Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He could do it. He could remove the lid and throw the coffee all over Joe’s smug face. What would be the worst thing that could happen? He’d be fired? Didn’t seem like a big deal since he was five seconds away from quitting anyway.

Although, the worst thing that could happen was probably third-degree burns and criminal charges, and Louis quickly decided the arsehole wasn’t worth that.

That acknowledgement dampened his mood even further, so he tried to focus on what Joe was droning on about if only to find an opening to quit.

“… wrong in my life! It’s not fucking hard. Large vanilla almond milk half-shot latte. Large vanilla almond milk half-shot latte! That’s all you had to say, and you couldn’t even do that, could you? I’m so fucking sick of being sent incompetent personal assistants!” Joe’s eyes shut and he took a deep, shuddering breath that didn’t diminish the ruddiness of his cheeks or the shake in his hands. “Okay, Louis.” It seemed like he was trying to soften his tone, but it just sounded condescending. Condescending was the best version of him that Louis had seen in the two weeks. It was the closest to decent that his new, soon-to-be-ex, boss could get. “Say it for me, lad. Repeat back my order and then go and get me another one and we can let this whole thing go.”

This wanker couldn’t be serious. Louis rubbed the back of his neck and blinked slowly at him. Joe’s stormy eyes darted to something or someone behind him, but Louis couldn’t give a shit. In fact, having an audience would only make this more satisfying. “Actually, mate, if you’d considered using your mouth for anything other than insulting your employees and stuffing it with cake from the lunch room - which, need I remind you, wasn’t even yours to eat - and instead asked me why there wasn’t any vanilla in your coffee I would have told you. See, when I went to order that filth you insist is coffee but really is just a vanilla milkshake that you add a dash of coffee to so you feel like a grown-up, they told me they had no vanilla syrup.”

Louis glanced down as Joe’s fists balled up before looking back at him and cocked a brow. “Then you should have gone som-”

“I hadn’t finished speaking,” Louis said and looked down at Joe’s fists again. He was clamping them so tightly that he was cutting off the blood circulation, and his knuckles were turning white. Louis couldn’t contain a smirk. “Firstly, mate, you planning on punching me or what? Please don’t let me stop you if you are, as I’d appreciate the payout.”

Joe’s jaw clenched shut to the point it looked painful. As it fucking should. But he unclenched his fists.

“So, this is the time you choose to show restraint? Fucking perfect.” The niggling little internal voice that Louis was fighting to ignore pointed out how that payout would have been the only thing that would make quitting a good idea at all. Louis tried to reason with it, he’d rather be destitute than continue to put up with this shit for the next forty years. “Anyway, the reason I didn’t try somewhere else was that the only other cafe within a kilometre radius is closed for renovations. Given that the breakroom has a full bottle of vanilla syrup, I was going to suggest that.”

“It’s not the fuc-”

“Instead,” Louis continued, brows raised, “I’m going to suggest that you take that bottle and shove it up your arse, along with this job. In fact, why don’t I write out my resignation now, so you have something physical to ram up there? Any bricks around? Maybe I could write it on that.”

There were some masculine-sounding rumbles, gasps, and chuckles behind him, and he was glad they were enjoying the performance.

“I apologise profusely, gentlemen.” It was Joe’s business voice, which should have been more appealing than his condescending one, but it felt slimy whenever Louis had the displeasure of being exposed to it. “I’ll be with you in a moment, we’re just finishing up here.”

“We’re done, actually,” Louis corrected and was glad he got his sister, who happened to be a lawyer, to look over his contract the night before, even if it meant listening to her list all the reasons he shouldn’t quit. “Because I am still on probation, I’m not required to give any notice. I expect my final payment to be deposited into my account as planned and expect to be paid up to and including,” Louis’ glanced at his watch, “Two-thirty on Wednesday. I’ll be taking no further questions at this time.” Louis tilted his head after he said it, vaguely aware it was a ridiculous thing to say. Then he shrugged his shoulders to himself and figured it made him seem important, and he’d take it.

He turned on his heels and shot a grin at the men on the sofa, who must have been the audience he was entertaining as he strode out of the office.

“Wait!” a deep voice called out.

There was no reason they'd be talking to Louis, but he paused and looked over anyway. One of the men was already walking over to him.

Louis took in his appearance. The bloke was quite tall and built, with short brown hair. The most notable thing about him was that he looked eerily familiar, but Louis couldn’t place him. He looked around Louis’ age, though, and from what Louis could see, he had a fairly impressive collection of tattoos, enough to rival his own, so they might have run in similar circles. Despite the tattoos and muscles and blatant attempt at looking edgy, his face, although attractive, had an approachable puppy-dog quality. “Al’ight?” Louis had veered his body towards him once he’d realised the guy had been talking to him.

“What’s your name?” he asked Louis.

Louis didn’t appreciate the demanding nature of the question, but the guy looked so harmless that he doubted he’d meant it to sound that way. “Louis.”

“Liam,” Liam said and held out his hand.

After a firm shake, Louis retracted his own. Louis bent his head a little to encourage Liam to explain what he wanted, but Liam didn’t say anything. Instead just seemed to be taking him in. Liam looked straight, and Louis immediately chastised himself for even thinking it. Every time he told someone he was gay was almost always met with a chorus of ‘No way!’s, and ‘I had no idea!’s. Even so, Louis wasn’t convinced that was why Liam was checking him out; regardless, he didn’t have time for it. “Nice to meet ya, Liam, but I was in the middle of a dramatic exit. Was ready to slam the door and everything. So unless I can help you with something, I might get back to that.”

“No, sorry. Just wait a minute.” Liam motioned to the others on the sofa, and two of the remaining three came over.

Again, they both looked familiar, but Louis couldn’t work out how he knew them. “Yeah?” the one with dark hair asked Liam.

“This is Louis.” Liam motioned to him, which seemed fairly redundant because they’d have to know who Liam was talking about him. “And this is Zayn,” he said to Louis, gesturing to the dark-haired one. “And this is Niall.” He thumbed to the blonde one on his other side.

Zayn and Niall looked just as confused as Louis felt, and they all looked at Liam.

Liam blew out a breath, sounding irritated. “He’s the answer to our problem.”

“What?” Zayn looked from Liam to Louis, and his expression was just as bewildered as Louis. “Why?”

“How?” The blonde one, Niall, asked. Louis was sure he detected an accent, but it was hard to tell after just one word. He seemed somewhat out of place among the others. Zayn, like Liam, had visible tattoos and managed actually to look edgy, unlike Liam’s poor attempt. On the other hand, Niall was blonde, well-groomed and had no hint of grunginess.

“He has PA experience.”

Zayn snorted a laugh. “The kid just swore at his boss and quit. I don’t think that’s his best selling point.”

Louis wanted to call Zayn out for calling him a kid but honestly couldn’t be fucked. The reality of being jobless was starting to sink in. The agency was going to be pissed at him. They couldn’t expect him to give up his dignity daily to work for that piece of shit. It would be fine because he’d be able to work something out. He always did.

Well, what do you think?” Louis was so lost in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realise that Liam had directed the question to him.

“What do I think about what?” Louis asked.

“You didn’t even tell him,” Niall said to Liam, and Louis was glad he hadn't just not been listening.

“Oh, shit, right. Louis, do you want to come and work for us?”

“Sorry, what? Why would I work for you? I don’t even know who you are.”

Zayn made a noise that drew Louis’ attention to him. Zayn was looking back in approval.

On the other hand, Liam looked a little discouraged at Louis’ admission. “It doesn’t really matter. We want to hire you to be our PA.”

“Nah, Li, don’t lie to him.” Irish. The accent was Irish. “We want to hire you to be Harry’s assistant.”

Louis was trying to figure out who Harry was before seeing that they were all looking over their shoulders at the last member on the sofa. Louis’ vision was obscured by the wall of bodies in front of him, but the fact the guy hadn’t even bothered to get up and say hi made it seem unlikely that this would be a good arrangement.

Liam let out a long sigh. “Yeah, Harry’s assistant.” He couldn’t even make eye contact with Louis while he said it and in Louis’ books, that was the second red flag of whatever the hell was going on.

“Regardless of whose assistant you want me to be, why would I do it?”

“Money,” Zayn offered. “Seems like you need it. Or have you forgotten that you made yourself officially jobless at two-thirty?”

“Technically, it was two-thirty-seven. Out of professionalism, I decided not to charge for those seven minutes,” Louis told him as he tried to stop himself from shuddering at the reminder that he had thrown away the job. And in this economy.

“I’m sure Joe appreciates your generosity, right Joe?” Niall said playfully.

Louis had forgotten that Joe was even in the room. Probably because Louis had never heard him shut up for so long. Despite never wanting to see Joe’s face again, he risked a glance at him and was immediately grateful he had because Joe looked fucking irate. Whoever the others were, they must have been a big deal to Joe, because there is no way he would have held back otherwise. “Gents.” His voice didn’t sound slimy anymore. It sounded strained, almost as strained as the expression on his face. “Louis was just on his way out. While I do appreciate his generosity in saving me seven minutes' worth of his time, I must say I do not think he would be a good fit, especially for this, uh, delicate situation.”

“I disagree,” Liam said matter-of-factly, still looking at Louis as if Joe’s opinion meant nothing to him. “I think he’d be perfect. So what do you say?”

I’m not going to say anything until you tell me what the hell you’re talking about.” The way that Liam pressed his lips together made it clear Louis wasn’t going to get an answer out of him, so he gave Niall an expectant look instead.

“We’re a band. Not sure if you’ve ever heard of us, Nicotine Redo,” Niall said it like it was nothing, but it wasn’t; of course, he knew who they were, most of the world knew who they were, “and we need a new assistant for our lead singer, Harry. Liam thinks you’d be perfect.”

“Why, though?” They’d seen Louis tell his ex-boss to shove a brick up his arse, so he wasn’t entirely sure why they’d think he’d be perfect.

Liam’s stammering was the third red flag, and at this point, Louis was only still there because of how irritated Joe seemed.

“Harry has scared off his last five assistants,” Zayn said. “We need someone who will put up with him.”

So you want me to leave my job with this arsehole and work for another arsehole?”

“He isn’t an arsehole.” Since Niall didn’t even seem convinced by his own words, Louis couldn’t understand how he thought Louis would believe them. “It’s just….”

“Yes? Just?”

“You know I can hear you, right?” came a deep drawl from the sofa.<

“Yep,” Zayn said with an eyeroll.

“Shouldn’t it be my decision then?” Harry’s voice came again

Louis racked his brain, trying to remember what the lead singer of Nicotine Redo looked like but was coming up blank. He knew they were a good-looking band, and he had a vague awareness that the lead singer was often making headlines, but unfortunately, Louis never paid attention to headlines. All he knew was if he looked half as appealing as his voice was, he’d be fit as fuck.

“All your decision-making rights have been revoked,” Zayn told him.

“I’m not taking a job if my boss doesn’t want me there," Louis said.

“Luckily,” Niall said brightly, “Harry wouldn't be your boss - the band would be.”

“I’d still have to spend time with him, wouldn’t I? I imagine part of being someone’s assistant means actually… assisting them.”

“Well, yes,” Niall resigned.

Louis slid between Liam and Niall and strode to the sofa. As soon as he saw Harry, he realised he was unprepared. He did know what the singer of Nicotine Redo looked like. Of course, he did. Fuck, his brain must have clunked out at some point because Harry Styles was Nicotine Redo’s lead singer. And fuck, he was fit.

Harry had taken up as much space as possible on the sofa, sitting with his elbows resting on his open thighs. His shirt was undone by about three buttons too many, and his dark hair sat on his shoulders, having the whole arsehole-rockstar thing down pat.

As Louis stood before him, Harry’s eyes leisurely made their way up Louis’ body before finding his face. Harry sat back, somehow taking up even more space and regarded Louis the same way someone might regard a boring TV show

“Harry, is it?” Louis asked, relaxing his posture as much as possible to prove that Harry did not affect him either.

Harry’s lip quirked as if amused. “Mm,” was all he offered.

"Yeah, a’ight.” Louis turned back to the others. “Don’t think this is gonna work, to be honest, lads.”

“Harry,” Niall whined as he came and stood next to Louis. “C’mon, man. If you don’t take Louis, they’re just going to find some other girl for you to make cry.”

Harry gazed at the roof, and a sigh left his lips. “I didn’t make her cry. She just started crying.”

“Yeah, because you were mean to her,” Liam called.

“I wasn’t mean to her. It’s just she was just all up in my business.” The air of disinterest that surrounded Harry shouldn’t have been so alluring to Louis, but somehow it was. Although Louis doubted Harry could do much that wouldn’t be alluring.

“Ah, yes, how dare she do her job.” Zayn flopped down on the sofa and shoved Harry to carve some space.

Harry looked Louis up and down again, and if Louis were any less confident in his appearance, he would have started to feel self-conscious by the number of times rockstars had done that to him in the last ten minutes. “You really think we should hire him?”

Following Harry’s line of eyesight, he found Liam. “Yeah, I do.”

“Do whatever then,” Harry said as he turned all his attention back to his phone, not even sparing Louis another glance.

“Perfect,” Liam beamed at Louis. “This is perfect.”

“Hold on, mate. I haven’t agreed to this, and I’m not sure why I would,” Louis said.

“Money,” Zayn answered, and it was bullshit that it made sense.

“What exactly would the role include, if I accept it? Is it just like what I was doing here for this arsehole?” Louis took the opportunity to glare at Joe, whose face had gone from a fiery red to a deep purple. Someone should tell him that rage didn’t suit him.

The expression on Liam’s face caused an uneasy feeling to take up Louis’ chest. The role clearly wouldn’t be like this one. Louis waited for Liam to expand on it, but, again, he didn’t seem to be able to answer, so Louis turned it to Niall. “What would my job look like?”

“Similar to this. You’ll get him coffee sometimes, although Harry has his black, so you might have less of an issue with it. But, um,” Niall took a deep breath, and this was all starting to feel way too ominous.

“Is he secretly a mass murderer, and my job is to hide the bodies? Because I can’t think of many other reasons you’d all be acting like this.”

“It’s a twenty-four-seven job,” Harry’s rich voice rumbled. Louis glanced over at him, and he hadn’t even looked up from his phone. “You’re a glorified babysitter.”

“What?”

Harry threw his phone onto Zayn. “They make you live with me. You have to wake me up, plan my day, ensure I eat my vegetables, and tuck me in at night.”

“Fuck off, Harry,” Zayn said before addressing Louis. “The only part of the rubbish that just came out of his mouth is that you live with him, kind of. We own the building, and your room would just be in his apartment.”

“Why would I need to live there, though?”

“Did you not hear me?” Harry said as he was wrestling Zayn to get his phone back. “They think I need a babysitter.”

“Can we just send you a contract to look over? It’ll have all the information in it,” Liam said. “What’s your email address?”

Deciding that he may as well look over the paperwork, he gave it to Liam.

“Great, I’ll get the team to email it later today,” Liam said.

Louis nodded and left the room without saying another word. He contemplated still slamming the door, but it had lost most of its appeal.

The whole process was remarkably quick. He forwarded the email to his sister, Lottie, as soon as he got it. After she’d read through it, she called him and gave him a summary of it.

Harry hadn’t entirely been lying; the role was essentially being a babysitter, but for a teenager. The job did include making sure Harry woke up on time and was eating and managing all his appointments.

Lottie said from what she could gather, the position most likely had something to do with public relations issues, as well as Harry just being a typical rockstar who didn’t want to do anything for himself. Louis had no idea how many typical rockstars Lottie knew but kept that to himself.

None of it sounded very appealing, but when Louis told his sister exactly that, she finally told him the most important part of the contract.

“Lou, not only does the job include free accommodation and cover all your expenses, the hourly rate is four times what you’re on now, and they’re paying you twelve hours a day, seven days a week.”

Louis hung up on her and called Liam straight away, accepting the job. The band paid out the rest of Louis’ lease on his flat.

So the following Monday, five days after first meeting him, Louis was knocking on Harry’s front door.

Staff had let him into the building and sorted out all the security aspects of him living there and then left him in a hallway. Technically, he had a swipecard that would allow him straight into the flat, but he felt it was more polite to wait to be let in.

But Louis' resolve was wavering as the waiting time ticked from seconds to minutes, and there was still no sign of life coming from the apartment. He knocked a final time as a wave of swearing came from inside the apartment.

“Oh,” Harry said as a greeting once he’d flung the door open. “It’s you.” He leaned against the doorway and stared at Louis, and Louis desperately fought the urge to look at Harry’s bare chest.

“Uh, yeah,” Louis finally managed to choke out. “Did you not know I was coming today?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Dunno. You see, I haven’t had a babysitter for over a week, and I can’t possibly be able to keep track of all these big things by myself.” It was the pout he tacked on that really amped up his charade.

“Well, it’s a good thing you have me now, innit?” Louis pushed out in his most enthusiastic voice.

The expression on Harry’s face proved that he’d seen right through it, and honestly, Louis was relieved because there was no way he would be able to keep that persona for more than ten minutes.

“Seriously, though. Can you let me in?” Louis asked, dropping the pretence.

Harry pushed himself out of the doorway and nodded into the apartment, motioning for Louis to enter. Louis grabbed his suitcases and moved past Harry. As his body got covered in goosebumps because his arm grazed Harry’s stomach as he squeezed past him, Louis made a mental note never to let that happen again. Of course, the stupid little voice of reason that always tried to sneak up and ruin everything desperately tried to point out that they would probably be in close proximity again, given that they were now expected to spend their entire lives together, but Louis shoved it back away.

He needed this job, and he wouldn’t let his attraction to his new boss, or the fact that his new boss was an absolute arsehole, ruin it. It would pad his savings nicely, even if he could only hold onto it for a few months.

“You coming or just gonna stand there?” Harry asked as he strolled away.

Groaning, Louis followed him through the very large, very bright, and very modern living area. It looked more like a showroom than a house, and Louis doubted that Harry had been the one to furnish it at all. If he had, he probably just pointed to a page of a homewares catalogue and told one of his staff to order it all.

This would be the exact task Louis would be expected to do now. Although, there would have been no way he would have let Harry get away with buying the most generic furniture ever created.

After they walked through the space between the gallery kitchen and the large living room, they reached a small hallway.

Harry opened the first door on the right. “This is you.” Louis walked into the room. It was just as large, white, and dull as the rest of the house. Still, as far as free accommodation went, it was nothing to scoff at. Harry cleared his throat, and Louis looked back to him. “If you need anything,” Harry tilted his head, “I don’t know, deal with it, I guess. That’s your job now. Speaking of which, I can’t be sure because I didn’t have an adult around to check, but I’m pretty sure I have a meeting in half an hour, and you’ll need to be there, so maybe sort your shit out, so we’re not late. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on your first day, would we?”

Three months. Louis could hold on for three months.

Chapter Text

Louis threw his suitcases on the bed and opened on and rifled through it, discarding unsuitable clothes all over the white comforter. Perhaps it was naïve of him, but Louis had assumed he’d have over ten minutes to settle in, so hadn’t paid attention to Harry’s itinerary for the day when he was looking at the rest of the week.

After he found a pair of black trousers, he unbuckled his jeans and changed into them. Louis had no idea what was appropriate for the meeting. He didn’t even know what kind of meeting it was, and Harry didn’t seem to be in the mood to tell him. More than that, he still didn’t really understand what the fuck his job was. His only real PA experience was working for Joe, and that had only lasted two weeks. He’d worked in administration before that, and although work-wise they were pretty different, they had all been in offices where business casual was expected and easy to conform to. But he had no idea what his new dress code was.

From what he could remember from the previous Friday, the band members had all been dressed casually, and he assumed they were there for a meeting. But he had realised after he left the office he hadn’t actually asked why they were there. He had known Joe’s schedule and definitely didn’t see Nicotine Redo listed for the day’s meetings. If he had, he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself by telling them he didn’t know who they were.

Still, it was possible Joe’s itinerary just said ‘Meeting’ as they sometimes did. Louis had considered worse alternatives, though. The worst one he came up with was that Joe was one of their dads, and they were just visiting him. It was the worst scenario because telling one of their fathers to shove a brick up their arse wouldn’t have been the best note to start his new job on.

He settled on a blue button-down shirt, but was still worried it was too casual… or too formal. He also knew that compared to whatever Harry wore, he would look unmistakably uncool, but he couldn’t wear ripped jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe he could, though. He really had no idea.

Before he’d even finished fastening his buttons, he rushed back to the living area, and Harry wasn’t there. Hopefully, he was putting a shirt on. Not because of the meeting — Louis had no idea what Harry would be expected to wear either — but because Louis couldn’t deal with a shirtless Harry right now. He doubted he’d ever be able to deal with shirtless Harry, but he especially couldn’t deal with him at that moment.

However, he was also acutely aware that he was hired because Harry wasn’t the most responsible person, and it was just as likely that Harry mightn’t be putting on a shirt at all. He was doubtful that Harry would make his job easy, so he could also be hiding in his room so that they would run late.

Regardless, as soon as his shirt was buttoned, he took out his new phone, which he was given just for work. He knew he should be grateful for it, but carrying around two phones would be as annoying as fuck.

He opened up the calendar, which was programmed in Harry’s - and now, his own - schedule and his shoulder slumped as soon as he saw it. Monday - 10:30 am. Meeting with Enthos. An address was attached to the event, so Louis clicked on it. It was a fifteen-minute drive, and it was already ten-fifteen.

“Fuck!” Louis said, his voice louder than he had intended. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He needed to find Harry. They needed to get out of there.

Louis had no idea where Harry’s room could be. Looking at the staircase off the living area, Louis had to assume it was up there. “Harry?” he called as he sprinted towards it. “Harry!”

Running up staircases, especially a marble one, which was the most absurd thing Louis had ever seen, was definitely something he shouldn’t do. But, as Harry had said, he did not want to be late for his first day.

“Harry!” he called as his feet hit the lush cream carpet on the landing. The area was a lot larger than he’d expected. Instead of being a simple hall, it opened onto a small — well, small compared to the rest of the apartment — living area with a sofa and an armchair. A large TV hung on the wall with three different gaming consoles under it. The bookcase in the corner piqued Louis’ interest, like all bookcases did. Louis preferred this area to the sparse one on the bottom floor.

Holy shit, he did not have time to be marvelling over the room.

“Harry! Where the fuck are you?”

The back wall had three doors, and the one on the left opened. Harry stood in the doorway with raised brows. “Here. Where else would I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe downstairs so we can leave!”

Harry simply laughed.

“This isn’t funny. We’re going to be late!” Really fucking late. It would be ten-twenty by now, and Louis still hadn’t put his shoes on. Louis quickly took in Harry and was thankful he was dressed. He’d been right. Harry looked infinitely cooler than him. Although, he was just wearing tight straight-legged jeans and a band shirt, so it probably had nothing to do with the outfit and everything to do with Harry.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure why you’re yelling at me. If you had done your job properly and got here earlier, we wouldn’t be in this position, would we? You’ve got no one to blame but yourself-“ Harry’s eyes narrowed, but the smirk was still there, so Louis didn’t think it wasn’t vindictive.

Regardless, they did not have time for whatever it was, so he interrupted him. “Right, we need to go!”

Harry’s expression didn’t fade, though. “What was your name again?” he asked.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Louis muttered. He doubted he said it quietly enough for Harry to miss it, but they were running too late for Louis to stress about it. “Louis. It’s Louis. Are you ready?” Did Harry let him into his house without even knowing his name? Sure, Harry didn’t want him there, but c’mon, he must have at least known his name.

“Louis,” Harry repeated, as if feeling it out in his mouth or something.

“Yes, Louis. Harry, we really need to go. Are you ready?”

Perhaps because of the desperate note to Louis’ words, or more likely for some other reason, Harry gave a slight eye roll, stepped out of the doorway, and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Thank you,” Louis said as he crossed the living area to the staircase with large strides. “Let’s go.”

“Fuck, slow down, mate.”

Louis slowed his steps and grabbed the stair railing, but only because falling down the slippery staircase would make them even later. He did his best to ignore the hairs on the back neck that stood to attention at Harry’s low rumble. Harry hadn’t even sounded concerned, so Louis’ body needed to calm the fuck down. Considering he felt adrenaline pulsating in his veins, he wasn’t too surprised that it had caused a reaction. Everything was causing him to react at this point.

As soon as he was off the steps, he sprinted to the front door before remembering he hadn’t taken his shoes off there. He ran off to his room, swearing under his breath the entire time. He searched his room, flinging belongings, for shoes that matched the outfit and vibe of the meeting. Although he didn’t know what the vibe was, so he wasn’t even sure what shoes he was searching for.

Opting for a pair of black Adidas, he planned to put them on while driving.

When he reached the front door again, he found Harry slumped against the wall beside it with his phone out.

“About time,” Harry said without moving or looking up from his phone.

It took Louis an embarrassingly long time to steady his breathing. “You ready?”

Harry still didn’t look up. “Yep. Is the car here?”

“What? What car?”

Harry did glance at him then. “You didn’t contact a driver?” The raised eyebrows and twitching lip proved he found the entire thing amusing.

It was the furthest thing from amusing. Louis had only been officially working for less than thirty minutes, and he’d already fucked up. “No, I didn’t realise I had to!” He should have, though. It had been in the information packet he’d been sent that he’d looked through. Well, flicked through. He’d planned on reading through it more carefully today because he had no idea he was expected to work immediately.

“How did you expect us to get there?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. Fuck.”

“You swear a lot.” Harry studied him again, and Louis found it unnerving how often he did so. The way it made him feel was also unnerving.

Louis would give it more thought later. He glanced at his watch. Ten twenty-five. “Okay,” he murmured, taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Okay, it’s okay.” Despite the attempt, it still didn’t feel okay at all. He pulled his phone out and hoped like hell that whoever had set up his phone had put in a driver’s number.

“It’s fine,” Harry said, turning to the wall he’d been leaning against. He grabbed a set of keys off one of the many hooks with an alarming amount of keys on them. Especially as it seemed like they were all car keys in a range of luxury brands. “I’ll drive.”

“Really? You’d do that?” Louis had no idea why Harry was helping him, but wasn’t going to argue.

“Yeah.”

“Great, perfect, let’s go!”

Harry gave him another lazy look and couldn’t seem less enthusiastic if he tried. Still, he walked out of the apartment. Louis followed, and he pulled the door shut.

He followed Harry’s unrushed steps and fought the urge to tell him to hurry the fuck up. He did not know who or what Enthos was, but as soon as he and Harry were in a car, he’d call them and tell them they were running late.

After taking a few flights of stairs downwards, they ended up in an underground car park, and there had to be at least ten cars in it. All luxury, all worth more than everything Louis owned.

“They’re not just mine,” Harry said as he took long strides to a black Range Rover. Louis hadn’t seen what key he’d taken, but he’d expected a sports car. As soon as Harry had unlocked it, Louis flung the door open and jumped into the passenger side. Harry folded his body into the driver’s seat. “Careful with the door next time.” Harry didn’t sound particularly concerned about it, but Louis knew he should have been more careful. He couldn’t remember ever sitting in such an expensive car.

“Sorry. Do you need me to put the address into the GPS?”

Harry was already driving up a ramp. “Fine.”

Louis opened his phone again to find the address and punched it in. He then searched the calendar to find a contact number. The phone was a much newer model than his personal one, so it took too long for him to find the number, but he finally found one. They were already five minutes late, and the GPS was saying they had another twelve minutes to go.

“Hello, you’ve reached Enthos. My name is Jasmine. How can I help you today?”

“Hello, hi, Jasmine.” Only then did Louis realise he wasn’t even sure what to say. “I am, uh, I’m Harry Styles’ assistant.” He wasn’t sure why he glanced at Harry as he said his name, but Harry’s lip quirked as it seemed to do whenever Louis amused him. Unfortunately, he only seemed to be amused by Louis when he was flailing. “He has an appointment at ten-thirty. However, he, um, he got caught up with another… commitment.” It sounded like a question, and in a way, it was because Louis didn’t know if that was a good excuse or sounded shitty. He made sure not to look at Harry because he knew whatever expression Harry had wouldn’t be pleasant. “Therefore, he won’t be there for another fifteen or so minutes.”

“Of course. I will let the team know. Thank you for keeping us updated.” Jasmine was much better at her job than Louis was and sounded every part the professional employee.

“Thank you, Jasmine. We will see you soon.” Louis hung up. It was rude, but he couldn’t force himself to sound like he wasn’t mid-freak out.

“Your phone voice is weird.” Harry said it the same way he’d said swore a lot and, Louis realised, the same way he’d repeated ‘Louis’.

“Is it?” Louis asked as he tracked them on the GPS. They were still ten minutes away, which seemed wrong.. He’d encourage Harry to drive faster, but he knew that would be a terrible idea.

“Yeah. You’re going to need to get better at making phone calls.”

“Oh.” It was the first time Harry had said anything that didn’t seem like it was just taunting him. He refrained from telling Harry that he had experience in making calls, but was too stressed about this one. “Sorry. I’ll work on it.”

Harry hummed.

“What is Enthos? What do I need to know about this meeting?”

“It’s your job to know that. You’re meant to be telling me.”

For fuck’s sake. “I understand that, but I don’t know. Can you just tell me, so I don’t look like an idiot for this meeting?”

“Maybe I like you looking like an idiot.”

Louis turned and looked at Harry, who was looking at the road, face blank. “I don’t doubt it.” Louis decided it would be better to Google it rather than rely on Harry.

Unexpectedly, Harry did answer. “The meeting is about me doing a promo for them. Although it’s probably about them not wanting me to do the promo.” The bitterness in his tone was clear, even though Louis was pretty sure he was trying to hide it.

Louis had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he was probably meant to know the answers to all of them. If he wasn’t, he doubted Harry would be in the mood to divulge the information Louis wanted. “So, what do you want me to do?”

Harry huffed out an exaggerated breath. “Were you not given a job description or something? You should know what to do.”

It was only his first day. Day one. His first hour with Harry. He needed to keep it together. “I was given a job description, yes.” Even though he’d tried so hard to keep his emotions out of his voice, it came out incredibly curt. “However, at no point in my contract did it say what to do at meetings where you were about to lose a promo deal with a brand.”

“Just take notes.”

“Okay.” Louis could do that. Easy. Except… he’d brought nothing to take notes with.

Louis was fucked.

He was so fucked and should never have taken this stupid job.

No, he needed this job. He could do it. He’d be fine.

Only three months. If he could just get through at least three months, he’d be set. Hell, he may as well call it ninety days. Once today was over, there would only be eighty-nine left. Easy.

There was no point pissing the arsehole off any further, so Louis didn’t mention it to Harry. Instead, he’d just ask a receptionist for a pen and paper. Ideal? No. But it was fine. It would do.

The rest of the drive was quiet, which Louis was sure made his not-so-subtle glances at Harry more noticeable. He really needed to stop for so many reasons. It’s just the man was so hot. For a moment, he considered how things could be different if Harry weren’t an arsehole, and the reality smashed over him like a bucket of iced water - even if Harry weren’t an arsehole, Louis still wouldn’t stand a chance.

He'd spent a bit of time skimming articles about Harry over the weekend but wasn’t sure he found anything useful. His affinity for partying and dating many London girls, which Louis had guessed, was confirmed. There were some recent articles he skipped, though, barely even looking at the titles. Reading articles that were over a year old felt different from ones from just a few months back. Louis couldn’t put his finger on why, but it just did. Maybe he felt like he should already know that older stuff, or maybe he didn’t want to find out why he got the job. Either way, it was something he figured he should hear straight from someone else. That’s why he had avoided clicking on Harry’s Wikipedia page and the fan sites about him.

If Harry had noticed Louis’ glances, he didn’t make it obvious. Hell, the man was probably used to being gawked at twenty-four-seven. The thought made Louis feel even worse, and he didn’t need to add to that number.

Harry parked the car in the space right next to the exit of the car park, and Louis didn’t point out that there was a sign saying it was reserved parking and any unauthorised cars would be towed. Even if Harry hadn’t seen it, they didn’t have time to waste finding another park. Besides, Harry could get his car back. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it.

He hurried out of the car and through the exit, and Harry met him on the path right outside the building. It took everything in Louis not to yank him by the arm and pull him into the building and instead matched the leisurely pace that he most likely set just to piss Louis off.

It wasn’t until he and Harry were in the waiting area that Louis realised he still hadn’t even asked what the brand was. The chairs in the waiting area they’d been directed to were so close together that their elbows kept knocking each other, so if Louis tried to look it up on his phone, Harry would definitely see. Since he’d already fucked up everything anyway, he figured that knowing nothing about the company wouldn’t make it much worse.

Harry had been right about the meeting. The company, which all Louis had gathered had something to do with technology, had terminated their partnership with Harry. Despite the amicable appearance, tension filled the room during the entire meeting.

Nicotine Redo’s representative, Glenda, was there. Louis should have expected her, but didn’t. He made a terrible first impression. While Harry had just sighed when he saw Louis taking notes on a loose piece of paper that the front receptionist had given him, Glenda kept shooting him daggers throughout the meeting.

Personally, he didn’t really understand why management would give a shit about how he, Harry’s PA, was taking notes, especially with a brand that had just ended their relationship with Harry, but he didn’t say that. He was already doing a shit job and didn’t need to cause issues with her as well.

She may have also been judging Louis’ outfit because he was not at all closer to working out what he was meant to wear. Glenda was dressed very professionally, and Harry’s old band shirt had some holes in it. Louis had no idea where on that formality barometer he fell.

The three of them walked out of the building together, and Louis did his best not to listen to Harry and Glenda’s conversation. Although, it was barely a conversation and seemed more Glenda just urgently whispering things to Harry while Harry seemed to ignore them. When they reached outside, Glenda asked if she should wait with them for the car to arrive.

Louis waited for Harry to answer, but he didn’t. When Louis couldn’t wait any longer, he answered her instead. “Actually, Harry drove here, so we’ll get home that way.”

Glenda’s face turned a ghostly shade of white, then a dusty green, and then red. “He what?”

Louis glanced at Harry, who was looking down at his fingers. He didn’t look nervous, though. He looked satisfied.

“Harry drove us here,” Louis repeated. There was already a sinking feeling in his stomach, and as he looked from Harry to Glenda, her expression made it worse. He’d fucked up somehow. Again.

“Harry,” she started through gritted teeth, “lost his licence three months ago. It is illegal for Harry to be driving.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Louis looked back to Harry, and Harry met his eyes this time with a serene, satisfied smile. Louis was going to kill him. He was going to. It was the only way this could end.

“I, uh, I didn’t know,” Louis said to Glenda.

“It’s your job to know.”

“Well, I didn’t. I can’t go back and change it, but I can assure you he will not be driving in the future. Goodbye, Glenda.”

Louis started for the car but, after a few steps, realised Harry wasn’t following, so he turned around and grabbed Harry’s arm and started pulling him. To his surprise, Harry didn’t resist. Instead, he just called, “Goodbye Glenda,” in a sing-song voice.

“Why the fuck did you drive?” Louis demanded as they reached the car.

“We were running late,” Harry said mildly.

“That doesn’t mean we should break the law! Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t realise I had to. Most grown adults I know don’t lose their licence. Hand your keys over.”

Harry coughed out a laugh and looked at Louis disbelievingly. “I’m not letting you drive.”

“Then we’ll leave the car here and walk home.” Saying the word home just made Louis realise how much he wanted to curl up in bed and forget the last two and a bit hours.

“If anyone knew we were even standing unaccompanied in a public car park, you’d be fired on the spot. Imagine what would happen if you made me walk home.”

Louis had no idea if that was true, but it definitely could be. “Just let me drive. I’m a good driver, and, unlike you, apparently, I actually have a valid licence.”

Harry didn’t answer and just studied him like the other times. They really didn’t have time for this shit.

“Harry, hand over your fucking keys now. We need to go before you get mobbed or something. If I hurt your car, I will replace it or something.” There was no way Louis could afford a Range Rover in his life, let alone right now, but it would be worth it.

“Put it in writing.”

Louis glanced around the car park, now acutely aware that Harry should not be standing without security in public. He looked back to Louis, having not processed the words correctly. “What?”

“Put it in writing. Put that you’ll replace my car if you damage it in any way, in writing.” He said it straight-faced.

“You can’t be serious. Even if I did damage the car, I feel like you have more than enough money to cover it.”

“It’s the principle of the matter, though.” Harry pursed his lips for a moment. “Why don’t you want to put it in writing? Were you lying?”

“Harry, we need to get you out of here. Give me the keys so we can go.” He was starting to give up hope, though. He could only think of two options. He could either call the driver service and hope they hurry the fuck up or let Harry drive even though he now knew it was illegal. If Harry got caught driving unlicensed, he would get in legal trouble and from what he could gather, Louis’ job was to keep him out of trouble. But if he called the driver, well, he had no idea how that even worked. Did Harry have one driver? Was it a service? Where did they drive from? They needed to leave now and didn’t have time to wait for a driver.

“Put it in writing,” Harry repeated.

“Fine! Fine, I will. You got a pen and paper?”

Harry nodded his head slightly in what seemed approval. Louis had a fleeting hope that maybe it was just a test and Harry wouldn’t actually expect him to sign a contract to do something he couldn’t do. “Yeah, I have some of them in the car.” Apparently not.

“Okay, give me your keys, and we’ll do it there.”

Harry scoffed. “Fuck off. I’m not doing that.” He did unlock the doors, though and didn’t stop Louis from walking to the driver's side.

“Lock it,” Louis told him as soon as they were in.

“Are you always so bloody rude?” Harry asked.

“Sorry for wanting to keep you alive,” Louis said as he manually locked his door. When Harry didn’t lock the doors, Louis searched for a button that would do it for him, but once he found it, it didn’t work.

“Car’s gotta be on.”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry.” Louis turned around on his seat, reached over it to lock the rear seat on his side, leaned right over to the rear passenger side, and locked that one. He was vaguely aware that his thighs brushed over Harry’s arm as he did so. If his heart rate had picked up a little, it was probably because he was stressed the fuck out. “Lock your door.”

“Your shoes are on the seat,” Harry said, his energy not matching Louis’ at all.

Not seeing any other choice, Louis leant over Harry, doing his best not to let their bodies touch. It didn’t work, of course. Before his hands reached the door handle, where he intended to balance his weight, he fell straight across Harry’s lap.

Harry’s breath hitched, and Louis froze on top of him. His brain seemed to short-circuit because while he should get the fuck off his boss and mega-famous rock star, all he could focus on was the centimetre of skin where Louis’ shirt had hitched up over his hip, that was directly on Harry’s skin as his shirt had hitched above his stomach. Not only did he feel spikes of electricity there, but it also seemed like every nerve ending in his body had been struck.

“Louis,” Harry’s voice was deep and husky, and Louis could feel his stomach moving under him as he spoke, and Louis had just about melted into a puddle of mush, “get the fuck off me.”

That was enough, more than enough, to get Louis’ brain working again. His hands fumbled and found Harry’s thigh to push up on. It wasn’t ideal, gripping Harry’s thigh like he was, but it was better than remaining over his lap. As soon as he was balanced, he pushed off and flung himself back into his seat.

For once, Harry wasn’t staring at him like he usually did after Louis had fucked up. Instead, his head was turned to face his own window. Even though it was entirely the very worst moment to do so, Louis took the rare opportunity to take in The Harry Styles. With his defined jaw, high cheekbones, and lush lips, Louis couldn’t blame himself for being attracted to him. Hell, practically the entire human race was.

He could blame himself for acting like an absolutely unprofessional creepy employee, though.

Harry still hadn’t turned back to him, and it seemed like his breaths were a little shorter and faster than usual. Most likely because Louis had just thrown himself on him. The awkward tension that had already filled the car was so heavy that Louis was sure he would suffocate if it didn’t dissipate soon. “Uh, if you want to drive, that’s okay,” Louis forced himself to say, pretending that there was no strain to his voice. “We probably need to get out of here, so however you want to do that, is fine. If that means you driving, then okay.”

Without looking at him, Harry held out the car key in Louis’ direction. Louis hesitated for a second before he came to his senses and grabbed it off him before Harry could change his mind.

Louis had been wrong about the trip to the meeting. It couldn’t have been a silent car trip because then there would be no better word to describe the one home. Every breath may have been as loud as a scream with how it cut through the silence. At some point, Louis could have sworn he could hear Harry’s heartbeat.

He didn’t give that much thought, though, because they were consumed mainly because he was likely to get fired. He’d already colossally fucked up his first day before he fawned all over his boss and clearly made him so uncomfortable that he couldn’t even look at him.

Louis had no idea if Harry knew he was gay. He couldn’t really see how he would know, as it wasn’t something he’d told anyone related to his employment. But he also knew that a background check had been run on him and hadn’t considered how far they’d look into him. So Harry might have known he was gay, and maybe that made the whole thing even worse. Perhaps he thought that Louis deliberately fell on him or that he only took the job to get close to Harry. Hell, maybe he believed Louis had dedicated his whole life to finding and stalking Harry, and this had all been some master plan.

Louis drove between ten and twenty kilometres per hour under the speed limit the entire way home. As soon as he parked the car, he let out a giant breath, and his body relaxed. He glanced at Harry and found him looking back at him. Well, in his general direction, at least. Louis handed the keys back to him. “See, I told you I’m a good driver.”

“You should go and read through your job description and handbook,” Harry said and exited the car.

Louis didn’t answer and pushed himself out of the car. Harry was already far in front of him, and Louis had to lengthen his strides to keep up with Harry’s brisk pace.

Harry maintained the same speed, even though Louis had to assume it was uncomfortable for him as well. “There are more commitments today. Read the handbook and learn it inside out. If you’re ever so under-prepared again, you’ll be fired.”

Louis said nothing and could not decide whether he was pissed off with how Harry was talking to him or just glad he still had a job. He stared at the front door, waiting for Harry to unlock it, desperate to get into and grab a smoke. When Harry didn’t unlock it, Louis looked his way, finding Harry’s eyes already fixed on him, filled with equal expectancy.

“Well,” Harry said, “are you going to let us in?”

Louis stared at him. “I, what? I don’t have the keys. You have the keys!”

Sighing, Harry looked up at the ceiling. “Why would I have the keys?”

“What do you mean? Because it’s your house! Why would I have keys?” They were fucked. They were so fucked.

“Because you are meant to be my personal assistant. And I was under the impression that a personal assistant would be capable of making sure that we’d be able to get back into the flat.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “What I don’t understand is why they keep making me have assistants, and then you all do fuck all and just fuck up everything.”

“Fuck off, Harry.” Louis wasn’t sure how he let the words slip out of his mouth, but he had, and it was too late to bring them back.

“Did you just tell me, your boss, to fuck off?” Harry pursed his lips as he looked at him for the first time since Louis had covered him with his body. He really couldn’t decide whether the hardest part of the job was Harry being an arsehole or Harry being hot as hell. They were both major inconveniences.

“Yes,” there was no reason to backtrack now, “It’s my first day, and, yes, I could have been more prepared, but your expectations are way too fucking high. I’ll do my best, but you need to have realistic expectations. What are our options for getting back in?”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you wasted twenty minutes!” Louis did his best to relax, but it was really fucking hard. He’d never been so desperate for a smoke and never been so desperate to put some space between him and, well, anyone before.

“As I told you, I simply forgot there were spare keys,” Harry said. Louis was keeping a pace between them because his skin burnt at the thought of being any closer. But, even with the distance between them and the inability to see his face, Louis knew Harry was wearing his smug little smirk. Louis would give almost anything to smack it off his face.

“Oh, so when I asked, what, ten times, who would have a spare key, and you repeatedly told me that no one would, that’s you forgetting?”

Louis had trouble staying behind Harry because his stride had slowed, likely just to fuck with him. The entire day, Harry had been walking at awkward speeds, either too fast or too slow. If the desired effect was to piss Louis off, and Louis was confident that was what Harry was hoping for, it worked like a charm.

Louis was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed something was in front of him until he smacked right into it. The force of the collision caused Louis to stumble back, and even though there was no risk of him actually losing his balance, he felt a strong arm snake around his back and hold him. He glanced up to see that it was Harry that he’d run into — and also how close they were now.

Somewhere in the quick, smooth motion, Louis’ hands had come in front of him, intending to create a barrier between him and Harry. But they had got confused and ended up resting on Harry’s chest instead.

A beat.

A single beat passed.

Louis was almost positive it was just one.

But that’s all it took for blistering heat to rush into every cell under Louis’ skin. Ironically, Louis had to rely on his arm to keep him upright, but only because the touch had made his knees tremble slightly.

Quickly — much faster than in the car incident — Louis’ righted the situation and put the distance that he’d deemed necessary between them. He shoved on Harry’s chest to create the space, and while Harry’s arm hadn’t let go, Louis’ push had been strong enough to free himself from Harry’s grip. Although Harry had put up little of a fight.

When there was a space the length of a compact car between them, Louis felt like he could breathe again. But he couldn’t fool himself into thinking that Harry hadn’t noticed his slight panting because his eyes skimmed up and down Louis’ face in judgement. Then Harry shook his head and huffed out a sigh.

For the thousandth time, Louis cursed himself for even taking the job. What had he expected it to be? He should have expected this from everything he’d known, seen, and read about Harry Styles. He’d almost fooled himself into believing it was going to be okay. It would not be okay.

Once he’d collected himself- and was no longer panting like a creep- he could take in that Harry was standing in front of another door. “So, uh, is this someone else’s apartment?” Louis was happy he could form a coherent sentence, regardless of how lame it was.

Harry’s lips formed a thin line and rapped on the door. “It’s Zayn’s, yeah,” he said while they waited for it to be opened, and Louis was taken aback that Harry bothered to answer him

“Coming,” Zayn’s muffled voice came through the door, but it still took a few minutes for it to open. When it did, Zayn stood in front of them, dressed but looking like he had just woken up. “Harry.” Louis couldn’t tell if it was a question or statement.

“Mm,” Harry said. “You still got a spare key to mine?”

“I think so.” Zayn walked back inside his apartment, and Harry had to reach out and grab the door to stop it from shutting on them.

Harry stepped into Zayn’s unit, stopped, and looked back at Louis. “You coming?”

Louis shrugged as he peered into the room. Given that he wasn’t sure that Zayn even knew he was there, walking in without an invitation felt somewhat intrusive.

“For fuck’s sake, just come in.” Harry didn’t give Louis any time to respond as he walked in, and this time Louis was forced to prop the door open.

He tentatively took several steps inside the room and let the door close behind him. Zayn’s apartment was a replica of Harry’s, but felt entirely more inviting and looked like someone actually lived there.

“Oh, hi Louis,” Zayn said, as he walked out of the hallway that presumably held spare rooms as they did in Harry’s flat. Although technically, one of Harry’s wasn’t a spare room anymore, given that it was filled with all Louis’ shit. It still felt like a spare room, though.

“Hey.” Louis gave a tight smile. He wondered what it said about the situation that Zayn remembered his name and Harry didn’t. Then decided not to wonder about it at all because in no world would it mean anything good.

“Knew you were moving in today, but I didn’t realise you were starting work.” Zayn handed a key to Harry, but his attention was on Louis.

“Neither did I,” Louis said, very aware he’d failed to keep his bitterness out of his tone.

Zayn’s brow furrowed as he looked at Harry, who had walked further into the living area. “Did you at least give him a chance to settle in?”

“We had a meeting,” Harry said, sounding unbothered as he plonked down on Zayn’s sofa.

Somehow, Louis didn’t groan, despite desperately wanting to. All he wanted was to get back into their apartment - and have a fucking smoke.

After shooting Louis a meaningful look, Zayn apologised to Louis. A beat passed before Louis understood that the apology was for Harry making him work, not because Harry intended to stay — which was Louis’ most pressing concern.

“It’s not your fault,” Louis said. As his eyes skimmed over the room, he noticed a pack of cigarettes on Zayn’s bench, and he was at breaking point. He would just have to tell Harry that they needed to leave, and if Harry disagreed, Louis would wrestle him to get the keys.

Zayn cleared his throat, which ripped him from the memory of Harry’s body flush against his. Louis’ lashes fluttered out in several blinks as he focused his attention on Zayn.

The knowing half-smile Zayn gave him twisted his insides with dread. There was no fucking way Zayn could guess what Louis had been thinking about … was there? Zayn then motioned to the pack of cigarettes. “You smoke?”

Louis let out a shaky laugh. “That obvious, is it?” Out of all the thoughts swirling throughout Louis’ head over the last thirty seconds, he was glad that craving a cigarette was the one Zayn picked up on. “I’d basically quit until today.” He hadn’t meant to glare at the back of Harry’s head, but still had done so.

“That bad already?”

Aware that he needed the job, Louis bit back his need to complain because even though Zayn looked nothing but sympathetic, unloading on him didn’t seem like the best idea. “It’s fine.”

Zayn looked about as convinced as Louis had expected him to. “Want one?” He motioned to the packet.

“Got some in the apartment.” Louis’ eyes were on the back of Harry’s head again, and he hoped he had some kind of telepathic powers. Maybe if he imagined it hard enough, Harry would stand up and leave. It wasn’t working.

Zayn picked up the pack. “Follow me.”

Too desperate to argue or think it through, Louis did as Zayn asked and followed him right past Harry and through the large glass doors to the balcony. He sat in the chair next to Zayn and took the smoke that Zayn held out to him.

Saliva pooled in Louis’ mouth as he watched Zayn light up his own. Louis could never remember a time he’d needed one as much and as soon as Zayn held out the lighter, Louis grabbed it and lit his own.

His drag was so long that he was sure there was no crevice in his lungs that he hadn’t filled with nicotine. By the time he exhaled, some of his fizzling nerves seemed to settle a little.

“Does he know you smoke?” Zayn asked, cutting the silence.

Louis pulled his eyes off the view of London to Zayn. Zayn tipped his head back, motioning to inside the house where Harry presumably remained. Although, with Louis’ luck and Harry’s attitude, he’d probably left by now. Louis couldn’t find the strength to care at that moment, though. He’d rather stay on Zayn’s balcony and slowly destroy his lungs than face Harry again. “Nah, don’t think so.”

Zayn hummed. “He’ll give you shit about it. You can come here if he doesn’t want you to smoke there.”

“Not sure you’ll feel that way at three in the morning.” Louis had never woken in the middle of the night for a ciggie, but given how he was already feeling, it didn’t seem like it was out of the realm of possibility.

“Eh, I’ll give you the security code and a key. We’re kinda relying on you sticking around.”

The weight of the words landed on Louis’ chest, suffocating him more than nicotine ever had. There was no honest reply he could think of that could soothe Zayn’s apparent fears because as much as he’d love to promise he wasn’t going anywhere, it wasn’t a promise he was sure he could keep, so he chose not to say anything.

“You went somewhere this morning?” Zayn asked after a few more drags.

“A meeting at Enthos.”

“Oh, right,” Zayn said after blowing out perfect smoke rings. “They ended up cutting their partnership, yeah?”

Louis attempted to exhale smoke rings, but they were nowhere as circular as Zayn’s. “Am I allowed to talk to you about that?”

After Zayn gave a half-hearted shrug, Louis leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze settle on the apartment buildings stretched out before him.

He jolted when Zayn spoke. “Yeah, you can. You’ll come to find that we don’t have secrets in the band. Not because we don’t want them, but just because they’re impossible to keep. You don’t have to talk about it, though.”

“It sounds like you already know the answer, anyway. My bet is that you have more idea what the meeting was about, even though I was there.”

“Mm, you’ll get used to meetings like that. I’m sure there will be more.” The words were whispered, but they were coated in resentment.

Today had already brought up an impossible amount of questions to ask and get answers to, and just that statement and tone brought up about fifty more. “Meetings like what? Companies dropping him?”

Zayn gave a noncommittal noise in reply.

“What am I meant to do at them?” Louis asked. Not only was it a safer question, but it related to his job, so he needed an answer, not just his curiosity getting the best of him. “Harry told me just to take notes today, but I’m not sure why. Or even what to do with the notes.”

“If he told you to take notes, then do that. Although, I’m not sure what he wants you to do with them, either. An HR rep should be at each meeting to keep track of anything formal.” In Louis’ peripheral, he saw Zayn snub out his ciggy.

Louis took his final drag and then accepted that he’d also worn his down to the butt, so he threw it into the ashtray. “Fair enough,” he said and pushed off his seat. “Haven’t fully read through the manual. It’ll probably tell me more.”

“Don’t want another one?” Zayn was pulling out another smoke and glanced up at Louis.

He’d wanted nothing more than to have another smoke or twenty with Zayn, but he needed to keep his job and ignoring his boss seemed like a pretty shitty way to do it. “I’m good.”

“My number should be in your phone. text if you need anything.”

Louis lingered as he watched Zayn light up and almost caved into accepting another. It was only that his eyes had flicked to Harry, who was still sitting on the sofa on the other side of the glassed wall and saw his expression. His lips were pressed together so tightly that they were pale, and he looked just as impressed as Zayn had warned Louis he would. Louis fought the urge to roll his eyes as slid the door open and stepped inside. “Good to go?” he asked Harry.

“I’ve been ‘good to go’,” the mocking note undid at least a quarter of what the cigarette had cured for his mood, “for the last twenty minutes while you smoked on my time.”

Louis tried to cover his sigh by rubbing his face. “Great, let’s go then.” Judging by the look on Harry’s expression, the false-cheery voice sounded just as grating to him as it did to Louis.

“You throwing around orders now, Tomlinson?”

Louis’ lip quirked up before he could stop it. “Thought you didn’t know my name.”

A flash of … something showed on Harry’s face, and whatever it was, Louis was proud of it, even though Harry reined it in quickly. “Read through my emails while you were wasting time. It came up.”

If Harry hadn’t sucked in his lip, Louis might have believed him. “If you say so. And no, I wasn’t throwing orders. You said you wanted to go, and I told you we could.”

“You shouldn’t be telling me anything. I’m your boss, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t be able to forget it if I tried.” Louis strode to the door and turned to see that Harry hadn’t moved off the sofa. “We going, or should I go and have another smoke?”

Harry turned and narrowed his eyes into a glare, and Louis raised his eyebrows in response. He doubted he looked as carefree as he hoped, considering his stomach was still in knots, but it was better than nothing. Harry stood and, without a word, pushed past Louis to exit the door.

Unlike the other times, Harry didn’t simply let go of the door. He must have tried to slam it shut on him, and if it weren’t for Louis’ decent reflexes, it probably would have. When he got over the shock, he looked down the hallway, and Harry was almost at his apartment. Louis quickly shut the door and sprinted towards Harry. Somehow, the walk to Zayn had felt long and convoluted. However, given it Harry’s was straight down the hall, Louis must have just been so in his head that he hadn’t realised.

Harry had clearly tried to slam their front door shut, but Louis reached it before it closed and let himself in. He was seemingly alone on the bottom floor and was struck, not for the first time, by Harry’s ability to cover distances effortlessly. He would have only had a few seconds’ lead on Louis and had managed to cross the entire living area and go up the stairs.

Louis made his way to his room, hoping that Harry hadn’t changed his mind about having the rest of the day to read through the booklet and unpack. The path of destruction he’d created that morning while struggling to get dressed stood in stark contrast to the pristine room he was supposed to call his own.

Before dealing with the mess, he decided to tour the room as he hadn’t had the chance to earlier. To his right, the enormous bed was flush against the wall, its side facing him as he stood in the doorway. On his left, there were two doors that he hadn’t noticed last time.

He opened the first, and it revealed a walk-in wardrobe. The only thing in it was some coat hangers and baskets on the top shelf. He’d never had a walk-in wardrobe before, and he doubted his belongings would even take up half the space, but it was impressive all the same.

He walked back into his bedroom and to the second door. Opening it found what he’d expected - an ensuite. Obviously, it was as new as the rest of the apartment and fit out with a toilet, sink, and a very impressive shower. Fluffy white towels were laid out, and a bathrobe was hanging on the wall near the shower. For a moment, Louis imagined Harry setting the room up. Fluffing out the towels and hanging the robe with precision, then came back to reality and accepted that Harry would pay someone to do that. Obviously, Harry wouldn’t do anything quite so domestic.

Louis forced himself to leave the solace of the clean bathroom that smelt strongly of strawberries and returned to the mess he’d created all over his bed and floor. Ignoring the temptation to leave everything on the floor and tackle it later, he convinced himself that he would be happier if he put everything away immediately, so he started unpacking.

Of course, he’d been right. Being completely unpacked added a level of lightness to him, and after the morning he’d had, any feelings that were close to being positive were welcome. He’d even sorted his toiletries and placed them on the shelves in his en-suite.

It took him two hours to read through the handbook. He’d even underlined certain parts and made notes. It all felt a little less overwhelming, but not as clear as he’d like. It also felt like a lot of work. Given he was being paid twelve hours a day, four hours more than any other job he’d ever worked, it was probably reasonable… He just hadn’t considered he’d need to work those hours.

The problem with the things that weren’t covered was that they were questions that only Harry could answer, and to get those answers, Louis was going to have to talk to Harry, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

His job description included preparing Harry’s food. His heart had sunk when he read it, thinking he’d have to cook, but it turned out that freshly cooked meals were regularly delivered, and his job was simply to heat them. While he couldn’t promise he’d always be successful with it, he felt he would be at least eighty per cent of the time, which was pretty reasonable from where he was standing.

Louis texted Harry at six-thirty to say that dinner was ready, and he came down a few minutes later. He must have showered, and it made a noticeable difference to his appearance; looking softer, somehow. It might have been that his shoulder-length hair was brushed back into a damp bun, and it was the first time Louis had seen his face without his hair covering it. Unsurprisingly, all it did was accentuate all his perfect features, making him even more attractive — not at all what Louis needed.

Louis turned his back to Harry and ran his tongue over his teeth, as there would be no use trying to talk with his mouth so dry. Once satisfied that he’d even be able to open his mouth, he turned back. “Where do you normally eat?” he asked Harry, who was getting a bottle of water out of the drink fridge.

Harry paused and looked over his shoulder back to Louis. “Dunno. Why?”

“I have things I want to ask you.”

Harry hummed and picked up his plate. “And you want to do it now? While I’m trying to eat dinner?”

“Or after dinner, if you’d prefer.”

“We can’t do this during business hours?” Harry placed his plate back down and walked to a drawer. “For the record, I have water with my dinner and also use cutlery, so have those ready next time.”

It was hard for Louis to unclench his jaw, but if he ground his teeth any longer, he would do permanent damage. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you couldn’t open the fridge to get water and sort out your own knife and fork.”

“It’s part of your job description.” Harry picked up his plate and walked to the dinner table in the back corner of the living area.

To be honest, it was part of Louis’ job description, and a lot of PAs would be asked to fetch meals and drinks for their bosses. “Nowhere in my job description does it say you get to treat me like shit.” He was going to get fired. He was. Why couldn’t he learn to keep his mouth shut? Still, he walked over to the dining table where Harry was sitting.

“Damn, I thought I told them to add that.”

“Well, you didn’t, and I wouldn’t have taken this job if they had.”

“How would you have known, though? It doesn’t seem like you even read the job description at all. Can you please fuck off so I can eat in peace?” As Harry spoke, the previous hostility crept back between them. “We can deal with this during business hours.”

“I’m still on the clock, so technically, these are business hours.”

Harry lifted the fork to his mouth and observed Louis while taking slow, deliberate bites. Louis shifted under the gaze, and Harry’s expression changed — still unreadable. He took a sip of his water, eyes not leaving Louis. Finally, he said, “Your hours are different to mine,” and Louis couldn’t believe he had been made to wait a lifetime for that answer.

Deciding to level with him rather than give him any more attitude, Louis said, “I can’t do my job until I have these answers. I’ve searched everywhere and can’t find them.”

Harry let out a low, steady breath, like someone was frustrated with a small child but not wanting to yell at them. Louis knew the exact feeling. “Fine, what are they?”

“What time do you want to be woken up?”

“Oh.” It clearly wasn’t a question that Harry had been expecting. “Depends on the day. At least an hour before I have to be anywhere, and at the very latest, ten.”

“Hang on,” Louis said, walking as far as he could without running to his room. Harry had just given him an answer like a decent person, and he didn’t want to waste it. He grabbed the sheet of paper he’d written his questions on and a pen from his bed.

He was slightly puffed by the time he returned to Harry, but Harry hadn’t seemed to notice. “Okay, an hour before leaving the house or ten,” Louis repeated as he wrote it down. “What time do you like dinner?”

Harry didn’t look up at him, but he just kept carrying on eating. “Doesn’t really matter,” he said. “Again, depends on the day. By seven thirty, I guess.”

Louis nodded and wrote it down. “Do you want me to input everything into your calendar or just tell you what we’re doing when we’re doing it?”

It took even longer for Harry to answer that one, and Louis had thought that maybe he had used up all his humanity for the day. “Up to you. Keep the important things in there, though.”

“Right.” Louis had no idea what the important things were, so he decided he would just put everything in there. “How would you feel about me giving you a printed itinerary each night for the next day?”

Harry had just taken a sip of his water and, at Louis’ question, seemed to choke on it — seemingly amused. “Is this you pretending to know what you’re doing?” Harry asked once he’d regained the ability to talk.

“What?”

“Like this whole” Harry placed his fork down and flicked his wrist a few times in Louis’ direction - “professional thing, with print-outs and questions.”

“It is my job,” Louis said. He assumed Harry was trying to be offensive, but Louis didn’t understand what he was getting at. “Obviously, I’m going to be professional.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirked. “You haven’t been professional since I first met you, so why start now?”

There was no point arguing, because it was true. “I was hired to be your PA, so I’m going to be your PA.”

“You were hired to be my babysitter.” Harry had picked up his fork again.

“Well, I’ll be your PA as well. Itinerary, yes or no?”

“For fuck’s sake, Louis. Do whatever the fuck you want. If you want to print out an itinerary, go right ahead. Now can you please fuck off so I can eat dinner?”

“You go on about how I’m not professional, but what the hell do you call that?”

Harry went back to eating, and after waiting an embarrassingly long time, Louis accepted Harry wasn’t going to talk again, so he stalked back to his room.

Three months.

He could do it.

The following day, Louis’ alarm went off at six-thirty, which was entirely too early to wake up, but this was his life now. He had printed out an itinerary the night before after finding a printer in the office that was the room opposite his. Not wanting to search for Harry, he’d left it on the kitchen bench rather than giving it to him.

Their day wasn’t too busy, thankfully. Just band practice and a meeting with management. From the calendar, he could see that the rest of the band was also going to both, and he was thankful for that. He’d take any kind of buffering he could from Harry, and so far, from the brief time he’d spent with them, they seemed like decent buffers.

At seven forty, Harry still hadn’t woken, and given the studio was twenty minutes away and they had to be there at nine, Louis accepted that he’d have to wake him up. It was just that he did not want to wake Harry up. He didn’t want to go anywhere near Harry. Worst of all, he hadn’t asked Harry how he wanted to be woken up. Louis assumed that Harry’s bedroom was the one he had come out of the day before, but even then, he couldn’t be sure.

Another minute passed, and Louis knew he’d just have to deal with it, so he stomped the entire way upstairs. Well, he tried to. It turned out it was pretty challenging to stomp on marble, especially without shoes on. He rhythmically knocked on the door he believed was Harry’s. There was no response. After half a minute, he knocked again, and there was still nothing.

Knowing his only other option was to go into Harry’s room, and that was on top of his ‘do not want to do’ list, he banged on the door again so hard that his knuckles ached.

He pulled out his phone and dialled Harry’s number. While it may not be the most professional way to wake him up, none of this seemed very professional at all. At his end, he could hear the phone ringing, but no noise came from inside the room. Louis walked the line of the wall with the four doors, pausing at each one to listen in case Harry’s ringtone could be heard from them.

He was so wrapt up in it he didn’t even see the TV stand cabinet and whacked his shin on it. “Fuck!” he yelled. For a moment, he was worried about swearing but then realised if loudly swearing woke Harry, it would be better than the option that was quickly becoming his only one.

The swearing did not appear to wake Harry, though, so Louis returned to the door he’d started at and turned the handle. He’d half expected it to be locked, but it turned easily and so Louis opened it. Even while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Louis instinctively knew it was Harry’s room. It smelt like him. Until then, Louis hadn’t been consciously aware that Harry even had a smell. But as the scent of mint and sandalwood assaulted his senses, he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t been constantly on his mind. When isolated from Harry, the aroma did things to him. That was a positive, though. He appreciated the scent rather than the body that produced it.

Once his eyes adjusted, he could make out Harry’s body curled under a sheet. Louis wasn’t aware anyone used top sheets anymore, but if anyone were going to prove him wrong, it would be Harry.

Louis cleared his throat, but when it didn’t work, he realised how stupid of a plan it was. If his consistent banging and swearing hadn’t woken Harry, there was no way that noise would wake him. He gingerly walked to the side of the bed that Harry was curled on. The room was still dark, but from this close, he could still make out Harry’s features and a similar swooping sensation to the one he’d had when he’d seen Harry all clean last night occur in Louis’ insides.

Harry looked a lot younger, somehow. His face looked softer, calmer, and more peaceful. That made some sense, given he was asleep, but what worried him so much during the day that skewed his features so dramatically?

“Uh, Harry?” Louis’ voice was so timid that he was glad no one was awake to hear it. He coughed before trying again. “Harry.”

Finally, there was some life, and Harry stirred a tiny bit and pulled the sheet into himself tighter, which was, unfortunately, the opposite of what Louis wanted.

“Harry,” Louis repeated. “Mate, you need to wake up.” He reached out and grabbed Harry’s shoulder and gave it a shake.

“Whaddafuck?” Harry murmured.

As if struck by lightning, Louis ripped his hand back. “Harry, you gotta wake up.”

“Fuck off.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Louis said as he watched Harry roll slightly under his sheet. “But Harry, seriously, you need to get up. You’ve got practice soon.”

Apparently, that was all Louis had to say to get him up, and it was a shame he hadn’t known that ten minutes ago. Harry fumbled into a sitting position before getting out of bed, the sheet sliding off and back onto the bed. All of which would have been fine … except that Harry was completely naked.

Either Harry was very comfortable with his nudity, or he hadn’t woken up enough to realise he was entirely nude in front of Louis. Louis had no intention of finding out, though. “Right, um, right. I’ll see you downstairs,” he managed to choke out as he beeline straight out of Harry’s room.

There were another twenty minutes before Harry came downstairs, and in that time, Louis had made and tipped out three cups of coffee, worried that they had got too cold. He could probably just have reheated them, but he was worried Harry wouldn’t like them.

This led him back to the internal battle he’d been fighting all night. How was he meant to work for someone he hated so much? For a million reasons, he didn’t want to care how Harry took his coffee. The man was a grown fucking adult, and despite Louis’ job description, there was no reason he couldn’t make his own breakfast and coffee. At the same time, it was part of his job description, and while he still wasn’t entirely sure how much pull Harry had with keeping him employed or firing him, it was still in everyone’s best interest to keep him happy … which meant doing the job he had signed up for.

Even though it was going against everything he believed in. Fuck capitalism.

Harry didn’t even acknowledge Louis, but reached for the coffee resting on the bench and took a sip.

“What if that was mine?” Louis couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Harry looked at him and took another long sip without breaking eye contact. “Was it?”

“No.” He needed to keep a bottle of water around because his throat was in a perpetual state of dryness whenever Harry was around. “But it could have been.”

With a slight roll of his eyes, Harry said, “You want to whine about this even though I have done nothing wrong?”

“You have, though. It’s the principle of it.”

In lieu of an answer, Harry simply shook his head. “Breakfast?”

Louis bit back a comment about Harry being old enough to sort out his breakfast, pulled an egg and bacon roll out of the oven, and placed it on a plate before handing it to Harry. Harry pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar and sat facing Louis. Harry watched Louis as he ate, and Louis forced himself not to break eye contact because Harry needed to know that he wasn’t intimidated by him.

However, the longer Louis held the stare, the more amused Harry seemed. His little creases formed next to his stunning green eyes, and they sparkled with … something. It made Louis’ blood boil, so he gave in and looked away.

“You wearing that?” Harry asked, drawing Louis’ attention back to him. He nodded towards Louis’ clothes.

Louis looked down, still in track pants and a T-shirt. “Obviously, I’m not wearing this. I was going to ask what I’m meant to wear.”

Harry tilted his head while he chewed another mouthful of food. Louis made a mental note not to try talking to Harry whenever he was eating because most of their conversation was just Harry chewing. “Why were you going to ask me?”

“Because it wasn’t in my handbook. I can’t find anything about what clothes.”

“Right, that would be because you can just wear whatever you want.” It didn’t seem to be a trap, but Louis couldn’t be sure.

“You’re saying there are no rules? I can wear anything? Anytime?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, why would we care what you wear?”

It was unnerving how normal Harry was being. At no point had he done anything to make Louis’ job more manageable or even bearable, though, so it seemed more likely that he was lying. “Because I work for you.”

Harry finished his roll and pursed his lips, looking pensive. “Yes,” he said slowly, “but again, why would I give a shit what you wear?”

“Because bosses care about that kind of shit. You’re a boss, so you care.”

“Bosses care more about you swearing at them or telling them to ram bricks up their arses. What you wear is very, very low on my list of concerns.”

It was a valid point, but Louis could control what he wore a lot more than whether he swore at bosses. “Can you at least point me in the right direction? What did the other ones wear?”

Harry had stood, and Louis watched as he put his plate into the dishwasher. It meant nothing, of course; at twenty-seven years old, people should be able to put a plate in the dishwasher, nevertheless, the fact he didn’t order Louis around meant something. To Louis, at least. “The other who?”

“PAs. They said you’ve gone through a few.”

Harry let out a groan and picked up his coffee. “Because I don’t need a fucking PA.”

“Good to know,” Louis said. He really should have asked Lottie about his job security and whether he could be terminated at any time. And if he could, would they have to give him a payout?

Harry almost looked apologetic. Almost, but not entirely. “Anyway, they wore suits and shit. But, again, they’re not here anymore, so I don’t know why you’d give a fuck what they wore.”

“If I stay away from suits, I’ll keep my job. Is that what you’re saying?” Louis’ light tone starkly contrasted the tension that seemed to set into every room they were in together, and it just led to further tension.

“Again, Tomlinson, I don’t give a shit what you wear, and it’s not going to make a difference, anyway.”

The threat, or promise, was unsaid but clear. Harry had no intention of letting Louis stick around.

◦❊◦❊◦❊◦

Louis ended up trusting Harry and wearing black jeans and a t-shirt. If he were going to be fired either way, he might as well do it looking good and be comfortable.

The handbook specified that unless management dictated it, Louis was to be with Harry at all times. That alone caused Louis to have a sliver of sympathy for Harry. Louis would be pissed off, too, if he wasn’t allowed to leave the house without a PA or, as Harry perhaps more appropriately stated, a babysitter.

However, the black-and-white rule made it a bit easier for Louis because he didn’t have to worry about asking if he should stay or go whenever they went somewhere, as it was already decided for him.

Somehow, Harry and Louis were the first to enter the sizable warehouse-looking building, excluding the security, who looked like they’d been there for a while.

Louis followed Harry in, and it didn’t look fancier inside than outside. There was a make-shift stage at the other end of the room lined with instruments and clutter, and then a giant open space. Around the room’s edges were sofas, chairs, and tables scattered around.

“Oi, oi,” a voice came, and Louis, who had been walking the length of the room, turned on his heels to find Niall standing in the large doorway.

Harry hummed, and then Louis realised he was looking at Louis, not Niall. Had he been watching Louis the whole time?

“Louis!” Niall was too upbeat for this early in the morning. “Hoped I’d see you today.”

Before Louis could greet him, Harry cut in. “Why wouldn’t you see him? He’s paid to follow me around.”

“I’m just happy he hasn’t walked out on your arse yet.” Niall closed the distance between himself and Louis. “You’ve outlasted one of the other PAs.”

Louis pulled his eyes off Harry, who was also walking towards him, a few steps behind Niall. “It’s only been twenty-four hours.”

“Yep,” Niall said. “Said no amount of money was worth putting up with Harry.”

They both stood in front of Louis. “Well, we have very different takes on money, I guess.”

“Good, good, that’s what I like to hear. Keep up that spirit, and you’ll outlast the one in second last position as well.” Niall beamed.

Harry groaned. “He was a douchebag. I don’t even know how he got the job.”

“They were running out of options.” Niall directed it to Louis, though.

“How much longer do I need to stay to outlast him?” Louis asked and didn’t miss the tug at Harry’s lips before Louis looked back to Niall.

“Two days,” Niall said. “Well, two more days.”

“If you can’t outlast him, you’ll need to move countries and get a new identity or something because that would be embarrassing as fuck.” Harry walked off, leaving Louis with the words.

Before Louis could let his thoughts linger on them too long, Niall spoke in an undertone. “Has he been terrible?”

“Um,” Louis managed. “Define terrible.”

Niall’s lips formed a pucker. “I mean, if you have to ask, he mustn’t be doing his worst.”

“Or I just handle it okay?”

“Yeah, maybe. How many times have you thought about quitting?”

Louis wondered if this was something he was meant to tell his partial boss. But what would any of them do? Fire him for saying he thought about quitting. “Around ten.”

“That’s pretty good,” Niall said. “You’ll definitely outlast the douchebag who only got three days.”

“So, he was a douchebag, then?” He’d assumed that Harry had just said that because he hated all of them, but hearing Niall say it showed that maybe there was something to it.

“Yeah, kind of. I’m not trying to defend Harry because he can, and was, a right shit to all of them, but most were pretty terrible. I’m sure they would be great PAs in other settings, but they clearly weren’t used to working with someone like Harry.”

“In what way?”

Niall regarded him, and there was an obvious difference to the upbeat persona he’d had when he’d walked through it. “Just, well, management hired them — we had to talk management into letting us hire you without their approval - so they were all more interested in keeping management happy. Which was an oversight on their behalf because regardless of who paid their cheques, they were still spending all their time with Harry, so they just fucked themselves over.”

Niall’s admission added about twenty new questions to Louis’ never-ending list, but before he could ask a single one, Zayn came through the door.

“Oi oi,” he called, and Harry and Niall repeated it so it was obviously a thing they did. Niall grinned at Louis before heading up to the stage where Harry already was.

“Alright, man?” Zayn asked as he passed Louis.

Louis was too in his head to offer anything but a head tip. And walked over to a small table and set up his laptop. As all his questions ran through his head, he tried to choose the most important ones to ask for when he had time to. If he got a chance.

Ultimately, he decided he needed to know how the others were trying to keep management happy and how that affected Louis.

He involuntarily glanced up at Harry to find him sitting on a stool. While he wasn’t talking to Niall or Zayn, his gaze lingered on them with an indefinable quality—distinctly softer than any look he’d ever given Louis.

Why the fuck was Louis so taken by it?

Chapter Text

When the five of them had entered the meeting room, Louis had been guided to an armchair behind the others sitting at a board table. He noticed the contrast between the management team, with their expensive suits, styled hair, and manufactured smiles, and the lads with their backs turned. They were all wearing band shirts. Besides Niall, their hair was a varying level of discheilved, and he could see at least two holes in Zayn’s shirt from where he was seated.

Of course he couldn’t be sure, but he’d guess those four made more money than at least five out of six people in the room. Though he had mixed feelings about them owning a hotel together, he found them genuine, despite Harry owning five cars without a license.

Louis had taken his laptop out to write notes because he had no idea what else to do, but after five minutes, he’d abandoned the whole thing. He could barely understand what was being said, so his notes would be a mess even if he tried to write them.

After trying to look professional for half an hour, he wondered if it would be too unprofessional to read an e-book on his phone.

Five more minutes of mind-numbing droning passed, and he decided just to do it. He could pretend he was sending important business emails or something, even though he had no idea who he’d be sending them to.

The meeting was still going by the time he got sick of his book, and he opened his calendar to work out exactly how often they had these meetings.

He stifled a sigh when he saw they were weekly. Maybe he could convince someone — anyone — that he didn’t need to attend them. Given that all the guys and management were there, there was no need for him to be. There’d have to be a better way for him to spend his time.

To be honest, from what he could gather from the meeting, there would have to be a better way for all of them to spend the time. He didn’t think he’d heard anyone except Liam speak.

He decided he should at least try to work out what the meeting was about, so he forced himself to listen. After about ten minutes, the executives — if that’s who they even were, none of them had introduced themselves to him — addressed Harry for the first time.

“We’ve organised for paps to be at your date with Alison on Friday. Be on your best behaviour while you’re out,” one of the middle-aged men said, his tone patronising as all hell.

From behind, Louis watched as Harry’s spine straightened and his fingers gripped the side of his thigh, clearly agitated. But he still hadn’t spoken.

“Meegan will be around at ten in the morning with the outfit you’re to wear, and Sandra will get there at eleven to do your hair,” a blonde-haired lady said. “Oh,” she clicked her fingers. At Louis. Given he was already looking directly at her, it was fucking rude. But if Harry could keep his mouth shut while they spoke to him the way they did, Louis figured it was in everyone’s best interest to keep his own shut as well. “Lewis, write this down for Harry’s schedule.”

He knew that even though he’d done his best to suppress his eye-roll, he’d barely succeeded. He picked up his phone that was resting on the laptop on his knees.

“Louis,” Harry’s deep voice said.

Louis looked up, but Harry still had his back to him. Just as Louis thought that he’d imagined the entire thing — maybe his brain was so bored with this fucking meeting that it started hearing voices — until the blonde-haired woman said, “Sorry?”

“Louis,” Harry repeated. “His name is Louis.”

She looked between Harry and Louis before looking back at Harry. “Then a car will arri-”

“Nicole, you mustn’t’ve heard me. His name is Louis,” Harry said, cutting her off.

Louis shifted in his seat. Part of him wanted to tell Harry not to worry because, out of all the shit he’d gone through in the last two days, some lady not pronouncing his name correctly barely made an impact. Given it was the first time that Harry had spoken, though, Louis doubted it was about him at all and more about Harry making a point or something. Louis had no idea why Harry spoke up about Louis’ name being pronounced wrong, but not when they were acting just as rude to him.

“I heard you, Harry.” She sounded exasperated. Louis didn’t know much, or anything at all really, about how the music industry worked, but he was reasonably sure that Nicotine Redo made their company money, and not the other way around. Surely the lads could drop them and find management that treated them respectfully. So he had no idea why she’d choose to use that tone with him. “What did you want me to do with that knowledge?”

“Tell him you’re sorry.” As Harry said it, the other three, Zayn on his left, Liam, and Niall on his right, all reacted simultaneously. Liam tensed up and leaned closer to Harry until he was almost shielding him with his own body. Niall ran his hand through his hair, stopping at the back and clasping some of the short strands. Zayn threw his head back and let out a loud sigh at the ceiling.

Nicole just blinked at Harry before the older man next to her - the one who Louis was pretty sure was in charge, cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s neccess-”

“This meeting is not continuing until she apologises.” Harry’s voice was firm.

It must have been a power play or something. A way for Harry to show them he was still the one in control because there was no fucking way that it had anything to do with Louis. And honestly, Louis felt a sliver of pride for Harry. Sure, his behaviour was petty as all hell, but at least he stood up to them about something when no one else had.

The team looked at each other before Nicole gave a small cough and looked in Louis’ direction, but did not come close to meeting his eyes. “I apologise for getting your name wrong.” Louis doubted she could sound any less sorry if she tried.

“Thank you,” Louis said, forcing his voice to sound as strong as Harry’s. It wasn’t about protecting Harry, not really. And if it was, it wasn’t personal. He wasn’t doing it for Harry. It was the principle. If any of the others had done it, he would have supported them all the same.

“May I continue now?” she asked Harry.

“If you have to, I suppose.”

They continued to discuss the date, not once asking Harry for his opinion. Louis wasn’t sure who Nicole was and hadn’t considered that Harry could have a girlfriend. It would have to be awkward trying to get to know someone if other people planned the entire date. Although, they’d probably get to do that in private.

Something about the idea of Harry and Nicole at the house made Louis uncomfortable. He had no right or need to, given it wasn’t even his house, and he wasn’t paying to live there. If Harry wanted to bring anyone home, he was more than able to, and there was no reason or was that Louis could stop him.

He wondered what Harry would be like as a boyfriend because he was really struggling to imagine it. Maybe he was different with her. He might be one of those guys who is an arsehole to everyone except for their partner. Louis hoped so, at least because he doubted he’d be able to sit by and watch Harry treat her like crap. A tiny voice whispered that watching him be cute with her would be just as difficult, but he pushed that aside.

It wasn’t until talk of the date stopped that Louis remembered he meant to put the times into the calendar and hoped he hadn’t missed too much. He added that someone was coming with clothes at ten in the morning with an outfit, and someone else was coming at eleven to do Harry’s hair, which was excessive, in Louis’ opinion. Still, he wasn’t about to pretend he knew anything about how those things worked.

“Now, Liam,” the old bloke, the one Louis thought was the boss, started, “do you have an update on everything we spoke about last week?”

Just as Louis had noticed a slight change to Harry’s posture from behind, he also noticed a change in Liam’s. He sat a little taller, and his movements were jerky as he flipped through what Louis assumed was a notebook.

“The first item was Harry’s personal assistant. Louis accepted his contract last week and started with Harry yesterday,” Liam said, his voice sounding tighter than Louis had heard it before. In other circumstances, Louis may have taken it personally and assumed it was because of something he’d done or that Liam didn’t like him. But during band practice, he’d noticed Liam go from simply taking charge of practice to getting increasingly stressed, even though it had gone well from Louis’ point of view. The band seemed to work like really well together. So it was possible this meeting had made him act like that.

“Ah, yes,” a lady with dark hair said. “Louis.” Louis’ entire body tensed at the way she said his name, as it seemed like an obvious jab at Harry. “The PA that you all insisted on hiring despite his lack of experience.”

Niall cleared his throat and shifted in his seat a little. “Well, uh, he’s already lasted longer than one of the PAs you hired.” It came out so hesitantly that it almost seemed like a question.

The entire exec team turned their attention to Niall. Even Zayn, who had seemed as engaged as Louis had for most of the meeting, leaned right forward over the table to look at Niall. Louis could only see Zayn’s side profile, but saw his lips curved up slightly. It all gave Louis the distinct impression that none of them were used to Niall speaking out.

Which again seemed like absolute bullshit. These were grown men, and if the reports that Louis had involuntarily come across when he was looking for information about Harry were correct, multi-millionaires. So, why the fuck were they so intimidated by management? The band should be their employers, not their timid employees.

“Yes, well,” the brown-haired lady said, looking from Niall to Louis on the sofa. “How are you finding it?”

Louis hadn’t known what he expected at the meeting, but he definitely hadn’t expected to be addressed at all, let alone twice. “Fine,” was all Louis could give.

“Hm, well, Harry has proven that he isn’t the easiest person to work for, so if you have any issues, please contact me.” Given no one had even introduced themselves to Louis, he had no idea who she was. “We don’t need another lawsuit threat, do we, Harry?”

“I’ve had no issues working with Harry, and I don’t expect to,” Louis said. It was a big fucking lie, but Louis hated these slimy people, and he would not give a single one of them a chance to talk shit like that if it involved him.

When Harry scoffed, Louis was confused, though. Not that Louis had said it for Harry’s sake, but really, Harry should thank him for saying it at all. He could have listed all the ways Harry had made his job a living hell.

“That’s the spirit,” the woman said, shooting Louis a sickly smile. “With that attitude, I think you and I will form a beneficial partnership.”

“I’m sorry; who are you exactly?” Louis asked.

Her smile faltered before she plastered it back on. “I’m Nerida, Head of Public Relations.”

Louis wanted to comment on how the head of public relations should have attempted to introduce herself to him as soon as she saw him, but he bit back the words. “In what way will we have a partnership?” He doubted the question was much better than just making the comment.

“Well, now it’s both our jobs to keep Harry here in line, so we will work closely together to do so. It would be helpful for you to give me daily reports of his day and behaviour and any issues that have arisen. This could mean between his treatment of you or anything he has done that you think we should know that may harm the band.”

“I’m sorry, I might be mistaken.” He should keep his mouth shut; he knew he should, especially because none of the others, except when Harry had corrected the other one about his name, had fought against them at all. “My understanding was, unlike the PAs that you hired for Harry, I am not employed by you, but by the band. Therefore, if any ‘issues arise’,” he put finger quotes around the words, “which, again, I don’t expect any to, I will talk to my employers about them.”

Nerida dropped the smile, and Louis felt a sense of satisfaction at that. “While we may not employ you, it is beneficial for all parties that we form a partnership of some sort.”

Even though these fuckers weren’t his employers, the four lads in front of him, the ones who had barely engaged with the executives, were, and the right thing to do was probably follow their lead and act the way they were. But Louis was never one to sit and watch people try to throw their weight around. “I don’t understand how that is true. Unless I’m mistaken, the other PAs formed a partnership with you, and where are all of them now? Because I don’t see them in this boardroom.”

Zayn turned to look at him, and the knots that had formed in Louis’ stomach eased as Zayn’s pursed lips looked like they were trying to contain a laugh. It was the first time he’d seen anything of substance on Zayn’s face.

Louis looked back to Nerida. She had dropped all pretences, and her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. “While there may be some truth in that, you will come to realise that Harry is a complicated and difficult client, and it is in your best inter-”

“First, you understand Harry is in the room, correct? Because you are speaking as if you don’t.” He was pushing too far. Even though he wasn’t hired by management, given none of the others had shown any assertiveness to them, management clearly had some kind of power over them and perhaps could convince the others to fire him. Realistically, though, even if he kept his mouth shut today, he knew he wouldn’t be able for many more meetings like this, so at most, he was just speeding up the inevitable. “Second, Harry is not my ‘client’; he is one of my employers, so, again, I don’t believe it is in anyone’s best interest that I report or form a partnership with you. I will form a partnership with my employers.”

Nerida went to speak again, but a man beside her held up a hand to silence her. As much as he had wanted Nerida to shut the hell up, Louis could tell the man was a wanker by that action alone.

As soon as the man opened his mouth, his words proved Louis right. “I understand you have minimal experience as a personal assistant. However, I assure you that you’re making a mistake by turning down our offers of assistance.”

Louis stopped himself from saying that they obviously thought he was taking the job a lot more seriously than he was because no one else needed to hear that, including his four employers who were still in the room. They may have already decided to fire him as soon as they left the room, anyway. But he would quit ten times over before ‘forming a partnership’ with management. “Thank you for the advice and offer. I will disregard it, but I appreciate it all the same.”

All the staff looked to the older man, the one Louis had decided must be the boss. He didn’t engage with Louis. Instead, he looked at Liam. “Let us continue with the list. As established, you outsourced a PA for Harry. As discussed when you made that demand, I am sure you’ll remember he is also your responsibility now.”

Louis felt a pang of guilt. He’d been so adamant about standing up for himself that even if he lost his job, he hadn’t even considered how it might look on the others.

Liam gave a sharp nod before looking down at his list. “I spoke to the personal trainer, and he has printed out a full report on our current sessions, our measurements, and the changes he will make to our plans per your instructions.” Liam handed sheets of paper over to the other side of the table.

Two things hit Louis. The first was how fucked up it was that management needed, wanted, and could have access to those documents. The next was, why the hell was it Liam’s responsibility to do that? Why wouldn’t he have a staff member to do it? Or, if management had the right to that information, why didn’t they contact the personal trainer themselves? Louis couldn’t see how it made sense for the band’s drummer to worry about shit like that.

The rest of the meeting went like that. Liam single-handedly went over all the things he’d covered in the last week while he was given more tasks and random comments about things being his responsibility. While it was possible that Liam liked it - having the extra responsibility and duties - his movements got more rigid as the meeting went on, so it seemed unlikely.

After twenty minutes, the meeting finally ended. Louis was the first up and out of the room. He leaned against the wall as he waited for the others. He regretted nothing he’d said and would do the same thing a million times, but that didn’t mean he’d still have a job.

Liam came out next and strode straight past Louis. It hadn’t seemed like Liam had noticed that Louis was there, but it immediately reminded Louis that they’d told Liam that Louis was his responsibility. After the meeting, Louis could see that Liam was already practically drowning in responsibility, and Louis had probably made Liam look like shit. Fuck.

