Chapter Text
Tuesday 23:00
“Alright, that’s me done for tonight,” Niall said, leaning back in his chair, one hand still resting near the controls. “Thanks for sticking with me, as always.”
He grinned, glancing over at Louis who just came in.
“It’s Tuesday, so you know the drill. Few songs coming up, and then I’m handing you over to the one and only Louis Tomlinson for the late night shift—”
He paused, looking over at Louis.
“—God help you all.”
Louis flipped him off from the sofa.
Niall laughed, shaking his head. “See you tomorrow, same time. Don’t do anything stupid. Good night, love you all.”
He pressed the button, the mic cutting off as the music faded in smoothly.
Niall exhales, long and tired, pulling his headphones off and dropping them around his neck.
“Jesus,” he mutters, stretching his arms out. “I’m exhausted.”
Louis gets up from the sofa. “You say that every day.”
“Yeah, and every day I mean it,” Niall shoots back, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long sip before turning to him.
“I should be allowed to hang up on people,” he muttered. “How do you deal with it? You encourage them.”
“Yeah,” Louis shrugged, smirking. “That’s the fun part.”
“You’re sick in the head, you are.”
Louis grinned. “If it’s a good story, I’m not interrupting.”
Niall grabbed his phone, shoving it into his pocket. “All yours, mate.”
Louis nodded toward the empty chair by the mic. “You wanna stay? Co-host with me?”
Niall let out a loud laugh. “Oh, absolutely not. Not a chance in hell.”
“Common, I’ll let you press buttons and everything.”
“I love you,” Niall added, shrugging on his jacket, “but I’m not sitting through three hours of your nonsense. I’m going home.”
Louis lifts a hand in a lazy salute. “Alright, mate. Have a good night.”
Niall pointed at him, “Don’t stay out too late, yeah? And eat something. You look like you’ve been surviving on cigarettes again.”
Louis rolled his eyes. “Get out. Good night, Niall.”
“Good night, wanker.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the studio quieter, just the low hum of the music and the soft buzz of the equipment.
Louis sat there for a moment, listening.
Then he pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the mic.
Wednesday 00:30
Louis had always been a talker.
According to his family, the second he learned how to talk, he just never shut up.
Questions, stories, opinions, commentary on everything. If there was silence, Louis filled it. If there wasn’t, he’d talk over it anyway.
And the best part?
He was actually good at it.
People listened.
He had timing. Knew when to push, when to joke, when to drop something that made people think. It wasn’t something he learned, not really. It just… worked for him.
So, naturally, he leaned into it.
Drama club, debate teams, open mics in pubs where half the crowd didn’t even look up from their drinks. Louis did all of it. Anywhere there was a mic and even the slightest chance someone might listen, he was there, running his mouth.
And when he had bills to pay, he realized that he could get paid for talking.
He started small.
Local radio stations no one actually listened to unless their car got stuck on that frequency. The kind where the equipment cut out if you breathed wrong and the only callers were the same three people every week.
Louis didn’t give a shit. A mic was a mic.
A paycheck was a paycheck.
He bounced around a lot in those early years. Co-host here, guest segment there, filling in for people who couldn’t be arsed to show up.
Slowly, his voice started to stick. People began recognising it. Not his face, not even his name at first, just that voice.
People would call in just to say they’re a fan. Clips from his segments were in the background of slime videos going viral on TikTok.
Then came the better stations.
Bigger audiences. Expensive equipment. Producers who cared about numbers and branding and all that serious stuff Louis tried very hard not to take the piss out of. He learned how to play the game just enough to keep his spot, but never enough to lose what made him worth listening to in the first place.
By the time people actually started knowing his name and face, it didn’t feel like some big, life-changing moment.
And then he got the offer.
A late-night slot.
Once a week. The night between Tuesday and Wednesday, 2:00-5:00
Louis nearly said no. Because, honestly, who the hell is awake at 2 in the morning, willingly listening to the radio?
Turns out, loads of people.
And they were a different kind of audience.
The night felt different. Conversations went deeper, sometimes a bit too honest. People said things they’d never admit in daylight, and Louis, nosy bastard that he was, ate it up.
He talked about everything. Random thoughts, stupid stories, half-formed opinions he came up with on the spot. Sometimes it was funny, sometimes it was just him yapping absolute shit to fill the silence.
And yeah, every now and then, a swear word slipped out.
Alright, more than every now and then.
