his voice. "Should really head back to London..."
"I know." Harry's fingers traced patterns on Louis's back. "But you could come for a bit? The sunset over the valley... remember last time?"
Louis huffed a small laugh. "Hard to forget. Nearly gave me a heart attack, you sitting on that wall."
"The view was worth it though." Harry pressed a kiss to Louis's shoulder. "Please, Lou? Need you there."
There was a pause, and Harry could practically hear Louis thinking about Alessandro's nearby estate, about all the reasons he should say no. "Your dad won't mind?"
"He loves you," Harry said softly. "You know that."
Louis shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Harry. The streetlights caught the uncertainty in his eyes. "You really want me there?"
"More than anything," Harry said, reaching up to trace Louis's bottom lip with his thumb. "We could take walks through the town in the morning before anyone's up. Have breakfast on the terrace. You could help me fix up that garden I keep talking about..."
"The one you've been 'talking about' for years?" Louis teased, but his expression had softened.
"Hey, I've been busy," Harry protested with a small smile. "Besides, now I'll have you to keep me on track."
Louis was quiet for a moment, studying Harry's face. "It's just..." he paused, jaw working slightly. "Small town, innit? Alessandro and Giovanni live just down the way..."
The careful way he said it made Harry's chest tight. There was something raw in Louis's voice, something that spoke of old wounds and unasked questions about those four years apart.
"Lou," Harry said softly, sitting up to face him properly. "Whatever you're thinking happened..."
"Did it?" Louis cut in, voice rough. "Because sometimes I wonder, H. About what happened when we were apart. Who you were with..."
Harry took a deep breath, knowing they needed to have this conversation but hating the vulnerability in Louis's eyes. "I wasn't a monk, Lou. And neither were you." He stroked his thumb along Louis's jawline. "But Alessandro and Giovanni... they're just friends. Good friends."
"Who you were very close to," Louis said quietly. "During those years."
"Yes," Harry admitted, because lying would only make things worse. "I spent a lot of time with them. They helped me when I was... when I was pretty lost, actually. But Lou, they're married. Happily married. Whatever you're imagining..."
"I imagine a lot of things," Louis's voice cracked slightly. "You're you, aren't you? Beautiful and charming and so bloody open with your love. And four years is a long time."
"Look at me," Harry urged, waiting until Louis's eyes met his. "Yes, I've been with other people. And yes, there were... experiences. But nothing - nobody - ever came close to what we have. What we've always had."
Louis's fingers tightened in the sheets. "Even when you were living there? In their back pocket practically?"
"Even then. Especially then." Harry pressed their foreheads together. "You were it for me at sixteen, and you're it for me now. The rest was just... existing. Waiting."
"So... Olivia," Louis said quietly, still not meeting Harry's eyes. "The papers made that look quite serious."
Harry let out a short laugh, no humor in it. "The papers make everything look serious. You know better than anyone how that works."
"Do I?" Louis' voice was sharp now. "Because I saw the pictures, H. The hand-holding, the holidays in Italy. The bloody tattoo on your thigh..."
"It was all PR. For the film, for both our careers. She needed the public to forget her connection to Weinstein so they'd take the movie serious, I needed to look straight enough to not tank the movie's chances. You know how it goes."
"Did you sleep with her?" The question came out barely above a whisper, Louis's thumb still tracing that 'E' on his hand – a reminder of their own complicated history with public relationships.
Harry took a deep breath, studying Louis's face in the dim light. He knew they were both thinking about those years apart, about the compromises and complications that came with living their lives in the public eye.
"No," Harry said firmly. "I didn't. Not with her."
Louis let out a breath he'd been holding, but there was still something guarded in his expression. "But there were others?"
"Yes," Harry admitted, because they'd promised not to lie to each other anymore. Not after everything. "Just like there were for you. But Lou..." He reached out, his fingers brushing over Louis's hand. "None of them meant anything. Not like this. Not like us."
Louis intertwined their fingers, and Harry felt the familiar weight of everything settling between them.
"It was always different with everyone else," Louis said softly, his thumb tracing patterns on Harry's palm. "Like something was missing..." He paused, swallowing hard. "Even when I tried, it felt hollow. Mechanical."
"I know what you mean," Harry breathed, remembering his own attempts at finding something – anything – that could compare. "They all felt like cheap imitations. Like trying to recreate a fire with matches when I'd known what it was like to hold the sun."
Louis's eyes darkened at that, his grip tightening slightly. "No one else ever knew how to touch you right, did they?" His voice had dropped lower, taking on that rough edge that always made Harry's skin tingle. "Didn't know all the places that make you fall apart."
Harry's breath hitched as Louis's free hand slid up his thigh. "No one else ever came close," he admitted, already feeling that familiar heat building between them. "Nobody else felt like home."
"Show me," Louis murmured, pulling Harry closer until their foreheads touched. "Show me how no one compares."
Harry leaned in, letting his lips brush against Louis's jaw, feeling the slight scratch of stubble that always drove him wild. "Remember the first time?" he murmured against Louis's skin. "In that tiny X-Factor bathroom?"
Louis's laugh was breathy, his hands sliding under Harry's shirt. "God, we were so young. So desperate for each other." His fingers traced the familiar lines of Harry's butterfly tattoo. "You were shaking."
"Was terrified someone would walk in," Harry admitted, pressing closer as Louis's hands mapped his skin. "But I couldn't wait another second to touch you." He nipped lightly at Louis's neck, savoring the small gasp it earned him. "Still can't sometimes."
"Fourteen years," Louis breathed, tilting his head to give Harry better access. "And you still affect me like that first time. Still make me feel like a teenager who can't control himself."
Harry pulled back slightly, meeting Louis's darkened eyes. "Remember Cardiff?" he asked, his voice rough. "That concert where you couldn't keep your hands off me?"
"Christ," Louis groaned, his fingers digging into Harry's hips. "The way you were moving that night... knew exactly what you were doing to me."
"Always did," Harry admitted, rolling his hips slowly against Louis's. "Loved watching you try to keep it together on stage."
"You were always such a little tease," Louis breathed, one hand sliding up to tangle in Harry's curls. "Still are. The way you'd look at me across the stage, bite your lip..." He tugged gently at Harry's hair, drawing a soft moan from him. "Drove me absolutely mad."
Harry pressed closer, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below Louis's ear. "Loved watching you get all worked up," he murmured. "The way your voice would get rough when you'd sing. The way you'd grab me the second we were off stage..."
"Like that time in Sydney?" Louis's hands were wandering now, relearning the planes of Harry's back, the dips of his spine. "Barely made it to the dressing room."
"Mmm," Harry hummed against his skin. "Management was so angry. But God, Lou..." He rolled his hips again, slower this time, more deliberate. "The way you looked at me that night, like you wanted to devour me..."
Louis's breath hitched, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair. "Still look at you that way," he said roughly. "Still want you just as much. More, maybe." His other hand slipped lower, possessive. "Because now I know exactly what you like. Know all the sounds you make when I touch you just right..."
"Remember Paris?" Harry whispered, his forehead pressed against Louis's. "That little balcony overlooking the city?"
Louis smiled, his fingers tracing patterns on Harry's back. "The stars were so bright that night. You kept pointing out constellations I couldn't see."
"Because you weren't looking at the sky," Harry chuckled softly. "Kept staring at me instead."
"Can you blame me?" Louis brought one hand up to cup Harry's cheek. "You looked ethereal in the moonlight. Still do." His thumb traced Harry's bottom lip. "Sometimes I still can't believe you're real. That we're here."
Harry turned his head slightly to kiss Louis's palm. "I'm real. We're real. Everything else might be complicated, but this..." He pressed Louis's hand against his chest, over his heartbeat. "This has always been the simplest thing in the world."
"Even when we were apart?" Louis asked softly, vulnerability creeping into his voice.
"Especially then," Harry assured him. "My heart never knew how to beat right without you nearby. Like it was always searching for its other half."
Louis pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. "No more searching," he murmured. "No more running. Just us."
The sun was high in the Berlin sky by the time Harry finally stirred, his body aching pleasantly from hours of dancing. Louis was still dead to the world beside him, face pressed into the pillow, one arm thrown possessively across Harry's waist. The sheets felt impossibly soft against his skin, a stark contrast to the industrial intensity of the night before.
His phone showed three missed calls from Jeff, two from Gemma, and about fifty texts he couldn't bring himself to read yet. He should feel guilty about not answering, probably. Instead, he just felt relieved. Peaceful, even, watching Louis's chest rise and fall in the gentle afternoon light.
They'd stumbled back to the hotel early that morning, still riding the high of the music and something more chemical, and spent the next several hours tangled in each other. Now it was... Harry squinted at his phone... 2 PM, and his body couldn't quite decide if it wanted coffee or more sleep.
"S'too early to wake up, Haz," Louis mumbled into the pillow, tightening his arm around Harry's waist.
Harry laughed softly, running his fingers through Louis's messy hair. "It's afternoon, love."
"Details," Louis yawned, finally lifting his head. His eyes were still slightly unfocused, voice rough with sleep. "Last night was..."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, because words didn't quite capture it. The freedom of it all - no phones, no expectations, just bodies moving to the beat in the dark. For a few hours, he'd just been another person losing himself to the music.
Louis shifted closer, resting his chin on Harry's chest. "You looked so free out there," he murmured. "Like when we used to sneak into clubs before anyone knew who we were."
Harry traced patterns on Louis's bare shoulder, thinking. "I miss that sometimes. Just... being. Not having to calculate every move." He paused, the weight of everything pressing in again. "Jeff called. Three times."
"Let him wait," Louis said firmly. "You're allowed to take time for yourself."
"Am I though?" Harry stared at the ceiling. "He wants me to commit to the FireAid benefit in two weeks. Wants me to start the album rollout right after. Keep talking about 'striking while the iron's hot.'" He could already imagine the carefully planted blind items if he refused, the way Jeff would make sure everyone knew Harry Styles was 'difficult' to work with.
"Hey," Louis propped himself up on one elbow, meeting Harry's eyes. "You've given them fifteen years of your life. Every decision, every move, every relationship managed and packaged for public consumption. You're between contracts now. You get to decide what comes next."
Harry swallowed hard. "What if I don't want to decide yet? What if I just want..." he gestured vaguely at their tangled limbs, the rumpled sheets, the quiet afternoon light streaming through the windows.
"Then that's what we do," Louis said simply. "We stay in bed all day. Order obscene amounts of room service. Maybe venture out for coffee tomorrow if we're feeling ambitious." His thumb brushed Harry's cheek. "The world can wait."
"I want pancakes," Harry declared after a while, rolling over to grab the room service menu. "And eggs. And possibly everything else they serve."
Louis laughed, pressed against his back. "Post-Berghain munchies?"
"Mmm," Harry hummed in agreement, already dialing. He ordered enough food for four people, making Louis snort when he added "and extra syrup, please" in his careful German.
They dozed between courses, trading lazy kisses and half-formed thoughts. Harry's phone buzzed again - Emma, his assistant, this time - but he just turned it face down. Everything outside this room felt distant, like watching a storm through thick glass.
"'S weird, innit?" Harry mused, pushing cold pancakes around his plate. "Like, dunno what I'm even doin' anymore."
Louis hummed questioningly around a mouthful of eggs, watching Harry's face carefully.
"Been eighteen months," Harry continued quietly. "Longest I've ever... y'know." He gestured vaguely with his fork. "Just existed."
"Proper unemployed rockstar, you are," Louis teased gently, but his eyes were serious. "Though Jeff's been ringing, yeah?"
"Mmm." Harry set his plate aside, curling closer to Louis. "Wants me back in. FireAid's coming up."
"And?"
"And I dunno." Harry was quiet for a long moment. "Used to think I knew exactly what I wanted. Everything all planned out, like."
"But now?" Louis prompted, fingers absently carding through Harry's curls.
"Now 'm not so sure." Harry's voice went soft, thoughtful. "Been nice, hasn't it? Just... being. No cameras, no speculation. Just us."
"Never thought I'd hear those words from your mouth," Louis said with a quiet laugh. "Time was you'd've given anything for-"
"I know," Harry cut in. "That's what's got me proper confused, innit? Like, everything I thought I wanted..."
"'S like," Harry continued after a moment, searching for the right words. "When you're young, yeah? Everything feels so black and white. Like if people are telling you not to do something, doing it must be the answer."
Louis's hand stilled in Harry's hair. "Bit different from 'I don't want to live like I'm ashamed of you' Harry from 2015, innit?"
"God, I was so..." Harry laughed softly against Louis's chest. "Thought I had it all figured out, didn't I? Thought if we just told everyone, everything would somehow be perfect."
"To be fair, love, we were being proper controlled then."
"Yeah, but..." Harry shifted to look at Louis. "'S different now though, innit? Like, looking at how everyone picks apart every little thing. The way they think they're entitled to know everything." He paused. "Makes me grateful, sometimes. That we've got this just for us."
Louis was quiet for a moment, thumb brushing Harry's cheekbone. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd say that."
"Took me long enough to get it." Harry laced their fingers together. "Watching what they did with Taylor, with Kendall... every person I've ever stood next to, really. Making up stories, creating drama. Can't imagine what they'd do with..."
"Us?" Louis supplied when Harry faltered.
"Yeah." Harry shifted closer. "Like, I still don't want to lie. If someone asked, point blank..." He shrugged. "But I don't want to feed into it either. Don't want our whole relationship dturned into some PR strategy meeting."
"Bit ironic that," Louis said with a soft laugh. "Considering how many strategy meetings we sat through about keeping us apart."
They dozed on and off through the afternoon, Harry drifting in and out of consciousness with Louis's steady heartbeat under his ear. At some point, Louis ordered room service again- a proper greasy burger for himself, and a veggie burger for Harry - that they ate cross-legged on the bed, still wrapped in the duvet. The telly droned quietly in the background, some German game show that neither of them could follow but was oddly soothing in its incomprehensibility.
"Should probably shower," Harry mumbled at one point, but Louis just tugged him closer with a sleepy "Later." Louis ran his fingers through Harry's hair as Harry traced the familiar lines of Louis's tattoos. They talked about nothing important - about the weird art installation in the hotel lobby, about the way the bass had felt in their bones at Berghain, about how they should probably feel guilty for spending an entire day in bed but couldn't quite manage it. When darkness fell, watched old episodes of Friends on Harry's laptop, Louis mouthing along to all the lines he'd memorized years ago. It wasn't until the watery winter sun started creeping through the curtains the next morning that
Harry pulled on his rattiest trackies and a worn t-shirt, layering his heavy wool coat over his puffer jacket. He tugged his oldest beanie - the one with the small hole near the ear that Louis kept threatening to bin - low over his unwashed curls before pulling up the hood of the puffer. Looking in the mirror, he barely recognized himself. Perfect.
The January morning was properly bitter, the kind of cold that got right into your bones. Few people were about at this hour, just the occasional jogger and early-morning commuters, heads down against the wind. Harry kept his own gaze trained on the pavement, shoulders hunched, doing his best impression of a hungover local trying to sort himself with caffeine.
Bonanza was already busy with the morning rush, warm and fragrant inside. He queued behind a group of students, all speaking rapid German, and let himself get lost in the familiar comfort of coffee shop sounds - the whir of grinders, the hiss of steam wands, the clink of ceramic. He was studying the pastry case when movement outside caught his eye. A girl on the street had stopped dead, phone raised. Harry watched in the reflection of the glass as she quickly snapped a photo before hurrying away. He sighed, pulling his coat tighter. Time was he would've been proper bothered, but now it just felt... distant. Like it was happening to someone else.
"One double shot latte with whole milk, one flat white with the orange blossom syrup, and..." He squinted at the case, voice rougher than usual from the night before. "Four of the cardamom buns, please."
His phone buzzed while he waited. Jeff again. Third time this morning. The FireAid poster was everywhere now - a proper who's who of music royalty. But Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Let them write their stories about his "mysterious absence." Let Jeff rage. For the first time in ages, he felt... not exactly peaceful, but something close.
The barista handed him his order with a small smile that said she knew exactly who he was but wasn't going to make a fuss. Harry appreciated that about Berlin - people were better at letting you just exist.
Back at Soho House, Louis was awake and smoking by the window, wearing one of Harry's old t-shirts. His hair was proper messy, sticking up in odd angles that made Harry's heart squeeze with fondness.
"Alright, love?" Louis asked, stubbing out his cigarette.
"Brought provisions," Harry said, setting down the coffee. "Thought we might need it after the last couple days."
"Christ, my head." Louis grabbed for his latte, inhaling the steam. "Still feel like I'm coming down from Berghain."
Harry hummed in agreement, settling onto the wide windowsill beside him. The silence stretched between them, comfortable but weighted. His flight to Milan was tomorrow morning - barely twenty-four hours left of this strange, perfect bubble they'd built. He watched Louis pick at one of the cardamom buns, wanting to ask but not wanting to push. They hadn't properly talked about it yet - whether Louis would come with him to Italy, see his dad.
"Reckon Jeff's going mental about FireAid," Louis said finally, clearly deflecting. "Saw the lineup this morning."
Harry let him change the subject. They had time still. Not much, but enough. "Let him. I'm tired of organizing my whole life around what might look good or bad in the papers."
Harry curved his fingers around his coffee cup, quiet for a moment. That article was swirling around his brain again - the one claiming he'd blocked a reunion.
"Just... interesting, isn't it?" he said finally. "How they create these whole narratives, make it out like I'm something I'm not."
"Love that bit about me and Z 'pushing for a reunion,'" Louis said with a dry laugh. "When all we've really done is send memes in the group chat since November."
Harry hummed softly. The 'too big for the band' quote had gotten under his skin more than he'd admit. After all these years of carefully choosing his words in interviews, of making sure everyone knew how grateful he was for those years...
He thought about every show, how "What Makes You Beautiful" still felt like coming home. How sometimes he'd weave in pieces of their old songs, not because he had to, but because they were woven into him now, weren't they?
"It's like..." he started, searching for the right words. "No one else was behind that glass with us, were they?"
Louis' expression shifted, understanding immediately. "No," he said softly. "Just us five."
Harry took another sip of his coffee, longer this time. There was something almost comforting about these moments with Louis now - how they could sit in silences that weren't really silences. How they'd both grown into themselves enough to just... be.
"Guess that's why it's funny, really," Harry said after a moment. "All these people thinking they know. Writing articles about who I talk to, what I want." He gave a small, private smile. "When half the time they can't even get right what I had for breakfast."
"Saw someone say you were having weekly tennis matches with Mick Jagger the other day," Louis offered, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
"Oh, that's a new one." Harry's dimple appeared briefly. "Should tell them about my weekend polo matches with the King while we're at it."
Harry's gaze dropped to his coffee, voice going soft. "Sometimes I think about... back then. When it all started getting heavy online."
"Yeah?" Louis' voice was careful, gentle in a way it only got when they brushed against these older memories.
"Found those old screenshots the other day actually. From 2011." Harry's dimple appeared, but it was sad somehow. "God, I was such a mess that night, wasn't I? Curled up, proper sobbing over my phone."
"You were seventeen," Louis said quietly, like that explained everything. Maybe it did.
"Wanted so badly to be like you then." Harry's voice had gone a bit rough around the edges. "Just... wanted to let it all roll off, you know? But I couldn't. Still can't, really." He laughed, but it was hollow. "Still the same kid who takes everything to heart."
"Hey." Louis' voice went sharp, protective in that way that hadn't changed in thirteen years. "Don't do that. Don't act like being sensitive is something to be ashamed of."
Harry looked up, caught off guard by Louis' intensity.
"You being you - feeling everything so deeply - that's what kept us steady, wasn't it?" Louis continued, softer now. "While I was busy pretending nothing could touch me, you were... you were feeling it all. Processing it. Helping us process it too."
"Lou..."
"No, listen. We needed that balance, didn't we? Still do, probably." Louis smiled, small but genuine. "You've always been perfect exactly as you are, H. Even when you were that kid crying over Twitter, even now."
There was a weighted silence, heavy with everything they'd been through, everything they'd been to each other.
Louis took a deep breath before breaking the silence. "I never want you to feel ashamed of your emotions."
Harry's breath caught slightly at those familiar words - the same ones Louis had whispered to him in that green room all those years ago, crouched beside him while he clutched his phone and tried to stop crying.
"You remember saying that?" Harry asked softly.
"Course I do." Louis' voice was rough now too. "Meant it then, mean it now. You've got the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known, H. Always have done."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Sometimes I think... maybe that's why we worked so well, you know? Back then. You were all sharp edges and armor, and I was just..."
"Raw," Louis finished. "Open. Bleeding heart on your sleeve for everyone to see." His expression softened. "Think maybe you taught me it was okay to be that way too, eventually."
"Yeah?" Harry looked up, something vulnerable in his eyes.
"Yeah." Louis smiled, small but real. "Still teaching me, aren't you?"
Harry smiled back, something settling in his chest. Even after all these years, all the stages and hotel rooms and cities that blurred together, some things stayed the same. Like the way Louis could still read him better than anyone.
"Suppose we both grew up a bit, didn't we?" Harry said finally, shifting closer on the hotel sofa until their shoulders touched.
"Speak for yourself, love." Louis' eyes crinkled at the corners, hand finding Harry's naturally. "I'm still the same little shit I always was."
"Right, course you are." Harry rolled his eyes fondly.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, looking out at the Berlin skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Louis turned to press a kiss to Harry's temple. "Love you," he murmured against his skin. "Every version of you. Always have done."
Harry turned into him, tucking his face against Louis' neck. "Love you too," he whispered. "Thank you for always knowing exactly what I need to hear."
Chapter 64: September 2011
Chapter Text
Harry felt the usual pre-show jitters as they prepared to go on stage for Red or Black. This was different from X Factor - bigger somehow, more real. The tube carriage segment had left him slightly breathless, the screaming girls still a bit surreal even after months of this. He wasn't used to being pushed to the front yet, still adjusting to management's new strategy of making him the focal point.
"Alright, Haz?" Louis whispered as they took their positions. Harry nodded, grateful for Louis's steady presence behind him. This formation was still new - him in front with Louis and Zayn on either side, Niall and Liam completing their tight cluster. Six months ago, they'd all shared the spotlight equally.
The first verse went fine, Harry falling into the familiar rhythm of their first single. Then suddenly the lights dropped, leaving him isolated in a single spotlight. The screaming seemed to fade into white noise as his solo approached.
"You're insecure-" The moment his voice wavered, panic seized his chest. The boys stood motionless around him as he struggled through each line, gasping for breath between words. This was live television - one of their first big performances outside of X Factor - and he was messing it up.
"-being the way that you are is en-enough-" His voice trembled embarrassingly. He could feel sweat beading at his hairline, his hands shaking around the microphone.
After "hard to tell," Harry instinctively looked to Louis, finding his boyfriend's encouraging nod. But the panic was too strong now. Harry shook his head slightly, dragging in a desperate breath before shouting "You don't know you're beautiful!" with more force than finesse.
The lights came back up as they all jumped into movement, spreading across the stage for the finale. Harry managed to steady himself for "That's what makes you beautiful," but it felt hollow now. As they took their final bow, all he could think was that he'd just proved to everyone watching that maybe Simon had made a mistake betting on them - on him.
He could sense Louis hovering as they walked offstage, wanting to offer comfort but unable to in front of the cameras. It was still new, this having to be careful thing. All Harry wanted was to grab Louis's hand, to let his boyfriend ground him like he always did, but instead he had to smile and nod as the host wrapped up, pretending his heart wasn't trying to beat out of his chest.
Harry went through the motions backstage, his media-trained smile feeling plastic on his face. Normally he'd be in his element here - charming everyone with his dimples and slow drawl, making each person feel special. Instead, he was barely managing to keep his hands from shaking as he posed for photos, signed whatever was thrust at him.
The noise was overwhelming - congratulations and compliments blending into a dull roar that couldn't quite drown out the voice in his head replaying every wobble in his solo. He kept losing sight of Louis in the crowd, catching glimpses of his boyfriend's worried glances between photos with different executives.
"Harry, love, over here!" A producer called, and he obediently moved to the next group of important people he needed to impress. Someone pressed a water bottle into his hand - probably Paul - but his throat felt too tight to drink.
Louis was pulled in the opposite direction, his loud laugh carrying across the room as he chatted with some radio personnel. Harry envied how easily Louis could compartmentalize, could shine in these situations even while being worried about Harry. Usually, Louis's laugh was contagious, but right now it just reminded Harry how far apart they were.
"You boys were fantastic!" Someone else gushed, and Harry nodded automatically, mumbling thanks while fighting the urge to correct them. I wasn't fantastic. I ruined it. Everyone saw.
The next twenty minutes dragged endlessly - more photos, more handshakes, more forced smiles. Harry could feel himself retreating further inside his head with each passing moment. He caught Zayn watching him with concern, but even Zayn knew better than to try and intervene in this circus.
When Louis finally managed to work his way back to Harry's side, their shoulders barely brushing, Harry couldn't even look at him. He knew what he'd see in Louis's eyes - that mixture of love and worry that would break the fragile hold he had on his composure. Instead, he kept his focus on the next hand to shake, the next smile to fake, waiting for the moment they could escape to the car.
The silence in the van felt suffocating. Harry was wedged between Louis and the window, his phone clutched in trembling hands as he typed and retyped messages to his mum.
I messed up so bad, Mum. My voice kept shaking. Everyone could tell.
Louis's thigh was pressed against his, a silent offering of support, but Harry couldn't bear to lean into it. He didn't deserve comfort right now. His phone buzzed with Anne's reply: Baby, I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think. You're always so hard on yourself x
But Harry was already pulling up Twitter, his thumb hovering over the search bar. He could feel Louis watching as he typed "Harry sucks" with shaking fingers, his heart dropping as the tweets loaded.
"Haz, don't," Louis whispered, trying to reach for the phone, but Harry pulled away, curling further into himself against the window.
The other boys were celebrating in their usual way - Niall's loud laughter filling the van as he and Liam relived moments from the performance, Zayn occasionally chiming in. But their joy felt distant, like it was happening in another world - a world where Harry hadn't just proved he wasn't good enough to be their frontman.
What if Simon changes his mind? He typed to his mum. What if I ruined everything for the boys?
Louis tried again, his voice soft enough that only Harry could hear. "Your solo was amazing, love. Everyone in that audience was screaming for you."
Harry just shook his head, fresh tears threatening as he read another tweet: Harry Styles proved he can't sing live. One Direction is just another manufactured boyband.
"They were screaming because they had to," Harry whispered back, his voice cracking. "Because the show told them to."
He could feel Louis's frustration, could see it in the way his hands clenched in his lap - wanting to pull Harry close but knowing he couldn't, not here in the van with the driver, not when Harry was this closed off.
Another message from Anne: Call me when you get home, sweetheart. I love you xxx
But Harry couldn't imagine talking to anyone right now, not even his mum. His chest felt too tight, each breath shallow and painful. He was seventeen years old, and he'd just failed spectacularly on national television. Failed his bandmates, failed Simon, failed Louis - sweet, wonderful Louis who believed in him more than he deserved.
As they pulled up to their apartment complex, Harry could barely see through his tears, but he blinked them back furiously. He had to at least make it inside before he completely fell apart.
Harry burst out of the van the moment it stopped, ignoring Louis's gentle "Haz, wait-" as he stumbled toward their building. His vision was blurring but he knew the way by muscle memory - through the lobby, up the stairs because he couldn't stand still long enough for the lift.
Behind him, he could hear the others' voices carrying in the stairwell.
"Lou," Niall's worried tone. "Should we-"
"Give him a minute," Zayn cut in quietly. "He's proper freaking out."
"I've never seen him like this," Liam said.
"Because he's never been singled out like this before, has he?" Louis's voice was tight with concern. "They're putting so much pressure on him and he's just-" A pause. "He's seventeen, for fuck's sake."
Harry didn't wait to hear more. He fumbled with his key, hands shaking so badly he could barely get it in the lock. He finally managed to wrench the door open, slamming it behind him just as Louis reached the landing.
"Harry?" Louis called through the door, his voice gentle but urgent. "Love, please."
But Harry was already halfway to their bedroom, phone still clutched in his hand like a lifeline, tears finally falling freely now that he was alone. His mum had sent three more messages, but the words swam before his eyes.
Louis opened the door slowly like he was approaching a spooked animal. He found Harry curled up on their bed, knees drawn to his chest, phone clutched tight in his hands. The sound of quiet, hitching sobs filled the room.
"Oh, love," Louis breathed, closing the door behind him. He approached carefully, perching on the edge of the bed. "Can I touch you?"
Harry shook his head violently, curling tighter into himself. "Don't," he choked out. "I don't- I can't-"
"Okay," Louis said softly, though Harry could hear how much it hurt him to stay away. "I'll just sit here then."
Through his tears, Harry managed to gasp out, "I ruined everything. They're going to drop us and it'll be my fault and you'll all hate me and-"
"Harry Edward Styles," Louis interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "Look at me."
Harry shook his head again, face buried in his knees.
"Please, love. Just look at me."
Something in Louis's tone made Harry lift his head slightly, meeting those blue eyes that had become his anchor.
"Nobody is dropping us," Louis said steadily. "Nobody hates you. And your voice..." He swallowed hard. "Your voice was beautiful. It shook a bit, yeah? So what? You're human, Haz. You're allowed to be nervous."
"But I'm supposed to be better," Harry whispered, voice cracking. "They want me to be perfect and I'm not and now everyone knows-"
"Fuck what they want," Louis said fiercely. "You're perfect to me. To the boys. To those girls screaming your name. And if management can't handle you having actual human emotions, then-"
"Lou," Harry interrupted, fresh tears spilling. "Please just... can you..."
He didn't need to finish. Louis was already moving, gathering Harry into his arms as he finally broke down completely. Harry buried his face in Louis's neck, clutching his shirt like a lifeline as sobs wracked his body.
"I've got you," Louis murmured, running gentle fingers through Harry's curls. "I've got you, love. Let it out."
Louis held Harry as the minutes ticked by, feeling helpless as his boyfriend scrolled endlessly through his phone, each new comment making him flinch.
"'His voice is weak live,'" Harry read out, voice hollow. "'They should let Liam take the lead.' They're right, Lou. I don't know why-"
"Give me that," Louis tried to grab the phone, but Harry jerked away, curling into himself at the headboard.
"No, I need to see. I need to know what they're saying."
"You don't need to do this to yourself-"
"Yes, I do!" Harry's voice cracked. "Because tomorrow I have to go out there and do it again, and the next day, and the next, and I can't- I don't know how to-" He broke off, breathing ragged. "You make it look so easy. You just laugh everything off, you don't care what anyone thinks-"
"Of course I care," Louis interrupted softly. "But Haz, you can't let them-"
"I know!" Harry shouted, then immediately crumpled in on himself. "I know," he repeated quieter, tears streaming down his face. "I know I shouldn't care. I know I should be stronger. But I'm not you, Lou. I can't just... shake it off. Every comment feels like they're seeing right through me, seeing what I've been afraid of this whole time - that I'm not good enough for this. Not good enough for the band. Not good enough for-"
"Don't," Louis's voice was fierce. "Don't you dare say you're not good enough for me."
Harry's phone buzzed again. Another tweet. "'Harry Styles: proof that Simon Cowell can't manufacture talent.'" His hands shook as he read it. "See? They all know. They can all see it."
"Harry, please-"
"Stop trying to fix this!" Harry's voice broke completely. "You can't fix this. You can't fix me. I'm not- I'm just a kid from Holmes Chapel who got lucky, and now everyone knows it."
Louis moved slowly, telegraphing his movements as he reached for Harry again. This time, Harry let himself be pulled close, too exhausted to resist.
"You're right," Louis whispered against his curls. "I can't fix this. But I'm not going anywhere. Neither are the boys. And tomorrow, you're going to get up and sing again, and the next day, and the next. Not because management says so, but because you love it. Because when you're not in your head about it, when you're just being you, you light up the whole fucking room."
Harry's fingers twisted in Louis's shirt. "I don't know how to be that person right now."
"Then just be here with me. Let me hold you until you remember."
Harry's phone buzzed again, but this time Louis managed to gently pry it from his grip, setting it face-down on the nightstand. Harry didn't fight it, just pressed his face into Louis's chest and let out a shuddering breath.
"What if I never get better?" he whispered into the quiet. "What if I keep letting everyone down?"
"You could never let me down," Louis said firmly. "Never."
They lay there in the dim room of their penthouse, Louis running his fingers through Harry's curls while Harry's breathing slowly steadied. Every few minutes, Harry's eyes would drift to his phone on the nightstand, and Louis would feel him tense up again.
"My mum keeps texting," Harry mumbled finally. "I should call her."
"Do you want to?"
Harry shook his head against Louis's chest. "Can't. She'll try to make me feel better and I just... I can't hear it right now. Can't pretend I'm okay."
The sound of the penthouse door opening and quiet footsteps in the living room made Harry burrow further into Louis's side. They could hear the boys moving around in their kitchen downstairs - they always had an open-door policy between their flats.
"We've got tea!" Niall called out softly. "And Zayn grabbed those cinnamon rolls from that bakery you like, Haz..."
"Not hungry," Harry called back, voice rough.
There was a pause, then Liam: "Harry, mate, you were brilliant today-"
"Please," Harry's voice cracked. "Please just go away."
Louis caught Zayn's eye through the crack in their bedroom door, giving a small shake of his head. He heard their bandmates retreat to the living room, their worried whispers still audible.
"They're just worried about you," Louis said softly.
"They shouldn't have to worry about me," Harry whispered. "I'm supposed to be strong for them. For you. Simon said... he said I needed to be the face of the band, that I had to..."
"Simon can fuck right off," Louis interrupted fiercely. "You're not just the face of the band, you're a person. A seventeen-year-old person who's being asked to carry the weight of the world."
"But you all deal with it so much better-"
"We all deal with it differently," Louis corrected gently. "Zayn disappears into his art downstairs. Liam works out until he can barely move. Niall plays guitar until his fingers bleed. And I..." he paused. "I put on a show. Make jokes, act like nothing bothers me. But it does. It all does."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, fingers tracing patterns on Louis's chest. "I can feel them all watching me now," he admitted in a small voice. "Waiting to see if I'll crack again. Management, the fans, everyone. And I just... I don't know how to be what they want."
"Then don't be," Louis said simply. "Be you. The you that sings in the shower and makes terrible puns and steals my cereal. The you that I fell in love with."
Harry's breath hitched. "What if that's not enough?"
"It's more than enough," Louis pressed a kiss to his curls. "It's everything."
The phone buzzed again on the nightstand. Harry's whole body tensed, but he didn't reach for it this time, just pressed closer to Louis.
"Stay?" he whispered.
"Always," Louis promised. "Always, love."
Through their bedroom door, they could hear the boys settling in the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV turned down low. It was comforting, in a way - knowing they were there but giving Harry space.
Harry shifted slightly. "Lou?" his voice was barely a whisper. "What if... what if I can't do this anymore?"
Louis's hand stilled in Harry's hair. "What do you mean, love?"
"The singing. The performing. All of it." Harry's fingers twisted anxiously in Louis's shirt. "What if I'm not cut out for-"
"Stop," Louis said firmly. "You were born for this, Harry Styles. I've watched you on stage when you forget to be nervous - you're magnetic. Electric. You make everyone fall in love with you."
"Not today," Harry's voice cracked.
"Especially today," Louis insisted. "Because today you showed everyone that you're human. That you feel things deeply. And yeah, maybe your voice shook a bit, but that's what makes you real."
Harry was quiet for a long moment. "Management wants me to do a solo interview tomorrow. About... about today."
Louis's arms tightened around Harry, though they both knew there was nothing he could do about it. "What time?" he asked quietly.
"Eight AM. They want to get ahead of the story." Harry's voice was hollow. "They've already written out what I'm supposed to say. About being overwhelmed by the fans' support. About how grateful I am for the opportunity."
"Hey," Louis tilted Harry's chin up. "Look at me. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever they make you say - I'm right here. The boys are right here."
From the living room, they heard Niall's laugh, followed by Zayn's quiet "Shh!" It was so normal, so familiar, that Harry felt something in his chest loosen slightly.
"Can we..." he hesitated. "Can we just go sit with the boys for a bit? I don't want to talk about it, just..."
"Course we can," Louis pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Whatever you need."
Harry sat up slowly, wiping at his eyes. "I probably look a mess."
"You look beautiful," Louis said simply. "Always do."
When they emerged from the bedroom, no one made a big deal of it. Zayn just shifted over on the sofa to make room, while Niall pushed a cup of tea into Harry's hands. Liam threw a blanket over all of them as Harry curled into Louis's side.
On screen, some mindless comedy was playing. Harry didn't really watch it, just let the familiar presence of his boys surround him, ground him. His phone buzzed again from the bedroom - probably management with more interview prep - but here, wrapped in Louis's arms with their bandmates around them, the sound seemed more distant, less important.
"Love you," he whispered into Louis's chest, quiet enough that only Louis could hear.
Louis's arms tightened around him. "Love you more."
Chapter 65: Present Day
Summary:
Louis visits his sister Lottie, meeting his new niece Flossie and spending time with his nephew Lucky, who adores the Harry-inspired stuffed giraffe gift. After family time, he heads to Los Angeles where he attends Zayn's show, leading to their first public reunion in years and a night of raw, honest conversations about their past and Liam's memorial.
Chapter Text
Louis watched Harry pack, perched on the edge of their hotel bed in Berlin. The familiar domesticity of it - Harry meticulously folding his ridiculous designer shirts - made his heart ache a bit. Especially knowing they'd be apart for his birthday.
"Your dad's really excited about Italy," Louis said, fiddling with one of Harry's rings on the bedside table. "Been sending me pictures of all the restaurants he wants you to take him to."
Harry's hands stilled on a half-folded Gucci jumper. "First birthday we'll have together in years and we're choosing to spend it apart."
"Hey." Louis stood, moving to wrap his arms around Harry from behind. "S'not like before, is it? No contracts saying we can't be seen together, no management telling us we have to be on opposite sides of the planet." He pressed a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "Got private planes now, don't we? If we can't stand it, I'll come crash your Italian paradise."
Harry leaned back into him, huffing out a small laugh. "Remember my nineteenth?"
"Christ, don't remind me." Louis groaned, but there was no real bite to it anymore. "Still can't believe Grimmy ordered you a bloody stripper."
"He was trying to wind you up and you know it." Harry turned in his arms, dimple appearing. "Wrote you a pretty good song about it though, didn't I?"
"Suppose you did." Louis reached up to tuck a curl behind Harry's ear. "This is different though, yeah? We're choosing this. Both got work to do, people to see. And then we'll choose to come back to each other. Always do."
"Always have," Harry agreed softly, leaning down to kiss him. "Even when we probably shouldn't have."
"Oi." Louis pinched his side, making him yelp. "Coming back to each other was never wrong."
Harry's laugh echoed through the hotel room, bright and genuine. "Course you are, darling. The absolute pinnacle of good decisions."
When Louis landed at Heathrow, Oli was already waiting with a coffee and that knowing grin of his.
"Survived letting lover boy go off to Italy then?" he asked, falling into step beside Louis as they headed for the car.
"Barely," Louis deadpanned, but took the coffee gratefully. "How's things at the house?"
"Same as you left it. Though your sister's been texting me every hour asking when you're getting to hers. Proper excited for you to meet little Flossie."
Louis couldn't help but smile at that. His baby sister, with a baby of her own. "Lewis holding up alright with the night feeds?"
"According to Instagram, he's surviving." Oli pulled onto the motorway and shot him a glare as Louis checked his phone again, checking the Life360 alert that had just popped up. "You know, for someone who insisted you had to go separate ways for work, you've been checking your phone every thirty seconds."
"He only just landed, didn't he?" Louis defended, even as his phone buzzed with exactly that - 'Landed safe. Dad says hi. Miss you already x'
He typed back quickly: 'Miss you more. Tell Dez if he doesn't take you to that little pasta place in the village I'll never forgive him.'
"You're actually worse than you were at eighteen, you know that?" Oli snorted. "Didn't think that was possible."
"Oi, you said you'd try to be supportive," Louis reminded him, but he was grinning.
"I am being supportive! Look at me, supportively taking the piss out of how absolutely gone you still are for him."
His phone lit up again - the group chat this time. Niall sending some ridiculous golf meme, Zayn responding with crying laughing emojis.
The car pulled up outside Lottie's place, and Louis could see her silhouette through the window, presumably with Flossie in her arms.
"Ready to meet your niece?" Oli asked, killing the engine.
Louis smiled, genuine and warm. "Yeah, mate. More than."
Louis barely made it to the front door before it swung open, revealing Lottie with dark circles under her eyes but absolutely beaming.
"Finally," she huffed, pulling him into a one-armed hug, her other arm supporting a tiny bundle wrapped in pink. "Lucky's been asking for Uncle Lou every five minutes since I told him you were coming."
As if on cue, there was a thunder of tiny feet, and suddenly Louis' legs were being attacked by an enthusiastic toddler. "Lou Lou!"
"There's my favorite man!" Louis scooped Lucky up, settling him on his hip with practiced ease. "Been taking care of your mummy and baby sister?"
"Fwossie baby," Lucky informed him very seriously, then completely switched gears: "Hawwy?"
Louis caught Lottie's knowing smirk over Lucky's curls. "Harry's gone to see his dad in Italy, mate. But he sent you something." He dug in his bag with his free hand, pulling out a small stuffed giraffe wearing a tiny replica of one of Harry's more ridiculous floral suits.
Lucky's eyes went wide. "For me?"
"Course for you. Though you might have to share with Flossie when she's bigger."
"Speaking of," Lottie interrupted, "would you like to meet your new niece properly? Lewis is finally sleeping and I could use a cuppa."
"Give her here then," Louis said softly, carefully setting Lucky down. The moment Lottie transferred the tiny bundle into his arms, his throat went tight. She was so small, perfect little features that reminded him so much of their sister it hurt. "Hello there, princess."
"Sad?" Lucky asked, pressing against his leg and peering up at him.
"Nah, mate." Louis blinked rapidly. "Just really happy to meet your sister. Why don't you tell me all about being a big brother while mummy makes tea?"
Louis settled onto the sofa, Flossie cradled carefully in one arm while Lucky climbed up next to him, immediately pressing into his side.
"Baby sleep," Lucky announced, pointing at his sister.
"Yeah, she does sleep a lot doesn't she?" Louis adjusted the blanket around Flossie's tiny face. "You being gentle with her?"
"Gentle," Lucky nodded solemnly, then: "Park?"
"If mummy says it's okay." Louis smiled as Lucky started playing with the buttons on his jacket. "You helping mummy?"
"Help!" Lucky beamed proudly, then his face scrunched up thoughtfully. "Miss Hawwy."
Louis' heart did a funny little flip. "Yeah? He misses you too, mate. Told me to give you a big hug."
"Hawwy sing?"
"Got you on FaceTime soon as he's settled at his dad's, Lou," Lottie called from the kitchen. "He promised Lucky a bedtime song, didn't he?"
"Song!" Lucky confirmed excitedly, then immediately lowered his voice when Flossie stirred. "Baby sleep."
Louis pressed a kiss to Lucky's curls, somehow managing to hold back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. His family had grown and changed so much, but moments like this - his nephew cuddled close, his newest niece in his arms, his sister humming softly in the kitchen - made everything feel right.
"Tea?" Lucky asked hopefully.
"Think you mean juice, mate," Louis laughed. "But yeah, let's see what mummy's got for us, yeah?"
Lottie came in balancing a tray with tea and Lucky's sippy cup of juice, setting it carefully on the coffee table. She looked exhausted but happy, sinking into the armchair across from them.
"Lewis finally crashed?" Louis asked quietly, watching Flossie's tiny fingers flex in her sleep.
"Yeah, poor thing's been up every two hours with her." Lottie reached for her tea. "Speaking of sleep, you look proper knackered. Late nights in Germany then?"
Louis shot her a warning look - Lucky was notorious for repeating everything he heard. "Just jet lag, innit?"
"Mmhmm," Lottie smirked. "Lucky, love, show Uncle Lou your new train set while I feed Flossie?"
"Train!" Lucky scrambled down, tugging at Louis' sleeve.
"Alright, alright," Louis carefully transferred Flossie to Lottie's arms. "Lead the way, conductor."
As Lucky dragged him toward the playroom, Lottie called after them, "We're not talking about those emails yet then?"
Louis' step faltered slightly. "Later, yeah? Just... not yet."
He could feel her concerned gaze on his back, but Lucky's insistent pulling saved him from having to say more. Right now he just wanted to be Uncle Lou, playing trains with his nephew and pretending the weight of everything else didn't exist.
After a few hours of trains, two FaceTime calls (one with Harry singing "Twinkle Twinkle" to an enthralled Lucky, and one with their sister Daisy who couldn't wait to meet Flossie), Louis finally managed to extract himself from Lucky's determined grip.
"No go," Lucky pouted, clinging to Louis' leg.
"I'll be back soon, mate. Promise." Louis ruffled his hair. "Got to go see Freddie, haven't I?"
"Fweddie!" Lucky brightened at his cousin's name, then immediately frowned again. "Miss you."
"Miss you too, lad." Louis scooped him up for one last squeeze, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. These goodbyes never got easier.
Lottie was waiting by the door, Flossie asleep in her arms. "You'll call when you land?"
"Course." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then one to Flossie's forehead. "Take care of our girls, Lucky!"
"Help!" Lucky agreed proudly from his perch on Lewis' hip, where he'd been transferred for the goodbye.
Outside, Oli was already waiting in the car, scrolling through his phone. "All set?" he asked as Louis slid into the passenger seat.
"Yeah." Louis checked his own phone - a text from Harry ('Dad says you're missing the best pasta of your life x') and several emails he wasn't ready to open. "Flight's at eight, yeah?"
"Mm. Plenty of time to grab food first." Oli pulled away from the curb. "You alright?"
Louis stared out the window, watching Lottie's house disappear from view. "Just... lot going on in my head, init?"
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really." Louis' phone buzzed - the group chat this time. Zayn mentioning his upcoming LA show.
An idea started forming in Louis' mind. Maybe... maybe it was time to stop running from some things.
***
"Meeting's at two," Oli reminded him as they pulled up to Briana's. "They're going to want answers about the anniversary plans."
Louis hummed noncommittally, fingers drumming against his thigh. He'd been turning over an idea in his head since the flight - something that could change everything. Five years since Walls, since Sony had... well. Maybe it was time. Start small, test the waters. 'Two of Us' seemed fitting - his mum and Liam both would've loved the irony of using that song to start taking back control.
"You've got that look," Oli observed carefully.
"What look?"
"The one that usually ends with me having to make about fifty phone calls to sort something out."
Louis couldn't help the slight smirk. "Might need to make it sixty this time."
"Christ." Oli ran a hand through his ginger hair. "Just try not to declare war on Sony before I pick you up at one, yeah?"
"No promises." Louis grabbed his backpack of presents, mind still racing with possibilities. The acoustics were already recorded - had been for ages. Release it quietly, no Sony licensing, see what happens...
But first -
"Dad!"
Freddie barreled into him, all gangly limbs and wild hair. Freshly nine now and somehow looking more like Louis every day. The tight knot in Louis' chest loosened slightly as he hugged his son.
"Alright, lad? Getting proper tall, aren't you?"
"Mom says I grew two inches since Christmas!" Freddie pulled back, grinning. "Did you bring me anything?"
"Freddie," Briana warned from behind him, but she was smiling. "Let your dad breathe first."
Three hours wasn't nearly enough time, but Louis made the most of it - listening to Freddie's excited chatter about soccer practice and his new video game obsession, though his mind kept drifting back to his plans.
The Sony building hadn't changed - still all glass and steel and carefully crafted intimidation. Louis adjusted his jacket, remembering all the times he'd walked in here bright-eyed and hopeful, buying into Simon's promises about being the next big music mogul. Funny how things worked out.
"Remember," Oli muttered as they walked in, "they want to talk anniversary plans. Just... try not to-"
"Burn every bridge?" Louis finished with a slight smirk. "Bit late for that, innit? Should've thought about that before they buried Walls."
Four years of waiting to release music, thinking the band would come back. Then finally putting out an album only to have them basically shelve it. All those restrictive clauses carried over from his One Direction contract, all those promises about support that never materialized. And now they wanted to cash in on the five-year anniversary?
The conference room was exactly what he expected - too many suits, too many fake smiles. His lawyer, Mark, was already there, which confirmed Louis' suspicion that this wasn't just about anniversary celebrations.
"Louis," Rebecca, one of the execs, stood to greet him. "We're excited to discuss the Walls anniversary campaign-"
"Bit rich that," Louis cut in, settling into a chair. "Considering you lot didn't bother with a proper campaign when it actually came out."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Mark shifted forward slightly, ready to jump in.
"The pandemic complicated things," Rebecca started carefully.
Louis just nodded, letting them launch into their presentation while his mind wandered. That re-recorded accoustic version of "Two of Us" was still sitting, ready to go, on his laptop.
But that was a decision for another day. For now, he'd sit through their plans, smile in all the right places, and keep his cards close to his chest.
Rebecca launched into their plans - social media campaigns, merchandise, watch parties for the music videos. Louis nodded along, adding the occasional "yeah" or "sounds good." His mind was elsewhere - on Harry in Italy, on Freddie, on that message from Zayn about his show.
"We really think an in-person appearance would be crucial," Rebecca was saying.
Louis' jaw tightened imperceptibly. Even now, after all these years, they still thought they had the right to dictate this part of his life.
Rebecca cleared her throat delicately, sliding a paper across the table. "We've drawn up some potential appearance locations. Given the... current media climate," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "it might be beneficial to focus on markets where you haven't been recently seen. Keep the narrative centered on Walls."
Louis looked at her steadily, that familiar anger simmering just beneath the surface. The same anger he'd carried since he was eighteen, being told who he could stand next to, where he could look, how to act. He thought of Harry in Italy right now, probably walking through some ancient ruins with his dad, living the life they'd fought so hard to have.
"Right," he said finally, voice deceptively light. "Because that's what the fans care about, innit? Where I'm standing geographically?"
Rebecca shifted uncomfortably, recognizing the warning in his tone. "Louis, we're just trying to-"
"I know exactly what you're trying to do." He leaned back in his chair, a move that used to make Simon nervous back in the day. "But here's the thing - I've got a show coming up in India. Got some writing to do. Think I'll decide where I need to be based on that, yeah?"
The subtle emphasis on 'I'll decide' wasn't lost on anyone in the room. Oli coughed to hide a smile.
"Of course," Rebecca backtracked smoothly. "These are just suggestions. We trust your judgment."
Louis almost laughed at that. They'd never trusted his judgment. Not about his music, not about his image, and certainly not about Harry. But he'd learned to pick his battles over the years.
"Anything else?" he asked, already reaching for his jacket.
***
Louis sprawled on the couch in his rented LA house, staring at his phone. Oli was in the kitchen, presumably ordering more takeout. The group chat had been quiet today - Harry'd sent a photo of some ancient fountain in Italy earlier, and Niall had responded with a string of incomprehensible emojis.
Then Zayn's message popped up: "Tommo, still in LA?"
Louis smiled slightly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. It still felt surreal sometimes, having Zayn back in his life. Like muscle memory - reaching for something that used to be as natural as breathing, only to remember all the ways it had shattered. He remembered those early days, hotboxing the tour bus and laughing until their sides hurt, before the pressure and the drugs and the jealousy had twisted everything up.
He could still see Zayn leaning too close to Harry at that party, offering him that line when he knew - he fucking knew - how Louis felt about Harry being around that stuff. Could still feel his own fists in Zayn's shirt as he'd shoved him against the wall, cocaine-fueled rage making him shake. "Stay the fuck away from him." The way Zayn had just laughed, bitter and harsh, "What, like you stayed away from Liam?"
God, Liam. The peace-keeper, the one who'd let Louis crash in his room all those nights when management had Harry locked down tight. Louis hadn't understood then how that had felt to Zayn - losing his best mate to the person who seemed to have everything else already.
Now here they were, brought back together by the worst possible circumstances. Grief had a way of making all those old wounds seem smaller somehow. Or maybe they were just too tired to keep holding onto the hurt.
Their friendship had started with smoke and laughter. Maybe it could restart that way too.
"Yeah mate, just finished with Sony. Proper waste of time that was."
"Come to the show tomorrow? Could be sick, send everyone proper mental"
Louis sat up straighter, actually laughing now. "Imagine the headlines. 'Former bandmates spotted together for first time in decade'"
"Better than the other headlines lately" Zayn replied, and Louis felt that familiar ache in his chest. Every newspaper seemed to have a new theory about Liam lately.
"Could do with some chaos that's actually fun" Louis typed back. "You sure though? Don't want to take attention from your set"
There was a pause, then: "Could use the support actually. Still getting used to being back up there"
Louis' expression softened. He remembered watching Zayn's last few shows before he left the band, how his hands would shake around the mic. They'd all dealt with anxiety differently back then - Zayn with weed and isolation, Louis with cocaine and sharp words. Harry had hated it all so much.
"What time you want me there?"
"Doors at 7. Got you sorted in VIP balcony. Might have a surprise planned"
"Should I be worried?"
"Trust me ;)"
"Last time you said that we ended up in that tattoo parlor at 3am"
"Good times though innit? See you tomorrow brother x"
Louis stared at the 'x' for a long moment. Such a small thing, but it felt massive somehow. Like finally letting go of something he hadn't realized he was still holding onto.
"Oi, Oli!" he called out. "We've got plans tomorrow night."
The VIP balcony was exactly what Louis expected - dark enough to hide in, high enough to see everything. Oli had managed to get them in through the back entrance while fans were still queueing outside. The venue was filling up slowly, excitement building in waves.
Louis nursed his drink, watching the crowd below. He'd forgotten what it felt like, being on this side of a show. His phone buzzed - Harry, sending a photo of some Italian sunset with the caption "miss you xx". He smiled, typing back quickly before tucking his phone away.
The lights dimmed and Louis felt that familiar surge of adrenaline, even though he wasn't the one performing. Zayn's band took the stage first, the opening notes of his newer stuff filling the venue. When Zayn stepped out, Louis caught his breath a bit. It was different, seeing him like this - confident in a way he never quite managed in the band. The anxiety was still there in the set of his shoulders, but he owned it now somehow.
"Los Angeles!" Zayn's voice filled the space.
The crowd roared back and Louis couldn't help grinning. Some things never changed - the way an audience could lift you up, make you feel invincible for a few hours.
Several songs in, Zayn paused, and Louis could see the slight smirk playing at his lips. "Tonight's kind of special," he said, and Louis' stomach dropped. This was it then. "Got an old friend here to support me tonight. He's somewhere up there - don't want to give his location away completely."
Zayn turned, looking directly at the VIP balcony, and Louis felt eighteen again suddenly, sharing secret jokes across stages. "But Louis is here tonight."
The crowd erupted into absolute chaos. Louis raised his drink in acknowledgment, unable to stop the soft smile spreading across his face. The roar was deafening, phones lighting up every corner of the venue as fans scrambled to capture the moment. Three minutes passed and the screaming hadn't died down - if anything, it seemed to be getting louder.
Zayn was beaming up at him, that genuine smile Louis remembered from their earliest days. Throughout the set, Zayn kept finding ways to acknowledge him - a knowing look during certain lyrics, another shoutout after "Be Like That" complete with devil horns that made Louis laugh out loud.
"Let's make these couple songs real special for Louis, yeah?" Zayn called out as the show neared its end. The crowd responded with another wave of screams.
Louis could see his phone lighting up constantly now, probably exploding with messages from the lads, his team, everyone who'd thought this reunion would never happen. But watching Zayn own that stage, seeing how much stronger he seemed up there now, Louis couldn't bring himself to regret it.
Oli was already coordinating with security, planning their exit strategy for the moment the show ended. They'd need to be quick to avoid the fans, but Louis knew where they were headed after - his rental house, where they could finally talk properly, away from the cameras and expectations.
As soon as Zayn finished his final bow, Louis was already moving. Security guided him through the back corridors he'd walked a thousand times before in different venues. He could hear the crowd still going mental inside, most of them staying behind for what had become an impromptu memorial for Liam after Zayn's shows.
Zayn caught up quickly with his PA - Taryn, Louis remembered - right behind him. No time for proper greetings yet, just a quick shoulder squeeze as they hurried through the loading dock. Louis tossed his keys to Oli with a meaningful look. "Bring the car round later, yeah?"
The drive to Louis' rental was quiet, all of them still riding the adrenaline high of the show. It wasn't until they were inside, Taryn making herself scarce in the kitchen while Louis rolled the first joint, that Zayn finally broke into a proper grin.
"Remember that time in Leeds?" Zayn said suddenly, smoke curling around his words. "When Liam tried to prove he could handle his weed and ended up convinced the bus driver was an alien?"
Louis burst out laughing, the memory hitting him full force. "Fuck, yes! And Harry kept trying to calm him down by singing 'Space Oddity' which only made it worse."
"Major Tom to Ground Control," they both sang softly, dissolving into giggles.
The laughter faded into something more contemplative. Louis watched Zayn fidget with his ring - same nervous habit, different jewelry.
"I should've been there," Zayn said quietly. "For all of it. The last album, the hiatus announcement. Should've answered when you called after..."
"We all should've done a lot of things differently," Louis cut in. "Was young, weren't we? Scared shitless most of the time, trying not to show it."
"You weren't scared of anything."
"Nah, that was just better acting." Louis took another hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before continuing. "Was terrified constantly. Of losing Harry, of being found out. Of not being good enough compared to the rest of you lot."
Zayn looked up sharply. "You what?"
"Come off it, between your voice and Liam's and Harry's? Used to practice for hours in hotel bathrooms trying to match your runs."
"While I was in my room properly bricking it before every show," Zayn shook his head. "Watching you bounce around stage like nothing could touch you. Thought I was the only one falling apart."
"Think that was all of us, really. Just falling apart in different directions."
"Different directions," Zayn repeated, then snorted. "Christ, that's on the nose innit? Should've seen that coming when Harry came up with it."
"One Direction my arse," Louis said softly, the humor tinged with something darker. "Think we were all just running, weren't we?"
"Yeah." Zayn's voice was equally quiet. "Was proper fucked up then, wasn't I? All that coke, all that anger. Knew exactly what I was doing, getting close to Harry."
"Knew exactly where to stick the knife." Louis wasn't accusatory, just stating facts. "But I did the same with Li, didn't I? After everything between you two."
Zayn's fingers traced abstract patterns on his jeans. "He never stopped reaching out, you know. Even after I left like that. Would text me song ideas at 3am, send me voice notes of melodies. Used to listen to them over and over."
"That was Payno though, wasn't it? Heart too big for his own good." Louis swallowed hard. "When things got bad with Harry, when they kept us apart... Li was there. Every time. And I just... took that friendship and rubbed it in your face."
"We were all just kids trying to handle shit that was way too big for us," Zayn said. "Playing with feelings like weapons because we didn't know how else to cope."
"That last night," Louis said quietly, stubbing out the joint. "When Harry was on the phone with you at 2am..."
"Christ," Zayn's voice was rough. "Was off my face that night. Proper gone. But I can still hear him crying."
"Yeah, well, all I heard was my boyfriend whispering in the bathroom in the middle of the night. Thought..." Louis let out a bitter laugh. "Thought you two were sneaking around. Was ready to kick your door down."
"Wouldn't have found me anyway. Was already packed, ready to run." Zayn's hands were shaking slightly as he reached for his cigarettes. "Everything was... it was bad then. Got worse after."
"We noticed. Those interviews you did later, talking about how you 'always wanted to leave,' how you 'never wanted to be there'..." Louis' voice turned hard. "That wasn't you talking. That was whatever shit you were on."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Zayn lit his cigarette, the flame illuminating the shadows under his eyes. "The drugs made it worse, yeah, but that feeling of being trapped... of having every bit of soul stripped out of my music... that was real."
"Management had that statement ready before you even finished telling us you were done," Louis said. "All that PR bollocks about wanting a normal life."
"Normal," Zayn laughed darkly. "Nothing normal about the next year. Just more drugs, more parties, more running."
"Should've reached out," Louis said quietly. "We would've..."
"Would've what?" Zayn challenged. "Saved me? When you lot could barely save yourselves?"
"Sometimes I think about that last proper conversation we had," Louis said, lighting another cigarette. "Before everything went to shit. You were telling me about this R&B track you'd written, proper excited about it. And I just... brushed it off. Too caught up in my own drama with management."
"Same night you told me about that song you wrote for H," Zayn remembered. "The one they wouldn't let you release."
"Home," Louis nodded, a flash of old pain crossing his face. "They said it was too obvious. Meanwhile Harry's writing 'Olivia' and they're calling it artistic expression. It's fine though. I got it out there eventually."
"Used to make me so angry, watching them do that to us," Zayn admitted. "The way they'd pit us against each other, use our music like some kind of... weapon. Started feeling like every note I sang was just another brick in the wall they built between all of us."
"That's why you left the way you did?" Louis asked softly. "No warning? No conversation?"
"Partly," Zayn's voice was barely above a whisper. "But mostly... I knew you would all talk me out of it. And I had to. Had to get out before there was nothing left of me."
"Know what Harry said to me that night? After you left?" Louis paused, taking a deep drag. "Said you'd been gone for months. We just didn't want to see it."
"The way he could always read people..." Zayn shook his head. "Sometimes I think that's why it was hardest with him. He saw through all the bullshit, right to the broken parts we were trying to hide."
"Yeah, well," Louis' voice took on an edge. "That's H for you, innit? Seeing straight through everyone's walls like they're made of fucking glass. Meanwhile building his own so high..." He trailed off, jaw tightening.
"Lou..." Zayn started carefully.
"No, you know what?" Louis' laugh was sharp. "He's out there now, being everyone's golden boy. Their 'kind' pop star. Their fashion darling. Meanwhile I'm still..." He stopped, running a hand through his hair roughly. "Do you know what it's like? Watching the person you love most in the world become exactly who they were meant to be, while you're still stuck in the box they built for you?"
"You're not stuck anymore though," Zayn pointed out quietly.
"No?" Louis' eyes flashed. "Every interview, every article - still asking about him. Still comparing us. 'Why aren't you as successful as Harry?' 'What do you think about Harry's new album?' Like I'm just... some footnote in his story."
He took a shaky breath. "And the worst part? The absolute fucking worst part is that he's still... he's still Harry. Still sends me pictures of random signs that make him laugh. Still remembers my mum's birthday. Still..." His voice cracked. "Still looks at me like I hang the fucking moon, even when I'm being a proper dick."
"Some things don't change," Zayn said softly. "No matter how many walls go up."
"That's what kills me though," Louis whispered. "Because he deserves all of it. Every bit of success, every headline, every sold-out show. He's the most genuine person I've ever known. But sometimes... sometimes I just want to shake him and scream 'stop being so fucking lovely about everything!'"
"You always did balance each other out though," Zayn observed. "Him with his head in the clouds, you keeping him grounded. You with your walls up, him gentle enough to get through them."
"Christ, when did you get so philosophical?" Louis grabbed the joint back, but there was fondness in his voice. "Proper missed this, you know. Having someone who gets it. Who was there."
"Yeah," Zayn agreed quietly. "Miss watching you two sometimes. The way you'd orbit each other, even when they tried to keep you apart. Like gravity."
"Still do," Louis admitted, softer now. "Can't help it. Even when I'm being a bitter twat about interviews or whatever... one look from him and I'm gone. Right back to being that kid in the X-Factor bathroom, thinking 'oh, there you are. My soul has been looking for you.'"
"Some things don't change," Zayn repeated, but this time there was a smile in his voice.
"Suppose not," Louis looked at him sideways. "Like you still ending up in my house at 2am after your show, passing a joint around like old times."
"Speaking of," Zayn pushed himself up from the sofa, making his way to where they'd dropped the bottles earlier. "Think we need something stronger than this spliff if we're gonna talk about all these fucking memorial requests in our emails."
"Christ," Louis scrubbed a hand over his face. "Ben Winston can properly fuck off with that Grammys idea. Like we'd want to make a spectacle of it."
Zayn returned with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, pouring generous measures. "You see the article The Sun ran? 'One Direction to reunite at Brits in tribute to Liam Payne.' Didn't even ask us first."
"The Sun are vultures, the lot of them," Louis took a long drink, welcoming the burn. "You know what the worst part is? Li would've probably wanted us to do it. Would've said something about 'giving the fans closure' or whatever."
"Yeah, well," Zayn's voice was tight. "He's not here to make us feel guilty about it, is he?"
The words hung heavy in the air between them. Louis watched as Zayn's hands shook slightly while lighting another cigarette.
"Tonight was good though," Louis said finally, softer. "Proper caught me off guard when you called me out like that."
"Your face," Zayn cracked a genuine smile. "Looked like you wanted to murder me."
"Thought we agreed to keep it lowkey! Nearly choked on my drink when you pointed right at me, you absolute wanker."
"Fans went mental though," Zayn smirked, pouring them both another drink. "Like proper mental. Bet my phone's exploding right now."
"Twitter's probably having kittens," Louis laughed. "Bet the papers are losing their minds too. 'Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson reunite after decade-long feud.'"
"If they only knew about Wolverhampton," Zayn snorted.
"That was different though, wasn't it?" Louis took another long drink. "Tonight felt... I dunno. More real somehow."
"Because we're not hiding anymore?" Zayn suggested. "No more running from each other or..."
"Or pretending the past didn't happen," Louis finished quietly. He stared into his glass for a moment. "Makes you think, doesn't it? If we can sort our shit out after everything..."
"You thinking about the memorials again?" Zayn's voice was careful.
"Maybe," Louis admitted. "Not the Grammys bollocks or whatever PR stunt they want. But something... something real. For him."
"Something on our terms," Zayn nodded slowly. "Could be nice that. All of us together again. Doesn't have to be a performance or anything."
"Niall's been proper quiet in the group chat lately," Louis observed. "Think he's struggling with all the pressure too."
"We all are," Zayn took another hit of the spliff. "But maybe... maybe that's why we should do it. Because we're the only ones who really understand what it means. What he meant."
"Fuck," Louis laughed wetly. "When did you get so wise?"
"Must be getting old," Zayn smiled, but his eyes were serious. "Or maybe losing Li just... puts things in perspective, you know?"
"Speaking of getting old," Louis reached for the whiskey again. "Your voice is proper shot. Getting a bit raspy there, superstar."
"Worth it though," Zayn's voice was indeed growing hoarse. "Haven't performed like that in ages. Felt like... felt alive again."
"Could tell," Louis grinned, switching to his horrible impression of Zayn. "'Let's make these last couple songs special for Louis, yeah?'"
"Shut up," Zayn laughed, throwing a cushion at him. "Was trying to be nice, wasn't I?"
"Nice? You were showing off, mate. All those high notes. Proper peacocking."
"Maybe I was," Zayn admitted with a smirk, reaching for his phone. "Hang on, need to show you something."
Louis watched as Zayn pulled up something, then burst out laughing at whatever he saw. "What?"
"Fans got videos. Look at your face when I first called you out," Zayn turned the phone, showing Louis a slightly blurry video of himself in the VIP box, looking simultaneously murderous and fond.
"Oh fuck off," Louis grabbed the phone, scrolling through the responses. "Christ, Twitter's having a meltdown. Look at this - 'Zouis rise from the ashes like a phoenix.'"
"Like a what now?" Zayn wheezed.
"I'm gonna make you some tea," Louis stumbled to his feet, heading for the kitchen. "Can't have you losing your voice entirely. Your team will actually murder me."
"Wouldn't be the first time you got me in trouble," Zayn called after him, then immediately started coughing.
"Karma that, innit?" Louis shouted back, banging around in the kitchen. "Fuck, where'd I put the honey? Proper domestic, this. Taking care of you like old times."
Louis returned with tea and honey, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Should make you raw honey and lemon, that's what Harry always made us."
"Since when do you keep honey in a rental?" Zayn's voice was barely above a whisper now.
"Since I learned to be a proper adult, you dick," Louis handed him the mug, then collapsed back onto the sofa. "Can hear Taryn and Oli laughing at us from upstairs."
"Let them," Zayn smirked, taking a sip. "Remember when we used to do vocal warm-downs with vodka instead of tea?"
"Remember when we thought smoking before shows was a good idea?" Louis reached for the spliff again. "Speaking of..."
Hours passed in a haze of smoke and vodka, their conversation growing increasingly animated despite Zayn's failing voice. They found themselves sprawled on the floor, phones abandoned. Oli and Taryn had long since retreated to their respective guest rooms, leaving them to their reunion.
"Mate," Louis said suddenly, staring at the ceiling. "You've got another show tomorrow."
"Tonight," Zayn corrected, checking his phone. "Fuck me, it's 4 AM."
"Well you're already here," Louis waved vaguely at nothing. "Just crash in one of the spare rooms. Taryn's already settled in anyway."
"She's gonna kill me," Zayn groaned, but made no move to get up. "Haven't done this in ages. Getting too old for it."
"Speak for yourself," Louis attempted to stand, immediately stumbling. "Fuck. Maybe you're right."
Morning came too bright and too loud, with Oli practically running in to the living room.
"You might want to see this," he announced, throwing his phone at Louis' head where he was still face-down on the sofa.
"Fucking hell," Louis squinted at the screen, then started laughing. "Zayn! Get your arse out here!"
Zayn emerged from his room looking rough, voice completely gone. Taryn followed, already on her phone getting updates. Louis wordlessly handed Zayn Oli's phone, watching as he scrolled through headline after headline.
Louis scrolled through his phone, shaking his head at headline after headline while Zayn nursed his coffee. "This is mental. We didn't even do anything that wild. Just got a bit drunk and caught up."
"Bit drunk?" Taryn raised an eyebrow as she set down fresh cups of coffee.
"Alright, very drunk," Louis conceded. "But still. Forbes is writing about us. Proper legitimate, that."
"'What's Zouis?'" Zayn read hoarsely, showing his screen to Louis. "Like they've just discovered it."
"This one's calling us former frenemies," Louis snorted. "Bit dramatic."
"Says the most dramatic person I know," Zayn tried to laugh but it came out as a cough.
Taryn, who had been typing rapidly on her phone, looked up with concern. "Z, hate to say it, but there's no way you can perform tonight. Your voice is completely shot."
"Fuck," Zayn whispered, slumping back. "The show's sold out."
"I know. I'll handle it," Taryn assured him. "We'll reschedule, offer refunds. It happens."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both former bandmates lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Zayn spoke, his voice barely there. "Should probably head out. Need to deal with all this."
"Yeah," Louis agreed, standing. They hugged properly this time, none of the awkwardness from the night before remaining. "Text me when you're sorted with everything?"
Zayn pulled back, looking serious despite his raggedy appearance. "Think about what we talked about, yeah? About the memorial?"
"I will," Louis promised softly. "Now go rest that voice before Taryn actually kills us both."
After they left, Louis fell back onto the sofa, continuing to scroll through the endless headlines. His phone buzzed with a message from Harry: 'You've been quiet all morning. Everything alright? Both survive the night? xx'
Louis could read the careful concern beneath the casual tone. He typed back: 'We're good. Promise. No fights, no drama. Just... talked. Properly talked'
The typing bubbles appeared immediately: 'Yeah? That's... that's good Lou. Really good. You okay though?'
Louis smiled softly at the phone. Trust H to know there was more to it. 'M'okay. Bit raw maybe? But in a good way. He's changed. Think maybe we both have'
'Want to talk about it?' Harry offered.
'Sure. You free now?'
Louis' phone lit up with Harry's FaceTime request almost immediately. He answered to find Harry in what looked like his kitchen in Italy, early evening light streaming in behind him.
"So," Harry drawled, fighting a knowing smile. "Funny timing, innit? Me and Dad being spotted at that little café right when you're plastered all over social media with Z?"
"Pure coincidence, that," Louis played along, his own grin matching Harry's.
"Complete accident," Harry agreed solemnly, though his dimple was showing. "Though it's working, isn't it?"
"Proper convenient accident, that." Louis' expression softened. "Thanks, H."
Harry's playful facade dropped slightly, concern showing through. "How was it really, Lou? Must've been intense."
Louis shifted on the sofa, "Spent most of the night just... clearing the air about old stuff. Was rough, going back there."
Harry's expression flickered. "Yeah?"
"We both owned up to a lot," Louis said carefully. "About how fucked up things got. How I was... you know. Near the end there."
Harry went still, his face doing that careful thing it did when he was processing something painful. "Lou..."
"No, it's good. Was good to say it out loud. To acknowledge it." Louis ran a hand through his hair. "We were both pretty far gone back then. Different poisons, same result, yeah?"
"We were all dealing with things in the worst possible ways," Harry said softly.
"That's what he said too." Louis paused. "Talked about some lighter stuff. Then about how everything just... spiraled. How I got so..." He trailed off, not needing to finish.
"That was a long time ago," Harry's voice was gentle. "We're not those people anymore."
"No," Louis agreed quietly. "We're not. Thank fuck for that."
"Speaking of other conversations," Harry said, fidgeting with something off-screen. "Jeff's finally stopped texting about Fireaid."
"About bloody time," Louis muttered. "What finally got through to him?"
"Think it was when I just... stopped responding." Harry's dimple appeared briefly as he attempted a smile. "Though the final email was proper passive-aggressive. All about 'disappointment' and 'career momentum.'"
"Christ," Louis shook his head. "As if you haven't earned a proper break."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Still feels shit though. Stevie was so lovely when I called to explain..."
"H," Louis' voice went gentle. "You've got to stop doing that. You don't owe everyone an explanation just because they ask nicely."
"I know, I just..." Harry trailed off, looking younger suddenly. "Hate letting people down."
"That's always been your problem though, hasn't it?" Louis said softly. "You'd run yourself into the ground before disappointing anyone. And people know it - they count on it."
Harry was quiet for a moment. "Jeff said something about 'striking while the iron's hot.'"
"Of course he did," Louis couldn't keep the edge from his voice. "Because God forbid you take care of yourself instead of everyone else for once."
"Says you," Harry shot back with a weak smile. "When's the last time you took a proper break?"
"That's different."
"Is it?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Because I seem to remember someone doing a show with pneumonia last year..."
"Oi, ancient history," Louis protested, but he was grinning. "Besides, we're talking about you right now. And you needed this break, H. Proper needed it."
Harry's smile faded slightly. "Yeah. I did." He was quiet for a moment, then: "Speaking of breaks and timing and all that... you alright? With tomorrow?"
Louis felt something catch in his throat. "Five years since Walls, innit?"
"Yeah," Harry's voice went soft. "Can't quite believe it sometimes."
"What, that I managed to get an album out?" Louis teased, deflecting.
"That we got here," Harry said simply. "After everything."
Louis looked down, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Was a different time, wasn't it? Different people."
"Lou..." Harry's voice was gentle.
"No, I mean..." Louis took a breath. "Was thinking about it earlier actually. How much has changed. How we've changed. And now..."
"And now?" Harry prompted quietly.
Louis looked up, meeting Harry's eyes through the screen. "And now here we are. You finally taking care of yourself, me actually writing again..." He paused. "Still can't quite believe you keep that bloody vinyl framed in your studio."
"Course I do," Harry said softly, his dimple appearing. "S'important to me. All of it was."
"Even the angry bits?"
"Especially those," Harry's laugh was quiet. "They were honest. You've always been honest, Lou. Even when it hurt."
Louis was quiet for a moment, remembering headlines, staged photos, separate tours, separate lives. "We both did what we had to, didn't we?"
"Yeah," Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. "Still do, sometimes."
"At least now..." Louis trailed off, gesturing vaguely between them.
"Yeah," Harry's smile was soft, private. The kind that hadn't been seen in public for years. "At least now we're doing it together."
"Speaking of industry shit," Louis shifted, reaching for a cigarette. "Jeff and Ben upset you aren't doing the Grammys circut again this year?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm sure they are. But I can't bring myself to care. Besides," his smile turned teasing, "wouldn't be the same without you lurking at O'Malley's down the street."
"Oi," Louis protested, laughing. "That was one time. And I'll have you know that bar had excellent vodka."
"Mhmm," Harry's eyes crinkled. "Nothing to do with it being the closest spot to the venue, then?"
"Absolutely not," Louis said with mock seriousness. "Pure coincidence, that."
Harry's smile softened. "Still remember you showing up at the afterparty though. Face all flushed from the cold..."
"Was properly freezing that night," Louis remembered, taking a drag. "Worth it though. Your face when they called your name..."
"Think I was in shock honestly," Harry admitted. "Still got the video you sent from the bar. Just you screaming at their TV."
"Well someone had to properly celebrate, didn't they? That room was full of stuck-up pricks who barely clapped." Louis' protective edge was still there, even years later. "Though that reminds me - did you see what that wanker from Rolling Stone wrote about-"
"Lou," Harry interrupted gently. "You promised you'd stop reading those."
"Yeah well," Louis scratched the back of his neck. "Old habits."
"I know," Harry's voice was fond. "Still looking out for me after all this time."
"Always, aren't I?" Louis said softly, then quickly added: "Someone's got to. Your taste in friends is proper shit sometimes."
Harry barked out a laugh. "Says the man who still hangs out with-"
"Oi, we're not talking about my questionable mate choices right now," Louis cut in, grinning. "We're talking about yours."
Harry's laughter faded into something softer, more vulnerable. "Miss you," he said quietly. "Even if Rome's been dead peaceful without you causing trouble."
"Four whole days of peace and quiet," Louis tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes gave him away. "Bet you're bored out of your mind."
"M'not actually," Harry smiled, soft and private. "Been nice, having some time to just... walk around. Dad liked that little café I found yesterday, before he headed back."
"How is Des? Still trying to guilt trip me about not being there?"
"Course," Harry's dimple appeared. "Think he just wanted someone to share his wine opinions with, if I'm honest. You know I just nod along."
"Menace," Louis said fondly. "How's the birthday planning coming then? Still keeping it quiet?"
"Yeah, just want to wander a bit. Maybe find somewhere nice for lunch." Harry paused, fiddling with his rings. "Feels weird though. Not having you here to take the piss out of my photography."
"Oi, someone's got to document your artistic moments," Louis shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest. His voice went softer. "Keep reaching for my phone to send you things. Proper ridiculous really."
"Not ridiculous," Harry murmured. "Woke up this morning and forgot for a second. Reached over expecting to find you there."
"Yeah?" Louis' throat felt tight. "Miss that. The way you always end up pressed against me by morning."
"Miss your warmth," Harry admitted, voice dropping lower. "The way you feel under my hands. How you always leave marks on my thighs."
"Christ," Louis breathed out, aching with it. "Know it's good for us yeah? Having our own things, our own space sometimes?"
"Course it is. Doesn't make me miss your mouth any less though." Harry's voice had gone rough. "Or the way you look at me when we're alone. Or how you always know exactly what I need."
"Like right now?" Louis smiled, heat in his voice. "When you're getting all worked up about being apart, even though it's healthy and good and all that shit?"
"Exactly like that," Harry laughed lowly. "Love that about you. Love everything about you really."
"Even when I'm being a tease?"
"Especially then," Harry's voice went dark. "Love watching you push. Love how demanding you get. Love how you still look at me like you want to devour me."
"Because I do," Louis said simply. "Always want you. Even when you're being a menace three thousand miles away."
"Four thousand, actually."
"Now who's counting?" Louis teased, but his voice was heated. "Few more days yeah? Then I get to have you back where you belong."
"Under you?" Harry suggested innocently.
"Cheeky," Louis growled softly. "My gorgeous boy. Even when you're off being all independent and sophisticated in Rome."
"Not that sophisticated," Harry smiled. "Spent twenty minutes this morning just thinking about your hands. The way they feel on my skin."
"Proper gone for each other aren't we?" Louis said, voice rough with want. "After all this time."
"Always will be," Harry's voice was sure, steady. "Wouldn't want it any other way."
Chapter 66: February 2013
Summary:
February 2013: It's Harry's nineteenth birthday, and nothing says "happy birthday" quite like a stripper show while your secret boyfriend watches it trend on Twitter. When Nick Grimshaw's party shenanigans go too far and Louis's patience reaches its breaking point, Harry learns that sometimes the hardest part of being in love isn't the closeting - it's fighting for what matters before it slips away. Features drunk dialing, a very upset Louis Tomlinson, and Harry finally realizing that choosing between his public image and his private happiness isn't actually a choice at all.
aka the one where Nick Grimshaw accidentally starts World War III, Harry learns that strippers and secret relationships don't mix, and Louis proves he can absolutely make someone cry from across London
Chapter Text
Harry woke to Louis tracing the still-healing papillon moth on his torso, the touch so light it almost tickled. Morning sun filtered through their bedroom curtains, casting everything in soft gold. For a moment, he let himself pretend this was all there was - just them, just this, just the quiet.
"Happy birthday, love," Louis murmured against his shoulder.
Harry turned to face him, drinking in the sight of sleepy blue eyes and messy hair. "You already tweeted that."
"Mm, well, that was for the fans, wasn't it?" Louis' fingers found the moth again. "This is for us."
Us. The word settled warm in Harry's chest, even as his phone buzzed on the nightstand - probably another text from Nick about tonight's plans. He ignored it.
"Management called last night," Harry said quietly. "After you fell asleep. They want me at Alibi by nine. Nick's arranged everything."
Louis' hand stilled. "Course he has." There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there moments before. "And let me guess - I'm not invited?"
"Lou..."
"No, it's fine." Louis sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Got to keep up appearances, haven't we? Party boy Harry Styles and his mate Nick Grimshaw hitting the town. Much better story than-" he cut himself off, jaw tight.
"Than the truth?" Harry finished softly.
Louis didn't answer, just reached for the paper plane tattoo on his arm - their latest act of rebellion, Taylor might have had a necklace, but Louis had it permenantly on his skin now. Small victories, Harry thought. That's all they had these days.
"I'd rather stay here with you," Harry said, because it was true, because he needed Louis to know it was true. "We could order in, watch that awful horror film you've been wanting to see-"
"Stop." Louis' voice cracked slightly. "Don't make it harder."
Harry reached for him, managing to catch his wrist. "Hey. Look at me?"
Louis did, his blue eyes fierce even as they glistened. "You know what kills me? That they get to take everything. Your birthday. Our relationship. Even our bloody friendships - because God forbid anyone think you might actually want to hang out with your bandmate instead of your cool new London mates."
"You're more than my bandmate," Harry whispered.
"Am I? Because sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever know that." Louis pulled his wrist free, but instead of moving away, he pressed his forehead to Harry's. "Sometimes I wonder if we'll spend our whole lives being other people."
Harry's throat felt tight. "We know. We know what's real."
Louis pulled away abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Well then, better get you ready for your big night out, eh? Can't keep Grimmy waiting." His voice was sharp enough to cut. "What's the brief this time - more womanizing? Another beard lined up already? Christ, the Taylor story's barely cold."
"Lou, please-"
"No, really, I'm curious. What's the plan for tonight? Get papped with some model? Maybe another older woman - that narrative's worked well for you so far." Louis was pacing now, all coiled energy and hurt masked as anger. "Should be easy enough, yeah? Just bat those pretty eyes of yours, flash that dimple-"
"Stop it." Harry's voice was quiet but firm. "You know I hate this as much as you do."
Louis deflated slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He crossed back to the bed, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to Harry's mouth. "Happy fucking birthday, love. I'll be in the guest room getting absolutely plastered while you're out living your best straight life."
"Lou-"
But Louis was already gone, leaving Harry alone with his buzzing phone and the weight of another performance ahead of him.
The first few hours weren't terrible. Harry let Nick ply him with drinks - high-end whiskey that went down smooth and made everything feel slightly softer around the edges. He was good at this part now: laughing with Pixie, taking photos with industry friends, playing the role of London's favorite party boy while Niall stuck close, a silent support system who understood better than most.
"Another round!" Nick announced, seemingly everywhere at once, always watching Harry with that particular glint in his eye that meant trouble. Nick, who thought the whole closeting thing was ridiculous, who didn't understand why Harry couldn't just... be. Who never quite grasped that "just being" wasn't an option when you had contracts written in steel and millions of dollars riding on your carefully crafted image.
Harry's phone buzzed again - Louis, probably wondering why he wasn't responding. He couldn't look, not yet. Not when every camera was on him.
"Right, birthday boy!" Nick's voice cut through the pleasant haze of alcohol. "Time for your cake. Sit here."
Harry glanced toward the kitchen, alcohol-slow but not slow enough to miss the unlit candles on the cake he could clearly see. "The candles aren't even-"
Harry's stomach dropped as he caught sight of the police hat.