Harry walked out next and strode past Louis but called out, “You coming or what?” as he did so.

Louis took rushed steps to catch up to Harry. They walked down the stairs in silence. The driver who had taken them to the meeting pulled up right in front of them. Louis wasn’t sure if he’d somehow known they were almost down or if he had waited in the car park, looking out for them. He didn’t bother asking, though. He opened the car door, but Harry pushed past him and climbed into the car before he could get in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Louis asked. He sounded a lot more pissed off than he should have.

“Thought you were holding the door opened for me.” Harry was straight-faced, but there was no way that Harry would have thought Louis would do that.

After slamming the door shut, Louis walked around to the other side and got in, not even glancing at Harry.

It had felt so good telling the management off, but now all he could think about was Liam. He hadn’t spoken to Liam since he started. Liam had been the last to get to practice and had given Louis a nod before joining the others, and by the time practice had finished, he’d already looked stressed and had just given Louis a tight smile. And now he’d just fucked up everything for him.

He stared out the window with only a vague sense of where they were. He’d lived on the outskirts of London, having nowhere near enough money to see the city, so he really only knew his previous workplaces and good pubs.

For a second, he considered apologising to their management just to help Liam, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t sorry. Not to them. Maybe he should just apologise to Liam. It would be weird as fuck, but at least the apology to him would be genuine.

“Why are you sulking?” Harry asked him, and he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten that Harry was sitting beside him.

“I’m not,” Louis muttered, not looking away from the window.

As Louis had expected, Harry didn’t reply, and they didn’t speak for the rest of the trip or on the walk to the apartment. As Harry unlocked it, Louis stopped.

“Um, which door is Liam’s?”

Harry, who had walked into the apartment, turned back to him. “Why?”

“I want to talk to him about something.”

“What? What do you want to talk about?” Harry’s voice had turned just as icy as his eyes were.

“It doesn’t matter. Which door is his?” It was bad enough that he was going to have to talk to Liam about it, so there was no fucking way he was going to talk to Harry.

Harry approached him and grabbed the inside doorknob. “One next to Zayn’s.”

Louis nodded and barely made it out of the doorway before the door was slammed into his face. He had no time to worry about it and instead followed the corridor and stopped at the door that was apparently Liam’s.

Liam answered after Louis’ first knock. His dishevelled look was twice as bad as earlier in the day. The sight of Louis caused him to panic, making Louis feel terrible. Liam spoke up before he could apologise. “What’d he do?”

“I - uh, what?”

“Just tell me what he did, and I’ll go and talk to him. We can sort it out.”

Louis had been so set on apologising that he couldn’t process Liam’s words. “I don’t kno—”

“No!” Liam seemed surprised at his outburst and then let out a heavy sigh. “Can you give it one more chance? Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll fix it. I’ll get him to stop being a dick.”

“Ooh,” Louis said as it started to make sense. Immediately, he felt a little lighter. “Do you think this is about Harry?”

Liam’s brow furrowed, and he nodded.

“It’s not. Harry’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Can I come in?”

Liam looked confused and then glanced around his apartment before stepping aside to let Louis in. As Louis expected, his apartment was the same as Zayn’s and Harry’s, but he had organised the layout differently. However, Zayn and Harry had set up their lounges to face the large glass doors of the city. Liam had set up his living room in the corner of the open space, where Harry kept his dining table. Even though the house was probably set up to have it set up the way Harry and Zayn did, Liam’s felt cosier.

Louis followed as Liam led him to the sofa. “If it’s not about Harry, what’s up? How can I help?” Liam asked.

“You don’t need to help me. I, uh, wanted to check that you’re all good. And that we’re good.”

“What? Why wouldn’t we be good?”

“Just, uh. Like that meeting. I wasn’t really professional or whatever,” Louis said.

“Oh,” Liam said. “It’s fine. Knew you weren’t professional when we hired you.”

It was true; they’d seen exactly how unprofessional he could be. It also brought up a question that Louis still wasn’t sure he had a proper answer to. “Why did you hire me?”

“Lots of reasons,” Liam said. “Partly because you were unprofessional.”

“But why was that a good thing?” Louis asked.

“Because that’s why none of the others had worked out. I tried to tell management at the start that Harry would never be happy with the PAs they sent, but they didn’t listen.” It wasn’t said, but Louis was reasonably sure there was an unsaid 'as usual,’ or something similar.

“So, you wanted someone to yell at Harry?”

Liam sucked in his lip, and his brow furrowed again. “No.” He drew out the word, looking thoughtful. “I mean, obviously, he needed someone who wasn’t going to take his shit, or take his behaviour personally or anything. But he was never going to respect any of the others.”

“And you think he’ll respect me?” Harry hadn’t shown him an ounce of anything close to respect since they’d met.

“Yeah.” He sounded so sure, and Louis was desperate to ask why.

He decided now wasn’t the time to ask that, though, so he focused on the fact that he hadn’t caused Liam’s shitty mood.

But that just reminded him that Liam had been in a shitty mood. He barely knew Liam and wasn’t one to talk about feelings at the best of times, let alone to someone he’d just met, and about things he didn’t understand. Louis glanced at the TV stand and saw exactly what he’d hoped to. “You got FIFA?”

Liam looked at the PS4 and then nodded.

“Wanna play?” Louis asked.

Liam looked at him for a few seconds. “Yeah, okay.”

By the time Louis left Liam’s an hour later, Liam seemed to be in a much better mood. So, even though he knew he hadn’t fixed anything, Louis was happy he’d been able to improve his mood.

He hadn’t taken his key, so he had to knock on the door. Harry must have been in the kitchen because the door swung open mid-knock.

“Hey, you a’right?” Louis asked as he walked into the apartment.

“Fine.”

Louis spun and looked at Harry because his tone didn’t sound like he was fine. He found Harry glaring at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The bite to his voice was still there as he walked past Louis into the kitchen.

“There’s obviously something wrong. What is it?”

Harry’s jaw twitched, and Louis realised how tightly Harry clenched it. The lad was pissed. Louis racked his brain, trying to work out what the fuck he could have done. He hadn’t paid much attention to Harry in the car, but Harry hadn’t seemed pissed off then.

Although they hadn’t talked for the rest of the trip, Louis thought that was only because he hadn’t wanted to. Unless that was what Harry was pissed off about. It was a pretty dramatic reaction, but Harry had shown that he was a pretty dramatic person.

“Nothing is fucking wrong!”

“Wow,” Louis breathed. “If this is you when nothing is wrong, I’d hate to see what you’re like when something is wrong.”

“Well, luckily for you, you won’t get the chance.” His expression remained just as hard, and his eyes bore into Louis’.

“What? What do you mean?”

Harry exhaled sharply out of his nose. “You. Won’t. Be. Here.” He enunciated each word, expression darkening with each one.

Louis stared at him, physically incapable of doing anything else.

“Why don’t you pack your shit and go? I’m sure Liam will deal with your payout.” Harry pushed away from the kitchen counter and made for the stairs.

It took Louis a moment to work out what he was saying, and by the time he had, Harry was already out of sight. Louis ran the length of the room and up the stairs. Harry was sitting on the lounge staring at the TV as he turned it on. How the fuck was Harry always so fast? “You want me to pack and leave?” Louis asked.

Harry didn’t take his eyes off the telly, but the killer expression was softer, somehow.

“Harry?” Louis asked when Harry still hadn’t acknowledged him, let alone answered his questions.

He still didn’t look at him, but ran his hand through his hair. “Look, if you need to stay here tonight, fine, whatever. But that’s it.”

“You’re firing me?” Louis asked. “Why? What did I…?” He let the question drop. He knew Harry didn’t like him, and he knew Harry didn’t want a PA, but he just didn’t know what he did to piss him off this much. He was also pretty sure Harry didn’t even have the power to fire him, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about keeping the job if Harry wanted him to go this badly. “Is it about the meeting?” He’d been so worried he’d pissed Liam off he hadn’t really thought about how the others, especially Harry, might feel.

Harry finally looked at him, and his stony expression had been replaced with a confused one.

“Look, if you want me to go this badly, I will, but I … can you tell me what exactly I did?” Louis asked.

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who quit.”

“What? No, I didn’t? When?”

“Isn’t that what you just did?” Harry asked slowly.

“I just went and saw Liam.” It started to fall into place after that. “You thought I quit?”

Harry opened his mouth slightly before closing it again.

“If I were going to quit, I’d tell you. I wouldn’t just … go and tell Liam or whatever.”

“Right,” Harry said and looked back at the TV.

“I just … Liam had seemed angry, and I was worried it was my fault.” Louis had no fucking idea why he said any of that to Harry at all. He didn’t need to justify anything to him.

“Fine, okay.”

Louis had been about to reassure Harry again when it hit him. “You were sad.”

“What?” Harry seemed to focus even harder on the TV.

“You thought I was going, and you were sad.” Louis was saying the words as much to himself as he was to Harry. Harry had been upset because he thought Louis had quit.

“I wasn’t fucking sad.” He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded kind of bored, but Louis was sure he was forcing himself to sound that way. There was no other explanation for his reaction to thinking Louis was leaving.

Louis was struggling to hold back a grin. “You want me to stay.”

Harry finally looked at Louis. “For fuck’s sake, Louis. I couldn’t give a shit either way. It would just be really fucking inconvenient if you left, and management would take over and send another one of their shitty PAs.”

“So … what you’re saying is that I’m not shitty?” He couldn’t hold back the teasing note and a tinge of pink that crept into Harry’s cheeks, which Louis found very satisfying... and not at all cute.

“No, I said that you’re not another one of their shitty PAs.”

“Sure, sure, right? Sorry, my mistake. I’m still shitty, but you still want me to stay.”

Harry’s jaw tightened again, but he looked a lot less threatening now that Louis’ job felt a little more solid. “That is not what I said. I said that it would be inconvenient if you left.”

“And, if you don’t want me to leave … which must mean you want me to…. Stay.”

“I never said that. Now, fuck off. Honestly, you don't need to be on this floor ever. Go back to down to yours.”

Louis gave up fighting back his grin. Harry wasn’t even looking at him, so there was no real reason to hide it. “Okay, but if you miss me, I’ll just be downstairs, revelling in my job security.”

“No one says revelling.”

“I say revelling.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Now, seriously, fuck off.” Harry turned up the volume of the telly until it hurt Louis’ ears.

Figuring there was no reason to stay up there, he went to his room, his grin not faltering once.

Chapter Text

When seven fifty-five came around on Wednesday morning, Harry was still in bed, meaning that Louis would need to wake him. Thankfully, he knew which door was Harry’s and didn’t have to waste so much time trying to work it out.

Despite banging as loudly as possible, there was still no answer, and honestly, Harry must be the deepest sleeper in the world. The last thing that Louis wanted to do was go into Harry’s room again. Especially because he’d spent hours’ last night trying to erase the image and knowledge of Harry sleeping naked out of his brain - he’d been entirely unsuccessful, so avoiding adding more images was the best that he could hope for.

The alternative was to keep knocking on Harry’s door and hoping that one knock would wake him up, and that didn’t seem like a very good plan, either. Regardless of his newfound sense of job security — until Harry changed his mind or convinced the others that he didn’t need a PA, at least — letting him sleep in because Louis didn’t want to go into his room for purely selfish reasons didn’t seem like the best option.

Taking a minute to brace himself to enter Harry’s room and already preparing how he was going to get out of there as soon as possible, once Harry woke, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The morning before, Harry had been curled up in his sheets and looked peaceful, but this morning, Louis paused for a second. Harry was still curled up, and his face looked peaceful … Louis supposed. But the bed was a tangled mess. It was possible that Harry just slept like that. It was possible he didn’t make his bed, so the chaos could have just been from sleeping an in unmade bed.

The only other explanation Louis could think of, and the one that made him feel more uneasy than it should, was that he’d had a restless sleep. Even if that were the case, though, there was no reason for Louis to care about it. He had no idea what time Harry went to sleep, as the only time they saw each other was when Harry ate dinner downstairs — and even then Louis tried to make himself scarce, and only return to the kitchen to have cereal for dinner once Harry had left.

It was possible that Harry hadn’t slept well, but that didn’t need to affect Louis at all. There was no reason for Louis to be worrying about how well his boss slept. That wasn’t in his job description. Well, he was pretty sure it wasn’t.

Louis shook his head a little, trying to shake out the thoughts and focus on doing his fucking job.

“Harry,” Louis called from the end of the bed.

He didn’t even flinch.

“Harry.” He said it louder that time, but still nothing.

Groaning, he accepted he was going to have to get closer to him and getting close to naked Harry Styles was the thing that Harry had been trying to avoid.

He called his name one more time as he stood above him, and when it still didn’t work, he reached his hand out and gripped his shoulder to give it a shake. Harry stirred and made an indistinguishable noise before squeezing his eyes shut tight.

“You’ve got band practice.”

It seemed like they were magic words because Harry clumsily sat up. Assured that he was awake, Louis all but sprinted out of the room, not wanting to risk seeing Harry naked again.

As soon as he was back downstairs, he got the breakfast frittata out of the oven where it had warmed up. Louis wasn’t entirely sure how good a pre-made, re-heated frittata could taste. It would have to taste okay. Otherwise, Harry wouldn’t have them, Louis supposed. And to be fair, it was more enjoyable than the buttered toast he’d had.

Louis had looked up the instructions for Harry’s coffee machine and was both pleased and embarrassed to find out it was as easy as putting a pod in and pushing one button. After looking through the instructions, he had no idea how he even got Harry coffee at all the previous day. As soon as he heard Harry walk downstairs, he pushed the button, and the coffee was ready by the time he reached the counter.

“Morning,” Louis said. Harry was dressed — and Louis was questioning if he even owned anything other than black jeans and band t-shirts because that’s all he had seen him in — but still looking a little sleepy, which made him a lot cuter than he had any business being.

Harry pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar of the island bench and pulled his breakfast and coffee towards him. Louis had been refusing to get his cutlery out of principle, but given the cutlery drawer was next to Louis’ hip, he figured it would just be petty not to give him some. When he handed the knife and fork to Harry, he realised Harry hadn’t returned the greeting or even acknowledged his existence, which brought Louis right back to the reality where it didn’t matter how cute Harry was. He was still an arsehole.

Louis released his involuntary pout. “How did you wake up without a PA? You’re so hard to wake up. What did you do when you didn’t have someone?”

After swallowing his food as a silent reminder for Louis to stop trying to have conversations with Harry while he was eating, he looked up at him. “You’re complaining about your job already?”

“No.” So it seemed like the revelation that Harry didn’t want him to quit hadn’t magically made Harry a decent human towards him. “Was just curious.”

“It doesn’t matter what I did, does it? Because you’re getting paid to do it now.” He was looking at Louis as if waiting for him to fight back, but it seemed pointless.

“And I am just so lucky to have the honour,” Louis said with mock sincerity and walked out of the room.

Band practice ran so similar to the previous day that Louis could have been convinced that he’d watched the same practice twice. They were all so in tune with each other that they switched between songs without speaking, and they didn’t need to go and repeat or work on anything because they had it perfected.

Louis would have said he was a very casual Nicotine Redo listener. A few of their songs had made their way onto his Spotify playlists. But he’d never searched out their discography or anything, and he was starting to wish he had. He’d started writing down lyrics to the songs he liked so he could Google them when he got home and had internet, unlike the studio-warehouse in the middle of nowhere where they were.

Part of him felt guilty for getting what were essentially private shows when he wasn’t even a massive fan of them, while there were people out there who would kill to experience what he was as part of his job. Because of this, he went back and forth, trying to decide between listening and appreciating them or doing work, which he was paid to do.

There was no point trying to decide between those two choices, though, because the answer would be irrelevant — he couldn’t appreciate the experience of a private Nicotine Redo show or do much work because he was spending much too long appreciating Harry.

He’d heard Harry’s voice through speakers and headphones, but hearing it live was a completely different experience. Although, it was possible that he just never paid enough attention to his voice when he was listening. Now it would be impossible not to. Just like it was impossible to take his eyes off Harry.

The worst part was Harry wasn’t even doing anything special. He was just singing. Sometimes standing, other times sitting, but always almost emotionless. Much to his humiliation, that was enough for Louis to be transfixed. It made every little thing he did seem like something much more important. Like every time he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, which he did way too often, Louis’ stomach would lurch.

It would have been a lot easier if he had more work to do. The internet in the warehouse studio was shit, as he’d leant the day before. At least this time, he’d brought some things to do that didn’t need the internet — which were mainly just things he needed to update the calendars. Even then, though, if he understood everything correctly, there wasn’t that much to do. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but basically, it was just band practice every day, except for those when one member had something on; a personal training session with the odd meeting and event shoved in there. From what he could see, there were no performances or even interviews for the at least the next few weeks.

There had been at least fifty times over the last few days where he’d had to re-evaluate his stance on not googling them. He just had so many questions and wasn’t sure when he was going to get an answer.

“Let’s go,” Harry said to him, and Louis didn’t know how long ago they’d stopped playing for, too caught up in his thoughts.

By the time Louis packed up all his shit, Harry was already out the door. Niall had taken them to practice after Louis pointed out it made no sense for them to get a car there when they were all going to the same places. After a stupid amount of convincing, he managed to get Harry to agree.

Actually, that was a lie. After a stupid about of convincing, Harry was still saying no, so Louis rang Niall, and Niall convinced Harry to do it.

Louis still couldn’t be sure because he really didn’t know them and didn’t want to pretend to, but he’d already got a sense that Harry had some kind of soft spot for Niall that he didn’t have for the others, and as he gave into Niall after only arguing for five minutes, he decided he was right.

Niall was standing at the door waiting for him once he was fully packed. “You coping okay?” Niall asked him in undertones.

“Yeah, fine.” Louis attempted a smile.

“Good,” Niall said. “That’s good. I’m glad.” Niall did look glad. So glad that he felt guilty for not being sure how long he could really imagine sticking around. Hopefully, he could still make the three months that he committed to himself he would do.

“So, do I come to this thing?” Louis asked Harry.

“No.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that, so I get in trouble?”

“For fuck’s sake, Louis. I’m not even leaving the building. I’ll be with the trainer the whole time. You don’t need to babysit me all the fucking time.”

Louis did his best to bite back his words, given that Harry was already pissed off, but in the end, he lost. “I thought that’s why I was hired?”

Harry huffed out a breath. “I don’t know why the fuck you were hired.”

“But you’re glad that I was, aren’t you? Because you were sad wh—”

“I was not fucking sad,” Harry said. He opened the door, apparently not even planning on saying goodbye.

“Wait!” Louis said and, to Louis’ surprise, Harry waited. “Is it okay if I go out? I need to get an internet dongle thing so I can work during band practice.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking confused. “What?”

“I, uh,” Louis wasn’t even sure which part Harry was asking about. “Is it okay if I leave the house and go and buy it?”

With a tilt of the head, Harry surveyed him, and Louis realised all he had done was re-word the question, which probably didn’t help. He was about to elaborate when Harry spoke. “Do whatever you want. You don’t even have to come back.”

“Oh, but I do,” Louis said, knowing he was pushing it. “Because it would be inconvenient if I left, wouldn’t it?”

“Fuck you, Tomlinson,” Harry said as he slammed the door shut.

Louis spotted Harry walking towards him from the other end of the hallway, presumably also heading towards the apartment. He still had his hair in the bun he’d left the house in, but it was messier now; some hair had fallen out and was shiny with sweat. His cheeks were flushed, and he was glistening.

They reached the door at the same time, and immediately Louis could smell Harry, and of fucking course, he still smelt good after an obviously strenuous personal training session. Harry always smelt good. Louis’ mum and sisters’ love of perfume had taught him too much irrelevant knowledge about scents, but it also meant that he could identify that Harry usually smelt like sandalwood and vanilla. Except after showering — after showering — he always smelt minty for a little while. And after breakfast, he always smelt like coffee, but it wasn’t his breath or anything, it was just him. When the smell of coffee seemed to intertwine itself with the vanilla, he smelt … delicious. Louis needed an intervention or something.

Because even now, shimmering with sweat, when anyone else would smell like a gym locker room or feet or something, Harry just smelt like musk and leather, and maybe it wouldn’t be appealing on anyone else, but it was on Harry.

“You’ve been smoking,” Harry said. The note of disdain proving he had very differing feelings about Louis.

Louis pressed his lips together, trying to come up with an answer. He’d remembered Zayn saying that Harry wouldn’t like smoking, and Louis had been so restrained, only having one smoke a day. He’d been hoping that Harry just wouldn’t be able to notice it because he hadn’t when Louis had got back home after Liam’s the day before, where he and Liam had both had one. Liam said he didn’t normally smoke, and Louis almost felt bad, but when he watched Liam take his first drag, Louis could tell that it hadn’t been that long since Liam had smoked at all.

Finally, Louis settled on the truth, not knowing what else he could say. “I have, yes.”

“It’s disgusting. You stink.”

“Can you just let us inside?” Louis asked, looking down at the key in Harry’s outstretched hand.

Harry stood motionless. “You need to shower as soon as we get inside.”

“I’m not sure you’re allowed to tell me to do that. I don’t remember reading that you dictate when I bathe in my contract.”

“Well, you need to read it more carefully.”

“Harry, open the door,” Louis was on the verge of whining and hated it.

When Harry still didn’t make it to unlock the door, Louis pulled out his own key. Pushing Harry’s hand out of the way, he unlocked the door and walked in. He didn’t wait to see if Harry followed as he walked straight to his room.

It turned out that even with internet, Louis still didn’t have much work to do at band practice. He’d already replied to the few emails Harry had got before they left, and no more had come through.

The only thing he could think of doing was googling what PAs for celebrities actually did. As he’d half-expected, nothing helpful came up. He supposed most famous people who hire PAs hired ones who knew what they were meant to do and not Google it.

He spent thirty minutes trying to find something to do and another ten trying to look busy. Then he realised that none of them were paying any attention to him at all, and even if they were, besides Harry, the only expectation any of them seemed to have of him was that he wouldn’t quit … and even then, they didn’t seem too convinced he was going to meet that one. So he put away the laptop and opened an e-book.

He couldn’t help but be drawn back into watching them every few minutes. It struck him that, again, the practice went precisely the same as the last two. Same songs in the same order and they were all perfect. They made playing look effortless, and all seemed so in sync with each other that there was no need to talk or re-do anything.

Rather than finding their efficiency and proficiency impressive as he had the last two times, now it seemed a little confusing. Why would they practise like this for three hours every day when there didn’t seem to be any need for it at all? After the thought struck him, he closed the Kindle up and watched them. After two songs, he was positive that all four of them were bored as fuck.

The only times they didn’t seem bored were when they weren’t even playing — like if they stopped for a drink or snack, or if someone had to tune their instrument, or go to the bathroom or something. When that happened, they’d chat … well, everyone except for Harry would talk. Harry just sat a bit away from them, occasionally throwing them glances. At one point, Harry grinned at something Niall said and looked like he was going to say something but stopped himself.

Louis shouldn’t care. He knew he shouldn’t care. Whatever that was didn’t make up for the fact that Harry was an arsehole for no reason. But a small, minuscule, almost insignificant part of Louis cared. That part, the part that was so tiny it barely existed, smashed into a million fresh pieces by the forceful wave of pain it felt for Harry.

He decided he was glad that he wasn’t a massive fan of them because he couldn’t imagine how heartbroken a fan would be if they looked hard enough to see this reality. The band that they loved so much did not even seem to enjoy what they were doing. Because even though he wasn’t a massive fan, the reality left a bit of an empty feeling in his chest.

Ride-sharing with Niall felt like a mistake on the way home and Louis had wished he hadn’t made them do it because the tension in the car was at breaking point. Harry had gone from his sulky, snappy self, which was so bloody annoying but also entirely manageable, to being intolerable, even to Niall.

Louis knew that Niall and Harry must have known each other since they were teenagers, given the band formed ten years ago, so it definitely wasn’t Louis’ place to intervene at all, ever. However, during the final five minutes of the trip that they spent in silence, Niall’s attention focused entirely on the road with furrowed brows, Louis found it really fucking hard not to.

Without speaking, Harry’s shitty mood radiated so strongly off him it filled the entire car until Louis felt like he was drowning in it. Harry didn’t even wait for Niall to pull up the handbrake when they arrived in the parking space before he stormed off, slamming the car door behind him.

Louis was torn between checking on Niall and chasing Harry. He quickly decided that, at that point, Harry was a flight risk, so after a quick ‘thanks’ to Niall, he jumped out of the car, still taking time to shut the door gently.

Louis couldn’t catch up to Harry because of Harry’s inability to walk at a normal pace, but he found the front door open and was certain Harry was in the apartment.

Louis used his nervous energy to be productive and unload the dishwasher. Before he finished, Harry thundered back downstairs in shorts and a different t-shirt, and Louis realised he had forgotten that Harry had a personal training session. Thank fuck that Harry had remembered.

“Well?” The demanding not to Harry’s voice confused Louis. “Are you coming?”

“Um, I don’t know. Am I?”

“I’d think so, given it’s part of your fucking job.”

Louis had held onto the rare glimpses of Harry being an almost decent person so tightly, trying to assure himself that somewhere deep inside, Harry was, at the very least, not a bad person. Today, he was struggling to find the motivation to hold on to them at all. “Yesterday, you told me not to.”

“That was yesterday. Today you have to.”

“Fucking hell, Harry. How am I meant to know that?”

“It’s your job to know.”

“I swear to god, if you say that one more time, I’m quitting. I’m not playing around, Harry. My job isn’t to be a fucking mind-reader.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, and Louis was sure that he had things he wanted to get out, but was refraining, and honestly, it was the best decision Harry had made all day because if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, Louis would quit.

Louis grabbed the house key and glared straight back at Harry. “Right, well, come on then. Go.” Should he be talking to his boss like that? No. But he was struggling to give a shit.

The gym turned out to be on the top floor of the building. For some reason, Louis had assumed that it would be underground, like the garage that housed all of their cars. In Louis’ opinion, putting a gym on the top floor was a waste. Glass windows replaced the external walls, giving them one of the best views of the city he’d seen. Only seeing it while working out should be illegal.

The personal trainer, Matt, introduced himself and shook Louis’ hand. While he certainly was no Harry Styles, he was attractive. And Louis needed to make sure that Harry didn’t become his new gauge of whether someone was attractive, because even though he was a massive wanker, appearance-wise, Louis doubted many people, if anyone, would ever outrank him.

“Thanks for coming,” Matt said, giving him a genuine smile. It had been a while since Louis had seen a genuine smile. “Because the lads are still getting used to their new training programs, we were going to have daily sessions for the next week or two. Because Harry has a commitment tomorrow, we’ll miss our session, so Harry suggested you come and watch so you can make sure he gets it right tomorrow.”

Louis glanced at Harry and raised his eyebrows. Not that Harry shouldn’t have asked that Louis come, especially as Louis had no other work to do, but Harry had wanted Louis there.

“No problem,” Louis said as he looked back at Matt. “Should I write it down?”

“There’s no need to do that, I have it printed out, but if you want to make any notes, you can.” Louis watched as Matt walked over to a bench and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen, and brought it back over to Louis. Matt’s fingers grazed Louis’. Louis looked up at him, and it seemed pretty likely it was deliberate.

Louis pulled his hand away and gave him a small, polite smile. Regardless of how cute it was and whether he might be interested in Louis, they were both employed by Harry and as unprofessional as Louis might be as a PA; he wasn’t that unprofessional.

“Can we fucking get on with it?” Harry said, and despite his self-praise of being professional, Louis realised he had forgotten that Harry was there for a second.

Matt pulled his eyes off Louis. “Of course, Harry.”

Louis did his best to watch Matt during the session. Not because he wanted anything to happen between them, it couldn’t even if he wanted it to, but because he wanted to be able to look at something else other than Harry working out.

All it did was prove to him he couldn’t look at anything else while Harry was working out. Because Harry working out was fucking magnificent. He was sure the band could make just as much money selling tickets to watch Harry train as they made from concerts.

The thoughts Louis was having were nowhere near professional, not even close. Thoughts weren’t even the right word because there weren’t thoughts plural, there was a singular thought. One thought. The only thought he had revolved around fucking Harry. This felt like a preview. Harry flushed, sweating, puffed out. Louis had full permission to look at every part of Harry, that’s why he was there after all, and there wasn’t a part of him that Louis wasn’t turned on by.

When Matt and Harry moved onto weights, Louis was sure he was going to die. Or come or something. The soft, guttural groans would be listed as the cause of death on Louis’ autopsy report.

Louis did not know how he could find Harry so fucking infuriating and also be so consumed with the desire to bend him over one of the bars and fuck him. Although, even when the thoughts of fucking him swam around his mind, he was still infuriated by it. It wasn’t a desire for cute, romantic sex, it was a ‘let’s fuck until I don’t want to punch you in the face anymore’ kind of desire.

Occasionally Matt would talk to Louis, and he could pull him out of his thoughts, but never for long, especially when all the things he was saying were about Harry. Like, “When he does these lifts, you need to make sure his arms are straight, like this. Do you want to come closer to see what I’m talking about?”

The answer was no — Louis did not want to come closer.

After the absolute longest hour of his life, as soon as Matt said the session was over, Louis sprinted out of the room after yelling out something about being back later. The elevator ride was enough to settle him down, enough that he was able to knock on Zayn’s door.

“Louis,” Zayn said, seeming only mildly surprised to find him there. “Ya alright?”

“Smoke.” It wasn’t a question. He needed one, and he needed it now. If he had to push past Zayn and grab a smoke, he would. He’d lit up in the hallway if he had to. It didn’t matter how he got one or where he did it. He needed it now.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to do anything because Zayn opened the door and motioned for Louis to come in. Louis walked straight to the balcony, trusting that Zayn would follow. After a few seconds, Zayn was out there, too, and they sat in the chairs they had the previous time.

The first drag didn’t do much, so he took the second and third in quick succession. The fourth gave him some relief.

“This about Harry?” Zayn asked, head resting back on his chair.

Louis gave a non-committal noise in reply. Yes, it was Harry, but not in the way Zayn meant. Well, hopefully not in the way Zayn meant. Louis wasn’t there seeking refuge from Harry because of Harry’s behaviour. He was there because of his own fucked up thoughts. Not that he’d admit it to Zayn, even if Zayn wasn’t his employer, but it was a very important thing to remember at that point.

Zayn didn’t question further, and it was a few minutes before he spoke again. “Niall came by earlier. Pointed out that you’ve outlasted two of the former PAs.”

“Oh.” He had, too. He glanced at Zayn. “I heard the second one was a douchebag.”

Zayn kept his eyes lightly closed as he tilted his face up to the autumn sun. “They all kinda were.”

“Niall said the same thing.” When Louis had first met all of them, he’d got the impression that it was Harry who was the reason for going through so many PAs, but now two of them kind of implied that wasn’t the case. “How?”

“What did Niall say?”

Louis had to think back. “Just that they were management puppets.”

Zayn kept resting his head on the back of the chair, but turned it in Louis’ direction and opened his eyes. “Niall said that?”

“Not those words, but that’s what I took away from it.”

Zayn nodded before rolling his head back to the middle of the chair. “Yeah, pretty much sums it up. I mean, most weren’t awful. Management pushed the ‘babysitting’ angle so hard that some of them thought they were going to be able to control him.”

“That’s bullshit,” Louis said. “He’s an adult human person.”

A smile played on Zayn’s lips. “He is.”

Louis was dying to see if Zayn realised that he and the rest of the band were also people and they were all being controlled, but, as he had done with so many other things that he’d been desperate to say and ask over the last few days, he held it in. Instead, he took the ciggie that Zayn offered him.

When the first sign of Harry being awake on Friday morning was the sound of his bedroom door slamming, Louis should have realised exactly how bad of a mood he was in. Somehow, he didn’t until Harry was storming to the kitchen counter.

“Coffee.”

“Excuse me?”

“Coffee. Where the fuck is my coffee?”

If Louis hadn’t known that Harry slept naked, he would have assumed that Harry hadn’t even bothered getting dressed. However, Louis knew Harry slept naked — and his brain, and/or dick, were very insistent that he remembered that fact — and he was wearing pyjama bottoms. Because of Louis’ fixation on the knowledge that Harry slept naked, hadn’t imagined him owning pyjama bottoms. It wasn’t surprising that he looked good in them, though.

Shame about the personality. “Your coffee isn’t ready because I wasn’t expecting you yet.”

“Why the fuck not? And you should have woken me!”

“Because I thought you’d sleep in since whoever is bringing your clothes won’t be here until ten.” Louis had thought he was doing the right thing, but obviously, he’d got it wrong. Although it seemed like Harry was looking for anything to be pissed about, so if Louis had woken him, he probably would have been yelled at about that instead.

His glower grew stronger. “Next time, ask me what I want before deciding for me!”

Louis was about to ask who the fuck did Harry think he was. But the answer would be Harry Styles, and this was likely how Harry Styles was expected to treat his staff. Still, it was fucked up. “I asked you. When I started, I did. And you said an hour before you have to go anywhere or before ten thirty. It’s not even nine yet. So why the fuck would I wake you?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth twice, reminiscent of a fish, before he spoke again. “Coffee.”

It felt like a small win. A tiny one, but a win was a win. Without taking his eyes off Harry, Louis walked around to the cupboard with the mugs and pulled one out, glaring at him the entire time. He slowly picked up a coffee capsule and put it in the machine, then pushed the button. “Thank fuck you have me, right?” he said, still staring at Harry while the machine filled the mug. “No way you could have coped with that very complex task by yourself.”

“It’s part of your fuc-”

Louis wasn’t sure if it was the expression he gave Harry or if Harry had just remembered his threat that he’d quit if he brought that up again, but whatever it was caused Harry to shut up. Louis wouldn’t have quit just at that, but the fact it made Harry stop showed, once again, he wanted Louis to stay. If Harry weren’t in such a venomous mood, Louis would make a joke about it. As it was, he decided to hold on to it for another time. Perhaps when Harry was in a better mood. If that ever happened.

As pissed off as he was at Harry, and he was really fucking pissed off, Louis still got his breakfast ready, but he chose the most boring looking one — muesli and yoghurt. It also required the least amount of effort, which was what Louis wanted at that point.

Louis placed it in front of Harry a little too forcefully before leaving Harry behind and going into his room. He’d showered the night before, but a shower seemed to be what he needed, even just to clear his head.

At ten, Louis decided to leave his room again. Not that he thought he’d be needed to help get Harry ready for his date, but he figured it was probably the professional thing to do. Given that he’d been anything but professional lately, it seemed like a good time to try.

A lady was in the living room and distractedly introduced herself as Meegan, the stylist, and Louis got the impression that he’d hate her.

Harry was standing next to her with his arms stretched out. He glanced at Louis as Louis sat down before staring ahead blankly.

“This one, I think,” Meegan said. “Clothes off.”

At her order, Harry took off his shirt and pants, so he was standing in front of Louis in his underwear. Louis looked away, but to his surprise, his thoughts didn’t head in a filthy direction. He was too pissed off with the way Meegan had spoken to Harry and the fact Harry had just done as she asked without pointing out how fucking rude it was.

Once Louis was sure that Harry had pulled on a pair of pants that Meegan had handed to him, he looked back at Harry, and he was pulling on the shirt that Meegan had chosen. Meegan buttoned it up, and Louis wanted to tell her not to touch Harry. Actually, he wanted Harry to tell her not to touch him. But Harry had a blank expression again as he let her touch him.

Louis had never really understood the saying about things being like car wrecks, where people didn’t want to watch but couldn’t look away. He did now, though. The next half an hour felt exactly like that.

The whole thing made him feel ill, the way that Meegan touched Harry, how she didn’t ask him for his opinion or what he thought or if he was okay. The blank look on Harry’s face as he put up with it all. It felt like Meegan saw him as nothing more than a mannequin, and Harry played the part perfectly. Harry was the only thing that stopped Louis from getting up and leaving the room. It didn’t matter that he seemed okay with it. If anything, that made Louis more adamant about staying. Because Harry should not be okay with any of this.

When Meegan had finished doing whatever the fuck she’d been doing — and honestly, Louis had no idea because Harry looked no different to what he had thirty minutes ago when he’d put the clothes on — she instructed Harry to keep the outfit in pristine condition and left. Louis couldn’t be happier, and if he had his say, she’d never come back. He doubted he had a say in it at all, but the thought of it helped a little.

Harry stood where he’d been until she left, and the front door shut behind her. He gave Louis a challenging looked and as he sat on the lounge.

“What?” Louis said after Harry didn’t look away.

“Just waiting for you to tell me not to sit down.”

Louis had to run the words through his head a few times to see if somehow they made sense. They didn’t. “Why would I tell you not to sit down?”

“Might crinkle my clothes.”

Louis waited for a punchline or just any indicator that it was a joke, but it never came. “You’re not serious, are you?”

Harry stared down at his hands, twisting one of his rings.

“Mate, you can put your pyjama pants back on and wear them out for all I care. Why would I give a shit?”

“’Cause you could get into trouble.” There was something fragile in Harry’s voice that he’d never heard before, and not only did Louis not understand it, but he fucking hated it.

“With who?”

“Management.”

The whole day had rattled Louis, so instead of saying what he really wanted to, he said, “Harry, I don’t work for management. I work for you. If you want to sit on your own fucking sofa, sit on your own fucking sofa. And, for the record, even if I were hired by management, I’d be telling you the exact same thing.” Again, he bit back all his issues with, well, the entire thing, even though he was desperate to get them out. Not that it ever seemed like a good time, but this definitely didn’t seem like a good time to bring them up.

They sat in complete silence, and Louis stared absentmindedly at his phone, not understanding at all of what Harry was doing.

At eleven, there was a knock at the door, and Louis was more than thankful for the interruption. He got up and opened it to find a woman who was probably in her fifties standing there.

“Hello,” she said, and shot Louis a warm smile. “You must be Harry’s new PA.”

“I, uh, yeah.” Sure, first impressions weren’t always right, but he already liked her a million times more than Meegan.

“I’m Sandra. I’m here to do Harry’s hair.”

“Right, of course.” Louis had known that before he opened the door, but seeing Sandra standing in front of him, looking like the most friendly person he’d seen in a week, caught him off guard. “Come in.”

Sandra dropped the large bag she had brought with her onto the island counter, then she went straight to Harry and embraced him. It was an awkward angle because he was still seated on the sofa, but he managed to hug her back. Louis realised it was the first time he’d seen Harry be anything close to affectionate.

“Okay, Haz, you ready?” she asked as she took a step back, giving Louis a complete view of him again.

Harry sighed, but got up and sat on one stool at the breakfast bar. Sandra set up several hair tools. Louis knew he should probably leave the room. Or at least, not angle his body with the purpose of watching them. But for some fucked up reason, and despite Sandra seeming lovely, he didn’t want to leave Harry alone right then.

Sandra spoke to Harry in hushed tones, but Louis didn’t get the impression it was so he wouldn’t hear, but rather to soothe Harry. It wasn’t until he had though thought that he realised Harry needed to be soothed.

And he kind of got it. Kind of. Obviously, Meegan was a bitch and being used like a real-life mannequin was fucked up. But really, he was just going to see some girl he was dating, get some photos and then come home.

Louis had found it a bit weird that Harry had never mentioned his girlfriend. They barely spent time together, but he’d never heard Harry talk to anyone about her. He hadn’t even heard Harry talking to her. But it was possible and likely he did that alone, away from Louis.

A shrill ring cut through the quietness of the apartment, and it was coming from Harry’s phone he’d left on the coffee table. Louis picked it up, deliberately not looking at the screen, and walked it over to Harry.

“Just put it on speaker,” he said, unable to hold the phone to his ear since Sandra was doing his hair.

“Hello, Harry?” A woman’s voice came through.

Louis looked at the caller ID for the first time and saw that it said ‘Nicole’. Louis was fairly sure that the blonde lady at the meeting was called Nicole, so it was probably her.

“Hi,” Harry grunted.

“I just want to go over everything for today. The car will be there to pick you up in thirty minutes and then pick Alison up from the hotel she’s staying at so that you’ll arrive at the restaurant together. On the way from the car to the restaurant, make sure you put some distance between the two of you. No touching at all. Look like you want your privacy as you head in. We’ve hired a pap to get photos of you going in.

“Inside, you’ll sit opposite each other. You’re to exchange light, brief touches throughout dinner. We’ve spoken to the restaurant and ordered you both three drinks. They’re all different, so that the photos will show that you’ve had at least three. We’ve planted two people inside the restaurant who will act like members of the public and take photos on their phones throughout. Obviously, do not look at them.

“The car will be waiting in the car park. You’ll exit through the back doors. In the car park, make sure you kiss, and it needs to last at least twenty seconds. We have two people stationed in view of the car to film candid footage. Once you’re in the car, all the images and videos will be uploaded online and distributed to news sites.

“Once the car arrives at Alison’s hotel, you’ll both go in. There will be paps there, so keep space between you again. You’ll need to stay in the hotel room for at least thirty minutes before you leave.”

Louis stared at the phone the entire time, feeling too uncomfortable to look at Harry, but as the silence lingered, he looked up, and Harry had the same vacant expression on his face that he’d had while Meegan had been there.

“Harry. Hello? Harry? Are you still there?”

“Yes, Nicole.”

“Did you hear all of that?”

“Yes. Got it. No problem.”

“Great. You’ll do great. Just follow the plan.” Nicole sounded so upbeat, whereas Harry looked ready to jump off a bridge.

Louis spent the first hour keeping himself busy by reading. At the ninety-minute mark, though, he couldn’t pretend he was paying any attention to his book. He gave in and searched Google for Harry.

He repeatedly refreshed for half an hour before the first article with photos from the date came up. Nicole would be happy with them. They looked like a happy couple, doing exactly what she had asked.

It took another five minutes for the video to come up. Harry and Alison were in the car park, and Harry had her pressed up against a car.

Louis watched the ten seconds of footage.

Then, convinced he must have stroked out and imagined the whole thing, he watched it again.

After the third time, he had to accept that he hadn’t imagined it at all. Because it was that, or watching the video again, and honestly, he would rather pour bleach on his eyes than do that.

He wished he could get back two minutes and never watch the video at all.

Louis truly had believed that Harry would look attractive doing anything and everything.

One video smashed that illusion into a thousand pieces.

Because that was the awkwardest fucking kiss Louis had ever seen, and he was sure that the entire internet would take the piss out of it within minutes.

Chapter Text

five that Harry finally came home. Louis had no idea how he spent the last couple of hours after the videos were ‘leaked’. Nicole had told him to stay at the hotel for at least thirty minutes, but he probably wanted to spend some time alone with the person he was dating without it being choreographed.

Louis knew he shouldn’t care where Harry was, but the truth was that he was worried about him. It was really fucked up because at no point did Harry show anything that even resembled care towards him.

The whole day felt uncomfortable. From the moment Harry yelled at him as soon as he woke up, to people who Louis was sure worked for Harry, even though they acted like he was sub-human, to the most unattractive kiss Louis had seen being published all over the internet.

Even though Louis did his best to avoid searching for articles about the kiss, it didn’t stop him from seeing them. They were everywhere already.

That was probably what worried Louis the most. Sure, Harry had plenty of articles written about him, and he was probably used to things like this. But the chance that Harry could be used to it seemed like an even worse option.

Louis was sitting on the living room sofa facing the large windows, staring absent-mindedly at the city, when he heard the door unlock. Before he had even turned around, the door slammed shut. He watched Harry stomp right past him and straight upstairs.

Why he had expected anything else, he didn’t know. Still, he stayed on the sofa on the off chance that Harry did want to talk to someone.

Less than two minutes later, Harry came back down in gym wear. “Let’s go.” Harry didn’t even look at Louis as he walked straight past him. Louis decided it wasn’t the time to call him out on his shitty behaviour and instead jumped off the lounge and grabbed the sheet of paper Matt had given him yesterday off the kitchen counter.

Luckily, his assumption that they were going to the gym was correct, although Louis couldn’t imagine what else they’d be doing. It was hard enough around Harry working out with Matt in the room. Having just the two of them locked in the room was definitely going to be too much. All Louis could hope for was that mentally replaying the kiss would help defuse any unwanted feelings he may have for Harry.

Louis hadn’t even thought about the kiss because Harry had been so difficult to deal with for the entire workout session. At one point, he started yelling at Louis for absolutely no reason. Obviously, Louis had to yell back. As soon as the session ended, Louis stormed back to the apartment and locked himself in his room.

It took him a couple of hours before he could even consider giving Harry any type of leniency for his behaviour.

After another hour, Louis had decided that given the shit day that Harry had, it probably wasn’t surprising that he had been in a mood, and it was stupid of Louis not to have expected it.

Of course, that didn’t excuse Harry for yelling at him, but he shouldn’t have yelled back, either. The more thought he gave it, the more surprised he was that he still even had a job.

It was past nine, and Louis still hadn’t had dinner, as he hadn’t wanted to leave his room. Due to starvation and knowing that he really should apologise to Harry at some point, he decided it was time to risk it.

He was making a sandwich when he heard voices getting closer; one was obviously Harry’s, and the other was distinctly female. Louis did his best not to look up. It was Harry’s house, and if he wanted to have Alison over, of course, he was allowed to do that.

Louis had searched articles about the date and kiss, again, first out of spite, and then it slowly morphed into secondhand embarrassment and sympathy. It made sense that she’d come and check on him. He wondered how she felt about his kissing. He had no idea how long they’d been together, but surely there was no way they’d still be together if he always kissed like that. Or maybe he hadn’t realised he was a lousy kisser. He’d have to know now.

“Oh, hi,” the female voice said.

Louis looked up, expecting to see the pretty girl in the photos and videos. The girl in front of him was a pretty girl, but definitely not Alison. “Um, hello.”

She looked like she would say more, but Harry placed his hand on her back and directed her to the door. Louis couldn’t help but watch as she wrapped her hands around Harry’s neck and pressed a kiss to his lips before saying goodbye.

Technically it wasn’t actually on his lips, more like on his jawline. It was still fucked up, though, and Louis, who had decided not even half an hour ago to apologise to Harry for how he’d acted, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Really?”

Harry, who had just locked the front door, turned and looked at him, having the nerve to look confused. “What?”

“Like, I get today was shit, but that’s so fucked up!” He hadn’t meant to sound so pissed off, but he couldn’t help it.

Harry took a couple of steps closer to Louis, the island bench still separating them. “What are you talking about?” Harry sounded a bit angrier this time but still acted like he didn’t know what Louis was talking about.

“I know you’re surrounded by people who look away from that kind of thing, but I’m not one of those people.” Louis really had no idea what power he had in any of this. It was Harry’s life and house - he could do whatever he wanted, and Louis had no right or authority to stop him. Still, Louis could at least clarify that he thought it was fucked.

“Mate, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. If you’re going to stand there and yell at me, can you at least tell me what you’re yelling at me for?”

“The fact you don’t know makes this whole thing even more fucked up!” It was probably normal for famous people to do shit like this all the time, so it could be possible that Harry actually didn’t know how fucked up it was. Somehow, that made Louis even madder. “You just saw your girlfriend, and you already have another girl over. You’re telling me you can’t see how that’s fucked up?”

Harry tilted his head and stared at Louis blankly for a couple of seconds before huffing out a rough laugh. Louis knew Harry had his faults - tons of them - but the fact he thought it was funny to get called out for cheating had made the top of the list. He spoke before Louis could voice that, though. “You think… you actually think all of that?”

“I, uh.” Louis was thrown off by the question and the look of amusement on Harry’s face. It was the softest expression that he’d ever worn around Louis. “Well, yeah.”

“Oh my god,” Harry said, and the amused look grew, but there was a bitter twist to it. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Louis prickled at Harry's patronising question and tone as he asked it. “What? Do you have, like… an open relationship or something?” Louis’ voice was higher than usual, giving away that he hadn’t thought it through at all.

Harry glanced over Louis, eyes travelling from his face to down to his hips, which were pressed against the kitchen counter and back up to his face. He raised his eyebrows before saying, “Honestly, it’s not that I had high expectations for you or anything, but I thought you were somewhat intelligent.”

“Fuck off, Harry. Instead of hurling insults at me, just tell me what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Don’t think I need to tell you anything.” He was right, of course, but it wasn’t good enough for Louis, so he was thankful when Harry kept going. “I was not cheating on anyone. Rosie, who just left, is just a friend who came to see me.” Louis was about to challenge that but didn’t get a chance. “And Alison and I aren’t dating.” Harry looked uncomfortable even saying the word.

“Wait, what?”

“I hadn’t even met her before today. It was all PR. We’re not dating.”

Louis was speechless for one of the first times in his life.

“It was a stunt. It’s the kind of shit I have to do. So, I have no one to cheat on. And,” he narrowed his eyes at Louis, “if I were to cheat on anyone, it wouldn’t be with Rosie. It wouldn’t be with any girl.” He pushed himself off the counter. “Because I’m gay.”

What? There was no fucking way he’d just heard Harry properly. Absolutely no fucking way.

Harry's expression hardened as Louis stared at him, unable to say a single word because none of it made sense. “Fucking fantastic. So glad they hired a homophobic PA for me." Harry took a few steps back, still glaring at Louis. “Remember you’ve signed NDAs. You tell a single soul about this, and we’ll take you for all you have.”

Louis had no idea how long he stood there after Harry had left the room, trying to make sense of everything that he had said.

Once he finally caught up, he raced up the stairs. Harry wasn’t in the living area.

Louis stared at the wall with the four doors and realised he only knew where one of them, Harry’s bedroom one, went. He went up to it and hesitated. He almost talked himself out of knocking on it, almost convinced himself that talking to him wouldn’t help, but he didn’t move away.

Maybe talking about it wouldn’t get them anywhere. In fact, it probably wouldn’t. But Louis had fucked up, and he had to apologise, even if Harry didn’t want it.

He knocked on Harry’s door. “Harry?”

“Fuck off.” Harry’s voice startled Louis because he was so used the yelling at the door and getting nothing back, like in the morning.

“Um, can I come in?” Even as the words were still coming out of his mouth, Louis knew the last thing he really wanted to do was be alone in a bedroom with Harry.

“I told you to fuck off.” The wall between them barely did anything to muffle Harry’s voice. It came out crisp and clear, so Louis couldn’t convince himself that he’d heard Harry wrong.

Louis puffed out a sigh and rested his head on Harry’s door. He wasn’t sure what he could do - if Harry didn’t want to talk to him, he couldn’t make him. At the same time, he needed to apologise. “Harry, can we just talk for a second? Please.”

Seconds later, the door opened, and Louis hadn’t realised how much weight he was resting on it with his forehead until he stumbled right into Harry’s chest. His reflexes had improved, and he jumped back away from Harry after only a few seconds, cutting their contact.

Finally, Louis mustered up enough confidence to look up at Harry and found him glaring back at him - the body contact having done nothing to him as it had to Louis, and it hurt a little more than it should.

“Can you hurry the fuck up? I’m here, so say whatever bullshit you want to say.” The intensity of the glare deepened as he spoke.

Louis nodded and tried to remember what it was exactly that he wanted to say. “Okay, so,” he stated, deciding it was probably easiest to start at the beginning. “I’m sorry I accused you of cheating.”

The way Harry didn’t react was unnerving, but Louis had to keep going, even if only for his own benefit. “I didn’t know… I didn’t realise that, like… PR relationships were a thing.”

Harry scoffed.

“What the fuck? I didn’t. Why would I know that?”

“Twelve year old’s know it’s a thing. You’re too old to believe that every relationship you see in the media is real.”

Louis didn’t need to be insulted, so he moved on to his next point so he could get the hell out of Harry’s doorway and put this whole thing behind him. “I’m also not homophobic. I, uh, I was just thrown off by everything else that didn’t reply. But I’m not because, well,” Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so fucking awkward about telling someone his sexuality. “I, uh, I’m gay too.”

For the first time, Harry’s hardened expression slipped. It was back in place so quickly that Louis could have been persuaded that he’d imagined the whole thing… if they had a lot of time to spare. “Right,” Harry said. “Is that it?”

Louis nodded. He hadn’t thought that the conversation would mend whatever fucked up work relationship this was… but he had hoped maybe it would have. His apology didn’t seem to make a difference at all. He couldn’t even come up with a snarky reply, so he just shrugged and stepped backwards until he was a few paces from Harry’s door. “Guess so,” he said and turned his back to Harry. He barely took two steps before hearing and feeling Harry's door slam behind him. Seriously, the fact that any doors were left on their hinges with Harry around was a mystery.

Louis’ alarm woke him up on Saturday, and it was the first morning he woke up without feeling fucking exhausted. He quickly went to the bathroom before pulling some track pants over his underwear. He’d decide not to ask Harry what time he wanted to be woken up, as they had no concrete plans - and fall back onto the original agreement that he’d wake him by ten-thirty. Louis’ phone showed that it was already ten twenty-five - setting his alarm for ten twenty probably wasn’t the most responsible choice - so he pulled open his bedroom door.

He froze before opening it fully, voices clearly flowing into his room. He knew he should either shut the door and wait in his room until they’d finished talking or leave his room to ensure they knew he was there. Both of those options were fine. Good even. The right thing to do.

But Louis was never really one to do ‘the right thing’, so he only considered those two choices for half a second before deciding to eavesdrop.

“I mean, yeah, he did.” It was Liam’s voice. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it fucking does.” That one was unmistakably Harry, even though Louis had never heard him sound quite like he did that before. There was a sort of quiet desperation to his voice. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

Louis had pulled the door as close to being shut but open enough so that he could still hear them, but he really wanted to look out and try to see what was going on as he could hear movement.

“No,” Liam said, “you did what you thought was best, and that’s fine.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Harry spoke again. “No, I did what I wanted to, it was really fucking selfish, and now they’re putting it all on you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Please don’t worry about it.” Liam sounded almost as desperate as Harry.

“I just,” Harry made a frustrated sound before continuing, “I thought if it looked a bit shit, they would stop making me do these fucked up stunts. But, I, I don’t know. The videos look really fucking bad.”

The silence gave Louis a second to catch up before it was broken by what sounded like soft laughter.

“What the hell, Li!” Harry’s voice sounded a little less strained. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry.” It was clear he was barely holding back laughter.

Louis had figured none of the others was particularly happy, but the giant storm cloud that was Harry Styles flooded every room they were in until they were all drowning in his misery, so Louis hadn’t realised Liam had never laughed around him until that moment, and fuck did that hurt.

Thinking back, the only times he could remember the other two laughing was Zayn’s occasional humourless chuckle and Niall’s when he was joking around, but even that seemed to be explicitly reserved for Harry and dropped as soon as he was no longer around.

Feeling shitty for listening to a conversation that he knew they probably wouldn’t be having if they knew he was hearing, Louis left his room. He shut the door behind him, making sure it was loud enough that they could hear it.

He heard a groan that he was sure was Harry’s.

“Shut up,” Liam hissed. Either Louis had super-sonic hearing, or they thought they were quieter than they were. “I’m surprised he is still putting up with you.”

Louis had reached the opening to the living area before Harry could say anything to Liam, although he was sure Harry wanted to complain about him a bit more. “Good morning,” Louis said. He forced out a yawn and stretched his arms up, trying to show he had just woken up, which probably was overkill.

“Morning, Louis.” Liam gave him a small smile, but as Louis studied it, he could tell it was forced.

“Morning, Liam, Harry.” He sounded as cheery as he could. Maybe it was as fake as Liam’s, but the only thing bothering him was the knowledge that the rest of them were miserable and letting that affect his mood wouldn’t help anyone. He walked to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. “How are you both?” he asked, reaching for a mug.

“I’m good,” Liam answered. “You sleep okay?”

“Yep. Bed’s comfy,” he added because it was. He’d added it to the list that he’d made of things to focus on to make it to the three-month mark. He twisted around to the breakfast bar and opened the door to the little cupboard he’d found when he moved it. It had been empty, so he assumed putting his own groceries in would be okay.

Given that, basically, all he had was tea, bread, cereal, some spreads, and cups of noodles, he didn’t need much space at all. There was still an empty shelf under it. He bent down and grabbed a teabag. When he straightened up, he was facing Harry, and although there were meters away from each other, Louis’ breath still hitched.

He doubted Harry noticed it, though, because Harry wasn’t looking at him. For a second, Louis thought he was looking at his bare chest, and Louis realised he really should have thrown a shirt on once he realised others were there. But as Louis placed the teabag on the bench, Louis realised he was staring at that instead.

Louis had absolutely no idea why he was staring at a teabag with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Although, there were so many things he didn’t understand about Harry, and this was pretty low on the list of things he wanted or needed answers to.

“I’m gonna head out,” Liam said. He looked pointedly at Harry and said, “Seriously though, don’t worry about it.”

Harry didn’t say anything, and Louis didn’t want to look at him to see whatever his face might show.

After a nod in Harry’s direction, Liam looked at Louis. “Call me if you need anything, mate.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Louis watched as he walked out of the apartment.

Even without looking up, Louis could tell that Harry was watching him as he finished making his tea. He deliberately avoided looking back at Harry and wasn’t even sure why—yesterday had just rattled him a little. Well, a lot, and this morning wasn’t helping either. Finally deciding on cereal rather than toast, he grabbed a bowl and got his milk back out of the fridge before reaching down and getting his cereal.

As he placed it on the counter, he sensed Harry walking towards him. Curiosity won out, and he looked up. Harry wasn’t looking at him, and he stopped at Louis’ cupboard, bent down, and opened it.

“What the fuck?” Harry said and started shuffling around Louis’ food.

“What?”

“What is this?” Harry sounded indignant as he straightened up and looked at Louis.

“Just… groceries.” Was Harry pissed off that Louis had taken one tiny unused cupboard? “It was empty, so I thought it would be okay to use it.”

“Why, though?”

Maybe Louis should have asked first, but he didn’t think that putting some food on a shelf deserved the stern glare Harry was giving him. “Because it’s easier than keeping it in my room. If you’re going to make such a big deal about it, I can keep it all in my room.”

“Why d- wait, what?”

“I’ll put it all in my room. It’s going to be really fucking inconvenient to go back and forth to my room whenever I want to eat or have tea or anything, but whatever.” Louis pushed past Harry and crouched down to empty it. Fucking Harry Styles. He could hardly believe that he’d been feeling sorry for him twenty minutes ago. Harry couldn’t even let him use one empty cupboard. “The fuck?” Harry had gripped his upper arm and tugged at it. “Get off me.”

“Can you just stand up!” Harry let go of Louis’ arm as he said it, and Louis cursed himself for missing his touch.

“Not even going to say please?”

Harry swore under his breath. “Fine, whatever. Please stand the fuck up.”

It was hardly better at all, but Louis did it anyway. Harry’s expression wasn’t what he had expected.

“What have you been eating?” Harry asked.

“Food.” Louis pointed to the food that Harry had literally just been looking at.

“But what else?”

Louis had no idea what the question meant, but he wasn’t sure if it was just because the question made no sense or that Louis’ brain had short-circuited when Louis had met Harry’s eyes and gotten caught up in them.

“Louis! What else have you been eating?”

Harry’s unwarranted anger was enough to shock Louis out of his trans-fixation. “I don’t know. Nothing. I don’t see how this is any of your business, to be honest.”

“You’ve…” The line between Harry’s brows creased. “You’ve been living off bread and cereal?”

Oh. “I, well. I mean, I’ve had tea as well. And jam and stuff.”

“What the fuck! Why?”

“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t been paid yet, and, I mean, like, I have money and stuff. But, just. Like storage, you know, I had to put some stuff in storage, which cost money. And I still haven’t gotten paid by, uh, like, the last place. Like they’re not keeping the money from me or anything -at least I don’t think they are - but just, it’s not due until next week. I mean, I do have money. I’m not, like, broke or anything. Just, um, yeah. But it’s fine….” Louis’ cheeks burnt as his brain caught up with his mouth. Really? He really just said all of that to Harry?

The only thing that made it worse was how confused Harry looked, and Louis honestly couldn’t blame him.

Harry didn’t respond, though, and Louis didn’t dare open his mouth in case other deep thoughts decided to tumble out and lay themselves down at Harry’s feet. So they just stared at each other until Louis was squirming - internally, at least.

Finally, Harry spoke. “Right. Well. No.”

“What?”

“That’s, no. I don’t want that.”

“Don’t want what?” Maybe it was better when Harry wasn’t speaking.

“I don’t want you to do that.”

“Harry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Harry huffed in frustration. “This whole thing.” He pointed to the cupboard. “I’m pretty sure your contract says that your meals are included, doesn’t it?”

Louis may have vaguely remembered Lottie mentioning it, but he couldn’t be sure, so he shrugged.

“Of course, you wouldn’t fucking know. You never read it.” The usual venom wasn’t in his voice. “But just,” he looked kind of lost as he glanced at the fridge, “just eat what’s in the fridge. Eat proper food.”

“It’s genuinely fine,” Louis told him and tried to ignore the fact that it seemed like Harry cared what he was eating. “This is what I’d eat at home, anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.” Harry broke their eye contact, grabbed a pad and pen from the corner of the counter, and started writing on it.

Louis was too confused by the entire conversation to ask him what he was doing, so he just stood there and watched him as he wrote. After a few minutes, he handed the pad to Louis.

“What’s this?” Louis asked before looking down at it. He thought Harry was walking off, but he just opened the fridge.

Without looking back at Louis, he said, “What does it look like? It’s a to-do list. You know, for your job. Or have you forgotten you have one?” It was a half-hearted attempt at anger, so Louis looked down at the paper.

Louis’ to-do list:
1) Call the catering service and double the meals for the next delivery.
2) Fucking eat proper food.

Failure to do these tasks will result in your termination.
H. Styles

Louis read it four times. On the fifth time, he didn’t actually read it, but Harry was still in the kitchen, and he couldn’t even fathom looking at him. Because, honestly, what the actual fuck.

When it became clear that Harry wasn’t leaving the kitchen or going to speak first, Louis cleared his throat. “So, uh, how much do you reckon I could get if I sold your signature?” The laugh he’d forced out sounded as shakey as he felt.

“Pretty sure your contract says you’d be sued if you did that. You wouldn’t know that because you didn’t read it, though.” Harry walked over to him, took the pad out of his hands, and replaced it with a bowl. Louis looked at it and saw that it was pasta.

He hadn’t even realised Harry had been getting food ready, let alone that it was for him. “I, uh, I can’t eat this because if I do, you’ll be short.”

“There are always extra ones. And I’m meant to cut back on carbs anyway,” he said it like it was nothing.

“Um, okay. Well,” Louis watched Harry open the cutlery drawer, “if you’re sure. Thanks.”

Harry pulled a fork from the drawer and stabbed it into the pasta. “Whatever. Hurry the fuck up and eat. Then put some fucking clothes on; we have to go to the gym.”

Before Louis could thank him again, he was already out of sight.

“You’re meant to do the treadmill before the weights,” Louis pointed out as Harry went to the weights.

“I don’t really give a shit.” It was the first time Harry had spoken to him after he’d left him in the kitchen with the pasta. When he’d come back down, the arsehole Harry was back in full force, proving that The Pasta Incident was just that, a one-off. Louis had no idea why he thought it would be anything different.

“Then why am I even here? You made me go to your session to learn your bloody program or whatever, and then you just ignore everything I say. You did the same thing yesterday.”

Harry dropped the dumbbell. “Exactly! Why are you even here? I don’t need you here. At all.”

Louis sighed and stared at the roof, pleading silently for enough patience not to deck him. Harry was exhausted. Louis was exhausted.

Harry’s phone started ringing, and they both groaned.

“Harry, I think you should just answer it.” It had rung at least five times in the last ten minutes.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” Harry said as he picked the dumbbell back up.

The ringing finally stopped, and Louis went and sat against a wall, deciding that, just like yesterday, Harry wasn’t going to listen to a word he said.

He still watched him, though. Obviously. If he hurt himself or something, Louis would need to know straight away.

It was only because of his dedication to … his job that Louis didn’t check the caller ID when his phone started ringing and jolted him out of his intense staring.

“Hello,” he said into the phone, eyes still on Harry.

“Oh, Louis, so good to hear your voice.”

“Sorry, who is this?”

“Nicole.”

He forced himself to look away from Harry to pay enough attention to, well, anything. “Nicole…” he repeated, trying to work out who the fuck Nicole was. “Oh, shit.”

“Sorry?”

“Um, nothing.” For the millionth time and for the millionth reason, Louis was fucking glad he wasn’t hired by management. He glanced back at Harry, who still had a dumbbell but was staring at him motionless. “What do you want?” he asked Nicole.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Harry, but he isn’t answering my calls.”

“Right?”

There was a pause. “Well, I need to talk to him.”

“Why are you calling me about that?”

“Because you’re his assistant! You’re meant to know where he is. I knew hiring you was a terrible idea.”

Harry still hadn’t moved, holding the weight as if it was, well, weightless, and Louis was slightly distracted by Harry’s biceps for a second. “I do know where he is.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Where is he?”

He scrunched up his face, earning a confused look from Harry. It said a lot that it was one of the nicer expressions that Harry had ever given him. “Why would I tell you that?”

“What do you mean? Because I need to speak to him. I told you that.”

Louis wasn’t sure exactly what it was about what she said that almost made him laugh, and luckily, he managed to hold it in, mostly. “Mm, and it also sounds like he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation, Mr Tomlinson. If we don’t deal with this, all of our jobs are at risk.”

Louis didn’t even try to hold back his laugh at that. “Are they? Really? We’re going to be desolate because Harry is choosing not to talk to you right now?”

“I meant the situation I’m calling about.”

“I know what you meant.” If Harry weren’t in the room, he’d ask exactly how a shitty kiss was going to put all their jobs at risk, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to joke about it in front of him. “But, as I said, it seems like he doesn’t want to talk to you, and I don’t understand what you think I can do about that.”

“You can do everything about that. It’s in your job descr-”

“Sorry, I don’t like to discuss my job description. It’s a rule of mine.”

Harry, who had been standing motionless, rolled his eyes. He dropped the weight onto the phone and walked towards Louis. Louis was sure that Nicole was talking, but he wasn’t paying any attention. As Harry stood over him, he held out his hand.

“You sure?” Louis asked him, looking up.

Harry glared in response, so Louis handed over his phone. Harry held it up to his ear and walked out of the room, leaving Louis alone on the ground.

After ten minutes, Harry stormed back into the room, looking more irritated than Louis had seen him before. He headed straight towards the weights.

Louis pushed himself off the ground and towards Harry. “No.”

“What?” Harry snarled as he lifted a plate to put on the bench press bar.

“You’re not doing weights right now,” Louis said. He knew close to nothing about weights but was pretty sure that Harry doing them right now was a pretty terrible idea. Especially as he was adding another plate to the bar that he’d definitely require a spotter for, and there was no way in hell that Louis was going to be able to lift it. He doubted even Harry would.

“Fuck off! I’m doing this.” Harry went to pick up another plate, and Louis placed himself between Harry and the plate.

“No, you’re not. It’s not what you need right now.” What he needed was to get his anger out, not kill himself trying to lift twice his body weight.

As Harry glared at him, Louis glanced around the room until he found what he’d been looking for, having been pretty sure he’d noticed it the first time he was there. Louis grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him across the room.

Harry put up a minor struggle, but it was easy enough to pull him along that it was clear he was choosing to follow, which gave Louis a small amount of satisfaction.

Once they reached the punching bag, Louis let go of Harry’s wrist and spun around, looking for gloves. He found them on the floor and threw them to Harry, who effortlessly caught them.

Without asking any questions, Harry put them on. Louis positioned himself behind the bag and waited.

“You know what you’re doing?” Harry asked him.

“Mm, I did boxing in high school.”

“What?”

Louis looked to the side of the bag to Harry. “What?”

“You did not.”

“I did.” Harry still didn’t look convinced. “Okay, I only did it for three months before begging my mum to let me quit, but I still did it. I know how to hold a bag.”

“If you’re sure,” Harry muttered.

After the first three punches, Louis said, “Hit it properly. Don’t go soft.”

The next punch was more brutal. Louis doubted it was as hard as Harry could go, especially given how angry he was, but didn’t see the need to tell him that.

There was more force behind each punch. Louis wasn’t sure whether it was because Harry trusted that Louis could hold the bag and he wasn’t going to push him onto the ground or because he was actually channelling his anger into it. But Louis didn’t care; he was just glad it was working.

When the punches started to get softer, Louis was even more satisfied with his plan, sure it was working. He heard his phone ring, but it wasn’t coming from him. He remembered that Harry was the last person to have it. He looked in the direction of the noise to try to spot it, and as he did, he shifted the bag.

The next thing he knew, Harry’s fist collided with his face and was on the floor with blinding hot pain radiating from his cheek, and Harry ran towards him.

“Shit! Holy fuck! Are you okay?” Harry called as he knelt in between Louis’ legs. “I’m so sorry, Louis. Oh my god. Are you okay?”

Louis lightly touched his cheek, and the pain caused him to wince.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Harry said, looking like the human embodiment of panic. “I don’t know what happened! I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?”

Louis blinked, which caused him to wince again.

Harry didn’t give him time to answer, though. He brushed Louis’ hair out of his face, and Louis had to stop himself from pressing his head into Harry’s hand. “Louis! Are you okay? Fuck. Fuck! Okay, Louis, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance or something?”

“What?” Louis said, noting that talking hurt less than he’d expected. “No, I’m fine.”

“You aren’t, though! I’m so sorry. Oh my god!”

Needing Harry to stop looking so worried, Louis reached out and stroked his hair. “Stop. I’m fine.”

Harry did stop, and only then did Louis realise how fucking weird it was that he was touching Harry at all. He pulled his hand right back.

“Actually, um,” Louis said. “I just, uh, maybe some ice or something?”

“Right, okay,” Harry said slowly, pushing himself off the ground, his eyes not leaving Louis. “Ice,” Harry muttered, presumably to himself. “I’m going to get ice.”

“Uhuh,” Louis said. Harry looked much less panicked now, but Louis would have been more satisfied if it had been caused by anything other than him stroking his boss's hair.

Chapter Text

There was a layer deep down in his conscious telling Louis that he should be more concerned about the throbbing ache on the side of his face than the fact that he fucking caressed his boss, but every other part of him disagreed. The thoughts were so loud that he had no idea how long he was sitting on the cold, hard gym floor, waiting for Harry to return. Harry had just looked so concerned and stressed, and Louis had wanted to comfort him… but there were a million other ways he could have done that instead of stroking his arsehole boss's hair.

When Harry did walk back in, the first thing Louis noticed was that he’d taken his hair out of the bun. Before The Hair Stroking Incident, Louis had never paid much attention to Harry’s hair.

He only really noticed when Harry ran his fingers through it, tucked loose strands behind his ears, or when he was putting it up or taking it down. Or how he always had it pulled back after a shower because even though Harry always looked good, he always looked so soft after showering. He was sure it had a lot to do with it being off his face. But those occasions aside, he never really noticed Harry’s hair, and it was really fucking annoying that he did now.

The next thing Louis noticed was how stiffly Harry was walking as if working hard to control every movement. That stopped, though, when he looked down at Louis. Harry’s face was in front of him within seconds, and he looked just as worried as he had before he’d left.

Again, Louis knew that he should be more concerned about how bad he must look for Harry to drop to his knees after seeing it or be wholly focused on the pain because it was stinging like a bitch. But none of that was important because Harry’s face was so close to his that if he wanted to, he could just reach out and touch his hai-

Fucking fuck fuck.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered.

Exactly!

For a second, Louis thought Harry was going to touch him as he’d reached out his arm, and his breath hitched. Louis glanced at the outstretched hand and saw that Harry was holding out an ice pack. Before Louis could take it off him, he dropped it into his lap.

“Shit,” Louis hissed. He picked up the bag and gingerly placed it on his eye. The contact caused him to wince. “Was punching me in the face, not enough? Need to hurt my groin as well?”

“Sorry.” Harry studied him for an uncomfortable amount of time, entirely too long, pressing his lips together tightly. He finally released them. “You sure you don’t need an ambulance?”

Air flooded into Louis’ lungs. “Yes, I’m sure.” Harry would have this effect on everyone, and Louis knew it. Hell, Harry would have to know it. Of course having Harry Styles this close to him, looking so worried, would take his breath away literally.

Anyone could see that Harry was heartbreakingly beautiful, and Louis was having the normal reaction to receiving his undivided attention.

It didn’t make him less of an arsehole or anything. It just meant he was hot.

“I can call our medic. She’ll be here within ten minutes.” Harry started taking out his phone, but Louis pressed his hand over Harry’s. He’d done it to stop him from getting out his phone, but all it had done was serve to cover Louis in goosebumps.

He ripped his arm away and only needed a second to recover. “I’m fine. Really.” He probably would have been more convincing if he hadn’t sounded like he was choking. “Do you wanna finish your workout or return to the apartment?”

Harry looked at him like he was stupid, which he was becoming depressingly used to. “I’m not going to keep working out after this.”

“Uh, oh, okay.”

After another incredulous glare directed at Louis, Harry stood up. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” Louis removed the ice from his face as he pushed himself onto his feet. Harry winced when Louis looked at him, and for purely masochist reasons, Louis was eager to see what it looked like.

Louis always dreaded getting in the lift with Harry because it was awkward as fuck. This time was no different except for the worried glances that Harry was shooting his way every two seconds. They were different.

After what felt like both no time and eternity, the lift halted, and the doors slid open, revealing Niall.

“Oh, hey. Did you guys jus- Shit, are you okay? What happened?” Niall put the same lack thereof distance between him and Louis as Harry had, but Louis had no urge to touch him. Louis tried not to think about what that could mean, especially given that Niall was a good-looking lad. Louis didn’t even feel compelled to smell Niall.

“Harry punched me,” Louis deadpanned.

“You what?!” If it weren’t happening right in front of him, Louis wouldn’t have believed that Niall could ever look so upset.

“It was an accident,” Harry stated and turned to Louis. “Tell him it was an accident.”

“Was it, though?” Louis said. “Are we really sure it was?”

Harry’s face crumbled. “It was. You know it was an accident, right? I’d never hur-, I mean, I didn’t mean to. You know that, right? You don’t think I’d do it on purpose?”

Louis felt like he’d been kicked in the chest, and he felt it hurt more than the actual punch to the face. “Hey, I was joking.” He curled his hand into a fist and pressed his arm firmly into his side, refusing to let his instinct to touch Harry take over. He was going to need to work on that. Preferably, Harry could just not look like a lost kitten ever again and then Louis wouldn't have the urge to soothe him. “It was my fault anyway.”

Harry tugged his fingers through his hair. “I should’ve been paying attention, though. I should’ve been watching.”

“Harry, stop. I moved the bag; there was nothing you could have done.”

Instead of saying anything, Harry just stared back at Louis, jaw clenched and not looking convinced by Louis’ assurances.

“Wow, okay.” Their eye contact broke at Niall’s words. Louis had forgotten he was even there.

When Louis looked at him, he noted that while the slight upturn of lips was nothing compared to the giant grin Niall usually plastered on his face, it radiated a genuine happiness that the forced grins could never achieve.

“What?” Harry snapped at Niall, all traces of vulnerable concern gone.

“Nothing, nothing,” Niall said with a head tilt, the hint of a smile remaining. He and Harry had some kind of stare-down before Harry huffed, pushed past Niall, and stormed down the hallway.

“I, uh,” Louis glanced back at Niall, “I better go, or he’ll lock me out or something.” Without waiting for Niall to reply, Louis took off after Harry, realising that he probably would lock Louis out if he got a chance.

He didn’t quite catch Niall’s reply, and based on the tone, he doubted he would have wanted to hear it anyway.

Harry was sitting on the other breakfast bar drinking his morning coffee that Louis had made after waking him up. He was dressed for band practice but still looked sleep rumpled and tired; how his hands were curled around his mug as if to warm them added to the image.

“Hey, Harry?” Louis said.

Harry slowly lifted his gaze to Louis. He grimaced when he saw the purple bruise on Louis’ cheek like every time he’d looked at him since it had happened. Louis hadn’t stopped making jokes about Harry punching him, both to Harry and the others and as he’d hoped, Harry had stopped looking panicked or guilty all the time.

“You know how you have a meeting with management today?” He waited for an answer or at least acknowledgement that Harry had heard the question, but it didn’t come. “I was just wondering if I actually need to come.”

Harry stared at him silently.

Eventually, Harry spoke. “What exactly are you expecting to be getting paid for?”

“What?”

“Just confused. You’re meant to be my assistant, and you’re asking me to skip out on the one meeting I have this week. What do you think you’re being paid for?” Harry gave him a challenging look. “The lads expect you to be there.”

“I, uh.” The problem was Harry made good points, lots of them. Louis just didn’t want to have to sit through another one. “Yeah, a’ight. Just don’t punch me again, okay?”

After lunch and another depressing band practice, they arrived at the meeting. Guilt for even asking whether he could skip the meeting had plagued him all morning. He assured his conscious that he’d be the best fucking personal assistant that had ever existed in the meeting to make up for it.

When they entered the room, everyone looked straight at Louis’ bruised face and then at Harry. Before any of them could say anything, Louis said, “Fell over in the shower.” It pissed him off how relieved they all looked, as if they’d considered that Harry would have done it. Which, like, he had. But not on purpose.

Again, he was instructed to sit on a sofa behind the others. Once he set up his laptop this time, he opened a new document, ready to take notes. It wasn’t about writing notes for Harry or the band's sake, but if he was going to be forced to endure these meetings, he decided he should learn what they were actually about. And who everyone in the room was.

The lads sat silently in their chairs again, the other staff in a row facing them. The bandmates weren’t necessarily young, but the scene did look reminiscent of schoolboys being reprimanded.

While waiting for the meeting to start, Louis decided to learn everyone’s name. He only knew the names of the two women in the room. Nerida, the head of HR, who Louis’ received daily emails from, which he deleted before reading. The other was Nicole, the band's PR manager or whatever her proper title was. It didn’t matter to Louis what her position was; all he knew was he hated her. He hated all of them.

There were only four men in the room. Louis felt there may have been last time but couldn’t be sure. The main one, an older man in the middle, was the only one he remembered.

After a tortuous hour of listening to them all rattle off stats and numbers, Louis was pretty sure he’d pieced together most of the picture.

From what Louis could tell, the youngest guy was just there to take notes. No one addressed him, and he didn’t speak, but he did type a lot.

The old guy’s name was Mison, and Louis was pretty confident that he was head of management or whatever.

Another man who looked like he was in his forties was Grant, who worked for the record label.

Louis was still stuck on the last guy. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and his name was Tom, but Louis couldn’t figure out what he did exactly. It didn’t seem like he worked for management or the record label, but he sure did have a lot of opinions.

Unfortunately, after solving most of the puzzle, Louis had nothing else to focus on except the shit they were saying.

“Now,” Mison said solemnly, “we need to talk about the mess Harry has gotten us all into.”

Louis sat forward so quickly that he had to grab his laptop to stop it from falling off his knees.

Nerida tutted, and Grant shook his head at Harry, not that Harry would notice, given he was looking at a wall to his right.

“Nicole, explain to us what the catalyst was for this to transpire the way it evidentially did,” Mison said.

Louis was thankful that none of them even looked his way because he could feel the judgment in his expression. The voice of one of his old uni professors rang in his ears ‘Don’t use big words. They mean so little.’ The Professor would declare the Oscar Wilde quote at least once a lecture.

The dribble that had just come out of Mison's mouth not only meant so little, it barely even made sense.

When a thousand other quotes from that professor and all his others came flying to the forefront of Louis’ mind, he regretted giving the words any attention at all.

He squeezed his eyes tightly for a second, hoping he could blink them away. It wasn’t all that helpful, but he forced himself to focus on whatever bullshit Nicole was spewing. Because without even listening, he knew it would be bullshit.

“… and he confirmed on the phone that he understood the plan. I received the pap shots and the photos from the restaurant as they happened, and they all looked perfect. We got word that he was leaving, so we contacted the two who were filming to let them know. I waited for the footage to come through, but it never did. As we’re all aware, now, they sold it.”

It struck Louis that he hadn’t even questioned why the footage got published when it was all orchestrated by management, and they clearly were less than impressed by the videos.

“They didn’t contact you to negotiate a price for them?” the one Louis had no idea what he did, Tom, asked.

Nicole shook her head. “I’m sure as soon as they saw the performance Mr Styles put on, they knew they could get a pretty penny for them, so they didn’t even bother to negotiate.”

The conversation continued, and Louis typed out ‘Why hadn’t the people filming signed a contract?' at the bottom of the list of questions he wanted to ask any of the lads when he got a chance to.

“I think the biggest takeaway is that Harry still isn’t ready to participate in promotional events at the moment,” Nerida said.

Promotional Events. Forcing a closeted man to kiss a woman is a promotional event? Louis was less than a second away from asking that very question when Grant scoffed.

“At this rate, I’m not convinced he ever will be,” Grant said. “I have to tell you that the label is questioning how they intend to fulfil their contract at all. Unless you have all forgotten about that?” The question wasn’t addressed to the band. As far as Louis could tell, the band hadn’t been included in a single conversation.

“We are all well aware of the contract, Grant. Regardless of whether you insist on reminding us,” Mison said.

Louis added ‘What is in the label's contract?’ to his list.

Grant raised his brows. “Even if the stunt had worked, the fact remains that they don’t have new music. Explain to me how they are going to release a new album without anything to put on it.”

In front of him, Harry shuffled in his seat, looking down now, and Louis’ heart hurt.

“We understand your concerns, Grant,” Nicole said. “These are issues we are working with the band to resolve.”

The eye roll Grant gave in response could rival any single one of Louis’, and Louis was quite proud of his eyerolls.

“This is a matter we can discuss later,” Mison said. “How are we handling damage control?”

“Well,” Nicole seemed to hesitate, and Louis loved witnessing it, “we’ve decided the best course of action is to ignore it and let it run its course.”

“Reasonable,” Mison agreed.

“The only issue is keeping Harry out of trouble. Perhaps we should look at hiring a handler or some-”

“What?” Harry and Louis said at the same time. Given Louis was louder, he continued.

“Why the hell would you do that?” No one seemed particularly surprised at Louis’ outburst, which was perhaps a little concerning. The truth was he had been waiting for a way to include himself in the meeting, hoping they would bring him up personally, and he figured this might be as close as they were going to get.

“We need someone to keep an eye on him,” Nicole said.

“Is that not what my job is?”

“If he had someone with experience, this may not have happened.”

“Excuse me?” Louis was genuinely confused. “How? Would someone else go on a date with him?”

No one answered that.

“I don’t understand why you think he needs someone to handle him. The only time he has stepped out of the apartment since I started is to go to meetings, band practice, and your fu-” It was a late catch, but a catch all the same “publicity stunt date.”

Again, no one had anything to say, and Louis was mildly satisfied. Not entirely, though; he couldn’t see how he would ever be satisfied in this cursed room.

However, the silence didn’t last long because Nicole opened her mouth. “Look, Louis, it’s great that you take this job seriously, but hiring extra support doesn’t jeopardise your role at al-”

“This isn’t about job security; this is about you punishing Harry because the paps that you hired fucked you over and made all of you look like idiots. You keep blaming this on Harry when really you should be blaming whoever organised the film crew who sold you out within minutes.” Louis’ voice sounded remarkably calm, considering the turmoil that was roaring inside him. Not wanting to continue the conversation, he said, “It’s settled then, no ‘handlers’ or anything like that will be hired. Hey, kid,” Louis said to the one who was typing, “type that out, please. I’ll add it to my notes as well. Feel free to move on to the next topic.”

All the staff looked to Mison, who gave a slight nod.

Louis had not expected them to listen to him at all but did his best to hide his surprise.

The meeting then turned into Liam’s weekly reporting. Louis desperately wanted to interject but felt he’d be pushing his luck there. Not only had he already gotten overly involved, but it was one thing to insert himself into the meeting when it was somehow related to him. It was much harder to say anything when it had nothing to do with him.

He suffered through the rest of the meeting, and it wasn’t until it was over that he realised how tense he’d been. He packed up as quickly as he could and waited outside the door.

Harry stood in front of him and stared for a few seconds. He looked like he was going to say something, but before he did, he walked off. Louis sighed and chased after him. That should be added to his job description.

“Stop,” Louis said as he walked to the stage. By the time he reached the front of it, they had all stopped playing and were staring at him. “So, uh. Okay, so here is the thing, right? I’ve been to, like, what? Eight or nine of these sessions. And it’s great. You’re great. Perfect even.” He was starting to regret the whole thing, but if he had to sit through one more identical, monotonous practice, he was sure he’d end up screaming.

“Go on,” Zayn said, studying him.

“Okay, so, erm, I just. I was thinking maybe, and I know basically nothing about music, but maybe you could just… do something else? Like throw away your set list or whatever it is and do something you actually enjoy doing.”

They all stared blankly at him; the four of them having almost identical expressions.

“I mean, you guys must have enjoyed playing before, right? But, and I’m sorry if this is offensive or whatever, you all look fucking miserable.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Harry asked him. It seemed more like a challenge than a genuine question.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Like I said, I don’t know anything about music, but I feel like literally, anything would be better than what you’re doing now.”

When no one responded, Louis said, “What if, um.” Fuck, he really should have thought this through more. “What if you just play your favourite songs? Not your own songs, but other people's songs ones you like or something. Would that work? Is that possible?” Could they just do that? Louis honestly had no idea.

“I mean, it’s worth a shot.” Niall looked at his bandmates as he said it.

Zayn shrugged, and Liam nodded. Then everyone looked at Harry.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

“Okay, cool.” Louis did his best to reign in his grin before returning to the sofa.

“Oi,” Niall called, and Louis turned back around. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Louis wordlessly pointed to the sofa.

“Uh uh, nope. You can’t just throw us into chaos and walk away.”

“But I don’t know anything about music,” Louis said.

“Well, you should come and learn something, then.” Niall grinned at him.

Not sure what other option he had, especially as he had interrupted and potentially thrown them into chaos, he went back to the stage and climbed onto it. The others had already positioned themselves onto the floor into a wide circle, and it was clear to Louis that this did come naturally to them, even if they hadn’t done it for a while.

They decided that Niall should get to choose the song since, in Harry’s words, he agreed to this stupid idea.

Niall took out his phone and then looked up at Louis. “Sit,” he instructed.

Louis had stood a little further back from the circle, so he took several steps forward and sat between Zayn and Harry. Again he couldn’t see the purpose of him being there, but if it was what Niall wanted and led to them playing without looking like they wanted to drown themselves, he’d do it.

Niall chose some song Louis had never heard of. He was relieved that Liam and Zayn hadn’t either. Niall streamed the song twice before the others took out their phones. It took Louis a minute to realise they were searching the music and the lyrics. Liam stood up and walked out to his drum kit; instead of sitting at it, though, he just grabbed his drumsticks. Then he picked up Zayn’s bass and handed it to him before walking to the other side of the stage to get Niall's guitar and give it to him. He then joined them back on the floor.

Louis wouldn’t call what happened next chaos, not even close. Sure, it wasn’t as polished as them unenthusiastically playing songs for hours without even talking to each other. But it was so better.

At first, Liam and Niall were the only ones talking, with Zayn quietly playing his part, while Harry just sat there staring at his phone.

Then, as Niall and Liam got more confident with the music - although Liam was just tapping the ground, Zayn seemed to get a little more into it as well, making comments about changing keys and other things Louis didn’t understand.

None of them said anything to Harry, even as they softly played through it the first time. The second time they played, Harry murmured the lyrics, matching the volume of instruments. Harry only glanced down at his phone a couple of times to check the lyrics, knowing the rest by heart.

They did more music-y things and made more changes before Liam stood up. “Should we do a proper play-through?”

Louis didn’t think they had a choice either, as Liam was already sitting at his drum kit.

“Am I allowed to leave now?” Louis asked Niall as everyone stood.

“Yeah, yeah, guess so.”

Louis nodded and walked back to the back of his room. He packed away his laptop and book, knowing his full attention would be on the band.