But at 3:25 in the morning, no one was exactly rushing in to tell him off.
So every week, like clockwork, Louis sat in that studio, headphones on, mic in front of him, and just… talked.
Wednesday 02:00
Louis slid into the chair, dragging the mic closer with one hand while grabbing his water with the other hand.
He put the headphones on, adjusted them, then tapped the mic twice, looking at the producer on shift with him.
He gives a thumbs up. The red light blinked on.
“Alright,” he said, settling in. “Okay… hi. Hello. Good night? Good morning, technically? Depends how you’re living your life, I guess.”
He let out a small breath, getting comfortable.
“It’s Louis. You already know that, unless you’ve accidentally tuned in, in which case, welcome. it could get weird, but stay.”
A quiet chuckle.
“So. It’s been a week since I last sat here and had a chat with you lot, yeah? And, um… I’ve got stuff on my mind. Nothing groundbreaking. Just… thoughts. Let’s say thoughts of the week.”
He leaned back slightly, spinning a pen between his fingers.
“Which is funny, because I feel like I’ve got loads to say… and also absolutely nothing at the same time. You ever get that?”
He huffed a laugh.
“So yeah. This might be a bit of a ramble. Just me yapping and hoping it makes sense by the end.”
He tapped the desk lightly.
“Right. So. I guess I just wanna explain where I’ve been at, mentally. Because it’s been a little…” he tilts his head, “—all over the place lately.”
He clears his throat.
“I don’t know if anyone else is feeling this right now, yeah? But everything just feels a bit… off. Like something’s not quite right, but you can’t point at anything and go, ‘that’s it. That’s the problem.’”
He snorts softly.
“Awful explanation. But it’s accurate. I’ve been trying to stay busy. Doing stuff, ticking boxes, being productive—look at me, thriving, smashing life, yeah?”
He clicks his tongue.
“And it works. For a while. You feel like you’ve got your shit together. Then you stop for, like, five minutes… and it all just comes back anyway. So I think, I’ve just been avoiding actually sitting with it. Which is probably why I’m here, talking your ears off at…” he glances at the clock, “—what, nearly three in the morning?”
A quiet laugh.
“But yeah. I can’t really ignore it anymore. And don’t worry, this isn’t about to turn into some dramatic breakdown. I’m not gonna start crying, we’re alright.”
He moves in his seat, more relaxed now.
“I feel like sometimes I come on here and act like I’ve got everything sorted. Like I know what I’m doing, I’ve got it all figured out, giving advice and that. Truth is, I don’t have a clue half the time. Most of the time, actually.”
He lets that hang.
“And I think right now it’s just… I feel a bit stuck. Like I don’t really know what I’m doing or where I’m going. And I hate that. I need direction. Even if it’s a shit one, at least I can pretend I’m in control.”
He rubs his jaw, thinking.
“But right now it just feels like I’m floating around. And I don’t know if that’s because things are changing, or I’m changing, or… both. Probably both, let’s be honest.”
He leans forward slightly.
“And there’s this weird pressure, yeah? To always be doing something. Always moving, improving, achieving. And if you’re not doing that, then suddenly you’re ‘falling behind.’”
A pause.
“Behind who, though? Genuinely. Who are we racing? What’s the finish line? Where is it?”
He shakes his head, amused.
“I swear I’ve been comparing myself to people without even realising it. Just seeing what everyone else is doing and thinking, ‘oh right, I should be doing more. I should be doing something else.’”
He exhales.
“And it’s exhausting. No matter what I do, it never really feels like enough. And I know that’s not exactly… healthy.”
He taps the desk.
“And yeah, logically, you know you’re only seeing part of it. No one’s posting their worst days or their breakdowns or whatever. But even knowing that… it still gets to you, doesn’t it?”
He lets a short moment of silence sit.
“So yeah. That’s kind of where I’ve been at. Just trying to figure out how to exist without constantly feeling like I’m not doing enough… or not being enough.”
He smiles to himself.
“I’ve also realised I’m absolute shit at just… doing nothing.”
He snorts.
“Like, if I’m not doing something, I feel guilty. Even if I’m exhausted . Even if I need the rest. So I’ll sit there, trying to relax, and all I can think about is everything I should be doing instead. And suddenly it’s not even a break anymore, it just feels like I’m procrastinating.”
A quiet laugh.
“And then you feel worse. Love that.”