"Everyone quiet!" Nick was practically vibrating with mischievous energy. "We've got someone underage in here..."
"Oh no," Harry muttered, suddenly far too sober.
The "officer" emerged with actual nunchucks, and in any other situation, it might have been funny. But Harry could already see the phones coming out, could feel the weight of dozens of witnesses to another carefully orchestrated moment of Harry Styles, Womanizer.
He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor as she began her routine. Their manager was frantically trying to cover CCTV cameras, but it was futile - this would be everywhere within hours.
"Come on, Styles!" Nick's voice carried over the music, loaded with meaning. "Show us how it's done!"
Then Nick's hand was on the back of his head, forcing his face forward into the stripper's chest, and Harry's heart nearly stopped. The crowd whooped as he jerked back, panic clawing at his throat. This would be online in minutes. Louis would see. Management would see. Everyone would see.
The stripper, now in just her bra and pants, seemed to sense Harry's distress and kept her distance for the remaining minutes. Harry's mind raced: How would he explain this to Louis? How would he frame it so it didn't sound as bad as it was? How would he make Louis understand that he hadn't wanted any of it, that Nick had-
But no, he couldn't tell Louis it was Nick's idea - not when every mention of Nick already sparked a fight, not when Louis was convinced Nick was trying to come between them. Harry was tired of defending his right to have other friends, tired of the tension that rose whenever Nick's name came up. Telling Louis that Nick had orchestrated this would only confirm every suspicion, every fear Louis had about their friendship. Better to let Louis think it was just another PR stunt from management, another necessary evil. At least that was a devil they both knew.
"Proper celebration!" Nick crowed later, as Harry knocked back another drink. "Nothing like a bit of scandal for the birthday boy, eh?"
Harry's smile felt like broken glass. Next to him, Niall muttered something that might have been Irish and definitely wasn't friendly.
The night blurred into a kaleidoscope of forced laughter and expensive whiskey, Harry's phone burning like a brand in his pocket. By 2 AM, they'd migrated from Alibi to someone's Primrose Hill flat - Alexa's maybe, or Pixie's, he couldn't remember anymore. The world had taken on that soft-focus quality that usually meant he'd had too much to drink, but not enough to forget.
When Louis' contact photo finally lit up his screen, Harry's hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone. He stumbled out onto the balcony, the February air hitting his lungs like ice.
"Lou-"
"Quite the show tonight." Louis' voice was eerily calm, the kind of calm that preceded storms. "The pictures are everywhere. You look proper cozy with your birthday present."
"Please, I didn't-"
"You didn't what, Harry? Didn't mean for it to happen? Didn't want it? Because you seem to let an awful lot of things 'just happen' lately." The facade cracked slightly, pain bleeding through. "First it was Taylor and that bloody kiss, now this..."
Harry pressed his forehead against the cold railing. "You know I have to play along, you know-"
"Play along?" Louis' laugh was horrible, wet and broken. "Christ, H, he shoved your face into her fucking tits." His voice cracked. "Where does it stop?"
"What?"
"Where does it fucking stop, Harry?" The calm was gone now, replaced by raw anguish. "What's next? A sex tape? Going to let them parade you through a brothel? How far are you willing to let them push this?"
"That's not fair," Harry whispered, but his voice was weak even to his own ears.
"Not fair?" Louis' voice rose sharply before dropping to something worse - a broken whisper. "What's not fair is sitting here alone on your birthday, watching the person I love get passed around like a party favor. What's not fair is watching him push your face into some stranger's chest while everyone laughs, knowing I can't even say anything because we don't fucking exist."
Harry's eyes burned. "That's rich coming from you," he shot back, alcohol making him braver, crueler. "How's Eleanor? Have a nice dinner with her family last week?"
There was a terrible silence on the other end of the line.
"That's different," Louis finally said, voice thick. "You know that's different."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, you're doing the exact same thing. Just... longer term. More committed." The words tasted like poison. "At least I don't pretend to be in love with them."
"Don't." Louis' voice cracked. "Don't you dare make this about El. I do what I have to do, but I don't- I wouldn't-" He broke off, breathing ragged. "I don't let my 'friends' humiliate me for fun. I don't let them push and push until there's nothing left of who I really am."
"No, you just spend every free moment playing happy couples with your beard," Harry spat, immediately regretting it when he heard Louis' sharp intake of breath.
"Because that's what they told us to do!" Louis was properly crying now, his words coming in gasps. "But this? Tonight? This was your choice, Harry. Your friend. Your party. And you just... let it happen. Like you always do with him."
Harry slid down the balcony wall, legs giving out. "I love you," he choked out, the fight draining from him. "You know I love you."
"Do I?" Louis' voice was barely a whisper now. "Because loving someone means choosing them sometimes, H. Even when it's hard. Even when it costs something. And lately... lately it feels like you're choosing everything but me."
The balcony door slid open. "Harold! Stop hiding from your own party!"
Harry heard Louis' sharp intake of breath, followed by a sound so broken it would haunt Harry's dreams. "Of course he's there. He's always there, isn't he? Your real best friend."
"Louis, wait-"
"You know what hurts the most?" Louis was crying openly now, his words barely intelligible. "Knowing that tomorrow you'll wake up in his spare room or on his couch instead of coming home to me. That you'll let him make jokes about tonight and laugh it off like it's nothing. Like we're nothing."
"Baby, please-"
"Happy birthday, Harry." Louis' voice cracked on his name. "I hope... I hope someday you decide what you want is worth fighting for. Because right now? Right now it feels like you're not fighting for anything at all."
Harry barely registered Nick pulling him back inside, the flat suddenly too loud, too bright, too everything. His phone weighed a thousand pounds in his hand, Louis' last words echoing in his skull. Around him, the party continued like his world hadn't just imploded - people dancing, laughing, passing drinks.
"Birthday shots!" someone called out.
Harry accepted without thinking, hoping the burn of alcohol might dull the ache in his chest. It didn't.
"You alright, mate?" Niall appeared at his elbow, voice low with concern. "Saw you on the phone..."
Harry shook his head minutely, unable to form words around the lump in his throat. Niall squeezed his shoulder, understanding without being told.
"Want me to get you home?"
Home. Where Louis was probably still crying. Where Eleanor's jacket hung in their front closet because she'd "forgotten" it last week after their very public dinner date. Where the careful façade they'd built was cracking under the weight of all their compromises.
"Can't," Harry managed. "Not tonight."
Nick materialized again, already launching into some story about the stripper that made Harry's stomach turn. He watched his own hand lift another drink to his lips, felt himself nod at appropriate intervals, all while feeling completely disconnected from his body.
The night stretched on endlessly. Every time Harry checked his phone, there were new notifications - tweets about the stripper, photos spreading online, messages from management praising the publicity. Nothing from Louis.
Around 4 AM, he found himself on Nick's couch, exactly as Louis had predicted. The room spun sickeningly as Nick threw a blanket over him.
"Proper scandal tonight," Nick was saying, sounding pleased with himself. "That'll keep the rumors at bay for a while, eh?"
Harry turned his face into the cushions, unable to stop the tears anymore. Nick didn't notice, already heading to his own room, humming drunkenly.
In the dark, Harry pulled out his phone one last time. Louis' contact photo stared back at him - a stolen moment from months ago, Louis sleep-soft and smiling in their bed. Before Eleanor became a constant presence. Before Taylor. Before everything got so complicated.
He typed out message after message, deleting each one:
"I'm sorry"
"I love you"
"I don't know how to fix this"
"Please don't give up on me"
In the end, he sent nothing. The silence stretched between them like an ocean, and Harry had no idea how to bridge it anymore.
Somewhere across London, he knew Louis was probably still awake too, maybe scrolling through the same photos that were tearing them apart, maybe curled around Harry's pillow the way he did when things got bad. Or maybe he was messaging Eleanor.
They were both playing their parts, weren't they? Both letting themselves be molded into what management wanted. The difference was, Louis was right - Harry had stopped fighting. Had started letting it seep into the real parts of his life, not just the public performance.
He fell asleep with tears drying on his face, Louis' words playing on repeat: "I hope someday you decide what you want is worth fighting for."
Harry woke to sunlight stabbing through his eyelids and Nick's dog licking his face. His head pounded, mouth tasting like something had died in it, but the worst pain was the memories flooding back - Louis' broken voice, his own cruel words, the mess they'd made of everything.
He fumbled for his phone: 11:47 AM. Three missed calls from management, countless notifications, and nothing from Louis. The silence felt deliberate, pointed.
"Coffee?" Nick called from the kitchen.
Harry couldn't even look at him. "Need to go," he managed, gathering his things with trembling hands. "Thanks for... yeah."
The cab ride home felt endless. Each passing minute amplified his anxiety - what if Louis wasn't there? What if this was the final straw? What if-
The flat was quiet when he unlocked the door. For a horrible moment, he thought it was empty, but then he saw Louis' keys on the counter, his jacket thrown over the back of a chair. Signs of life, of home.
He found Louis in their bedroom, curled on Harry's side of the bed, wearing one of Harry's old jumpers. His eyes were swollen, dark circles beneath them suggesting he hadn't slept. He didn't look up when Harry entered.
"Lou?" Harry's voice cracked on that single syllable.
"Thought you'd be at Nick's till at least afternoon tea," Louis said quietly, still not looking at him. "That's usually how these nights go, isn't it?"
Harry's chest ached. "I couldn't... I needed to come home. To you."
"Why?" Finally, Louis met his eyes, and the pain there nearly brought Harry to his knees. "Nothing's changed since last night, has it? Still can't tell Grimmy to fuck off. Still can't tell management no. Still can't-"
"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, voice thick with tears. "God, Lou, I'm so sorry. For last night, for what I said about Eleanor, for... for all of it."
"Sorry doesn't fix this," Louis whispered, but he sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that we're both letting them tear us apart piece by piece."
Harry crossed the room slowly, sinking to his knees beside the bed. "You were right. About everything. I stopped fighting. It was easier to just... go along. To pretend it didn't matter."
"It matters," Louis' voice cracked. "It matters so much I can barely breathe sometimes."
"I know. God, I know." Harry reached for Louis' hand, heart leaping when Louis didn't pull away. "And what I said about Eleanor... that wasn't fair. I know you hate it as much as I hate the stuff they make me do. I was drunk and hurt and-"
"Scared?" Louis supplied softly. "Yeah, me too. All the time lately."
Harry pressed his forehead against their joined hands. "I don't want to be scared anymore. I don't want to let them keep pushing us further apart. I don't- I can't lose you, Lou. I can't."
"Then fight," Louis whispered, using his free hand to tip Harry's chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. "Fight for us. Not against management or the media or whatever. Fight for us in real life. Because I'm trying so hard to hold us together, but I can't do it alone anymore."
The tears came then, hot and desperate. "I will. I promise. No more letting Nick push things too far. No more playing along when it hurts us. No more-"
Louis tugged him up onto the bed, pulling Harry into his arms. They clung to each other, both crying now.
"I love you," Harry choked out against Louis' neck. "More than anything. More than all of it."
"Show me," Louis breathed. "Every day, in all the little ways you can. Show me I'm not losing you."
Harry pulled back just enough to kiss him, tasting salt and promise and possibility. "I will. I swear I will."
They stayed tangled together for hours, whispering apologies and promises, rebuilding the trust that had started to crack. It wasn't fixed - not completely. They still had Eleanor and management and a thousand other complications. But for the first time in months, they were facing it together instead of letting it drive them apart.
"Happy birthday, by the way," Louis murmured eventually, fingers carding through Harry's hair. "Sorry I ruined it."
Harry curled closer into Louis' warmth, their legs tangled together on his side of the bed. He focused on the gentle sweep of Louis' fingers across his jaw, grounding himself in that touch. It felt real in a way nothing else did lately.
"Tour starts up again soon," Louis murmured. "Three weeks."
"Yeah," Harry leaned into his hand, desperate for the contact. "Sometimes I think that's the only time I feel like myself anymore."
"Because it's simpler?"
"Because I don't have to be... that version of me," Harry whispered, shame burning in his throat. "The one they've made up. The one who's supposedly sleeping with every model in London."
His chest ached at the thought - at how far it was from who he really was. He didn't want anyone thinking about him like that, imagining him with all these women when his whole heart had belonged to just one person since he was sixteen.
"It's different than what they did with you," he continued softly. "You got Eleanor because you were too... you. Too obvious with your love. Too real." He swallowed hard. "But with me, they saw this opportunity. All these screaming girls and they just... they turned me into this thing. This character."
Louis pulled him closer, and Harry buried his face in his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of home. "Sometimes I feel like I'm disappearing," he admitted. "Like the real me is getting buried under all these versions they keep creating. And lately it's not just... it's not just the fake playboy thing. It's everything."
His voice cracked on the last word, and he felt Louis' arms tighten around him. "The way they want me to be this heartthrob when I'm..."
He trailed off, terror closing his throat. How could he explain something he barely understood himself? This shifting, this questioning, this feeling of wrongness that went beyond just the public persona they'd created?
"I'm scared," he finally whispered, feeling tears burning behind his eyes. "Because I don't know how far this goes. I don't know if you'll still want me if I'm not the boy you fell in love with."
Louis tilted his chin up, and Harry's heart clenched at the love in those blue eyes. "I love you. Whatever that means, however that looks."
"But what if how it looks keeps changing?" The words tumbled out, desperate and frightened. "What if I keep changing?" His voice broke. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and nothing makes sense. They've got me playing this role when all I want is to... to be soft. To be pretty. To be... something else entirely."
"Then be something else," Louis said softly, wiping away a tear Harry hadn't realized had fallen.
"You make it sound so simple."
"It's not simple," Louis acknowledged, and Harry loved him so much in that moment it hurt. "Nothing about this is simple."
Harry lifted his head, vision blurry with tears but heart so full it might burst. "Even if it might take some time for me to figure this out?"
"Good thing we've got forever then," Louis smiled, leaning in to kiss him.
Harry melted into it, letting everything else fall away - the fear, the confusion, the pressure. None of it mattered here in their bed, in their bubble, in their truth. Whatever changes lay ahead, whatever identity emerged from this chrysalis of questioning, he knew one thing would remain constant: Louis' love, steady as a heartbeat, true as a compass pointing home. And maybe that was enough - maybe that was everything.
Chapter 67: Present Day
Summary:
Harry's spending his thirty-first birthday being cultured in Rome (read: drinking very expensive wine while his Italian friends pretend not to notice him hiding from teenage fans). Meanwhile, Louis orchestrates an elaborate flower delivery from LA that their friend Alessandro declares "beautiful, but those butterflies should have been Murano glass, darling." What starts as innocent birthday FaceTime calls ends up decidedly less innocent as the time zones align and the Barolo kicks in. Some things, it seems, work just as well across an ocean.
aka the one where Harry pretends to be a wine connoisseur, Louis proves he's still got game from 6,000 miles away, and Alessandro has opinions about proper Italian glass
Chapter Text
Harry woke to Roman sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains, the kind of soft winter morning light that made everything feel a bit dreamy. His first thought, as it had been every morning for nearly fifteen years, was of Louis. He reached for his phone, smiling at the message already waiting:
'Happy birthday my love. Hope Rome treats you well today. Check your door in about 28 minutes xx'
The place he'd rented was quiet now that Des had gone. Harry stretched, enjoying the peaceful solitude. At thirty-one, he finally felt comfortable with this - the simple pleasure of waking up alone on his birthday. No cameras, no management-arranged parties where Louis wasn't allowed to attend, no pretending he wasn't checking his phone every few minutes for secret messages.
He padded to the kitchen, bare feet silent on ancient tiles, and started his morning tea ritual. The familiar motions grounded him as his mind drifted to birthdays past - particularly his nineteenth, when Grimmy had thought it would be funny to hire a stripper. He could still remember Louis' face when the photos hit social media, his boyfriend's voice cracking over the phone as he tried to explain how he'd ended up with his face pressed into her chest. It had sparked their first proper fight, made worse by management's delight at the "perfect press." He hadn't spoken to Grimmy for months after.
But this - this was different. This was chosen solitude, not enforced separation. Louis was in LA because he needed to be, not because someone had ordered them apart. And Harry was in Rome because he wanted to be, because after his peaceful twenty-fifth in Japan, he'd learned to love these quiet celebrations.
The doorbell chimed exactly when Louis had promised. Harry opened it to find an explosion of beauty - hundreds of peonies in various shades of pink, mixed with white gardenias (his and Louis' flower), deep purple anemones, and delicate sprays of cherry blossoms. The massive arrangement was studded with crystallized candied violets and fresh strawberries, and tucked throughout were packages of his favorite treats - Haribo gummies, of course, but also Japanese milk candies, French violet pastilles, and those specific Italian chocolates he'd fallen in love with on their secret trip to Venice years ago. Scattered among the flowers were tiny glass butterflies that caught the light, and wrapped around the base was a vintage silk Gucci scarf in shades of rose and cream.
The card, written in Louis' familiar scrawl, read: 'For my beautiful boy who still hasn't learned to share his sweets. Always in my heart, Boo xx'
Harry was still arranging the flowers, already wearing the scarf and popping candies into his mouth, when his phone lit up with Louis' FaceTime call.
Harry answered the FaceTime call from where he'd settled onto the sun-warmed terrace, the elaborate flower arrangement perfuming the morning air around him. Louis' face appeared, lit by the warm glow of hotel lamps, LA's night skyline twinkling behind him through floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Happy birthday, love," Louis said, looking cozy in what Harry recognized as one of his old jumpers. His eyes crinkled as he took in Harry's appearance - the vintage scarf already artfully arranged around his neck, a half-eaten strawberry in his hand. "Got your pressie then?"
"Lou," Harry breathed, reaching out to touch one of the glass butterflies that caught the Roman sunlight. "It's absolutely mad. How did you even find this scarf? Thought you were stuck in meetings all week."
"Helen knew this vintage place in Silver Lake," Louis smiled. "Dead posh, very you. Though I still don't understand why everything from the '70s has to cost a bloody fortune."
Harry preened, adjusting the silk against his skin. "Says the man who just sent me crystallized violets and glass butterflies."
"Well," Louis' voice went soft, intimate. "Know what makes my boy smile, don't I?"
Harry felt himself flush, dimple deepening as he popped another candy into his mouth. The morning sun was warming his bare feet against the ancient tiles, and he could hear Rome waking up below - church bells and distant vespa engines and vendors calling to each other. Everything felt golden and sweet and perfect.
He could tell Louis was fidgeting though, practically vibrating with contained excitement despite his attempts to keep the focus on Harry's birthday.
"What is it?" Harry asked fondly. "You've got that look like you're about to burst."
"That obvious?"
"Always, to me," Harry smiled. "Come on then, out with it."
"NFL UK invited me to the Super Bowl," Louis said, finally letting his grin break through. "VIP box in New Orleans and everything."
"Lou!" Harry beamed. "Look who's finally going to a proper American football game after all my years of trying."
"Oi, still prefer proper football," Louis protested. "But someone did spend an entire tour explaining what a touchdown is."
"Eagles versus Chiefs too," Harry said, unable to hide his enthusiasm despite their years apart. "You know I used to love watching the Eagles."
"Yeah, might have to support them for you," Louis smirked. "Though apparently your mate Taylor might not approve, what with her boyfriend playing for Kansas City and all."
Harry burst out laughing, nearly choking on a violet pastille. The sound echoed off the terrace tiles, but there was a slight edge to it that Louis caught immediately.
"God," Harry said, softer now, fiddling with the edge of his new scarf. "That whole situation with Taylor was..."
He trailed off, watching Louis' face carefully. Even now, more than a decade later, he could see the slight tightening around Louis' eyes at the mention of that time. Those months had nearly broken them - the constant pap walks, the staged kisses, Louis having to watch their "relationship" play out in headlines and interviews. It had been the first time management had pushed that far, and they'd both been too young to know how to handle it.
"Hey," Louis said gently, clearly seeing where Harry's mind had gone. "Ancient history, innit? Besides," his mouth quirked up slightly, "some of her songs about us weren't half bad."
Harry's tension eased slightly at Louis' attempt at lightness. "Still think 'Style' was about you more than me."
"Cheeky," Louis smiled, then paused thoughtfully. "You reckon this Kelce thing is real? Or..."
Harry considered it, absentmindedly playing with one of the glass butterflies in his flower arrangement. He knew what Louis was really asking - if Taylor had finally found what they had, or if she was still caught in the same industry games that had entangled them all those years ago.
"Hope it's real," he said finally. "She deserves that, after everything. And Kelce seems... different from her usual type."
"You mean actually straight?" Louis said dryly, then immediately softened at Harry's reproachful look. "Sorry, love. Old habits."
Harry understood the deflection for what it was - Louis had always used humor to mask deeper hurts. The memory of those months still stung: management parading Harry around with Taylor while Louis was forced to play the "best mate," watching as tabloids dissected every interaction, every staged date. Taylor had understood, had even tried to make it easier on them both, but the damage had been done.
"She did always have a type though," Harry mused, thinking of Calvin, Tom, Joe, - all the carefully curated relationships that had followed their staged romance. "At least Kelce seems... genuine. Less industry, more..."
"More likely to tackle someone than write a song about them?" Louis offered, making Harry laugh.
"Something like that," Harry smiled, taking a bite of another strawberry from his elaborate arrangement. "Though knowing Taylor, she's probably already got at least three songs written about him."
"Better him than us," Louis said, but there was no real heat in it anymore. Time had smoothed those particular edges. "Though I still maintain 'Style' was about me, not you."
"In your dreams, Lou," Harry grinned, grateful for the lighter turn. "Now tell me more about this Super Bowl thing. Promise me you'll at least try to understand the rules this time?"
Louis' expression softened completely, watching Harry in the morning Roman light, curls slightly wild and dimple deep as he smiled. Even through a phone screen, even after everything, Harry still took his breath away.
"Might understand them better if I had my old teacher back," Louis said quietly, the words carrying more weight than just football rules. "Remember how patient you were? Explaining every play during that Packers game in Milwaukee?"
Harry's smile turned tender, knowing. "You were a terrible student. Kept getting distracted."
"Had a fit teacher, didn't I?" Louis teased, but his eyes were serious, holding Harry's gaze through their screens. "Still do."
Harry ducked his head, cheeks flushing. Some things hadn't changed - Louis could still make him feel like that wide-eyed sixteen-year-old who'd fallen head first into something bigger than both of them.
"Lou..." he started softly.
"I know, I know. It's your birthday. M'not trying to..." Louis ran a hand through his messy hair. "Just want you to have the best day, love. That's all I've ever wanted."
Harry touched his screen gently, right where Louis' face was. "You've already made it perfect. The flowers, the scarf, the butterflies..."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry confirmed softly. "Though next time you're in Rome, maybe you could deliver them in person?"
Louis' whole face lit up, hope bright in his eyes. "Next time," he promised. "Happy birthday, H."
As Harry ended the call, he looked out over the Roman skyline, touching the vintage scarf around his neck. Some things changed, evolved, grew apart. But some things - like Louis remembering every little detail that made him happy, like the way his heart still skipped at Louis' smile - those things remained constant as the eternal city spread out before him.
After the call, Harry wandered through Rome's winding streets, his new scarf catching the breeze. He paused at the Trevi Fountain, admiring how the morning light played across the baroque sculptures. The same three girls he'd noticed following him the other day were poorly concealing themselves behind a gelato stand - phones already out, whispering. He sighed internally but kept his face neutral, turning toward Via del Corso.
The Palazzo Doria Pamphilj caught his eye - he'd always loved how the sunlight hit the façade this time of day. As he studied the architectural details, a tentative voice broke through his thoughts.
"Scusi... Mr. Styles?"
He turned to find a young girl, maybe fourteen, standing with her mother. Unlike the usual fans who ambushed him, they maintained a respectful distance. The mother had a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"We don't want to disturb you," the mother said in careful English. "Sophia just wanted to wish you happy birthday. We can see you're having a private moment."
Harry felt himself soften. This was different from the calculated pursuit he'd grown used to. Sophia was clutching a small sketchbook, clearly an art student studying the same architectural details he'd been admiring.
"Thank you," he smiled genuinely. "Are you studying art?"
Sophia nodded eagerly. "I love the baroque period. Mama brought me to Rome for my birthday last week."
"Would you like a photo?" Harry found himself offering, surprising even himself. When they both lit up, he added, "Just promise me you'll keep studying art. It's beautiful here, isn't it?"
After the quick photo and another round of birthday wishes, Harry continued his walk, stopping at the Galleria Borghese. He lost himself in Bernini's sculptures for a while, the way marble somehow looked as soft as flesh. His phone buzzed with a text from Alessandro:
"Birthday boy - meet at Roscioli at 7? Need your opinion on the wines for tonight. Found a '96 Barolo that might make you weep."
Harry smiled, typing back a quick "Perfect x". Tonight would be intimate - just a few close friends, good wine, and the best pasta in Rome. But first, more art, more wandering, more quiet moments to himself in this eternal city that always felt like coming home.
The three girls from earlier appeared again near the Spanish Steps, but Harry simply turned down a narrow cobblestone street, losing himself in the maze of ancient alleyways where tourists rarely ventured. Here, laundry lines criss-crossed overhead, old women gossiped from their windows, and cats sunned themselves on worn stone steps. This was the Rome he loved best - the real, breathing city behind the postcards.
Harry slipped into Roscioli just as the evening light was turning golden, finding Alessandro already in the wine cellar, jacket off and sleeves rolled up as he gestured animatedly to one of the sommeliers. The familiar scent of aged wood, cork, and earth wrapped around him like a welcome.
"Ah, finally!" Alessandro exclaimed, pulling Harry into a warm embrace. "Our birthday boy arrives. How was your art walk? Did you see any of those horrible Caravaggio copies at the tourist shops?"
Harry laughed, accepting the glass Alessandro was already pressing into his hands. "Kept to the real ones today, thanks. Though I did have an interesting encounter with a young art student."
"More interesting than this '96 Barolo, I hope not," Alessandro tsked, watching Harry take his first sip. The wine opened up on his tongue - tar and roses and something deeper, almost truffle-like.
"Oh," Harry breathed, "that's..."
"For the main course, yes?" Alessandro was already pulling another bottle. "But first, I found this lovely Brunello for the antipasti. And wait until you see what I've arranged for dessert - a Passito that will make you forget all about those crystallized violets your boy sent."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "How did you-"
"Please," Alessandro waved his hand dismissively, but his eyes were kind. "The flowers arrived at my shop this morning for arrangement. Louis has good taste, I'll give him that. Though next time, tell him to let me source the butterflies. The Murano glass ones are so much more elegant than Czech."
Harry felt his cheeks warm, not entirely from the wine. "You're incorrigible."
"I'm Italian, there's a difference," Alessandro winked, already opening another bottle. "Now, about the wine for the cheese course..."
They spent the next hour tasting and debating, Alessandro's animated stories about each vineyard punctuated by Harry's thoughtful sips and appreciative hums. The cellar grew darker, more intimate, lit only by old brass sconces that caught the deep ruby of each pour.
"Perfect," Harry declared after their final selection, feeling warm and content. "Though I think you knew exactly which wines you wanted before I got here."
Alessandro's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps. But it's your birthday, and everyone deserves to feel like an expert on their birthday." He checked his watch. "Now, upstairs. Your friends will be arriving soon, and Nonna Rosa has been fussing over your pasta all afternoon."
The private dining room upstairs glowed with candlelight, the long wooden table set simply but elegantly with crisp linens and antique silverware. Giovanni was already there, arranging the last of the hand-written place cards in his precise architect's hand.
"There he is," Giovanni smiled warmly, embracing Harry. "No big fuss, just as promised. Though Alessandro did try to hire a quartet."
"Which you vetoed, thank god," Harry laughed, accepting a glass of the Brunello they'd selected.
"Someone has to be the sensible one," Giovanni winked at his husband. "Thirty-one deserves dignity, not drama."
The other guests arrived gradually - Marco and Sofia from the local gallery Harry frequented, Lucia who owned his favorite bookshop near the Pantheon, and Paolo, the older gentleman who'd taught Harry proper Italian over countless espressos. Just six friends total, all locals who knew Harry as just Harry, not as the superstar who filled stadiums.
"No Jeff?" Paolo asked knowingly as they settled in, Nonna Rosa's perfect cacio e pepe being served.
"Not tonight," Harry smiled, relaxed in a way he rarely was at industry dinners. "Wanted something quieter this year."
"Good," Sofia declared firmly. "You work too hard. Tonight is for wine and food and friends who don't want anything from you except maybe to pass the bread."
"Speaking of," Alessandro raised his glass, switching to English for the toast. "To our dear friend on his birthday. May this year bring you more moments of peace, more art that moves you, more wine worth savoring, and more love that makes you smile like you did this morning when those flowers arrived."
"Alessandro!" Giovanni scolded fondly while Harry blushed into his wine.
The conversation flowed as easily as the carefully chosen wines, drifting between Italian and English, touching on art and architecture, local gossip and shared memories. No phones appeared, no paparazzi lurked outside (Paolo's grandson was head of security at the restaurant and took that responsibility very seriously). Just the warm glow of candles, the rich scent of truffles from the main course, and the sound of genuine laughter.
For dessert, Nonna Rosa brought out a small torta della nonna with a single candle, singing "Tanti Auguri" softly with the others joining in. As Harry looked around at these friends who asked nothing of him except his company, who protected his privacy as fiercely as his peace, he felt profoundly grateful. This was exactly the birthday he'd needed - quiet, genuine, grounded in the real world rather than the glittering chaos of his public life.
As the evening wound down, Paolo was deep into a story about Rome in the 1960s when Harry's phone lit up silently on the table - 11:47 PM Rome time, which meant it was afternoon in LA. Harry smiled softly at the simple text: "Bet you're all wine-flushed and pretty by now, birthday boy x"
Giovanni caught the look and quietly began gathering everyone for goodbyes, ever observant of the little things that mattered. Hugs were exchanged, kisses pressed to cheeks, and promises made for future dinners without occasion.
"Take the rest of the Barolo," Alessandro insisted, pressing the half-empty bottle into Harry's hands. "A birthday boy should end his night with good wine."
"And good company," Giovanni added knowingly, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "Even if that company is through a screen."
The walk back to his flat was peaceful, Rome's streets quiet save for the distant sound of church bells. Harry took the long way, letting the cool February air clear his wine-warmed head. His phone buzzed again: "Ditched the studio early. Need to hear your voice properly. Ring me when you're home x"
In his flat, Harry set the Barolo on the kitchen counter and dimmed the lights, sinking into his favorite armchair by the window. The view of Rome's rooftops spread out before him, moonlit and magical as he pulled up FaceTime.
"There's my boy," Louis's voice was raspy, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "Properly spoiled on your birthday then?"
"Wasn't the same without you here," Harry murmured, sinking into his armchair by the window. "Miss your hands on me."
"Fuckin' hell, love," Louis breathed. "Starting right in, are we? Not even gonna tell me about your posh Italian dinner first?"
Harry laughed softly, head falling back. "Want me to tell you about the wine instead, Lou? How it made me all warm..." His voice dropped lower. "Made me think of that night in Venice..."
"Christ," Louis's voice got rougher. "The one where you-"
"Yeah," Harry interrupted, smile turning wicked. "That one."
"You're killing me here, babe. Looking so pretty in that scarf I sent you, I bet. Wearing anything else?"
"Getting demanding in your old age, Tomlinson?"
"Oi, watch it, birthday boy. Still can make you beg from across an ocean."
Their voices grew heavier with want, trading memories and promises that made Harry's skin flush warmer than the wine had. Louis described in delicious detail exactly how he'd celebrate Harry's birthday if he were there, his Yorkshire accent getting thicker with each heated whisper.
"Next year," Louis promised roughly, "I'm not letting you out of bed, let alone to some fancy wine cellar."
"That a threat or a promise?"
"Both, love."
They talked until Harry's wine glass was empty and Louis's afternoon meetings couldn't be ignored any longer. "Happy birthday, darling," Louis murmured. "Love you more than you know."
"Love you more," Harry whispered back, voice heavy with wine and want.
"Not possible," Louis said softly. "Now get some sleep. And Harry?"
"Mm?"
"Sweet dreams about Venice."
Harry fell asleep in the armchair, phone still warm in his hand, dreaming of shared wine and heated whispers and Louis's hands mapping his skin like beloved territory. Outside, Rome kept its ancient vigil, one more night of passion and promise written in its stars.
Chapter 68: Late April 2011
Summary:
Louis spends a week back home in Doncaster before reuniting with Harry at their temporary London hotel suite. Between drunk calls to Harry from Calvin's garden, FIFA with his sisters, and late-night heart-to-hearts with his mum about hiding their relationship, Louis realizes that while he wants to shout his love from the rooftops, protecting Harry matters more. Jay causes chaos by tweeting about her "son-in-law" Harry, and Anne and Robin gift them a posh hotel suite as a temporary home - because sometimes the best support comes from the people who've loved you longest.
(aka the one where Louis is a soppy drunk who waxes poetic about Harry's dimples, Jay is the original Larrie, and everyone's mums are trying their best to give their boys a proper home, even if it's just a fancy hotel room for now)
Chapter Text
Louis couldn't stop bouncing his leg as they waited for the estate agent outside the first flat. Harry kept shooting him fond looks, dimple appearing each time, and Louis wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt. But their moms and Gemma were there, and even though they all knew, they were trying to be professional. Sort of.
"Stop fidgeting, love," Jay said softly, squeezing his shoulder.
"Can't help it," Louis muttered. He'd been dreaming about this since those nights in the X Factor house, when Harry would crawl into his tiny bunk and whisper about their future. About their own place, their own space, somewhere they could just be them.
Harry sidled closer, pressing their arms together. "Think this one's gonna be too posh," he whispered. "Saw the doorman wearing a proper uniform and everything."
"Proper wanker uniform, you mean," Louis whispered back, making Harry snort.
"Boys," Anne admonished, but she was smiling.
The estate agent appeared then, all polished heels and crisp blazer. "Mr. Tomlinson? Mr. Styles?"
"That's us," Louis said, straightening up. He was only nineteen, but he was going to act proper adult-like about this. Harry was still practically a baby at seventeen - though he'd punch Louis for saying that - so Louis needed to be the responsible one.
That lasted approximately three minutes into the tour.
"And this is the master suite," the agent was saying, leading them into a massive bedroom.
"Proper big bed we could get in here, Haz," Louis said with an exaggerated wink. Harry turned bright red while Gemma made gagging noises.
"Louis William," Jay hissed, but he could see her fighting a smile.
The flat was gorgeous, all gleaming surfaces and floor-to-ceiling windows. But it wasn't them. It was too sterile, too perfect. Louis could already picture their management loving it - very bachelor pad, very eligible young stars. But he couldn't picture Harry padding around in his pants making tea, or them having lazy Sunday mornings in bed, or wrestling over the TV remote until they ended up snogging on the couch.
"Next?" Harry murmured as they headed back to the lift.
"Next," Louis agreed.
The second flat was worse - all chrome and leather and trying too hard to be modern. Harry wrinkled his nose as soon as they walked in, and Louis had to stifle a laugh. His boy liked cozy things, warm spaces where he could spread out his endless collection of candles and photos and soft blankets.
"Think you'd knock over at least three of these weird art things first week," Louis whispered, nodding at the precarious-looking sculptures dotting the living room.
"First day," Harry corrected with a grin. "Remember that lamp at Johnny's?"
"To be fair, love, you were a bit distracted at the time," Louis waggled his eyebrows, making Harry blush again.
"If you two are quite finished," Gemma called from the kitchen, "This one's definitely a no, yeah?"
"Definitely," they said in unison.
The third flat was better - warm colors and big windows - but the rooms were tiny. Plus, the kitchen was rubbish, and his boy needed a proper kitchen.
"You'd go mental trying to cook in there," Louis said as they left. "Remember that time in the X Factor house when you tried to make breakfast for everyone?"
"Wasn't my fault Aiden kept getting in the way," Harry pouted.
"You nearly stabbed him with a spatula!"
"He was hogging the toaster!"
Their moms exchanged fond looks as they bickered all the way to the fourth viewing. Louis felt light, happy. This was what he wanted - house hunting with his boy, planning their future, making a home together. Even if none of these places were quite right, the looking was half the fun.
The fourth flat was in a converted Victorian building, all high ceilings and character. Louis watched Harry's eyes light up as they walked through the front door, and his heart did that familiar flip it always did when Harry was happy.
"Look at these windows, Lou," Harry breathed, running his fingers along the original woodwork. "And the built-in bookshelves!"
The living room was huge but cozy, with a fireplace and enough space for all their music stuff. The kitchen made Harry actually gasp - all updated appliances but with vintage touches that made it feel homey.
"Could put herbs right here," Harry mumbled, touching the windowsill. "And that corner would be perfect for the record player..."
Louis caught his mum giving him a knowing look as he watched Harry explore. He knew he probably had that soppy expression on his face, the one Zayn always teased him about, but he couldn't help it. Harry was practically bouncing with excitement, pointing out where they could put everything they'd been collecting.
"Should probably run it by management first," Louis said softly when they had a moment alone in what would be their bedroom. "Before we get too excited."
Harry's face fell slightly, but he nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Proper responsible of you."
"Ugh, don't say that," Louis wrinkled his nose. "Makes me sound old."
"You are old," Harry grinned, dodging Louis' attempt to pinch his side. "Ancient, practically."
"Oi! That's it, no more cuddles for you."
"Liar," Harry dimpled at him. "You love cuddles."
"Boys?" Anne called from the hallway. "Ready for dinner?"
They went to that little Italian place they'd found during X Factor, the one with the private back room where they could relax a bit. Harry immediately pressed his leg against Louis' under the table, and Louis had to fight to keep his face neutral.
"So what did you think of the last place?" Jay asked as they looked at menus.
"It's perfect," Harry said immediately, then blushed. "I mean, it's nice. Really nice."
"We're going to talk to management first," Louis added, trying to sound mature and responsible. "Make sure it fits with everything."
Gemma rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous. You're like an old married couple already."
"Gem," Harry whined, but he was smiling.
The waiter came to take their orders, and Louis had to kick Harry under the table when he started playing footsie. Harry just grinned innocently and did it more.
"Harold," Louis hissed. "Behave."
"Make me," Harry whispered back.
"Oh god, they're doing that thing again," Gemma groaned. "Where they forget other people exist."
"We are not!" Louis protested, but he could feel himself blushing.
Their moms were trying not to laugh, sharing one of those knowing looks that made Louis want to sink through the floor. He loved that their families were so supportive, but sometimes it was embarrassing how obvious they were.
The food arrived, saving them from more teasing. Harry immediately started stealing bites from Louis' plate, because apparently ordering his own pasta wasn't enough.
"Get your own, you menace," Louis complained, but he was already cutting off a piece of his chicken parm for Harry.
"Yours always tastes better," Harry said with that dimpled smile that always made Louis want to kiss him.
"Everything alright here?" the waiter appeared suddenly, making them jump apart slightly.
"Fine, thanks," Louis said quickly, and Harry became very interested in his pasta.
They lingered on the pavement outside the restaurant, Louis trying not to think about his train to Doncaster in a few hours. Their moms and Gemma were still saying goodbye just down the street.
"Stay at Chris's," Harry blurted out, tugging at Louis' sleeve. "Please? Like, you could kip on the couch with me-"
"Hazza," Louis softened immediately at Harry's pleading tone. "Three of us crashing at Chris's might be a bit much, yeah?"
"But Ed's barely there! He's always off with his guitar somewhere," Harry's voice went whiny in that way it did when he was trying not to be upset. "And Chris won't mind, he likes having people 'round."
Louis glanced down the street - their families were properly distracted - and pulled Harry in close, pressing a quick kiss to his pouty lips. "You know I want to, babe. But we can't take the piss with Chris like that."
"Miss you already though," Harry mumbled against his mouth. "Hate being apart."
"Been apart before," Louis pointed out, though his heart was already aching at the thought of a week without Harry's constant presence.
"Different though, innit? That was like, holidays and stuff. This is just 'cause we haven't got our shit sorted."
"Boys?" Jay called from down the street. "We're heading off! Louis, don't miss your train, baby."
They quickly separated, maintaining careful distance as they said goodbye to their families. But as soon as the others had gone, Harry was back in Louis' space, pressing close.
"How long do we have until you have to go?" he asked. "Before your train?"
"About two hours, I think."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Chris's is only ten minutes away..."
"Haz..."
"Please?" Harry stepped closer, fingers playing with the hem of Louis' - actually Harry's - jumper. "Just for a bit? Just want to be close to you before you go."
"Can't impose on Chris like that-"
"He won't mind! He's probably just writing anyway, you know how he gets when he's on a song..." Harry was using those eyes now, the ones that made Louis want to give him absolutely everything. "Please Lou? Promise we'll behave, just... need to hold you for a bit."
Louis felt his resolve crumbling. Truth was, he needed it too - needed one last moment of just them before a week apart. "You're sure Chris won't mind?"
Harry's whole face brightened. "Promise! He's proper chill about everything."
"No funny business though," Louis warned, already letting Harry tug him down the street. "Just cuddles."
"Course," Harry agreed quickly. "Just cuddles. Totally innocent cuddles."
"Harold..."
"What?" Harry's innocent expression was undermined by the way his hand had slipped into Louis' back pocket. "M'being good!"
"You're being a menace is what you're being." But Louis was grinning, helpless against Harry's infectious excitement.
They practically ran the rest of the way to Chris's flat, stealing quick kisses in doorways when no one was around. Harry fumbled with his key, giggling as Louis pressed up against his back, mouth at his neck.
"Thought we were being good?" Harry teased, finally getting the door open.
"Best behavior," Louis murmured, following Harry inside.
Chris barely glanced up from his guitar when they stumbled in, Harry already trying to climb Louis like a tree. "No shagging on my couch!"
"Wasn't gonna!" Harry called back, even as he pushed Louis toward said couch.
"Harold," Louis laughed against his mouth. "Behave."
"Don't wanna," Harry mumbled, straddling Louis' lap. "Want you to stay."
"Menace," Louis said fondly, but he pulled Harry closer anyway. "Proper clingy today, aren't you?"
"Miss you," Harry repeated, nosing along Louis' jaw. "Gonna be well boring here without you."
"Oi!" Chris called from across the room. "I'm great company!"
"You just play the same chord progression for hours," Harry shot back, making Louis snort.
They spent the next hour tangled together on Chris's couch, Harry pressing kisses everywhere he could reach while Louis pretended to watch whatever Chris had put on TV.
Too soon, it was time for Louis to head to the station. Harry insisted on coming with, eyes already suspiciously bright.
"Text me when you get home?" he asked, clinging to Louis' hand on the platform.
"Obviously. Every night too, yeah?"
Harry nodded, then pulled Louis into a desperate kiss, not caring who might see. Louis kissed back just as hard, trying to memorize the feeling.
"Love you," he whispered against Harry's lips. "Even when you're being proper needy."
"Love you more," Harry whispered back. "Even when you're taking the piss out of my neediness."
The train ride felt endless. His phone buzzed almost immediately.
Harry: already wellll bored :( xx
Louis: Been 5 mins you massive baby xx
Harry: don't care. chris is just playing wonderwall again. save meee
Louis: Proper rock star that one
Harry: gonna write a really sad song about missing you
Louis: Better than bed rock at least xx
They texted until Louis' battery was nearly dead, neither wanting to be the first to stop. Just a week, he told himself. They'd survived holiday breaks and family visits. But somehow this felt different - less certain, less planned. Still, they'd figure it out. They always did.
His phone buzzed one last time.
Harry: chris says if i sigh dramatically one more time he's kicking me out xx
Louis: Drama queen xx love you though
Harry: love you more xx even when ur mean to me xx
***
Louis was sprawled across his childhood bed, phone held above his face as he texted Harry for the hundredth time that day. His mum had given up trying to get him to be social after he'd spent all of breakfast sighing into his tea.
"Tommo!" Stan's voice carried up the stairs. "Get your arse down here!"
"Busy!" Louis called back, not looking away from his phone.
Harry: chris keeps trying to teach me guitar but my hands are too big :((
Louis: proper massive hands. good for other things tho ;) xx
"Louis William Tomlinson!" That was his mum now. "Your friends came all the way here to see you!"
Louis groaned but rolled off the bed. He hadn't seen Stan and Oli properly in ages, and he did miss them. Even if all he really wanted to do was mope about Harry.
"There he is!" Oli crowed when Louis finally trudged downstairs. "The big pop star!"
"Fuck off," Louis said, but he was grinning as they pulled him into rough hugs.
"Language!" Jay called from the kitchen.
They ended up in Louis' back garden with a football, just like old times. Except now Louis kept checking his phone every thirty seconds.
"Cal's having people round tonight," Oli said. "Proper party. Get you back to your old self."
"Fine," Louis sighed, shoving his phone in his pocket. "But only 'cause I miss proper Donny parties."
"That's our boy!" Stan threw an arm around him. "Now go change out of Harry's jumper, you absolute sap."
"This isn't-" Louis started, but Stan just raised an eyebrow. "...fine, it's his. But m'keeping it on."
"Whipped," Oli coughed.
Louis flipped him off but couldn't hide his grin. Maybe a night out would be good. Even if he did keep Harry's jumper on.
Several hours later, they were heading to Calvin's. Louis' phone buzzed one last time as they walked.
Harry: have fun tonight!! dont do anything i wouldnt do ;) xx
Louis: so anything goes then xx miss you xx
"If you're texting Harry again, I'm confiscating your phone," Stan warned.
Louis quickly pocketed it. "Was just checking the time!"
"Course you were mate," Oli laughed. "Course you were."
They could hear the music from Calvin's before they even turned onto his street. Louis felt something like his old excitement stirring - before X Factor, before fame, before Harry. Except now it was better, because he had all of that too.
"Ready to be proper Tommo again?" Stan grinned.
Louis touched Harry's jumper briefly, like a talisman. "Yeah, actually. Think I am."
Louis was three drinks in at Calvin's when the night started properly going. The music was too loud, the house packed with people he half-recognized from school, all of them looking at him differently now he was "famous."
"Tommo!" Stan shouted over the music. "Put your bloody phone away!"
Louis had been typing the same message for five minutes, trying to make it perfect.
Louis: hazzzzza baby miss your stupiddd face xx tell chris thanks for letting u stay even tho ur probably being well annoying xx
"M'socializing!" Louis protested, but he let Stan drag him toward the makeshift dance floor in Calvin's living room.
Several drinks later, Louis was properly going for it - up on Calvin's coffee table, shirt unbuttoned halfway, leading the whole room in a terrible rendition of Mr. Brightside.
"COMING OUT OF MY CAGE AND I'VE BEEN DOING JUST FINE-"
"Still got it!" Oli cheered, filming on his phone. "The old Tommo lives!"
Louis dropped to his knees for the chorus, nearly falling off the table. Some girl he vaguely recognized from year 11 was watching him with obvious interest, but he barely noticed.
"Mate," Oli grabbed his arm as he stumbled off the table. "There's like three fit birds proper eyeing you up."
"Don't care," Louis sang, spinning away. "M'taken, aren't I?"
"Yeah but like," some lad from college started. "You're in One Direction now! Could be proper making the most of that!"
Louis felt his expression shift, that protective instinct kicking in even through the alcohol. "Just 'cause m'in a band doesn't mean-"
"Leave it," Stan cut in smoothly. "Tommo's off the market, yeah?"
"But I thought him and Hannah broke up, who even is-"
"Shots!" Calvin announced loudly. "Tommo, get in here!"
Louis let himself be dragged to the kitchen, grateful for the save. Stan thrust another drink in his hand while Oli raided Calvin's cupboards for snacks, both of them falling into their familiar roles like nothing had changed. And really, with them, nothing had.
These were the lads who'd known him before everything - before X Factor, before One Direction, before Harry. But they understood the weight of it all now - the contracts, the image, the careful dance of public perception. They saw how the screaming girls at signings looked at Louis and Harry both, how management needed them to seem available, appealing, safely flirtatious with female fans. How even here in Doncaster, they had to be careful. One wrong word to the wrong person, one photo, one rumor spreading through town, and it could all unravel.
They didn't talk about it much - didn't need to really. Instead, they made the most of these rare nights home.
That's what he loved about them really. They didn't care for the politics of pop stardom or carefully maintained public images. They just wanted their mate happy, even if they'd rather die than say it so directly. And if their way of showing support was taking the mick out of his "proper romantic" texts to Harry, well, Louis would take it.
Several shots later, Louis was sprawled in Calvin's garden, phone held close to his face as he tried to focus on the screen as he scrolled through his photos. The party had died down, most people either leaving or passed out inside.
"He's proper beautiful, innit?" he announced to no one in particular. "Like, not just fit or whatever. Proper beautiful. Inside and out and all that shit."
"Here we go," Stan laughed, dropping down beside him. "Philosophical drunk Louis has arrived."
"No but like," Louis waved his hand expansively. "He's got this soul, right? This proper bright soul that just like... lights everything up? Makes everything better just by being there?"
"You're so gone for him mate," Calvin said fondly.
"Course I am! Have you seen him? With his stupid curls and his stupid dimples and his stupid heart that's like... so big it barely fits in his chest?"
His phone buzzed and he immediately forgot what he was saying.
"Look at his face," Oli stage-whispered. "Proper heart eyes."
"Shut up," Louis mumbled, already typing back. "M'allowed to be in love, aren't I?"
"Love!" Stan cackled. "Remember when you used to say love was for proper losers?"
"Was an idiot then," Louis said simply. "Didn't know, did I? Didn't know it could be like this."
"Like what?" Calvin asked, amused.
"Like... like everything makes sense? Even when nothing makes sense? Like the whole world's mad but it's alright 'cause he exists in it?"
"Jesus Christ," Stan laughed. "You're actually tragic."
"Don't care," Louis announced grandly. "Would rather be tragic with him than cool without him."
His phone buzzed again and he immediately checked it, proving their point entirely.
"Remember when he used to actually be fun?" Oli called over.
"Still fun!" Louis protested, struggling to his feet. "Watch this!"
He proceeded to do a spectacularly uncoordinated cartwheel that ended with him sprawled in Calvin's mum's flower bed.
"Haz would've caught me," he announced to the sky.
"Right," Stan hauled him up. "Think it's time to get you home mate."
"No! M'having fun! Being proper cool and single and-"
"Sure," Stan heaved him up. "Home time."
The taxi ride was a blur of Louis rambling about Harry's hands and dimples until Stan threatened to gag him. Once home, he stumbled upstairs as quietly as possible - his family was sleeping and his mum would properly kill him if he woke the girls.
Sprawled across his childhood bed, still in Harry's jumper, Louis fumbled with his phone. Took three tries to dial, his fingers clumsy.
"Hi," Harry's voice was barely a whisper. Louis could picture him curled up under those ratty blankets on Chris's sofa, probably wearing one of Louis' old Rovers shirts to sleep in.
"Baby," Louis breathed, the word catching in his throat. Everything felt heavy and light at once, that familiar ache in his chest whenever he heard Harry's voice. "Did I wake you?"
"No, was waiting for you to call actually." There was rustling - Harry moving to muffle his voice. "Ed went out but Chris is passed out in his room."
"Proper rock star lifestyle that."
Harry's laugh was soft and breathy. "How drunk are you?"
"Very," Louis admitted. "Did karaoke on Cal's coffee table. Might've killed his mum's flowers."
"Course you did. What'd you sing?"
"Killers. Made me think of the bungalo." Those weeks before X-factor felt like years ago now - Harry in that pool, all gangly limbs and wild curls, looking at Louis like he was the coolest person he'd ever met.
"You were well fit that night," Harry murmured. "In those jeans."
"Speak for yourself," Louis' voice went rough. "In those tiny swim shorts..."
"Lou," Harry breathed. The way he said Louis' name still made his heart stutter, even after all these months.
"Miss you," Louis whispered into the phone, the late night quiet making everything feel more intense. "Proper miss you. Like my skin doesn't fit right when you're not here."
"Yeah?" Harry's voice had that rough edge to it, the one that always made Louis' pulse quicken.
"Miss your mouth," Louis murmured, letting his eyes fall shut. "The way you bite your lip when you're trying not to smile. How you taste like tea and mint toothpaste and something that's just... you."
"Lou..." Harry breathed.
"Miss your neck," Louis continued, alcohol making him braver, making the words flow easier. "How you shiver when I kiss that spot below your ear. The little sounds you try to hold back..."
"Fuck," Harry's breath hitched. "What else?"
"Your hands," Louis let his own drift across his stomach, remembering. "So big they span my whole waist. Love how they tremble when you're close, like you can barely hold back..."
"Miss touching you too," Harry whispered. "How you trust me with everything. Let me take care of you..."
"Only you, Haz. Only ever want you taking care of me."
Harry made a broken sound. "Promise?"
"God, yes," Louis closed his eyes, overwhelmed by how much he meant it. "Scares me sometimes, how much I need you. Like you've got your own gravity and I'm just... caught in it. Just want my boy with his ridiculous jokes and his massive heart and the way he lights up every room he walks into..."
"Lou," Harry's voice cracked. "M'yours. Only ever yours."
"I know baby. Know you're mine." And he did know - felt it in his bones, sure as breathing. Knew Harry was it for him, even if they were too young to be thinking forever. "Sometimes I look at you and forget how to breathe. Like you're this force of nature that somehow chose me."
"Getting poetic on me, Tomlinson?" But Harry's voice was thick with emotion.
"Can't help it," Louis murmured. "You make me want to write sonnets and shit. Proper embarrassing."
There was a pause, just their breathing syncing up through the phone.
"Lou?" Harry's voice was small. "Sometimes I get scared too. Like... it's too much? Too fast? But then I look at you and..."
"And?" Louis prompted softly.
"And it's like... oh, there you are. Been waiting for you."
Louis' chest felt too tight. "Haz..."
"I know," Harry whispered. "Know it's mad. But when you know, you just know, yeah?"
"Yeah," Louis breathed, thinking of seeing Harry on stage, of shared whispers in the X Factor house, of quiet moments between the chaos when Harry would look at him with those impossible eyes and Louis would think oh, it's you. "Yeah baby, I know."
They were quiet for a moment, just existing together through the phone.
"Should sleep," Harry mumbled eventually. "You're proper drunk."
"Stay on till I fall asleep?" Louis asked, already drifting. "Just want to hear you breathe..."
"Course Lou. Always."
Louis fell asleep to the sound of Harry humming softly - something new he was working on probably, another love song he'd claim wasn't about them. His last coherent thought was that he'd spend forever with his boy who wrote terrible songs and told worse jokes and somehow owned every piece of Louis' heart.
After that late night call, Louis spent the last precious days of his break at his mum's, trying to soak up every moment of normalcy before diving back into the chaos. The house was alive with noise - twins shrieking through the halls, Lottie practicing her makeup techniques on anyone who'd sit still long enough, Fizzy bent over her homework at the kitchen table. His mum kept cooking his favorites, watching him with knowing eyes whenever he checked his phone (which was constantly, if he was honest).
She'd caught him one evening, curled up in Harry's hoodie on the back porch, reading through their texts for the hundredth time.
"He's good for you, you know," she said softly, settling beside him with two cups of tea. "Never seen you shine quite like this before."
Louis ducked his head, feeling exposed but safe in that way only his mum could manage. "Yeah, well. He's... he's everything, isn't he?"
She smiled, wrapping an arm around him. "He is. And you're everything to him too, love. Anyone with eyes can see it."
The week passed too quickly - a blur of family dinners and FIFA tournaments with the girls, late night calls with Harry, and trying to memorize the feeling of being just Louis again, not one-fifth of One Direction. Not having to watch every move, every word.
The night before he was due to leave, he found his mum in the kitchen, tapping away at her phone with a mischievous grin.
"What are you up to?" he asked, suspicious of that particular smile.
"Oh, nothing love. Just sending your husband a little message."
Louis' heart stopped. "Mum, you didn't-"
But she had. There it was on Twitter, bold as brass: "My son returns to his husband tomorrow @harrystyles x"
"Mum!" Louis yelped, panic rising. "You can't- management's going to-"
But she just smiled serenely, patting his cheek. "Oh love, I'm just a proud mum who adores her son's best friend. Just a joke, right? Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
And really, what could he say to that? His phone buzzed - Harry, of course, sending a string of heart emojis and "your mum's my favorite x"
Louis looked at his mum, still smiling innocently as she made tea, and felt something warm unfurl in his chest. Maybe they couldn't tell the world yet, but his family knew. Harry's family knew. And sometimes, that was enough.
"You're trouble, you are," he told her fondly.
"Wonder where you got it from?" she winked. "Now come help me with dinner. Your last night home should be special."
Louis and his mum ended up cross-legged on the counter, sharing the last of the shepherd's pie while the house finally settled into nighttime quiet.
"Go on then," she nudged him, knowing that look on his face. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Louis pushed his peas around his plate, trying to sort his thoughts. "Sometimes I think... maybe we're making it harder than it needs to be? Like, the hiding and all that. But then-" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The lads are counting on us, aren't they? Can't risk fucking up everything they've worked for just because I want to hold his hand in public."
"Language," she chided automatically, but her eyes were soft. "That's not the only reason though, is it?"
"No," Louis admitted quietly. "You should see how they talk about us already, mum. The things they say when they think we might be... and that's just speculation. If they knew for sure?" He swallowed hard. "Harry tries to act tough but he reads everything. Takes it all to heart. And he's so... he's so good, you know? Pure. Don't want anyone making him feel like there's something wrong with him."
"Oh love," she wrapped an arm around him, letting him lean into her side like he was small again. "You can't protect him from everything."
"Can try though, can't I?" Louis attempted a smile. "Even if sometimes all I want to do is stand on top of the O2 and scream 'that's my boyfriend, look how fucking incredible he is.'"
"Language," she said again, but she was laughing now. "You're allowed to want both, you know. To want to protect him and show him off. You're only eighteen, love. No one expects you to have all the answers."
"Feel like management does," Louis muttered.
"Well management can kiss my-"
"Mum!"
The next morning came too fast. Louis hugged everyone twice, but clung to his mum longest, breathing in her familiar perfume.
"My brave boy," she whispered. "So proud of you. Just... don't forget to be proud of yourself too, yeah?"
Louis nodded against her shoulder, throat tight. "Love you, mum."
"Love you more. Now go on - your boy's waiting."
The drive to London felt endless, each mile stretching longer than the last as Louis' leg bounced restlessly against the seat. Anne and Robin had sorted this posh suite for them - a temporary home while they recorded, something about wanting them to have their own space. Louis suspected it had more to do with Anne seeing how hard the separation was on Harry, how he'd go quiet and drawn when they were apart too long.
His hands were actually shaking as he keyed into the suite. The lights were dim, just the soft glow from the bedroom spilling into the hall. He'd barely dropped his bags when he heard movement, and then-
"Lou."
Just that one syllable, breathed out like a prayer, and Louis was moving. They crashed together in the middle of the room, Harry's hands everywhere at once like he couldn't decide where to touch first. Louis fisted his hands in Harry's shirt (his shirt, actually, one of his old band tees practically hanging off Harry's shoulders), pulling him impossibly closer.
"Missed you," Harry mumbled between desperate kisses, backing Louis against the wall. "Missed you so fucking much."
Louis tangled his fingers in Harry's curls, tugging just to hear that broken little gasp. "Show me then."
Later - much later - they lay tangled in the ridiculous king-sized bed, Harry tracing patterns on Louis' bare chest while Louis played with his curls.
"Seems proper posh, this place," Louis murmured, looking around at their temporary home. "Your mum didn't have to-"
"She wanted to," Harry interrupted softly. "Said we deserve somewhere that's just... ours. Even if it's just for a bit."
Louis' heart clenched. Sometimes the way their families loved them, supported them, took his breath away. "Still. Must've cost-"
Harry propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Louis with those earnest green eyes. "Can't we just... enjoy it?"
And really, how could Louis argue with that face? "Fine," he conceded, pulling Harry back down against his chest. "But we're finding our own flat soon as we can, yeah? Proper home and all that?"
He felt Harry's smile against his skin. "Yeah. Our home."
Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's curls, letting the quiet wrap around them. Outside these walls, they'd have to be careful again. Have to watch every look, every touch. But here, in this space their families had carved out for them, they could just be Louis and Harry. Young and stupid and desperately in love.
Chapter 69: Present Day
Summary:
When Louis gets invited to the Super Bowl by NFL UK (because apparently that's a thing now), he finds himself navigating more than just American football culture. Between late nights at local bars making new friends over darts and weed, walking red carpets that feel a bit too close to Taylor Swift's orbit, and coordinating silent signals with a certain someone in Germany through carefully timed social media posts, he's got enough on his plate. Then Simon Jones drops the bombshell about the Rolling Stone article, and suddenly Louis is juggling grief, rage, and the need to protect Liam's memory while trying to act normal at Shaq's party. At least Harry's gotten good at this long-distance comfort thing, even if he had to sacrifice their Super Bowl reunion plans.
aka the one where Louis accidentally becomes everyone's favorite drinking buddy in New Orleans, definitely doesn't coordinate Instagram posts with his not-so-secret boyfriend, and tries really hard not to punch Simon Jones through the phone
Chapter Text
Louis hadn't planned on going out his first night in New Orleans. Hadn't really planned on leaving his hotel room if he was honest - the thought of being perceived still felt a bit like sandpaper against his skin these days. But the walls were starting to close in, and his thoughts kept circling back to that unopened email from Simon Jones sitting in his inbox like a bomb waiting to go off.
"Going for a walk," he told Oli, who was sprawled on the sofa in Louis' suite, scrolling through his phone. "Need some air."
Oli looked up, that careful concern Louis had gotten too familiar with lately crossing his face. "Want company?"
"Nah." Louis managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Four months, and he was getting better at those. "Just need to..." He gestured vaguely.
"Yeah, alright." Oli's tone was carefully neutral. "Text if you need anything?"
The February air hit Louis' face as he stepped outside, surprisingly cool for Louisiana. He'd done his research (or rather, listened to Harry do his research over FaceTime last week) - found a pub just far enough from the French Quarter to avoid the worst of the Super Bowl crowds. The kind of place where he might actually be able to breathe for a minute.
He tugged at the BVB football jersey he'd thrown on over his tshirt- a silent message to someone currently doing business in Berlin. Harry would clock it immediately when photos inevitably surfaced. They'd gotten good at this over the years, these little signs only they understood. You're still on my mind, baby. Even across oceans.
The bar was exactly what he needed - dim lighting, weathered wood, decent selection of beer. A dart board in the corner that had seen better days. He was halfway through ordering when he heard the first whispered "Oh my god" from his left.
"Hi," he said, turning to face the small group of girls who were very clearly trying (and failing) to act casual. "Any of you know how to play darts?"
The tension broke immediately as they laughed, shaking their heads.
"Proper shame that," he said, grinning properly for what felt like the first time in days. "Guess I'll have to teach you."
Twenty minutes later, Louis was demonstrating proper dart technique to Sarah (who turned out to be studying at Tulane) while her friends Emma and Jasmine watched from a nearby table, all pretense of playing it cool long abandoned.
"Wrist straight, yeah?" he guided, falling easily into teaching mode. "Like you're about to flick someone off, but with purpose."
"Is that the technical term?" Sarah laughed, missing the board entirely.
"Absolutely professional terminology, that." Louis lined up his own shot, muscle memory taking over as the dart landed in triple 20. The girls cheered like he'd scored a winning goal.
It was easier like this - with fans who treated him like a slightly famous older brother rather than some untouchable celebrity. He'd always preferred it that way, even back in the band days. These girls weren't asking about the Super Bowl or his next album or... other things he wasn't ready to discuss. They were just happy to share their space, to show him pictures of their cats, to tell him about their classes.
"Can I ask you something weird?" The third girl - Jasmine - ventured after they'd settled into a comfortable rhythm of terrible dart throws and easy conversation.
"Usually how the best questions start, init?"
"Do you smoke?" She glanced around conspiratorially. "Because I have some really good stuff if you want to share."
Louis barked out a laugh, genuine and bright. "Girl after my own heart, you are." He gestured toward the back patio. "Lead the way."
Outside, the night air had grown cooler, fairy lights strung overhead casting everything in a soft glow. Louis took the offered joint gratefully, letting the familiar ritual ground him.
"So what brings you to New Orleans?" Emma asked, clearly trying to keep her voice casual. "Besides the obvious Super Bowl stuff."
Louis exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up toward the lights. "Needed a change of scenery, I think. Been a bit..." he trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence.
But these girls - these lovely, perceptive girls who'd been fans long enough to understand - just nodded. They didn't push, didn't pry. Instead, Jasmine launched into a story about the snake she was raising for her biology thesis, and Louis found himself genuinely interested, asking questions about species and habitats and whether she got offended when people used "snake" as an insult.
His phone buzzed in his pocket - probably Oli checking in, or Harry finally free from his obligations. But for now, Louis was content to stay here in this moment, learning about reptile behavior from a girl who clearly loved her work, surrounded by the kind of easy acceptance he'd been missing lately.
"Another round?" he offered, standing. "Think I need to defend my dart champion title."
Their laughter followed him back inside, warm and real and exactly what he needed tonight.
By midnight, Louis had accumulated quite the collection of phone numbers scrawled on napkins - not the usual kind, but rather earnest requests to let them know if he needed restaurant recommendations or wanted to avoid tourist traps. Sarah had even written down her professor's office hours, insisting he had to see the architecture building at Tulane while he was in town.
"It's proper lovely, all of you," he said as they prepared to head out, genuine warmth in his voice. "Made my night, really."
"Text us if you get bored!" Emma called as they left, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified that she'd just told Louis Tomlinson to 'text her if he got bored.'
Louis just laughed, giving them a final wave before settling his tab. The bartender - Mike? Mark? - had been decent about keeping other patrons from interrupting, and Louis made sure to tip well.
Outside, the temperature had dropped enough that he could see his breath. He pulled out his phone, unsurprised to find several messages from Oli and one from Harry that just said 'Dortmund says hi x'
He smiled, typing back: 'Better than Bayern anyway'
The response was immediate: 'Heyyyyy'
Louis' phone lit up with Harry's FaceTime request, and he accepted as he started walking, keeping to the quieter streets.
"Nice jersey," Harry's voice was warm, teasing. He was sprawled on what looked like a hotel bed, hair wild like he'd just woken up.
"Proper comfortable, actually." Louis adjusted his angle so the streetlights weren't washing him out completely. "How were yesterday's meetings?"
"Same questions, different city." Harry's expression shifted to something more serious. "You okay? Oli said you went out."
"Yeah, actually." Louis surprised himself by meaning it. "Met some proper lovely fans. Taught them darts. One's got a pet snake."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "A snake?"
"Ball python. Dead interesting actually. Did you know they're quite social? Like, for reptiles anyway."
"Lou..." Harry's voice went soft in that way that meant he was seeing right through Louis' casual tone.
"Don't," Louis said quietly. "Just... been a good night, yeah? First one in a while."
Harry was quiet for a moment, just looking at him through the screen. "Wish I was there," he said finally.
"Could've been." Louis tried to keep the edge from his voice. They'd had this conversation already - how Harry's team had course-corrected to Berlin when they caught wind of the article about Liam, how it was better this way, safer.
"Lou-"
"No, sorry, I didn't mean..." Louis ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Know why you're not. Just miss you is all."
"Miss you more." Harry's dimple appeared briefly. "Though apparently not as much as you miss discussing reptile behavior with strangers in bars."
"Oi," Louis laughed despite himself. "Very educational, that was."
He could see his hotel now, looming ahead. Reality starting to creep back in.
"Hey," Harry's voice pulled his attention back. "A few more days here, then I'm all yours."
"Yeah." Louis managed a small smile. "Get some sleep, love. Proper late there isn't it?"
"Worth staying up for you though."
Louis ended the call before Harry could see how that simple statement hit him, right in the chest where everything still felt raw. Tomorrow he'd have to deal with Simon's email, with red carpets and press lines and putting on a good face. But tonight... tonight had been almost normal. And maybe that was enough for now.
Louis woke to his phone buzzing with notifications. He squinted at the screen - fans had already posted pictures from last night, which meant his team would have seen them. Right on cue, Helen burst in with what appeared to be half a boutique's worth of garment bags.
"Could've knocked," Louis grumbled, pulling himself up to sitting.
"Did. Three times." She started hanging outfits with practiced efficiency. "Since you decided to make your grand return to public life in a football jersey, we need options for tonight."
"It's just Shaq's party-"
"It's your first proper appearance since..." Helen caught herself, softening slightly. "Just let me do my job, yeah?"
Louis fell back against the pillows, scrubbing a hand over his face. He could hear Krys in the other room, probably setting up her entire arsenal of product. The familiar sounds of his team mobilizing around him felt both comforting and suffocating.
His phone buzzed again - this time with a notification from Pleasing's Instagram. He clicked it without thinking, then felt his breath catch. There, in the Valentine's campaign reel, was a blue dart nestled in a fishbowl between two obviously male fish. He watched it loop three times before switching to his messages.
'Subtle,' he typed to Harry.
The response was immediate: 'I have no idea what you mean. Romeo and Julio are very happy together.'
Louis nodded tightly, already reaching for his cigarettes. He needed a minute on the balcony before he could face any of this.
The New Orleans air was thick with humidity despite the February chill. Louis lit up with slightly shaking hands, forcing himself to take slow breaths. His phone buzzed again - a text from Zayn this time: 'You good? Saw the pics from last night.'
'Getting there,' he replied honestly. Then, after a moment: 'Have you already read what PR sent over? I can't make myself open it.'
'Yeah. Told them to fuck off. No comment.'
Louis smiled slightly. Trust Zayn to cut right to it. 'Miss you mate.'
'Come to PA soon yeah? Proper catch up.'
Louis took a final drag, watching the smoke disappear into the morning air. Behind him, he could hear his team moving around the suite, the familiar rhythm of preparation. He had about thirty seconds before someone came looking for him.
He had managed to avoid the email until now. But, alone on the balcony with a full-day's schedule ahead, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer.
His thumb hovered over the notification. Subject line: 'RS Article - Urgent'
The first line hit him like a physical blow.
'Rolling Stone is preparing an investigative piece on Liam Payne's final years, focusing on his "struggles with identity and fame in One Direction." They're requesting comment from all band members regarding-''
Louis' vision went white at the edges as he read through the proposed article, cigarette crushed forgotten beneath his heel. Fifteen years of carefully constructed walls, of deflection and misdirection, of protecting not just himself but all of them. Of late-night conversations with Liam about things they never quite said out loud, about pressures and expectations and the suffocating weight of other people's assumptions.
And now they wanted to what? Turn private struggles into public spectacle? Use his death to force narratives he'd never gotten to process for himself?
His hands were shaking as he called Simon Jones, not caring that it was early afternoon in London.
"Louis-" Simon started.
"No." Louis' voice came out raw, dangerous. "You don't acknowledge this. You don't give them a single fucking word."
"The others are going with 'no comment.' We should present a united-"
"I don't care what the others are doing." Louis' laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "He's gone. He's fucking gone and they're already trying to- to-" He couldn't finish, choking on fury and grief and fifteen years of careful silence.
"He doesn't owe them this," Louis continued, quieter now but no less intense. "Doesn't owe them explanations or justifications or- or any of it. He's gone. That's it. That's all they get to know."
He ended the call before Simon could respond. The balcony railing was cool under his white-knuckled grip as he tried to steady his breathing.
"Lou?" Oli's voice came from the doorway, careful in that way that made Louis want to scream. "You alright mate?"
Louis turned, letting Oli see the raw truth on his face for once. "No," he said simply. "Here." His voice was sharp as he threw his phone at Oli. "Read the fucking thing yourself."
Oli caught the phone, dropping heavily into one of the balcony chairs as he scrolled. Louis watched his face change - confusion to shock to something like rage.
"Jesus Christ," Oli muttered, then louder: "Jesus fucking Christ. It's been four months. His mum hasn't even- and they're trying to-" He looked up at Louis, face flushed with anger. "This is fucking vulture shit, this is."
"Yeah." Louis lit another cigarette with trembling fingers. "Keep reading."
Oli went quiet, but Louis could tell exactly when he hit the part about 'sources close to the band' by the way his jaw clenched. "Fucking hell Lou, if they start digging like this..." He trailed off, but Louis heard the unspoken concern. If they started pulling this thread, how long before they found others?
"We've got time," Louis said, though his knuckles were white around the balcony railing. "They won't run it til after the Super Bowl at least. PR nightmare otherwise."
"And after?"
Louis took a long drag, let it out slowly. "After... we'll be gone. Already planned it. Me and H."
Oli nodded, understanding dawning. "That's why were going back to London instead of LA. Thought it was just Valentine's you were worried about."
"Yeah. Just..." Louis gestured vaguely. "Need to get through these next few days first."
"He'd hate this, you know," Oli said quietly. "Remember that time in Vegas when that pap tried following him into that club? Thought Payno was gonna proper lose it."
Despite everything, Louis felt his mouth twitch. "You had to tackle him to stop him going after the guy."
"Worth the bruised ribs though." Oli paused. "He deserved better than this. Than all of it."
Louis closed his eyes against the sudden threat of tears. "Yeah," he managed. "He did."
They stood in silence for a moment, sharing the weight of it. Finally, Oli spoke again: "How you want to play tonight then? Shaq's thing?"
Louis took a final drag, considering. "Same as always, innit? Smile for the cameras, make the right jokes." His voice turned bitter. "Been doing it fifteen years, haven't I? What's a few more days?"
"Lou-"
"I'm fine." Louis straightened, mask already sliding into place. "Just... stay close yeah? In case I need-"
"Course." Oli's voice was firm. "Always do, don't I?"
Louis managed a small, genuine smile. "Yeah. You do."
The party was exactly what Louis expected - all flashing lights and carefully curated photo ops. He'd let Helen dress him in something appropriately flashy but comfortable - a sleeveless sweater that made his eyes look bluer on camera, dark jeans that probably cost more than his first car.
"Just the carpet, then we can find a quiet corner," Oli murmured as they approached the press line. Louis nodded tightly, already shifting into what Harry called his "media smile" - bright enough to photograph well, distant enough to keep questions at bay.
Louis kept his answers short, practiced. Yes, excited to be here. Yes, looking forward to Kendrick's performance. No comment on anything else. He felt Oli's steady presence behind him, ready to step in if needed.
Inside was marginally better. Louis found a spot against the back wall where he could observe without being observed, nursing a drink while Oli ran interference with anyone who looked too eager to approach.
"This corner taken?"
Louis looked up to find Lady Gaga sliding into the space next to him, vodka soda in hand. He hadn't seen her properly in years, but there was something immediately disarming about her presence.
"All yours," he gestured to the space beside him. "Hiding from the cameras too?"
"Please, I invented the strategic party corner." She took a sip of her drink. "You know, I was just thinking about that VMAs after-party. God, what was it - 2013?"
"Christ," Louis laughed, relaxing slightly. "Proper mess, we were. Think I still owe you for that pep talk."
"You were babies," she said firmly. "And they were assholes." She studied him for a moment, head tilted. "Different kind of pressure now though, isn't it?"
Something in her tone - direct but gentle, no bullshit but no agenda either - made Louis' careful walls slip just slightly.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Bit shit actually." He took a long drink. "Sorry- shouldn't-"
"Hey." She cut him off. "Safe corner, remember? No cameras, no gossip, just... space to breathe."
Louis let out a shaky breath. "Been a rough few months."
"I know, honey." Her voice was soft but strong. "And the vultures never stop circling, do they?"
"Not really, no." He twisted his glass, watching the ice shift. "Sometimes I think... doesn't matter what you do, they'll write whatever story they want anyway."
"But you keep going." It wasn't a question. "Keep making music, keep showing up."
"What else is there?"
She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "You know what I always say? There can be a hundred people in the room-"
"And ninety-nine don't believe in you," Louis finished, smiling despite himself.
"But one does." She clinked her glass against his. "And sometimes, honey, that one has to be you."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the party swirl around them.
"Thanks," Louis said finally. "For... you know."
"Anytime." She squeezed his arm as she stood. "And Louis? You're doing just fine. In your own way, in your own time."
Louis watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling somehow both seen and safely hidden - a rare combination these days.
His phone buzzed: Harry. 'How's the party?'
'Just had drinks with Gaga actually'
'Tell her I said hi! Also maybe don't mention my karaoke cover of Poker Face'
Louis smiled, typing back: 'Your secrets safe love. Get some sleep. It's gotta be the middle of the night there. x'
The rest of the night passed in a blur of careful small talk and strategic positioning - always visible enough to be seen attending, never still enough to be cornered. Oli kept close, running interference when needed, while Louis maintained his "professional scouse" persona - just northern enough to seem approachable, just reserved enough to keep distance.
After a while, Oli appeared at his elbow. "Car's ready whenever you want, mate."
Louis glanced around the party - still going strong, but he'd put in enough face time. His skin felt too tight, the weight of the day settling heavy on his shoulders.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Think I'm done."
Back in his hotel room, Louis was practically vibrating out of his skin. He'd been pacing for twenty minutes, hands running through his hair until it stood on end, that old familiar post-party anxiety making everything too loud, too bright, too much. These were the hours that used to get him into the most trouble. These were the hours when he'd discovered cocaine, the hours when he used to find himself so full of drink he'd slosh when he walked. These were the hours where the weight of everything crashed around him until he needed something, or someone, to take the edge off. His fingers trembled as he tried to light a cigarette on the balcony, cursing when he dropped the lighter.
His phone showed 2 AM - 9 AM in Berlin. Harry answered FaceTime on the first ring, like he'd been waiting.
"Lou," Harry's voice was soft, morning-rough. He was still in bed, curls wild against white hotel sheets. One look at Louis and his expression shifted to worried recognition. "Oh, love."
"I can't-" Louis' words came fast, jumbled. "These fucking parties, H, I can't- everyone watching and waiting and-"
"Breathe with me," Harry cut in gentle but firm, falling into the old rhythm without hesitation. "Like we used to, remember? In for four..."
Louis tried to match Harry's exaggerated breathing, muscle memory from countless backstage moments and hotel rooms taking over. His hands were still shaking as he finally got his cigarette lit.
"That's it," Harry murmured. "You're okay. Just you and me here."
"Sports Illustrated tomorrow," Louis got out, voice raw. "Another bloody party, more people, more- fuck." He dragged a hand down his face. "Used to be better at this when you were here. You'd just... stand in front of me, block everything out."
"I know, baby." Harry's voice went impossibly softer. "Remember that MTV after-party? When you disappeared and I found you having a proper panic attack in the bathroom?"
"You sat on the floor with me for an hour," Louis said quietly. "Missed all your precious networking."
"Wouldn't have been anywhere else." Harry was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't understand back then. How much it took out of you. Kept dragging you to more, thinking if you just pushed through..."
"We were kids, H." Louis' breathing was steadier now, synced with Harry's. "Still figuring it all out."
"Look at us now," Harry's smile was gentle. "Both proper hermits."
"Yeah." Louis let out a shaky breath. "Don't know what I'd do without you sometimes, you know that?"
"Never have to find out ever again." Harry's voice was fierce now. "I'm right here. Always."
They stayed quiet for a moment, breathing together like they used to, distance dissolving in the familiar comfort of it.
"Love you," Louis said finally, steadier now. "Even if you've gone all therapist on me."
"Love you more. Even when you're climbing the walls." Harry's dimple appeared. "Try to sleep yeah? And Lou? It's okay to leave early tomorrow. If you need to."
Louis ended the call feeling grounded in a way only Harry could manage, even from across an ocean. Tomorrow would be another performance, but maybe it was okay that he wasn't great at this part. Maybe it was okay to just... be.
The Sports Illustrated party was exactly what Louis dreaded - all gleaming smiles and strategic networking. He'd barely made it through the red carpet, tugging self-consciously at his sleeveless shirt. At least his jeans felt like armor, worn and comfortable.
He'd found a decent corner, nursing his second vodka soda when a group of models approached. He recognized them vaguely from magazine covers - all legs and calculated interest.
"Louis Tomlinson," the tallest one practically purred his name. "I had the biggest poster of One Direction in my room growing up."
Louis managed a tight smile, that familiar tension crawling up his spine. "Proper ancient history that."
"But look at you now," another one moved closer, touching his arm. "Those tattoos are even better in person."
"The dagger's my favorite," a third chimed in. "So... dangerous."
They had him effectively cornered now, his practiced exits blocked by their strategic positioning. Oli was somewhere across the room, caught up in logistics.
"You should come sit with us," the first one suggested, sliding even closer. "We have a private section. Much more... intimate."
Louis took a long sip of his drink, mind racing. Every deflection in his arsenal would just feed tomorrow's gossip - Louis Tomlinson, perpetual bachelor, mysteriously uninterested in supermodels. The old familiar panic started building in his chest.
"Could tell you some stories about touring," one was saying, her hand now on his shoulder. "I was a dancer for Taylor Swift..."
Louis trieid not to visibly flinch as another hand traced his compass tattoo.
"Ladies," Oli's voice finally cut through, blessed relief. "Sorry to interrupt, but I've got to get Tommo here to his next party..."
"Rain check?" The tall one slipped something into his pocket - probably her number. "For when you're less busy?"
"Yeah, sure," Louis managed, already backing away. His skin felt too tight, heart racing. "Good to meet you all."
In the car later, his phone finally lit up: 'How was it? x'
'Nearly got mauled by models. Could've used a rescue call.'
'Sorry love. Did they at least appreciate the guns in that shirt? ;)'
'Shut up. Never leaving the house again.'
'Drama queen xx'
Louis smiled despite himself, even as he knew tomorrow's gossip blogs would be full of "Multiple Sources Say Louis Tomlinson Left SI Party with Model's Number" and "Inside Louis Tomlinson's Flirty Night with SI Swimsuit Models."
Let them talk. They had no idea that his whole world was in a hotel room in Berlin.
The Superdome was deafening. Louis shifted in his regular seat - no VIP box, NFL UK must not have wanted to invest that much - taking another pull from his beer. He'd gone full British rock star today, channeling prime Liam Gallagher in the Miu Miu bomber and round sunglasses that Helen had picked out specifically to play up his UK ambassador role.
"What just happened?" Oli squinted at the field.
"No fucking clue," Louis laughed. "Think they get points for that?"
His phone buzzed: 'Saw the purple carpet pics. Looking proper fit in that jacket x'
'Think I just saw your Eagles score? Still don't know what's happening tho'
'That was a field goal love. 3 points. They're doing amazing!! Wish I could be there xx'
'Rather have you here explaining it all instead of feeling clueless 😒'
'You ARE clueless darling. But it's cute xx'
"Proper waste of time, innit?" Oli commented, watching players gather in yet another huddle. "They spend more time standing around than actually playing."
Louis snorted, accepting another beer from the vendor. Somewhere above them, Taylor Swift was probably understanding every play, draped in Chiefs merchandise in her luxury box. Even after thirteen years, thinking about her still brought back that familiar irritation - all those forced Central Park photos, the endless interview questions, everyone missing that Perfect was about him and H because they were so caught up in the Taylor narrative.
But he wasn't here for any of that. He was here for Kendrick. When the halftime show finally started, he was on his feet with everyone else, this part feeling familiar - the pure electricity of live performance, the way music could make an entire stadium feel intimate.
"Now this is proper entertainment," Oli shouted over the music.
The energy in the stadium shifted as the opening notes of "Not Like Us" filled the air. Louis felt his whole body tense with anticipation - they'd all been waiting for this moment. When the crucial line hit, he found himself screaming "A MINOR" along with the entire stadium, his voice lost in the deafening roar that would later become one of the most talked-about moments of the broadcast.
Hours later, Louis lounged on the hotel room couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, surrounded by his closest team members. Empty beer bottles littered every surface, and someone had ordered way too much pizza. Krystle was sprawled in an armchair, her usually perfectly styled hair now messily piled on top of her head. Helen had kicked off her heels hours ago, sitting cross-legged on the floor while methodically organizing the leftover Super Bowl credentials into a neat pile - ever the stylist, even drunk.
"That stadium bit during 'A Minor' though," Oli laughed from his spot next to Louis, shaking his head. "Thought the roof was gonna come off."
"Proper mental," Louis agreed, unable to keep the grin off his face. The adrenaline from the show was finally wearing off, replaced by a warm contentment that had nothing to do with the beer.
Chris, ever the manager even after hours, was still half-focused on his phone. "Social media's going mad. I haven't seen this many articles about you in ages."