Louis had never known how much beauty there could be in imperfection. After two weeks of listening to the four of them recite songs they’d probably mastered years ago and not making a noticeable mistake, hearing the wrong note, beat, or word garnered a smile from him.

A few times, one of them would stop them all with a suggestion, comment, or direction, and by the end of the practice, both Liam and Niall had actually laughed, and Zayn had looked pretty close a few times.

Harry hadn’t seemed to come close to smiling and only spoke when he had no choice not to. Louis told himself that it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his job to make Harry happy.

He’d just about convinced himself that he didn’t care at all until he opened his door on Saturday morning and heard Harry humming a song for the first time. The way that happy people do.

Something inside Louis exploded, filling him with warmth, at the sound and the image of Harry pottering around in the kitchen while humming the song the band had played. It was undeniable that Louis cared about it - about Harry’s happiness - much more than he should.

Chapter Text

“Well, if it’s not my favourite brother,” Lottie’s voice came through the speaker.

“What about Ern-”

“Favourite older brother.” Lottie corrected. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need legal advice.”

Lottie groaned.

“Wait, not legal advice, information about law and stuff.” He always forgot that he wasn’t meant to call it legal advice, especially as that was precisely what he wanted.

“Mm. Please tell me you’re not looking for a way out of your contract.”

“How’d you kno-?” Louis had been in awe and a little concerned about how she could possibly know that. Then he realised what she had meant. “Oh, no, not my contract.”

“Um, okay. I’m going to need more information than that.”

Louis got off his bed and checked for the third time that his door was properly shut and locked before moving back to it. “I just need advice; wait, no. Just information about theirs.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The boy's contract.”

“What?!” She sounded indignant. “Lou, I can’t handle something like that. They need to hire a lawyer who specialises in that.”

“Why? Isn’t that your job? You look through all of my contracts.”

“It’s part of what I do, yes. But I’d never be able to handle a case like that. I’m the most junior lawyer here, and I’m not sure any of the partners would even be able to handle such a high-profile case. All of your contracts are pretty straightforward. I highly doubt that any of the contracts Nicotine Redo has signed are straightforward.”

He’d expected her to say something like that, but it was still disappointing. “Well, I never said you’d need to represent them. I just said I wanted some legal ad-, information.”

After a dramatic sigh she said, “Go ahead then.”

Louis opened up his laptop, which was already on his list of questions. "I have to go to these stupid meetings with their management. A bloke there who works for the record label and worries they won’t be able to fulfil their contract. What would that mean?"

“You need to know that the entertainment industry is not my speciality. If he works for the record label, I’d have to assume it would have to do with producing an album or sponsorships or something.”

“Right, yeah, that makes sense,” Louis said. “‘Cause he said he couldn’t see how they would produce an album without new music. So what will happen if it is about the album and they don’t make one?”

“Hm. It would depend on the contract. Without seeing it, I don’t. The contract could have a deadline, or it could just be that their next album, or albums if they’ve signed on for more, have to be produced by them but with no date set.”

Louis mulled over her words. “How do I find out? I could email management, I guess. Or the label.”

“Louis! No, absolutely not! Tell me right now you’re not going to do that.”

It felt like a slight overreaction. “Jesus, okay. I won’t. Fuck.”

He heard her let out a breath. “Firstly, you don’t have any legal rights to access those documents. Secondly, the last thing you want is for anyone even to get a whiff that the band is reviewing their contracts.”

“Technically, it’s not the boys, though. It’s me.”

“Which makes it worse for everyone.” She paused for a second and then asked the question Louis had been waiting for. “Why are you interested? What does the band want?”

“Because they’re so fucking miserable, Lottie. I don’t know what they want. I don’t even think they know what they want. But they’re not happy.”

“Lou…” He hated it when she used that soft, sad tone. He should have been more careful with his wording.

“No, it’s not like that.”

“You can’t ma-”

“I know I can’t,” he interjected. “I just want to understand what’s happening.”

“Then just ask them.”

Louis had thought about doing that, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be pushing his luck. They’d all been way too understanding with him and put up with his complete lack of professionalism. “What if they don’t know either?”

“I’m sure they had their own lawyers who would have explained it all to them.”

“What if they didn’t?”

“Look, they would have,” Louis went to interrupt her, and she must have been able to tell because she spoke louder, “But, if they didn’t or if they want someone to look it over I can. It’ll need to come from whoever is on the contract, though. So if they have personal contracts, I can take that as long as the person authorises it. If it’s one for the entire band, I’d need them to all agree.”

He wasn’t sure if it would be possible, but it was better than nothing. “Okay, okay, I’ll work something out.”

“Make sure they send it to my personal email address from one of their own. Give them the same template I gave you to word the email so they don’t say anything about legal advice. I’m just a friend looking over a contract.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much, Lotts!”

“You need to get someone actually to send me one first. Even then, I doubt I’ll be able to help at all.”

Louis didn’t let the words get him down because it was a start.

It was something.

Whenever Louis and Harry were at home, the only time they saw each other was if Harry had to go to the gym and his trainer wasn’t working or when they were in the kitchen. Otherwise, Harry stayed on the top floor, and Louis stayed on the bottom.

Louis had never been so bored or lonely in his life. He had no idea how Harry didn’t go crazy. However, he did have game consoles and a TV upstairs. He also had three rooms that Louis still had no idea where they went. Maybe he could check one day before he woke up Harry.

On the other hand, Louis spent most of his time in his room. As lovely as it was, the blindly white was not helping his mood. Everything was so white that it basically camouflaged itself. The only colour in the room was just from Louis’ scattered belongings.

Harry had a house cleaner come twice a week, and Louis had feebly hoped that if she washed his sheets, she might put new ones that weren’t plain white. She didn’t, though. If it hadn’t been for the stain he’d caused the night before by spilling a little tea, he wouldn’t have even realised she’d changed them as he was reasonably sure it was the same sheet set.

On Sunday, after they got off the lift from another particularly gruelling gym session - gruelling for Louis as he tried to keep his eyes off Harry while he was working out - Louis stopped in front of the doors, and, somewhat surprisingly, Harry stopped too.

“Would it be okay if I went and saw Zayn?” Louis asked.

Harry stared at him like he always seemed to do before he spoke to him. “Why?”

“Needa smoke.”

“Whatever,” Harry said before walking off.

Louis watched until Harry was inside their flat before he walked to Zayn’s door and knocked on it.

Zayn didn’t seem surprised to see him. “Oh, hey. Smoke?”

Louis couldn’t help but chuckle, and Zayn led him through the house to the balcony.

“Fuck, it’s cold, mate.” Louis’ shirt had long sleeves but was too thin to provide genuine warmth from the chilly air.

“Do you want a jumper or something?” Zayn asked.

Louis shook his head as he lowered himself into a chair. “Nah, it’s fine.”

Zayn handed him the pack of smokes and lighter and sat beside him. “Thought you might’ve given up.”

“Huh?” Louis turned to Zayn.

Zayn held out his cigarette. “Smoking. Been a few days.”

“Oh, yeah. Nah, I just hid on Harry’s balcony and smoked there.”

Zayn nodded. “Wanted company today, though?”

Louis had planned to wait a little longer before bringing it up. Mainly because he did want company. “Yeah, but I also have a question.”

“Okay,” Zayn said, resting his head on the back of the chair.

“So, uh.” Louis had planned the whole fucking thing out, and now it was like the script had exploded, leaving loose, disjointed words scattered everywhere. “I just. You know how with the band?”

Zayn lifted his head and straightened up a little, eyes on Louis. He didn’t look offended… yet. “How with the band, what?”

After Louis huffed out a breath, he took a moment to pull everything back together. He could do this. “I am so appreciative of this position, and you’ve all made it such a lovely work env-”

“Tomlinson, what the fuck?!” In one swift movement, Zayn lifted and repositioned his chair to face Louis.

“What?”

“This better not be going where I think it’s going.”

“I, erm.” The piercing look Zayn was giving him was off-putting. He hadn’t thought he’d said enough for him to work out what Louis was trying to say. Louis wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. “Where do you think it’s going?”

Ash fell off the end of Zayn’s cigarette and dropped to the tile beneath, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Louis. “You’re resigning.” It was said with such finality it took Louis a second to realise it was more of a question than a statement.

A brittle laugh escaped him before he rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, what is it with you lot always thinking I’m going to quit?”

“You’re not?”

“No. Well, not today, at least. What made you think I was going to do that?”

Zayn’s shoulders slumped, and his stormy expression cleared. “I don’t fucking know, man. Maybe because it sounded like you were reading off a resignation letter.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can see that.” So much for having it planned out perfectly. “Well, no, I’m not quitting.”

“So what’s your question then? And this time, can you just be normal about it?”

Louis gave a nod. “Can you send my sister a copy of your contract for her to read and explain to me what the fuck is going on with all of you?”

“What are you on about?” As he asked it, he rested back in his chair, his unbothered persona in place. Still, it was better than the freak-out from a few seconds ago.

“I don’t understand what going on. You are all talented, top lads, and smart and-” He stopped when Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Right, well, all of that, but you are so fucking depressed and uninspired and let everyone treat you like shit.”

“And you think it’s got to do with a contract?” Zayn stubbed out his cigarette, placed the bud in the ashtray and took out another one.

“I don’t know. I guess, yeah, I think so.”

Louis watched as Zayn took a drag of the fresh ciggie. “What’s your sister got to do with it?”

“She’s a lawyer. Figured she’d be able to explain it to me.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I just did.”

Zayn coughed out a laugh. “I meant your questions.”

“Ah. I didn’t think you’d want to answer them,” Louis told him.

Zayn hummed and said no more. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Louis let them. He’d said what he wanted to. Well, not exactly what he wanted to say, but he’d gotten his point across, and there was nothing else to say.

“C’mon then,” Zayn said finally.

As Louis glanced at him, he was getting up. Louis did the same and followed him inside and through the apartment and into his office.

“Do you want paper copies or digital?” Zayn asked from the office chair.

Louis rested his weight on the doorframe. “She needs you to email them to her, and they need your name on them. She said to send them from a personal email address, and I’d got a draft of what you need to put in the email. She also said it’s best not to tell anyone.”

Zayn swivelled on his chair to face Louis. “Fuck, you this bored that you have to plan covert missions?”

He forced out a weak smile, enough to get Zayn to face the computer again. They both knew that if this were all just Louis misreading everything, Zayn wouldn’t be sitting at his computer, about to follow a multi-step plan to get a stranger to review a contract.

“So,” Zayn turned back to Louis, his computer on and his emails open, “Which contracts do you want me to send?”

“Any that you want her to look at.”

Zayn didn’t argue over technicalities. He didn’t say that he was only doing this for Louis’ sake or that he didn’t need her to look over anything. Instead, he gave a silent nod and turned back to his laptop.

When Louis’ got home, he almost turned around and went straight back to Zayn’s.

He knew Harry was downstairs as soon as he opened the door before he’d even seen him. The combination of vanilla and mint overwhelmed him, so he also knew that Harry had showered and put cologne on. Unless he just naturally had a vanilla scent, and honestly, at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised. Louis had started to believe that Harry was designed with the simple objective of being alluring.

Holy fuck, Louis needed to get a hold of himself.

“What?” Every time Louis heard Harry’s voice, he was struck by how deep it was. The way it rumbled out of his mouth like it was coming deep from his chest.

“Huh?” He knew exactly what Harry meant, though. He’d been standing, staring at Harry for too long. He was pretty sure it was only a couple of seconds, but it was still too long. “Oh, um, sorry, nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Right,” Harry said and shut the fridge door, holding a salad.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

Harry didn’t speak but just frowned at him, almost like a question.

“I didn’t get your dinner ready.” Louis took his phone out to look at the time. It was only six, and normally Harry wouldn’t eat until a little later, but Louis still should have been here to prepare his dinner.

Harry huffed and pressed his fingers to his forehead as if Louis was giving him a headache. He probably was. “I can get a bowl of salad out of the fridge.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Just getting food was one of the very few things that Louis actually did. The truth was Harry didn’t need a PA. He did fuck all. There were occasionally emails, but they were either from management and Louis either deleted them before reading them or if they were from someone else, he skimmed through to check there was nothing essential and then deleted them.

He went to the gym with Harry when needed and just sat there. He went to band practice… and sat there as well. At the management meetings, besides fighting with them sometimes, he sat there as well. Besides the first day, there hadn’t been a single other meeting. Harry hadn’t had anyone over except for the girl after his ‘date’ - Louis cringed at the memory of confronting Harry about it - and they never went anywhere.

So, not only did Harry not need a PA, and he also didn’t need a babysitter. Louis would be out of a job if Harry started using an alarm.

If Louis didn’t stop staring at Harry’s arse as he walked to the dining table, he would be out of a job and probably end up in a sexual harassment lawsuit or something.

Once Harry sat down and took the lid off the salad, he looked back at Louis. “Seriously, what?”

“No, nothing.” Fuck.

Harry squinted at him, and Louis forced his body to relax, hoping that Harry wouldn’t be able to read his thoughts. Considering the distance between them, Harry probably couldn’t see Louis’ face that well anyway.

After sighing softly, Harry started eating.

Louis stalled, trying to decide whether to heat his dinner now or not. He usually ate at different times than Harry - mainly to put the much-needed space between them. Louis wouldn’t normally eat this early, anyway.

Still, since he was already in the kitchen, it made more sense to start to throw something in the oven. He pulled out a cottage pie.

Initially, after Harry had threatened his job if he didn’t do it when he contacted the delivery service, he told them just to deliver two of the same meals, and then they agreed. But the next day, they called him and said they couldn’t double up meals, and he’d need to choose his own. Louis pointed out that it didn’t make any sense at all, but they were insistent. Once the meals did come, he was incredibly thankful, though, because Harry’s all looked revolting. And not at all filling.

He put it in the oven and stood helplessly in the kitchen. It said it would take twenty minutes to heat up, enough time to hide in his room. By the time his dinner was ready, Harry would likely be done with his, and they wouldn’t need to spend unnecessary time together.

Knowing that it was the right thing to do, Louis forced himself to his room. The book he’d abandoned when Harry announced that it was time to go to the gym, with about five seconds noticed, lay on his bed. He picked it up and stared at his bed. He should just sit on it and read there. It’s what he always did. But maybe he wouldn’t hear the oven timer go off or something.

He might fall asleep, and if Harry were to go upstairs before the timer when off, he wouldn’t hear it over. The entire apartment could go up in flames. Or the whole building.

Really, it was too dangerous for him to read in his bedroom. He’d be putting numerous lives at risk. So, with that rationale, he walked into the living room. As far as Harry knew, he might spend all his time in the living room. Harry wouldn’t know this was the first time Louis had sat on the sofa to read. Or that it was the only time except for the day that Harry was getting ready for his date.

After a few minutes, he heard Harry’s dining chair scraping on the floor and looked up at him. Harry stopped at the sink, dealt with his dishes, and then just… left without even looking in Louis’ direction.

Fuck.

Louis had taken his dinner back to his room after Harry had left. Two and a half hours had passed, and he was restless that he was pacing his room, the white walls closing in on him with each step. He flung his door open and raced upstairs when he couldn't handle it anymore.

“The fuck?” Harry said, getting off the lounge to stare at Louis. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Louis couldn’t answer straight away as he needed to catch his breath. He probably shouldn’t be surprised, given he smoked and did fuck all exercise, but it was still a bit depressing.

He glanced up at Harry, who was looking a lot more concerned than he needed to be. Louis would have reached out to assure him nothing was wrong if he were closer, but Harry hadn’t moved from where he was standing, keeping a substantial gap between them. For the best. Probably.

“Okay,” Louis said once he had enough air in his lungs. “Sorry, I’m okay.”

Harry looked at him blankly. After a long pause that Louis’ had come to expect. “You ran up the stairs,” he glanced down at Louis’ feet, “in socks and coughed up a lung… for nothing?”

“I, uh, well yeah. I mean, it’s something, but I probably didn’t need to run.”

“Right.” It was all he offered. He didn’t even ask why Louis had run up there in socks.

“We should go out tomorrow,” Louis said. “Can we do that? I mean, go somewhere.”

“What?”

“I need to get out of this. You need to get out of the house. We can’t spend our lives cramped up here. My room is so white that it feels like I’m in an asyl-” He stopped himself partly because it was a shitty thing to say and primarily because of the venomous look on Harry’s face.

“Were you about to say my house feels like an asylum?”

“No?”

“The million-pound apartment that you’re staying in for free? Where you have an entire floor to yourself? And a bedroom with an ensuite and a walk-in wardrobe? You’re cramped up and feel like you’re in an asylum?”

Louis rubbed the back of his neck, forcing himself to look in Harry’s general direction, but he couldn’t look at Harry. The worst thing was Harry was absolutely right. “Harry, I didn’t mean it like that. This place is lovely, and I’m grateful. Really. I just meant, um. I didn’t mean cramped as in it’s small or anything.” Louis slowly let out a breath. “I just meant, we’re stuc-” he groaned at his choice of words. “We’re inside all the time. We don’t go anywhere. I think it would be nice to go somewhere and do something.” He found enough strength to look up at Harry and immediately wished he didn’t.

Harry glared at him with a hardened expression that Louis hadn’t seen before. Harry could be an arsehole, yeah. He was moody, grumpy, and easily irritated. But he’d never looked like this. “Then go out.”

“It’s. I.” Louis hated the creases between Harry’s eyebrows. It was not just because he didn’t want to be on the end of Harry’s deadly expression but also looked painful. He wanted to soothe Harry, to touch him and force him to soften his expression. Now was not the time for that. There would never be a time for that. “I think you need to get out of the house too.”

“Why?”

“It’s not healthy. You can’t just keep yourself locked up in here.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do I have to go out with you, though?”

Louis knew they weren’t friends or anything, but he hadn’t expected Harry to act so harshly towards him either. “You don’t have to do anything. If you’d rather go out with someone else, that’s fine. I just think you should get out of here.”

“Right. So, you wouldn't try to join if I went out with someone else?”

“No, why would I do that?” Louis realised that it was probably because it was his job. “I mean, maybe we’d need to check with the others that it was okay because… they pay me too, you know?”

Harry still looked at him sceptically, and Louis would pay to know his thoughts. “If they said yes, or I went out with one of them, you’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah, of course.” When it hit Louis, he felt like an idiot for not realising sooner. Or immediately. Harry didn’t want to be seen with him. It made sense. Harry was beautiful and probably only wanted to be seen by other beautiful people. Like Alison, that other girl, or his bandmates. Not Louis. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment he felt. Not that Harry didn’t want to be associated with him - although that also hurt, it wasn’t the main cause.

No, he was disappointed in Harry. Because as much as it all made sense and Louis still didn’t understand the alternate universe he’d be thrust into, he still had thought Harry was better than that. Better than someone who’d give a shit about things like appearance or status or whatever it was that was the driving force behind Harry’s revolting against being seen in public with him.

“Fine,” Harry said, catching Louis off guard.

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine. There are rules, though.”

“What? Like, I have to walk twenty steps behind you? Or dress so people know I’m just your PA?” He tried to keep his emotions out of his voice, but the bitter note was clear to his ears.

“What does a PA even dress like?” Harry had toned down his glare just a little, and Louis knew he should be happy about it, but he wasn’t. He hated this side of Harry.

“I don’t know. You never told me.”

“I can’t be seen alone with you,” Harry said, ignoring Louis’ answer.

“Of course not,” Louis muttered.

“You’ll have to get at least one of the others to come.”

“’ Kay.” He wanted to cancel the whole thing.

“You’ll also need to organise security.” It sounded like there was a question in Harry’s voice, but Louis didn’t care. He chose to stare at the TV instead.

“Fine.”

“The handbook should tell you how to do that.”

“I’m sure it does. Anything else?”

Louis waited out Harry’s silence because there was no fucking way he was going to say anything. There was nothing left to say to Harry anyway. The silence moved from uncomfortable to unbearable, but Louis kept his mouth shut.

“What’s your issue?” Harry finally snapped.

“I don’t have an issue.” Louis looked back to Harry, whose glare was back in full force, so Louis met it with his own. “So find someone else to come and get security. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Great,” Louis said blandly.

“Great.” Harry sat back on the lounge and turned his attention to the television, making it painfully apparent that Louis was no longer welcome to be in his company. That was fine by Louis because being in Harry’s company was the last thing he wanted to do right then.

Harry and Louis didn’t speak at all the following morning. Harry managed to wake up by himself before Louis went in there. He looked like shit, though.

Louis had been in the shower when Harry had come down, and Harry was already eating breakfast and drinking coffee. More proof that he didn’t need Louis at all.

Niall had knocked on their door to take them to band rehearsal like he did most days. If it wasn’t for his worried side glances and occasionally taking his hand off the wheel to bite his nails, Louis would almost believe that Niall hadn’t picked up on the tension. In typical Niall fashion, he tried to keep their spirits high. Louis did his best to help him but couldn’t hold up the pretence for too long. Somehow, Niall was able to, though. He chattered happily for most of the drive, only getting murmurs or muttered words in response.

The car had barely come to a stop before Harry fled from it.

“He’s going to get run over one day,” Niall sighed. Pretence dropped. Just like that.

While Louis was glad that Niall didn’t feel the need to keep up the act around him, he was also pissed off that Harry made Niall feel like he had to act differently around him. Harry and Niall had known each other since they were teenagers, and Harry shouldn’t make his friend that uncomfortable.

“Hm,” was all Louis could offer. Neither of them made a move to exit the car.

“Dinner, eh?”

Louis let out a lowly humourless laugh. What a fucking shitty idea that had been. Even the thought that he’d wanted to help Harry made his insides crawl. He wished he could go back and never mention it. Then he could live with the illusion that Harry wasn’t quite as terrible as he was. “Guess so. Thanks for agreeing to come.”

Niall gave him a hesitant glance. “Everything okay?” he asked after a few moments.

Louis clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together to ensure no words snuck out. The last thing he wanted was to give Niall something else he felt like he had to fix.

Niall looked like he was going to say something, but Zayn knocked on his window before he could.

Even though Louis’ interruption on Friday seemed to affect the band positively, he hadn’t intended to do it again. He had no real reason or authority to take over. They knew what they were doing, and he had no idea.

Halfway through their usual set, Louis could tell something was off. There still weren’t mistakes, well, not ones that he noticed anyway, but it just sounded wrong somehow. He looked up away from the laptop and watched them.

They no longer looked bored like they had all the other times, which should have been good. Louis had always been sure that anything would be better than looking bored. Watching them now, he realised that wasn’t true.

They all, every single one of them, looked frustrated. It sounded all wrong because Harry was muttering the lyrics, Niall was strumming too hard and Zayn too soft, and Liam, well, Liam was playing the same as usual but shooting the rest of them annoyed and worried glances.

He looked back at Zayn and held his gaze. Zayn rolled his eyes and then tipped his head back. Louis didn’t move, not convinced it meant what he thought it did. Then he did it again, more exaggerated this time, and Louis was almost positive he was motioning for Louis to go there.

Almost. He was still deciding what to do when Niall yelled, “Louis. Can you come here?”

The music stopped, and everyone looked at him expectantly, except Harry. Harry was glaring at Niall.

Figuring he had no choice, Louis pushed to his feet and walked up to the stage. He didn’t climb up it; instead just looked up at them. “Yeah?” he asked Niall.

“Come do your thing,” Niall replied.

“What’s my thing?”

Zayn huffed but didn’t say anything.

“You know, your thing,” Niall repeated. “Like last time.”

“Where I told you to play something you liked?”

“Well, yeah.”

Louis glanced at them all. Except for Harry, he didn’t look at him. They were all looking expectant, but he wasn’t sure exactly what they wanted from him. “Um, okay. Why don’t you play something else?” he said slowly, still unsure what they were asking for.

“Wow, Lou, that’s a great idea,” Niall said softly. “Thank you for that.”

Louis looked him up and down before giving him a confused nod. He hadn’t had a chance to walk away before Niall told him to get onstage.

While he really didn’t see how that would help anyone, if it were going to help, he’d do it even if it didn’t make sense, even if Harry grumbled and put as much space between them as possible.

At seven, Louis and Harry walked down to the garage. Niall was waiting next to a blank jeep, and Louis could see a driver in the front seat.

“Li and Zayn have already left with their driver,” Niall said as soon as they were within hearing distance. “So it’s just us.”

“Security?” Harry asked Niall. Really, the question should have been directed to Louis since it was his job to organise it, but he was relieved he wasn’t asked because he had no idea how it worked.

“Terrance and Mac are waiting at the restaurant. They’ll meet us when we get there.”

“Mac?” Harry asked.

Niall nodded. “Yeah, apparently, he is a new hire. Never met him, though. You guys ready?”

Harry didn’t answer, and Louis nodded.

“Cool, cool.” Niall opened the front passenger door and climbed into the Jeep, meaning Louis would have to sit next to Harry. Even on their best day, Louis wouldn’t have enjoyed it. But today, Harry was dressed. Like proper dressed. He was wearing black pants that were a little too fitted and a button-down shirt that was too unbuttoned. His hair was down, loose curls sitting on his shoulders. And he smelt of everything. Everything Louis had even noticed him smell like; he smelt like it.

As far as Louis’ terrible ideas went, the whole nightmare was close to the top. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry had deliberately dressed like that just to punish him.

Niall and the driver spoke for the entire trip while Louis stared out the window, looking as far away from Harry as possible.

“I messaged Terrance. He said they’re ready, and you can stop out the front,” Niall said to the driver.

The car pulled up in front of a small-looking restaurant, and two men stood at Louis’ door. Louis turned and looked at Harry before moving. Harry tipped his head up, so Louis unlocked the door and stepped out.

Louis stood off as Harry and Niall exited the car, the guards approaching them. The street was pretty quiet, so Louis trailed behind the others until Harry stopped.

“You need to keep up,” he said to Louis.

Louis glared in response but closed the space between them.

Harry had looked like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept walking. Louis listened to one of the guards tell Harry and Niall where all the exits were—ignoring Louis entirely.

Liam and Zayn were already in their seat, and the one he’d heard Niall call, Terrance directed Harry to sit between Liam and Zayn, his back to the room, and Niall and Louis to sit in the two spare seats.

The restaurant was reasonably quiet, which wasn’t too surprising given it was a dreary Monday night. If they didn’t include the one that Terrance and Mac had next to them, only three other tables were in use. The dark lighting gave an even more intimate feel, and as Louis looked out of the windows, he realised they were painted black so no one could see in. Maybe this was a place specifically for celebrities.

Louis looked around the table and realised they’d never hung out as a group without being in a professional setting. Louis had only hung out with Zayn, Liam, and Niall alone. Even then, he’d only been to Liam’s and Niall’s apartments once.

It made sense, he supposed. They spent almost every day together; they probably didn’t want to spend more time together.

Although, really, they only spent a few hours a day together, and that was at practice and only on weekdays. Louis had worked much longer days with friends and then still spent time with them outside of work.

Another thing to add to the long list of things Louis hadn’t expected was the stifled conversation between the four bandmates.

At first, he thought everyone was quiet because they were looking at the menus. But after they ordered, the eerie quiet only grew as they couldn’t even murmur about what they planned to order.

Louis waited for someone to start talking, waited for the deafening silence to be interrupted. The closest thing to an interruption was when one of them shuffled in their seat, picked up their cutlery, or looked idly at the drinks menu, even though they all had drinks.

Feeling his eyes on him, Louis glanced at Niall, who stared back at him with wide eyes and a downturned mouth. No wonder Harry had a soft spot for him.

“So,” Louis started, causing them all, except Harry, of course, to look up at him. “Are you all from the same place? Hometown, I mean.”

Liam nodded. “Yep, we all went to the same school.”

“Oh, cool. So you grew up together?”

“Nah, not really,” Liam answered again. “We were put into the same music class in year ten and just kind of came together for a project.”

“Wow, okay.” Louis had been sure they’d been friends since they were little, but he realised he had no reason to think that. “So you didn’t know each other until then?”

Niall shrugged next to him. “I mean, we knew of each other. Most of us had been in the same classes at some point. I’m sure we’d talked. But yeah, we’d never hung out together or anything.”

“Huh, and then what?”

“Well,” Liam started, “our music teacher seemed to like us. To be honest, I think she just had a crush on Harry. But she signed us up to represent our school in a Battle of the Bands. Every band had to do three songs, and one of ours was one Harry wrote. We won, and afterwards, we were approached by a talent agent.”

“You write songs?” Louis asked Harry even though he didn’t think Liam had finished talking.

Harry looked up at him from under his lashes. “What?”

“You, uh, you write songs?”

“Obviously.” There was a growl to his voice.

But it wasn’t obvious. It hadn’t been to Louis, at least. “Have you written any for the band?”

Harry sat up straight and studied Louis. “Are you joking?” he asked, sounding genuine.

“Um, no.”

Harry raised his brows. “I’ve got writing credits on every single one of our songs.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t know I wrote them?” Harry asked him.

“No.” It wasn’t that Louis didn’t know that bands wrote their songs. He knew that. However, he had spent a lot of time listening to and, despite fighting it, analysing the lyrics and not once had he considered that Harry could have been the one to wax them together.

“Hm.” Harry sniffed and then looked off to his side. Louis hoped against hope that his thoughts hadn’t been readable on his face, but given Harry’s reaction, it was likely they had been.

Food began being placed in front of them. Louis watched as the waitress preened in front of Harry. Harry was polite in return. Respectful. Anyone watching wouldn’t have been able to call out any of his behaviour.

They wordlessly ate, and the quiet felt a little more comfortable than it had before.

“Was it a big school?” Louis asked them between mouthfuls.

Niall shrugged. “Probably a couple hundred in our year.” He looked around at the others, and Liam nodded.

“So what happened next? After the talent agent spoke to you?” Louis asked no one in particular.

“Um, he kind of just asked for our parents’ numbers, and it all fell into place from there,” Liam said as he shot Harry a fugitive glance.

Clearly, they did not want to talk about it, so Louis just nodded and went back to eating. Slowly conversation picked up around him. Mainly Liam and Niall were talking about kids they grew up with, with Zayn chiming in occasionally.

Of course, Louis could barely pay attention to their conversation because he was too busy glancing at Harry. He’d only eaten half his dinner and had pushed the plate aside. Harry didn’t seem to be able to sit still. He was either messing up his hair, fiddling with the numerous rings on his fingers, or holding his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger while he glanced around the room.

Louis had a much better view of the room, so when he caught Harry doing it the next time, he looked around too. Even though no one else had come in and the other tables had been quiet, he could tell that at least one person from each table was trying to subtly film or take photos.

He kept watching them, none of them seemed to notice that he was even there, and if they did, they didn’t give a shit that he was glaring at them. They were mainly to get footage of Harry, and Louis understood the seating plan. This way, they only had access to Harry’s back. Even then, Louis felt that was too much.

They would occasionally do sweeping views with their phones and point them in the direction of the other band members as well.

The rest of the band must have noticed, but no one seemed to care. Louis wasn’t even sure that Harry cared about it. He seemed just not to want to be there.

Louis ate his dinner as quickly as he could, and even though the tension had settled and Liam, Zayn, and Niall were talking, as soon as Louis finished his meal, they all agreed it was time to go.

Terrance and Mac stood up as soon as they agreed to leave, and Louis realised they must have listened to the entire conversation. It was probably part of their job, but it felt invasive.

“We’ll wait for Mac to get back,” Terrance said, and Louis hadn’t even realised he was no longer there. “Niall, Harry, and Louis, we’ll take you out first. We’ve already called the car, and then we’ll come back and get you two,” he said to Zayn and Liam.

“Paps are here,” Mac said when he got back.

No one seemed particularly surprised.

“’Course they are,” Zayn said with a sigh.

“Many?” Niall asked.

“Nah, it’s not too bad.”

“Let’s do it then,” Niall said. “See you, lads, later.” He tipped his chin to Liam and Zayn.

Louis kept a step behind Harry and Niall and did his best not to glare at the people who were shamelessly filming them. If there were no risk of getting caught on camera, he would have said something to them, but that would make everything a million times worse.

They paused at the doors. “Okay, lads, you know the drill. Stay close to me. Mac, you look after Louis.”

The young guard nodded and stood next to Louis. Terrance pushed the doors open, and they all stepped out. Louis stepped out, intending to stay close to Mac, but after a few steps, he realised Mac wasn’t there anymore.
Louis glanced around. If this were just a few paps, he would hate to know what a lot looked like.

He searched the crowd for Mac but couldn’t see him.

The flashing lights weren’t making it any easier.

He waited for them to stop, but they didn’t.

Constant flashing.

He tried to look again, but there was no use. He couldn’t see a thing.

He’d have to push through the crowd, but he got jabbed in his ribs when he tried.

“Fuck.”

Fuck.

He was stuck.

He took another step forward and was pushed back again.

He tried to yell out for Mac or anyone. But when he opened his mouth, he realised he couldn’t speak.

His vision was completely gone, the lights never stopping.

All he could hear was people screaming out Harry and Niall’s names and yelling things Louis couldn’t make out.

And the shutters of the cameras.

The noise and the light kept going.

*click* *flash*

*click* *flash*

Air, Louis needed air.

*click* *flash*

*click* *flash*

He surged forward. He needed to get out.

But he was pushed right back, his toes getting trodden on.

*Click* *Flash* *Click* *Flash*

Air. There was no air.

He was jolted, and someone’s body weight fell onto his. He stumbled forward, landing straight on another person.

The others closed in around him.

Still screaming.

Still yelling.

*CLICK* *FLASH!*

Fuck.

He couldn’t even free his arms, pressed tight against all the strangers' bodies.

*CLICK!*
*FLASH!*
*CLICK!*
*FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!*

Air. Air. He needed air.

Fuck.

*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*

Fuck fuck fuck

*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!*

Air
Air
Air
He needed air.

“LOUIS!”

*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!* *CLICK!* *FLASH!*

“LOUIS!”

*CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!*
*CLICK!* *FLASH!*

“Lou!”

Harry. It was Harry.

*CLICK* *FLASH*
*CLICK* *FLASH*

A hand wrapped itself around his wrist and tugged hard.
He stumbled forward, the crowd moving for him.
Still yelling. Still bodies touching him. But not like before.

*CLICK*
*FLASH*

“Can you fuck off!” Harry snarled at someone, the arm around Louis tightening, pulling him in closer.

*Click*
*Flash*

“Move out of the fucking way.” Harry barked, pulling Louis closer still.
*click*

*click*

Everything was black.

Louis was folded into Harry’s chest.

“Lou.” Harry’s voice was soft. Not like the one he’d used on the others. “Gotta get in the car.”

*click*

He knew Harry was no longer shielding him, but there was still no flashing, so he forced himself to open his eyes.

*click*

It was the car. He was looking at the interior of the vehicle.

“Louis.” Niall.

Louis looked up, and Niall was in the front seat, but halfway across the console, arm outstretched.

Knowing what he needed to do, he grabbed Niall’s arm.

Niall pulled him up. He felt hands on his hips, pushing him into the car.

“You got him?” He heard Harry say.

“Yeah,” Niall replied.

Harry released his grasp on him.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Louis could hear Harry yelling. “You had one fucking job! And you fucking left him!”

“H,” Niall called.

“I don’t give a shit what you thought! You were told what to do-”

“Harry, get in the fucking car,” Niall yelled.

Harry turned and looked at Niall. It must have been enough because Harry climbed in, nudging Louis across a little.
“Give him water, Niall,” Harry said as he nudged Louis a little more.

Someone handed him a water bottle, but his hands shook too much to undo the lid.

Harry gently took it from him, undid the lid and handed it back. “Lou, you gotta slow down your breathing, okay?”

Louis shook his head.

“You’re okay. It’s okay now. Listen to me, can you do that?”

Louis nodded.

“Good, good. Deep breath Lou.”

He tried.

He really did.

But he couldn’t do it.

“Can’t,” Louis choked out.

“Yeah, you can.” Harry’s voice was steady and slow. “Let's go again. Deep breath in. Good. Good.” Harry said.

It wasn’t good. But it was deeper than before.

“Again. Ready, deep breath. Perfect,” Harry said.

They both knew it was a lie. It was worse than the last one.

Harry grabbed Louis’ hands and pressed them to his chest. “Can you feel me breathing? I’m going to take a breath in, and you tell me if you can feel it, yeah?”

“’ Kay.”

Harry did it, and Louis felt it under his hands. “Did you feel it?”

Louis nodded.

“Good,” Harry cooed. “We’re going to do this together. When you feel me breathe in, you breathe in. When I breathe out, you breathe out. Got it?”

“Mm.”

“In,” Harry said, and Louis felt his chest rise under his hands.

Louis inhaled, too and forced himself to keep going until he felt Harry stop. He made it.

Harry exhaled slowly, and Louis did it with him.

“In,” Harry said again before taking another breath. Louis did it with him. He realised that the last breath mustn’t’ve been all that deep because this one went on longer. But he forced himself to keep going.

Harry let go, so Louis did too.

“Good,” Harry said. “In.” They did. Longer again this time.

They did a few more cycles like that.

On the fourth cycle, Louis moved his hands off Harry’s chest but still breathed with him.

The fifth, he did it again but could feel heat rising to his cheeks as he did.

The sixth cycle, he kept his eyes on Harry but shuffled away from him.

Seventh cycle, he looked away and did it himself.

“You okay?” Harry asked softly.

No. Louis felt embarrassed. Humiliated. He just did… whatever that was, and his boss had to do… whatever he did. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah,” he repeated a little louder. “Um, thanks.”

“S’okay.” Harry was still watching him cautiously, though. “Water?” He held out Louis’ water bottle. He must’ve taken it off him at some point.

Louis took it, grateful for something to do. His mouth was so dry, and he didn’t think it was complete due to his panic. Louis moved even further from Harry until he was seated in the far seat. He put on his seatbelt, feeling guilty that they’d been driving for so long without it on.

The ride went forever and not long enough. The driver parked in the underground garage.

“Night, lads,” Niall said, exiting the car before Louis reached for his buckle. Louis had forgotten that Niall was even there, getting a front-row show to the whole depressing thing.

Louis and Harry got out of the car and stood in the car park, waiting for the driver to leave.
Once they were alone, Louis turned to Harry. “I’m sorry. I didn't know I’d react like that.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I shouldn’t’ve taken, um. I shouldn’t’ve taken the job.”

Harry stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You deserve… you all deserve someone who can deal with that.”

“Lou.” Harry looked torn - between what, Louis had no idea. “That was nothing. It’s happened to all of us.”

Louis hadn’t meant to scoff, but it came out before he could stop.

“It has,” Harry said. “I should’ve thought about it. It was your first time. I should have realised.”

“No, I should have just not freaked out. My job is to help you. Not the other way around.”

Harry puffed out a breath. “How do you think I knew how to deal with it?”

It took Louis a minute to work out what Harry was saying. He stood there patiently while Louis did. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t lying. It happened to all of us. It still happens to us sometimes, and we’ve been dealing with it for ten years. Don’t worry about it. Please?”

“I, uh.” Please. Harry had said please. And he was staring at him, looking younger somehow, which seemed ridiculous since he’d just gotten Louis through that. “Yeah. Sure.”

Harry gave him a tight smile. “You good, though?”

Louis nodded.

“Let’s go then.”

Once they climbed the stairs, the spell was broken.

It wasn’t quite like it had been the last couple of days. The bitterness wasn’t there, replaced with some kind of understanding or something similar.

But they separated, Louis going to his room and Harry walking straight up to his floor.

Louis couldn’t help but feel a little sad about it.

After getting ready for bed, he walked to the kitchen to get some water and heard Harry’s voice coming down from upstairs.

He tried to ignore it but heard Harry say his name before he opened the cupboard.

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But he walked closer to the staircase, needing to know what Harry was saying.

“They’re going to fucking fire him, aren’t they?”

For a heart-stopping second, Louis thought Harry was talking about him.

Harry’s voice came again, and Louis realised he must have been on a phone call. “Can’t believe Terrance even hired him. Complete bullshit.”

Oh.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, he’s doing okay now.” He sounded almost as tired as Louis felt. “Niall and I got him in the car with no fucking help from that arsehole.”

Harry was talking about him. He was talking about Louis. Like that. With that voice.

“I should have realised. I just, just kind of forgot.”

There was a pause.

“Nah, I don’t think so. He… he said something about us firing him.”

Fuck.

“I don’t know. Said something about it being unprofessional or something.”

Louis might be sick.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I told him.”

There was another long pause.

“Kind of.”

Louis wished Harry would put whoever it was on speaker. Although he had a pretty good idea who it was. There was only one person he’d heard Harry talk to about proper things.

“I said… I don’t remember. Asked him how he thought I knew what to do. Not sure he fully understood. I think it’s okay.”

“Yeah, night, Li. If they… when they call you, forward the calls to me. I’ll answer them.”

“Bad, I reckon. It would have looked… yeah, bad. Talk to you tomorrow."

Louis stepped away quietly. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, waste of plastic be damned, and went to his room.

He’d just gotten into bed, his lamp covering everything with a warm glow, when there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said as he pushed himself into a seating position. Not sure if he’d imagined knocking.

He watched as the doorknob slowly twisted and the door was pushed open.

Obviously, it was going to be Harry. No one else would be knocking on his door. But still, his standing in Louis’ room seemed a little unbelievable.

“Hey,” Louis said after Harry didn’t.

“Hi.” Harry’s eyes flickered around Louis’ room. “I guess it is quite white.”

Louis surprised himself when a laugh escaped his mouth.

Harry’s lip twitched before he controlled it again. “I just wanted to check you were okay,” Harry said.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Louis rubbed the back of his neck. “Just tired.”

“Understandable. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you then.” It shouldn’t feel like something. It wasn’t anything. They were just saying goodnight to each other. “Good night.”

“Night, Lou,” Harry said, studying Louis for a moment before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Louis was fucked.

Chapter Text

Louis was vaguely aware that his phone had been ringing for a while, trying to drag him out of sleep. His body protested and held out as long as possible until the phone finally won.

Louis patted around his bed with his eyes still closed, searching for it. Finally, he found it and squinted his eyes open just enough to answer the call.

“’ello?”

“Lou?”

“’ottie?” He rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up a bit more. It must be important for her to call on a Saturday morning. “’S’time’sit?”

“Almost seven. You don’t know?” she asked slowly.

Louis groaned and pushed himself into a seated position, still not ready to open his eyes. “Know what?”

“Um, okay. I just assumed you knew.”

“What you talking about?” As he blinked, his room slowly came into view. The sliver of sunlight that was creeping through his blinds was enough to be able to see everything.

He was met with silence. He pulled the phone away from his face to look at it and check that she hadn’t hung up, but her caller ID was still on his screen.

“What did you think I knew?” he asked, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Do you know if Harry is awake?”

“How would I know that? I just woke up. Lottie, what the fuck is going on?”

He heard her take a shakey breath, which did nothing to calm his growing nerves. “I set up Google alerts for the band and the members when you started working with them.”

“Right…”

“Until this morning, I only got a few notifications here and there.”

“Is this about their contract?” Louis sat up straighter. He couldn’t believe it wasn’t the first thing he’d asked her. “Was there an article about the contract or something? Have you read through it yet?”

“No, Lou. It’s about you.”

She’d said it so slowly that he didn’t process it immediately. “Wait, what?”

“Did you go out with Harry last night?”

He had forgotten all about it. Fuck, he was useless in the morning. “Yeah, why?”

“Louis, your photo is posted all over the internet.”

Louis stared just as blankly as the blank wall in front of him.

“Are you still there?”

“What do you mean? A photo of me?”

“Well,” she seemed to hesistate. “Photos, plural. Lots of photos.”

“Hang on; I’m putting you on speaker.” He didn’t have to Google anything because he opened his internet browser on his phone and suggested articles came up. The third was a photo of Harry. And Louis.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah…”

He stared at the photo, not brave enough to read the text next to it, even though it was only the heading. Knowing the picture's context, it looked innocent enough because it had been innocent.

Humiliating but innocent.

But without any context, yeah, it didn’t look good.

“Fuck,” he repeated. “I don’t want to read any of it, Lott. How bad is it?”

“You need to go and talk to Harry,” she said, dodging the question, which was never a good sign. “But Lou, I need to tell you something. I did start to look through the contracts Zayn sent over. I’ve barely made a dent in them because of the length. One of them is over one thousand pages, and as I looked through it, it’s obvious that they’ve just padded it out.”

Despite Louis wanting to be sick from the photos and wanting to deal with whatever they needed to, he knew this was more important. “What does that mean?”

“They’ve deliberately made it hard to go through. Usually, when contracts are written that way, it's to bury things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But if the band didn’t hire their own Lawyer to look over it, I highly doubt they have any idea what it says in it.”

Rubbing his temples, Louis asked, “Does that impact this?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get through as much as I can today.” She sighed. “But until I know more, you need to do what management says with this one.”

“No fucking way! They’re going to come up with some fucked up plan.” A million possibilities of what it could be ran through his head, each worse than the last. Then, Louis realised Lottie wouldn’t even realise how bad it was. “You know how I signed NDAs? Do they say I can’t tell anyone?”

“Thought you’d never ask! You’re allowed to talk to legal counsel.”

“Thank fuck.” Louis opened his bank app. “Twenty pounds?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Make sure you pu-”

“I’ll put legal fees in the description,” Louis said, interrupting her. “I’m a pro at this now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wait, do you have twenty pounds to spare? I can send it through.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Louis said as he clicked on Lottie’s account as the recipient. “I got the onboarding pay.”

“Your contract doesn’t include onboarding pay.”

“Transferred. Harry is gay, and I think they’re trying to closet him,” Louis said quickly. “So those photos are really fucking bad for him.”

“I figured.”

“You figured?”

“A few articles mentioned there had been rumours. Some smaller sites said it outright.” She paused, but Louis knew she wanted to add something. “I think you should delete all your social media accounts.”

“Why? I don’t even use them.”

“They’re going to start looking into your background. The last thing people need to know right now is that you’re also gay.”

“You get that’s fucked up, right?”

“I do. I promise I do. But right now, until we know more, there’s no reason they need to know.”

Louis didn’t give a shit about his accounts, so he had no issue with them being deleted. But it was the principle of it. “Nowhere do they say I’m gay.” His accounts barely said anything about him at all. He wouldn’t have posted anything related to his sexuality.

“They’d be able to find your friends and family, though. We should have just deleted them before you started.”

Purely because he didn’t make it worse for anyone, including his friends, he agreed. “You know my password?”

Lottie groaned. “Please tell me you don’t use that one for all your accounts?”

“We both know the answer to that. You able to do them?” The last thing Louis had the energy to deal with was that.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it now. You better go and deal with all of this. And Louis, please just go along with whatever the others say. Now isn’t the time to take a stand.”

“What if it’s bullshit, though? What if it’s bad for Harry? Bad for everyone?” He already knew it was going to be. There was no other way it could go.

“I will try my best to help, okay? I’ll get through as much paperwork as I can. But right now, until we know more, it’s in everyone’s best interest if you go along with it.” When he didn’t answer immediately, she added, “It’s unlikely management is going to listen to you on this one anyway. You’d just be wasting energy and making yourself an enemy to management. It doesn’t seem like they were happy you were hired in the first place. They’ll be looking for any excuse to fire you now. Trust me on this.”

“Fine, fine. As long as you know, I’m not happy about it.”

“I am very aware of that. Now go and try to sort things out on your end. I’ll handle your social media and get stuck into these contracts.”

“You’re the best, Lotts. Love you.”

Louis had half expected to have to wake Harry and tell him, but Harry was already up and sitting on one of the sofas, Liam on another.

They both looked up at him as he walked into the open area.

“Morning, Lou,” Liam said. Dark circles outlined his eyes. “Um, so,” he glanced at Harry, staring at the large coffee table, “we need to tell you something.”

“I know about the photos,” Louis said. “My sister called.”

A flash of relief crossed Liam’s face, but it left as quickly as it came. “Do you want to grab some breakfast? Then we need to talk.”

Louis doubted he could stomach anything, so he sat on the third sofa, the one across from Harry. “I’m ready now.”

Liam hesitated and then nodded. “Harry said that he told you that he’s gay.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” It seemed like a strange place to start. “He mentioned it, yeah.”

After another glance at Harry, Liam looked back at Louis. “Our management and label don’t think it’s in Harry’s best interest for the general public to know that.”

“What do you think?” Louis shot back at Liam before he could stop himself.

To his credit, Liam didn’t look surprised or offended by the question. “A lot of things. Unfortunately, management has arranged for a car to pick us up in an hour, so I don’t have time to go through them. However, I brought it up so you could understand the magnitude of this situation.”

“I’m coming,” Louis said.

“What?”

“To the meeting, I’ll come.”

Liam raised his brows. “We can talk about that in a moment. Based on that, these photos are essentially their worst nightmare - management’s, I mean. And unlike the kiss, they were happy to ignore, I imagine they will want to do active damage control and regain control of the narrative.”

“Right…?” Louis looked at Harry, but he was still staring down at the coffee table.

“It would be good if we had some options we could provide them with to help,” Liam said. “Harry said he doesn’t think you’re in a relationship. You don’t have a girlfriend or even a girl that you’ve dated recently that could help dispel any rumours?”

Louis stared at Harry then and didn’t look away. Harry finally looked up at him. “You didn’t tell him?” Louis asked Harry.

Harry shrugged. “Wasn’t my place to tell,” he said quietly.

“Oh, god, what haven’t you told me?” Liam’s voice was strained as he asked.

“Um, I’m. I’m gay.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Liam stood up and scrubbed his face. “Shit, sorry, Louis. It’s not your fault. I mean, it’s a no-ones fault. It’s great you’re gay. I’m glad you are. Really. As long as you’re happy. Just, fuck. Do you know if management knew?”

“No idea,” Louis said. For the first time, it struck him how much of this was his fault.

It was entirely his fault.

All of it.

They wouldn’t have even been at the restaurant if it wasn’t for him.

Even if they were there, if he had just acted like a normal fucking person and gotten into the car, there would be no photos to go around.

“I doubt it,” Harry said flatly as he looked at Liam. “They wouldn’t have let us hire him if they knew.”

Liam let out a shaky breath and then nodded. “Okay, yeah, you’re right.” He sat back down and pulled out his phone. Without looking up, he said, “The last time I checked, none of the articles knew your name. I’m going to see if that’s changed.”

Louis nodded even though no one was looking at him. “I, uh. My sister is deleting all my social media accounts now.” He offered, trying to feel a little less useless about the complete mess he had made.

“Good idea,” Liam said. “They were all locked down anyway.”

Harry cleared his throat. It was quiet but caught Louis’ attention, and he saw Harry was looking at him. “Any shitty friends or vindictive exes?”

“Um, I don’t think so.” Louis thought about it a little longer. “I don’t think anyone who knows much about me has an issue with me.”

Harry was about to say something but was interrupted by a knock at his door. He walked over to it slowly. “Who is it?” he asked once he reached it.

Louis couldn’t hear the reply, but Harry’s body relaxed, and he opened it.

Zayn stood in the doorway, dressed only in tracksuit bottoms; given the state of his hair and the dazed look on his face, he may have just woken up.

“Morning.”

“How’d you know?” Harry asked as Zayn walked in with his phone in one hand and a packet of cigarettes in the other.

Due to the change in lighting, Louis got a better look at the dark bags under Harrry’s eyes. He didn’t look quite as exhausted as Liam, but it caused another pang of guilt to surge through his chest.

“Woke up to piss and made the mistake of checking my phone,” Zayn answered as he flopped down next to Liam, his head lolling on the back of the sofa. “What’s the plan?”

“Car will be here at eight to pick up Harry and me,” Liam said, then looked up from his phone and at Louis. “Still no mention of your name. You can’t see your face in most photos because you were… well, the way Harry shielded you.”

‘The way you were curled into Harry’ was probably what Liam wanted to say.

Louis couldn’t hold it in any longer. “This is all my fucking fault. I’m so sorry. I’d understand if you want to fire me. I can even quit if it’s easier, like from paperwork or legal point of view.”

Despite the three others talking simultaneously, Louis could still make out what each said.

The ‘The fuck?’ was Zayn.

The ‘Why?’ was Liam.

And the ‘No, don’t.’ was Harry.

While he appreciated all of the responses, Harry’s was definitely his favourite. “It’s my fault, and if they find out I’m gay and living with Harry, it’ll get worse.”

Zayn tilted his head as he looked at Louis. “Oh, you’re gay.” It wasn’t a question, really, just a casual statement.

“Uh, yeah.”

Zayn’s sleepy energy didn’t change as he nodded the same way he would if Louis told him he grew up owning a pet dog - not seeming to grasp its significance.

“So, it’s probably better for you if I leave, right?” Louis said.

Liam placed his phone next to him. “Not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shit like this happens,” Zayn said. “And yeah, this time it involves you, but you leave, and there will just be something else next month anyway.”

Louis wasn’t convinced. “But at least me leaving will make this one easier.”

“To be honest, the damage is done. Makes more sense to sell you as his PA than for you to never be seen again,” Liam said.

“But…”

“Fuck, if you’re that keen to leave, just do it.” Harry was glaring at Louis as he spoke. “We’re not going to force you to stick around.”

“No, that’s not… I don’t want that.” Louis shifted in his seat.

“Then stop talking about it!” Harry’s look hardened before he dipped his head and looked down at his phone.

“Car will be here soon, Haz. We need to get ready.” Liam stood again, putting his phone in his pocket.

“I want to come,” Louis said.

“No, Louis,” Liam said. “I get it and appreciate it, but it’ll just make it worse.”

Before Louis could argue, Zayn nodded. “He’s right. They should just go alone. It’s better that way.”

Louis looked at Harry. “What do you think?”

Harry blinked at him a few times. “Oh. I…” He sighed. “They’re probably right.” He sounded disappointed by the admission, as if he didn’t want to have to say it. Like he wanted Louis there. Harry seemed to realise how it sounded as well. “It’s not like you can fix this. There’s no point in you coming at all. It’ll just make everything worse, so just stay here with Zayn. But don’t smoke in my apartment.”

So much for that theory.

“Right, got it,” Louis said.

“Let’s go then,” Zayn said, but he was still looking in the opposite direction to Louis, straight at Harry. “I’m dying for a smoke.”

“Yeah, okay.” Louis lingered before pushing himself up. Lottie had told him to let everyone take care of it, so he should let them do it. They’d dealt with similar things in the past.

Although, that thought didn’t provide him any comfort because it seemed they were barely holding on.

“Louis,” Zayn called, drawing Louis’ attention. “C’mon.”

Even though every part of him wanted to argue and force his way into the meeting room, he followed Zayn out the front door.

“For fucks sake, how long do these things usually go for?” Louis asked Zayn for at least the fourth time.

“Depends, mate,” Zayn said as Louis sat idly as Zayn overtook him in Mariokart, having lost interest ages ago.

“But it’s been hours. That can’t be normal. Can it?”

Zayn paused the game and placed his controller down. “Look, this is management’s worst nightmare. I’m not saying it to make you feel like shit or anything. It’s not your fault, and none of us blames you. They’re probably all having full-on breakdowns.”

“Great,” Louis muttered, feeling it was all his fault. “What do you think is going to happen?”

Zayn pursed his lips and gave Louis a pointed look.

“A stunt?” Louis asked

Even before Zayn nodded, he knew it would be the case.

“I don’t fucking understand, though! Why do they give a shit?”

“Don’t try to make sense of it. It’ll drive you crazy.”

“What do I do instead? Just give up and pretend that none of it is happening. That none of it matters?” Louis was fighting away the urge to yell. “Is that what you’ve done?”

Without looking back at him, Zayn got off the lounge, and Louis watched as he walked onto the balcony.

Louis had fucked up. He’d fucked up so fucking badly.

It took him a few minutes to force himself to go to Zayn. He found him in his usual chair, smoke in hand.

“I’m sorry.” Louis shifted his weight between his feet. “That was a fucked up thing to say.”

Zayn held up the box of smokes, and Louis took one and walked around to the empty chair.

They smoked in silence for a few minutes before Zayn finally spoke. “It matters. I know it matters,” he said softly.

Louis closed his eyes as he mulled over the best way to articulate his thoughts without sounding like he was attacking Zayn. “I just don’t understand.”

“You’ve been here, what? A couple of weeks?” Louis had to strain to hear him as he was talking so quietly. “Of course, you don’t understand. We’ve been dealing with this shit for ten years.”

“Why don’t you do something about it, then? Why do you just keep letting it happen?” Louis asked.

“Because I’m tired. I’m over it. If it were up to me, we would have stopped years ago when it became painfully obvious things would never change.”

“But it wasn’t up to you?”

Zayn exhaled slowly. “The others wanted to stay. I think they all thought it would work out. Management kept making all these promises, and the others believed them, even though they’ve never kept a single one.”

“And now?” Louis asked.

“You mean about the others?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn got up and walked to the railing of the balcony. Given how quiet he’d been talking, Louis doubted he’d be able to hear anything he had to say if he stayed in his seat, so he got up too and stared out at the city, waiting for Zayn to answer.

“Dunno, really,” Zayn said with a shrug. “None of them ever talk about breaking up. I'm pretty sure Li thinks if he works hard enough, he’ll be able to fix it.”

“And the other two?”

“Niall just wants everyone to be happy, but I don’t see how we can be with the way things are now.”

Louis nodded. “And Harry?” he asked, hoping that Zayn didn’t notice the quiver in his voice. As much as he wanted to know - needed to know - he was sure he would hate the answer.

“Think he is a bit broken. Think he’s just given up.”

Being prepared didn’t prevent the pain in the chest he felt at Zayn’s words.

Louis was quiet, not because he needed time to think or didn’t have anything to say, but because he thought Zayn needed a second. “So what happens now? You just stay in a band you don’t want to be in, Liam works himself into the ground, Niall keeps acting like everything is fucking fine when it’s all complete bullshit, and everyone stands by and lets Harry fall to pieces?”

Zayn threw the butt of his cigarette over the balcony, and they watched as it floated to the ground. “Unless your sister finds something in the shit I sent over, not really sure what else can happen.”

It was after three when there was finally a knock on Zayn’s door. Louis had repeatedly considered returning to his apartment but knew he’d drive himself crazy alone. Zayn had been just as lousy company as him, but Niall had returned and tried his best to keep them distracted.

While not as experienced as Niall, Louis did his best to pretend he was fine, feeling guilty that Niall needed to keep the pretence up around them.

The three dropped their controllers and stood up when they heard the knock. Louis and Niall stayed in place while Zayn answered it.

Liam was alone when he walked in. He faltered, looking between the three of them. “You’re all here.”

“Yeah, ’course,” Louis said, not seeing the relevance. “Where’s Harry? What’s happening?”

Liam walked in, sat on the lounge Niall was on, and waited for the others to sit back down. “Party tonight,” Liam said.

Just as Louis thought that didn’t sound so bad, Zayn mumbled, “Ah, shit.”

“What? What does that mean? Why’s it bad?” Louis asked.

Liam didn’t make eye contact with Louis, and it was reminiscent of their first meeting, where he refused to tell Louis any of the shitty things about the job.

“Where at?” Zayn asked.

“Here.” As Liam raised his hands to his head, Louis noticed they were shaky. “Well, I mean, at Harry’s apartment.”

It was Harry’s apartment, of course, but hearing it referred to that felt uncomfortable as Louis lived there too.

“Why there?” Niall asked, dropping his act again, and Louis preferred him like that.

“Fits the narrative better, they said.”

Niall didn’t look convinced at all. “So they’re having people come to our building and into Harry and Louis’ apartment because of their narrative? No one even knows what the apartment looks like. Why couldn’t they just hire somewhere and pretend it’s his?”

“Mm, we didn’t get much time to ask questions like that.”

Zayn laughed humourlessly but didn’t say anything, opting to take out his phone.

“Do you know who they’re inviting?” Niall asked Liam while his eyes lingered on Louis with a worried expression.

“Names were mentioned, but I’m unsure who they agreed on.”

Louis let out a slow breath; he shouldn’t have gone off on Zayn, and he definitely couldn’t go off on Liam. He doubted Liam would take it quite as well as Zayn did. He got the distinct impression Liam wouldn’t give them much more information, though. It seemed like he wouldn’t offer that to any of them.

“Where’s Harry now?” Louis asked.

“At the flat,” Liam said. He wiped his clammy forehead. “I’m sorry, but they’ve asked that you not be there during the party. You can come to one of ours once it starts.”

“Right, okay,” Louis said. “Well, I’m just going to go there now and then I'll work what I'm going to do tonight.”

“I’m going to go, too,” Liam said. “Got a ton of shit I need to do.”

They walked out together but turned in opposite directions when Zayn’s door closed behind them.

Louis fought the urge to sprint to their apartment, but the sense of urgency was overwhelming when he got the door open. He’d been planning to run up the stairs but stopped dead when he saw Harry on one of the sofas in the living area.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Louis said.

Harry kept his eyes on his phone but gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

Louis slowly walked over to the sofas and sat on the one closest to Harry’s. “Liam said there’s a party here tonight.”

Harry grunted indistinguishably.

“So, um, like, what happens now?”

Harry still didn’t look up but said, “Team’ll start showing up around four.”

It was said with such finality that Louis doubted he’d be able to get many more answers out of his, even if he tried. He got up from the sofa, and Harry hadn’t even noticed. He went to his room, grabbed a book, and returned to the living room, relieved to see that Harry hadn’t left.

Louis settled into the sofa opposite Harry and attempted to read but was too preoccupied with waiting for a knock on the door.

Ten minutes had passed in silence, except for the turning of Louis’ pages when Louis could felt Harry’s eyes on him. He turned his head to look at Harry. His eyes didn’t meet Louis’, though. Instead, they were focused on his hands.

“‘Things are sweeter when they’re lost’,” Harry murmured, just loud enough for Louis to hear, Harry’s eyes still looking at Louis’ hand.

For a beat, Louis processed Harry’s words. They both seemed so out of place and eerily familiar. “Oh,” Louis thumbed the cover of the book he was holding, “You’ve read The Beautiful and Damned?” Despite knowing that was the book in his hand, Louis glanced at the cover anyway just to check. Harry having read it was the only explanation that made sense, but Louis was still doubtful.

Harry nodded and then looked back at his phone.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why have you read it?” Louis repositioned himself to face Harry.

Harry’s eyes were still trained on his phone, but Louis’ was sure he wasn’t really looking at it. “Everyone’s read it. It’s F. Scott Fitzgerald, not some underground author.”

“If I was reading The Great Gatsby and you gave that excuse, I’d probably believe you. But not everyone’s read The Beautiful and Damned.” When Harry didn’t answer, Louis asked, “Is that your favourite quote from it?”

Harry tilted his head back and huffed out a breath at the roof as if annoyed.

Louis didn’t give a shit how annoyed he might be; out of everything that Louis had learnt about Harry, which admittedly wasn’t much at all, the fact that he could quote F. Scott Fitzgerald was the most intriguing. “It’s okay if you don’t. Or if you just know that one.” He hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but as Harry’s eyes met his, he could tell Harry interpreted it that way.

“‘Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything’….” Harry let it drift off, and an expression flashed on his face that Louis couldn’t read.

“‘Tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear.’” Louis finished for him.

It was only when the expression flooded Harry’s face again that Louis realised the weight of the quote.

Even after a knock at the door, their eye contact lingered. For a dizzying moment, Louis thought that maybe Harry was just as transfixed on him as Louis was on Harry. But only a few seconds had passed before another knock, and Harry quickly looked away and walked to the door.

Louis’ stupid heart was thumping so loudly that it practically deafened him. He had been about to run to his room to hide and recover when he looked up and saw Meegan, the stylist, in the doorway. “Fuck, no,” he muttered and sat back down.

She pulled in a rack of clothes on wheels into the living room.

“Meegan, right?” Louis said, glaring at her as Harry followed her.

She seemed slightly taken aback to see Louis there as if she wasn’t expecting him to be there. “Ah, yeah, that’s right. And sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Louis.”

“Oh, of course. You’re the one in the photos.” Something in her voice made Louis hate her even more than he already did. Or maybe it was just because of his ever-present guilt around the entire situation.

Harry stood next to her as she started sorting through the clothes rack. Louis watched as Harry stared somewhere behind Louis, presumably at a blank wall, given that’s all the house had. “Can we buy some artwork?” Louis said.

Harry took a few seconds to look at him, but he did. “What?”

“Well, I just think this place would be nicer with some artwork. Don’t you? I’m happy to buy it, but could we hang things down here if I did?”

Harry was studying Louis, and Louis did his best not to glance at Meegan, not wanting to pull Harry’s attention to her since it seemed like Louis had gotten it away from her.

“You want to buy artwork and hang it in my living area? A shared area?”

Louis nodded. He didn’t care if it sounded like something he shouldn’t ask for. It wasn’t only for aesthetic's sake anymore but also because Harry was giving him attention.

“You’re not wasting your money on art for my place.” As Harry said it, Louis did his best not to let the ‘my’ hurt him, knowing it would be weirder if Harry referred to it as their house, especially in this context.

“But if I’m the one who wants it, then I should buy it.”

“Mm, no,” Harry said slowly. “Just use the expense account.”

Louis frowned. “What kind of art do you like?”

“Dunno, just get whatever you want.”

Meegan, not even acknowledging their conversation started holding shirts against Harry, and Harry glared at her.

“Generic prints,” Louis said, trying to draw Harry’s attention back to him. “I’ll buy generic prints, got it.”

It took Harry a second to look away from Meegan. “You do not like generic prints.”

“You don’t know what I like,” Louis said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “If you liked generic prints, you wouldn’t think the house looked like an asylum.”

Louis had to work to prevent grimacing. “What if I buy an original Picasso or something?”

“I think you might be over-estimating the spending limit on the expenses card,” Harry said.

“Clothes off,” Meegan stated.

Harry’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue; instead just took his shirt off. Despite wanting to study his tattoos, Louis did his best not to look at his chest.

“Jeans, too,” Meegan said.

Harry reached for the button.

“Yeah, no. That won’t be happening,” Louis said, and they both turned to look at him. “You’ve only got shirts in your hand,” he said to Meegan. “He doesn’t need to take his jeans off to try on shirts.”

“Yes, but he won't be wearing those jeans tonight; I need to see what the shirts will look like without them,” Meegan told him with a glare.

“Then give him whatever you want him to wear first. He doesn’t need to stand in underwear while he tries on shirts. Especially since your issue is that you want to see what it will look like with the full outfit,” Louis told her, eyes not looking at Harry, not wanting to know his reaction. “He won't just be wearing underwear, will he?”

“I don’t know what pants he’ll be wearing yet.”

“Great, he can keep his jeans on until you decide,” Louis said.

After sizing him up, she turned back to Harry. She said nothing, but Harry moved his hands away from the jeans, leaving them buttoned. He didn’t look at Louis, but the fact he kept them on when he still could have taken them off or gotten mad at Louis for interrupting convinced Louis that he did the right thing.

“Arms out,” Meegan said as she placed the other shirts down and held out a black one. She slid one of his arms into the sleeve, and Louis noted the blank stare he’d seen Harry give last time.

Louis didn't stop her, fearing that he’d already intervened too much, but still wanted to get Harry to focus on something else. “What if I decide to paint a mural instead?”

“Then you’ll have to paint over it when you… you’re over it, or whatever,” he muttered, shrugging his arms into the shirt. He flinched as Meegan started buttoning it up.

“Meegan, I’m pretty sure Harry can do that.”

Meegan froze and very slowly turned around, scowling at him. “Excuse me?”

“Just because he is a rockstar doesn’t mean we should do everything for him, does it?” he gave her a bitter smile. “We don’t want to spoil him.”

If Meegan was going to say something, and Louis was pretty sure she was going to, the thought died as she glanced at Harry, who was already doing the buttons himself.

She pouted like a toddler, and Louis wasn’t sure he’d disliked anyone as much as he disliked her.

Harry left the top three buttons undone like he had the night before, and Louis didn’t hate it. At all.

She fiddled a little with the shirt, but Louis figured that was a genuine part of her job.

“What if it’s black?” Louis said. Harry looked up at him, brows furrowed. “The mural, I mean. What if I only use black? It would take like twenty coats to cover it up with bleach, boring white, or whatever the paint colour is called.”

“Think it was called padded cell white actually,” Harry said, somewhat absentmindedly, as he was still watching Meegan.

Although Harry looked uncomfortable, it was much better than the last time Meegan was here when he looked, well, nothing. Just empty the entire time.

When Louis laughed at Harry’s joke, or close to joke, Harry’s head flung up to him, and the rest of the laugh got caught in Louis’ throat at Harry’s almost smile. Well, not really an almost smile. More like almost not a frown, but it was still an improvement.

Even though her back was to Louis, he could see that Meegan had started to unbutton Harry’s shirt. He watched as Harry stepped back, almost falling onto the lounge, replacing her hands with his, unbuttoning the shirt himself.

Meegan shrugged before looking down at the other shirts.

“Here,” Harry said, holding the shirt out to her.

She grabbed it off him and threw it onto the spare sofa. Louis’ lips twitched at her frustration.

“Really, though, what type of art do you like?” he tried with Harry again.

Harry took a shirt out of Meegan’s hands before she could even attempt to put it on him. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

For some reason, Louis didn’t believe him. “What’s your favourite colour?” Louis asked.

Harry didn’t answer until he’d done up most of the buttons of the navy shirt with white polka dots.

Meegan started touching it again.

“Harry,” Louis called. Harry looked around from Meegan, although still looking distracted by her touch.

“What?” He asked.

“Favourite colour. What’s your favourite colour?” Louis repeated.

“Fuck, I don’t know Tomlinson,” he answered. “I’m not four.”

“It’s black, isn’t it? You artsy types always like black.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t the one reading The Beautiful and Damned two minutes ago for fun.”

“Mm, but you still quoted it, which makes me think you have read it for fun.”

“As I said, everyone has read it,” Harry said.

“Meegan?” Louis asked with a fake, forced cheerfulness. He watched her shoulders tense before she turned and faced him with an icy stare. “Have you read The Beautiful and Damned?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said, turning back to Harry.

“See, Meegan hasn’t read it,” Louis said.

“Mm, that’s surprising,” Harry said as he raised his eyebrows at Louis, and Louis’ mouth quirked.

“Hey, you’re the one who said, ‘everyone’.”

“Blue. My favourite colour is blue,” Harry answered. “But I’m not sure why that matters. Are you just going to buy a blue canvas?”

“Nah, I’ve told you. I’m buying a generic print. You wouldn’t have an issue with that, though, would you? Because you’re not artsy.”

Meegan took a step away from Harry and made a messy gesture with her hand. Harry undid the buttons.

“I don't give a shit. If you want to buy some boring generic print, you can go right ahead,” Harry said, throwing this discarded shirt on the sofa this time.

“You do care,” Louis said, then, primarily out of interest, he said, “‘Art isn’t meaningless…’.”

“I’m not quoting it.”

Louis was surprised that Harry had read it and surprised that Harry could offer two quotes from it. Picking up a third one surprised Louis further. “It’s because you don’t know it, isn’t it?” Louis challenged.

Harry rolled his eyes and puffed out a sigh. “‘It is in itself. It isn’t in that it tries to make life less so.’

“Harry, what the fuck?” Louis watched as Harry pulled on the next shirt. How was it possible he looked good in every colour?

“What?” he mumbled after a few seconds.

It was getting harder for Louis not to stare at Harry’s chest, especially as he seemed allergic to doing up his top buttons. “Either you have a photographic memory or read it more than once.”

Harry lifted a shoulder.

“Is it your favourite book?” It would be devastatingly poetic if it were.

“I don’t know,” Harry groaned, acting as if he was sick of Louis’ questions. He probably was, but Louis didn’t care. “It’s just a book I’ve read.”

“How many times?”

“Fucking hell, a few, I guess.”

“Is it the only book you’ve read a few times?”

Harry glared at him. “You’re not the only person who knows how to read.”

“Never said I was,” Louis said as he leaned forward. He knew he wasn’t the only person who read, but the idea of Harry reading was too intriguing to give up on. “What other books have you read more than once?”

“Dunno.”

“Harry, tell me,” Louis said. “What was the last book you read?”

“Dunno.”

“I’m not going to stop until you tell me,” Louis told him, shuffling and rearranging himself as he was forced to endure Harry unbuttoning and taking off another shirt. Despite his discomfort, he still smirked at Meegan’s face as Harry tossed the shirt onto the sofa, and it fell on the floor. She looked murderous, and Harry looked so unbothered. Louis wasn’t even sure Harry had watched long enough to see it fall to the ground.

“‘Oryx and Crake’” He said.

“Margaret Atwood?”

“Can you stop acting like it’s unfathomable that I could read something,” Harry whined and looked up at the ceiling.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis said. “I just - nothing. It doesn’t matter. When did you read it? Like how long ago?”

“Dunno.”

“This year?” Louis probed, ignoring Harry’s disinterest.

“For goodness sake,” Meegan said, her shrill voice so different to Harry’s deep, seductive drawl. “Can we focus on clothes, please!”

Harry grimaced and looked like he was about to apologise. Which, no, he fucking wasn’t.

“Why?” Louis asked. “Are you going to ask him for input, or do you just want him to stand there and treat him subhuman?”

“You have no idea how this works,” Meegan said as she fiddled with Harry’s collar. “And I understand it’s your fault I’m even here.”

Louis closed his mouth and leaned until he was against the back pillow of the sofa. He’d known it was true, but she was the first to verbalise it. Louis had no right to be annoyed at her when it was entirely his fault that she was there in the first place. It was his fault that Harry wasted his entire Saturday and was about to have to go through with another stunt.

Worst of all, instead of apologising to Harry, Louis had spent the whole time bothering him with stupid conversations that Harry didn’t want to be a part of. Louis had just assumed it was Harry’s normal behaviour, but he was likely, and rightly so, pissed off with Louis.

He couldn’t even think of a comeback; it all felt too insulting to Harry. Harry, who was probably thinking that Louis had no right to keep interrupting and giving Meegan orders.

Even though he couldn’t see Meegan’s face, her shoulder’s relaxed, and he knew her words had the exact effect she’d wanted them to.

“A couple of weeks ago,” Harry blurted out, causing Louis to look at him. “That’s when I read it. You were already living here when I finished it.”

“Oh,” Louis said. He tried to think of a follow-up question but failed, Meegan's words still swirling in his head.

“Have you read it?” Harry asked.

Louis blinked at him. “Oryx and Crake?”

“Yeah.”

“I, um.” What the fuck was going on? Louis couldn’t think of a single time that Louis had asked him a question about himself, let alone something like this. “No, I haven’t.”

Harry nodded slowly. “It was okay,” he said slowly. “I probably won’t read it again, though. So, unfortunately, you won't hear any quotes from that one.”

His tone and face had no humour, but it still felt like a joke, so he let himself smile.

“‘The Waves’ is probably my favourite book,” Harry offered.

Louis’ brain was struggling to keep up. “By Virginia Woolf?” He knew the disbelief carried in his voice, but he didn’t have time to care.

Harry nodded, then pushed Meegan's hand away and undid the shirt himself.

“Wow, okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked with narrowed brows.

“I, uh, nothing. So do you just like that book, or do you like poetry?”

“I mean, it’s not really poetry, but yeah, I like poetry, I guess,” Harry said. “Stop looking so shocked.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just… am shocked.”

“You know that I’m a songwriter.”

Louis thought back to the night before. Harry said he’d written or helped to write all of the band’s lyrics. At the time, Louis had been surprised. As he gave it more thought now, of course, Harry read poetry. His lyrics were basically poetry. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s cool, though.”

Meegan impatiently tugged at Harry’s shirt, and he started to take it off. Despite everything, Louis decided that she had stopped treating Harry like a mannequin was a win. That Harry wasn’t letting her was an even bigger win.

“Do you- do you like poetry?” Harry asked, looking down at the shirt as he fumbled to undo the buttons.

“Yeah, I do.” Louis couldn’t even remember the last time he admitted that to anyone.

Harry handed Meegan the shirt this time, but it had the same carelessness as when he chucked them on the sofa. “Favourites?”

“Um, do you mean poems or poets?” Louis asked.

“Poems.” After answering, Harry groaned as Meegan handed him another shirt to put on.

How fucking hard was it to find a fucking shirt?

“I don’t have a favourite,” Louis said.

“One you like then.”

“I don’t know. I guess ‘Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Frost.” It definitely wasn’t a favourite, but it was the first that came to him.

“‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep…’.”

“‘… and miles to go before I sleep.’ What the fuck, Harry? How? Why?” It made no sense, none.

Harry sighed. “I told you. I write songs.” Louis wasn’t convinced that was a good enough reason. He doubted most songwriters could just quote poems and literature. “Why do you?”

It wasn’t a complete sentence, but it was enough for Louis to understand the question. “I studied English Lit at uni.”

Harry tilted his head before Meegan waved a hand in front of his face. Louis had no idea how long she’d been trying to get Harry’s attention, and Harry seemed to have no idea either. Without checking, he took off the shirt. “That wasn’t on your CV.”

“Uh, yeah. Guess I just didn’t think it was important.” He didn’t like the look Harry was giving him. “Meegan, does he really need to try on another shirt?” Louis asked as she picked up yet another one. “The blue one looked good. Just go with that.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she said.

Harry reached past her and picked up the light blue shirt. “I’m wearing this one.”

“It’s not your choice, Harry.”

Harry raised brows and, enunciating every word, repeated, “I’m wearing this one.” He pulled it on. “Pants?”

After attempting and failing to stare Harry down, she returned to the clothes rack and started pulling off pants.

Harry took a pair of black jeans off her. Wordlessly, he took his own off - not giving Louis anywhere near enough time to prepare emotionally, mentally, physically - and pulled the new ones on. “These will do,” he said to her.

“You need to try on the others.”

“No, I want these. Now, will you roll the sleeves, or can I do it?”

With rigid movements, she put the remaining pants back on the rack, yanked Harry’s arm, and started rolling up one of the long sleeves of his light blue button-up. Louis only then realised that it was patterned with shinier details of the same colour. She rolled them to elbow level. Louis watched as she did up one of Harry’s buttons, but as soon as she did, he undid it again. He adjusted his cross necklace to sit in the middle of his chest.

Louis still had no idea what the party's purpose was, but if the goal was to make Harry look as hot as possible, they’d achieved it.

Meegan noisily packed up all her things, making it extremely clear that she was unhappy with how the session had ended.

Louis could not be happier, though.

Unfortunately, as more and more people came through to prepare Harrry and the house, the Harry who’d engaged in conversation faded away, bringing back the gloomy one that Louis had known. Louis had given up trying to talk to him; every time he’d tried to, it seemed to push him further away.

Finally, everyone was gone except for a female staff member who was there to make sure everyone coming through signed an NDA. She instructed Louis to leave.

He hesitated until Harry looked back at him, eyes lifeless. It would have been devastating regardless, but it was so much more painful after witnessing a sprinkle of light on Harry just a couple of hours before.

Harry looked the most attractive Louis had ever seen - his hair styled to perfection, resting on his shoulders, his baby blue shirt unbuttoned past his chest, the sleeves pushed up, and black fitted jeans. But it was all negated by the emotions radiating from him.

“‘Tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear’.” The quote fell from Louis’ lips without his permission.

There was no recognition on Harry’s face, and Louis perhaps hoped that Harry hadn’t heard him.

Then, with the same impassive expression, Harry murmured, “‘I shall go on shining as a brilliantly meaningless figure in a meaningless world.’”

Louis had always found that line of The Beautiful and Damned a bit heartbreaking. But the poignant circumstance of Harry quoting it just about tore him apart.

The staff member sighed impatiently. “Louis, you need to go now. Come on, the guests will start arriving any second.”

Ultimately, she had to take Louis’ arm and drag him out of the apartment.

And away from Harry.

Chapter Text

After being unceremoniously thrown out of their apartment, Louis ended up at Zayn’s. It hadn’t been a deliberate choice, going to Zayn’s rather than the others, he’d just ended up there- probably because it was the closest.

"It's unlocked," Zayn’s voice came after Louis’ first knock.

"Doesn't seem particularly safe," Louis said as he let himself in. He placed his keys on Zayn’s island bench. "Especially given all these random people are about to turn up." He knew he sounded bitter, but he was bitter, so he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Zayn had been watching him from the couch since he walked in. Louis finally looked at him, and Zayn shrugged. "They've increased the security, so it'll be fine."

Louis let out a long breath as he walked over and dropped onto one of Zayn’s sofas. “I understand why I can't be at the stupid fucking party, but why can’t you be there? Why does he have to be alone?”

“Narrative,” Zayn muttered. He gave what Louis thought was meant to be an encouraging smile but looked more like a grimace than anything else. He preferred the grimace.

"But what the fuck is the narrative? Why is there even a narrative at all? Why can't you just make music?"

Zayn placed his phone, that had been idly sitting in his hand, down next to him. "The narrative tonight is that Harry's gone off the rails."

"What! Why? Isn't the whole thing to get away from that? Isn't that why he has m-, a PA?"

Zayn hummed, and it pissed Louis off further. He didn't care if Zayn was over the whole thing or whatever. It wasn’t a good enough excuse for him to sit by and let this happen. "They, management, don't love the ‘party-boy Harry Styles’, but they hate the ‘possibly-gay Harry Styles’ narrative even more. They've learnt that if rumours of him being gay, or really rumours about anything they don't want to be spoken about, they just need to leak some photos of Harry looking fucked up out there, and everything else goes away."

Thinking about the numerous articles he’d read about Harry partying, he asked, "... So all of it is a lie?"

"No," Zayn said. "Wait, do you mean him partying?"

"Yeah, you said that they use it as a narrative."

Zayn nodded. "Right, yeah, they do. But sometimes they’re true as well.”

Since Louis was hired, he'd felt like he had been transported to some parallel universe, and the main defining feature of the universe was that nothing made sense. On the rare occasions when things did seem to make sense, something else would happen to prove to Louis that he didn’t know anything at all. "Can you stop speaking in riddles?" Louis asked Zayn. Zayn didn’t have a chance to answer, though, because Louis put up his hand to silence him. "No, wait."

Although, he probably didn’t need to ‘silence him’ at all, given Zayn wasn’t particularly forthcoming with information anyway. If anything, Zayn was probably relieved he didn’t have to say anything.

Louis pulled out his phone and dialed Niall’s number. He picked up on the first ring, and Louis asked him to come to Zayn’s apartment, which he immediately agreed to.

After Louis hung up the phone, Zayn gave him a questioning look.

"Niall gives me answers," Louis explained as he got off the sofa to let Niall in.

He opened the front door before Niall had even knocked. Niall was standing there, though. He wasn’t looking at Louis, he was staring down the hall towards Harry’s apartment.

Despite better judgment, Louis stuck his head out of the doorway and looked too. There were at least ten people, mainly women, but a few men were filling out paperwork. They were all dressed like they were out clubbing, not like they were going to a party in an apartment in London at six o'clock. There was a general sense of excitement around them, making Louis feel sick. This was a fun night for them. They'd probably tell this story for years. 'Did you know I partied with the lead singer of a famous band one time? I went to his apartment and everything.' Having no idea the torture Louis had just watched Harry endure to get to that point.

Louis’ insides squirmed even further as others came up and joined the group. How many fucking people were invited to this fucking disaster? Surely, Louis should have some say over who could be there. In a way, but also not at all, it was his apartment, too. But if management didn’t give a shit that it was Harry’s, they definitely weren’t going to care that Louis also lived there and didn’t want strangers going in.

Louis hadn't realised that Niall had stopped watching them until he felt Niall lead him back into the apartment.

After forcing him to sit back down, Niall sat next to him. "You okay?"

"No," Louis answered honestly. "And I don't want you to do your weird thing where you try to pretend everything is okay because it's not. I just want answers. If you give me answers, then I'll be okay." It was unlikely that he’d be fine after. But if he had to lie to get Niall to talk, he’d do it.

Niall glanced at Zayn, and Louis looked there as well. Zayn gave Niall a resigned look and then a slight tip of his head.

"Okay, Louis, what do you want to know?" Niall said.

He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. Niall’s ready agreement caused Louis to forget his questions.

By some miracle, he didn’t have to spend long trying to remember them because Zayn spoke up. "He was asking for the narrative they have for Harry. I told him that they play up his partying to cover up any scandals, and he asked if that meant Harry doesn't party."

Niall looked to Louis, and Louis nodded to confirm Zayn's summary.

"Okay," Niall said slowly. "Yeah, Harry just parties sometimes, well, a lot, bu-"

Louis interrupted him. "He hasn't partied since I've started. I don't think I've ever seen him drink."

A hint of a grin appeared on Niall's face. "That's true, yeah. That wasn’t always the case, though. But, yeah, Management doesn't like him partying, especially not partying hard, but they use it when they need to cover something up."

Use. Use was the right word. They were using Harry. They were using all of them. "So, what even is the point of the stupid party? What's going to happen? You," he said to Niall, "seemed to think it was bad. Why?"

Niall moved his hand away from his mouth. "It will be like a regular party, but it's just that guests will be encouraged to take photos."

Louis wasn’t convinced it was that straight forward. He didn’t see how that could lead to his initial reaction to finding out about it. "Do the guests know what is happening?"

"Most wouldn't. Liam doesn’t know who’s coming. If they get any big-name celebrities or influencers - and honestly, they'd want influencers over celebrities to show how 'fucked up' he is - who know the industry well enough, they should have some idea. But in general," Niall gave Louis a sad fleeting smile before continuing, "they'd think they'd just be at a regular party at a celebrity house. Pretty girls have probably been instructed to get close to Harry. A couple of guests will have been told where to sit and what to take photos of. They’ll be given a different phone to take them on, though, so you'd have to assume they'd have some idea of what is going on."

"This is all so fucked up. You get that right?" Louis barrelled on because Niall had brought up more questions than he had answered. "Why can't they just pretend to have a party? Like, have it like a photoshoot and just leak those photos? Why does it have to be this entire production? If everyone is signing NDAs anyway, why bother with all of this?"

"The NDAs won't prevent them from talking about everything," Niall explained. "It will list some things that they can't talk about, but they will be able to talk about the party in general, who was there, the activities-"

"Activities?" Louis asked.

"Drugs, alcohol, hooking up," Zayn muttered.

So this was the time Zayn decided to speak? "Drugs? There will be drugs?"

"Probably," Zayn said.

"What the fuck! I hate this. Will Harry do drugs? When can I go back?" Louis asked.

“Uh, I can ask Liam. Not for a while, though,” Niall said, seeming to ignore Louis’ first question. “Why don’t we put a movie on?”

“Will Harry do drugs?” Louis asked, more directly this time.

Niall raised his shoulder. “Doubt it.” It was a shit answer, but there could be a lot worse ones. “Movie? Let’s put a movie on, yeah?”

The last thing Louis felt like doing was watching a movie, but he grumbled a yes anyway. He let Niall and Zayn pick one as he settled into Zayn’s sofa. Before the opening credits had finished, Louis had already purchased and downloaded ‘The Waves on his phone.

Louis had wondered if Harry was a reader, just like he wondered if most people were readers. He’d never really come to a conclusion on Harry, but even if he had decided that Harry was a reader, out of all the books in the entire world, he would not have guessed ‘The Waves’ would be Harry’s favourite. Louis hadn’t even read it. He knew of it, of course. He knew the basic premise and the author's writing style, and it was on his never-ending list to ‘To-Be-Reads’, but he hadn’t read it. The truth was, though, no matter what Harry had said his favourite book was, Louis would have read it immediately. He’d do almost anything he could in the hope of getting a glimpse into Harry’s head.

It took him a minute to fight the urge to ask Zayn if he had some paper that Louis could take notes on. Instead, he’d had to rely on electronic highlighting and note-taking. He could transfer it all onto paper later.

Louis had no idea how much time had passed, but he knew he was past half through the book when he heard, “You good, Louis?”

Looking up, he found Liam standing above him. Louis hadn’t even noticed him come into Zayn’s apartment. He’d forced himself to direct all his attention to reading the book. Even though it was achieving fucking all, it still felt like he was doing something to help Harry. It felt better than sitting and watching some shitty movie.