He looks at the comments on the screen, seeing a few agreeing with him.
“I think I’ve tied a lot of my worth to how productive I am. Which, again, not great. Wouldn’t recommend.”
He clicks his tongue.
“But knowing that and actually changing it? Completely different story.”
He rolls the pen between his fingers again.
“And I’ve been a bit… disconnected, I think. From myself. Just going through the motions. Doing what I think I should be doing instead of what I actually want. And I didn’t even see it at first. It just kind of built up. And now I’m sat here like… I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
He lets out a quiet, almost amused exhale.
“Which is a bit terrifying, not gonna lie. I used to feel a lot more certain about things. Or at least I thought I did. And now everything is just a bit more… blurry.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it just means things are changing. I don’t know. Still figuring that one out.”
He taps the desk lightly again, then leans a bit closer to the mic.
“I think loads of people are probably going through this sort of stuff,” he said, twirling the pen between his fingers, “and just… not talking about it. Because how do you even explain it? And that’s annoying, because how are you meant to fix something you can’t even name?”
He let the question sit for a second.
“But I do think it matters not to ignore it. Even if you don’t have answers yet. Even if all you know is something feels a bit wrong.”
He nodded to himself.
“Sometimes just admitting it is step one. And I’m trying to do that more instead of my usual method, which is shoving everything away, slamming the door, and hoping it sorts itself out. Shockingly…”
He leaned into the mic.
“That does not work.”
He laughed under his breath.
“It works for a while, yeah. You distract yourself, stay busy, keep moving. But it always comes back. And usually louder.”
He rolled the pen slowly through his fingers.
“So yeah… I think I’m just trying to be a bit more honest. With myself, and with you lot.”
He shrugged.
“Because that feels better than pretending I’m fine all the time. I don’t always want to show up like I’ve got it together. Like I’m switched on, sorted, in control, saying the right thing.”
He snorted.
“Because I’m not. Half the time I’m winging it. Sometimes very convincingly.”
He tapped the desk.
“But seriously, I don’t have everything under control. And that’s… fine.”
He sat with that for a second.
“I think I’m still learning how to be okay with not knowing what the hell I’m doing. Not having every next step planned out. Which is hard, because for years I thought security meant having a plan.”
He counted on his fingers.
“Know where you’re going. Know what’s next. Have answers. Seem organized.”
He looked down at the desk.
“But maybe that’s not security. Maybe security is trusting yourself a bit. Trusting that if things go sideways, get messy, fall apart, confuse the life out of you…”
He lifted one shoulder.
“You’ll deal with it. You’ll sort it when it gets there.”
Another small shrug.
“You always do, don’t you?”
He smiled slightly.
“Even if right now that sounds like complete bullshit.”
He laughed.
“But that’s kind of the point. Not everything comes with a clear answer. Some stuff just needs time.”
He smiled to himself.
“I’m trying to be more patient with myself. Not expecting every feeling to make sense immediately. Because it probably won’t. And that’s okay.”
He stopped.
“I keep saying that, don’t I? But I think I need to hear it as much as anyone else.”
He adjusted the mic a little closer to his mouth.
“So yeah… no massive conclusion tonight. No life changing wisdom. Sorry to disappoint. I just needed to talk. Needed to get it out of my head. And if you’ve been feeling something similar lately…”
He tapped the desk twice.
“Hopefully you feel a little less weird and alone with it.”
He glanced at the screen in front of him.
“Right then. I’m gonna play a song, then when we’re back, lines are open and I’ll take some calls.”
He reached for the fader.
“You’re listening to Cigarette Before Bed with Louis Tomlinson. Don’t be going anywhere.”
Wednesday 3:32
“Alright, welcome back,” Louis said. “To those of you still with me at this ungodly hour. Either you’ve got insomnia, terrible judgement, or excellent taste.”
He took a sip of water.
“Now then.” He straightened in his chair. “It is time for my personal favourite segment of the night.”
He pressed the button and the sound effect played. “Am I the Problem?”
He grinned.
“If you’re new here, first of all, where’ve you been? Second of all, this is where you call in, tell me all about whatever mess you’ve landed yourself in, and I, a man with absolutely zero qualifications, decide whether you are, in fact… the problem.”
He glanced at the screen. “And look at that, we’ve already got someone waiting on the line.”
He hit the button.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice came through. “Hi Louis… how are you?”