"Course it is," Louis rolled his eyes fondly. His own phone buzzed: 'I feel like one of your fans. Living for these pictures popping up on my feed😭 I miss you too much xx'
'Tomorrow night love. Then I'm all yours x'
"Right then," Louis sat up straighter, looking around at his team - the people who'd been with him through everything. Krystle, who'd somehow turned his perpetually messy hair into an actual style. Helen, who'd taken his "British rockstar but make it fashion" vision and turned it into something proper iconic. Chris, who'd helped him build an independent career he was genuinely proud of. And Oli, who'd been there since before any of this was even a possibility.
"Want to thank you lot for coming out here," he continued, voice going soft in that way it did when he was properly sincere. "Know it's not exactly a normal Sunday, watching me pretend to understand American football."
"As if any of us understood it either," Helen snorted, earning scattered laughter.
"Speak for yourself," Chris protested. "I knew exactly what was happening."
"Liar," Krystle threw a pizza crust at him.
"Been a mad few years, yeah?" Louis continued, smiling at their antics. "But we've got some proper exciting stuff coming up. The festival circuit's gonna be massive."
"Mumbai's going to be incredible," Helen mused. "Already planning your looks."
"Course you are," Louis teased. "Just no more Miu Miu, yeah? Think I've peaked there."
"To Louis pretending to understand sports," Oli raised his beer.
"To somehow making it look fashionable," Helen added.
"To having the best hair while doing it," Krystle chimed in.
"To making it all work somehow," Chris finished.
"To all of you," Louis said quietly, properly grateful. "Couldn't do any of it without you lot."
He sank back into the couch, checking his phone again. Less than 24 hours now. They'd broken their two-week rule - the one they'd made back in 2011, sprawled across a hotel bed in Sweden. Three weeks apart this time, and he could feel it in his bones, that subtle wrongness that came from being away from Harry too long. They'd tried doing the normal couple thing, having separate lives, separate spaces. And yeah, maybe they needed that sometimes. But there was nothing normal about how his entire being seemed to settle the moment Harry was near.
Tomorrow night, they'd be back at their place up north - not the Barnet house everyone knew about, or Harry's place in Hampstead, but the old stone cottage they'd bought when they were barely adults. The one that had survived everything - the staged relationships, the forced separation, even their own mistakes. The one place that had always been just theirs, where Louis could trace their history in the marks on the walls and the pictures they'd never taken down.
He smiled, remembering how the estate agent had thought they were mad, wanting a house that remote. But they'd known even then - they'd needed somewhere that was just theirs. Somewhere the outside world couldn't touch. Somewhere no one knew about.
Chapter 70: February 2015
Summary:
February 2015. The On The Road Again tour is in full swing, and Louis has Valentine's Day plans that may or may not involve stealing a yacht (he claims it's "borrowing"). Meanwhile, Harry's trying to balance his worry about Zayn's growing addiction with his need to keep Louis close, tour bus shenanigans ensue, and Niall is So Done with their romantic nonsense. Featuring protective Louis, soft moments between shows, and a love song that's definitely not about what management thinks it's about.
Aka: The one where Louis rents a boat (legally, thank you very much) and sings Harry the first version of "Home" while they hide out in a quiet cove, and Harry realizes that home isn't a place - it's a person in an oversized jumper with crinkly eyes and a guitar.
Chapter Text
Harry woke to the sound of quiet swearing and something metallic clattering to the floor. He kept his eyes closed, lips twitching as he listened to Louis attempting to be stealthy in their hotel room kitchenette.
"Fucking- why are there so many buttons on this thing?" Louis was muttering, followed by more suspicious beeping sounds.
Harry buried his smile in the pillow, breathed in the lingering scent of Louis' cologne, and waited. There was something achingly familiar about this - Louis trying to do something sweet and making an absolute disaster of it. It felt like being seventeen again, back when Louis would try to surprise him with tea in bed in Princess Park and usually ended up spilling it everywhere.
The microwave made an angry sound.
"Listen here you absolute wanker," Louis was properly arguing with it now. "It's Valentine's Day soon and I'm trying to do something nice for my boy, so you can just-"
Harry couldn't help the fond laugh that escaped him.
"Harold Edward Styles," Louis called out immediately. "You better be properly asleep and not ruining this surprise!"
"M'sleeping," Harry called back, voice rough with morning. "Completely unconscious. Having wonderful dreams about my very quiet, very stealthy boyfriend."
He heard Louis' answering laugh, then footsteps padding closer. The bed dipped and Harry felt Louis' fingers card through his curls.
"Menace," Louis said softly. "Was gonna bring you breakfast in bed."
Harry finally opened his eyes, heart doing that familiar flip at the sight of Louis above him - soft and sleep-rumpled, hair sticking up in about twelve different directions.
"Could smell something burning," Harry said, reaching up to trace Louis' jaw. "Thought I better wake up before you set the hotel on fire."
"Oi! Nothing's burning!" Louis protested. Then paused. "Well, not anymore anyway."
Harry laughed properly then, pulling Louis down until he could taste his indignant pout. Louis melted into him immediately, morning breath be damned.
"Don't need breakfast in bed," Harry murmured against his lips. "Just need you."
"Sap," Louis accused, but his eyes were so, so fond. "Proper romantic you are."
Harry hummed, letting his hands slip under Louis' shirt to stroke along warm skin. "This is nice."
Louis' breath hitched slightly. "Yeah?"
"Mmm," Harry pulled him closer, pressing kisses along his jaw. "Very nice."
They got lost in each other for a while, trading slow kisses that gradually grew heated. Harry was just sliding his hand into Louis' pants when-
"Oi! Lovebirds!" Niall's voice accompanied loud knocking. "Bus leaves in an hour! And something's burning!"
"Shit!" Louis jerked up. "The toast!"
He scrambled off Harry and ran to the kitchenette, leaving Harry laughing into the pillows. Some things never changed.
"Love you," he called out, just to see Louis' face soften into that special smile that was just for him.
"Love you more," Louis said automatically. "Even if I can't make you proper Valentine's breakfast."
"Lou?" Harry sat up, suddenly serious. "M'really glad we're... you know. Us again. Properly us."
Louis abandoned the smoking toaster immediately, crawling back onto the bed to cup Harry's face in his hands.
"Always been us, baby," he said softly. "Even when we fight. Never stopped being yours."
Harry leaned into his touch, throat tight with emotion. "Promise?"
"Promise." Louis sealed it with a kiss. "Now come help me convince security the fire alarm's about to go off for completely innocent reasons."
The morning devolved into chaos after that - Paul herding them all while trying to sort out their security detail for Melbourne, Niall dramatically reenacting Louis' failed breakfast attempt for anyone who would listen, and Liam looking a bit worse for wear after whatever he'd gotten up to the night before.
Harry's attention kept drifting to Zayn though, watching as he huddled into himself near Bus 2, cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers. He looked smaller somehow, drowning in a hoodie Harry was pretty sure belonged to Louis.
"Hey Z," Harry said softly, approaching carefully. "You good?"
Zayn's eyes flickered to Louis, who was currently wrestling with Niall over something ridiculous, then back to Harry. "Yeah, just... yeah."
"Li!" Louis called out suddenly, detaching himself from Niall. "Keep an eye on him today, yeah?"
Liam nodded, looking slightly more alert now. "Course, Tommo." He wrapped an arm around Zayn's shoulders, pressing close. "Not on Bus 2 today?"
"Nah, promised my boy I'd stay with him this time," Louis said, coming up behind Harry and hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder.
Harry tried not to let his relief show too obviously. He hated how much he needed Louis close sometimes, how the distance ate at him even when it was just separate buses.
"Gross," Niall groaned. "So I'm stuck with the lovebirds while these two hotbox Bus 2?"
"Could always join us Nialler," Zayn offered with a small smile.
"And ruin my angelic voice? Think not!" Niall clutched his throat dramatically. "Though watching these two make eyes at each other all day might be worse."
"We do not make eyes," Louis protested, then immediately made exaggerated heart eyes at Harry, making him giggle.
"See you at the next stop?" Louis asked Zayn, and Harry felt him tense slightly despite his playful tone.
"Course," Zayn nodded. "Save me a smoke?"
"Always do, don't I?" Louis squeezed Harry's hip.
They watched Zayn and Liam disappear onto Bus 2, Liam's arm still protectively around Zayn's shoulders. Harry tried not to think about how much thinner those shoulders looked lately.
"Right!" Louis clapped his hands. "Bus 1 crew, let's get this show on the road! Got a proper romantic Valentine's planned, haven't I?"
"If it's anything like breakfast..." Niall started.
"Oi! That was a practice run!"
Harry let himself be tugged onto their bus, Louis' familiar chatter washing over him. He'd missed this - Louis choosing him, choosing them, even if it was just for a day. The guilt at taking Louis away from Zayn still gnawed at him, but he pushed it down, determined to enjoy having his boy close.
The inside of Bus 1 was quieter with just the five of them. Andy, their security for this leg, was already half asleep in the front seat, and their driver Mark had his headphones in. Louis immediately claimed the back lounge area, pulling Harry down with him.
"Finally," Louis breathed against Harry's neck. "Proper alone time."
"Oi!" Niall called from the kitchenette. "I can hear you, you know. And I will not hesitate to spray you with water like cats if you start getting handsy."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Nialler," Louis said innocently, while very deliberately sliding his hand up Harry's thigh.
Harry bit his lip to keep quiet, shooting Louis a warning look that probably came across more fond than stern.
"Besides," Louis continued loudly, "Not my fault if Harold here can't keep his hands to himself. He's quite insatiable, you know."
"Me?" Harry squawked indignantly. "You're the one who-"
"Don't want to know!" Niall interrupted, grabbing his guitar and headphones. "I'm going to sit up front with Andy and pretend I don't know what you're doing back there."
"We're not doing anything!" Harry protested.
"Yet," Louis whispered in his ear, making him shiver.
Niall just flipped them off without turning around, settling into the front lounge with his guitar.
"Lou," Harry warned halfheartedly as Louis' hand crept higher. "We shouldn't..."
"Why not?" Louis nipped at his ear. "Got the whole back to ourselves now, don't we? And you know how quiet you can be when you try..."
Harry's breath hitched. "You're terrible."
"Terribly in love with you," Louis agreed, pulling back to grin at him. His eyes were bright, clear - none of that haziness Harry had gotten too used to seeing lately.
"Miss you like this," Harry admitted quietly. "Just... you. No smoke, no-" he cut himself off, not wanting to say it.
Louis' face softened. "I know, baby. M'sorry. Been a bit lost lately, haven't I?"
"No, I just-" Harry turned to face him properly. "Want you to be happy. But sometimes it feels like... like you need that stuff to be happy with me."
"Haz, no," Louis grabbed his face in both hands. "Never think that. It's not- fuck. It's not about you, I promise. Sometimes it's just easier to... to not think so much, you know?"
Harry nodded, throat tight. He did know. Sometimes he wanted to stop thinking too - about the closet, about Zayn, about all of it.
"But I'm trying," Louis continued. "For you. For us. Promise."
"Don't want you to do it for me," Harry said. "Want you to want to."
"I do want to," Louis kissed him softly. "Want to be proper present for every moment with you. Even if some moments are harder than others."
Harry kissed him back, trying to pour everything he couldn't say into it. Louis responded immediately, licking into his mouth and pulling him closer until Harry was practically in his lap.
"Still terrible," Harry mumbled against his lips.
"Mmm," Louis agreed, sliding his hands under Harry's shirt. "Terrible person who's going to make you feel so good you forget your own name."
"Louis!"
"What? Niall's got his headphones in!"
"You're impossible," Harry laughed, but he was already tilting his head to give Louis better access to his neck.
"Impossibly in love with you," Louis corrected, sucking what would definitely be a visible mark into Harry's skin.
"That doesn't even make sense," Harry gasped.
"You don't make sense," Louis retorted childishly, then cut off Harry's laugh with another kiss.
They lost themselves in each other for a while, keeping it just this side of decent in case Niall turned around. But even just this - trading heated kisses and wandering hands, whispering ridiculous things to make each other laugh - felt like coming home. Like being seventeen and nineteen again, unable to keep their hands off each other, before everything got so complicated.
"Oi!" Niall's voice suddenly cut through their bubble. "We're stopping for lunch in ten, so whatever you're doing back there, wrap it up!"
"Bit presumptuous," Louis called back, though his hand was definitely down Harry's pants. "Could be playing Scrabble for all you know."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Harry mumbled against his neck, making Louis snort.
"Could be," Louis wiggled his eyebrows. "Want to help me spell something dirty?"
"You're ridiculous," Harry said fondly, reluctantly pulling back to fix his clothes. His lips felt bruised, and his neck was definitely marked up.
"Ridiculously-"
"If you make another 'ridiculously in love with you' joke, I'm sitting with Niall for the rest of the drive."
Louis gasped in mock offense. "Harold! Are you saying my romantic declarations are getting predictable?"
"Terribly," Harry grinned, then yelped as Louis tackled him back onto the couch.
"Take it back!"
"Never!"
They were still wrestling and giggling when the bus pulled into the service station. Harry ended up pinned under Louis, both of them breathless and disheveled.
"Real subtle, lads," Niall commented as he passed them. "You look proper debauched."
"Good," Louis said smugly, sitting up but keeping Harry trapped between his thighs. "Should see what he looks like when I actually-"
"Going to get food!" Niall practically ran off the bus, hands over his ears.
Harry smacked Louis' chest. "You're awful."
"Awfully in-"
"Don't you dare!"
Louis just grinned down at him, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that still made Harry's heart skip. Then his expression shifted, became more serious.
"Should probably check on Zayn," he said quietly.
Harry nodded, trying to ignore the familiar twist in his gut. "Yeah, 'course. Want me to come?"
Louis hesitated. "Maybe... maybe just me this time? Think he's having a rough one."
"Yeah, no, definitely," Harry said quickly. "I'll grab us all lunch?"
"Best boyfriend," Louis kissed him quick and sweet. "Get those weird veggie crisps Zayn likes? The ones that don't taste like proper food?"
Harry's heart clenched with how much he loved this boy. "Already planned on it."
Louis climbed off him, but paused before heading out. "Hey Haz?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For like... understanding. About Zayn and everything."
Harry sat up, pulling Louis back for one more kiss. "Course I understand. He's family."
Louis' smile was soft and a bit sad. "Yeah. He is." He squeezed Harry's hand once before heading out to find Bus 2.
Harry watched him go, worry and love warring in his chest. Sometimes he wished he could fix everything - could make it safe for him and Louis to be out, could make whatever was eating at Zayn go away, could keep Liam from drowning his demons in vodka. But all he could do was buy veggie crisps and wait for his boy to come back to him.
"Right," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hopelessly messy hair. "Food run."
Harry loaded up with enough food for everyone - proper sandwiches, those fancy crisps Zayn liked, fruit for Liam's post-hangover health kick, and those chocolate biscuits Louis pretended not to love. He was debating between two different types of sparkling water when Niall found him.
"They're still over by Bus 2," Niall said quietly, reaching past Harry to grab some regular crisps. "Louis got him to eat something at least."
Harry nodded, trying not to look too obviously worried. "Good. That's... good."
"You're allowed to be worried about him too, you know," Niall bumped their shoulders together. "Don't have to pretend you're not just 'cause of Louis."
Harry's hands stilled on the shopping basket. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Niall gave him a knowing look. "Come on, H. We all see how Lou gets when you and Zayn get too close. Remember that time in Tokyo when you fell asleep on Zayn during movie night?"
Harry winced at the memory. Louis hadn't spoken to either of them for almost two days after that.
"He's not... it's not like that," Harry defended weakly. "He just gets..."
"Possessive?" Niall supplied. "Mate, we love him, but you know how he is. Specially with Zayn."
"It's complicated," Harry sighed. "They've got their own... thing. And sometimes I think Lou worries that..."
"That you'll pick Zayn over him?" Niall snorted. "As if that would ever happen. You're proper gone for Louis, anyone can see that."
"I know, but..." Harry bit his lip. "Sometimes I think that's part of why Zayn's been so... you know. Like maybe he feels caught between us?"
"Nah," Niall grabbed some more snacks. "Zayn's got his own stuff going on. Nothing to do with you and Louis being disgustingly in love."
"You think?"
"Course. Besides," Niall grinned, trying to lighten the mood, "we all know if anyone's gonna steal you away it'll be me."
Harry managed a laugh. "True. You are the cute one after all."
"Damn right! Now come on, let's get back before Louis thinks I've kidnapped you and starts a riot."
They were loading their haul into Bus 1's little kitchen when Louis appeared, looking tired but less tense than before.
"Alright?" Harry asked softly.
"Yeah," Louis pressed a quick kiss to his temple, then wrapped himself around Harry from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder. "He ate something, had a smoke. Li's got him."
Harry nodded, passing over the chocolate biscuits without comment. Louis' eyes lit up, but he didn't loosen his grip.
"Knew there was a reason I kept you around," he said around a mouthful of biscuit.
"My excellent taste in snacks?"
"Among other things," Louis nipped at his ear.
"If you two are quite finished," Niall interrupted, "Paul's giving us the five minute warning."
"Better get settled then," Louis tugged Harry toward the back lounge. "Proper film marathon for the rest of the drive?"
"As long as you don't make us watch Grease again," Niall groaned, following them.
"Excuse you, Grease is a classic!"
"You just fancy yourself as Danny Zuko!"
"Well obviously," Louis pulled Harry down next to him, immediately tangling their legs together. "Got the leather jacket and everything, don't I?"
"Got the fit boyfriend too," Harry couldn't help adding, hoping to ease some of that lingering tension in Louis' shoulders.
"Mmhmm," Louis agreed quietly, pressing closer. Then louder, "Though you're more of a Sandy post-makeover. All those tight-"
"No!" Niall cut in. "No comparing yourselves to Danny and Sandy. We've been through this. I'm picking the film."
They settled in as the bus started moving - Niall sprawled across the one couch, Harry and Louis tangled together on another. Some action film was playing, but Harry wasn't really paying attention. He was too focused on the way Louis kept absently touching him, like he needed the constant reminder that Harry was there.
"Love you," he whispered, quiet enough that Niall wouldn't hear.
Louis squeezed him almost painfully tight for a moment. "Love you more."
"Not possible."
"Very possible." Louis' voice was fierce. "More than anything."
"You two are literally the worst," Niall called back without turning around. "I can hear you being disgusting."
"Jealous, Nialler?"
"Of you two idiots? Never. Though might be nice to have someone look at me the way Harry looks at you. When you let anyone else near him, that is."
"Niall," Harry warned, feeling Louis tense.
"Just saying! Remember that fan in Brisbane who asked for a photo with Harry kissing her cheek? Thought Lou was gonna commit murder."
"She was being handsy," Louis muttered defensively.
"They're always handsy," Niall laughed. "S'what fans do. You just get weird about sharing."
Harry turned to kiss Louis properly before he could respond, trying to distract him from wherever this conversation was heading. It worked - Louis immediately melted into it, hands coming up to frame Harry's face.
"Mine," he whispered again when they broke apart, too quiet for Niall to hear.
"Yours," Harry agreed easily. Because he was - had been since he was sixteen and starry-eyed, would be until he was old and gray. No amount of complicated friendships or fan photos would change that.
They settled into relative silence, Louis absently playing with Harry's rings while the action sequence played out on screen. But Harry's mind was racing. Wondering if Zayn would actually show up to soundcheck. Wondering when they'd lost him - if they already had. Wondering how much longer they could all keep going like this - trapped between what they wanted and what they were allowed to have.
"Want tea?" Harry murmured after a while, noticing the slight tremor in Louis' hands that usually meant he was fighting off cravings.
"Mm, yes please," Louis let him up reluctantly. "The good stuff though, not that herbal shite you've been trying to convert me to."
"Yorkshire or death," Harry agreed fondly, pressing a quick kiss to Louis' forehead before heading to the tiny kitchen area.
His phone buzzed again as he was putting the kettle on. Jeff this time - actually calling rather than texting. Harry silenced it with a twinge of guilt. Jeff had been nothing but supportive lately, offering advice about Harry's future, making introductions to important industry people. He just didn't understand about Louis, about the band. Kept saying Harry was limiting himself, that he could have so much more...
"Ignoring Jeff again?" Niall appeared beside him, grabbing a water. "He's just trying to help, you know. Has good instincts about the industry."
"I know," Harry measured out the tea leaves carefully. "He's been great. Just... complicated, innit?"
Niall shrugged. "Management knows what they're doing. All this careful image stuff, it's working. Look at our numbers from last year."
Harry didn't mention how their latest single had struggled to crack the top 10, how ticket sales were slowing. Niall's unwavering faith in management was both endearing and frustrating sometimes.
Louis appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. "My tea ready yet?"
"Almost. Just needs to steep properly."
"You and your proper tea steeping," Louis teased, but his hold was a little too tight, like he needed the anchor.
"Some of us have taste," Harry shot back, letting himself lean into Louis' embrace.
"Oi! I have excellent taste. I picked you, didn't I?"
"Pretty sure I picked you, actually."
"Details," Louis waved it off, reaching around Harry to grab his mug. "Now come back and cuddle me properly. Film's getting good."
"You haven't been watching the film at all," Niall pointed out.
"Have so! There was that explosion thing. And that car chase."
"That was twenty minutes ago, mate."
"Well I'm watching it now," Louis declared, dragging Harry back to their spot. "Even if Harold keeps distracting me with his... everything."
He arranged them how he wanted - Harry tucked under his arm, legs tangled together, close as they could get while still being able to drink their tea. These moments felt precious now, when they could just exist together without worrying who might see.
The bus hit a bump, making their tea slosh dangerously. Louis steadied Harry's mug with practiced ease, years of tourbus tea-drinking having honed their reflexes.
"Speaking of management," Niall said during a lull in the film, "they want us doing more solo bits in the next few interviews. Build up individual profiles and all that."
Harry felt Louis tense slightly against him. They both knew what that meant - more separation, more careful orchestration of who could interact with who.
"Makes sense," Harry made himself say, even as his free hand found Louis' under the blanket they'd pulled over themselves. "Jeff was saying-"
"Course Jeff was saying," Louis muttered, but there was no real heat in it. They'd had this argument too many times already.
"He's been really helpful, Lou," Harry said softly. "The connections he's making, the advice about my songwriting..."
"I know, I know." Louis pressed a kiss to his temple. "Just don't like sharing you."
"You don't have to share me. Not really."
"Tell that to management's scheduling."
"They're just trying to protect us," Niall chimed in. "Keep things sustainable, yeah? Can't have the fans getting too focused on any one thing."
Or any one relationship, went unspoken. Their more observant followers were getting better at picking up signals, sharing theories online. Management was getting stricter in response.
"Still hate it," Louis muttered, and Harry felt him tense further at Niall's words about management's plans. The familiar protectiveness was creeping into his voice - the tone that usually preceded either a fight or Louis disappearing to Bus 2 to smoke away his frustrations.
Harry shifted closer, pressing his face into Louis' neck. Sometimes he felt like he was constantly trying to anchor Louis here, with him, before he drifted too far away.
"Hey," he whispered, just for Louis. "Stay with me?"
Louis' arms tightened immediately. "Course, love. Not going anywhere."
But Harry could feel the slight tremor in his hands, see the way his eyes kept darting to the window like he was calculating the distance to Bus 2. To Zayn. To the temporary escape that Harry couldn't - wouldn't - provide.
The bus started slowing, and Harry could see the lights of some roadside diner through the window. His stomach twisted with anxiety - would this be where he lost Louis to Bus 2 for the night? Would Zayn need him more?
"Hey," Louis turned Harry's face toward him, thumb gentle on his jaw. "Love you."
Harry managed a small smile. "Love you more."
The diner parking lot was mostly empty when they pulled in, just a few tired-looking truckers scattered at the counter. Bus 2 arrived a few minutes after them, and Harry watched through the window as Zayn emerged, cigarette already between his fingers.
"He alright?" Niall asked quietly.
Louis was already halfway to the door. "M'gonna..."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. "Go on."
He watched as Louis jogged over, immediately getting pulled into some private joke with Zayn, their heads bent close together as they shared the cigarette. Then Liam stumbled out, clearly still feeling the effects of whatever he'd been drinking, and nearly knocked them both over trying to join them.
"Coming, H?" Niall was holding the diner door open.
"Yeah, just..." Harry waved him on, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene outside.
Louis had steadied Liam with one hand while laughing at something Zayn said, so easily falling into their familiar rhythm. Harry could see the tension melting from Louis' shoulders as he took a long drag from the cigarette Zayn offered.
"Coming back to ours tonight?" Zayn asked, casual in that way that wasn't really casual at all. "Got that good stuff from Brisbane."
Harry's heart clenched. He watched Louis pause, clearly tempted.
"Could use it," Zayn continued, flicking ash onto the pavement. "Been a shit day."
Louis glanced back at Harry through the diner window, conflict clear on his face. Harry could read the want there - the need for that easy escape, that chemical distance from everything pressing in on them.
"I..." Louis started, then stopped, caught between them like always.
Harry made himself walk over, pressing close to Louis' side. "Lou?"
"Nah, think I'll stay with Haz tonight," Louis said finally, though Harry could feel the slight tremor in his hands. "Rain check?"
Something flickered across Zayn's face - disappointment maybe, or understanding - before he shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Li's probably gonna pass out anyway."
"You good though?" Louis asked, serious now.
"M'fine," Zayn rolled his eyes, but there was fondness there. "Go be disgustingly in love or whatever."
Louis pulled him into a quick hug, whispering something that made Zayn snort and shove him away. "Dickhead."
"Love you too, bro," Louis grinned, then turned to Harry. "Food?"
Harry nodded, relief making him dizzy. He caught Zayn's eye as Louis tugged him toward the diner, saw the knowing look there. Zayn might not understand their relationship - might even resent it sometimes - but he got it. Got them.
"You didn't have to..." Harry started once they were inside.
"Want to be with you," Louis cut him off, squeezing his hand under the table.
"This diner's properly ancient," Louis announced as they piled into the corner booth, shoving Harry playfully until he scooted further in. The place was empty except for a few truckers at the counter, probably the only thing open at this hour between Brisbane and Melbourne.
"Proper road trip spot though, innit?" Niall grinned, squeezing in beside Liam and Zayn. "Like in those American films."
"Speaking of American," Harry brightened, picking up a laminated menu. "They've got those proper thick shakes here."
"Course you'd notice that first," Louis teased, stealing Harry's menu since he hadn't bothered grabbing his own. "Christ, they've got pineapple burgers. That's properly offensive, that is."
"Could be good," Harry mused, leaning over Louis' shoulder. "Sweet and savory..."
"Don't encourage this madness, Haz."
"Actually sounds alright," Liam chimed in, words still slurred from whatever they'd been drinking on Bus 2. "M'gonna get it."
"Payno, you're drunk. You can't be trusted with important food decisions right now."
"M'not that drunk!"
"You tried to convince the bus driver you were a professional didgeridoo player an hour ago," Niall pointed out.
"I could be!"
The waitress appeared then, looking thoroughly unimpressed by their antics. Louis ordered enough food for a small army, while Harry requested the controversial pineapple burger just to watch Louis' betrayed expression.
"Can't believe you'd do this to me," Louis lamented dramatically. "The trust is gone. Broken. Shattered."
"You'll live," Harry grinned, tangling their feet together under the table.
"Will I though?"
"I'll share with you," Harry offered magnanimously.
"Absolutely not. Keep your fruit-contaminated meat away from me."
Zayn reached for his cigarettes, but Louis kicked him under the table. "Eat first, yeah? Then we can have a proper smoke."
"Whatever," Zayn rolled his eyes but put the pack away.
Their food arrived then, momentarily halting the debate. Louis immediately started stealing chips from everyone's plates while simultaneously trying to convince Zayn to eat more than just his side salad.
"You sure about tonight?" Zayn asked Louis quietly, but his tone was casual. "Proper good stuff."
"Rain check?" Louis offered, and Harry felt him squeeze his hip gently.
Something flickered across Zayn's face before he shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Just don't blame me when Harry makes you watch that surfing documentary again."
"Hey!" Harry protested. "It's educational!"
"We're literally touring Australia," Niall pointed out. "Think we've seen enough surfing."
"Never enough surfing," Harry insisted primly, making Louis laugh beside him.
The conversation devolved from there into a heated debate about proper Australian activities, with Liam passionately insisting he could "definitely wrestle a kangaroo" while Niall threw chips at him.
"Ready to head back?" Louis asked eventually, after they'd demolished most of the food and Liam had nearly fallen asleep in his milkshake twice.
"Yeah," Harry nodded, unable to keep from smiling. "Though I make no promises about the documentary."
"Menace," Louis said fondly, then to the others, "You lot heading back?"
"Need a proper smoke," Zayn stood, stretching. "Coming, Li?"
"Mhmm," Liam mumbled, letting Niall pull him up. "No didgeridoos though."
"Think that's best, mate."
They spilled out of the diner into the warm night, the two buses waiting in the parking lot. Harry felt Louis' hand slip into his as they walked, and squeezed gently.
"So," Louis turned to Harry as they climbed onto their bus. "Surfing documentary?"
"Actually," Harry smiled, pulling him close. "Was thinking of something else."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The back lounge door clicked shut behind them, and Harry immediately found himself pressed against it, Louis' hands on his hips.
"Hi," Harry breathed, already dizzy with how close Louis was.
"Hi yourself," Louis murmured, thumbs slipping under Harry's shirt to brush bare skin.
Harry's response was lost as Louis found that spot beneath his ear that always made him weak. His hands tightened in Louis' hair, earning a soft sound that had heat pooling in his stomach.
"Lou," he gasped. "Couch."
They stumbled to the larger couch, Louis immediately pulling Harry into his lap.
"Beautiful," Louis whispered against his collar bone. "So beautiful, love."
Harry arched into the touch, lost in the sensation of Louis everywhere, when-
"Oi! At least wait til I'm asleep, you animals!"
They sprung apart, Harry nearly falling off Louis' lap as Niall barged in.
"Knock, why don't you?" Louis complained, though his hands stayed steady on Harry's waist.
"It's my bus too," Niall flopped onto the opposite couch. "Put your documentary on, H. Might bore me to sleep faster."
Harry tried to regulate his breathing, very aware he was still basically straddling Louis. "Right. Yeah. Documentary."
The documentary's narration filled the small space, mixed with the gentle rumble of the bus. Despite his complaints, Louis' fingers found their way into Harry's curls, playing absently as they watched.
After about an hour, Niall's commentary on the "proper mad bastards" taking on massive waves had faded into soft snores.
"Should wake him," Harry murmured, glancing over at Niall's awkward position. "His neck's gonna hurt."
"In a minute," Louis whispered back, tightening his arms around Harry's waist. "Kind of perfect right now."
Harry turned in Louis' embrace until they were face to face, the documentary forgotten in the background. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," Louis smiled, soft and private. His hand came up to cup Harry's cheek, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "Pretty boy."
Heat bloomed in Harry's chest at the words, at the reverence in Louis' touch. "Lou..."
Their lips met again, slower this time but no less intense. Louis' hands found their way back under Harry's shirt, making him shiver.
"Know what I was thinking?" Louis breathed against his jaw.
"Mm?"
"Was thinking about Valentine's Day."
Harry pulled back slightly to see Louis' face. "Yeah?"
"Got plans," Louis whispered, rolling them slightly so Harry was underneath him on the narrow couch. "Proper romantic ones."
"Tell me," Harry breathed, already arching up as Louis' lips found his neck.
"Thinking we steal a boat," Louis murmured between kisses. "Find our own private beach..."
"That's illegal," Harry gasped as Louis nipped at his collarbone.
"Details," Louis dismissed, hands sliding under Harry's shirt. "Point is-"
A loud snort from Niall interrupted them, followed by a groan. "Christ, can hear you two from here."
"Sorry," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all.
"No you're not," Niall grumbled, standing. "M'going to bed. Try to keep it down, yeah?"
"No promises," Louis grinned, already pulling Harry closer again.
Once they heard Niall's bunk curtain close, Louis turned back to Harry with dark eyes. "Now, about those Valentine's plans..."
"Less talking," Harry demanded, pulling him down into a proper kiss.
In the quiet of the bus, with only the forgotten documentary's soft narration and distant highway sounds, they lost themselves in each other. Louis whispered elaborate Valentine's plans between kisses - something about fairy lights strung across secret beaches, midnight picnics under the stars, and possibly commandeering a yacht ("Just borrowing, love, we'll give it back").
Harry barely registered the specifics, too caught up in the way Louis' voice got softer, more tender when he talked about their future. Even his most ridiculous plans came with that underlying promise of forever that made Harry's heart ache in the best way.
The gentle sway of the bus carried them through the night, Melbourne getting closer with every mile. But here in their little world, wrapped up in each other, they were already exactly where they needed to be.
Eventually, they made their way to their bunk, trying to stay quiet as they passed Niall's curtained space. In the narrow bed, they curled together like they always did, Louis immediately drawing Harry close.
Harry woke to Louis' phone buzzing insistently. Through the thin curtain of their bunk, he could see it was still dark outside. Louis shifted beside him, reaching for the device while trying not to disturb Harry.
"Z?" Louis whispered, suddenly alert. "Yeah, mate. No, I'm up."
Harry felt Louis' body tense as he listened. His grip on Harry's waist tightened briefly before loosening.
"Be right there," Louis murmured into the phone. "Just breathe, yeah? Like we practiced."
Harry propped himself up on an elbow as Louis ended the call. "Bad one?"
"Yeah," Louis scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry, love. Need to..."
"Go," Harry pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Help him."
Louis caught his face between gentle hands, kissing him deeply. "Love you. Back soon."
"Love you too."
Harry watched through the curtain as Louis pulled on joggers and one of Harry's hoodies before slipping out. The bus was quiet except for Niall's soft snoring and the steady hum of tires on pavement.
He tried to go back to sleep, but his mind kept drifting to Bus 2, imagining Louis talking Zayn through breathing exercises, probably sharing a spliff to help calm him down. He didn't begrudge Zayn needing Louis - they all relied on each other in different ways. But sometimes it felt like Louis was being pulled in too many directions, trying to be everything for everyone.
The bunk felt cold without Louis' warmth. Harry pulled Louis' pillow closer, breathing in the familiar mix of cigarette smoke and cologne that always clung to his clothes these days. He missed when Louis just smelled like Louis.
His phone lit up with a text.
Lou: Don't wait up baby. Might be a while. Xx
Then another:
Lou: Still thinking about Valentine's btw. Gonna make it proper special
Harry smiled despite the ache in his chest.
H: No stealing boats
Lou: No promises ;) Love you
H: Love you more xx
He must have dozed off eventually, because the next thing he knew, pale morning light was filtering through the window and Louis was sliding back into their bunk, cold hands seeking warm skin.
"Time's it?" Harry mumbled, automatically making space.
"Early," Louis whispered, pressing close. "Go back to sleep."
But Harry was already awake enough to catch the way his movements were just a bit too loose. He'd definitely been smoking something stronger than cigarettes.
"He okay?" Harry asked carefully, not wanting to push.
Louis was quiet for a long moment, face pressed into Harry's curls. "Will be. Just... rough night."
"And you?"
"M'fine," Louis said automatically, then softened when Harry made a skeptical noise. "Better now I'm with you."
Harry wanted to push further, to ask how much they'd smoked, if Zayn was eating enough, if Louis was worried too. But he knew that would just make Louis retreat, maybe even send him back to Bus 2. So instead he just held Louis closer, trying to ground him with touch alone.
"Proper fry-up when we stop?" he offered instead. "There's meant to be a kitchen in the hotel room."
"Mm, yes please." Louis' voice was already getting drowsy. "You take such good care of me."
"Someone has to," Harry kept his tone light, even as his heart clenched.
Louis made a soft sound of protest. "Take care of you too though, yeah? Gonna make Valentine's so special. Got it all planned."
"Still stealing a boat?"
"Nah, something better," Louis yawned. "Proper romantic. You'll see."
He drifted off before Harry could ask more, breath evening out against Harry's neck. Harry stayed awake, watching the sunrise paint patterns across Louis' sleeping face
The Melbourne hotel lobby was blissfully quiet when they finally arrived, the early morning hour meaning no fans had caught wind of their location yet.
Louis kept a steadying hand on his lower back as they waited for room keys, thumb rubbing small circles that made Harry want to melt into him. The gesture was subtle enough to look casual to anyone watching, but Harry could feel the possession in it.
"Alright, lads," Paul handed out key cards. "One to a room as usual. Sound check's not till tomorrow so get some proper sleep."
Harry caught the knowing look Paul gave them as he handed Louis their keys. Their security team had long since given up pretending they didn't know about certain sleeping arrangements.
"Need help with your bags?" Louis asked Zayn, who was swaying slightly on his feet. He hadn't slept much during the drive, according to Liam.
"M'fine," Zayn mumbled, already heading for the lifts. "Just need to crash."
Harry saw the conflict flash across Louis' face - the instinct to follow and make sure Zayn was really okay warring with his obvious desire to get Harry alone.
"Li's got him," Harry murmured, pressing closer to Louis' side. "Come on, you need sleep too."
The decision was made easier by Liam immediately falling into step beside Zayn, one hand on his elbow to steady him. They all piled into the lift, the silence heavy with exhaustion.
Their room was on the top floor - some kind of suite that Harry was too tired to properly appreciate. He barely registered the city views through floor-to-ceiling windows before Louis was pressing him against the nearest wall, mouth hot and demanding.
They stumbled toward the massive bed, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. Louis pressed Harry into the soft mattress, hands and lips seemingly everywhere at once.
"God, look at you," Louis whispered, reverent. "So perfect for me, baby."
Harry arched into the touch, lost in the feeling of Louis everywhere. The early morning light painted everything gold, making the moment feel dreamlike and precious.
Later, curled together in the tangled sheets, Louis traced patterns on Harry's bare skin. "Can't wait to do something special for you tomorrow."
"This is special enough," Harry mumbled into Louis' chest.
"Nope, proper Valentine's plans," Louis insisted. "Got it all worked out."
"Should I be worried?"
"Probably," Louis grinned, then softened. "Just want to give you everything you deserve."
Harry propped himself up to look at Louis properly. "Already have everything I need right here."
They drifted off as the Melbourne sun climbed higher, wrapped up in each other and the promise of tomorrow. Harry's last coherent thought was that he didn't need elaborate Valentine's plans - just this, just Louis, just them in their own little world where nothing else mattered.
But he knew Louis would do something ridiculous anyway, because that's who he was. And Harry loved him for it, even if it did end up involving stolen boats or whatever other mad scheme Louis had cooked up.
Harry woke to soft kisses being pressed along his shoulder and the smell of room service coffee. The clock read just past nine - they'd managed a few solid hours of sleep at least.
"Morning, love," Louis murmured against his skin. "Got plans for us."
Harry hummed, rolling over to face him. Louis was already dressed in black skinnies and one of Harry's oversized jumpers, looking far too awake.
"Time's it?" Harry asked, even though he'd just checked.
"Time for you to get your pretty arse up," Louis grinned, tugging the duvet away. "We've got about five hours before sound check and I'm not wasting a minute."
Harry made a show of protesting but let Louis pull him up, catching him in a proper good morning kiss that nearly derailed their plans entirely.
"Nope," Louis pulled back with visible effort. "Shower, get dressed. Got everything timed perfectly."
"Should I be scared?" Harry asked, but he was already heading for the bathroom.
"Terrified," Louis called after him cheerfully.
Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and dressed in the clothes Louis had laid out (tight black jeans and a sheer floral shirt that made Louis' eyes darken appreciatively), Harry found himself being hustled toward a waiting car.
"Alberto's given us the all-clear," Louis explained as they slid into the backseat. "Got Paul to adjust security schedules and everything."
Harry's heart swelled at the planning this must have taken. "Lou..."
"No getting soft on me yet," Louis warned, but his smile was fond. "This is just the start."
The car wound through Melbourne's morning traffic, finally pulling up at what looked like some kind of private dock. Harry shot Louis a suspicious look.
"You didn't actually steal a boat, did you?"
"'Course not," Louis looked offended. "Rented it properly and everything. Even signed papers and that."
Sure enough, a sleek yacht was waiting for them, small enough to be manageable but luxurious enough to make Harry's eyes widen.
"How did you-"
"Jeff's not the only one with connections," Louis said lightly, but Harry caught the slight edge in his tone. He squeezed Louis' hand in response.
"This is amazing, Lou."
The yacht came with a captain who, after a brief safety briefing, promised to keep his distance and give them privacy. Louis had clearly thought of everything - there was a picnic basket full of Harry's favorites, champagne on ice, and even a small speaker system playing what Harry recognized as his "Louis playlist."
As they pulled away from the dock, Melbourne's skyline glittering in the morning sun, Louis wrapped himself around Harry from behind.
"Alright?" he asked softly.
"Perfect," Harry leaned back into him. "Though I still can't believe you actually got us a boat."
"Yacht," Louis corrected primly. "And I told you I had plans."
They spent the next few hours exploring Port Phillip Bay, finding quiet coves where they could drop anchor and pretend they were the only people in the world. Louis fed Harry strawberries and stolen kisses, looking impossibly soft in the summer sun.
"Watch this," Louis said at one point, disappearing below deck only to return with a guitar Harry hadn't even noticed. "Been working on something."
Harry's breath caught as Louis settled cross-legged in front of him, looking uncharacteristically nervous. The opening chords were unfamiliar, but then Louis started singing and Harry's heart stopped.
It was a new song - one Harry had never heard before. But the words... the words were everything they'd ever been to each other. Every late night phone call when they were apart, every moment they'd found their way back to each other, every time Louis had been Harry's light in the dark.
"'I'll make this feel like home,'" Louis sang softly, eyes locked on Harry's, and Harry was instantly transported back to their X Factor days, to Louis declaring Harry was "home" for him, to every time since then they'd whispered it to each other like a secret promise.
When Louis finished, his hands were shaking slightly on the guitar. "Wrote it for you. For us. Been working on it with Julian but... wanted you to hear it first. Properly, like."
Harry realized he was crying only when Louis set the guitar aside in alarm.
"Haz?"
"You wrote that for me?" Harry's voice cracked.
"'Course I did," Louis pulled him close, thumbs brushing away tears. "Who else would it be for? You're my home. Always have been."
Harry kissed him then, trying to pour everything he was feeling into it - all the love and gratitude and bone-deep certainty that this, them, was exactly where he belonged.
"Was thinking," Louis said when they broke apart, still holding Harry close, "maybe we could record it for the album? If you want. Might have to be careful, but..."
"Yes," Harry interrupted. "God, yes. Want everyone to hear it. Want to sing it with you."
Louis' smile was blinding. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry kissed him again, softer this time. "Thank you. For giving me a home. For being mine."
"Always," Louis whispered fiercely. "Wherever we are, whatever happens. You're my home too."
They stayed tangled together until the captain's discrete cough reminded them they had a schedule to keep. But Harry kept humming the melody as they headed back to shore, memorizing every word Louis had written for him, already imagining singing it together on stage - their secret love story hidden in plain sight.
Chapter 71: Present Day
Summary:
A month apart ends as Harry and Louis reunite at their cottage, where memories of their fifteen-year relationship live in every corner - from Anne's old quilt to their vintage record player. The next morning brings soft domesticity with coffee and pancakes, discussions about Louis' confusion over American football, and a bittersweet conversation about losing Liam. Later, at Louis' Barnet house, Harry tags along for Louis' meeting with a promising young artist, hiding upstairs while reminiscing about their history of leaving clever hints for fans - from the infamous Rainbow Bears to strategically placed duplicate Brit Awards.
aka: the one where reunions lead to reminiscing, Louis still can't understand American football, and their elaborate history of dropping hints for fans lives on through strategically placed awards
Chapter Text
Moonlight spilled through the windows as Harry wandered through their cottage, fingers trailing along familiar walls, each touch stirring memories. The house felt different when they'd been apart - it always did. Like it was holding its breath, waiting. Even during their four-year separation, when everything else had fallen apart, they'd kept this place exactly as it was. Their business managers had praised it as smart investing, but Harry knew better. This house was their anchor, their constant, their truth.
He paused in the living room, eyes catching on the old record player they'd bought at that antiques market in Yorkshire. Louis had insisted they needed it, claiming their cottage deserved proper vintage sound, not some modern bluetooth speaker. Harry could still see him that day, eyes bright with excitement as he'd carefully set up their first vinyl - some obscure indie band he'd been obsessed with that week. They'd danced right here, tipsy on wine and youth and freedom, Louis singing off-key in his ear.
The kitchen still had that ancient Aga that had terrified him at first. Louis had declared it perfect when they'd viewed the house, even though neither of them had known how to use it. Harry remembered countless mornings of burned toast and undercooked eggs before he'd finally mastered it, Louis perched on the counter watching him with fond amusement. Now he could cook a full Sunday roast on it without thinking, muscle memory built over thirteen years of lazy weekends and family visits.
Their bedroom felt sacred in the darkness. The familiar quilt from Anne still covered their bed - she'd given it to them that first Christmas, when they were barely more than children playing at forever. Harry smoothed his hand over it, remembering how she'd hugged them both, whispering that she was proud of them for building something real in the midst of all the chaos. If she'd known about the nights they'd spend here during their "breaks," seeking shelter in each other while publicly dating other people, she'd never let on. The cottage had kept their secrets, held their truth when they couldn't.
Every corner held memories. The window seat where they'd written songs together, legs tangled as they passed a notebook back and forth. The shower where they'd washed away stage makeup and public personas. The back garden where they'd planted roses that first spring, Louis pretending to know anything about gardening while Harry googled proper planting techniques. Even during their worst times, when they were barely speaking, neither had suggested selling it. Some part of them had known they'd find their way back here.
Harry opened all the windows despite Mrs. Whitaker's faithful upkeep, letting the crisp February air sweep through. The cottage seemed to sigh around him, coming alive again. A month. They hadn't gone a month without seeing each other since before their breakup, and even then it had nearly broken them. Berlin together had been perfect. But then duty had called, as it always did. Louis to London and LA for the Walls anniversary meetings, Harry back to Berlin to negotiate with men in suits.
His phone buzzed: 'Just landed. 45 minutes love xx'
Harry's hands shook slightly as he pulled their worn mugs from the cabinet, the ones they'd bought from that pottery shop in Cornwall years ago, before everything had gotten so complicated.
Forty-five minutes. He checked his phone again - forty-three now. The cottage felt too quiet, too still. He needed to keep moving. Harry busied himself with the coffee maker, knowing Louis would want caffeine after his flight. He'd switched almost entirely to coffee these days, though he still drank his tea when he was homesick or stressed.
Harry wandered back through the house, straightening things that didn't need straightening. He adjusted the throw pillows on the sofa (Louis would just toss them on the floor later anyway), organized their record collection (again), checked the fridge (Mrs. Whitaker had stocked it, bless her).
Thirty-eight minutes.
He went upstairs to their ensuite, fussing with his hair in the mirror. The curls were just starting to come back properly now, longer than they'd been in Berlin but nowhere near what they used to be. Harry ran his fingers through them, remembering how wild and untamed they'd been when he'd first met Louis at sixteen. How Louis had immediately started calling him 'Curly,' telling anyone who'd listen how much he loved Harry's hair. The nickname had stuck, becoming something precious between them even as everything else changed.
His throat tightened as he remembered growing it longer and longer, past his shoulders, down his back. He'd told everyone it was about freedom, about expressing himself, but the truth lived in the knot of old pain in his chest. Every time he'd seen a photo of Louis with Eleanor, every article about their "perfect relationship," every fan cooing over how beautiful they looked together - it had felt like drowning. He'd spent hours in front of mirrors, trying to style his hair like hers, wanting to be that kind of beautiful. The kind that could be shown off, celebrated, claimed publicly.
It didn't matter that millions of people thought he was attractive, that magazines called him a sex symbol, that fans screamed his name. He'd wanted what Eleanor had - the right to stand next to Louis in public, to have their photos taken together, to have people say they made a stunning couple. Instead, he'd watched from the sidelines as she got everything he couldn't have. Every time Louis had to kiss her for the cameras, every romantic holiday they'd staged, every "anniversary" post - Harry had grown his hair longer, as if somehow that could make him worthy of the same attention.
The day he'd cut it all off after the band ended had been cathartic, tears mixing with fallen curls on the salon floor. He'd donated it as planned, but really he'd been cutting away years of jealousy and pain and watching the man he loved pretend to love someone else. He'd kept it short since then, even shaving it completely in 2023 after his tour - like scrubbing himself clean of the last remnants of that desperate boy who'd tried so hard to be someone he wasn't.
Now it was growing back slowly, the curls just beginning to form again. Different from his teenage wildness, different from his long flowing locks born of jealousy and need, different from the precise styles of his solo years. Something new, just like they were something new. Louis still loved playing with it though, still called him Curly sometimes when they were alone. But now when Louis' fingers tangled in his hair, there was no shadow of Eleanor between them.
Twenty-eigtht minutes.
Back downstairs, Harry put on some music - soft and low, just enough to fill the silence. He caught himself swaying slightly in the kitchen, remembered countless nights of dancing here. Louis was rubbish at proper dancing but brilliant at this - just holding each other close, moving together in the quiet.
Fifteen minutes.
He changed his jumper twice, settling on the soft cream one Louis always said made him look like home. Started the coffee brewing, timing it so it would be perfect when Louis arrived. Checked his phone again.
Eight minutes.
The gravel crunch outside sent a jolt through his chest, sharp and immediate. He froze, his hand gripping the edge of the counter as the sound of the car door slamming reached him. His heart thudded in his chest, loud and insistent, as footsteps approached the front door. He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
The door creaked open, and there he was. Louis stood in the doorway, his duffel bag hanging off one shoulder, his hoodie wrinkled and his hair sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it the whole flight. He looked exhausted, but his blue eyes were sharp, scanning the room until they landed on Harry.
They didn’t speak at first. They just stood there, the space between them alive, humming with the kind of tension only weeks apart could create. Louis dropped his bag by the door unceremoniously, letting it thud to the floor, and his lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t far from it.
“Alright, love?” Louis asked softly, his voice low and rough from travel, yet impossibly tender.
Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry. He tried to answer, but his words caught somewhere in his chest. Instead, he crossed the room in three long strides and flung himself into Louis’ arms. Louis caught him with a soft grunt, his arms wrapping tightly around Harry’s waist, pulling him in close.
Harry buried his face in Louis’ neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled like cheap airplane soap and exhaustion, but beneath it all was that familiar scent of him—warm and grounding and so very Louis. Harry clung to him, his fingers curling into the fabric of Louis’ hoodie, his body trembling faintly from the sheer relief of having him here again.
“Missed you,” Harry mumbled against his skin, his voice muffled but thick with emotion.
Louis’ hands slipped under Harry’s jumper, palms pressing flat against the bare skin of his back. Harry shivered at the touch, curling further into Louis, letting himself be held. “Missed you too, baby,” Louis murmured, his lips brushing against Harry’s temple. He tightened his grip, like he was trying to fuse them together. “Fucking hated being away.”
They stood there, tangled together in the doorway, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. Louis pressed his lips against the curve of Harry’s jaw, lingering there for a moment, his breath hot against his skin. Harry’s stomach flipped, heat pooling low in his belly at the contact.
“Christ, you feel so good,” Louis muttered, his voice low and rough, carrying an edge that made Harry’s knees weak. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Harry, his hands still firmly on his waist. His blue eyes were darker now, clouded with something Harry knew all too well—need.
Harry licked his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to steady himself. Louis’ gaze flicked down to his mouth, lingering there for a beat too long. The air between them crackled, the tension palpable, electric.
“You gonna keep staring at me, or you gonna kiss me?” Harry teased, but his voice came out softer than he intended, breathier.
Louis didn’t answer. He just leaned in, his lips crashing against Harry’s in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was desperate, demanding, weeks of separation and longing pouring out all at once. Harry gasped against his mouth, his hands flying up to tangle in Louis’ hair, pulling him closer, deeper, like he couldn’t get enough.
Louis groaned, the sound vibrating against Harry’s lips as he walked them backward, his hands gripping Harry’s hips tightly, guiding him until Harry’s back hit the wall. The impact sent a jolt through him, and he let out a soft whimper, his head tilting back as Louis kissed his way down his jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his neck.
“God, I missed you,” Louis whispered against his throat, his voice wrecked, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His hands roamed under Harry’s jumper, fingers dragging across his ribs, his sides, his hips. “Missed touching you. Missed tasting you. Missed everything.”
Harry whimpered, his hands clutching at Louis’ shoulders as he arched into his touch, the heat between them building rapidly. “Lou...” he breathed, his voice cracking.
Louis pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes blazing. “What, love? What do you need?” he asked, his voice softer now, his thumb brushing over Harry’s cheek.
“You,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling. “Just you.”
Louis’ expression softened slightly, the intensity giving way to something warmer, something deeper. He leaned in, pressing a softer kiss to Harry’s lips, his hands cradling his face like he was something fragile, something precious.
“Come on,” Louis said finally, his voice low and thick with promise. He grabbed Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he pulled him toward the stairs.
Harry followed without hesitation, his heart pounding in his chest, his skin buzzing with anticipation. Upstairs, the bedroom was dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows, the familiar quilt from Anne still on the bed.
Louis turned to face him, his hands finding Harry’s waist again as he walked him backward until the backs of Harry’s knees hit the bed. Harry sat down, looking up at Louis with wide, expectant eyes. He smiled, that soft, crooked smile that always made Harry’s chest ache and leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Harry’s lips as he gently pushed him back onto the bed, climbing over him with deliberate slowness. Harry let out a shaky breath as Louis settled above him, their bodies aligning perfectly.
Louis made a low noise in his throat, his smirk softening into something deeper as he pressed Harry back against the pillows. Harry’s breath hitched, his fingers threading through Louis’ hair and tugging lightly to pull him closer.
Harry let out a soft whimper, his body arching into Louis’ touch as heat began to pool low in his stomach. His voice was barely audible when he whispered, “Don’t stop.”
Louis pulled back just enough to look at him, his blue eyes dark and blazing in the dim light. “Never,” he said firmly, his hands sliding lower, his lips finding Harry’s again in a kiss that was hot and slow, full of everything they hadn’t been able to say during their time apart.
Harry melted into him, his body pliant beneath Louis as he tangled his legs around his waist, needing him impossibly closer. Louis didn’t waste another second, his lips crashing down against Harry’s again, this time harder, fiercer, all the pent-up tension of the past month spilling out. Harry moaned softly into his mouth, his fingers gripping the hem of Louis’ hoodie and tugging it upward. Louis broke the kiss just long enough to pull it off and toss it to the floor, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed as he leaned back down, pressing their bodies together.
“Christ, Haz,” Louis muttered, his voice strained as his hands slid beneath Harry’s jumper again, this time pushing it higher, exposing pale, smooth skin. His fingertips skimmed over Harry’s ribs, his sides, his stomach—touches that sent shivers racing down Harry’s spine. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed this. Needed you.”
Harry’s breath hitched, his hands roaming over Louis’ bare back, nails raking lightly down his spine. He arched into Louis’ touch, his head falling back against the pillows as he whispered, “Then stop talking and do something about it.”
Louis chuckled darkly, low in his throat, the sound sending a thrill straight through Harry. “Impatient, are we?” he teased, but his hands were already tugging Harry’s jumper up and over his head, leaving him bare except for the thin chain around his neck that glinted faintly in the moonlight.
Harry’s curls were a mess, his cheeks flushed, and his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked up at Louis. “What do you expect? You’ve been gone for a bloody month,” he said breathlessly, his voice edged with need. “I’ve been losing my mind, Lou.”
Louis’ expression softened for a brief moment, the teasing replaced with something deeper, something raw. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to Harry’s lips before trailing his mouth along his jaw, down his neck, and lower. “You’re not the only one,” he murmured against Harry’s skin, his hands gripping his hips to keep him still as he kissed his way down his chest, his tongue flicking over a sensitive spot just below his collarbone.
Harry gasped, his fingers threading through Louis’ hair, tugging lightly to guide him, but Louis had his own ideas. He took his time, his lips and hands exploring like he was trying to relearn every inch of Harry, reminding himself of what had always been his.
“You’re impossible,” Harry choked out, his voice trembling as Louis’ teeth scraped lightly over his hipbone, his breath hot against his skin. “You’re—oh—absolute torture.”
Louis smirked against his skin, his hands gripping Harry’s thighs as he looked up at him, his blue eyes dark and full of mischief. “Good,” he said simply, his voice rough. “You deserve it after making me wait this long.”
Harry groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, his body thrumming with anticipation as Louis continued his slow, deliberate assault, his kisses growing hotter, sloppier, needier. Every touch, every sound, every flicker of moonlight catching on their skin felt electric, like the air between them was on fire.
“Louis,” Harry whimpered, his voice cracking, desperate. His body was trembling now, his hands gripping Louis’ arms as he tried to pull him back up, needing to feel their mouths together again, needing more. “Please.”
Louis didn’t make him wait much longer, surging back up to capture Harry’s lips in another searing kiss, their bodies pressing together, hot and slick and perfect. Harry wrapped his legs around Louis’ waist, pulling him impossibly closer, his hands roaming over every inch of skin he could reach.
“Two-week rule,” Louis muttered against Harry’s lips, his voice breathless but firm. “We're bringing it back and never breaking it again.”
Harry nodded, his hands framing Louis’ face as he stared up at him, his green eyes shining with love and heat and everything in between. “Never,” he agreed, his voice soft but certain. “Never again.”
The promise hung between them as Louis kissed him again, slower this time but no less intense, his hands tangling in Harry’s hair as they lost themselves in each other. For the first time in weeks, the ache of their separation was gone, replaced by the kind of closeness only they could share—the kind that burned hot and bright, consuming them entirely.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Louis muttered against Harry’s jaw, his voice rough, raw, like the words had slipped out before he even realized he’d said them. His hands roamed lower, skimming the sharp curve of Harry’s hips, fingers digging into soft skin in a way that made Harry gasp, his back arching off the bed.
Harry’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away—couldn’t. His green eyes, wide and glassy, locked on Louis’ face as if he were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. “You’re one to talk,” Harry murmured, his voice trembling as his thumbs brushed over Louis’ cheekbones, his touch reverent. “I’ve been staring at pictures of you for weeks, Lou. It’s not the same—it’s never the same.”
Louis groaned softly, his hands tightening their grip on Harry’s hips. His expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something darker, something impossibly tender. “Pictures don’t do you justice either,” he admitted, his voice low and unsteady as his eyes swept over Harry’s flushed, disheveled form. “Nothing does.”
Harry’s breath hitched, his throat tightening at the weight of Louis’ words, the intensity in his gaze. His chest rose and fell quickly, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Louis could hear it. “Fuck me,” he whispered, the words barely audible but no less commanding. “Please.”
Louis leaned down, capturing Harry’s lips in a kiss that was searing, consuming. Harry melted into it, his hands sliding down Louis’ back, fingers pressing into his skin as if he could pull him closer, fuse them together. Louis’ body was solid and warm above him, grounding him, but the way he moved—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world—was driving Harry mad.
“Lou,” Harry whimpered, his voice cracking as Louis’ lips left his mouth to trail down his neck, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just below his ear. His hands fisted in the sheets beneath him, his body trembling under Louis’ slow, torturous attention. “You’re killing me.”
Louis chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Harry’s skin as he nipped at his collarbone. “Am I now?” he teased, his voice low and husky. “Thought you liked it when I took my time.”
Harry let out a frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillows. “Not after a month apart,” he shot back, his tone exasperated but tinged with a breathless laugh. His hands found Louis’ face, pulling him back up until their noses brushed. “I need you, Louis. Now.”
Louis’ teasing smirk softened at the urgency in Harry’s voice, the raw need in his eyes. He nodded, his lips brushing against Harry’s in a kiss so soft it sent shivers racing down his spine. “Alright, love,” Louis murmured, his hands cupping Harry’s face as he pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Harry whimpered softly, his hands tangling in Louis’ hair as he tilted his head back, baring his neck to him. Louis didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips trailing along the column of Harry’s throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made Harry shiver.
The air between them was thick, heavy with the weight of their need and the unspoken promises they carried. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a reminder that no matter how far they were from each other, no matter how much time passed, they would always find their way back to this—to each other.
And as Louis moved against him, his lips and hands and body igniting every nerve in Harry’s, it felt like coming home. Like they were whole again. Like nothing else in the world mattered except for this moment, this love, this heat that burned so brightly it could light up the entire cottage.
It wasn’t frantic anymore, not rushed or desperate. By the time they reached the cusp, it was slow and intense, a burn that left them trembling, gasping, and clinging to one another as they fell over the edge together.
When it was over, Louis collapsed onto Harry, his weight a comfort rather than a burden. Harry wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, their bodies still tangled as they lay there, their breaths heavy and uneven. Louis pressed a soft kiss to Harry's damp curls, his lips lingering there as if he couldn’t quite pull away.
“Two-week rule,” Louis mumbled against Harry’s skin, his voice muffled but resolute. “We’re reinstating it tonight.”
Harry laughed softly, his chest rising and falling with the sound, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along Louis’ back. “Reinstated. Signed, sealed, and delivered,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and lingering satisfaction. “You’re not getting rid of me for that long ever again.”
Louis chuckled, the sound low and warm, vibrating against Harry’s chest. “Good,” he said simply, his fingers brushing over Harry’s side before he rolled off of him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. He immediately pulled Harry close again, tucking him into his side, where Harry fit perfectly, as if the space had been made just for him.
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds in the room their soft, steady breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Harry rested his head on Louis’ chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his ear, his fingers absently tracing the lines of Louis’ tattoos.
It wasn’t until Harry’s eyes started to flutter shut that he remembered. “Shit,” he muttered suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet, his head lifting from Louis’ chest.
Louis blinked down at him, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at Harry with a sleepy, satisfied smile. “What’s wrong?”
“The coffee,” Harry said, groaning as he buried his face back into Louis’ chest. “I made you coffee before you got here. It’s probably ice cold by now.”
Louis laughed, the sound rich and warm as he tightened his arm around Harry, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Forget the coffee,” he said, his voice teasing but affectionate. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed, but he smiled against Louis’ skin, his fingers curling into the fabric of the duvet as he let himself relax again. Louis’ hand stroked gently up and down his back, soothing and steady, and Harry felt his eyes grow heavy, the exhaustion of the past few weeks finally catching up to him.
“Don’t let me forget to make you a fresh cup in the morning,” Harry murmured sleepily, his voice muffled.
“Deal,” Louis whispered back, his lips brushing against Harry’s temple. “But only if you agree to add breakfast in the deal.”
“Fine,” Harry said with a soft laugh, his words already slurring as sleep began to pull him under. “Two-week rule, breakfast with my love… Sounds like a plan.”
Louis smiled, his fingers tangling gently in Harry’s curls as he watched him drift off, his own eyes growing heavy. The cottage was quiet now, peaceful, the tension of the past month melted away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the steady hum of the life they’d built together. For the first time in weeks, everything felt right.
Harry woke slowly, the early morning light seeping through the curtains they'd forgotten to close. Louis was still fast asleep beside him, face pressed into Harry's pillow, one arm flung possessively across Harry's waist. Same as always - some things never changed, even after fifteen years.
He allowed himself a few precious minutes just to watch. Louis looked younger in sleep, softer somehow. The slight crinkles around his eyes (which Harry adored but Louis complained about) smoothed out, his usual sharp edges gentled by morning light. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there were marks on his neck that made Harry flush with remembered heat.
They'd fallen into old patterns so easily last night, like no time had passed at all. Like they were still those boys in Princess Park, sneaking moments between interviews and rehearsals. But they weren't those boys anymore - they were men who'd fought their way back to each other, who'd chosen each other again and again through everything.
Harry carefully extracted himself from Louis' grip, replacing his body with a pillow that Louis immediately cuddled into. Some habits really never did change. He pulled on a pair of pants and Louis' discarded t-shirt from last night, padding quietly downstairs to the kitchen.
The routine was muscle memory by now - coffee first, always coffee first for Louis. Then eggs, whisked with a splash of cream just how Louis liked them. Pancakes from scratch, the recipe he'd perfected over countless mornings in their first flat together. He'd made these in hotel rooms, on tour buses, in rented houses across the world. But they always tasted best here, in their cottage, with Louis sleep-warm and waiting upstairs.
He hummed quietly as he worked, some new melody he'd been playing with in Berlin. The kitchen filled with familiar morning sounds - coffee percolating, butter sizzling, pancake batter hitting the hot pan. Outside, birds were starting to wake up, their song filtering through the window he'd cracked open to let in the crisp morning air.
This was his favorite time of day - had been since they were teenagers sharing their first flat. Just him and their kitchen and the knowledge that Louis would stumble down soon, sleep-soft and seeking caffeine, pressing a kiss to the back of Harry's neck before stealing bites of whatever he was cooking.
Some mornings Harry still couldn't believe they'd made it here. That after everything - the band, the beards, the breakup, the years apart - they could have this. Simple mornings in their cottage, making breakfast like they'd done a thousand times before. No cameras, no PR statements, no hiding. Just them, finally free to love each other in the light.
The coffee finished brewing just as he heard familiar footsteps on the stairs.
Louis appeared in the doorway, hair a mess and wearing just his joggers, one of the lovebites on his collarbone clearly visible. He made a beeline for the coffee Harry had ready, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist from behind and pressing his face between his shoulder blades.
"Smells good," he mumbled into Harry's shirt - technically Louis' shirt - before reaching for his mug.
Harry turned in his arms, unable to stop his fond smile at Louis' sleepy face. "The coffee or the food?"
"Both. You." Louis took a long sip, eyes closing in satisfaction. "Missed this. Hotel coffee's shit."
Harry pressed a kiss to his temple before turning back to flip the last pancake. "Sit down, love. Food's ready."
They settled at their small kitchen table, knees touching as they always did. Louis immediately drowned his pancakes in syrup while Harry cut into his eggs, watching with amusement as Louis slowly came alive with each sip of coffee.
"Oh!" Louis said suddenly, setting down his mug. "Almost forgot - brought you something since your Eagles proper smashed it."
Harry's face lit up. He'd watched the game from Berlin, texting Louis constant updates even though Louis had been right there in the stadium, completely lost about what was happening. "Wasn't it brilliant? That fourth quarter was incredible."
"Love, I still have no idea what was happening," Louis laughed, getting up from the table. "But everyone around me was losing their minds, so I gathered it was good. Hold on-"
He disappeared upstairs, returning with a bag that he dropped in Harry's lap. "Got you proper championship merch and everything. The NFL people kept giving me stuff."
Harry pulled out an official Eagles championship shirt with obvious delight. "Lou, this is perfect!"
"There's a hat too," Louis said, settling back into his chair and stealing a bite of Harry's eggs. "Thought the logo looked cool. Dead prestigious apparently, being there right after they won."
Harry immediately put on the hat, beaming. "Almost as good as if it were the Packers."
"Oi, I sat through hours of a sport I don't understand for this, you ungrateful-" Louis started, but he was grinning.
"Your texts were hilarious though. 'Harold, they're all shouting about holding but no one's holding anything?' 'Why does everyone keep saying first down when they're clearly standing up?'"
"Listen," Louis pointed his fork at Harry, "American football makes absolutely no sense and I stand by that. But," his expression softened, "seeing how excited you got about it almost made it worth sitting through."
"Almost?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Well," Louis smirked, "last night definitely made it worth it."
Harry felt himself flush, but before he could respond, Louis was already stealing another bite of his eggs. Some things really never did change.
They'd moved to the living room, Harry curled into Louis' side on their old couch, both nursing fresh cups of coffee. The morning sun streamed through the windows, catching the dust motes dancing in the air. It was peaceful, until Louis broke the silence.
"Rolling Stone emailed Simon the other day," Louis said quietly, his voice tight. "About their piece on Li."
Harry's hand found Louis' knee, squeezing gently. "I saw the email from my team too."
"What did you tell them?"
"No comment." Harry turned to face Louis properly. "You?"
"Haven't even responded. Told Simon not to either." Louis' jaw clenched, the muscle working. "It's... they're using his death to sell magazines..." He broke off, hands curling into fists.
Harry shifted to look at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Louis shrugged softly. "I just... I miss him, Haz. And I'm so angry. At everything."
Harry pulled Louis into his arms. They laid there in the morning light for a moment, holding each other, mourning their friend and the cruelty of an industry that never seemed to let go, even in death.
Louis eventually shifted, reaching for his coffee again. "Anyway, tell me more about these Eagles of yours, since you're so proud of that hat."
Harry recognized the deliberate change of subject, but went with it, launching into an explanation of the game's best plays while Louis pretended to understand, their knees still touching, anchoring each other as they always had.
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Poor Taylor though, having to watch the Eagles destroy them like that."
"Oh, here we go," Louis rolled his eyes, but his mouth was twitching. "Swift and her NFL boyfriend. Most American thing I've ever heard."
"Be nice," Harry chided, but he was grinning. "She actually texted me during the game to see if I was in town with you. Said she finally understands all those football terms I used to pretend to know during our 'dating' phase."
Louis made a show of gagging. "Absolutely terrible, that was. Her little peter pan collars and your tragic bandanas."
"You're still so bitter about her," Harry laughed, poking Louis' side. "She's known about us longer than almost anyone outside the band."
"I'm not bitter," Louis protested, batting Harry's hand away. "I just think she's... a lot. All that drama everywhere she goes."
"Says the man who once got into a Twitter fight with a cereal company."
"That was different! They changed the recipe of my favorite cereal without warning. That's proper betrayal, that is."
Harry just looked at him fondly. "You know she's always been supportive. Even back then."
"Yeah, yeah," Louis waved his hand dismissively, but his tone softened slightly. "Still think her music's overrated though."
"Course you do, love." Harry pressed a kiss to Louis' temple. "Want more coffee?"
"Please. And stop trying to make me like Taylor Swift. It's not happening."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Your completely irrational grudges are part of your charm."
"Oi!" Louis called after him as Harry headed to the kitchen. "They're very rational, I'll have you know!"
"Whatever you say, darling!" Harry called back, smiling to himself.
The late winter sun slanted through their living room windows, catching dust motes in its beams. Harry was sprawled across their oversized couch, head in Louis' lap while Louis absently ran fingers through his hair. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of their heating system and the occasional crackle from the fireplace.
"A whole week with just the two of us. We could finally finish that duck puzzle we started five years ago," Harry mused, reaching up to trace patterns on Louis' arm. "Maybe reorganize the studio. Been meaning to sort through those vinyls..."
"About that," Louis' fingers stilled in Harry's hair. "Got to head to Barnet on Thursday. Just for a few hours."
Harry rolled onto his back to look up at Louis. "The house?"
"Yeah. Meeting this kid, Haydog. Dead talented, did this incredible freestyle for his 2024 wrapped." Louis reached for his phone, pulling up the video. "He reached out about including something about Li in it, wanted to make sure it was respectful. Been chatting with him since."
"Let me come with you," Harry said immediately, sitting up to face Louis properly.
"H..."
"I'll stay upstairs. Oli won't mind. Just... want to be near you."
"Love," Louis' voice was gentle but firm. "We can't. Don't know him well enough yet. That house... it's like my office now. Has to stay that way."
"But-"
"Remember what happened with that X-factor contestant the other year? Nearly told the world?"
Harry deflated slightly. "This feels different though. And I want to see if you ever sorted those Brit Awards."
"What Brit Awards?"
"The ones in your promo video for Away From Home. And again in your documentary. You've got mine on the shelf too."
Louis' brow furrowed. "No I haven't."
"Lou," Harry couldn't help but grin. "You definitely have my copies up there. The fans went mental trying to figure out why you had doubles."
"Oh," Louis looked genuinely startled. "Shit, you're right. Never even noticed. Just kept them safe when your place was being renovated and... never gave them back I suppose."
"Along with most of our other awards," Harry teased. "Including the ones your sisters and grandparents have."
"Well someone had to keep track of them!"
"Please let me come?" Harry tried again. "I'll be so careful. Won't even come downstairs if you don't want me to. Just... hate being apart when we don't have to be."
Louis sighed, looking down at Harry. "You know that house has to stay clean. It's the address on record, where people think I actually live. Where Oli does live."
"I know," Harry said softly. "But I'll be invisible. Promise. Miss you even when you're just in another room."
"That's fighting dirty," Louis grumbled, but his hand returned to Harry's curls. "Fine. But you stay upstairs until I text you."
"That works!"
"It really doesn't, love." Louis tugged gently at a curl. "Want to see if he'd be interested in Away From Home, think he'd fit perfectly."
Harry smiled softly, watching Louis' face light up as he talked about the festival. Even after all these years, Louis never lost that passion for helping new artists, for giving them the guidance he wished he'd had.
"Just... be careful, yeah?" Harry said quietly. "With letting new people in."
"Always am." Louis leaned down to kiss him. "Now about that puzzle..."
"We're not giving up on those ducks, Louis Tomlinson. They will not defeat us."
Louis laughed, and Harry pulled him down until they were both lying on the couch, tangled together in the warm afternoon light. "Alright, love. Alright."
The Range Rover hummed quietly as they made their way through London's outskirts, Louis at the wheel and Harry slouched low in the back, despite the heavy window tinting. The last time he'd seen Oli had been in December at Louis' birthday. Before that... well. Harry flushed slightly, remembering being half-dressed in the kitchen while Oli had walked in unannounced. Not his finest moment, that.
"Oli's already tidied up," Louis said, catching Harry's eye in the rearview mirror. "Not that there's much to hide here anyway."
They pulled into the private drive, using the back entrance. Oli was in the main living room, the one with the massive circular mirror and the shelves of awards and memorabilia.
"Oi oi," Louis called out, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door.
Oli turned from where he was adjusting a lamp, and Harry was relieved to see a genuine smile. Things had shifted since December, since Oli had helped him coordinate with all of Louis' Doncaster mates for the surprise party.
"Brought your shadow then?" Oli said, but his tone was warm.
"Hello to you too, Oli," Harry replied, trying not to fidget.
"Good to see you vertical and fully dressed this time," Oli deadpanned, and Harry groaned while Louis cackled.
"Never living that down, am I?"
"Not likely, no." Oli gestured toward the stairs. "Guest room's ready if you want to hide out up there. Can hear everything down here pretty clearly, these ceilings are proper echoey."
Harry blinked, touched by the consideration. "Thanks, Oli. For everything."
Oli shrugged, but his eyes were kind. "Just don't make me regret trusting you again, yeah?"
"Never," Harry said softly, meaning it with everything he had.
Louis cleared his throat, clearly emotional. "Right then, Haydog'll be here in thirty. Need anything else sorted down here?"
"Nah, we're good," Oli said, straightening a framed tour poster. "Everything properly ambiguous, as requested."
Harry wandered over to the shelving unit, fingers ghosting over the neat rows of awards. "Still can't believe you display these like this."
"What?" Louis tried for innocent, but his eyes were dancing. "Just proud of my achievements, aren't I?"
"Mmhmm," Harry hummed, tapping the duplicate Brit, a different one this time - but still very deliberately out of place. "Very proud. Which achievement exactly are you showing off here?" His dimples deepened as he watched Louis try to suppress a grin.
"Don't know what you mean," Louis said airily, but his eyes were soft as they met Harry's.
Harry shook his head fondly. "It's the bears all over again, isn't it? You and your little hints."
"Oh god," Oli groaned from the sofa, dropping his head into his hands. "Not the bloody bears. I still have nightmares about sneaking those things into venues."
"Excuse you," Harry protested, "Those outfits were works of art."
"Works of art that had me running all over London at midnight because someone," Oli pointed at Louis, "insisted we needed specific vintage Judy Garland records immediately."
"The symbolism had to be perfect!" Louis and Harry said in unison.
"And then you two would spend hours arranging everything just so," Oli continued. "Remember when you made me retake that library photo seventeen times because the Holmes Chapel sticker wasn't visible enough?"
"Details matter, Oliver," Louis said primly.
"Though maybe we went a bit overboard with the Divine references," Harry mused.
"Speak for yourself. That was genius."
"You're both little shits," Oli declared. "Do you know how many times I had to explain to security why I was carrying bondage-clad teddy bears through backstage?"
"Worth it though, wasn't it?" Louis grinned. "The fans went mental."
"And you loved being our accomplice," Harry added.
"God help me, I did not." Oli stood up. "But if we're going to reminisce about your elaborate bear-based courtship ritual, I'm getting a drink first. Harry, upstairs before you two start conspiring to bring them back."
"Now there's an idea..." Louis started.
"No!" Oli pointed firmly at the stairs. "Absolutely not. I am not going through that again."
But he was fighting a smile, and Harry caught the fond look he shot them both as he headed for the kitchen. They really had come a long way since those early bear days.
Harry settled into the guest room upstairs, toeing off his boots and sprawling across the bed. Through the floorboards, he could hear the front door open, Louis' warm greeting, the shuffle of feet and mild chaos of hellos.
Then Louis' voice, clear as day through the old house's acoustics: "Oi, Oli, grab a picture of us, yeah? Over here by the shelves."
Harry smiled into a throw pillow, picturing it perfectly - Louis positioning them just so, making sure the duplicate awards were visible in frame. Always leaving breadcrumbs, his boy. Always finding ways to let their loves know they hadn't been forgotten.
"These awards will look great in the background," Louis was saying, and Harry could hear the deliberate note in his voice. "Good lighting here too."
Harry rolled onto his back, heart full. Their fans had been through so much, staying faithful through years of denial and misdirection. They deserved these little moments of truth, these careful confirmations. Harry knew exactly how exhausting the waiting could be, how much it meant to see proof that you weren't crazy for believing.
"Perfect," he heard Louis say, and smiled again. Perfect indeed.
The interview chatter started up below, but Harry stayed focused on that image - Louis arranging his little cosmic winks, taking care of their family in the only ways they could right now. Soon, he thought. Soon they might not need the codes and hints anymore.
But until then, they had duplicate Brits and strategic photo ops, and a love too big to stay completely hidden.
Chapter 72: August/September 2015
Summary:
Louis and Harry navigate the aftermath of unexpected news that threatens to tear them apart, only to find themselves closer than ever. Using their tour bears as their voice, they send increasingly obvious messages to their fans - culminating in a wedding-themed display that says everything they're not allowed to say out loud.
aka: the one where they tell their entire love story through teddy bears because they can't say it out loud
Notes:
Adding a link to this one because I don't want baby Larries thinking I've gone off my rocker since RBB/SBB are so "out there" that I still can't beleive they actually happened:
https://louisandthealien.tumblr.com/post/134842005246/rbb-sbb-for-dummies
Chapter Text
Louis stared at the McDonald's wrapper crumpled in his hand, another reminder of how fucked everything was. He'd barely managed to choke down half his food, stomach churning with the same anxiety that had been his constant companion since that phone call from Briana.
The tour bus hummed beneath him, somewhere between cities he couldn't keep straight anymore. He glanced toward the back lounge where Harry was curled up with his journal, pretending to write but Louis knew he was just pushing the pen around aimlessly. They were both just... pretending lately.
His eyes landed on Rainbow Bondage Bear, propped in its usual spot by the window. The bear had started as a laugh really - just something a fan had thrown on stage last year. He and Harry had found it backstage after the show, and Louis, riding high on adrenaline and Harry's giggles, had nicked some electrical tape from a roadie to fashion it into makeshift bondage gear.
It had become their thing after that - setting up the bear in increasingly elaborate scenarios, making it a Twitter account, watching fans try to figure out who was behind it. Just a bit of fun to distract themselves from the pressure of touring, of hiding.
Now though...
"Haz," he called out suddenly, an idea forming. The kind that usually got him in trouble but felt too good to resist.
Harry looked up, pen stilling. "Yeah?"
"Where's that box of bear props? The small ones?"
"Under my bunk I think?" Harry sat up straighter, brow furrowing. "Why?"
Louis was already moving, dropping to his knees to fish out the storage container they kept their collection of bear accessories in. His hands were shaking slightly as he rifled through tiny costumes and props.
"Lou?" Harry appeared beside him, concern evident in his voice. "What are you thinking?"
"Thinking it's time we have some fun with this whole situation," Louis muttered, still searching. He knew they had a tiny ice cream cone somewhere from a previous photoshoot, and there was still that McDonald's fries container in the trash. He'd seen the photographers. Knew it would be everywhere by tomorrow that he'd grabbed McDonald's earlier. Knew Harry had been papped getting ice cream too.
"The situation," Harry repeated carefully. They'd been dancing around it - the pregnancy, the way it threatened everything they'd rebuilt, the way Louis sometimes caught Harry looking at him like he might disappear.
"Yeah," Louis finally looked up, that familiar spark of defiance in his eyes. "If everyone's going to be watching our every move anyway, might as well give them something to look at."
He could see Harry wavering between worry and that magnetic pull that always drew him into Louis' schemes. "What exactly are you planning?"
"Just a bit of..." Louis gestured vaguely, "artistic commentary."
"Lou..."
"Nothing obvious," Louis promised, though they both knew that was a lie. "Just... enough."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, studying Louis' face. Then he sighed, but his lips were twitching. "At least let me help make it look proper artistic. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."
Something fierce and tender caught in Louis' chest. This boy who always followed him into his madness, who made his rebellion beautiful.
"Love you," he whispered, because he could here in their little bubble, even with everything threatening to burst it.
"Love you too," Harry said softly. "Even when you're being reckless."
"Especially then," Louis corrected with a weak grin. "Now help me find those props. Want to really give them something to talk about."
As they dug through their collection of bear accessories, Louis felt that familiar thrill of defiance. Let them try to explain this away. Let them spin their stories. He and Harry had their own story to tell.
Louis' hand stilled as his fingers brushed against plastic. He pulled out the baby bottle - a prop that came with a set of other mini props months ago, before everything went to shit. Before one drunken night had spiraled into headlines and contracts and whispered threats from Briana's family about what they'd reveal if Louis pushed back.
The air went thick between them. Harry's breath caught audibly.
"Lou..." Harry's voice was careful, measured in that way that meant he was trying to hold himself together. "You sure about that one?"
Louis stared at the bottle, throat tight. Part of him wanted to chuck it across the bus, wanted to pretend none of this was happening. But another part - the part that had been screaming silently for weeks - wanted everyone to know exactly what this was. What it wasn't.
"It's part of the story, isn't it?" His voice came out rougher than intended. "Our story. Even the ugly bits."
Harry was quiet for so long that Louis finally looked up. Found those green eyes swimming with everything they never said out loud - about the pregnancy, about how it had almost broken them, about how they'd fought their way back to each other anyway.
"Add it," Harry said finally, voice firm despite the slight tremor in his hands as he reached for the ice cream cone. "You're right. It's our story. All of it."
Louis swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how much he loved this boy who never backed down, who faced every challenge head-on beside him.
"Could get messy," he warned, though they both knew they were past the point of caution.
Harry's smile was sad but determined. "When has anything about us ever been clean?"
They arranged the bears together, positioning them just so - RBB with the ice cream, Sugar Bear with the fries, and with them, that damning bottle. A perfect tableau of their imperfect reality.
"Management's going to lose it," Harry murmured.
"Good," Louis said fiercely. "Let them. I'm tired of pretending none of this affects us. Tired of acting like everything's fine when-" he cut himself off, the words sticking in his throat.
They sat cross-legged on the floor of the tour bus lounge, the gentle rumble of wheels on pavement a familiar backdrop as they sorted through their collection of bear props. It was late - that strange, liminal hour when the world felt softer somehow, when truths came easier.
Louis held the baby bottle in his lap, turning it over and over. His fingers traced the plastic edge until Harry reached over, covering Louis' restless hands with his own.
"We don't have to," Harry said quietly.
"Want to," Louis replied, voice rough. "Need to, maybe."
Harry nodded, understanding what Louis couldn't quite say. He reached for RBB, carefully positioning the ice cream cone in its paw. His movements were deliberate, gentle - like he was handling something precious rather than a fan-thrown teddy bear.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, dressing the bears with the same care they'd always shown them. It was different now though. Heavier. Every prop felt weighted with meaning, with everything they couldn't say out loud.
"Remember when this was just for fun?" Louis asked suddenly, smoothing RBB's fur where the tape had ruffled it.
"Still is," Harry said, but his smile was sad. "Just... different fun."
Louis laughed wetly. "Different. Yeah, that's one word for it."