“Is it over?” Louis asked, pushing himself up, sounding embarrassingly eager. “Can I go back now?”

Liam glanced at the others before looking back to Louis. “Uh, not yet. Soon though, I think.”

Louis was about to argue, but the weariness in Liam’s eyes stopped him. It struck Louis how sometimes Liam looked almost normal and well-rested. Never entirely calm, but… better. Other times he looked like he’d never slept a day in his life. He looked like the latter right then.

The worst part -well, not the worst part; there were a lot of worse, more fucked up things about the whole situation. But the worst part for Louis - was that Liam would likely have all the answers he needed, more than Zayn and Niall, but he doubted Liam would ever give them to him.

He understood it. Really, Louis had no reason to be told anything. After talking to Zayn, Liam’s behaviour with management made a little more sense. Not enough sense. Not enough sense to justify his staying in the situation, but Louis would say that about all of them. But it made more sense.

It was just that Zayn pointed out something that Louis had already deduced in the short time he’d been involved with the band. As much as Liam was trying to help, it didn’t seem like it was achieving anything at all. Before talking to Zayn, Louis had some hope that maybe Liam’s overworking and Niall’s people-pleasing were having some effect, and Louis just didn’t know how bad it had been. But he was more sure now that, if anything, the situation was just getting worse.

Liam was running himself into the ground in vain. Nothing he could do would help.

Louis had been so focused on keeping all his thoughts about Liam to himself that he didn’t realise something else was about to slip out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” Louis blurted out.

Liam looked at him skeptically. “‘Sorry’? For what?”

“Liam,” Louis reasoned, his voice much higher pitched than usual. “This is all my fault. This entire thing. If I had just… acted normal, none of this would have happened.”

With a shake of his head, Liam said, “No, we’re not doing this. Just like I told Harry, it’s not your fault.”

Louis froze. “Wait, Harry said it was my fault?”

After a beat, Liam’s confusion softened. “No, Harry thought it was his fault. Why would Harry think it was your fault?”

“I just told you why.”

Liam hummed and then sat down next to Zayn. “There was a security guard whose entire job was to get you out of there safely. That was his job. Your job isn’t to navigate paparazzi. Harry’s job isn’t to make sure you get out of there safely. It was the guard’s fault, and he fucked off and did, well, we have no idea what he did, but he didn’t do his job. The responsibility falls solely onto his shoulders. And everyone involved in his hiring process.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue, but Liam’s words hit him. “Who was involved in his hiring process?”

The way Liam shifted made Louis feel less paranoid because it seemed like he might have reason to ask.

“Wait,” Zayn said. “I thought he worked for the agency? Didn’t Terry hire him?”

“Well… That’s what we were told.” Liam pursed his lips and surveyed the three of them. “I shouldn’t tell any of you this.”

Zayn and Niall straightened up and leaned closer to Liam, looking at him expectantly. Louis did the same. Their interest seemed to throw Liam off slightly more, but Louis didn’t care. He’d get the information off Liam no matter what he had to do. If he had to use FBI torture methods, he would. He’d have to Google what they were first, but Liam would be telling him.

Finally, after at least a full minute had passed and none of them had moved a muscle, Liam spoke. “Last night, Harry was pissed off and insistent that he, Mac, be fired. I told him I’d take care of it because I didn’t want him calling Terrance. Or anyone when he was that pissed off.

“After you two left this morning,” Liam said, motioning to Zayn and Louis, “Harry had to get ready, so I went out and called to deal with it then, figuring it would be best to have it solved before the meeting. But Terry told me that Mac doesn’t work for his company. Michael, one of the regular guards,” he explained to Louis, “was meant to come, but then management told him that they had a guard lined up.”

An onslaught of swearing came from Zayn, Louis, and even Niall’s mouth.

“You think he deliberately left Louis?” Niall asked over the top of Louis and Zayn.

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t,” he added as Louis groaned. “It’s possible he was just shit at his job. But, yeah, it’s weird.”

“Do they normally do that? Management, I mean. Do they normally hire their own guards?” Louis asked.

“Sometimes,” Zayn answered for Liam. “Technically, they hire all the guards. They’re the ones who hire Terry’s company. There are times they’ve used other companies. I mean, especially on tours and stuff. But they wouldn’t normally provide their own if Terry already had someone lined up.”

“So,” Louis started slowly, still digesting everything, “You think they wanted Harry to get papped like that? Seems a bit counterproductive.” Louis didn’t have a lot of faith in management at all, but they seemed a little more competent than that. “Or was it all because they wanted a reason for this stupid party?”

“I don’t know what I think. I mean, as to whether they set it up,” Liam said. He was kidding himself if he didn’t think it was management’s doing. “What I do know is that there is no way they wanted Harry to be papped with you at all. If they did orchestrate this whole thing, they didn’t expect Harry to help.”

“Oh.” That pissed Louis off even more. He’d felt terrible that Harry had to come and help, and he was embarrassed that Harry had to calm him down, but he wasn’t surprised that Harry had come back and helped. The fact that management, which Louis was now certain had set up the entire thing, hadn’t even considered that Harry might help infuriated him. “Well, what was their plan then? If it wasn’t that?”

With pursed lips, Liam studied Louis, and Louis let him. Louis would let Liam study him all night if it led to him getting answers. Well, not all night. He needed to check on Harry as soon as possible, but he could study him until the last second that Louis was forced to stay there.

“To get you to quit,” Zayn answered flatly. “Or to help convince us to fire you or something.” Zayn looked at Liam, who was pointedly not looking back at him. “That’s it, isn’t it? They wanted you to fire Louis.”

Liam sighed so heavily that his body seemed to deflate. Instead of answering Zayn, he looked at Louis. “We’re not firing you, okay? No matter what they say, your job’s safe.”

“I, uh,” Louis fumbled. “They brought up firing me?”

Liam did not need to give a verbal answer because it was evident in the look he gave Louis.

“If you did, fire me. I mean, if they told you to fire me, and you did, would Harry still be having this stupid party?”

Liam’s hesitation was enough for Louis.

Louis pushed up off the sofa, grabbed his phone, and raced to the front door, grabbing his keys from the island bench on the way there. He heard someone, maybe more than one of them, call his name from inside Zayn’s apartment, but he didn’t stop.

He sprinted down the hall and noted that there was no one outside the door of their apartment, and he hoped that meant everyone had left. As he let himself in, Louis could tell there were still a few people in the room despite the darkness. Instead of allowing his eyes to adjust to the room that was only lit by lamps, he reached for the light panel and flicked on every light switch until the room was brighter than the hallway.

There were a lot of drunken voices of disapproval, but Louis didn’t give a shit. Glancing around the open space, there was no sign of Harry.

“You can all fuck off now,” he told the group that was sitting on the sofas. They were glaring at him but not moving. “I’m serious; get the fuck out.”

“Who the fuck are you?” The only guy in the group said.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m telling you to get out, so get the fuck out.”

Louis watched as they all looked at the coffee table one by one. Louis had to walk closer to it to see what they were looking at.

Coke. They were staring at lines of cocaine on the table.

Louis faltered, having no idea what to do. Obviously, he didn’t want anyone to do it, but… it was presumably theirs, and while he wasn’t well-versed in the current cost of cocaine, he knew it cost enough that they’d be pissed off if he tried to get rid of it.

On top of that, he had no idea how he would even get rid of it. Would he vacuum it up? Would that make sense?

“Either do it now or get rid of it,” Louis said firmly. He turned his back to them and grimaced as he heard at least one of them snort it. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t just forced someone to do cocaine, and deep down, he knew that it wasn’t his fault and they were planning on doing it anyway, but it still didn’t feel good. He focused his attention on his fingers and away from whatever noises were coming from the sofa and coffee table until he heard movement.

He turned back to them, and they were all standing. The ones that were looking at him had the same hardened glare. Louis really couldn’t give a shit.

“Where’s Harry?” he asked them as they started to walk to the front door.

“Think he went to bed,” one girl murmured.

Louis had never felt so relieved.

As soon as they were out, he slammed the door after them. He knew he’d have to go and check on Harry, but he wanted to clean the coffee table first. The apartment was messy as hell, but he didn’t give a shit about any of that. He just didn’t want remnants of drugs in their living room.

He found some kitchen towels and used them to wipe the coffee table down before taking them back into the kitchen. He contemplated lighting the paper on fire but decided that would probably be an overreaction. Instead, he placed it in the sink, and then the water ran over it until not only would there be no way there would be any coke on it, the paper had begun to disintegrate, and there was hardly any paper left. He doubted it would be good for the plumbing, but it was also better than accidentally causing a house fire.

He left the tap running as he returned to the light switches and turned all the bright lights off, leaving the soft ones on before returning to the sink.

Only a tiny amount of paper towel was left in the sink, so he pushed it down with his fingers until it was entirely down the drain, then turned the tap off.

Before he stepped away from the sink, he heard footsteps above him and a male voice speaking softly. The footsteps reached the stairs and were coming down them.

Louis felt lighter than he had all night, knowing that Harry must be okay and saving him a trip into his room. Something he had to do almost every day, and every day it got more awkward.

As the voice got clearer, Louis realised it wasn’t Harry’s.

“Harry Styles…. Yes, that Harry,” the voice said. The footsteps had stopped, but the person hadn’t come into view yet. They must have paused on the staircase. “Nah, we weren’t allowed to take photos. Wasn’t even really meant to have my phone, but I hid it in my pants.”

Louis wanted to scream. He probably would have if he weren’t frozen in place.

“Yeah, he was gagging for it… Fuck you. It’s not that surprising! We’ve all heard the rumours.” Louis knew his breathing rate had increased, but he still couldn’t move. “Nah, he fucking passed out as soon as we got to his room… Fuck off that would be low even for me.” The person laughed. “I mean, I did consider it. Thought maybe if I took photos during it, I’d get a bigger payout than the fine for breaking the NDA, but yeah, not sure he’d be worth it, to be honest.”

That was enough for Louis to unfreeze.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Louis roared before storming to the staircase.

“Fuck, shit, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, you really fucking do!” Louis stood at the bottom of the stairs and saw the arsehole who he’d heard talking. “You have five seconds to get the fuck out of here.”

“Who ar-”

“Five!”

The lad's eyes widened before he took the rest of the stairs in twos.

“Four!” Louis shut his eyes, knowing if he spent even a second longer looking at the guy, he’d plummet him to the ground, and Louis had caused enough fucking trouble for everyone already. The last thing they needed to do was deal with an assault case.

“Three!” He yelled, eyes still shut and facing the stairs even though he knew the dickhead had long passed him.

“Two!”

He heard the front door open and then slam shut.

“One,” he said softly as he slowly opened his eyes and turned to the door. He was about to run to the stairs and go to Harry before remembering to lock the door. So much for security being there to keep them safe.

Louis hadn’t seen a single security guard or a single person on his way back to the apartment. He locked the door and then did a sweep of his bedroom and the office just to check there was no one else in the house.

Only once he was satisfied it was empty did he go upstairs. Again, despite dying to go and check on Harry, Louis tried the handle to three other doors on the top floor. He still had no idea what was behind them and had never tried to open one. As he did, though, he found that it was locked. He pushed the other two, and they were locked too. It was enough for Louis to be sure there were no other intruders. Slowly he opened Harry’s door, heart pounding in his chest. His hands were shaking slightly, really not knowing what to expect.

The room was pitch black, so Louis took out his phone and put the torch on. Even though he’d been in Harry’s room almost daily, he deliberately never really took in any of it. He had to check that Harry even had bedside lamps. Luckily he did, so Louis walked over and turned one on.

He watched Harry for a second and felt instant relief when he saw Harry’s chest move. He was alive, thank fuck.

He was face down but still entirely clothed, which caused another sigh of relief.

As Louis stood over him, though, he had no idea what to do next. He could just leave him, knowing he was safe and asleep. But as the fucking arsehole had said, he wasn’t only asleep, he was passed out. Even if Louis hadn’t overheard the guy's conversation, he would have known that Harry wasn’t just sleeping. He’d seen him asleep way too often to confuse this with him asleep.

For the first fucking time since he got back to their apartment, he realised Harry might have taken drugs.

“Harry?” he said softly, despite panic rising again, not surprised when Harry didn’t move a single muscle. “Harry?” he said a little louder, but the result was the same.

Harry was in the middle of the bed, and given its size, there was no way that Louis would be able to reach him unless he got onto the bed. He lingered before doing so, hoping to find another solution. But there was no other solution, and he needed to check on Harry properly. He needed Harry to be safe. And unfortunately, he wasn’t going to be sure of that until he woke him.

Gingerly, he crawled onto the bed and, kneeling next to Harry’s sleeping figure, shook him as hard as he usually would wake him in the mornings.

“Harry!” he called, and Harry groaned and shuffled slightly. “Harry, can you roll over, please?”

Harry groaned again but didn’t move. Louis knew that if he wanted Harry to move, he would have to do it himself. He placed his hands under Harry’s side and then pushed him over. Harry stirred enough to work out what Louis was doing at some point and helped roll himself onto his back.

Harry’s eyes were still closed, but he murmured something completely incoherent.

After repositioning himself so that he was sitting next to Harry's hip, facing him, Louis said, “Hey, Harry?” Harry tilted his head towards him, slowly opening his eyes. “Uhm, are you, uh… Are you just drunk, or have you taken anything? Like drugs, I mean, have you done any drugs?”

Harry stared at him for what felt like a long time before blinking. “Louis?” he asked quietly and as if he didn’t quite believe it.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, Louis.”

Still seeming unconvinced, Harry lifted his hand and reached it to Louis’ face. Louis stupidly automatically leaned into his touch. Even when he worked out what he was doing, he didn’t move away, trying to convince himself that he was just helping Harry to be sure that it was him or whatever Harry’s goal had been.

“Harry,” he called again, Harry’s hand still on his cheek but not quite looking at him. “Harry, love.” Harry finally looked at him then, wide-eyed. “Okay, okay,” Louis mumbled more to himself. “Love, have you taken any drugs or just drunk?”

“No drugs,” Harry said slowly, stroking Louis’ cheek with his thumb.

Louis didn’t stop him of course. “You sure? You won’t be in trouble or anything. I just need to know.”

“No drugs,” Harry repeated. “Just drunk. Your eyes are blue.”

Louis smiled slightly. “Mm, they are.”

“I like them,” Harry said. He lowered his hand from Louis’ face, and Louis stifled a whimper. Harry then shut his own eyes. “Do you know what colour my eyes are?”

Their eye colour hadn’t been on the list of everything Louis wanted to discuss. “Green.”

His eyes flew open again. “How’d you know? They were shut.”

“Because I’ve looked at them before. You wouldn’t lie to me about drugs, would you?”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why’ve you looked at my eyes?” Harry asked.

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Drugs, Harry, you promise you didn’t do any drugs?”

“No drugs, Lou,” Harry said, and Louis decided he had no reason not to believe him. “Lots of people.”

“Sorry?”

Harry’s eyes drifted closed again. “Lots of people ’ere.”

“Oh. No, not anymore. Just us.”

“Us,” Harry murmured.

“Yeah…” Louis let his eyes roam Harry’s face while he had a chance wanting to take in everything he could under the soft light of the lamp. After so much time had passed that Louis well and truly felt like a creep, he pulled himself out of his trance. “Do you want some water or anything before I go?”

Harry’s nose scrunched before his eyes opened again. “Don’t wan’ you t’ go.”

“You need sleep, though, love.”

Clumsily, Harry pushed himself up to sit in front of Louis. Louis’ eyes dipped down to Harry’s chest; his shirt was completely unbuttoned. Louis knew nothing had happened with the arsehole who’d been up here, as the guy said it himself. But the idea that he may have been partly responsible for it made Louis nauseous. “Awake,” Harry said.

“But you need to sleep,” Louis repeated.

“But ’m ’wake,” he frowned as he said it.

Before he could stop himself, Louis placed his finger on Harry’s forehead and tried to soften the crease his frown caused. “No, I know, but you shouldn’t be awake. You should sleep.”

Harry’s frown just deepened. “If I sleep, you’ll go.”

He was drunk.

Harry was just drunk.

There was no need for Louis’ insides to react like they were at drunk Harry’s words.

Drunk-Harry, who was up here with another guy less than half an hour ago, was the one saying them. Not sober-Harry.

“If I agree to stay, you’ll go to sleep?” Louis said anyway.

“Mhm,” Harry said, his eyes kept fluttering closed even though he was obviously trying to fight it.

The answer was obvious.

No.

No, Louis could not stay in Harry’s room while he slept.

No, Louis would not do that.

No.

No.

No.

It was the only professional answer to give.

“’Kay.” In his defence, he had never claimed to be professional. “Do you want to go to the bathroom and everything first?”

“You’ll stay?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

After nodding, Harry messily maneuvered himself off his bed, a noticeable sway as he stood. Louis scrambled off the bed and stood beside him, careful not to touch him.

“Do you need anything? Do you want, like, pyjamas or something?” As soon as Louis said ‘pyjamas’, he knew exactly what Harry would do. Unfortunately, as Harry slid off the open shirt, Louis’ mouth went too dry to stop him from taking off the jeans. “Stop,” Louis choked out as Harry thumbed the waistband of his underwear.

He did stop and just gazed at Louis.

“Why don’t you keep your underwear on tonight?” Louis suggested.

“But… sleep naked.”

“I know, I know.” He did know. It was never far from Louis’ mind. “But tonight, just keep your underwear on, okay? Do you need help getting to the ensuite, or are you good?”

“’M fine,” Harry mumbled. Louis watched him as he went into the bathroom, he still had a sway, but it wasn’t as pronounced as it had been at first.

Louis picked up the discarded clothes and stared at them. The urge to burn them was even greater than his one for the cocaine-soaked paper towel. Instead, he placed them on top of Harry’s washing basket.

The toilet flushed, and then a tap started running. Louis could hear Harry brushing his teeth and was quietly impressed. When Louis was wasted, brushing his teeth was never very high on his priority list.

Harry came back out, and it took all the strength Louis could muster not to look any lower than his collar bones. Harry hadn’t seemed to notice, though. Instead, he walked past Louis and got into bed.

Glancing from Harry to the opened door, Louis wondered if he should leave. He wasn’t convinced that Harry had even realised he was still there. Staying in Harry’s room because he asked him to was terrible enough. Staying there when Harry didn’t care either way was much worse. Still, he didn’t want to leave without saying anything at all.

“Harry, I will go now, but do you want me to bring anything back up for you? Water, or food, or paracetamol or anything?”

“Staying.”

Louis sighed and shifted his weight.

“You said. You promised,” Harry said, pushing himself up, resting on his elbows.

“Okay, okay. As long as that’s what you want.” The feeling erupting in his stomach was a testament to what a truly awful person and employee Louis was, but he couldn’t find enough space to give it too much thought.

“Want.” Harry nodded his head slowly.

“I am going to go and grab you some water, though. I’ll be right back.” Louis went to leave the room.

“Lou,” Harry called slowly, and Louis turned to him. He pointed to the far corner of his room, “Water.”

Louis had to walk into Harry’s room to see what he was pointing at. A laugh escaped him. “Really? You have a fridge in your room?”

“Jus’ for water.”

Louis reached the small fridge, and Harry was right - there were only water bottles in it, although he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

He grabbed one, opened it as he walked to the bed and handed it to Harry.

Harry took a big sip before giving it back.

After putting the lid back on, Louis placed it next to Harry and walked to the other side of the bed. Then hesitated.

“Lou, bed.” Even drunk, Harry managed to roll his eyes at Louis.

It was enough for Louis. He’d planned to lie on top of the blankets, but Harry moved them out of the way, so Louis sat only on the fitted sheet. Deciding that he’d already argued enough, although knowing deep down he hardly argued at all, Louis laid down. He froze as Harry reached over him and placed the blankets over him. “Uh, um, thanks,” he mumbled as Harry laid back beside him, keeping a large amount of space between them. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Louis had never heard ‘Yeah’ sound so much like ‘No’.

Unsure how to respond, Louis asked, “Is it okay if I turn the lamp off now?”

“’Kay.”

As soon as it was off, Louis wished it wasn’t. It felt too intimate somehow. “Uh, you sure you’re okay?”

“Dunno,” Harry murmured.

“Oh.” He was even more unsure how to respond to that. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Louis nodded to the dark. “I started reading ‘The Waves’.”

He felt Harry shift next to him, not closing the gap between them, but judging by the sound of his breathing, turning to face Louis. “When?”

“Tonight, at Zayn’s.” He had to force himself to keep staring at the ceiling rather than turn and face Harry.

“Why?”

“Dunno.” Louis paused and then figured that Harry was so drunk that he’d asked Louis to sleep with him, so Louis could probably tell him the truth. “You said it was your favourite, so I wanted to read it.”

“Why, though?”

Okay, he wouldn’t be that honest. “Just because.”

Neither spoke for so long that Louis thought Harry may have fallen asleep.

“Do you like it?” Harry asked.

It took Louis a moment to remember the context of the question. “Yeah, I do so far. I really like that each character has their own leitmotif, like how Rhoda’s is water, and Bernards is… wait, leitmotif means an association-”

“Know what leitmotif is,” Harry mumbled.

“Right, of course, you do.” Except, it wasn’t an ‘of course’. Harry shouldn’t know what a leitmotif is. “Um, and also, I like the symbolism. Not just of the wave, or anything but also of the app-”

“How’d it make you feel?” Harry's voice rumbled beside him.

“What?”

“Don’t wanna hear about leitmotifs or symbols or themes. How’d make you feel?”

“Ahh, well, I mean. I guess, like…” Louis had no idea how it made him feel. Did it make him feel anything? Was it meant to? “How should it make me feel?”

“Can’t tell you that. S’upta you.”

“I don’t know how it makes me feel,” Louis said softly.

“How much you’d read?”

“I'm a bit over halfway,” Louis said.

He could feel Harry nod as their pillows touched each other. “Who doya feel most like?”

“I, uh… what?”

“Outta all of them, who do you understand the most?”

“Lo-”

“You can’t say Louis, jus’ ’cause you have the same name,” Harry said before Louis could finish it.

“What if I really do feel most like Louis?”

“Do you?” Harry asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“So who?”

“Maybe a bit like all of them, in different ways?”

“Hm,” Harry said.

“What? Who do you feel most like?” Louis asked.

“All of them and none of them.”

“Oh.” The words weren’t much. Louis wasn’t even sure that Harry meant them to sound profound. But somehow, they did sound profound, Louis couldn’t work out why. “How does it make you feel?” Louis asked.

The silence dragged between them again, but Louis knew Harry wasn’t asleep. He was too still, his breaths too controlled. Tension was radiating from him, making Louis feel tense as well. Louis wasn’t sure whether he should change the subject, take back the question, or pretend to be asleep. But he was at the point where he needed to do something because it was becoming too much.

When Harry finally answered, his words cut Louis so deep that they kept him up most of the night. He was sure they’d keep him up most nights, probably for the rest of his life.

“A little less alone.”

Chapter Text

Fueled by alcohol, Harry drifted in and out of sleep, finding solace in Louis' presence beside him. It was a strange comfort, yet there was something about Louis that felt so familiar.

But as the night continued and the alcohol wore off, Harry's restlessness grew. The numbness and fearless ease that he had felt earlier had faded, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

As he stirred in his sleep once again, the sun had timidly crept through the curtains, diffusing a faint glow within the room. The veil of darkness that hid him overnight had passed, and the lack of it prevented him from slipping back asleep.

Harry’s thoughts were immediately consumed by Louis, who slept peacefully and undisturbed beside him.

His gaze fell upon Louis' sleeping form, illuminated by a soft glow, and his heart rate quickened. Shadows still cloaked Louis, but there was enough light for Harry to see every detail of his face, from the curve of his lashes to the sharp angles of his cheekbones. The sight of Louis sleeping beside him stirred something within him, something that he couldn't quite name.

Moments ticked by, and the distance between them on the bed seemed to stretch further and deeper, almost as if it was a tangible entity. Yet, the air around them grew heavy and oppressive, and he felt as though he was drowning.

He often felt like he was drowning in Louis.

It was the intense desire to close the gap between them that persuaded Harry to leave the room. If he stayed any longer, he may move closer, which would mean crossing an invisible boundary between them.

The memory of undressing was lost in a blur of alcohol, but Harry was grateful to find that he had kept his underwear on. He couldn't recall if it had been his own choice or if Louis had asked him to, but he felt a strange sense of relief either way.

Standing up, the thudding pain in his head made him feel disoriented. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. After a moment, he shuffled over to his wardrobe, searching for something to wear. He chose a pair of soft flannelette pyjama pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt.

He tiptoed across the room, careful not to make a sound, and picked up his phone from the bedside table. It was a small comfort to see that it had somehow managed to charge overnight. He closed the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Louis any further.

Despite it only being seven in the morning, Liam had already messaged asking him to call. But even the thought of conversation made Harry's head pound even harder. He couldn't fathom how Liam was still awake; he must have spent the night scouring for paparazzi photos and media updates, just as Liam had done on Friday night.

He hoped the medicine cabinet could temporary relief in the form of painkillers, but the headache persisted, a dull throb behind his eyes.

Hoping that coffee may be his savour, Harry dragged himself to the kitchen. He stared at the machine for a few moments, the act of brewing feeling like an arduous task that he was unsure would be worth it.

Liam’s message went ignored as Harry longed to crawl back into bed and escape the exhaustion building up over the past two nights. Restless nights weren't unfamiliar to him, but today felt more draining than ever before.

After sixty long minutes, Harry surrendered and dialled Liam's number. He hoped the time between had given Liam a chance to nap.

Although, Harry had also been putting off contacting him in hopes that Louis would wake first and they could face Louis’ potential awkwardness about the previous night without anyone else present. Harry hoped that Louis would have put the night before out of his memory, too. However, as far as Harry was aware, Louis hadn’t had the helpful assistance of liquor to bury memories.

Liam knocked on the door, and as soon as Harry had turned the knob, Liam was already speaking, his voice exuding urgency. “Have you seen anything?” he asked as he walked past Harry and into the living room. “Or read anything?”

Harry sat opposite him on the sofa, and the weariness in Liam’s eyes told Harry he hadn't gotten a moment of sleep. Their bodies were emitting the same sense of exhaustion.

"Nah, I haven't," Harry replied. He hadn’t searched, hadn’t even looked at his phone except to see Liam’s message and to call him. He didn’t see the purpose in looking through the tabloids to see what web of narratives had been meticulously spun about him and his life. It was never the truth.

The real truth was his life didn’t exist. Not to him, at least. His life had simply become a life that was passed around to media, and managers, and the general public, and labels, and anyone else who could profit from it in some way. Until an article was written illustrating that, he would continue to pay no mind to them.

"It went well," Liam revealed, his knee jiggling despite his apparent exhaustion. "As well as it could have, I mean. They got the story they wanted."

Harry felt a pang in his chest. "They always do, in the end."

Liam gave him a regretful look, but Harry could never place blame on Liam for being relieved that their team received what they were aiming for. It made Liam’s life infinitely easier, and while the ends still didn’t justify the means, Liam having a few days of solace provided a certain satisfaction.

"How was the party?" Liam asked, his voice gentle.

Harry shrugged, resisting the wince. "Like every other stupid one we've had." He assumed so anyway, his recollection was minimal, and he had no intention of working to recover it.

Liam let out a deep breath. "Hopefully, it's the last."

Sometimes, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Liam lived in the same reality as the rest of them. Even Niall, who attempted to avoid all conflict, seemed to acknowledge the brutal reality of their situation.

However, Liam seemed unwilling to see it. Harry wasn't sure if it was a coping mechanism or if he was just naturally optimistic. Whatever it was, he didn't need to argue with it. They all had their own ways of trying to cope with it all, some worked better than others.

The room fell into a deep silence, with only the sound of their breathing breaking the stillness. Harry's eyes wandered to the window, watching the raindrops dance down the glass in a never-ending race. The sound of pattering against the windowpane became a gentle lullaby, slightly easing the tumultuous thoughts in Harry's mind.

The stillness in the room amplified the sound of the door upstairs creaking open and then shutting, causing Liam’s body to stiffen. "Uh, oh, did you, um. Did someone spend the night?" he asked, panic seeping into his expression.

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes, a familiar gesture between them. He almost wanted to tease Liam and say that someone had stayed the night. In the past, Harry would have easily joked about it, they all would have without a second thought, and they would have all laughed it off. Now, the mere thought of making light of their situation seemed like a distant memory, and Harry's heart felt heavy at the loss of their carefree laughter.

Seeing Liam on the brink of hyperventilating, Harry chose to reassure him, "It's just Louis."

Liam's body visibly relaxed, sinking further into the sofa. Harry's memory of the night before was foggy, and he had no interest in trying to piece it together. Still, he vaguely remembered leading someone up to his room, but he was relieved they hadn't stayed the night, as Liam's reaction would have been unbearable. Even if Harry hadn't seen Liam's physical response, his reluctance to ask for details about why Louis was upstairs clearly indicated his relief.

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind him caught the attention of Harry’s ears, until suddenly they stopped.

"Hi Louis," Liam said, breaking the weighty silence.

"Oh, um, hi, good morning, Liam." There was a pause before Louis added, "And Harry."

Harry muttered a greeting under his breath, not turning around as he felt ill-prepared to see him at that moment. Why hadn’t Louis just woken a little earlier? Harry had been prepared then.

Liam's gaze followed the sound of approaching footsteps before returning to Harry. His pointed look at Harry was a silent plea imploring him to be nice. Harry had just shared a bed with Louis; he didn't know how he could be any nicer.

Once Louis had passed him, Harry watched as he walked towards the kitchen, and he couldn't help but appreciate how Louis' pants moulded against his curves, accentuating every one of them.

The longer that Harry watched, he observed some of Louis’ subtle movements that betrayed his nerves. Even as he moved about the room with an air of confidence, Harry couldn't help but notice the slight fidgeting of his fingers and the way his eyes darted around the room.

Not for the first time, and Harry was doubtful it would be the last, he had a deep desire to reach into Louis’ mind and explore it in all its beauty.

Harry's gaze lingered on Louis, watching him closely as he tried to suppress his urge to offer comfort to him. He longed to ease Louis’ anxiety in a way that he hadn’t experienced for a stranger before. And that terrified him.

Instead, he mustered up every sliver of strength to resist the peculiar desire.

"How'd you sleep?" Liam asked Louis, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry felt the weight of Louis' wide-eyed gaze on him. He shook his head slightly to signal to Louis that Liam's question was not asked out of suspicion.

Harry wasn't sure if Louis had been able to interpret his head shake and that had grounded him or if Louis had simply collected himself, but either way, he seemed to have regained his composure. "Yeah, good. Fine," Louis answered Liam.

As Louis reached for a mug, he turned his back to Liam and Harry in the process. Harry's gaze couldn't help but fixate on the small section of milky skin that was exposed as the hem of his shirt lifted. A twinge of annoyance sparked within him, directed not only at Louis' appearance but also at himself for allowing such a trivial detail to bother him.

There came a knock on his door, and Louis put his mug down before heading to it. He walked to the door and stopped in front of it, his voice deep and melodic as he asked. "Who is it?"

Zayn's voice came muffled from behind the door, and Louis let him in, his toned arms flexing as he turned the handle with a fluid motion.

Zayn strode into Harry’s flat and sat down next to Liam. His eyes seemed to take in every particle of the space. "It's weird that your apartment still looks the same as when we moved in." he muttered.

Harry groaned softly. "You're as bad as Lou... Ee. Louis," he corrected himself quickly, his eyes following Louis as he moved about the kitchen, seemingly having no reaction at the unintentional fond name.

Settled in the knowledge of that, Harry’s mind wandered aimlessly as he watched Louis.

Zayn's voice jolted him out of his daze by calling Louis’ name, the interruption causing Harry to refocus his attention on the conversation at hand.

"Heard you yelled at one of Harry's guests," Zayn said. Harry's slip of using Louis' nickname must have gone unnoticed by the others as well, the attention of the room shifting towards Louis as Harry took in the words.

Harry wondered if Zayn was joking, but the remorseful look on Louis' face made it clear that he wasn't.

For the first time wanting to remember something from the night before, Harry frowned, "You yelled at someone? Who was it? Why?" His gaze drifted over Louis' features, noting the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly and the way his eyes flickered with a mix of guilt and defiance.

Louis cleared his throat and shifted his weight before he turned to face them front-on, pressing himself against the bench. "I, um, there was just...I just politely suggested that because it was getting late, they might like to think about moving along," he explained in a voice that was equal parts soothing and tense.

Harry arched an eyebrow in scepticism, unconvinced by Louis' explanation. He doubted there was much politeness or suggestion involved. "Who?" he asked again.

"I yelled at a few people," Louis admitted, wringing his hands, apparently unable to stick to the politely suggeststory for more than five seconds. "So I don't know which ones Zayn means. Oh shit, did they tell someone? Fuck."

Zayn suppressed a smirk, and Harry felt a small sense of relief, knowing that Zayn wouldn’t respond in that manner had it happened. He wouldn't have cared if they had told someone about Louis being, well, himself. However, he doubted Louis would feel that same. "Nah, security heard it," Zayn answered.

Louis looked confused. "What are you talking about? There was no security."

"There were security guards, Louis," Liam chimed in. "Why wouldn't there be? There were strangers in the building."

"I didn't see them. I didn't see anyone on my way here," Louis replied defensively. "You're sure?"

Harry understood why Louis would doubt the presence of security after what happened two nights ago, but Liam was right - they would never be left without them in that circumstance. If something happened because of that, it would be one thing management wouldn’t be able to scrub their hands clean of. If there was one thing they exceeded in, it was self-preservation.

"Yeah," Liam confirmed. "They were towards the other end of the hall. I spoke to them before I came to Zayn's."

Harry had known that Louis would have been with one of the others but hadn't considered others would be there. He felt bile rise to his throat at the possibility that they all frequently spent time together, deliberately excluding him. It was a thought that had bypassed the iron-clad fences of his brain and sunk itself into the forefront of Harry’s thoughts a humiliating amount of times.

Although lately, the fences had felt less high and impenetrable and closer to the fences at parks that you can duck under or climb over because every thought seemed to slip through.

Before the shots had started to take effect the previous night, Harry had pondered where Louis was and who he was with while Harry tried to survive the nightmarish hell. His only goal had been to survive it.

Louis glanced down at his mug and tapped his fingers on the side of it, drawing Harry’s attention to his strong fingers. "Oh, right. Okay."

Louis lifted his mug to his mouth and then froze. "Actually, shit,” he exclaimed. “I should have said something sooner. Fuck. Someone had a phone," he said, turning to Liam.

Zayn addressed Louis instead. "Do you mean the last guy that left?"

Louis nodded slowly in response.

"Mm-hm," Zayn said. "Terry said that as he stumbled out of the door, after being properly yelled at, he dropped his phone on the ground right in front of them."

Louis cleared his throat nervously. "Did they... check it for anything or?"

"Yeah, there was nothing on it," Zayn said.

After a brief pause, Louis asked, "Did they do a proper check?"

Harry tried to come up with an explanation for Louis’ sudden skittish behaviour. He then remembered the person he had taken up to his room and understood Louis' concern. Understood it, but resented it all the same.

"They would have wiped it," Harry replied, attempting a calm tone, trying to allay Louis' fears. "You don't have to worry about it."

"Would they?" Louis questioned sceptically. The concern in Louis' eyes seemed to fuel his irritation. "Are you sure?"

"Yes.” Harry's annoyance was palpable now, his tone laced with frustration as he spoke.

Louis still seemed unconvinced, chewing on his lip. "What if there was something on there, and it got leaked? This whole thing would have been for nothing."

Harry couldn't shake off the irritation that came on so suddenly. Louis didn’t need to make Harry his burden like everyone else who cared for him seemed to. "For fuck's sake, yes, I'm sure! You know we survived for years without you, right?" The words came out harsher than he had intended, but he couldn't help the frustration that boiled inside him.

Louis' expression shifted, and Harry could see the hurt in his eyes. It made his annoyance melt away, replaced by a wave of guilt, until Louis’ expression turned darker,

"Barely,” he muttered.

"Excuse me? Who the fu-" Harry started to retort, but Zayn cut him off.

"Shut up." Zayn's glare was enough to make Harry feel even more ashamed. "Go have a shower or something. You look like shit," he added.

“Don’t bother,” Louis muttered, and Harry watched as Louis left the room with his tea, walking towards his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Harry's heart sank as he felt a pang of guilt for his outburst. He couldn't shake off the image of Louis' hurt expression, and he knew he had been too harsh. He fidgeted in his seat, wishing he could take back his words, but the damage had already been done.

The air was thick with tension as the three of them sat, avoiding eye contact. Just a few years ago, they could speak their minds freely, trusting that their friendships were strong enough to withstand any harsh words or blunt opinions. But now, it wasn't their friendships that were feeble, even though they had never put them to the test; it was themselves who were weak. They were too timid to initiate conflicts and too fragile to manage them.

"He cares, you know," Liam spoke, his voice heavy with defeat before he had even laid out his point. "Last night. Louis was worried about you."

Liam's words hit Harry like a tidal wave, pulling him under. He felt the weight of them, the truth that lay within them.

"I’d expect as much, considering it's his job," Harry's reply came out flat, dispassionate.

Although Harry dismissed Liam's statement, he couldn't deny that Louis' concern for him felt different. It wasn't just because he was being paid to care; Harry had been surrounded by people whose job was to care for him for a decade, yet most had failed him miserably.

"If you keep treating him like that, he'll leave," Liam warned.

Harry knew Liam wasn't trying to be hurtful and was speaking the truth, but a sharp pain twisted in his gut, skewering his insides.

"He accepted the job and knew exactly what it would be. If he can't handle it, he should resign." His words were increasingly strained, his mouth growing dry, likely due to his lack of conviction in saying them.

“Fuck.” Zayn pushed himself off the sofa, apparently ready to add his opinion. “When that happens, I don’t want to hear a single word about it. No anger, whinging about management hiring someone else, or shitty moods. If you don’t give a shit, then don’t expect me to once you fuck it up.”

Harry’s eyes followed as Zayn reached his front door.

He placed his hands on the doorknob before turning back around. “You’re not just fucking it up for yourself, by the way. You’d be fucking it up for all of us.”

Harry didn't get a chance to ask Zayn what he meant because he slammed the door so hard that Harry's ears rang long after he was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time Zayn had responded to him that way. Then again, that shouldn’t have been a surprise, given they rarely spent time together outside of business obligations, so none of them had an opportunity to yell at him.

"I should probably leave, too," Liam said.

Harry noticed Liam's hands shaking slightly. It was something that had become more frequent, and Liam attributed it to an increase in his caffeine intake. Harry couldn't help but wonder how much he had consumed for it to cause the tremors. Liam was probably surviving purely on it now. He likely relied on it last night as he stayed up to monitor as everything unfolded.

A wave of guilt ran through Harry at the knowledge that while Harry slept soundly in his bed, Liam was awake, continually checking to see if damage control had been achieved or if they ended up in an even worse situation than they had been previously.

Harry’s recklessness in inviting some lad up to his bedroom, who apparently had a phone on him, certainly could have caused the latter.

Not only had he potentially caused another scandal, one that he probably wouldn't be able to come back from - and then slept soundly, dreams filled with Louis while Liam stayed up all night for Harry's sake -but he had also yelled at him, the person who had prevented that from occurring.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, not even sure what he was apologising for, but knowing the list was long. He didn’t even fight the frustration that grew within him at the fact that he had fallen back into the pattern of making mistakes and apologising for them.

Liam attempted to give Harry one of his sympathetic smiles, the ones he often wore when he knew Harry needed one. But this time, Liam’s smile was too weak, too loose. It seemed like he couldn't gather enough energy to give him something more heartfelt.

"I know," Liam said softly, accepting his apology. "Just, I don't know, be nice."

Harry nodded, looking down. "I'll try."

Harry couldn't deny the truth of Zayn's warning; he knew Louis could easily be pushed away. And while he didn't usually appreciate people who stuck around when they didn't want to, the mere thought of Louis leaving filled him with a sense of dread that he couldn't ignore.

Liam took a step back and let out a deep sigh. "Thanks," was all he said, his parting words before he walked out of Harry's door, leaving the house empty except for him and Louis.

As Harry descended the stairs, he couldn't shake off the sense of dread that settled heavily in his stomach. The prospect of spending the day with Louis, after deliberately avoiding him most of the day before, only added to the already burdening weight on his heart. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape the relentless thoughts of him.

Worse than that, he knew he’d likely have to apologise. It wasn't that Harry had issues acknowledging his mistakes, but the idea of saying them out loud made him very open and too vulnerable. More than that, it often included discussing issues when Harry would prefer to forget it all.

As he entered the living room, Harry was greeted by the soft sound of music and the gentle clink of cutlery against porcelain.

He found Louis sitting on the sofa with his breakfast and a warm cup of tea. The sound of Louis' careful and deliberate movements as he ate and drank filled the room, creating a peaceful and comforting ambience. Louis’ hair was a dishevelled mess of strands framing his face. But even in his disarray, he was striking, his sharp jawline emphasised by the way his hair fell. Harry was unable to take his eyes off of him as Louis lifted the mug of tea to his lips, his throat moving in a slow and steady rhythm that made Harry's pulse quicken.

"You're up early," Louis said, his voice a low, smooth rumble that sent a shiver down Harry's spine and settled in the pit of his stomach. Harry deliberately didn't look at Louis, not wanting to give away the way his body reacted to the sound.

"Mm," Harry grunted in response, his voice thick with sleep sounding nowhere near as appealing as Louis as he made his way to the kitchen. "Slept like shit."

Harry reached into the fridge and grabbed a pre-made breakfast wrap, stuffing it into the microwave to heat up. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled his nostrils, the steam rising up from the mug in a lazy dance. Harry took a sip, relishing the warmth that spread through his body, momentarily soothing his restless mind.

The pull towards Louis was strong, and Harry's feet almost took him to the sofa. It was a subconscious action, one that he didn't even realise he was doing. He caught himself midstep, quickly redirecting his steps to the dining table.

He should apologise. He would. Just, maybe not at this moment.

He tried to keep Louis from his thoughts, but the proximity of him made it a challenge to focus on anything else.

He forced himself to think about the day ahead of him. The looming band practice was weighing heavily on Harry's mind, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as he prepared for the day ahead. The thought of being stuck in the confines of the warehouse for hours on end, struggling to find any hint of inspiration, was utterly exhausting.

Despite Harry's reluctance to admit it, Louis' involvement during the previous sessions had significantly impacted the overall atmosphere. His suggestions to try something new had brought a newfound energy to Niall, Liam, and maybe even Zayn, even if it hadn't yet thoroughly permeated Harry's own creative mind.

Louis approached Harry with his usual light and unhurried steps, causing a pang of undefined emotion to flutter in Harry's chest. After clearing his throat, Louis spoke up, drawing Harry's attention way the blank space on the wall behind him.

"Hey," Louis said, "I know you wouldn't have had time to think about it, but I looked into some artwork for that wall. Are you still okay with me buying something for it?"

Harry didn't confess that he had been thinking about it since Louis mentioned it. Not just that wall, but while he had been upstairs, staring at the bare walls. Every single one of them was blank.

"I said it was, so yeah," Harry replied, his voice low.

"Okay, cool."Louis seemed to turn away before hesitating and turning back, his nervousness clouding over him. "Would it be, um... Do you have time to look at some of the ones I like?"

Harry hesitated. While he would be content with whatever Louis chose, he couldn't help but see this as an olive branch, a peace offering to avoid the tense atmosphere from the previous weekend. "Yeah, I suppose," he finally replied after an awkward silence.

A grin encompassed Louis' face, causing crinkles next to his eyes. Harry watched, mesmerised, as Louis turned away, taken by the sight of his confident stride and the way his broad shoulders moved with ease.

With a soft thud, Louis placed his laptop down in front of Harry, taking the seat beside him and pulling his chair too close. Their knees brushed, a delicate collision of skin that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Louis seemed oblivious to the sensation, his attention completely focused on the screen before them.

Harry struggled to keep his focus on the task at hand, his attention constantly pulled towards the vibrant presence of Louis sitting so close beside him. He tried to feign interest in the art pieces that Louis eagerly presented on his laptop, but the magnetism of Louis' being consumed his mind. Harry couldn't help but steal glimpses of him, taking in the way the light danced across his face and the soft curve of his lips as he spoke.

The way he moved, the sound of his voice, the energy that radiated off of him, it was all too much. Louis was a force of nature, and Harry found himself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“So,” Louis said, and something in his tone brought Harry back down to reality. “Which one do you think?”

Harry tried to remember a single detail about a single one of them but came up blank.” Whichever one you think, Lou,” he said finally.

Louis looked like he’d been about to argue but stopped himself. “Harry, I can choose if you really don't want to, but this is your house. Don’t you think that you should have things in here that you like?”

“I liked all of them, though.” He was sure that he would have.

Louis didn’t look satisfied. “What I’ll do is cut it down to three, and then you can choose between those,” Louis said with finality, demonstrating that it wasn't a question.

“Okay,” Harry answered, not sure he had it in him to argue with Louis at that moment.

Louis grinned at him again and then closed his laptop. “I better get ready,” he said. “Car will be here soon.”

Harry didn’t watch him walk away this time, mostly out of fear that he’d call out for him to come back.

Throughout the day and night before, Harry had been plagued by memories of Saturday night. He remembered Louis saying he had started reading The Waves, and the urge to ask if he had finished it and to share his thoughts on the book consumed him. But he remained silent, soft music was the only sound that accompanied Harry's turbulent emotions as he was left alone once again.

Harry retreated to his room earlier than normal that night, needing some space from Louis. He couldn't help the thoughts that consumed him, despite knowing he shouldn't be so consumed by his personal assistant's presence.

Sitting on his bed, Harry stared blankly at the wall before him, his mind in a haze. But something led him to retrieve one of his guitars from the wardrobe.

Maybe it had something to do with the band practice, which hadn’t been the best, but it had been better than the regular sessions, even the previous ones. The warehouse had felt less suffocating than usual, and Louis' involvement had brought some life to the others. However, Harry couldn't help but feel somewhat disconnected from the rest of the band.

So, it was more likely that he was just that desperate to find something to distract himself.

As he held his guitar, feeling its weight in his hands, he realised it had been months, maybe even a year, since he last played. The strings felt foreign under his fingers, and the chords sounded off. He played on anyway, softly and gently, so that Louis wouldn't hear.

As he played, Harry's mind wandered to the days when he used to write effortlessly, when the lyrics would flow out of him like water from a tap. But those days were long gone, and Harry felt stuck in a creative drought that would never end. He strummed absentmindedly, and his eyes grew heavy, and he set the guitar aside and laid down.

As he lay there in silence, the sound of Louis' footsteps downstairs brought him back to reality, and Harry knew it was time to give up for the night. Maybe tomorrow, he would try again, but for now, he let himself sink deeper into the hopelessness that seemed to consume him.

Harry was barely conscious, his exhaustion finally winning the battle as he drifted off to sleep, when he was startled awake by a loud crash from downstairs, followed by a string of swearing. His heart raced as he bolted out of bed and dashed downstairs, where Louis stood in the kitchen, staring at the ground with a look of devastation on his face.

Without thinking, Harry rushed over to him, his concern for Louis overcoming his own confusion.

"Stop!" Louis shouted, causing Harry to freeze.

Looking around, Harry saw that Louis was standing in the midst of shattered crockery, prompting Louis to warn him, "You'll hurt your feet."

Harry looked to Louis' feet and then pointed out, "You're not wearing shoes either."

Louis let out a frustrated huff, and Harry immediately regretted his unhelpful comment.

"Sorry. Are your shoes in your room?" Harry asked.

Louis appeared momentarily bewildered before responding, "Yeah, near my door."

With the sole focus of helping Louis, Harry rushed to retrieve his shoes and handed them over to Louis, who instructed him to throw them over instead.

After Harry slipped on his slip-ons, he returned to the kitchen, where Louis had already retrieved a dustpan. "Do you have a broom?" Louis asked him.

Harry nodded in affirmation and quickly retrieved the broom for Louis. Louis appeared contrite as he surveyed the mess, muttering to himself, "Fuck.”

"It's fine," Harry said.

“It’s not. I broke every fucking one,” Louis said.

“Don't worry about it," Harry said, trying to reassure him.

Louis still looked shaken up, and Harry wanted to offer more comfort, but words were all he could offer. Together they worked to clean up the mess. As Harry watched Louis move, he couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed under his shirt as he picked up the broken pieces.

Louis was crouched on the floor, his eyes fixated on the shattered fragments of porcelain scattered before him. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice laced with regret.

"They're just bowls," Harry tried to reassure him, but his words fell flat. He couldn't bear to see Louis so distraught.

Louis looked up at him, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. The light hitting Louis' face made his features appear softer, more delicate.

"You need them," Louis said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We'll buy new ones." Harry desperately needed to dismiss Louis from the weight of his concerns.

"I will buy new ones," Louis insisted, determination etched onto his features. "I bet they were really expensive, weren't they?"

Harry shrugged, "No idea. I didn't choose them."

"I'll work out which ones they are to replace them," Louis said. "And, uh, you can just take the money out of my pay." Harry raised an eyebrow, but Louis was resolute. "It's my fault, so I'll buy them."

"No, you're not," Harry said firmly. He was unwilling to let Louis spend his money on them.

"Fine," Louis said after having taken a pause, "I won't pay for them on one condition."

Harry looked at him quizzically, concerned about what Louis' condition could be given he'd seemed so determined to replace them himself not even a minute ago.

"You have to choose the new ones?" There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

His offer caught Harry off-guard. "What?"

"They have to be your choice. You have to like them," Louis said with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Harry felt a warmth spreading through him, and he fought the urge to smile, unsure how successful he was. Regardless of the fact that Harry really didn't care about them, the fact that Louis wanted him to have something that he liked made him feel... something.

"They're just bowls," Harry repeated, trying to contain the fluttering in his chest. Then he sighed. He knew how much Louis cared about doing the right thing, and if it would satisfy him, Harry could do it.v"Fine, I'll choose them," he said, wanting Louis to stop looking so guilty, even if it meant finding it within himself to care about bowls.

Once they had finished cleaning, Harry felt regret that it hadn't taken longer. He didn't want to leave Louis but had to go. He said goodbye and headed back to his room.

Lying in bed, Harry's mind was filled with thoughts of Louis. He tried to suppress the nagging feeling that he was lying to himself, but it persisted like an ache. Exhausted, he knew that these thoughts would haunt him all night, stealing the rest he so desperately needed.

The question of whether Louis had thought of him lingered in Harry's mind like an unwelcome guest. The room was too still, and Harry was alone with his thoughts, a jumbled mess of uncertainty and longing. The weight of it all was almost too much to bear, and he silently yearned for a way to make sense of it all.

Chapter Text

“Something wrong with your bedroom?” Louis glanced up from his book as Harry spoke to find him leaning against the kitchen counter, eyebrows raised. His words broke Louis’ train of thought, which was admittedly about Harry being in the kitchen, anyway.

"No, why?" Louis said.

Instead of answering, Harry eyebrow’s heightened as if to say that Louis knew precisely why he was asking.

Which he did.

In the past week, Louis had gone from hiding in his bedroom every chance he got to only going in there to sleep.

"Just needed a change of scenery," Louis muttered, looking back down at his book to avoid eye contact, worried his face may betray his thoughts.

Harry remained silent and focused on whatever he was doing in the kitchen, which fueled the tension in the air that had been weighing down on them since last Friday night.

Most of which was entirely Louis’ fault.

No matter how many times the others had attempted to convince him that he wasn’t to blame for the nightmare of the weekend before, he couldn’t find a way to really believe it, despite trying very, very hard to find one.

He was the one who practically begged Harry to go out, and he had a very public meltdown that was so dramatic he required Harry’s help which led to him getting papped.

If he hadn’t done either of those things, the rest wouldn’t have had to happen.

But he wasn’t only feeling guilty about that but also about not feeling guilty enough. He put Harry through hell, and he should only look back on that weekend with regret. And he would have, if it hadn’t led to getting to know Harry a bit more.

Of course, he hadn’t learnt anything else since then, as Harry was insistent on acting like nothing had happened or changed.

Louis glanced up at Harry once more as it was all he seemed to do now. It was another unfortunate change in the last week, adding to the already stifling tension.

Of course, he’d always stolen glances, but the man was undeniably attractive, practically a living, breathing, walking sex symbol, so he didn’t worry about it too much.

But over the past week, all traces of subtlety had left. Whenever Harry was close by, Louis struggled to tear his eyes away.

If that wasn’t bad enough - and it definitely should have been - instead of just checking him out, he found himself focusing on things that he shouldn’t.

In the past, when Harry would hold his lip between his thumb and forefinger, for example, Louis would think about how pretty his lips were. Often he’d have highly unprofessional thoughts about how they’d feel against his own lips… or other places on him. Which, yeah, was fucked up. But it made sense. He was just sharing the detached attraction the rest of the world had for Harry.

What didn’t make sense was that sometimes, his immediate thoughts didn’t go there, or if they did, they didn’t stay there. Instead, they’d want to know why he was doing it; what was he thinking about? What was he feeling? And if it were bad, was there any way that Louis could help?

Even thinking about it while he studied the curves and muscles of Harry’s back through his shirt made Louis’ stomach tense.

He needed to stop spending time in the living area and put more space between them again. He needed to pull his eyes away from Harry, close his book, stand up and go to his room. That was it.

That was all he needed to do, and he could do it.

He was confident he could do it.

He was pretty sure he could.

He could do it if he tried hard.

Really hard.

Instead, he found himself blurting out, “So, what are your plans for tonight?”

Harry looked at him with a disconcerted stare, the same one he gave Louis every time he tried to start a conversation with Harry, probably hoping that one day Louis would take it as a hint and stop bothering him altogether.

Harry must have realised that today wasn’t going to be that day. “The same thing I do every Friday night,” he said finally.

He didn’t add ‘Except for last Friday’, but the words hung so thickly in the air, he may as well have, and Louis winced at them.

To Louis’ surprise, it looked as though Harry was going to say something, opening his mouth slightly, but he closed it just as fast and then, as to really drive home the message that he wasn’t going to talk, he turned away.

Although, he might have just turned away because the microwave dinged.

“Okay,” Louis replied, unsure what else to add or what else he had expected Harry to say. “Well, I might go and see the others.”

It seemed like Harry’s body tensed for a second, but after Louis blinked, it was back to normal, and he must have imagined the whole thing.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever.”

Not long ago, Harry would have likely argued, making some arsehole remark about how Harry might need Louis or how he was simply being paid to be Harry’s assistant, not the others.

However, it seemed that Harry either didn't care anymore or couldn't be bothered to pretend that he needed Louis at all. After all, Louis barely had enough work to keep busy during office hours, let alone find something to do on a Friday night.

“Uh, do you, um, want to come?” Louis found himself asking.

Harry’s nose scrunched slightly. “Come where?”

“I don’t know, to whoever's place I end up going to.”

With his bowl in one hand and water in the other, Harry looked back at Louis. “You don’t know whose place you’re going to?”

Louis shook his head. “I haven’t asked any of them yet.”

Harry pressed his lips together as he studied Louis for a moment. “So you weren’t planning on going?”

“I, uh, what?”

“I just mean, you asked me wha…. It doesn’t matter.”

Louis ran the words through his head, trying to determine how Harry’s sentence was meant to end, but before he could, Harry spoke again.

“I think they’re busy, actually.”

“What? All of them?”

“Yeah.” It was said with an air of finality as Harry took his dinner to the dining table.

Louis got off the lounge and followed him there to save himself the indecency of yelling across the room. Especially given that he doubted Harry would even attempt to answer him if he wasn’t in his face. “What are they doing? How do you know?”

For a moment, Louis forgot his self-imposed rule of not bothering Harry while he was eating. It annoyed him how Harry always prioritised his food over engaging in conversation. But then again, maybe there was some logic to it.

"I overheard them talking about it during band practice," Harry eventually answered.

"Oh." It wasn’t that they should have invited Louis or anything. They had no real need to because they barely knew him. In fact, Louis was glad they were hanging out together. "Did they invite you?"

Harry maintained eye contact, deliberately chewing his food, seemingly intent on getting on Louis's nerves.

"Nah, they're not planning to hang out together. They're just busy. Separately"

"Oh," Louis echoed. Harry’s slight head tilt proved to Louis he’d noticed Louis relax.

"So,” Harry’s started, surveying Louis, “you asked me before even considering asking them?" Harry questioned.

“You were closer.” While true, it wasn’t the entire reason why Louis had asked Harry. He knew it was a futile question. It wasn’t as if he expected Harry to say, ‘I have no plans, so let’s hang out!’

But given he hadn’t even meant to ask in the first place, he couldn’t be blamed for that. Not really, anyway.

Harry hummed, and Louis hated to think it might be because he didn’t believe him either.

“Okay, well…” Having no real way to finish the sentence, Louis backed out of the dining room and walked back to the sofa. He tried not to let himself get too depressed about having nothing to do again. He’d already binged everything he’d ever wanted to on Netflix. Although he wouldn’t have thought it possible, he was reasonably sure he was getting sick of reading, too.

There wasn’t even anyone he could call; Lottie had told him she was staying back at the office after he’d nagged her for the fiftieth time that week to update him on the contract, and he’d already called his mum the day before.

While he doubted the public really knew who he was, he didn’t feel necessarily safe to go out by himself, and asking security to escort him somewhere would be humiliating and an overreaction. He was contemplating going to the gym, which was a testament to exactly how bored he truly was when he felt Harry standing in front of him.

“What were you going to do?” Harry asked.

“Huh?”

“If you went to one of their places, what would you do there?” Harry was looking at him, still with a blank expression.

“I don’t really know,” Louis answered. “Talk to them, maybe play PlayStation.”

Harry was quiet for a little too long, although he almost always was. “I have a PlayStation,” he said. “And an Xbox.”

“Cool.” Louis dragged out the word. “Happy for you.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “I meant that you could use them.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

With a bored-looking shrug, he answered, “As long as you don’t break them or anything.”

Louis was unable to contain his eye-roll. “Do you actually think I would break them?”

“Maybe. You managed to smash all my bowls.”

“Speaking of which,” Louis started sitting up straighter, “have you even looked at the options I sent you?”

Harry stared at him, impassive. Of course, he hadn’t.

“We need bowls, Harry.”

“Then just choose some,” Harry said.

“You have to. That was the rule. And I even sent you options, so it’s not like you have to scour the web looking for them.”

“You going to use my TV or what? If not, I’m going to.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis said. “Just let me go and get changed.”

Harry stared at him.

“Just want to put something more comfortable on,” Louis said. It wasn’t as if anything he wore was partially uncomfortable, but he hadn’t changed out of what he wore to band practice yet. “I mean, I don’t have to if you don’t want.”

“I don’t give a shit what you wear, Tomlinson,” Harry said with the air of indifference that overcame him every time he talked to Louis as if to drive the point home.

“Mm, how could I forget,” Louis muttered. He grabbed his book and walked to his bedroom. It wasn’t a big deal at all. Just because Harry had never invited him upstairs before and every time Louis had been up there, Harry acted like it was a significant inconvenience - excluding when he was drunk -this didn’t mean anything.

Besides, he’d learnt that there was undeniably more to Harry, even if he hated admitting it. That side of Harry would have offered Louis his TV as soon as he moved in. That Harry would have actually wanted to spend time with him. The others didn’t even live with him, and they all seemed happy to spend time with him. They were all happy to play video games with Louis.

Louis found his favourite joggers, if that were even a thing, and a fitted jumper. Just as he was about to leave the room, his laptop caught his eye. He doubted he could convince Harry to choose bowls or artwork, which he still hadn’t decided, but if he could, it would be a lot easier if he already had his laptop with him and didn’t have to run downstairs and grab it, giving Harry time to change his mind.

He picked it up and grabbed a clean pair of socks before heading upstairs. Harry was standing next to the lounge with a remote and a controller in his hand. He didn’t even look at Louis as Louis walked in and sat on Harry’s plush sofa.

Once the tv was set up on the PlayStation home screen, he handed the controller to Louis and then started to walk to his room.

“Wait,” Louis said. “You’re not going to play with me?”

Harry looked him over. “No,” was all he offered.

Of course, he wasn’t. Fucking Louis’ head had gotten away from him. As if Harry would want to spend the night with Louis. He was so stupid for even considering it. He did his best not to seem disappointed, although he doubted he succeeded.

With a single nod, he said, “Well, thank you for letting me use it, anyway.”

Harry lifted a shoulder and then lowered it before walking into his room.

Louis went through all of Harry’s games and was impressed by the selection. While he usually stuck to FIFA, playing it alone seemed a bit depressing, especially since he’d imagined playing it with Harry a minute ago instead. Instead, he searched for campaign games and landed on ‘The Last of Us’.

At least an hour had passed before Harry’s bedroom door opened again. When there was no further movement, Louis paused the game and looked at Harry standing in the doorway.

“Al’ight?” Louis asked.

“Fine,” Harry said but still didn’t move.

“Um, do you want the TV back?” Figuring it was the only explanation for him acting like that.

He shook his head lightly. “It’s fine. You’re still using it.”

Louis glanced between the paused screen and Harry. “I mean, we can play something else. Or watch something together.” Louis held back the eye-roll at his own expense, promising to do it later.

Harry didn’t answer straight away… because he never did.

Knowing he was on the verge of saying no, Louis decided he might as well make a bigger fool of himself. “Please? I’m lonely.” He said it in a whiney tone, trying to make it sound less embarrassing and less serious than it was, but he wasn’t convinced it worked at all.

Still, Harry didn’t look too concerned, he just huffed and walked to the armchair. Louis found himself briefly wishing there were no armchairs and just a lounge. That they had to share. As far as Louis knew, Harry rarely had people over anyway, so he doubted there was any real need for the extra chair.

“Do you want to play something or watch something?” Louis asked, looking at Harry.

“Don’t care,” Harry muttered, staring at the screen. Louis wasn’t sure how much less lonely it was going to be with Harry here if he was going to spend the entire time ignoring him. But it would have to be better than nothing. Surely.

Louis grabbed the remote and reached over the armrest to hand it to Harry. Harry stared at it, confused.

“I don’t know how to use it.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Even though it was likely highly user-friendly, Louis didn’t exactly know how to use it. And if pretending he couldn’t work it out meant that Harry would have to have some input in choosing something to watch, so be it.

Harry’s annoyed expression seemed to prove that he also knew that Louis had an ulterior motive. Hopefully, he just didn’t know what it was.

“Anything you don’t want to watch?” Harry asked as he rolled through the menu.

“Just not Netflix.”

Harry paused and looked over at Louis. “Is that for some weird political reason?”

A laugh bubbled out of Louis’ lips and seemed to surprise Harry as much as it surprised himself. “No. Just watched it all since I moved here.”

Harry pursed his lips and then looked back at the screen. “You could have asked for my passwords for other streaming services.”

With a shrug, Louis did his best not to be enamoured by the words but failed pretty miserably. The worst part was he knew they weren’t even anything special. It was an offer most people would offer a stranger. It should have been expected that Harry would have provided them when he moved in, not that Louis had that expectation, of course.

But really, it was nothing. It’s just it felt like something.

Or maybe Louis just wanted it to feel like something.

Harry seemed to scroll mindlessly, occasionally stopping on a show or movie, and Louis felt that maybe he looked in Louis’ direction, but every time Louis looked back, he wasn’t looking at him at all.

“Were you planning on choosing anything anytime soon, or is this your idea of entertainment?” Louis asked, trying to cut up the building tension again.

“Talking a big game for someone who is lonely,” Harry said.

Given how long he’d teased Harry for telling him he didn’t want him to quit, he couldn't even be mad. He’d tell Harry he changed his mind but wouldn’t because he knew that he would actually get up and leave. So he just said nothing.

“Do you want a show or a movie?”

“Show.” The word spewed from his mouth, mostly because he’d already thought about it. If they watched a movie, that would be a one-night thing. He’d have no excuse to try and end up back in Harry’s space again.

But if it were a show, he’d have a lot of reasons to come up here. Harry started clicking through Amazon Prime, and Louis leaned forward, paying close attention to every show that came up. “Mad Men,” he said too loudly as it came onto the screen.

Harry paused, and Louis looked over and found him looking at him this time.

“What?” Louis asked. “Don’t you like it?”

“Dunno, I’ve never seen it. You were just very enthusiastic about it. Is it your favourite show or something?”

“No, I’ve never watched it either.”

“O-kay.”

“Just, um, always wanted to,” Louis mumbled.

Louis had never had the inclination to watch Mad Men in his life. In fact, he barely knew what it was about. However, what he did know was that it had a lot of seasons. As long as it was bearable, it seemed like a good choice.

Harry pressed play, and Louis curled into himself on the sofa as he watched.

Louis woke up to his phone ringing, and seeing Lottie’s number caused an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He’d woken up the last Saturday in the exact same way, and it had been a terrible start to a terrible weekend. But given that he and Harry hadn’t gone anywhere, he doubted it could be that bad.

“Hey,” he said as he picked up the phone. He pushed himself up and grabbed his drink bottle, hoping the water could soothe his dry throat.

“Tell me you didn’t just wake up. Lou, it’s eleven.”

“Lotts, it’s Saturday. Is everything okay?”

She let out an unimpressed sigh before answering, “Yeah, I’m just returning all your missed calls and texts, or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, fuck,” he said. The final remnants of sleep leave him entirely. “Thank you! Okay, tell me. What did you find? Have you read it all? Can they do anything?”

“I still haven’t read through it all,” she told him warily, “As I told you, there is so much to get through.”

“That’s fine! I understand; just tell me what you can.”

“And, as I’ve told you, this isn’t my area of speciality.”

“Yes, yes. Just tell me whatever you can.” His heart was pounding in his chest, overwhelmed by the fact he was going to get some answers.

“Firstly, their contracts are definitely padded out to make them harder to read. There are a lot of redundancies, so many clauses are listed repeatedly, written in different ways for no reason at all-”

“Can they get out of it for that?”

“As I was going to say,” she didn’t bother keeping her irritation at his interruption out of her tone, “That's not the only reason they’re long, though. They really have covered every detail that they could. At first, I thought maybe it was just how they were all written, but I was able to get a look at some other well-known bands and artists' contracts and th-”

“How were you able to do that?”

“It doesn’t matter, but I read through them, and they were nowhere near as detailed as the band's ones.”

“But, what do you mean? What does that mean?”

“Well, you know how you said that you couldn’t understand why the band lets management control them so much?”

“Yeah.”

“Their contract has given management power to do that. They’ve signed away as much as they legally can.”

No.

“What do you mean?”

“For example, a lot of contracts include a clause about public image, but the other ones I’ve read essentially state that specific behaviour can lead to a termination of the partnership, and then the artist has control, or at least partial control of everything else. In the contract Zayn sent me, they’ve handed over all of it.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Okay, hang on a minute, and I’ll give you an example.” Louis listened to the noises of Lottie moving around and then heard ruffling papers. “You still there, Lou?”

“Yep.”

“Right. I have a contract in my hand for a UK solo artist, I can’t tell you who it is, and I can’t read you the specifics, but they’re as popular, if not more popular than Nicotine Redo, and they are more commercial than them as well, so if anything you’d expect their stipulations to be more strict, right?”

Louis wished she’d get to the point. “Yeah, guess so.”

“This contract has half a page relating to public image, and it’s clearly been thoroughly negotiated. It lists a code of conduct that the artist is expected to follow regarding public behaviour, specifically in Public Relations - so interviews, social media, and brand collaborations. As I said, it lists things that will lead to the contract being cancelled: drug use, breaking the law, and particular items around controversial topics, as in they can’t say derogatory things about minorities. However, anything that isn’t mentioned is freely up to them. So while they have a small list of things they can’t post on their own social media accounts, they still control them and can post whatever they want, however they want. Even with Brand collaborations, once they are in the collab, the artist still has the right to negotiate with who they collab with. Does that make sense?”

“I think so.”

“The boys' contract isn’t like that at all. Firstly, in the contract I have, instead of half a page, it goes on for one hundred pages. Instead of having a Code of Conduct they’re expected to follow, they’ve just signed all control over to management.” Lottie must have sensed that Louis would interject because she sped up. “So, you know the other artist, for example, they have a list of things they can’t post on Social media? The boys don’t have a list like that… because they don’t have any control over their social media. Anything they want to post has to go through management for approval before they post it.”

“So what else does management have control of?” He choked out, quite sure he didn’t want an answer. He’d expected it to be bad, but not as bad as it seemingly was.

“Everything, Lou,” Louis heard more papers being rifled through. “From a public image point of view, they’ve signed control over to management. They’ve signed over all authority for their image and branding, publicity and media relations, all content and artistic direction, reputation management, endorsement and sponsorships, social media and online presence, creative collaborations, performance and touring, personal appearance and grooming, public statements and interviews, styling and wardrobe, branding and merchandising, media relations, public events, and red carpet appearances - do you want me to keep going? Because I can.”

“No,” Louis felt sick to his stomach. “I think I get it.”

“And Lou,” Lottie said quietly, and Louis felt a whole more uneasy, “you know how I said the others just led to the termination of their contract? Well, that does include monetary compensation to management, but the amount is clearly written out and explained. The boys’ contracts don’t have that. If they go against the contract, they will be taken to court, and realistically, management could take them for everything they have.”

Louis was quiet for a long time. “So it’s hopeless? They’re just stuck like this forever?”

“Not forever. They have two more albums to release until they fulfil their contract.”

It should have been a relief, a way out. But from what Louis could tell, they had no chance of even releasing one more, let alone two. “And there’s no other way?”

“Again, this is not my speciality, and I really recommend you hire a lawyer whose speciality this is, but there might be.”

“What? Really? How?”

“I need more information about the contract to be sure. Do you think there is any chance Zayn will talk to me?”

“Yes, I think so! When? Do you want to do it in person?”

“I think in person might be best. Can we do it next weekend? That’ll give me more time to read through everything.”

“That should be fine. Thank you so much, Lottie!”

“I’m not making any promises. In the meantime, I really need to know if the boys had their own Lawyer look over the contract, so if you could check with Zayn and get back to me, that would be helpful.”

“I’ll ask him this morning.”

“And remember what I said, keep acting the way you have been. Do not let management know that anything is happening. Don’t ask them any questions, don’t make any comments that contain information you shouldn’t know.”

“Of course, of course,” Louis rushed. “Thank you so much, Lottie. You’re the best!”

Louis' head was so filled with talking to Zayn that when he walked into the kitchen and saw Harry sitting at the island bench, he had to do a double-take to check it was him. Of course, that was stupid; it was Harry’s house, after all, who else would it be?

“Morning,” Louis said.

Harry grunted in reply.

Louis went through the cupboards and fridge, and pulled out a mug and cereal and milk. He placed them all on the island bench and, in front of Harry, made his cereal, making his actions as dramatic as possible.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Eating cereal,” Louis said.

“Out of a mug?”

“Well, Harry, as much as I’d like to use a bowl, you might remember that we don’t have any, and you still haven’t chosen new ones."

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just pick some.”

“Fine,” Louis said, and Harry looked surprised. “But then I’m paying for them.”

“You’re so irritating,” Harry said finally. “Fine, I’ll choose some.”

“Yeah?” Louis didn’t even wait for an answer, running straight to his room to grab his laptop. He grabbed the stool next to Harry’s at the counter and moved it closer as he positioned the laptop between them.

“Okay,” he said as he went to his bookmarked tabs and opened all the ones with bowls. “So, these are the ones I sent you, but we can look at more ones if you hate all of these.”

Harry sat stiffly next to him as Louis flicked through the tabs, reaching over Harry to do so. He sat back in his seat, nudging the mouse towards Harry as he cut out all body contact, but Harry continued to stare at the screen, still stiff.

After thirty seconds went by, and Harry still hadn’t moved, looking about as interested as he had been when Louis was showing him the artwork, Louis sighed. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, “I’ll just keep eating cereal out of cups.”

Harry gave his head a little shake, “No, sorry. I’ll look.”

Louis got off the bench, deciding that maybe Harry had been hesitant because he hadn't wanted him looking over his shoulder. It seemed to work because he immediately started looking through them. Louis did his best not to feel too hurt by it.

“You really hate white, don’t you?” Harry asked without looking up.

Louis grimaced. “Don’t you think this place has enough white stuff?”

“But none of these will match the plates or anything else.”

Louis hummed. “I suppose you could just replace all of them.”

“So instead of just finding bowls to match everything else, you want me to replace plates, mugs, and saucers to match the bowls... that haven’t even been bought yet?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted everything to match,” Louis said.

“Are there any that are just… one colour?” Harry asked.

“Well, no,” Louis answered. All his suggestions were ombre at best, jungle themed at worse. “But if you wanted that, you could do it, I guess.”

“It’s fine.” After a few more minutes, Harry said, “These ones will do.”

Louis walked back to the laptop, half expecting there to be nothing on the screen or plain white bowls that Harry had found somehow.

Louis stared at the screen, thinking he must be imagining things. “Wait, really?” He asked Harry. “These ones?”

“Yeah. Why?” Harry looked to the screen and then back to Louis. “What does that face mean?”

“… Nothing.”

“Tell me, or we’re getting white ones.”

“It’s just, I didn’t think you’d go for those ones, I guess.” Louis looked at the handmade ceramic bowls with a blue and green layered glaze. “You get they’re handmade, right? They’re all going to be a bit different.”

“I do know how to read, yes.” Harry’s brows furrowed. “No, really, what’s wrong?”

Louis pursed his lips while he stared at the Etsy page. “I mean, you’ve gone from designer, mass-produced, boring, plain white generic bowls to coloured, hand-made ones.”

“Well, it’s not like you gave me the choice of getting white ones. Besides, I’m pretty sure they were ivory.” Harry studied Louis. “Do you hate these ones or something?”

“No, I love them. I’m just surprised.” Louis moved forward and clicked on the page, ignoring the way his chest brushed lightly against Harry’s back. “And definitely these four? Do you just want four?”

Louis scrolled down Etsy’s store page, and if the cursor happened to linger on matching plates, it was purely an accident.

“You’re not subtle,” Harry grumbled. “The existing plates are fine.”

“For now, they are, but I could change that,” Louis muttered under his breath. He scrolled back up and clicked on the photo of the shop owner. “But look, this is the little old lady who makes them. She looks so sweet. Imagine how happy she’d be if she got a big order.”

“Given it’s 30 quid per bowl, and she’s had over one hundred sales this month, I don’t think she needs it.”

“Well, that’s only… three thousand pounds.” Fuck, by making bowls. Louis was in the wrong industry.

“If all the sales were a single bowl, yeah. But look,” Harry pointed to the screen, “that one is ninety pounds.”

“Yeah, but it has gold on it,” Louis said, dismissing his point. “Oh, look how cute this is! I think you need to get it.”

“‘Herb stripper’” Harry read. “What the fuck is a herb stripper?”

“Dunno, but it’ll match your bowls,” Louis said, putting it in the cart. “And look at the berry bowl!”

“I can just put berries in a normal bowl,” Harry said.

“But this one has little holes,” Louis added it to the cart, too. “Probably to let the water out after you wash them or something.”

“You don’t even know why it has holes, and you’re making me buy it?”

“What did we decide on the plates?” Louis asked, hovering over them again.

“Fine, whatever. We should help out this little old lady who probably makes more money a month than you do.”

Louis frowned as he put them into the cart as well. “Well, maybe that’s a sign you should pay me more.”

“For what exactly?” Harry asked, still watching the screen as Louis scrolled. “Just add it,” Harry sighed as Louis paused over some cups.

“For becoming your personal shopper,” Louis said.

“We do not need an olive oil pourer. We don’t even cook." Harry ignored Louis' sigh. "I’ve had personal shoppers, and you’re terrible at it.”

Louis hummed, “If I had an olive oil pourer, I might cook.” He decided to leave it, though. “How am I terrible at it? Chip and dip bowl? I eat chips.”

“If I say no, are you going to listen?” Harry asked as Louis added it to the cart. “Firstly,” Harry continued, “you’re only shopping because you broke something. Secondly, you still made me choose. Thirdly, you're not meant to add random things.”

“You love the bowls, and they match the bowls. Therefore, you need them. Okay, I think we’re done,” Louis said, cutting him off and straightening up. “Unless you need anything else.”

“I don’t need most of this shit.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Louis walked to the front door and got his wallet. He took out the expenses credit card and handed it to Harry.

“None of my other personal shoppers made me check out, either,” Harry huffed as he put his card details in.

“Mm, is a personal shopper to blame for all this?” Louis motioned to the entire downstairs area.

Harry didn’t answer.

“That's what I thought. I definitely should get a bonus or something.”

“I just spent a small fortune on a herb stripper when you don’t even know what it is. I don’t think you need a bonus.”

Louis shrugged and watched as Harry finished the order. “Is now a good time to talk about the artwork?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said as he went to push himself off the bench.

Without thinking, Louis placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and kept him in place.“But, Harry, it’ll only take a second.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Harry said as he shuffled out of Louis’ grip but stayed seated. “You better make this quick.”

Chapter Text

“You don’t like them.” Louis’ tone was flatter than he intended, but accurately reflecting his mood. He’d spent the last five minutes standing over Harry’s shoulder flicking through the artworks because Harry apparently couldn't grab the mouse to do it himself. Instead, he just sat there unmoving. Louis stepped away from him, giving up.

“I didn’t say that.”

Louis failed to see how his not saying those words mattered, given he hadn’t said anything at all. He seemed even less interested in the artwork than he did with the bowls.

Taking a step to the side, Louis could see Harry’s profile better. It took Louis a moment to appreciate just how beautiful Harry’s face was and another moment to force himself to stop doing it. Harry stared blankly at the screen, still not bothering to choose one. He didn’t even have to choose one. Louis would be more than happy for Harry to let him know he hated all of them. At least that way, Louis would know he cared.

But Harry didn’t care. Louis had spent hours and hours coming up with the initial shortlist, trying to choose ones that he thought Harry would like, which was a task in itself, given that Harry hadn’t given him any direction. Then, after Harry seemed bored looking at all those, Louis spent even longer choosing three. Just three.

After all that, Harry still couldn’t be bothered to choose one, tell Louis he hated them, or even look at them.

A wave of anger crashed over Louis, and he slammed his laptop screen down, shutting it completely. It hardly seemed to bother Harry at all. He just looked up at Louis and blinked a few times.

Not wanting to spend a second longer with Harry and remembering why he’d left his room in the first place, Louis stated, “I’m going to Zayn’s.” He strode to the door and left without waiting for a reply. He probably could have stood in the doorway all day and still not gotten a response, though, so it was hardly surprising.

The distance between Harry and Zayn’s apartments was small, yet Louis considered turning around and going back to Harry to apologise at least five times during his walk between them. And every time, he rationalised that it was unnecessary.

Yes, Louis had been unprofessional and maybe a bit rude, but he’d been a lot more unprofessional and ruder in the past, and they’d easily moved on from those times. Although ‘moved on’ probably wasn’t the correct term. They’d just … pretended they never happened.

In reality, he mostly felt embarrassed for getting upset about such a trivial thing. Especially given that Harry had just chosen and ordered an entirely new dining set at Louis’ request.

If he hadn’t been so eager to talk to Zayn, he would have done something ridiculous, like run back to Harry.

Even after he’d knocked on Zayn’s door, he considered going back. He really needed to get his shit together. Harry was a grown man. He could cope with Louis getting a little pissed off with him.

“Lou,” Zayn said in place of a greeting, not looking surprised to see him. He pulled the door wide open, and Louis walked through it.

“Hey.” Louis leaned against the counter, waiting for Zayn to make the offer he always did.

A corner of Zayn’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “Would you like a smoke, Louis?”

“Maybe I’m just here to visit you.” It would likely be more believable if his eyes weren’t glued to the packet on the kitchen bench.

“Mm, maybe,” Zayn said as he picked up the box of cigarettes. “Would you like to visit me on my balcony while we smoke?”

“I suppose we could do that.”

Zayn had already passed him, so Louis followed him through the large glass door. He wished he had worn something a bit more appropriate for the chilly weather, not that he ever seemed to have the foresight to do that. Maybe he could keep a jumper at Zayn’s, so he wouldn’t have to keep freezing his arse off every time he visited.

In the meantime, he’d just have to rely on the smoke that Zayn had placed in his fingers to provide enough warmth.

After they settled into their seats, Zayn spoke. “You just here for the smoke or something else.”

The question was a little unnerving because Zayn didn’t usually question his motivations for visiting; Louis must have the worst poker face. “Kinda something else.” Louis took a drag before continuing. “I, uh, talked to my sister today.”

In his periphery, he saw Zayn move, so he looked over to find Zayn sitting up, staring at him.

As eager as Louis was to scream that Lottie could get them out, he also didn’t want to set Zayn’s expectations too high, as he knew Lottie would be pissed if he did. “She wants to know if you can meet up next weekend.”

With a tilt of his head, Zayn asked, “What?”

“She has some questions,” Louis explained. He took a deep breath to try and keep his voice steady as he pushed out the following words. “But she thinks, and she’s not entirely sure, but she said there might be a way out of it.”

They stared at each other until Zayn sat back in his seat and placed the smoke between his lips, sucking in. Louis sat back and did the same. He hated the silence but knew that Zayn should be the one to break it.

After a few minutes, he did. “What does she want to know?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not really sure.” Part of him thought he should have asked Lottie more questions, but he doubted she would have told him, and even if she had, he probably wouldn’t remember it all anyway. “She did want me to ask you if you had lawyers look over the contracts first, though.”

They were still both staring straight ahead at the city below them. “Yeah, of course we did.”

Louis’ heart immediately sank at the words. Lottie hadn’t told him the exact reason she needed to know or what she hoped the answer would be, but he had to assume that it would have worked better in their favour if they hadn’t used one. “Oh, okay.” His voice gave away his disappointment.

“It would be illegal if they didn’t, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t really know.” He had to assume so, though. He hoped she wasn’t relying on that too much. “She just asked me to find out.”

The mood had well and truly dampened. After shuffling in his seat, Zayn said exactly what he’d been thinking. “Hopefully, she’s got more than that.”

Committed to doing his best to remain upbeat, Louis shot Zayn a smile even though Zayn had noticed the second it had dropped. “I don’t think it was because she said she’s going to spend the week going through them more. She just wanted me to ask that first.” The cheerfulness had started draining out of him by the third word; by the end, he sounded just as defeated as he felt. “Guess I should tell her.”

Louis pulled out his phone and opened his messages until he got to Lottie’s name. Given how few people were in his inbox, it hadn't taken long.

He sent it, but it started buzzing before he got it back into his pocket. A photo of Lottie’s face was flashing on his screen.

“’ Ello,” he said after he answered it.

“Yeah, hi,” she said, rushing through her words. “Are you still with Zayn? Can I talk to him?”

If it hadn’t sounded so urgent, he would have asked questions. Instead, he held out his phone to Zayn. “She wants to talk to you.”

Zayn just stared down at the phone until Louis started to shake it slightly, urging him to take it. When he did, he stared at it for a few seconds before putting it next to his ear.

“Hello, this is Zayn.”

Louis watched as Zayn’s brow furrowed at something his sister had said and realised he could have just put her on loud-speaker.

“They did,” Zayn said. After a brief pause, he added, “No, they were the same ones.”

Louis sat forward as Zayn got out of his chair and walked to the balcony rail. “Yeah, because they said it made sense since they were familiar with the contract.” There was a long pause. “I mean, it was ages ago, but I don’t remember them suggesting it.”

Fighting the desire to get up and rip the phone out of Zayn’s hand and demanding Lottie tell him exactly what she was saying, Louis sat back a little. Zayn turned away from the railing, and his eyes found Louis’, but he couldn’t read the expression.

“They would have had to because they have control of it all,” Zayn said, and Louis watched as a frown grew on his face as he continued to listen to Lottie. “Well… we have spending accounts, but it all goes through them. As far as I know, they’ve never questioned any of us. They’ve never questioned me.”

“Hm… I don’t really know. They said it was simpler this way. We do have an accountant, though.” Zayn nodded his head despite Lottie not being able to see him. “Yeah, Joe. Anything over ten grand has to go through him. But again, he’s never said no.” Zayn nodded again. “Okay, I’ll see you then. Bye, Lottie.”

Zayn walked back over to their seats and handed the phone back to Louis.

“Well?” Louis sounded more demanding than he’d hoped to. He took his phone off Zayn before sliding it back into his pocket. “What happened?”

Zayn pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He nudged the box towards Louis, but Louis waved them away, way too focused on getting answers.

Zayn finally spoke. “She said she needed to know if we hired independent Lawyers, not whether we used any.”

“Okay…” Louis said impatiently. “And?”

“We didn’t. They suggested we used theirs, so we did.” Zayn’s face remained impassive and it added to Louis’ building frustration.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Bad.” Zayn shook his head after he said it. “No, I mean, bad of them. Apparently,” a ghost of a smile reached Zayn’s lips, “it’s good for us. She said that they shouldn’t have let us use them, and they definitely shouldn’t have suggested them.”

Louis’ chest wall was in pain due to the rapid beating of his heart. “What else? What else did you talk about? You said something about money?”

“Yeah, she wanted to know if we paid them, and I said that management would have and then….”

Louis wanted to tell Zayn he didn’t have time for him not to finish his sentences. Instead, he asked, “What? Then what?”

“She said it wasn’t normal for them to control all our money.” Zayn gave his head a slight shake. “Anyway, I’m going to see her next weekend.”

“So, this is good, right? It sounds good, doesn’t it?” Hope had started growing inside of him, but he needed Zayn's confirmation before he let it take over.

“I, um. Yeah… It sounds like it.”

Louis was sure that Zayn's grin looked pathetic compared to Louis’ grin. Strangers might not even realise that he was smiling at all. But he was, and it was the happiest Zayn had looked since Louis had met him.

As soon as Louis got home, he went straight to his room, not wanting to risk seeing Harry. The risk would have been low, though; it wasn’t as if Harry spent time downstairs anyway. He only really came down for meals.

Louis went back and forth on what his plan should be. Part of him thought the most straightforward option would be to apologise. However, he wasn’t sure he needed to. If Harry hadn’t been upset with him, apologising would make everything even more awkward.

But if Harry was upset with him, then he really should. In the end, he decided he’d make a judgement call when he next saw Harry.

He just hadn’t expected to see Harry quite so soon. Louis hadn’t even meant to be in the kitchen when Harry had come down. Louis had just been trying to make up a cup of tea, and he’d only just put the kettle on as Harry walked down, meaning Louis was stuck there until the water was boiled.

He wasn’t surprised that Harry didn’t acknowledge his presence as he opened the fridge and pulled out a dinner, despite being less than an arm's width apart. Louis couldn’t be offended, given he hadn’t acknowledged Harry either.

When they were busy with something, or Louis’ mind was elsewhere, it was okay to be close to Harry. He still felt every rare brush of skin they had, every time their fingers met when he passed something to Harry, he still noticed how Harry smelt, but it didn’t overwhelm him. He was just aware of those things.

But as they stood so close together, the sounds of food prep being the only thing to interrupt the tense silence, Louis was consumed by Harry. He’d showered recently, smelling more of mint than vanilla. His hair was in a bun that left cute little strands curled at the bottom of his neck. He was in joggers and a black jumper that fit him a little too well.

Louis knew that Harry must feel his eyes on him, but he still didn’t look at Louis. Didn’t tell him to fuck off and stop being a fucking weirdo like he probably should have.

He flinched at the sound of the hiss of the kettle, letting him know the water was boiled. Because he was a glutton for punishment, verging on full-out sadism, Louis drew out the tea-making process as long as he could because as frustrating as Harry was, Louis still was drawn to him.

“Um,” Louis started, deciding since he’d already made it weird and awkward, he might as well add to it. “I was thinking of watching more Mad Men. You, uh, said you could give me your log-in info?” Louis had not been thinking about watching Mad Men, at least not alone. But it was the first topic that came to him, so he’d run with it.