“I’m good, darling. Appreciate you asking. How’re you doing?”
“Bit stressed, honestly.”
“Perfect,” Louis said instantly. “Talk to me.”
She laughed nervously.
“Before I start… let me just say it might sound ridiculous, but be gentle with me.”
Louis leaned back. “No promises, love. You asked the wrong man for gentle.”
She laughed again.
“Okay, so I’m twenty two, my boyfriend is twenty six, and we’ve been together just over two years. We recently moved in together.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve always been a picky eater, especially with tomatoes.”
Louis blinked. “Strong start.”
“Ever since I was a kid, my dad would make my spaghetti separate from everyone else’s.”
“Already worried.”
“I like having an essence of the sauce flavour on the noodles, but not the overpowering flavour of noodles swimming in sauce.”
Louis froze. “I’m sorry…”
He leaned toward the mic. “An essence?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. We’ve hit a level of nonsense early tonight.”
She laughed.
“I know how it sounds.”
“No, because how it sounds is insane.” He sat back. “Carry on.”
“So my dad used to put sauce on the pasta, then separate mine and rinse the sauce off in a strainer.”
Louis smacked the desk.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“He rinsed it off?”
“Yes!”
“And everyone just accepted this?”
“Well… in my house, yeah.”
Louis laughed so hard he had to pull back from the mic.
“Your family failed you, respectfully.” He cleared his throat dramatically.
“So ever since my boyfriend and I moved in together, he insisted on doing all the cooking. Everything was fine, and whenever we had noodles, he always seemed to make mine the way I liked them. But last week we had spaghetti again, and after dinner he started teasing me.”
Louis perked up. “Uh-oh.”
“He kept saying stuff like, ‘Did you enjoy your tomato essence, baby?’”
Louis snorted.
“And he kept doing finger quotes around the word essence. So after a while I asked if he done anything differently with my noodles this time.”
“And?”
“He started laughing.”
Louis winced. “Oh no.”
“When he finally stopped, he said, ‘I didn’t do anything differently. I’ve never made it the way you asked.’”
Louis sat upright. “Sorry?”
“Apparently this whole time, he’s just been giving me plain noodles. He said if I didn’t notice for this long, then it clearly doesn’t matter, and it’s easier for him this way.”
Louis made a face. “Oof.”
“I think the lying was a huge breach of trust,” she said. “And refusing to make dinner how I wanted was disrespectful. He thinks I’m overreacting and need to let it go.”
A pause.
“Am I the problem?”
Louis inhaled slowly. “How open are you to hearing my actual opinion?”
There was another pause. “Give it to me,” she said.
“Dangerous request,” Louis replied. “Alright then.”
He cleared his throat. “First things first. The idea that putting pasta sauce on noodles and then rinsing it off leaves behind some essence of tomato flavour…”
He paused.
“…is ridiculous.”
She groaned. “Oh my God. I knew you’re not going to let this go.”
“And more importantly,” he continued, “it’s a waste of perfectly good pasta sauce.”
She didn’t even try to defend herself.
“I’m serious. Your dad basically taught you to waste food while also convincing you that you were tasting something that, respectfully, was probably all in your head.”
“Louis!”
“No, no, stay with me.” He leaned closer to the mic. “You can absolutely be annoyed at your boyfriend for lying. Fair enough. We’ll get to him in a second.”
“Okay…”
“But the fact you didn’t notice the difference…”
He let that sit. “…is fairly strong evidence he was right.”
She sighed loudly. “I hate you.”
“You called me,” he said calmly.
She laughed again.
“It sounds like a placebo effect, love. You believed it was there, so it was there.”
“Oh my God, I’m being attacked.”
“You’re being educated.” He adjusted the mic. “So yes, you feel betrayed. Understandable.”
“But if we’re being honest, I think you should also be a bit embarrassed that you were asking someone to coat your pasta in sauce… then rinse it off in the sink.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad.”
He grinned. “Now. Your boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“He’s not the problem for refusing to waste pasta sauce on this nonsense.”
She laughed again.
“He is the problem for being a dick about it.”
“Exactly!”
“He lied to you and mocked you.” Louis shook his head. “If he thought it was silly, he should’ve just said that from the start.”
“Yes!”
“And I can’t tell you who to date,” Louis added, “but personally? I wouldn’t be with someone who lies to just to have the upper hand over spaghetti.”
“Fair.”
He tapped the desk once.