Harry set down the smaller bear, reaching for Louis instead. They ended up tangled together on the floor, Louis' head tucked under Harry's chin, bears forgotten for a moment.
"We'll be okay," Harry whispered into Louis' hair. "Whatever happens. We'll figure it out."
Louis closed his eyes, letting himself believe it. Just for now, just in this quiet moment between cities, between truths.
"Yeah," he breathed. "We will."
They fell asleep like that, surrounded by bear props and unspoken words, the highway sliding away beneath them.
The next morning at the venue, Louis waited until most of the crew was busy with soundcheck prep before nudging Harry. They'd timed it carefully - this window between initial setup and when security would start their first rounds.
"Coast's clear," he murmured, nodding toward the stage left wing where they'd already scoped out the perfect spot. Just visible enough for the keen-eyed fans, but not so obvious it would draw immediate attention.
Harry grabbed their backpack with the bears while Louis played lookout, both of them moving with the practiced stealth of boys who'd spent years sneaking around arenas. They'd done this dance so many times before, but today felt different. Today felt dangerous.
"Quick," Louis whispered as they heard voices approaching from the corridor. Harry's hands were steady as he positioned the bears, but Louis could see the tension in his shoulders. The baby bottle was the last piece - Harry hesitated for just a moment before placing it, then stepped back quickly.
They barely made it around the corner before Paul walked past, doing his usual pre-show checks. Louis held his breath, Harry's hand pressed against his lower back, hidden from view.
"Alright lads?" Paul called out, not even glancing at the bears. They'd made the setup look casual enough, like just another piece of tour detritus.
"Yeah, just checking the monitors," Louis answered smoothly, grateful his voice didn't shake.
Once Paul moved on, Harry let out a shaky breath. "Think we got away with it?"
"For now," Louis said, fighting the urge to look back at their handiwork. "Let's get to soundcheck before anyone gets suspicious."
They separated naturally as they walked back toward the main stage, maintaining careful distance. But Louis caught Harry's small smile, that private one that meant 'I'm with you.'
The show was a blur of adrenaline and practiced movements, but Louis felt hyperaware of that corner of the stage all night. Every time they moved near it, his skin prickled with anticipation. He caught flashes of phones pointing, heard the pitch of screams change occasionally in a way that made him wonder if someone had spotted it. But he kept his eyes forward, hit his marks, sang his parts like the professional he was.
Harry was electric tonight - all wild curls and barely contained energy. Their eyes caught during "You & I" and Louis nearly forgot to breathe. Even now, even with everything between them cracked and healing, Harry could still stop his heart with a look.
By the time they stumbled off stage, Louis was vibrating with leftover adrenaline and nervous energy. The Cleveland crowd had been mental, and he could already hear the afterparty starting to form. Someone pressed a beer into his hand as they made their way to the dressing room.
"Did anyone-" he started to ask Harry quietly, but Niall burst in with a whoop, already several drinks in.
"Chicago, baby!" Niall shouted, slinging an arm around Louis' shoulders. "We're getting proper fucked up tonight, lads!"
Louis caught Harry's eye across the room. There was that familiar warmth there, but also something cautious, guarded. The same look he'd been wearing since That Night, since the news that had shattered everything.
The party moved to some club downtown, all VIP sections and bottle service. Louis found himself in a corner booth, joint carefully cupped in his hand, watching Harry across the room. He was beautiful like this - loose-limbed from drinks, dimples deep as he laughed at something Liam was saying. But Louis could see the tension he still carried in his shoulders, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Harry glanced over, caught him staring. For a moment, everything else faded away - the music, the crowd, the weight of secrets between them. Just Harry, just them, just this impossible love they couldn't shake.
Then Harry looked away, and Louis took another hit, letting the smoke burn away the words he couldn't say. Sorry. I love you. I'm so fucking scared.
He knew Harry would end up in his hotel room tonight. They always did, couldn't stay away from each other even now. They'd fall into bed, desperate and careful all at once, and in the morning they'd pretend it didn't hurt quite so much.
Tomorrow was a day off - just a short drive to Detroit ahead of them. Another city, another show, another chance to leave their breadcrumbs for anyone paying attention. Another day of loving Harry while watching him try to forgive the unforgivable.
Louis signaled for another drink. The night was young, and he had too many demons to quiet.
The club lights were starting to blur together, each drink making the edges of everything softer, making it easier to forget why he'd needed to get this drunk in the first place. Louis had lost count somewhere after his fifth shot, around the time Niall had dragged him onto the dance floor and he'd caught sight of Harry watching him with those soft, sad eyes.
Now he was holding court at the bar, explaining to a very patient bartender why Manchester United's midfield strategy was revolutionary, actually. The words felt thick in his mouth, his accent going proper Yorkshire like it hadn't since he was a kid in Donny.
Someone touched his elbow and the whole world tilted sideways. He spun around (too fast, fuck, everything was spinning) and found himself staring up at... well. Tall lad. Proper fit. Something familiar about him that Louis' vodka-soaked brain couldn't quite place.
"Time to go, Lou," the boy said, and his voice was like honey, like home, like...
"'M good here, thanks mate," Louis heard himself say, gripping the bar for stability. His chest felt tight suddenly, guilty. Because this boy was gorgeous but he wasn't... he wasn't... "Got someone waiting for me actually."
The boy's smile did something funny to Louis' stomach. Dimples. Why did those dimples make him want to cry?
"Do you now?"
"Yeah," Louis nodded, immediately regretting the movement as the room swayed. But he needed this stranger to understand, needed someone to understand how fucking much... "Got this boy, right? Proper fit, he is. All..." he tried to indicate curls with his hand, nearly smacking himself in the face, "curly and that."
His throat felt tight suddenly, words spilling out before he could stop them. Because it wasn't just that Harry was fit, was it? It was everything. It was the way he laughed at Louis' jokes even when they weren't funny, the way he still looked at Louis like he hung the moon even after... even after...
"He is," Louis insisted, fighting back the burn in his eyes. "Best person I know. Even when I'm being a proper dickhead, he's just..." his voice cracked and fuck, he was not going to cry in this club, he wasn't, "he's everything, innit?"
The stranger said something but Louis couldn't hear it over the roaring in his ears, over the weight of everything he'd fucked up pressing down on his chest.
"So like," he poked the boy's chest, needing him to understand, "appreciate the offer and all that, but I'm very much taken. Even if I've made a right mess of everything."
"Jesus Christ. Louis. It's me."
The world shifted sideways again as Louis finally focused on the face in front of him. "Oh! Oh fuck, it's you!"
Relief flooded through him so strongly his knees nearly buckled. Harry. His Harry. Still here, still catching him when he fell, even though Louis had given him every reason to walk away.
"Well that's alright then," he mumbled, letting himself fall against Harry's chest, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne mixed with sweat and stage makeup. "Take me home, love?"
The rest was a blur of movement and mumbled confessions he'd probably regret in the morning. But Harry's arms were strong around him, Harry's lips pressed against his temple, and for a moment Louis could pretend everything wasn't falling apart.
"My curly boy," he sighed as Harry helped him into the car. "Found me after all."
He clutched at Harry's shirt, suddenly terrified he'd disappear if Louis let go. Everything was spinning and his chest hurt and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was a reason he shouldn't be this happy to have Harry here, but he couldn't remember what it was right now.
Tomorrow he'd remember. Tomorrow the guilt would come crashing back, along with the hangover and the reality of everything he'd broken. But right now Harry was here, Harry was real, Harry was still his even if Louis didn't deserve him anymore.
He drifted off to the gentle motion of the car, fingers still tangled in Harry's shirt, heart still full of everything he couldn't fix.
Louis' head was still swimming as Harry half-carried him into the hotel room, but the desperate need to keep Harry there was starting to cut through the fog. He watched through bleary eyes as Harry moved around the room with practiced efficiency - filling a water glass, finding paracetamol in Louis' toiletry bag, turning down the bed.
"Right then," Harry said softly, "In you go."
"No," Louis protested, attempting to stand up straight and nearly tipping over. "Wait. 'm gonna... gonna sober up. Watch this."
He started doing exaggerated jumping jacks, limbs flying everywhere with absolutely no coordination. "This works, saw it in a film once."
Harry pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. "Did you now?"
"Shut up, Harold, 'm being scientific," Louis said, switching to marching in place while taking deep breaths that probably sounded more like wheezing. "Look, 'm practically sober already."
He promptly stumbled and had to catch himself on the desk.
"Very convincing," Harry drawled, but his eyes were soft, fond in a way that made Louis' chest ache.
"Just..." Louis ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Don't want you to go yet. Want to be proper awake for you."
The humor faded from Harry's face, replaced by something more complicated. "Lou..."
"Know I don't deserve it," Louis said quickly, words still slurring slightly. "Know I've proper fucked everything. But please? Just... just stay?"
He tried to take a step toward Harry and nearly fell again. Harry caught him automatically, strong hands steadying his waist.
"You're going to hurt yourself," Harry murmured.
"Already did that," Louis laughed wetly. "Hurt us both, didn't I?"
Harry's breath hitched. "Lou, you're drunk."
"Yeah," Louis agreed, letting his forehead rest against Harry's chest. "But 'm still in love with you. That part's not the vodka talking."
There was a long moment of silence, broken only by their breathing and the distant sound of traffic outside. Then Harry sighed, running a gentle hand through Louis' hair.
"Come on then, you terror," he said softly. "Let's get you horizontal before you actually injure yourself with all this sobriety science."
"Stay?" Louis asked again, hating how small his voice sounded.
"Yeah, baby," Harry whispered. "I'll stay."
Relief flooded through Louis' system and he surged forward, catching Harry's lips in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. His hands fumbled with Harry's shirt buttons, movements clumsy and desperate.
"Lou," Harry murmured against his mouth, gently catching Louis' wrists. "You're properly smashed, love."
"Don't care," Louis insisted, trying to press closer even as the room spun slightly. "'M fine. Want you."
"Louis-"
"Please," and fuck, his voice cracked on the word. "Need you to want me back."
Harry's sharp intake of breath cut through the alcohol haze. "Baby, of course I want you. Always want you. But not like this."
Louis stumbled backward, the rejection hitting him like a physical blow even through the drunken fog. "Right. Course. Sorry, I'm... sorry."
"Lou, no-"
"Fucked it up again, haven't I?" Louis laughed, but it came out more like a sob. "Can't even do this right anymore. Can't do anything right."
"Hey," Harry stepped forward, reaching for him, but Louis flinched away.
"Don't," he choked out. "Don't be nice to me. I don't... I can't..."
His legs gave out and he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. "Everything I touch turns to shit. Fucking everything up left and right, aren't I? The band, the baby, you... especially you."
"Louis, look at me," Harry knelt in front of him, voice gentle but firm. "Please look at me."
Louis raised his head, vision blurry with unshed tears. Harry's face swam into focus, all concerned green eyes and furrowed brows.
"You haven't fucked this up," Harry said softly. "Yes, I'm hurt. Yes, this is... complicated. But I'm here, aren't I? Still here, still yours."
"Why though?" Louis whispered. "Why're you still here when I keep breaking your heart?"
Harry's hands came up to cup his face, thumbs wiping away tears Louis hadn't realized were falling. "Because I love you, you absolute idiot. Because four years of my life are wrapped up in you and I can't just... I can't just stop."
"Even with...?" Louis couldn't finish the sentence.
"Even with everything," Harry confirmed. "But right now, you're drunk and emotional and we both need sleep. Yeah?"
Louis nodded miserably, letting Harry guide him back until he was lying down properly. "Stay though?"
"Already said I would, didn't I?" Harry kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed, pulling Louis against his chest like he had hundreds of times before. "Not going anywhere."
"Promise?" Louis mumbled into Harry's shirt, fingers clutching the fabric like an anchor.
Harry's arms tightened around him. "Promise. Now sleep, love. I'll still be here in the morning."
Louis woke to a pounding headache and a dry mouth that tasted like something had died in it. But Harry was there, warm and solid beside him, curls spread across the pillow and morning light catching the gold in them. His features were soft in sleep, peaceful in a way they rarely were around Louis these days.
Moving carefully to avoid disturbing him (and to keep his head from exploding), Louis shifted closer. He pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's shoulder, then his collarbone, working his way up the column of his throat. Harry made a small sound in his sleep but didn't wake.
Louis continued his path of kisses, letting his hand slide under Harry's t-shirt to trace the familiar planes of his stomach. He could feel Harry starting to stir, his breathing changing slightly.
"Lou?" Harry mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
"Shh," Louis whispered against his jaw, "let me..."
His fingers dipped lower, playing with the waistband of Harry's pants. Harry's breath hitched, but his hand came down to catch Louis' wrist.
"Wait," Harry said, more awake now.
"Please," Louis breathed, nipping gently at Harry's earlobe the way he knew drove him crazy. "Want to make you feel good. Want to show you..."
Harry's other hand came up to cup Louis' cheek, turning his face so their eyes met. "Lou, we should talk first."
"Don't want to talk," Louis said, trying to kiss him, but Harry held him back gently.
"Baby..."
"Just..." Louis' voice cracked slightly. "Just let me have this? Please? Before everything gets complicated again?"
The look in Harry's eyes was almost unbearable - all that love and hurt mixed together. "It's already complicated."
"Doesn't have to be," Louis insisted, even though they both knew it wasn't true. "Not right now. Right now it can just be us."
Harry studied his face for a long moment, thumb stroking Louis' cheekbone. The tension was thick between them, loaded with everything they weren't saying.
"Lou," Harry started, voice gentle but firm, "we can't just..."
"Can't just what?" Louis challenged, pressing closer despite Harry's restraining hand. "Can't just love each other? Because I do love you. So fucking much it terrifies me."
"That's not-" Harry took a shaky breath. "That's never been the problem and you know it."
"Then what is the problem?" Louis knew he was being difficult, knew he was pushing, but he couldn't seem to stop. "That I made a mistake? That I'm trying to fix it? That I'm fucking terrified of losing you but I don't know how to-"
Harry cut him off with a kiss, hard and desperate, swallowing the words Louis couldn't quite say. For a moment everything else fell away - the hangover, the guilt, the complications waiting outside their hotel room door. Just Harry's mouth on his, Harry's hands in his hair, Harry's body pressed against him like they could disappear into each other if they tried hard enough.
But then Harry pulled back, resting his forehead against Louis'. "We can't keep doing this," he whispered, though his hands were still tangled in Louis' hair. "Can't keep pretending everything's fine in the morning and then going back to barely speaking by nightfall."
"What do you want me to do?" Louis asked, voice small. "Tell me what to do to fix this."
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I don't... I don't know how to do this. How to love you and be angry with you at the same time. How to want you so much it hurts while also wanting to scream at you until my throat's raw."
Louis closed his eyes, fighting back tears. "Could try the screaming. Might help."
"Lou," Harry's voice broke slightly. "Look at me."
Louis opened his eyes, finding Harry's face inches from his own, those green eyes he loved so much swimming with unshed tears.
"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said firmly. "But we need to figure this out properly. Not just... not just sex and pretending and falling apart again later."
"I know," Louis whispered. "I know, I just... everything hurts less when you're touching me."
Harry made a wounded sound and pulled Louis against his chest, holding him tight. "Baby..."
Louis buried his face in Harry's neck, breathing him in. "Sorry. 'm sorry. For everything. For this morning, for last night, for... for all of it."
"I know you are," Harry murmured into his hair. "I know."
They lay there in silence for a while, wrapped around each other, both pretending not to notice the wet spots growing on their t-shirts where tears were falling.
"What now?" Louis finally asked, voice muffled against Harry's skin.
"Now we get up," Harry said softly. "We get coffee, take something for your hangover, and... and we try to figure out how to do this properly. Together."
"Together?" Louis pulled back slightly to look at him.
Harry's smile was sad but real. "Together. Even when it hurts."
Louis stared at the ceiling as Harry slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. The sound of running water felt too loud in the fragile morning quiet. His head was pounding, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
He could hear Harry moving around, probably trying to make himself presentable with yesterday's clothes and bedhead. It was so achingly familiar - how many mornings had they spent like this over the years? Sneaking between hotel rooms, making themselves look less obviously sleep-rumpled and love-marked.
But this was different. The weight in the air was different.
When Harry emerged, his hair was pulled back in a small bun, face freshly washed. He looked soft and young and so beautiful it hurt.
"Should probably head back to my room," Harry said quietly. "Get changed before someone notices."
Louis sat up too quickly, wincing at the spike of pain in his head. "Stay for coffee? Room service?"
He tried not to sound desperate, but based on Harry's expression, he wasn't successful.
"Lou..."
"Right, yeah, 'course," Louis ran a hand through his mess of hair. "Sorry, I'm being..."
"Stop apologizing," Harry said, but gently. He crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. "We said we'd figure this out, yeah? But we can't... we can't just fall back into old patterns. Need to do it properly."
"What if I don't know how?" Louis asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What if I fuck it up again?"
Harry's hand found his, tangling their fingers together. "Then we'll figure that out too."
Louis stared at their joined hands, throat tight. "Sometimes I think... maybe you'd be better off if-"
"Don't," Harry cut him off sharply. "Don't even finish that thought."
"But-"
"No," Harry squeezed his hand. "I get to decide what's best for me. And I've chosen you, even when it's hard. Even when it hurts. So don't... don't try to make that choice for me."
Louis nodded, not trusting himself to speak. After a moment, Harry stood, though he kept hold of Louis' hand.
"I'm going to go change," he said softly. "Meet me for breakfast in an hour? We can... we can start there."
"Yeah," Louis managed. "Yeah, okay."
Harry leaned down and pressed a kiss to Louis' temple, lingering for just a moment. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made Louis' chest tight.
He flopped back onto the pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. They still smelled like Harry's shampoo.
An hour. He could hold himself together for an hour. Then they'd sit across from each other at some overpriced hotel restaurant, trying to navigate this new reality they'd created. Trying to find their way back to each other without breaking anything else in the process.
Louis reached for his phone, needing a distraction, but stopped when he saw his lockscreen - a stupid selfie Harry had taken months ago, pulling a face while Louis kissed his cheek. He'd meant to change it after everything happened, but somehow never had.
"Fuck," he whispered to the empty room, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars.
An hour. He could do this. He had to do this.
For Harry, he'd do anything.
The restaurant was quiet, tucked away in a corner of the hotel where management assured them they wouldn't be disturbed. Louis watched Harry stir his tea - three sugars, splash of milk, same as always - and tried to remember how to breathe properly.
"Say something," Louis finally whispered. "Please."
Harry's spoon clinked against the cup as he set it down. "I don't know where to start."
"Anywhere. Just... anything."
"I wrote a song," Harry said after a moment, eyes fixed on his tea. "About you. About us."
Louis' heart clenched. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. There's this line..." Harry's voice wavered slightly. "'Sometimes love's not enough, and the road gets tough, I don't know why.'"
"Haz..."
"And that's the thing, isn't it?" Harry looked up finally, eyes shining. "We love each other. God, we love each other so much it's fucking devastating. But sometimes that's not... sometimes it's not enough."
"Don't say that," Louis' voice cracked. "Please don't say that."
"Lou," Harry reached across the table like he wanted to take Louis' hand, then seemed to remember where they were and pulled back. "I don't know how to do this anymore. How to love you in secret, how to pretend I don't want to scream every time..."
"I know," Louis whispered. "I know, I'm sorry, I-"
"Stop apologizing," Harry ran a hand through his hair, dislodging it from the bun. "It's not just about that anymore. It's about... sometimes I think maybe some people are meant to find each other but not meant to stay."
"No," Louis said sharply, too loud. He lowered his voice. "No, that's not us. That can't be us."
"Lou-"
"I don't exist without you," Louis' voice was desperate now. "I've told you that. In every way I know how. In lyrics, in letters, in... fuck, Harry, I've built my whole life around you. Everything I am is tangled up in you."
"That's part of the problem," Harry said softly. "We're so wrapped up in each other we don't know where one ends and the other begins. Maybe we need to..."
"To what?" Louis demanded. "To find ourselves separately? To exist as different people? I don't want to. I don't want to know who I am without you."
A tear slipped down Harry's cheek. "Baby..."
"No," Louis' own eyes were burning. "No, you don't get to 'baby' me and then tell me we're not meant to stay together. You don't get to look at me like that and then say we need to exist separately. I won't do it. I can't."
"Louis," Harry's voice broke on his name. "We can't keep going like this. Sneaking around, hurting each other, trying to piece ourselves back together in hotel rooms where no one can see us break."
"Then we'll figure something else out," Louis insisted. "We'll... I'll..."
"You'll what?" Harry asked gently. "Come out? Risk everything we've built?"
"Yes," Louis said immediately. "Yes to all of it. If that's what you need, yes."
Harry shook his head, another tear falling. "I don't want you to do it for me. I want you to want it for yourself. For us."
"I do want it," Louis leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Harry, look at me. I do want it. I'm just... I'm fucking terrified."
"I know you are," Harry whispered. "So am I. But I can't... I can't keep living half a life. Can't keep pretending my heart doesn't break every time I have to watch you with someone else. Can't keep writing sad songs about you and hoping someday it'll hurt less."
"Then tell me what to do," Louis pleaded. "Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to keep you."
Harry made a sound like he'd been punched. "You've always had me. That's never been the question. The question is whether having each other is enough anymore. Whether love is enough to make up for all the hiding and hurting and breaking."
"It has to be," Louis' voice was barely audible. "Because I don't know how to be me without being yours."
They sat in silence for a moment, both trying to compose themselves, both failing. A waiter approached and Harry waved him away with a polite smile that disappeared the moment he turned back to Louis.
"I love you," Harry said finally. "I love you so much it feels like drowning sometimes. But I don't know if I can keep doing this. Keep breaking both our hearts trying to make something work that maybe... maybe isn't meant to."
"Don't say that," Louis reached across the table, consequences be damned, and grabbed Harry's hand. "Please don't say that. I'll do anything. Whatever you need. Just... just don't say we're not meant to be."
Harry's fingers tightened around his. "I want to believe we are. Want to believe we can figure this out. But Lou... I'm so tired of hurting."
"I know," Louis whispered, thumb stroking Harry's knuckles. "I know, love. But please... please don't give up on us yet. Give me a chance to make it right."
Harry stared at their joined hands, tears falling freely now. "I don't know how much more my heart can take."
"I'll protect it," Louis promised. "I'll do better. I'll be better. Just... just stay. Please stay."
Harry looked up at him, green eyes swimming with tears, and Louis saw everything there - all the love, all the pain, all the fear and hope and heartbreak.
"Okay," Harry whispered finally. "Okay. But Lou?"
"Yeah?"
"This is the last chance," Harry's voice was barely audible. "I can't... I can't do this again. My heart can't take it."
Louis' thumb traced over Harry's ring - the simple silver band that had lived on his finger since 2012, the word 'peace' etched into the metal worn smooth from years of Harry fidgeting with it.
"Marry me," Louis said suddenly, voice rough with tears.
Harry's breath caught, his other hand automatically going to twist the ring like he always did when marriage or the future got brought into conversation. "Lou..."
"No, listen," Louis tightened his grip on Harry's hand. "You've worn that ring for years. Through everything. Let's just... let's do it. Before the baby comes. Before everything gets even more complicated."
"That's not..." Harry shook his head, but didn't pull his hand away. "We can't just get married to fix things."
"Why not?" Louis leaned forward, desperate. "We love each other. You've worn my ring for three years. Maybe if we just... if we make it official..."
"Louis," Harry's voice was impossibly gentle, which somehow hurt more than if he'd been angry. "Getting married won't make the baby disappear. Won't make management suddenly okay with us being public. Won't make any of this easier."
"But it would make it real," Louis insisted. "Would make us real. Would make everything else... I don't know, matter less?"
Harry closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. "We're already real. Have been since we were sixteen and eighteen, stealing kisses in the X Factor bathroom."
"Then why won't you-"
"Because I don't want our wedding to be about fixing something broken," Harry cut him off. "Don't want it to be about proving something or... or trying to put a bandaid on bullet wounds."
Louis flinched. "Is that what this is? A bullet wound?"
"Sometimes feels like it," Harry admitted quietly. "Right here." He pressed his free hand to his chest, right where Louis knew that ring usually rested when Harry took it off when he couldn't wear it.
"I never meant..." Louis' voice cracked, eyes fixed on the ring that had marked Harry as his for so long. "I never meant to hurt you like that."
"I know you didn't," Harry's thumb stroked over Louis' knuckles. "But you did. And getting married won't undo that."
"Then what will?" Louis asked, desperate. "Tell me what will fix this and I'll do it. Anything."
Harry's free hand went to the ring again, twisting it like he always did. The familiar gesture made Louis' chest ache - how many times had he watched Harry do that over the years? In interviews, during difficult meetings with management, late at night when they were trying to figure out their future.
"Time," Harry said softly. "Honesty. Actually dealing with things instead of trying to paper over them. And..." he took a shaky breath. "And maybe we need to talk about what happens when the baby comes."
Louis felt like he'd been doused in ice water. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." Harry seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I mean that in a few months, there's going to be a child. Your child. And we need to figure out what that means for us. For our future."
"It doesn't change anything," Louis said quickly. "It doesn't change how I feel about you, how much I-"
"But it does change things," Harry interrupted gently. "It has to. And pretending it won't... that's not going to help anyone."
Louis watched Harry twist the ring again, the word 'peace' catching the light. For years, that ring had been their promise to each other. Years of hiding and hoping and holding on.
"I'm so scared," he whispered. "I'm so fucking scared of losing you, of fucking everything up worse than I already have, of... of not being enough. For the baby, for you, for any of it."
Harry's hand stilled on the ring. "Oh, Lou," his voice broke. "Baby, look at me."
"Sometimes," Louis said, voice barely a whisper, watching Harry fidget with the ring, "I feel like I'm drowning in all of it. The contracts, the threats, the baby..." He swallowed hard. "A baby that might be mine and I just... I don't know what's real anymore."
Harry's hand stilled on the ring. "What do you mean?"
"That night," Louis' voice was tight. "I was so drunk, Haz. So fucking drunk and missing you and she said she was on birth control but now... now there's going to be a child. And whether it's mine or not, I can't just..."
"You can't abandon them," Harry finished softly. "Even with the doubt."
"Yeah," Louis laughed humorlessly. "And her family... she went through my phone that night. Said they have messages, photos. Said if I tried to question anything or fight for a test, they'd take it all to the press."
"The contracts," Harry breathed, understanding dawning in his eyes. "We'd lose everything."
"Millions in damages," Louis confirmed. "The band, our careers... everything we've built. And I can't..." his voice cracked. "I can't do that to you. To any of us. And what if... what if it is mine? What kind of person would I be to fight it?"
"Lou..."
"So I'm just... stuck," Louis whispered. "Trying to do right by everyone and feeling like I'm failing at all of it. Failing you, failing the baby, failing myself..."
Harry twisted the ring again. "Why didn't you tell me all this before? About the threats, the doubt..."
"Because what good would it do?" Louis asked quietly. "Can't change anything, can I? Can't risk our careers, can't abandon a child that might be mine, can't... can't give you what you deserve."
"That's not for you to decide," Harry's voice was gentle but firm. "What I deserve. What I want. This ring..." he touched it meaningfully, "it means something. Has for years. Through everything."
"But this is different," Louis insisted. "This is a child, Haz. A whole life that I might have helped create, even if I can barely remember..."
"I know," Harry said softly. "And we'll figure it out. Together. Whether the baby's yours or not, whatever comes next... together."
"How?" Louis asked, desperate. "How do we do this?"
"One day at a time," Harry replied, his ring catching the light as he reached across the table. "But you have to let me in. Have to let me help carry this."
Louis stared at their almost-touching hands, afraid to bridge the final distance in such a public place. "Even if...?"
"Even if," Harry confirmed quietly. "Whatever comes next."
***
"Pass us that veil, would you?" Louis was crouched in front of RBB, positioning the aviators just right. "Proper wedding, this."
Harry handed it over with a grin, already working on attaching the 'bride to be' sticker to SBB's cowboy hat. "Funny how they picked September 28th, isn't it? When really it was that night at Leeds..."
"August 28th, 2011," Louis smiled softly, remembering. "Bit hard to explain that one to the fans though. 'Oh yeah, sorry loves, your anniversary date's off by a month. The real one's when we snuck off to our tent at Leeds Festival and talked about forever while drunk off our tits.'"
Harry snorted, carefully arranging SBB's veil. "Could you imagine? PR would have collective heart failure."
"More than they're already going to have over this?" Louis gestured to their elaborate setup, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Speaking of which, did you bring it?"
"Course I did," Harry pulled out the framed photo of Larry Grayson with its telling signature. "Want to do the honors?"
"Together," Louis decided, taking one side of the frame while Harry held the other. They positioned it carefully in front of the bears, making sure the 'Love, Larry' signature was clearly visible.
"Management's going to throw a fit," Harry said, but he was grinning as he adjusted the frame slightly.
"Let them," Louis shrugged, reaching for Harry's hand. "Can't prove anything, can they? Just some bears getting married. Pure coincidence it's four days before the date the fans think means something."
"Pure coincidence," Harry agreed, his silver 'peace' ring catching the light as he laced their fingers together. "Just like it's pure coincidence they're in wedding gear."
"Exactly," Louis' eyes were bright with that specific brand of defiance they'd perfected over the years. "Just like it's pure coincidence one of them's wearing aviators and a Freddie Mercury mustache."
"And the other one's got your cowboy hat," Harry added, adjusting it fondly. "We've gotten good at this, haven't we? Telling them without telling them?"
"Had to, didn't we?" Louis' voice softened. "Found our own way to scream it from the rooftops."
"The bears were a stroke of genius," Harry admitted, watching as Louis fussed with RBB's dress. "Started as just tour mascots and now look at them. Telling our whole story."
"Well, if they're going to make us lie about everything else..." Louis trailed off, that familiar edge of frustration in his voice.
"Hey," Harry squeezed his hand. "They can't touch this. Can't touch us. The ones know, know."
"Yeah?" Louis looked up at him, vulnerable for a moment. "You don't mind? That I've been... that we've been leaving breadcrumbs?"
"Mind?" Harry laughed softly. "Lou, I love it. Love that we found a way to tell them. Love that they'll see these bears and know - really know - that we're engaged."
"Even if we can't say it outright?"
"Especially then," Harry said firmly. "Let them try to explain it away this time. Let them try to pretend this isn't exactly what it looks like."
Louis' grin turned wicked. "Should we make it even more obvious? Could put little rainbow bowties on them..."
Harry laughed, pulling him close for a quick moment before they heard footsteps approaching. "Want to place bets on how long the photo lasts?"
"They'll pull it before showtime. It's too obvious. Quite literally spells it out, doesn't it?" Louis predicted. "But it doesn't matter. The fans will see it first. They'll know."
"Know what?"
"That we're real," Louis said simply. "That we've always been real. Since that night at Leeds, since before. That September 28th might not be our actual anniversary, but we love that they gave it to us anyway."
Harry smiled, giving the bears one final adjustment. "Perfect."
They stepped back to admire their handiwork - the bears holding hands in their wedding attire, the pointed message in the photo's signature, four years of hidden messages and subtle hints culminating in this moment.
When management inevitably removed the Larry Grayson photo exactly fifteen minutes before showtime, Louis and Harry just shared a secret smile. The message had been sent. The bears remained, dressed for a wedding, telling their story to anyone who knew how to look.
Chapter 73: Present Day
Summary:
Louis plans the perfect Valentine’s at home to cheer up a stressed out Harry—complete with fairy lights, roses, and his best attempt at recreating the first meal he ever made for him (without burning it this time). They dance, they reminisce, and Louis reminds Harry he’s still madly in love with both him and his ridiculous purple hoodie from 2011. The next morning, Louis tries to make matcha, accidentally creates a science experiment, and declares hash browns a vegetable. Harry saves breakfast (and the kitchen), and they spend the day watching Severance, flirting shamelessly, and proving that staying in is way better than going out.
aka: the one where Louis plans a romantic night, Harry is a literal pain in his arse, and Louis is officially banned from touching Harry's matcha.
Chapter Text
Louis checked his phone one last time - Harry was still stuck in that endless Zoom call with his lawyers, sequestered in their home office upstairs. Perfect. He had exactly forty-seven minutes before Harry would emerge, frustrated and drained like he always was after these meetings.
Forty-seven minutes to set everything up.
"Right then," he muttered to himself, surveying the living room. He'd spent the afternoon secretly arranging everything while Harry was buried in paperwork. The roses were hidden in the garage, the fairy lights were ready to go up, and he'd managed to convince their regular chef to leave everything prepped but let him do the final cooking himself.
Because some things you just had to do yourself, didn't you?
Louis smiled as he started stringing the lights, remembering their first Valentine's Day back in 2011. He'd been so nervous, wanting everything to be perfect for Harry. They'd been just kids really - sneaking around in hotel rooms while the other boys pretended not to notice.
Now here they were, fourteen years later, in their own home where no one could tell them to hide. And yeah, maybe the outside world was still complicated, but in here? In here they could just be Louis and Harry, the same as they'd always been.
He could hear Harry's muffled voice from upstairs, that deep tone he used for business calls. Louis' heart clenched - Harry had been so worn down lately, fighting battles Louis wished he could fight for him. But his boy was strong, stronger than anyone knew. Still, everyone needed a break sometimes.
That's what tomorrow was about. One perfect day where none of it existed - no clothing launches, no contract negotiations, no business empires. Just them.
"Just give me two weeks, please," Harry's voice drifted down, followed by a heavy sigh that made Louis' hands still on the lights.
He hated that sound. Hated how tired Harry had been lately, how the spark in his eyes dimmed a bit more after each call. His boy deserved better than suits who only saw dollar signs when they looked at him.
Louis shook his head, refocusing. He had a mission, didn't he? By the time Harry came downstairs, their living room would be transformed. The grand gestures could wait for another year. This Valentine's, they needed home. They needed peace.
He worked quickly, methodically. The lights went up first, creating a soft glow that reminded him of their first flat - how they'd kept Christmas lights up year-round because Harry said they made everything magical. Then the candles, scattered strategically around the room. He'd chosen Harry's favorites, the ones that smelled like vanilla and something woodsy.
Their record player waited in the corner, ready with the vinyl he'd spent weeks tracking down - some obscure indie band Harry had been obsessed with when they first met. Louis smiled, remembering teenage Harry earnestly explaining why their sound was "revolutionary" while Louis pretended to understand anything beyond how beautiful Harry looked when he was passionate about something.
"No, that's not- I understand that, but-" Harry's voice was getting that edge to it, the one that meant he was close to his limit.
Twenty minutes left. Louis moved faster.
The roses came next - deep red and pale pink, arranged exactly how Harry had taught him years ago. ("You're mangling them, Lou!" "They're flowers, Harold, they'll survive!") He'd gotten better at it over the years, learned to be gentle with the stems, to let them fall naturally instead of forcing them into place.
Like everything with Harry, really. The best things came when you stopped trying to force them.
The kitchen was his final stop. He'd insisted on cooking himself, even though their chef had looked properly horrified at the suggestion. But he'd had enough practice with this particular dish. Simple but effective- the kind of comfort food Harry loved but elevated enough to feel special.
Louis checked his watch. Seven minutes.
He dimmed the lights, letting the candles and fairy lights cast their soft glow. The record player crackled to life, that indie music Harry loved filling the room. Everything was perfect, but...
Louis ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He knocked softly on the office door, pressing his ear against it.
"I have to go," Harry was saying, his voice firm now. "We can continue this next week."
Louis grinned. Perfect timing.
Harry emerged from the office looking exactly as drained as Louis had expected. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it, his expensive silk shirt wrinkled from hours of sitting hunched over his desk. But god, he was still the most beautiful thing Louis had ever seen.
"Alright, love?" Louis asked softly.
Harry startled slightly, like he hadn't expected Louis to be waiting. "Lou? I thought you were-" He stopped, finally noticing the soft glow coming from downstairs. "What did you do?"
"Come see," Louis held out his hand, trying to contain his nervous excitement. All these years together and Harry still made his heart race like that first day at X-Factor.
Harry took his hand, letting Louis lead him downstairs. The sharp intake of breath when they reached the bottom made Louis' chest tight with pride.
"Louis," Harry breathed, taking in the transformed living room. "What is this?"
"This," Louis tugged him closer, "is your Valentine's Day preview." He pressed a kiss to Harry's temple. "Couldn't just limit it to tomorrow, could I?"
Harry's eyes were suspiciously bright as he looked around the room. "Is that... are you playing 'Sweet Disposition'?"
"Mmhmm. Found an original pressing of the album. Proper nightmare tracking it down, but-"
He was cut off by Harry's lips crashing into his, urgent and grateful and so full of love it made Louis' knees weak. When they finally broke apart, Harry's eyes were properly wet.
"You remembered," Harry whispered. "After all this time, you remembered."
"Course I did, love." Louis brushed away a tear that had escaped down Harry's cheek. "Remember everything about you, don't I? Including how you wouldn't shut up about this bloody song that whole first week at the X-Factor house."
Harry laughed wetly. "I was trying to impress you with my sophisticated music taste."
"You were sixteen and wearing Jack Wills head to toe. Nothing sophisticated about you."
"Oi!" Harry protested, but he was properly smiling now, that beautiful genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle. "You loved my Jack Wills collection."
"Loved you," Louis corrected softly. "Still do. More every day."
"Come on then," Louis tugged Harry toward the kitchen, where the familiar smell of herbs and garlic was already filling the air. "Got dinner sorted."
Harry's steps faltered as recognition crossed his face. "Lou," he breathed, "is that-"
"Chicken stuffed with mozzarella, wrapped in parma ham?" Louis couldn't help his smug grin. "With homemade mash? Might be."
Harry's hand tightened in his. "The first proper meal you ever made me."
"First proper meal I ever made anyone," Louis corrected, pulling Harry close. "Remember how nervous I was? Kept checking the chicken every thirty seconds because I was terrified of giving you food poisoning."
"The other boys were so angry we used up the good cheese," Harry laughed, tucking his face into Louis' neck.
"Worth it though, wasn't it?" Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's hair. "The look on your face when you took that first bite... thought I'd proper won the lottery."
"You burned the first batch," Harry mumbled against his skin.
"Oi, we agreed never to mention that!" But Louis was laughing too, because yeah, he'd absolutely destroyed the first attempt.
"Was perfect though," Harry pulled back, eyes soft with memory. "Even with the burnt bits. Because you made it for me."
Louis' heart did that familiar flip it had been doing for fourteen years. "Well, I've had a bit more practice since then. This one should be properly edible."
He led Harry to the kitchen island where he'd set everything up - their fancy plates (a gift from Anne), the good wine, candles casting a warm glow over everything. The chicken was just about done, the smell of herbs and cheese making his mouth water.
"You did all this yourself?" Harry asked, watching as Louis pulled the chicken from the oven with surprisingly steady hands.
"'Course I did. Even made the mash from scratch, proper peeled the potatoes and everything." He shot Harry a wink. "Though I'll deny it if you tell anyone I've learned my way around a vegetable peeler."
Harry's laugh was bright and genuine - the first real laugh Louis had heard from him in weeks. "Your secret's safe with me, chef."
Louis plated their food carefully, arranging everything just so. Because yeah, maybe he wasn't a fancy cook, but he'd learned a thing or two over the years about presentation. Mostly from watching Harry fuss over their dinner parties.
"Here we are then," he set their plates down, pulling out Harry's chair with an exaggerated flourish. "Your Valentine's Day feast, love."
Harry sat, still looking at Louis like he'd hung the moon. "Can't believe you remembered the exact meal."
"Remember everything about us," Louis said softly, taking his own seat. "Every first. Every milestone." He reached across the table, taking Harry's hand. "Remember thinking I was proper gone for you when you ate that first dinner I made. Just... the way you looked at me, like I'd done something amazing instead of just following a recipe from me mum."
"You had," Harry's thumb traced patterns on Louis' palm. "Done something amazing. You made me feel special. Like I was worth the effort."
"You are," Louis said fiercely. "Always have been. Always will be."
The wine flowed freely as they ate, Harry practically moaning over each bite in a way that made Louis' collar feel too tight. The kitchen was warm with candlelight and memory, their legs tangled under the table like they were still those boys stealing moments between shows and interviews.
"Still can't believe you did all this," Harry said, pushing around the last of his mash. His cheeks were pink from the wine, curls falling loose around his face. "Especially with everything you've got on with the launch coming up."
Louis shook his head. "That's exactly why we needed this, innit? Both of us been running ourselves ragged." He squeezed Harry's hand. "Need to remember what we're working so hard for in the first place."
Harry's eyes went soft and dark. "Yeah? And what's that then?"
"This," Louis gestured between them. "Us. Our life together. All the rest of it - the clothes, the music, the business - it's just stuff, isn't it? But this..." he brought Harry's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "This is everything."
"Lou," Harry's voice was rough with emotion.
"Come dance with me?" Louis stood, pulling Harry up with him. The record had switched to something slow and sweet - one of those indie love songs Harry had always said reminded him of them.
Harry came willingly, melting into Louis' arms as they swayed in their candlelit living room. He smelled like expensive cologne and wine and home, his head tucked perfectly into Louis' neck like their bodies had been designed to fit together.
"Remember our first dance?" Harry murmured against Louis' skin. "In the X-Factor house, after everyone else had gone to bed?"
"Remember everything about that night," Louis pulled him closer. "You were wearing that ridiculous purple hoodie-"
"It wasn't ridiculous!"
"It was proper ridiculous, love. But you looked so beautiful in it I couldn't breathe." Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's temple. "Still can't sometimes, when I look at you. Still get knocked sideways by how much I love you."
Harry lifted his head, eyes shining in the soft light. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Louis brushed their noses together. "More now than ever. Because I've seen all of you, haven't I? The good bits and the hard bits. The superstar and the boy who still steals all my hoodies. The businessman and the kid who cries at rom-coms."
"Lou," Harry's voice cracked.
"And I love every single version of you. Always have, always will." Louis cupped Harry's face in his hands. "You're still my first thought every morning. Still the last person I want to talk to every night. Still the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Harry surged forward, kissing him with so many years of love and history behind it. It was soft at first, tender with emotion, but quickly turned heated as Harry pressed closer, hands fisting in Louis' shirt.
"Bedroom?" Harry breathed against his lips.
Louis smiled, remembering countless similar moments over the years. Different houses, different circumstances, but always them. Always this pull between them that had never dimmed.
"Bedroom," he agreed, letting Harry tug him toward the stairs. The dishes could wait. The candles would burn out. But this - this desperate, beautiful need to be close to each other - this was timeless.
They stumbled up the stairs, Harry managing to trip over nothing at all, catching himself on Louis' shoulder with a breathless laugh. Some things never changed.
"Careful there, love," Louis steadied him, fond exasperation coloring his voice. "Can't have you breaking that pretty neck of yours."
"My hero," Harry grinned, pressing Louis against the wall at the top of the stairs. He tried to make it smooth, but knocked a frame crooked in the process. "Shit, sorry-"
"Harold," Louis caught his hands before he could fuss with the frame, bringing them to his lips. "Leave it."
"But-"
"But nothing." Louis pulled him closer, loving how Harry immediately melted against him. For all his height, all his presence, Harry still went soft and pliant under Louis' hands like he had at sixteen. "Got more important things to focus on, yeah?"
Harry's fingers tangled clumsily with Louis' shirt buttons, his usual grace completely abandoned. "Why do you always wear so many bloody buttons?"
"Just to watch you struggle, love," Louis grinned, but his breath hitched as Harry's knuckles brushed against his skin.
"Sadist," Harry muttered, finally getting the last one undone with a triumphant noise that made Louis' heart squeeze with fondness.
"Says the man who spent all evening giving me bedroom eyes across our own dining table."
"Did not," Harry protested weakly, already distracted by the newly exposed skin under his hands.
"Did too. Nearly dropped the wine bottle when I-" Louis demonstrated by running his fingers along Harry's sides in that way that always made him shiver.
"You can't- fuck," Harry's head fell forward onto Louis' shoulder, voice gone rough. "You can't sass me and do that at the same time, Lou, s'not playing fair."
"When have I ever played fair with you?" Louis smiled against his neck, continuing his teasing touches.
"Shut up," Harry huffed, but his laugh turned into a gasp as Louis' hands slipped under his waistband. "God, Lou-"
"Make me."
Harry's eyes darkened at the challenge. He pushed Louis onto the bed with more enthusiasm than coordination, following him down and nearly elbowing him in the process.
"Smooth," Louis laughed, but the sound caught in his throat as Harry settled over him, pressing him into the mattress.
"You were saying?" Harry's smirk was entirely too pleased with himself.
Louis reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face, the tender gesture at odds with the heat building between them. "Love you like this. When you're all..." he waved a hand vaguely.
"All what?" Harry pressed closer, nosing along Louis' jaw.
"Just you. No cameras, no expectations. Just my Harry being a little shit in our bed."
Something shifted in Harry's expression then, vulnerability bleeding through the desire. "Lou..."
"I see you, you know," Louis traced his cheekbone. "See how hard you've been fighting lately. How much you're carrying."
Harry's breath hitched, but before he could respond, Louis continued, "And I'm so fucking proud of you. Always have been. But in here..." His fingers traced down Harry's spine, feeling him shiver. "In here you don't have to carry anything."
"Lou," Harry's voice cracked on his name.
"Just let me take care of you tonight, yeah?"
The look Harry gave him was almost overwhelming - love and trust and need all mixed together. Instead of answering, he kissed Louis deeply, pouring everything he couldn't say into it.
Louis rolled them carefully, settling between Harry's thighs. He took his time undressing him properly, pressing kisses to each new inch of skin revealed. Harry's hands twisted in the sheets, his composure fracturing under Louis' attention.
"Still so sensitive," Louis murmured against his hip, feeling him tremble. "Still react to my touch like the first time."
"Only you," Harry gasped, reaching for him.
Louis caught his hands, bringing them to his lips. "I know, darling. Know exactly what you mean."
The rest of their clothes disappeared between kisses and touches that spoke of years of knowing each other's bodies. Louis couldn't help but pause, taking in the sight of Harry spread out beneath him - all toned muscle and familiar ink, trust written in every line of his body.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and Harry's eyes went soft and dark.
Harry pulled Louis down into another kiss, deep and tender. Years of love and history flowed between them as they moved together, every touch amplifying their connection.
They found their familiar dance, movements filled with years of trust and devotion. Louis kept his eyes on Harry's face, watching love paint itself across features he knew better than his own. Even now, after all this time, making Harry feel cherished was still the greatest gift.
Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Louis carefully extracted himself from Harry's octopus limbs. He pressed a soft kiss to Harry's shoulder before sliding out of bed, grinning at Harry's sleepy protest and mumbled "come back."
The kitchen was quiet, morning light casting everything in a soft glow. Louis stared at Harry's complicated matcha setup with determination. How hard could it be? He'd watched Harry make it enough times.
Twenty minutes later, he was questioning every life choice that had led to this moment. The counter was dusted with green powder, there was something that definitely wasn't meant to be foamy in the cup, and he was pretty sure matcha wasn't supposed to smell quite like that.
"What the fuck," he muttered, poking at the suspicious liquid with a spoon. The spoon stood straight up. That... that couldn't be right.
He was in the middle of his third attempt when warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
"What are you doing to my poor matcha?" Harry's voice was rough with sleep, chin hooking over Louis' shoulder.
"Making you breakfast in bed," Louis defended, trying to hide the evidence of his previous attempts. "Was meant to be a surprise."
"Mhmm," Harry pressed a smile into his neck. "Is that why it looks like the Grinch exploded in our kitchen?"
"Oi," Louis twisted in his arms, ready to protest, but his words caught at the sight of Harry. Sleep-soft and warm, curls a mess, wearing one of Louis' old t-shirts. Sometimes the simple sight of him still knocked the breath right out of Louis' lungs.
"Love," Harry said fondly, taking in the disaster zone that was their kitchen counter, "why don't you let me handle breakfast like normal?"
"Was trying to do something nice," Louis pouted, but didn't protest when Harry gently took the matcha whisk from his hands. "S'Valentine's Day."
"And you're very sweet." Harry kissed the pout off his lips. "But maybe stick to what you're good at, yeah? Like making the perfect cup of Yorkshire tea."
"Cheeky," Louis pinched his hip, but moved to put the kettle on. This, at least, he could do in his sleep. "Go on then, impress me with your culinary expertise."
"Always do," Harry winked, already pulling ingredients from the fridge. He moved through their kitchen with practiced ease, the same way he had in countless hotel rooms, their first shared flat, every home they'd made together. "What're you in the mood for? Could do a proper fry-up - minus the beans obviously, wouldn't subject you to that trauma-"
"One time!" Louis protested, hopping up to sit on the counter beside where Harry was working. "It was one time they exploded in the microwave-"
"And you've never touched them since," Harry grinned, stepping between his legs to kiss him properly. "Could do pancakes instead? Those chocolate chip ones you like?"
"With hash browns?"
"'Course with hash browns. What do you take me for?"
Louis wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, keeping him close. "My very own domestic goddess."
Harry hummed against Louis' lips before pulling back. "Domestic goddess, is it? That mean you'll actually eat your vegetables when I make them?"
"Don't push your luck, Harold." Louis watched as Harry moved around their kitchen, all easy grace when he wasn't trying too hard. "Besides, hash browns count as vegetables."
"They absolutely do not-"
"Potatoes are vegetables!"
"They're processed and fried within an inch of their life, love." Harry was already heating the griddle, mixing batter with the confident movements of someone who'd done this hundreds of times. "Not quite the same as a nice kale salad."
Louis made a face. "It's too early for the k-word."
Harry's laugh echoed through the kitchen as he poured perfect circles of batter. "You're ridiculous. Good thing I love you."
"Mm, very good thing." Louis swung his legs, content to watch Harry work. "Especially since you're stuck with me now."
"Stuck with you," Harry scoffed, but his smile was soft as he flipped the pancakes. "Been stuck on you since I was sixteen, Lou."
The simple honesty of it made Louis' chest tight. He slid off the counter, wrapping his arms around Harry from behind and pressing his face between his shoulder blades. "Love you."
"Love you too." Harry covered Louis' hands with his own where they rested on his stomach. "Even when you try to murder my matcha setup."
Louis watched Harry plate up the pancakes with that same careful precision he did everything with, his short curls falling across his forehead. Even after all these years, something in Louis' chest still caught at the simple domesticity of these moments - Harry in their kitchen, safe and private where no one could see them, where they didn't have to pretend.
"Breakfast is served," Harry announced, and Louis tried to school his expression as he stared at his phone, reading the third apologetic message of the morning.
"These look amazing, H," he managed, though his mind was racing with backup plans. He'd spent weeks coordinating with their security team, arranging private access to the restaurant after hours, making sure the back entrance to the small theatre would be clear. All for nothing.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, sliding onto the stool beside him. Of course he could tell - he always could.
Louis sighed, putting down his phone. "Everything's falling through. Restaurant had a pipe burst, and the private showing at the cinema's cancelled." He didn't mention the elaborate security measures that had made both venues possible in the first place, the careful planning to keep them hidden. After all these years, it still stung sometimes, not being able to do normal things like a normal couple.
"Lou-"
"Was meant to be perfect," Louis continued, poking at his pancakes. "Had it all sorted so we could actually go out for once, properly celebrate without-" he waved his hand vaguely, encompassing everything unsaid about their situation.
"Hey," Harry caught his hand, stilling it. "Look at me."
Louis did, meeting those same green eyes he'd fallen in love with all those years ago.
"All I want for Valentine's Day is to spend time with you. Just us, here, where we can be ourselves. Could order from that place you like and catch up on Severance before the new episode?"
Louis broke the tension first, reaching over to still Harry's fidgeting hands. "I'm sorry, love. You're right. And honestly? Your pancakes are better than any posh restaurant anyway."
Harry's dimple appeared, and Louis felt the knot in his chest ease. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Tomlinson."
"Including getting me out of your mad training session?" Louis tried, already knowing the answer as Harry cleared their plates.
Louis watched Harry meticulously clear their breakfast dishes, already recognizing the focused energy radiating off him. It was the same intensity Harry brought to everything these days - whether it was his music, his business ventures, or his latest passion: marathon training.
"Don't even think about sneaking off," Harry called over his shoulder, heading toward their bedroom. "You promised you'd train with me today."
"Pretty sure I never actually promised that," Louis protested, but he was already following Harry down the hallway of their secluded home. The morning sun filtered through the high windows, creating patterns on the wooden floors that Louis had come to associate with these quiet days together.
In their bedroom, Harry was already pulling out his training gear - the fancy moisture-wicking stuff he'd gotten obsessed with since starting his marathon preparation. Louis leaned against the doorframe, admiring the view as Harry changed.
"You know," Louis mused, "when you said you were taking up running with Nikolai, I thought it'd be like, casual jogs round the park. Not this whole..." he waved his hand vaguely, "marathon obsession."
Harry turned, pulling his short curls back with a headband. "It's not an obsession, it's dedication. And Nikolai says-"
"Oh, here we go," Louis couldn't help but tease. "'Nikolai says this, Nikolai says that.' Should I be jealous of your marathon mate?"
Harry's dimple appeared as he tried to suppress a smile. "Definitely. All those sweaty training sessions, comparing our splits-"
"Sounds dead romantic."
"Very sexy. Now come on, you're stretching with me at least."
Louis followed Harry to their home gym, a space that had evolved over the years to accomodate Harry's changing exercise prefrences. "You know," Louis said, dropping dramatically onto a yoga mat, "some of us are just naturally gifted athletes. Don't need all this..." he gestured at Harry's foam roller and resistance bands, "faff."
"Is that right?" Harry's voice was amused as he started his warm-up routine. "That why you were complaining about your back after that five-minute kickabout with Freddie the other week?"
"Oi! That was because of the cold."
Louis watched Harry move through his sun salutations with practiced grace, privately appreciating how the morning light played across his tattooed arms. After years of Harry's gentle persistence, Louis had finally admitted that yoga wasn't "just glorified stretching" - though he'd rather eat his own beanie than say that out loud.
"Come on then, show me your downward dog," Harry instructed, and Louis couldn't resist.
"Thought we were meant to be training, not recreating last night," he quipped, but moved into position anyway. He felt Harry's warm hands adjust his hips slightly, and his breath caught - even after all these years, Harry's touch still did that to him.
"Proper form is important, Lou," Harry said, his voice professional but with an undertone that told Louis he wasn't the only one affected. "Besides, you're the one who likes being able to throw me around."
"Oi, that was one time!" Louis protested, though they both knew it was more than that. He'd discovered that keeping up with Harry's fitness regime had... benefits. Especially when Harry got all pliant and soft after a show, wanting to be manhandled a bit.
They moved through the routine together, Louis grumbling performatively while secretly enjoying the burn in his muscles, the way Harry's eyes lingered appreciatively when he managed a particularly challenging pose. It had become their thing - this quiet morning ritual when they were home together, just them and the sound of their breathing syncing up.
Louis shifted out of his warrior pose, deliberately moving closer to where Harry was bent forward in a deep stretch. "You know," he murmured, letting his fingers trail along Harry's spine, "I can think of better ways to get your heart rate up."
Harry's breath hitched. "Lou..."
"What? Just trying to help with your training." Louis pressed closer, his chest against Harry's back. "Think of it as... cardio."
Harry straightened up, turning to face him, pupils already dilating. "I have a very specific training schedule-"
"Mmhmm," Louis hummed, fingers finding their way under Harry's training top. "Very specific. Could pencil me in, yeah?"
"You-" Harry's protest cut off as Louis' lips found that spot below his ear. "Fuck. You're not playing fair."
"Never do, love." Louis grinned against his skin, feeling Harry's resolve weakening as his hands gripped Louis' hips.
But then Harry's watch beeped - his training reminder - and Louis felt him tense. "Lou," Harry groaned, clearly torn. "I really need to get this run in. Tokyo's in two weeks."
"The marathon will still be there in an hour," Louis tried, but he could already feel Harry pulling back slightly, ever dedicated to his goals.
"Later," Harry promised, voice rough. "After my run. We can... practice your downward dog properly."
Louis stepped back with an exaggerated sigh, adjusting himself in his trackies. "Choosing Nikolai over me. The betrayal."
Harry's laugh was slightly breathless. "You're impossible." He leaned in for a quick kiss that turned heated until his watch beeped again. "Fuck, I really have to-"
"Go on then," Louis waved him off, enjoying how flustered he'd made him. "Go run your perfectly paced kilometers. Just remember what's waiting for you when you get back."
Louis watched Harry pick up his pace for the final lap, admiring how his form had improved. The dedicated training showed in every controlled movement - so different from when he'd first started, all gangly enthusiasm and no technique. But that was Harry, wasn't it? Never doing anything by halves.
"Proper marathon runner now, aren't you?" Louis murmured to himself, feeling that familiar surge of pride. His boy who'd gone from stumbling over his own feet on stage to running marathons. Who'd pushed through every obstacle life threw at him with that same quiet determination.
The morning sun caught Harry's profile as he rounded the corner, and Louis' chest tightened with familiar emotion. Sometimes it still hit him like this - how lucky he was, how against all odds they'd made it. Through the band, through the breakups, through building this life together. Here they were, in their thirties, still finding new ways to fall in love with each other.
His phone buzzed - a text from Harry.
"Stop watching me like a creep and get the shower ready x"
Louis grinned, typing back: "Oi! M'not being a creep. Just admiring the view."
"Sure love. That why you're hiding behind the curtain?"
Louis glanced down, realizing he had indeed partially concealed himself behind the drapes. "Shut up and focus on your form, Harold. What would Nikolai say?"
"He'd say my boyfriend's a menace who's distracting me from my cool-down."
"Your boyfriend sounds fit. Lucky you."
He could see Harry's dimpled grin even from this distance as he completed his final lap. Louis headed to their ensuite, turning on the rainfall shower to let it warm up properly. He knew exactly how Harry liked it after a run - hot enough to work out the muscle tension but not so hot it would undo all his careful cool-down.
The bathroom door opened just as steam started filling the air. Harry stood there, flushed and glowing from his run, curls plastered to his forehead. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," Louis smiled, already reaching to help peel off Harry's sweat-damp training gear. "Good run?"
"Mmm," Harry hummed, letting Louis manhandle him out of his clothes. "Hit all my target splits. Though someone was very distracting."
"Don't know what you mean," Louis said innocently, walking them backward toward the shower. "Was just being supportive of your fitness goals."
Harry laughed softly, the sound reverberating low in his chest as Louis guided him under the warm cascade of the rainfall shower. The steam rose around them, curling like soft tendrils in the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were in their own little world—just the two of them, no cameras, no expectations, no marathon schedules.
"Supportive, were you?" Harry murmured, his hands finding Louis' hips as the water dripped down his curls and over his flushed cheeks. "Is that what you call it?"
Louis tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that familiar, cheeky grin. "Course it is. Can't have you running all those kilometers without proper... encouragement."
Harry chuckled, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on Louis' waist. "Proper encouragement, huh? And what exactly does that involve?"
"This," Louis replied simply, sliding his hands up Harry's chest, water slicking over his fingers as they moved. "Taking care of you. Making sure you're not all stiff and sore for your big race." His hands lingered on Harry's shoulders, kneading gently. "And reminding you that you're bloody gorgeous when you're all..." He gestured vaguely at Harry's damp, post-run glow. "Like this."
Harry's cheeks flushed deeper, though whether from the heat of the shower or Louis' words, it was hard to tell.
Louis' grin softend as his hands moved to cradle Harry's face. His fingers brushed over Harry's jaw, and for a moment, they just stood there, water cascading around them as they looked at each other. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where the world faded away, leaving only the connection between them.
"Turn around," Louis said softly, his voice low and warm. "Let me take care of you."
Harry hesitated for half a second, his green eyes searching Louis' face, before nodding and turning under the water. Louis reached for the body wash, squeezing some into his hands before starting to work it over Harry's back. His fingers moved with practiced ease, tracing the familiar lines of Harry's muscles, pausing every now and then to press gently into spots he knew tended to get tight after a run.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Harry said after a moment, his voice soft and almost shy.
"Course I do," Louis replied, his hands steady as they worked over Harry's shoulders. "Taking care of you is my favorite thing to do, H. Always has been."
Harry let out a quiet sigh, his head dipping forward as Louis' hands moved down his back, spreading warmth and care with every touch. "You spoil me, you know that?"
"Not nearly enough," Louis said, his voice teasing but with an undertone of sincerity. "You deserve it, love. All of it."
Harry turned his head slightly, catching Louis' eye over his shoulder. "You spoil me every day just by being here, Lou."
Louis' chest tightened at the words, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of Harry's neck. "Alright, stop being soppy. You'll make me cry in the bloody shower."
Harry laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, and Louis smiled against his skin before returning to his task. He worked his way down Harry's spine, his touch firm but gentle, until he reached the small of his back where he pressed a lingering kiss.
"Turn back around for me," Louis said, his voice low. Harry complied, his movements slow and unhurried as he faced Louis again, water dripping from his curls and down his chest.
Louis' hands moved to Harry's arms, then his chest, working the soapy lather across his skin with the same care he'd used on his back. Harry watched him the whole time, his gaze soft and filled with something Louis could only describe as love—deep, unshakable, and overwhelming in the best way.
When Louis' hands finally stilled, resting lightly on Harry's waist, Harry stepped closer, their bodies almost touching under the warm spray. "My turn," Harry murmured, reaching for the body wash.
"Don't need you fussing over me, Harold," Louis said, though he didn't move away.
"Too bad," Harry replied, his voice playful but firm. "You took care of me, now let me take care of you."
His touch was just as gentle as Louis' had been, though there was something unspoken in the way his hands moved—something reverent and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every inch of Louis' skin for the time they'd have to be away. As he worked, his thumbs traced over old scars and familiar tattoos, lingering on the rope on Louis' wrist.
"Still remember the day you got this," Harry said quietly, his fingers brushing over the ink. "How nervous you were."
"Thought I was gonna pass out," Louis admitted with a small laugh. "Kept thinking, 'What if it turns out shit and I'm stuck with it forever?'"
"But you still got it," Harry said, his voice soft. "For me."
"Always for you," Louis replied, his eyes meeting Harry's. "Everything I've ever done, H. Always for you."
The air between them shifted, the playful banter giving way to something deeper. Harry stepped closer, his hands sliding up to cradle Louis' face as the water continued to cascade around them. He leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was slow and tender, filled with all the love and history between them. The water poured down around them, washing away everything else until there was nothing left but the two of them, together.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, Harry smiled. "Best Valentine's Day ever."
Louis laughed softly, his thumb brushing over Harry's cheek. "And it's not even over yet, love."
"Good," Harry murmured, pulling Louis closer. "Because I don't ever want it to be."
Harry’s hands slid from Louis’ face and moved down to his waist, pulling their bodies flush together under the hot spray. His lips found Louis’ again, but this time the kiss was deeper, hungrier—less about tenderness and more about the simmering tension that had been building between them all morning.
"Fuckin’ hell," Louis muttered against Harry's lips, his fingers tangling in the wet curls at the nape of Harry's neck.
"Don't act like you don't love it," Harry murmured, his voice low and teasing, his hands roaming over Louis’ back, pressing him closer like he couldn’t bear to have even the smallest amount of space between them.
"Yeah, yeah," Louis said, his tone dismissive but his actions betraying him as he tugged Harry’s head back slightly, exposing his neck. The water streamed over Harry’s skin, glistening in the dim light of the bathroom, and Louis couldn’t resist leaning in, biting down gently on the spot just below Harry’s jaw.
Harry groaned in response, his grip tightening as he backed Louis up against the cool tile wall of the shower. Louis gasped at the sudden contrast between the cold tile and the heat of Harry’s body pressing against him.
"Christ, Harry," Louis swore, his head tipping back as Harry’s lips found his throat, kissing and nipping a path down to his collarbone. "You’re proper desperate this morning, aren’t ya?"
"Been desperate for you since the second you pulled me into this shower," Harry mumbled against Louis’ skin, his voice rough and low in a way that sent a shiver down Louis’ spine.
"Yeah?" Louis’ hands slid down Harry’s back, nails dragging lightly over his wet skin. "You gonna do somethin’ about it, then, or just stand there lookin’ pretty?"
Harry’s response was immediate, his lips crashing back onto Louis’ in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. Louis moaned into it, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders as he felt Harry’s thigh press between his legs, adding just the right amount of pressure to make his knees weak. Harry worked his way down his body, lips and tongue trailing over every inch of skin he could reach before dropping to his knees. The water streamed over his curls, dripping down his face as he looked up at Louis with that familiar mix of adoration and mischief.
"Fuck," Louis breathed, his hands gripping the edge of the shower niche for stability as Harry’s hands slid up his thighs, firm and steady.
Harry didn’t respond with words this time, just a wicked smile before leaning forward, his mouth hot and wet against Louis’ skin. Louis let out a string of curses that would make his grandmother blush, his head falling back against the tile as Harry worked him over with the kind of focus and care that only Harry could manage.
"Fuck," Louis groaned, one hand tangling in Harry’s wet curls, tugging just enough to make Harry hum against him. "You’re too good at this, you know that? Too fuckin’ good."
Harry pulled back just enough to grin up at him, his lips red and swollen. "Only for you, love."
Louis let out a breathless laugh, his fingers tightening in Harry’s hair. "Yeah, you fuckin’ better be."
But whatever comeback Harry might have had was lost as he leaned back in, his hands gripping Louis’ hips to keep him steady. Louis could feel himself unraveling, the heat, the steam, and Harry’s touch all combining to make his head spin.
"Bloody hell," Louis muttered, his free hand gripping the shower wall as his knees threatened to give out. "You’re gonna be the death of me, Harold."
Harry pulled back just enough to smirk, his dimples showing even as his eyes stayed dark with intent. "Not yet, Lou. Still got a lot more planned for you."
"Cheeky fucker," Louis managed, though his usual sass was dulled by the way his voice cracked, his body trembling under Harry’s touch. "You’d better-"
But he didn’t get to finish, because Harry chose that moment to stand, pulling Louis into another searing kiss. The sudden change in angle made Louis gasp, his hands scrambling for purchase on Harry’s shoulders as the kiss turned messy and desperate, all teeth and tongues and unspoken promises.
"Turn around," Harry murmured against Louis’ lips, his hands already guiding him gently but firmly.
Louis’ heart raced as he moved, his palms pressing against the cool tile as Harry’s hands slid down his sides, soothing and steady. The anticipation was almost too much, every nerve in Louis’ body alive and buzzing under Harry’s touch.
Harry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, his hands steadying Louis as he finally gave them both what they’d been craving. The sound Louis made was somewhere between a moan and a curse, his head falling forward against the tile as Harry moved with him, slow and deliberate.
The bathroom was filled with the sound of water and gasps and murmured curses, the kind of symphony only they could create together. It was raw and intense and utterly consuming, every movement pushing them closer to the edge.
The steam lingered in the bathroom long after the water had stopped running, curling in lazy tendrils around Louis and Harry as they leaned against the cool tile. Louis’ forehead rested against Harry’s shoulder, his breath still coming in uneven gasps as he tried to gather himself. Harry’s arms were wrapped securely around him, his hands tracing slow, soothing patterns along Louis’ spine.
"Bloody hell," Louis finally muttered, his voice hoarse but laced with affection. "You’re a menace, Harold. An absolute fuckin’ menace."
Harry chuckled, his lips brushing against Louis’ temple. "You didn’t seem to mind a second ago."
"Yeah, well," Louis pushed himself upright, his legs wobbling slightly as he winced. "Doesn’t mean you’re not a pain in the arse."
Harry grinned, his dimples deep and boyish, clearly delighted with himself. "You love it."
Louis shot him a glare, though the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t mean I’ll be sittin’ comfortably any time soon, does it?"
Harry laughed, bright and unrestrained, leaning in to kiss Louis’ cheek. "Come on, grumpy. Let’s get dried off." He reached for a towel, wrapping it around Louis first before grabbing one for himself. Louis watched him, his heart clenching at the soft, unguarded expression on Harry’s face. Even after all these years, Harry still looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered, and it never failed to leave Louis feeling both completely undone and entirely whole.
"Stop starin'," Louis said, though his voice held no real bite. "You’ll give me a big head."
"Too late," Harry replied with a smirk, wrapping his towel around his waist. "Your ego’s already the size of Yorkshire."
"Cheeky bastard," Louis shot back, but his grin gave him away.
They moved through the motions, the easy rhythm of familiarity and intimacy guiding their every action. Harry brushed his teeth while Louis fussed with the damp mess of his hair in the mirror, the two of them bumping elbows and exchanging playful nudges like they always did.
"You’re hopeless," Harry said, plucking the comb out of Louis’ hand and taking over. "Hold still, will you?"
Louis huffed but let Harry work, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Harry’s focused expression in the mirror. "You’re enjoyin’ this far too much."
"Someone’s gotta keep you looking presentable," Harry teased, smoothing down a particularly stubborn bit of hair.
"Bullshit," Louis muttered, though he didn’t pull away, his lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. "You’re just lookin’ for an excuse to play hairdresser."
"Maybe," Harry said, his tone light as he ruffled Louis’ hair one last time, making him swat at his hands. "But you’re ready now. Handsome as ever."
They finished dressing at a leisurely pace, the quiet hum of their shared space wrapping around them like a blanket. It was days like this—calm and unhurried—that reminded Louis why he loved their life together so much. Sure, they couldn’t go out and do normal couple things, but inside these walls, it didn’t matter. They had each other, and that was more than enough.
"Alright," Harry said, clapping his hands together as they stepped into the living room. "What’s the plan, then? Dinner first or telly?"
Louis eyed him, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You’re joking, right? If we start eating now, you’ll be asleep before we’ve even made it through one episode. Telly first, food later."
"Fair point," Harry conceded, grabbing the remote and flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. He patted the cushion beside him, looking up at Louis with those wide, green eyes that always made Louis melt. "C’mere, love. Got your spot all warmed up."
Louis rolled his eyes but joined him anyway, curling into Harry’s side like it was second nature. "You’ve got some nerve, you know that? Actin’ like you’re doin’ me a favor, when really, you just wanted me to be your human blanket."
"Not true," Harry said, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulling him closer. "You’re much more than a blanket. You’re also a heater."
"Cheeky fucker," Louis muttered, though he didn’t make any move to pull away.
Harry grinned, pressing a kiss to Louis’ temple before turning his attention to the TV. He navigated to Severance, their latest obsession, and hit play on the next episode.
As the opening credits rolled, Louis shifted to get more comfortable, his head resting against Harry’s chest. The familiar rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat under his ear was soothing, grounding him in a way nothing else could.
"Y’know," Louis said after a moment, his voice soft, "this isn’t half bad, is it?"
"What, the show?" Harry asked, his hand absently playing with the hem of Louis’ hoodie.
"No, idiot," Louis replied, giving Harry a light jab in the ribs. "This. Us. Staying in. Just... being together."
Harry’s hand stilled, his fingers curling gently around Louis’ side. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It’s perfect."
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the glow of the TV washing over them as the episode unfolded. Harry’s fingers drew lazy patterns on Louis’ arm, and Louis found himself sinking deeper into the warmth of their little bubble.
They didn’t need fancy dinners or grand gestures. They didn’t need to go out and brave the world that always seemed to demand more from them than they could give.
All they needed was this.
Each other.
Chapter 74: July 2012
Summary:
From "I Can't Change" inked permanently on Harry's skin to matching screws and secret messages, a year of tattoos tells the story of two boys trying to write their love in a language only they can read. When Macklemore performs "Same Love" at the 2013 VMAs, Harry and Louis find their moment to embrace in the shadows - not realizing a camera catches their silhouette in a rare moment of freedom. A story about rebellion through permanence, about singing despite the cage, and about finding ways to say "I love you" when the world won't let you speak.
aka the one where Harry collects tattoos like love letters and Louis finally learns how to write back
Notes:
https://bulletprooflarry.tumblr.com/post/57816286830/timeline-tattoos-to-date
Chapter Text
Harry had been listening to the song on repeat for hours, curled up in the window seat of his hotel room, when Louis finally managed to slip away from the endless meetings and PR briefings. The soft knock pattern they'd developed - two quick taps, pause, three slow - made Harry's heart jump even after all this time.
"In," he called softly, already pulling out one earbud.
Louis looked exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that came from playing a part all day. He'd been doing that more lately - playing straight, playing happy, playing the perfect boyfriend to a girl he barely knew. But his eyes still softened the same way when they landed on Harry.
"Hey you," Louis murmured, crossing the room to drop a kiss on Harry's curls. "What's got you all intense over here?"
Harry reached for Louis' hand, tugging him down to squeeze into the window seat together. "Need you to listen to something."
"Yeah?" Louis settled against him, taking the offered earbud. "New song?"
Harry nodded, throat suddenly tight. He'd been thinking about this moment since first hearing it, wondering if Louis would hear what he heard in it, if it would mean the same thing. "It's called 'Same Love.' Just... just listen, okay?"
He pressed play, watching Louis' face carefully as Macklemore's verses began. Louis' expression shifted from curious to focused, his hand tightening around Harry's as the lyrics hit home. But it was when Mary Lambert's chorus started that Harry felt Louis go completely still against him.
"And I can't change, even if I tried, even if I wanted to..."
Louis' breath hitched. Harry knew that reaction - knew Louis was hearing the same truth in it that he had, the same desperate defiance against everything they were being told to be.
They listened in silence, pressed together in their little window seat sanctuary, while outside London buzzed with Olympic preparations and PR teams planned their next moves. When the song ended, Louis immediately reached over and pressed replay.
They listened three more times before Louis finally spoke, voice rough: "Haz..."
"I know," Harry whispered. He did know - knew exactly what Louis was feeling, because he'd felt it too. That recognition, that validation, that fierce certainty: I can't change. I won't change. This is who I am.
"The part about..." Louis swallowed hard. "About rather dying than being who they are. About fighting for humans who've had their rights stolen..."
"Yeah," Harry turned to press his face into Louis' neck, breathing him in. "Makes you feel less alone, doesn't it?"
Louis nodded, running gentle fingers through Harry's curls. "When she sings 'she keeps me warm'..."
"Thought of you," Harry admitted softly. "Always think of you."
They sat in silence as the song played again, Louis' fingers still moving through Harry's hair, Harry's thumb tracing over Louis' knuckles. Outside their bubble, the world was demanding they change, demanding they hide, demanding they be something they weren't. But in here, with Mary Lambert's voice washing over them, they could just be.
"Want to get it tattooed," Harry said suddenly. "Those words. 'I can't change.'"
Louis' hand stilled in his hair. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Where everyone can see it. Where I can see it, when it gets hard. When they try to make us..." he trailed off, but Louis understood. He always did.
"Where would you put it?"
Harry held up his wrist. "Here. Maybe with... maybe with some other things. Been thinking about designs."
Louis studied Harry's wrist, thumb brushing over the spot where the words would go. His touch was gentle but Harry could feel the slight tremor in his hands. "Would be pretty obvious, love. They won't like it."
"Good," Harry said fiercely. "Don't want them to like it. Want them to know they can't... they can't make me into something I'm not. Can't make us into something we're not."
Louis was quiet for a long moment, just holding Harry's wrist, listening to Mary Lambert sing about love being patient, love being kind. Finally, he pressed a soft kiss to the blank skin. "Do it. Show them all exactly who you are. Who we are."
Harry turned to look at him properly, finding his own defiance reflected in Louis' eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Louis smiled, small but real. "And maybe... maybe someday I'll get something too. Something that goes with yours."
Harry's heart clenched. "Lou..."
"Not yet," Louis said quickly. "Not... not while everything's so intense. But someday. Promise."
Harry nodded, understanding. Louis wasn't ready for tattoos yet, wasn't ready for that kind of permanent declaration. But he would be. And when he was, they'd find their own way to match, to complement each other without being too obvious.
They spent the rest of the night in that window seat, listening to "Same Love" on repeat, holding each other while they could. Every time Mary Lambert sang "she keeps me warm," Louis would press closer, would whisper "he keeps me warm" against Harry's skin like a promise.
Harry turned in Louis' arms, the song starting over again in their shared earbud. The city lights painted shadows across Louis' face, making his eyes look almost silver in the darkness.
"Say it again," Harry whispered, pressing their foreheads together.
"He keeps me warm," Louis breathed against his lips. His fingers traced up Harry's arm, over the "Won't stop till we surrender" tattoo. "Always warm. Always safe. Always yours."
Harry's hands found Louis' waist, pulling him impossibly closer in their cramped window seat. The music washed over them - love is patient, love is kind - as Louis' mouth met his, soft and sure and saying everything they couldn't say out loud.
"When I get it done," Harry murmured between kisses, "when I get the tattoo... want you to be the first to touch it."
Louis' breath hitched. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry pressed closer, overwhelmed by how much he loved this boy. "Want your fingers to be the first ones to trace over it. Want you to... to claim it. Make it yours too."
"Already yours," Louis whispered fiercely. "Everything about you is already mine."
They lost themselves in each other as the song played on repeat, marking this moment in their memories. Every touch was a promise, every kiss a declaration: I can't change, I won't change, I don't want to change.
***
Harry's fingers ghosted over the spot on his wrist where Louis had last kissed him, nine days ago in that window seat. The memory of that night felt like a talisman as he pushed open the door to Liam Sparkes' studio, Mary Lambert's voice still playing through his headphones.
The shop was exactly what he'd hoped - small, discrete, with art covering every surface and none of the flashy pretension of celebrity-favored studios. A bell chimed softly above the door, and Harry tugged his beanie lower, grateful for the relative anonymity of the space.
He'd chosen this place carefully. Liam Sparkes was known for his simple, bold lettering - the kind that looked almost like a declaration. Like a protest. Like a promise.
"You must be H," a voice called from the back. Liam emerged, covered in tattoos himself, with kind eyes that didn't betray any recognition. The mutual friend who'd arranged this had clearly briefed him well.
"Yeah," Harry pulled out his headphones, tucking them away. "Thanks for... for fitting me in."
"Three pieces, right?" Liam gestured for Harry to follow him. "Wrist, forearm, and ribs?"
Harry nodded, settling into the chair. His heart was racing, but not from nerves. From certainty. From rightness. From knowing that every mark would be a step closer to truth.
"The wrist first?" he asked quietly. "The words?"
"I can't change," Liam confirmed, preparing his station. "Bold lettering, like we discussed. Want to see the design again?"
Harry shook his head. He trusted the artist, and besides - these words had been burned into his brain since that night with Louis, since they'd listened to the song until sunrise, since they'd promised each other that nothing would make them change.
As Liam worked, Harry put his headphones back in, letting Mary Lambert's voice ground him. The needle hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain of hiding, of pretending, of watching Louis force himself to be someone he wasn't.
His phone buzzed - Louis, always knowing somehow when Harry needed him most.
"Thinking of you x"
Harry smiled, remembering Louis' promise to touch the tattoo first, to claim it as his own. Soon. They'd have their moment soon.
The needle kept moving, each letter a declaration: I. Can't. Change.
And he couldn't. He wouldn't. Not even if he tried, not even if he wanted to.
He didn't want to.
"Birdcage next?" Liam asked, cleaning Harry's wrist. "Without a door, yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry watched the process, fascinated by how the fresh 'I can't change' seemed to pulse against his skin.
Liam glanced up, interested. "'I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings'?"
"Mmm," Harry hummed, letting his head fall back against the chair. "'The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown but longed for still.'" His voice was soft, thoughtful. "Always loved that bit."
"Heavy choice for someone your age," Liam observed, starting to outline the cage.
Harry's laugh was low, lacking its usual brightness. "Think sometimes age hasn't got much to do with it. Sometimes you just... understand things. Whether you want to or not."
"The bird in the poem," Liam worked carefully, "it sings because that's all it can do. Only freedom it's got."
"Yeah," Harry's fingers traced over the 'Won't stop till we surrender' on his bicep. "Been thinking about that a lot lately. About... about what freedom actually means. Like, maybe sometimes singing is all you've got, but it's also... it's also a kind of defiance, isn't it?"
Liam nodded slowly. "Singing despite the cage. Not because of it."
"Exactly," Harry's voice grew more animated. "Everyone always talks about how sad the poem is, but like... isn't it also about resistance? The bird doesn't stop singing just because no one's listening. Doesn't stop being itself just because it's trapped."
"That what these are then?" Liam gestured to the tattoos. "Your song?"
Harry was quiet for a long moment, considering. When he spoke, his voice was different - more raw, more honest. "Maybe. Or maybe they're... maybe they're me refusing to pretend the cage has a door when it doesn't."
"Most people want to believe in the door," Liam observed.
"Most people haven't tried all the bars," Harry said quietly.
They sat in understanding silence for a while, the needle's buzz a steady backdrop to their thoughts.
"The hanger next," Liam said finally. "Bit on the nose, that one."
Harry's laugh was surprisingly genuine. "Subtle's never been my strong suit. Should see my journals."
"Songwriter, right?"
"Try to be," Harry's fingers drummed against his thigh. "Harder lately. Everything has to be... has to be about the right things. Safe things."
"But the bird keeps singing," Liam said softly.
"Yeah," Harry's voice cracked slightly. "Different songs maybe. Hidden ones. But still singing."
"These tattoos," Liam worked on a detailed section of the cage, "they're pretty bold statements for someone who has to sing hidden songs."
Harry touched the fresh words on his wrist. "Maybe that's why I need them. Because everything else has to be hidden. These are... these are my truth. Even if people don't understand them. Even if they think it's just art or rebellion or whatever."
"And the person waiting to see them?" Liam asked carefully. "They'll understand?"
Harry's whole expression softened. "Yeah. They... they hear all my songs. Even the hidden ones."
"Must be worth it then. The cage."
"Worth everything," Harry said simply. "Worth any cage, any silence, any pain. Worth pretending there's a door when we both know there isn't."
Liam worked on the final details of the hanger. "You know what strikes me about Angelou's poem?"
"What?"
"The bird doesn't sing because it has to. Sings because that's who it is. Can't change its nature, even in the cage."
Harry's breath caught. In his headphones, Mary Lambert was singing the same truth: I can't change, even if I tried, even if I wanted to.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Exactly like that."
His phone buzzed - Louis, always Louis. Harry looked at the message, then back at his fresh tattoos - each one a declaration, each one part of their hidden song.
"Coming home," he typed. "Got some new things to show you. x"
The reply made his heart clench: "Bet they're beautiful. Like you. x"
Harry smiled, touching each tattoo gently - the words, the cage, the hanger. His truth, permanent on his skin. His song, even if only one person could hear it properly.
The caged bird sings of freedom, but sometimes... sometimes it also sings of love.
***
October 2012
Harry watched Louis fidget in the chair, unable to hide his fond smile. After months of Harry's strategic tattoo campaign - each new piece making Louis' eyes darker, his touches more possessive - he'd finally broken down.
"You're sure it won't hurt too bad?" Louis asked for the third time, while the artist prepared the needle.
"You've seen me get about fifteen in the past three months, Lou," Harry reminded him gently. "Did I seem in agony?"
"Yeah, well, you're you aren't you?" Louis shot back. "Probably get off on it or summat."
Harry bit back a laugh, touching his fresh arrow tattoo absently. The "things I can" and "things I can't" on his arms were still healing, making him hyper-aware of every movement. He'd been collecting them like breadcrumbs lately, each one a silent message: look what I dare to make permanent, look what I'm willing to wear on my skin.
"Zayn said it's not bad," Liam offered from where he was getting his own screw tattoo. "Just like a cat scratch."
"Easy for Zayn to say, he's got about fifty of the things," Louis grumbled, but he settled back in the chair.
Harry moved closer, offering his hand. Louis took it immediately, threading their fingers together. If the tattoo artist noticed, he didn't comment - just like he hadn't commented on the collection of carefully chosen pieces Harry had just gotten.
"Alright," the artist said, "ready?"
Louis squeezed Harry's hand hard. "Do your worst."
The first touch of the needle made Louis yelp, his whole body tensing. "Fucking hell!"
"Baby," Harry teased softly, rubbing his thumb over Louis' knuckles.
"Shut it, you," Louis hissed, but he relaxed slightly as the initial shock wore off. "Not all of us are masochists like you, Harold."
Harry leaned closer, speaking just above a whisper. "You've never complained about that before."
Louis' cheeks flushed pink, but before he could retort, Liam called over: "Oi! Keep it clean, you two!"
They all laughed, the tension breaking. Harry watched as the simple screw design took shape on Louis' ankle, matching his own. Something about seeing Louis marked, even with something so small, made his chest tight.