Harry looked up from his plate and studied Louis, lips pursed. Their first encounter had been weeks ago, and Louis had been subjected to long stares since then, but they still unsettled him.

“Don’t remember my password,” Harry said.

“Oh, okay. That’s… that’s fine.” Fuck. Louis shouldn’t have asked for it. There was a reason that he hadn’t in the first place. It was rude. He’d only done it because Harry said he should have asked sooner. Louis picked up his cup of tea from the counter and pressed both hands against it. “Okay, well, I’m going to… go and watch something or do something.”

Louis had made it to the hallway entrance when Harry’s unbothered, deep voice caught up with him. “Just use my TV.”

For a moment, Louis was frozen midstep. He ignored his annoyance at his body for choosing to act that way to Harry’s voice and forced himself to turn around slowly and with some level of control. “You sure? You don’t need to use it?”

Harry shrugged before picking up his plate. “I was going to watch Mad Men, but I can catch up later.”

Louis followed Harry to the dining room but didn’t speak until Harry had sat at the table. “What? Why wouldn’t you just watch it with - when I do?”

“Figured you were going to start now, and I’m,” he paused, looked at his food, and then back at Louis, “eating dinner.”

“I can wait until you’re ready.”

“Eh, whatever suits you.” Harry put a forkful of food into his mouth, and Louis knew that trying to talk to him after that would annoy him more than anything.

“I’ll wait.” Louis knew they weren’t friends, but the fact that Harry would rather hang out in his room and then watch Mad Men after Louis did so that he wouldn’t be in the same room still hurt a bit.

Although it didn’t seem like Harry enjoyed spending time with anyone, so Louis tried not to take it too personally.

They watched three more episodes of Mad Men, and if anything, Louis liked it even less. Not only did Harry not start any conversations, he barely responded to Louis when he tried—just the occasional grunt or hum.

Louis gave up trying after the first episode but couldn’t stop stealing glances at Harry.

“Can we move on?” Zayn asked. They’d just finished the third run-through of the cover they’d been working on. “I’m over this one.”

“That song was your choice.” Naill pulled his guitar off his shoulder, placed it down gently and picked up his water bottle.

“You don’t know that,” Liam called from the drum kit. “It’s anonymous, remember. Lou, can you do the honours?”

Louis shuffled and pulled out his phone. He was sitting on an armchair that used to be at the back of the warehouse but, at Niall’s insistence, was now only two or so meters away from the stage. Apparently, he needed to be close in case they needed him.

When he pointed out they didn’t need him, Niall had created a job for him.

They’d slowly gone from making time to play one cover a practice to only playing a quarter of their own set list each practice and spending the rest of the time on covers.

Or just messing around, which was Louis’ favourite thing to see.

They’d gotten very efficient at getting through covers and weren’t great at coming up with them on the spot, so Niall found an app they could put suggestions into and choose them randomly.

Then, Niall insisted that opening the app and pressing a button that made it choose a song title was a critical job that none of the others could do, and they wouldn’t have time for Louis to walk closer to the stage to do it.

Therefore, they did need him, and he needed to sit close enough to the stage that he could be involved in all conversations.

Louis made the app choose a song. He let out a laugh when he saw the title.

“Fucking hell,” Zayn groaned. “What is it?”

“Call Me Maybe, by Carly Rea Japson.”

Liam, Harry, and Zayn all glared at Niall.

“What?” He asked as he pulled his guitar on. “Why are you all looking at me?”

“Because this was you,” Harry said, and excluding when he had to answer the other’s questions about the music, it was the first time Harry had spoken during that session.

“You don’t know that. Didn’t you hear Liam say that it’s anonymous?”

“I’m not singing it,” Harry said.

Niall pouted. “You have to. That was the rule. And that we can’t judge people's music taste.”

“You didn’t put it in there because it was your music taste,” Harry argued as he crossed his arms around his chest and glared at Niall. “You put it in there to be annoying.” Louis wasn’t able to glare at Niall, though. He was too busy staring at Harry’s t-shirt and how it stretched over his chest and biceps.

“Actually, Harry, I think it’s a lyrical masterpiece, and the composition is beautiful.”

Niall had always had some level of playful banter with Harry. Although, with wasn’t the right word. ‘At’ was more suitable. Niall would banter at Harry. Lately, he seemed to be testing the boundaries a little more and teasing a little harder. While Harry hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, he didn’t seem to have a problem with it either.

“I’m not singing it.”

“What do you think, Louis?” Niall asked as he turned and looked at Louis. “The rules say that he has to sing it, don’t they?”

“Um,” Louis looked from Niall to Harry, who wasn’t looking at him at all, “I don’t think we had any formal rules….”

“Yes, we did. We are meant to be accepting and supportive of everyone’s music taste. If Harry chooses not to sing it, he isn’t being accepting, right?”

Maybe Louis had a problem with Niall’s teasing, though. “I… don’t know. I, maybe?”

“See, Harry. Louis says you have to sing it, and he is the boss.”

“The fuck?” Harry said, finally glancing at Louis and then back to Niall. “Louis isn’t the boss.”

“Yeah, he is.” Niall looked at Louis. “Aren’t you, Lou?”

Before Louis could answer, Harry cut in. “I pay him. We pay him. He isn’t the boss.”

There was something in Harry’s tone that immediately caught Louis’ attention. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he knew it wasn’t right.

“Mm, we also pay management, and they’re our bos-”

“I think there should be a new rule!” Louis cut in as soon as he saw Harry's expression darken. “People can veto songs if they really don’t want to play them. No one’s going to be forced to do something they don’t want to do.”

Niall shuffled a little, and Louis had a feeling he’d noticed the shift too.

“What’s stopping people from vetoing every song except the ones they’ve added?” Zayn asked.

It was a valid point. He didn’t necessarily think they would do that, but it made sense to have a buffer. “Well… maybe only one veto a day.”

“But what if Niall puts in one hundred songs, and we use our vetoes early?” Harry asked, his posture relaxed slightly.

“Why do you think it’s going to be me?” Niall asked. Louis wasn’t sure if it was just because he’d spent so much time with all of them that he could so easily tell when Niall slipped from a genuinely playful attitude to his fake one. He liked to think that maybe it was because Niall was genuinely happier often. Regardless, the one thing he was sure of was that Harry’s reaction had caused Niall to revert to his fake persona.

Another thing that he couldn’t be sure about was whether Harry’s head flung up at Niall because of the fake voice he’d put on or if it was just a coincidence. As much as he’d started to learn the others' mannerisms and read them a bit more easily, he felt like he’d barely improved at all with Harry, which was extra depressing given he spent almost all his time with Harry, or at least in the same building.

With a slight frown, Harry sighed. “Fine, I’ll sing it.”

Louis had to assume he looked just as stunned as the other three.

“C’mon then,” Harry's voice was impatient as he pulled out his phone, “Stop wasting time and start learning it. Let’s get this over with.”

Louis was reasonably sure that there had never been a more dull and less enthusiastic vocal rendition of Call Me Maybe, ever. Niall was definitely enthusiastic, and while Liam and Zayn did not look like they were having fun playing the instruments, they did seem entertained by Niall’s stage presence. Besides some eye-rolls sent in Niall’s direction, Harry didn’t ignore all of them.

But still, he sang it, and Louis decided that had to count for something.

Maybe.

Maybe it counted for something.

Or maybe it was just that Louis was sitting in another stupid meeting with management, trying to think of anything positive in the world to get him through it. Lottie had told him to keep quiet, so he had been, despite how much he wanted to tear into each and every one of the Execs sitting at the table in front of him.

Long term, though, his silence would be worth it. He’d make sure of it. For now, besides focusing on keeping his mouth shut and occasionally thinking about anything that would settle him every time any of them said anything problematic - which was every time they spoke - he was taking as many detailed notes as he could for Lottie. She hadn’t asked him to, and it was possible they wouldn’t help at all. But he needed to do something to make himself feel useful.

It wasn’t until Grant, who worked at the record label, spoke up that Louis had any interest in what was being said. “Is now a good time to discuss the album?”

“Of course, Grant.” Mison did not look like he thought it was a good time at all. “What would you like to discuss?”

Grant sighed. “You know what I want to discuss. It’s been four years since their last album, and my understanding is they haven’t even started on the next one.”

Louis had no idea why the boys even had to attend the meetings, given they were ignored almost the entire time. Liam, who Louis was pretty sure was doing more for the band than anyone else at the table, was sitting directly across from Grant… but Grant still addressed the question to Mison.

Harry, who Louis was sitting behind, had spent most of the meeting with his head down, presumably looking at his hands or the papers that were placed in front of him or looking straight ahead. Now though, he turned to the left, looking away from everyone, with just a blank wall in his line of vision.

Louis wanted to scream.

“As you’re aware, sometimes the creative process takes a little longer than other times,” Mison answered.

“I am aware of that. Myself and the label are also aware that four years is a long time, and it doesn’t seem as though the creative process has even begun.” Grant glanced at Harry, but Harry’s face was still turned away. “We think that it’s time to consider contacting other songwriters."

Harry's head shot back in the direction of the execs. Louis thought he was about to speak up, but Mison did instead.

“You are well aware that Harry writes his own songs, and they have no interest in using other people's songs and music.”

To say Louis was confused was an understatement. He’d been sure that Mison only saw the band as money-making machines, so the fact that he was advocating for Harry, even though it would surely mean they’d miss out on money, didn’t seem to make sense at all.

“Then he could collaborate with them. He has collaborated with songwriters before.”

“Yes, he has. However, that is a late stage in his process, once he has a clear vision for the songs.” Mison said it so calmly that it was almost patronising. As much as Louis detested both men, he enjoyed seeing them treat each other with disdain.

Grant scoffed. “If we’re waiting until Harry has a ‘clear vision’, I think we will be waiting a long time.”

“Fuck off.” It came out before Louis could stop it, but somehow he had enough self-control to say it softly.

“Did you say something, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mison asked with a fake smile.

“Mr. Tomlinson? What did I do to deserve that title?” Louis didn’t wait for an answer. “And no, I didn’t say anything. I just coughed.” Lottie better be so fucking proud of him.

None of them looked convinced but carried on anyway. Louis took his frustration out on his keyboard and tried to write every word of the conversation to give to Lottie and make it make sense.

It took all Louis had in him not to start pacing, even more not to run upstairs and ask Harry if they could watch TV together as they had for the last six nights. Because, while Harry had ended up watching it with him every night, it was always a reluctant agreeance, and he didn't seem like he enjoyed it at all.

Louis hadn't planned on asking the previous night, either. However, since Harry's trainer no longer worked on Wednesdays, Louis had to accompany him to the gym. After enduring an agonising hour of watching Harry exercise, Louis wondered if they could revisit Mad Men later that evening.

Louis couldn't help but feel pathetic. Here he was, practically pleading with Harry, his boss, to join him in watching a show. Not just any show, but one that Louis hated, all just to be in Harry's presence. Even though he did manage to get Harry to agree, he mainly remained silent throughout, hardly acknowledging Louis' presence, so it didn’t seem worth it at all.

Harry always chose to sit in the armchair rather than on the sofa with Louis, so Louis didn’t even get to be physically close to Harry. No, he just wasted three to four hours each night, subjecting himself to a lousy show, all while feeling like an unwanted presence in Harry's company.

So, despite being weak yesterday, he wasn’t going tonight. He would entertain himself and let Harry have a break from him. He was probably desperate for his TV back so he could watch whatever he wanted. Which was perhaps Mad Men, just without Louis there.

As he heard the dull sound of footsteps coming from the staircase, Louis picked up his book and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. Given ‘try’ and nonchalant were dialectical antitheses, he was doubtful he was successful.

Harry didn’t speak to Louis or acknowledge his presence as he walked past. Pathetic. Louis was pathetic.

He was so desperate to spend time with someone who wanted nothing to do with him. He should get up and hide in his room. He should ask one of the others to bolt the door shut from the outside so that if he were overcome with the urge to run up and beg Harry to notice him, he wouldn’t be able to.

Still, he didn’t get up and leave. Because he was pathetic. But he could hold out on talking to Harry. He’d be capable of that. If Harry could ignore him so easily, he’d be able to ignore Harry too.

Easily.

He stared at his book, not even attempting to read it but doing his best to look like he was. That way, if they slipped into an alternative universe where Harry looked at Louis, he might believe he was doing something other than listening to every move he made.

At least a minute had passed since the timer on the microwave went off, and Harry opened the door, but Harry hadn’t walked to the dining table yet. It took all of Louis’ strength not to turn around and look at Harry.

Then he heard Harry’s footsteps and felt a little calmer, the urge to find out why there was silence gone.

The brief moment of peace only lasted a few seconds until he realised the footsteps were coming closer to him. Before looking up, he held out to the very last second that his willpower would allow.

Harry was there. Sitting on the sofa opposite Louis. With his dinner on the coffee table. Eating his dinner. There. At the coffee table. Opposite Louis.

Somehow, having him there made it easier for Louis to keep his mouth shut. It also confused him. Harry never ate on the sofa, always opting for the dining table instead. Although, maybe before Louis, he used to eat at the coffee table and only moved to the dining table once Louis started working to put some space between them or something.

Louis didn’t really mind if that was the case because, regardless, Harry was sitting there now.

It felt like it took Harry an agonisingly long time to finish eating, and by the time he finally stood, Louis let out a quiet sigh of relief, letting out the tension that had built up inside him. It returned, however, when Harry didn’t leave the kitchen to go back upstairs.

When Louis couldn’t stand it any longer, he glanced at the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he had expected Harry to be doing, but leaning against a bench top and staring at his fingers wasn’t it. Louis looked away, not wanting Harry to catch him.

Like a complete creep, Louis visibly jumps when Harry starts talking.

“I was going to watch Mad Men,” he said.

Louis waited for him to add more before realising that it was the end. “Oh, okay.”

Harry hummed with a slight crease between his brows. “And I’m not going to rewatch episodes later, so if you want to keep up, you’d have to come now.”

Oh. “Are you inviting me to watch TV with you?”

“No. I’m just telling you that I am going to, and I’m not going to re-watch the episodes.”

Louis wanted to tease. Normally he would. But the invitation - well, he was fairly sure that’s what it was - felt too fragile for that, and Louis didn’t want to lose it. “Yeah, okay. I’d hate to miss episodes. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with it.” Louis had no fucking idea what the plot was at all, anyway. If Harry skipped forward three seasons, he doubted he’d notice.

“Okay.” Harry pushed off the bench and walked across the room. “I’m putting it on now, by the way.”

There were a lot of things Louis needed to do before he went upstairs, like eat, shower, and put a jumper on because it was getting chilly. But he just couldn’t. He left his book on the sofa, jumped up, and followed Harry upstairs.

Harry went straight to the armchair, and Louis felt like an idiot for being disappointed. He took his usual spot on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked with a bored voice.

Louis’ hands stilled, stopping from rubbing his arms to try and get them warmer. “Nothing.”

“Then stop moving.”

“I’m just a bit cold,” Louis admitted without even knowing why. “I’ll be right back.”

“No.” Harry was standing before Louis had even gotten up. “You’ll take too long.”

Louis went to argue, but Harry had already disappeared into his bedroom. It took a few minutes for him to come back; it probably would have been quicker for Louis to go downstairs. Finally, he emerged with his arms full.

Louis trained his way into a neutral expression. “Uhm, what's all… this?”

Harry dropped everything in his arms on Louis before he silently went to his armchair and un-paused the show while Louis sorted through what Harry had given him.

Socks.

A hoodie.

A blanket.

It felt like a lot. It was a lot. Maybe.

No, it was. From Harry, it was. He doubted Harry would have done any of that with any of his other PAs. At the very, very least, it had to mean that Harry didn’t hate him. At the most, it meant that Harry actually saw him as a friend or something in the vicinity of a friend, and honestly, Louis never thought they’d get there.

It wasn’t cold enough to need everything Harry had given him, but he couldn’t resist. He pulled on the socks and jumper and covered himself with the blanket. He had no idea what blanket it was. It definitely wasn’t one from his bed, as he’d gotten way too familiar with them when he had to wake him up every morning. It smelt clean, and it was soft and fluffy.

Would Harry realise if he stole it?

“Louis.” The voice was coming from far away, threatening to pull him out of his sleep which he did not want to happen.

“Lou.” The voice came again. It was Harry’s voice; Louis was sure of it. Still, he fought waking up.

“Louis!” Harry’s impatient tone would have woken anyone up.

“Ah, shit,” Louis murmured, wiping his mouth in case he’d accidentally drooled on Harry’s sofa while he’d slept. “Sorry.”

He looked up to see Harry standing over him. After maintaining eye contact for entirely too long, Harry looked away. “T’s fine. You should go and get some proper sleep, though."

Nodding, Louis pushed himself up, the blanket that Harry had given him sliding off. It reminded him that he was still wearing Harry’s jumper and socks as well. If he had realised, it was likely that Harry had as well.

But as he started to tug the jumper off, he felt a hand on his arm, but almost before he had processed it being there, it was removed as if it had been burnt.

“Just keep it on,” Harry murmured. “Night.” He retreated to his bedroom without looking back, leaving Louis alone on the sofa, wearing Harry’s socks and jumper that he’d been told to keep on.

Chapter Text

Harry hesitated in the underground garage, slowed down, allowing some distance to grow between him and Louis as they made their way to the apartment.

Though deep down, he knew it was futile. He wanted to carve out a bit of space, a semblance of independence, but it did not change the fact that they were always in each other's company. A minute of separation in the garage paled in comparison to the countless hours they’d been spending in each other’s presence.

Harry's hope that Louis would have already retreated to his room was shattered the moment he reached the landing. Louis was staring at a box sitting outside their door. His gaze met Harry's as he approached.

His eyes, which Harry had noticed seemed to range anywhere from the colour of seafoam to a velvet sapphire, depending on the light and perhaps his mood, currently steel blue, shone as he said, "They're here! The bowls, I mean. This is them! That was so quick, wasn’t it? I thought it would take ages, considering they were shipped from overseas."

Joy, genuine joy, seemed to be radiating off Louis, and a hint of warmth spread through Harry's veins, and for a second, he felt the ever-present numbness thaw.

Given the small fortune he’d spent on the express shipping option, Harry was not as surprised as Louis. Watching Louis' reaction confirmed that the cost was worth it.

Louis picked up the sizeable box, and a flicker of worry that he might drop it ran through Harry. His brows furrowed as the box wobbled, but Louis righted it. Harry’s fear shifted to something else, however, when his gaze began to trace the lines of Louis’ body like it had become accustomed to doing. A kind of pull, his eyes were constantly, desperately drinking in all of Louis, despite Harry's internal cries to look away.

He watched as Louis manoeuvred the box towards the kitchen, fixated on the muscles of his back under his shirt, the defined contours of his biceps, and the curve of his waist; a quiet longing ignited within him.

Louis placed the box on the kitchen counter, and Harry trained his features into the casual disinterest that was slowly requiring more effort to achieve.

His expression seemed to do little to dampen Louis’ eagerness, which he was glad about. While softly bouncing on the balls of his feet, Louis looked at Harry with wide eyes. “Can we open them now?”

Harry’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as he warded off all feelings of endearment. "Do whatever you want.”

“What?” Creases knitted into Louis' forehead. “You have to help, though.”

After his stare lingered on Louis longer than he should have allowed, he asked, “Why?” His voice did nothing to hide his confusion.

Louis left out a weary breath, causing a twinge of remorse to flood throughout Harry like it so often did, as he imagined how frustrating he must be to live with. “You need to decide where it should all go.”

“I don’t care where they go, though. Just put them where the old ones were.”

"But what about the berry bowl? We've never had one before. Where should I put it?" Louis’ expression was smug, and Harry managed to bite back his retort of there being a reason they’d never had a berry bowl before. The reason mainly was that Harry and, from his summation, Louis had no idea they even existed.

“I don’t know. Just put it with the other bowls.” From the photo he’d briefly glanced at when they were making the order, the bowl was smaller than the regular ones. It wouldn't be difficult to find a place for it.

Lips forming a pout that alone tugged at Harry’s defences, Harry had no hope of resistance when Louis added, “Please stay?”

With a forced-out huff, Harry slowly slumped onto a stool at the counter in front of Louis. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Louis said in a melodic tone and a bright smile. Harry had an inkling that Louis had known he'd win over Harry.

Harry locked his eyes on Louis as he reached into the drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors. He spread the scissors open effortlessly, deftly holding the handle and one blade. Harry felt a compulsion to stop him, to make sure Louis didn’t injure himself, but Louis used the other side to slice through the tape with ease.

Relieved, Harry watched as Louis started unpacking the box. Each item was meticulously wrapped, hopefully preventing any breakages.

Louis set a small box before Harry, and in that fleeting moment, Harry's eyes remained fixated on the gracefulness of Louis' fingers. As Louis withdrew his hand, Harry's gaze turned to the box, staring at it blankly.

"Open it," Louis urged as he placed more items on the counter.

Harry complied and carefully undid the packaging. It had been so diligently wrapped that it took a few minutes to remove it altogether. "Ah, the indispensable herb stripper." Harry turned it around in his hands, distantly aware of the light tone of his voice. "Can't imagine how we managed to survive without one until now."

Louis struggled to contain his grin, and Harry wished he wouldn’t try. "You're welcome."

"Are you going to demonstrate how it works?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

After setting down another carefully wrapped bowl, Louis looked at the herb stripper and took it out of Harry’s hand. Their fingers grazed each other in a fleeting touch. Harry instinctively flexed and unflexed his fingers, seeking to revive the brief sensation. . . or perhaps to numb it altogether. His conflicting desires were slowly driving him mad.

"You're not even listening, are you?" A faint huff escaped Louis' lips.

Harry lifted his gaze and watched as Louis’ put the herb stripper down, presumably after attempting to come up with an explanation of how it works. Or perhaps he had the proper answer; he may have googled it, that was something Louis would do. Harry wouldn’t know, though, because he had been too consumed by the ghost of Louis’ touch. He needed to get ahold of himself.

Louis finished emptying the large box and placed it by the front door. Harry's eyes followed him, the elegance and fluidity of Louis' movements and the subtle sway of his hips. When he returned to the counter, he nudged some of the still-wrapped dishes towards Harry for him to unwrap, and Harry obliged.

After a few moments of quiet unwrapping, Louis said his name slowly. Harry looked at him he noticed what had caught Louis' attention, and his heart quickened its rhythm, heavy beats pounding within his chest. “She must’ve put the olive oil bottle in by mistake.” Louis was studying the bottle standing before him, the style of dipped ceramic in the same blue and green hues as the rest of the pieces. That particular shade of blue may have happened to mirror the blue of Louis’ eyes in moments of calm when they weren’t influenced by his mood or altered due to the light source. The green that intertwined with the blue of the dishes was suspiciously similar to the tiny pools of green that sometimes swam to the surface of Louis’ eyes as well. “Should we tell her?”

Harry grappled to find an answer, but his brain seemed to have abandoned him. The problem was that they couldn’t contact the seller to alert her to the mistake. . . because it wasn't a mistake. Before checking out, while Louis was busy finding the credit card, Harry added it to the cart. A sinking feeling washed over him as he remembered another item he had included –

“Harry! She put in a vase, too.”

Harry hummed under his breath, the sound a nervous reflex. He should have been better prepared for this. He should have anticipated Louis’ reaction and had answers ready. His eyes scanned the counter, searching for an invoice or note from the seller that would give him away.

"We should tell her, right?" Louis said.

Harry took a moment to regain enough composure to offer a decent answer. "No. Was probably just a thank you gift for spending a fuck-ton of money at her store.” When doubt lingered in Louis’ expression, Harry added, "They match everything else."

"Maybe…" Louis said as he placed the vase next to the oil bottle and examined them both. "Well, we should message her to say thanks. And leave a nice review.”

How hadn’t Harry prepared for this? Of course Louis wouldn't ’t be able to accept anything as a happy accident. Of course he would have insisted on doing the right thing. "Wouldn’t mention the extras in a review,” Harry said, aiming to make the comment sound off-handed but unsure if he succeeded. “Might make others think they’ll get free stuff too, and will get pissed off at her if they don't.”

"I suppose," Louis replied, his mouth down-turned into a frown. "I'll message her, though."

Resigned that arguing anymore would be pointless, Harry simply nodded. He would message her first and explain the situation. Hopefully, she’d understand and not tell Louis about Harry's impulsive purchases.

Louis hadn’t stated whether he liked the vase and oil bottle, and the desire to ask gnawed at him, but he resisted. Instead, he went back to unwrapping, hopeful that one day Louis might comment on them. He’d finished all the plates and diverted his attention to the cups.

Once all the items were unwrapped and neatly arranged on the counter, Louis opened every cupboard door. Harry was surprised at how much unused storage space there was.

"Alright," Louis turned back to Harry with a serious expression, "Where should we put the bowls?"

Harry tore his gaze away from Louis and looked at the bowls again. "Just back where they were?"

With a subtle shift, Louis asked, "You think so?"

"Well, why not?"

"I just don't understand why they're on the farthest shelf from the fridge, microwave, and oven when we use them the most compared to everything else.”

Harry had never thought about why whoever had organised it initially had done it the way they had, and Louis' opinion made a lot of sense. "Yeah, fine. Put them in the closest one."

Louis nodded, and Harry watched as he arranged and sorted everything in their newly designated homes. Harry’s gaze trailed over Louis’ form, hungrily taking him all in.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had experienced a genuine surge of arousal. If he had to put a timeframe on it, he would guess it to be years. It wasn't that he was incapable of being aroused, but it often remained confined to fleeting admiration. He satisfied his physical needs on his own, with his hands, and, occasionally, with someone else, if he could muster the energy to navigate the complexities of getting them to sign endless NDA agreements. Yet, it never went beyond that—a fulfilment of physical needs and perhaps a brief moment of hormone-induced connection.

And so, as Harry's eyes traced the path from Louis' biceps to his hands, scrutinising the well-defined muscles and pulsating veins, an image flashed before him—an intense vision of Louis' strong hands grasping his hips, pulling him closer. It took a moment for Harry to process the thought and his reaction to it, to acknowledge the rising heat pooling in his lower abdomen.

Louis' voice pierced through the mayhem that had erupted within Harry's mind and body. "I was thinking we could still keep the other plates and stuff because you only have four. It makes sense to have them on that shelf. What do you think?"

“Yeah, fine,” he managed to rasp. “Can I go now?”

Without turning to face him, Louis nodded.

Harry propelled himself off the stool, a heaviness settling on him. He sought refuge in his room as a mix of embarrassment, self-loathing, and shame built within him.

On Saturday morning, Louis’ visible nervousness sent ripples of unease throughout Harry. When Harry went down again to make lunch, Louis was fidgeting on the sofa, his gaze flicking between Harry and the ground. Harry considered asking Louis what was going on but held back, the sense of impending doom too much for him to bare.

Instead, he’d wait until Louis broached it or, hopefully, move on from whatever it was. That resolution did nothing to hinder Harry's urge to soothe Louis, though.

As Harry sat at the dining table on Saturday afternoon, eating his lunch, he felt a shift in the atmosphere. His eye’s flickered upwards to see Louis approaching him. His expression kept shifting from determined to resigned and back again and Harry’s insides twisted, knowing that whatever had been bothering Louis was about to be brought out and doubting that he’d want to hear it.

"So, uh, this is kind of weird, but um... I'm going to see my sister today," Louis began.

Harry's brow furrowed, unsure of what was causing Louis' apparent caution. "Okay?"

"The thing is…” Louis continued, his voice tinged with apprehension, “Well, Zayn's coming."

Observing Louis closely, Harry's anticipation grew as his mind braced for a follow-up comment that would explain. Questions flooded his thoughts. Why would Zayn, one of Louis’ other bosses, be meeting Louis' sister?

While Harry spent the most time with Louis, Louis frequently visited Zayn and returned with the scent of cigarettes clinging to him. On more than one occasion, it had occurred to Harry that Louis viewed Zayn as a friend and Harry, well, he likely viewed Harry as a burden. Louis chose to spend time with Zayn, in contrast to being legally and monetarily obligated to be in Harry’s presence. Louis’ sister wants to meet Zayn because Zayn was her brother's friend, not her brother's pathetic boss slash responsibility.

“When?”

Louis fiddled with the zipper of his jacket before providing an answer. “This afternoon. In an hour or so.”

"Right," Harry responded at last, ensuring his tone guarded and carefully composed to mask the actual depth of his emotions.

“So it’s okay?” Louis glanced at him, his eyes widening momentarily, a hint of surprise in his gaze.

“Bit fucking late to ask if it’s okay now, isn’t it?” he sighed, frustration tainting his words. Annoyed at his own outburst, he added, “I’m not going to stop you from seeing your family or spending time with whoever you want.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Harry's scepticism lingered, uncertain of what else Louis could mean. His eyebrows arched questioningly before he walked past Louis, carrying his plate towards the kitchen. Louis trailed behind yet remained silent, the tension seeming to follow them both. After placing the plate in the dishwasher, Harry made for the stairs, ignoring the unresolved conversation behind him, as silence below as his feet carried him away.

Knowing that Louis wouldn’t enter it, Harry went to his bedroom, seeking respite from him. He sank onto the softness of his bed and let his gaze rest upwards on the ceiling above. With determination, he pushed aside the nagging thoughts that attempted to intrude into his mind, the lingering question of why Louis had wanted Zayn to meet his family, not Harry.

He also did his best not to think about his own family.

Hour passed, and dinner time was rapidly approaching before Louis walked back through their front door. A surge of questions swirled within Harry's mind, yet he held them back.

He had often wondered about Louis' family, having heard snippets of information. Louis had mentioned his sister in conversation before, so he knew she existed. He had also made references to his mum, suggesting her involvement as well. These fragments of knowledge stirred Harry's intrigue about his family and upbringing, but he also locked up all of those questions.

Harry hadn’t delved into Louis’ personal life because of the unspoken agreement of needing to maintain a professional relationship. However, it appeared that Zayn, who was also, technically, Louis’ boss, disregarded those boundaries and that left Harry with a sense of unease at the blurred lines of his apparent friendship with Louis.

Although he wasn’t quite hungry, a magnetic pull towards Louis seemed to override any notion of professional boundaries. As he made his way to the lower floor, he acknowledged the irony of it. He was in no position to chastise anyone about personal boundaries or blurred lines. He’d been blurring lines since the very first day.

As Harry reached the landing of the lower floor, Louis paused in the middle of the room and stared at him. A surge of discomfort flickered within Harry, urging him to look away and divert his attention elsewhere. With a determined effort, he avoided any potential interaction and headed straight for the refrigerator.

The sound of Louis' voice finally broke the silence, reaching Harry's ears from behind. “Saw my sister.”

With his back turned to Louis, Harry was unable to gauge whether he had closed the distance or remained frozen in the middle of the room. The tension in the air was the reason Harry was able to maintain his silence, mechanically placed his dinner in the microwave. Each movement took effort, as he fought to preserve a semblance of composure at Louis' words.

“Lottie,” Louis said. “That’s the sister we saw.”

We. He and Zayn.

Harry's gaze remained fixed on his dinner as it spun within the microwave. It served as a fleeting distraction from the thoughts and emotions that churned within his mind.

“I’ve got five sisters. And a brother. Do you have any siblings?”

Harry wondered if this was the real reason for his hesitation to ask Louis about his family, knowing to expect reciprocation.

"Older sister," Harry grunted in response, contemplating adding extra time to the microwave, secretly hoping for a few more moments before facing Louis again.

“Oh, cool. What’s her name?”

Harry was trapped in a perpetual state of longing and contradiction, torn between the need to be close to Louis, to unravel and expose all of who he was to him, and the desperate desire to be so fucking far away from him.

“Gemma.” The familiar ache settled within his chest, the one that was always there whenever he spoke about her.

“Does she live around here?”

Harry shrugged as if the conversation had no significance to him. “Don’t know.”

“Oh,” Louis said.

As the microwave beeped, alerting him that the food was ready, Harry knew he couldn't loiter there any longer. Resolutely, he removed his heated meal, gathered the necessary cutlery, and made his way to the dining table.

Harry kept his gaze fixed on his dinner, an intentional act to avoid unnecessary eye contact with Louis. Yet, even without looking up, he could sense Louis lingering nearby, a palpable presence that flooded the air. It was as if Harry had developed a sixth sense, attuned only to Louis' existence. Or perhaps it was the absence of footsteps, the silence that spoke volumes, indicating that Louis hadn't yet left the room.

Halfway through his meal, there was another shift, and he knew Louis was approaching him the way he always did whenever Harry tried to eat. Why on earth was he so insistent on having conversations while Harry had mouthfuls of food? Harry figured he would never be able to comprehend. With a conscious effort, Harry willed himself to relax, forcing away the likely visible tension that had been gripping his body.

“When did you last talk to Gemma?”

Harry huffed out a breath. “I don’t know. Like five years ago. Maybe six.”

“Why? Is she a terrible person?”

“How do you know she didn’t stop talking to me?”

Louis didn’t answer straight away. “Did she?”

Harry shrugged. She hadn’t. Not really. Which just made it worse somehow.

“What about your parents? Do they still speak to her?”

The impulse to yell at Louis to stop asking questions and mind his own business ran through Harry. But he fought it. Adding another item to the ever-growing list of contentious issues between them was the last thing either of them needed. So, he didn't last out and instead said, “Don’t speak to them either.” Before Louis could question it, Harry got up from the table. “Done talking about it.”

"’ Kay," Louis murmured, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. Harry could sense that Louis was still trailing behind him, his presence lingering like an unspoken invitation. "Lottie wants to meet you. Next time she's here, I mean."

Harry turned and met Louis' gaze, which was guarded, somehow. Harry's mind raced, searching for the right words, but he couldn't trust himself to speak.

“You don’t have to. She’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why does she want to meet me?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged. “Not sure, really.” Although it didn't seem entirely truthful, Harry didn't question it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah, okay. Just tell me when she’s here.”

The sudden pounding on the door echoed through the house, reaching Harry's ears even from upstairs. Harry hurriedly descended the stairs to find Louis standing by the open door. Niall stood before them, a look of distress etched across his face, his words a hushed murmur shared with Louis.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, aware of his slight tremble as he attempted to quiet the thought swirling in his mind.

Niall's gaze shifted from Louis to Harry. “Liam. He’s sick.” Niall's words hung in the air, carrying a sense of urgency and concern.

The intensity in Niall's eyes betrayed a more profound concern, something beyond a simple illness. Louis' hand reached for the key on the counter, his eyes locked with Harry’s in silent understanding. They stepped out the door without a second thought, following Niall's lead.

Liam's door stood ajar, so he went in without hesitation. They followed the sounds of the agonised groans emanating from the lounge. As Harry laid eyes on Liam, the source of Niall's distress became obvious.

Liam's complexion appeared unnaturally pale, his skin almost translucent, contrasting sharply with the glistening sheen of sweat that coated his body. An involuntary tremor shook through his body.

“The fuck?” Louis said, his voice laced with urgency as he rushed to Liam's side. “Are you okay? Of course you’re not okay. When did this happen?” Without waiting for a response, his gaze darted between Niall and Harry. “Do you have a doctor or someone you can call?”

Niall nodded and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

"No," Liam croaked, his voice barely audible. "Don't call them."

Louis' concern deepened, evident in the firm press of his hand against Liam's forehead.

“Jus’ the flu or somethin’”, Liam forced out, his words strained and weak. The mere act of talking seemed to exhaust him, leading him to close his eyes.

Louis turned to Harry, a question evident in his gaze, as if silently seeking his support.

“Li,” Harry began, stepping closer to Liam while maintaining a careful distance from Louis, “You look like shit. I think we should get you checked out.”

Liam shook his head slowly, wincing in pain as he did so. "They'll tell management," he rasped, his voice strained and weak.

"So?" Harry answered, frustration seeping into his tone. When Liam didn't respond, Harry reached for his wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his fingertips. "Who cares if management knows?”

“Me. Don’t call anyone. Promise.”

This time, Harry turned his gaze to Louis, finding the same concern mirrored in his eyes. He knew that he did not want to go against Liam's wishes, especially with how considerate Liam had always been towards his own requests. Yet, the worry gnawed at him.

“Maybe if someone stays with him…” Louis offered. “And then if he gets worse, we call someone.”

Harry felt torn between his inclination to call a doctor, knowing Louis and Niall likely shared the same preference, and his respect for Liam's wish to avoid medical assistance. He gave Liam's wrist a gentle shake. "What do you think, Li?"

Liam let out a weary sigh, his voice barely audible. "Whatever," he muttered weakly. "Just no doctors."

“I’ll stay,” Louis said, voice firm as if challenging the others to deny him. “It’ll be a way to earn my wage.”

Harry could acknowledge the unfairness of his reactions, oscillating between reminding Louis that he had a job and feeling irritated whenever Louis emphasised the same point. Yet, despite the awareness, Louis’ words still annoyed him. “We’ll do shifts.”

“I’ll do the first one,” Louis insisted.

Not seeing the point in arguing, Harry simply agreed.

After giving it a couple of hours, Harry remained unconvinced that Louis would readily agree to swap places with him. Anticipating resistance, he devised a plan and decided to bring both their dinners to Liam's room. Over a meal, Louis may be more open to the idea of Harry taking over the caretaking duties.

Harry knocked on Liam's door, and to his concern, Louis opened it a minute later, appearing dishevelled and worn out.

Louis wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, mustering a feeble greeting before retreating into the room.

Harry carefully set their dinners on the table, his concern growing. "How is he?" he asked, trailing behind Louis as they entered the downstairs bathroom.

"He's been vomiting for the last half hour," Louis replied.

Inside the bathroom, the sight that greeted them was grim. Liam, hunched over the toilet bowl, appeared even worse than when they had left him. The bathroom floor was marred with remnants of vomit.

“I really think we need to call someone,” Louis whispered, his tone laced with concern. However, Liam managed to hear.

“Don’t call anyone.” He was barely about to get the words out. “Feeling better.”

Louis scoffed before Harry had the chance to.

In a determined attempt to make his point, Liam lifted himself into a seated position, using the toilet seat for support. "I am, I promise. Just need a shower," he said, despite his unsteady state.

“You need more than a shower, mate,” Harry said.

“Please don’t call anyone.”

Harry could understand Liam's reluctance to involve management and the potential repercussions that might follow. However, Liam was sick. Harry couldn't fathom how enduring this situation without seeking medical attention could be preferable to facing the possible issues later.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Louis said. “You have a shower, and we’ll try to rehydrate you. If you can keep it down and your stomach settles, then we won't tell anyone, but if you can’t, we’re calling someone.”

Liam didn't appear entirely pleased with the compromise, but he reluctantly nodded in agreement.

“I’ll help him shower.” Harry looked up at Louis. “Why don’t you go to the pharmacy and get some electrolyte drinks and see if you can get anything to stop vomiting? If we get them delivered, security will search the bags and assume someone is sick.” It shouldn't have mattered, but it felt like the right course of action considering Liam's concerns.

“I’ll have to call a driver,” Louis said, patting down his pockets.

“Just take one of my cars. You know where the keys are.”

Louis remained still, his gaze fixed on Harry.

“What?” Harry asked.

“You’re letting me take one of your cars?”

Harry shrugged. “Just don’t get into any accidents. And be quick.”

Harry carefully settled Liam into the spare room on the bottom floor, ensuring that whoever stayed with him wouldn't need to navigate the stairs throughout the night. It also meant that if Liam vomited during the night, he’d be ruining a spare bed, not his own.

As he exited the room, Harry noticed Louis returning.

Louis placed an assortment of bags on Liam's counter, prompting Harry to comment, "Did you buy out the entire pharmacy?"

Louis let out a sigh. "Kind of. I just wasn't sure what to get."

They proceeded to sort through the items, and Louis must have cleared the pharmacy out of every electrolyte drink they sold.

Louis picked up a couple of them and made his way into Liam's room and took the opportunity to finally heat their dinners.

"He seems... better," Louis remarked as he emerged from the spare room. "I mean, better than he has for the last few hours."

"Why didn't you call?" Harry questioned, placing Louis' dinner in front of him.

“When?”

“Before I got here.”

"Why would I call?" Louis responded, his gaze shifting from his bowl to Harry.

Feeling uncomfortable sitting at Liam's dining table, Harry ate standing up. "Because he is really fucking sick."

He sensed Louis' glare but avoided meeting it. “I was taking care of it. Do you not think I’m able to do that?”

Sometimes Harry wondered if it was ever worth opening his mouth, as he seemed to either say something offensive or something Louis deemed offensive. "Not what I meant."

“What did you mean then?”

Harry sighed, the weight of the situation dampening his appetite. He set his fork down, no longer feeling hungry. As he mustered the courage to explain, he made the mistake of meeting Louis' gaze, causing his words to catch in his throat. The intensity of Louis' glare deepened, and Harry focused on finishing his dinner in silence.

"I'll take over," Harry offered, breaking the silence.

"So you don't think I'm capable?"

"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered, aware that his words were audible. "I'm just trying to be helpful."

A heavy silence enveloped the room, and Harry knew it must have been difficult for Louis to remain quiet for that long.

"I'm staying," Louis finally said. "If you want to stay as well, you can, but I'm not leaving."

“Fine.” Harry rinsed his bowl. When he noticed Louis had finished eating, he reached out to take his empty bowl.

Louis handed it to him but said, “I should really wash up.”

“Why?”

“Because I get paid to do fuck all. What am I being paid to do?”

Harry dried the bowls and put them away, contemplating Louis' question. “Babysit.”

“You don’t need a babysitter,” Louis replied, voice flat. “If anyone needs a babysitter, it’s me.”

Confusion crossed Harry's face as he wiped down Liam's counter. “What?”

“I’m the one who caused all tha-”

“Stop. Let it go.” A thought descended upon Harry, unannounced, crashing on him with the weight of a thousand stones. “Do you hate it? This?” His voice carried a vulnerable tone, unintentionally revealing his inner turmoil. He quickly cleared his throat, hoping Louis would attribute his voice's wavering to something else.

“Hate what? The job?”

Harry nodded, eyes glued to the wall behind Louis.

“No, of course not!” Louis' words spilt out hastily, a sense of genuine conviction evident in his voice. “How could I hate it? There is nothing to hate at all.”

Doubt flickered with Harry. Louis had every reason to hate the job, given the entire job was being forced to be around Harry. However, he chose not to push the matter, not wanting to present Louis with another opportunity to tell him that he despised the job. “Do you want to watch tv?”

“Oh, um, okay.”

Avoiding direct eye contact with Louis, Harry made his way to Liam's make-shift living room. In Harry’s apartment, the area went unused. It didn't take long for him to notice the solitary sofa, its presence immediately apparent. The realisation struck Louis simultaneously, evident from the shared glance they exchanged. Harry had a fleeting thought of bringing a dining chair over but decided that would only add to the tension.

“You know, I don’t like, I don’t know, bite or anything.” Louis' gaze remained fixed upon him, his cheeks flushed.

“What?” Harry asked.

“We can share a sofa. I mean, we’ve shared a bed.”

Louis' word hung suspended between them; that night had remained unaddressed until now. Uncertain of how to respond, Harry briefly considered mentioning that the circumstances hadn't been entirely within his control, but he recognised the potential offence it could cause. Instead, he swallowed his words.

Besides, he had a hazy memory of pleading with Louis to sleep with him, so he was in no position to comment like that.

Without a word, he settled onto the sofa, nestling himself into the corner, allowing as much space between them as possible.

Louis would often sprawl across the lounge, claiming the entire space for himself or curling into a comfortable position. But this time, he occupied the opposite corner of the sofa, his posture rigid and uncomfortable. A pang of helplessness tugged at Harry's heart as he observed Louis.

Louis handed Harry the remote, a somewhat unnecessary gesture since Harry was just as clueless about operating Liam's TV. Nevertheless, Harry accepted it.

“He doesn’t have Stan. He told me earlier.” Louis said. “So we won’t be able to watch Mad Men.”

Harry's weariness with the ongoing episodes dissipated at the news, replaced by relief. He opened the Netflix app. Turning towards Louis, he asked, "What do you want to watch?"

“Dunno.”

Harry's finger glided slowly over the titles on the screen, his eyes scanning for any sign of interest from Louis. Time seemed to stretch as he wondered if Louis would ever intervene, and then, at last, he did. Louis' voice broke the silence, his choice clear. "‘10 Things I Hate About You?’"

Without hesitation, Harry clicked on it.

“It’s based on Taming Of The Shrew,” Louis said.

A wry smile threatened the corner of Harry's lips as he responded, “I know. And I didn’t have to go to Uni to learn that.”

“Have you read it?” Louis asked as he leaned in slightly.

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, ages ago.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m lying.” Faced with Louis' unwavering gaze, he relented. “Yes, I’ve read it.”

“What did you think?”

“Eh, it was fine, I guess.”

Louis let out a soft hum in response. "Oh, I finished 'The Waves'"

Harry's curiosity surged within him, and he had been aching to ask about Louis' thoughts on the book. Yet, he hesitated, unsure of whether it was appropriate to interrupt their movie-watching moment. The idea of pausing the film to inquire tugged at him, but he resisted, not wanting to impose any pressure on Louis. "Oh... did you? What did you think?" he finally asked.

A teasing smile tugged at Louis' lips. "Last time I tried to tell you, when you were drunk, you told me to tell you how it made me feel." His tone playful.

Harry groaned. “Mm. Well, that doesn’t sound like me, so I think you should forget about that. What did you think?”

“I loved it. I’ve already re-read it.”

“What? Really?”

Louis beamed, a nod of confirmation escaping his lips. His gaze shifted back to the television screen, leaving Harry with a cascade of unquenched curiosity. He was acutely aware that he could ask Louis. He knew that if he did, if he told Louis he wanted to talk about it, Louis would insist that he turn the movie off to do so and answer every question that plagued Harry’s mind. But… he couldn’t do it.

He could only hope Louis would bring it up again.

However, Harry’s thoughts remained on it until Louis’ voice cut into them. “Did your school have a prom?”

Harry looked at him. “Why would it have a prom? We live in the UK.”

“Dunno, I’ve got a mate whose school had a School-leavers Prom,” Louis said. “We didn’t. We called it a Ball. Was a bit shit, though.”

They had been on the verge of discussing ‘The Waves’ but were now wasting time on proms.

“What was yours like?” Louis asked.

“My what?”

“School leavers thing?”

“Dunno, didn’t go.”

“Oh.” Louis turned towards Harry once again, his eyes piercing his. “Why not? Just not your thing?”

Harry shrugged. “We got signed before graduation and had to move to the city, so I wasn’t there.” His voice was appropriately detached, but it still took him by surprise.

Louis’ forehead creased. “You couldn’t go back for the night?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Didn’t really seem worth it, though.”

“I guess. As long as you went back for graduation.” Harry didn’t respond, creating a void in their conversation. Louis’ expression deepened. “You didn’t go to graduation?”

“We’d just been signed; that was more important. Didn’t need a piece of paper.” He tried to soothe the defensiveness growing inside of him.

“Well, no,” Louis said slowly, “But you still deserved it to be acknowledged. Did you do anything to celebrate?”

“Bit too busy making music.”

Louis held his gaze, his frown deepening as he seemingly mulled over Harry's words. Uncertainty clouded Harry's mind as he sensed the weight of Louis' thoughts. His instinct told him not to ask, however.

As the weight of Louis' unspoken thoughts lingered, he eventually shifted his attention back to the television screen, leaving Harry with a hint of unease.

Harry's attention became fixated on the unusual sight of Louis sitting on the sofa without his usual blanket covering him. It had become so customary at their place that Harry left the blanket draped over an armrest solely for Louis to use.

Despite his best efforts, Harry found himself unable to refocus on the movie, and Harry succumbed to the urge to locate a blanket. Without uttering a single word, he pushed himself up from the sofa, his determination leading him forward.

To soothe his mind, Harry first made his way to the spare bedroom, checking on Liam to ensure he was sound asleep. Waiting until he saw the gentle rise and fall of Liam's chest, he tiptoed out of the room, satisfied that he was safe.

Pausing in Liam's main living area, Harry's gaze scanned the surroundings in search of a suitable blanket. Finally, his eyes fell upon one neatly folded on a chair, seemingly awaiting its purpose. A slight sense of relief washed over him as he grasped the blanket, appreciating the simplicity of finding what he sought.

Returning to Louis with the blanket in hand, Harry felt a pang of hesitation grip him just before he reached him. He was acutely aware of the potential awkwardness that could arise from this interaction.

However, resolute in his choice, Harry settled back onto the sofa and placed the folded blanket beside him. Due to the small space on the sofa and the way Louis had rearranged himself with his legs curled underneath, the blanket fell directly onto Louis.

Confusion crossed Louis' face as he glanced at Harry. "What?"

Unable to meet Louis' gaze, Harry focused on the TV screen, his voice barely above a murmur. "Thought you might need it.”

Another customary practice was Louis falling asleep as they watched TV. It didn't hold much significance at their home for Harry, except for those fleeting moments when he would steal glances at Louis, trying to etch every detail of his face into his memory. But here, in this unfamiliar setting, as Louis drifted into a deep slumber, he had unconsciously sprawled out, his legs inadvertently resting over Harry's thighs. It was the most intimate contact they had ever shared, and Harry couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the unexpected closeness.

His heart skipped a beat as he felt the weight of Louis pressing against him, the warmth of his body seeping through their clothes. It was a sensation he had secretly longed for, a small taste of the connection he craved, but it only left him craving more. He tried to ignore the tingling sensation that spread through his body, the electric current of desire that pulsed beneath his skin.

He knew it meant nothing. Louis was fast asleep, completely unaware of his actions, and the boundaries of their relationship remained unchanged. Yet, the touch of Louis' ankle against his bare stomach sent shivers down his spine, a sweet torment leaving him yearning for something he couldn't have.

It was too overwhelming. Too fast. Too consuming. Too much.

Yet, the ache of longing echoed within him, a haunting reminder that it was nowhere near enough.

Chapter Text

The moment Louis moved, he became acutely aware of the weight pressing onto his ankles. Immediately, he froze. His legs were resting on someone, their hands resting on his ankles. His instinct had him stilling before his mind caught up, and he realised it was Harry, which made him really bloody glad he didn’t pull away.

Then reality hit Louis quickly-

His legs were over Harry.

Even though Harry hadn't tried to wake Louis - as far as Louis knew at least - to push him off Liam’s small sofa, it was clear by the fact that Harry was still in a seated position, and Louis would bet he was still right in the corner of the sofa, that the predicament they found themselves in was all down to him.

Louis knew what he should do - fully wake up, pull away his legs from where they'd somehow landed on top of Harry’s, apologise sincerely, and put a fuck-ton of space between them. That was the right thing to do.

But this was the most physical contact he and Harry had ever had, and he just couldn’t bring himself to break away.

Not just yet.

He was vaguely aware of the TV on in the background, but he didn't have the ability to focus it. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep for. It could have been a few minutes or a couple of hours.

Eventually, he accepted he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep and he was fidgeting too much for Harry to continue to believe he was asleep, Louis moved. He sat up, pulling his legs along with him, and rested his back against the armrest, positioning himself towards Harry, his legs neatly tucked under him.

In an attempt to seem like he’d just woken up, he rubbed his eyes and then stretched. “Uh, sorry about that?” he murmured, making his voice sound a bit more sleepy than it was.

“S’fine,” Harry grunted, not looking away from the TV. “You should go to bed, though.”

“No.” The response came automatically and Louis didnt even know why. He was knackered, and his bed was way more comfortable. Going to bed meant Harry would have the entire lounge. It was the smart thing to do. The right thing to do.

But he wasn't going to.

Harry didn’t look away from the screen, but Louis still saw the eye roll. He held his gaze on Harry a moment longer before turning back to the TV.

“Just go to bed,” Harry said, his voice cutting through the silence, causing Louis to jolt.

“Not tired,” he managed to slur, his voice heavy.

A soft snort from Harry was his only reply.

The room was still dark when Louis next woke up, the sound of Harry and Niall’s low voices drawing him out of sleep. He was alone on the lounge this time, the voices coming from a distance. He hoped he'd only sprawled out once Harry had moved. He forced himself to sit up, squinting in the dim light, trying to fight off the temptation to go back to sleep.

As his eyes adjusted, Louis met Harry’s gaze. “We can head back now,” Harry told him in a hushed voice. “Niall’s going to take over.”

Louis' brain churned the words a few times before they sunk in, then gave a short nod. He pushed himself off the sofa, heading over to where Niall and Harry were standing.

Niall looked as sleep-deprived as Louis felt, and while he wanted to question why Niall was even up, he didn't. Instead, he managed a small smile as he walked past him.

Without another word, Louis followed Harry out of Liam's flat, through the harshly lit hall, and back to their own apartment. Harry remained a few paces ahead of him but paused at the front door, holding it open for them.

They stood there for a moment, staring each other, and even though Louis' rational mind told him he was being fucking weird, he was too tired to care. There was something about seeing Harry at an hour he usually wouldn't, looking slightly messy and very tired.

“'S’time it??” Louis asked, his fingers ruffling his own hair.

Harry's gaze flickered over Louis' face for a few seconds before he replied, “Five.”

“Have you slept?” Louis' lips formed a frown.

With a small shrug, Harry shook his head.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of Harry’s stare, Louis rubbed both his eyes. He wanted to go mad Harry for not sleeping, but he knew it was probably Louis' fault. “What time should I wake you in the morning?”

Harry tilted his head, seemingly confused by the question. After the usual pause, Harry answered. “Dunno. Before eleven, I guess.”

“’Kay,” Louis took a step back, then another, needing to put some distance between them so he didn't give in to the urge to reach out and try to soothe Harry. “Well… goodnight.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he made a beeline for his room. It wasn't until he closed his door that he felt like he could breathe again.

On Sunday morning, Louis dragged himself out of bed. He didn’t check the time, but his room was bathed in soft sunlight, proving it was late enough. He shrugged into some clothes and made his way straight to Liam’s flat.

“Hey,” Niall greeted after he'd opened the door, appearing much more awake than he had the last time Louis had seen him. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, reckon so.” He followed Niall into Liam’s flat. “How’s he doing?”

Niall pursed his lips, his face falling into a concerned expression. “Better than he was last night. He chundered again, once, and was all sweaty, but he took a quick shower and seemed alright after that. Still asleep, though.”

Louis accepted Niall’s offer to make coffee and desperately wanted to bring up the contract. He couldn't though. He'd made promises to Lottie, Zayn, and himself. “Niall… Did you attend your graduation?” he asked instead.

Niall’s brows furrowed as he looked up from the mugs. “Huh?”

“Well, just… Harry mentioned that he didn’t get to attend his high school graduation or leavers' ball or anything because of the band getting signed. Was that the same for all of you?”

“Oh,” Niall stared thoughtfully at the mugs as he continued making coffee, “I think Liam managed to pop back for the graduation ceremony, but he would have only been there for the day. They were really on our case back then.”

“Just then?” The words slipped out before Louis could stop them, sarcasm soaking them. Thankfully, Niall didn’t seem to take offence.

“I suppose, in hindsight, I can see there was no real need for them to insist we be there all day, every day. We were just caught up in the novelty of it all, I reckon.”

He could just tell Niall. It was the perfect opportunity. He could tell him about their efforts to get out of their contract. But… Lottie and Zayn both seemed convinced it would be best to wait until they had their case entirely sorted, and he just couldn’t go against that. So, he just nodded instead.

“Speaking of Harry,” Niall started, his focus intensely fixed on stirring the coffee, giving it a unnecessary level of attention. “You two seemed rather cosy when I came in.”

Louis’ heart rate quickened as he tried to find a response, but he couldn't. The problem was - well, one of the problems was - he had no idea what Niall had walked in on. It was impossible to explain it away when he wasn’t entirely sure what he was defending.

His mind was still racing for an answer when Niall met his gaze. The gentle look on Niall's face somehow made everything feel worse. “Don’t worry about it,” Niall pushed one of the mugs towards him with a smile. “Just thought it was nice, that's all.”

“It, uh… um. I don’t know wh-”

“Lou, I wasn’t implying anything. It was nice.”

Niall's words may have implied nothing, but it felt very much as though he was insinuating something. And since Louis had no idea what Niall had seen, he had no fucking idea what it could be.

Louis couldn’t take another night of Mad Men. He wanted to spend time with Harry, but losing hours of his life to a show he downright despised? All while Harry barely even acknowledged him? No, he couldn’t do it. As Harry was about to press play on another episode, Louis stopped him. “Can we watch something else tonight?”

Silence. He steeled himself for Harry’s refusal, maybe even for Harry to switch off the TV and leave. He didn’t know how much of their routine hinged on Mad Men. Initially, Harry had agreed to watch something—anything—with him, so he hoped that might still be the case.

Wordlessly, Harry went back to the home screen. “What do you want to watch, then?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.” Louis said, wondering how rude it'd sound if he said he didn't care as long as it wasn’t Mad Men.

Harry started to scroll through the options, as he had done the previous night. Louis kept an eye on the screen, hoping something would spark interest. “The Great Gatsby!” he blurted out a tad too enthusiastically. It wasn’t that he was particularly fond of the movie, but he knew it could lead to a conversation with Harry. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Harry mumbled, clicking on it.

“I know it’s not as good as the book or anything,” Louis hurried to add, “But, I mean, it’s still, you know, not terrible.”

“Dunno,” Harry said, pressing play. “Never seen it.”

“What? Really? But you’ve read the book, right?”

Harry's gaze met his, piercing through it. “Did you just ask if I’ve read The Great Gatsby?”

Louis realised it was a ridiculous question, given Harry seemed to have read every book Louis had ever mentioned. “I don’t know, maybe it was too mainstream for you or something.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m a pretentious reader?”

“Well, your favourite book is The Waves.”

“That makes me pretentious?” Harry hadn't taken his eyes off Louis, making him shift in discomfort.

Louis wasn’t sure. “I guess not.”

Harry finally looked away and towards the screen.

They didn’t talk during the movie, the same as with Mad Men, but every time Louis sneakily glanced at Harry, he seemed more engaged than usual.

The end of the movie brought silence, not uncomfortable, but heavy. Harry let the credits roll. Louis had spent too much of the movie creating a conversation in his head. Not wanting to interrupt whatever Harry was doing, he waited until the credits ended and the screen darkened before speaking.

"So, uh," Louis said, "what did you think?"

Harry was quiet for a moment before turning his eyes to Louis. “Thought it did a good job of enhancing the emotional presence.”

Louis blinked in surprise as he thought over Harry’s words. "You reckon the film does it better than the book?"

Harry gave a half-shrug. "It’s different, isn’t it?"

Was it just different, though? Because Louis was pretty sure the movie was just worse. “How does it do it better?”

Harry sighed, but he had shifted his body in his armchair so that he was facing Louis, back against his armrest, and Louis coukdn't deny he liked having Harry's attention. “I never said it was better; I think I said it enhanced-”

“Enhancing means it made it better!”

“No, it doesn’t; it just means it was… enhanced.”

Trying to force away the frown he felt tugging at his lips, Louis asked, “Okay, well, explain what you mean, then.” It came out more demanding than he meant it to.

“Giving me orders?” Harry didn’t look annoyed. “Have you read or watched The Lovely Bones?”

Louis shook his head.

“And I’m the pretentious one?” He muttered, but before Louis could ask what the hell that was meant to mean, Harry continued, “Well, it’s about a girl's journey to the afterlife. The book delves into emotional themes, but the tone remains balanced. The movie enhances the emotional immediacy and presence, but to excess until the entire essence of the book is gone."

“Right.” Louis had to glance away from Harry because he wasn’t able to collect his thoughts while he was looking at him. “So you just think the movie did a good job of it?” He looked back to Harry after he got the words out in case he only replied with an expression or something.

“Yes… which is why I said enhanced.”

“But that’s a bit lazy, isn’t it? Relying on the film to dictate your emotions.”

Harry combed his fingers through his hair, and Louis was tempted to walk over and do the same. Fuck, he really needed a fuck soon. The dry spell was slowly turning his brain to mush.

“Well,” Harry’s voice cut through Louis’ thoughts, and he returned his attention to Harry’s words rather than his pretty hair and pretty face, “you could say that about writing, too, couldn’t you? Unless you were reading a factual transcript, the words are written in a way to evoke emotions out of you, aren’t they?” Harry didn’t even give Louis a chance to answer. “And Fitzgerald is known for his emotionally charged works, and one of the reasons why The Great Gatsby is one of his best-known works is because it’s emotionally charged.”

Louis couldn’t think of a time that Harry had ever, ever said so many words all at once. Hell, he barely got that many words out of him in a twenty-four-hour period.

Forcing himself to put that aside - he could stay up all night and think about it then and focus on his words instead - he tried to think of an answer. “If that’s true,” it was true, but Louis wasn’t about to tell Harry that, “then why would the film need to enhance it? Like, you just said it’s one of his most emotionally charged books, so the movie shouldn’t need to do anything to it.”

Silence stretched between them, and Louis wondered if he’d fucked it all up by disagreeing with him. They’d been doing so well lately, and he’d just fucked it up again.

After a solid pause, Harry asked, “Are you arguing for the hell of it, or do you actually disagree?”

“I disag…” The words trailed off as he realised he didn’t necessarily disagree. “I mean, I guess…. A film is always going to heighten emotional immediacy and intensity. That’s the point of films; that doesn’t mean they’re better than books.”

A look of smug amusement came over Harry’s face, and Louis hated it. More than that, though he hated that he kind of loved it.

“This is an English Literature thing, isn’t it? You can’t bare the thought of a movie doing anything better than the book.”

“You love literature!” Louis leant forward, staring at Harry. “How can you say movies are better?”

"For fuck's sake, Lou," Harry frowned slightly before continuing, “I never said that. But I think it’s stupid to think that film adaptations are always going to be worse than the book.”

Louis almost couldn't believe the words were coming from Harry. “Don’t you think they limit your imagination, though? When you read, you create your own interpretation, and films take all of that away.”

“But movies aren’t claiming to be books. They serve two different purposes.”

“Obviously, I know that. But right now, we’re talking about The Great Gatsby specifically. Are there things that you think the movie did better than the book?”

“Yes,” Harry answered simply, leaning backwards slightly and crossing his arms.

With a huff, Louis asked, “Like what?” Surely Harry was just arguing for the hell of it now.

“The portrayal of Daisy.”

“What? How was that better?”

"In the book, Daisy's character is primarily portrayed through Gatsby's perspective and Nick's interpretations and narrations. She presents as a distant and idealised version of herself, capturing the notion that-"

“That’s the entire point, though!” Louis knew he really needed to learn to shut the hell up.

“I know,” Harry nodded, “and it was really well done. But in the film, we see her as a more fleshed out person, and not just the way they do.”

“Don’t you think that takes away from the entire premise?”

“No.” When Louis kept staring at him, Harry groaned. “It’s still Gatsby’s and Nick’s perspective, and we get to see his idealised version of her. The film highlights exactly how far off his perception was in a way the book just couldn’t do.”

Louis said nothing for a long time, and of course, Harry sat silently as well. He seemed to cope with silence much better than Louis did. “Okay,” Louis sighed eventually, “I get what you’re saying.”

Without looking at him, Harry asked, “Do you?”

Exhaling slightly dramatically, Louis said, “I don’t know if I agree with it being better than in the book, but I understand your point.”

Harry hummed, and their gaze caught. It lingered for a second too long. “Wanna watch something else?” Harry asked curtly, snapping his head away.

"'The fuck?'" Louis paused at their front door before turning back to look at Harry, who was a few paces behind him. Harry looked at him, confused, before his eyes darted down to what had caused Louis to stop.

Louis had no idea how he'd expected Harry to react, but a grimace wasn't it.

"What's this?" Louis nodded towards the enormous package resting against the wall outside the flat. It was slim but reached up to Louis' chest.

With a grunt, Harry walked past Louis and unlocked the door. For a moment, Louis thought he was going to leave him in the hallway to struggle with the package on his own. But seconds later, Harry was back, silently grabbing one side of it and motioning for Louis to take hold of the other end. Together, they hauled it into the flat and leaned it against the back of the sofa.

They both took a step back and stared at the box. "Well, are you going to open it?" Louis asked.

After enough time had passed to make Louis fidgety, Harry finally spoke. "You open it."

"What?" Louis asked.

Harry was still looking at the box.

Unsure whether to be worried or not that Harry was letting him open a package addressed to him, Louis carefully walked around the island bench, pulled out a pair of scissors from the drawer, and walked back. "You sure?" Louis asked.

"Yeah." Harry took another step away from the box.

"What the hell?" Louis asked. "Why are you moving away? Is it going to attack me or something?"

All he got was an eye roll in return.

His curiosity overruled the risk of a snake or something being inside. Maybe Harry had become so fed up with him that he'd found a way to kill him and make it look like an accident. He turned back to Harry. "What are your thoughts on snakes?"

Again, Harry ignored him and continued to stare at the box.

Louis opened the scissors and placed one of the blades at the tape. "If I die, you know you'll be the first suspect, right? Even if it's a snake bite."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry’s voice was a mic between annoyance and exasperation. "Can you stop messing around with the scissors like that?"

Glancing down at the scissors, Louis figured Harry must be talking about the way one of the blades was resting in his palm. Not wanting to argue about it, Louis quickly sliced open the tape on three sides of the box before placing the scissors on the island counter.

When Harry didn't move, Louis walked back over to the box and pulled down the side he'd opened.

Louis gasped. He literally gasped and turned to Harry, "You... you bought it?"

"Mm."

Turning back to the artwork in front of him, he immediately recognised it as one of the three that he'd shown Harry to choose from. But Harry hadn’t chosen one. Louis had stormed out because of it. “When? How?” Why was the next question he wanted to ask, but he doubted he’d get an answer to that one.

“After you blew up and stormed out of here.” He said it so casually as if it was no big deal. It was a big deal. Especially because every time Louis looked at that blank, empty wall, his frustration about Harry’s indifference flooded back again.

Taking in the piece, it was even more impressive than Louis had expected. Larger too.

He’d selected it because it reminded him of The Waves. Not necessarily in a literal sense, but conceptually. The canvas was covered in varying shades of green and blue that merged, much like the hues of the ocean. The brushstrokes merged the colours together in a way that seemed to give the painting movement, mimicking waves. Even resting on the floor, it brought instant colour into the bland room. And with that, Louis let out a breath, and the waves of the canvas washed over him, filling him with peace. He hadn’t realised how sterile the area had been until then.

He’d almost forgotten Harry was there. Not completely, of course. There was no way he could when he was staring at the artwork that Harry had bought.

Logically, Louis knew he was the one who had picked it, and Harry likely only bought it so Louis would stop nagging him about it. But still, he liked to believe that Harry liked it too. The shortlist, even getting it down to the top ten, had taken hours because he wanted only to have pieces there that he thought Harry would actually like. He didn’t claim to know Harry well, and it's possible he’d been way off. He’d figured he had been when Harry showed nothing but disinterest. But still, hopefully, Harry didn’t despise it.

“I… I love it.” Louis’ voice was almost as genuine as his words, and he had to resist the urge to cringe at the awkwardness of it.

“Good,” Harry said. Well, muttered. Or grunted. It was possible he didn’t say anything at all, but Louis was pretty sure he said it.

“Can we hang it?” Louis asked, partly because he wanted it up immediately and partly because he wanted to move on from whatever this was. “Do we need to hire someone? Or get hooks and things? It's so heavy, there is probably a proper way to hang it. I don’t think we can just throw it up. But I could watch some YouTube videos or something.” Louis took out his phone.

“Think you should wait.” Harry’s voice was a low rumble and caused Louis to give him his attention immediately.

“Why?”

Harry’s expression was blank and impassive as it often was, but Louis noticed a quick twitch next to his eye. “Bought them all.”

“Huh?”

“I got all three.”

Okay, so Louis really must be hearing things because there was no way Harry said what he thought he did. “Sorry, you bought all three paintings?”

Harry pushed himself away from the counter and walked around to the fridge. “Yeah.”

“As in the other ones I showed you?”

“Yes.”

“But… Why?”

“Dunno,” Harry pulled out a yoghurt and placed it on the bench. “Easier than choosing.”

“Right. Makes sense.” The thing was—it didn’t make sense. What would have been easier is ordering the first one that he opened up to. Or...just choosing one rather than going through three different sites and ordering all of them. “So once they all come, you’ll choose which one you want?”

Like always, because Harry seemed to move at quarter speed, Louis had to wait at least a minute for Harry to get out a spoon, take off the lid of his yoghurt, and put a spoonful in his mouth before he answered. “No, that’s too much work. Just meant you can decide where you want each one.”

Louis had so many follow-up questions and statements, and perhaps Harry could sense it because without saying another word, Harry walked straight past him and up the stairs, leaving Louis alone with his thoughts and the painting.

It wasn’t that Louis meant to do it. Not really. It just kind of happened. He was so careful all the way up the stairs, making sure that his 'too full' glass of water didn’t spill, but somewhere between the final step and... Harry’s armchair... he slipped or something. And somehow, Harry’s armchair happened to get covered in water. A lot of water. Because the large glass had been so full.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Louis said as he tried to turn around to look at Harry, who was following him up the stairs. “I didn-”

There were hands on his hips, holding him in place. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, and Louis noticed the panic in his expression.

Fuck.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis breathed out. Harry had thought he’d actually tripped.

Which he had.

Obviously.

He hadn’t meant to worry Harry, though.

Harry’s hands left him as quickly as they had found their way onto his skin, and Louis immediately missed the touch. He was definitely the least professional employee that was ever employed. If there was a special place in hell for terrible employees, his name was already on the guest list.

Taking steps backwards, further into the room without having to look away from Harry, he apologised again, the reality of what he’d done - accidentally - hitting him. “I can pay for dry cleaning or whatever it's called to clean furniture. I’m so sorry.”

Harry hadn’t moved from the landing, and, with squinted eyes, he was surveying Louis, looking at him like he thought Louis was mad. Hell, Louis was starting to think he just might be. “It’s just water,” Harry said the words slowly as if he couldn’t believe he had to say it. Which, again, made sense. “It’ll dry.”

“Yeah, right, of course.” Finally, having built up the courage to see the damage he’d - completely accidentally - caused, Louis turned and looked at the armchair. It was drenched in water; most of it had already started seeping into the material. “I’m still really sorry, though.”

“Don’t be,” Harry said. “It was an accident.”

At least Harry knew it was an accident because it was. “But... now you can’t sit there.”

Lips tugging downwards, Harry looked at the chair, taking steps forward to get a better look. Louis focused on his breathing, making sure it wasn’t going to give away anything.

Not that there was anything to give away because it was an accident.

“I mean, the sofa is big enough for both of us.” He had never considered himself particularly smooth, but that was a new low. He had to force himself not to chew his bottom lip.

Harry looked from the armchair to the sofa, to Louis, and back to the sofa. Even though he didn’t say anything, and his expression barely changed, Louis knew that he’d won.

Not that he had been trying to win anything; it was just a solution to an unfortunate problem they had.

Louis walked to the far end of the sofa, leaving ample room for Harry. It was larger than Liam’s, so he didn’t have to curl into the armrest.

Harry didn't appear entirely comfortable, yet he wasn’t overly tense either. Before he had time to worry about it, Louis asked, “Did you decide what we’re watching tonight?” They had developed a pattern of taking turns choosing films each night; all were book adaptations, which meant he was able to get Harry to talk.

Louis would settle for any topic if it meant getting Harry to talk. He'd even watch Mad Men if it led to a discussion. So the fact that one of his favourite topics could get Harry talking made the whole thing a million times better.

Despite years of studying literature at university and interacting with tonns students holding different opinions, Louis had never met someone with as many unique viewpoints as Harry. He was fairly sure that Harry sometimes expressed opinions he didn’t even believe just to piss off Louis, and it worked every time. Only when Louis noticed a tiny hint of a glint in Harry’s eyes or the softest smirk on his lips would he realise what Harry had done.

He wasn't sure he really cared, though. He’d fall into every trap if necessary.

“Mm,” Harry said as he switched the TV on. “I was thinking Maurice.”

“Oh.”

“Is that... do you not want to?” Harry was looking at him now.

“No, it’s not that. I just haven’t read the book. It’s fine, though, we can still watch it.”

“You’re not serious?”

Feeling Harry's eyes on him, Louis turned to meet his gaze, surprised at the look of outrage. “Yes,” Louis answered.

“You’re a gay man with a degree in literature, and you haven’t read Maurice?”

A laugh burst out of Louis, relieved that it wasn’t something more serious. “I mean, I’ve always intended to, I’ve just never gotten around to it. But we can watch the movie first, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Harry shook his head as he spoke, “You have to read the book first.”

“What? You’re the one who continually insists I should appreciate the media for their differences, so it shouldn’t matter if I watch the movie before reading the book, should it?”

Harry seemed anything but convinced.

“Fine,” Louis muttered. “We’ll watch something else.”

“No. You have to read it before we watch anything.”

Uncertain whether Harry simply didn’t want to spend time with him tonight or if he genuinely wanted Louis to read Maurice, Louis took out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Harry's voice held a hint of tension.

Without looking up from his phone, Louis informed him, “Ordering the e-book.”

“Stop,” Harry said, rising from his seat, which caused Louis to drop his phone back into his lap. He watched Harry leave the room and open the middle of the three unknown doors. Despite being nearly in front of Louis, he couldn’t tell what the room was because the light was off when Harry went in.

After a few minutes, Harry came back with two books. He handed one to Louis as he settled back on the couch next to him. There was still a noticeable gap between them, but it felt slightly less tense this time.

Louis turned the book over in his hand, discovering it was Maurice. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what he was supposed to do now. There was no reason for him to stay upstairs; he could read anywhere. "Do you want me to leave?" Louis asked Harry.

Glancing up from his book, Harry studied him. "No. Why would I want that?"

"I... I don't know."

"You can if you want."

Instead of replying, doubting it would make much of a difference, Louis simply made himself more comfortable, curling his legs up onto the sofa, closing some of the distance between them.

As much as he wanted to read Maurice, because he truly did, and he sure he would like it, his attention kept falling on Harry.

It wasn't just because he looked attractive, as he always did, and it wasn't just because he smelled nice, as he always did. Part of it probably had to do with how close they were sitting to each other, as they never sat so close. But mostly, it was because Louis wanted to know what Harry was reading.

Harry held his book in a way that prevented Louis from seeing the cover. However, he could tell that Harry had added tabs to some of the pages.

"What are you reading?" Louis asked, giving up on reading Maurice altogether.

Harry closed the cover and lifted the book slightly so Louis could see.

"'Milk and Honey,'" Louis read the title aloud. "'Rupi Kaur.' I don't think I've heard of it before."

Harry huffed out a rough noise that might have been a laugh, but Louis didn't want to read too much into it. "Probably because it's not even ten years old or considered high-brow writing."

"I'm not a snob," Louis said, continuing the ongoing argument they seemed to have almost every night. He had never considered himself a snob; he simply believed that either people understood literature and read it properly, or they didn't.

But the more time he spent with Harry, who was undeniably more well-read than Louis, yet had different perspectives than he had been taught at uni, he realised that his view was probably quite snobbish, especially as he had found Harry's perspectives were far more interesting and insightful than the others. "So, what's it about?"

"It's poetry."

"Oh. Can you... Can you read me some?" Even before the words left his mouth, Louis regretted them. He had just asked Harry, his boss, who he still wasn't convinced didn't hate him, to read him poetry. "I mean, no, sorry, that's stupid. You don't have to do it."

"It's fine." Despite the usual sense of detachment in Harry's voice, he opened his book again. "What do you want to hear? They're all very short."

"The ones you've marked."

Harry chewed his lip for a moment and then released it as he stared at the page flags. Louis observed as Harry turned to the first tabbed page, briefly studying it before moving on to the next without reading. He repeated this process with the following tab and then again. He stopped on the third one and let out a resigned sigh. "' You have sadness living in places it shouldn't live.'"

The words were spoken in Harry's usual slow and measured tone, but there was a melodic beat to the pacing. Louis barely had time to absorb the words when Harry read another. "'I know I should crumble for better reasons, but have you seen that boy, he brings the sun to its knees every night.'"

Once again, Harry rustled through the tabs without giving Louis a chance to respond, and Louis suspected it was deliberate. He quickly skipped a couple before settling on another.

"' He placed his hands on my mind before reaching for my waist, my hips, or my lips. He didn't call me beautiful first; he called me exquisite.'"

The next time, he chose one quicker. "'The one who arrives after you will remind me that love is supposed to be soft. He will taste like the poetry I wish I could write.'"

The weight of the words hung in the air for a moment before Harry closed the book with a loud thud. "Anyway," Harry said, the hint of emotion he had while reading the poems now completely gone, "stop wasting time and read Maurice. You have until tomorrow night."

Louis stared at him, partly wondering if he had imagined the words Harry had read to him, as Harry acted as if they were never said. "Yeah, of course," Louis hurriedly replied. "Hey, do you mind if I borrow that one too?" Louis asked, motioning to Milk and Honey. Considering how many tabs Harry had skipped, he expected him to refuse, but instead, Harry handed it over before standing up.

Only vaguely aware of Harry's return to the room from which he had gotten the two books, Louis flipped through Milk and Honey, focusing on the pages that had been tabbed. Even though Harry had willingly given him the book, tabs and all, Louis didn't want Harry to catch him reading it in case he changed his mind. Louis had been surviving on breadcrumbs in his attempt to understand Harry's mind, and a poetry book with marked pages was a feast in comparison.

Even with the risk of getting court. he couldn't resist reading one of the marked poems. His fingers combed through the tabs, eventually pausing on a purple one.

‘he says
i am sorry i am not an easy person to want
i look at him surprised
who said i wanted easy
i don’t crave easy
i crave goddamn difficult.’

Chapter Text

“Harry,” Louis said from the side of Harry’s bed.

“No,” he whined like he did most mornings.

“Yes, you’ve gotta get up.”

Harry rolled over, away from Louis, thankfully taking his sheet with him.

Why the hell hadn’t he started wearing underwear to bed? Louis had no idea. Because as much as Louis did want to see Harry naked - which he knew was entirely inappropriate, unprofessional, and never going to happen - he definitely didn’t want it to happen when Harry was asleep and not aware of it. He’d rather go to the grave without ever seeing Harry properly naked than get to see it that way.

“Harry, I swear to god. I’m going to count to three, and then you’ve gotta get up. One. Two…” He dragged out the word, and by some miracle, it seemed to work as Harry rolled onto his back, still wrapped in his sheet, and his eyes fluttered. “Three. Good, you’re up.”

As soon as Harry’s eyes were open and he had fixed his glare onto Louis, Louis turned and left the room, satisfied that he was awake.

Louis placed Harry’s coffee on the edge of the bench once he heard footsteps descending the staircase. Louis stared at the mug, watching the steam rise, mainly to keep his eyes off Harry, which was getting harder and harder to do lately.

“You good?” Harry’s voice cut through the quiet of the kitchen.

Louis glanced away from the bench and up to Harry. “Uh, yeah.” He shook his head slightly, trying to bring himself back to reality. “Yeah, just got a bit lost.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Harry nodded.

“Did you want me to get you breakfast?” Louis had all but given up getting Harry’s breakfast, as every time he’d tried, Harry would moan about how he didn't want what Louis had chosen and wanted something else. One morning, Louis was so annoyed by it, he told Harry to sort out his own breakfast because he was sick of the battle. Harry didn’t complain about it; if anything, he seemed satisfied.

So, as expected, the question was met with one of Harry’s signature glares.

“Alright, alright,” Louis held his hands up in surrender, “It was just a question. No need to get all testy.”

Placing his coffee back onto the counter, Harry ignored him as he walked to the fridge.

Louis left his spot in the kitchen to give him some room. He knew he should just leave him to it and go somewhere else, even if it was just to the sofa a few metres away, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat on one of the stools at the island bench so that he could watch Harry.

“You sleep okay?” Louis asked.

After a few seconds, Harry answered, “Mm, I did until someone woke me.”

“You’re still on this?” Louis groaned. “If you just used an alarm clock, I wouldn’t need to.” Louis hated himself for mentioning it, as he knew that waking up Harry was the only tangible thing he had to offer as an employee.

It was concerning because Louis really had no fucking idea what his job even was. He liked to think he was boosting the band's morale, but that wasn't a job title. He also hoped that his covert mission to get them out of the contract was helping, but Harry didn’t know about that. No one except Zayn did. So he had no idea how he still had a well-paying job.

It was a good thing that the band hired him and not management because there was no way he’d still be employed if it were up to them. Hell, he never would have been hired if it were up to them, but he wasn’t sure the job title would even exist.

A thought that crept in occasionally made its way back to Louis' brain. It was stupid and just wishful thinking or him being conceited about something - but he considered that maybe it was because of him that Harry didn’t need a babysitter. Because when Louis first started, Harry had made the job hell. So maybe, somehow, Louis had made a difference. Maybe without Louis, he'd go back to whatever he was doing beforehand.

Which was apparently making assistants cry.

Even with Harry at his worst, he couldn’t really imagine Harry making anyone cry. Louis struggled to imagine him doing much of anything that could cause anyone to cry except glaring at them and storming off mid-conversation.

Sometimes he considered researching why they thought Harry needed an assistant. From what he could tell, it wasn’t something he’d always had, so there must have been an event or events that led to the job being created.

Since Louis had started working, he hadn’t Googled anything else about Harry or the others, and he’d barely done any Googling in the first place. He knew now that most of what he had read was fabricated bullshit. Almost every article had been about him being with a different girl every night, and it turned out that none of that had been true at all.

Even though Louis had walked straight into the trap of being told that an alarm clock could make his position redundant, Harry still didn’t say it. Maybe because Harry could sense that Louis was well aware that it was true, or maybe he was just tired or sick of talking to Louis.

That was the most likely option, given Louis was always there around Harry. He told Harry it was because he was bored and lonely, which was true - he was really fucking bored and lonely and desperate to get out of the house - but it was also that for some unexplainable reason, he liked spending time with Harry.

He’d tried to explain it to Lottie, and kind of failed because he shouldn’t like spending time with Harry. Not when Harry never went out of his way to spend time with him. And there was absolutely no denying that Harry could be rude. Not rude enough to make people cry, but rude enough that it made little sense why Louis would want to be around him.

But there was more than that. As bad as it looked on paper - or sounded when he was trying to explain it to his sister - there was more to Harry than that. He was smart, and insightful, and kind of funny. No, he was funny when he let himself be; it just was unfortunate that he rarely did let himself.

And, more than that, even though Louis sounded like an idiot, even to himself, it seemed like maybe Harry didn’t hate his company. He never sought it out, but he didn’t really complain when Louis wanted to spend time with him. Okay, well, sometimes he complained, but he’d surrendered to spending every night together, reading or watching movies, or both, and surely Harry couldn’t outright hate him to be going along with that. Or maybe he’d just worn him down. Or Harry felt sorry for him. All very likely, and disappointing possibilities.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Louis said a little too quickly, and the way Harry cocked an eyebrow led him to believe that Harry had also noticed. He didn’t call him out on it, though. “Excited for band practice?”

Harry sighed as if it was a stupid question, as if he obviously wasn’t excited for band practice.

But Louis wasn’t sure if it was entirely a stupid question any more. Harry might not be excited about practice, but Louis was fairly certain he wasn’t as unexcited about it as he used to be. He participated a little more, occasionally spoke, offered thoughts, and Louis was pretty sure he even put his own song suggestions in the app because there were a few times he’d hear a song coming from Harry’s room and then a few days later it would show up on the app for the band to play. Okay, so maybe the bar was on the floor… but so what? He was exceeding the bar, and that had to count for something.

Louis was also pretty sure he’d heard Harry playing the guitar in his room a few times. He couldn’t be certain, maybe he was just watching tv or listening to music, but it sounded like a real guitar.

“No, seriously, what’s wrong?”

And fuck did Louis need to get his shit together. “Sorry, sorry, nothing.”

“You sick or something?”

Louis looked up at Harry, who was standing across the counter from him with a bowl in his hand, staring back at Louis. “No, I’m not sick. I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. You’re being all… weird.”

Louis watched as Harry scooped a spoonful of whatever he was eating into his mouth, but his eyes didn’t leave Louis. “I’m not being weird.” They both knew it was a lie; Louis was being weird as fuck. But Louis had been weird for weeks, so he had no idea why Harry was only bringing it up now.

“Sure you’re not,” Harry answered after he’d swallowed.

The eye contact got too much for Louis, especially since everything else was already a lot. He probably should have just told Harry he was sick. He could’ve asked for a sick day or something to put some space between them. Of course, if he actually wanted distance between him and Harry, he could just… put space between them and stop insisting on spending all their time together.

With that thought, Louis slid off the stool. “Gonna go get ready,” he told Harry and left the room before Harry could say anything. Which he was unlikely to do anyway.

“You know how you missed your high school graduation?” Louis asked a few nights later in Harry’s upstairs living room.

Harry raised his head from his book and turned to look at Louis, studying him. Louis had no fucking idea how he’d managed to keep Harry on the sofa with him every night since he’d spilt the water on his armchair - accidentally - almost a week ago, but somehow he had even though the water would have definitely dried up by now. But he had managed it, and slowly he’d even managed to close the space between them, inch by inch each night. He sat with his hack resting on the armrest, facing Harry.

“Yes?” Harry answered.

“What else did you miss?”

Keeping his thumb on the page he was currently on, Harry closed the book around it and rested it on his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the other day, Niall was saying that early on, the band kept you all really busy so that you would have missed other teenage things, wouldn’t you?”

“You were talking to Niall?”

Louis reached out his leg, which he’d kept tucked under him, and kicked Harry. “Why do you always do that? I’m allowed to talk to them.”

“You can’t kick me. You work fo-”

“Shut up,” Louis said with an eye roll. “We know, we know. Everyone knows I work for you.”

“You can’t tell me to shut up either.”

“Well, I did. What else did you miss?”

Harry still seemed annoyed by the whole kicking thing, and he did have the right to be pissed off because he was right; Louis shouldn’t be kicking him. He really needed to remember boundaries.

But Harry answered finally, “I dunno. What kind of things do you mean?”

“Well, did you ever go to a college party?”

“Why would I go to a college party? I didn’t go to college.”

Louis nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I mean. So you never went to a uni lecture?”

Harry was looking at him like he was insane, which, again, was valid. “Why the hell would I go to a uni lecture when I never went to uni?”

“Have you ever been to a regular pub? Because you were only seventeen when you were signed, right? Did you ever get a chance to do that?”

“I dunno,” it seemed like Harry was thinking about it this time. “Actually, yeah, I have back home. But here, well, we just tended to go out clubbing. It was easier than pubs.”

“Probably looked better, too. Would have suited your image more.”

Harry’s gaze darkened slightly, and Louis realised how insulting his words might have sounded.

“I didn’t mean… that’s not what I meant. What about road trips?”

“Yeah, we toured all the time.”

“That’s different.” Louis wasn’t convinced that Harry agreed with him, though. “I mean, just with, like, friends or something. Just for fun.”

“I, uh…” Harry rarely struggled to find anything to say. Normally he just stared at Louis, likely annoyed at him, so it was weird to hear him like that. “I can’t remember.”

Louis nodded. “What about theme parks?”

“As a kid, yeah.”

“I’m talking about since you turned eighteen.”

“Why the hell would I go to a theme park as an adult?”

“Camping?”

“What, like in tents?”

Louis nodded, wanting to save time when he was getting answers.

“No.”

“A picnic?”

“A picnic?” Harry repeated.

“Yeah, have you ever been on a picnic? Like at a park or something.”

Harry huffed out a sigh, definitely irritated by Louis’ questions now. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What about a musical or play or something at the West End?”

There was a change in Harry’s expression at that, something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Louis couldn’t read it. “No,” he said softly.

“Art gallery?”

“What the fuck? What’s with the questions?”

“Just curious,” Louis lied.

“Not as an adult, no.”

Despite trying to fight a frown, Harry must have seen it.