“So, final verdict. He’s not innocent. But…”
“Oh no.”
“Unfortunately, babe…”
He smiled into the mic.
“You are the problem.”
She sighed. “Thanks, Louis.”
“Anytime, darling. Stay safe.”
Louis sat back, shaking his head.
Wednesday 03:55
“Moving on from that nonsense, we’ve got another listener on the line.”
He straightened a little. “Hello?”
A man’s voice came through. “Hi Louis, how are you lad?”
“Doing great, mate. Appreciate you asking.” Louis grinned. “You ready to tell us the story?”
“Sure am.”
“Alright then.” Louis leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”
The man cleared his throat.
“I’m a twenty nine year old male. Moved in with my lovely twenty five year old girlfriend a few months ago, and we’ve been dating about a year before that.”
“Right.”
“She’s an excellent cook, really funny, life with her’s been great… but since this incident she’s been a bit snappy with me.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”
“She always liked making what she calls ‘fancy drinks’ in big Mason jars to drink round the house. Now mind you,” the caller continued, “I used to be a bartender. Her drinks are not fancy.”
Louis laughed.
“She’ll squeeze lemon into water, chuck some ice in it, maybe make green tea and cool it in the fridge with mint, stuff like that.”
“Sounds refreshing, to be fair.”
“Yeah, but the jars are what gets me. She saves them from groceries. Peanut butter jars, bean jars, whatever’s a big glass jar, she keeps it.”
Louis shakes his head. “I can already tell where this is going and I don’t like it.”
“Before moving in,” the man said, “I asked about the jars because I thought it was strange. She owns normal glasses.”
“Mm.”
“She said the jars are bigger, so she drinks more water and doesn’t forget during the day.”
Louis nodded slowly. “That makes complete sense.”
“At the time,” the caller went on, “I assumed it was some weight loss thing she didn’t want to say because she’s a little bit chubby, so I let it go.”
Louis sat upright. “Sorry?”
A pause.
“You what?”
“I just assumed—”
“No no no, I heard you.” Louis rubbed his face. “Carry on, but I need you to know the red flags are flashing in here.”
The man laughed nervously.
“Now I’ve moved in, the jars started annoying me more and more. She doesn’t keep every one, but she’s got maybe ten on the shelf, and it felt like a waste of space in our small kitchen.”
“Ten jars,” Louis repeated. “In her kitchen too, yeah?”
“Our kitchen.”
“Mm. Continue.”
“So earlier this week I was tidying up while she was asleep and I just… threw them out.”
Louis went still. “You threw them out.”
“Yeah.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Mate.”
“I think the kitchen looks much better now,” the man said quickly. “More storage for pots, and she can still make the drinks in normal glasses.”
Louis stared into the distance.
“She was pissed,” the caller admitted. “I’ve never seen her so mad.”
“Rightfully so.”
“Her main point was the jars never bothered anyone and it was none of my business.”
“And?”
“But I live there too now, so I think it is.”
Louis let out a long breath. “Okay.”
“During the argument,” the man continued, “and this is where I may be the problem…”
Louis laughed once. “May be?”
“I said it was stupid to need special containers just to drink flavoured water, and that she’s only doing it to lose weight anyway.”
Louis closed his eyes. “Oh, mate.”
“She went really quiet after that and walked away. I gave her time to get over it, but it’s been a few days and she’s still moping around. And I noticed she doesn’t seem excited about making her drinks anymore.”
Louis’s expression changed slightly. “And now you feel bad?”
“Yeah.”
“But,” Louis said, “you still think you were right.”
“I mean… we live there together. I don’t want jars all over the kitchen.”
Louis nodded slowly. “Right.” He adjusted the mic and leaned in. “Let me tell you something, mate.”
The caller went quiet.
“She has one thing. One harmless little thing she likes, that makes her day a bit nicer, that affects absolutely no one. She drinks lemon water out of jars.”
The man gave a small laugh.
“No, I wouldn’t laugh just yet,” Louis said. “Because those jars weren’t hurting you, were they?”
“No.”
“They weren’t costing you money.”
“No.”
“And if anything, she’s reusing them and saving money. So let’s be clear,” Louis continued. “You had absolutely no right to throw out something that belonged to her without asking.”
“Yeah…”
“You waited till she was asleep and binned them.”
“When you say it like that…”
“I’m saying it exactly like it is.”
The caller sighed. “Fair.”