"Not so bad, right?" he asked softly.
Louis looked up at him, eyes bright despite his pout. "Suppose not. Don't go getting any ideas though. Not all of us need to look like a bloody sketch pad like you and Malik."
But Harry could see it in his eyes - the same rush he'd felt with his first tattoo, the addictive combination of pain and permanence. He thought about the padlock Ed had done, with its secret 'L' hidden in the design, thought about every piece he'd collected while waiting for Louis to cave.
"No ideas," he promised, fingers ghosting over his "I can't change" tattoo. "Just... proud of you."
Louis' expression softened. "Yeah, well. Figured if you're brave enough to wear your heart on your skin, least I could do was match that stupid screw."
Harry's breath caught at the knowing look in Louis' eyes. Of course he understood - he always understood. Every tattoo Harry had gotten was a love letter Louis couldn't help but read.
"Next time," Louis said quietly, watching the needle finish the design, "think I might let you hold my hand for something a bit more meaningful."
Harry's heart skipped. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Louis smiled, small but real. "Been thinking about some ideas actually."
Harry thought about his own fresh ink - things I can, things I can't - and wondered what Louis would choose to make permanent. What silent messages he might want to wear on his skin.
"Whatever you want," he whispered. "I'll be there."
Louis squeezed his hand again, gentle this time. "Know you will be, love. You always are."
Later that night, Harry traced gentle fingers over the plastic wrap on Louis' ankle as they lounged on the sofa, Louis half in his lap despite the autumn heat.
"So," Harry tried to keep his voice casual. "You mentioned having some ideas?"
Louis shifted, pressing his face into Harry's neck for a moment before answering. "Yeah, um. Been thinking about it for a while actually."
"Yeah?"
"Mmm," Louis' fingers found Harry's wrist, touching the 'I can't change' softly. "Was thinking... maybe quotation marks. Right here." He tapped the same spot on his own wrist.
Harry's breath caught. "Lou..."
"Like... same thing, you know? Just... shorter." Louis' voice was quiet but sure. "More my style."
Harry pulled him closer, heart racing. "What else?"
Louis traced letters on Harry's bicep, where his head usually rested. "'Far Away.' Right here."
"The Nickelback song?" Harry's voice cracked slightly.
"Yeah," Louis' fingers kept moving, writing the words over and over. "Cause when I'm not here, when we have to be... you know. Apart. Far away." He swallowed hard. "But also cause... cause that song. All of it. Every word."
Harry remembered late nights listening to it together, Louis singing softly: "I'd give it all, I'd give for us, give anything but I won't give up."
"Lou," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"
Louis lifted his head, meeting Harry's eyes. "Been sure for ages. Just... needed time to be brave enough. Like you."
Harry fumbled for his phone, hands shaking slightly. "I'm calling Skunx. Right now. Before you change your mind."
Louis laughed softly. "It's nearly midnight, love."
"Don't care. We've got that video shoot on the 15th but nothing before noon. We could go early morning, be done in plenty of time."
Louis watched him dial with fond eyes. "Proper excited, aren't you?"
Harry pressed kisses all over Louis' face while the phone rang. "You have no idea."
When someone finally answered, Harry quickly arranged the appointment, his free hand never leaving Louis' skin.
"All set," he said after hanging up. "Eight AM on the 15th."
Louis groaned dramatically. "Eight AM? You're lucky I love you."
"Yeah," Harry agreed softly, touching his own wrist where soon Louis would wear matching marks. "I really am."
They stayed tangled together on the sofa, Harry periodically touching Louis' ankle like he couldn't quite believe it was real. His boy, his love, finally ready to wear their truth on his skin.
"Hey Lou?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For being brave."
Louis lifted Harry's wrist to his lips, kissing the 'I can't change' gently. "Learned from the best, didn't I?"
***
Harry couldn't stop scrolling, each new page of tattoo designs making his heart beat faster. He'd started looking for simple couple tattoos - something small to celebrate Louis finally, finally getting inked - but now his mind was racing with possibilities. His laptop screen glowed with dozens of open tabs, each one a potential declaration.
He kept glancing up at Louis sprawled on the sofa, watching him touch the fresh quotation marks with wondering fingers. Every time Harry saw them, saw his words echoed on Louis' skin, something fierce and protective swelled in his chest. Mine, his heart sang. Yours.
"Page five," he muttered to himself, clicking through. Then- "Oh!" His breath caught. "Lou, come look at this one."
He couldn't contain his excitement as Louis slid down beside him, pressing warm against his side. The simple outlined candy hearts on the screen seemed to pulse with possibility. Small enough to hide, meaningful enough to matter.
"'75 Best Couple Tattoos'?" Louis teased, but Harry barely heard him, already imagining where they could put them, already planning the Instagram post that would make his heart race with its open secret.
But it wasn't enough. Now that Louis had started, now that he'd broken through that barrier, Harry wanted more. Wanted everything. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up his email exchange with Liam Sparkes.
He showed Louis the designs Sparkes had sent from his website - the elaborate butterfly, the flowing script. Separate pieces that belonged together, just like them. His skin itched with wanting them, wanting every matching set he'd found. Ships and compasses, roses and daggers, anchors and ropes.
"Too much?" he asked softly, suddenly uncertain. But Louis was looking at the designs with such tenderness that Harry's doubt melted away.
"Course not," Louis whispered, and Harry's heart soared.
He wanted to call Sparkes immediately, wanted to start planning every single piece. Wanted to cover himself in declarations of love that only Louis would truly understand. The "I can't change" on his wrist seemed to burn with possibility - the first domino that had finally fallen.
When Louis insisted they wait, think about each one properly, Harry knew he was right. But it was hard to be patient when his whole body hummed with the need to make permanent every truth they couldn't speak aloud.
In the interview room, waiting for their cue, Harry kept thinking about the butterfly design. He imagined it spreading across his torso, beautiful and obvious and impossible to hide. Imagined Louis' words above it, their private meaning clear to anyone who knew where to look.
"Think the butterfly should be bigger," he murmured, already mentally adjusting the design. "Like, proper detailed."
Louis' fond smile made his dimples deepen. "Whatever you want, love."
Harry's mind raced with possibilities - not just the butterfly and words, but all of them. Each matching set a different way of saying I love you, I choose you, I'm yours. He thought about Louis touching his quotation marks, about the "Far Away" hidden under his sleeve, about every tattoo yet to come.
They had time. They had forever. And piece by piece, mark by mark, they'd write their love story on their skin until anyone who looked close enough could read it.
It wasn't enough, could never be enough when Harry wanted to shout their truth from rooftops. But it was something. It was theirs.
And soon, so soon, they'd have more. Harry's folder of saved designs grew by the minute, each one a promise waiting to be kept.
***
August 2013
A year could change so much and so little all at once. Their album had gone platinum in practically every country. They'd played sold-out arenas across three continents. Harry's body was a growing canvas of declarations - ships and compasses, his butterfly waiting for Louis' words. They were on top of the world.
And still hiding.
The Barclays Center hummed with electricity, celebrities and cameras everywhere. Their seats were carefully arranged - Harry at one end, Louis at the other, always just out of reach. But they'd gotten good at this dance over the past year, at finding the stolen moments between the staged ones.
So when the lights dimmed for Macklemore and Mary Lambert's performance, Harry caught Louis' eye across their bandmates. A slight tilt of his head toward the wings. Louis' imperceptible nod. They slipped away separately, practiced at making their exits look casual and unconnected.
The backstage corridors were a maze of equipment and hurrying crew members. Harry's heart pounded as he navigated through them, knowing Louis was doing the same from a different direction. They'd mapped out these back routes earlier, during soundcheck - always planning their escapes.
He found Louis in a shadowed alcove near stage left, just as the first notes of "Same Love" filled the arena. Without a word, Harry pressed against Louis' back, arms wrapping around his waist, chin settling into the crook of his neck. Louis melted into him immediately, hands covering Harry's where they rested on his stomach.
"Can't believe we're actually hearing it live," Louis whispered, as Mary Lambert's voice soared through the space.
Harry tightened his hold, remembering all the times they'd played this song in hotel rooms, in the back of tour buses, in their London flat with all the lights down low. How they'd dance together in the darkness, letting the lyrics say everything they couldn't.
"And I can't change, even if I tried..."
Harry's wrist tingled where those words were inked, matched by Louis' quotation marks. A year of permanent promises written on their skin, each one a different way of saying I love you, I choose you, I'm not going anywhere.
The music swelled around them, and Harry felt Louis shaking slightly in his arms. He pressed his face closer into Louis' neck, breathing him in. Here in the shadows, they could just exist. No cameras, no expectations, no carefully maintained distance.
"Love you," Harry murmured against Louis' skin, too quiet for anyone else to hear over the music. "So much."
Louis' fingers tightened over Harry's. "Love you too," he whispered back. "Always."
They stood there, wrapped in each other and the music, not noticing the camera that caught their silhouette for a brief moment. They were too lost in the freedom of these stolen minutes, in the way the song echoed everything in their hearts.
Tomorrow they'd go back to their choreographed dance of distance. They'd sit at opposite ends of interview couches, careful not to look too long or touch too much. They'd play their parts in the elaborate show that their lives had become.
But right now, in this moment, they were just Harry and Louis, holding each other in the dark while Mary Lambert sang about love that refuses to hide. Right now, they were real and raw and so incredibly in love it hurt.
Right now, they were free.
The song built to its crescendo, and Harry felt tears on his cheeks, matching the ones he knew were falling from Louis' eyes. A year of growth and change and growing fame, but this - this quiet certainty between them - remained constant. Permanent as the ink they wore, strong as the love they kept having to hide.
When the song ended, they stayed wrapped together for one more precious moment before reluctantly separating. They'd return to their seats separately, maintain their careful distance. But they'd carry this moment with them, another memory to add to their collection of stolen times and secret touches.
Just like the tattoos hidden under their clothes, these moments were theirs alone. And somehow, impossibly, that made them even more beautiful.
Chapter 75: Present Day
Summary:
In which Harry grapples with business decisions, jealousy over an enthusiastic social media intern, and the bittersweet reality of having to leave Louis before his fashion launch to run a marathon in Tokyo. There's tea-making tutorials, Bernard the temperamental coffee machine, soft moments in bed, and enough pining to fill the English Channel.
aka: the one where Harry gets territorial over Louis with the new intern, then proceeds to be the softest boyfriend in existence before leaving for Tokyo (and definitely doesn't cry in the car afterward, nope, not at all).
Chapter Text
Harry traced his finger along Louis' spine, watching him sleep in the soft morning light. They'd have to get up soon - Louis had meetings about the launch all afternoon, and Harry needed to pack for Tokyo. But for now, he could just... exist here, in their bubble.
His watch buzzed - another email from Jeff. Harry ignored it, focusing instead on the way Louis' eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, how his face was still soft with sleep.
"Can feel you staring," Louis mumbled into the pillow, not opening his eyes.
"M'not staring. Just admiring."
"Creep." But Louis was smiling now, shifting closer until his head rested on Harry's chest. "What time is it?"
Harry checked his watch, grimacing slightly. "Half seven. Your team's coming at ten, yeah?"
Louis groaned, pressing his face further into Harry's skin. "Don't remind me. That Moana kid's probably already camped outside the gate with his social media strategies or whatever."
"Miles," Harry corrected automatically, though he knew Louis was getting the name wrong on purpose.
"Marcus?" Louis blinked up at him innocently.
"You know his name is Miles." Harry tried to keep his tone neutral, but something must have shown in his face because Louis propped himself up on an elbow, suddenly more awake.
"What's that face for?"
"What face?"
"That proper grumpy face you're making." Louis' eyes narrowed. "The one you always get when someone mentions... what's his name again?"
"Miles," Harry muttered, knowing he was walking right into Louis' trap but unable to help himself.
"Ahh yes, Moses." Louis' grin was decidedly wicked now. "The one you spent twenty minutes complaining about yesterday because he suggested using TikTok for the launch."
"He's just very..." Harry searched for the right words, "enthusiastic. About everything. About you."
"Enthusiastic?" Louis' eyes crinkled with amusement. "Bit rich coming from you, love. Pretty sure half your friends list is just attractive gay men who worship the ground you walk on."
Harry huffed, but couldn't quite hide his dimple. "That's different."
"Is it?" Louis stretched lazily, clearly enjoying this. "Because I distinctly remember you and Alessandro spending three hours discussing 'the poetry of fabric' or summat at that Valentino thing."
"That was about fashion-"
"And what about that time you and Brad-"
"Alright, alright," Harry conceded, pulling Louis closer despite his teasing. "But Miles keeps looking at you like... like you're this shiny new toy he gets to play with."
Louis properly laughed at that, bright and fond. "Harold. Love of my life. Light of my days. Are you actually jealous of some kid who nearly walked into a wall the other day because I said good morning to him?"
"No," Harry muttered into Louis' hair, but they both knew he was lying. "Just... he keeps pushing all these social media ideas. Wants to do a house tour at Barnet, behind-the-scenes content..."
"And? Barnet's just my workspace. Nothing there the fans haven't already seen."
"I know, but..." Harry trailed off, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. Here he was, worried about some social media intern when he had actual problems to deal with - the marathon, the Sphere contract sitting unsigned in his email, his businesses' reporting delays...
"But nothing," Louis shifted to straddle Harry's hips, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You're proper cute when you're jealous, you know that? All pouty and protective over your man."
"M'not pouty," Harry said, definitely pouting. "And m'not jealous. Just... protective."
"Mhmm," Louis hummed, leaning down to press feather-light kisses along Harry's jawline. "Very protective. Very manly. My big strong marathon runner, all worked up over little Milo-"
"Miles."
"-whatever his name is." Louis' lips curved against Harry's skin. "Meanwhile, everyone with eyes can see I'm stupidly gone for you. Have been since you were just a head full of cherub curls and knock-knees."
Harry tried to maintain his frown, but it was difficult with Louis pressing soft kisses down his neck. "You're trying to distract me."
"Is it working?" Louis nipped gently at his collarbone.
"...maybe."
"Only maybe?" Louis pulled back, eyes dancing with mischief. "What happened to the boy who used to write songs about how good I am at distracting him?"
Harry's hands settled on Louis' hips, thumbs brushing over the laurel tattoos. "Think that boy grew up and realized how sneaky you are."
"Sneaky?" Louis gasped in mock offense. "Me? The love of your life? Your forever home? Your-"
Harry cut him off with a kiss, unable to keep pretending he was cross when Louis was being soft and silly and perfect. When they broke apart, Louis was beaming down at him triumphantly.
"There's my boy," he murmured, running his fingers through Harry's curls. "All sweet again. Though I have to say, watching you get all territorial was quite hot."
"Shut up," Harry groaned, but he was properly smiling now. "You're the worst."
"You love me."
"Yeah," Harry admitted, pulling Louis down for another kiss. "Yeah, hunny, I really do."
Louis hummed contentedly against his lips. "Good. Because I've got about..." he glanced at the clock, "two hours before I have to start getting ready for that meeting. Any ideas how we could pass the time?"
Harry pretended to think about it, running his hands slowly up Louis' sides. "Could help you practice your presentation for the launch?"
"Menace," Louis muttered, dropping his forehead to Harry's shoulder. "Here I am, trying to have a proper romantic morning with my boyfriend before he abandons me for Tokyo-"
"Not abandoning," Harry protested, even as his hands wandered lower. "Supporting your artistic vision by staying far away from your launch so the headlines aren't about me being there."
"Very noble of you," Louis agreed, pressing closer. "Running a marathon instead. Making me look bad with all your healthy life choices."
Harry laughed softly. "Says the man who's about to headline Lollapalooza. In India. In March."
"Different kind of endurance, that." Louis lifted his head, eyes suddenly serious despite their position. "You know I'm proud of you, yeah? For doing this. For choosing something that scares you."
Harry's throat felt tight. Even after all these years, Louis still knew exactly what to say, exactly what Harry needed to hear. Because he was scared - of the marathon, of the decisions waiting in his inbox, of the uncertain path ahead. But Louis had always been his compass point, his true north.
"Know what else I'm proud of?" Louis continued, voice dropping lower as he shifted his hips deliberately.
"What's that?" Harry managed, his hands tightening on Louis' waist.
"How fit you've gotten with all this training." Louis traced a finger down Harry's chest. "All these new muscles..."
"Lou..."
"Yes, darling?" Louis smiled innocently, but his movements were anything but innocent now.
"Think we should probably stop talking now."
"Probably," Louis agreed, leaning down to capture Harry's lips in a proper kiss. "Two hours, you said?"
"Hour and forty-five now," Harry corrected, already breathless. "Better make it count."
"Always do, don't I?"
The glow of their morning lingered even as Harry paced along the back garden's stone path, watching through the floor-to-ceiling French doors as Louis commanded attention in their kitchen. The launch team had transformed their usual dining space into a makeshift studio - mood boards and fabric samples scattered across the antique wooden table.
From this angle, surrounded by the high hedges and mature trees that kept their home private from the outside world, Harry could see straight through to where Louis was gesturing animatedly. The late morning sun streamed through the glass, catching on Louis' profile as he leaned over some samples.
"Harry? Are you even listening?" Jeff's voice crackled through his AirPods.
"Yeah, sorry," Harry pulled his gaze away from where Louis had thrown his head back laughing at something Oli had said. The new kid hovered nearby with his tablet, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "You were saying about the stage design?"
"The Sphere, Harry. It's a game-changer. U2 proved that. We're talking about revolutionizing what a concert experience can be."
Harry hummed noncommittally, meandering past the herb garden they'd let go to hell in their time apart. From here, he could see clear up to their bedroom balcony, the climbing roses just starting to bud.
"The numbers we're looking at..." Jeff continued, but Harry's attention drifted back to the kitchen where Louis was pulling out his phone, probably showing the team some reference photos. Harry knew every piece in the collection by heart now - had watched Louis sketch them late at night, had listened to him ramble about fabric choices and color stories while they lay in bed upstairs.
"We need an answer soon," Jeff was saying. "The window of opportunity here-"
"I need more time," Harry interrupted, surprising himself with the firmness in his voice. "Need to get through the marathon first. Clear my head."
"Harry-"
"Please, Jeff." He kept his tone gentle but firm as he paused by the stone fountain - a ridiculous birthday gift from Louis years ago. "I hear you. I do. But I can't make this decision right now."
Harry watched a few leaves drift across the pristine pool surface, his mind churning. He'd seen the reports, done his research - the Sphere's astronomical construction costs, the underwhelming ticket sales outside of U2's residency, the mounting pressure from investors. Irving Azoff's name featured prominently in those investor lists.
"Look," Jeff's voice softened, taking on that persuasive tone Harry knew too well. "This could be revolutionary for your career. The technology alone-"
"Jeff," Harry cut in gently, turning away from the house to face the tennis court they rarely used. "I love you, mate. You know that. But we both know what this is really about."
The silence on the other end stretched long enough that Harry knew he'd hit a nerve.
"Your dad's a good man," Harry continued carefully. "He's done incredible things for this industry. For me. But I can't make a forty-show commitment just to-"
"That's not what this is," Jeff protested, but it lacked conviction.
Through the French doors, Harry could see Louis now perched on their kitchen island, legs swinging as he reviewed something on Miles' tablet. He looked so alive, so in his element - taking this massive leap into something new, something that was entirely his own.
"Maybe five years ago," Harry said, keeping his voice kind. "But now? Vegas residencies are what you do when you're trying to recreate past glory. I want to build something new."
He heard Jeff sigh, could picture him running a hand through his hair in frustration. "The money-"
"I know. But I've got enough. More than enough." Harry smiled as he watched Louis dramatically flop backwards onto the island, making everyone laugh. "Think it's time I figured out what I want to do, not what I could do."
"Harry..." Jeff's voice had that mixture of frustration and resignation that had become familiar lately. "At least come see it. Tour the facility. Meet with the creative team."
Harry watched as Louis hopped off the counter, shooing everyone toward the formal dining room where they'd apparently set up more samples. Even from here, he could read the enthusiasm in Louis' body language - the way he talked with his whole body when he was excited about something.
"After Tokyo," Harry said firmly. "I'll look at the proposal properly, yeah? But right now..."
"Right now you're focused on running yourself into the ground for charity?" There was a hint of their old banter in Jeff's tone now.
"Something like that." Harry smiled, knowing Jeff could hear it in his voice.
"One more thing before you go," Jeff said quickly. "The Live Odyssey project in London. We've got approval for the hologram rights, yeah?"
Harry paused, his interest genuinely piqued. "The British music exhibition?"
"Yeah. Bowie's estate is in, Arctic Monkeys, Oasis... they want to create this timeline of British music. Your hologram would be part of it - bridging the old guard and the new wave. It's a proper time capsule of British music history."
Harry shifted his weight, considering. "The one supporting Music Venue Trust?"
"Portion of ticket sales goes directly to keeping grassroots venues alive. Plus all the merch profits. These are the places that made British music what it is - the tiny clubs in Manchester, Liverpool, London... places like where you and Louis first-"
"Yeah," Harry cut him off softly, memories of smoky pub corners and nervous teenage performances flooding back. "I know."
"So...?"
Harry watched Louis through the glass again, remembering all those early gigs - before they'd known each other, both of them watching local bands in dingy venues, dreaming of their turn on stage.
"That one's a yes," Harry said. "But only because it's actually supporting something worthwhile. Something that matters."
"I'll have the paperwork sent over." Jeff sounded relieved to finally get a 'yes' out of him. "Talk next week?"
"Yeah, mate. Give my love to everyone."
After hanging up, Harry smiled to himself, already knowing how Louis would react to this news. If there was one thing they both believed in, it was making sure other kids got the same chances they'd had.
Harry slid open the French doors, the familiar sounds of Louis' launch team washing over him. Oli barely glanced up from where he was arranging fabric swatches, just offering a casual "Alright, H?" while Miles nearly dropped his tablet, fumbling it between his hands.
"Mr. St- um, Harry, sir- I mean-" Miles stammered, his eyes wide as saucers.
"Just H's fine," Harry assured him kindly, fighting back a smile as he caught Louis rolling his eyes fondly behind the kid's back. "How's it all coming along then?"
"Brilliant," Louis answered, sliding some sketches across the table. "Though someone keeps suggesting we need more greens in the collection."
"Green's a lovely color," Harry defended, moving to stand behind Louis' chair, careful to maintain a professional distance despite the urge to drop a kiss on his head. Even here, with trusted people, habits died hard.
Miles was still standing frozen, looking like he couldn't quite process Harry Styles casually commenting on color schemes in what he'd only recently learned was Louis Tomlinson's actual home. The poor lad had probably signed more NDAs than he'd ever seen in his life just to be here.
"Breathe, mate," Oli advised him quietly. "They're just people."
Louis snorted. "Speak for yourself. I'm very impressive."
"Course you are, darling," Harry muttered, just loud enough for Louis to hear, earning himself a quick elbow to the ribs.
"Oh!" Harry remembered suddenly. "Speaking of impressive - got something to run by you later about the Music Venue Trust. Jeff just mentioned..."
"Later, babe?" Louis interrupted smoothly, years of practice keeping his tone professionally casual despite the interested gleam in his eyes. "We're just about to go through the campaign concepts. You staying?"
Harry glanced at his watch. "For a bit. Got that call with Nikolai about Tokyo in an hour."
Miles was still doing his best impression of a statue, clutching his tablet like a lifeline. The kid probably hadn't expected his first job out of uni to involve sitting in Louis Tomlinson's private residence while Harry Styles casually mentioned calls about marathon training.
"Right then," Louis clapped his hands, switching into full business mode. "Oli, you've got the mock-ups?"
"Here," Oli pulled up some files on the massive screen they'd mounted temporarily on the dining room wall. "Miles, can you pull up the social calendar?"
"I- yes, of course, absolutely," Miles fumbled with his tablet, nearly dropping it again when Harry settled into one of the chairs near him.
Harry caught Louis biting back a smile. They'd been doing this dance so long - the careful choreography of being themselves without being too much themselves - that it was almost amusing watching someone new navigate it. Everyone in the room knew exactly who they were to each other, but the unspoken rule was to never acknowledge it directly.
"So for the initial drop," Oli continued, pulling up a timeline, "we're thinking-"
"Sorry," Miles interrupted suddenly, then looked horrified at himself for doing so. "It's just- um, there's tea? In the kitchen? Should I... would anyone like...?"
"I'll sort it," Harry stood up, recognizing the kid's desperate need for a moment to compose himself. "Usual for everyone?"
Louis caught his eye briefly, a silent 'you're too nice' passing between them. "Yorkshire for me," he said out loud. "And maybe give Miles the tour of where everything is? Since he'll be here a bit this week."
"Course," Harry gestured for Miles to follow him. "Come on, I'll show you how to work the fancy kettle Louis insisted we needed."
Harry led Miles into their ridiculously well-equipped kitchen, enjoying how the lad's eyes went wide at the professional-grade everything. "Right, so the most important thing in this house is making Louis' tea properly. Get that wrong and you'll never hear the end of it."
"I- yes, of course," Miles nodded frantically, like he was about to take an exam. "Yorkshire Tea, milk after, no sugar."
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "Been studying up on the boss, have you?"
Miles went bright red. "No! I mean- well, yes, but not like- it's just research for the social content and-"
"Relax," Harry chuckled, pulling out mugs from the cabinet. "M'only teasing. Though I have to say, your enthusiasm for my- for Louis is quite something."
He kept his tone light, but there was just enough of an edge there. Miles, if possible, went even redder.
"Oh god, no- I mean, he's brilliant obviously, but I'm not- I would never- I have a boyfriend!" The last part came out as a squeak.
Harry bit back a laugh, feeling a bit bad for terrorizing the poor kid. But only a bit. "Breathe, mate. Here-" he gestured to the elaborate coffee machine that took up half the counter, "this is Bernard."
"Bernard?"
"Mhmm. Louis named him. Says he looks distinguished." Harry started pressing buttons with practiced ease. "He's a bit temperamental, but aren't we all?"
Miles let out a strangled laugh, clearly unsure if he was allowed to find that funny.
"The trick is," Harry continued, demonstrating with perhaps more flourish than strictly necessary, "to sweet talk him a bit. Tell him he's pretty. Works on most things in life, really."
He watched Miles frantically taking mental notes and decided to take pity on him. "Look, I know this is all a bit... much. The NDAs, the secrecy, being in our- in Louis' home. But you're here because you're good at what you do. Just... maybe dial back the puppy dog eyes about 20%?"
"Right, yes, sorry," Miles nodded vigorously, then paused. "Though honestly, my boyfriend says I look at everything like that. Apparently I had the same face when we went to that Alexander McQueen exhibition."
Harry relaxed slightly, his earlier territorial edge softening into amusement. "Ah, a fashion boy then?"
"Fashion marketing at Central Saint Martins," Miles confirmed, then immediately looked mortified. "Not that I'm trying to- I mean, I know you've worked with the greats and-"
"Mate," Harry interrupted, fighting back a laugh as he measured out the tea. "You're allowed to be excited about fashion. Just maybe try not to vibrate out of your skin every time Louis walks past?"
Miles groaned, covering his face. "That obvious?"
"Like a neon sign," Harry confirmed cheerfully, arranging the mugs on a tray. "Though to be fair, he does have that effect on people."
"It's just..." Miles lowered his hands, looking earnest. "Everything he's doing with this launch - subverting traditional masculinity while still keeping it accessible, the way he's incorporating working-class fashion history... my dissertation was actually about-" he cut himself off. "And I'm doing it again."
"Better than the last intern," Harry offered, surprising himself with his generosity. "Pretty sure they just wanted selfies for their Instagram."
"Oh god, I would never-"
"I know," Harry said, and found he meant it. "Now, grab those biscuits from the top shelf? The chocolate ones, not the healthy ones. Louis gets grumpy if we try to sneak the protein ones past him."
"Secret's safe with me," Miles said, reaching for the proper biscuits. "My boyfriend's the same - always knows when I'm trying to swap his crisps for those vegetable ones."
Harry grinned, thinking of his own ongoing stealth health campaign. "Louis says I'm trying to turn him into a rabbit. Just because I suggested spirulina smoothies for breakfast once. Once!"
He caught himself then, realizing he was perhaps being a bit too comfortable. But Miles just smiled, seemingly more relaxed now that they'd established some common ground.
"Right then," Harry lifted the tray. "Better get back before-"
"HAROLD!" Louis' voice carried from the dining room. "If you're telling Miles all my embarrassing stories in there, I swear to god-"
"Wouldn't dream of it, love!" Harry called back, then winced slightly at the endearment that had slipped out.
Miles pretended to be very interested in the biscuit arrangement.
They walked back into the dining room where Louis was gesturing animatedly at something on screen, Oli nodding along while making notes.
"Took you long enough," Louis said without looking up. "Was starting to think you were building the tea plantation yourself."
"Just making sure Miles here knows how to properly operate Bernard," Harry set the tray down. "Very delicate process."
"Bernard's a menace," Louis muttered, but made grabby hands for his tea anyway. "Right, where were we? Miles, pull up the mock-ups for the campaign video?"
Harry settled back into his chair, watching as Miles transformed from nervous fan to confident professional, quickly pulling up files and joining the discussion about lighting concepts and color grading. Maybe the kid wasn't so bad after all.
The house felt different once everyone had gone - quieter, softer somehow. Louis was sprawled across their sofa, feet in Harry's lap, scrolling through the day's work on his iPad while Harry absently massaged his ankles.
"So," Louis said without looking up, "Music Venue Trust?"
"Mm," Harry traced a pattern on Louis' ankle bone. "They're struggling, Lou. Some of these small venues, they're barely hanging on. This hologram thing might get some attention on it."
Now Louis did look up, expression thoughtful. "The grassroots places? Like where we used to play?"
"Exactly. Places like The Zanzibar, The Deaf Institute..." Harry's voice went soft. "Where actual music happens, you know? Where kids figure out who they are."
Louis set his iPad aside, eyes bright with that look he got when ideas were forming. "Tell me more?"
Harry launched into the details, watching Louis' face as he talked about funding gaps and rising costs and community impact. He loved this about him - how quickly Louis could shift from fashion mogul to musician, how deeply he still cared about the industry that brought them together.
Later, curled together in bed, Louis traced patterns on Harry's chest. "Two weeks, yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry's voice was rough. "Lou, I'm so sorry I can't-"
"Don't," Louis interrupted softly. "We knew this was how it had to be. Can't exactly have Harry Styles showing up at my launch. Whole thing would become about us, not the clothes."
"I know," Harry pressed his face into Louis' hair. "Doesn't make it easier though. Should be there supporting you properly. Standing next to you, watching you shine."
Louis' hand stilled on his chest. "You support me every day, H. In all the ways that matter."
"Miss you already," Harry whispered, pulling him closer. "Gonna be checking my phone constantly for updates like some obsessed fan."
"Well, you did learn from Miles," Louis teased, but his voice was thick with emotion.
"Oi," Harry poked his side gently. "Be nice. Think he's actually quite good."
"He is," Louis agreed. "Though if you tell him I said that, I'll deny it."
They lay in silence for a moment, just breathing together.
"Tokyo's going to love you," Louis said finally, pressing a kiss to Harry's collarbone.
"London's going to love you more," Harry replied, tilting Louis' face up to kiss him properly. "My brilliant boy. Sitting there all day being all... professional."
"Is that what does it for you now?" Louis laughed softly, trailing his fingers down Harry's sides. "Me being professional?"
"You being you does it for me," Harry caught his hands, pinning them gently above his head. "You in those glasses, running your empire, knowing exactly what you want..."
Louis' breath hitched. "What I want is you here with me."
"I'm here now," Harry pressed closer, nosing along Louis' jaw. "Let me give you something to remember while I'm gone."
"As if I could forget," Louis tilted his head back, exposing his throat. "Thirteen years and you still drive me crazy."
Harry hummed against his pulse point. "Remember that first tour? How we'd sneak away between soundcheck and show?"
"Remember?" Louis laughed breathlessly. "Pretty sure there's still a dent in that wall in Manchester from where you-"
Harry cut him off with a kiss, deep and desperate. Louis responded immediately, arching up against him, free hand tangling in Harry's hair.
"Love you," Harry whispered, sliding his hand under Louis' shirt. "Love watching you become everything you were always meant to be."
Harry felt Louis’ breath hitch beneath him, the sound sending a thrill down his spine. He pressed further, letting his fingers splay against the warm skin of Louis’ waist, feeling the way his muscles tensed and relaxed under his touch. Thirteen years, and Louis still unraveled so beautifully beneath him.
Louis let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head back as Harry mouthed along his throat. "If you’re trying to ruin me before you leave, you’re doing a damn good job of it."
Harry grinned against his skin. "Not ruining," he murmured, lips brushing along Louis’ pulse point. "Memorizing."
Louis’ fingers curled into the back of Harry’s neck, his other hand sliding up under his shirt, nails dragging lightly across his spine. "S’not fair," he muttered, voice thick with something dangerously close to desperation. "You know I hate when you get all soft like this."
Harry pulled back just enough to look at him, his heart clenching at the sight—Louis beneath him, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide in the dim light. He was beautiful like this, stripped of all the sharp edges he wore in public, every wall lowered. Only Harry got to see him like this.
"That so?" Harry teased, dipping back down to ghost his lips over Louis’. "Should I stop, then?"
Louis made a noise that was almost a growl, flipping them effortlessly so Harry was on his back, the weight of Louis pressing him into the mattress. "Don’t you fucking dare."
Harry barely had time to laugh before Louis was kissing him again, deeper this time, more insistent. Like he was trying to anchor them both, like he was trying to burn the feeling of Harry’s body against his own into his memory before they had to let go.
And Harry let him.
Let him take, let him press him into the mattress, let him own him in the way only Louis ever had.
Because the truth was, Harry needed this just as badly.
Needed the weight of Louis against him, the slide of his hands, the warmth of his breath against his skin. Needed to feel like they were infinite, like time wasn’t slipping through their fingers, like they weren’t about to spend two weeks pretending they weren’t missing half of themselves.
Louis slowed eventually, breath heavy, forehead pressed to Harry’s. "Hate leaving you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Harry tightened his grip on his waist, grounding him. "I know."
They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, sharing breath.
Then Louis shifted, trailing his fingers down Harry’s side, his lips curling into something wicked. "Suppose we should make the most of tonight, then."
Heat curled in Harry’s stomach, that familiar spark of want setting his nerves alight. He smirked, flipping them back over in one smooth motion, pinning Louis beneath him once more.
"Thought you’d never say so, love."
And for the rest of the night, Harry made good on his promise—made sure Louis would feel him, remember him, carry him, even when they were an ocean apart.
The morning came too soon.
Harry stirred before the alarm, his body instinctively seeking out Louis in the early dawn light. He found him exactly where he always did—curled into Harry’s side like he belonged there, like he’d never known how to sleep any other way. His hair was a mess, his face soft in sleep, lips slightly parted as he breathed.
Harry swallowed against the tightness creeping into his throat. He hated this part. The leaving.
He’d never gotten used to it, not in all their years of airports and tour buses, of stolen moments and long stretches apart. He didn’t think he ever would.
Careful not to wake him, Harry brushed his fingers over Louis’ cheek, committing every detail to memory—the faint freckles, the warmth of his skin, the way he always melted into Harry’s touch even in sleep.
He didn’t want to wake him. But he needed to say goodbye.
“Lou,” Harry whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Time to wake up, love.”
Louis made a disgruntled noise, burrowing deeper into Harry’s chest. “No.”
Harry huffed a quiet laugh, smoothing a hand down his back. “Gotta go.”
"Don't," Louis mumbled, voice thick with sleep. His grip tightened around Harry’s waist, as if holding on would be enough to keep him here.
Harry closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. God, he wished.
"Wish I didn’t have to," he admitted, pressing his lips to Louis' hair. "Wish I could stay."
Louis sighed, shifting just enough to blink blearily up at him. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but there was something else there now, something deeper.
“Two weeks,” Louis said softly, voice rough but certain. “We can do two weeks.”
Harry nodded, his fingers tracing absent patterns along Louis’ spine. “Yeah.”
Louis studied him for a long moment, then sighed, pushing himself up onto his elbow. "C'mere."
Harry barely had a second to react before Louis was kissing him, slow and deep, like he was trying to make up for every day they’d be apart in a single moment.
Harry let himself sink into it, let himself take—the press of Louis’ lips, the warmth of his hands, the quiet desperation sitting between them.
It wasn’t enough. It never was.
But eventually, Louis pulled back, resting his forehead against Harry’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. His fingers curled around the fabric of Harry’s hoodie, holding him there for just a few more seconds.
"You’re gonna smash it, H," Louis murmured, voice steady, certain. "You've worked so fucking hard for this."
Harry exhaled shakily, his hands still cradling Louis' waist. "What if I don’t?" he admitted, barely above a whisper. "What if I get there and I can’t finish? What if my legs give out, or I hit the wall, or—"
Louis cut him off with another kiss, brief but firm, grounding. "You’ve run how many training miles? You’ve woken up at stupid o’clock to run in the freezing cold, in the rain, in places where I swear to God you were dodging actual wildlife—"
"That deer was massive," Harry muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Louis smirked but didn’t let up, his hands sliding up to frame Harry’s face. "You’re ready. You know you’re ready."
Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Louis was right—he had trained for this, had pushed himself harder than he ever had for any physical challenge. But still, the nerves sat heavy in his chest.
Louis softened, pressing his forehead more firmly against Harry’s. "And when it gets tough—and it will get tough—you just picture me at the finish line, yeah? Screaming your name, absolutely embarrassing myself, probably holding some massive sign that says something ridiculous like—"
Harry let out a breathy laugh, eyes flicking open. "‘Run, curly, run’?"
Louis grinned. "Exactly."
Harry shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders had eased, just a little. Louis always knew how to pull him back when his mind started spinning.
"The launch is going to be spectacular, Lou. You're going to blow everyone away," Harry murmured, brushing his thumb along Louis’ jaw.
Louis huffed, nudging their noses together. "Stop making me miss you before you’ve even left. S’not fair."
Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Seriously. You’re gonna be incredible, Lou. The launch, the designs—everything. Wish I could be there."
Louis searched his face for a moment before exhaling through his nose. "Me too," he admitted. Then, quieter, more vulnerable, "I want you to see it. Want you to be there when it all comes together."
Harry’s chest ached, but he forced a smile. "I will see it. Every second. You’re gonna send me a million videos, and I’ll be watching all of them between marathon nerves. And when I get back, you’ll walk me through every single detail, and I’ll sit there pretending I know what the hell a bias cut is."
Louis snorted. "You're the one who taught me."
"Mm, I like when you explain it to me," Harry teased, squeezing his waist.
Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to Harry’s lips, slow and deliberate, like he was sealing something in place.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Go run your stupidly long race, marathon man."
Harry smiled, but it felt fragile. "Go take over the fashion world, mogul."
Louis smirked, but there was something glassy in his eyes now. He stepped back, hands slipping from Harry’s shirt, and Harry felt the loss of warmth immediately.
And then, before he could change his mind, before he could say fuck it and miss his flight, Harry turned, grabbed his bag, and walked out the door.
He didn’t look back.
Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave.
Chapter 76: September 2017
Summary:
In which Harry performs at iHeartRadio wearing roses (because he's extra like that), Louis watches from a hidden VIP box while trying not to have feelings, and they both pretend they aren't stupidly in love in front of everyone. Featuring: Jeff Azoff actually being helpful for once, Niall being Done with their nonsense, Bebe Rexha being the chaotic friend we all need, and enough secret signals and meaningful glances to fill a Victorian romance novel. Also includes: gratuitous makeout sessions, Harry being nervous before performing "Carolina" (because we all know that song is BS), Louis getting emotional during "Two Ghosts" (because we all know that song isn't BS), and "Kiwi" bringing out Harry's inner rock star. Plus the mandatory amount of sneaking around, security-coordinated movements, and stolen moments in dressing rooms.
aka: the one where Harry and Louis perfect the art of being together while pretending they aren't together, all while performing at the same festival (and if that isn't a metaphor for their entire relationship, I don't know what is).
Notes:
https://fyeahcouplesmania.tumblr.com/post/629752406066020352
https://youtu.be/ZH4hAJJxDFY?si=Kip0ihK0NDkqwQBj
https://youtu.be/o7LWn53zdZE?si=JGXhETvXrq6S3UJo
Chapter Text
The air conditioning hit Louis' face as he stepped into the Vegas terminal, five carefully counted minutes after Harry had disappeared through the same doors. His security team flanked him, creating the illusion of spontaneous arrival rather than the carefully choreographed dance it actually was.
The private jet still hummed on the tarmac behind him, where Harry's warmth had left an empty seat just seven minutes ago. Louis could still feel the phantom press of Harry's lips against his temple, the whispered "see you soon, love" before they had to begin their public performance of strangers.
Jeff Azoff's thinly veiled disdain had radiated through the cabin during the flight, even as he'd buried himself in his phone, pointedly ignoring how Harry had curled into Louis' side the moment they'd reached cruising altitude. Louis knew Jeff blamed him for Harry's "stubborn refusal" to fully separate himself from his One Direction past. As if Harry could ever be anything but loyal to the bone.
The memory of this morning's argument rose unbidden:
"It's early days in his solo career," Jeff had insisted, not for the first time. "He needs to establish himself independently."
"He's already established," Louis had shot back, while Harry pressed a calming hand to his knee under the conference table. "He's got a number one album and a fucking Christopher Nolan film."
But they'd all known it wasn't really about Harry's success. It was about control. About narrative. About keeping Harry Styles, Solo Artist, untainted by association with his boy band past. With Louis.
Now, walking through the terminal, Louis caught a glimpse of familiar curls disappearing around a corner - Harry being hustled toward his separate car by Jeff's team. His hands itched to reach out, to close the artificial distance between them. Instead, he pulled out his phone, thumbing open their message thread:
"Miss you already x"
The response came seconds later: "30 mins. Room 1224. Love you."
Louis smiled despite himself. Trust Harry to choose a room number that combined their birthdays.
The Dan Wootton interview from July rose in his throat like bile - "Obviously there's no truth to it. Obviously." He'd thought he was being clever with that wink, a small rebellion, a way to tell their truth while speaking lies. But the words still tasted sour, even now.
Especially now, watching the love of his life being hurried away like some dirty secret, when they'd just spent three blissful hours tangled together at 35,000 feet.
"Car's ready, Louis," Preston murmured, guiding him toward the exit.
Louis nodded, adjusting his beanie and sunglasses. Half an hour. He could maintain this careful facade for half an hour. He'd had years of practice, after all.
His phone buzzed again: "Jeff's gone to sort logistics. I packed your favorite jumper in my bag. The green one."
Louis' heart clenched. Of course Harry had stolen his jumper. Of course he'd brought it to Vegas, knowing Louis would want the comfort of Harry's scent before his performance tomorrow.
Nine months of healing. Nine months of learning each other again after everything - the band's hiatus, their break-up, Jay's death. Nine months of Harry proving over and over that he'd choose Louis every time, even with the weight of a solo career and Hollywood success on his shoulders.
The Vegas heat hit him like a wall as he stepped outside. Somewhere ahead, in another black SUV, Harry was probably already typing out another message, planning their next moment together. Louis touched his own lips, still feeling the ghost of their last kiss on the plane.
He could do half an hour.
After all, they'd survived so much in the past year. They'd survived the entire world believing they hated each other. They'd survived death and distance and the suffocating weight of other people's expectations.
They could survive anything. They were fireproof.
His phone lit up one more time as he slid into the car: "Feels like forever xx"
Louis smiled, letting his mask slip just slightly. "Good thing we've got forever then, love."
The car pulled away from the curb, carrying him toward the hotel where Harry waited. Toward home.
The Bellagio lobby gleamed with its typical Vegas excess, all marble and crystal and carefully cultivated luxury. Louis kept his head down as Alberto guided him through a side entrance, away from the main check-in desk where fans might be lurking. His skin prickled with the knowledge that Harry had walked this same path forty minutes earlier.
"Your key, sir," the VIP concierge murmured, sliding a discrete envelope across the counter. "Room 1719."
A decoy room. They'd gotten good at this over the years - booking multiple rooms, creating paper trails of separate spaces while actually sharing one. Harry's team would have booked 1224 under a false name, just like they'd done countless times before.
Louis' phone buzzed in his pocket as he stepped into the elevator:
"Nialler's flight lands in about an hour. Says he's proper excited to see us xx"
Another message followed quickly:
"Jeff's gone to the venue. Coast is clear. Hurry up slowpoke"
Louis bit back a smile, remembering their last festival appearance together in 2015. How different things had been then - the band still intact, his mum still alive, Harry's hair still long enough to braid. Before everything had fallen apart and somehow pieced itself back together.
The elevator dinged at his floor, and Louis forced himself to walk at a normal pace down the hallway, even though every cell in his body yearned to run. To sprint the distance between pretense and truth.
Another text: "Having déjà vu about that time in Manila..."
Louis actually laughed out loud at that one, remembering how they'd gotten the wrong room numbers mixed up and Harry had accidentally flashed an elderly couple who definitely weren't Louis. His thumbs flew over the keyboard:
"If you're standing there starkers when I open this door..."
"Only one way to find out ;)"
God, he loved this ridiculous boy.
The weight of the Dan Wootton interview pressed against his chest again as he rounded the final corner. "Obviously there's no truth to it." The words felt even more bitter now that he was close enough to touch Harry, to hold him, to love him openly within the safety of four walls.
He paused outside 1224, listening for voices or movement that might indicate unwanted company. Old habits died hard, even when they knew the coast was clear. His knuckles had barely brushed the door when it flew open.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Louis found himself immediately enveloped in Harry's arms, his face pressed into the familiar curve of Harry's neck. He breathed in deep - designer cologne couldn't mask the underlying scent that was purely Harry, the one that meant home no matter where they were.
"Missed you," Harry murmured against his hair.
"Time moves slower when I have to pretend I don't know every inch of you," Louis responded, fingers finding their way under Harry's silk shirt to press against warm skin. He traced the butterfly tattoo without looking - he'd mapped Harry's body so many times he could draw it from memory.
Harry pulled back just enough to cup Louis' face in his hands, studying him with those earnest green eyes that had first captured Louis' attention seven years ago. "You okay? After everything with Jeff on the plane..."
"M'fine," Louis assured him, rising on his toes to press their foreheads together. "Used to it, aren't I? Besides, worth it to see you kill it tomorrow night."
Harry's thumb brushed over Louis' cheekbone. "Hate that they made you do that interview. Hate that I can't just tell everyone you're mine."
"Hey," Louis caught Harry's wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I meant what I said, you know. People can believe what they want. The ones who matter know the truth."
"Still." Harry's voice caught. "Sometimes I think about quitting. Just... walking away from it all. Being done with the secrets."
Louis' heart clenched. They'd had this conversation so many times over the years, but it felt different now. Harry had so much more to lose - his budding film career, his solo success. "You were born to perform, love. I won't let you give that up. Not for me."
"It's not giving up if I'm choosing you," Harry insisted, but Louis silenced him with a gentle kiss.
"You already chose me," he reminded Harry, fingers finding the ship tattoo that matched his compass. "Every day since we got back together. Through all the bullshit. You choose me, and I choose you, and the rest is just... noise."
Harry's eyes were suspiciously bright as he pulled Louis closer, tucking him under his chin. "When did you get so wise?"
"Probably around the time you started stealing all my jumpers," Louis teased, lightening the moment. "Speaking of which..."
Harry laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest where Louis was pressed against it. "In my suitcase. Though it mostly smells like me now."
"Good," Louis mumbled into Harry's shirt. "Like it when I smell like you."
They stood there for long moments, swaying slightly, relearning each other's rhythms. Louis traced idle patterns on Harry's back while Harry hummed snippets of "Sign of the Times" under his breath. He'd been practicing so often lately it was becoming second nature, like breathing.
"Proud of you," Louis said suddenly, fiercely. "So fucking proud, Haz. The album, Dunkirk, all of it. You're incredible."
Harry's breath hitched. "Lou..."
"I mean it. Even if I have to pretend I don't know you in public, even if I can't shout it from the rooftops - I'm so proud to love you."
Harry's kiss was desperate then, trying to pour years of love and gratitude and shared pain into a single point of contact. Louis kissed back just as hard, letting his actions say what words couldn't quite capture.
When they finally broke apart, Harry's eyes were wet. "We should probably get cleaned up before Niall gets here," he said roughly.
"Probably," Louis agreed, making no move to step away. "Five more minutes?"
Harry's smile was soft, private - the one reserved just for Louis. "Five more minutes."
Louis surged forward suddenly, his muscles tensing as he gripped Harry's waist and lifted him clear off the ground in one fluid motion. Harry let out a delighted yelp, wrapping his legs around Louis' middle. Harry grinned, eyes sparkling as Louis spun them around.
He pressed Harry against the wall, pinning him there as their foreheads touched. Harry's hands tangled in Louis' hair, tugging gently. Harry's laugh turned to a gasp as Louis suddenly pulled him away from the wall, carrying him across the room before playfully tossing him onto the plush sofa. Harry bounced once, hair wild and cheeks flushed.
Louis stood over him, grinning wickedly.
"Get down here," Harry demanded, reaching up to grab Louis' shirt and yank him down on top of him. They wrestled playfully, nearly rolling off the sofa as they fought for dominance, both laughing breathlessly.
"Careful of the lamp!" Harry giggled as Louis flipped them over, narrowly missing the side table.
"Wouldn't be the first hotel lamp we've knocked over," Louis reminded him, pressing their noses together. His eyes softened as he took in Harry's bright eyes and dimpled smile. "God, I love you."
"Show me," Harry whispered, pulling Louis closer.
Louis didn’t need to be told twice. With a wicked grin, he leaned down, capturing Harry’s lips in a rough, hungry kiss. Their teeth clashed for a moment before Harry’s soft laugh melted into a moan, his hands threading through Louis’ hair and pulling him even closer. The sofa creaked beneath them as Louis pressed their bodies together, the heat between them building and sparking like a live wire.
Harry arched beneath Louis, his legs still loosely wrapped around his waist. "You’re insatiable," Harry murmured between kisses, his voice low and teasing, though his breath came in short gasps. Louis nipped lightly at Harry’s bottom lip, drawing a soft gasp from him.
"Can’t help it," Louis growled, his hands sliding under Harry’s shirt again, palms skimming up his chest with deliberate, maddening slowness. "You make me like this, Haz. Always have."
Harry’s head tipped back against the cushions, exposing the long curve of his throat. Louis didn’t waste the opportunity. He dipped his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just below Harry’s jawline. He kissed and nipped his way down, leaving faint marks that would fade by morning but still brought a thrill to his chest. Harry’s hands tightened in his hair, his breath hitching with every touch.
"Louis," Harry whispered, his voice breaking slightly, a plea wrapped in a name. That sound alone sent fire racing through Louis’ veins. He pulled back for a moment, just enough to take Harry in—the flushed cheeks, the tousled hair, the way his chest rose and fell rapidly under Louis’ touch. Louis’ heart stuttered at how beautiful he was, how undone he looked and how it was all for him.
"Christ, the things you do to me," Louis muttered against Harry’s lips, his voice hoarse and thick with want. He let his hands wander, sliding down Harry’s sides and gripping his thighs, pulling him impossibly closer. Harry’s breath hitched as Louis’ fingers dug into his skin, the pressure grounding and electrifying all at once.
Louis growled softly, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he leaned back just enough to take Harry in again. His hair was a wild mess, his lips flushed and swollen, his chest rising and falling rapidly. It was a sight Louis would never tire of, one that made his heart race and his head spin. "You look like a fucking dream," he murmured, his hands roaming over Harry’s body, memorizing every curve, every sharp inhale, every tremble beneath his touch.
Harry arched up into him, his body pliant and eager, silently begging for more. "You’re the dream, Lou," he said breathlessly, his fingers sliding down Louis’ back, nails dragging lightly over his skin in a way that made Louis shiver. "And you’re mine."
"Always," Louis murmured, his voice fierce with conviction. He dipped his head, pressing kisses along Harry’s jaw, down the column of his neck, each one slower, more deliberate than the last. Harry’s soft gasps and quiet moans spurred him on, a symphony that only he got to hear—a melody that felt like home.
Louis’ hands slid lower, gripping Harry’s hips firmly as he shifted their positions slightly, pressing Harry deeper into the sofa. Harry’s legs wrapped around him again, pulling him closer, locking them together in a way that felt like they could never be separated. The heat between them was palpable, the air thick with longing and love and the kind of passion that only came from years of knowing each other inside and out.
Harry’s fingers found their way to Louis’ face, cupping his jaw and tilting his head up so their eyes met. "You drive me mad, you know that?" he said, his voice soft but filled with intensity. "Completely and utterly mad."
Louis smirked, but his eyes were tender, his voice softer when he replied. "Good."
Harry’s lips curved into a smile, his dimples flashing, and for a moment, the air between them shifted, their passion giving way to something deeper, something unshakable.
A loud knock at the door made them both freeze.
"Oi! You two better be decent in there!" Niall's voice carried through the door with its familiar Irish lilt.
Louis groaned, dropping his forehead against Harry's shoulder. "Your timing is still shit, Nialler!" he called back.
"Give us a minute!" Harry added, already trying to smooth down his thoroughly mussed hair.
They scrambled to make themselves presentable, Louis cursing under his breath as he retrieved his shirt from where it had somehow landed on the lamp. Harry quickly buttoned his own shirt, though he missed a button in his haste.
"A minute's up, lads!" Niall announced cheerfully.
Louis gave Harry a quick once-over, fixing his misaligned buttons before pressing a final kiss to his lips. Harry wiped a smudge of something from Louis' jaw before nodding.
When they opened the door, Niall took one look at them and burst out laughing. "Jesus Christ, you two are worse than teenagers. Your hair's a proper mess, Tommo."
"Shut it," Louis grumbled, but he was fighting a smile as he pulled Niall in for a hug.
"And H, might want to cover up those love bites before Jeff has an aneurysm," Niall added with a wink, making Harry's hand fly to his neck as his cheeks flushed pink.
"Like you haven't walked in on worse," Louis retorted, dropping onto the sofa and pulling Harry down next to him.
"Don't remind me," Niall shuddered dramatically. "Tour bus memories I'd rather forget."
Niall settled into the armchair across from them, his expression softening as he watched Harry unconsciously lean into Louis' side.
"Christ, I don't miss those days," he said, shaking his head. "Remember how Management would ring me at all hours? 'Niall, make sure they're not in the same car.' 'Niall, don't let them sit together at dinner.' 'Niall, Harry needs to be seen leaving with Nick.'"
"You were rubbish at it," Louis said fondly. "Worst guard dog ever."
"Nearly gave me an ulcer, the pair of you," Niall admitted. "Used to lie awake at night worried sick about slipping up, saying the wrong thing in interviews." He paused, then added more quietly, "There were times I thought... well, might've been easier if you'd just..."
"If we'd what?" Harry asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
Niall looked down at his hands. "If you'd just given them what they wanted. Called it off." He rushed to continue as Louis tensed. "I was wrong, obviously. Dead wrong. Just... I was so young, and the pressure was intense, yeah? Didn't handle it well."
"None of us did," Louis said after a moment, his hand finding Harry's. "Was proper fucked up, making you lot carry that weight."
"Ancient history now," Niall waved it off, visibly relieved to have finally confessed. "Besides, look at you two - still driving everyone mad after all these years. Makes me proper happy, if I'm honest. Even if you are defiling perfectly good hotel furniture."
"We weren't-" Harry started to protest.
"Save it, mate. Your shirt's still inside out."
Harry looked down at his shirt and groaned, while Louis burst out laughing.
"Can't take you two anywhere," Niall said fondly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "Though I suppose it's better than 2013 when we had to physically pry you apart before shows."
"Oi, we weren't that bad," Louis protested.
"Madison Square Garden," Niall countered. "Behind the drum kit."
"That was one time-"
"O2 Arena."
"Okay, twice-"
"The entire Australian leg of the tour."
Harry buried his face in his hands, but his shoulders shook with laughter. "In our defense, we were teenagers."
"And what's your excuse now?" Niall grinned, gesturing at Harry's thoroughly disheveled state.
"Being ridiculously in love?" Harry suggested, making Louis roll his eyes even as he tugged Harry closer.
"Speaking of," Niall's expression turned more serious. "How are things with Jeff, H? Still being a proper dick about everything?"
Harry sighed. "He's... trying. In his way. Still thinks any association with One Direction will hurt my 'solo career trajectory' or whatever."
"Bullshit," Niall said flatly. "You're starring in fucking Nolan films. Think you've proved yourself, mate."
"That's what I keep saying," Louis added, his thumb rubbing circles on Harry's knee. "But apparently I'm 'biased.'"
"At least Jeff lets me make my own decisions," Harry said quietly. "Unlike some people still pulling Louis' strings."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. They all knew who Harry was talking about.
"Haz..." Louis warned.
"No, he's right," Niall cut in, surprisingly fierce. "It's fucking ridiculous that Simon still has any control over you, Lou. After everything..."
"Can we not?" Louis interrupted. "Just... not tonight. Please?"
Harry pressed a kiss to Louis' shoulder in silent support, while Niall held up his hands in surrender.
"Right then," Niall said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Tell me about Dunkirk instead. Did you really have to cut off all your hair without warning anyone?"
Harry brightened immediately, launching into the story of Christopher Nolan's very specific requirements for historical accuracy. Louis settled back into the sofa, content to watch Harry gesture animatedly as he described the filming process, his whole face lighting up with enthusiasm.
"...and then Tom Hardy actually helped me with this one scene-" Harry was saying, still animated as he described his Dunkirk experience.
Louis watched him fondly, remembering all those nights Harry had burst through their front door, face flushed with excitement and ocean spray still in his hair. How he'd collapse onto their bed, smelling of salt water and adrenaline, words tumbling out faster than his mouth could form them.
"Think I've heard this story," Niall teased. "About fifty times, actually."
"You weren't there though," Harry protested. "When I got back to the hotel that night-"
"I was," Louis interrupted softly, his eyes crinkling. "You were proper bouncing off the walls, love. Could barely get you to sit still long enough to eat."
Harry's expression softened, reaching for Louis' hand. "You listened to every single story. Never once complained."
"Course not. Was amazing watching you find your feet in something completely new. Just... being another actor learning the ropes." Louis squeezed his hand. "No expectations, no history. Just you."
"God, you should've heard him on the phone," Niall told Louis. "Called me after his first week proper freaking out because Christopher Nolan had complimented his blocking. Our Harry, who's performed for stadiums of screaming fans, nearly combusting because a director said 'good job.'"
"It was different," Harry insisted. "Music, the band... that was home. This was like... starting fresh. Terrifying but exciting."
"Remember that night you called me in tears because you thought you'd messed up all your takes?" Louis asked, his voice gentle. "And then the next day Nolan used your first shot?"
Harry groaned, burying his face in Louis' shoulder. "Don't remind me. I was a mess."
"You were brilliant," Louis corrected firmly. "Are brilliant. The premiere proved that. They loved it."
"Speaking of," Niall waggled his eyebrows, "heard you snuck into the car to drop him off."
"Wasn't exactly sneaking," Louis defended. "Just... keeping a low profile."
"Had to have Jeff stand guard like some sort of pretentious bouncer," Harry muttered, still clearly annoyed by the memory. "As if anyone could've seen through those windows anyway."
"Hey," Louis turned Harry's face toward him. "Was worth it to see you shine, wasn't it? Besides, got to snog you senseless before you hit the red carpet, didn't I?"
"Right," Niall clapped his hands together, checking his phone. "Much as I love watching you two make heart eyes at each other, H needs to eat something before the show. Can't have you passing out on stage just because you were too busy snogging to remember dinner."
"I don't pass out," Harry protested weakly.
"2014," both Louis and Niall said in unison.
"That was dehydration!"
"Because you skipped lunch to-" Niall started.
"Yes, alright," Harry cut him off, blushing. "Point made."
"Actually," Louis said, checking his own phone, "Jeff just texted. He's sorted everything for tomorrow - got me a perfect spot in the VIP box. Complete privacy, no cameras, blackout curtains." He looked up, surprised. "Even arranged for separate security to escort me in."
Niall's eyebrows shot up. "Jeff did?"
"Think he's finally catching on that keeping us apart just makes everything more complicated," Louis shrugged, but his eyes were soft. "Said, and I quote, 'It's easier to manage when you're both actually where you're supposed to be instead of sneaking around like teenagers.'"
"Well," Niall said, looking impressed despite himself. "Maybe the man's not completely hopeless after all."
"Still a control freak," Harry mumbled, but he was smiling. "But I'll take it. Means I get to perform knowing you're actually there."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, love." Louis squeezed his hand. "Now come on, Niall's right. You need to eat something. Tomorrow's a big day."
"Massive," Niall agreed. "First time performing at the same venue since-"
"Don't remind me," Harry groaned. "I'm nervous enough as it is."
"You'll smash it," Louis said confidently. "Both of you will. But not if you faint from hunger first. Room service?"
***
Louis leaned against the dressing room wall, watching Harry adjust the red and black diamond-patterned jacket in the mirror. His eyes traced over the delicate white shirt underneath, decorated with subtle rose patterns.
"The roses again?" Louis asked softly, a knowing smile playing at his lips.
Harry met his eyes in the mirror, dimples appearing. "Always. Can't let anyone forget which one of us is the rose, can I?"
"As if the actual rose tattoo wasn't enough," Louis teased, stepping forward to smooth down Harry's collar. His fingers lingered where he knew the tattoo lay beneath the fabric, matching his own dagger. "Though I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit."
A knock at the door interrupted them. "Five minutes, Harry!" Someone called through the door.
Harry took a deep breath, shoulders tensing slightly. Louis immediately stepped closer, turning Harry to face him.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You've got this. The whole festival is about to see exactly what I see every day."
"And what's that?" Harry asked, trying for cheeky but landing somewhere closer to nervous.
"A star," Louis said simply. "My star. In his ridiculous designer clothes and his not-so-subtle roses."
Harry laughed, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he leaned down to press his forehead against Louis'. "Love you."
"Love you too. Now go show them how it's done."
The security team moved with practiced precision, guiding Louis through a maze of service corridors. The path had been mapped out days in advance - every turn, every potential camera angle, every possible fan location accounted for.
"Right through here, Mr. Tomlinson," the head of security murmured, holding open a hidden door that led to a private elevator. Louis could hear the growing roar of the crowd through the walls, the anticipation building.
The VIP box was exactly as Jeff had promised - completely private, set back from view, but with a perfect vantage point of the stage. Jeff nodded as Louis entered, surprisingly cordial.
"Sound check went well," Jeff offered. "He's ready."
Louis appreciated the olive branch for what it was. "Course he is. Always is."
When Harry walked out, Louis' breath caught. The red and black diamond-patterned suit was stunning, but it was the subtle roses on the white shirt beneath that made his heart squeeze. Their little secret in plain sight.
The opening notes of "Carolina" started, and Louis could see the tension in Harry's shoulders, the slightly too-controlled movements. He was wearing both rings - the silver promise band and the ruby engagement ring - and Louis felt a surge of pride mixed with protectiveness.
"Still hates this song," Louis muttered to himself, watching Harry work through the manufactured lyrics about a girl they'd both known was just for show.
The transition to "Two Ghosts" felt like a physical blow. Harry's voice softened, became more vulnerable:
"Same lips red, same eyes blue
Same white shirt, couple more tattoos
But it's not you and it's not me
Tastes so sweet, looks so real
Sounds like something that I used to feel
But I can't touch what I see"
Louis gripped the railing harder, memories flooding back. The fights, the separation, the unbearable weight of being apart while still being so desperately in love. When Harry reached "this was all we used to need," Louis had to turn away, pressing his knuckles to his mouth.
Before "Only Angel," Harry's whole demeanor shifted, becoming almost shy as he addressed the crowd: "Las Vegas, are you ready to make some noise for me? I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you. Thanks for having me today. I would like to see you dance now please."
Louis couldn't help but smile - God, he loved him so much. The way he could command a stage one moment and be absolutely endearing the next.
During the more suggestive lyrics - particularly "I'm just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth, and there's nothing I can do about it" - Jeff actually turned to Louis with an exasperated look. Louis just shrugged, fighting back a laugh. Let them all know exactly what that line meant.
Harry's pre-"Sign of the Times" speech made Louis' heart clench:
"Hello, I'm from England, hello. Bloody hell. How you doing on the top? Nice to see you. Thank you so much for having me today. This is very fun isn't it? We having a good time? You look like you're having a great time. Thanks so much for letting me squeeze in for a little bit. Uh, I uh, I just started a tour. So I hope I'll be seeing some of you. I assume the men sat down over here will not be attending. That's okay..."
"Still trying so hard to win them all over," Louis whispered, aching for him. "You don't need their approval, love."
When the song began, Louis thought about his own response song sitting unreleased in Syco's vaults. "Copy of a Copy of a Copy" - his answer to this very moment, this very pain. But then Harry reached the bridge, looking up at their box:
"We don't talk enough
We should open up
Before it's all too much
Will we ever learn?
We've been here before
It's just what we know"
Harry's fingers pressed to his lips, then lifted toward the box in their secret gesture. Louis touched his own lips in response, hidden in the shadows.
Before "Kiwi," Harry was practically bouncing: "Vegas you are very kind. I um. I was supposed to fly around but Pink stole my harness. So that's out. This is my last song so thank you very much. I mean, I'd like a little more enthusiasm. This is my last song."
Louis laughed out loud at the crowd's response.
"Thank you. I am a narcissist so that will help my ego. Thank you very much. For the next, uh, are you excited for the rest of the night? Coldplay is next. Make sure I have enough wire for the next song. I have enough wire. I would like to ask a favor from you. You have been very kind to me thus far. I have three and a half minutes left and I would like you to go nuts. Uh, alright, let's do it."
As "Kiwi" started, Louis couldn't help but dance, remembering the angry, defiant way Harry had written it - their shared fuck-you to to the woman who was still making Louis' life hell at the moment. Harry was electric on stage now, completely in his element, sneaking glances and blown kisses toward the box between lyrics.
When it was over, security was already moving to escort Louis out through their predetermined route. He'd see Harry soon enough, but for now, this had been enough - being here, being present, even if hidden. Another small victory in their ongoing war for moments together.
"Well done, H," he whispered as the door closed behind him. "Well fucking done."
The security team guided Louis through another series of calculated movements, timing his path to Harry's dressing room between waves of crew members and staff. He could hear the roar of the crowd still echoing through the corridors, Coldplay's opening notes beginning to fill the arena.
When he reached the dressing room, it was chaos - stylists adjusting clothes on racks, handlers talking about tomorrow's schedule, someone discussing sound levels from the performance. But Harry was in the center of it all, still buzzing with post-show energy, his hair damp with sweat and that ridiculous diamond-patterned jacket half off his shoulders.
Their eyes met across the room, and Harry's whole face lit up.
"Right, everyone out please," Harry announced, cutting through the chatter. When people hesitated, he added more firmly, "Now. Everything else can wait ten minutes."
"H, we need to discuss tomorrow's-" one of the handlers started.
"Ten minutes," Harry repeated, not breaking eye contact with Louis. "Just... give me ten minutes."
There was some grumbling, but they filed out, Jeff being the last to leave with a pointed look at his watch. The moment the door clicked shut, Harry crossed the room in three long strides.
"Hi," he breathed, pressing his forehead against Louis'.
"Hi yourself, rockstar," Louis smiled, reaching up to push Harry's sweat-dampened hair back from his face. "Proper showed them tonight, didn't you?"
"Was shaking during Carolina," Harry admitted. "Couldn't settle."
"Nobody could tell, love. Well, nobody but me." Louis traced his thumb over Harry's cheek. "And you wore both rings."
Harry glanced down at his hands, the silver and ruby catching the light. "Always do when I can. Helps, having them on stage. Like you're up there with me."
"Was up there tonight, wasn't I? In that posh pit you kept going on about."
Harry laughed softly. "Saw you dancing during Kiwi."
"Well, it is my favorite, innit? Nothing quite like watching you perform a diss track about-"
A knock at the door interrupted them. "Five minutes, H!"
Harry groaned, burying his face in Louis' neck. "Don't want to do press. Want to stay here with you."
"Hey," Louis pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Go do your press. Be charming. Deflect the dating questions like you always do. Then meet me back at the hotel. I'll run you a bath, order that ridiculous avocado toast you like, and you can tell me every single detail about how it felt up there tonight."
"Promise?"
"Promise. Now go on, before Jeff has an aneurysm."
Harry pressed one more quick kiss to Louis' lips before stepping back, straightening his shirt. "Love you."
"Love you too. And H?" Louis paused at the private exit door security had shown him. "The roses were a nice touch."
Harry's answering smile was brighter than any stage light could ever be.
***
"Tommo!" Bebe's voice rang out as she burst into the green room, immediately wrapping Louis in a tight hug. "And..." her eyes sparkled as she spotted Harry trying to look inconspicuous in the corner, "my favorite secret guest."
"Bebe," Harry grinned, accepting his own hug. "Looking incredible as always."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, styles," she winked, before turning back to Louis. "You ready to kill this? Because I'm thinking we switch up the bridge a bit, make it even more-"
"Absolutely not," Louis cut her off fondly. "Last time you convinced me to 'switch it up' five minutes before a show, I forgot all the words."
"That was one time!"
"Louis is shit at remembering the words," Harry offered helpfully from his corner, earning a betrayed look from Bebe.
"Et tu, Harold?" She clutched her chest dramatically. "And here I thought we had a special bond."
"You do realize you're both exactly the same kind of chaos, right?" Louis said, adjusting his in-ear monitor. "It's why I can only handle one of you at a time."
Bebe plopped down next to Harry, stealing a sip of his water. "Speaking of stages, that set last night? Incredible. That thing you did during Sign of-"
"Bebe," Louis warned quietly, glancing at the door.
"Right, sorry," she switched gears seamlessly. "Anyway, the new arrangement we worked out for the chorus is going to absolutely slay. And you," she pointed at Harry, "better be watching from somewhere I can show off for."
"Wouldn't miss it," Harry promised. "Jeff actually managed to-"
A stagehand appeared in the doorway. "Five minutes, Ms. Rexha, Mr. Tomlinson."
"That's our cue," Bebe stood, straightening her outfit. "H, darling, time for you to disappear to your super secret hiding spot. Lou, let's go show these people how it's done."
As she headed for the door, Louis turned to Harry. "See you up there?"
"Always," Harry smiled, squeezing his hand quickly. "Break a leg. Both of you."
"Love you," Louis whispered.
"Love you too. Now go. Before Bebe starts making up new choreography or something."
"I heard that!" Bebe called from the hallway. "And I would never! ...okay maybe I would. Louis, come on!"
With one last quick smile at Harry, Louis headed out to join her, already hearing the crowd's energy building.
The bass line started thumping through the arena as Bebe took the stage, her voice strong and clear on the opening verse. Louis waited in the wings, his heart racing. He knew Harry was up there, in the same VIP box he'd occupied last night, watching. It made everything more intense, more real.
When Bebe hit "I call you but you never even answer," Louis closed his eyes briefly. He'd written those lyrics in a hotel room in LA, drunk on expensive whiskey and memories, thinking about all the times they'd been forced to ignore each other's calls, to pretend they weren't everything to each other.
The crowd's scream when he emerged was deafening. He fed off their energy, strutting onto the stage as he launched into his verse: "I know my friends they give me bad advice, like move on, get you out my mind..."
His eyes flickered briefly to the VIP box, hidden in shadow. The irony wasn't lost on him - singing these words about Harry, to Harry, while pretending they weren't about Harry at all. Their entire relationship compressed into one perfect metaphor.
When they hit the chorus together, Louis let himself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like if it was Harry's voice harmonizing with his instead of Bebe's. They'd actually recorded it that way once, late at night in a studio in London. Just for them. Just to hear how it would sound. It had been perfect - their voices intertwining on "you stress me out, you kill me, you drag me down, you fuck me up..."
Bebe caught his eye during "so you can cut me up and kiss me harder," giving him a knowing little smirk. She'd figured out who the song was about pretty quickly, had become one of their fiercest supporters behind the scenes.
The final chorus built to a crescendo, and Louis let himself really feel it - all the pain, all the love, all the complicated mess of their relationship laid bare in song. "I love it, I hate it, and I can't take it, but I keep on coming back to you..."
As the last notes faded and the crowd roared, Louis chanced one more look at the VIP box. He couldn't see Harry, but he knew he was there. Knew he was feeling every word just as deeply.
Bebe grabbed his hand for their bow, squeezing it supportively. She leaned in close as they waved to the crowd, whispering, "He was watching you the whole time, you know. Couldn't take his eyes off you."
Louis squeezed her hand back gratefully. "Thank you," he murmured, both for the performance and for being one of the few people who knew, who understood.
As they left the stage, Louis felt lighter somehow. Every time they managed to share their truth through music, even in these coded ways, it felt like a small victory. One day, maybe they'd get to sing their songs together, openly and honestly. But for now, this was enough - Harry in the shadows, Louis in the light, and their love story hidden in plain sight in every lyric.
Chapter 77: Present Day
Summary:
Louis spends his morning on the phone with Harry (who's living his best ninja life sneaking into shows in Tokyo), survives an Outlander interview while definitely not thinking about matching tattoos, launches his brand 28 while throwing meaningful glances at embroidered roses, meets a band who are terrible at subtle Harry-related fishing, watches his sisters rock his designs, and ends the night being literally carried through crowds to call his marathon-running boyfriend. Just another casual day in the life, really.
aka: the one where Louis launches a fashion brand while Harry prepares to run 26.2 miles and they're both bricking it
Chapter Text
Louis paced his kitchen, bare feet padding against the heated floors as he waited for the kettle to boil. He knew he needed to change- but right now he was still in joggers and one of Harry's old t-shirts, trying to calm his nerves with his third cup of coffee.
"You've got to check them out properly," Harry was saying through his AirPods, voice eager despite the early hour in Tokyo. "Fontaines DC were proper incredible the other night. That energy, Lou. Reminded me of like, old school punk shows. Got me proper excited about music again."
"Still can't believe you and Nikolai actually managed to sneak in without getting spotted," Louis smiled, measuring out his tea. "Proper ninja, you. Though knowing you, probably stopped to take photos with everyone after."
"Only a few!" Harry protested, laughing. "The beanie worked wonders. Think the locals were more interested in Nikolai's matching tracksuit situation anyway. Man's committed to a look."
"Speaking of committed," Louis settled against the counter, "how you feeling about tomorrow? Ready to be done with all this healthy living?"
"God, yes," Harry groaned, and Louis could picture him flopping dramatically onto his hotel bed. "Got plans with this bottle of red I've been eyeing for months. And there's this bakery near ours that does those chocolate things you like-"
"The ones with the salt on top?"
"Mhmm. Gonna eat about twenty of them. Maybe in bed. While drinking said wine."
"Proper rock star, you are," Louis teased, but his chest ached with how much he wished he could be there. "Living wild."
"Living free," Harry agreed solemnly. "No more protein shakes. No more 5am runs. No more Nikolai texting me my split times at midnight."
Louis smiled, soft and fond. "Gonna miss it though, aren't you? The training and that?"
There was a pause, then Harry sighed. "Yeah. Been... nice, actually. Having something to focus on. Something that's just mine, you know?"
Louis did know. It was part of why he'd started this whole fashion thing - needing something that was completely his own, separate from the band, from music, from everything else.
"Speaking of focus," Harry's voice went gentle in that way that still made Louis' stomach flip, even after all these years. "How are you feeling? About tonight?"
Louis took a long sip of coffee, considering. "Bricking it, if m'honest. Keep thinking about everything that could go wrong. What if no one shows? What if they hate it? What if I've just been kidding myself this whole time and-"
"Lou," Harry interrupted softly. "Stop. You've put everything into this. Been watching you sketch designs at 3am, love. Seen how much thought you've gone into every detail. They're going to love it because it's you."
"Yeah?" Louis hated how small his voice sounded, but Harry was the only one he ever let hear him like this.
"Yeah. And speaking of details - did that band get back to you? The ones playing tonight?"
"The Dirty Blonde? Yeah, all sorted." Louis paused, lips twitching. "Actually... bit weird that. They reached out to Jeff first."
"Jeff? Why?"
"They've got this song coming out... sort of a response track? To 'Adore You'?" Louis waited for Harry's reaction.
"What, like an answer song?" Harry sounded more intrigued than anything. "That's actually quite cool. What's it called?"
"'Adore Me?'" Louis couldn't help chuckling. "With a question mark and everything. Proper dramatic. But they wanted to make sure it was okay, didn't want to step on any toes."
"That's actually quite sweet," Harry mused. "They any good?"
"Really good, actually. Been watching their videos on Instagram for a bit. Reminded me of us, back in the day. Young and hungry and ready to take on the world." Louis fiddled with his mug. "Not having them play that one tonight though."
"No?"
"Nah, feels a bit too on the nose, doesn't it? Plus it's meant to be a breakup response and that's..." Louis trailed off, chest warming. "Well. Not exactly our situation, is it?"
"No," Harry's voice went soft, fond. "Definitely not."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, just breathing together across the miles.
"God, I wish you were here," Louis admitted finally, sliding down to sit on the kitchen floor. "Keep looking for you, you know? Like earlier, saw something proper funny with the lighting setup and turned to tell you about it and..."
"Lou..."
"I know, I know. M'being soft." Louis scrubbed a hand over his face. "Just... doesn't feel right, doing something this big without you here."
"I'm always with you," Harry said quietly. "Even when I'm stuffing my face with pasta in Tokyo."
Louis laughed wetly. "Romantic."
"You love it."
"Yeah," Louis smiled, picking at a loose thread on his (Harry's) shirt. "Yeah, I really do."
"You're going to be amazing tonight," Harry said firmly. "And I'm going to be checking my phone obsessively, yeah? Want to see everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything. The lights, the clothes, that ridiculous intern of yours probably having seven different crises..."
"Oi, be nice to Matteo. He's actually quite good when he's not having a meltdown because you walked past."
Harry's laugh was warm, familiar. "Miles. And I still say he fancies you."
"Pretty sure he fancies you more, love. Though his boyfriend might have something to say about that."
"Speaking of saying things..." Harry trailed off meaningfully.
Louis glanced at the clock and grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Should probably start getting ready. Krys'll have my head if I'm late."
"Go," Harry said softly. "Go be incredible. I'll be thinking of you."
"While you're carb loading with Nikolai?"
"Always," Harry's voice was warm, certain. "No matter what I'm doing. So proud of you, Lou."
Louis' chest tightened. "Miss you."
"Miss you more. Now go get ready before Krys actually murders you. Can't wait to see all the photos."
"Love you," Louis murmured, not quite ready to let go. "Get some rest, yeah? Big day tomorrow."
"Love you too. Forever, remember?"
"Forever," Louis echoed, smiling despite the ache in his chest. "Now go on, get some sleep. Got a marathon to run."
"Got a fashion empire to launch," Harry countered.
"Suppose we do." Louis pushed himself up off the floor, straightening his shoulders. "Right then. Let's do this."
***
Louis stepped out of the car, the late afternoon London air crisp against his skin. The line of fans outside the venue made his heart skip - he hadn't expected anyone to camp out for an invite-only event. But there they were, rainbow flags and homemade signs mixing with fashion magazines clutched in hopeful hands.
He tugged self-consciously at his Stussy shirt - the white one with the rainbow highway heart. He'd spent longer than he'd admit choosing it, knowing the fans would catch the significance. Everything was significance with them. Every choice deliberate, every detail tracked. Sometimes it felt suffocating, but today... today it felt like armor.
"Looking good, boss," Miles appeared at his elbow, tablet already in hand. "We've got Outlander ready in the back room, and Krys is waiting to sort your hair."
Louis nodded, waving to the crowd as he made his way to the entrance. A few fans called out compliments and he couldn't help grinning. They got it. They always did.
Inside was controlled chaos - staff running final checks on lighting, PR team huddled in corners with clipboards, the band doing their soundcheck. Louis let himself be shepherded toward the back room, where his 28 outfit waited.
"Vodka Redbull?" Oli appeared with perfect timing, pressing a glass into his hand.
"Love you," Louis muttered, taking a long sip. His hands were shaking slightly as he changed into the white button-up, fingers tracing over the embroidered roses. Blue, like always. Everything important in his life came back to blue or green.
"Harry texted," Oli said casually, scrolling through his phone. "Wants to know if you're bricking it yet."
"Tell him to focus on his carbs," Louis tried for casual, but couldn't help smiling. "Proper mother hen, that one."
His phone buzzed in his pocket - probably Harry anyway, knowing him too well. But before he could check, Krys burst in with her kit.
"Right then, let's make you pretty," she announced, spinning him toward the mirror. "Though that shirt's doing half the work. The embroidery really brings out your eyes."
Louis hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of his drink. The roses felt heavy on his chest, weighted with meaning. Everything was meaning these days. Every choice a statement, every detail a message in a bottle thrown into an ocean of watching eyes.
"Outlander's ready when you are," Miles poked his head in. "They want to do the shoot first, then interview."
Louis nodded, finishing his drink. "Right then. Let's give them something to talk about, yeah?"
The vodka was warm in his veins as he settled into the leather chair, camera lights harsh against the gray backdrop. He could do this. He'd been doing this for years - walking the razor's edge between truth and fiction, between who he was and who they needed him to be.
"Looking very dapper," the interviewer - Sarah? Sophie? - smiled warmly. "Shall we begin?"
Louis shifted, arranging his face into something casual, practiced. Lad about town meets fashion revolutionary. The eternal balancing act.
"Fire away," he grinned, all charm and carefully constructed ease. But inside, his heart was racing. Because this wasn't just another interview. This was his launch. His brand. His chance to say something real.
Louis settled into the leather chair, the vodka warm in his veins making his usual iron control feel slightly looser. Through the window, London's early evening sky was darkening. Somewhere in Tokyo, Harry would be properly asleep now, nervous pre-marathon energy finally giving way to exhaustion.
"So, is 28 Outlandish?" the interviewer leaned forward, and Louis felt that familiar sparkle of mischief he usually tried to suppress.
"I hope so! Yeah, I hope so." His hands came up automatically, gesturing with a grace he quickly tried to roughen. "That word, and everything that means is interesting to me. I'm not someone who enjoys any kind of rules..." He saw Chris shift slightly - warning received. Made his next movement more angular, more masculine, though the vodka made it more difficult.
When they asked about his creative process, Louis found himself properly animated despite himself. "I normally just, like, I like looking through archive stuff..." His hands danced through the air as he spoke about jackets and inspiration, careful not to mention the hours spent researching queer fashion history, the coded messages he'd woven into every piece. "My own archive as well. And go through some stuff I like." The fans made this part easy. His fashion had been tracked and blogged about on a daily basis since the band. Hundreds of hours spent deciphering messages he couldn't confirm. Sometimes they got it right. Sometimes they found clues even he didn't realize he was giving.
The tattoo question made his stomach flip. Dangerous territory. He tugged his collar down with deliberate casualness, revealing the "It is what it is" script. "Maybe this one?"
His fingers traced the words automatically, memories threatening to surface - lying on that tattoo bed, Harry next to him waiting to get his butterfly, one design split between them because they couldn't share anything else back then. He forced himself to move on quickly, pulling up his sleeve to show the stag instead. Safer ground.
"These are not necessarily the best quality tattoos," he deflected, motioning to his right forearm and carefully avoiding his left forearm where the dagger sat - his most obvious answer to Harry's rose, the one that had made even Harry nervous at the time. "It was kind of when I was younger, just little memories to remember certain times."
He gestured vaguely at what he called his "pigeon" - actually a swift, gotten two weeks after that whole Taylor situation. Some memories were better left unexplained. "Just got it, thought it looked cool." The lie was practiced, familiar.
When they asked about clothes holding memories, he softened despite himself. "That's beautiful," he said, and for a moment his whole face transformed, guard dropping. "Never really thought about it but yeah, for sure. Definitely. There's a lot of clothes that I'm sure if I look down on my wardrobe it would almost be like looking back at my tattoos." Like his current collection - every piece a carefully chosen statement, every detail a message in a bottle.
The scent question made him proper laugh, all crinkled eyes and delicate hand covering his mouth before he could catch himself. "Weed," he said, then laughed again at management's collective wince. "No that's the real answer." He tried to pull it back, professional again. "I don't know, probably an air of sophistication I'd say, to the smell."