“I can’t just… do things like that,” Harry said, his tone defensive. “I can’t just get up and go outside. You know that. You saw what happened at the restaurant.”

Rationally, Louis knew that Harry wasn’t trying to make him feel bad about what had happened there. Well, he was pretty sure he wasn’t, at least. But he still felt guilty. “Yeah, but… you shouldn’t have to miss out on things.”

“Miss out on things? I’ve travelled the world, I’ve played to some of the biggest crowds ever, I’ve had experiences other people could only dream of.”

Louis pursed his lips to give himself time to choose his words carefully. If there was ever a time to do so, now was it. “But you’re not ha-... But are you happy?”

A blank expression clouded Harry’s face, and Louis felt like shit for even asking the question. The answer was no. Harry wasn’t happy. Everyone who spent more than ten seconds would see that. Well, if they cared enough to look.

Silence engulfed them, and it wasn’t the kind of calm silence they were used to sitting in; it was a heavy, thick one.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said finally. “I, uh, I shouldn’t have asked. Or, you know… said that. You… It’s your life. And if this is what you want, then that’s good. I’m happy for you.” Because he felt like shit for causing whatever emotions were rushing through Harry - and it seemed like there were emotions there - Louis looked back down at his book. He shifted his back against the armrest to get comfier and soothe some of the awkwardness he was still feeling.

They read in silence for the rest of the night.

“Have you been to the West End?”

Louis turned away from the car window and stared at Harry, trying to determine if he had imagined Harry speaking. Sometimes, if they drove with Niall, Harry might talk in the car, but usually just to tell Louis and Niall to shut up. But they were on their way home from practice with a driver, and Harry never spoke to Louis when in front of a driver.

“Well, have you?” Harry asked impatiently, confirming that, yes, he had asked Louis a question.

“Yeah, a few times.”

Pressing his lips together, Harry nodded and then turned to look out of his window.

Louis studied his profile. He was wearing his hair down today, something he didn’t do too often, and Louis liked it. He’d come to accept he always liked Harry’s hair, though. Just like he liked Harry in t-shirts, button-up shirts, jumpers, jeans, trousers, joggers, and the little shorts that he wore to the gym and everything else that he saw him in. There wasn’t a single time Louis could pinpoint where Harry didn’t look good, where Louis wasn’t attracted to him. And it wasn’t bloody fair.

The worst part was that there was no one to blame but himself. Louis was the idiot that was stupid enough to take a job working for someone who had been named the Sexiest Man Alive by multiple publications.

When he accepted that Harry wasn’t going to talk again, Louis said, “I’ve seen a few, but my favourite was probably Les Miserables, which I know is cliche, but it’s a cliche for a reason.”

Surprisingly, Harry turned and faced him. “It is a cliche for you. I thought you’d come up with something more pretentious than that.”

“Shut up,” Louis said. He tried to keep his tone serious but couldn’t help the slight satisfaction he got from getting Harry to re-engage in a conversation. Something he was rarely successful at. Usually, once Harry checked out of a conversation or interaction, he was completely out. “Would you want to go? To the West End, I mean.”

“Doesn’t really matter if I want to, does it?” Harry asked. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you, though?” Louis wanted to shake him, to hopefully get some sense into him.

“Management.”

“Fuck management!”

Harry’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at the driver. It didn’t seem like the driver was paying any attention to their conversation. Still, Louis understood Harry’s hesitation, so he sat back in his seat, crossing his arms and staring pointedly ahead.

The drive seemed to take double as long as it normally would, and once they got home, Louis was the first out of the car and rudely slammed the car door behind him.

On his way up to their flat, he acknowledged that he really had no reason to be upset with Harry, given that none of this was his fault.

Except that Harry just accepted it. Yeah, occasionally, he rebelled against management, but in general, he did whatever the fuck they wanted him to do, and it was bullshit.

Louis had fully intended to walk past their door straight to Zayn’s, but a large package stopped him. It definitely looked like a canvas, but Harry had ordered three, and the third one had come the day before, so it made no sense that there was another one. It was addressed to Harry.

Louis decided he wouldn’t go to Zayn’s in case Harry wanted his help or something, but he also wasn’t going to wait in the hall for him to catch up. So, instead, he went inside their apartment, not looking to see how far away Harry was, and slammed the front door behind him as well. It took him a few seconds to decide whether to just wait in the loungeroom or go into his bedroom, and he ultimately decided on his bedroom.

He managed not to slam his bedroom door and was quietly proud of himself for finding the strength to even go into his room when he’d been struggling to put any space between them. Flopping down on his bed, he stared at his ceiling, straining to listen to hear Harry come in, but the sound never came.

He might have snuck in, and Louis just hadn’t heard it. Or he might have come in while Louis was walking to his bedroom, so pissed off that he couldn’t really hear anything.

Or maybe he just didn’t come in, and if that was the case, it was likely Louis’ fault for being an absolute arsehole about something that, at the core, Harry didn’t have much control over. Because even the times that Louis had seen him go against what management wanted, it had always turned to shit and made everything worse for Harry.

While it had affected Louis, and management seemed to hate Louis more than they hated the band, probably because he didn’t make them money at all, he couldn’t deny that he really had no idea what it was like for Harry or the rest of the band.

If he wasn’t so intent on listening to see if Harry did come inside, and if it weren’t the middle of a work day, he’d call Lottie for another update on progress.

While he was still lying flat on his back, head on the pillow, Louis reached over to where he knew Milk and Honey was. He still hadn’t returned it to Harry even though he had been leant three other books since then and returned all of them.

Every book Harry had lent him had been annotated, and Louis had started writing down every line Harry had highlighted with the notes he’d written next to it. Louis knew this was some next-level obsession shit, but he just couldn’t help it. He’d hoped that maybe it could give him some more insight into Harry’s head.

And while they’d all been interesting, and knowing that Harry found them important enough to highlight and comment on probably did reveal things about it, it had nothing on what Harry had highlighted in Milk And Honey.

Of course, he was probably reading too much into that as well. Still, he slipped through the pages, now knowing what to expect by memory, but it seemed more important when he read them when they were tabbed and highlighted by Harry.

He flipped to the middle of the book and opened it at one of the tabs.

‘on days
like this
i need you to
run your fingers
thorough my hair
and speak softly’

Like he always did about every single one, Louis had to wonder why Harry had highlighted that one. Did he see something deeper in it that Louis didn’t? It was possible. But even with years of studying literature, it seemed like a pretty straightforward poem that didn’t leave much up to interpretation.

If only Harry had annotated poetry as he did with novels. The next page was also tabbed and even though he had already memorised it, he still read it.

’i need someone
who knows struggle
as well as i do
someone
willing to hold my feet in their lap
on days it is too difficult to stand
the type of person who gives
exactly what i need
before i even know i need it
The type of lover who hears me
even when i do not speak
is the type of understanding
i demand’

Louis read through it again.

The sound of the front door opening pulled him out of the trance. Was Harry leaving or just getting in? Why had he stood by the door so long if he was just getting in? If he was leaving, where was he going?

He might have been going to the gym, but he rarely went without Louis. The trainer was only coming three times a week, and it wasn’t one of those days. The other days Louis had to go with Harry even though Harry hated it. It was another stupid task that Louis didn’t see the point in. There was security at every entry and exit point at the building, and while they wouldn’t stop Harry from leaving if he went anywhere alone, they’d probably mention it to someone, even if it was just one of the others or Louis.

Besides, at this point, Louis was more likely to force Harry to leave the building than Harry would do of his own volition. But even though it pissed them both off, apparently Louis had to go to the gym with him, so he doubted that Harry had gone alone

But what if he had? Or what if Louis had pissed him off so much by being annoyed that Harry wouldn’t go anywhere that Harry decided actually to go somewhere to prove a point. It seemed like something Harry might do, and as much as Louis did want him to live his life and not let management control it, going somewhere alone was not the right way to do it and was downright dangerous.

Louis pushed himself off the bed and threw his book onto it as his feet led him out of his room, heart noticeably pounding in his chest. Fuck.

Thankfully, and much to Louis’ surprise, Harry was standing in the kitchen, going through the fridge.

The package that he’d passed in the hallway was now resting against the sofa as all the other paintings had been, and Louis was itching to ask Harry what it was, but given that Harry was clearly avoiding him, it didn’t seem the right time to do it.

Knowing that he was fine, Louis should go back to his room. He’d only come out to check Harry hadn’t done anything stupid, which he hadn’t.

“What’s in the package?” For fucks sake, Louis needed to stop letting his mouth control him.

Harry didn’t look away from the fridge but murmured after making Louis wait too long, as always, “You can open it.”

“What?” When enough time had passed that Louis accepted that Harry wasn’t going to answer him, Louis said, “But all the paintings have come.”

Harry still didn’t answer, and Louis was too curious to continue trying to force him to speak, so he walked into the kitchen to grab the scissors.

“No,” Harry’s voice was closer than Louis had expected it to be, and it made him jump. Harry reached around him, and even though he knew that Harry’s body wasn’t touching his, it was close enough that Louis could swear he could feel sparks flying between them. He didn’t have time to focus on that, though, because Harry's fingers brushed his as he gently disentangled Louis’ fingers from the scissors.

Too confused and overwhelmed to move, Louis let go of the scissors and watched as Harry placed them back in the drawer. He reached down and opened the next drawer; he pulled out a bright yellow box cutters and put it in Louis’ hand before moving away.

Louis was frozen. He was stuck in place, staring at the box cutters in his hand. The box cutters that Harry had placed in his hand. The hand that Harry had touched, kind of, just seconds ago.

Harry had touched him. He had felt Harry’s breath on his neck; that’s how close he’d been.

It took much longer than it should have, but Louis managed to pull himself together and walk over to the package. He didn’t open it immediately, not trusting his hands, shaking a little.

Forcing himself to take some deep breaths while keeping them as quiet as possible, not wanting Harry to know what he did to him, he calmed himself enough that he trusted himself to start cutting through the tape. If Harry weren’t still standing there, he would have given himself longer to calm down, but he didn’t have time to waste. Louis couldn’t let Harry know that his brief touch affected him so much that he was paralysed. Harry had let him get away with a lot of inappropriate shit, but if he found out how much effect he had on Louis, Louis was sure he’d be fired. It was so much worse than occasionally swearing at him.

It wasn’t until the cardboard fell to the ground that Louis even realised that he’d managed to open the whole thing, as he had no memory of doing it. Avoiding all eye contact with Harry, refusing even to look up, Louis placed the box cutters back on the counter before removing all the bubble wrap.

Once he had, he could tell it was a canvas, but it was facing the wrong way. He pulled the back of the box away and then turned it around and stood back to look at it.

He exhaled deeply. So deeply that it was really more of a gasp than anything else. “I… but how?”

Harry didn’t respond because, of course, he fucking didn’t. Louis turned around when his need for answers overtook his desperation not to look at Harry.

Harry was standing with his back pressed against the fridge, staring at the painting while chewing on his lip. After a second, he noticed Louis staring at him and released his lip, expression going just as blank as it was ninety-nine per cent of the time. “What?” he asked, his tone almost bored.

“How?” It was all Louis could manage to get out.

Thankfully Harry didn’t play dumb because Louis knew all he’d be able to do was ask how twenty more times.

“You emailed them.”

“What?”

“Before,” Harry said with a shrug. “You emailed like ten of them.”

Had he? “When? I thought I only emailed the top three.”

Harry was still staring at the artwork but shook his head. “No, you sent me a list with ten first and then one with the three.”

“And you kept it?”

“Don’t really check my emails.” Harry glanced at him then, and Louis found himself looking away, unable to meet his eyes. “So when I did, it was there.”

“Why don’t you check your emails?” Why was Louis asking that instead of asking more about Harry having bought a fourth artwork? They hadn’t even hung the first three yet.

“It’s just my personal account. All the important ones get sent to the one you monitor.”

“Eh, you don’t really get important ones there either. I mean, unless management sends you something important, I wouldn’t know because I delete them straight away.”

The noise that came from Harry was enough to make Louis look back at him. He wasn’t smiling because he so very, very, very rarely smiled, but it was in the same region as a smile. Or a smirk. Or just a vaguely amused look. Whatever it was, it was something that wasn’t just a blank expression, and that was a lot coming from Harry.

“You delete emails from management without reading them?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Louis was grateful for whatever the expression on Harry’s face was because otherwise, he would fear for his job—well, more than he currently was. “I mean, I read them the first couple of times. Sometimes I read them. Like… if I think they might be important… but they never are, so I, uhm, just delete them. I mean, normally, they’re addressed to me anyway. If I can see they’re addressed to you, I’ll open them, but even then, they aren’t really important. And they email me like every day, and I….” The more he spoke, the more he realised how fucking unprofessional it was to just delete work emails without reading them. “I open all the emails from everyone else. I can stop deleting them without reading them. I’ll read them from now on. I’m sorry.”

Harry shook his head. His not-quite-a-smile was still not-quite-a-smile, but he was getting closer to one. “It’s fine. They’d call me or tell Liam or something if it's important.” Harry’s voice dropped lower when he said Liam’s name, and his not-quite-a-smile was definitely-not-a-smile after.

“I love it,” Louis said a little too enthusiastically, trying to get Harry’s thoughts off wherever they had gone. When he was met with Harry’s confused expression, he nodded towards the painting. “I love it,” he repeated.

“Oh, right. Cool.”

“Why, uh… what made you choose this one?” Louis studied the painting, trying to remember the others he’d sent through in case they gave him clues. Was this the biggest one? The cheapest? He didn’t think it had been. Even though Harry had complained about how expensive the bowls had been, he didn’t seem to care about actually spending money, and now that Louis knew that management seemed to be holding all of their money and would have to be at least tracking it, Louis didn’t care either. He should convince Harry to buy some houses or something to drain the entire account. From what he could tell, he’d have to buy a fair few places, but it would be worth it just to get the money away from management.

Harry shrugged one of his signature non-commital shrugs.

“Harry.” Louis wasn’t convinced there would ever be a day that he got a straight answer out of Harry, at least not without a book in front of him. Maybe he could make him a book full of answers and make Harry choose one whenever he needed to.

However, his whining didn’t work because Harry picked up his food and walked to the dining table. Louis had officially given up on trying to talk to him while he was eating, so instead, he went to his bedroom and grabbed his laptop. He should just stay in his room, but he… couldn’t. Not when Harry was on the same floor.

So he took his laptop into the living area, sat on the sofa, and went through the emails. He found the one Harry was talking about, the one with a list, the first shortlist. He clicked on the first link, and it took him straight to the artwork he’d just opened, proving that Harry had likely just clicked on the first link and gone with that one.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that Harry had bought another artwork. A fourth one. Louis had only asked him to choose one, and now they had four. The only explanation was that Harry had realised that he also hated his bland as fuck apartment, and truthfully, that was more than enough for Louis. More than enough, really, because Harry having feelings about anything was an improvement. Not only did he have feelings about it, he felt strongly enough about it to find an email that Louis sent him ages ago to find some. Louis just hoped he liked the painting, too. Or at least not hate it. And he mustn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bought it.

“Where are we going to put them?” Louis called across the room, abandoning his ‘don’t talk to Harry’ like he tended to every single meal.

Even with a mouth full of food and half the width of the apartment between them, Harry sighed so loudly that Louis could hear it. He waited for Harry to finish his mouthful and answer. “Dunno. You sort it out.”

“But…” Louis watched as Harry put another mouthful of food into his mouth, and he was sure it was deliberate. “It’s your house, so you should get to decide.”

Harry took even longer with his chewing than he tended to, which was saying something because he was honestly the slowest eater that Louis had ever seen. At least he was when Louis was trying to talk to him. He seemed to eat at a normal speed otherwise. “For fucks sake. I chose them. I even bought extra, so I think you can put some effort in and work out where to put them.”

Louis wanted to argue, but Harry was right - he had done all that. He’d done more than Louis had asked and without even telling Louis. “Okay, fine. Do you have any preferences at all? And what rooms do you want them in? Are there some that you don’t want together? Which one is your favourite, and which one is your least favourite? Can we put one upstairs? Should I hire someone to install them, or should I learn how to do it myself? Obviously, I doubt it’s hard, and I’ve hung paintings before. Just never any this big, so I suppose it might be a bit harder. I think I might need one of those guns that find studs or whatever, or maybe I could just do that thing where they bang on the wood; that doesn’t look too ha-”

“Hire someone,” Harry said through a mouthful of food, and Louis wasn’t sure if he should be offended that the idea of him doing something as simple as hanging paintings was enough to get Harry to talk.

“Fine,” Louis huffed, mostly playfully. “And the rest?”

“I honestly don’t give a shit. Put them wherever.”

“That’s not helpful. I want to know where you want them.”

“I trust you.”

To decide where to put paintings. He trusted Louis to choose where they should go. That was all. Just the paintings. He just meant he trusted Louis with paintings. That’s all. And the fact that he’d just said that he didn’t give a shit where any of them went proved that it wasn’t a big deal. It proved it meant nothing. Hell, he trusted whoever furnished the apartment in the first place, and they went with ‘asylum chic’, so he clearly freely gave his trust away when it came to decorating.

It meant nothing.

So, why did it feel like it might?

Chapter Text

Before Louis entered his life, band practice for Harry had been no more than a monotonous chore, sapping the joy out of the music that once had been as vital to him as his own heartbeat. He had found himself numb, a freeze that had permeated his very being. In its own twisted way, this numbness had provided him peace, protecting him from the sharp edges of both happiness and sorrow.

Compared to now, he realised that his previous disinterest in band practices and even the loss of passion for his music were not true torture.

No, the real torture now took the form of the man seated next to him in the driver's seat of his car as they waited for band practice to start. Louis was oblivious, engrossed in his phone, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. Harry’s stare seemed to catch Louis’ attention, leading to an amused smirk playing on his lips. This was torture—Louis Tomlinson was torture.

The torture Louis induced was a paradox of pain and desire. Every touch, every covert look, every whispered word between them ignited an ache that was both unbearable and irresistible. Yet, the torment of being with him was nothing compared to the pain of being away from him. Harry spent most nights staring at his bedroom ceiling, lost in thoughts of Louis.

Louis Tomlinson personified torture, a bitter-sweet agony. Dull, dreary, and mundane Band practice was now a distant memory... It was no longer a chore but had become an extension of this ongoing suffering. As long as Louis was there, band practice would be a sweet torment for Harry.

Once Louis’ expression had grown a tad too smug, Harry snapped, “What?”

“Nothing,” Louis’ smirk morphed into a pout. Despite seeing through the act, Harry couldn't deny his desire to kiss it away.

Harry's shrill ringtone saved them both from that as it resonated through the car's Bluetooth system. Both their eyes darted towards the screen, and Louis, without hesitation, pressed the answer button next to the steering wheel.

“Hey Niall, what’s up?” Louis answered with an air of casualness that left Harry slightly unnerved. Niall was his friend, and it was his phone, but Louis had blended so effortlessly into their lives that picking up Harry's call felt as natural as breathing.

”Hey,” Niall’s voice filled the car. “Any chance you haven’t left home yet?”

Louis, his eyes glowing like sapphires under the sunlight, looked at Harry. “We’re already here. Why? What’s up?”

“Ah, crap. Liam’s sick again, so we’re calling off practice.”

Harry felt a familiar worry creep up, mirrored in Louis' gaze.

“Alright. Should we pick up anything for him on our way back?” Louis' question seemed to be aimed as much at Harry as it was at Niall.

“No, he's not as bad as last time. I'll stay with him.”

“Okay... Just let us know if you need anything.” As the call ended, Louis looked to Harry, and seemed to survey him. “You’re worried,” Louis said finally, his eyes searching Harry's.

“No,” Harry lied, failing to convince even himself. “Maybe a little,” his gaze dropped from Louis'.

When Louis simply nodded, Harry knew that he was just as worried.

The lingering silence strained until Louis finally spoke, “What if we went somewhere?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like out. We could go somewhere.”

Harry groaned. It had been a few weeks since Louis had last brought it up and he’d hoped he wouldn’t again. “We've been over this. I can't just—”

“Do you trust me?” Louis’ words sliced through his protest.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Louis repeated.

Harry was torn. His initial instinct shouted 'no,' was instantly challenged by a 'yes,' and then doubt slipped back, resounding with another 'no.' He could confidently say for at least the past five years, he had only dared to trust three people.

Even among them, while he trusted Niall and Zayn with his life, it was only Liam he routinely leaned on for advice, especially in situations like this.

Liam, who in the last two months was sick for the fourth time. Liam, who in the last decade, had been ill only once or twice, until now.

Whether it was genuine trust in Louis or a desperate need to stay away from their apartment, knowing he would only worry about Liam there, Harry didn't know; regardless, he found himself nodding.

A radiant smile broke out across Louis' face. It was a reminder for Harry: a reminder of how easily he found himself giving into everything Louis asked of him and of his doubt that he could ever resist. “Good. So can I take you somewhere?”

“I suppose.” The rate at which Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest was alarming.

“Alright,” Louis glanced at the clock, “it's ten past nine,” he stated, likely to himself. “I just need to make a few calls before we go."

“What? Wait, what do you mean? Where the hell are we going?” The questions flew out of his mouth as questions they had materialised in his brain.

Louis simply shot him a sly grin and began to dial his phone, evading all of the questions entirely.

“Hello,” Louis began, “This is Louis Tomlinson. I work for Harry St—” He paused, nodding at a response even though the person he was talking to would be unable to see him, “Yes, that's right. I know this is short notice, but I was wondering if we could maybe arrange something for today? This afternoon?”

Clearly, purposefully ignoring Harry's gaze, Louis' lips formed a tight line as he listened to the person on the other end.

“No, I understand. I was hoping for Mon—” His words cut off abruptly, and he shot Harry a quick, guilty look before correcting himself, “I mean, the main one we discussed earlier? Do you remember?”

Another stretch of silence ensued, followed by a relieved look on Louis' face. “Yes! That one. And also the... the one in Hardcross? Yep, that's right, that one!”

His nodding and silent agreement left Harry straining to hear the voice on the other end of the line, to no avail.

“Well, it would need to be a bit later. We're in London at the moment... Yes, that sounds great. We're not too far from your office, so we'll head that way, and you can just give me a ring when you're ready?”

No sooner had Louis ended the call than Harry blurted out, “What the fuck was that about?”

“What was what?” Louis asked, still glancing at his phone with a smile that seemed just a bit too strained.

“Tomlinson!”

“You said you trusted me, remember? Now hush for a moment, I still have to make more calls.”

“Hey, sorry for calling so early. It's Louis Tomlinson.” After a brief pause, he continued, “I was just wondering if you'd have anyone available today. Likely in a couple of hours, and uh... probably in Sussex.”

“Sussex?” Harry found himself asking. Why would they possibly go to Sussex?

Louis turned to him and placed a finger against his lips, signalling for silence in the same way a teacher would. Harry should've been offended, should've argued with Louis, and insisted he couldn’t treat him like that. Instead, he fell silent, his mind wandering back to their earlier conversation, trying to find any hints that Louis had unknowingly given out.

“Great! I'm still working out the details, but I'll let you know. Also, this would be a private job, like we talked about. You still okay with that?” Louis seemed satisfied with the response. “Thanks, mate, I'll be in touch soon.”

“Are you taking me to Sussex to murder me?” Harry asked.

Louis' lips twitched as he glanced up from his phone. “I might if you don’t stop asking stupid questions.”

Harry couldn’t see exactly what Louis was doing but could tell he was scrolling through Google. A sense of anticipation began to simmer inside him. Louis dialled another number, his gaze roving over Harry from head to toe as he waited for the call to connect.

As Louis’ gaze lingered, a flicker of something not entirely unfamiliar coursed through Harry. It was an odd sensation, this casual scrutiny from Louis – not the kind of public gaze he was used to, but something more personal. It made his mind drift involuntarily towards the countless times he'd found himself watching Louis, and he wondered if Louis had questioned his motives as he was questioning Louis’.

That thought alone stopped him from his attempts to read into the meaning behind Louis' glance. Instead, he mentally shook himself, focusing on whatever plan Louis was attempting to orchestrate.

“Hello, love,” Louis began, his voice echoing a peculiar blend of cheer and urgency. “I've got a bit of an odd request. I'm just ten minutes away and need to buy some clothes. Haven't got time to browse, though. Could you put together some outfits for me? Nothing flashy, actually; the more plain, the better. Two pairs of trousers and a couple of button-down shirts… Yeah, both about thirty-two inches and medium... Excellent! See you soon.”

Once he hung up, Harry broke his silence, “We could've just gone home to change. It's only a twenty-minute drive.”

“But that's twenty minutes in the wrong direction. This saves time.”

Harry was brimming with questions, but finding a starting point was challenging. “Why do we need new clothes? What's wrong with what we're wearing?”

Louis sighed, “There's nothing wrong with them. It's just… you look exactly like, well, Harry Styles. And I think it's better if you don't look like that today so this can all work out.”

Harry felt a knot of apprehension twist in his stomach. Louis' plan seemed too elaborate, teetering precariously on the edge of a catastrophe. But, for reasons beyond his comprehension, he found himself unable to voice his concerns. Instead, he sat in silence, an ominous feeling growing as they made their way to the shop.

Louis parked the car, splitting his attention between Harry and the road. “Are you okay with staying here alone?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, motioning at the car's tinted windows. “I'll be fine.”

Louis didn't appear entirely reassured. “I'll be as quick as I can!”

With a final troubled glance at Harry, Louis bolted from the car, disappearing into the store. He reappeared in less than a minute, swiftly returning to the car. As soon as his seatbelt clicked in place, his phone trilled.

“Hello, Louis speaking... Thank you! We're only a few minutes away. Is it okay if I park in the same spot as before? Great, see you soon.”

Having given up on his attempts to extract information from Louis, Harry directed his attention to the GPS. While Louis hadn't input the details of the building– only an address, the outlined route was clearly visible on the screen. After a few minutes of driving in silence, the screen alerted that they had reached their destination.

“Why the hell are we at a National Trust office?”

“Okay, so…” Louis parked and unbuckled his seatbelt, looking everywhere except for Harry avoiding his gaze. “Please, don't lose it, but I... I suppose I should've probably discussed this part with you beforehand-”

“This part? You mean everything up until now was fine not to talk to me about? You treat this like some casual trip out. Going out in public is a big deal. There are protocols in place and they exist for a reason.”

Louis' face fell, and a twinge of regret pinched Harry's heart. “Can I just explain what I've done, and then, well, if you want to call it off, we can?” Harry knew that wasn’t an option because he couldn’t bear for his expression to fall any further.

“Fine, go ahead.”

Louis paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “Right, this building—it's a National Trust office. A couple of weeks ago, I managed to arrange a meeting with the bloke in charge here. It took some doing, given he's responsible for an entire array of buildings. Before, I didn’t tell him who I was or you were until I had him sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

Harry felt his eyebrows inch upwards. Louis had done what?

“After that, I asked if he could get some of the other staff at some of the National Trust places to sign NDAs. That way, if we had time to visit, we could. Every single member has signed, and I was thinking we could go to some. But you need to sign the NDAs first.”

Harry blinked, processing the information. “Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry. I uh… I probably shouldn’t have done it and if you're not comfortable, we can head back. I get it.”

Louis had done... all this?

“It’s fine,” Harry finally murmured, still trying to wrap his head around Louis' efforts. The entire thing seemed reckless, a potential disaster... but Louis had covered all bases, hadn't he? There were NDAs, a plan...

Louis beamed, and Harry wondered if there was anything he wouldn’t do to keep the smile on his face. “Great! They’re all stored in this small office because it’s closest. Everyone here has signed an NDA as well. Last time I was here, I asked about entrances, and if we go through that door,” Louis pointed to a door just a few meters away from their car, “we can avoid all security cameras, just to be safe. Are you okay with that?”

Harry glanced at Louis, his mind still trying to piece together the information. 'Okay' wasn't exactly how he felt, but he was willing.

For Louis.

Always for Louis.

Harry settled back into the passenger seat after they finished with the NDAs, mulling over Louis' words. He'd reluctantly agreed not to question the agreements he was signing so that their exact destination was ‘a surprise’. All he knew was that it involved a National Trust property in Sussex.

As Louis set the GPS to go to the county of Sussex–entirely unhelpful–Harry found his gaze naturally drifting towards him. Even behind the wheel, Louis exuded an air of command, self-assuredness radiating off him. His hair was a little ruffled, his cheeks tinged pink from their hasty wardrobe change at the National Trust office. They'd swapped their usual outfits for clothes meant to blend in with the crowd. Yet, even in the clothes that would look boring if anyone else was wearing them, Louis managed to capture all of Harry’s attention.

A bittersweet yearning tugged at his heart, a feeling he was growing familiar with. It was a silent longing, sparked not only by Louis' proximity but by the sight of his tousled hair, the curve of his lips, and the way his slender fingers danced effortlessly over the steering wheel. Louis' mere presence made the journey bearable; everything that was unspoken was reflected in each sidelong glance and a nervous smile.

Louis' voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Okay, we're here!” The announcement, filled with anticipation, echoed in Harry's ears. His eyes fell upon an old weatherboard house, its rustic appeal doing nothing to alleviate his confusion.

Apparently reading Harry's expression, Louis nodded. “Right, you still don't know. So, sessions usually last thirty minutes, but I’ve booked two. Gives us more time to get in and out.”

His explanation did not ease Harry’s confusion; in fact, it seemed to cause it to grow. Before he could vocalise his questions, a wave of unease swept over him. There was another vehicle parked on the otherwise deserted street. A figure emerged from it, and Harry stiffened. He felt Louis pause, his gaze flitting between Harry and the approaching man.

His heart hammered in his chest as Louis' arm brushed against his. The warmth radiating through the fabric of Louis' shirt was both comforting and concerning. “Hey,” Louis whispered, attempting to soothe Harry’s mounting anxiety. His words, however, only served to tangle Harry's stomach in knots, although for an entirely different reason. “It’s just Terry. But if you want, we can just go home.”

Harry's gaze tracked Louis’ to the man in question, his favourite security personnel. “You got Terrance?”

“Well, yeah, we need security, don't we?” Louis’ causal reply caught Harry off-guard. It was true, they did need security, but he hadn’t expected Louis to arrange it. He also hadn’t expected any of Louis’ thorough planning though.

“How?”

“Called him. Figured since you guys trust him, he must be good. Checked he hadn’t signed anything with Management first,” Louis said as if that would have been Harry’s most pressing question. It was not. “And he hadn’t. But I got him to sign something saying he can’t tell management.” Louis seemed to search Harry’s face. “He was happy to, I didn’t, like, force him to.”

“You…?”

Louis’ expression turned serious. “I’m sorry. I...” His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. “Do you want to just go home? I shouldn’t have done a–.”

“No,” Harry replied. He knew Louis remained sceptical, so he emphasised his point. “No. I don’t want to go home.”

There was still a flicker of uncertainty in Louis' eyes but he exited the car. Harry stayed a moment longer, his gaze following Louis as he moved towards Terry. Seeing them chatting comfortably was oddly unsettling, stirring something in the pit of his stomach.

Finally, he managed to pull himself from the vehicle and joined the pair.

“Hey mate,” Terry greeted him, a friendly warmth in his smile.

“Hey.” Harry's reply came out stiff, showing his discomfort. He liked Terry and trusted him to do his job, but being around him was a reminder of how different things were now. His eyes dropped to Terry’s attire. “Your, ah... outfit?” Never, in all the times he’d seen Terrance, had he seen him in old jeans and a knitted jumper.

Chuckling, Terry replied, “Louis suggested I blend in a bit today. Didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”

Terry’s words washed over Harry, the apparent implication causing him to feel nauseated. “What does management usually tell you to wear? When they hire you, I mean.”

“Well,” Terry’s hesitation confirmed Harry’s suspicions.

“They tell you to dress like a guard.” Harry's voice held a touch of realisation, surprising even himself. He had never really considered why the security was always so visible whenever they went out. Were the uniforms just another means of attracting attention?

Louis seemed to sense the change in Harry’s mood. “We, uh, we should probably head in.” His voice was tense, eyes scanning Harry with concern. “C’mon.”

The uncertainty in Louis' eyes dissipated as he moved towards the building. Off to the side, there was a makeshift graveyard. Louis veered towards a towering tree, though, next to a brick wall, his movements cautious and deliberate, then stopped and turned back towards Harry. His eyes held a glow, a mesmerising mix of emotions that sent Harry's heart drumming against his ribcage.

"Harry, hurry up!" Louis called back, the urgency in his tone evident.

Reluctantly quickening his stride, Harry moved to Louis' side. His gaze followed Louis' downward, landing on a weathered wall adorned with the statue of a head. However, it was the plaque underneath, inscribed with stark lettering, that seemed to be what Louis was looking at.

BENEATH THIS TREE ARE
BURIED THE ASHES OF
VIRGINIA WOOLF
Born January 25, 1882
Died March 28, 1941
Death is the enemy. Against you
I will fling myself, unvanquished and
Unyielding– o Death.
-The Waves

Harry found himself reading the inscription multiple times, each word seeping into his consciousness. It took him a moment to tear his eyes away from the plaque and meet Louis' gaze. Louis was watching him, an unfamiliar mix of uncertainty and hope shimmering in his eyes.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they shared a silent communion, the gravity of the place settling around them.

"Monk’s House," Harry murmured, the pieces falling into place. This was no ordinary trip. Louis had brought him to Virginia Woolf's house.

At Harry's words, Louis nodded in a slow and deliberate motion.

Harry felt a lump in his throat, a whirl of emotions that he didn't quite know how to articulate.

“We…” Louis started, “if you don’t want to, we can–”

“Shut up,” Harry cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just, just stop. I do want to. I do.”

The grin that spread across Louis' face was just as captivating as all the others. “Okay, good. I think we should tour the house first, then the garden. That way, if the next group arrives early, they can keep them in the house while we leave.”

“Whatever you think,” Harry replied, his voice heavy. He trailed behind Louis towards the rear entrance of the house, with Terry respectfully maintaining their space. The depth of this moment, the raw intimacy shared in this sacred place, was not lost on him.

Their guide, an affable woman in her sixties named Rose, welcomed them at the entrance of the Monk's House with a warm smile that hinted she had given this tour countless times. She gently opened the green front door, unveiling the world that Leonard and Virginia Woolf once called home. Harry was visibly moved as they stepped inside.

“It's as though they've just popped out for a stroll, isn't it?” Rose mused. “This right here,” she motioned to a humble writing desk placed neatly in a corner, “was Leonard Woolf's sanctuary. Virginia's husband wrote his five-volume autobiography at this very desk.” The history of the place seemed to waft through the air, hanging heavy in the tiny space.

Trying to take it all in, Harry found himself staring at the desk, his mind barely able to comprehend the significance of this mundane piece of furniture. He made a mental note to read Leonard's works soon.

As they moved into Virginia's room, Rose's narration continued, painting a vivid picture of Virginia’s life. “Virginia often found solace in the serene orchard that lay just outside this window. It was here that she penned classics like 'To the Lighthouse' and 'Mrs. Dalloway.'”

Harry glanced around the room, his heart pounding with awe and anticipation. The idea that he was standing in the very room where Virginia Woolf conceived her novels was nearly too much to process. The flood of emotions and the barrage of information left him feeling both overwhelmed and humbled.

The tour continued to the drawing room, a place that seemed like a time capsule preserving the artistic and intellectual era. “The Bloomsbury Group often met here,” Rose explained, gesturing to the crowded bookshelves, the faded photographs, and the furniture bearing the signs of frequent use. “The air of this room once resonated with their debates and discussions.”

“E. M Forster, right?” Louis inquired as they entered the drawing room, his words grounding Harry amidst the surge of emotions. “He was here, wasn’t he?”

Rose nodded, seemingly pleased with Louis’ knowledge. “Indeed, he was a frequent visitor, as were many other notable figures of the time. Are you a fan of his?”

“Yeah, I enjoy his work. Bit embarrassed to admit, I only just got around to reading Maurice last week, all thanks to Harry.” Louis nudged Harry lightly as he mentioned his name, and Harry felt a jolt of warmth spread through him, leaving him even more disoriented. “Enjoyed it, though. T.S. Eliot was here, too, right? And the Bells - Julian and Vanessa?”

“So, you have an affinity for poetry?” Rose's voice bore a hint of surprise, but Harry found it hard to focus on it, with Louis' proximity affecting him too much.

“We do, yeah,” Louis said.

We do.

We do.

We.

“You're right, yes,” Rose continued, answering Louis’ question. “The Bloomsbury Group had many a lively discussion in this room.”

Their conversation was interrupted as Rose beckoned them towards a door leading to the back garden. Harry's breath hitched as they stepped outside; the garden was a mesmerising canvas of colours, a testament to the Woolfs' love for nature.

“Virginia loved this garden. She often described it as a 'living painting',” Rose shared, her voice soft with reverence. “Look around you. Every tree, every flower, they all bear witness to the life she and Leonard built.”

Harry walked slowly, savouring the details: the rose bush climbing a wooden arbour, the hydrangeas bordering the vegetable patch, the apple trees heavy with fruit. A sense of serenity washed over him. He could almost see Virginia, straw hat shielding her face, digging in the soil, or resting in the shade of the fruit trees with a book.

Harry found himself involuntarily uttering, “‘If I were to show you around Monks House, I should begin with the garden; for we are even more proud of our garden than of our house.’” His voice was a whisper, the words escaping him as if they'd been there, on the tip of his tongue, awaiting release.

At his side, Louis turned to look at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed in a question.

“Virginia,” Harry clarified, his gaze still on the garden, the person of the quote he had just shared. He could feel the weight of Louis' gaze on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look back.

Their journey eventually led them to the Lodge, a humble wooden structure. It housed nothing more than a desk and a chair. Its simplicity struck a chord with Harry; it seemed like the perfect environment for creating intricate worlds of words.

“This is where Virginia spent her later years writing,” Rose stated. “She often stared out that window as it offers a panoramic view of the South Downs. She found it a comforting escape, a haven where she could surrender to her thoughts.”

“She wrote‘The Waves’ here,” Louis’ voice was a gentle murmur that seemed to vibrate. “I looked it up.”

Harry found himself gravitating towards the window, absorbing the breathtaking landscape. He could imagine himself getting lost in the view and wondered if Virginia had, too, her gaze straying from her typewriter to the lush greenery surrounding her. A strange thrill surged through him as he tried to grasp the significance of it all, but even then, he struggled. He doubted he would ever be able to grasp it fully.

“Virginia once wrote, 'I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older,'” Rose said. Harry's gaze returned to the vibrant garden, a symphony of colours accompanied by the soft hum of bees and the fluttering dance of butterflies.

Rose must have taken her leave at some point, but Harry wasn't aware when. Terry was somewhere at the garden's edge, offering them privacy with his discrete distance. Yet the presence Harry was undeniably aware of was Louis'—quietly walking with him, seeming to understand how significant it was.

Of course Louis understood the gravity of it all.

He had been the one to plan this, to organise it. He was the one who brought Harry here, into the heart of one of his favourite author's worlds.

Harry cleared his throat, an uncharacteristic nervousness seizing him. “Thank you,” he managed, trying to instil the depth of his gratitude into the words that seemed much too simple. “For... all of this.” His gaze met Louis’ - a rare, raw moment where neither of them looked away.

Until Louis blinked. His cheeks adopted a subtle flush, the corners of his lips quirking up in a smile like he wasn't quite sure how to accept such an earnest thank you. Harry had never given him one before. He nodded, a soft “you're welcome” hanging silently in the air between them.

From across the garden, Terry’s voice drifted over, pulling them from their moment. “Gents, we should probably head off.”

Louis blinked out of their shared silence, turning to Terry and giving him a quick “Thanks.”

Harry glanced around the garden, overcome with a depressing thought. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I stood on grass.” He hadn’t meant to say it, not really.

Instead of surprise or judgment, Louis just offered him an understanding nod. Because he did understand.

“Kind of wish we had more time.” Again, the words seemed to tumble out without his permission.

“Well,” Louis began, “I mean, we don’t have more time here, but we have another stop, as long as you’re up for it.”

Harry blinked. “Somewhere else?”

Louis chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, though it’s not as exciting. I don’t know if it will earn me another touching thank you like that one.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Fuck off.” He wasn't sure he’d ever found holding back a smile so difficult.

“Lads?” Terry's voice carried over the garden once more, mingled with the hum of nature and of Louis' laughter.

“Sorry, we’re coming,” Louis said before starting to move. Harry fell in step beside him, a silent accord passing between them. “So, we're good to go to the next place?”

“Yeah.” Harry hadn't even consciously decided before he answered. But as soon as it was spoken, it felt right. They were already out of the apartment, out of London, and the thought of returning felt almost suffocating. This was where he wanted to be - where he needed to be. With who he wanted to be.

“Great!” When they reached Terry, Louis made sure he was clear on the next destination before they climbed back into Harry’s car.

“You going to tell me we’re going?”

A smirk played on Louis’ lips. “Nope.”

Half an hour into the drive, the silence was only interrupted by a subtle playlist that Harry put on, the songs whispering in the background, creating a soft blanket of sound over their shared anticipation. The mood inside the car had subtly shifted - it felt dense with the residue of memories, the echo of the house, and something else, something unspoken.

Eventually, they reached a large sign that read 'Nymans'. Louis skillfully manoeuvred the Range Rover down a long gravel road, bypassing the main car park, and tucked it neatly away in a more secluded area. He turned off the engine, the soft purr dying instantly, leaving them engulfed in the overwhelming silence of their countryside surroundings.

“So,” Louis finally broke the silence, “there's an area of the grounds that can be locked off, so we're going to stay there until the venue closes for the public, and then...we have it.”

“Have it? Have what?” Harry echoed, his gaze instinctively drawn to Louis.

“All of it. But we’re staying for the ruins mainly."

“Ruins?”

“Yep,” Louis responded, his smile broadening just as a golf buggy pulled up next to them. “Transport.”

As they exited the Range Rover, Harry was acutely aware of Louis - his presence, his scent, his energy. Together, they met up with Terry, and the three of them walked over to the buggy. The driver, a cheery middle-aged man, introduced himself, and they went on their journey through the property.

They didn’t pass a single person on their way. The scenery of the gardens they passed caused Harry to silently with Louis’ earlier statement– he would need another thank you. He deserved a lot more than that, but Harry wasn’t sure what else he had to offer.

“Welcome to The Sunk Garden and Loggia,” the driver announced as he gestured towards a massive wooden door embedded within a maze of hedges. “Feel free to lock it behind you. We’ve arranged for some food and other amenities. Just give us a call if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” Louis responded with a polite smile. Together, they exited the buggy and entered their secluded garden.

Once they were inside, Harry felt the world shift around him. The lush green garden was striking, and at the far end stood the intriguing silhouette of the building. The sight of it stirred something inside Harry.

After Terry did a quick sweep of the area, declaring it clear, he retreated to a far corner of the garden. Harry's gaze lingered on Louis, still unable to fathom that he’d orchestrated the entire day. A perfect day. Harry couldn’t think of one quite so perfect.

As they were in a secluded garden, hidden away from the rest of the world, with Harry's focus so intently on Louis, it felt as though they were the only two people in existence.

Louis looked at Harry, “You hungry? They said they'd put some food out.”

Harry felt so caught up in Louis that he was unable even to know if he was hungry, but his stomach was rumbling, so he nodded.

They stepped under the shadow of the loggia, a sheltered oasis in the middle of the sprawling garden. It was inviting, with blankets and pillows carefully arranged on the ground.

The daylight dappled through the vine-covered ceiling, casting a comfortable glow on the scene. There was an array of food spread out; sandwiches, cut fruit, cookies, as well as some jugs of juice.

Everything seemed to scream intimacy, from the layout of pillows to the thoughtful food spread, painting a cosy picture under the afternoon sky.

But then Louis shifted, drawing Harry's attention back to him. There was a slight crease between his brows, his eyes flitting between Harry and the setup as he gestured vaguely. “Look, I didn’t... this wasn't meant to…” He seemed to struggle for words, finally sighing and waving towards the setup. “I didn't ask them to make it…all romantic.”

Arching an eyebrow, Harry asked, “Really?”

“Yes, really! I just thought it made sense to eat here while waiting for everyone to leave. Because we haven't had lunch. That's all.”

Unable to endure Louis’ distress, Harry found himself needing to pull him out of it, “I know, I know.” Settling himself down on the pillows, Harry picked up a sandwich, biting into it as his eyes roamed over the intricate carvings of the loggia, deliberately avoiding looking in Louis' direction.

The ensuing silence stretched between them until Louis nudged Harry's foot gently with his own. “I'm sorry if this setup made you feel awkward or whatever. That wasn't the intention. Honestly.”

“Louis, I know.” Harry said, keeping his voice calm yet insistent. A thought crossed his mind, a wondering, really, of what an actual date planned by Louis would look like. Even as Louis continued to emphasise this wasn't one, Harry couldn't help but think that no date could ever top this.

They found themselves enveloped in a comfortable silence as they ate their lunch. Harry felt Louis’ gaze landing on him from time to time, but he kept his own focused on his food.

“Why do they lock this off?” Harry asked, his eyes scanning the area before finding their way back to Louis.

“Well…” Louis seemed to hesitate, his gaze shifting. “They usually use it for weddings so it’s to stop random people from walking in.”

Harry paused momentarily, confused as to why it had caused Louis to hesitate. Then, a rough chuckle escaped his lips.

Louis seemed frozen in place, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape.

Harry’s laughter ebbed, leaving a brief silence behind. “What?”

“You...you laughed,” Louis stammered.

Harry's brows furrowed. "So? I laugh."

Sometimes.

As if Louis could hear the uncertainty in his head, he shook his head slowly. “No, you don't. Not really. But I made you laugh.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because you've been trying to convince me none of this was meant to be romantic, even though you rented out a wedding venue for a picnic.”

Louis’ lips curved into a pout. “Shut up and finish your food.” After taking a few bites of his sandwich, Louis added, “It still counts. I made you laugh.”

When they were done eating, Louis checked his phone. “We still have about an hour until the place closes.” He looked around the loggia they were in, which Harry could now see would be where the wedding ceremonies took place. “They were meant to– Ah!” Pushing himself off the ground, he walked over to a corner and brought back a box, settling it between himself and Harry.

"Books?" Harry tilted his head to look inside the box.

“Yeah. There is a secondhand bookshop inside. They offered to leave some out for us and to keep the shop open for us later." His face brightened as he sifted through the collection. Gently jabbing Harry with his elbow, Louis said, “Pick one.”

“Why me?” Harry grumbled.

“Because it's your turn to read.”

“No, it's not.”

“It is, I read last night,” Louis countered.

While Louis had read last night, Harry held the belief that Louis should always be the one to read. He let Louis believe that it was because he didn’t like reading aloud, but in reality, Harry simply liked listening to Louis' voice.

Louis seemed to have shifted his attention back to the picnic. “Can we move the blankets and stuff onto the grass? The stone's a bit cold.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

A few minutes passed before Louis re-joined Harry, who was still trying to complete the task of choosing a book. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis said, his patience evidently running thin. “You go sit down, and I’ll pick something.”

Without saying a word, Harry moved to the blanket that Louis had spread out on the grass, sprawling out on his back, resting his head on one of the pillows.

Louis soon cast a shadow over him, holding out a book. Blinking against the sunlight, Harry looked at the cover. “The Scarlet Letter. Really?”

By the time Harry had read the title, Louis had already made himself comfortable, also lying on the blanket... uncomfortably close to Harry. A wave of warmth surged through him, and he wondered if Louis was aware of the effect he had.

“Yeah,” Louis affirmed, his tone brimming light, seemingly unaware of how dangerously fast he was causing Harry's heart to race. “Then we can watch Easy A.”

That was Harry's own fault, really. He was the one who'd instigated the rule that if a movie was based on a book, they had to read the book first.

In all fairness to himself, though, it was Louis who'd modified that rule over time until it had morphed into this strange ritual where they had to read the book together, aloud, even if they had already read it before.

Their shoulders grazed each other unintentionally, and the electric contact sent Harry's heart thudding against his ribcage. How could Louis still incite such a powerful reaction in him?

In need of something to distract him from the close proximity between the two of them, Harry turned his attention to the book. Rolling onto his side so he could read without the harsh sunlight obstructing the words, he attempted to maintain a safe distance from Louis, but when their knees brushed, he realised he hadn’t succeeded.

“Harry,” Louis' soft tone sliced Harry's words, breaking his reading rhythm.

Setting the book aside, Harry turned to see Louis lying on his side, facing Harry, his features carved with worry. “Yeah?” Harry asked, unnerved.

“I kind of feel like I forced you to do all this. Are you sure you're okay with it?” Louis inquired, his voice threaded with concern. Harry noted that Louis had an edge of uncertainty for most of the day.

It was all overwhelming. There Louis was, lying just next to him on a blanket, speaking in hushed tones. It was so easy for Harry to reach out, to touch him. Or even to lean in and kiss hi- No, he wasn’t going to think about that. “Yes,” he replied, reeling his thoughts back to Louis' question.

“But?” How Louis had the apparent ability the hear the concern niggling in Harry's brain was a mystery.

“Just…”

“Management, right?” Louis' expression was hard to read. On other occasions, Louis had shown frustration whenever Harry mentioned management; whatever the expression he currently wore was, it was not frustration.

“We could get into trouble.” Realising how childish that sounded, Harry added, “As in legal trouble.”

“But, technically,” a playful smirk danced on Louis’ lips, “we're not breaching anything.”

Harry arched a brow in scepticism. “What do you mean?”

“They fucked up the contracts," Louis said it so simply.

Harry frowned. “Management doesn’t fuck up contracts.” A few years ago, he’d taken his to a big industry Lawyer who informed him that his contract was ‘airtight’ and ‘thorough’ and that he ‘would have no shot at getting out of it.’

“Well, this time, they did.”

“How?”

“Your contract about us going out. What does it say?”

“I need permission,” Harry answered.

“And who do you have to get permission from?”

“Lucille?”

“I’ve got no idea who Lucille is. Your contract actually says you need to get it from a ‘Coordinating Party’. And in another part of the contract, Personal Assistants are listed as a Coordinating Party. Which, as you may or may not know, is my job title.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know what's in my contract?”

Louis faltered for a moment at Harry's question, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He quickly recovered, maintaining his playful façade. “Well, I’m not talking about your specific contract. But this is what’s written in the band’s contract says, and you fall under that.”

Blinking at him, Harry asked, “How do you know what the band's contract says?” He wasn’t even sure where his own copy was stored.

“Can we not get hung up on irrelevant details and get back to the point?”

Harry swallowed, aware of the proximity of Louis and the faint smell of his cologne. Every sense heightened, every fibre of his being alert to Louis’ presence. “Alright. But even with a PA defined as a 'coordinating party', or whatever, you'd still need management’s approval.”

Louis' smirk reappeared. “Nope, my contract specifically states I need permission from my superiors. And that happens to be you guys.”

“Well, that would just mean it falls on me for not telling them.” Harry honestly did not care at all about management coming after him. His fear, however, was that they’d find a way to go after Louis. They’d made it perfectly clear that they’d be willing to find a way to if it came to it.

“It’s not, though. Firstly because I got approval from Zayn, not you, and secondly, under your band contract, you all have the oversight on my actions to ensure they comply with the band’s guidelines. You all have the final say on my decisions.”

Harry attempted to understand Louis’ explanation, his brow furrowing.

Clearly understanding Harry's struggle, Louis simplified it. “You needed permission for today from a coordinating party - that's me as a PA. I, on the other hand, needed approval from my superior, which in this case was Zayn. As per the contact that the band signed with management about hiring me, band members oversee my actions without needing to tell management as long as everything aligns with operational guidelines. Which is exactly what we did today. Obviously, they weren't trying to give me extra power or anything. They put it in the so that if I fucked up, the responsibility would fall on you guys, but they inadvertently worded it in a way that means you don't have to tell them.”

“I mean… it seems like a bit of a grey area,” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, it definitely is! A massive grey area. But if Management ever tried to penalise us, we'd have a solid case to fight back with.”

“A case? What do you mea–”

“And also,” Louis interrupted, “because management decided to write you lot the longest contracts in history, they actually made it even easier for me. They included a list of 'Operational Requirements' for going out in public. And guess what? I followed every single one.”

“Like what?” Harry questioned.

“Well, things like arranging security, handling NDAs, making logistical plans to minimise exposure. And importantly, ensuring direct and secure communication between you and the coordinating party, who, if you didn’t catch that earlier, is m–”

“You, yeah. Got it." A grin threatened to break onto Harry's face. In part due to Louis seemingly learning his job title, as well as him sounding as though he was reciting the contract word-by-word.

“Anyway, as I was saying, it also involves conducting risk assessments. I did all of those too.”

Harry blinked. “You did risk assessments?”

Louis nodded, the action causing his hair to mussy up on the pillow next to Harry’s. So close that Harry could just reach ou–

“Yep,” Louis said, pulling Harry back to reality, “have them stored back at home for each place. It was tricky because I haven’t been to most of the places so I had just to look them up online and try to work out all the potential risks and stuff. And I’ve never done any before so that made it hard to, especially, try to come up with ways to minimise the risks. But I called a lot of the venues, and they helped. Well, most of them, anyway. Some of them already had risk assessments that they’d done, but I’d finished mine by the time I found that out. So I have like seven that I didn’t even need to do. ”

“Wait, how many did you do all up?”

Louis shrugged. “Oh, about… thirty-two.”

“I… but why?”

“Why what?”

“You do know you're allowed to leave the house, don't you? You didn’t need to go through all that to go out. You could have just come here.”

Louis’ brows furrowed, etching a deep line across his forehead. “But… I. It wasn’t just about that. I mean, I did want to, but I primarily did this for you.”

“I didn't ask you to, though.”

“I know. But it was something I wanted to do. I know that I’m constantly around, always in your space and annoying you.”

As Louis' frown deepened, Harry found himself wanting to kiss the tension away.

“It’s just that,” Louis paused, his eyes briefly closing. Whether to gather his thoughts or avoid Harry's gaze, Harry couldn't say. “I... actually enjoy spending time with you, and I thought…”

Finding his gaze glued to Louis, Harry realised how hard it was to maintain an emotional distance from him. The hint of disappointment and the sight of his soft, contemplative pout made it next to impossible.

“And I know I'm just your employee, and...and initially, you didn’t even want to hire me.” A sharp pang shot through Harry's chest. How could Louis still harbour that belief after everything? “But, I just thought…”

When Louis opened his eyes, Harry was blindsided by the raw vulnerability they held. It was a sight that tugged at his heartstrings and made him yearn to reassure him.

And the worst part? It was Harry’s fault.

Louis was under the impression his company wasn't wanted when in fact, Harry craved nothing more than his presence. Louis had effortlessly brightened his life, akin to the stars bringing light to a darkened night sky.

“It’s fine,” Louis conceded, his tone imbued with resignation. “I get it.”

But he didn’t. He was so far from understanding the truth that it felt like he was on a different plane of existence. The silence grew thick, and Harry found himself desperate to break it, to say something.

“This whole thing was just stu–”

Before Louis could finish his sentence, Harry acted on instinct. With a surge of adrenaline coursing through him, he reached out, his hand instinctively finding Louis’ hair. The strands were as soft as he'd imagined, his fingers tangling within them easily.

As his heart hammered in his chest, a rhythm as wild as the emotions swirling within him, he shuffled slightly on the blanket and leaned in, his eyes closing the moment before their faces met. The world fell away, leaving only the sound of his own erratic heartbeat and the sensation of Louis' lips beneath his own.

He felt Louis freeze for just a split second, enough time for a flicker of doubt to pierce the haze of Harry's desire. But as quickly as it came, it vanished when he felt Louis respond, a subtle shift as his body relaxed and he melded into the kiss.

It was soft, gentle – a stark contrast to the frantic beating of his heart. It was everything he had thought it would be, a sweet intoxication that spread warmth through his veins. His senses were overwhelmed by Louis - the feel of his hair under his fingertips, the faint scent of his cologne, and most importantly, the taste of his lips. The lips that had lined his dreams for months now.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Louis’, their quickened breaths mingling. Opening his eyes, he found Louis looking back at him, his eyes wide and shock still etched on his features.

Harry's heart echoed in his chest, his mind racing to process the reality. Yet, as he looked at Louis - lips swollen and eyes wide with surprise - Harry felt a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the whirlpool of their shared confusion.

It had been impulsive, it had been sudden, and yet, nothing else he’d ever done had felt as right as it had.

Chapter Text

Harry's soft and urgent kiss made Louis' heart surge into his throat. What the fuck was happening? For a moment, Louis was frozen, unable to respond, unable to think. Then he felt Harry’s fingers threading through his hair, and all the tension melted and Louis gave into the kiss. Gave all of him to Harry.

For a breath-stealing moment, the world whittled down to the two of them. His lips tingled, and his stomach filled with an unsettling warmth.

Then, much too soon, Harry pulled away, resting his forehead on Louis’. The garden around them seemed dimmer, it was as if the sun stopped shining so brightly within a couple of seconds that Harry’s lips were on his. Harry stared at him, his eyes wide open, and for the first time, Louis saw life in them, feelings.

Before Louis could untangle the meaning in them, there was a distant rumble outside, causing Harry to blink away all the emotion. They pulled apart, the real world crashing down on them.

The rumble got louder and louder before someone called out, and Louis realised it was one of the staff members.

“Lads?” Terry called from a distance. “You ready to go?”

Louis clenched his fists, nails digging into his palm. He wanted to say no, wanted to beg Harry to kiss him again. But he couldn’t.

He had no idea how he’d managed it, no memory of how he even got off the ground, let alone through the door of the Sunk Garden, but somehow he did. No longer protected by the wall of trees, the crisp, late afternoon air hit Louis, causing him to shiver. Or maybe the shiver was caused by Harry kissing him.

His neck was warm as he turned to Terry, his hands digging into pockets, having no idea what else he could do with them. Then he forced a smile and nodded at him. He couldn’t meet his eyes though, worried that they’d show he’d watched it all. Although if he had, he could explain to Louis what the hell had happened.

“A’right, Louis? Harry?”

At Terry saying Harry’s name, Louis looked to his side. Harry was there, standing next to Louis, but the gap between their bodies felt too big. Or … too small. Or just … wrong.

The employee who was sitting in front of them, in the driver’s seat, either didn’t notice that Louis was losing his mind, or didn’t give a shit, as he grinned at them all. “Hope you gents enjoyed yourselves—”

At the innocent words — well, Louis hoped they were innocent — Louis let out a strangled noise. Beside him, Harry shifted. Louis needed to get his shit together.

A mix of emotions swirled within him, a never-ending pendulum swinging from one extreme to the next.

"The last of our guests have left. Why don't you hop on and I'll take you to the ruins?"

Louis glanced at Harry, who was staring into the distance and cleared his throat. “Sounds good, mate.” His voice sounded as dry as it was.

Harry didn’t wait for any further instructions and got in the buggy. Terry climbed in next, leaving the seat next to Harry empty.

After half a second of hesitation, Louis walked up to the seat. His hand hovered over the arm rail as every muscle inside him tensed for a moment, and then he lowered himself into the seat.

It was just … he had no fucking idea what he was meant to do. Harry had kissed him.

Harry kissed him.

Harry had kissed him. Harry. His boss. Harry, who Louis had been pretty sure just tolerated his presence, had kissed him. Which had to mean that he more than just tolerated his presence.

Didn’t it?

If the distance between their bodies was anything to go by— No, it meant nothing at all.

As the buggy picked up speed, causing wind to rush against Louis’ face, it was a blunt reminder of Harry’s missing touch. At the thought, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Harry again. His jaw was set as he looked to the other side, and Louis' gaze lingered on Harry's jaw-line for too long. A few seconds, maybe.

All the seconds. What's the standard time to view a jaw-line? He’d guess none. But Harry’s jawline deserved attention, especially since Louis had felt it next to his skin less than ten minutes ago. When a whole body chill ran down Louis’ spine, he pulled himself out of it and looked away. Not that it seemed to matter as Harry was ignoring him entirely, but Louis forced his own face into a neutral expression, just in case.

It wasn’t until Louis heard someone clear their throat that he realised the buggy had stopped. Looking around, he realised all the picturesque views had been wasted on him – he couldn’t remember a single one. Harry’s head flew up, and he hadn’t seemed to notice either, which made him feel a bit better. Louis found Terry standing a few feet away, looking between them. Thankfully, his expression was neutral, and it didn’t seem like he was about to yell out, ‘You guys kissed’!

Louis wanted to yell it, though, and then ask Harry what the actual fuck was going on. Because what the actual fuck?

“We, um —- we’re here, gents,” the driver said from behind them.

It took a moment for Louis to force himself to get out of the buggy. Like Harry had. Harry was a normal person who could act normally after a kiss, apparently.

As soon as both Louis’ feet hit the ground, the driver sped away, leaving them behind.

Louis wished he could speed away too, but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to escape it. It would follow him everywhere.

They headed towards the ruins, Terry walking close by. It was like a lifeline, having Terry there, acting as a buffer. But every few steps, Louis couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t there, just to see what would happen.

The sound of footsteps on gravel heightened the silence. It was unnerving having Harry next to him, walking at the same pace. He was usually strides ahead, or trailing behind. Harry's walking with him should have felt positive... It didn’t feel like that, though. It almost felt like the opposite.

As they walked through the arch, leading them into the ruins, Louis cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, quite something, innit?” he got out, “Built in the early twentieth century, apparently.” He was pretty sure that was true. He’d tried to learn facts about each place as he wrote the risk assessments, wanting to have things to say. His intention at the time was to fill any awkward silences, never to defuse the type of stifling tension that was surrounding them. Because not once had he considered that Harry’s lips would have been on his.

Harry stared at the fractured column. “Quite something.”

Louis felt the urge to bolt before he did something reckless—like shout at Harry, or worse, kiss him again. He reached the first room, or at least what was left of it, and slowly spun around, taking in the remains of the building and the greenery that was filling the gaps.

On his third spin, he stopped to look at Harry, who was staring at a broken-down fireplace in the middle of the room.

“The fireplace must’ve been in the middle of the room.” Harry’s shoulders jumped at Louis’ voice, and he wished he hadn’t spoken at all.

“Guess so.”

They walked through to the next room. The crumbled walls looked like they were barely holding up - just like he and Harry.

Louis realised Terry still trailed them, a jolt of awareness that other people even existed.

He forced his attention back to the room. In front of him, a flight of stairs leading to nowhere, cut off halfway up. It was difficult to tell where they ended because vines were flowing all over them, claiming the remnants of the room.

The air was thick with the smell of moss and wet stone, making each breath he took feel heavy. Louis opened his mouth to say something, but as his lips parted, his mind went straight back to the kiss — to Harry’s lips grazing his. He snapped his mouth shut and gave his head a shake, needing the memories gone. For now, at least. Right now he just needed to get through the ruins, and hope that it wasn’t a metaphor for him and Harry.

Louis fastened his seatbelt and slid Harry's keys into the ignition. It hit him then—he couldn't remember a single detail about the ruins, the gallery, or even the second-hand bookstore. Even the trip back to Harry’s car was clouded by fog.

What wasn’t foggy, though, was the memory of Harry kissing him.

It wasn’t foggy at all.

As soon as he heard Harry’s seatbelt click in, he pulled out of the parking space, reversing back onto the pebbled road. The car's engine hummed beneath his hands, a steady beat that clashed with the erratic pounding of his heart.

The suffocating feeling he’d experienced back at Nyman’s was nothing compared to being alone in the car with Harry. It was hell.

Just as Louis realised he'd forgotten to input their address into the GPS, Harry leaned forward and took care of it. It was a little thing. Tiny and insignificant.

Harry settled back into his seat and positioned his body slightly away from Louis. Streetlights passed in a blur, adding to the confusion of Louis’ thoughts. He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, his fingers needing to do something.

“Road’s clear,” Louis said, breaking the silence.

“Mm-hmm.”

The sound was barely audible, and Louis wondered if he imagined it.

Tension constricted the car’s atmosphere as they drove. Louis’ grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening. Questions kept circling in his mind, on constant repeat.

Harry shifted. Louis felt it more than he saw it. Because he couldn't help but notice every little move Harry made...Which was probably just going to get worse now.

Eventually, they reached their parking space. Louis turned off the engine. “We’re here.”

"Right," Harry muttered. After unbuckling his seatbelt, Harry's hand stopped on the door handle for a second. Then he got out, shutting the door behind him.

Louis sat alone in the parked car for a brief eternity, his hands gripping the wheel again, needing something to hold on to because it felt like his universe was falling apart. He caught his own eye in the rearview. Didn't even look like himself.

At last, he forced himself out of the car and made his way upstairs even though he'd prefer to hide forever.

Still, his hand hesitated on the stair railing, and for half a second, he considered running. He could run away and leave this catastrophic mess behind.

But that would also mean leaving Harry behind, and he just… he wasn’t ready to do that. So, he forced his legs into action and tackled the rest of the steps.

When he reached the landing, Niall and Harry were down the hallway, talking to each other outside of Liam’s closed front door. His plan to hide in his room died right there. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tightness, as he walked over to them.

“So, is it the same as last time?” Harry was asking. There was clear worry in his voice, just like there had been earlier in the morning when they’d got the call from Niall. Fuck, had it only been a day?

“Not really … this is more like just… exhaustion.”

“Is he alone?” Harry asked. His gaze went from Niall to Liam’s front door.

“Nah, Zayn’s in there, and I was heading back in.” With that, Niall reached for the handle, opened the door and ler Louis and Harry in.

He stepped in behind Harry and, getting hit with that vanilla and sandalwood scent again, he was flooded with the memories of Harry’s lips on his. He remembered Harry’s forehead against his, sharing shaky breaths. A jolt ran through him. His chest tightened. Too many questions. Too many damn feelings. His life had been normal before Harry, a simple, mundane life. But Harry had turned it upside down.

Zayn greeted them with a "Hey" while holding a cloth on the kitchen bench.

Louis nodded in response.

“How is he?” Harry asked.

“Asleep,” Zayn said, his eyes flicking over his shoulder towards Liam's guest room, looking tense. “Been like that all day. We can wake him up, but he can barely stay awake.”

A knot tightened in Louis' stomach. This had gone far enough. Louis knew it wasn’t his place — hell, neither was being in Liam’s apartment, being part of the conversations — but he just couldn’t keep quiet. “I’m assuming no one’s called a doctor yet?”

“He told us not to,” Niall said.

Louis glanced at Harry, then at Niall. It was Niall’s lip-chewing that gave him hope. Niall was worried.

Obviously, Niall was worried — they were all worried — but Niall had been the one who was the most adamant about not contacting a doctor because Liam asked. If he was worried, Louis might be able to talk some sense into him. “He's passed out, isn't he? Can't even stay awake. So the 'no doctor' rule? Don't really see how it matters now.”

"But … he said..." Niall sounded more exasperated than worried as if arguing was becoming routine. Louis felt the same.

“Yeah, he did,” Louis said. “And we’ve listened to him. How many times now? And it just keeps happening. How often is this going to keep happening? There's nothing normal about someone being this unwell repeatedly.” When Niall still didn’t look convinced, Louis added, “It's not just about what Liam wants anymore. It's about what he needs. And what he needs right now is medical attention.”

His eyes darted from Zayn to Niall, finally settling on Harry - more specifically, on Harry's lips.

Fuck. So not the right time.

“We can’t use our medic,” Zayn said, drawing Louis’ attention back to him. “His made that really fucking clear. But we could call another doctor.”

“We’ll need to get them through the building security though,” Harry didn’t seem to be against the idea, more contemplative, and Louis’ hope grew, “and what if they tell someone that a doctor came to see Liam?”

Louis clenched his jaw. Having to discuss sneaking a doctor past their own security of the building they owned was absurd. The fact that the lads didn’t even see it added to Louis’ anger.

“Say it’s for me.” Louis attempted to keep his voice level, to keep his frustration out of it. “We can tell them I’m sick, and the doctor is for me. I wouldn’t use your medic. I’d have my doctor, right?”

Zayn, Harry, and Niall seemed to share a look.

"Alright," Niall finally said, not hiding the weariness in his voice. "We’ll get the doctor to sign an NDA. I know some people who can help us find someone discreet."

An hour later, a doctor was in the guest room with Zayn and Liam. Louis stared at the closed door, tapping his fingers against his leg. He'd never been good at waiting, not when something mattered. After another thirty minutes, the door finally creaked open, and Zayn and the doctor emerged. The doctor’s face was unreadable as he wished them a noncommittal "goodbye", handing a single sheet of paper to Zayn before slipping out.

As soon as the door clicked shut, all eyes turned to Zayn, who was staring at the paper.

Niall spoke first, “So? What did he say?”

Zayn's gaze shifted from the paper to meet their eyes. “Exhaustion,” he muttered, still holding the page, fiddling with it.

“We knew that,” Niall said, and Louis could tell he was biting back frustration.

“Yeah … but,” Zayn looked up, his eyes a touch darker than before, and shifted before continuing. “I don’t know. The doctor seemed to think it was a bit … odd. Because he was fine yesterday, wasn’t he? Like he looked tired, but he always looks tired. So he found it strange that he crashed this hard today.”

“What? What does that mean?” The worry in Harry’s voice was palpable and for a moment, Louis was almost swayed by the urge to comfort him. But he didn't. Couldn't. Or maybe he could. Lines blurred. Fucked if he knew anymore.

“He isn’t sure. He did some tests, though. It took a fair bit of convincing Liam.” Zayn ran his hand through his hair. “But yeah, in the meantime, he just needs to sleep it off. We need to wake him a bit to make sure he drinks. And someone should stay with him overni—”

“I will,” Harry said before anyone else could offer.

Louis felt his heart sink. Tonight wouldn’t be the night for answers, not from Harry, who was now deliberately avoiding Louis’ gaze. It was probably for the best. Louis could only guess what his own expression would give away.

Louis kicked the door of their flat shut behind him, hoping to lock his mess of thoughts out into the hallway. It was a failure.

After throwing his coat on the kitchen bench, he paused and considered getting dinner, given he hadn’t eaten much all day. But the thought alone caused his stomach to churn, so he kept walking.

The flat was colder than usual, as if even the walls missed Harry's presence. Normally, at this time, he’d be going upstairs to read or watch a movie, not going to bed in an empty apartment.

He kept his head down, focusing on his feet as he walked to his room. One step, two steps, then another, and it seemed crazy that the world kept going, that he could even keep moving after the day he’d had. After being kissed by Harry.

Without stopping, Louis walked through his room and straight into the ensuite, almost on auto-pilot, as his brain was too busy to worry about mundane details like that.

The shower should’ve felt good, relaxing even, but as hot water pelted his skin, he felt no relief. The small space and monotonous rhythm of the water made everything louder.

What the fuck had happened?

Dropping his wet towel onto the bathroom floor, Louis left the ensuite, his skin still flushed from the scalding water. He didn’t bother with pyjamas, too exhausted to worry about them. All he wanted was to climb into bed and hope that sleep would serve as an escape. He didn’t care how short-lived it would be, he’d happily take it.

He tugged the duvet up to his chin with a little more force than necessary and lay on his back, his fingers fidgeting on the fabric as he stared at the ceiling. As much as he attempted to fight, the kiss was on constant replay in his mind.

Harry had kissed him. No warning, for no real reason. All he’d wanted to do was ease Harry’s fears about management — and maybe brag about his detailed planning a little. And then … Then they were kissing.

Was it Louis’ fault? Had he made Harry feel like he had to kiss him? Louis had rambled, trying to explain to Harry why he had planned the whole thing. Trying to explain that he enjoyed spending time with Harry. But Harry’s expression had become unreadable … not that Louis ever knew what Harry was thinking, but this one was different somehow.

The longer that Louis spoke, the more intense the stare got. It was too much. He just … he needed to …

But then Harry kissed him. Was it to shut him up? Louis glanced at his phone next to his bed and, for half a second, considered texting Harry to ask that exact question.

It didn’t feel like a ‘shut up’ kind of kiss, though. It felt like … something.

Louis had spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining kissing Harry, but his daydreams were not even close to reality. With Harry, Louis always felt like he was the eye of the storm, Harry circling around him, a force to be reckoned with. He’d expected kissing Harry to be the same.

It wasn’t like that at all. He hadn’t felt overwhelmed, or lost, or out of depth — all the ways he normally felt around Harry.

It had just felt … right.

Louis rolled onto his side, inhaling deeply. A fleeting sense of relief washed over him as exhaustion took over and pulled him into sleep.

When Louis woke, the mental fog was still there, lingering. Even though he had been asleep, he knew Harry had entirely occupied his brain. Before he’d even got out of bed, there was a heaviness in his chest.

He forced himself to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. The cold water did little to wash away his fatigue. His reflection in the mirror proved the same. Twelve hours of sleep, and he still looked like hell.

As he padded through the hallway, he noticed movement in the kitchen, causing him to freeze. Then he realised it was just Harry, slouched against the bench, cradling a mug. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air should have warned him that Harry was home. He doubted he’d ever be able to smell coffee without thinking of Harry.

Harry must’ve sensed Louis there because his gaze shot in Louis’ direction, their eyes meeting instantly.

One. Two. Three. Harry broke the stare, eyes dropping to his mug.

“How’s Liam?” Louis broke the silence, forcing himself to take measured steps towards the kettle, his legs feeling embarrassingly wobbly as he passed Harry.

Silence settled like a heavy blanket. He was used to pauses with Harry, the tension, the loaded glances. But this was different.

“Better.” Harry placed his mug in the sink and rinsed it out. The sound of water hitting porcelain seemed overly loud in the silence.

Even through the tension, Louis’ eyes traced Harry’s back, and images of Harry shirtless came rushing to the front of his mind. Almost every morning when he’d wake Harry up, he was shirtless. As respectful as Louis wanted to be, he couldn’t pretend he didn't see it. “He wants to go ahead with band practice.”

“Oh.” Louis hadn’t considered that he’d be expected to do anything except live in his head, trying to sort out the mess he was in. “Well, I guess I better get ready, then.”

As Louis took the dry tea bag out of his mug, knowing he wouldn’t have enough time to make it before they had to leave, Harry spoke. “Leave it in there.” His tone was neutral, just as unreadable as it had ever been. Surely kissing should have led to insights into Harry’s brain. “I’ll make it.”

“Oh, I … uh.” Louis stared at the tea bag dangling from his hand as he tried to make sense of Harry’s words. “Um … okay. Thanks.” He turned back to the mug and dropped it in. Without another word, he went back to his room.

Just a cup of tea. That's all it was. A simple, bloody cup of tea. So that Louis could get dressed and they wouldn’t be late. It would have been weirder if Harry had let him place his tea bag into the box than to offer to make it. It was the normal, polite thing to do.

Except, Harry had never bothered with making tea, not for him anyway. Louis wasn’t even sure Harry knew how to make tea. But he was going to do it for Louis.

So maybe it wasn’t just tea.

It had just been tea—no grand gesture like Louis had been hoping for. Harry simply left it on the counter for him. Since emerging from his bedroom, Harry hadn't so much as glanced Louis' way: not when Niall knocked to offer them a lift to practice, not during the car ride, and most certainly not in the past hour of rehearsal.

While Louis sat on the sofa that was still positioned in front of the stage for god knows what reason other than Niall wanting to include him, Louis tried to ignore Harry. Unlike Harry, though, he couldn’t. He struggled at the best of times, and now it was twenty times worse.

Every time Harry opened his mouth — which was a lot, given he was the lead singer and they were at practice — Louis’ eyes darted straight to his lips. The soft lips that had been on his less than twenty hours ago. It took all the strength he had in him not to reach for his own and touch them, to see if the ghost of Harry’s remained. His hand twitched at his side, a harsh reminder not to go there.

Harry’s hand gripped the microphone, and an involuntary shiver crawled down Louis' spine. His palms itched, yearning to reach out, to feel those fingers tangled in his hair.

He wasn’t going to, though.

Not that Harry usually spoke with Louis during band practice—Louis couldn't recall the last time that had happened. But glances weren't uncommon. The sofa Louis sat on was squarely in Harry's line of sight, making it difficult for Harry to avoid looking his way. Today, though,, Harry was putting in that exact effort. Louis noticed how Harry's gaze seemed to explore every inch of the warehouse, conspicuously bypassing him. It was clear: Harry wanted no part of Louis.

A knot tightened in his stomach as, for the first time since, well … Harry had kissed him … Louis was struck with the real-life consequences of it. His throat constricted, making the already stifling air seem like a chokehold.

Louis had been so busy wondering what the kiss meant and why Harry had done it.

What he hadn’t even considered was the genuine possibility that he could be fired. It wouldn’t matter that Harry had kissed him; if Harry was uncomfortable, and it was evident that he was, he could fire him. Louis’ role was basically non-existent. He did fuck-all. It had been months since Harry had last got into trouble. The only rules he’d broken were the one Louis had got him to break the day before. The lads wouldn’t make Harry hire another PA, and management would probably be so glad Louis was out of the picture that they wouldn’t either.

Regardless of what the kiss meant or why Harry did it, Harry wasn’t comfortable. Harry didn’t want to be around Louis and he could get rid of him in a second.

The buzz of Louis’ phone jolted him from his spiralling thoughts. He fumbled in his pocket and the screen lit up with “Lottie”. Grateful for the temporary escape, he pushed himself up from the sofa. “Need to take this,” he muttered to no one in particular but keenly aware of Harry’s calculated avoidance. Louis stepped out of the warehouse, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. As soon as he was outside, he swiped to answer, pressing the phone to his ear while the gritty wind outside made him squint.

“Hey, Lottie,” Louis said.

“Hey, Lou. Do you have time to talk?”

Immediately, Louis’ heart began pounding in his chest. “Is everyone okay? Did something happen?”

“What?” Lottie sounded genuinely confused, and that alone helped Louis breathe a little easier. “No, no. It’s about the contract.”

“What? Really?” How had Louis forgotten when it was usually at the forefront of his mind? Harry, Harry was how. “Is it done? Did you do everything? What happens next?

“Calm down for a second,” it was the tone she’d been using on him for weeks now, every time he asked how it was coming along. “I finished going through it all and I’ve made a memorandum for you and Zayn to review.”

Louis had no idea what the hell a memorandum was. “Do they have a case?”

Lottie sighed over the phone. “Look, based on what I’ve seen, they might have grounds for legal action. But you should know it will not be quick or easy. If Zayn decides to go ahead, he'll need the rest of the band on board. And you’ll absolutely need a senior, specialised entertainment lawyer. Understand?”

Louis took in her words, the hopeful flicker dimming a bit. “Can't they just sue them or something?”

“No,” Lottie said. “There are clauses in the contract that are, at best, grey areas. We could argue with them in court, but it would be a hard fight. Plus, the legal process could take months, if not years. In the meantime, management could make their lives really hard. They need to be prepared for that.”

Louis took a deep breath. "What are the grey areas?”

Lottie paused before speaking. “I don’t want to go into too much detail over the phone. But basically, there are provisions about conduct and obligations that are ambiguously worded. They give the management a lot of leeway in how they enforce them, which in turn gives them control over the band’s life.”

“So they’ve written it in a way that they can interpret however they want?”

“Yeah,” Lottie confirmed. “In a court of law, ambiguity typically works against the party that drafted the contract. But fighting those ambiguities will be draining—emotionally and financially. The real-world effects of this contract are key. Basically, a lawyer won’t just be looking at the contract; they’ll be gathering proof of how it’s actually hurting the band. This could be about money issues, poor working conditions, and their emotional well-being. If the band’s unhappy, it makes a stronger case against the management.”

Louis frowned, trying to make sense of her words. “How do they prove that, though?

Lottie took a moment before responding. “They'd need evidence will be key. Correspondence, emails, financial statements—anything that shows the management exploiting the ambiguities in the contract for their own gain. And personal testimonies. The band’s accounts of how they’ve been treated could be very persuasive in court.”

A weight settled on Louis’ shoulders. “Right. So... everything?”

“Pretty much,” Lottie said. “And you should be prepared for this information to become public. Once you go legal, it’s no longer just between them and the management. I should also warn you that finding a lawyer willing to work the case might be difficult. Management and the label are heavyweights in the industry. It might make some lawyers think twice before agreeing to represent them, especially against such big names.”

“Right …” He’d expected it to be complicated, but not this complicated.

Apparently, Lottie wasn’t finished with the soul-destroying news, though. “And when you find someone brave enough, they will not come cheap.”

“Fuck.” The enormity of it all pressed down on him, a weight so heavy it almost made breathing difficult.

“I know,” Lottie whispered. “Why don’t we set up a meeting to discuss everything in person? I’ll go over the memorandum in detail with you and Zayn, and then you two can decide what to do next.”

“Yeah, okay.” Louis paused, feeling entirely overwhelmed. “But is it even worth it? If it’s just going to turn their lives into an even bigger mess?”

Lottie seemed to contemplate her words before speaking. “I don’t know, Lou. Based on what you and Zayn have told me, they’re not exactly thriving under the current conditions. The band will have to weigh the pros and cons and decide if they want to continue like this, or take the legal route for a chance at better terms. Both options come with challenges, but at least if they choose to fight, they’ll have a say in shaping their future. That’s not nothing.”

Louis felt a small surge of hope at her words. “When can you catch up? I’ll need to talk to Zayn to see when he can, too.”

“Why don’t I call you tonight after you’ve spoken to him, and we’ll go from there?”

“No problem. Thank you so much, Lottie!”

“Talk to you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Chapter Text

Harry stomped out of the warehouse before the others had even put their instruments away. When Louis felt their eyes turn to him, he settled deep into the sofa; the attention caused heat to run up his neck. They looked at him like he could explain what was happening with Harry. It was laughable, really, since Louis had no fucking idea.

Admittedly, he had a slightly clearer idea than the others, but he also had more questions than any of them combined. It had been ages since Harry had acted quite that volatile around the others, and somehow, this time felt harder for Louis. Maybe he felt like some of it was his fault.

Maybe it was.

He had no fucking idea anymore.

Needing to escape their scrutiny, Louis looked down at his phone and idly scrolled through it until he sensed movement on the stage as the others continued packing up.

As Liam walked off the stage and went to walk past, Louis reached out and lightly gripped his arm from his seat on the sofa. “Hey, how are you?”

Liam rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled. “Better today.”

Despite the weary tone, Liam looked a bit better and thank fuck for that.

Thankfully, he also didn’t seem annoyed at Louis, so either he didn’t know that Louis was the one who pushed for a doctor, or he just didn’t care. Or maybe he just didn’t remember. Louis wasn’t going to ask. Having one of his bosses pissed off with him was bad enough. He didn’t want to add another.

Louis dropped his hand away from Liam’s arm. “Good. I’m glad.”

He wanted to say a lot more, but he figured it wasn’t the time. He could save it up and use it as ammo when he and Zayn brought up their conversations with Lottie.

If Zayn still wanted to.

“Thanks.” Liam gave him a tight smile.

“You good to go, Louis?” Niall asked, coming to stand in front of him. “I think Mr. Grumpy-Pants might be getting even more grumpy out there.”

Niall was likely correct, and the last thing any of them – especially Louis – needed was a moodier Harry.

From the back seat, Louis could see that Niall was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, even though his constant chatter hadn’t stopped the entire trip. The music coming through the speakers was drowned out by his voice and the rain pelting on the roof of the car. Louis knew he should engage and help Niall out, but … he just couldn’t.

It seemed like it must be so exhausting for Niall to always try to lift the spirits of everyone. Especially when the people were the other members of Nicotine Redo and, to Louis at least, all seemed to be drowning in their unique flavour of poison.

Hell, even Niall fit into that category. He just seemed to be less obvious than the others. A bright smile hid it while he tried to make everyone okay.

But the truth was that none of them were okay, and while Louis appreciated Lottie’s honesty, it all seemed pretty fucking bleak.

The thought stuck with him until it was too much. Way too fucking much. On impulse, he reached out and tapped Niall’s shoulder. “Oi, can we stop at that corner shop up ahead?”

Niall’s gaze met his in the rear-view mirror, an eyebrow raised. “Sure…?”

Without saying anything, Louis sat back in his seat. As far as plans went, it was a stupid one, but he needed to do something, no matter how small. And if Niall or Harry picked up on what he was trying to show them, really, it was just a bonus.

Niall steered the car into a parking spot near the shop. “We’ll, uh… We’ll wait here. You’ll be okay by yourself?”

Louis’ reply was almost immediate. “Of course.” He took a deep breath, pushing the car door open and stepping out. Droplets pelted him as he jogged to the shop.

When he got inside, he walked around the aisles, resisting the urge to run out and check on Harry and Niall; it would ruin the entire point of this stupid thing. They were safe. Niall’s car windows were tinted so dark that Louis doubted it was legal. It was the middle of a weekday on a relatively quiet street.

He needed them to see they were fine. That the world wasn’t quite as scary as they thought it was. It wasn’t as scary as management tried to make them believe.

The car’s muffled engine outside did nothing to calm Louis’ nerves.

After lurking around a bit, picking up items and placing them back down, he finally decided it had been long enough – and maybe he was a tiny bit nervous – so he grabbed a chocolate bar and took it to the counter.

“Would you be able to put it in a bag, love?” He asked the shop assistant, figuring it would be too hard to explain why he spent so long in the shop if he walked out carrying a chocolate bar. This way, they wouldn’t be able to tell what he’d bought.

With a nod, the assistant bagged the chocolate. "There you go, dear," she said, handing it over.

"Cheers." Louis’ fingers tightened around the handles of the bag as he made his way out. The bell above the door jingled softly as he exited, its cheerful ring starkly contrasting the tension Louis felt. He hurried back to the car, rain-soaked pavement squelching under his shoes. He slid back into the backseat, set the bag beside him, and leaned back. Thankfully, neither of them asked Louis what he’d bought, Niall just pulling out of the car park.

Like Harry in the passenger seat, Louis stared out at the soggy London day, blurred by the streaming rain, until Niall pulled into his parking spot in their building. The car had barely come to a stop before Harry climbed out with a muttered, ‘thanks’.

Neither of them flinched as the door slammed shut. Louis had been expecting it, and he was sure Niall had too. Still, Louis wished Harry hadn’t slammed it quite so hard, especially as he had left Louis alone in the car with Niall, who had repeatedly proven to be too perceptive for his own good.

With the glow of the interior light, when Niall turned around, the worry on his face was evident, proving Louis’ right. “What’s going on with Harry?” Niall asked, his tone sounding just as concerned as he looked.

Louis let out a deep breath. What wasn’t wrong with Harry would have been a more straightforward question to answer. “Think he might just be worried about Liam.”

Not exactly a lie. Not the truth, either.

Judging by how Niall studied him through squinted eyes, Louis was sure he didn’t believe it. He opened his mouth, and there was a tightening in Louis’ chest. Louis doubted that he’d want to hear whatever it was that Niall had planned to say, so he thanked Niall for the ride and left the car.

As much as he didn’t want to go inside, staying in the car with Niall looking at him like that was a worse fate.

As he stood at their front door, he hesitated. The thought of being in the same apartment as Harry but being ignored was becoming overwhelmingly painful. But, really, he didn’t have much of a choice, so after a deep, steadying breath, he let himself in.

Louis had only been held back a minute or two with Niall, but when he walked into the apartment, Harry was in his tiny gym shorts and black T-shirt, tight enough to mould into every contour of his torso and shoulders. Louis tried desperately not to stare at him, but, of course, he failed.

The scent of fresh laundry and Harry’s signature vanilla and sandalwood hung in the air, and Louis had to force himself not to get swept into it. He easily could have. He could easily get swept up in Harry.

It was complete and utter bullshit. Louis always spent so much of his energy resisting checking Harry out; it was one of the most challenging parts of his job. He’d had no idea it could get any more difficult. But after having Harry’s body pressed against his, it really fucking had. After knowing what it was like to have Harry’s fingers in his hair. After he learned how Harry kissed, slow and deliberate but somehow still full of passion. It was impossible now.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

“Going to the gym?” Louis winced at his own question, as Harry was obviously going to the gym. It was just that his training session didn’t start for another forty minutes.