Louis’s tone stayed calm, but firmer now. “Then we get to the weight comment.”
A pause.
“There was no reason for that.”
The line stayed silent.
“None.”
“It just came out.”
“Yeah, and that happens,” Louis sat back slightly. “You were losing the argument, you were frustrated, and you went there.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I believe you,” Louis said. “But you did.”
Another pause.
“So yes, my friend…” He smiled faintly. “You are the problem.”
The caller groaned. “Thought you might say that.”
“Of course you did. You knew before you called.”
That got a laugh.
“But,” Louis added, “you’re not beyond saving. Yet.”
“Alright. What do I do?”
“Easy. You apologise.”
“Right.”
“You tell her you were disrespectful, you were out of line, and you’re sorry.”
“Got it.”
“Then…” Louis grinned. “You buy her flowers.”
The caller laughed.
“And then you go get her a brand new set of jars. The biggest ones you can find.”
“Understood.”
“And one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Never use the phrase ‘she’s moping around’ again when describing someone upset because of something you did.”
The caller groaned loudly.
“Yeah, alright.”
“Good lad.”
“Thanks, Louis.”
“Anytime, mate.”
Louis reached for the button. “Go save your relationship.”
The line clicked off and Louis looked at the screen, messages flying in.
He read a few silently, then laughed. “Bloody hell. You all think I went easy on him.”
He shook his head. “Right, I’m gonna play a song, let everyone calm down, and then we’ll take one last call of the night.”
He slid the fader up. “You’re listening to Cigarette Before Bed.”
Wednesday 04:30
Louis pushed the fader up and switched the mic back on.
“Alright,” he said smoothly. “We are back.”
He glanced at the clock. “Last caller of the night. And I’m hoping, praying, begging it’s not another bloke looking for reassurance after emotionally terrorising his girlfriend.”
He pressed the button.
“Hello?” A voice came through, deep and slow. “Hi… my name is Harry, and actually…”
Louis smiled instantly.
“Ah, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re not supposed to say your name.”
There was a sharp inhale on the other side of the line. “Oh. Sorry. Shit. I’m new here, I didn’t know.”
Harry sounded genuinely distressed by it.
Louis’s voice softened straight away.
“No, no, no. Relax. You’re alright.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Louis said warmly. “Honestly, you’re fine. You know my name. I might as well know yours.”
Harry let out a small breath. “Okay. Thanks.”
“There he is,” Louis said smiling.
Harry giggled quietly.
“So,” Louis continued, leaning back in his chair, “what were you going to say before I scared you?”
Another little laugh.
“I was going to say… I’m actually a gay man, so there’s no girlfriend to terrorize.”
Louis grinned. “Well that is excellent news.”
Harry laughed again, obviously more relaxed now.
Louis glanced at the messages coming in. Half of them were already obsessed with him.
“Right then, Harry. What’s got you calling?”
“Well,” Harry said, measured and careful with every word, “I heard the last story, and mine is sort of similar, so I thought I’d ring in.”
“Good choice.”
“But clearly I don’t know how this works.”
“You’re doing brilliantly,” Louis said. “Just give us your age, the age of the other person involved, and tell me what’s bothering you.”
There was a small breath on the line.
“Okay. I’m twenty eight.”
“Right.”
“And my thirty two year old husband and I have been married for a year.”
Louis blinked. Husband.
“We were together almost two years before that.”
Louis sat up a little. “Need to interrupt immediately.”
Harry laughed.
“I’m a gay man myself, so I’m already rooting for you two.”
Harry laughed again. “Thank you.”
“Go on.”
“Well… I’ve always liked what you could probably call grandma hobbies.”
Louis smiled.
“I like staying home, baking, taking care of my herb garden…”
Louis put a hand to his chest. “Harry.”
A pause.
“You sound adorable.”
Harry laughed, embarrassed.
“Please don’t say that.”
He smiled to himself. “Carry on, love.”
“A little while after we started dating, I picked up knitting.”
“Of course you did.”
“And after we got married, I got more serious about it.”
“So about a year ago?”
“Yeah.”
Louis shook his head. “You might be the most wholesome caller we’ve ever had.”
Harry giggled.
“A few months ago I watched a tutorial on knitting a blanket, and I decided to make a full size one for me and my husband to use.”
Louis groaned softly. “That’s so sweet of you.”
“Well… it’s quite difficult,” Harry said. “And it takes ages.”