But it was the question about 28's meaning that nearly broke him. He gave them the Rovers story - true enough, but not the whole truth. Didn't mention how he'd specifically asked for that number, how it had become their thing long before it became his brand.
"I got 'signed' for Donny Rovers, and they gave me the number 28, so that's why," he said, watching Chris nod approvingly at the familiar cover story. "I've never really had any connection to any numbers or anything like that but now that number reminds me of home."
The lie was so blatant he almost wanted to laugh - might as well have winked directly at camera. His fans would be screaming about this one, pulling up screenshots of every 28 he'd deliberately scattered through the years, every 7 and 369 that had become their own kind of language. They'd parse the slight emphasis he couldn't help putting on 'home', knowing exactly why he'd chosen that particular word.
In Tokyo, Harry would be curled around Louis' pillow that he'd definitely nicked from their actual home, despite his protests. The same Harry who'd started making 28 second outros in his songs, who'd put 28 goldens in the bridge for Golden and 28 bops in Sunflower Vol 6, who had started his very first tour on September 28th. Home had never really meant Doncaster, not for years now.
When they asked what it meant to be an Outlander, something fierce and proud broke through his careful facade. "I think not to be a sheep, right?" His voice went higher with excitement before he caught himself, saw Chris's warning look. "That's what I would say, yeah." The yeah was deliberately deeper, more controlled, but his eyes still sparkled with defiance.
After all, wasn't that what this whole brand was about? Being brave enough to let the walls crack, just a little. Being outlandish enough to tell the truth, even if he had to tell it sideways.
"Hopefully keep growing," he said when they asked about the future, and he meant it. Growing braver, maybe. Growing closer to truth. "This is a new forte for me so I'm still learning all the time and it's been interesting to put my mind in a slightly different place."
A place where maybe, someday, he wouldn't need to measure every word, control every gesture. Where being outlandish wouldn't feel so dangerous.
Louis leaned against the shop window, fresh vodka in hand, watching the crowd outside grow larger by the minute. Even through the glass, he could feel their energy, could see them pointing and waving when they spotted him. He raised his glass slightly, grinning as they erupted in excited screams.
"I want to go out there," he said, not taking his eyes off the fans. Some of them had been there since morning, he knew. Had tracked his movements all day, worked out where he'd be.
"Louis, we don't have proper security measures in place for that," Chris said immediately, that familiar note of exasperation in his voice. "The crowd's too big now, we haven't prepared-"
"No, look at them," Louis interrupted, pressing his hand against the glass. "They need this. I need this." His skin was practically humming with it - that magnetic pull he'd been missing since his last show. Six months was too long without that rush, that connection. "I'm going out there."
He could see Chris calculating, weighing the risks against Louis' stubborn expression. Finally, Chris sighed. "Right. Jamie, go out there first. Get them to understand they need to stay calm, keep some distance. No rushing forward, no grabbing."
Someone appeared with the new green bomber jacket - the one with the roses embroidered across the back. He caught his reflection as he pulled it on, knowing the fans would clock the significance immediately. Everything was always significant with them.
The moment he stepped outside, the energy hit him like a wave. God, he'd missed this. Missed their faces, their voices, the way they looked at him like they knew him - really knew him, not just the careful version he showed in interviews.
"Hello loves," he called out, letting his accent get properly Yorkshire-thick the way they loved. He moved down the line slowly, signing photos and albums, taking selfies, listening to their quick whispered messages of support. Some of them had tears in their eyes, and he understood. He felt it too - this thing between them that was bigger than just singer and fans.
They'd been there through everything, hadn't they? Read between every line, decoded every signal, kept his secrets and helped him tell his truth in the only ways he could. They were part of the dance now, had been for years.
Six months without a stage had felt like withdrawal, but this - this was almost better. Raw and real and close enough to see their eyes, to feel their hands squeeze his with understanding that went far beyond just meeting their idol.
Louis came back inside, still buzzing from the fan interaction. He spotted Chris's carefully neutral expression and had to suppress an eye roll. "I know, I know - this is meant to be industry, luxury brand launch, very serious business." He tugged at the collar of the rose-embroidered jacket, painfully aware of its significance. "But we've got those extra gift bags, yeah? The t-shirts and that? Let's give them to the fans outside when we wrap up. No sense wasting them."
He made his way over to where Dirty Blonde was standing near the bar. He'd only met Ailis and Hayley properly today during soundcheck, but there was something about their dynamic that felt familiar - that easy northern banter, the way they finished each other's sentences.
"Mad following you've got out there," Ailis said, gesturing toward the window with her beer. "Our socials have gone mental since the announcement we'd be playing tonight. Think we've gained about three thousand followers just from being associated with your launch."
"Yeah?" Louis leaned against the bar, ordering another vodka. "Good though, innit? That's what it's all about really - helping each other up." The words reminded him of conversations from years ago, late nights discussing how they'd help other artists once they made it big themselves.
"Proper northern solidarity," Hayley grinned. "Manchester meets Donny."
Louis felt his face do something complicated before he could catch it - those words hitting too close to home. He covered it with a quick sip of his drink, but Ailis had caught the flash of... something.
"Speaking of Manchester lads," she said with careful casualness that immediately set off warning bells in Louis' head, "bet you know all the best spots up there, yeah? Being in the industry and all."
Louis kept his face carefully neutral, though his pulse had picked up at the obvious fishing. Thirteen years of practice helped him redirect smoothly. "Been to a few good venues, yeah. Actually been thinking about this charity lately - Music Venue Trust. They help protect these smaller places, the ones that give bands their start."
His mind wandered briefly to the conversation with Harry the other week, his passionate rambling about historic venues at risk. Now the idea was taking root in his own head.
"You lot got much on next week?"
"Few small gigs around Manchester," Ailis said, exchanging a look with Hayley that Louis pretended not to notice. "Why's that?"
"Just thinking..." Louis took another sip of his drink, trying to slow his racing thoughts. Six months without performing had left him with an energy he couldn't quite contain. "I've got Lollapalooza India coming up on the 9th, but my band's already in town rehearsing."
The idea was forming faster now - a way to scratch this performance itch, help some venues, maybe make H proud in the process. Not that he could say that last part out loud. "What if we did something? Proper show, somewhere small, with proceeds going to MVT? Could do it next week, before I head out to India."
"Serious?" Ailis straightened up. "Like, us opening for you?"
"Yeah, why not? Good cause, good music..." He glanced over at Chris, who was already pulling out his phone, probably mentally calculating the logistics. "Could probably sort it in about five days if we moved quick. What do you think?"
The vodka was making him looser than he should be, making him want to explain how he'd been bouncing off the walls lately, how he needed this almost as much as the venues did. How sometimes he missed performing so much it felt like a physical ache. But he kept that to himself, maintained the professional facade. Even if Ailis and Hayley were still exchanging those knowing looks that suggested they weren't quite beleiving what was happening.
The shop filled quickly as evening proper settled in. Louis watched from near the bar as Lottie and Lewis arrived, his sister immediately drawing attention in the green bomber - trust her to pull off the pieces he'd designed better than any model could. Lewis matched her energy in the black jacket with its delicate blue threading, and Louis felt a surge of pride seeing his family wearing his designs so naturally.
When Phoebe and Daisy arrived with little Olive, he broke away from a conversation with some fashion blogger to scoop up his niece. "There's my favorite model," he said, spinning her around while she giggled. The sight of his sisters' boyfriends also decked out in 28 made him grin - family support, proper Tomlinson style.
His band filtered in gradually, all of them immediately gravitating toward the bar where Louis had been holding court. The room was getting properly buzzing now, filled with the careful mix of industry faces Chris had insisted on and the influencers they needed for reach. Louis kept catching snippets of conversation about the collection, about the designs, about how different this was from what people expected.
The vodka had him warm and loose when Chris finally nodded that it was time. Louis made his way to the small stage they'd set up, running a hand through his hair in that nervous habit he'd never quite kicked.
"Right then," he said into the mic, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Just wanted to say thanks for coming out tonight. This is..." he glanced down at his own jacket, at the roses embroidered with such careful detail. "This is 28. Means a lot to have you all here to help launch it." He gestured toward where Dirty Blonde was ready to play. "Got some proper talent for you tonight. Give it up for Dirty Blonde."
He stepped back as they started their set, finding himself between Lottie and Daisy. Olive was falling asleep against Phoebe's shoulder despite the noise, and Louis felt something in his chest tighten watching his family all together, all wearing his designs, all here to support this dream he'd barely admitted to having.
Louis stumbled slightly as security literally lifted him through the crowd, his feet barely touching the ground as they moved him toward the waiting car. The fans were still singing, still reaching out, and even through his vodka haze he tried to wave, to acknowledge them. "Love you all!" he called out, his Yorkshire accent thick with drink and emotion.
The car door shut with a solid thunk, muffling the noise outside. He slouched into the leather seat, pulling out his phone before they'd even pulled away from the curb. The time difference calculation was automatic now - half eleven here, half five tomorrow morning there.
Harry picked up on the first ring, clearly already deep into his pre-race routine. Louis could hear him pacing.
"You're proper bricking it, aren't you love?" Louis said instead of hello, letting his guard drop completely now that he was alone.
"Half an hour," Harry's voice was higher than usual, tighter. "Half an hour and I have to run an actual marathon. What was I thinking? Who let me agree to this?"
"You're going to smash it," Louis said, slipping down further in the seat, eyes closed. "While you were sleeping I launched a whole fashion brand. Properly launched it. Our sisters looked amazing in it, H. And Olive fell asleep on Phee wrapped up in one of the jackets."
"Tell me everything," Harry said, and Louis could hear him still moving, probably doing his stretches. "Distract me from the fact that I'm about to run twenty-six miles in front of actual professional runners."
"The roses looked sick on Lots," Louis said, knowing exactly what that detail would mean to Harry. "And I might have promised to do a charity show next week. For Music Venue Trust. That thing you were telling me about."
There was a pause in Harry's movements. "Lou..."
"I know, I know. But I miss it so bad. And the band's already here for Lolla, and I met these girls tonight - Dirty Blonde - they're proper good..."
"No, I mean..." Harry's voice went soft. "That's perfect. That's exactly what you need. A little warm-up after all this time off."
Louis felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with vodka. "Yeah? Not just me being impulsive?"
"Being impulsive is when you got that tattoo in Amsterdam without telling anyone. This is you being you." There was a muffled voice in the background. "Shit, they're calling us to the start line. I have to-"
"Go be amazing," Louis said, sitting up straighter despite his spinning head. "I'll be watching. Love you."
"Love you too."
The call ended and Louis let his head fall back against the seat, smile still playing on his lips. What a fucking night.
Adding this because Fuck This Guy:
Louis could hear Simon Jones' firm tone from where he was having a cigarette in the stairwell, trying to get a moment of peace before what was meant to be his big fashion moment. The PR briefing was happening just around the corner, and though he tried not to eavesdrop, years of hypervigilance made his ears prick up at certain words.
"No questions about Liam," Simon was saying, his voice clipped in that way that meant he was already irritated. "Nothing about Harry or any of the other boys. Nothing about relationships, past or present. Nothing about-"
"But The Sun's running that story about them reuniting at the Brits," the interviewer interrupted eagerly. "Surely as the fashion editor I could at least ask what he'd wear if-"
"Louis just despairs at this shit," Simon cut in sharply, and Louis could hear the genuine protectiveness there. Simon had been there through it all - had watched them all grow up, had known Liam well. This wasn't just PR speak. "He could never get up there and sing as part of the band after what has happened. And frankly, the fact that tabloids are trying to capitalize on this is exactly why we won't be discussing it."
Louis took another drag of his cigarette, grateful for Simon's intervention. The mere thought of performing at the Brits made him feel sick. The media was acting like Liam's death was just another story to spin, another angle to exploit. As if they hadn't all been shattered by it. As if he wasn't still struggling to process it.
"But his aesthetic choices, the way he presents himself-" The interviewer was still pushing, and Louis could hear the undertone clearly now. Christ. Another one who thought they could catch him out through fashion questions. As if he hadn't been navigating this particular minefield since he was eighteen.
"If you can't stick to the agreed parameters," Simon's voice had gone deadly quiet, "we can find another publication to cover the launch."
Louis stubbed out his cigarette, straightening his shoulders. Right then. He knew exactly what kind of interview this was going to be. The kind where he'd have to lean hard into his carefully crafted public persona - the lad's lad from Donny who just happened to start a fashion line.
Time to give this eager young journalist exactly what he thought he wanted - the straightest, most stereotypically masculine version of Louis Tomlinson he could muster. Let him try to find a queer coding in that.
Louis made his way down to the basement, already sensing how this was going to go. The space was cluttered with event supplies - crates of Peroni, bottles of Grey Goose, and bizarrely, a basket of Skittles that someone had clearly thrown together last minute. Perfect. Let the journalist make what he wanted of that setup.
He settled into a black leather chair, studying the young man across from him. Everything about him screamed eager ambition - the kind of gay fashion journalist who thought he'd cleverly clock something others had missed. Louis had dealt with dozens like him over the years, all thinking they'd be the one to crack the code.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" Louis asked, already reaching for his cigarettes. He didn't wait for an answer before lighting up, deliberately using his lighter to crack open a beer with practiced ease. Let him read into that what he would - working class lad with rough edges, nothing more.
He could see Krys hovering in the corner, probably wanting to touch up his face after the SoccerAid shoot that morning. He'd let their makeup artist cake him in concealer for the photos, but hadn't bothered removing it properly. Now this guy would probably write some shit about him wearing makeup.
"I must have the easiest fucking rider of all time," Louis said deliberately, playing up his northern accent. "As long as I've got my vodka Red Bulls and a pack of ciggies, I'm alright." Simple lad, simple needs.
"After five years in the most famous band in the world," the journalist started, "you must be used to the fans by now?"
Louis caught the slight emphasis on 'fans' and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Yeah, mate, try harder. Belittle the very people who are about to read your article.
"No, no," he corrected, keeping his tone carefully measured. "It's a funny relationship 'cause I feel like I get on really well with them. It's really, really nice to see them." He meant it too - his fans were everything to him, had seen him through the darkest times, had understood when others hadn't. But he couldn't let that depth of feeling show, not with this one.
Louis watched the young journalist's eyes fix on the rose embroidery of his shirt again, clearly thinking he'd caught something significant. If only he knew that Louis had spent hours with Harry discussing the historical significance of flowers in men's fashion, from Oscar Wilde's green carnation to Jean Paul Gaultier's reimagining of traditional masculinity.
"Forty percent of my wardrobe is sports-inspired somehow," Louis offered before the question could come, steering the conversation his way. "I was doing that for years as a chavvy lad, tucking my socks in when I was a young kid before it was cool, and now you see everyone in the sports garb."
He took another drag of his cigarette, watching the journalist's performatively casual posture. The kid probably thought he was being subtle, probably assumed Louis wouldn't pick up on the carefully crafted camp mannerisms meant to create some sort of gay solidarity.
"There's a very, very chavvy aesthetic in Doncaster, at least when I was growing up. That's exactly who I am and the kind of stuff that I like." Louis could have mentioned how working-class queer culture had influenced fashion for decades, how the very word 'chav' came from Polari - the secret language of gay men when it was illegal to exist. But he kept that knowledge tucked away, watching the journalist miss every layer of meaning.
"Doesn't that term bother you?" The interviewer leaned forward, clearly expecting Louis to be defensive.
"I've always embraced it," Louis said, thinking about the history of reclamation in queer culture, about how every slur could become armor if you understood its power. "Look, I am a fucking chav, so I have to embrace it. I have to try and make it cool in my own head."
"Really?" The interviewer pressed, clearly disappointed by Louis' lack of outrage.
"I don't think it's a bad word, not to me. To me it's about culture." Louis took another sip of beer, choosing his words carefully. "It might mean other things to other people. It's also very much how you grow up in a place like Doncaster. You can't escape the chav in Donny, so you've got to become it."
The journalist's notebook was full of superficial observations - about Louis' height, his makeup, his "erratic" energy. Meanwhile, he was missing everything of substance: how Louis had deliberately designed his latest collection to blur gender lines while staying accessible to working class kids, how every piece carried delicate details that wove into the greater branding.
Louis slouched lower in his chair, not because he was trying to appear more masculine, but because he knew this kid would write it that way regardless. Better that than letting him realize he was talking to someone who'd spent fifteen years studying the intersection of class, gender, and style - who'd learned to encode his truth in fabric the same way he'd learned to hide it in lyrics and interviews.
"Let's talk about your evolution in fashion," the journalist started, notebook poised.
Louis took another drag of his cigarette, already tired of where this was heading. "Like many of us, I've had some real fucking fashion disasters for sure." He leaned into the memory, knowing it was safer ground. "I kid you not, the outfit I went to my first audition in, I will have been out in Doncaster in Silver Street, where all the clubs are, 20 times. That was my outfit: not quite baby blue, but a blue shirt with a black skinny tie and a cardigan."
The journalist's pen moved rapidly. "And then with One Direction..."
"When I was in One Direction we all had to have our certain specific look," Louis said, something harder edging into his voice despite himself. He remembered all those early meetings, the careful construction of each boy's 'character', the way certain choices were encouraged for some and forbidden for others. "Even if I tucked my socks in, they would say: 'Let me tell you, take them straight out.' There was an element of kind of dumbing that down."
He caught himself, realizing he'd let too much slip in his tone. The journalist was leaning forward now, clearly sensing something beneath the surface. Louis quickly redirected, "There is an element of going back to all those ideas and really embracing my youth and my culture."
What he didn't say was how good it felt to finally design exactly what he wanted, to put out pieces that spoke to who he really was - not who management had decided he should be at eighteen. But that wasn't for this interview, wasn't for this journalist who was clearly trying to write some grand exposé.
Instead, he threw out casually, "I feel like Jack O'Connell, from Skins, sums it up pretty well," watching the journalist's slight disappointment at the pedestrian reference.
"Your creative process-" the kid tried again.
"It's not something that I'm spending 12 hours a day thinking about, I'm led by feel," Louis interrupted, then caught himself. He'd spent countless nights obsessing over every detail of this collection, same as he did with his lyrics. But there was something in him that still bristled at claiming any sort of artistic pretension, still that lad from Donny who'd been told not to get too big for his boots.
"That's the way I treat my songwriting, too. You know, I'm not some musical genius." He took another drag of his cigarette, thinking about the notebooks filled with crossed-out lines, the 3AM sessions tweaking a single lyric until it felt right.
"I just know what I like," he added, deliberately casual even though his fingers were itching to explain the thought behind each piece, the way he'd considered how they'd translate to real life, how they'd look on kids who saved up for months to afford them. "And I know what works for me."
The journalist's pen paused, clearly hoping for more. But Louis had learned long ago that sometimes the best defense was to let people underestimate you. Let them think it was all instinct and luck.
"So you're based in London now?" the journalist asked, pen hovering expectantly. "Where do you like to hang out?"
Louis caught the careful casualness in the question. The kid had probably already googled the Barnet house, probably thought he was clever for knowing about it. Louis took another drag of his cigarette, thinking about the homes nobody knew about, the quiet life he and Harry had built away from prying eyes. The way they'd spent last month discussing making one of the Italian properties their main base, somewhere peaceful where the papers wouldn't look.
"London is so vast, it just feels like a melting pot. There's so many different creative ideas flying around," he offered instead, the kind of quote that sounded meaningful but revealed nothing. Let them keep thinking the Barnet house was his home, rather than essentially his office where Oli lived and he sometimes crashed during heavy work periods.
The journalist leaned forward. "Any favorite spots? Areas you prefer?"
"To be honest, the irony of that is that I was thinking about moving recently. I've got no idea where to move to." The lie came easily after years of practice. "I like London, but I wouldn't say I'd be able to put my finger on what: I really love it here, I really love it there — I don't really know."
The journalist's disappointment was obvious. No juicy details about Louis Tomlinson's London life for his article. No hints about where fans might spot him. Exactly as Louis intended.
"The place that I live now I've lived in for ages, ever since I was in the band. I haven't really got any true perspective of London," Louis continued, keeping it deliberately vague. "But there's time for that."
"You seem to thrive on tour though," the journalist pressed, clearly hoping for a different angle. "When others find it grueling..."
Louis took a moment, thinking about how touring had been his normal since he was eighteen. How for five years straight with One Direction, the road had been more home than anywhere else. Those endless nights on buses, hotel rooms that became sanctuaries, the way he and Harry could just exist in their own world between shows. No management scheduling their movements, no papers tracking their separate locations, no need to watch every glance or gesture because everyone was too exhausted to notice.
"It's a far cry from the real world," he said finally, meaning it more deeply than the journalist could understand. Even now, fifteen years later, there was still that sense of escape when he stepped onto a tour bus. Different now, of course - they were older, had their own lives, their own homes. But something about that touring bubble still felt like freedom.
"It's like you might have speculated as a 16-year-old lad of what it is to tour — exciting, different places every day," he continued, carefully constructing the answer. "You're surrounded by so many different cultures, conversations with different people. As a creative — if I can call myself that — it's really good to see the world."
He didn't mention how touring still meant stolen moments with Harry between their separate schedules, how they'd plan overlapping dates in distant cities where no one would think to look for them together. How sometimes being away from everything made it easier to just be them.
"But the constant movement, the distance from home..." the journalist tried again.
"I get back to Donny realistically two or three times a year, but always for about three weeks over Christmas." Let them think that's what he meant by home. Better than explaining how home had become a moving target, something he and Harry had built in quiet corners of the world, away from all this.
"So what's next after this launch?" the journalist asked, clearly hoping to wrap up with something concrete to predict Louis' next moves.
Louis took another drag of his cigarette, thinking about the actual plans - the house in Italy they were seriously considering, the joint projects with Harry they'd never discuss publicly, the careful way they were trying to build a life that was both visible and private. But that wasn't for this interview, wasn't for anyone really.
"I just love how literal the whole thing is," he said instead, redirecting to safer ground - the touring, the music. "I have people that are willing to pay to come and see me and I feel their reaction every night." That part was true at least - the stage was the one place he could be almost completely himself, where the energy between him and the crowd was real, uncomplicated.
"But surely after such an intense tour schedule..." the journalist pressed, probably hoping for signs of fatigue, something about needing to settle down.
"There is a lot of mystique in the job of a singer," Louis said, carefully casual. "If you do this, it might mean that." Let them speculate about what he meant - they would anyway. Better to seem philosophical than give them anything real to work with.
He could see the journalist's slight frustration at another vague answer, the way his questions weren't landing the way he'd hoped. But Louis had spent too many years learning how to give just enough while revealing nothing at all.
"I feel really good about that," he added finally, and meant it. He was good at this now - the careful dance of public and private, the way he could be both visible and hidden. Different from those early years when every word felt like a potential trap.
Louis could sense the journalist making one last attempt to dig deeper, probably hoping fatigue would make him slip. The basement was getting warmer, smoke-filled, and the sounds of the launch party setup were getting louder upstairs.
"With everything that's happened recently..." the journalist started, trying to sound gentle but Louis could hear the calculated probe beneath it. Always looking for the crack in his armor, the moment of vulnerability they could spin into headlines.
Louis reached for another cigarette, a deliberate pause. They'd been at this for over an hour now, this careful dance of questions and deflections. He'd given them enough for their article - the chavvy lad from Donny made good, the fashion designer who didn't take himself too seriously, the touring musician who lived for the road. All true, in their way, but nowhere near the whole truth.
"Listen," he said, his voice taking on that slight edge that meant the interview was done. "I've got to head up soon, got a launch to host and that." He gestured vaguely upstairs where he could hear Oli directing the setup, knowing Harry would be texting soon about the Tokyo Marathon, their real lives waiting beyond this performance.
The journalist tried one more time, "Just quickly, about your plans for-"
"I feel really good about where things are at," Louis cut in firmly, standing up. Let them print that. Simple, positive, revealing nothing. He'd learned long ago that sometimes the best defense was to seem completely open while giving them absolutely nothing real to work with.
As Louis stood, the journalist finally dropped his practiced casualness. "I have to admit," he said, gathering his notes with deliberate slowness, "I was hoping to explore the... deeper meanings behind your design choices. The way you've evolved from One Direction's constraints to expressing your true self."
The slight emphasis on 'true self' made Louis' jaw tighten. He'd seen this move before - the carefully calculated intimacy, the subtle invitation to confide. The journalist stood too, moving slightly closer than necessary in the cramped basement.
"Mate," Louis cut him off, not unkindly but with steel beneath the northern warmth, "I think you might be reading a bit too much into some tracksuits and football shirts."
"It's just..." the journalist lowered his voice, trying for conspiratorial, "some of us can recognize certain... signals. The rose embroidery, the gender-fluid elements-"
"Thanks for coming down," Louis said firmly, his voice going flat in that way that anyone who really knew him would recognize as dangerous. Fifteen years of this dance had taught him how to shut down these moments without creating scenes. The journalist's hand brushed his arm - definitely intentional - as he stepped closer.
"We could maybe discuss this more... privately?" The suggestion hung in the smoke-filled air.
Louis felt a familiar cold anger settle in his chest. This kid really thought he'd be the one to crack him, thought he could use sexuality as a weapon to get his story. As if Louis hadn't spent half his life protecting something real from exactly this kind of exploitation.
"Mate," he said again, but the warmth was gone entirely now. "I've got a launch to host."
His phone buzzed - Harry, probably fretting about the marathon, their actual life waiting beyond this basement and this desperate attempt at exposure. The journalist flushed, finally reading the room.
"Right, well..." he fumbled with his notebook. "Thanks for-"
"No worries," Louis cut him off, already heading for the stairs. He could hear Oli upstairs, probably wondering where he'd got to. As he climbed the steps, he could practically see the article being mentally rewritten - 'frustratingly guarded' or 'defiantly masculine' or whatever angle would hide the journalist's failed attempt at outing him.
The basement door clicked shut behind him, and he pulled out his phone, already shifting back into his real life - the one no journalist would ever quite capture, no matter how hard they tried.
Chapter 78: April 2022
Summary:
In which Harry gets a call about Louis breaking his arm in Poland (because of course he did), flies across the world against everyone's better judgment (because of course he does), has their millionth fight about being reckless vs controlling (because some things never change), realizes they still can't be together yet (because growth is hard), and then has to sit through an interview with Zane Lowe while his nails are painted the exact shade of his ex's eyes.
aka: the one where Harry flies to Poland to yell at Louis about being careful and ends up having to be careful with his own heart instead
Chapter Text
Harry stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Louis' contact for the fifth time in twenty minutes. The California sun streamed through his kitchen windows, but he barely registered the warmth on his skin.
"He fractured his bloody elbow, Lots?" He asked again, as if repeating the question would somehow change Lottie's answer.
"Racing the band after the show in Warsaw," she confirmed, and Harry could hear the familiar mix of exasperation and fondness in her voice - the same tone she'd used countless times during One Direction tours when Louis had done something similarly reckless. "Apparently there was a wall at the end of the corridor."
Harry closed his eyes, picturing it perfectly. Louis, competitive as ever, sprinting full-tilt down some Polish venue's hallway, probably laughing that bright, wild laugh of his. The one that always meant trouble was coming.
"Let me guess - he won?" Harry couldn't help asking, already knowing the answer.
"Course he did," Lottie snorted. "Nearly knocked himself out doing it, but heaven forbid anyone beat Louis Tomlinson in a sprint."
The memory hit Harry like a physical blow - Manchester Arena, 2013. Louis challenging the entire crew to races during soundcheck, his eyes bright with mischief. "Come on, Harold," he'd taunted, bouncing on his toes. "Scared I'll beat you again?"
He always did beat them. Every single time. Would crow about it for days afterward, preening under Harry's fond eye-rolls and Zayn's dramatic protests that he was letting Louis win.
"Has he seen a proper doctor?" Harry asked, pulling himself back to the present. His free hand had somehow found its way to his chest, pressing against the butterfly tattoo that still ached sometimes with phantom memories.
"Got an X-ray and everything," Lottie assured him. "It's a clean break, thank god. They've got him in a sling. He's meant to rest it, but..."
"But he won't," Harry finished. Because Louis never did. Would probably be trying to get back on stage within days, sling be damned.
There was a pause on the line, heavy with everything they weren't saying. Finally, Lottie spoke softly: "He'd want to hear from you, H."
Harry's throat tightened. "Lots..."
"I know, I know. You're both 'working on yourselves' or whatever bullshit excuse you're using these days. But he's hurt, and you're worried, and..." she trailed off. "Just... think about it, yeah?"
After they hung up, Harry found himself pacing his kitchen, phone still clutched in his hand. The interview notes for the Zane Lowe segment lay forgotten on his counter - all those carefully prepared answers about "Harry's House" and what "home" really meant.
He almost laughed at the irony. How could he possibly talk about home when the person who had always been his home was currently in a hospital somewhere in Poland with a fractured elbow?
His management team had been thrilled when he'd agreed to do the interview, especially after he'd promised to stick to discussing the music, the "artistic vision," the "new direction." No mentions of One Direction, no references to past relationships, nothing that could connect this album to...
Harry stopped pacing, bracing himself against the counter. Who was he kidding? Every song on the album was connected to Louis in some way. Even the happy ones carried echoes of their past - little references only Louis would catch, lyrics written in the spaces between their history.
His phone buzzed - a text from Jeff about next week's schedule. Another from his stylist about Coachella options. The world spinning on as if everything was normal, as if he wasn't standing in his kitchen fighting the urge to book the next flight to Warsaw.
"Fuck," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. He needed to focus. Needed to prepare for the interview, for Coachella, for all the carefully orchestrated performances ahead. Needed to maintain the distance they'd both agreed was necessary right now.
But all he could think about was Louis, probably making jokes to hide his pain, probably already arguing with his team about the next show. Probably wearing that stupid brave face he always put on when he was hurting.
Before he could stop himself, Harry opened their message thread. The last text was from months ago - a simple "happy birthday" from Louis that Harry had spent hours staring at, wondering if he should respond with more than just "thank you x."
His fingers moved across the keyboard:
"Heard about your elbow. Please actually rest it this time? Remember Brussels 2014? x"
He hit send before he could overthink it, then immediately dropped his phone like it had burned him. Brussels 2014 - when Louis had sprained his ankle but insisted on performing anyway, ending up in so much pain afterward that Harry had practically carried him back to their hotel room.
The memory of that night washed over him - how careful he'd been helping Louis into bed, how Louis had tried to make jokes through gritted teeth, how they'd fallen asleep with Harry's hand protectively covering Louis' ankle.
His phone buzzed. Harry's heart leaped into his throat.
"docs say 2 weeks minimum rest. :("
Before Harry could respond, another message came through:
"also fuck u for bringing up brussels. was fine wasn't i?"
Harry found himself smiling despite everything. "You couldn't walk properly for a week."
"details details. how's california?"
Just like that - as if no time had passed, as if they were still them. Harry's fingers flew across the keyboard: "Sunny. Lonely. Getting ready for Coachella."
He held his breath after sending it, wondering if he'd said too much. If "lonely" was too honest, too raw.
"you'll smash it. always do x"
That x - that tiny letter that meant everything and nothing. Harry pressed his fingers to his lips, fighting back the surge of emotion.
"Take care of yourself, Lou. Please?"
"always do love"
Harry stared at those three words until his vision blurred. No comma between "do" and "love" - deliberate or accidental? A term of endearment or something more?
He set his phone down carefully, pressing his palms flat against the cool counter. In a few days, he'd take the Coachella stage for the first time as a headliner. He'd sing songs about homes and hearts and loving someone so much it hurt. And somewhere in Poland, Louis would be watching online (because he always did, even now), probably making fun of Harry's outfit while secretly being proud.
"We'll find our way back," Harry whispered to his empty kitchen. "We always do."
His phone buzzed one more time:
"remember that race in manchester? when you said you let me win?"
Harry laughed, soft and wet. "I did let you win."
"bullshit styles. rematch when im better?"
"You're on, Tomlinson. x"
Harry set his phone down, something warm and hopeful unfurling in his chest despite the worry still gnawing at him. He glanced at his calendar - the Zane Lowe interview wasn't for three days. Coachella in five. His eyes darted to the world map on his kitchen wall, the one his team used to plot tour routes.
Warsaw to LA. Twelve hours, give or take.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he was dialing Jeff's number.
"Harry, I was just about to call about the interview prep-"
"I need the jet," Harry interrupted, already moving toward his bedroom. "Just for thirty-six hours."
There was a long pause. "Harry..."
"The interview's not until Thursday. Coachella rehearsals don't start until Friday morning. I'll be back in plenty of time."
"This is about Tomlinson, isn't it?" Jeff's voice was carefully neutral. They'd had this conversation too many times over the past year - about boundaries, about "healthy separation," about focusing on their individual careers.
"He's hurt, Jeff." Harry started throwing clothes into a overnight bag, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. "It's just one night."
"You're supposed to be preparing for one of the biggest performances of your career-"
"And I will be. But I need..." Harry stopped, taking a deep breath. "I need to see him. Please."
Another long pause. Harry could practically hear Jeff weighing the pros and cons, calculating the risks versus Harry's potential state of mind if he didn't go.
"If anyone sees you-"
"They won't. I'll be careful. In and out, no one will know." Harry zipped up his bag. "Jeff, please. I've never asked you for anything like this."
He heard Jeff sigh. "The jet can be ready in two hours. You'll need to be back by Wednesday night at the latest."
"Thank you," Harry breathed, already pulling up flight information on his laptop. "I promise-"
"Don't promise anything," Jeff cut him off, but his voice had softened slightly. "Just... be careful. Both with the press and with yourself."
After hanging up, Harry stood in his bedroom, suddenly hit by what he was about to do. They'd maintained their careful distance for months, communicating only through occasional texts and likes on social media. This would break all their self-imposed rules.
His phone buzzed with another text from Louis: "can't sleep. fucking elbow. wish you were here x"
Harry's heart clenched. That was it - all the confirmation he needed that he was making the right choice. He quickly typed back: "Get some rest. Doctor's orders x"
Then, to Lottie: "Don't tell him I'm coming. And for god's sake don't let him leave that hospital until I get there."
Her response was immediate: "FINALLY. I'll keep him here if I have to sit on him myself."
Two hours later, Harry was on the private jet, watching California disappear beneath him. He had approximately thirty hours to fly across the world, check on the love of his life, and make it back in time to tell Zane Lowe what "home" meant to him.
The irony wasn't lost on him that he was currently flying toward his answer.
The hospital corridor was eerily quiet at this hour, Harry's boots making soft sounds against the linoleum despite his attempt to walk silently. Lottie met him at the service entrance, pulling him into a tight hug.
"He's been proper miserable," she whispered. "Won't admit it, of course, but he's scared about tomorrow's show."
Harry's heart squeezed. Of course Louis was planning to perform tomorrow. Of course he was.
"Room 2424," Lottie said with a knowing smile. "I'll keep watch."
Harry paused outside the door, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the handle. Through the small window, he could see Louis propped up in bed, scrolling through his phone with his good hand, his left arm secured in a sling. Even from here, Harry could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was trying to hide his discomfort.
He pushed the door open quietly.
Louis looked up, his automatic "I'm fine" dying on his lips as he registered who was standing there. His phone slipped from his fingers onto the bed.
"What..." Louis blinked hard, as if convinced he was hallucinating. "Haz?"
"Heard someone tried to race a wall," Harry said softly, stepping closer. "Walls usually win, love."
"You're supposed to be in California," Louis whispered, still staring at him like he might disappear. "Coachella... the interview..."
"Yeah, well." Harry moved to the side of the bed, drinking in the sight of him. "Someone once told me some things are more important than interviews."
"That someone sounds like a bad influence," Louis attempted a joke, but his voice cracked.
"The worst," Harry agreed, reaching out to brush Louis' fringe from his forehead. "Greatest bad influence of my life, actually."
Louis leaned into the touch instinctively before catching himself. "Harry... we said we wouldn't..."
"I know what we said." Harry's hand moved to cup Louis' cheek. "I also know you're hurt and trying to pretend you're not scared about tomorrow's show. And I know that no matter how many times we try to do this separation thing properly, I'm always going to come running when you're hurt. Even if you don't ask me to. Especially when you don't ask me to."
Louis' eyes were suspiciously bright. "Didn't mean to worry you."
"Course you didn't. You never do." Harry's thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped down Louis' cheek. "Doesn't stop me though, does it?"
"How long..." Louis cleared his throat. "How long can you stay?"
"About twenty hours," Harry admitted. "Need to be back for the interview Wednesday."
Louis nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. "You shouldn't have come all this way just for-"
"Lou," Harry interrupted gently. "Stop pretending you're not glad I'm here."
Something in Louis seemed to crumble then. He reached up with his good hand, fingers curling into Harry's shirt, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched.
"Missed you," Louis breathed, so quiet Harry almost missed it. "Been missing you like mad."
Harry's other hand came up to cradle Louis' face, careful to avoid jostling his injured arm. "I know, baby. Me too."
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other in, until Louis winced slightly trying to shift position.
"Right," Harry pulled back, immediately going into caretaker mode. "How bad is it really? And don't you dare say 'fine.'"
Louis managed a weak laugh. "Hurts like a bitch, if I'm honest. Doc says I shouldn't use it at all for at least two weeks but..." he glanced at his phone, where Harry could see his tour schedule displayed. "Got shows booked. People counting on me."
"Those people would rather you heal properly than make it worse," Harry said firmly, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "Remember what happened when you pushed too hard after Brussels?"
"That was different-"
"Was it?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Because I remember spending three extra weeks on tour watching you perform through pain because you wouldn't let yourself rest properly the first time."
Louis looked down at his sling. "Can't let them down," he said quietly.
"Oh, love." Harry's heart broke a little. Some things never changed - Louis would always put everyone else first, would always push himself too hard trying to be what he thought people needed him to be. "You're not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself."
"The fans-"
"Will understand. And will be there when you're properly healed." Harry reached for Louis' good hand, threading their fingers together. "Please don't make me watch you hurt yourself again."
Louis was quiet for a long moment, thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. "Stay with me tonight?"
"Try and stop me."
It took some careful maneuvering, but they managed to arrange themselves on the narrow hospital bed - Louis tucked against Harry's chest, his injured arm safely supported by a pillow. Harry pressed soft kisses to Louis' hair, humming quietly.
"Sing for me?" Louis asked sleepily, the pain medication finally starting to kick in. "The new one? About the love of your life?"
Harry's breath caught. Of course Louis knew about that song. Of course he'd figured out what - who - it was about.
Softly, Harry began to sing, feeling Louis relax against him with each word. By the time he reached the bridge, Louis was asleep, his features finally peaceful.
Harry knew he'd have to leave in a few hours. Knew they'd go back to their careful distance, their healing separation. But for now, in this quiet hospital room, they were just Harry and Louis again - exactly as they'd always been, exactly as they'd always be.
He pressed one more kiss to Louis' temple. "Love you," he whispered. "Always have, always will."
Louis shifted slightly in his sleep, burrowing closer. "Love you too, Haz," he mumbled, so quiet Harry almost thought he'd imagined it.
But then, some things didn't need to be said out loud to be true. They just were - as constant as the sun, as inevitable as gravity, as simple as coming home.
The morning light was harsh, unforgiving as it streamed through the hospital blinds. Harry watched Louis arguing with his doctor, that familiar stubborn set to his jaw that meant he wouldn't be swayed.
"I'll wear the sling during the day, take it easy during soundcheck," Louis was saying. "But I'm not postponing the show."
"Lou," Harry started, unable to help himself. "Please just-"
"Don't." Louis cut him off, voice sharp. "Don't start with the controlling thing again, Harry. I'm fine."
"Controlling?" Harry's laugh was hollow. "Right, because wanting you to not permanently damage yourself is controlling. Just like wanting you to eat actual meals during tour was controlling. Just like asking you not to drive that motorcycle when you were drunk was controlling."
Louis' eyes flashed. "At least I know how to actually live instead of scheduling every bloody moment of my life. Some of us don't need a fucking itinerary to breathe."
"No, you just need chaos to feel alive," Harry shot back. "Need to make everything into a joke, need to prove you're invincible-"
"Better than treating everything like it's life or death! Better than trying to micromanage every person in your life because you're terrified of losing control!"
They were both breathing hard now, falling back into old patterns as easily as breathing. Harry could see the moment Louis registered what was happening, watched his face crumple slightly.
"Haz..." Louis' voice softened. "I didn't mean-"
"Yes, you did." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "And you're not entirely wrong. I do try to control things. Because someone had to be the responsible one when you were determined to self-destruct."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Harry stepped closer. "Madrid, 2015. You showed up to the show so hungover you could barely stand. London, 2012. You disappeared for three days because I dared to have dinner with Nick."
"Oh, we're bringing up Nick now?" Louis' laugh was bitter. "Should we talk about how you'd parade him around just to make me jealous? How you'd text him during our fights just because you knew it would hurt me?"
"Like you were any better with Eleanor? At least Nick was actually my friend, not a PR stunt you threw in my face every chance you got!"
The words hung between them, heavy with years of unresolved pain. Louis looked like he'd been slapped.
"I didn't have a choice about Eleanor," he said quietly. "You know that."
"There's always a choice, Lou." Harry's voice cracked. "You just never wanted to make the hard ones."
Louis slumped back against the hospital bed, suddenly looking exhausted. "Why did you come here, Haz? If we're so bloody toxic for each other, why fly across the world just because I hurt my stupid arm?"
"You know why." Harry's anger drained away, leaving only the bone-deep ache of loving someone too much to let go. "Same reason you still watch all my interviews. Same reason I have notifications turned on for your tweets. Same reason we keep that stupid house in London and the stupid apartment in New York."
"Because we're idiots?" Louis attempted a weak smile.
"Because it's us." Harry moved to sit beside him on the bed. "Because no matter how many times we tear each other apart, no matter how many times we swear we're done... it's still you. It's always been you."
Louis' good hand found Harry's, threading their fingers together. "We were so young," he whispered. "When it started. Didn't know how to love without consuming each other."
"Still don't, sometimes." Harry squeezed his hand. "That's why we needed this break. Need to learn how to be ourselves first."
"I know." Louis leaned his head against Harry's shoulder. "Doesn't make it easier though, does it? Knowing you're right there but..."
"But we can't yet." Harry pressed a kiss to Louis' hair. "Not until we fix the broken parts of ourselves first."
They sat in silence for a moment, years of memories washing over them - the highest highs and lowest lows, the passionate fights and even more passionate makeups, the way they'd loved each other so desperately they'd nearly destroyed each other in the process.
"I have to go," Harry finally said, his voice rough. "And you have to promise to at least try to be careful tonight."
"I promise." Louis turned to face him. "And Haz? I'm sorry. For bringing up the controlling thing. For... for a lot of things."
"I'm sorry too." Harry reached up to cup Louis' face. "For trying to force you to be someone you're not. For using Nick to hurt you. For not understanding that sometimes your recklessness comes from the same place as my need for control - we were both just trying not to drown."
Louis leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "One day?" he whispered.
"One day," Harry promised. "When we've both learned how to swim instead of just trying to keep each other afloat."
"I'll always love you," Louis breathed against his lips. "Even when I hate you. Even when you drive me absolutely mental. Even when we're better off apart."
"Always," Harry echoed, closing the distance between them for one brief, bittersweet kiss. "In every universe, in every version of us. Even the broken ones."
When they finally pulled apart, both their faces were wet. Harry stood on shaky legs, forcing himself to walk toward the door.
"Oi, Styles?" Louis called after him, voice wavering but trying for lightness.
Harry turned back one last time.
"Still gonna beat you in that race when I'm better."
Harry laughed through his tears. "Wouldn't expect anything less, love."
Their eyes met one final time - green on blue, home on home, love on love. Then Harry turned away, walking quickly down the corridor as his heart shattered and reformed with every step.
His phone buzzed as he reached the car:
"Still gonna watch your Coachella set. Still gonna be proud as fuck. Still gonna love you even when I shouldn't x"
Harry pressed his fingers to the screen, to the ghost of Louis' touch that never quite faded:
"Still gonna worry about you tonight. Still gonna hope you're careful. Still gonna love you until we're ready to do it right x"
The car pulled away, carrying him back toward California, toward stages and interviews and life without Louis. But his heart stayed behind in that hospital room, with the boy who'd taught him how to love so completely it hurt - and who was teaching him now how to love from a distance until they could love up close again.
***
The California sun glinted off the ocean behind them, the pavilion offering just enough shade to keep the camera equipment from overheating. Harry shifted in his chair, tucking one leg under himself as he adjusted the rings on his fingers. His nails caught the light - that particular shade of blue that made his heart ache with its familiarity.
When Zane noticed them, Harry felt his pulse quicken slightly. Here it was, the first navigation of the day.
"I love what you've done with-" Zane gestured to Harry's hands. "I think it's awesome, and it's funny, because I was walking around Coachella on the first weekend and everyone's nails. And it's just like my kids were doing it, and they were doing mine at the beginning of quarantine. And of course, it's fun. It's an awesome thing. But what made you want to do that? I know it's a strange place to start, but I just noticed your nails."
Harry twisted the pearl ring on his index finger, buying himself a moment. Two days ago, these same hands had been brushing Louis' fringe from his forehead in a Polish hospital room. Now here he was, having to pretend that the color was just a color, that everything wasn't still raw and aching.
He gave an easy laugh, the practiced kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I think for me, a big part of it is –I really like making stuff, and I really like kind of coming up with ideas and collaborating with, I feel like I'm really lucky the people around me that I get to work with are really fun to work with..."
Harry let his practiced response flow smoothly, watching his own hands gesture as he spoke about creativity and collaboration. He'd become an expert at this particular dance - the art of answering without answering, of deflecting with charm and thoughtful pauses that suggested depth while revealing nothing.
Sometimes he caught himself doing it in regular conversations now, this careful navigation of truth and protection. It was a skill he'd developed out of necessity, honed through years of protecting not just himself but Louis, the band, everyone he loved. He'd learned to turn simple questions about nail polish into discussions about artistic expression, to transform pointed queries about relationships into philosophical musings about human connection.
The irony wasn't lost on him - how he'd become so good at being open while keeping everything important carefully guarded. How he could sit here, his nails painted the exact shade of Louis' eyes, and spin a story about creative freedom instead of love letters written in nail polish.
He hated this part of himself sometimes - this carefully constructed persona that knew exactly how to dodge and weave through pointed questions. Hated how natural it had become to live in metaphors and vague statements, to let people draw their own conclusions while he maintained plausible deniability. It felt like a betrayal of his authentic self, this constant performance of partial truths.
But he loved it too, in a way. Loved how it protected the things that mattered most. Loved how it let him speak his truth in code, let him tell their story without exposing it to the harsh light of public scrutiny. Every carefully chosen word was both a shield and a confession, protecting their privacy while leaving breadcrumbs for those who knew where to look.
It was exhausting sometimes, this constant calculation - knowing his words would be dissected, analyzed, interpreted a thousand different ways. Knowing Louis would watch this later, would understand the weight behind every pause, every deflection. Would recognize his own story in Harry's careful descriptions of change and growth and facing hard truths.
As the interview progressed, Harry found himself relaxing slightly into the familiar dance of revelation and deflection.
Zane settled back in his chair, a knowing glint in his eye. "I mean, you're so responsible. I've got so many stories from my friends who have texted me or called me from the road and been like, yeah, I broke my leg. Doing what? Skateboarding. I'm like, you're on tour, dude. What are you doing skateboarding? Didn't your insurance company give you a list of do's and don'ts? Like, even football. The amount of artists that go out there and play social football."
Harry's laugh caught in his throat, almost hysterical. His fingers twisted around his rings as memories of frantic plane rides and hospital corridors flashed through his mind. Of Louis, stubborn and beautiful and broken, insisting he could still perform. The irony was almost too much to bear.
"I did it once on the last One Direction tour where I played football and I broke my foot," he managed, his voice lighter than the weight in his chest.
Later, as the sun dipped lower over the Pacific, Zane leaned forward. "There are only four other people on the planet who can sort of relate to your experience in that regard and you have come through the other side and done some work and made some music and gotten to a place, like, I think we have established that you're in a good place."
Harry nodded, each movement careful, measured. His hands wouldn't stop moving, adjusting rings that didn't need adjusting.
"I think about a song like 'Keep Driving' which I know isn't specifically about this," Zane continued, though his tone suggested otherwise. Harry's heart clenched, remembering quiet moments in car parks, sneaking out for midnight drives, Louis' hand on his thigh and the world somehow both too big and small enough to fit in a passenger seat. "But there's an escapism to that. Again that's a great distraction. Do you sort of keep a keen eye on your friends that were in the band? Because I'm sure they've been through it too. I mean you can't not in your own time privately have been through some of what you're describing. That sense of uncertainty. Those moments of crippling doubt. That no one can truly understand except you guys. Because of the circumstances you're in."
Harry made soft sounds of agreement, his chest tight with everything he couldn't say. About how he still had notifications on for certain tweets. About hospital rooms in Poland. About loving someone so much you had to let them go.
When he finally spoke about "As It Was," his voice was thick with barely contained emotion. "You know, through that you can then explore what the verse says and what the bridge says and all that stuff. But to me it's like everything that happened in the pandemic - it's never going to be the same. As it was before."
His hands stilled completely now, eyes focused somewhere past the horizon. "All of the things happening in the world it was so obvious it's just obvious that it's not - like you can't go backward. Whether that is us as a people or me in my personal life or any of those things."
The words felt like they were being pulled from somewhere deep inside him, each one carrying the weight of promises made in hospital rooms and broken in dressing rooms, of love that grew too fast too young, of trying to hold onto something that needed space to breathe.
"You learned so much in those moments. That you're forced to like face things head on whether that is like your least favorite things about the world or your least favorite things about yourself. Or all of those things."
His voice cracked slightly on the last words, thinking of jealousy and control issues and stubborn pride, of all the ways they'd hurt each other trying to stay the same when everything was changing.
"You just can't then pretend that stuff doesn't exist."
The waves crashed behind them, steady and relentless like the truth he was finally admitting - not just to Zane, not just to the cameras, but to himself. To Louis, who he knew would watch this later, who would understand exactly what he meant about not being able to go backward. About having to face the broken parts before they could build something new.
Some things had to break completely before they could be rebuilt stronger. Some love had to be let go before it could come home again.
Chapter 79: Present Day
Summary:
In which Harry runs a marathon in Tokyo, holds hands with his bestie Nikolai at the finish line (cue the internet losing its collective mind), and then proves he's still the most extra boyfriend in existence by secretly flying across the world just to surprise Louis at his Brixton show.
aka: the one where Harry buys yet another flower-themed shirt for his "I totally don't love flowers" boyfriend
Features:
-Marathon running
-Harry being physically incapable of keeping a secret
-Louis being accidentally adorable
-That one song from 1D that Louis definitely changes the lyrics to (we see you, Tommo)
-A sneaky balcony appearance that sent everyone on a chase to see who was up there
-Two idiots who still can't stay apart for more than two weeks
-Flowers. So many flowers.
Chapter Text
Harry bounced lightly on his toes at the starting line, the pre-dawn Tokyo air crisp against his skin. The white headband kept his curls from his eyes, and the neon yellow Alphafly 3s felt responsive under his feet - these weren't just for show, they'd carried him through months of training. Nikolai stood beside him, both of them surrounded by thousands of other runners waiting for the starting signal.
His mind kept drifting back to his call with Louis just hours ago - Louis, drunk and happy after the launch, telling him about the roses on Lottie's jacket, about Olive falling asleep. The pride in Louis' voice when he'd talked about the charity show had made Harry's chest tight. Even exhausted and tipsy, Louis had still stayed up to wish him luck.
The starting gun fired, and Harry's body moved on autopilot, falling into the rhythm he'd practiced countless times with Thibo back in London. Zone 2 heart rate, steady pace, just like they'd trained. Nikolai matched his stride - they'd planned to run together, keep each other going when it got tough.
"Your boy did good with the launch," Nikolai said around mile 10, both of them still feeling strong. "Djuna's already made a wishlist."
Harry grinned, remembering Louis' nervous rambling about the collection. "He's been working on those designs for months. Proper obsessed with getting them right."
Around mile 15, things started getting properly difficult. His legs were heavy, and the sun was climbing higher. The crowds were still cheering, but Harry was deep in his own head now, focused on maintaining his form. His mile time from training - 5:13 - felt like a distant memory as his body started to protest.
At mile 20, he hit the wall everyone had warned him about. He'd pushed hard between 30 and 35K, clocking his fastest 5K split, but now every step felt like moving through treacle. Nikolai, who'd been steadily keeping pace, reached for his hand.
"Together, yeah?" Nikolai said, and Harry gripped back gratefully. There was something grounding about it, about not having to pretend this was easy. They'd known each other long enough, been through enough conversations about public perception and private truths, that this felt natural.
They crossed the finish line still holding hands, 3:24:07 on the clock. Harry's legs nearly gave out, but he was grinning through the exhaustion. Djuna was there immediately, wrapping them both in towels as photographers snapped away. Any other time he might have worried about the hand-holding photos, about what people would say, but he was too tired to care. Louis would probably love it anyway - he always did get a kick out of their "subtle as a brick" moments, as he called them.
His phone buzzed in his running belt - Louis again, definitely should be sleeping by now but probably couldn't resist checking the race tracking app.
"Even splits and everything," the message read. "Proper athlete you are. Now go eat some chocolate and drink that wine you've been eyeing. Love you xx"
Harry smiled, letting Nikolai prop him up as they made their way to the recovery area. He'd run a marathon. He'd done it with one of his best mates. And somewhere in London, the love of his life was probably finally falling asleep, surrounded by the success of everything he'd built.
Not a bad Sunday, all things considered.
The next few hours passed in a blur of recovery protocols that only the obscenely wealthy could manage. Harry and Nikolai found themselves stretched out in a private suite at the Aman Tokyo, professional masseuses working out their cramping muscles while Djuna orchestrated a steady stream of recovery drinks and snacks.
"Fuck me, that was brutal," Nikolai groaned from the next massage table, wincing as the therapist hit a particularly tight spot in his calf. "How're you feeling, Styles?"
Harry made a noncommittal sound, somewhere between pain and pleasure as his own masseuse worked on his quads. "Like I've been hit by a bus. A very fast, very Japanese bus."
Djuna rolled her eyes fondly from her perch on a nearby chair, tapping away at her phone. "You both did amazing. The internet's going wild over the hand-holding finish, by the way. Very sweet."
"Louis'll love that," Harry mumbled into the massage table, too exhausted to filter himself. "He's proper soft for that kind of thing, even if he pretends not to be."
The suite's private onsen was waiting for them after the massages - the hot spring water providing blessed relief to their aching muscles. Harry sank into the water with a groan that was almost indecent, letting his head fall back against the edge.
"Remember when we used to just do drugs and stay up for three days straight?" Nikolai mused, floating nearby. "Now look at us - running marathons, doing ice baths, drinking green juice."
"Speak for yourself," Harry laughed softly. "I've got a very expensive bottle of red waiting in my room. Been eyeing it for months."
After the onsen, they retreated to Harry's suite where room service had arranged a proper feast - all their post-marathon cravings catered to with ridiculous precision. Harry finally opened that bottle of wine, pouring generous glasses for all of them.
"To not dying," Nikolai proposed, raising his glass.
"To not dying," Harry and Djuna echoed, clinking their glasses together.
Harry's phone buzzed again - Louis, sending a string of photos from the launch party. The last one was of him curled up in bed wearing one of Harry's old t-shirts, clearly still a bit drunk and very pleased with himself.
"Miss you," the message read. "Proud of you. Come home soon yeah?"
Harry smiled at Louis' last message, typing back a quick response about missing him too. His mind was already working through the logistics -if he caught the Wednesday evening flight... Brixton wasn't until Thursday night. It could work.
"You're plotting," Nikolai observed from his sprawl on the hotel sofa, wincing as he tried to shift positions. "I know that face. What's our boy up to now?"
"Louis' doing a charity gig at Brixton," Harry explained, already pulling up Oli's number. "Music Venue Trust. Just decided it tonight, apparently."
"Ah," Djuna said knowingly. "And how long until the two week rule kicks in?"
Harry grinned. They'd all heard enough about the rule over the years to understand its importance, especially after that brutal month apart with Harry in Europe and Louis in the States. "Would've been sixteen days if I'd waited for India. But now..."
"Now you're going to show up and surprise him at his first proper show in ages," Nikolai finished. "Soft bastard. You do remember we just ran a marathon, right? Your legs might actually fall off on the flight."
"Worth it though," Harry shrugged, sending a quick text to Oli about arranging everything quietly. "Besides, got a few days to recover first."
"Leave him alone," Djuna said, though she was smiling too. "It's sweet. Even if you are mental."
Harry just hummed noncommittally, already thinking about Louis choosing the exact charity they'd discussed weeks ago. His legs were screaming and tomorrow was going to be hell, but he had three days to recover before the flight. Three days, and then he'd get to see Louis absolutely lose it when he realized Harry had made it home for his first show back.
"Right then," he said, reaching for another chocolate. "Who's going to help me walk to breakfast tomorrow? Because I'm pretty sure my legs are actually going to fall off."
The conversation devolved into gentle mockery of his romanticism and elaborate brunch plans, but Harry's mind was already in London, already imagining Louis' face when he spotted him in Brixton. Sometimes the best victories weren't just about crossing finish lines - they were about being there for the moments that mattered most.
The next morning, despite their protesting muscles, Harry, Nikolai, and Djuna managed to make their way through the quiet streets of Tokyo. They'd found a tiny café in Daikanyama that served excellent green tea and pastries that would definitely not be on any marathon runner's recovery plan.
Harry was absently scrolling through his phone - Louis had finally fallen asleep, if his text silence was anything to go by - when something in a shop window caught his eye. He stopped so abruptly that Nikolai nearly walked into him.
He paused outside the Neighborhood store as he spotted the black t-shirt in the window. The delicate flowers scattered across the design made him smile - it was one of his favorite secrets about Louis, how much he actually loved flowers. Not that he'd ever admit it publicly, of course, but Harry had written entire songs about it. Sunflower Vol. 6 had practically written itself after watching Louis arrange roses in their kitchen one morning, and that line in Grapejuice about buying flowers had been straight from their life together.
"Another shirt for the collection?" Nikolai teased as Harry made his way into the store. "How many is this now?"
"Lost count," Harry admitted, already knowing exactly how this would play out. It was their little ritual - he'd buy Louis something pretty during his travels, and Louis would inevitably wear it weeks later, letting their fans connect the dots back to Harry's trip.
"The fans are going to lose it when he wears this one," Djuna observed, running her fingers over the fabric. "Connecting you to Japan while he's launching 28."
Harry grinned, already picturing Louis wearing it to some casual outing, pretending it was just another shirt while knowing exactly what message he was sending. "That's half the fun, isn't it?"
It was their own private language, spelled out in fabrics and careful timing. Louis probably had dozens of these shirts by now, each one a memory of somewhere Harry had been, thinking of him.
"You two are ridiculous," Nikolai said fondly as Harry paid for the shirt. "Come on then, my legs are killing me and I need more coffee."
They spent the rest of the afternoon moving at a glacial pace through Tokyo's backstreets, stopping frequently to rest their marathon-worn legs at various cafés. Harry carefully documented each spot with photos he'd send to Louis later - he always liked knowing where Harry had been, even if he pretended not to care.
Back at the hotel that evening, Harry propped his phone against the pillows, lying on his stomach as Louis' face filled the screen. He looked soft and rumpled in one of Harry's old t-shirts, clearly still riding the high from both the launch and making plans for Brixton.
"The venue's perfect, H," Louis was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. "Proper intimate, you know? And the girls from Dirty Blonde, they're fucking incredible. Reminds me of how we used to be, just making it up as we went along."
Harry smiled, watching Louis gesture animatedly. "Yeah? Tell me more about their sound."
"Sort of punk but with these gorgeous harmonies. They've got this one song..." Louis trailed off, reaching for his guitar. "Here, let me show you-"
Harry watched fondly as Louis demonstrated the chord progression, his whole face lit up with enthusiasm. It had been too long since he'd seen Louis like this - passionate about music, eager to perform.
"Sounds sick, Lou. The fans are going to lose their minds."
"God, I hope so. Been ages since I've done anything this small." Louis paused, running a hand through his hair. "Wish you could be there. Would feel better with you in the crowd."
Harry forced himself to keep his expression neutral, ignoring the knowing look Nikolai shot him from across the room. "Yeah, me too. But you'll smash it anyway. And I'll see you after India."
"Promise you'll watch the videos people post? Even the shit quality ones?"
"Course I will. Wouldn't miss it." Harry bit back a grin, knowing he wouldn't need videos at all. "How're the nerves?"
"All over the place," Louis admitted. "But the good kind, you know? Like before the launch yesterday. Makes me feel alive."
They talked until Louis started yawning, the time difference and post-launch exhaustion finally catching up with him. Harry waited until they'd hung up before letting his smug smile spread across his face.
"You're terrible at keeping secrets, you know that?" Nikolai called from his spot on the sofa. "Your whole face goes weird when you're trying not to give something away."
"Shut up," Harry laughed, throwing a pillow at him. "He didn't notice, did he?"
"Only because he was too excited about the show to pay attention. You're lucky he's distracted."
Harry just grinned, already thinking about Thursday night. Louis had no idea what was coming, and Harry intended to keep it that way for just a few days more.
***
Harry pulled his cap lower as he ducked into Liberty, grateful for the early hour and relative quiet of Soho. He'd come straight from Heathrow, running on nothing but airplane coffee and anticipation. His phone buzzed just as he was examining a particularly lovely bouquet of wildflowers.
Louis' contact photo lit up the screen, and Harry felt that familiar flutter, even as he tried to keep his voice casual. "Hey love."
"Alright? How's the packing going?" Louis sounded distracted, probably in the middle of rehearsals.
"Oh, you know. Bit chaotic." Harry shifted the phone, gesturing silently to the florist about the arrangement he wanted. "The usual pre-flight mess."
A voice behind him called out "Excuse me, love" in a distinctly London accent as they squeezed past, and Harry froze.
"Was that-" Louis paused. "Sounded proper British, that."
"Just the, uh, TV in the background," Harry managed, shooting a panicked look at the florist who was trying not to laugh. "Hotel's got BBC World News on."
"Right..." Louis didn't sound entirely convinced. "And you're still in Japan?"
"Course I am. Where else would I be?" Harry paid quickly, mouthing a thank you as he gathered up the flowers. "Listen, got to finish packing. Text you when I'm boarding?"
"Yeah, alright," Louis said slowly. "Just... thought I heard..."
"Miss you," Harry cut in quickly. "Break a leg at soundcheck."
He hung up before Louis could question him further, letting out a relieved breath. Four more hours of keeping this secret. He could manage that.
"Almost got caught there, didn't you?" the florist said cheerfully, handing him the receipt.
Harry grinned, carefully cradling the bouquet. "Worth it though."
Now he just had to get these flowers home without being spotted. Though given his luck with that phone call, he probably already had been. At least it would give Louis something else to piece together tonight night at Brixton.
Harry made it home without incident, carefully arranging the wildflowers in Louis' favorite vase - the slightly crooked ceramic one they'd bought at that market in Portugal. He changed quickly into black jeans and a worn jumper, pulling his beanie low over his curls. Proper incognito, nothing flashy.
Oli's text came right on schedule: "Coast clear in 15. Service entrance."
The timing was perfect - Louis would be three songs in, everyone's attention fixed firmly on stage. Harry slipped through the back corridors of Brixton like a shadow, guided by Oli's subtle hand signals. The familiar thrum of Louis' voice got stronger as they moved through the building, and Harry's heart beat in time with it.
He waited in the wings, completely hidden from both crowd and stage, just listening. Louis was on fire tonight, his voice strong and sure, the audience hanging on every note.
Harry stood in the shadows backstage, heart racing as Louis' voice filled Brixton. He could feel the energy of the crowd, the way they hung on every word. Louis was electric tonight, riding high on the success of 28 and the intimacy of the venue.
When "Walls" began, Harry couldn't help himself. He slipped up to the balcony door, cracking it just enough to see. Louis was bathed in blue light, lost in the performance, when he happened to glance up during "These high walls never broke my soul" - and froze for a split second as their eyes met. His voice wavered almost imperceptibly on "And I, I watched them all come fallin' down," but he didn't break the gaze, singing the rest of the line directly to that spot where Harry stood.
Harry slipped away before Louis could see the tears in his eyes, but he noticed how Louis kept looking up at that empty balcony door for the next few songs, a private smile playing at his lips.
When the opening notes of "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" started, Harry felt his throat tighten. Louis always changed those lyrics, refusing to sing about letting go, choosing instead to focus on them against the world. Tonight was no different, but he stumbled over the bridge, losing his place despite the lyric sheet at his feet. Harry smiled fondly from his hiding spot - Louis had always gotten distracted easily when performing, especially when he was feeling emotional.
The moment the final song ended, Louis practically sprinted backstage, not even stopping for his usual bow. He crashed into Harry with enough force to knock them both back a step.
"You're supposed to be in Japan," he whispered fiercely, fingers digging into Harry's jumper. "You absolute bastard, you're supposed to be in Japan."
"Surprise," Harry murmured into his hair, holding him close. "You were incredible up there."
"How long have you been here? Did you see-"
"All of it. Even the bit where you forgot the words."
Louis pulled back just enough to glare at him, but he couldn't hide his smile. "Shut up. Was thinking about this fit bastard in the balcony, wasn't I? Bit distracting."
"Take me home?" Harry asked softly.
Louis laced their fingers together, already leading them toward the back exit. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go home."
They made it home without being spotted, Louis still vibrating with post-show energy and the shock of Harry's surprise. He stopped short when they entered the kitchen, catching sight of the wildflowers arranged in their old Portuguese vase.
"So that's what you were doing in Soho," he said softly, reaching out to touch one of the petals. "When I heard those British voices..."
"Got something else for you too," Harry murmured, pulling out the carefully wrapped Neighborhood t-shirt from his bag. "Saw it in Japan and thought of you."
Louis unfolded it carefully, his smile growing at the flower design. "Course you did, you soppy git." But he held it gently, reverently, the way he always did with Harry's gifts. "You flew halfway across the world just to see me play Brixton?"
"Wouldn't have missed it," Harry said, wrapping his arms around Louis from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. "The way you sang Walls tonight..."
"Nearly lost it when I saw you up there," Louis admitted, leaning back into him. "Thought I was imagining things at first."
"Could never stay away when you're singing that one." Harry pressed a kiss to his neck. "Or when you change those lyrics in Broken Hearts."
Louis turned in his arms, fingers sliding into Harry's curls. "Got two days before India," he murmured. "Better make them count."
"Already are," Harry whispered against his lips. The flowers watched silently from their vase as Louis pulled him closer, both of them knowing these precious hours would slip by too quickly, but determined to make each one matter.
The t-shirt lay forgotten on the counter for now, but Harry knew Louis would wear it soon enough - probably in India, letting their fans connect it back to Harry's Japan trip, their own private way of staying connected across continents. But that was for later. Right now, they had this moment, this kitchen, these flowers. Right now, they were home.
Chapter 80: May 2014
Summary:
In which Harry and Louis' night in Rio goes sideways when Louis shows up to their hotel room completely plastered after promising to stay sober. What follows is a day of pure chaos
Featuring:
-A very petty and increasingly drunk Harry terrorizing everyone by the hotel pool
-Multiple failed attempts at seduction
-One very cramped bread van
-Some surprisingly deep drunk philosophy under Jesus
-Harry accidentally grinding on multiple Not-Louises at a club
-And finally, the origin story of a certain tattoo that definitely wasn't planned while absolutely hammeredaka the one where Harry decides to fight Louis' reckless behavior with even more reckless behavior and somehow ends up with "Brasil" permanently inked on his thigh
Chapter Text
The hotel room door clicked shut, and Harry immediately pressed Louis against it, hours of careful distance crumbling. His heart was racing - they'd been exchanging heated looks all day, little touches that promised more.
"Finally," Harry breathed, nuzzling into Louis' neck. "Been going mad, watching you all day. The way you kept looking at me..."
"Yeah?" Louis' hands found Harry's hips, pulling him closer. "Tell me what you saw."
"Saw you watching me during that meeting," Harry murmured, working his way up Louis' jaw. "When I was stretched out on that sofa. Saw how dark your eyes got."
Louis hummed, tilting his head to give Harry better access. "Always watch you. Can't help it. Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
The words were slightly slurred, but Harry was too caught up in finally having Louis' skin under his lips to notice at first.
"Wanted to climb right into your lap," Harry continued, hands sliding under Louis' shirt. "Right there in front of everyone."
"Should've done it," Louis laughed, the sound looser than usual. "Give Paul a proper heart attack."
Harry pulled back just enough to look at Louis properly, taking in his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. But Louis chased his mouth, kisses landing messily.
"Want you so bad, baby," Louis mumbled against Harry's lips. "Been thinking 'bout it all day. All the things I wanna do to you..."
His hands wandered down to Harry's bum, squeezing clumsily as he tried to grind forward. But his movements were uncoordinated, his balance off. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on Harry's shoulders.
"Oops," Louis giggled. "Room's a bit spinny..."
That's when Harry noticed the sharp smell of vodka on Louis' breath, mixed with something herbal - whatever he'd shared with Zayn before boarding. His stomach dropped even as his body responded to Louis' wandering hands.
"Lou..." Harry started, but Louis was already mouthing at his neck.
"Don't stop," Louis slurred. "Been so good all day, waiting for you. Want to make you feel so good..."
But his words were getting more garbled, his weight getting heavier against Harry as the alcohol really hit him. When Louis tried to walk them toward the bed, he stumbled again.
Harry stepped back like he'd been burned, reality crashing in. Of course. Of course Louis was too far gone. Just like the last time they'd managed to steal a night together, and the time before that.
The ache in his chest was almost physical - wanting Louis so badly but not like this, never like this anymore. He wanted the sharp, present Louis who used to look at him like he was the only thing that mattered. Not this soft-edged, numbed version who could barely stand straight.
"Think maybe we should get you to bed," Harry said quietly, steadying Louis as he swayed.
"That's what I've been saying," Louis waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, trying to pull Harry close again.
"To sleep, Lou."
"Don't wanna sleep," Louis pouted, even as his eyes started to droop. "Wanna make love to my boy. Miss you so much..."
And that was the worst part - how sweet drunk Louis could be, how openly affectionate, even as he broke another promise. The raw honesty in his voice made Harry's throat tight, even through the slurring.
But it wasn't real. Not really. Not when Louis needed to be half-gone to say these things, to show this much vulnerability. Not when he'd rather be numb than actually feel their connection the way they used to.
"You promised," Harry said, voice tight. "You looked me right in the eyes this morning and promised you'd stay sober tonight."
"Only had a few tiny bottles," Louis protested, stumbling toward the bed. "And just a little something with Zayn to take the edge off. You know how it gets, Haz... all the pressure..."
"I know exactly how it gets," Harry snapped. "I'm under the same pressure. I just don't need to be drunk or high to handle it."
Louis collapsed onto the mattress, still fully dressed. "Don't start. Not everyone can be perfect like you."
"Perfect?" Harry laughed hollowly. "I'm not perfect, I'm professional. There's a difference. We have a full day tomorrow. Interviews. Sightseeing. Recording for the movie. But sure, get wasted on the flight."
"At least I can still have fun," Louis mumbled into the pillow. "You're so serious nowadays. Used to love getting pissed with me..."
The words hit like a physical blow. "Because I grew up, Lou. Because this matters to me. The music matters. The fans matter. Us..." His voice cracked. "We matter. Or at least I thought we did."
Louis struggled to sit up, hurt finally breaking through the drunken haze. "Course we matter. You matter more than anything."
"Do I?" Harry's hands were shaking. "Because it feels like the bottles matter more. Like whatever you and Zayn smoke matters more. Like you'd rather be numb than actually feel anything real with me anymore."
"That's not fair," Louis whispered, reaching for him. "I feel everything with you. Sometimes that's the problem. Sometimes it's too much..."
Harry let Louis pull him down onto the bed, anger warring with the bone-deep need to be close to him. Even now, even like this, he couldn't resist when Louis touched him.
"Just wanted one night," Harry said against Louis' shoulder. "One proper night like we used to have. Remember those early days? When we'd spend hours just... being together?"
"Remember everything about us," Louis mumbled, octopusing around Harry despite the tension still crackling between them. "Love you so much it terrifies me sometimes..."
"Then be present with me," Harry pleaded. "Actually be here."
But Louis was already drifting, breath evening out as the alcohol pulled him under. "Just need to rest my eyes..." he slurred. "Five minutes..."
Harry lay there in the dark, listening to Louis breathe, feeling the familiar ache of watching someone you love choose numbness over connection. The rage and hurt and love twisted together in his chest until he could barely breathe with it.
Tomorrow, he decided with sudden, fierce clarity. Tomorrow he'd show Louis exactly what it felt like to watch someone you love spiral out of control. Let him see how it felt from the other side.
Maybe then he'd understand.
The Rio morning sun was merciless, especially around the gleaming hotel pool. Harry sat with his feet dangling in the water, watching Niall splash around while trying not to look too obviously pleased with himself as he accepted another caipirinha from a passing server.
"Might want to slow down there, H," Julian advised from the lounger behind him, though Harry could hear the amusement in his voice. "Those things aren't as innocent as they taste."
Harry just smiled, saccharine sweet, and took another long sip. The cachaça was already buzzing pleasantly through his system, making everything feel lighter, easier. Louis was still upstairs, proper hungover and barely coherent when Harry had left him with a deliberately cheerful "Morning, love!" that he knew had been too loud.
Served him right.
"Where's Louis?" Ben asked, camera crew hovering nearby. Always nearby these days, catching their "candid" moments for the movie.
"Sleeping it off," Harry said with just enough edge that Ben raised his eyebrows. He took another drink, letting the lime and sugar mask the burn. "Guess someone has to be the life of the party down here instead."
Niall paddled over, hanging off the edge of the pool. "Mate, you're already pretty far gone and it's not even noon."
"Good." Harry finished his drink and immediately caught the eye of another server. "That's rather the point, isn't it?"
He could feel Liam's concerned gaze from across the pool, could practically hear the responsible lecture building behind those puppy dog eyes. But for once, Harry didn't want to be the responsible one. Didn't want to be perfect, controlled Harry Styles who never put a toe out of line while Louis and Zayn got to blow off steam however they liked.
The next caipirinha arrived and Harry raised it in a mock toast toward the camera crew. "To Rio!" he called out with a grin that felt just slightly dangerous. "And to doing whatever the fuck we want!"
Ben looked like he was trying not to laugh. Julian was shaking his head. Niall was cackling. And Harry...
Harry was just getting started.
"Think I'll have another," he announced to no one in particular, already feeling wonderfully reckless. "Since apparently that's what we do on tour now, yeah? Get absolutely plastered and fuck the consequences?"
"Harry..." Liam started, but Harry just laughed, bright and sharp.
"What? Someone specific in mind there, Payno?" He kicked his feet in the water, creating little waves. "Because I couldn't possibly imagine who you might be thinking of."
The next drink arrived and Harry took it with a wink at the server, ignoring the knowing looks being exchanged around him. Let them worry. Let them try to handle him for once.
Let Louis wake up and see exactly how it felt.
"Ben," he called out suddenly, struck by inspiration. "Ben, get this on camera. This is proper documentary stuff, innit? The real One Direction experience?"
And with that, he slid right into the pool, designer clothes and all, drink still in hand.
The splash was magnificent.
The morning sun hadn't even hit its peak when Harry found himself hanging off Ben's shoulder, dripping wet and giggling. "Ben... Benny... listen," he slurred, fedora askew. "Just one more caipirinha. I'll be so good, I promise."
Ben was trying not to laugh while attempting to maintain some semblance of authority. "Harry, mate, you're already soaked and we've got Christ the Redeemer later."
"That's ages away," Harry protested, pouting dramatically. When Ben remained unmoved, Harry did the only reasonable thing - he let himself fall backward into the pool with a theatrical splash.
Julian was unfortunately within splash radius. "Oi!" he called out, but Harry was already swimming toward him with the determined focus of the thoroughly drunk.
"Jules!" Harry's grin was impish as he reached for Julian's shoulders. "Want to see how long I can hold my breath?"
"Absolutely not," Julian laughed, trying to dodge Harry's grabbing hands. But Harry was surprisingly coordinated for someone who'd had this many drinks before noon, and soon they were engaged in a splashing war that had Niall cackling from the sidelines.
"M'a mermaid," Harry announced to no one in particular, before attempting a handstand that went sideways, his legs flailing above the water for a moment before he toppled over.
When he surfaced, he immediately looked toward the hotel entrance, but Louis still hadn't appeared. The spike of petty satisfaction he felt was slightly dulled by disappointment.
"Right then," he declared, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the pool, shirt completely transparent and clinging to him. "Think I need another drink."
Liam made a concerned noise from his lounger. "H, maybe some water instead?"
Harry just grinned, wide and reckless, and caught the eye of a passing server. "Water's for people who didn't spend the whole flight here watching their boyfriend get pissed with Zayn," he said, just loud enough for the nearest crew members to pretend they hadn't heard.
He accepted another caipirinha and raised it in mock toast. "To responsibility!" he called out, before sliding back into the pool, drink and all.
Julian shook his head fondly as Harry drifted over to use him as a human flotation device. "You're going to regret this later, kid."
"That's later's problem," Harry mumbled into Julian's shoulder, suddenly feeling very philosophical about it all. "Present Harry is having a brilliant time."
Present Harry then proceeded to demonstrate this by attempting to recreate Titanic's "I'm flying" scene using Julian as his unwilling Rose.
The door burst open with enough force to make Louis wince, his hangover still lingering. Harry stumbled in, supported by a highly amused Niall, water dripping everywhere from his clothes. His Kiss t-shirt was practically transparent, plastered to his skin, and that ridiculous fedora was somehow still perched on his head, though it looked like it had been dunked multiple times.
"Delivery!" Niall announced cheerfully. "One very drunk popstar, as requested."
Harry's face lit up when he saw Louis. "Lou!" He immediately detached from Niall and attempted to make his way over, managing a zigzag path that nearly took out a lamp. "Baby, you missed it. I was... I was like, so good at swimming."
"What the fuck did you let him do, Niall?" Louis demanded, even as he automatically reached out to steady Harry, who was now trying to climb into his lap while soaking wet.
"Let him?" Niall barked out a laugh. "Mate, he was halfway to plastered before any of us even realized. Been knocking back caipirinhas like they were water. Proper menace, this one."
Harry beamed at that description, looking absurdly proud of himself. "Was trying to show you," he said to Louis, poking him in the chest with a wet finger, "how fun it is when someone you love gets absolutely shitfaced."
Louis felt a twinge of guilt, but it was hard to take Harry's attempt at making a point seriously when he was literally dripping on Louis' legs and grinning like a drunk kitten.
"Right, well, he's your problem now," Niall said, backing toward the door. "We're meant to be leaving for Christ the Redeemer in an hour. Good luck with... all that." He gestured vaguely at Harry, who was now trying to take his wet shirt off and somehow getting tangled in it.
"M'stuck," Harry announced seriously from inside his shirt.
Louis sighed, reaching up to help him. "You're a menace is what you are. Was this really necessary?"
Harry's head finally emerged, curls wild and damp, eyes bright with drunk defiance. "Dunno, was last night necessary?"
"That's different-"
"Is it though?" Harry interrupted, swaying slightly. "Because I feel amazing right now. Everything's all... sparkly. And warm. And I don't care about anything." He leaned in close, breath sweet with lime and sugar. "Is that how you feel when you drink? Because I get it now. S'nice."
Louis felt something in his chest tighten. "Haz..."
"We have to go see Jesus!" Harry suddenly remembered, attempting to stand up and nearly falling over. "D'you think Jesus will mind that I'm drunk?"
"Think Jesus has probably seen worse," Louis muttered, standing to help Harry find dry clothes. "Though I doubt he's seen anyone try to climb his statue while pissed on Brazilian cocktails, which is absolutely what you're going to attempt, isn't it?"
Harry's answering grin was not at all reassuring.
Louis had managed to wrestle Harry into dry clothes, though the younger boy kept trying to distract him with wandering hands and sloppy kisses that tasted like cachaca and lime.
"Coffee first," Louis insisted, pushing a steaming cup into Harry's hands. "Then maybe we can... but you need to be at least slightly coherent before they stuff us in that van."
"Don't want coffee," Harry pouted, but took a sip anyway. His wet curls were starting to dry into wild waves, fedora discarded somewhere near the bathroom. "Want you."
"Yeah?" Louis raised an eyebrow, watching Harry attempt to coordinate drinking without spilling. "That why you spent all morning getting absolutely hammered by the pool? To get my attention?"
Harry's grin was unrepentant. "Worked didn't it?" He set down the coffee cup with exaggerated care. "Now c'mere."
"You're impossible," Louis muttered, but let Harry pull him between his spread knees where he sat on the edge of the bed. "We have like forty minutes."
"Plenty of time," Harry mumbled against Louis' neck, hands already sliding under his shirt. "Better hurry though."
Louis couldn't help but laugh, even as he tilted his head to give Harry better access. "You're still proper drunk, aren't you?"
"Mm, very," Harry agreed cheerfully, working on Louis' zipper. "But I can still... y'know." He waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.
"Romantic," Louis snorted, but then Harry's hand found its target and coherent thoughts became significantly harder to maintain.
Thirty-five minutes later, Harry was marginally more sober but significantly more disheveled, attempting to fix his hair in the mirror while Louis tried to hide the fresh mark blooming on his collar.
"You're a lilttle shit when you're drunk," Louis informed him, watching Harry fumble with his sunglasses.
"Learned from the best, didn't I?" Harry shot back, but his smile was fond now, the earlier edge gone. He stumbled slightly trying to put his boots on. "Think anyone will notice?"
"That you're completely pissed? Only everyone." Louis steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ready to go see Jesus?"
"Ready to get crammed in a bread van," Harry corrected, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes with a flourish. "While completely smashed. Should be interesting."
"Please don't throw up on Liam."
"No promises." Harry paused at the door, swaying slightly. "Hey Lou?"
"Yeah?"
"Still mad at you about last night. But also love you quite a lot."
Louis softened. "Love you too, you drunk terror. Now come on, before Paul comes looking for us."
As they piled into the bread van in the underground garage, the chaos was immediate. Niall went in first, followed by Zayn, when Louis called out teasingly, "Can I come in and cuddle you, Niall?" - partly to lighten his own growing anxiety about the small space, partly to needle his still-very-drunk boyfriend.
Harry stumbled in last, sunglasses firmly in place despite the dim lighting. "The important thing is," he announced with drunk gravitas, "we're all in this together." He paused, swaying slightly. "I used to be a baker, you know. So I love being in a bread van."
"Paul's decoys don't normally work," Louis told the camera, trying to sound casual. "Now this one I have a bit more faith in. This is crazy."
The van lurched into motion, making Harry practically fall into Louis' lap.
"Lou... Lou... d'you know what kind of van this is? It's a roll-s royce," Harry giggled at his own joke, then immediately looked concerned. "Wait, no. That's not right. I had a better one..."
"Oh my," Liam breathed to camera.
"I really like it in here," Zayn murmured, somehow looking completely unbothered.
Between official filming moments, Harry kept attempting to whisper what he clearly thought were clever bread puns into Louis' ear. "This van is a slice of heaven." He giggled at his own joke while Louis tried not to laugh despite his growing discomfort.
"Feels like it's three in the morning in here," Louis commented, his voice getting tighter as he fidgeted with his water bottle.
Harry's attempt at comforting back rubs was more like uncoordinated patting, his coordination still off from the morning's caipirinhas. "S'okay baby, think of it as being wrapped up like a warm loaf..."
"I can hear them outside," Liam observed. "I think we're getting away with it."
Zayn started to say something about Harry's obvious inebriation, but Louis quickly shushed him while Liam was talking to camera.
"Hi, we're One Direction and we're in the van," Louis joked weakly, his anxiety building.
As they finally pulled away from the hotel, the screams of fans becoming more distant, Zayn's voice took on that thoughtful tone he got when reminiscing. "It reminds me actually of a green van that we used to have when I lived at home," he began, "and we used to travel to Manchester in it..."
Harry, who had been watching Louis grow increasingly tense, noticed the slight tremor in his boyfriend's hands as he gripped the water bottle. Despite his alcohol-addled brain, or perhaps because of it, Harry could read the growing panic in Louis' tight shoulders and too-quick breaths. The confined space was getting to him, and Harry's drunk brain decided that distraction was the best solution.