A hint of irritation flitted across Harry’s face. “Thought I’d get a head start on warm-up.” It was a mumble, and it took Louis a moment to work out what he had said.

“Right, okay.” Louis was sure that the awkwardness between them was thicker than it had been before, a feat he hadn’t thought was possible.

Saying nothing else, Harry grabbed his gym bag and headed out the door, letting it shut softly behind him.

Louis was lost. He had absolutely no idea how to handle it. Hell, he barely knew how to deal with the regular PA tasks — not that he ever really had any to do – so he had no fucking idea what the protocol was for navigating dealing with your boss kissing you and then flat-out ignoring you. He doubted answers to that would be in his handbook.

Four days had passed since The Kiss, and the tension in their apartment had become unbearable. He’d already decided he needed to talk to Zayn about his conversation with Lottie, so on a whim, he asked if Zayn would be up to going somewhere. If Louis had realised how easy it would be to convince Zayn to leave his apartment, he would have asked him ages ago. His willingness led Louis to come up with a more ‘creative’ destination for discussing what Lottie had told him.

After steering the car into the parking space, Louis glanced at Zayn, who was eying the building in front of them.

“‘Orange Blossom’s Arts Cafe’.” Zayn read the name slowly, then turned to Louis and raised an eyebrow. “You brought me to an art cafe?”

Suppressing a smirk, Louis answered, “Yep, we’re taking a class.”

Zayn’s eyebrows rose with that. “An art class? With strangers?” Louis couldn’t blame him for the slight hint of alarm in his voice.

“Well, technically, yes.”

“I can’t just…”

“God, you bunch are such divas, always thinking everyone will recognise you.” Louis' voice was playful, but part of him believed it. Of course, Nicotine Redo was famous with a massive fanbase. They'd certainly be recognised in many places. But, he also thought that somehow – management’s doing would be Louis’ top guess – they thought there was a bigger danger than there really was. “If anyone in the class recognises you, I’ll give you ten pounds.”

Zayn snorted at that. “Thanks, that’ll come in handy.”

Since Zayn seemed more agreeable to the plan, Louis stepped out and waited for him. Zayn had put on a cap and sunglasses but looked surprisingly calm otherwise. Probably a testament as to how over it he was. The thought gave Louis a tiny bit more hope, something he’d been losing since his conversation with Lottie.

When they walked in, Zayn stopped mid-step, his eyes sweeping over the interior. Louis followed his gaze, the hum of chatter drifting over from a cluster of tables at the far end. Sunlight poured through large windows, casting a golden hue over the room's exposed brick walls and concrete floors. In front of them, the cafe tables sat empty, but the back of the room was buzzing.

“Hello, is one of you Louis?” At the voice, Louis flinched. He looked around and found a woman who appeared to be in her sixties standing at the counter just a couple of metres away from them. Louis had no idea how he hadn’t noticed her when they walked in.

“Hi, yep, that would be me. Was I speaking to you earlier?” He gave his best smile, remembering that she had initially hesitated about his request.

“That’s right, I’m Margot.” Margot looked at Zayn expectantly.

“Oh, um, I’m Zayn.” He pursed his lips after saying it and studied his nails.

Margot only looked slightly confused by his behaviour as she moved from behind the desk and beckoned them to follow her. “Thank you for coming in a little later,” she said to Louis, “I spoke to everyone, and they were happy for us to make the exception today.” She glanced over her shoulder to Zayn, who was walking a step behind them. “If I’d known you were both such cuties, I would have warned them, though.” With that, she sped up walking to the group, and Louis wondered if she really was going to warn them.

“The fuck?” Zayn said lowly, staring at the group.

That time, Louis couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Well, I did say you wouldn’t be recognised.”

“What is … this?”

“An art class. I told you.” As Zayn rolled his eyes, Louis laughed again. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Zayn looked out at the room, contemplative. “If anyone starts pinching my cheeks and calling me a good lad, I’m out.”

“Okay, okay, deal.”

Margot led them to stand in front of the group of elderly women, all seated around a large table cluttered with paints, brushes, and canvases. Their white and grey hair shimmered under the soft overhead lights. All of the ladies looked up and beamed when they spotted them.

“This is Louis and Zayn,” Margot said, giving the women a seemingly knowing look.

“Lovely!” said a lady dressed head to toe in shocking pink. She waved them over. “I’m Gladys, and this is Brenda,” she pointed to the woman beside her, who had a magnifying glass over her canvas, intensely focusing on her work.

As they were handed aprons, another elderly lady, who was busy dabbing blue paint on her canvas, looked up and winked at Zayn. “You remind me of my grandson. Handsome lad. But don't let that head get too big.” She wagged a finger at him.

Zayn coughed out a laugh, “I’ll try not to.”

Louis watched as Zayn started painting. Zayn had mentioned a couple of times that he did art in his free time, but Louis had never seen anything he’d painted before.

“You gonna paint or what?” Zayn asked Louis, pulling him back out of his thoughts.

Looking from his canvas to Zayn, he said, “I don’t know how to.”

Zayn subtly tilted his head in the direction of the two ladies next to him, and Louis’ eyes followed to find that while one had some level of talent, the other might even have less than Louis. With a sigh, Louis found a paintbrush and dipped it in some green paint.

“So,” Zayn didn’t stop painting as he spoke, “what is this?”

It took Louis a moment to work out what Zayn meant. “Oh. It’s a ladies over seventy-five class, and they run it every Sunday.”

After a pause, Zayn asked, “How’d you get Margot to agree to let us come?”

Louis shrugged. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled at first, but I mentioned you’re not a fan of men either. That seemed to do the trick..”

Squinting at Louis, Zayn seemed to be determining whether Louis was joking or not. He wasn’t.

“But, clearly, none of them has any idea who you are, so you won't have to dock my pay.”

“As if Harry would let me do that.”

Louis’ paintbrush hovered, hesitating above his canvas, and a drop fell. Zayn was still painting, acting like he didn’t just drop a bombshell.

After clearing his throat quietly, Louis asked, “What, uh… what do you mean by that?”

“Well…” Zayn’s gaze remained fixed on his canvas. “Harry's particular about your salary. Noticed that yet?”

Louis frowned, trying to work out what the hell Zayn was saying. “No. What do you mean? How?”

“Like when your pay got bumped up after probation?”

“I… I thought it was just… That’s just what happens, isn’t it?” Louis hadn’t been paying too much attention to his bank account, not really needing to, but had noticed that his weekly pay had increased.

“Is it? And that ‘employment bonus’ when you started. Was that in your contract?”

“What?” Louis set his paintbrush down. “Harry said that it was standard onboarding pay or something.”

Zayn finally looked up at Louis… and smirked at him. “I bet he did.”

A rush of heat flooded up Louis’ face. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

Zayn held up his hands defensively. “Never said you did. Just saying that someone has been overly involved in your pay.” Apparently, Zayn had decided it was the perfect time to learn to smirk. The weight of Zayn’s words hung in the air for a moment before he dipped his paintbrush back into his palette. “Now, are you going to paint or just sit there?”

There was so much Louis wanted to say, so much that he needed to ask, but he could tell he wasn’t going to get answers. He also didn’t want to seem like he cared about Harry too much. It just made no sense. Niall would probably give him more information, but … Niall’s perceptiveness was, well, scary, so he wasn’t sure he’d be able to ask him either.

As Zayn continued to paint, the silence grew. Louis forced himself to focus on the real reason they were there. The real reason they were out of the house, at least. He kept his eyes on his still relatively blank canvas and said, “Spoke to Lottie the other day,” before glancing at Zayn to gauge his reaction.

Zayn looked up, brush pausing mid-stroke.

“She’s finished going through the contracts. Asked if we wanted to meet up with her to discuss her findings.”

After a slight pause, Zayn continued painting, but his brush moved more slowly. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m free basically all the time.”

Louis could tell it was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat. A tad too real. Too honest and timely to be funny.

“I’ll arrange it.” Louis hesitated, trying to decide whether he should bring up the part he was really dreading to tell Zayn. “She did say it would likely be a big, long, expensive battle.”

To Louis’ surprise, Zayn nodded. “Yeah, wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“And … and you’re okay with that?”

Zayn hummed, mixing two colours. “Dunno. Not ideal, but not sure what the alternative is.”

Louis looked down and painted a line on his canvas. “She also mentioned we can’t go much further without the others on board.”

“Figured that as well.”

“And you still want to meet with her? Do you think they’ll be on board?”

Zayn set his brush down. “Dunno. But we need all the info we can get before bringing it up with them. If we do this, we have to be smart about it. We need a plan.” He paused, retrieving a folded document from his wallet and handing it to Louis. “And maybe... start documenting everything from here on out.”

Louis unfolded the paper. It wasn’t much, but it showed Zayn's commitment. And that meant everything.

“Hey, how are you?” Louis said as he walked into their flat later that afternoon. He tried to ignore the way Harry stiffened at his voice.

“Fine.” It seemed like the word was painful for Harry to get out. How the fuck had they gone from having proper conversations to whatever the hell this was?

As Harry filled his glass, the gush of water from the tap sounded ridiculously loud compared to their hushed tones.

“Where were you?” Harry’s question disrupted Louis’ thoughts.

Louis’ eyes snapped to Harry's, a mixture of surprise and a pang of guilt. Harry had just asked him a question, an actual question, which Louis was pretty sure he hadn’t done since The Kiss. But while he had sent Harry a text saying he was going out, that was the only context he’d given.

“Oh, um, was with Zayn.” As he said it, he realised one of the reasons he hadn’t told Harry was because he felt like he was… betraying him or something. Which made absolutely no fucking sense since Harry wanted nothing to do with him.

Harry looked down at his glass and seemed to hesitate. It didn’t last long, though. “That’s why you smell like smoke.” It wasn’t unusual for Harry to make comments like that, varying from snarky to observational. This was neither of those and while Louis couldn’t be sure, it sounded like there was a slight wobble to Harry’s words.

“Yeah … guess so.”

Louis half-expected Harry to make some offhand remark about Louis needing a shower or launch into a tirade about how much he hated the smell.

But Harry remained silent, simply took his glass and went upstairs. Louis found the lack of words more unsettling than any lecture.

Louis went into his room and logged on to his Internet banking account, Zayn’s words still causing chaos in his brain. He needed to see for himself.

Maybe the number that stared back at him shouldn’t have been unexpected, but somehow, it was, even with the new knowledge of his pay increase.

The memories of all the times he promised himself he’d be able to get through three months but never really believing it came rushing back. He’d reasoned that three months of this job would cover a year of wages at one of his temp jobs. It all seemed so ridiculous now – three months with Harry was nothing, and Louis hadn’t thought about leaving for ages. And his bank account proved it.

Weirdly, despite never having an amount of money close to what the computer was showing him before and knowing that he could survive without the job, he didn’t want to.

The thought of it tugged at Louis’ heart because he wasn’t sure that Harry still wanted him to have the job.

Of course, Louis wanted the job. He got to be with Harry. And the others. Childhood dreams and fantasies aside, it was the best job he could ask for and the idea that he was entirely disposable hurt.

The thing was, how was he supposed to be a PA for Harry when he didn’t want one? Or need one. Besides Liam, none of the others had much going on at all.

If anyone needed a PA, it would be Liam. He probably wouldn’t get sick every other week if he had one.

He opened the notes he’d taken at the last meeting - Lottie had told him not to get involved at meetings, but had found that the best way to feel like he was doing something while trying to keep his mouth shut was to take notes as meaningless as they were.

He also liked to think it made him seem intimidating to the exec team. Honestly, they ignored his presence most of the time and did not seem intimidated by him, but … maybe they should be.

After scrolling a few pages, he found where he’d written out all the tasks assigned to Liam for the week. Looking at the list, Louis felt nauseous. When he’d first started, he’d been confused at why they were giving Liam so much work to do, but it had just become such a regular part of their fucked up lives he didn’t give it much thought anymore.

Twelve things. There were twelve things under Liam’s name that management had assigned him for the week. Not one of them seemed like it was something that a band member needed to do.

He stared at the list, each task seeming more stupid than the last, trying to work out exactly what each meant and if he could do any of them or help.

He had no fucking idea.

Louis managed to hold off for almost twenty-four hours after reading through the Liam's tasks before he got so frustrated by the entire thing that he couldn’t deal with it anymore. He’d been in his bedroom staring at the list of tasks Liam was assigned, and he just couldn’t sit there any longer, doing nothing.

Grabbing his laptop and phone, he left his room. The determination building within him made him feel the best he had in days.

But when he reached the living area, he realised he hadn’t thought his plan through. He’d been thinking that he would just go to Liam to ask him about the list, but really, it didn’t seem like the right time to do that.

He could talk to Zayn or Niall about it, but they might find it odd that he was asking them rather than Harry. The last thing they needed – or Louis wanted – was more attention to whatever the hell was going on between them.

That only left Harry, though. And that seemed like a terrible idea.

Except, maybe it wasn’t. Harry was his boss, after all, and this was work-related. There wouldn’t be any harm in talking to Harry about work stuff. It might make it a bit awkward for Harry if he was planning on firing him, but … so what? If Harry wanted to fire him, then maybe he should feel guilty.

Harry was the one who kissed him. Just because he regretted it, or whatever the hell was happening with him, didn’t mean Louis should lose his job.

He sat on the cream sofa, dropped his laptop beside him, and unlocked his phone. There was still over an hour until Harry came down for dinner, and Louis didn’t want to ruin it by forcing him to talk about it then.

While he could go upstairs and find Harry, it just felt … too intimate, which was ridiculous, given that their lips had been on each other's just days ago.

Instead, he unlocked his phone.

Louis
(16:49) Hey. Would you be able to come downstairs? There are some work-related things I would like to talk about.

Almost instantly, the message's status changed to seen, and a tense minute passed before Harry started typing.

For the next five minutes, it was a frustrating cycle, Yo-Yoing between Harry typing and not typing, and Louis felt like he was going to be sick. What the fuck could Harry have to reply with? It wasn’t even a question that needed an answer. Harry could have literally just walked downstairs.

Unless Harry was planning on firing him via text.

He wouldn’t, though. There was no way.

However, Louis thought there was no way Harry would ever kiss him, and here they were.

Louis should have just gone to Niall’s or Zayn’s and asked one of them. Or even Liam’s. Or he could have exercised the smallest amount of impulse control and waited another day. It wasn’t an emergency. There had been absolutely no need to contact Harry. No need at all.

Finally, a reply came through. If Louis hadn’t already had the chat open, he would have been too nervous to open it.

Harry
(16:55) Ok.

Six minutes. Six agonising minutes of wait for a two-letter response. What the hell were the other responses he’d typed out?

A door opened and closed somewhere upstairs, and then Louis heard the sound of Harry’s soft footsteps. Louis opened up his laptop, opened a new Google Doc, and copied and pasted on the list of tasks so he could go through them one by one with Harry.

He fought the urge to look up but felt Harry walk around the back of the sofa he was on before sitting on the one across from Louis, putting as much distance between them as possible.

Once he was sure Harry was seated, Louis forced himself to look up. He could hardly call him downstairs and ignore him the entire time.

Although looking at Harry, he kind of wished he could just ignore him. How the fuck was he meant to live with Harry when he looked like … well, the way Harry did? Harry wasn’t looking at Louis, instead staring out of one of the giant windows next to him, wearing a similar expression to the ones Louis had seen when he was dealing with other staff members. Maybe that was all Louis was to him now.

“Um, so…” Louis began, sounding way too hesitant, “I, uh, I just wanted to ask you some things… You know, about work.”

Still clearly avoiding his gaze, Harry pursed his lips. Louis wasn’t sure if he should wait for a response or just start talking.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to start talking at all. Because Harry owed him some acknowledgement, this was work related. Harry was his boss. Louis didn’t see much future for him in the position if this wasn't an okay topic for them to discuss. Maybe Harry was trying to come up with a way to fire him.

Harry cleared his throat and the sound caused Louis to jolt, then focus all his attention back on Harry. However, Harry seemed to be trying to give Louis no attention, but he did speak, “Your contract would give you all the details on how to resign,” his voice was flat, monotone, and he pressed his lips together again.

It took Louis a minute to catch up and process what Harry had said. “What? I … Why would I want to resign? Do you want me to resign?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe Harry was worried that Louis would be more likely to leak the story or something if he fired him.

Frowning, Harry finally met Louis’ eyes, and Louis was reasonably sure he stopped breathing for a minute. “You’re not?”

“Resigning? No. Well, I mean … I hadn’t planned to. If you want me to, I can.” Even the thought of it caused Louis to tense up and he doubted he actually could.

“What questions did you have?”

“You can’t just… Why did you think I was quitting?”

“What questions did you have?” Harry repeated, looking out the window again but slightly less tense. Louis truly wanted to push – wanted to work out why the hell Harry thought he would quit. But he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, and it didn’t seem like the time to try to force one.

“Okay,” Louis said. “Well, I was just thinking about Liam and everything and, like, he is so exhausted, and I was going through all the things that management gives him and trying to work out how I could help, but I just don’t understand what most of the things are. So … I was hoping you could tell me.”

Harry studied him for a long time, Louis had been used to it as Harry did it a lot. But that was before The Kiss. Before Louis could get too caught up in what it could mean, Harry dropped his eyes as if he’d realised what he was doing, and Louis tried to fight off the stab of pain at the fact that Harry couldn't even look at him anymore. After Harry tipped his head in a jerky nod, Louis took it as a sign to continue.

“So, the first is social media planning. I assume that means … planning things to be put on social media?” He felt stupid for even asking, but he wanted to be sure.

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly. He sends them, though, back to management, and they decide whether or not to post them.”

Typical. Louis couldn’t even find it within himself to be surprised that they made Liam do something that they possibly wouldn’t even use. He hummed as he typed the explanation next to the task. “I don’t know how much help I could be with that.” As well as he knew the band, he hadn’t even looked at their social media accounts. “Okay, next is social media monitoring. Is that just…?” He was tempted to say ‘monitoring social media?’ but couldn’t bring himself to.

Again, Harry didn’t make him feel stupid for asking a question that was probably so obvious. “He keeps an eye on our Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook and watches for interactions, mentions, comments, and things like that. Kind of to keep a finger on the pulse. Reports it all back to management.”

Louis nodded and typed that in as well. “I could probably help with that, right? I’d need to make new accounts, but they could be anonymous. He likely has a system, but I could help.”

“Mm,” was all Harry gave him.

“Media monitoring. Is that the same, but just with general media?”

Harry hadn’t met Louis’ eyes – wasn’t really looking at his face at all – but was at least looking in his general direction now. “News articles and all that.”

These all sounded like things that management should have their own staff do. He kept that thought to himself, though. “I could deal with that, too.” He didn’t bother posing it as a question, as he doubted he’d get an answer. “Database management. I have no idea what that one is.”

“It’s like updating professional contacts. You probably wouldn’t be able to do that one.”

After typing Harry’s words, he added a note to ask Liam more about it. At least if he understood, he might be able to help. “Playlist curation?”

“Mm, that’s not a regular one, and Zayn does that for him, anyway.”

“Oh, okay. But, uh, what does it mean?”

“Just going through our playlists on the Spotify channel and making notes on anything that should be changed, added, removed.”

Louis added it in. “Then I just have ‘Research’?”

Harry shifted in his seat. “Not sure. I think they email him things throughout the week or something.”

Louis frowned and added a load of question marks next to it, then scanned the rest of the list. “The others are just … errands. Why do they get Liam to run errands?”

Again, Harry looked up at him. This time, his eyes met Louis’, but they had no warmth. “I’ve offered to help, okay?”

“I, uh…” It took Louis a moment to work out what had caused Harry’s harsh tone. “Oh, Harry, no. I didn’t mean that you should have done them. I meant, why are they getting any of you to do them? Surely they have staff to do that? Especially since it seems like people have to sign off on everything, anyway.”

Harry hadn’t looked comfortable for a second of the conversation, but the tension seemed to increase further. “Well, lucky he has you, I guess,” he muttered. “Are we done now?” He didn’t wait for an answer; he just got up and left Louis alone in the living room. Louis felt like he was constantly getting left behind by Harry.

Because there was clearly something very wrong with Louis, he didn’t go back to his room. As much as he tried to tell himself he wasn’t waiting for Harry to return for dinner, the way his heart sped up when Harry came down proved it wasn't true.

Louis sat on the sofa, pretending to read a book while Harry ate his dinner at the opposite end of the room. He wished he could go back in time and talk some sense into himself. The previous nights, he’d rotated between being close by in case Harry wanted to talk to him, and hiding in his room, adding to the space between them. He felt stuck, he was so desperate to understand what the hell happened and what it meant. But if he couldn’t have that, he wanted to be around Harry without Harry looking like he was being held hostage. Asking him about it would just add to that.

Glancing up from his spot on the sofa, Louis looked at Harry, still at the dining table at the other end of the room, staring down at his plate.

It just wasn’t fair. Harry had kissed him. And, while Louis had kissed back enthusiastically, it wasn’t like Louis had instigated the kiss, yet it felt like he was being punished for it.

He knew Harry well enough to know it probably wasn’t his intention to make Louis feel like that, but that didn’t change anything.

When he glanced up again, Harry had finished his dinner, his cutlery resting on the plate, but he still hadn’t moved.

Harry stood, collected his plate, and moved to the galley kitchen. Louis tried to distract himself, but his gaze remained fixed on Harry as Harry slowly hand-washed his plate and cutlery. Louis had no idea why he wasn’t just putting them in the dishwasher.

Instead of leaving them in the drain for the cleaner or Louis to deal with later, Harry retrieved a cloth from a drawer. He methodically dried his plate and put it away. He walked back and did the same with the knife and then the fork.

As Harry grabbed a cloth under the sink, Louis couldn’t tear his eyes away. He cleaned every surface in the kitchen, something Louis had never seen him do before. Given how frequently the cleaner came, there was never a reason to. Once he’d done every surface at least twice, Harry rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, and draped it over the tap.

After staring at the tap for a concerning amount of time, Harry huffed and looked up at Louis. Harry’s eyes burnt into his, causing his breath to catch in his throat under the storm of emotion. For a long, charged moment, their eyes remained locked. Harry was the first to break contact, and Louis waited for him to walk off and leave Louis sitting alone, as he had done so many times.

That didn’t happen, though. Harry didn’t move at all. Then, finally, his eyes met Louis’ again. “Look,” Harry’s eyebrows were furrowed, and even while talking, his jaw seemed set, and Louis’ throat tightened at the sight of it, “Can you just… Can we…” Harry took a sharp breath, “Can you just come upstairs?” The words rushed out of his mouth so fast that Louis was only just able to decipher them.

Louis blinked. Then, he blinked again. He restrained the urge to pinch himself, not fully believing Harry actually asked him that.

The second Harry’s face began to drop, Louis sprung into action, standing up so quickly that his book and phone fell off him straight onto the floor, but he barely noticed. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Harry’s expression had returned to his usual controlled one, and he simply nodded once and headed for the stairs, not matching Louis’ enthusiasm.

But, honestly, it didn’t bother Louis at all. Harry had asked him to spend time with him, and that meant everything.

Chapter Text

Louis was thankful that Harry was already upstairs before he started climbing the staircase. Making his way up it in socks was never particularly elegant, but with the slight tremble coursing through his body, he felt even more uncoordinated and was sure he looked it too. The last thing he needed was for Harry to see it.

At the top of the landing, his eyes immediately found Harry. He was already seated on the sofa, very much in the corner, but still, it was better than him being in the armchair. Given that Louis had only ever sat on the sofa, surely Harry would have to know that he would also sit on it. Despite all that, he hesitated just briefly before settling on it. He didn’t curl into his corner to the same extent that Harry had, but he wasn’t far off, wanting to give Harry as much space as he needed.

Silence filled the room. It wasn’t wholly unfamiliar; when Louis had first started coming up and enduring Mad Men just to be around Harry, they were quiet and awkward then.

Somehow, this was different, though. Probably partly because Harry was staring blankly at the black TV screen in front of them. Partially because Louis, who admittedly hadn’t been great at not staring at Harry at the best of times, had lost all control and couldn’t take his eyes off him, tracing down his side profile. And mostly because they’d fucking kissed. Which at the very, very, very least had to mean that Harry … well, Louis still didn’t really know. But before The Kiss, he would have put the odds of kissing Harry at a firm zero per cent. Now, post-kiss, the chance of kissing Harry again was like a solid five per cent. It would probably be higher if Harry hadn’t ignored him for the better part of the week.

The attention seemed too much for Harry as he finally glanced at Louis before looking away. Louis should probably feel embarrassed for being caught staring at Harry, and he probably would soon.

“So, uh,” Louis started, knowing that the longer they sat there, the worse it would get, “What do you… want to do?”

Without looking at him, Harry reached over his armrest, pulled up a book, and handed it to Louis. After forcing his eyes off Harry, Louis looked down at the cover of Lady Chatterly’s Lover – the book they’d been in the middle of before … before Harry had started ignoring him.

Before The Kiss.

“Why did you hand it to me?” Louis asked, trying to return some of the comfort they’d developed before. “I read last.”

“No,” Harry’s voice was a bit flat. He was a bit more detached than usual, which was saying something because there was always a level of detachment. “I did at Nym– The Scarlet Letter.”

Right … Harry had read at Nymans. That was precisely what he’d been doing before Louis had interrupted him. Instinctively, Louis’ eyes dropped to Harry’s lips, and holy fuck did he want them on his again. If the first kiss hadn’t set them back so far, and if he had any idea what the fuck was going on in Harry’s head, Louis would kiss him right then.

But Louis had no idea what was going on in Harry’s head. All he knew was Harry did not want to be kissed right now, so he wouldn’t.

Having no idea how to respond to Harry almost bringing up that kiss — okay, not almost bringing up the kiss, but almost being able to say the name of the location where the kiss took place – Louis reposited himself so that his back was resting against the armrest and tucked his legs into him.

Deliberately pushing all the thoughts out of his mind, Louis flicked through until he found the bookmark and began to read.

The thing was, when they chose Lady Chatterley's Lover, it had been an intellectual decision. Harry had read it because, of course he fucking had, and Louis had always planned to, mainly because of the controversy it caused. And other books they’d read had varying levels of intimacy or implied intimate scenes, and it had been fine. They’d watched sex scenes, and it had been fine, but as Louis continued to read the sex scene, which really wasn’t even that explicit, his throat got dry, and his voice broke more than once.

Once the characters started putting on their clothes and leaving the hut, Louis took a deep breath that came out as a shaky laugh. “So, uh, guess we’re learning why it got its reputation.”

Harry's eyes met his and lingered on them, and the peace that Louis had just gotten back left immediately. He broke the eye contact and went back to reading, determined to finish the chapter.

“He arranged things his own way. He locked the door of the hut and came after her.
‘You aren’t sorry, are you?’ he asked as he went to her side.
‘No! No! Are you?’ she said.
‘For that! No!” he said. Then after a while he added: ‘But there’s the rest of the things.’
‘What’s the rest of things?’ she said, disappointed.
‘It’s always so. For you as well as for me. There’s always complications.’ He walked on steadily in the dark.”

Louis blinked at the page, and whether it was also at the words or the fact that Louis had paused, in his periphery, Harry shifted the way he did when he was uncomfortable sometimes.

No. They weren’t doing this. Louis refused to let it get weird again. He refused to take another step back. He was going to finish this fucking chapter, even if it killed him.
“‘And are you sorry?’ she said.
‘In a way,’ he replied, looking up at the sky. ‘I thought I’d be done with it all. Now I’ve begun again.’
‘Begun what?’
‘Life.’
‘Life.’ She re-echoed.
‘It’s life,’ he said. ‘There is no keeping clear. And if you do keep clear, you might almost as well die. So if I’ve got to be broken open again, I have.’
She did not quite see it that way, but still, ‘It’s just love,’ she said cheerfully.
‘Whatever that may be,’ he replied.”

It turned out that they wouldn’t make it through the chapter because Louis was done. He closed the book and hoped Harry didn’t know it well enough to know it was the end. “Would, uh… my throat’s a little sore. Could we watch a movie or something?” Louis was pretty sure it came out much more steady than he felt.

Harry picked up the remote and turned the TV on without a word. Louis watched as he clicked through options without hesitation and wondered what the hell they were watching. Normally, they’d either watch the movie of whatever book they’d read, but he doubted that Harry would put on Lady Chatterley’s Lover when they’d barely made a dent into the book. When they went to watch something else, they’d talk about it first and then have to check what platform it was on.

When they reached Easy A, Louis’ heart sped up. He’d mentioned it at Nyman’s when he had given Harry the copy of The Scarlet Letter and joked about wanting to watch it. Not only had Harry clearly remembered it, but it was also at the front of his recently watched. Harry had watched it and watched it recently.

And what the fuck?

He’d clicked play quickly, but Louis hadn’t missed it. As the credit started playing, Harry reached his hand out, and Louis stared at it blankly. He had no idea how long for, but long enough that Harry actually spoke. “Book.”

Louis glanced at the book in his hand and slowly handed it to Harry. Their fingers brushed briefly, sending a shiver down Louis’ spine. He’d hoped that Harry hadn’t noticed, but he stared at Louis, looking concerned. Taking the book out of his hand, Harry placed it on the ground and stood up, walking through one of the doors Louis still hadn’t been through.

Had his reaction been so strong that it had freaked Harry out and he had to escape? It wasn’t the room he went into when he had to get books, and Louis had wondered if it was an office. Maybe he had dismissal paperwork in there.

Although, given Harry had actually seemed concerned earlier that he was going to quit, it seemed unlikely. But that was before Louis started acting weird as fuck again. Maybe it was a restraining order, and this whole thing had just been a test to see if Louis could act like a normal person – which he clearly couldn’t – so Harry was getting ready to serve it. He wasn’t entirely sure how restraining orders were served, though, and he had a vague idea that maybe a lawyer had to do it. If he hadn’t left his phone downstairs, he could have called Lottie and asked.

Hours continued to pass — they might have been seconds, but they definitely felt like hours – and Harry still hadn’t returned. Louis tried to focus on the TV, knowing that it might be the last time he got to watch it, but it was really fucking hard when he was waiting to find out if he was going to be fired, arrested for harassment, or something.

Finally, finally, Harry walked out straight to Louis. “Cleaner must have washed yours.” A heavy weight fell onto Louis’ knees, but his eyes followed Harry as he walked around and sat on his side of the sofa. Then Louis looked down at the blanket that Harry had placed on his lap. A blanket. Harry had gone and looked for a blanket.

Harry had called him upstairs, seemingly to spend time with him.
Harry had put on Easy A, apparently after watching it.
Harry had gone searching for a blanket for him.

Harry, who was now so far on the other end of the sofa, practically putting as much space between them as possible. The amount of money Louis would pay to get a hint at what was going on in his head was astronomical. He’d sell Harry’s cars for a peek inside his brain.

He held the blanket close for the rest of the movie.

Outside Harry’s bedroom door, Louis mentally prepared himself. Post kiss, Harry had been waking up early enough that Louis hadn’t needed to go in his room, but after the night that he’d called Louis upstairs and they’d watched Easy A, Harry had stopped waking up early, which meant that Louis had to give himself the same pep talk for the last four days.

Which was fucking annoying because he’d almost moved past it before The Kiss. It had been going on for months, and while it had always been the weirdest part of his job, he’d almost become desensitised to it. As desensitised to waking up a naked Harry in his room every day at least.

That had all gone to shit now. Louis walked into his room, turning the knob slowly and then wondering why he always did that when the entire point was to wake Harry up.

He walked too close to him and sighed as he looked down at Harry’s bed. It was a mess, just like it had been every other morning that week, with tangled sheets and pillows everywhere. It used to happen occasionally; he’d walk in to find his bed in disarray, but never this often. He had to assume that it meant that he’d slept like shit.

And Louis couldn’t help but question if it was at least partly his fault. Of course, it might not have anything to do with him. He didn’t want to assume that the kiss meant anything to Harry like it did to him. Still, there was absolutely no denying that it must have meant something to Harry, so it didn’t seem too much of a reach that if Harry was having issues sleeping since then, those things could be related.

The sun had crept through his curtains, outlining the curve of Harry’s cheek and the pout of his soft lips. Louis’ fingers were itching to stroke his tangled curls out of his face, but with much more restraint than he knew he had, he didn’t.

He used to wake Harry up by yelling his name and occasionally prodding him if needed, but none of that felt right anymore. “Harry,” he whispered, thankful that Harry was such a deep sleeper that he wouldn’t have heard it so that he would’ve missed the softness in his voice. After repeating his name a couple more times, Louis remembered why he used to yell but still couldn’t do it. Instead, he skimmed his fingers over Harry’s arm, trying not to focus on the feel of Harry’s warm skin under his fingertips.

Obviously, he’d used all the restraint he had to stop himself from brushing away the curls because he kept running his fingers up and down Harry’s bicep, watching as goosebumps slowly rose on them.

“Harry, you’ve gotta wake up, love.” When Harry’s eyes slowly blinked open, Louis realised he really hadn’t expected any of that to work. His fingers stilled, and he needed to run out of there, but he didn’t. And Harry, eyes still clouded with sleep, looked at him, and there was the same unguarded look that he’d seen after Harry had kissed him. The ones he’d started to think that he may have imagined. But he hadn’t, because it was there.

And then it wasn’t. Just like last time, one quick blink brought up all his walls again. Both due to the embarrassment of being too close and from the pain of watching it happen all over again, Louis turned on his heel and got out of there.

Louis had Harry’s coffee ready and waiting for him by the time he came downstairs and had moved on to making himself another tea, needing to stay busy more than anything else, as Harry pulled his breakfast out of the fridge.

Objectively, he knew the kitchen was large; the gap between the counter and the island bench was enough space for two people to move around comfortably. And it had been. They’d been in there at the same time doing their own thing hundreds of times, and while there were definitely times when he was aware of how close Harry was, they’d still been able to do whatever they needed to easily.

So it made no fucking sense why every single movement seemed to result in them touching now. Louis reached for a tea bag at the same time as Harry went to grab a plate, causing their sides to brush against each other. They both reached for cutlery at the same time, their fingers touching. Louis turned to get milk out of the fridge just as Harry turned away from the microwave, causing them to run straight into each other, chest to chest, before both took giant steps back.

If it weren’t so fucking awkward, he’d try to laugh it off, but it was way too uncomfortable for that.

After preparing his breakfast, Harry sat at the counter and Louis stood on his side, drinking his tea, gaze only occasionally trailing Harry. Their eyes locked for a second, but Harry quickly broke the contact.

It was enough to steady Louis and set his thoughts back on track. Taking a deep breath, Louis asked, “How would you feel about skipping the gym today after practice? Or we could do it later?”

Harry froze, his fork hovering mid-air. “Why?”

“Just… I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere. But only if you want to.”

After staring Louis down blankly, Harry finally said, “Alright.”

Louis wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard Harry correctly but didn’t want to give him a chance to back out in case he had said yes. “Great. I’ll sort the details.”

Louis shut the driver’s door, turning to face Harry. “Still happy to go somewhere?”

Harry stared at him for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“A bookstore.” Uncertainty tinged Louis’ voice as he hoped Harry would still be on board. “It's a bit out of the city. They close for lunch, but the owner will let us in, so it’ll just be us. He’s signed an NDA, and there's parking around the back, so we'll be out of sight.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How’d you manage that?”

“I, well… made it worth his while.”

There was a subtle tightening of Harry’s jaw, and as a flicker of discomfort on his face, his eyes darted away. Just as Louis began to give up hope, Harry said, “Fine.”

Knowing it was the best he would get, Louis turned on the ignition, and the engine hummed to life.

Harry sat rigidly in the passenger seat the entire trip, his fingers occasionally drumming lightly on his thigh. Louis had no idea whether his discomfort was going out, having to be near Louis or something entirely different altogether. No answer would make Louis feel better because he hated that Harry was uncomfortable at all, so he did his best not to focus on it.

Maybe it wasn’t his position to try and decide what was best for Harry … but the truth was, he really did think this was a good idea, and since no one else really seemed to have Harry's best interests in mind, it had to be better than keeping him cooped up like a prisoner in his own house.

That didn’t stop Louis from needing to grip the steering wheel a bit tighter, fighting the urge to reach out, wanting to still Harry's fingers. Instead, he said, “Haven’t driven through this part of London in ages.”

Harry merely hummed in response, his gaze still fixed outside, remaining silent for the rest of the trip.

Louis pushed the door open of the bookshop. Inside, tall shelves brimmed with various titles. The familiar scent of old books filled the air. In a corner, a well-worn armchair sat next to the window.

“You Louis?” A man at the counter asked, tone friendly. After Louis’ nodded, he gestured to a clipboard on the counter. “Signed NDA’s right here.”

Once Louis had finished talking to the owner and checking that all the paperwork was filled out correctly, he turned to Harry, whose attention flitted around the store. Clearly sensing Louis was looking at him, Harry asked, “Why are we here?”

“We’re after notebooks,” Louis said as he spotted the wall of them that he’d seen on the website.

As Harry followed him over, he said, “Could've just ordered them.”

A small smile made its way onto Louis’ lips, and he was glad Harry couldn’t see. “Where’s the adventure in that?”

Louis had never seen so many notebooks in one place, and while it was slightly overwhelming, he was glad he’d gone with this shop.

“What kind do I need?” Harry’s voice was so soft it was almost lost in the ambience of the store.

“Whatever kind you want.” When the answer didn’t seem to satisfy Harry, Louis added, “Probably one with thicker paper, and maybe only dull line, or dotted, or even blank.”

Harry studied the shelves intently, fingers brushing the covers lightly, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Unable to bear Harry’s intense concern, Louis drew closer. “Okay, it’s really not that serious. It’s just a notebook.”

With a sideways glance, Harry said, “If you told me what it was for, maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult.”

Louis considered just telling him what he was planning but he truly believed going one step at a time was the only way not to overwhelm Harry, so instead, he just watched and waited.

Minutes passed before Harry seemed to settle on a rough, tan leather notebook held together by a ribbon in the same material. Frowning, he glanced at Louis again. “This one okay? The pages are blank.”

“Yeah, perfect.” It was. And it was very Harry. Louis chose a hard-covered black one with an elastic band seal. Not wanting Harry to second guess his decision, Louis said, “We’ve got a bit more time. Do you want to look around for a bit?”

Harry paused for a beat, then nodded, the faintest hint of excitement in his eyes. Louis definitely could have imagined that though. They roamed the store, heading in separate directions. Somehow, even at opposite ends of the room with hundreds of books between them, Louis’ body was so attuned to Harry that it was as if he could feel every one of his movements.

Hoping he was being subtle but highly doubting it, Louis moved closer to Harry, whose hands were empty beside the notebook, just like Louis.

“What if…” If Harry hadn’t looked at him, making it evident that he’d heard Louis, Louis would have let the sentence die, “What if we chose a book for each other?”

To Louis’ surprise, Harry agreed almost immediately.

Louis only felt a tad guilty that he already knew what he would give Harry. Just the other night, they’d talked about The Secret History, and when Louis brought up The Goldfinch, also by Donna Tartt, Harry told him that he’d never read it. It was rare that Louis had read something that Harry hadn’t, so it was the perfect, and likely only, option. The relevance of the over-arching themes was just a bonus.

Silently, they signalled they were both finished and walked to the counter. “You have to hide my book,” Louis said as he hid the one he’d chosen behind his back.

With a slight roll of his eyes, Harry did the same. Once they reached the counter, Louis asked the owner to bag them separately.

Placing a brief hand on Harry’s back, Louis turned him slightly so that he could hand over the book. When Harry tensed under Louis’ touch, it took everything in him not to sigh. Still, Louis turned so Harry could give his to the owner.

Harry insisted on paying, and Louis gave in pretty quickly, deciding that he should pick his battles, and they headed back to the car.

Once they were settled in the car, Louis took the paper bag that the book he’d chosen for Harry was in and handed it to him. Harry's fingers brushed against Louis' as he took it; his hand stilled for a moment before pulling it away.

Pulling the book out, there was no immediate response, but then there was a subtle twitch of his lips, which was enough for Louis. To be honest, he was sure it was all he would get, so it had to be enough.

Harry handed over his bag, and Louis pulled out The Truth About Magic by Atticus. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected Harry to get him, but it made sense given that the only contemporary poetry Louis had read was from the books Harry had lent him. The fact that Louis hadn’t given them back to Harry, unlike all the other books, likely compounded the choice. “Thank you, I love it.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You haven’t read it.”

“Well… I know. But I’m sure I will love it.” Louis quickly shifted topics. “Anyway, the journals.” He’d been putting off explaining this particular plan ever since it had formed in his mind weeks ago. Pulling out his phone, he began, “The National Trust put out a list. '50 things to do before you're 11¾’.” Once he found the list, he handed his phone to Harry.

Harry’s gaze settled on the screen. It seemed like with each item he read, the seconds seemed to stretch, and Louis found himself trying to decipher his expression, but as always, he drew blank. Louis craned to look at the list, and the first thing he saw was ‘Roll down a big hill’. His chest tightened. What the fuck had he been thinking? There was no way he would get Harry to agree to the list. Hell, he probably wouldn’t be able to convince his youngest siblings, who were younger than eleven and three quartets, to do it.

“We don’t have to do them all,” Louis started. “And we could modify some like … with the sunset one, we could just do it from the balcony or something…” His voice sounded as defeated as he felt. “Nevermind. Just… we can forget about it. It was just an idea.”

Their eyes locked. Harry nodded once.

“Yes? Yes, to what?”

“Maybe not all of them,” Harry said finally. “But I guess we can do a couple.”

“Wait, really? You’ll really do these with me?”

“Some of them.”

“Got it, got it.” Eager to maintain the energy, Louis said, “And we’ve already done number forty-eight.”

Harry looked back to the list. “It says to keep a nature journal, not just buy one.”

“Semantics. We're halfway there. And given we're already outside, fancy ticking off another?” Louis knew he was pushing it, but this morning, he hadn't even imagined Harry would want to step outside. Louis reached over slightly, trying to glimpse the list on his phone still in Harry's grasp. His finger tapped on the screen when he saw number 44: 'Watch a bird'. Pointing to it, Louis asked, "What about that one?"

Harry squinted at the item. After a moment, he simply murmured, “Birdwatching?”

“It’s an easy one.”

After a lengthy pause, Harry nodded again. “Alright.”

Pressing his lips together to stop himself from yelling triumphantly, Louis simply nodded, swallowing back his excitement, wondering exactly how much further he could take it.

Louis had managed to secure Claremont Landscape Garden with little trouble, given that it was another National Trust location and NDAs had already been signed. The staff left a utility vehicle near the entrance with a map that took them to a relatively secluded area. Harry had said he was okay going without security, making the arrangements even more straightforward.

With sandwiches in hand, courtesy of a brief stop Louis made at the garden café, they'd found a spot and settled on a blanket.

As Louis handed a sandwich to Harry, he found Harry staring back at him, frowning. “How… How did you get the National Trust to agree to this? Being so accommodating?”

Louis cast a cautious glance at Harry. “Well, they wanted to help, genuinely. And, uh, I may have also made a bit of a donation … And set up a monthly one. Not sure if that’s relevant.”

The look on Harry’s face confirmed what Louis had suspected: Harry was not pleased.

“We can switch it to my card,” Harry said.

“I might've used the expense card already.”

“But you didn’t, did you?”

“Possibly.”

“Lou…”

“It’s alright. Turns out, I have a bit more money than I thought.”

Harry’s eyes shifted, basically confirming that he had increased Louis’ pay. “Regardless, you shouldn’t be-”

“We can talk about it later. Now eat your sandwich.”

Despite the sandwiches and soft sounds of nature, a thick silence lingered. Louis was acutely aware of Harry – the firm set of his jaw, the graceful hold of his sandwich.

A dollop of sauce landed on Louis’ finger. Without thinking, he licked it off. That’s when he caught Harry’s focused gaze, a depth to his eyes that Louis hadn't seen before.

“The food is good,” Louis managed, his voice almost wavering. Harry’s reply was a quiet nod and a sip from his drink.

When Louis finished eating, he opened his phone and found the page on item forty-four. “Here’s the birdwatching intel. They say you can find birds anywhere, which, I don’t know, seems pretty obvious to me.”

“Mm, but this is meant to be for children under twelve.” Unexpectedly, there was no bite to the words.

“Yeah, but we’ll do a better job than them. Won’t we?”

Harry huffed out a sigh, but Louis was pretty sure he had to force it.

“Do you reckon the birds will be snobbish because these gardens are so fancy?”

“I reckon if you don’t shut up, you will scare them away.”

“Excuse me, Harry, I’m still reading the instructions.” How the fuck did Harry make his stomach swoop the way it did. “Okay, so it suggests binoculars, but I didn’t bring any. We’re also meant to work out what bird we find but I think we can just make it up if we don’t know.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, not meeting Louis’ nervous energy at all.

“Ready to be the best bird watchers who have ever completed the list?”

Harry murmured something Louis couldn’t make out but decided to take it as a yes and glanced around, eyes scanning the treetops and nearby bushes. After a moment, he saw a small bird flitting from one branch to another. “Hey, look there. That bird seems fancy enough for this garden. What do you reckon it is?”

Harry tilted his head to follow where Louis was pointing. “A robin, maybe?”

Watching as Harry brought a drink bottle to his lips, Louis hadn’t realised it was a question until he saw Harry’s expectant expression.

“Oh, I’ve got no idea. I know fuck all about birds.”

At Louis’ words, Harry choked on water, and it went splattering over both of them.

“Shit,” Harry coughed out. “Shit.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Louis brushed the stray drops off his own pants. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“It’s fine.” The words somehow made their way out, and Louis had no fucking idea how given how tight his throat was. “It’s not your fault that I’m so funny.”

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh caused Louis to fling his head up to check. Harry’s mouth was closed, but his lips were quirked in what could only be described as a crooked smile. It was a really, really faint one, but it was still there.

Louis felt a cool streak slowly run down his cheek and he had to assume it was some of Harry’s drink. But before he could swipe it away, Harry’s hand was there, in front of his. Fingers rested on Louis’ jaw as Harry’s thumb’s soft pad gently brushed it away with a featherlight touch.

Harry’s gaze trailed from Louis’ cheek to his lips. Lingered there. Instinctively Louis licked his lips and Harry’s pupils dilated, darkening his eyes. Due to the efforts of trying to control his breathing, Louis automatically gulped.

The movement was apparently enough to pull Harry out of whatever trance he was in as he dropped his hand immediately, letting it hit the rug with force. Then he shuffled, putting more space between them than there had been before.

Exhaling deeply, Louis didn’t fight the scorching disappointment that pooled in the depths of his stomach.

“Sorry,” Harry said before clearing his throat, “for, you know, spitting on you.”

“It’s fine,” Louis answered, refusing to entertain the jokes about spitting building in his head. Even he struggled to find humour in them at that moment.

They both remained still for quite some time, so still that along with the birdsongs and nature sounds, he could hear every inhale and every exhale of Harry’s.

The distance between them caused Louis to accept that he might not have another chance to bring it up. Louis hugged a loose thread on the blanket, saying, “Harry… This Sunday. You know how last week Zayn and I went out?” He didn’t look up to see Harry’s reaction, doubting it would help. “I took him to an art class and, well, he had fun and wants to go again.” It wasn’t entirely true. But it had only taken Louis twenty minutes to convince him they should go again, so he couldn’t hate it too much. “And, uh, then, I, well, I was going to see Lottie after. Oh, um, Lottie is m–”

“Your sister, I know.”

Louis had to work to keep his eyes down, wanting desperately to look at Harry, needing to know how the hell he knew that. Or how he remembered it, at least. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d mentioned Lottie to Harry. “Yeah, exactly… anyway, since she lives out that way, Zayn is just going to come.”

There was no need to look up this time, the change in atmosphere was sudden and palpable. Still, Louis managed to soldier on. “But um, after that, I, well she… Both of us, really, were wondering if you wanted to have dinner with us. So you guys could meet.”

When Louis looked up, figuring he got out everything he needed to, Harry’s face was tight and Louis regretted it. Then Harry said, “You don’t need to include me. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I know. And,” Louis took in a deep breath, “what I want is for you two to meet and for the three of us to have dinner together.”

Harry looked away from Louis, meaning that Louis couldn’t gauge his reaction at all. Fuck, this was all so exhausting. How the hell had he gotten himself so caught up in this? So caught up in Harry. When he’d first met him, no part of him had any idea that Harry and Harry’s happiness could ever mean so much to him. But here they were and, worst of all, Louis still wasn’t sure he was really helping Harry at all.

“Okay,” Harry’s answer startled Louis out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’d like that. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” So, so sure.

Louis and Zayn entered the art café, the aroma of newly opened paint mingling seamlessly with brewing tea.

“Look who’s here!” Margot declared from the counter. A table in the rear was neatly arranged with easels, a palette of paints, and brushes. The cluster of the older women settled into their spots, a few casting friendly nods in Louis and Zayn’s direction.

“You’re in for quite the session today,” Gladys murmured, a secretive tone in her voice, as Louis settled beside her. “It’s Brenda’s turn to lead.”

A wide grin spread across Louis’ face, eyes darting to Brenda. She stood confidently at the forefront, an excessively large beret slightly skewed on her head. “Our muse for today is...” Brenda extended the pause theatrically, “This magnificent being.”

The room filled with a unified sigh, and an elderly voice grumbled, “Mittens, again?” as Brenda revealed a petite ceramic cat from her tote.

With mock offence, Brenda responded, “It’s a timeless piece, Ethel.”

Zayn, an eyebrow cocked, whispered to Louis, “Magnificent, you reckon?”

Suppressing a laugh, Louis responded, “Utterly. Look at the... elegance.”

As the session started, Brenda provided them with basic guidelines, guiding them on capturing the charm of 'Mittens'. But in no time, the others began diverging from the original subject matter.

Murial’s transformed into an island scene. Ethel stated she was drawing her grandson, and when Brenda argued with her, she added two cat ears on top of his head. If her portrait was at all accurate and it did look like her grandson, he actually looked nothing like Zayn, despite her saying he did last week. When Gladys had started, her portrait had the most likeness to Mittens out of all the others, but she seemed to get bored halfway through, and it ventured into abstract until the bold, vibrant strokes entirely camouflaged Mittens.

Getting Zayn’s attention with a sharp nudge to the ribs, Louis gestured to his artwork, which kind of resembled a cat if you squinted really hard. “Reckon Brenda will like it?”

“Without a doubt. The sunglasses are a nice touch.”

“Thanks,” Louis said, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t added sunglasses; it was just where he’d painted out of the lines.

Zayn’s portrait was a perfect portrayal of Mittens, causing Louis to wonder how exactly he’d honed his skills to the extent he had.

It was clear that Brenda was impressed by Zayn’s piece as well. She gushed about it for five minutes, ruffling his hair a total of eight times, pinched his cheeks three, and offered up her granddaughter’s hand in marriage twice.

When he could finally get a word in, Louis asked Brenda what she thought of his painting. Her only reply was, “You’re such a handsome thing, aren’t you?” She then stated that if Zayn wouldn’t take her granddaughter, Louis was welcome to her.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that one.

Louis pushed open the door to Lottie's house, which somehow smelt of their childhood home. Everywhere he looked, there were papers — some covered in highlighter, while others were scrawled with annotations.

From the kitchen, Lottie's voice reached out. “Hey, Lou.”

She appeared, tray in hand, bearing hot drinks. Her smile was there, but her eyes looked tired, and Louis couldn’t help but think it didn’t bode well for them.

After Louis and Zayn had taken the mugs offered to them, Lottie started organising some papers. As Louis turned to Zayn to make a comment, his words got lost for a second as he caught Zayn looking at Lottie with an expression Louis hadn’t seen before.

Feeling like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have, Louis whipped right back around, deciding to work out whatever the hell that was later.

"So," Lottie said, as she sat on the floor, documents covering the floor in front of her, “should we start?” Louis and Zayn nodded and sat down.

After a beat, Lottie spoke again, “I’ve been over all the documents multiple times and spoken to some contacts who have a much better understanding of this than me – confidentially, of course – and I believe you do have grounds for a case. However, like I told Lou, it’s not going to be straightforward.”

Neither of them said anything while Lottie reached for a stack of papers. “The issue you have is that technically, as far as I can tell, management hasn’t actually broken the contract. If they had, this would be a lot easier. Instead, I think the main argument is that the contract and how they’ve enforced it are unethical.”

“Shouldn’t that be enough, though?” Louis asked. “If the contract is unethical, shouldn’t they be able to get out of it?”

Lottie pursed her lips and studied him. “It may have been enough if it was the first contract they signed, but they signed the current one a little over five years ago. Management and their team can argue that they were adults with industry experience that willingly signed it.”

“But…” Louis wanted to argue but decided she likely knew what she was talking about. “Fine. So where does that leave them? If they can say they willingly signed the contract, there’s not much hope, is there?”

“For goodness sake,” Lottie said with an eye roll, “If you’d let me talk, I’d tell you. While they can argue that, there are still a lot of dodgy things they did. For example, they shouldn’t have even let you,” she directed her attention to Zayn, “use their Lawyers, let alone suggested it. Also, you said they have some control over your money, but there is nothing in the contract to state that they have that power, so–”

“Isn’t that breaking the contract, then?” Louis interjected.

“No, because from what I can tell, the band didn’t contest it.”

Louis was doing his best to keep his hopes up, but Lottie seemed to slash them. Every time she said something positive, she then ruined it.

When she seemed sure that Louis wouldn’t talk, she started again. “Both of those things, as well as the inaccessible contract, highlight a lack of transparency. But really, I think if you continue, your legal team will mainly focus on the impact that the contract and management have had on your mental and physical well-being and that they’re not working in your best interest.”

“Right,” Zayn said slowly. “And is that going to be hard to prove?”

“It’s going to be… complicated. The team will likely want as much documentation from the last five or so years– perhaps even further back– that they can acquire to use as evidence. This brings us to your next hurdle: the others will need to be entirely on board. Not only because the contracts obviously involve them, but this process is likely to be expensive, long, tedious, and risky. You’ll need to be all in and on the same page.”

Sensing that Lottie was dashing Zayn’s hopes as she had done to him, Louis fought for a fake kind of optimism. “So, what happens next?”

“You need to talk to the others and see if they’re on board. If they are, the next step would be meeting with a legal team. At the very least, they can do a better assessment than I can and provide their opinions going forward.” Glancing between the two of them, Lottie said, “The first step would likely be mediation to see if you can re-negotiate the contract.” Louis opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out, Lottie held up her hand. “I know that’s not what either of you want – and please remember, Lou, as involved as you are now, you’re not going to have a say going forward – but I’d be shocked if they didn’t attempt that first.”

There was so much Louis wanted to say, but as much as it hurt, and it did fucking hurt, she was right; once this went further – if it went further – he wouldn’t have much say in anything.

“Another thing I wanted to check,” Lottie said, again directing her attention to Zayn, “is what you were thinking about doing regarding the label. Are you happy to stay with them?”

Zayn shrugged. “I dunno, really. We don’t have much to do with them.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Grant’s at every meeting, and he is as bad as the rest of them.”

Tilting his head, Zayn said, “Grant isn’t from the label."

“Yes, he is.” Louis was positive he was.

“No, he isn’t. He works for management but is the liaison for the label. We really don’t have direct contact with them.”

Before Louis could argue some more, he saw Lottie nodding, “Okay, that’s something you really need to work out as well.”

Sitting on the sofa with Zayn as Lottie tidied all her documents, Louis couldn’t decide how he felt. He seemed to oscillate between hopeful and hopeless every few seconds, feeling sick to his stomach the entire time.

So when Lottie straightened up and said, “I’m done. Let’s go see Harry,” Louis was pretty sure he would hurl.

Chapter Text

Eleven days had crawled by since Louis and Harry’s lips met. Two hundred and sixty-four agonisingly slow hours for Harry, each hour a dragging weight heavier than the last. His emotions warred within him, a gnawing need for Louis clashing with the caution urging space. Sleep offered no escape as Louis lingered in every dream, an unattainable imitation.

He checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time, each passing second adding to his dread as he waited for Louis and Lottie. At last, the sound of footsteps and laughter filled the hallway, pulling him out of his anxious thoughts. His heart raced, indecisive, unsure whether to sit or stand as he waited for their entrance.

The door creaked open before Harry could decide and Louis appeared in the doorway, holding it ajar for Lottie to walk in after him. Time seemed to stretch and contract as Harry closed the distance between them. For a fleeting moment, his eyes met Louis’, and a surge of electricity rushed through him. It left him with an unsettling craving, one he couldn't afford to dwell on. He reluctantly shifted his gaze to Lottie. Her grin, though warm, did little to quell the storm Louis had stirred within him.

Louis finally broke the weighted silence. "Lottie, meet Harry. Harry, meet my sister Lottie."

“Hello, Harry.” Her grin remained firmly in place.

“Hi,” Harry said, offering a stiff smile that he knew couldn't match her ease.

A palpable silence filled the room. Louis hesitated for a fraction of a second, enough to be noticeable, before finally breaking their eye contact and turning to Lottie. “Let's go and check out… my room.”

Harry felt the weight of the tension then, a mix of comfort and regret settling within him. "I'll set the table," he said, nodding to himself.

By the time he straightened the last fork, he found himself questioning his decision to agree to this dinner. His phone buzzed—food delivery. Usually, Louis would go downstairs to collect it, shielding Harry from public recognition. Tonight, Harry wanted the moment alone, the quiet away from the tension.

Louis and Lottie strode back into the living room just as Harry was about to say he was going to collect the delivery. Louis cut him off. "I’ll go," he said, quickly glancing at Harry before exiting the room, leaving him alone with Lottie.

“I like your place,” Lottie said.

Harry’s gaze swept across the room, settling on the empty walls, still awaiting the artwork he'd bought. Louis had insisted he could hang them, but Harry had argued for hiring professionals. “Louis says it feels like an asylum.”

“Louis might want to remember who’s footing the bills,” Lottie replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

For a brief moment, Harry felt the tension lift, but the quiet that followed swiftly reinstated it. “So, you’re a lawyer?”

“Yeah, a junior one.”

He used to talk to people effortlessly; he felt at ease navigating conversations. Now, it was like a distant memory, leaving him grappling with inadequacy.

“What did you get up to today?” she asked.

Harry was thankful for Lottie’s tact, steering clear of the celebrity quagmire. Yet, the knot inside him only loosened when Louis reappeared. He let out a nearly inaudible sigh and hoped it went unnoticed.

Harry took the delivery bag from Louis, and as their fingers brushed, a spark shot up his arm as if his skin had come into contact with a live wire, and, for a suspended heartbeat, time seemed to stall. But then Louis withdrew, his expression revealing nothing, as if untouched by the fleeting connection.

Harry carried the filled serving bowls from the kitchen to the table. The aroma of food followed him, filling the room. As he set them down, aligning each bowl neatly, Louis and Lottie moved from the living area, and they all sat down.

Harry’s eyes widened as he looked around the table. “I forgot the drinks, shit. Sorry.” His words tripped over themselves as he shot up from his chair. “What can I get you, Lottie? We have...” His voice dwindled into nothing. Honestly, he didn’t know what drinks they had.

“Water’s fine, if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely. Sparkling or still? Room temperature or chilled? I think we’ve got ice if you’d like it freezing.” The words gushed out, chaotic in their urgency. He sensed Louis watching him, a gaze he couldn’t bring himself to meet.

“Chilled,” Lottie said, her voice laced with a subtle hesitance.

After giving her a terse nod, Harry pivoted and made his way to the kitchen. Every footfall fought against the urge to flee through the nearby front door.

Harry paused, his hand hovering over a glass. He’d forgotten to ask Louis what he wanted. As he turned, he found Louis already beside him, filling the small kitchen space with his presence.

“You okay?” A furrow appeared between Louis’ brows. The question made Harry feel vulnerable and trapped. “We don’t have to do this,” Louis offered, his voice low.

Despite the awkwardness, Harry sensed Louis wanted to continue the evening. He couldn’t quite grasp why, especially as Harry was failing at being a host.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry said, although the words lacked conviction.

Louis looked sceptical but didn’t challenge him. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of chilled water from the fridge. As Louis moved, Harry stood there, still trying to make sense of the conflicting feelings tumbling through him.

It was just a dinner, nothing special. Yet, as Louis stood beside him, filling the glasses, it was as though Harry were teetering on the edge of a cliff. Every cell in his body seemed attuned to Louis’ nearness.

Louis capped the water bottle and returned it to the fridge. Harry’s focus snapped back when met with a brief touch against his hand.

“You sure you’re okay?” Louis asked once more.

“Yes. Can we just go back now?”

Without waiting for Louis to respond, Harry picked up the glasses and walked them over to the table, carefully setting each down.

As they served themselves, Harry kept his eyes on the task, focusing on the weight and texture of each utensil he picked up. Yet, that surface-level distraction couldn’t extinguish the ever-present tension, humming like a taut string within him. The thoughts crowded back in: Had kissing Louis been a step forward or a colossal mistake? That he hadn’t asked Louis before leaning in made his stomach churn with a mix of desire and regret.

Harry’s eyes fixed on Louis, captivated by the simple act of him eating. When Louis raised his glass to take a drink, Harry’s attention stayed locked on the movement. For a fleeting second, he imagined being that glass held in Louis’ hand, meeting those lips.

While Louis and Lottie exchanged conversation effortlessly, Harry found himself a mere spectator. Their voices washed over him like background noise, his heartbeat ringing louder in his ears. Their banter, so easy and fluid, served only to heighten his own sense of detachment. It was as though he were observing their interaction through a pane of glass, separated by his jumbled emotions and unspoken anxieties.

Lottie’s voice cut through the air, redirecting his focus. “So, Harry, Louis tells me you’re into literature.”

Harry’s eyes darted between Louis and Lottie, surprised. “Yeah, I am.” He hadn’t expected Louis to share that detail about him.

“Makes sense for Lou. He’s always wanted someone who could match his love for books.”

A charged glance passed between Harry and Louis. “I don’t know how much he enjoys it, really,” Harry hedged.

Louis seemed to bristle at that. “What? Why wouldn’t I enjoy it?”

Harry furrowed his brows, puzzled. “You’re used to analysing things in an academic setting, and I read differently.”

“I like how you read … I like how we read together,” Louis argued, his voice tinged with frustration. Harry didn’t respond, letting the words hang in the air. “I’ve learned more from you than I ever did at uni,” Louis said.

“I doubt that,” Harry said.

“Well, maybe not more, but a lot.”

“How?” Harry pressed, wanting to understand.

Louis paused as though choosing his words with care. “Uni taught me to read in a specific, clinical way. With you, it’s different.”

Harry met his gaze, feeling the intensity behind Louis’ eyes. They held each other’s attention as if vital communication was taking place beyond words.

Harry sensed a raw vulnerability in Louis’ words, something he hadn’t expected. The walls he’d built seemed to crack, if only for an instant.

Lottie hummed in acknowledgement. “Ever show him any of your writing?”

Louis looked annoyed. Before he could respond, Harry jumped in. “You write?”

“No,” Louis said, glaring at Lottie.

“He used to,” she clarified. Harry’s eyes darted between the two. “That’s why he studied literature.”

“You never told me,” Harry said a sense of exclusion seeping in, hating that his first thought was that he'd wager that Louis would have told Zayn.

“It's not important,” Louis said, his words edged with a touch of defensiveness.

Harry’s mind raced with curiosity, but he wrestled it into submission. “What did you write?”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t do it anymore,” Louis curtly responded.

“You write your songs, though, don’t you, Harry?” Lottie redirected.

He nodded. “Yeah, but I haven’t written any for a while.” The statement was only half-true; his inspiration had lately been rekindled, but that was information he couldn’t share right now.

“So, you have writing in common,” Lottie pointed out.

“No. Harry still writes. I’ve stopped,” Louis clarified, his tone brooking no further discussion.

“Perhaps Harry could help you,” Lottie said.

“Lottie, stop.” Louis showed a level of sternness that Harry hadn’t seen before.

“I don't know if I'd be much help, but I could try,” Harry offered cautiously.

Louis locked eyes with Harry. “I appreciate it. But like I said, I don’t do it anymore.”

Harry yearned to probe further into Louis’ past as a writer, but the unspoken boundaries were clear. His feelings were tinged with disappointment. Their mutual appreciation for literature had fuelled so many of their conversations, yet Louis had opted to keep this facet of his life hidden. Harry realised, however, that he’d done the same. They were square, bound by an unspoken agreement to let certain topics lie.

As the evening unfolded, Harry became a spectator more than a participant. He watched the natural rapport between Louis and Lottie, a welcome contrast to the earlier tension.

“So, you’re the second oldest?” Harry finally chimed in, seeking a way back into the conversation.

“Yeah,” Lottie confirmed.

“And there’s a total of…?”

“Seven, including Louis and me.”

“Wow.” Harry silently attributed Louis’ social ease to being part of such a big family.

“Five girls and two boys,” Lottie expanded.

“What’s he like as a brother?” Harry couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“Annoying. Protective,” she summarised.

Harry nodded, saying nothing. He’d seen Louis’ protective streak early on for all of them, including Harry which was something he hadn’t experienced in years.

“I’m not annoying,” Louis broke in, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “You could say something nice.”

“Very loyal to people he likes. Sees the best in people,” Lottie said, her eyebrow arched.

Harry’s face remained a study in neutrality, uncertain how to receive her words.

“I meant something like being funny or really smart,” Louis said.

“I’m not going to lie to Harry.”

Harry mustered a tight smile. It was as close to diplomacy as he could manage.

“What about you? Do you have a big family?” Lottie shifted focus, her eyes settling on Harry.

“Um, no, not really. Just my parents and an older sister,” Harry responded, keeping his voice neutral.

“You see them much?”

The question tightened a knot in Harry’s stomach. There was no way that Harry could answer that with Lottie and Louis sitting in front of him, exuding such a family spirit.

“Has Mum told you what we’re doing for the twins’ birthday?” Louis cut in, offering Harry a lifeline.

Lottie hesitated for just a fraction of a second before answering. “She’s not sure yet. They have no idea either.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and soon enough, dessert had been consumed. Lottie announced her need to leave, breaking the momentary calmness.

They stood up, their chairs scraping against the floor, and walked her to the door. Lottie hugged Louis first, then turned to Harry. When she embraced him, Harry’s hands awkwardly met her back. The touch disrupted his internal balance. He withdrew, still reeling, as she left.

Left in the charged atmosphere, Harry noticed Louis’ gaze dissecting him.

“You okay?” Louis finally shattered the quiet that had enveloped the room.

“Yeah. I’m going to go to bed,” Harry said, sidestepping the lingering tension. He retreated without awaiting Louis’ answer.

Harry showered again in the sanctuary of his room, even though he suspected sleep would elude him. Finally, he pulled back the covers, sank into the mattress, and picked up a book. He welcomed its impersonal world, a refuge from the complicated landscape of his emotions.

“You’re coming, right?” Louis asked him.

Harry hesitated, drawn in by Louis. Louis didn't appear notably different, fresh from the shower, his hair swept back, and wearing jeans and a cosy jumper. Yet the softness of that jumper pulled Harry’s thoughts towards imagining being wrapped up in it, cocooned in Louis’ arms.

“Harry? You have to come.”

Of course, Harry would go anywhere with Louis looking at him like that. Though he’d rather spend the evening on the sofa with Louis, this option didn’t seem all that terrible, especially given Louis’ obvious enthusiasm.

“Fine,” Harry said. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure how to get there, though.”

“It’s fine,” Harry told him, pocketing his key as they headed out the door.

Harry tried to match his stride with Louis’, but the closeness quickly became too much. Despite the months that had passed, the tension of being this near to Louis remained.

Slightly quickening his stride, Harry arrived at the lift first, his finger finding the ‘up’ button.

Silence enveloped them for a drawn-out second. While tension saturated the air, its presence seemed to haunt only Harry as Louis looked perfectly calm. The elevator was usually used for trips to the gym or guests, which Harry was grateful for because it was almost unbearable when he was in the tight confines with Louis.

As they entered the enclosed lift space, Harry held his breath, a habit born from their unaccompanied trips to the gym.

Then came the overpowering urge—an impulse to press Louis against one of the mirrored walls and kiss him senseless. A vision of their bodies entwined, Louis’ hands pulling him closer, the warmth of Louis’ body merging with his own—it engulfed Harry. This raw torrent of emotion overtook him. Louis, however, simply scrolled on his phone, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s inner turmoil.

Even as they exited the lift, the tension seemed to cling to him, stubborn and unresolved. Silently, Harry led the way through the corridor, bypassing the gym until they reached the bottom of the ladder to the rooftop.

The vivid, unsettling image of Louis tumbling down entered his mind, so he gestured for Louis to climb up first without saying a word. Once Louis had climbed several rungs, Harry secured his own hands on the ladder, creating a safety net of sorts so that if Louis fell, he’d fall onto Harry.

Harry followed suit once Louis had reached the top, pulling himself onto the rooftop. Harry had almost forgotten that they had set up the rooftop when they’d first moved in until Louis had voiced the idea of joining everyone, and Zayn had suggested it as the ideal location.

Intellectually, the rooftop made sense—a convenient space separate from their home. But emotionally, Harry suffered a slight jab of unease that Louis had talked to Zayn about meeting up before bringing it up with him. Although, he wasn’t sure he was able to place blame on anyone but himself for that.

They were greeted by a smattering of ‘hellos’ and took their places under a heat lamp around a table already laid out with food and drinks.

After settling next to Liam, Harry chose a slice of pizza and a beer, his gaze surreptitiously following Louis as he did the same across the table. Louis seemed entirely absorbed in talking to Niall and Zayn. Although Harry was unable to hear the conversation, the voices swallowed by the ambient noise, he couldn’t avert his eyes. Curiosity intertwined with an unnamed ache held his attention captive.

“How are you?” The question from Liam intruded into Harry’s trance.

“Yeah, fine.”

“I spoke to Mison earl–”

“No,” Louis broke in, his voice cutting sharply through Liam’s sentence. Everyone at the table focused on Louis, but Louis’ eyes were focused on Harry. “You aren’t allowed to talk about work.”

Louis dived back into his chat with Niall and Zayn, seemingly unfazed. How had Louis even caught wind of his conversation with Liam from across the table?

Unsettled, Harry adjusted his position and locked eyes with Liam, concerned that he’d caught the charge between him and Louis by the puzzled expression his face bore.

“What?” Harry asked.

Liam offered a shrug. “Just trying to think of a topic.”

The straightforward confession hit Harry, the voiced acknowledgement that work was the only topic they had in common. Worse than that, it was the only topic Harry could talk to anyone about. The only one Louis wasn’t at the centre of, of course. Louis seemed to be at the centre of everything.

“You met Louis’ sister?” Liam ventured, disrupting the silent void that had settled between them.

“Yeah, on Sunday.”

“Did it go okay?”

“It was fine.”

“Seems to be going well with him.” Liam’s words hung in the air like they were a litmus test of something unknown.

A flicker of scrutiny crossed Harry’s thoughts. Was Liam fishing for something deeper? Were Harry’s feelings that evident? At this point, they had to be, surely. It made him uneasy for a million different reasons.

“It’s fine.” The word did little to encapsulate the tangle of feelings he held for Louis, feelings that defied easy classification.

“Good. He actually spoke to me about doing more stuff for me.”

Harry glanced over at Louis, who was caught in an animated conversation framed by the night sky. “Right.” He hoped he could hide the turbulence inside him. Silence stretched between him and Liam, each second amplifying a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Finally, he caved. “He wants to work for you,” he said, the words laced with more meaning than they should carry.

A series of images played out in his mind. Louis, moving down the hall to Liam’s flat, severing the thread of their domestic life. It would make things more bearable in a twisted way. No more unexpected encounters, no more emotional tightrope walking. But that prospect was accompanied by a hollowness, a sense of loss he couldn’t articulate.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise if he were honest with himself. The internal countdown of when Louis was going to resign had lapsed days ago. At least this way, Harry would still have the opportunity to see him.

“He wants to do my work, but he doesn’t want to work for me.”

A full beat elapsed while Harry processed Liam’s words, and then he raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He couldn’t suppress the hint of vulnerability that crept into his voice.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“And you’re considering it?”

“Don’t know,” Liam said, swiping a hand across his forehead.

“Why not? You should let him. It’s a good idea.”

“I can’t just dump my workload on him.”

Harry paused. Those words—similar to a conversation he’d had—loomed larger than they should. “It is his job, isn’t it?”

Liam looked at him, perhaps sensing the deeper currents of Harry’s thought. “It is, but it’s not that simple, is it? Management assigned it to me.”

“No work talk!” Louis’ voice came again.

For a split second, Harry was pinned under the intensity of Louis’ gaze. The admonishment, broadcasted to everyone at the table, tingled like an electric charge.

“Liam started it,” Harry said, uncaring of all the other eyes that had momentarily swung in his direction.

“You should have told him to stop,” Louis said, though a soft smile blessed his face. Did he have any idea that it was akin to a drug for Harry? The things he’d do for that smile…

Harry simply raised his eyebrows, offering no verbal response, letting the silence bloom like an unseen challenge between them.

Louis swept his eyes over the table, holding everyone in his line of sight. “Work topics are off-limits. Do you understand?”

“Yes, boss,” Niall quipped, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

“Good,” Louis said, shifting his focus back to Niall.

As the surrounding conversation shifted focus, Harry’s thoughts were still snagged on the matter of Louis working for Liam.

Harry, Liam, and Zayn sank into a shared silence. The lurking question of whether any of them had something—anything—outside of work worth discussing hung in the air.

Liam’s question to Zayn punctuated the quiet. “How was art class?”

“Yeah, it was good,” was all that Zayn offered.

The exchange caught Harry off guard. He had figured Liam wasn’t aware of Zayn and Louis’ extracurricular activities, given how heavy the ghost of managerial displeasure seemed to weigh on him. Harry himself had been very aware of how if Louis and himself were ever caught, their actions could boomerang back on Liam. Did management know about Zayn and Louis’ outings? Were they given a pass?

The privilege given to Zayn gnawed at him. Harry knew that, for himself, engaging in something as innocuous as an art class would never fly. He considered asking for more information but thought better of it. Ignorance could, occasionally, be a gift.

A few hours and copious amounts of alcohol later, Harry sat between Niall and Liam, who were having a drunken conversation that he was feeling too sober to engage in. His attention was on Louis, who leaned against the rooftop's bordering wall, seeming as though he was relying on it to steady him.

With each sip of his drink, Louis' laughter got louder, and as he shared a cigarette with Zayn, a subtle but persistent jealousy settled in Harry's gut. He tried to shake it off, but it clung to him, insistent.

Then, Louis pushed away from the rooftop wall, walking with a lopsided focus towards where Harry, Niall, and Liam were sitting. When he reached them, he stopped directly in front of Harry. "I'm cold," Louis said, his eyes glazed but oddly intense.

Harry stood up, feeling like a magnet pulled him to his feet. He shrugged off his coat and laid it over Louis' shoulders. As he did, their eyes locked, and a sensation surged through Harry—a visceral thrill, a shiver unrelated to the cold, cutting through the fog of conversation around him.

Still holding Louis' gaze, Harry noted that even wrapped in his coat, Louis appeared to shiver slightly. The pull between them slackened, giving way to a rush of concern. "Do you want to head back?"

"Yes," Louis responded almost immediately as if he'd been waiting for the offer.

As Harry looked away, his eyes met Niall's, and his brows were slightly raised, his lips parting as if about to speak but then choosing silence. It was a fleeting moment, but enough to cause a sliver of self-consciousness in Harry.

"I'm going to take him back," he announced to Niall and Liam.

“Do you want help?” Liam’s gaze settled on Louis, tinged with concern.

“No, I think we’re good,” Harry answered, noting how ill-suited the word ‘good’ was for his current state of mind.

The stairs down seemed even more dangerous now. Harry climbed down first, then placed his arms a ready net for the fall he expected from Louis. His voice guided Louis through the obstacle, instructing him on each step. But Louis’ balance faltered, and he stumbled into Harry, using his frame as a momentary crutch before finding his balance again.

Inside the lift, Louis seemed drawn to him, his body maintaining a nearness that sent Harry’s senses into a frenzy. The closeness was potent, so immediate that it frayed at the edges of Harry’s self-control.

The lift doors parted, and Louis staggered out off-kilter. Before he could think, Harry’s hand darted out, clutching Louis’s waist to steady him. Louis seized his hand back, gripping it. Harry let it happen, his resolve wobbling, shaking him to his core.

Guiding Louis down the corridor and into the apartment, Harry felt the weight of the night hanging over them. Louis' steps were uneven, his coordination impaired, yet his grip on Harry's hand was surprisingly firm. As they reached Louis’ bedroom, Harry pushed the door open, and Louis dropped his hand.

As Harry flicked on the light, he turned to Louis, whose eyes were glassy but filled with an indescribable emotion.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Louis’ voice broke through, tinged with a slur.

“You need to sleep.”

Louis furrowed his brow. “But I’m not tired.”

“By this time, you’re usually passed out on the sofa.”

“Not every night.” Louis’ lips formed a pout.

“Lou, you should go to the bathroom. I can get you water,” Harry said, his thoughts swirling in a storm of conflicting emotions, and he needed to get out of the room.

Louis’ face crinkled into a frown. “You’re leaving again.”

“No, I’ll be back. Just getting you water,” Harry assured him, his eyes locking onto Louis.

“You won’t come back.”

“I will. Once you’re ready for bed, I’ll be back.”

“You’re leaving me.” The words were tinged with a sad note that burrowed into Harry’s chest.

“Lou, I’m not. Don’t want you to feel sick tomorrow.”

“You always run from me.”

“Lou, that’s not—I don’t…” Harry stopped, trying to process Louis’ words. He wanted to believe they were intoxicated and rambling, but there was something in Louis’ eyes that made him question it.

Then, without saying anything else, Louis turned and disappeared into his ensuite. The door clicked shut behind him. Harry found himself awash in a silence that was both freeing and burdening. The air he inhaled felt thick, with everything left unsaid.

Standing at the threshold of Louis’ bedroom, Harry felt a tight knot of exhaustion and concern coil within him. His earlier resolve to fetch water seemed to dissolve in the weight of that moment. The idea of leaving Louis alone now felt charged with risk, as if the entire night had been a precarious balancing act, and he couldn’t afford to make the next move.

The sound of a muffled sob seeped through the bathroom door, everything in Harry shattering. He hesitated, ears straining. Another sob echoed, as undeniable as it was heartbreaking. His thoughts became unmoored.

Almost without volition, his feet carried him into the bathroom. Louis was hunched over the sink, body convulsing in sync with each gut-wrenching sob.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice was a ghost of sound as he approached. His hand found its way to Louis’ shaking back, touching but not pressing. “What’s wrong?”

Louis scrubbed his face with the back of his hand and coughed out a brittle, “Nothing.”

“Lou…” Harry felt a surge of adrenaline. “Look at me.”

Louis turned toward him then, but instead of making eye contact, lunged at Harry’s chest, burying himself there. For a heartbeat, Harry was frozen, his synapses misfiring in disbelief. Then another sob tore from Louis, and the paralysis shattered. Harry’s arms wrapped around the trembling figure, locking him into a sanctuary of warmth and muscle.

As if controlled by an unspoken signal, Louis’ arms disentangled from their folded position and slid around Harry, pulling him even closer. It was as if a knot deep within Harry had loosened. Relief washed over him, not because he provided the comfort Louis needed but because of the confirmation that it was what Louis had wanted.

“Why do you keep ignoring me?” Louis’ muffled and raw words seeped into Harry’s shirt’s fabric.

“I don’t,” Harry answered, his voice tinged with a confusing mix of defensiveness and vulnerability.

“I’m sorry you regret kissing me, but it really hurts when you ignore me. I just want to be around you, and—you just shut me out, and it hurts.”

Harry's hand on Louis' back stilled. “I don’t—”

“You do! You shut me out all the time,” Louis cut him off.

“No, not that. I don’t regret kissing you,” Harry stumbled over his words, so taken aback by Louis’ own words.

Louis pulled back, and for a disorienting heartbeat, Harry’s pulse quickened, thinking maybe this would be the moment Louis understood. But the next second shattered the illusion, Louis lurching toward the toilet, his body convulsing as he vomited. Harry remained still, his heart drumming frantically, drowning in a tangle of emotions he could barely comprehend.

Louis’ retching continued in merciless cycles, each guttural sound pulling at Harry’s insides. He hovered nearby, offering sparse words and intermittent touches, his mind unwilling to move past Louis’ earlier admission.

Once it seemed like Louis had finished, Harry helped him into the shower, maintaining a deliberate space between them. He directed his gaze at the cold tiles, forcing it to stay there. Leaving Louis alone, potentially vulnerable to a fall or slip in his drunken state, was the only thing that kept him there.

When the sound of running water stopped, Louis emerged from the steam, eyes still glazed. He looked at Harry and made faltering attempts to speak. Harry’s eyes landed on Louis, and it was all too real, and it weakened his resolve.

Grabbing the towel, he practically threw it at Louis. “Come on, dry off, Lou.”

Once back in the bedroom, Harry summoned the words he’d been grasping for. “Pyjamas, Lou?”

Louis looked disoriented. “Huh?”

“Where are your pyjamas?”

“Don’t wear pyjamas. Just underwear.”

Harry’s breath escaped him in a quivering exhale as he sifted through Louis’ drawers to find a pair. Without hesitation, Louis put them on after he was given them, Harry adverting his gaze.

With a bit of assistance, Harry helped Louis to bed. “Turn off your alarm,” he said, handing over the mobile.

Louis fumbled, his coordination compromised before he returned the phone to Harry. “Can’t.”

With the phone already unlocked, Harry turned off the alarm.

Seemingly unwilling to let Harry leave, Louis stared up at him from the bed. Yielding to the unspoken request, Harry sat atop the covers, the lamplight casting soft, uneven shadows across the room. Time ebbed away until Louis shivered again.

“What’s wrong?” Harry’s voice edged with concern.

“Just cold,” Louis replied.

“What, why?”

“Not wearing clothes.”

“You said you don’t wear clothes.”

“Do. Get too cold otherwise.”

Harry searched drawers, finding joggers and a T-shirt. “Are these okay?” His voice quivered as Louis sat up, the blanket slipping away to reveal his chest.

“Yeah,” Louis confirmed, extending his hands for the clothes.

Harry lobbed the garments towards Louis, a cautious gap remaining between them.

Once Louis was clothed and nestled back into bed, Harry returned to his earlier seat on the mattress, the atmosphere heavy and tense.

“Can’t sleep,” Louis mumbled, his words tinged with complaint.

“You haven’t tried to.”

“Still can’t.”

Harry’s eyes meandered to the bedside table, finding a pile of books. Among them, he spotted the poetry books he’d lent Louis a while ago. He had assumed that Louis must have lost them, given that Louis had returned the rest.

Choosing a different book, Harry started reading aloud. His voice unfurled in a gentle rhythm, a counterpoint to the room’s soft illumination. It wasn’t long before the tension eased from Louis’ frame, his breathing deepening, convincing Harry that he was asleep.

Silence enveloped the room. Harry’s gaze drifted back to the stack of books. He picked up ‘Milk and Honey’ and noticed its spine open easily onto a tabbed page. As he leafed through, each tagged section seemed to fall open, as if it had been open on those pages multiple times.

He picked up another one of his books, and a loose paper slipped onto his lap. As he picked it up, Harry discovered it was covered in numbers. Puzzled, he studied the numbers, trying to work out their meaning.

A mounting sense of anticipation swept over him as he flipped open the book to the first tab. The page number matched with the first number on the sheet. Heart speeding up, he navigated to the next tabbed section—another match. One by one, every tab correlated with the numbers on the sheet. Louis had been marking them.

The question that now haunted him: why?

A rustle from Louis snapped Harry out of it. Gingerly, he replaced the book on the nightstand and slid from the bed. Fingertips found the lamp switch; a flick coated the room in darkness. Harry left, leaving behind Louis and an unsettling parade of emotions, thoughts, and questions.

Harry sank into the leather chair behind his desk in his upstairs study the following day. He tugged open a drawer filled with a jumble of untouched envelopes. One by one, he sifted through them. Anything handwritten or insubstantial was set aside and placed back into the drawer.

Tension coiled tighter within him as he progressed through the pile, still not finding what he was searching for. He’d been sure that it had arrived; he’d felt it in an envelope a few weeks ago. Fingers skimming over each envelope, he searched for it again.

It was finally there, nestled with the last envelopes. With a surge of adrenaline, he ripped it open and pulled it out.

With a swipe of his arm, he pushed the envelopes back into the desk, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Holding the letter, he walked downstairs. After sitting on the sofa, he pulled his phone out. His thumb hovered over the glowing screen. Before he opened Google, a nagging voice in his head pleaded with him to stop. He could still turn back; Louis would have no idea.

But the vivid memories of Louis, eyes reddened and voice unsteady, stating the distance Harry had put between them was causing him pain, refused to fade. It loomed in his mind, an unyielding presence he couldn’t escape.

“Fuck!” The voice came from Louis’ room, accompanied by a rush of hurried footsteps. Louis hurried down the hallway as Harry glanced from the sofa. “Oh, shit.” Louis nearly bypassed Harry altogether before spotting him and skidding to a halt. “You’re awake?”

Harry studied Louis, taking in the ruffled appearance, having just woken up. An image flashed through Harry’s mind—the night Louis had been asleep in Harry’s own bed when he had gotten to see him sleeping. “Yes, are you okay?”

“I—I overslept. fuck, I’m so sorry. My alarm didn't work.”

Genuine concern tinged Louis’ voice, making Harry eager to ease his worry. “It’s alright. We turned your alarm off last night.”

A quizzical expression appeared on Louis’ face. “We—?” Realisation bloomed, flushing his cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” Harry cut in, curious which pieces of the previous night had returned to Louis. “Honestly, it’s fine. We called off band practice.” The creases in Louis’ forehead deepened, and Harry was sure he was trying to remember more of the night before. “So, we need to go somewhere. You can wear that or get changed. It doesn’t matter, though.”

Harry watched Louis, who was examining his clothes. “Where are we going? And when?”

“It doesn’t matter, but we should leave soon,” Harry said.

“But where are we going?”

“You never tell me where you take me. We don’t have to go, though, if you don’t want to.” Harry wasn’t sure why he hadn’t considered that possibility.

Louis frowned. “How are we getting there? I might still be over the limit.”

“I’m driving,” Harry stated, handing Louis the envelope.

Louis looked from the envelope to Harry. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Louis did so, still maintaining eye contact with Harry until the paper was in his hands. “Your licence? You can drive now?”

“Apparently,” Harry said. “So, ready to go?”

Louis seemed to read through the letter multiple times before turning the license over in his hands. Finally, he answered, “Need to pee first.”

Harry nodded. As Louis disappeared into his room, Harry pulled out a bottle of water and some painkillers, setting them on the table.

Harry found his eyes drawn back to his newly reacquired licence. The letter was dated a month ago, but Harry hadn’t expected to use it, hadn’t seen why there would be a need to, and accepted his confinement to his apartment.

But here he was, ready to use it.

For Louis.

Always for Louis.

Chapter Text

It turned out that being driven somewhere without knowing the destination was actually really fucking annoying, and Louis almost felt a bit guilty for all the times he’d done it to Harry. Almost.

Although, it might have been a bit more bearable if he wasn’t caught between wanting to remember more from the night before and hating every part he remembered. There was definitely vomiting and crying. He was pretty sure he had a shower at some stage, and he vaguely remembered Harry being in his bathroom, which he would have to assume meant he’d got naked and possibly done so in front of Harry.

He tried to ignore the swoop in his lower abdomen at the thought of being naked in front of Harry caused. Hopefully, Harry had no idea that he made Louis feel anything, especially not tummy swoops.

Realistically, how likely was it that Louis had kept his mouth shut? He was always a bit of a loose cannon when he’d been drinking, and given it had been so long since he’d last drunk, how drunk he’d been and how much stuff he’d had pent up, it was kind of logical to assume that he had said some shit to Harry. And fuck. Why the fuck couldn’t he just remember?