“Fair enough.”
“It’s been a few months, and I still wasn’t done.”
Louis nodded. “Big project. I’m with you.”
Harry went a bit quieter.
“The thing is… I do get a little lost in things I enjoy.”
“Mm.”
“So I might have been spending too much time on the blanket and not enough time with my husband.”
Louis’s tone stayed gentle. “Alright. How much is too much, though?”
“I was excited about it,” Harry said. “So whenever I wasn’t working or doing house things… I was knitting.”
“Okay.”
“And he got a bit upset.”
Louis nodded slowly. “Right.”
“I think I pushed him to his limit a few days ago.”
“What happened?”
There was a pause.
“When I came home from work…” Harry’s voice dropped. “My blanket was gone.”
Louis’s expression changed instantly.
“Sorry?”
“And all my knitting supplies.”
Louis sat forward. “No.”
“I asked him where they were.”
“Harry…”
“And he said he threw it away because it was taking too much time and attention away from our marriage.”
Louis raised his voice. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“And he took the rest of my supplies,” Harry continued, “and said I’m only allowed access to them when he isn’t home or when he’s busy doing his own things.”
Louis nearly hit the table.
“What?”
Harry gave a tiny nervous laugh. “So… I guess I’m asking…”
A pause.
“Am I the problem for getting too lost in my hobby and neglecting my husband?”
Louis blinked once.
Then twice.
“Wait.”
He leaned toward the mic, voice suddenly very soft. “Harry… you think you’re the problem here?”
Louis could feel the headache forming.
He had this sweetheart of a man on the line. A married sweetheart of a man on the line. And now Louis had to be the one to tell him that the man he clearly loved enough to spend months making a blanket for… sounded like a controlling arsehole.
Louis rubbed a hand over his face.
“Harry, darling, I really need you to listen to me for a second.”
The line went quiet for a second.
“Okay.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
A pause.
“Having a hobby isn’t wrong. Enjoying something isn’t wrong. Spending time making something lovely for your husband is definitely not wrong.”
Harry didn’t answer straight away.
“I just…” he said quietly. “I might’ve hurt his feelings.”
“Maybe,” Louis said softly. “That can happen in relationships.”
Harry went quiet again.
“People feel left out sometimes. People get a bit neglected sometimes. It happens.”
“Yeah…”
“But when that happens,” Louis continued, calm and steady, “you talk about it.”
“You say, ‘I miss you.’ You say, ‘Can we have more time together?’ You say, ‘I’m feeling a bit pushed aside lately.’”
He tapped the desk once.
“You do not throw someone’s hand knitted blanket away.”
Harry let out a tiny breath.
“And you definitely do not tell a grown man when he’s ‘allowed’ to use his own knitting supplies.”
“I think he was trying to help us,” Harry said softly. “He knows what’s good for me… and for our marriage.”
Louis’s jaw tightened.
“No.No, love.” His tone stayed warm, but louder now. “That’s not how love works. No one gets to decide what’s good for you on your behalf. No one gets to manage your hobbies, your time, your things.”
A small silence followed that.
“I just thought maybe I needed boundaries,” Harry said quietly.
“Boundaries?” Louis said gently. “Boundaries are agreed on together. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And I need you to hear something else,” Louis said.
“What?”
“You’re allowed to get excited about silly little things. And for the record,” Louis added, “a handmade blanket is not a silly little thing.”
Harry laughed softly.
“I just wanted to make him something nice.”
“I’m sure you did.” Louis’s voice softened even more.
“He can be really good to me,” Harry said after a moment.
“I’m sure he can,” Louis replied. “That doesn’t make this okay, though.”
Harry was quiet.
Louis glanced up through the glass. The producer was tapping the clock and making the wrap it up motion.
He looked back down.
“Harry, sweetheart, I’ve got about thirty seconds before they physically remove me from this building, so listen, you are not the problem.”
Harry’s breathing caught slightly.
“Okay.”
“Talk to him. And if he listens, apologises, and changes, good. If he doesn’t…”
Louis paused.
“Then you’ve got some thinking to do.”
Harry was quiet for a long second.
“Thank you,” he almost whispered.
Louis smiled. “Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Make as many blankets as you want.”
Harry laughed. “Yeah. I will.”
“Good lad.”
“Thanks, Louis.”
“Anytime, darling. Good night everyone.”
Wednesday 05:03