"Kiss me, Lou," he whispered, low enough that the camera wouldn't pick it up, his hand finding Louis' thigh in the darkness of the van. His sunglasses were slightly askew, and he probably tasted like lime and cachaça, but he could feel Louis' attention shift from the cramped space to him.
Louis hesitated for a moment, glancing at the camera that was focused on Zayn, before giving in. Their kisses were quick, furtive things - Louis clearly trying to keep them subtle while Harry, still riding his morning buzz, was being characteristically less discrete. His hands kept wandering, making Louis bite back a laugh against his lips.
It was working though - Louis' breathing had steadied, his focus diverted from the claustrophobic space to keeping Harry's wandering hands in check. But they'd forgotten about Niall squeezed in next to them, who had his own problems to deal with.
A sharp elbow caught Louis in the ribs. Niall's face was a fascinating shade of green.
"Sorry lads," Louis mumbled, looking equal parts sheepish and amused as Harry pouted at the interruption. But his hands were steady now, the panic momentarily forgotten.
Harry, undeterred and still quite drunk, immediately started planning his next distraction technique, while Zayn tried to continue his story without laughing at their antics. The camera caught none of it, but the fond exasperation on Louis' face said everything about dealing with a drunk Harry while trapped in the back of a bread van.
"I've got a mild claustrophobia streak in me," Louis admitted to camera, while Harry attempted to comfort him by describing increasingly elaborate bread-based meditation techniques.
Niall wasn't faring much better, looking positively green.
"How you feeling, Nialler?" Liam asked carefully.
"Not good," Niall groaned, eyes squeezed shut.
"I feel a bit similar, Niall," Louis sympathized, before finally breaking. "HOW LONG?" he called out desperately toward the door.
"We're going to open the door," came the blessed response, and Louis' relief was palpable.
Through it all, Harry alternated between genuine attempts to comfort Louis and drunk philosophical observations about their "bread-venture," while Louis found himself caught between genuine claustrophobia and reluctant amusement at getting a taste of his own medicine via Harry's inebriated state.
"You're much less funny when you're drunk than you think you are," Louis muttered during one camera-free moment.
"M'hilarious," Harry protested, then immediately proved himself wrong by attempting to demonstrate what he called "proper bread van etiquette" and nearly knocking over the professional camera.
"Christ help us all," Liam muttered, while Zayn tried not to laugh and Niall just looked greener.
Harry stumbled slightly as they emerged from the van into the bright Rio sunshine, his hand automatically reaching back to find Louis' arm for balance. The altitude and alcohol hit him at once as he tilted his head back to look at the statue.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed, then giggled. "Literally."
"Steady there, rock star," Louis murmured, his hand briefly squeezing Harry's elbow before their entourage surrounded them.
"Alright lads, we need shots of you walking up..." Ben was directing, cameras swinging into position. Harry found himself being herded into place, still swaying slightly, while Louis kept close enough to catch him if needed.
Between takes, Harry managed to charm a caipirinha from someone in their crew ("Hair of the dog!" he announced proudly), making Louis roll his eyes even as his lips twitched with fond amusement.
"You're going to fall off this mountain," Louis warned under his breath as they were positioned for another shot.
"Nah," Harry grinned, sunglasses finally pushed up into his wild curls. "Got you to catch me, don't I?"
The cameras reset, and in that brief moment of quiet, they found themselves at the railing, backs to the crowd.
Their hands met in front of them, hidden by their bodies and the metal barrier, fingers intertwining where no one could see. Harry swayed slightly, pressing his shoulder against Louis' for balance.
"One day," Harry murmured, his voice soft and slightly slurred but full of promise, "we'll come back here. Just us."
Louis squeezed his hand, thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. "Yeah?"
"Mhmm. No cameras. No crew. No schedule." Harry's shoulder pressed closer. "I'll hold you proper, right here at sunset. Maybe kiss you under Jesus."
Louis bit back a laugh. "Think that might be sacrilegious, love."
"You know what I think?" Harry murmured, leaning closer so only Louis could hear. "I think about it sometimes, when people say... when they try to say this isn't right. But standing here, looking at all this..." He squeezed Louis' hand tighter. "How could something that feels like this ever be wrong?"
Louis turned his head slightly, watching Harry's profile as he continued, voice getting that earnest, passionate tone he got when he was trying to express something bigger than words.
"Like, this statue, right? It's meant to be about love and acceptance and... and forgiveness and all that. And what we have?" Harry's voice caught slightly. "Lou, what we have is the purest thing I've ever known. How could anyone - even God - look at how much I love you and call it a sin?"
Louis' throat felt tight as Harry swayed closer, their shoulders pressing together.
"Sometimes I want to just... tell everyone. Shout it from right here. Because loving you?" Harry's voice dropped even lower, thick with emotion. "It's the closest thing to holy I've ever felt. The way you love me back? That's... that's miraculous, that is. That's divine."
"Harry..." Louis whispered, fighting the urge to turn and pull him close, too aware of the cameras and crew behind them.
"No, listen," Harry insisted, drunk but deadly serious. "They can say what they want, but I know - I know in my soul, Lou - that something this beautiful could never be wrong. Jesus up there?" He tilted his head slightly toward the statue. "He'd understand. Because this? Us? It's pure love. Nothing else."
Louis squeezed Harry's hand hard, using their hidden grip to ground himself against the wave of emotion Harry's words brought forth. "You're a proper philosopher when you're drunk, you know that?"
"M'just saying what's true," Harry mumbled, finally breaking into a small smile. "What I always know but don't always say."
Before Louis could respond, a call from the crew shattered their bubble. But as they reluctantly separated, Louis caught Harry's eye, seeing all the certainty and love and truth shining there, and knew that drunk or not, every word had come straight from Harry's heart.
"Harry! Can you stand over here? Louis, maybe look towards the city..."
Harry detangled himself reluctantly, immediately attempting to recreate the statue's pose while keeping his drink steady. The crew laughed, cameras rolling, capturing his theatrical performance while missing the soft way Louis watched him, shaking his head but unable to hide his smile.
The rest of their Cristo Redentor visit was barely-contained chaos. Harry kept trying to recreate the statue's pose for photos, nearly toppling over each time, while security tried desperately to manage the growing crowd of fans who'd somehow found them. Through it all, he kept shooting Louis these heated looks when no one was watching, swaying into his space whenever possible.
"When we get back," Harry whispered during one camera reset, lips brushing Louis' ear, "gonna pull you into that supply closet by the ice machine like Madrid." His hand ghosted over Louis' lower back, gone before anyone could notice.
Louis bit back a smile. "You can barely walk straight."
"Don't need to walk straight to-"
"Harry! Can we get another shot over here?" Ben called out, and Harry stumbled away with an exaggerated wink that made Louis roll his eyes fondly.
By the time they made it back to the hotel, Harry was practically hanging off Louis in the elevator, all wandering hands and alcohol-fueled promises.
"Just like old times," he murmured against Louis' neck, ignoring Liam's pointed cough. "Remember Brisbane? That maintenance corridor?"
"Alright, out you go," Louis laughed, steering Harry toward their room as the others disappeared down the hall. "You're proper gone, love."
"M'fine," Harry protested, immediately falling face-first onto the bed. "Just need a quick nap. Then we can..." He made a vague gesture that might have been suggestive if he hadn't already been half asleep.
"Course we can," Louis agreed, pulling off Harry's boots. But Harry was already snoring softly.
Hours later, Harry woke to the sound of Louis moving around the room. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. Through bleary eyes, he watched Louis fixing his hair in the mirror, dressed for a night out.
"Going somewhere?" Harry croaked.
"Club with the lads. You should stay here, sleep this off properly."
Harry pushed himself up, ignoring how the room spun. "Nah. Give me fifteen minutes."
"Haz, you can barely sit up-"
"The Tommo way, remember?" Harry's smile had an edge to it as he stumbled toward the bathroom. "Hair of the dog that bit you. Besides," he paused in the doorway, "apparently that's what we do now, yeah? Get absolutely plastered and fuck the consequences?"
Louis' face fell slightly. "That's not-"
"Fifteen minutes," Harry cut him off, voice falsely bright. "Order me a coffee while I shower?"
Louis watched the bathroom door close, hearing Harry bump into something with a muffled curse. "You're actually mental," he called out.
"Learned from the best!" Harry's voice echoed back, followed by the sound of the shower starting.
Louis sighed, reaching for the room phone. Sometimes loving Harry was like looking in a mirror - especially when Harry was determined to prove a point by reflecting Louis' own worst habits back at him.
"Two coffees," he told room service. "Extra strong." They were clearly both going to need it.
The club was a blur of lights and pulsing music, Harry already several shots deep before they'd even made it past security. Louis kept a careful distance, watching as Harry swayed at the bar with Niall, ordering something bright blue that sparked when the bartender lit it on fire.
"Another!" Harry demanded, grinning wide and reckless. His curls were damp with sweat, shirt unbuttoned dangerously low. "S'my... what number is this, Nialler?"
"Lost count mate," Niall laughed. "You're proper gone."
The club lights blurred everything into a kaleidoscope of colors, making Harry's already compromised vision even worse. He was far past drunk now, the combination of day drinking and tonight's shots leaving him in a state where faces melted into each other, where every silhouette that matched Louis' height and build drew him in like a magnet.
"Lou?" he mumbled, pressing against someone's back, hands finding familiar curves that weren't quite right. The stranger turned and Harry blinked in confusion - the jawline was similar but wrong, the eyes all wrong. "Sorry... thought you were..."
He stumbled away, only to repeat the mistake minutes later. His drunk brain kept betraying him, seeing Louis everywhere - in the way someone laughed, in the flash of sharp features under the strobing lights, in the curve of a shoulder or the sweep of dark hair.
From across the VIP section, Louis watched with a tight jaw as Harry reached for yet another stranger, his glazed eyes unfocused but searching. Zayn caught Louis' flinch when Harry's hands settled on the man's hips before jerking away in apparent confusion.
"He's doing it on purpose," Louis muttered, but there was uncertainty in his voice as he watched Harry apologize profusely to the stranger, looking lost and increasingly distressed.
"Don't think he is, mate," Zayn observed quietly. "Think he's just proper gone. Keeps looking for you."
Harry found his way to Niall at the bar, slumping against the counter. "Everything's too spinny. Keep seeing Lou everywhere but it's never him."
"Maybe ease up on the shots then?" Niall suggested gently.
But Harry was already onto a new thought, alcohol making his emotions swing wildly. "Need something permanent," he slurred. "Something that shows... shows how even when everything's spinning, he's still my center. Still my forever."
"What, like a tattoo?" Niall asked.
Harry's eyes lit up with sudden clarity. "Brasil," he breathed. "With an 's' not a 'z'. And the B..." His finger traced an infinity sign in the air. "Like the one on his wrist. With the rope. Matches my anchor."
His movements became more insistent as he drew a '2' in the air. "And make the 's' like this. Like twenty-eight." He didn't elaborate on the significance.
"Need to find Lou," Harry declared, pushing away from the bar. "Need him there. Need him to understand."
He wove through the crowd, Niall trailing apologetically behind him, until he found Louis still watching from his spot by Zayn.
"Lou," Harry breathed, relief evident as he stumbled into Louis' space. "Found the real you."
Something in Louis' expression shifted as Harry pressed closer, understanding dawning. "Been looking for me, have you?"
"Keep seeing you everywhere," Harry admitted, forehead dropping to Louis' shoulder. "But they're never right. Need you to come with me. Getting something permanent."
"He wants a tattoo," Niall explained quickly. "I'm so sorry, shouldn't have suggested it. Tried talking him out of it but-"
"Brasil," Harry interrupted, fingers finding Louis' wrist where the infinity symbol lay hidden. "With forever in it. With us in it. Please come?"
Louis studied Harry's face - flushed and drunk but eyes earnest beneath the glassy sheen. This wasn't rebellion anymore, if it ever had been. This was Harry trying to anchor himself in the only way he knew how.
"Course I'm coming," Louis said softly, hand settling on Harry's lower back. "Someone's got to make sure you don't get it spelled wrong, don't they?"
Harry's smile was brilliant even through the drunken haze. "Needs to be perfect," he insisted as they made their way out. "The B like an eight, the 's' like a two..."
Chapter 81: Present Day
Summary:
Louis's first day in India is a rollercoaster - from being welcomed with traditional drums and blessings to giving emotionally charged interviews where he barely contains his rage about the music industry's treatment of young artists. After a brief panic about crowd size, his show turns magical, complete with three One Direction songs (instead of two since people wanted to complain and call them covers) and a subtle (not subtle) "I love him" during "Back To You." The night ends with him living out teenage dreams watching Green Day perform, finally feeling like he's exactly where he's meant to be.
aka: the one where Louis has feelings in India, can't stop thinking about Harry even across continents, and ends up crying happy tears while watching Green Day like the punk rock fanboy he is.
Chapter Text
Louis woke to Harry's fingers carding through his hair, early morning light barely filtering through their bedroom curtains. Their room still smelled faintly of the candle Harry had lit last night - some posh thing from Jo Malone that Louis pretended to find ridiculous but secretly loved. The warmth of skin against skin under their duvet made him want to burrow closer, steal a few more precious moments before the world intruded.
He kept his eyes closed, cataloging every sensation. The soft brush of Harry's chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. The steady thrum of his heartbeat. These quiet moments felt increasingly precious lately, like water slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.
"Know you're awake," Harry murmured, voice still rough with sleep. "Dead obvious when you're faking."
"Just enjoying the peace before you start chattering," Louis smiled against Harry's skin, but they both knew what he really meant. Two days wasn't long, not really, but lately every separation felt heavier, weighted with the knowledge that their schedules were only getting busier.
"Nervous about the set?" Harry asked softly, fingers still moving through Louis' hair in that way that always made him melt.
"Bit, yeah. Opening for Green Day, aren't I? Proper mad." Louis tried to keep his voice light but knew Harry would hear the undercurrent of anxiety. "Teenage me would be losing his shit right about now."
"Teenage you would nick Billy Joe Armstrong's guitar picks."
Louis laughed despite himself, pinching Harry's side. "Oi, I've grown."
"Have you?" But Harry's tone was fond, his free hand sliding warm across Louis' back. "What time's the car coming?"
"Too fucking soon," Louis muttered, finally opening his eyes to take in Harry's sleep-soft face. The morning light caught in his hair, making them look almost golden. "What you getting up to while I'm gone then?"
"Taking some flowers round to mum's tomorrow. Proper catch up, you know?" Harry's voice went gentle the way it always did talking about Anne. "Got that Sabrina show after."
"Gonna be weird," Louis admitted, tracing absent patterns on Harry's chest. "Being on the other side of the world while you're just... doing normal London things."
"Says the man about to play Lollapalooza India." Harry's arms tightened slightly around him. "Finally got your wish, didn't you? Been going on about wanting to play there for ages."
"Just hope people actually show up for my set. Might all fuck off for a brew before Green Day."
"Lou." The way Harry said his name - fond exasperation mixed with absolute certainty - made something in Louis' chest squeeze tight. "You know that's not gonna happen."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, both aware of the ticking clock but reluctant to acknowledge it. Louis could feel Harry's heartbeat under his ear, steady as a metronome.
Louis pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at Harry's face - still so beautiful it hurt sometimes, still looking at Louis like he was something extraordinary. "Mental though, innit? How far we've come?"
"You getting soft on me, Tomlinson?"
"Shut up," Louis smiled, but he didn't deny it. "Just... grateful, I guess. That we figured it out."
Harry's eyes went serious, the way they always did when Louis let his guard down like this. "We always do, don't we?"
"Yeah," Louis agreed quietly, thinking of all the ways they'd learned to bridge distance - phone calls and stolen moments and careful public signals that said 'I'm thinking of you' to anyone who knew how to read them. "Always have."
The answer was in Harry's kiss, in the way he pulled Louis closer like he could somehow slow down time. They both knew the car would be here soon, knew their briefly aligned orbits were about to diverge again. But for now, in the quiet morning light, they had this - had each other, had the certainty of coming home. It wasn't perfect, this life they'd built, but it was theirs. And after everything, that felt like more than enough.
***
The car was waiting outside - Louis could hear the engine on the otherside of their front door. His bags were by the door, passport tucked safely in his jacket pocket, but he kept finding reasons to delay the final step of actually leaving.
"Think I forgot my charger," he said, making to turn back towards their bedroom.
"It's in the front pocket, I checked." Harry was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him with fond understanding. He was wearing Louis' old Stone Roses t-shirt, the one with the hole near the collar, his hair still messy from bed. "Along with your backup charger, and that portable one you never remember to use."
Louis huffed out a laugh, caught. "Alright, alright. Proper organized, aren't you?"
"One of us has to be." Harry pushed off from the counter, closing the distance between them. "You've got everything. Including that shirt from Japan."
"Course you packed it. Gonna wear it for the interviews." Louis reached out, tugging gently at the hem of his own shirt on Harry's body. "Bit unfair this, you know. Sending me off looking like that."
"Like what?"
"All..." Louis gestured vaguely at Harry's whole existence. "Soft. Domestic. In my clothes."
Harry's dimple appeared, the real smile that still made Louis' heart skip even after all these years. "That's the point, innit? Something to come home to."
"Fuck," Louis breathed out, pressing his forehead against Harry's chest. "Don't make me cry before India. Got a reputation to maintain."
Harry's arms came around him, solid and warm and familiar. "Think that reputation ended the moment you wrote about running to me like a moth to a flame, love. Can't pretend you're not soft anymore."
Louis felt his cheeks heat. Even now, years later, thinking about those lyrics - about finally letting himself be that honest, that vulnerable in his music - made his heart race. "That was different though, wasn't it? Writing about being defenseless with you, about wanting you to stop being so strong all the time. That was just... that was just for us."
"Mm, and everyone who's ever listened to it?"
"Well, had to make sure you heard me properly, didn't I?" Louis mumbled into Harry's shirt. "Been trying to tell you for years that you don't have anything to prove. Not to me." He paused, voice going softer. "Still am."
Harry's hand found its way into Louis' hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he knew Louis loved. "I heard you. Hear you every day." His voice went gentle, intimate. "My boy who just wants to be loved by me."
"Rude that," Louis said, but his voice was thick with emotion. This was the thing about Harry - he'd always been able to break through Louis' carefully constructed walls with just a few words, a gentle touch. Had always known exactly how to make Louis feel safe enough to drop his guard. "Using my own love songs against me."
"Mhmm." Harry's hand found its way into Louis' hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he knew Louis loved. "Better get going before your driver takes off without you again."
"That was one time," Louis protested weakly, but he knew Harry was right. Still, he allowed himself another moment, breathing in the familiar scent of Harry's skin, committing it to memory. "Love you, you know?"
"I know." Harry pressed a kiss to his temple. "Now go show India what they've been missing."
Louis finally pulled back, grabbing his bags before he could change his mind. At the door, he turned back one last time. Harry was still standing there, sleep-soft and beautiful in the early morning light, wearing Louis' shirt like a promise.
"Two days," Louis said, more to himself than Harry.
"Two days," Harry echoed, smile soft. "I'll keep your side of the bed warm."
Louis nodded, throat suddenly tight. As he walked to the car, he could feel Harry watching from the doorway. It wasn't until he was settled in the backseat that his phone buzzed with a message.
"Already planning where to hang the photos from your first India show xx"
Louis smiled, thumb hovering over the screen. "Save space next to the Japan ones," he typed back. "Proper world travelers we are."
The car pulled away from their street, but Louis could still picture Harry in their doorway, wearing his old shirt, keeping their home warm until he returned. Some goodbyes, he'd learned, weren't really goodbyes at all. They were just brief intermissions in a much longer story.
The flight from London had been long, but Louis was buzzing with a familiar energy as they descended into Mumbai. He'd slept some, worked on setlist adjustments, and definitely hadn't spent an embarrassing amount of time texting Harry photos of the clouds that looked like various animals.
As they taxied to their gate, Oli nudged him. "You see the posts? They've been camping since yesterday."
Louis peered at Oli's phone, scrolling through videos of fans gathered at the airport. Something in his chest tightened - reminded him of those early days, of the rush and chaos and pure electricity of it all. "Proper exciting, innit?"
"Mr. Tomlinson," Steve, his head of security, leaned forward from the row behind. "We're going to need to take the VIP exit. I've already arranged it."
"Oh come off it," Louis twisted in his seat. "Look at them all out there. Been waiting hours, haven't they?"
"That's exactly the concern." Steve's voice was firm, professional. "We don't have the proper barriers or personnel in place. This isn't London or LA."
"When has that ever stopped us?" Louis raised an eyebrow, thinking of all the times they'd managed massive crowds with minimal security back in the day. "Bit of chaos never hurt anyone."
Chris, his manager, joined in. "Louis, things are different here. We can't risk-"
"Different how?" There was an edge to Louis' voice now. "They're just excited fans, same as anywhere else."
"Boss," Oli said quietly, showing him another video - this one of the crowd growing, pushing against the temporary barriers that looked decidedly unstable. "They've got a point."
Louis slumped back in his seat, tugging his hood up in preparation. "This is proper shit, you know that? They've been waiting all night."
"And you can wave, smile, give them thumbs up," Steve said, clearly relieved Louis was backing down. "But we move quickly. No stops."
Twenty minutes later, being hustled through the VIP corridor, Louis couldn't help but hear the distant roar of the crowd. He kept his sunglasses on but made sure to smile, to wave in the direction of the phones he could see recording. It felt wrong somehow, this distance. Like he was letting them down.
"They don't understand," Steve said quietly as they approached the exit, reading Louis' mood. "The infrastructure isn't in place here for the kind of crowd control we'd need. One push, one barrier giving way..."
"I get it," Louis cut him off, though his tone was gentler now. "Just... feels like the old days, doesn't it? All of them waiting like that."
"That's exactly why we need to be careful," Steve replied, but there was understanding in his voice. "The One Direction days had a whole machine behind them. Here, we're starting fresh."
Louis nodded, following security's lead toward their waiting cars. He could still hear the distant cheers, could feel the energy even through the walls separating them. Part of him - the part that would always be that kid from Doncaster who couldn't quite believe his luck - wanted to run straight into the middle of it all.
But Steve was right. Things were different now. He wasn't just one-fifth of a boyband anymore; he was responsible for his team, for doing this right. Still, as they loaded into the cars, he pulled out his phone.
"Already got proper videos of the airport crowd," he typed to Harry. "Reminded me of Paris 2012."
Harry's response came quickly: "Proper mental that day. Still get nervous in tight spaces because of it xx"
Louis smiled, remembering the army of French police and soldiers it had taken just to clear a path through the station. They'd been so young then, caught in the eye of a storm they barely understood. "No army escort this time at least. Just Steve telling me off for wanting to stop."
"Good. Listen to him. xx"
As they pulled away from the airport, Louis caught glimpses of the main entrance, of the signs and phones held high. Different wasn't always worse, he reminded himself. The chaos of those early days had been electric, yeah, but there was something to be said for doing things properly now. For having the choice to protect not just himself, but his team. And maybe that was okay.
As they drove through Mumbai, Louis couldn't help but press his face closer to the tinted windows, phone recording everything. The streets were a riot of color - women in bright saris, street vendors with carts piled high with fruits he didn't recognize, motorbikes weaving through traffic with what seemed like entire families balanced on them.
"Bit different from Doncaster, innit?" Oli commented from beside him.
"Proper different," Louis agreed, zooming in on a small temple wedged between modern buildings, its intricate carvings catching the morning sun. "Haven't felt like this since... dunno, maybe Japan the first time?"
It had been years since somewhere had felt properly new. After so many world tours, cities had started to blur together - different skylines but the same hotel rooms, same venues, same routines. But this was something else entirely.
By the time they reached the hotel, Louis had filled his phone with videos and pictures, already mentally composing messages to Harry about the chaos of the traffic ("makes LA look orderly mate") and the colors ("gonna need you to paint this someday").
In his suite, he stripped off his travel clothes gratefully, Mumbai's heat already seeping through the air conditioning. The shirt Harry had gotten him in Japan was laid out on the bed - proper thoughtful, that was, Harry knowing he'd want it for today. He pulled it on, pairing it with the shorts he'd normally hesitate to wear in public.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he could see the edge of the old smiley face tattoo on his thigh - Zayn's handiwork from a late night on tour when they were all young and stupid and fearless. There was a time when he'd have changed immediately, when the idea of showing this much skin would have sent him spiraling. The years in One Direction had done a number on his confidence, and the early solo years hadn't been much better.
But things were different now. He had Harry back, properly this time. His music was doing well on his own terms. The old insecurities weren't gone completely - probably never would be - but they were quieter now, easier to ignore in favor of the Mumbai heat and the excitement of something new.
Louis had barely stepped into Radio One's hallway when the first dhol beats exploded through the space, making him startle and then laugh. The corridor was lined with people, all of them already moving to the thunderous rhythm, and in the middle of them was his interviewer - a cheerful-looking middle-aged Indian man who was dancing with absolutely zero self-consciousness.
Louis, never one to hold back when people were having fun, immediately moved forward to hug him, caught up in the infectious energy of it all. The drums got louder, the dancing more enthusiastic, and Louis found himself swaying along, phone cameras capturing his delighted reaction.
"This is mad," he said to no one in particular, grinning as the interviewer showed him a few dance moves.
Then he noticed two women approaching with what looked like an ornate brass plate. They were smiling warmly at him, and Louis watched, curious and slightly sheepish, as they began to circle the plate in front of him. When they reached up with what he realized were flower petals, holding them to his forehead in what was clearly some sort of blessing or welcome, his cheeks flushed pink even as his smile grew wider.
"Should I..." he gestured vaguely, not quite sure what the proper response was, but wanting to be respectful of what was clearly a meaningful tradition.
The drums continued their thunderous beat, the dancing hadn't stopped, and Louis stood there in the middle of it all, pink-cheeked and beaming, feeling completely out of his depth but thoroughly charmed by the whole thing. This was definitely going in the video he'd send to Harry later - though he'd probably have to get someone to explain to him exactly what had just happened first.
Before the cameras rolled, Chris pulled the station manager and interviewer aside, speaking in low tones about the forbidden topics. Louis watched from his chair, already knowing the drill. No questions about Liam - the wound still too fresh, the grief still too raw. In fact, no questions about his lost loved ones at all. No Harry questions - though Louis noticed the station manager wearing a "Treat People With Kindness" pin and wondered if that would make things awkward. No relationship questions - which really meant no questions that might lead to him slipping up about Harry. No deep-dives into song meanings - because too many of them were about Harry.
The welcome ceremony had left Louis feeling unusually relaxed though, still riding the high of that thunderous drumbeat and the warmth of the welcome. When the cameras started rolling, he found himself grinning more naturally than he usually did in interviews.
The first question was easy - about his maiden performance in India. Louis leaned forward, genuinely excited: "I always try and manage my own expectations. I don't really know what to expect. This is my first time here."
As he spoke about feeling the presence of Indian fans online, he was thinking about all the supportive messages he'd received, the tweets begging him to play here. "There's a reason why I'm here, that's for sure," he continued, hoping they'd hear what he wasn't saying explicitly. New territiories were difficult for any musician. The uncertianty of it all. But ever since One Direction first conqured the US, his nerves about entering new markets were tightly bound to his trauma.
The cricket question made him want to laugh out loud. He could practically hear his tweet from last year - "not a single fuck given about cricket no" - echoing in his head. But he was better at this now, had learned to smooth rough edges into acceptable soundbites. He spun the story about his great-granddad's cricket ball instead, watching the interviewer nod approvingly.
When the conversation turned to India as a music destination, Louis felt that familiar tightness in his chest at mentioning One Direction. "It's a surprise to me that we never came here with One Direction," he said carefully, thinking about how different things might have been if they'd just done one more tour. Would he and Harry have had more stolen moments in the chaos of an Indian tour? He pushed the thought away hard, focusing instead on safer territory.
Mentioning Ed made his heart twist a bit. That night in Manchester with Harry, pressed together in the crowd while Ed played, felt like a lifetime ago. He'd written it into a song later, but most people thought it was about El. The familiar ache of having to hide his real stories behind fake ones surfaced briefly before he pushed it down.
"It sets a precedent for how amazing the shows are in India and what is possible over here," Louis continued, trying not to think too hard about Ed. Their friendship had cooled over the years - Ed had been more Harry's friend anyway, one of the few people who'd known about them from the beginning.
The question about his brief visit made him laugh genuinely. "I've realized how much of a Brit I sound when I say the only curry I've had so far is butter chicken. That's pretty British, isn't it?"
When the interviewer asked about his journey from contestant to judge to band member to solo artist, Louis felt his guard go up slightly, even as he maintained his easy smile. "I was always taught from a young age to trust my gut," he said, thinking about all the times he hadn't. The early days of One Direction when management had told him to "tone it down," to stop being so "flamboyant," to create distance between him and Harry. The forced girlfriends, the fake stories, the constant fear of slipping up.
"You are constantly surrounded by different opinions, some are valid and some are not," he continued, remembering all those meetings with Modest Management, with Sony, with Simon, himself. Even now, years later, he was still dealing with the aftermath of those decisions they made for him, still bound by contracts and NDAs, still carefully navigating what he could and couldn't say.
The fashion question was easier territory. "I always dress down," he said, thinking of his own launch just last week. His clothing line 28 was his quiet rebellion - gender-neutral clothes that anyone could wear, breaking down barriers between gender, between classes, without having to explicitly say that's what he was doing. He'd learned from Harry that sometimes the loudest statements could be made without saying a word.
"You have acted a bit. Are you aware of Bollywood and the film culture here?" the interviewer asked, leaning forward with interest.
Louis smiled, thinking about that soccer film he'd turned down years ago - the one where he would've played a goalkeeper. Acting had always been a secret passion, from his days doing bit parts as a kid before X-Factor, but it was something he'd never quite had the confidence to pursue properly. "I am aware of the film culture in India," he said, genuinely curious despite his limited knowledge. "I haven't really watched a Bollywood film though. Maybe you could give me a recommendation." He grinned cheekily, adding, "If someone from Bollywood is listening, I'm in!"
The interviewer's next question made something clench in Louis' stomach: "What are you like when no-one's watching? With social media so much of a celebrity's life is out there."
It was the kind of question that always made him uncomfortable - this constant push to define the 'real' him versus the public version. How could he explain that both versions were real, just carefully curated through years of practice? That the 'real' him was something even he sometimes struggled to recognize after so many years of careful self-monitoring?
"I'd like to think I'm not too different from what you see on camera," he said carefully, knowing it wasn't exactly a lie but wasn't exactly the truth either. "I always try to carry myself in an honest way." He paused, considering his next words. "I suppose just by the nature of the job, behind the cameras, I'm a little bit more low-key. But yeah, I'd like to think that I'm pretty similar to how I am now."
What he didn't say was how exhausting it could be, maintaining that careful balance between authenticity and protection. How sometimes, in private, he was louder, more flamboyant, more openly himself than he could ever be in public. How there were whole parts of himself that the public never saw - not because they weren't real, but because they weren't safe to show. But here in Mumbai, riding the high of that welcome ceremony and feeling unusually relaxed, even these careful deflections felt a bit easier than usual.
Before the Rolling Stone India interview, Louis had done several smaller outlets. Each one had surprised him with their thoughtfulness, their respect for boundaries, their genuine interest in the music rather than the gossip. He found himself relaxing incrementally with each conversation.
When his team mentioned the Rolling Stone photoshoot, he'd glanced down at his Yohji Yamamoto t-shirt with a private smile. He hadn't planned for a major photoshoot today, but there was something fitting about doing it in this particular shirt.
When they settled into the interview portion, the first question immediately set the tone:
"Part of the reason you're here in India is possibly due to the fan devotion, people asking for you to come here, right? What have your past interactions with fans from India been like?"
Louis leaned forward, genuinely animated: "I haven't really had enough yet, but the few that I've had has been absolutely amazing. But also, you know, right back to my time in the band, I've definitely felt the presence from the Indian fans online."
He thought about all the supportive messages he'd received over the year. "Yes, part of the reason I'm here is because people have been asking. But also, this is just somewhere I've always wanted to come not just to perform... really feels like a luxury."
The interviewer built on this: "Before you could come to India, I imagine perhaps that a lot of fans from India have been going to your shows in other countries. When you've been in Asia and other parts of the world. Have you had any interactions with Indian fans? Have you seen maybe someone flying an Indian flag in the crowd?"
"Actually, I have, yeah," Louis said, remembering specific faces in crowds across Asia. "There's been occasionally, I can't remember exactly where... my memory is questionable, but I can picture someone holding up a banner of 'India when?'" He smiled, recalling how he'd responded to that tweet years ago. "I'm like, 'Soon.' I think I replied to a fan online about six years ago, saying, 'I don't know exactly when, but I'm going to be here.'"
The next question made him tense slightly: "I'm guessing you do read a bunch of fan mail and fan comments online, then?"
"I see a lot of what's online," he said carefully. His mind went to his burner Twitter account - something Harry always gave him grief about. "You still on there?" Harry had asked just last week, half-teasing, half-concerned. But Louis couldn't help it. He needed to know what people saw, what they understood, what narratives were being built. It was a habit from the early days that he'd never quite broken.
"But I'm guessing you try to keep your distance from it?" the interviewer pressed.
Louis shifted in his chair, thinking of his secret Twitter account (@thesweetcreature28 💚💙) and how many times Harry had caught him scrolling through it late at night. "Well, listen, sometimes social media can be a bit of a toxic place," he said carefully. "I sometimes like kind of seeing the gossip, you know? Kind of what's going on between the fans and stuff. It's kind of funny."
What he didn't say was how much it hurt him to see the constant warfare between his solo fans and Harry's, both groups often attacking the Larries with a viciousness that made his stomach turn.
"But no, I think it's also important that I have a bird's eye view and understand what's going on within the fan culture, etc." He thought about how Harry would roll his eyes fondly whenever he got too deep into Twitter: "Lou, you're obsessing again." But Harry didn't understand - he had his Instagram full of architecture and plants and artistic photography, but Louis had always needed to know he was being heard, seen.
The interviewer shifted gears: "I was kind of new to it that way to understand just how much fans do for you, if they have fan actions during songs. What is it like having that – I'm not going to say power – but that kind of influence on fans?"
Louis felt himself relaxing again, grateful for the change of subject. "It's beautiful man. Yeah, maybe power would be the wrong word. It's such a collaboration, the whole thing." He thought about concert nights, about fans singing every word of songs his label had tried to bury.
"Those connections are so raw," he said when asked about eye contact with fans during shows. "I think outside of the context of a gig, that would be kind of crazy, to have those moments. But I think within the context of the gig, if I could truthfully, in those kind of moments, I feel the importance of the night for me and for the fan that I may be having that experience with."
He thought about the girl in Manila who'd held up a sign saying "Your songs saved me," about the couple in Mexico City who'd gotten engaged during "Always You," about every fan who cried during "Only The Brave" while waving rainbow flags. "This is a high pressure job. That's what keeps me really ambitious and really motivated – those really magical live moments where you can literally look right into someone's soul and see what the night means to them. It's really fucking beautiful."
"One of the things that's happened in India in recent times is that more pop groups are being started again. There's been a big talent hunt that's going to start. What would be your advice to musicians who want to go into that?"
The question hit Louis like a physical blow. His hands clenched involuntarily as Savan Kotecha's name flashed through his mind - the man who'd been there in those early One Direction days, who'd dismissed their original songs on the first two albums with casual cruelty, who'd been part of the machine that had torn him and Harry apart, who was now looking for an Indian boyband to form. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Eighteen-year-old Louis flashed before his eyes - young, naive, so desperate to make it that he'd signed anything they put in front of him. He hadn't known then what those contracts would cost him. What they would cost Harry. The thought of other kids - Indian kids this time - being put in that same position made something dark and protective rise in his chest.
"I would say, don't let anybody tell you what they think you should be." His voice came out rougher than intended, thirteen years of suppressed rage bleeding through. He could feel Chris shifting nervously at the edge of the room, but for once Louis didn't care. "I mean that especially in that kind of environment."
He leaned forward, the words practically burning their way out: "I can remember being in that situation as a young lad. I didn't have any experience." His mind flashed to those early meetings - being told his voice was too high, his mannerisms too camp, his relationship with Harry too obvious. The way they'd picked him apart piece by piece until sometimes he barely recognized himself.
"I was surrounded by these incredible CVs and everyone's always willing to tell you about their experience," he continued, his voice taking on an intensity that made the interviewer lean back slightly. His hands were shaking now, but he couldn't stop. Not when he could potentially save even one kid from what he'd been through. "But truthfully, in reflection, nobody knows better than yourself in that situation."
"It's also what people are looking for the most." His voice cracked slightly. "That's where artistry comes from, where people are willing to be opinionated and willing to kind of say no at the right times. And it's not to be a dick, but actually just to cover yourself."
His voice dropped to almost a whisper, heavy with the weight of everything he couldn't explicitly say: "I think that's really important. If you feel in your gut that it's not right for you, then just say no." What he wanted to scream was: Don't let them change you. Don't let them separate you from the people you love. Don't let them convince you that hiding is the only way to succeed. Don't make the same mistakes I did.
Later, when he watched the playback, he'd see it in his eyes - all the pain and anger and fierce protectiveness he couldn't fully voice. He'd wonder if he'd said too much, shown too much. But maybe, just maybe, the right people would understand. Maybe somewhere in India, a young musician would hear this interview and choose a different path. Maybe that would be enough.
For his final message to Indian fans, Louis felt emotion welling up again: "I don't even have enough words, man. Thank you so much for all the support all over the years. I've felt it for a very, very long time, and I've got 60 minutes tonight to give you the best thank you possible." He paused, thinking about how far he'd come, how much more authentic he could be now, even within the remaining constraints. "And then hopefully, if—actually, when—we have a great show, I can come back on my own. I'd love that. Thank you to everyone."
Standing side-stage at the festival, Louis felt his stomach churning. From his angle, he could only see a tiny slice of the crowd area - which looked almost empty. Fuck. After that emotional interview earlier, he wasn't sure he could handle a disappointing show.
"Hey," Michael caught his eye. "Stop that. You haven't even gone out there yet."
Matt and Zac moved closer, their familiar presence helping ground him. These lads had been with him through everything - they knew what these shows meant.
The opening notes of "The Greatest" kicked in - the song he'd written specifically to start shows. The moment he stepped out, his heart nearly stopped. The crowd stretched far beyond what he'd been able to see, a sea of faces and phones and signs.
"How you doing? My name's Louis Tomlinson and this is my fucking incredible band," he called out, voice thick with emotion. "We're gonna let you in to a bit of an... insight here. My view was like, from there," he pointed to where he'd been standing, "and I could see like maybe this many people and thinking fucking hell, no one's turned up. Thank you, thank you for turning up."
After the shit he'd gotten online about playing One Direction songs at Brixton, he'd made a decision. Not two songs tonight - three. These songs were his story too, his journey. Where Do Broken Hearts Go would never leave his setlist if he could help it, no matter what anyone said. Harry had written it for him during their first major separation, and on nights like this, thousands of miles from home, singing it felt like carrying a piece of Harry with him.
During "Back To You," he held out the mic for the crowd's "I love it, I hate it." In the vastness of the festival setting, he felt brave enough to mouth "I love him" instead of "it." In small venues like Brixton, with Harry hidden somewhere backstage, he had to be more careful. But here, under the Indian night sky, he could let a little truth shine through.
Midway through the show, emotion overwhelmed him: "I just wanna take this moment. Anyone who's been a fan of me for a while. This is us. This is us. I don't get to go on this stage without all of you fucking incredible people." His voice cracked. "I just feel really really really fucking grateful. Yeah I see the England shirt, good girl, she's got taste... It's just mind blowing man, it's mind blowing. I can't really get me head around the fact that I'm playing here in India."
When Where Do Broken Hearts Go came up, he made his usual lyric changes, carefully avoiding "All the rest of my crimes don't come close to the look on your face when I let you go." Instead, he emphasized "Mind is running in circles of you and me. Anyone in between is the enemy." It wasn't about their breakup anymore - it was about them against the world. Always had been.
By the time "Silver Tongues" closed the show, he was emotional, and completely alive. He ran to the barricade, pressing close to the fans, trying to pour all his gratitude into those final moments. Then he was off, racing toward the Green Day stage, still buzzing with adrenaline and joy and the freedom of being himself, even if just for moments, even if just in code, even if just here in India where everything felt a little more possible.
Still damp with sweat from his own show, Louis practically sprinted across the festival grounds, Oli and the lads struggling to keep up with him. His heart was pounding with something beyond exertion - pure, undiluted joy. Green Day. Fucking Green Day.
He could still remember being fourteen, saving up to buy that first DVD, wearing it out from rewatching. Learning their songs in his mate's garage, dreaming of being a proper musician. Now here he was, fresh off his own headline set, about to watch them as a peer rather than just a fan.
They made it to the VIP section just as the opening chords of "American Idiot" crashed through the air. Someone pressed a cold beer into his hand - probably Oli - and Louis let out a whoop that was lost in the wall of sound.
Through the rising steam of thousands of bodies, through the perfect chaos of a punk show, Louis felt something settle in his chest. He could see phones pointed his way, knew there'd be videos of him singing along tomorrow, knew some would analyze his every move. But for the first time in years, maybe ever, he didn't feel the weight of those eyes like a burden.
Because he'd done it, hadn't he? Survived the impossible pressure of One Direction, survived losing his mum and sister, survived the industry trying to break him down and rebuild him into something marketable. Survived having to hide the love of his life. He'd fought through writer's block and grief and addiction and come out the other side with music he was proud of, with fans who saw him - really saw him - and loved him anyway.
When "Wake Me Up When September Ends" started, he felt tears mixing with the beer and sweat on his face. But they were good tears. He'd made it. He was headlining festivals, watching his teenage heroes play, surrounded by people who loved him for who he was, not who anyone wanted him to be.
His phone buzzed in his pocket - probably Harry, who always seemed to know when Louis was having a moment. He'd check it later, let himself live in this perfect snapshot of time: screaming along to Green Day songs with his best mates, riding the high of his own incredible show, feeling for once like everything that had happened had led him exactly where he was meant to be.
"You good, mate?" Oli shouted over the music, noticing the tears.
Louis nodded, grinning so hard his face hurt. "Yeah," he yelled back. "I'm fucking winning."
And he was. Finally, beautifully, against all odds, he was winning.
Chapter 82: Present Day (out of order)
Summary:
*This is out of order. But I need this. You need this. Take a breath. Its all part of the plan.*
A day in the carefully choreographed dance of Harry and Louis' secret life, featuring: Harry having The Talk™ with Zara (Louis' newest management-appointed stunt) at Sabrina Carpenter's concert while Louis performs in India, some poorly timed photos that PR will definitely yell about later, and Louis still refusing to sing that one line in "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" because he's stubborn like that.
Contains: one (1) vintage-tiled kitchen in their off-the-books house, Anne being the MVP of emotional support, and Louis threatening to abandon Lollapalooza India because Harry sounded sad on the phone.
Aka: Just another Saturday in the life of two global superstars who've spent fifteen years screaming their love story in every way they legally can, while watching other people play their parts in public.
Notes:
Want to feel better that she at least met the wifey in real life?
https://www.tumblr.com/delicateperspective/778325629275930624/um-so-i-rolled-my-eyes-at-the-person-who-said-h?source=share
Chapter Text
Harry stood in their kitchen - the one with the vintage tiles Louis had insisted on, in the house that existed on no public record - staring at his phone. The email from Louis' management sat there, contract attached, Zara's signature already in place. Everything ready to go, just waiting for his blessing. Like always, they'd structured it to make him feel like he had a choice when he really didn't.
He checked his watch. If he was going to be seen in London today, he needed to leave soon. The clothes he'd chosen would photograph well, be easily spotted by fans. Make sure no one wondered why he was near the O2 later.
His phone buzzed - Louis.
"Hey love," Louis' voice was soft, careful. The way it always got when they had to do this dance again. "Just landed in India. How are you holding up?"
Harry's throat tightened. Thirteen years of this, and it never got easier. "When did you know?" he asked instead of answering. "That they'd already signed her?"
A pause. "Haz..."
"Just tell me."
"Last week. But I wanted- fuck, I wanted to tell you in person. Not like this."
Harry pressed his forehead against the cool kitchen window, looking out at the dead garden they'd planted together years ago. Coming back here had felt like a fresh start. Like maybe this time...
"Your show tomorrow," Harry managed. "Green Day. You've been buzzing about it for weeks."
"Don't do that," Louis' voice went sharp. "Don't pretend this is fine because I'm excited about something else. Talk to me properly."
"What's there to say?" Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out. "Taylor, Eleanor, Kendall... now Zara. Same script, different names."
"Baby..." Louis sounded wrecked now. "We can find another way. I'll tell them no-"
"No," Harry cut in. "The album needs to come out. These songs... Lou, they're incredible. And we agreed - no more hiding the love in your music. If this helps protect us while letting you be honest in your art..." He swallowed hard. "Besides, your sisters actually like this one. That's new."
"Fuck the album. Fuck all of it if it's hurting you like this."
"It's fine," Harry said automatically, then caught himself. They'd promised no more lying to each other. "It's not fine. But it's necessary. And I'll deal with it. Like always."
Harry slid down the kitchen wall, clutching the phone tighter. The morning sun caught the hi! tattoo on his arm - the one that had started it all, really. Back when they were too young to understand what they were setting in motion.
"Sometimes," he whispered, voice breaking, "I think about that night in Princess Park. Remember? When you said we should just run away. Go work in a shop somewhere."
"Haz..." Louis' voice was thick with tears now.
"We could've had a normal life, Lou. Could've fallen in love properly, without the whole world watching. Could've held hands in public without it being international news." The tears were flowing freely now. "Could've been nobody special, just us."
"Don't," Louis choked out. "Please don't. I can't- fuck, I can't think about what we could've had. Not today."
"I'm so tired," Harry admitted, the words he usually kept locked away spilling out. "I'm tired of watching you with other people. I'm tired of pretending I don't know every word to your love songs. I'm tired of being the secret that's keeping you from living freely."
"You're not-" Louis started fiercely, but Harry cut him off.
"I am though, aren't I? If it weren't for me, you could just come out. Release your album. Be yourself."
"There is no myself without you," Louis' voice cracked completely. "Don't you get that yet? After all these years? You're not some secret keeping me from being free. You're the only real thing in my life. The only thing that's ever been real."
Harry pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs. In India, he could hear Louis doing the same.
"I hate that I did this to us," Louis whispered. "That I let them lock us in so tight we can't find a way out."
"We were kids," Harry managed. "We didn't know. How could we have known?"
"I knew I loved you," Louis said softly. "Even then. Not the way I do now, but... I knew you were it for me. Should've protected you better."
"Lou..." Harry wiped his eyes, looking around their secret kitchen in their secret house - the only place they could truly be themselves. "We protected each other the best we could. We're still here. Still together."
"Yeah," Louis sniffed. "Still here. Still yours. Always yours."
They sat in silence for a moment, just breathing together across the distance.
"I should get ready," Harry finally said. "Need to be seen in London before the concert."
"Text me after you meet her? Even if I'm in rehearsal?"
"Course. And Lou? Kill it tomorrow. Make Green Day wish they'd gone on before you instead."
Louis gave a watery laugh. "Love you. More than anything."
"Love you too. Forever."
Harry stayed on the floor long after they hung up, watching the sun move across their kitchen floor, across the life they'd built in the shadows.
Harry pulled onto Oxford Street, the soft wool of Louis' jumper brushing his neck where he'd draped it.
He parked near Liberty, glancing at his phone to check the time. His mum would be at Kenwood House by now, waiting in their usual spot. At least he'd have her strength before facing everything else today.
The first group spotted him near the flower shop - three girls who went completely still when they saw him. He managed his practiced smile, the one that looked genuine in photos even when his heart was breaking.
"Hi," he said softly. "Would you like a picture?"
Their hands shook as they posed with him, one of them crying slightly. He hugged each of them, murmuring quiet thanks for their support. It was genuine - their love had kept him going through so much, even if they couldn't fully understand.
"Love your outfit," one girl said shyly as she pulled away, eyes lingering on the blue.
Harry's throat tightened. Thirteen years of speaking in code, of hoping people saw without being able to say. "Thank you," he managed.
Inside the florist, he took his time selecting the perfect peonies and roses for his mum. The shop girl clearly recognized him but maintained professional distance, only slipping a small note into his bouquet when she handed it over.
Two more fan encounters on his way back to the car - a group of older women who remembered One Direction days (those were always the hardest, the ones who'd been there from the start), and a young guy who just wanted to shake his hand.
"You made me brave enough to come out," the guy said quietly. "Thank you."
Harry felt the words like a physical blow. His carefully maintained expression cracked for just a moment before he pulled it back together. Here was someone living the truth he couldn't speak, thanking him for courage he wasn't allowed to claim. The irony burned in his throat.
"I'm so happy for you," he managed, meaning it with every fiber of his being while hating that he couldn't say more. Couldn't tell this brave young man that he understood, that he was trapped in a glass cage of contracts and implications, that some days he could barely breathe from wanting to shout his love from rooftops.
In his car afterward, bouquet carefully laid across the passenger seat, he had to take several deep breaths. His phone buzzed - Louis.
"Saw some pics already up. That's my blue you're wearing. X"
Harry touched the fabric of his shirt, eyes closing briefly. "Always your blue," he texted back. "Heading to Kenwood now."
"I love you," Louis replied immediately. "More than all of this."
Harry started the car, heading toward Hampstead and his mother. The weight of unspoken words, of that young man's gratitude, of the blue fabric against his skin, pressed against his chest with every breath.
They walked in silence for a while, Anne's arm linked through his, the flowers cradled in her other arm. The gardens were quiet this morning - they'd learned over the years which paths to take for privacy, which corners of Kenwood House held their secrets best.
"I saw a boy today," Harry finally said, voice rough. "He thanked me for helping him come out. And I just... I had to stand there, Mum. Had to smile and nod while he thanked me for a bravery I'm not even allowed to claim."
Anne's grip on his arm tightened. "Baby..."
"Sometimes I wonder if you really understand," he continued, the words spilling out now. "What it's like to have your love treated like a liability. To watch the person you love most in the world have to pretend to be with someone else. Again. And again. And again."
He stopped walking, turning to face her. "Do you know what it's like to watch Louis write these incredible love songs, pour his heart out about us, and then have to sit there while some girl claims them? While the world speculates about who they're about, and I can't even- I can't-"
His voice broke completely. Anne pulled him into her arms, the flowers crushed between them again.
"The blue shirt," she said softly against his hair. "You're wearing his blue today."
"I always wear his blue," Harry whispered. "It's all I can do sometimes. Thirteen years of loving him in whispers."
"I remember when you first told me about him," Anne pulled back, wiping tears from his cheeks. "You were so young, but your eyes... they lit up the same way they do now when you talk about him. That hasn't changed."
"Nothing's changed," Harry laughed bitterly. "That's the problem, isn't it? We're still hiding. Still pretending. And now Zara..."
"Look at me," Anne's voice went firm. "You think I don't understand? I've watched my baby boy hide his heart away for thirteen years. I've held you through Eleanor, through Taylor, through all of it. I've seen how each one cuts you deeper, even while you try to pretend it doesn't."
She touched the jumper around his neck. "I've watched you wear his clothes like armor, sing to him on stages while pretending you're singing to everyone else. I've seen you build secret homes and secret lives just to have somewhere you can breathe."
Harry's tears were flowing freely now. "Mum..."
"I may not understand everything," she continued, her own eyes wet. "But I understand that my son has fought for thirteen years to keep loving exactly how he wants to love. And I understand that every time they try to push you back in that closet, you find new ways to leave the door open. That's not weakness, Harry. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
Harry collapsed into her arms again, sobbing properly now. For the boy he'd been, for Louis alone in Omdoa, for all the versions of them that had weathered this storm.
"I'm so tired," he whispered against her shoulder.
"I know, baby," she stroked his hair. "I know. But you've got me. You've got Louis. You've got your truth, even if you can't shout it yet. Hold onto that."
Harry descended into the Underground station near Hampstead, Louis' jumper around his neck like armor. The blue shirt underneath felt like screaming now - a silent protest against what he was about to do. Meet her. Meet the woman they'd chosen to be Louis' next public girlfriend. His stomach turned.
The carriage was relatively empty. A girl about sixteen noticed him near North Greenwich, fumbling for her phone.
"Sorry," he said quietly, voice raw. "Can we not? Not today."
She nodded, offering a small "Hope you're okay" before moving away.
The suite at the O2 was a blur of influencers and makeup artists. Zara commanded attention naturally - he could see why management had chosen her. Young, beautiful, ambitious. The perfect story to sell.
He ordered whiskey, retreating to the shadows. Each sip burned less than knowing what was coming.
Zara found him between songs. "I want to be clear," she said without preamble. "I know what they want from me with Louis. But..." she hesitated, "I've seen things online. Theories. About you two."
Harry's laugh was hollow. "Theories."
"Some seem crazy. These far-fetched, elaborate conspiracies..." She watched his face carefully. "But others..."
"Most of them are true," he said flatly, the whiskey making him reckless. "Not all. But most. The important ones."
She inhaled sharply. "So you and him..."
"Before anything else," his voice was low, intense, "you need to understand something. He's everything. Has been since I was sixteen. Will be until I die. That's not changing."
Zara nodded slowly, but Harry could see she didn't really understand. Not yet.
"You're going to kiss him," Harry continued, each word carefully measured. "Hold his hand. Stand beside him at events where I can't. And sometimes..." he took a shaky breath, "sometimes it's going to feel real. He's... he's magnetic. Wonderful. The way he looks at people like they're the only person in the world. The way he makes everyone feel special."
He leaned forward, eyes burning with unshed tears. "But it's not real. Not for a second. Not even when he's holding your hand so perfectly for the cameras. Not even when he's singing love songs and looking in your direction. Not even when he's being the perfect boyfriend in public."
"I understand," Zara started, but Harry cut her off.
"No, you don't. Not yet. We've had... there have been others who thought they understood. Thought maybe, with enough time, enough proximity..." he laughed bitterly. "Every song he writes. Every '28' reference. Every home we've built. Every secret moment we've stolen. Thirteen years of loving each other through everything they've thrown at us."
His voice cracked. "You're going to stand next to him at events where I should be. You're going to post cute couple photos while I'm wearing his clothes alone in our house. You're going to let the world think you're living our love story."
He took another drink. "But you cannot - cannot - let yourself believe it. Not for a moment. Not even when he's being charming and perfect and everything anyone could want. Because I've watched what happens when people forget this is pretend. I've watched them break their own hearts trying to make fiction into reality."
A flash from behind the partition. Harry's heart stopped. Fuck. He did not need to be in a photo with this woman, days before the world would know she was Louis' girlfriend. The narratives it could spawn. The questions it would raise.
He should stop it. Should demand the photo be deleted. But that might make it worse - make it seem like he had something to hide. And wasn't that the fucking truth of his entire life?
"He's going to be kind to you," Harry continued softly, voice rough with resignation. "Because that's who he is. He's going to try to make this as comfortable as possible. But every moment he's holding your hand in public, he's writing songs about me. Every interview where he has to pretend, he's coming home to me. Every public kiss is followed by private apologies that I have to tell him he doesn't need to make."
His phone buzzed. Louis.
"You okay? X"
Harry showed her the message. "This is real. This is us. Everything else is just... smoke and mirrors. Can you handle that? Really handle that? Because if you can't, we need to know now. Before contracts are signed. Before hearts get involved."
Zara stared at the phone screen for a long moment, at that simple 'X' that held so much weight. "I think..." she started carefully, "I think I understand more than I did an hour ago."
Harry watched her over his glass, waiting.
"The theories online," she continued. "About the songs. The clothes. The matching tattoos. The way you two always seem to echo each other even when you're supposed to be enemies." She met his eyes. "It's all real, isn't it? All these years, you've just been... hiding in plain sight."
"Not hiding," Harry corrected softly. "Screaming. Every interview. Every song. We've been screaming our love story for thirteen years in every way we legally can. Some people just choose not to hear it."
Another flash. Harry closed his eyes briefly. Tomorrow's problems.
"They told me it would be simple," Zara admitted. "Hold his hand. Smile for cameras. Build a career. They didn't mention..." she gestured between them, "all of this."
"They never do." Harry's laugh was hollow. "They don't mention the weight of carrying someone else's love story. Don't tell you how it feels to watch the person you love have to pretend with someone else. Don't warn you about the fans who'll see through it and hate you, or the ones who'll believe it and build their hopes on a lie."
He leaned forward, voice intense. "But I'm telling you. Because you need to know what you're walking into. Need to understand that every loving gesture, every sweet moment, every perfect boyfriend thing he does - it's all an act. A beautiful, carefully choreographed act that we've all gotten very good at performing."
His phone buzzed again. Louis again.
"That bad? Want me to call? X"
Harry's fingers hovered over the keys, throat tight. "How do you do it?" Zara asked quietly. "Watch someone else live your story in public?"
"Because it's not our story," Harry answered, both to her and to Louis' text. "Our story is in private moments. In songs we write about each other. In homes we build together. In every single day we choose each other, despite everything." He looked up at her. "What they're asking you to do - what you'll do with him in public - that's just the cover art. The real story is written underneath."
Harry took a long sip of whiskey, studying her. "Why?" he finally asked. "Why would you want this? Is it the money?"
Zara shifted uncomfortably. "Partly," she admitted. "But not... not just that."
"Then what?" There was no judgment in his voice, just exhaustion. "Because I need to understand. Need to know why you'd sign up to be part of this lie."
"I want to direct," she said after a moment. "Real films, documentaries. I've got ideas, stories that matter. But no one takes the pretty reality TV girl seriously." She met his eyes. "Being Louis Tomlinson's girlfriend gets me through doors that have been slammed in my face for years."
Harry nodded slowly. "Using the lie to tell truth."
"Is that awful? Using your story to tell others?"
"No," Harry said softly. "We understand using lies to tell truth..." he trailed off, taking another drink. "Just... remember the cost. Remember what it means for us, every time you have to play the perfect girlfriend. Remember there's a real person wearing his jumper at home, writing songs about missing him, watching you live our life in public."
Another flash. Harry barely flinched this time.
His phone buzzed. Louis again.
"Seriously H, one word and I'm there. X"
"He worries," Harry explained, showing her the message. "Knows how hard these conversations are. How much it hurts to explain our love to someone who's going to pretend to replace it."
"I won't-" Zara started.
"You will," Harry cut her off gently. "You'll have to. That's the job. Pretending to be what I am to him. What we are to each other. Just..." his voice cracked slightly, "be kind with it. Be careful with his heart. With our story. It's the only one we've got."
Harry drained his glass, the whiskey doing nothing to dull the ache in his chest. "I have to go," he said abruptly, standing. "He's in India, has Lollapalooza tomorrow. If I don't call him back soon he'll..." he trailed off, remembering other times Louis had dropped everything, ruined carefully laid plans, just because Harry's voice had wavered.
Zara nodded, understanding flickering across her face. Maybe she was finally getting it - how deep this went, how real it was.
"Remember what I said," he managed, wrapping Louis' jumper tighter around himself. "All of it."
He slipped out of the suite without saying goodbye to anyone else.
The night air hit him like a wall as he emerged onto the street. His hands were shaking as he pulled out his phone, barely making it around the corner before hitting call.
Louis answered on the first ring. "Baby?"
That broke him. The tears he'd been holding back all evening spilled over. "Lou," he choked out, walking blindly down the street. "I can't- I had to explain it to her. Had to tell her about us so she wouldn't... wouldn't think it was real when you..."
"Haz, breathe love," Louis' voice was soft, worried. "Where are you?"
"Walking. Don't know where. Just needed to get out." Harry wiped roughly at his face. "Don't you dare leave India. Don't you dare miss that show. I'm fine. I just..."
"You're not fine," Louis said gently. "But I won't leave. Promise. Just... talk to me. Tell me everything."
Harry let out a broken laugh, tears still falling as he walked through London's streets. "Someone got photos. Of me and her talking. It's going to leak with the relationship announcement and everyone's going to think..."
"Let them think what they want," Louis interrupted fiercely. "You know what's real. I know what's real. That's all that matters."
"I had to tell her about us," Harry whispered. "Had to explain that every moment she gets with you in public belongs to me in private. That every love song, every soft look, every gentle touch... it's all yours and mine. Not hers. Never hers."
"Always yours," Louis' voice cracked. "Only ever yours, baby. No matter what story they make us tell."
"Did you wear it?" Louis asked softly after a moment, clearly trying to ground Harry. "My jumper?"
Harry choked on something between a laugh and a sob, fingers clutching the soft fabric around his neck. "Haven't taken it off. Needed... needed to feel close to you while I did this."
A pause. Harry could hear distant voices on Louis' end - probably crew setting up for tomorrow.
"Tell me what you need, love," Louis murmured. "Tell me how to make this better."
"Just..." Harry stopped walking, leaning against a building. The streets were quieter here, darker. "Just tell me we're okay. That we can do this again. Watch someone else pretend to be us in public."
"We can do anything," Louis' voice was fierce with conviction. "We've done it for thirteen years. We'll do it for thirteen more if we have to. As long as I get to come home to you. As long as I get to love you behind closed doors."
Harry pressed his palm flat against the rough brick wall, needing something solid. "She seems... decent enough. Says she wants to make films. That being your girlfriend gets her through doors."
"At least it's not about the money this time," Louis said quietly. "Though fuck, H, I hate that you had to be the one to do this. To explain... us. To her."
"Who else would?" Harry's laugh was wet with tears. "Who else knows what it's like to love you and watch someone else claim you in public?"
Another pause. Harry could practically feel Louis aching to hold him through the phone.
"Go back to rehearsal," Harry managed after a moment. "You need to be perfect tomorrow."
"Fuck perfect. I need you to be okay."
"I'm not," Harry admitted, sliding down the wall to sit on the pavement. "But I will be. Always am with you."
"Where are you really?" Louis asked softly. "And don't say 'on the street' because I can hear you crying and I need to know you're safe."
Harry looked around, finally taking in his surroundings. "Near that little park. The one where we..." he trailed off, realizing his feet had carried him somewhere meaningful without conscious thought. "The one where we sat all night after the first time they made you kiss Eleanor in public."
"Fuck," Louis' breath hitched. "Of course that's where you went. Of course." There was rustling on his end, muffled voices. "Jeff's going to kill me but I'm finding a flight-"
"No," Harry cut him off firmly, even as fresh tears fell. "No, Lou. You've worked too hard for this show. I'm okay. I promise. I just..." he swallowed hard. "I just need to hear your voice for a bit."
"Then you'll have it," Louis said immediately. "All night if you need it. Might have to pause for sound check but-"
"Tell me about India?" Harry interrupted, pulling his knees to his chest. "Tell me about the show you're planning. The fans. Anything. Just... help me remember why we do this. Why we keep letting them separate us."
"Because this was our dream," Louis said softly. "Remember? Two stupid teenagers in the X Factor house, talking about selling out stadiums someday. About making music that mattered. About changing people's lives."
Harry pressed his forehead to his knees. "The price of the dream."
"Yeah," Louis' voice cracked. "The contracts. The NDAs. The whole fucking web we're tangled in. But H - when I'm on that stage tomorrow? When I see those kids singing my words back to me? Our words?"
"It's worth it," Harry finished, voice rough with tears. "I know. God, I know. When I'm performing, when I see what our music means to people... I remember why we agreed to all of this."
"We couldn't give it up," Louis said quietly. "Neither of us. Music, performing, the fans - it's in our blood now. Has been since we were teens and dreaming bigger than we had any right to."
"So we pay the price," Harry whispered. "We watch other people play our parts in public. We hide. We lie. Because the alternative..."
"The alternative is giving up everything else we love. Everything we built." Louis paused. "But never each other. Never that."
Harry wiped his eyes roughly. "Tell me about tomorrow's show? Please? Help me remember the good parts of our dream. Tell me about the setlist," he whispered into the phone, still curled against the wall. "The One Direction songs you're doing."
"Three of them," Louis said softly. "Including yours."
Harry's breath caught. "Where Do Broken Hearts Go?"
"Yeah." A pause. "Still can't sing that one line though. Never could."
Harry pressed his face against his knees, remembering the first time he'd heard Louis change those lyrics in concert. The way his voice had cracked, refusing to sing about letting each other go, replacing it instead with words about everyone inbetween them being the enemy. A declaration of love hidden in a lyric change that most people wouldn't even notice.
"Thirteen years," Harry whispered, "and you've never once sung the original line."
"Because it's a lie," Louis' voice was fierce. "We've never let each other go. Not really. Not entirely."
Harry wiped roughly at his tears. "And Back to You? Still doing your little rebellion?"
"When I can, yeah. Turn away from the mic, mouth the truth instead of the lyrics?" Louis' laugh was wet. "Seems even more important now, doesn't it? To keep saying it, even if only you and I know. Even if the cameras can't catch it. Even if they're about to announce..."
"Say it?" Harry asked quietly. "Please? I need to hear it."
"I love him," Louis whispered, like a prayer. "Not 'it' - him. You. Always you."
Chapter 83: April 2012
Summary:
A chartered yacht in Sydney Harbor before the tour started seemed like the perfect escape - sun, sea, and enough distance from London's watchful eyes to almost feel free. When Harry starts drifting off in the late afternoon sun, Louis suggests they head below deck for a "proper nap." Their bandmates aren't fooled for a second, especially when they return looking thoroughly disheveled and radiating contentment.
aka the one where Harry wears criminally small shorts, Louis can't keep his mouth shut about it, and they definitely don't "nap" below deck
Chapter Text
The Sydney morning was bright enough that Louis was grateful for his sunglasses, squinting even behind the dark lenses as he followed the others onto the yacht. Fans lined the dock, phones raised, their excited screams carrying across the harbor. He could feel Marco hovering nearby, watching as always, but Louis was already bouncing on his toes with restless energy.
"Proper boat this, innit?" he called out to no one in particular, accent getting broader the way it did when he was showing off. He caught Harry's quiet laugh from somewhere behind him, could picture the fond eye roll without having to look.
Marco had cornered them all earlier with the usual warnings - "Keep it casual lads, just a normal day out" - but Louis was already feeling reckless with the Sydney sun on his face and the promise of a whole day on the water ahead.
He made his way to the bow, Corona in hand, letting the sea breeze ruffle through his fringe where it poked out under his beanie. Harry was being directed upstairs by one of the camera crew, all clumsy yet graceful in that stupidly endearing way of his. The pink beanie was new - Louis had watched him buy it yesterday, had called him a hipster while secretly thinking how soft it made him look.
"Tommo!" Zayn's voice pulled his attention back. "Come do that Titanic thing with me."
Louis grinned, immediately game. "Right then, go on," he positioned himself behind Zayn at the railing. "Give us your best Rose."
"I'm flying, Jack!" Zayn called out dramatically, spreading his arms wide while Louis gripped his waist, both of them laughing.
He felt Harry's attention shift to them from above - could picture the exact way his boy would be trying not to look obvious about watching. But Harry was proper shit at hiding his feelings, always had been. Louis kept his hands where they were though, playing it up for the cameras that seemed to be everywhere today.
Later in the yacht's kitchen, Harry was trying to wrangle an enormous turkey, his face scrunched up in concentration.
"Christ, Harold," Louis couldn't help but laugh, watching him struggle. "Want me to sort the oven for you, love?" The endearment slipped out without thought - natural as breathing when it came to Harry.
He caught Marco's sharp look too late, but Harry's answering dimple made it hard to care much. Besides, they were halfway around the world from the usual circus. Everything felt different here - lighter somehow, like the rules that bound them so tightly in London had loosened under the Australian sun.
The inside of the yacht was all sleek wood and white leather, posh enough that Louis almost felt bad about the way they were already taking over the space, their natural chaos spreading like a wave. Almost.
"Payno, catch!" He launched himself over a sofa, lobbing his empty Corona bottle toward Liam, who predictably scrambled to grab it before it could hit anything expensive.
"For fuck's sake, Lou," Liam sighed, but he was grinning. He'd loosened up considerably since their X-Factor days, though he still tried to be the responsible one. Usually.
Right now though, Liam was too distracted by whatever Zayn was doing at the helm to properly lecture. Louis watched with raised eyebrows as Liam dissolved into giggles at Zayn's exaggerated captain pose, complete with terrible pirate accent.
"Proper sailor, you are," Liam managed between laughs, and Louis caught the way Zayn's entire face softened at the attention. Interesting, that.
"Mate," Louis called out, "think you're actually turning us?"
Zayn looked down at the wheel in his hands with sudden alarm. "Shit, am I?"
The boat was indeed making a slow arc, the Sydney Opera House sliding past the windows at an angle it definitely hadn't been before. Liam hurried over to help Zayn straighten them out, standing closer than strictly necessary, both of them laughing as they wrestled with the controls.
"We're all going to die," Harry announced cheerfully, appearing at Louis' shoulder with fresh beers. He passed one to Louis, their fingers brushing longer than they should. "Proper tragic, that. They'll write songs about us."
"The band that sailed into the sunset and never returned," Louis agreed, taking a long drink. The beer was properly cold, and Harry was warm where their arms pressed together, and everything felt a bit golden around the edges. "Romantic, innit?"
"Lads," Niall's voice carried that careful edge Louis knew too well - the one that meant he was trying to be both friend and watchdog without being obvious about either. He was sprawled on one of the sofas, seemingly casual, but Louis caught the way his eyes darted to the cameras, then meaningfully to the space (or lack thereof) between Harry and Louis.
Louis shifted slightly, giving Harry the out he knew his boy wouldn't take on his own. Harry just pressed closer for a brief moment before remembering himself, and Louis caught Niall's quiet sigh.
A yacht crew member hurried over to correct their course while Zayn protested that he'd meant to turn them, actually, was trying out some proper sailing techniques. Liam nodded along like this made perfect sense, and Louis filed away another mental note about that whole situation.
"Twenty quid says Payno and Malik are sharing a room by Auckland," he muttered to Harry, who hummed thoughtfully.
"Thirty says before Brisbane," Harry countered, and Louis turned to him with delighted surprise. His boy was usually rubbish at spotting these things.
"You reckon?"
Harry's dimple deepened. "Saw them at breakfast yesterday. Zayn split his muffin with Liam."
"No shit?" Louis laughed. "Zayn never shares food. Remember when he nearly took my hand off over those crisps in Leeds?"
"Exactly," Harry nodded sagely, like this was definitive proof. Maybe it was.
They were interrupted by Marco appearing with Cal and another camera, and Louis felt Harry shift even further away, the space between them expanding to something more professionally appropriate. But the warmth lingered, and Louis was learning to hold onto these moments - the quiet ones between takes, the shared observations and private jokes, the way Harry's eyes still found his across any room.
When they finally anchored far enough out that swimming seemed reasonable, Louis was the first to strip down to his trunks. He needed the cold shock of water, needed something to burn off the restless energy that always built up when he had to keep himself in check for too long.
"Last one in's a proper twat!" he shouted, already running for the edge. He caught Harry's fond eye roll just before he launched himself into a flip that was maybe showing off a bit, but whatever. The water hit like ice and perfect relief.
He was floating on his back, enjoying the sun on his face, when he heard the distinct sound of Harry's slow footsteps above. Louis turned just in time to see him emerge in those ridiculous pink shorts that were absolutely too small to be decent.
"Ohhh, he's got the little shorty shorts on!" The words were out before Louis could stop them, too delighted by the way Harry preened at the attention. Marco was definitely going to have words later, but right now Louis couldn't be arsed to care. Not when Harry was making his way to the ladder, all endless legs and summer-golden skin.
Harry slipped into the water with none of Louis' dramatic flair, but he moved through it like he belonged there, powerful strokes bringing him closer until they were sharing the same space. Close enough that Louis could see water droplets clinging to Harry's eyelashes, could count the individual beads running down his neck.
Later, climbing out, Louis clung to the ladder while Harry swam over. He watched Harry pull himself up, water streaming off him, and had to bite back about fifteen inappropriate comments. Harry must have read something in his face though, because he immediately grabbed a towel and draped it over Louis' shoulders when he climbed up after, fingers lingering just a moment too long.
"Alright, lads?" Paul called out, making his way over with what Louis recognized as his "time to separate you" walk. Sure enough, Paul settled himself between them as they stretched out to sunbathe, a careful human barrier.
Louis closed his eyes against the sun, letting the warmth seep into his skin. He could hear Harry humming something softly on Paul's other side - probably one of those indie songs he was always going on about. The sound of it mixed with the lap of waves against the boat, with distant laughter from where Liam was trying to teach Zayn to fish, with the click of Cal's camera somewhere above them.
He thought about reaching across Paul, catching Harry's hand the way he wanted to. Thought about how easy it would be, how natural it should be. But he'd learned to pick his battles, learned which moments were worth the lectures and which ones needed to stay private, just for them.
Besides, they had the speedboat to look forward to - a promise of closer quarters and fewer watching eyes.
The speedboat was smaller than Louis expected, just a little white tender that forced them all to squeeze in close. Not that he was complaining. Zayn settled at the front, turned back toward them with his legs stretched out, while Louis claimed the middle of the bench. Harry immediately pressed against his left side, long legs tangling over Louis' thigh in a way that could maybe pass for casual if you weren't paying attention. The yacht crew member took his place at the controls behind them, Corona safely wedged between Louis' legs.
"Ready, lads?" the driver called out, and Louis barely had time to nod before they were off, cutting through the waves fast enough to send spray flying.
"Shit!" Zayn laughed, gripping the sides as they bounced over the water. His quiff was already a lost cause, salt water turning it soft and wild. Harry's arm had snaked around Louis' waist, ostensibly for balance, his fingers curled into Louis' side.
The boat took a sharp turn, and Louis clamped his thighs tighter around his beer, refusing to lose it to the Sydney Harbor. Harry's grip tightened, his face pressed briefly against Louis' shoulder as they hit another wave. These were the moments Louis lived for - when the adrenaline and the speed and the sun made everything feel a bit mental, when they could blame their touching on physics and necessity rather than want.
"You're getting me soaked," Harry complained without heat, even as he pressed closer, face split in a wide grin that Louis could feel against his skin.
"You're already soaked, Harold," Louis shot back, but he shifted to take more of the spray himself, always trying to protect his boy even in these small ways.
The boat spun them in circles, Zayn whooping with delight while Harry's legs tangled further with Louis', and for a perfect moment there were no cameras, no Marco, no rules - just them and the speed and the endless blue of the harbor stretching out around them.
Back on the yacht, the afternoon sun had turned everything lazy and golden. They sprawled around one of the deck tables, properly worn out from the day, coronas sweating condensation onto the surface. Louis stretched out along one of the benches, nearly hanging off the edge but too comfortable to care. His skin felt tight with salt and sun, pleasantly exhausted in a way that made everything feel a bit soft around the edges.
Harry, predictably, had arranged himself as close as he dared, wedged between Louis and the back of the bench in those ridiculous striped shorts. His feet were propped in a chair, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the content smile playing at his lips. Louis could feel the warmth of him all along his side, their shoulders pressed together in a way that was probably pushing it, but he couldn't bring himself to move.
Zayn had claimed the other side of the bench, stretched out like a cat in the sun. Niall sat across from them, looking between Harry and Louis with what might have been fond exasperation, but he seemed too relaxed to bother playing watchdog now.
The harbor sparkled around them, Sydney's coastline a distant smudge of green and buildings. A helicopter had circled by earlier, but even the paps seemed to have given up in the late afternoon heat. There was just the gentle rock of the boat, the quiet murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of bottles.
"Good day, innit?" Harry mumbled, voice slow and syrupy the way it got when he was proper content.
Louis hummed in agreement, letting his eyes drift closed. These were the moments he tried hardest to memorize - the weight of Harry against him, the salt-sun smell of his skin, the way everything felt possible out here on the water.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of pink and gold. Most of the crew had moved inside, leaving them to their drowsy sprawl on the deck. Harry had been fighting sleep for the past hour, his body gradually going heavier against Louis' side.
Louis felt the exact moment Harry properly drifted - his boy's long fingers finding their way to Louis' thigh, tracing absent patterns that sent shivers up his spine despite the lingering heat. It was unconscious, instinctive, the way Harry always reached for him when his guard was down.
Niall's pointed cough cut through the peaceful silence. But Louis was tired of it - tired of the constant vigilance, tired of pretending the most natural thing in the world was something to hide. He caught Niall's eye and held it, a silent challenge as he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "He needs a nap, inside," he mouthed.
"Hey love," he murmured, soft enough that only Harry could hear. "Think we should head below deck for a bit? Get you proper comfortable?"
Harry hummed, nuzzling closer before his eyes fluttered open. "Yeah?" he whispered back, hope and want clear in his voice despite his sleepy state.
"Yeah." Louis stood carefully, pulling Harry up with him. He could feel Niall's concerned gaze but chose to ignore it. The cameras were gone, the sun was setting, and for once he was going to take what he wanted - what they both needed.
Harry's fingers tangled with his as they crept down the narrow stairs, both of them trying to muffle their laughter at the absurdity of sneaking around on their own chartered yacht. Louis pressed a finger to his lips when Harry stumbled, earning an eye roll and a dimpled grin.
Louis knew the small cabin wasn't technically meant for them - it was probably meant for the crew or something - but he hadn't explicitly been told they couldn't use it. Besides, he had a perfectly reasonable excuse ready if anyone came looking: Harry needed a proper nap, was getting too sun-drowsy to be safe on deck.
The fact that Harry's eyes were bright and alert now, darkening with something that had nothing to do with sleep as Louis guided him through the door, well. That wasn't anyone's business but theirs.
"Very stealth, Harold," Louis whispered as he eased the cabin door open. "Proper MI6 material, you are."
"Shut up," Harry laughed quietly, already pulling Louis inside. "Like you're any better. Saw you checking to make sure Paul wasn't watching like we're teenagers sneaking out after curfew."
The door clicked shut and Harry immediately backed Louis against it, hands finding his waist. "How long d'you think we have before they come looking?"
"Dunno," Louis smirked, already working his fingers into Harry's curls. "Told Niall you needed a proper nap. Very responsible of me, making sure you don't get sun stroke and all that."
"Oh, very responsible," Harry agreed solemnly, though his eyes were dark with anything but sleepiness. "Taking such good care of me."
"Always do, don't I?" Louis tugged gently at Harry's hair, drawing a soft sound from him. "Though I notice you weren't too tired to keep touching me up there. Getting proper handsy in that speedboat, weren't you?"
"Says the one who kept pressing back against me," Harry mumbled against Louis' neck. "In those shorts that should be illegal..."
"Oi, have you seen what you're wearing? These bloody things..." Louis snapped the waistband of Harry's striped shorts. "Been driving me mental all day. Practically pornographic, these are."
"That was rather the point," Harry grinned wickedly. "Got you down here, didn't they?"
"Little shit," Louis accused fondly, pulling him down for a proper kiss. "What am I going to do with you?"
“I’ve got a few ideas,” Harry had said, voice low and thick, and Christ, Louis felt that everywhere.
Now he was leaning back against the door, arms at his sides, like he wasn’t already taking up all the oxygen in the room. His sunglasses had been left upstairs, and without them, his eyes were soft and eager and so bloody open it made Louis’ chest hurt.
It was always like this with them. Teasing and touching and brushing up against the line—but never over it. Not where anyone could see. Not where anyone could call it what it was. But down here, with the sun behind them and the harbor stretched out like a dream, Louis felt something let go inside him.
"You're not tired?" Louis asked, barely more than a breath. Harry shook his head once, curls brushing his forehead.
"Not even a bit."
"Good."
Louis kissed him like it was inevitable. Like he'd been waiting a thousand years for it. Like it was the only thing that made any sense in the entire sun-drunk mess of a day. Harry melted into it immediately—always did—his hands finding Louis’ ribs, thumbs pressing into bare skin like he needed to map the shape of him.
The kiss was slow, messy, real. Louis felt it down to his bloody toes, the warmth of skin on skin, the soft huff of Harry’s breath when he pushed him gently back against the wall.
They were all salt and sun and the faint tang of sunscreen, their bodies damp and sticky and pressed too close to pretend it was anything but what it was. Louis' fingers curled into the back of Harry's neck, tugging him closer, and Harry made this soft, broken sound—half sigh, half whimper—that went straight to Louis' gut.
They stumbled back toward the narrow bed like idiots, laughing into each other’s mouths, bumping knees and knocking into the wall and not caring even a little. Harry dropped back onto the mattress with a breathless oof, curls falling into his eyes, and Louis followed him down, settling over him with a knee between his thighs.
The moment after the kiss broke hung heavy in the cabin, like the air had thickened around them. Louis didn’t speak, didn’t move—just stayed close, forehead pressed to Harry’s, breath ghosting against his lips.
They’d done this before. God, they’d done this so many times—in hotel rooms and dressing rooms, once in the back of a van between soundchecks. But there was something about the sunlight on their skin and the silence of the harbor and the way Harry had looked at him—like he couldn’t believe Louis was real—that made this feel different.
Not new, just... deeper. More certain.
Louis’ hands slid down Harry’s sides, fingers curling at the waistband of those ridiculous shorts. “Still can’t believe you wore these,” he murmured, voice rough.
Harry smirked, lazy and warm. “You’ve not been complaining.”
“‘Cause I’m weak,” Louis muttered, kissing him again. “Proper pathetic for you.”
Harry laughed into his mouth, and just like that, the tension shifted. Less sharp, more familiar.
It wasn’t rushed. It never was, not anymore. There was no need to prove anything between them, no frantic edge. Just hands and skin and whispered nonsense, Harry’s curls brushing Louis’ cheek, the weight of him grounding Louis in the best way.
At some point, Louis ended up half on top of him, both of them breathless and spent, hearts still racing. The cabin was warm and quiet, the distant sound of waves lapping against the hull like a lullaby. Harry’s fingers traced across the small of Louis’ back, and Louis didn’t bother lifting his head from where it was tucked against Harry’s shoulder.
“Should’ve waited ‘til we got back to the hotel,” he mumbled, words muffled against warm skin.
Harry huffed a tired laugh. “You say that every time.”
Louis didn’t reply. Just curled closer. There was something sacred about this part—the calm after. The soft. Where nothing needed to be said because everything already had been.
They stayed like that longer than they should. Long enough that the sun had shifted, long enough that the distant sound of Zayn’s laughter filtered down through the open porthole, reminding them the rest of the world still existed. Still expected them to perform, to smile, to sit on opposite ends of the boat and talk about girls in interviews.
Eventually, Louis rolled off with a groan, dragging a hand down his face.
“Alright, come on,” he muttered. “Let’s go face the music.”
They tugged their shorts back into place—wrinkled and damp and not fooling anyone—and Louis tried in vain to flatten his hair in the mirror. Harry gave up entirely and shoved his curls back with his hand.
Louis paused at the door, hand on the latch. “You good?”
Harry nodded. “You?”
“Yeah.” A beat. “Just... don’t look at me like that when we go up there.”
Harry tilted his head. “Like what?”
“Like you’re still thinking about it,” Louis said, and his voice came out too soft. “They’ll know.”
“They already know,” Harry murmured, brushing his fingers against Louis’ as he passed. “They just don’t say anything.”
Louis swallowed hard and followed him up.
By the time they climbed back up to the main deck, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the harbor in a dusky lavender glow. The yacht lights had flicked on, soft and golden, and the air had cooled just enough that Louis could feel the stickiness of dried salt clinging to his skin.
It should’ve helped. The dark. The breeze. The fact that everything was quieter now.
It didn’t.
Because the second they stepped onto the deck, every single head turned.
Zayn looked up from where he was picking at a plate of prawns and immediately snorted. Liam nearly dropped the speaker he was fiddling with. Cal raised one eyebrow and turned the camera discreetly away—a mercy, honestly. And Niall—
Niall just stared, wide-eyed and grinning, like Christmas had come early and brought gossip with it.
Louis squared his shoulders and kept walking, Harry trailing just behind him with that insufferably pleased look on his face. Bastard looked like he’d just come back from a spa, all flushed and relaxed and glowing.
“Alright,” Louis said, louder than necessary, “before anyone says anything—”
“—Harry looks very well-rested,” Niall interrupted, eyes dancing.
“Yeah, that nap must’ve been really rejuvenating,” Liam added, valiantly trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.
Zayn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Didn’t know naps made your hair look like that, mate,” he said, nodding toward Louis’ thoroughly tousled fringe. “Should try it more often.”
Louis sighed, dramatically. “I said he needed a nap. Doctor’s orders. I was just being a good friend.”
Harry, to his credit—or lack thereof—nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Very attentive. Made sure I stayed... hydrated.”
“Jesus Christ,” Louis muttered, face in his hands.
“Couldn’t wait until the hotel, then?” Niall asked, biting into a chip. “You two do share a room, last I checked.”
Louis peeked at Harry, who was now trying very hard not to laugh, his dimples betraying him.
“We were just...” Louis began, then trailed off. “...testing the mattress. For safety.”
“Oh, it’s safe alright,” Zayn deadpanned. “Sounded sturdy enough from up here.”
Harry burst out laughing. Louis groaned and dropped onto the nearest bench, slumping dramatically like he could disappear into the cushions.
“Remind me to fake a heatstroke next time,” he muttered. “At least then they’d leave us alone.”
“Doubt it,” Liam said. “We’d still hear the moaning.”
“Liam!” Louis shouted, genuinely scandalized.
Zayn raised his beer. “To the most obvious secret relationship in pop music history.”
“Oi,” Louis pointed at him. “I’ll have you know we’re very discreet.”
Harry leaned down, stage-whispering in Louis’ ear, “You called me ‘love’ four times before we even went below deck.”
Louis whipped around. “You looked tired! It’s a term of endearment, not a crime!”
“Right,” Niall nodded, grinning. “So is pinning him to the cabin wall, apparently.”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Louis stood up, flailing. “I’m going to find dignity. Anyone seen it? Left it somewhere between the swim ladder and Harry’s stupid shorts.”
Harry just leaned back, arms stretched over the bench like he hadn’t just been thoroughly called out, eyes shining under the deck lights.
The laughter eventually faded, the others turning back to their drinks and half-finished dinners. Louis stayed standing for a moment longer, cheeks still warm, heart beating faster than it should’ve.
Then Harry’s hand reached out, tugging gently at his wrist, guiding him back down.
Louis went, of course.
He always did.
And when Harry’s thigh pressed against his again under the table, fingers brushing softly along the edge of his knee, Louis didn’t move away.
He didn’t need to.
They’d been through worse.
They’d survived worse.
And maybe they were a bit wrecked, a bit obvious, a bit too in love to keep it entirely hidden anymore.
But it was them.
And that meant it was worth it.
Chapter 85: Present Day
Summary:
Faith in the future.
Louis comes home from India to find Harry on their kitchen floor at 3AM, surrounded by identical blue jackets and trying to plan his strategic Italian escape before the latest PR stunt hits the papers. Louis deflects questions about rainbow bears and peace rings over wine with his new "love interest" and has late night FaceTime calls where Harry pretends pasta can fix everything.
Features supportive but done-with-this-shit bandmates in the group chat, Louis having more chemistry with their waiter Tom than his supposed date, and the careful navigation of being closeted popstars in 2025 (which is somehow both easier and harder than it was in 2013).
aka: the one where Louis starts another PR relationship while Harry hides in Italy, and they both pretend they're totally fine with it (they're not) - complete with strategic social media likes, perfectly timed paparazzi shots, and soft moments in between where they remember what's actually real.
Chapter Text
Louis found Harry in their kitchen at three in the morning, perched on the vintage tiles they'd spent weeks arguing about during the renovation. He was drowning in one of his oldest tour hoodies, surrounded by what appeared to be every blue chore jacket he owned.
"Baby," Louis breathed, dropping his bags. The exhaustion of a seventeen-hour flight and the India shows evaporated at the sight of the chaos around him.
"I'm trying to decide," Harry said without looking up, "if bringing both blue jackets makes me look unhinged or if it's actually very practical because what if one gets wine on it at dinner?" He held up two nearly identical blazers. "They're different. This one's more of a vintage blue with one less pocket. Very important distinction."
Louis crossed the kitchen in three steps, sliding down the wall to sit beside him. "Course it is. Very normal to be debating jacket semantics at three AM."
That earned him a wet laugh. "The loafers are already packed. And that little black purse you say looks like an inflated balloon." Harry's attempt at lightness wavered. "Need to look proper posh while I'm absolutely not hiding in Italy."
They sat in silence for a moment, shoulders pressed together. Louis could feel Harry trembling slightly, the way he always did when trying to hold himself together through humor.
"I can't be here when it hits the papers," Harry finally said quietly, fingers twisting in the sleeve of one jacket. "I know we've done this plenty of times before, but..." He trailed off. "I just need to be somewhere else. Somewhere with good wine and judgmental artist friends who'll let me pretend I'm just there for the culture."
"I can tell them no," Louis offered softly. "Right now. Fuck Soccer Aid, fuck all of it."
"Don't be stupid," Harry said, but his grip on Louis' hand tightened. "You love football. And they're giving you..." He stopped himself, swallowing hard. They both knew what the number meant. "Besides, I've got an art opening to attend, pasta to eat, friends to laugh with. Very important art things to discuss. Nikolai's promised to be absolutely insufferable about Tracey's new series."
Louis watched Harry's profile in the dim kitchen light, catching all the little tells that fifteen years had taught him to read. The slight clench in his jaw, the way his throat worked around words he wouldn't say.
"Went well with Zara then?" Louis asked carefully. "At the O2?"
Harry's laugh was barely more than an exhale. "Oh, sure. Sat there looking all wide-eyed and earnest while I explained how this works." He started methodically folding one of the jackets, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "Think she actually felt bad for us, which was..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Anyway, she'll be good. I think. Impossible to tell with these things."
"H..."
"No, really, it's fine. Very routine." Harry's movements became more frantic as he shoved the jacket into his suitcase. "I just need to not be here when the story breaks. Need to not see it all over every fucking paper while I'm trying to buy coffee or whatever."
Louis reached out, stilling Harry's hands. "Look at me, love."
Harry finally met his eyes, managed a shaky smile. "Really, I'm alright. We're alright. Just... having a moment. In a few days I'll be drinking obscenely expensive wine while Nikolai lectures everyone about the death of modern art, and you'll be here doing the announcement, and it'll all just..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Work itself out."
"Right," Louis said, not letting go of Harry's hands.
Harry's smile faltered. "I know, I know. But I just..." He twisted his fingers in the hem of Louis' hoodie. "Just until the article drops and the initial frenzy dies down. You know I'm rubbish at this part. Once it's... settled, established or whatever, I can handle it. Just can't watch it happen."
Louis sighed, pulling Harry closer until their foreheads touched. "Alright. But after Italy, you come back home. Deal? We get a proper week together before I have to head to LA."
Harry laughed wetly. "Deal."
"No more running away," Louis said firmly. "We do this bit, get through it, then focus on what matters. Us. Our lives. The real things." He paused. "And hey, at least the match isn't until June. Plenty of time to actually practice so I don't completely embarrass myself."
Harry stood in the doorway, both blue jackets draped over his arm, looking smaller than he had any right to at six feet tall. The pre-dawn light caught the shadows under his eyes, the slight tremble in his fingers as he adjusted the strap of his bag.
"Right then," he said, aiming for casual and missing by miles. "Just a quick art trip. Very normal. Very-"
Louis closed the distance between them, cutting him off by pulling him into a fierce kiss. Harry made a broken sound against his mouth, dropping the jackets to grab at Louis' waist, fingers digging in like he was trying to leave marks they could both feel later when they were apart.
"Gonna miss my flight," Harry mumbled against Louis' lips, but he pressed closer, backing Louis against the doorframe.
"Don't care," Louis breathed, sliding one hand into Harry's hair, the other slipping under his shirt to press against warm skin. They both needed this - the physical reminder, the grounding touch, something real to hold onto when everything else felt like shifting sand.
Harry broke away just enough to press his face into Louis' neck, breathing him in. "Love you," he whispered, voice rough. "I'm sorry I'm such a coward."
"Not a coward," Louis said fiercely, tightening his grip. "Never that. You're taking care of yourself. There's a difference."
They stood there for another long moment, wrapped around each other, until Harry's phone buzzed with another warning about his car waiting. When they finally pulled apart, Harry's eyes were wet but his smile was steadier.
"See you after Italy?" Louis asked, straightening Harry's collar even though they both knew it would be messed up again before he reached the car.
Chapter 86: October 2019
Summary:
In which Louis has a big promo day for "We Made It," Harry orders pretentious pizza like the rich hipster he is, and they somehow manage to squeeze in approximately 47 soft moments between interviews. Featuring a very knowing Z100 host who definitely sees right through their "just old bandmates" act, Louis absolutely not watching Love Island (except he totally did), and Harry being the world's most supportive boyfriend while pretending he's not even in the building. There's also a bath scene because apparently these two can't go 24 hours without being disgustingly domestic.
aka the one where Harry is at Louis' NYC promo and Louis swears he has "no time" for anyone on Love Island.
Notes:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3s8phx3Oxc
Chapter Text
The New York morning was still dark when Harry woke up, already reaching for Louis before his eyes were fully open. His boy was warm against him, sleep-soft and beautiful in the dim light filtering through their apartment windows.
"Lou," Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. "Baby, time to get up."
Louis made a disgruntled noise, burrowing deeper into the pillows. "Five more minutes."
"Can't," Harry said softly, though his heart ached to let Louis sleep. He knew how exhausted Louis was - they'd barely slept last night, too desperate for each other after two weeks apart to waste time on something as trivial as rest. "You've got promo this morning."
"Fuck promo," Louis grumbled, but he was already stirring, turning in Harry's arms to face him. His eyes were heavy with sleep, hair a mess, and Harry's chest felt too full looking at him.
"Want to listen to it one more time before you go?" Harry asked, reaching for his phone. Louis nodded, curling closer as the opening notes of "We Made It" filled their bedroom.
Harry held Louis tighter as the lyrics washed over them. Every word felt like their story - the struggles, the setbacks, the way they'd fought to keep each other through it all. Three years Louis had been fighting for his solo career, dealing with label changes and management drama and endless delays. But he'd made it. They'd made it.
"Still can't believe it's finally out," Louis mumbled against Harry's chest.
"'m so proud of you," Harry whispered into his hair. "So fucking proud."
They stayed tangled together until the song ended, then Harry gently nudged Louis toward the shower while he went to make tea. Their apartment felt like a sanctuary - one of the only places they could just be them, no cameras, no careful distance.
When Louis emerged in a towel, Harry was ready with the black sweater he knew Louis wanted to wear for the interviews. He helped Louis into it, unable to resist pressing kisses to his neck as he adjusted the collar.
"Stop that," Louis laughed, but tilted his head to give Harry better access. "Gonna make me late."
"Don't care," Harry murmured, but he pulled back to focus on fixing Louis' hair, trying to recreate that perfectly messy look Louis preferred. His hands were gentle as he worked the product through the strands, wanting everything to be perfect for Louis' big day.
"Wish you could come with me," Louis said quietly, leaning into Harry's touch.
"I know, love. But it's safer this way." Harry's heart ached at having to stay behind, but they both knew better. "I'll be right here when you get back. Ordering that ridiculous pizza you hate."
"The one with the gold leaf? You're such a pretentious twat," Louis said fondly. "Now, kiss me goodbye. Some of us have actual work to do today instead of lounging about ordering overpriced pizza."
Harry hummed, adjusting Louis' sweater one last time. "You love my lounging about. Means I'll be here to take care of you when you get back."
Louis' expression softened for a moment before he caught himself. "Yeah, well, don't get too comfortable. I expect a proper welcome home after suffering through Seacrest's questions about my 'journey' all day."
"I'll run you a bath," Harry promised, pressing a kiss to Louis' temple. "Order proper food. Whatever you want."
"Just want you," Louis said quietly, and Harry's breath caught at the vulnerability in his voice. These moments were rare - Louis letting his guard down completely, letting Harry see how much the pressure was wearing on him.
Three years of fighting for his music, of being pushed toward management instead of performing, of labels trying to shape him into something he wasn't. Harry had held him through the worst of it - the nights when Louis questioned everything, when the weight of proving himself felt impossible.
"You've got me," Harry whispered fiercely.
Louis' phone buzzed - his security team waiting downstairs - and the moment broke. Harry watched Louis slip his public mask back on, shoulders straightening, chin lifting.
"Right then," Louis said, grabbing his phone and wallet. "Try not to miss me too much, Harold."
"Impossible," Harry said, following him to the door. He wanted to pull Louis back, keep him here in their safe little bubble. Instead, he pressed one last kiss to Louis' lips. "Go show them what you can do, honey. I'll be here."
The door closed behind Louis, and Harry leaned against it, already counting the hours until he could have Louis back in his arms. Already dreading his own flight to Nashville tomorrow afternoon, hating that he had to leave so soon.
But they'd survived worse. They'd keep surviving, keep finding their way back to each other, keep building something real in the spaces between public and private.
Harry spent the morning trying to work on some lyrics, but kept getting distracted checking Twitter for updates about Louis' promo. His heart swelled watching clips from the interviews - Louis charming everyone as usual, deflecting questions about relationships with practiced ease, lighting up whenever he got to talk about the actual music.
Around six that evening, he ordered that ridiculous pizza from L'Antica Pizzeria, the one with the gold leaf that Louis always teased him about. ("It's just showing off, Harold. Pizza's meant to be greasy and cheap, not covered in fucking metal.") He sprawled on their couch, some mindless reality dating show playing in the background while he scrolled through more fan updates.
Louis was crushing it - Kelly and Ryan had both seemed genuinely impressed by the new single, and the fan signing at Sony had gone brilliantly from what Harry could see. His boy looked tired in the photos, but still soft and perfect in that black sweater, still managing to make everyone laugh.
It was nearly eight when Harry heard the key in the lock. He was up immediately, reaching Louis just as he stumbled through the door.
"Fucking hell," Louis mumbled, practically collapsing into Harry's arms. "Feel like I've run a marathon."
"Come here, love," Harry murmured, leading Louis to the couch. He knelt down to untie Louis' shoes, then pulled him close once he'd settled onto the cushions. "You were amazing today. Saw all the interviews."
"Yeah?" Louis asked sleepily, burrowing into Harry's chest. "Didn't fuck anything up?"
"Perfect," Harry assured him, running gentle fingers through Louis' hair. "Everyone loved you. The fans are going mental over the single."
Louis hummed, pressing closer. "Just want to sleep for about twelve years."
"Can't yet," Harry reminded him softly. "Need to get some food in you first. Then a hot bath, yeah?"
"You're too good to me," Louis mumbled, but let Harry pull him up and guide him to the kitchen where he'd kept dinner warm.
"Someone's got to take care of you," Harry said, settling Louis at their counter and placing a plate in front of him. "Since you're rubbish at it yourself."
"Oi," Louis protested weakly, but he was already digging into the pizza - proper comfort food, nothing fancy, just what Louis needed after a long day.
"At least we get the morning together before I have to leave," Harry said, watching Louis eat with fond eyes. "Get to come support you at Z100."
Louis looked up at that, something vulnerable flickering across his face. "Yeah?"
"'Course," Harry said softly. "Wouldn't miss it. Even if I have to hide in the back like a proper groupie."
After dinner, Harry ran the promised bath, adding Louis' favorite lavender oils and lighting a few candles. Louis pretended to roll his eyes at the romance of it all, but Harry caught his soft smile as he settled into the warm water first.
"Come on then," Louis murmured, opening his arms. "Been wanting to hold you all day."
Harry sank back against Louis' chest, sighing contentedly as Louis' arms wrapped around his waist. Despite being taller, he loved being held like this, loved feeling small and protected in Louis' embrace.
"Missed you," Louis whispered, pressing kisses along Harry's shoulder. "Kept thinking about last night instead of focusing on the questions."
"Yeah?" Harry asked, threading their fingers together under the water. "What about last night?"
"You know exactly what about," Louis said, nuzzling into Harry's neck. "The way you fell apart for me. The way you kept begging for more..."
"Still want more," Harry murmured, tilting his head to give Louis better access. "Always want you closer."
Louis tightened his arms around Harry's waist. "Close enough?" he asked, voice fond and warm against Harry's skin.
Harry turned his head for a proper kiss in response, slow and deep. The water was cooling by the time they finally made it to bed, skin pink and warm, unable to stop touching.
They ended up tangled in the sheets, Louis propped against the headboard with Harry curled into his chest, both of them fighting sleep to steal a few more conscious moments together.
"Should sleep, love," Louis murmured, fingers carding through Harry's curls. "Early start tomorrow."
"Don't want to," Harry protested softly, pressing closer. "Keep wanting to pause time. Just stay here with you."
Louis' hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle motion. "Know what you mean. Feels like we never get enough time."
But exhaustion was already pulling at Louis - Harry could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his movements were getting slower, more languid. The day of interviews and appearances had worn him down, and last night's lack of sleep wasn't helping.
"Sleep, baby," Harry whispered, pressing a kiss to Louis' chest. "I've got you."
"Mmm," Louis hummed, already halfway there. "Love you."
"Love you more," Harry said softly, but Louis was already out, breath evening into the familiar rhythm of sleep.
Harry lifted his head carefully, watching Louis' face in the dim light. He looked younger like this, all the sharp edges softened, the careful walls down. No pretense, no protective armor - just Louis, beautiful and vulnerable and completely Harry's.
He traced Louis' features with gentle eyes - the sweep of his eyelashes, the slight part of his lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead. Memorizing him all over again, storing away these quiet moments to hold onto when they had to be apart.
Tomorrow they'd have the radio interview, and then Harry would have to leave for Nashville. But for now, they were just them. And that was everything.
The morning came too early, both of them groggy as they made their way through the Empire State Building's underground parking. Harry kept his hand on Louis' lower back as they navigated the service elevators, both of them bundled up against recognition - Louis in his grey sweater, Harry in his casual grey jacket and sweats, backpack slung over one shoulder.
The studio was buzzing with pre-interview energy, crew members adjusting lights while Louis got mic'd up. Harry sprawled in his chair just out of frame, watching Louis fidget with his sweater sleeves.
"My guys!" the interviewer called out, pulling first Louis then Harry into quick hugs. "Been too long. How's life treating you both?"
"Can't complain," Louis grinned, settling into his chair. "Though this one's abandoning me for Nashville later."
"Business calls," Harry drawled, propping his feet up on the edge of the table. "Someone's got to keep writing the hits."
The camera operator swung around to test angles, and Harry caught Louis' slight tension. The crew head noticed too. "Don't worry Lou, we'll keep your boy off camera. Though it's killing me not to get those reactions on film."
They fell into easy chat about old times, the interviewer reminiscing about their first Z100 visit as a band. When the red light blinked on, the energy shifted seamlessly into the interview proper.
Harry watched proudly as Louis spoke about his creative journey, about finding his authentic sound. When Louis touched the "2" on his ring finger while talking about One Direction not being "real life," Harry's mind flashed to late night conversations about rebuilding their relationship in the real world, learning each other all over again without the band's protective bubble.
"Now I like football, you know, I watch some rubbish TV but mostly-" Louis started at one point.
"Are you the circle? Are you Love Island? I mean, are we watching those or what bro?"
Harry had to physically bite his lip to keep from laughing, memories flooding back of that summer in 2016. He'd been so excited about the new season, had practically begged Louis to watch it with him in their London home.
"I absolutely despise that show," Louis declared now, throwing Harry such a pointed look that Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand. "Do you know what's bad? One year I got fooled into watching it. Maybe put a few tweets out about it. Honestly it's a tragic show, I've got no time for it or anyone on it."
Harry's mind drifted back to those nights - Louis sprawled across their sofa, dramatically groaning every time a new episode started. "This is absolute garbage, Harold. They're all awful. Look at him, what's he playing at?" But Harry would just curl closer, pressing tea into Louis' hands, kissing his neck until the complaints turned to reluctant investment.
By week three, Louis was the one reminding Harry when it was on. "These people are idiots," he'd announce, already settled in his spot with the remote. "Complete idiots. But I suppose we're watching since you're so obsessed."
Harry remembered the night Louis had actually shouted at the TV when his favorite couple split up. "Are you fucking kidding me? After everything? No, this is rigged, this whole thing is rigged." He'd been so worked up he'd actually tweeted about it, then spent the next hour ranting about producer manipulation while Harry tried not to look too amused.
Now, watching Louis vehemently deny any interest in the show, Harry had to turn away to compose himself. The interviewer caught his eye with a knowing smirk - they both knew exactly who had "fooled" Louis into watching that season.
The interview was winding down, but the interviewer's energy remained high as he leaned forward, gesturing between Louis and where Harry sat.
"You know the really amazing thing is that, I mean it's been, the energy. It's been A1 since day one, bro. Especially when we get the chance to catch up with my buddies man." He spread his hands wide, encompassing them both. "For each and every one of you who have taken on this momentous responsibility being a part of a group that is gonna go down in history..."
Harry watched Louis' face soften at the mention of the band, saw the slight smile he couldn't quite hide.
"To have your individual specialties and to really know what's right for you and your heart," the interviewer continued, "and as you guys get to experience the solo careers to see every single one of you have the success and have it go the way that it's supposed to go because you're being just extremely genuine to who you are." He paused, grinning. "I don't know if I'm allowed to cuss man but that shit is dope."
"Appreciate that, appreciate that," Louis said warmly, and Harry could hear the genuine emotion in his voice.
"Yeah serious man so good on you whatever you need man you know this is home."
"We're gonna go out in London, bro," Louis offered, relaxing now that they were off-script.
"I'mma be running around town dude, I'm hanging in Battersea for a bit-" the interviewer started, pointing towards Harry before catching himself, remembering their carefully maintained public narratives. "So if I make my way to North London this New Year's let's turn up dog."
"Let's do it," Louis agreed easily, though Harry caught the slight tension in his shoulders at the near slip.
The interviewer spun his chair around to face Harry directly, all pretense dropped now that they were done recording. "We're just gonna keep the phones off and nothing lands on the gram," he said with a knowing wink.
"Exactly, exactly," Louis echoed, standing to shake hands as the crew started breaking down equipment.
As the crew packed up equipment, Louis and Harry lingered in the studio's small green room. Harry was checking his flight details while Louis leaned against the wall beside him, fingers playing with the sleeve of Harry's jacket.
"What time's wheels up?" Louis asked, though they both knew the schedule by heart.
"Two hours," Harry sighed, letting his phone drop to his lap. "Car's meeting me downstairs in twenty." He looked up at Louis with a soft smile. "Sure you don't want to ditch everything and come watch Kacey's finale with me?"
Louis laughed, but his hand tightened on Harry's sleeve. "You know I would. But Chris would actually murder me if I missed these next interviews." He paused, then added more quietly, "Give her a hug from me though, yeah?"
Harry nodded, standing to pull Louis into a proper embrace. They didn't speak for a moment, just held each other in the quiet room. Harry breathed in the familiar scent of Louis' cologne, memorizing it all over again.
"You'll smash it tonight," Louis murmured against his neck.
"Might even wear the rainbow suit you suggested," Harry teased, making Louis groan.
"I was drunk when I said that, you little shit. Don't you dare."
A knock at the door had them stepping apart reluctantly. Oli poked his head in. "Car's ready when you are, H. And Lou, Chris needs you for the phone interview prep."
They gathered their things, Louis carrying Harry's backpack despite his protests. In the private elevator down to the garage, Louis reached for Harry's hand.
"See you in a week?" he asked softly.
"Five days," Harry corrected. "I'm coming straight home after the Copenhagen thing."
"Better be. Got plans for you."
The elevator doors opened to reveal their separate cars waiting. Harry squeezed Louis' hand once before letting go, accepting his backpack with a quiet thanks.
"Love you," Louis said, just above a whisper.
"Love you more," Harry replied, their familiar exchange making them both smile.
They parted ways - Louis to his waiting interviews, Harry to his flight and Kacey's finale. Just another day of learning to balance their separate lives with their shared one. But Harry could still feel Louis' touch on his sleeve, could still smell his cologne. Five days. They'd made it through much longer.
Chapter 87: Present Day
Summary:
At a private celebration for the twins' birthday, Harry finally gets to meet baby Flossie, leading to an emotional day of family, hidden longing, and bittersweet hopes for the future. When they return home, Louis surprises Harry with an early anniversary gift - a Cartier Tank Louis watch that speaks volumes in blue accents and a simple engraving, transforming a classic timepiece into a declaration of love hidden in plain sight.
AKA the one where Louis gets Harry a watch with his own name on it and somehow makes it romantic instead of wildly self-centered, Harry cries over babies (again), and this author has a lot of feelings about mommrry and larents.
Notes:
https://www.gq.com/story/harry-styles-cartier-tank
Chapter Text
Harry was methodically patting the last of his green tea mask around his eyes when he heard the front door slam, followed by Louis's distinctive cackle and the sound of stumbling footsteps.
"Oi, Oli, I can walk you twat-"
"Will you shut up? H might be sleeping-"
"'m not that drunk-"
"You tried to take over from the DJs-"
Harry smiled into the mirror as he heard Louis attempting to whisper (and failing spectacularly) while presumably navigating the stairs.
"Harold?" Louis stage-whispered. "Hazza?"
"In the ensuite," Harry called out, unable to keep the fondness from his voice.
"Right then," Oli's voice carried from the hallway. "He's your problem now. Good luck with that."
"Rude!" Louis shouted after him, then appeared in the doorway looking gloriously disheveled in his sleeveless sweater, Prada jeans, hair wild. "Harold," he breathed, like he hadn't seen Harry in weeks rather than hours. "Harold, you missed it. There were bongos. Actual bongos!"
"Did the twins like their party then?" Harry asked, trying to maintain his skincare routine as Louis immediately plastered himself to Harry's back, hands sliding under his old t-shirt.
"Was proper brilliant," Louis mumbled into Harry's shoulder. "Lots got that F behind her ear from Fine Line. And the mirror thing was dead fancy, all lit up and saying 'we're so happy you're here' and everything..."
"Babe," Harry interrupted fondly as Louis started mouthing at his neck. "You're gonna get green tea mask everywhere."
"Don't care." Louis's hands were wandering now, warm and insistent against Harry's skin. "Missed you. Should've been there. Everything's pink and pretty and you weren't there to see it."
Harry caught Louis's restless hands, turning to face him properly. "How much did this party actually cost? Because I saw those Instagram stories of the champagne tower..."
"Don't worry about it." Louis waved dismissively, then immediately grabbed Harry's shoulders to steady himself. "Worth it. You should've seen Phoebs' face when the she saw the open bar. And Daisy cried when she saw the mirror, proper emotional..."
Harry let Louis ramble, drinking in his flushed cheeks and bright eyes, the way he couldn't seem to stop touching Harry, like physical contact was the only thing keeping him upright. Drunk Louis had always been tactile, but lately it felt different - more desperate somehow, like he was trying to store up these moments against whatever was coming next.
"Hey," Louis said suddenly, catching Harry's shift in mood even through his drunken haze. "You've gone all quiet love."
"Just thinking."
"About the album? Or..." Louis's hands tightened on Harry's waist. They both knew what 'or' meant these days.
"Both maybe." Harry managed a small smile. "Everything feels a bit..."
"I know." Louis pressed their foreheads together, not caring about the face mask anymore. "But we're gonna be alright yeah? Promise."
Harry closed his eyes, letting Louis's presence ground him. "Yeah?"
"Course." Louis's thumb brushed his cheek. "Now help me out of these clothes before I fall over trying to undress myself. Then you can tell me about Mattie's thing while I pretend I'm not about to pass out."
"You're ridiculous when you're drunk," Harry said fondly, but he was already reaching for Louis's shirt hem.
Louis caught Harry's hands as they reached for his shirt. "Wait, wait- got to tell you something first-"
"You can tell me after we get you comfortable," Harry said, successfully tugging the sweater over Louis's head this time. "Arms up."
"Bossy," Louis mumbled through the fabric, stumbling slightly as Harry steadied him. "Missed you being bossy."
"Missed you being clingy," Harry replied, helping Louis step out of his jeans. "Though I didn't miss you getting my face mask everywhere."
"What?" Louis blinked, then went cross-eyed trying to look at his own nose where a distinct green smudge had appeared. "Oh. Oops."
Harry couldn't help but laugh at his confused expression. "Come on, let's get you to bed before you get it anywhere else."
"But I was trying to tell you something important," Louis protested, even as he let Harry guide him toward their bedroom. "Was thinking about it all night at the party..."
"Tell me in bed then," Harry said softly, recognizing the particular vulnerability in Louis's voice that only emerged when he was properly drunk. "When you're comfortable."
Louis flopped onto their bed, immediately making grabby hands at Harry. "C'mere then. Need to tell you..."
Harry crawled onto the bed, careful to keep his face mask from dripping. "I'm here, love. What is it?"
Louis reached up to trace Harry's features, smearing more green tea mask in the process. His eyes were suddenly serious despite their alcohol-glazed sheen. "Was watching everyone tonight, yeah? All happy and celebrating and I just kept thinking about how fucking mental it all is," Louis's fingers traced Harry's jawline, heedless of the mask. "That night at X-Factor... you were just this kid with these massive curls and this ridiculous dimpled smile and I was this scared little idiot who didn't even understand what I was feeling yet."
His voice went soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. "And then suddenly we were fucking everywhere, weren't we? Posters and billboards and stadiums. Before I'd even figured out how to tell you I loved you properly, we were being told we couldn't. Not ever."
"Lou," Harry started, but Louis shook his head.
"No, let me- need to say this." His hand settled on Harry's chest, right over his butterfly tattoo. "We were so young H. So fucking young and everything happened so fast and I... I handled it all wrong. The drugs, the drinking, pushing you away because it hurt too much to have you close but not be allowed to..."
Louis's voice cracked slightly. "And you weren't perfect either, were you? Got lost in LA for a while there, became someone else entirely. There were months I barely recognized you anymore."
"I know," Harry whispered, the old guilt heavy in his chest. "I'm sorry."
"No, that's not- I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just..." Louis pushed himself up on one elbow, swaying slightly but eyes intense. "We've proper fucked up sometimes, yeah? Both of us. But somehow we're still here. Somehow after fifteen years of absolute bullshit, I still get to come home to you putting on your posh face masks and taking care of my drunk arse and loving me even though I'm still such a mess sometimes," Louis's voice wavered. "Even though we're still stuck in this fucking circus, still can't... can't just be us. And sometimes I wake up terrified that one day it'll be too much again. That you'll realize you don't want to keep fighting this fight, that you deserve someone who can give you more than stolen moments and hidden truths and-"
"Stop," Harry cut in, pressing his forehead to Louis's despite the face mask. "Lou, stop. I'm not going anywhere."
"But that's just it, isn't it?" Louis's hands were restless now, sliding under Harry's shirt like he needed the skin contact to ground himself. "You say that, and I believe you, but then I remember how young we were when this all started. How many promises we made before we knew what they'd cost. And now here we are, both about to release these albums full of songs we can never properly explain, about to watch each other go through more bullshit PR relationships, and I just..."
He took a shaky breath. "I love you so fucking much. And it scares the shit out of me, if I'm being honest. Because I don't know how to exist without you anymore, H. Don't know if I ever did, really. Not since that first day when you walked into that bathroom at X-Factor and smiled at me like... like you already knew," Louis's voice was barely above a whisper now. "Like you could see right through every wall I'd built. And you still do that, you know? Still look at me sometimes like you can see everything I am, everything I've been, everything I'm trying to be..."
His fingers traced up Harry's sides, touch reverent despite his drunken state. "And I know we're different now. Know we've both changed and grown and fucked up and found our way back. But sometimes when you look at me like that, I feel eighteen again. Feel that same terrifying, wonderful certainty that you're it for me. That you've always been it."
"Lou," Harry's voice was thick with emotion.
"No, let me finish because I'm drunk enough to say this properly." Louis pressed closer, face tucked into Harry's neck. "I'm scared of the stunts and the headlines and watching you pretend with other people. But I'm more scared of myself sometimes. Of how much I need you. Of how even after fifteen years, even after everything, I still can't imagine a life that makes sense without you in it."
His next words were muffled against Harry's skin. "And I know that's probably too much. Know we're supposed to be stronger now, more independent, but I just need you," Louis breathed against Harry's neck, hands sliding higher under his shirt. "Need you so fucking much, H."
"Lou," Harry's voice cracked as Louis's fingers traced circles across his skin. "You've got me. Always have."
"Yeah?" Louis's teeth scraped lightly against his pulse point. "Even when I'm being needy and drunk and getting your fancy face stuff everywhere?"
Harry caught Louis's face between his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes despite the face mask now thoroughly smeared between them. "You're the only one who's ever really seen me," he whispered. "Through everything - the fame, the money, the Hollywood bullshit - you've always just seen... me."
His thumbs traced Louis's cheekbones, voice thick with emotion. "That scared little sixteen-year-old kid in the X-Factor bathroom, shaking in his boots but trying so hard to be brave... you saw him. The lost twenty-something in LA trying to figure out who the fuck I was supposed to be... you saw through all of that too."
"H," Louis's hands stilled against his chest.
"No, my turn now," Harry insisted. "Because you're not the only one who's terrified of losing this. You were the first person who ever really believed in me, Lou. The first person who made me feel like maybe I could actually do this, be this. And sometimes I still feel like that kid, you know? Still looking to you to tell me it's going to be okay, that I'm enough just as I am."
His hands slid down to Louis's waist, pulling him closer. "And yeah, we've both fucked up. We've both lost our way sometimes. But you're still the only one who really knows me. The only one I trust to
.the only one I trust to love all of me," Harry's voice wavered as Louis pressed closer on the bed. "The parts I show everyone else, yeah, but also the mess underneath. The insecure bits, the scared bits, the parts that still wake up sometimes wondering if I deserve any of this."
His hands tightened on Louis's waist as Louis shifted to hover over him, mouth finding Harry's neck again. "And I know I disappeared for a while there. Know I got lost in trying to be what everyone wanted. But even then, even when I was at my worst, you were still... still my north star, Lou. Still the voice in my head reminding me who I really was."
"Baby," Louis breathed against his skin, but Harry wasn't finished.
"Need you to understand," he gasped as Louis's hands wandered lower. "Need you to know that I'm just as scared. Just as desperate to keep this. Because you're not just... fuck, Lou... not just the love of my life. You're my best friend. My home. My..."
Louis cut him off with a desperate kiss, messy and uncoordinated, face mask be damned. "Show me," he mumbled against Harry's lips. "Need you to show me."
Harry rolled them over, pressing Louis into the mattress. "Always," he promised between kisses. "Always yours. Only yours."
Louis arched up against him, hands sliding down Harry's back. "Prove it," he challenged, but his voice was soft, vulnerable. "Make me believe it."
What followed was a mess of desperate touches and whispered declarations, both of them needing to reaffirm what they already knew in their bones. Their movements were slightly clumsy - Louis from the alcohol, Harry trying not to get more face mask everywhere and failing miserably - but it didn't matter. It never had, really. They'd learned each other's bodies over fifteen years, knew exactly how to take each other apart and put each other back together again.
Afterward, they meant to clean up. To wash off the remains of Harry's face mask at least. But Louis was already half-asleep, mumbling incoherently about how much he loved Harry, and Harry couldn't bring himself to move. So he just pulled Louis closer, pressed a kiss to his temple, and let himself drift off.
They'd regret it in the morning when they saw the state of their Egyptian cotton sheets - splotched with green tea mask and probably ruined beyond saving. But for now, they slept tangled together, faces pressed close, sharing the same breath like they had so many nights before.
Harry woke first, squinting against the late morning sun streaming through their bedroom windows. He groaned at the sight of green smears everywhere - pillowcases, sheets, even somehow on Louis's shoulder. His face felt tight where the mask had dried overnight.
"Lou," he mumbled, poking his sleeping boyfriend. "Babe, we're going to be late for the twins' lunch."
Louis stirred, blinking slowly before his eyes widened at the state of their bed. "Fucking hell, H. Did we seriously fall asleep with that shit still on your face?"
"You were the one who wouldn't let me wash it off," Harry defended, but he was grinning. "Come on, shower. We've got..." he checked his phone, "fuck, only an hour before we need to leave."
They managed to get ready in record time, though Harry spent entirely too long fussing with his hair and choosing between two nearly identical silk shirts ("They're completely different, Lou, this one's sage and this one's celadon!").
The private hall was beautifully decorated for the twins' birthday, but Harry still hesitated in the doorway, letting Louis enter first. These gatherings always made him a bit nervous initially - the weight of secrecy, the complicated family dynamics, the constant awareness that no one outside these walls could ever know he was here.
"Love?" Louis touched his lower back gently, grounding him.
Harry took a deep breath and followed him in, immediately spotting the twins. At twenty-one, they were proper adults now, but sometimes he still saw echoes of those little girls who used to beg him to play princesses.
"H!" Daisy reached him first, wrapping him in a warm hug. "You made it!"
"Wouldn't miss it," he mumbled shyly into her hair, feeling some of the tension ease. "Happy birthday, love."
"Harry!" Phoebe joined them, holding back slightly because of Olive perched on her hip. The toddler buried her face in her mum's neck, suddenly shy.
"Hi Pheebs," he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "Hi Miss Olive." He wiggled his fingers at the baby, earning a tiny giggle.
Jack Varley stepped up beside Phoebe, offering Harry a friendly handshake. Ryan, Daisy's boyfriend, followed suit.
Harry's eyes caught movement across the room, and his breath hitched. Lottie was there, cradling a tiny bundle he hadn't seen yet except in carefully encrypted text messages. Flossie. His newest niece.
But before he could move that direction, Louis's nan intercepted him. "There's my Harry," she declared warmly, pulling him into a hug that made him feel like that nervous sixteen-year-old boy again, desperate for acceptance.
"Hi nan," he whispered, letting himself sink into her embrace for a moment.
Mark approached next, their handshake carrying the weight of years of complicated history. "Good to see you, Harry," he said quietly, genuine despite the underlying tension that never quite went away.
Harry made his rounds slowly, greeting everyone, but his eyes kept drifting back to the tiny baby in Lottie's arms. He couldn't help it. Three months old, and he hadn't been able to meet her yet. Hadn't been able to risk it.
Lucky crashed into his legs, brandishing a toy car. "Play with me!"
"In a minute, mate," Harry promised, ruffling the three-year-old's hair while his eyes strayed yet again to Flossie.
Lottie had been watching him, he realized, when she suddenly appeared in front of his chair. Without a word, she carefully transferred Flossie into his arms.
"Oh," he breathed, everything else falling away as he cradled her. His hands trembled slightly, overwhelmed by how tiny she was, how perfect. "Hi beautiful girl. I'm your Uncle Harry."
Flossie blinked up at him with those trademark Tomlinson blue eyes, and Harry felt his heart crack open. He traced one finger ever so gently over her cheek, memorizing every detail.
"She likes you," Lottie said softly, watching as Flossie's tiny fingers wrapped around Harry's index finger.
"She's perfect," Harry whispered, voice thick with emotion. He didn't notice Louis watching from across the room, didn't see the knowing look Lottie shot her brother.
"Cars now?" Lucky asked hopefully, tugging at Harry's trousers.
"Just... just give me a minute with her?" Harry pleaded softly, unable to tear his eyes away from Flossie's face. "I haven't got to meet her properly yet."
The naked longing in his voice made Lottie's heart ache. She caught Louis's eye across the room and saw her own sadness reflected there. But Harry noticed none of it, lost in his own little bubble with the baby, swaying slightly as he hummed under his breath.
Louis settled beside Harry on the small sofa, one hand sliding naturally to the small of his back as he leaned in to brush a finger over Flossie's cheek. For a moment, they just breathed together, watching their niece blink sleepily up at them.
"Remember when we used to talk about it?" Harry whispered, so quietly only Louis could hear. "Back in the X Factor house? Three kids, we said. A proper big family."
Louis's hand tightened slightly on Harry's back, his throat working. "Yeah," he managed. "You wanted to name them all after flowers."
"Still do," Harry admitted, his voice catching. He adjusted Flossie in his arms so Louis could see her face better. "Look at her tiny nose, Lou. Just like yours."
"Poor thing," Louis tried to joke, but it fell flat, too much weight behind it.
They sat in silence for a moment, both remembering late-night conversations from when they were barely more than children themselves. Dreams whispered under covers, plans made with the beautiful ignorance of youth. Before they understood just how complicated their lives would become, how many years they'd spend waiting for "someday."
Harry's thumb traced gentle circles on Flossie's tiny palm. "I thought... I really thought by now we'd..." he trailed off, unable to finish.
"I know, love," Louis murmured, pressing closer. "I know."
Around them, the party continued - Lucky zooming his cars across the floor, the twins laughing with their partners, Lottie chatting with their nan. But in their little bubble, time seemed suspended, weighted with fifteen years of delayed dreams.
"Soon," Louis promised, the word barely a breath against Harry's ear. "We're so close, H."
Harry nodded, but his arms tightened fractionally around Flossie, like he could hold onto this moment just a little longer. Like if he just didn't move, didn't speak, he could pretend...
Louis pressed a kiss to his shoulder, grounding him before he could spiral. "They'll have your curls," he said softly. "Our kids. And your dimples."
Flossie chose that moment to yawn widely, her whole face scrunching up, and both men melted.
"Someday," Harry said finally, the word holding all the hope and hurt of a decade and a half of waiting.
Louis's hand found his knee, squeezed gently. "Someday soon," he agreed.
They sat there a while longer, wrapped in their bubble of almost-could-be, while around them their family carefully pretended not to notice the tears gathering in Harry's eyes or the way Louis's hand trembled against his back.
Lottie watched her brother and Harry from across the room, her heart aching at the familiar sight. They'd created their own little world on that sofa, heads bent together over Flossie, but she could read the sadness in every line of their bodies. She'd seen it too many times not to recognize it - the way Harry's shoulders curved protectively around the baby, how Louis pressed closer like he could somehow shield Harry from the weight of it all.
She made her way over slowly, catching fragments of their whispered conversation. "...someday soon..." Words she'd heard them exchange for fifteen years now, always with that same mix of hope and heartbreak.
"Hey," she said softly, perching on the arm of the sofa beside Harry. She ran a gentle hand through his curls, something she'd done since she was thirteen and first figured out it could calm him down.
Harry looked up at her, eyes glossy with unshed tears, and tried to smile. "She's so perfect, Lots," he whispered, voice rough.
"She is," Lottie agreed, watching as Louis's hand tightened on Harry's back. "And she's going to be so spoiled by her Uncle Harry."
"Yeah?" Harry's smile turned a bit more genuine, though his arms stayed tight around Flossie.
"Course she is. Just like Lucky. Just like Olive." Lottie hesitated, then added quietly, "Just like your own will be. When it's time."
She saw Louis's sharp intake of breath, the way Harry's lower lip trembled slightly before he bit it still.
"Lots..." Louis started, warning in his voice.
"I know," she cut him off gently. "I know it's not that simple. But I also know it's going to happen. You two were meant for this - anyone who's ever seen you with kids knows that."
Harry made a soft, wounded sound, and Lottie pressed closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "I mean it, H. The way you've loved all of us, all our kids... you're already the best uncles in the world. And someday, hopefully soon, you're going to be the most amazing dads."
"Think so?" Harry asked, so quiet she almost missed it.
"Know so," she said firmly. "And when that day comes, I'm going to spoil your kids absolutely rotten. It's only fair, after all the presents you've showered on mine."
That got a watery laugh from Harry, and she felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Louis mouthed a silent 'thank you' over Harry's head, his own eyes suspiciously bright.
"For now though," she added, "you can practice all you want with this little miss. She already adores her Uncle Harry."
"Yeah?" Harry's whole face softened as he looked back down at Flossie.
"Yeah," Lottie confirmed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "We all do."
The drive home was quiet, both of them processing the emotional weight of the day. Harry had held Flossie until the very last moment, only reluctantly passing her back to Lottie when they couldn't delay leaving any longer.
Once home, they settled into their evening routine, Louis making tea while Harry curled up on one of the kitchen barstools, watching him with soft eyes.
"Stay here a minute?" Louis asked suddenly, setting down Harry's perfectly made tea (no sugar, splash of oat milk).
Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded, watching as Louis disappeared upstairs. When he returned, he was holding a distinctive red box, and Harry's breath caught.
"Lou..."
"Been planning this for ages," Louis said softly, setting the Cartier box between them. "Fifteen years since our auditions felt right, somehow. The beginning of everything."
Harry's hands trembled slightly as he reached for the box. Inside, the Tank Louis watch gleamed up at him, its blue accents catching the light.
"It's called a Tank Louis," Louis said quietly, watching Harry's face. "Bit on the nose maybe, but..." he shrugged, trying for casual despite the emotion in his voice. "Liked the idea of you having something of mine on your wrist. Even if no one else knows."
"Lou," Harry whispered, voice cracking.
"I know you don't wear watches anymore," Louis continued. "Haven't since... well. But I thought maybe, for this one..."
Harry was already nodding, tears threatening. "Yes. Always yes."
"Look at the back."
Harry turned the watch over carefully, breath hitching as he read the single word engraved there:
home
"Because that's what we've always been," Louis said softly. "No matter where we are, what we're doing, who we have to pretend to be. You're my home."
Harry launched himself into Louis's arms, nearly knocking them both over. "Put it on me?" he asked after a moment, pulling back to wipe his eyes.
Louis took the watch with careful hands, fastening it around Harry's wrist. The blue accents caught the light - their color, the one they'd used to speak without words for fifteen years, now permanently marked on Harry's skin.
"Perfect," Louis murmured, pressing a kiss to Harry's pulse point just below the watch face.
"Never taking it off," Harry promised, turning his wrist to watch the light play off the face. "Let them wonder. Let them ask. This one's staying."
They ended up curled together on the sofa, Harry's head on Louis's chest while Louis traced gentle patterns on his back. Every few minutes, Harry would lift his wrist just to look at the watch again, making Louis smile into his curls.
"Fifteen years," Harry whispered eventually.
"And counting," Louis finished, pulling him closer.
The watch ticked softly between them, marking time the way they always had - together, even when apart, always finding their way home.
Chapter 88: November 2011
Summary:
In which Harry and Louis spend a perfect lazy morning in bed watching boyband countdowns and eating Chinese takeaway, until Harry needs to get some things off his chest and ends up three beers deep at Ed's flat having an emotional crisis about hiding their relationship.
AKA: the one where Harry gets drunk and emotional about having to pretend he and Louis are "just friends" while Ed accidentally writes a hit song about it
Notes:
A massive thanks to Ed for revealing this week that "Friends" was written November 24th 2011. Right after Harry and Louis had attended his show in Manchester. A week after Louis and Eleanor became "official". And TWO DAYS after Harry tweeted about Louis being in his bed.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DIjfED2srkd/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==The lyrics to friends are:
We're not
No we're not friends
Nor have we ever been
We just try to keep those secrets in a lie
And if they find out, will it all go wrong?
And heaven knows no one wants it toSo I could take the back road
But your eyes will lead me straight back home
And if you know me like I know you
You should love me, you should knowFriends just sleep in another bed
And friends don't treat me like you do
Well, I know that there's a limit to everything
But my friends won't love me like you
No, my friends won't love me like youWe're not friends
We could be anything
If we try to keep those secrets safe
No one will find out
If it all went wrong
They'll never know what we've been throughSo I could take the back road
But your eyes'll lead me straight back home
And if you know me like I know you
You should love me, you should knowThat friends just sleep in another bed
And friends don't treat me like you do
And I know that there's a limit to everything
But my friends won't love me like you
No, my friends won't love me like youBut then again, if we're not friends
Someone else might love you too
And then again, if we're not friends
There'd be nothing I could doAnd that's why friends should sleep in other beds
And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do
And I know that there's a limit to everything
But my friends won't love me like you
No, my friends won't love me like you
Oh, my friends will never love me like you
Chapter Text
"Haz," Louis whispered, poking Harry's cheek. "Harold. Your alarm's been going off for ten minutes."
Harry burrowed deeper into his pillow, batting Louis' hand away. "Five more minutes."
"That's what you said five minutes ago," Louis laughed, but Harry could hear him settling back down too. "We've got that meeting at eleven."
"Mmm, plenty of time," Harry mumbled, finally cracking one eye open to find Louis propped up on an elbow, watching him with fond exasperation. "What time is it?"
"Half eight. But we need to-"
Harry cut him off by grabbing his waist and pulling him back down. "Plenty of time," he repeated, grinning as Louis squawked in protest.
"You're a menace," Louis declared, but he was already curling closer, tangling their legs together. "Absolute worst influence."
"Says the one who suggested we get a flat together after knowing each other for like, two months."
"Best decision I ever made though, wasn't it?" Louis said, softer now.
Harry's heart fluttered. "Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to Louis' shoulder. "Was alright I suppose."
"Alright?" Louis gasped in mock offense. "Just alright? After I make you tea every morning and everything?"
"Speaking of..." Harry trailed off hopefully.
Louis groaned but was already sitting up. "You're lucky you're cute, Styles. Don't move - I'll be right back."
Harry watched him pad out of the room, wearing just pants and one of Harry's t-shirts that was slightly too big on him. The sight made his chest feel too full.
When Louis returned with two steaming mugs, he found Harry had turned on the TV and was scrolling through channels.
"Oh sick, there's a boyband countdown starting on 4Music," Harry said excitedly, making grabby hands for his tea.
"What happened to that meeting we have?" Louis asked, but he was already settling back into bed, careful not to spill as Harry immediately attached himself to his side.
"Called Liam, he said they pushed it to tomorrow," Harry mumbled into his tea. "Something about Simon being in LA."
"You little liar," Louis said delightedly. "You haven't called anyone."
"Have too!" Harry protested, reaching for his phone. He pulled up his recent calls, showing Louis the 2-minute conversation with Liam from earlier. "See? Eight fourty-three. He said Paul texted him about it."
Louis squinted at the screen. "Well look at you being all responsible. Suppose we really can stay in bed then."
Harry beamed, settling more comfortably against Louis' side as they focused on the TV. The countdown was just starting, and Harry couldn't resist pulling out his phone again.
"What are you doing now?" Louis asked, peering over his shoulder.
"Making the fans happy," Harry grinned, shifting so his head was properly resting on Louis' chest as he typed: "@Louis_Tomlinson just came and got in my bed with a cup of tea. Backstreet Boys are on 4Music... Typical Wednesday."
"It's Tuesday, you muppet," Louis laughed, already reaching for his own phone. His fingers flew across the keys as he tweeted back: "@Harry_Styles Nice tweet mate. Shame you don't even know what day it is. P.s embarrassing I'm tweeting you sat right next to you ha!"
Harry giggled, deliberately stretching his long legs across Louis' lap as he typed his response: "@Louis_Tomlinson that's my knee...."
"You're actually the worst," Louis said fondly, but his free hand came to rest on Harry's knee where it was indeed sprawled across him. "Now shush, they're starting the countdown."
They settled in properly, shoulders pressed together as the host started introducing the top 20 boybands of all time. Louis immediately started arguing with every placement.
"Blue at number 20? That's actually criminal. And who even are O-Town?"
Harry just smiled into his tea, watching Louis get increasingly passionate about the injustice of it all. His hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up at odd angles, and Harry couldn't resist reaching out to fix it.
"Oi, leave off," Louis batted his hand away. "I'm trying to educate you about proper music history here. Did you know Take That literally changed the face of British pop music?"
"You might have mentioned it once or twice," Harry teased. "Or seven hundred times."
"Well someone's got to teach you these things. You're basically a baby."
"Am not! I'm seventeen!"
"Exactly. A tiny infant." Louis pinched his cheek. "My little baby popstar."
Harry retaliated by jabbing Louis in the ribs where he knew he was ticklish, leading to a brief wrestling match that ended with both their mugs precariously balanced on the bedside table and Louis pinning Harry to the mattress.
"Say uncle!"
"Never!" Harry laughed, squirming as Louis threatened his ticklish spots. "Lou! Stop!"
"Say Take That is the greatest boyband of all time!"
"Take That is the greatest boyband of all time!" Harry gasped out between giggles.
Louis released him with a triumphant grin, flopping back beside him. "See? Was that so hard?"
"You're actually mental," Harry said fondly, immediately curling back into Louis' side. "Oh shut up, Westlife's coming on!"
They spent the next few hours like that - commenting on the countdown, sharing memories of songs they grew up with, Louis teaching Harry all the classic boyband choreography he insisted was essential knowledge. When Harry's stomach growled around one, Louis just reached for his phone to order their usual from the Chinese place down the street.
"We should probably get dressed at some point," Harry mused as they shared spring rolls in bed, careful not to get sauce on the sheets.
"Probably," Louis agreed, making no move to do so. "But this is nice, isn't it? Just us?"
Harry's heart squeezed at the slight vulnerability in Louis' voice. With everything ramping up - the American deal, the tour announcement, the increasing pressure from management about their public image - these quiet moments felt more precious than ever.
"Yeah," he said softly, pressing closer to Louis' warmth. "Just us is perfect."
Harry had managed to drag himself away from Louis around seven, after promises of dinner together later and several lingering kisses that made him almost late meeting Ed. The day in bed had been perfect - exactly what they needed with everything getting so complicated lately. But there was a heaviness settling in Harry's chest that even Louis' warmth couldn't quite chase away. He needed to talk to someone who wasn't in the middle of it all, someone who wouldn't worry about him the way Louis did.
Ed's door was already cracked open when Harry arrived, the sound of FIFA and swearing drifting into the hallway.
"Oi, dickhead!" Harry called out, pushing his way in. "You're letting all the heat out."
"Like I can afford heat," Ed shot back from where he was sprawled on his ratty sofa, controller in hand. "Close it yourself if you're bothered."
Harry kicked the door shut, dropping onto the other end of the sofa and immediately putting his feet in Ed's lap. "Thought you were meant to be proper famous now? Can't even spring for heating?"
"Spent it all on beer," Ed grinned, gesturing to the six-pack on the coffee table. "Speaking of - grab us one while you're lounging about like a princess."
Harry flipped him off but reached for the beers anyway, tossing one to Ed before cracking his own open. "Who're you playing as then?"
"Arsenal. They're getting absolutely battered."
"Shocking that," Harry deadpanned, earning himself a kick. "Want me to show you how it's done?"
"Rather eat glass. Last time you played you somehow managed to score on your own team. Twice."
They fell into their usual rhythm - taking the piss out of each other, fighting over the last beer, Ed telling increasingly ridiculous stories from tour while Harry tried to separate fact from fiction. It felt normal in a way nothing had lately.
Three beers in, Harry got quiet. Ed noticed - he always noticed when Harry's energy shifted - but he waited, letting the silence stretch between FIFA matches until Harry was ready.
"They want us to start dating girls," Harry finally said, picking at the label on his bottle. "Proper dating, not just... not like before."
Ed set down his controller, turning to face Harry properly. The younger boy looked small suddenly, curled in on himself at the end of the sofa.
"Lou's got Eleanor already," Harry continued, voice barely above a whisper. "And now they want me with Caroline Flack. Keep dropping hints in interviews, making it seem like..." He trailed off, running a frustrated hand through his curls.
"Mate," Ed said softly, understanding dawning. He'd seen it happening - everyone in the industry had - but hearing the weight of it in Harry's voice made it real in a way the rumors hadn't been.
"We thought-" Harry's voice cracked slightly. "We thought if we just worked hard enough, if the music was good enough, they'd let us... but now with America..." He took a shaky breath. "Everything's getting bigger and we're getting smaller. Does that make sense? Like the more famous we get, the less room there is for us to just..."
"To just be you," Ed finished when Harry couldn't.
Harry nodded, eyes suspiciously bright. "Sometimes I look at him and it hurts, Ed. Because he's right there, sleeping in my bed, making me tea, looking at me like... like..." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "But we can't ever just be that. We have to pretend we're just mates who happen to live together. And I'm scared that one day we'll pretend so long we'll forget what's real."
Ed was quiet for a moment, processing. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. "You won't forget. The real stuff - that's not something you can fake or forget. Trust me, I've seen enough industry relationships to know the difference."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And hey," Ed nudged Harry's leg, "maybe someday..."
But Harry was already shaking his head. "Can't think about someday. Have to think about right now. About keeping him safe, keeping the band safe." He attempted a weak smile. "Just gets heavy sometimes, you know?"
Ed reached for another beer, handing one to Harry too. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know. Not here."
Harry took a long drink, his hands slightly unsteady. "It's just... sometimes I look at other couples, normal couples, and I get so angry I can barely breathe. They get to hold hands in public. Get to say 'I love you' without checking who's in the room first." He laughed, but it came out bitter. "Did you know I have to pretend to fancy girls in interviews now? Lou has to... he has to push me into it, make jokes about me and Caroline so it seems natural."
"That's fucked," Ed said quietly.
"Yeah. And the worst part is he's good at it. At all of it. The deflecting, the jokes, the..." Harry swallowed hard. "Sometimes I watch him with Eleanor and he makes it look so easy. And I know - I know it's killing him inside but he does it to protect me. To protect us. But I'm shit at it, Ed. I can't... my face gives everything away and I hate lying and-"
"Hey," Ed cut in, seeing Harry working himself up. "Breathe, mate."
Harry took a shaky breath. "Sorry. It's just... we're supposed to be living this dream, right? Number one single, American deal, world tour coming up. But sometimes it feels more like..." He trailed off, searching for words.
"Like you're acting in someone else's dream?"
"Yeah. Exactly that." Harry slumped further into the sofa. "And the thing is, I'd do it all again. Choose him again, choose this life again. Even knowing what it costs. Is that mental?"
"Nah," Ed said softly. "That's love, innit? The real kind. The kind worth protecting."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, rolling his empty bottle between his palms. "What if we lose it though? What if all this pretending, all these secrets... what if one day it's too much?"
"You won't-" Ed started, but Harry cut him off, words tumbling out faster now, fueled by beer and fear and everything he'd been holding back.
"No, but that's the thing - if it all goes wrong, no one would ever even know. We'd just... keep smiling in interviews, keep pretending we're just best mates who drifted apart. The fans would move on, management would be thrilled, and no one would ever understand what we..." His voice cracked. "No one would know how hard we fought for it. How many nights we spent planning how to make it work, how many times we chose each other even when it hurt. They'd never know about the tea in bed or the way he holds me when it gets too much or-"
He broke off, running both hands through his hair roughly. "Just like they don't know now. They don't see how happy he makes me, how real it is. All they see is what we're allowed to show them. And sometimes I think that's worse, you know? Because if we make it - if we actually build something real through all this - no one will ever know that either. No one will understand what it took to get there."
Harry's voice had gone quiet, almost desperate. "We could be anything, Ed. If we could just... if people would let us try. But instead we have to keep all these secrets and pretend and hope it doesn't break us. And the whole time we're smiling for cameras and answering questions about girls we don't even..." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Sorry. I'm proper drunk now, aren't I?"
Ed watched Harry curl further into himself, mumbling about needing to "man up" and "stop being such a baby about it," and knew he'd let his friend get too far into his head - and his beer.
"Right," Ed said, pulling out his phone. "I'm texting Lou."
"No!" Harry sat up too quickly, swaying slightly. "M'fine. Just being dramatic. He's got enough to deal with, doesn't need me falling apart over stuff we can't change."
"Mate," Ed said gently, "he'd want to know."
"Please don't," Harry's voice was small. "I'm supposed to be the strong one sometimes too, aren't I? Can't always be him taking care of me."
But Ed was already typing: Might want to come get your boy. Had a few too many and getting in his head about everything.
The response was immediate: omw. 10 mins. thank you x
Harry had slumped back into the sofa, eyes closed, still muttering about how he needed to "get it together" and "stop being so fucking sensitive about everything." Ed's heart ached watching him try to make himself smaller, trying to pack all that emotion back inside.
When the knock came less than eight minutes later, Harry didn't even open his eyes. "Told you not to call him."
"Yeah well, when have I ever listened to you?" Ed said, opening the door to reveal Louis, slightly out of breath like he'd run the whole way.
Louis took one look at Harry curled up on the sofa and his face softened into something so tender Ed had to look away.
"Oh love," he said quietly, crossing the room in quick steps. "What are we going to do with you, eh?"
"'m sorry," Harry mumbled as Louis crouched in front of him, hands immediately going to Harry's knees. "Didn't mean to ruin your night."
"Shut up," Louis said fondly, pushing Harry's curls back from his forehead. "Nothing to be sorry for."
Ed watched from the doorway as Louis coaxed Harry to sit up, murmuring soft things that made Harry's tense shoulders gradually relax. It was like watching someone gentle a frightened animal - all careful touches and patient words.
"Can you stand for me, love?" Louis asked, and Harry nodded, though he swayed when Louis pulled him to his feet.
"Steady," Louis caught him easily, like he'd done it a hundred times before. Maybe he had. "Ed, mate, thanks for looking after him."
"Course," Ed said, throat tight watching Harry curl into Louis' side, trying to make himself small enough to fit under Louis' arm despite being taller. "Get him home safe, yeah?"
Louis nodded, already steering Harry toward the door. "Text when you get in tomorrow. We'll have you round for dinner properly."
"Lou," Harry protested weakly, "everyone will see..."
"Let them," Louis said firmly, but Ed caught the way his arm tightened around Harry's waist. "Nothing wrong with having a mate over for dinner, is there?"
The last thing Ed heard as they disappeared down the hallway was Louis' soft "I've got you, love" and Harry's even softer "I know."
Ed stood in his doorway for a long moment after they'd gone, something heavy settling in his chest. He grabbed his guitar, the words already forming - about secrets and friendship and love that had to hide in plain sight. Someone ought to tell their story, even if no one would know who it was about.
Chapter 89: Current Day
Summary:
In which Louis and Harry navigate their carefully constructed life in London, complete with ice baths, staged PR relationships, and a song that's a bit too honest for comfort.
Chapter Text
"Passport sorted?" Louis called from their bedroom, methodically folding his clothes into his battered leather suitcase. "Both of 'em?"
"Got 'em," Harry's slow drawl drifted up from downstairs. "And my laptop, and all the stuff for the meetings with James..."
Louis smiled to himself as he heard Harry moving through their house, the familiar sound of him checking and double-checking everything. Some things hadn't changed since their touring days - Harry was still dead methodical about packing, still needed to do his mental inventory out loud.
"Left Mrs. Whittaker's instructions on the fridge," Harry continued, voice getting closer. "And put fresh sheets on all the beds..."
"Love," Louis interrupted, unable to keep the fond exasperation from his voice, "she's been looking after that house longer than we've had it, yeah? Think she knows what she's doing by now."
Harry appeared in the doorway, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I know, I just... we'll be gone over a month this time."
Louis understood the unspoken anxiety behind those words. A month of separate cities, separate lives. He crossed to Harry, sliding his hands under the worn t-shirt he was wearing.
"Got this week though, haven't we?" he reminded softly. "And I'll come to Berlin for a bit when I'm done in LA. And you can come out to Costa Rica when you have some time."
Harry nodded, swaying slightly into Louis's touch. "'s just... Erskine's different, innit? Having to be so careful all the time."
"I know, baby." Louis pressed a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "But it's better these days now that you've gotten that injunction. No more nights of sneaking through back gardens like we were in some spy film."
That got a proper laugh from Harry, dimples flashing. "Oh god, remember when we had to coordinate with three different security teams just to get you in that one time?"
"Worth it though, weren't it?" Louis's hands traced familiar patterns on Harry's skin.
They finished packing in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of fifteen years' practice. Louis watched as Harry made one final circuit of the house, touching each doorframe like a blessing, whispering goodbye to their home in that soft way of his that still got to him sometimes.
The drive to London was quiet, both lost in their thoughts. Harry was reviewing his notes for the different meetings he had coming up, occasionally muttering "umm" and "like" under his breath as he practiced what he wanted to say. Louis just watched him, drinking in these moments while he could.
The gate to Erskine House lowered smoothly behind their car, and Louis felt Harry shift beside him, that familiar tension creeping back into his shoulders. The hydraulic lift raised silently from the ground, and their Louis expertly maneuvered onto it. As they descended into the underground garage, his hand found Louis'.
"Home sweet home," Louis said softly as they emerged into the house proper. Despite everything they had to do to stay hidden, Erskine was pure Harry. The pink door leading to the garden, the vibrant art covering nearly every wall, the way sunlight streamed through carefully placed windows - it was Harry distilled into architectural form, wasn't it?
"At least the kitchen's nice," Harry offered with a little giggle, clearly trying for lightness as they carried their bags upstairs. "You love those vines on the wallpaper."
"Whole place is nice, you goof." Louis set his bag down, pulling Harry close.
Harry buried his face in Louis's neck. "Just... like, sometimes I wish we had the best of both worlds. The privacy of the Budsworth house but the location of this one."
"Someday," Louis promised, the word holding more hope than fact. "people won't care where we live anymore. For now though, we've got this week. And that ridiculous shower with a disco ball you had put in."
That got another giggle from Harry, dimples on full display. "Are you, um, trying to tell me something?"
"Maybe." Louis waggled his eyebrows dramatically. "Fancy helping me test the water pressure?"
Harry was already tugging him toward the ensuite. "Well, it would be like... irresponsible not to make sure everything's working properly since we haven't been here in a while..."
Later, curled together in Harry's ridiculous California King bed ("It's sustainable bamboo, Lou!" "Course it is, love."), Louis traced the lines of Harry's tattoos.
"You seem better," he said quietly. "About the album stuff. More settled, like."
Harry hummed thoughtfully. "The new contract helps. Having more control over... everything, really. And Jeff's been different since the renegotiation. Less..." he waved a hand vaguely.
"Less of a twat?" Louis supplied, making Harry snort.
"Something like that." Harry caught Louis's wandering hand, bringing it to his lips. "Still wish I could be honest about some things though."
Louis squeezed his hand, understanding all the things Harry wasn't saying. The careful dance they still had to do, the web of contracts and NDAs that kept them bound in silence.
"One day at a time, yeah?" he murmured against Harry's curls. "We've managed fifteen years. We can manage a bit longer, can't we?"
Harry nodded, pressing closer. "Stay with me until you have to leave for LA?"
"Try and stop me," Louis promised, pulling him closer. "Though we might need to test that shower again tomorrow. Just to be thorough, like."
Harry's giggle echoed through the quiet house, and for a moment, Louis could almost forget about the walls around them, the gates and security systems keeping them hidden.
They ended up sprawled on Harry's ridiculously plush sofa, Louis propped against the arm with Harry between his legs, back to chest. The new series Harry had been banging on about, Adolescence, played on the massive TV screen.
"This is proper dark, innit?" Louis commented, fingers absently carding through Harry's hair as they watched the young actor playing Jamie being processed at the police station.
"Mad fucked up," Harry agreed. "But like, important though? Shows how quick it can happen."
"Still," Louis shifted slightly, pulling Harry closer. "Bit close to home, watching a thirteen-year-old Yorkshire lad getting caught up in all that."
Harry twisted to look up at him, green eyes serious. "That's what makes it matter though, innit? Could be anyone's kid."
Louis pressed a kiss to his temple, understanding the weight behind Harry's words. They'd both seen the dark side of online spaces, watched as their young fans sometimes got pulled into toxic mindsets.
Later, they migrated to the back garden, safely hidden behind the high stone walls. Louis settled into one of Harry's posh outdoor chairs (that he'd actually picked out himself, though the magazines always credited Harry's "unique aesthetic"). He lit up while Harry sprawled next to him in a matching chair.
"Give us a hit then," Harry said, his real accent coming out stronger the way it always did when it was just them, especially when they smoked together. All those careful PR lessons about "proper" English falling away.
Louis passed the joint with a fond smile. People would probably be shocked to hear Harry swearing like a sailor and speaking pure Northern, so different from his careful public persona. But this was the real Harry - the one who could match Louis curse for curse, who'd grown up working class in Holmes Chapel, who only really let his guard down like this when they were alone.
"Remember doing this on the roof in Princess Park?" Harry asked after taking a long drag, passing the joint back.
"Getting proper mashed and thinking we'd solved all our problems?" Louis laughed. "We were right little philosophers up there, weren't we?"
"Fucking hell, we were," Harry snorted. "Still are though, yeah? Just... different problems now."
Louis took another hit, letting the smoke curl up toward the stars. "Different problems, same solution though, innit?"
"Yeah?" Harry looked at him, eyes soft. "What's that then?"
"Us," Louis said fondly.
They passed the joint back and forth, talking shit and watching the stars like they had since they were teenagers. Harry's garden smelled of jasmine and weed, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly, peacefully right.
"Love you," Harry mumbled, then immediately tried to grab Louis's snapback off his head.
"Oi!" Louis ducked away, nearly falling off his chair. "Love you too, but hands off the hat."
Harry pouted dramatically. "But Lou, it looks better on me anyway."
"Oh, that's how it is?" Louis raised an eyebrow, passing the joint to Harry before launching himself at him. "Think you look better in my clothes, do you?"
"Always have," Harry cackled, trying to dodge while taking a hit, both of them nearly tipping the chair over.
"You little shit," Louis wheezed as Harry blew smoke in his face. "Still a proper brat after all these years."
"Still easy to wind up," Harry shot back, finally managing to snag the hat while Louis was distracted by steadying the chair.
"Right, that's it-" Louis dumped Harry unceremoniously onto the grass, following him down to pin him. They wrestled like teenagers, both laughing too hard to be effective.
"Quit pulling my hair, you dick!"
"Stop kneeing me in the balls then!"
"I did not- ow, fuck, the grass is wet!"
They ended up sprawled side by side on the damp grass, joint forgotten in the ashtray, still giggling occasionally.
"Remember when you pushed me in the pool at that villa in Spain?" Harry asked, poking Louis's ribs.
"Remember when you got us kicked out of that posh hotel because you tried to ride the luggage cart down the hall?"
"That was your idea!"
"Yeah, but you're the one who crashed into that plant thing-"
"It was an antique vase actually-"
"Even worse!"
"We should probably go in," Harry mumbled eventually, making no move to get up from where he was practically lying on top of Louis.
"Probably," Louis agreed, tightening his arms around Harry instead. "Bit damp out here."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Yours, obviously. Always starting fights-"
"Me?" Harry pushed up on his elbows to look at Louis incredulously. "You literally tackled me!"
"Because you stole my hat-"
Harry shut him up with a kiss, both of them smiling too much to make it proper. "Everything's ours, isn't it?" he mumbled against Louis's lips.
"Yeah," Louis said softly, suddenly serious despite their playfulness. "Always has been. Always will be."
The next morning, Louis lounged in bed watching Harry get ready, amused as his boyfriend struggled to coordinate his limbs into the matching blue velour tracksuit he'd picked out.
"You look like a right posh mobster," Louis commented, grinning as Harry nearly tripped trying to get the joggers on.
"Shut up," Harry mumbled, but he was smiling. "S'comfy. And like... street fashion. Like you like."
"Whatever you say, love." Louis stretched lazily, enjoying the domestic moment. "What time you meeting Gems?"
"Nine-thirty at that new place she's obsessed with," Harry said, trying unsuccessfully to tame his curls. "Then James at eleven."
Louis snorted. "Bet he's already got the paps lined up outside the café."
"Course he has," Harry sighed, but there was fond resignation in his voice. He grabbed his yellow tote bag - the one from that art exhibiton - and crossed to the bed. "You'll be here when I get back?"
"'Course," Louis pulled him down for a proper kiss. "Now go on, before Gemma starts sending those passive-aggressive texts she's so good at."
After Harry left, Louis forced himself to get up and make some calls. Matt picked up on the second ring.
"Already working? It's not even ten," Louis greeted him.
"Some of us work regular hours," Matt shot back good-naturedly. "Ready to sort next week?"
"Yeah, about that - can you get me that same villa in Malibu? The one from October?"
"Should be able to. You want the usual security setup?"
"Please. And make sure the studio time's locked in. Want to get as much done as possible before Coachella."
"About that," Matt's tone shifted slightly. "Simon Jones called. Something about Zara maybe coming out for it?"
Louis felt his stomach drop. "Fuck's sake. All the way to LA?"
"Want me to push back?"
Louis scrubbed a hand over his face. "Nah, I'll call him later. Just... focus on the villa and studio for now, yeah?"
After hanging up, Louis stared at his phone, debating whether to call Simon now or wait. The thought of turning his LA time - his proper working time - into another PR circus made his skin crawl. But that was part of the deal, wasn't it? There was too much riding on this to get pissy about it now.
Louis took a deep breath before hitting call, watching the late morning sun stream through Harry's windows.
"Darling!" Simon's voice came through, overly cheerful. "I was hoping you'd ring."
"Yeah, well. Matt mentioned something about LA plans?"
"Just a tiny adjustment to your schedule. Zara's team reached out-"
"Course they did," Louis cut in, already feeling his jaw tighten. "Look, I've got studio time booked, Coachella plans-"
"Which is perfect timing, really. She's got a launch scheduled for her fashion brand. Very organic to have her join you at-"
"No." Louis's voice went firm. "Not Coachella. That's proper work, Simon. Building my festival reputation after Glasto. You know that."
There was a slight pause. "We need something substantial, Louis. The public's not buying it. The Daily Mail comments are brutal - they're calling it the most obvious PR relationship since Katie Price and-"
"Good! Let them think that."
"That's not how this works and you know it," Simon sighed. "Look, poppet, we've been doing this dance since you were a teenager. I know you hate it-"
"Hate's a bit mild, considering you're the one who wrote half those bloody contracts in the first place," Louis cut in, but there wasn't real venom in it anymore. Just old wounds they both knew wouldn't ever really heal.
"And I'm the one who knows how to work around them now," Simon reminded him. "The game's changed, darling. You've got more control these days."
Louis snorted. "That why you're still trying to choreograph my love life?"
"I'm trying to protect you. You and him both." Simon's voice softened slightly. "Speaking of, Jeff called-"
"Course he did. Full Stop needs to back off. We agreed-"
"They agreed to help manage this situation. Now, I've worked out a schedule. Tuesday arrival, Stereophonics concert that night-"
"At least you picked a decent band," Louis muttered.
"You love them and you know it. One breakfast post the next morning - just a sneaky little pic with you in the background-"
"She's not staying at the villa."
Another pause. "Louis-"
"Non-negotiable. She gets her own place. Limited time. I'm there to work, Simon."
"Fine. But we need some proper PDA for the goodbye scene. Pete suggested-"
"Pete? Pete Wicks? What's he got to do with any of this?"
Simon went quiet for a moment too long. "Ah. Well. He and Matt have been coordinating some of the coverage-"
"Heads up - Going to be some proper awkward photos coming out of LA x"
Harry's response took longer this time, but when it came, it was trying for lightness: "Trust me. They won't be more awkward than the EmRat spectacle 😂"
"I'm sorry, love," Louis typed back, serious now.
"Hey, no. We knew this was coming. I'll write a proper song about it later x"
"Better not be a breakup song this time."
"Depends how tragic the kiss looks 😘"
"Fuck off," Louis texted back, grateful for Harry's ability to make him smile even now. "Love you x"
"Love you too x"
Louis found Harry in their kitchen that evening, sleeves rolled up past his mermaid tattoo, humming what sounded suspiciously like a new melody while he chopped herbs. The kitchen smelled like garlic and wine, and something was bubbling gently on the ridiculous six-burner range that Harry had insisted on.
"That better not be that vegan bolognese again," Louis called from the doorway.
Harry didn't turn around, but his shoulders relaxed visibly at Louis's voice. "It's proper mince this time. I'm not trying to poison you."
"Debatable, that." Louis crossed the kitchen, sliding his arms around Harry's waist from behind, pressing his face between sharp shoulder blades. "What's all this then?"
"Thought you might need comfort food after Simon." Harry's knife kept moving steadily through fresh basil. "How bad was it?"
Louis tightened his hold slightly. "About what you'd expect. Full Simon special - guilt trips, manipulation, brought up the girls' show. Even dragged Pete Wicks into it somehow."
The knife paused. "And?"
"And I have to kiss her." Louis felt Harry go very still. "Just once, outside the villa. Jesal's shooting it."
The knife started moving again, harder now, the steady thump against the cutting board sharper. "Right."
"H..."
"No, it's- we knew this was coming." But Harry's voice had that careful neutrality that Louis hated. "At least Jesal has always made you look good."
"Baby." Louis tugged gently until Harry turned in his arms. Harry's eyes were suspiciously bright, his dimples nowhere to be seen. "Talk to me properly."
Harry set the knife down carefully, precisely. "I hate it," he said quietly. "I hate that they get to touch you, that the whole world gets to see it, that I have to sit there and watch while some- some Love Islander gets to-" He broke off, taking a shaky breath. "Dr. Thompson says I need to work on my possessive tendencies."
"Think your possessive tendencies are quite fit, actually," Louis said, making Harry laugh despite himself.
"You would." Harry's hands came up to frame Louis's face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. "Just... promise me something?"
"Anything."
"Don't... don't let her make you laugh. The pictures, the pap walks, whatever. Just... that's ours. Your real laugh, the crinkly one." Harry's voice went quiet. "I can handle the touching, probably, but I can't- I can't watch you laugh with her. Not like you do with me."
Louis's heart felt like it might crack open. "Hey." He stretched up on his toes, pressing their foreheads together. "None of it's real. You know that. No one gets the real me but you. No one ever has."
"I know. I do. I just..." Harry's breath hitched. "Sometimes I wish we could just-"
"Yeah," Louis said softly. "Me too, love."
They stood there for a long moment, breathing each other's air, before Harry pulled back with a determined sniff. "Right. Well. This sauce isn't going to cook itself, and you need feeding up before the studio." He turned back to his herbs, but kept one hand linked with Louis's. "Tell me about the rest of the schedule?"
Later, after Harry had thoroughly distracted Louis from his guilt with his mouth and hands and a particularly creative use of their shower, they lay tangled in their ridiculous bed, Harry's head on Louis's chest while Louis played with his hair.
"At least she's not Briana," Harry mumbled against Louis's skin.
Louis snorted. "Low bar there, love."
"Mmm. Still want to push her off a cliff sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
"M'working on my anger management too." Harry's fingers traced swirls on Louis's stomach. "Dr. Thompson says I need to 'process my feelings about your co-parenting dynamics' or something like that."
"Bet that went well."
"Told her I'd process my feelings when Briana stopped holding Freddie over your head." Harry's voice had gone sharp again. "Or selling stories to the Sun."
Louis pressed a kiss to his hair. "My fierce little lion."
"Shut up." Harry pinched his side. "By the way you're doing the ice bath with me tomorrow."
"Absolutely fucking not."
"Please?" Harry propped his chin on Louis's chest, giving him the full force of those ridiculous green eyes. "Before you go to the studio? It'll be good for your voice. And my anxiety."
"That's emotional manipulation, that is."
"Is it working?"
Louis groaned. "Fine. But only because I love you."
"Love you too." Harry stretched up for a proper kiss, slow and deep.
Morning came early - far too early for Louis's taste as Harry practically carried him to the garden where the ice baths waited.
"This is actual torture," Louis complained, teeth chattering as he lowered himself in. "Proper medieval torture. They used to do this to witches, you know."
"It's good for you," Harry said serenely from his own bath, looking irritatingly peaceful with his hair piled up in a bun, sleep shirt clinging to his shoulders. "Reduces inflammation, helps with stress, increases blood flow..."
"You know what else increases blood flow? Not freezing your bits off at dawn."
"Three minutes. You can do anything for three minutes." Harry's eyes were closed, face tilted to catch the morning sun. "Focus on your breathing."
Louis looked at Harry - all long lines and familiar tattoos, morning light catching on his eyelashes - and felt that familiar surge of love that fifteen years still hadn't managed to dull.
Later, dressed and prepped for the drive to the studio, Louis kissed Harry against their kitchen counter, tasting like coffee and protein shake. "Try not to stress about LA while I'm gone, yeah?"
"Me? Stress?" Harry's dimple appeared as he straightened Louis's collar. "Never."
"Right, because you're so zen about everything."
"Exactly." Harry kissed him again, soft and quick. "Go write something beautiful. I'll have dinner ready when you get home."
"Nothing vegan," Louis warned, grabbing his keys.
"Can't promise that." Harry followed him to the door, leaning against the frame in his running gear. "Might do that cauliflower thing."
"Gross." Louis stole one more kiss. "Love you."
"Love you too. Drive safe."
As Louis pulled out of their gated drive, he caught Harry in the rearview mirror, still in the doorway in his ridiculously short shoorts, hand raised in goodbye. Some days their lives felt impossibly heavy, but moments like this - quiet and domestic and entirely theirs - made it all worth fighting for.
His phone buzzed at a red light - a text from Harry: "Left you a surprise in your studio bag. Some inspiration for today x"
Louis smiled, already knowing it would be Harry's latest song notes, probably some silly polaroids, definitely at least one dirty sketch. Harry's way of saying 'come home to me' without words.
He typed back quickly: "Better not be another bloody green juice"
"No promises 😘"
Louis slouched into the familiar leather chair in the control room, still buzzing slightly from the ice bath's aftermath. Matt was already there, coffee in hand, while Nic fiddled with some settings at the board.
"You look disgustingly healthy," Matt observed. "What happened to the Louis who used to show up hungover with McDonald's?"
"Harry's got me doing ice baths now," Louis admitted, rolling his eyes when both men burst out laughing. "Oi, shut it."
"Ice baths?" Nic wheeled his chair closer. "What's next - sound healing? Crystal meditation?"
"Don't give him ideas." Louis pulled out his notebook. "He's already got me drinking these green things with actual grass in them."
"Domestic bliss suits you though," Matt said, softer now. "You seem steady."
Louis hummed noncommittally, but couldn't quite hide his smile. "Right then. Shall we?"
He'd been working on this one for weeks, letting it simmer between sessions. The melody had come first, something gentle and aching that had woken him up at 3AM. Then the lyrics, piece by piece, like excavating something that had always been there.
"It's called 'You'," he said, trying for casual as he handed over the lyrics. "Sort of a... looking back thing. But forward too?"
Matt's eyes scanned the page, his expression shifting subtly. Nic was already picking out the melody on piano, humming softly.
"'Fifteen years of borrowed time,'" Matt read aloud. "'Every secret space between your fingers and mine...'"
"Too much?" Louis asked quietly.
Matt looked up. "Louis..."
"The bridge is beautiful," Nic cut in, still playing. "'When they ask me who I love, I'll tell them half-truths, but you'll know - every song is just for you...'"
"It's not..." Louis ran a hand through his hair. "It's about growing up in love, isn't it? Could be about anyone."
"Could be," Matt agreed carefully. "But 'green eyes in morning light'?"
"Lots of people have green eyes."
"'Anchor me down when the world's too bright'?"
Louis's hand went unconsciously to his rope tattoo. "It's poetry, innit? Metaphors and that."
Matt set the lyrics down. "The timing, Lou. With everything coming up..."
"So I'll release it later. After his album comes out."
"You know it's not that simple."
"Why not?" Louis's voice went sharp. "Why can't I just- why can't I write one fucking song that's real?"
A heavy silence fell. Nic had stopped playing.
"Lou," Matt said carefully, "the line about 'boys like us have to fight for happy endings'... it's beautiful, but-"
"But what?"
"Too risky," Matt corrected gently. "Especially with the timing."
"The whole point," Louis's voice cracked slightly, "the whole fucking point is that it's about finding happiness anyway."
"I know." Matt leaned forward. "But maybe this isn't the right time. Let's focus on the other tracks - the ones about your fans, about fame, about family. We can revisit this one when we're finalizing the tracklist. Who knows what things will look like by then?"
Louis knew that tone. It was Matt's 'letting you down easy' voice. The same one he'd used the first time Louis had mouthed 'I love him' on stage instead of 'I love it', the one he'd used when Louis had wanted to donate to the Trevor Project, about a dozen other almost-moments of truth.
"You mean who knows if I'll still be under their thumb by then?" The bitterness tasted familiar on his tongue.
"Louis..." Nic started.
"No, you're right." Louis grabbed the lyrics back, crumpling them slightly. "Silly me, thinking I could actually say something real for once."
"Everything you write is real," Matt said quietly. "But this is part of my job, Lou. Managing you when you don't want to be managed."
Louis thought of Harry that morning, sun on his face in the ice bath. Thought of his goodbye kiss, his promised dinner. Thought of LA looming ahead, of cameras and staged kisses and pretending.
"Right then." He shoved the lyrics in his back pocket. "Shall we work on 'The Pretender' instead? That one's nice and straight, yeah?"
Matt's smile was sad. "We can take a break if you need-"
"Nah." Louis slumped back in his chair, the fight draining out of him. "Let's just... let's just work."
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