“You okay?” Harry’s voice came, and Louis pulled his gaze away from the window onto Harry, needing to work out if Harry had spoken or if it had just been his imagination — which seemed more likely. Harry’s eyes flickered away from the road and onto Louis, brows furrowed with an undeniable look of concern etched into his face.

“Um, yeah.” Even though Harry had turned back to the road, Louis’ eyes lingered on him. Louis had no idea how one man could be so beautiful. It wasn’t fair. It also wasn’t fair that Louis had to spend all his time around him and not get feelings. There was never a chance in hell he would have been able to do that; he could see that now.

“Not going to be sick?”

This time, Louis had seen Harry’s lips move as he heard the words, making it undeniable that Harry had just asked him a question. Two questions in succession … what the fuck had Louis said last night?

Louis looked down at his lap before picking up the vomit bag that Harry had given him as soon as they got into the car. “No, but I promise I’ll use this if I need to,” he said, knowing that Harry was probably worried that Louis would puke all over his leather interior. “I vomited last night, didn’t I?” The question rushed out of him. He’d had no idea he’d been planning on asking it until he was saying the words, and he turned back to Harry.

With a shrug, Harry said, “A little.”

“Did, um … did you see?”

“I didn’t watch.” Harry wrinkled his nose slightly, and it might have been the cutest thing Louis had ever seen. “But I was there.”

Nodding mainly to himself, Louis looked out the window again, watching the scenes of London roll by. “Did I … cry?” Why the fuck was he bringing up this shit? He had no idea. He remembered crying, but he couldn’t fully remember whether Harry was there.

Harry simply hummed, and it was enough of a confirmation for heat to flood Louis’ cheeks.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” It seemed as though Harry was sincere, as though he really thought that Louis shouldn’t worry about it. As if it were even possible for Louis not to worry.

“What did–” Louis cleared his throat a little, not that it helped. “What did I cry about? Did I say?”

The only sound was the soft taps of Harry’s fingers on the steering wheel, as Harry said nothing. Just as Louis resigned to never getting an answer and spending the rest of his life thinking about it, Harry answered. “You did.”

“Right…?” That couldn’t be all Harry was going to say, not when Louis now had a million thoughts swirling around his mind, adding to his sore head and slight nausea. “Are you going to tell me what I said?”

“Does it matter?”

The words were ominous as fuck and did nothing to stifle Louis’ worry. He was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things he could have said. His brain was constantly filled with a million things he knew he should never let out, and what if he said one of them?

It would help if he knew what the fuck had caused him to cry in the first place-what had caused him to break. At least that way, he’d have some idea of what could’ve been said. But he couldn't remember what led to it.

He should have never drunk at all. He’d just wanted the band to have some kind of interaction that had nothing to do with work, and it had seemed like a good idea. Of course, that hadn’t meant he needed to drink, and he definitely shouldn’t have drunk so much, but it had felt good to ease some of the tension that had occupied him. Shame that it was back three-fold this morning.

But if he’d said something terrible, they wouldn’t be here, would they? Harry wouldn’t be driving him somewhere, voluntarily spending time with him. Unless, “Am I fired?”

“What? ” Harry shot a look his way, looking incredulous.

“Well, I got drunk, and vomited in front of you, and cried in front of you, and…” He stopped himself from saying that he probably got naked in front of Harry as well, but he shouldn’t have even started the conversation so there was no need to bring it up. “Just, it’s not very professional, is it?”

“Mm. Compared to your usual level of professionalism.” Harry didn’t give Louis a chance to respond before adding, “You’re not fired. Can you stop thinking that you are going to be all the time?”

Could he? He really had no idea, but he could see how annoying it would be for Harry that he kept bringing it up, especially as Harry kind of did the same thing and it bothered Louis every time. “Only if you stop thinking I’m going to quit.”

“What?”

“I’ll stop thinking that you’re going to fire me if you stop thinking that I’m going to quit.”

Harry shifted in his seat a little, seeming way too focused on the road.

When he didn’t speak, Louis said, “Just accept you’re stuck with me, Styles.”

Again, Harry said nothing, but Louis was pretty sure that there was a hint of a smile. It was one of those ‘maybe-a-hint-of-a-smile’ expressions that kept Louis going. He did his best not to focus on how pathetic that was. Choosing not to press the topic, Louis settled into his seat and kept his eyes on the road as Harry continued to drive.

After a while, the car stopped outside a small cafe, and Louis’ eyes flicked to Harry in question.

“Ordered food,” Harry said, avoiding looking back. “I can go and–”

Even as Harry said the words, Louis could sense his discomfort at the thought of going in, which caused Louis to interrupt. “I’ll go. Is there an order name or something?” Louis asked as he unbuckled his seat belt.

Relief flooded Harry's face, and he immediately handed his phone to Louis, a confirmation text displayed on the screen. Harry shouldn’t be giving out his personal number to anyone, regardless of whether they knew who it belonged to, but Louis kept that to himself.

Inside the cafe, the girl behind the counter handed Louis a giant bag, and he had to wonder how much food Harry had ordered and why. Hopefully, Harry wouldn't take offence if he didn't eat much. While he didn’t feel as though he was going to be sick, he also wasn’t up for a full meal.

Climbing back into the car in what must have been record time—Louis didn’t want to leave Harry alone for too long—he pulled the door closed and settled into his seat. He looked over at Harry. “So where to now?”

Harry sent a pointed glance to Louis, and Louis understood what he was trying to convey immediately.

“It’s not the same. I don’t tell you where I take you because I’m worried you won’t come if I tell you. But you don’t have to keep it a secret because I’ll do anything you want.” The truth in that statement caused Louis to squirm a little.

“You can put the drinks in the console,” was Harry’s only reply.

Knowing a lost battle when he saw one - and he'd gotten used to losing battles against Harry - Louis gave up trying to get answers and put the takeaway cups in there.

Harry hadn’t set the GPS, but the map was still visible, so Louis studied that, trying to work out where the hell they were going, to no avail.

After about five minutes, they reached a small dirt road and followed it up a mountain. Harry parked the car when they reached the top, giving them the perfect viewpoint to see London.

“I know it’s not much,” Harry started before Louis spoke, “But not everyone has contacts at the National Trust.” As he said it, he lifted both cups. He handed one to Louis, which was marked to contain tea, and kept the coffee for himself. Given the hangover, Louis might have preferred coffee, though.

“What do you mean? This is great!” And it was. Never, in a million years, did Louis think Harry would voluntarily leave the house, let alone do it possibily for Louis, and take Louis to a fucking lookout with food and tea.

Harry sipped his coffee rather than responding, so Louis did the same.

“We can get out if you want. Or just stay here to do it.”

Although Harry was attempting to sound okay with it, Louis could also tell he didn’t seem too keen on it. Given how far Harry had come already in one day, Louis said, “We can stay he—Wait, what are we doing?”

Louis had to sit through Harry taking another sip of his coffee before getting an answer, and if he ever—which he would never—did an interview on what it was like living with Harry Styles, eating and drinking to stall conversation would definitely be the answer for his worst habit.

“Thirty-three,” Harry said finally.

A few seconds passed before Louis worked out what he meant, and as soon as he did, he pulled out his phone, knowing that he’d find the answer quicker himself than if he waited for an answer from Harry. His heart was racing the entire time. Harry had chosen something off the list to do together. He’d chosen it.

“Thirty-three,” Louis said, scanning the list. “Go cloud watching.” Louis pressed on the article with his fingers, only slightly shaking as he skimmed through it. “So it says we have to make up a story with them. You go first.”

“It does not.”

Louis turned to look at Harry, who glared at Louis’ phone.

“It does,” Louis said, pointing to the exact line on his screen. Realising Harry probably wouldn’t be able to read it from his seat, given that there was still a fair bit of distance between them—too much space— Louis read it out loud,“‘Some clouds are white and fluffy, like cotton wool, and others are grey and thin. Use your imagination to pick out shapes and pictures in the clouds as they drift by. Do they resemble anything, like animals, trees, or cartoon characters? Invent a story using the characters you see in the clouds. Try writing your story down or drawing it on a sketchpad. Capture the different colours using different shades of blue, grey and green. Imagine being a bird and flying through the clouds— what do you think it would feel like?’ See?”

Frowning at the screen as if it had harmed him, Harry said, “Well, it says to write it down.”

“Did you bring the notebooks?”

“No…”

Louis grinned at him. “Guess you’re telling me a story, then.”

“Can you act a bit more hungover?” A moment after saying it, Harry reached down next to Louis’ legs, and Louis was reasonably sure his heart stopped, at least for a few seconds, until Harry pulled out the bag of breakfast that Louis had collected. He held it open to Louis and said, “Pick something.”

“Why’d you buy so much?” Louis asked as he riffled through the assortment of paper bags before settling on an egg and bacon roll.

Harry pulled out a fruit salad, and Louis kind of wished he’d taken it so that Harry would’ve had to choose a more exciting option. “Wasn’t sure what you’d normally eat when you’re hung over.”

Fucking hell, Harry could not just keep saying and doing things like that. “Story time!” Louis said and took a massive bite out of his roll, needing to keep his thoughts out of the gutter. Not even the gutter, really. It wasn’t like they were all dirty. Sure, some of them were … Okay, there were a lot of dirty thoughts… but they weren’t even the problem. The clean thoughts were worse. He’d take all the dirty thoughts he could get over the soft ones that invaded his head sometimes.

Accepting that Harry would not start, Louis took a steadying breath and gazed up toward the sky through the front window, searching the clouds drifting lazily across it.

Settling on a random one, Louis said, “See that cloud there?” As he pointed, he decided it looked kind of like a dragon. “It’s a Dragon. Terrorising a small village.”

When he turned back to Harry, he was squinting at the cloud, clearly unimpressed. “Looks more like a croissant than a dragon.”

Louis held back a laugh, as he wasn't going to reward Harry’s negativity with one. “A croissant terrorising a village isn’t very believable.”

“Go on, then.”

“So, the villagers are in desperate need of a hero,” Louis said, wondering if Harry was even listening to him. “They’ve got livestock disappearing and their fields scorched.”

“Does one come?” Harry’s question surprised Louis. He’d only paused briefly and hadn’t expected Harry to fill the silence.

“Yeah. A lone warrior, riding a horse. That could be that smaller cloud next to our dragon.” Louis gestured towards the cloud he meant.

Harry stared at it, then back at Louis. “Does he have experience fighting dragons?”

After a pause, Louis said, “Not really. I think this is his first.”

“Is he prepared?”

“He’s a brave soul, not a planner.”

“Hm.”

“He’s got a sword, though. And water.”

“Water? He’s got a sword and water?”

“Yeah, well, it’s magic water, okay?” Louis shifted his body toward Harry, feeling a pull deep within him. “So the guy enters an epic battle with the dragon. They’re evenly matched, fire against magic, claw against sword. Until the warrior spots the dragon’s one weakness, a crack in its scales.”

“Then what?” Harry’s voice was soft, causing Louis to look at him.

Meeting his eyes, Louis said, “Dunno. You were meant to be telling the story … how does it end?”

Harry rolled his eyes but then looked back at the clouds. “The hero goes to stab it there, in the weak spot, but misses.”

“Bit of a useless hero, then.”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head, still staring at the sky, “because after he misses it, he throws the magic water on it.”

“And the water … kills him?”

Harry shakes his head again. “He wasn’t trying to kill the dragon.”

“Oh?” Not that Louis had been entirely sure where Harry was going to take the story, but the direction still surprised— and confused— him. He squinted at the clouds as if they’d show him where Harry was taking the story.

“Yeah.”

“So, he just let the dragon destroy the village?”

“No.” There was so much weight to the single word.

“No…?” Louis drew the word out, trying to piece together what Harry was trying to say—if he was trying to say anything at all. “So, the warrior wasn’t trying to kill the dragon … and he didn’t kill the dragon… but he didn’t let the dragon destroy the village, either? So how did he stop the dragon then? Did he just tie him up or something?”

Harry shrugged. And holy shit, this man made Louis want to scream. “The dragon didn’t want to.”

“He didn’t want to?” Louis felt his brows furrow as he repeated the words. “Didn’t want to destroy the village? … Did he ever want to destroy the village?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry said, still staring at the sky.

“But he was destroying it anyway?” Louis whispered the words to himself. Why? “Why would the dragon be destroying the—”

“Have you read Rowan of Rin?” Harry’s question came out of nowhere and it took Louis a second to catch up.

Louis gave a steady nod. “When I was a kid, yeah.”

“There was a dragon in that.”

“Yeah, there was.”

“It didn’t die.”

Louis pursed his lips, trying to recall what happened once Rowan reached the dragon. “That dragon was injured, right?”

“Yeah,” to Louis’ surprise, Harry looked at him as he answered. “Had a bone stuck in his throat.”

“Right.” It felt like Louis was trying to place together the most intricate jigsaw puzzle, and every piece Harry was giving him seemed just to cause him to be more confused. “So our dragon … He was destroying the village but wasn’t trying to, and then the guy came to defeat him but missed… and then the dragon stopped. The dragon was injured, though?” Louis took Harry's silence as agreement. “This dragon was hurt, and the warrior noticed that? Did the warrior stop the dragon’s pain?”

“Kind of the opposite.”

“The opposite?” Louis asked, tilting his head. “He caused pain?”

Harry sighed heavily as if Louis was the one being difficult. “No, not like that. The dragon didn’t feel pain before, because the dragon felt nothing. Maybe that’s why it was destroying the village because he couldn’t feel anything. Or maybe it was to try to feel something. But then the warrior came and…”

Fuck. “And made the dragon feel things again?”

“Mm, maybe.”

“So after the dragon starts to feel, things get easier for him?”

Harry glanced away, taking a moment before he responded. “No, but he stopped burning down the wrong villages.”

A knot tightened in Louis’ stomach. “So the warrior changed things just to make him hurt?”

“The pain was there long before the warrior came along; the dragon just numbed himself to it.”

Tension tightened Louis’ jaw as he shook his head. “He can't inflict pain and leave the dragon to deal with it alone.”

Harry's eyes met Louis', and the evident vulnerability in them just about killed Louis. “He wouldn’t be able to help anyway. Some wounds cut too deep to ever really heal.”

Louis let the words wash over him, taking in their implications. The fact that Harry could ever possibly feel like that was soul-crashing. Finally collecting his thoughts, Louis said, "Wounds can heal into scars, and not every scar has to ache for a lifetime."

Unsurprisingly, Harry didn’t speak and went back to his fruit salad. After sitting still for an awkward amount of time, Louis went back to eating his breakfast. Even though he was dying to ask Harry more pointed questions, desperate for Harry to just talk to him properly.

“Why’d you lose your licence?” Louis asked when the quietness got too much.

Harry’s entire body seemed to tense until he looked at Louis. “You don’t know?”

“How would I? You never told me.”

“The internet. Why didn’t you look it up?”

It was as though Louis could see Harry’s walls go back up–not that they’d ever really come down–but they went up even further, and Louis had no idea why. “Didn’t seem important. Haven’t really looked up anything.”

“So you know nothing about me?”

The undertones in Harry’s words stung; Louis did know him. “I know more than Google could ever tell me.”

“But you don’t know the worst of it.”

Not for the first time, Louis wondered what he’d signed up for. But he refused to back down. “See that cloud?” He pointed skyward, aiming for a dark one.

“The ominous-looking one?”

“It doesn't look ominous. It has its place. Without dark clouds, there’d be no rain. Without rain, well—”

“Rain also causes floods,” Harry cut in, voice flat.

The too-familiar ache settled in Louis’ chest, but he pressed on. “And floods can bring new life.”

After taking an extended sip of his coffee and setting it down with deliberate slowness, Harry said, “So you’re fine with floods then? With the chaos that storms can bring? The potential for destruction?”

Louis met his eyes, holding his gaze. “It doesn’t scare me.”

“You might not know the extent of it. You don't know how bad it could get.” Harry’s expression remained closed, inscrutable.

“I’ll find out. I'll research it. And I'm telling you that nothing I find will change my view.”

“People say a lot of things they don’t mean.”

Louis held his gaze, unflinching. “This isn’t one of them.”

Once they arrived home, Harry headed off for a PT session with his trainer, leaving Louis alone with his laptop. Reluctant but resolute, he opened it up.

The only time he had done a quick Google search, he’d deliberately steered clear of anything related to Harry for the past year, but he figured that it would have been around that time that Harry had lost it.

A small part of him was concerned he might actually find something terrible, but only because of Harry’s odd behaviour around the topic.

Taking a few deep breaths to steel himself, Louis typed in Harry Styles Licence. Multiple articles came up. He scrolled down the page, and they were all dated a little over a year ago. Going back to the first one, he clicked on it.

Harry Styles of Nicotine Redo Stopped for Speeding: A One-Time Occurrence or Something More?

London — Harry Styles, the 26-year-old frontman of the renowned band Nicotine Redo, has found himself the subject of media attention, but not for his music. Styles was stopped by authorities for speeding in the early hours of Sunday morning.

The event has gained increased scrutiny as the singer was captured on camera exiting a venue earlier that evening. While some reports suggest keen photographers followed Styles, the influence of this on his driving speed remains uncertain.

Previously noted for his absence from the social gatherings dominating London’s entertainment scene, the singer’s latest incident has renewed public interest.

Styles was seen in the company of an unidentified man, further heightening the interest in the ongoing story. The singer’s sexual orientation has been the subject of speculation for some time, but it’s unclear if this latest development adds credence to those discussions.

As of now, Styles has issued no comments regarding the incident or the subsequent speeding citation.

This episode raises several questions about Styles’ current lifestyle choices. Is this an isolated incident, or is it indicative of a change in behaviour? Until further information emerges, these questions remain open.

While it’s unclear whether this event signifies a change for Styles, what is certain is that he remains a person of interest both in and outside of the music world.

Louis skimmed through the article again, knowing how fucked up it was that the only real thing he cared about was who the fuck the unidentified man was. That probably wasn’t what Harry had expected him to focus on.

Not at all because he wanted to find out who the hell Harry was spending the early hours of Sunday morning with. Louis went back to the search and clicked on the following link.

Harry Styles: Bad Boy or Bad Timing?

Oooh, hold on to your tea cups, darlings! Guess who’s back making headlines? That’s right, it’s Harry Styles, the infamous frontman of Nicotine Redo! The 26-year-old singer is the talk of the town—AGAIN. 🔊

Now, we all know Harry’s been flying under the radar for a bit. Aww, we missed you, love. ❤️🩹 But if you’re a Styles stan, you’ll remember this isn’t his first time at the controversial rodeo. This lad has a past that’s juicier than the last season of Too Hot To Handle.

Let’s spill the tea. 🍵Remember when Harry was practically the mayor of Clubtown, London? He was keeping us well-fed, getting us kicked out of VIP sections of different clubs night after night—like, what were you doing, Bby? (Besides keeping us in business). And let’s not forget those LEGENDARY parties that made even Gatsby look like an amateur. 🥂✨All glitz, glamour, and noise complaints—oh my!

So, is our dear Harry going back to his bad-boy ways? It seems likely!

After leaving a hush-hush venue, the paparazzi caught him zooming away 🚗💨 with some mystery man. Ooh la la, do we smell a scandal brewing?

As for Harry? He’s not spilling any tea about the speeding or how it stacks up against his wild-child CV. But let’s get real: we’re all keeping our eyes glued to this unfolding drama. Because Harry? He never disappoints. ✨

Stay tuned, darlings! Harry Styles is, and will always be, the man of the hour, minute, and second. 💞 And hopefully, our office will receive a large Christmas bonus! 💷🤲🏼

Ta-ta, for now, my loves!💋💋

Louis wanted to be sick, and it had nothing to do with anything Harry had done and entirely due to whatever the load of bollocks he’d just read. He returned from the article and scrolled down the searches again, seeming to see the same things. The second last article on the front page caught his eye, though.

Examining the Ethical Boundaries of Celebrity Journalism in the Wake of Harry Styles’ Latest Incident

By Amalia Jovanic

Recent headlines have quickly depicted Harry Styles, the 26-year-old frontman of Nicotine Redo, as a prodigal figure sliding back into a life marked by youthful lapses in judgment. But to paint Styles’ latest run-in with the law as merely another chapter in an extensive history of misdemeanours would be an oversight.

On the night under scrutiny, Styles was seen exiting a venue with an unidentified male. Media were present and their conduct far exceeded passive observation, instead delving into aggressive pursuit territory. While it is nothing new, it’s an incident that demands we revisit the extremely thorny issue of ethical boundaries in celebrity journalism and the inherent dangers of crossing those boundaries.

Styles, notably missing from the high-profile social circuits for quite some time, was believed to have made efforts to present a more restrained public image. This calculated move shows the paparazzi’s frenetic behaviour that night was unnerving and invasive, provoking severe ethical questions.

Was Styles’ decision to speed, then, a dangerous oversight or a calculated move to ensure his and his company’s safety amid an escalating situation? While it’s important not to promote speeding as acceptable behaviour, it is equally crucial to acknowledge the paparazzi who captured the event may have been the catalyst.

The incident becomes emblematic of a more significant, systemic issue: the media’s entitlement to breach personal privacy to pursue ‘getting the inside scoop’. The need to explore this trend is becoming increasingly important as we ask ourselves whether a lust for salacious news should ever preside over celebrities’ rights to privacy and safety.

At the time of writing, neither Harry nor his team have issued public statements on the incident, and we remain cautious about drawing conclusions. However, the event serves as another example of the negative impact of the paparazzi. It should lead to a broader dialogue to question the systemic issues that led to such an event in the first place.

Once Louis reached the end of the article, he let out a deep breath, thankful for the common sense displayed in it. Louis had absolutely no desire to keep looking into anything about Harry. However, for the most fucked up reason Louis had ever heard, Harry wanted him to, and Louis promised he would. He went up to the search bar and removed ‘licence’ from it. After scanning the results, he clicked on an article published two years prior.

The Transformation of Harry Styles: A Year-Long Departure from His Former Self

By Ashley McPherson

After wrapping up their world tour earlier this year, Harry Styles, the 25-year-old lead singer of Nicotine Redo, has been making headlines for different reasons. Once known for his thoughtful personality, he’s now a regular in some of London’s most exclusive social spots.

Styles isn’t just showing up at these places; he’s often the life of the party. He’s drawing attention for heavy drinking and lively behaviour. This isn’t a one-time thing either; it looks like a new chapter for him. Fans and critics are divided about this change. Some think it is great that he’s letting loose, while others worry about what this means for his well-being and career.

The old Styles, who would rather talk about books than party into the early hours, seems to be gone. This shift is so significant that it’s making people wonder what’s driving it.

As the band takes a break after their intense tour, is Styles using this time to go wild?

Fans waiting for Nicotine Redo’s next project also wonder what Styles’ new lifestyle means for the band’s future. It’s hard to tell if this is a short-term thing or a lasting change, but what’s clear is that Styles is straying from the image that made him a global star.

Surely Louis had to be missing something. Absolutely nothing he’d come across caused him to feel anything except anger towards the idiot journalists writing the articles. Going back, he found headline after headline about him being a ‘modern-day Casanova’. It wasn’t until he got onto the fourth page of the search results that he saw something that he had any interest in reading.

Harry Styles: A Lens Through Which to Examine Sexual Identity in the Entertainment Industry

By Luna Toh

Harry Styles, Nicotine Redo’s 25-year-old lead singer, is a mix of questions and contradictions. He’s become a key subject in discussions about sexuality in the entertainment industry. After a year filled with bold activities and romantic twists, the conversation about his sexual orientation has escalated.

But this isn’t just gossip; it’s part of a more considerable dialogue that challenges the entertainment world’s societal norms and business models. Styles has kept everyone guessing, from his bold fashion moves breaking gender norms to cryptic song lyrics.

The issue takes on more weight when you look at the industry’s history of discouraging artists from being open about who they are. Bound by contracts and PR strategies, artists are often pushed into roles that sustain outdated stereotypes and stifle individual freedom.

In this context, Styles becomes even more interesting. Recent events where he was spotted with an unidentified man have subjected him to intense media scrutiny, exposing the double standards that artists face when they stray from the expected script.

As attitudes toward LGBTQ+ representation start to shift, emerging artists are caught in a difficult situation. They have to navigate a maze of choices, each with its own trade-offs between genuine self-expression and commercial appeal.

That brings us back to Harry Styles. It's solely his decision whether to discuss his sexuality publicly, and it should be treated with respect. However, this debate points to a public increasingly open to tackling the complex relationship between identity and stardom.

Harry Styles is more than just a chart-topping artist; he’s a cultural marker prompting us to rethink the tangled relationship between personal identity and public image. His unique circumstances illuminate an industry needing change, paving the way for all artists to express themselves more freely.

Deciding to read one more, just to keep Harry happy, he found one from over four years ago.

Nicotine Redo: Gearing Up to Storm the Stage and the Charts—Again

By Christian Miller

Nicotine Redo is an unstoppable force in the music world, and they’re not slowing down anytime soon. With three hit albums in four years and nearly two years on the road in the last three, they’re doubling for the new year with an audacious move—a brand-new album and an epic 18-month global tour. This isn’t just a music release; it’s a moment in cultural history and a testament to the incredible stamina of one of today’s most successful bands.

Harry Styles, the 23-year-old phenom who has become an indelible fixture of contemporary music, leads this musical prodigy. Styles is far from a one-person show, though. He’s joined by a just as talented ensemble—Liam Payne behind the drums, Niall Horan shredding the guitar, and Zayn Malik laying down the bass lines. Together, they are the epitome of what happens when prodigious skill meets relentless drive.

The upcoming album, whose title remains a closely guarded secret, is set to continue the band’s tradition of defying genre limitations. With a signature blend of rock, pop, and alternative, it’s predicted to be Nicotine Redo’s most groundbreaking work.

But let’s talk about this forthcoming 18-month insanity of a tour. Spanning from New York to Tokyo, it’s not just a series of concerts; it’s a mammoth undertaking. The band’s loyal fans should brace themselves and their bank accounts—a tour schedule is expected to drop any minute now.

Yet, it’s worth asking: Where does the band find the time to breathe? Their schedule brings up concerns about potential burnout. After all, the unforgiving cycle of touring, recording, and public appearances would test anyone’s limits.

Regardless, if Nicotine Redo’s history is any guide, they will turn these challenges into another notch on their belt of achievements. As the new year looms, one thing is glaringly obvious: Nicotine Redo isn’t just a band. They are a musical phenomenon, a defining act set to dominate the charts and redefine what it means to be a global leader in the music industry.

Dispersed throughout the article were what seemed to be candid photos of the band members, and each one ripped at Louis’ heart a little more.

Obviously, they were going to look younger in them, given the article was four years old, but Louis hadn’t expected them to look so much younger.

The photo at the end of the article shattered his heart into a million pieces. It was a solo photo of Harry. He was facing the camera but not looking directly at it, looking off to the side. Whatever it was he was looking at was causing him to grin. A smile that lit up his entire face.

Louis had no idea why he hadn’t considered it before. He knew Harry wasn’t happy now. But he hadn’t considered that he used to be.

Because the person in the photo was happy, and Louis hadn’t seen that person. He counted almost smiles as a triumph, thinking they were all Harry had in him. Now, they seemed entirely insignificant. They hurt him even more.

Harry wasn’t sad; he saw that now. Harry had been right when he said he was numb. It was as if he was a lifeless shell of who he had been –who he should still be–and it was the worst thing Louis had seen in his life.

Louis sat on the sofa, waiting for Harry to walk through the door. There was a voice telling him it was too much, and fuck, he should probably listen to it. But he couldn’t. He needed to see Harry, and he needed Harry to know.

Finally, Harry walked through the door, and Louis jumped to his feet. The sudden movement must have got Harry’s attention because he stared at Louis, head tilted.

“I read some articles,” Louis said, taking a cautious step toward Harry. “And, yeah, I saw the rain that’s been following you around. It's torrential, relentless, but you're not the cloud, Harry. You’re under it.”

Harry's eyes sharpened, as if he was bracing for judgment.

Louis stepped closer, close enough to catch a flicker of wariness in Harry's eyes. “That rain, it's tough. I get it. But I’m not afraid of getting soaked. I’ll weather the storm with you.” Louis locked eyes with Harry, silently begging that he could feel the sincerity radiating through Louis. “You’ve been through hurricanes alone, so this doesn't scare me. Not one bit.”

Chapter Text

Harry still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t spoken since Louis’ stupid monologue. Louis’ heart was pounding in his chest as he went through everything he’d said to Harry. Harry's silenced and furrowed brows made it obvious he'd overstepped.

It was just ... he’d been sitting on the sofa with thousands of thoughts swirling around his head as he’d waited for Harry to get back from the gym, and the speech had kind of formed itself. He’d got carried away.

‘I’ll weather the storm with you’. What the fuck was he thinking, saying that? It was hardly surprising Harry was frozen in place, studying him.

Harry parted his lips, and Louis braced for impact. But Harry closed his mouth without uttering a word.

“Um.” Louis glanced around the space, hoping to find some kind of distraction. Or better yet, a way to reverse time. He’d only need to go back five minutes or so to talk himself out of giving a heartfelt confession.

His eyes eventually returned to Harry’s. There was no erasing what he’d said. And maybe he didn’t want to. It wasn't as if it wasn't true. And maybe Harry needed to hear it, even if it was a bit more intense than it needed to be.

If Harry could stop staring at him silently, as if he were some complex puzzle, and just leave the room, or say something, literally anything, that would be brilliant.

But Harry didn’t. Of course he didn't. His eyes stayed on Louis, as if he were searching for something.

“Lou,” Harry finally said, so softly that in a less quiet room, Louis might have missed it.

It was just half his name, a single syllable, but it felt like an entire conversation. More than enough. It was all he needed.

Louis nodded once because it was all he could offer. It seemed to be enough, though, because Harry returned the nod. How the hell do they communicate through head nods?

Tension finally broken, Louis sank back into the sofa.

Harry seemed to snap out of his trance. “Gonna shower,” he mumbled, passing by. Even though he was technically leaving Louis alone, Louis felt a lot less alone than he had in a long time.

After dinner, they went back upstairs to watch a movie. Like always, they sat on the sofa, and Harry handed Louis his blanket. Louis took it despite not being that cold. The weight of it helped settle something in him.

They’d put on To Kill a Mockingbird, the only light coming from the screen and the lamp beside Harry. Harry kept stealing glances at him, his eyes serious like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

Louis only noticed his socked feet were on Harry’s thigh when he felt Harry’s body still. He pulled them back in, tucking them under him and curling them up.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“S’fine,” Harry said, and Louis couldn’t read the tone. It was weighty, though. Everything was thick. Not that Louis minded; he’d rather have awkward conversations over Harry withdrawing.

Harry’s words from earlier that day came back to him as they watched the movie. His mind was a mess. One minute, he was confident about how to handle things with Harry. The next, he was doubting every move he’d ever made.

When Louis started telling the story about a dragon, he had no idea it would end up with Harry telling him things. It was still hard, though, because it seemed presumptuous to draw conclusions from a story about a cloud dragon. But he had to. He felt the implications. He knew what Harry was saying. And he was stuck. He was stuck between wanting to help Harry and believing there were positives to making him feel pain. Louis had assumed that there was an element of being numb, but he’d had no idea how deep-seated it was.

“What’s wrong?”

Louis turned to Harry, squinting to make sure Harry was actually looking back at him. They didn’t talk through movies. Well, Harry didn’t. Louis did occasionally, if the scene called for commentary, but not frequently enough that Harry would be concerned if Louis wasn’t talking.

“Nothing,” Louis said.

Harry pursed his lips, and his gaze lingered on Louis and fuck did Louis want to kiss him. He wanted to pull Harry over and plant kisses all over him–Wanted to trace his tattoos, the ones he only got a brief glance at every morning.

Louis shook his head slightly, trying to rid the thoughts that were getting much too steamy, especially as they were so close to each other. If he extended his legs, he could rest them on Harry’s lap in one swift movement.

“You sure?” Harry asked, frowning.

“I’m sure.” He plastered on his biggest smile, only to regret it when he saw further worry crease Harry’s face. Louis dropped the smile and then said, “I am. Really.”

Although Harry didn’t look convinced, he turned his attention to the TV, and Louis felt like he could breathe again.

The closing credits rolled, and Harry reached for the remote and turned off the TV. “So, what did you think?” Louis asked, his eyes searching Harry’s face.

Harry’s eyes narrowed a bit as he thought. “It captures the book’s essence well enough,” he started, then pursed his lips before continuing. “Being in Atticus’ mind, when reading the book, helps with feeling the weight of his moral choices. The film can’t do that.”

“Harry,” Louis said, with mock surprise, “did you just say a book was better than the movie adaptation?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you really need to do this every time?”

“Yes.” Without meaning to, Louis stretched his legs out again, causing Harry to flinch when they made contact. Louis brought them back into him, and not wanting to bring even more attention to it, said, “I agree the book is better, though–”

“Shocker,” Harry muttered, and Louis deliberately nudged him with his foot.

When Harry’s eyes met his, Louis gave him a challenging stare. “I was going to say the book lets you sit with his decisions longer, so you feel their struggle and gravity. The movie can’t dive that deep.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you agreeing with me, Styles?”

Harry exhaled, a hint of a smile touching his lips. “Seems like it.”

“So,” Louis cut into the growing silence, “What book are we going to read next that will definitely be better than the movie?”

“Have you read Les Liaisons Dangereuses?” Harry asked in what seemed to be a perfect French accent.

“The fuck? You speak French?”

“No,” Harry said slowly, as if trying to gauge Louis’ reaction. “I just know how to pronounce the book. Do you speak French?”

Louis shook his head. “Not really, just what I remember from school. Say it again.”

“Les Liaisons Dangereuses?”

Fuck, maybe he should make Harry learn French so that he could listen to him speak it. “Dangerous … Relationships?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Harry seemed somewhat impressed, and Louis vowed he’d never admit that he relied more on common sense than what he remembered of high school French.

“What movie is based on that?”

“Cruel Intentions,” Harry said. “Have you seen it?”

“As a teenager, I think. Do you have a copy, or do we need to order one?” It was a stupid question because Harry seemed to have a copy of every book they agreed upon.

“I’ve got it somewhere. Do you want to start now or tomorrow?”

Louis glanced at his phone, not really even looking at the time–it was Harry’s turn to read, so they’d be starting, regardless of the time. Still, he made a show of looking. “Now.”

As Harry pushed off the sofa, Louis added, “But you have to speak with a French accent the whole time.”

Reaching back, Harry grabbed a cushion and lobbed it gently at Louis, before walking out of the room and leaving Louis with a stupid grin on his face.

Fuck, did he hate Tuesday afternoons. He loathed them. They were the worst time of his week. Tuesday afternoons meant meetings with management, and Louis honestly would rather pull his eyeballs out than go to them. But pulling his eyeballs out would mean not seeing Harry, a price he wasn’t willing to pay.

Instead, he settled on the stupid sofa, balancing his laptop on his thighs, and tried to take in as much as possible. He didn’t really have to listen to what they were saying anymore because his fingers were absorbing all the knowledge and typing it out, allowing him to concentrate on Harry. Well, Harry's back, at least.

Management was going on about something, but Harry looked like he was in another world, staring off to one side. Sat behind him, Louis couldn’t help but get caught up in how Harry’s hair was tied back in a knot, a couple of loose strands dangling down and catching the light. Harry’s shoulders were slumped like he didn’t give a toss, but the tight grip on his arms said otherwise. It was another reason Louis hated these fucking things.

Louis still had no actual idea why the meetings even existed. It made even less sense since Zayn had told him Grant didn’t even work for the label and just liaised with them. All these people worked in the office together; why couldn’t they just hold their stupid meetings alone? The only real time they brought the boys into it was to chastise Harry for something stupid or pile-on work for Liam.

After catching himself off-topic, Louis reigned himself back in, just in time to listen to the list of tasks they were piling on Liam.

It was so fucked. It was so fucking fucked, and the worst part was it was happening right in front of him, and he couldn’t intervene. Lottie had made it extremely clear that he needed to keep his mouth shut at the meetings and just in general around management.

It wasn’t terrible advice—obviously, as Lottie knew what she was talking about—but it had also meant that management had seemed to cease their vendetta on Louis, which meant that he could probably get away with a lot more than if they still were riding his arse. At this point, he had to assume they saw him as an accessory–a pointless waste of space on which the band was blowing money on.

It wasn’t surprising, though, considering they didn’t seem to think of them as real people. In fact, he was glad that they didn’t give him special treatment. If the band would be dehumanised, he wanted to go down with them.

The rest of the meeting droned on, and it wasn’t until Harry’s figure loomed over him he realised everyone had got up. “Oh, we’re going?”

Harry nodded to him.

“Hey, lads,” Niall’s voice came while Louis packed up his laptop, “Ready?”

Harry grunted, and it wasn’t a cheerful sound. Louis caught the flash of something—disappointment?—in Harry’s eyes. When Louis had told him that he'd offered to take Niall to and from the meeting, he'd had the same look and if he picked up on it, Niall sure as hell would.

“Let’s get out of here,” Louis said.

Harry led them down the corridor to the special exit management had for clients who didn’t want to be seen.

Louis nearly tripped, his eyes still trained on how Harry’s jeans fit him. He jumped when, from beside him, Niall said, “Does he ever walk next to you?”

Shaking off his daydreams about Harry, Louis laughed. “No, never.” Although it seemed like sometimes he tried to but was unable to, Louis had to wonder if that had more to do with having to be around him than the pace.

“What a shit meeting,” Niall said.

The moment Harry disappeared down the stairs, a tight knot formed in Louis’ stomach, hating that he was out of sight. But Niall’s words were too good of an opportunity to get caught up on that. “Aren’t they all?” Louis forced a smirk, trying to hide his simmering resentment.

“Yeah, fucking torture.”

They reached the cars before Louis could go into exactly how much he hated meetings. Fumbling with his keys gave him an excuse not to say more.

Louis eased the car into traffic. Despite Harry never seeming worried about Louis driving one of his cars, at times, it hit Louis how much the vehicle he was driving cost. As far as Louis knew, Harry hadn’t told anyone else he got his licence back. While he had no idea why, and part of him was curious, he hadn’t asked.

After listening to Niall vent about the meeting for five minutes, Louis’ jaw was causing him pain from clenching it shut. He was desperate to tell them about Lottie and the contracts but knew the timing wasn’t right.

On top of that, and as much as it hurt to think about it, the truth was he wasn’t sure how Harry would react. Whenever Louis brought up anything about management, Harry got defensive. Louis didn’t understand why, given how Harry wasn’t happy with them or how they treated him.

Then, there was the fact that Louis had done it all behind his back. It had been necessary at the time, as there was no way Harry would have wanted to be involved back then. As Louis thought Harry might be more willing to be open to the idea, Louis wanted to be sure that Lottie felt that they actually had a case before bringing it up.

Now, though, the only thing holding Louis back from telling Harry–from telling all of them–was his fear. He and Harry were finally in a good place, and he didn’t want to fuck it all up.

He glanced at Harry, who was staring out the front window, and while his body wasn’t facing Louis, it wasn’t turned away from him either. Again, Louis couldn’t help but notice how low his bar was.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” Louis asked. He was looking back at the road but felt Harry look at him.

A few beats passed before Harry spoke. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh,” Louis hadn’t really thought of anything because he’d expected Harry to say he didn’t want to and that he’d just eat one of his shitty meals from the fridge, “um, I don’t know. What do you feel like?”

“Don’t know.”

Louis figured he couldn’t be too annoyed, given he gave the same answer, and he was the one who asked. “Noodles? Do you like noodles?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. His voice sounded kind of strained, but at least he was speaking.

“Okay, cool. We’ll get noodles.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah.” Louis tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, needing to get some of his nervous energy out. “Do you know where to order from? Do you know any noodle places?”

Harry didn’t answer for a couple of seconds. “No, not really.” He shuffled, causing Louis to shoot another look in his direction, and saw him pull his phone out. Harry mumbled, “Looking up places.”

“Right. Okay, cool.”

After a few minutes, Harry said, “I found one with good reviews, and they deliver.”

“Great. That’s great.”

“Do you know what you want?”

“Oh, um, not really. I can look when we get home.” He wondered if Harry was desperate to order then, as he tended to eat dinner a little earlier than Louis, but given they were only a couple of minutes from the apartment, he figured it would be okay.

After risking another look at Harry, finding him looking at a menu, Harry spoke again. “It’s a pretty big menu, but if you don’t like anything on it, we can find another place.”

“I’m sure I’ll find something.” As Louis pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile, he looked at the revision mirror, only to find Niall staring back at him. Truthfully, he’d forgotten Niall was there. Niall, unlike him, was not trying to hold back his smile. Instead, he flashed it right at Louis. Louis’ eyes darted back to the road, but that didn’t help with the heat rising to his cheeks.

On Thursday, while Harry was at his PT session, Louis stood outside Liam’s flat, having built up just enough strength to prepare for what he expected to be a challenge. He rapped his knuckles against the door.

The door swung open, revealing Liam, who tilted his head, seemingly confused about why Louis was there. Really, Louis probably should have messaged him first, but if he had, Liam might have shut down the offer. It would be harder for him to do it to Louis’ face.

“Hi,” Louis said. “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, Liam held the door open for Louis, and he walked into Liam’s flat, shutting the door behind him.

“Do you want a drink or something?” Liam asked.

He didn’t really want one, but it would give him a reason to stay a bit longer, give a reason that Liam wouldn’t be able to shoo him out. “Sure. Water would be great.”

Liam nodded, walking into the kitchen and filling up two glasses. He handed Louis one of them and gestured to one of his sofas. Louis went over and sat on it.

After sipping water, Liam said, “What do I owe this visit?”

“Well,” Louis started, steeling himself, “you know how I offered to help with some of your stuff before? I wanted to know what I could help with.”

While being surveyed by Liam didn’t pack as much punch as when Harry did it, it still put Louis on edge, despite the unusual blackness in his eyes. Finally, Liam sighed. “I don’t know … It’s just whatever you do, and I will have to check it all, anyway.”

“You won’t, though! I’ll do it well, I promise!”

“It’s not–I’m not trying to insult you or anything.” It was said with enough sincerity that Louis believed it. “It’s just management is very … specific about how they want things done.”

“But I can learn. And even if you have to check it, it would still save you time, wouldn’t it?” Liam still didn’t look convinced, so Louis said, “C’mon, I have nothing else to do; this will keep me busy.”

Thankfully, Liam gave a slight nod because Louis’ next move was to hint at him considering quitting out of boredom, and he really didn’t want to do that, especially as it would be so easy to call his bluff. “I suppose we can find something for you to do.”

“Great! I’ll help however I can. Whatever you want.”

“Let’s go to my office then,” Liam said as he pushed off the sofa. Louis did the same and followed him down the hallway to the office.

There were two desks across from each other, and Liam pulled the chair from the spare one over, showing Louis to sit on it.

“Did you have any ideas about what you wanted to do?” Liam asked as he booted up his computer.

“Maybe social media and regular media following? I figured that could work well?”

Liam looked deep in thought for a few beats before saying, “Yeah, we can try.” Once the laptop was booted up, Liam pushed himself out of the way and told Louis to put in his email details, so Louis did.

Then, he watched as Liam imported a detailed spreadsheet into his account. And Louis was already intimidated by how complex it seemed, but he did his best to hide it.

“So, we have several tools that aggregate mentions and comments across platforms—Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Reddit, Facebook, TikTok, and YouTube. I’ll set up specific keywords so you get alerts, like the band name, all of our names, song titles, etc.”

“I, uh, I don’t have any accounts for any of those.” He rushed to add, “Because I wanted to get rid of my social media presence for the job, you know?”

To Louis’ relief, Liam didn’t look bothered by that. “It’s fine. We can set you up accounts for them all. Setting them up with your work email makes more sense, anyway.”

Liam opened Instagram and dragged the window to the spare screen, giving Louis a view of the spreadsheet.

Louis leaned in to get a better view of it, looking at the columns and rows filled with data. “When I sift through the accounts; what am I looking for exactly?”

“Anything that might signal a trend or opinion about us—positive or negative,” Liam said. “For example, if someone influential tweets something about us, that’s something we’d want to know, or if we have a song trending on TikTok. Likewise, if there’s a negative rumour we need to quash, spotting it early makes damage control easier.”

“Makes sense,” Louis said, trying to digest it all. “So not every single thing, just if something is picking up traction?”

Liam had already moved on to setting up a Twitter account for him. “Yeah, exactly. But if you see something concerning, it’s probably best to keep an eye on it, even if it’s just someone with a few hundred followers. Just bookmark it or follow the thread and check in periodically. The accounts are in a fake name, in case you accidentally like something or whatever, but do your best not to. Fans can catch on pretty quickly.”

Not sure what else to say, Louis nodded and continued to watch while Liam set up more accounts and put on alerts for all of them. “And media monitoring? How’s that different?”

Once he’d finished with a Reddit account, Liam clicked over to another tab filled with headlines and links. “With media monitoring, you’re not just tracking what fans and individuals are saying; you’re also keeping tabs on what the media is writing about us. I’ll have to set up alerts for all of that, too. Normally, it would be to monitor articles, interviews, or public statements that mention the band, but to be honest, we don’t get all that much said about us at the moment. If we do, we normally know it’s coming.”

“Like when I forced us to go out for dinner?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that at all,” Liam said, giving him a meaningful look. “But yes, in the sense that we’re usually only mentioned if there is a controversy now, and we haven’t had many lately.”

The words from the bullshit articles he’d read a few days ago swarmed around his head, and he was glad they’d slowed down. “So, if they come up, what’s the aim of monitoring them?”

“If they aren’t urgent, we just summarise the key points and flag anything that might be of concern or interest to management,” Liam said. “Anything like potential controversies, praise, or even misquotes that could be twisted in a harmful way. But if you come across anything, let me know straight away. I’m going to keep all my alerts on as well, so if anything big comes up, I’ll see it.”

Not that Louis expected anything less, but it still sucked. “But I’ll put all the data in and do the summaries for management.” It wasn’t a question; he would do it. “Could you send me some of your past summaries and stuff so I can see how they’re done?”

“I guess so.” Liam sounded reluctant, but Louis didn’t care. This seemed like a full-time job by itself, and Louis knew precisely how much other shit management was getting Liam to do, so he was going to do this, and he was going to make it clear that there was no point in Liam arguing.

As Louis studied Liam while he set up even more alerts, Liam froze for a moment, like he’d missed a beat or glitched or something, but then he started clicking again as if nothing happened.

Before he could work out what the fuck happened, Liam said, “Okay, I’ll teach you how to monitor them all.” He nudged the mouse towards Louis. “Given that it’s been slow, you’ll probably only get one alert at a time. But, if it picks up for some reason–probably a bad one at this point–you can filter them. If you click on this drop-down menu,” Liam pointed to the place on the screen where the menu was, and Louis clicked on it, “it will let you filter the alerts by relevance or recency.”

“Understood,” Louis said, clicking where Liam had pointed. “So, say that something happens, and we are getting a lot of alerts. What’s the best way to manage them? Should I be categorising them, or is there a specific thing you follow?”

“Bring the spreadsheet back to this screen,” Liam instructed, his voice a bit faster than Louis was used to, and Louis did so. Liam got him to click on another page of the sheet, similar to the first but clearly for media rather than socials. “Regardless of whether we get a lot or just one, we use this tool to tag mentions—positive, negative, neutral, and urgent. And then these categories are here on the sidebar. Urgent is for anything that needs immediate attention—controversies, huge shout-outs, things like that.”

“And these tags, they get compiled somewhere?” Louis asked.

Liam silently motioned for the mouse, and Louis handed it back to him. He clicked on another page, showing another window filled with colourful graphs and charts. “They feed into this analytics dashboard. It calculates sentiment trends over time, mentions by platform, and other metrics. End of every week, I use all of this data to prepare a summary report for management.”

“Right.” Louis had tried to hide his overwhelm, but Liam didn’t seem to miss it.

“If it’s too much, I can do it all.”

“No, no. I can do it. I’ll go through your past reports and do it the same way. I’ll do them early so I can show them to you and then add anything else that comes up.”

Saying nothing, Liam clicked around before opening a file Louis realised was a past report. He skimmed over it and asked, “Is there a specific format for them?”

“Yeah, actually, I think I have a template somewhere,” he started clicking around again, sounding slightly brighter. “I know it all by heart, so I don’t use it anymore, but it should help you a lot.” Finally, he opened a document that was obviously the template. “Okay, so these are the key things. Intro, key highlights, red flags, and then some analytics. You should wrap it up with actionable insights—what we can leverage, what we need to address, that sort of thing.”

“Seems pretty straightforward,” Louis said. And it did. But it also seemed like a fuck-ton of work, which, again, Louis had no idea why it was Liam’s responsibility.

Liam nodded, seeming satisfied with Louis’ confidence. “Even though there are alerts, I still like to come every day to check that nothing critical has been missed. Sometimes, there will be an alert, but it hasn’t sent a notification. Sometimes it won’t pick up something, but a quick Google will.”

“Check every day,” Louis repeated, knowing he’d planned to, anyway. “Okay, cool. No problem. And I’ll ask you if I’m not sure about anything. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thanks.” Liam’s smile seemed forced, and Louis was sure he would probably double-check anything.

Louis would just have to do a good enough job for Liam to trust him. Then he could focus his energy on just being the drummer of a band and not doing all these tasks that management was piling on him for no reason that Louis could see.

Louis had put off talking to Zayn about planning to speak to the others about the contract and Lottie, and he knew the main reason was that he was worried about their reactions, especially now that he and Harry were in a much better place.

But Harry’s words, the articles he read, and the photos of Harry and the others looking happy followed him everywhere, and the need to help them was overwhelming. He’d promised himself he’d talk to Zayn at their next art class, but now that he was seated next to him, the art supplies spread out in front of him seemed much more daunting.

Louis dipped his charcoal stick into the water jar next to him to put off the conversation, splattering a few droplets on his sketch paper.

From across the table, Brenda clicked her tongue, causing him to look up at her. She raised her brows at him and pushed her spectacles higher up her nose. “Louis, dear, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Without lifting her gaze from her paper, Gladys, beside Brenda, said, “You’re meant to use water with watercolours, not charcoal.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you’ve got to mix things up a bit, haven’t you?” Louis said, grinning as he glanced at his artwork—a rather abstract depiction of a tree. To be honest, it was more of a mess than anything else, but they’d been going to the classes for about a month, and he had well and truly given up any illusions that he might secretly be talented at art.

Gladys smiled, still not looking up, while the look that Brenda shot him was exasperated but still kind. “You do like to mix things up, don’t you?”

“Keeps life interesting,” he told her and then winked, having learnt that they all seemed to like it when he did.

Just then, Margot, the instructor, approached their table and stopped behind Louis. “Another very … expressive piece, Louis.”

“Thank you. That’s exactly what I was aiming for.” It wasn’t. He hadn’t even planned on drawing a tree until it was half done and he decided it was the closest thing it looked like.

She then stood behind Zayn, and Louis looked at him. He was entirely absorbed in his piece, which was a charcoal portrait of someone. How the fuck he’d got it so detailed and so quickly, Louis had no fucking clue.

“Oh, Zayn, that’s beautiful!” Margot gushed, causing a few of the ladies to stand and look at his sheet, and they all cooed and lavished him with praise.

Once they’d all settled down, Louis mumbled, “Why do you all like the quiet, moody one?”

“C’mon now, Louis, I’m sure you have all the girls chasing you with a face like that,” Ethel said. Last week, after Ethel told Zayn that he looked just like her grandson for the hundredth time, Louis asked to see a photo of him. They looked nothing alike, so that he couldn’t be too flattered by Ethel’s words. The only thing that stopped him from believing she was blind was that her art was always better than his.

Although, that wasn’t really saying much.

Louis wiped his charcoal-smudged fingers on a rag and stole another glance at Zayn’s detailed artwork. Brenda caught his eye and leaned in; a look of mischief that he’d gotten used to seeing flickered in her eyes.

“I must say, you two are quite the mystery,” Brenda began, her gaze moving from her paper to settle on both. “We’ve been discussing among ourselves, haven’t we?”

Gladys looked up for the first time in what seemed like hours, nodding. “Oh, we have indeed.”

Louis’ heart started pounding in his chest, and he felt Zayn freeze before looking up at them both. Had they caught on to who Zayn was? He hadn’t actually got anyone to sign an NDA because he didn’t think they’d work it out.

After clearing his throat, Louis asked, “A mystery, you say?”

“Yes,” Brenda said, “We can’t quite figure out if you’re single, dating, or—”

Both Louis and Zayn let out sighs that seemed to catch the attention of the table. “Or what?” Louis forced a light tone into his voice. “Stuck in eternal singleness?”

“Oh, there are worse fates than that, believe me,” Brenda said.

Margot must have had supersonic hearing because she was back at their table within seconds. “Are we discussing matters of the heart over here?”

“Brenda is trying to get it out of them, but they’re both staying tight-lipped,” Gladys said.

Catching Zayn’s eye, Louis and he exchanged awkward half-smiles at the absurdity of the entire thing.

“Spill it, then,” Margot prompted. “Any special women in your lives?”

“Or men,” Gladys added, a subtle lift in her eyebrow and a pointed look in Louis’ direction. He had no idea how the hell she’d pick up on that, given most people his age seemed to miss it, but there was something kind of endearing about it.

Louis coughed, a startled laugh escaping. “Well, I’m not opposed to—”

“Keeping your options open, then?” Ethel interjected from her chair as though reading between lines that weren’t even there. “That’s how Albert–my eldest–was when he was your age. Couldn’t decide between knitting and football.”

It took Louis a minute to work out what she was hinting at. “Oh … and what did he end up going with?”

“Knitting,” Ethel replied. “Said it was easier on the knees.”

Louis choked on air as he coughed out a laugh. For a second, he felt terrible for taking her likely innocent words to mean something else.

But then, Gladys said, “That’s interesting; I would have thought it was the other way around.” Which amused not only Zayn but sent Brenda into a giggling fit as well.

Ethel rolled her eyes before saying, “I’d expect that out of those two,” pointing at Louis and Zayn, “but at your big age?”

“Oh, calm down, Effie,” Gladys said. “And what about you, Zayn? Any interests we should know about?”

Zayn looked up, pausing for a beat before answering. “Art’s my only love for now.”

“Ah, a devoted man,” Margot said, nodding approvingly.

Ethel winked at Zayn. “My grandson had a phase like that. ‘It’s not a phase, Grandma,’ he’d say. Now he’s married with twins. Phases end, love.”

Before Louis could ask if it was the same grandson that Zayn was apparently a carbon copy of, Zayn said, “We’ll see, I guess.”

It wasn’t until they were in the car, driving home, that Louis built up enough courage to bring up the topic. “I think we need to talk to the others. Like, soon.”

Zayn didn’t take his eyes off the road, but nodded. “Been thinking the same thing.”

The admission was a relief and calmed some of Louis’ stress. Just a little. “Do you know when you want to do it?”

“Was thinking one day after band practice.” After pausing, he asked, “Have you spoken to Harry about it at all?”

“No.”

“Mm, maybe you should. You know, beforehand. Don’t think he’d appreciate finding out simultaneously as everyone else.”

Louis stared at Zayn and any tension he’d taken away returned. Louis didn’t want to tell Harry first. Louis didn’t want to do it alone.

But, at the same time, he knew Zayn was right. He still had no idea how Harry would react, but telling him at the same time as the others would definitely lead to a worse reaction.

“Okay…” Louis said finally, “I’ll do it in the next couple of days, and we’ll see how that goes, I guess.”

Louis pushed open the front door and immediately sensed that Harry was in the kitchen. He had no idea where he’d picked up this weird sixth sense about Harry’s presence, but he had, and it was unsettling.

“Hey,” Louis said as he kicked off his shoes, still looking at Harry.

Harry glanced up, and there was something in his eyes that Louis couldn’t quite read, but whatever it was, it made his insides feel soft.

Padding over to the kettle, Louis filled it and flicked it on before turning back to Harry, who was opening a can of tuna. Louis watched him, his eyes focusing on his biceps, the toned muscle proof of his daily gym sessions. “Do you think I should work out?”

Harry paused and looked up at him, the can of tuna in one hand, the lid in the other. “What?”

“Just, I don’t know.” Louis had no real idea why he said it in the first place. “I’m already in the gym with you four days a week. Maybe I should actually do something rather than just sit there.” He almost said watching you but kept the words in.

As per routine, Harry studied him for much longer than was comfortable. “If you want to.” Then he pursed his lips before adding, “But I don’t think you ‘should’. But if you want to, you can.”

The kettle whistled, and Louis turned back to it. “Do you want tea or something?”

“Got my water,” Harry said from behind him.

Noises of Louis making his tea filled the space, and he was pretty sure that Harry hadn’t moved but didn’t turn to check.

Even though he had suspected he was there, he still jolted when Harry spoke. “How was art class?”

“Good.” Louis turned and found Harry right next to him. The air felt charged, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Harry could feel it, too. “All the ladies love Zayn.”

“And not you?”

“Dunno, maybe. But Zayn is definitely their favourite.”

Harry met his eyes and held his gaze. Surely, Harry felt the tension. It was palpable and suffocating. It had grown even stronger with Harry’s gaze on him. “Find that hard to believe,” he said, and then picked up his plate and walked to the sofa.

Chapter Text

Harry’s gut clenched with tension, every nerve humming as he watched Louis make another restless loop around the breakfast bar. Since they’d first met, Louis had always kept Harry on edge, but Louis had never been this visibly unsettled. After twenty minutes of watching Louis in the kitchen, Harry's patience snapped, and he slammed his spoon down. “Can you just sit down or something?”

Louis froze, his eyes locking onto Harry’s as if trying to decipher … something. He didn’t sit. He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, closing it once again. Harry’s stomach tightened further, another knot forming atop the pre-existing tangle. He watched Louis closely, trying to gauge what was brewing behind those unreadable eyes.

This newfound hesitancy had crept into Louis’ demeanour over the last several days. Harry had noticed it but hadn’t asked about it. Although he’d like to say that was purely because he didn’t want to pry, truthfully, it was because of fear. He couldn’t pinpoint why Louis’ recent behaviour unsettled him, but the unease had latched onto his thoughts and refused to let go. For Louis to spend so much energy seemingly on the issue was disconcerting. But Louis’ visible restlessness was becoming unbearable.

“Say it,” Harry said. With only silence in return, Harry's voice echoed with an increasing sense of unease. “Whatever it is, say it.”

Finally, Louis leaned on the breakfast bar, and his arms extended as though he needed physical support. “I have to tell you something.” He met Harry’s eyes for a fleeting second—pleading—before looking away. “Please don’t be mad, though.”

Harry’s pulse quickened. “I’ll … try,” he said, though he felt primed to break.

Louis took a ragged breath. “You remember how Zayn met Lottie ages ago?” He paused and waited for Harry to nod. “Yeah, right. Okay. So, that was because she was reviewing his contract. The one with the management.”

“Zayn wants to leave?” Harry’s voice was choked, barely above a whisper. He’d known that Zayn wasn’t … happy with their current situation, but he hadn’t fathomed it could be this serious.

“What?” Louis’ forehead creased. “No. Not … not like that. It wasn’t just for him. It was for, um, for all of you.”

The revelation was so dense it absorbed the room’s atmosphere, and Harry felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach. ‘All of you’.

Zayn had given his contract to a lawyer. Louis had known and presumably helped. And hadn’t said a word about it.

Decisions were being made behind his back, and it kicked up an uncomfortable but familiar sense of powerlessness that gnawed at him. Harry felt cornered, the kitchen walls seeming to advance on him, tightening the space where his mixed emotions reverberated.

Louis’ voice shattered the fraught stillness. “Harry?”

As he heard his name, something inside Harry snapped. A rush of heat charged through his bloodstream. Propelled by adrenaline, he pushed off his stool, its legs grating against the floor with a dissonant scrape as he stood.

“Where are you going?” Louis’ tone was laced with exasperation, but Harry couldn’t confront him—he didn’t want to.

“Air,” was all he said, making for the back door.

“You’re just going to run off? Leave me here, alone? Again?”

Harry halted, his breath snagging in his chest. Louis was being unfair, but knowing that didn’t suppress the memory of the last time Louis said those words, tears streaming down his face. Harry turned back, locking eyes with Louis. “Trying to take control of my career isn’t enough? You dictate my ability to leave the room?”

“N–No, Harry. That’s not–I wasn’t.” Louis’ voice faltered. “I wanted to help.” As Louis wrapped his arms around himself, Harry felt a part of him crack, and he had to summon every ounce of willpower not to soften, comfort Louis, or erase the hurt that had lodged into his features.

“Yeah, well, the last ten years have been all about people trying to help me, and you know how that’s turned out.”

At his words, something inside Louis seemed to extinguish, the blue in his eyes smudging into a murky grey. “You’re comparing me to them?” It appeared Louis intended to say more, but he sucked in a shaky breath before continuing. “Look,” he said, his voice steadier and more assured, “I get how this could seem that way. But it wasn’t. I should’ve talked to you about it first, but I just … wanted to make sure there was something worth talking about first.” He dropped his arms. “Which is why we got Lottie to look at it. We wanted to make sure there was actually a chance before I brought it up. But, clearly, it was a mistake.”

“Clearly,” Harry snapped, words spilling out faster than his brain could keep up. “Can I go now, or do I need your permission?”

Louis’ defeated expression was almost unbearable. “Sorry,” he muttered, retreating to his room and leaving Harry alone in the smothering atmosphere they’d conjured.

With each fading footstep of Louis, the lingering sound echoed like the aftermath of a seismic tremor, disorienting Harry in an unknown terrain. His gaze lingered on the space Louis had occupied, the absence now filling the room.

Harry sat on his bed, and for the first time in a long while, he considered telling Louis not to come to the gym. Even when professionalism demanded that he shadow Harry everywhere, Louis had never really been required to go. Their gym was in the building, so Louis did not need to tag along.

No professionalism was left, and Harry doubted that even management thought Louis was perpetually by his side. Harry knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help craving the company of Louis.

But now, he didn’t want it. The past two hours had been a relentless siege of agonising thoughts. Each hit landed on him with a weighty thud, refusing to give him even a moment's relief.

Louis had gone behind his back, conspiring with Zayn in secret. He’d sent their contracts to Lottie for review without a word to Harry.

Louis was just like everyone else.

A bitter taste settled in Harry’s mouth as if he’d bitten into something rotten.

It was the betrayal stung—not that Zayn might be thinking about leaving the band, which Harry knew should be a more significant concern for him. But Louis—Louis, whom he trusted more than anyone else—held the same opinion about him as everyone else.

Reluctantly acknowledging that he couldn't turn Louis away now, he pushed himself off his bed. With each step down the stairs, he could feel his mental resolve strengthening, his determination to stay silent and fully concentrate on the workout solidifying.

That was until he saw Louis.

“What are you wearing?" The sight of Louis in shorts and a fitted shirt by the front door caught him off guard, prompting him to blurt out the question.

Louis looked up from his phone, breaking contact with the screen to lock eyes with Harry. There was an unreadable expression in Louis’ eyes that unnerved Harry. “Workout clothes.”

“Why?”

Louis sighed as if Harry should know why he was standing there looking like a wet dream. “Because... I’m going to work out. We talked about this.” He reached over to the breakfast bar, brushing past Harry to grab his water bottle. “You ready?”

Harry tore his attention away from the lingering warmth of Louis’ touch, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of Louis’ sudden change in behaviour. But the heat from where Louis had brushed past him seemed to spread, raising his skin in goosebumps, distracting from the icy dread that filled him.

“We did not talk about this.” There was a memory of a passing conversation about Louis wanting to work out that came rushing back, accompanied by the image of a glistening Louis that had intruded into Harry’s thoughts too frequently. The time wasn’t right for these fantasies to come true.

Louis turned the doorknob without saying a word to Harry and stepped into the hallway, where a hush settled over their brief walk to the gym.

Harry quickly accepted that going to the gym together was a terrible idea. Harry had deviated so much from his routine that he would have been better off skipping it altogether. It was just that Louis was … everywhere.

Harry adjusted his grip on the kettlebell, exhaling as he pushed upwards. Sweat trickled down his forehead, but his gaze, almost involuntarily, found its way back to Louis. The sight of him was impossible to ignore, as his shirt hugged his body, highlighting his effortlessly sculpted back and muscular arms. Harry's thoughts momentarily broke free as he imagined his fingers delicately tracing the intricate curves of those muscles, feeling their strength beneath his touch. The thought sent an unexpected jolt of longing straight through him.

He grabbed a heavier kettlebell in hopes it would help stay grounded and divert his thoughts from Louis, relishing its solid weight in his palms.

As Harry sank into his fourth squat, his resolve weakened. He couldn’t help but be entranced by Louis, who had transformed into the epitome of distraction on the leg press machine. Harry's efforts to analyse the imperfection in Louis' technique were momentarily derailed by the seductive sight of Louis' midriff, briefly visible as his shirt slid up. The picture pulled at him, dragging his thoughts into dangerous territory. He imagined the warmth from that skin under his palms, the slight give of soft flesh yielding to his touch. The tactile fantasy was so vivid he could almost feel the dampness of sweat and the heat emanating from Louis’ stomach. He strained to bring his thoughts back from wandering, his hands squeezing the kettlebell with excessive force.

Within him, anger surged like a searing flame, a mix of irritation pulsating through his veins. Part of it was directed at the unresolved tension over the contracts. The main reason was how easily Louis could disrupt the fragile neutrality he painstakingly crafted … at least ten times a day. Despite his efforts to focus on the betrayal that Louis had caused, the sight of Louis’ glistening skin still captivated him, overriding the betrayal.

Harry shifted his attention back to the bench press, his jaw setting as he loaded the bar with more weight than he usually lifted without his PT. Settling onto the bench, he wrapped his fingers around the chilled steel, gripping it as if he could squeeze the tension right out of the room. He almost felt his pent-up frustrations transferring into the bar as he powered through each lift. The bar rose and fell, mirroring the rhythm of his uneven breaths, but the effort was futile in driving away the unwelcome presence of Louis that loomed in his mind.

“Need a spot?” Louis’ voice broke through, puncturing Harry’s strained concentration.

Harry’s arms extended fully, his elbows locking to stabilise the heavy bar above him. “I’m fine.” He attempted to regain control with each lift, a way to push back against the turbulent swirl of desire and annoyance that Louis seemed to ignite in him.

“You sure? Wouldn’t want you to drop it.” A hint of ambiguity in Louis' voice left Harry feeling uncertain.

“I said I’m fine.” Harry momentarily lowered the bar to his chest before thrusting it back up, his muscles screaming as much as his simmering emotions.

Louis stepped back, hands raised in a mock gesture of surrender. Even as Louis disappeared, his presence persisted, causing Harry's skin to tingle with awareness.

Harry re-racked the weights with a huff, then mopped his face with a towel. The embers of annoyance still glowed within him, but that didn’t stop his eyes from drifting back towards Louis.

He was stretching, each movement fluid and purposeful, and Harry’s gaze inadvertently traced the flex and extension of Louis’ limbs. The sight caused Harry to wonder what those limbs would feel like wrapped around him, what kind of strength they would betray in a more intimate setting.

Their eyes met. Harry was caught, and he knew it. He quickly averted his gaze, but his body was already reacting, disorientating him in a way only Louis could.

As they finished the workout, a heavy silence settled between them like a thick fog. With each step they took on their way back to their flat from the gym, the air grew denser, adding to the suffocating and heavy emotional atmosphere. Truthfully, it wasn’t all that different from how Louis always made him feel.

That night, Harry sat at the dining table, a plate of food before him that had lost its appeal. Each bite was tasteless, just a chore to finish.

The beep from the microwave caught his attention. Louis had returned, fresh from the shower, to eat his meal. He sat at the breakfast bar, and Harry’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the damp tendrils of hair that framed his face. The image of how Louis looked earlier at the gym clouded his thoughts, wrestling with his remaining anger over the contracts.

Harry felt his focus waver between his uninspiring plate and Louis. The pull was inescapable, an acute awareness of Louis’ presence in the room. Their eyes met, and for a split second, everything else faded away. Harry’s hand tightened around his fork, the metal digging into his flesh. Anger, regret, and a disquieting allure swirled within him, tangling his insides.

Louis broke eye contact, his attention returning to his plate. The tension snapped, splintering into fragments of relief and an indefinable sense of loss.

After pushing his chair back, Harry stood. He gathered his barely touched meal and utensils, crossing the room to place them in the dishwasher. The clinking of ceramics against metal sliced through the stillness, giving a jarring noise to their silence.

He finished loading the dishwasher and leaned against the counter, now directly facing Louis. Louis looked up again, his meal almost gone, and met Harry’s eyes once more.

“I suppose you’re going to make this a habit then,” Harry broke the silence, his voice carrying a sharper edge than he’d intended.

“Eating dinner?” Louis cocked an eyebrow.

“Working out.” As Harry uttered the words, the vivid memory of Louis infiltrated his mind, pulling at him even as he tried to build a barrier of words.

Louis set his fork down. “Maybe. Why? Does it bother you?” Louis’ eyes locked onto Harry’s as if daring him to be honest.

“No.” Harry shot back too quickly.

Louis shrugged, a maddeningly noncommittal gesture. “Okay.”

Harry’s mouth opened, but then it snapped shut. What could he really say? If he admitted that he resented Louis working out in front of him, it would cause Louis to ask questions. Even if he blamed it on Louis’ confession about the contract, it would just encourage Louis to start another discussion about it, which Harry had no intention of doing.

With a grimace, Harry abruptly pushed away from the counter. “Okay,” he repeated, ending the confrontation that had sprung up between them.

Suddenly, the lights flickered once or twice before plunging them into profound darkness. For a suspended moment, they both stood still, swallowed by the sudden blackout.

“Well, shit,” Louis said.

Harry’s eyes adjusted to the dark by the faint glow of the city’s lights seeping through the windows. He pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight. “Should we check the other rooms?”

Louis nodded, lit eerily by his phone. “I’ll go down the hall. You take upstairs.”

Carefully navigating through the pool of light cast by his phone, Harry climbed the stairs. He swept the flashlight across the vacant living room before reaching for the switch. Nothing happened when he flicked it. Just to be sure, he checked the other rooms upstairs, but there was nothing except silence and the dark. He walked back to the lower floor.

“Anything?” Louis’ voice sliced through the stillness.

“Nothing. You?”

“Same here. It’s the whole flat.”

Louis nodded. “So it’s not just a blown circuit.”

An unspoken weight settled in the room.

“So what’s the plan?” Louis asked.

“Don’t know.” Harry’s answer felt woefully inadequate, but it was all he had.

Without another word, they both gravitated toward the front door, their mobile flashlights cutting shadows onto the walls. The door hinges offered a low creak as they stepped into the hallway, and Harry was acutely attuned to the space between them.

Almost simultaneously, the other doors along the hall swung open, and Niall, Liam, and Zayn joined them in the hallway. Each face, bathed in the glow of their phone screens, looked equally puzzled.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet behind Harry, growing louder until a security guard appeared at the end of the hallway. His flashlight swept before him. “Whole building’s down. We’re sorting it out with the power company.”

Niall’s eyes darted between them, eventually making eye contact with each of them. “Alright, keep us posted. We’ll be at Zayn’s if you need us.”

Zayn’s eyebrow shot up. “Why will we be at mine?”

“Why not?” Niall shrugged. “Your place is as good as any.”

Once inside Zayn’s apartment, Harry claimed a spot on the sofa’s edge, his back held stiffly upright. Zayn’s phone lit up the room, balanced in a glass to serve as a makeshift lantern. The light twisted their features into shadows.

Niall pulled over a dining chair and sank into it, flipping it around to straddle it backwards. “Well, this is rubbish.”

Across the room, Zayn leaned against a wall, arms crossed. “You know, if everyone used solar panels, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Liam, stretched out on a sofa, looked up in disbelief. “You really think solar power would’ve prevented this outage?”

“Solar, wind, water—anything but the fossil fuel crap we’re using.”

Louis sat on the opposite side of the room, and Harry’s gaze landed straight on him again, a magnet he wished he could demagnetise. Every look felt like treading on thin ice, dangerous and unpredictable. Amidst the ebb and flow of conversation, the air grew thicker with their unspoken tension, making it hard to breathe. Harry forced his gaze downward, focusing on the carpet, but the sense of discomfort lingered.

A few minutes later, the security guard returned with a grave expression on his face. “Spoke with the utility company. There’s a fire at a nearby substation. Power’s out for the foreseeable future. We can move you to a hotel.”

The thought of spending the blackout in a hotel room alone with Louis overwhelmed him, so he quickly pushed it aside. Even if they did move to a hotel, he and Louis would have separate rooms, anyway.

After sharing a few glances, Liam shrugged. “Seems pointless to move now.”

“Agree,” Niall said. “Might as well stick it out here.”

Harry’s eyes met Louis’, who seemed to hesitate for a split second before he nodded. “I’m fine with staying.”

“Alright,” the security guard said, visibly relieved. “I’ll let them know we’re not going anywhere. My shift ends at ten, but if the power’s still out, we’ll bring in a night shift, as the security system is down.”

The door closed with a soft click as the guard left. And Niall was the first to fill the ensuing quiet. “So, drinks? A blackout’s as good an excuse as any.”

“Got a bottle of whiskey,” Zayn offered, already pushing off the wall to rummage through a cabinet.

The sound of the bottle being set down and the sight of the half-filled cups of ice on the coffee table prompted Harry to unscrew the cap and pour himself a drink without hesitation. He raised the glass to his lips, feeling the liquid warmth snake its way down to his chest. It wasn’t a solution but his best hope of peace tonight.

His eyes briefly met Louis’ as he sipped cautiously from his glass. A charge ignited at their brief eye contact, electrifying the air. That might have been the actual cause of the blackout. The moment was fleeting but still sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

As the whiskey bottle level dwindled, the conversation wandered through harmless subjects, and some of the room’s tension diffused. But for Harry, full engagement eluded him. He had so many unanswered questions for Louis about the contract. Questions he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to ask–if the answers would even help.

“Another round?” Niall was on his feet, bottle in hand.

Harry looked at his glass, almost empty, with just a few sad ice cubes left. “Yeah, thanks.” With his glass outstretched, Niall poured the whiskey, the sound of it hitting the glass taking on a slightly accusatory tone. He sipped, his face tightening. The alcohol was losing its potency, its edge-blunting capability waning, at least with his thoughts about Louis. That wasn’t surprising, though. Disappointing, but not surprising.

Across the room, Louis seemed equally subdued, the drink in his hand seemingly more for distraction than enjoyment. An awkwardness appeared to span the space between them, palpable but unseen. Harry sensed its existence, and he suspected Louis did too.

Harry twisted the key in the lock and pushed open their apartment door. It took more effort than it should have, his fingers fumbling clumsily. The inky darkness inside met them like something tangible, softened only by the beam of his phone’s flashlight. Louis entered behind him, securing the door with a soft click. Silently, they split, each taking their path to their respective bedrooms.

Harry placed his phone on the nightstand and stripped off his clothes. The room spun slightly as he moved, disorienting him. Each action seemed to lag a second behind his thought, making the space between him and his bed feel like a gulf he needed to cross.

He slid between the sheets and found them less welcoming than he’d hoped. They were cold to the touch, not just from the room’s lowered temperature. No, it was caused by the space between him and Louis. He hated it. Wished it wasn’t there. And maybe it was just the alcohol, but he had to fight the urge to get up and go to Louis. To make everything right.

Instead, he pulled the blankets tighter around himself as if it would be enough to keep him in place—or at least sufficient to soothe him. Clutching the fabric felt like grasping at straws, a desperate attempt to tether himself to a reality slipping through his fingers. The slight fuzziness from the alcohol seemed both futile and absolutely necessary.

He lay there, eyes open, contemplating the ceiling he couldn’t see. His thoughts churned, dipping in and out of coherence. The space beside him was empty, but the room felt crowded with all his swirling thoughts.

Harry jolted at a noise beyond his bedroom door as the sound cut through his foggy mind like a blade, startling him from the half-dozen he hadn’t realised he’d slipped into.

The light from his phone pierced the darkness, and the numbers seemed to blur for a moment before they came into focus and showed that only thirty minutes had passed since he’d got into bed.

After turning the flashlight back on, he rummaged through a drawer, yanking on a pair of joggers.

When he opened the door, he heard Louis let out a sharp breath. Harry’s heart pounded, fuelled by lingering adrenaline and alcohol, as he swung his light toward the sound and found Louis standing near the sofa, hood up and arms crossed. “What are you doing?” Harry’s voice was hushed, but even he could hear the concern in it.

“Looking for the bloody blanket. My room is freezing.” Louis’ arms folded tightly across his chest as if to underline his point. Harry could see Louis swaying ever so slightly, even in the dim light.

His eyes traced Louis from head to toe, taking in the layers of clothing and the slightly flushed cheeks. Louis was dressed for an Arctic expedition, while Harry had only a pair of joggers on, and guilt gnawed at him. Louis always seemed to feel the cold more than anyone else Harry knew–Harry kept the apartment heating a few degrees higher than he’d have it for Louis, and even then, Louis would have more layers on than him–so, of course, he’d be suffering without the heating.

It was as though the lingering buzz granted him a false sense of bravery, blurring the lines between what Harry wanted to say and what he should say. “Do you want to—um, sleep here?” He motioned to his room. “It’s warmer.”

It was a flimsy rationale—his room had no reason to be warmer other than that he’d be in it. Still, Harry didn’t retract the offer.

“Okay,” Louis said slowly. His voice held a certain hesitancy, almost as if he was weighing the words.

The “okay” lingered, frozen in time, until Harry found the strength to walk back into his room, trusting Louis to follow him.

After stepping inside the room, Louis lingered a moment, stopping just shy of the bed. His posture spoke volumes, a complex mixture of yearning and caution. Harry's eyes followed Louis' every movement as he walked to the other side of the bed, his fingers yearning to reach out and touch him.

Instead, Harry carefully pulled back the duvet, hyperaware of each motion and sound. The swish of the fabric seemed to reverberate louder than it should, and Louis’ inaudible intake of breath made it to Harry’s ears as though the air between them had thickened. It was like an invisible field emanated from Louis, drawing Harry towards him.

Finally breaking the pause, they climbed into bed, both lying on their backs and staring at the ceiling. As they settled into bed, the moonlight seeping through the curtains highlighted the unspoken distance between them. Harry’s skin tingled in the cool air, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of Louis’ gaze sweeping over him. His heartbeat sped up, each pulse imbued with many feelings he couldn’t articulate.

Harry lay tense, his muscles wired as if awaiting a jolt. The room’s blackness seemed to thicken, stretching each second into eternity and making him acutely aware of Louis’ every slight movement and muted breath.

The heavy duvet did little to shield them from the mocking, cold draft that invaded the room. Harry inched closer to Louis, offering a silent invitation that filled the air between them like an electric charge. Time seemed to pause until Louis finally shifted, almost closing the gap between their shoulders.

His heart pounded fast, a drumroll echoing in his chest. In the room's darkness, he could sense Louis' intention rather than see it, a shift in the air.

“Harry,” Louis whispered, the single word heavy with unspoken meaning.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice was a fragile thread across the emotional distance that had separated them.

In a seamless motion, Louis rolled onto his side to face Harry. Feeling the shift in weight beside him, Harry mirrored the movement, turning to meet Louis' gaze.

For a suspended moment, their breaths mingled in the darkness, proving just how close Louis was to him. Louis' lips met Harry's, his breath caught in his throat, the world around them fading into a blur. But hesitance melted away, replaced by a surer, bolder contact. Waves of heat spiralled through him. Their longing surged through them like a released dam, flooding their veins with an overwhelming ache that begged to be acknowledged.

Louis’ hand slid under the pillow and settled on the nape of Harry’s neck, the skin-to-skin contact sending a shiver of anticipation racing across Harry’s scalp. Harry could feel fingers trembling ever so slightly, their quivers mirrored by his own pulse, yet their purpose was unmistakable. They guided Harry deeper into the kiss, the pressure of Louis’ mouth intensifying, demanding and receiving an equally emotional response. Each glide and nip of their lips spoke a language of its own, one composed of need and yearning and a thousand unspoken confessions.

Harry’s hands moved instinctively, one settling on Louis’ waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, while the other hand cradled the side of Louis’ face, thumb caressing his cheek. Those cheekbones had stolen his attention countless times, their alluring shape captivating him. Now his fingers knew their reality, mapping their contours.

The darkness simply amplified Harry’s awareness of every point of contact between his and Louis’ bodies. The warm press of Louis’ chest against his own seemed to seep into Harry, settling deep within him.

Time slipped away as their lips remained entwined, each caress and whispered touch a silent affirmation of what they both felt. An unspoken agreement guided them to pull away slightly, each catching his breath, their eyes meeting in the dim light.

Harry moved, angling his head onto the adjacent pillow, extending a tacit invitation. Louis seemed to understand. His arm slipped around Harry, drawing him closer until his head found its place tucked under Louis’ chin.

Every muscle in Harry’s body tensed momentarily, acutely aware of the newfound intimacy. Then, deliberately, he let go. As Louis’ fingers began a slow rhythm through his hair, a sensation unfurled within Harry—a loosening of something knotted.

As he let out a long-held breath, tension ebbed away, each tender sweep of Louis’ fingers sapping it further. He couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep so peacefully.

Morning light infiltrated the room through the curtains, painting the walls in soft hues. Harry stirred, his mind lingering on the warmth until he reached out and his fingers found the vacant space beside him—an untouched expanse, cold and discomfiting.

He pulled a t-shirt over his head, half-heartedly taming his tousled hair with his fingers. The gesture felt futile, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing it for himself or for the presence he felt in the other room.

Entering the living room, he found Louis engrossed in his phone, a cup of tea steaming beside him. A subtle tightness gripped Harry’s chest, a dissonance emerging at the sight of Louis so self-contained after last night.

“Morning,” Louis said, lifting his gaze to meet Harry’s for a brief, fleeting second before plunging back into his screen. In that moment, Harry felt a sinking sensation in his gut, as if the look from Louis had erased all the closeness they had built.

“Morning,” Harry responded, voice level, but inside, he churned. It was stupid. He should be glad that Louis was pretending nothing happened. It was the best outcome. No good would come from dwelling on it. He turned towards the kitchen, hyper-aware of Louis’ eyes tracing his back, an unexpected scrutiny that bothered him.

Louis set his tea down and walked over. He was hovering near the kitchen counter, radiating an aura Harry couldn’t quite decipher. It felt like the air had thickened, an intangible but electric layer separating them.

As Harry stirred his coffee, the edge of Louis’ fingers skimmed his elbow. A shock of warmth jolted through him, both startling and comforting. The contact lasted only a heartbeat before Louis, grabbing a spoon, pulled back and retreated to his seat, eyes once again locked onto his phone. A sense of loss rushed through Harry, mingling with a burgeoning confusion.

Harry’s hands paused for a split second, hovering over his cup. His mind teetered on the edge of confronting the touch, then decided against it, stirring the coffee one last time. As he lifted his cup to his lips, his grip relaxed subtly, as did the tension in his shoulders. He drew a slow, cautious breath. Whether it was acceptance or simply the lingering warmth of the touch, something had eased. The room, it seemed, would not shatter around him.

Halfway through the drive to band practice, Louis coughed. Harry’s thoughts, already a tangled mess since the night before, seized up. Louis’ cough, insignificant as it was, snapped him back to a reality that now felt dangerously complicated. “About the contract thing. Zayn and I planned on talking about it with Niall and Liam at practice– well, after. But if you’re not comfortable, we won’t.”

Harry met Louis’ eyes, momentarily catching the sincerity before Louis looked away. He couldn’t decide if the fleeting glance was a lifeline or a trap, a dichotomy that twisted his gut. “You won’t?”

“If you don’t want us to,” Louis said. “It’s your call.”

A whirlpool of emotion churned within Harry. Each emotional undercurrent had its weight, its own risk. “You’ve put in a lot of effort, though. Lottie, too, right?”

Louis exhaled deeply. “Yes, we did. Lottie especially. But we’re not going to do anything about it, if you don’t want us to.”

The gravity of Louis’ words gripped Harry like a vice. Despite the intensity of their recent closeness, he hadn’t truly believed Louis would give him a say. His thoughts spiralled into darkness, haunted by the risks of trust and the potential loss of something delicate.

Harry handpicked his words with a heavy pause, as if each syllable were a potential landmine. “Tell them. They have the right to know and decide.”

As Louis nodded and a trace of relief swept across his face, Harry’s thoughts scattered further.

Harry’s stomach coiled in tension as he flicked his eyes between his bandmates. Zayn’s words about contracts and legal advice layered betrayal atop bewilderment within him. Though he’d suspected something, hearing Louis and Zayn disclose the depth of their planning felt like a renewed betrayal.

Liam’s expression shifted—disbelief layered with a subtle trace of betrayal tautening the skin around his eyes. Harry clenched his fists beneath the table, recognising that same sting of betrayal in Liam’s eyes, a mirror to his confusion. “You spoke to a lawyer without telling us?”

“It wasn’t formal,” Zayn intercepted. “Just Louis’ sister.”

Harry watched as Liam’s eyes narrowed, wondering if Liam was mentally rearranging the pieces of their friendship, band, or both. “So while I’ve been slaving away, trying to keep the peace with management, you’ve been crafting an exit strategy?”

“You’re working hard to keep us in a shitty contract, and you want, what, applause?” Zayn asked, his eyes narrowing into razor slits. “There’s no prizes for being a martyr.”

As Liam’s face flushed, tension ran down Harry’s spine. It was more than just words now, it was their future. Their friendship. “So you decided to make this decision for all of us?” Liam’s voice was thick with a bitter tang.

Zayn flicked a glance at Louis. “I’m not the only one who feels this way. Louis sees it, too.”

Harry felt as though he were holding his breath, his chest tight, as if he were bracing for impact from whatever Liam would say next. “What Louis feels doesn’t mean shit. He isn’t in the band. His opinion means shit.”

Those words were like glass splinters under his skin, each driving deeper into his internal chaos.

Louis spoke before Harry could gather his thoughts. “I know I’m not in the band, but I agree with Zayn. The contract is fucked. It doesn’t take a band member to see that.”

After clearing his throat, Harry said, “The contract’s the issue here, not who brought it up.” The words left Harry’s mouth with a sense of finality.

Liam glanced at Harry before his eyes darted back to Zayn, a storm of conflicting emotions brewing behind his gaze. “Whose idea was it? Yours or Louis’.”

It was a question Harry hadn’t thought about, but the answer was in how Zayn’s face tensed and the glance he threw at Louis. Harry followed his gaze. Louis looked defeated, as if each word had carved away a piece of him.

The silence that followed seemed to tip Liam over the edge. “We hired him as a PA, not to bloody dismantle the band!” His voice rose, breaking the tension. “Maybe management was bloody right—maybe we shouldn’t have hired him at all!”

The atmosphere in the room thickened into a palpable silence as words hung in the air. Harry’s heart sank as he watched Louis, the impact of Liam’s words manifesting physically in the lines etched across his face.

Niall broke through the stifling quiet, his voice unexpectedly stern compared to its typical joviality. “Liam, that was out of line. Louis was just trying to help.”

Louis parted his lips, and Harry caught the hesitation, and something coiled tight inside him. It wasn’t until Louis started talking that he realised why.

“If you—I can–”

A surge of protectiveness, swift and scorching, propelled Harry to interrupt. “No.” His gut felt as if twisted into knots, sensing a raw vulnerability in Louis’ tone. Their eyes locked, burdened with a lifetime of unspoken words.

“But he said–” Louis’ voice shook, triggering an instinctive reaction in Harry. His fists clenched, a sudden urge to shield Louis from further harm seized him.

“He’s talking shit,” Harry broke in, his eyes locked onto Louis as if he could banish the pain from them by sheer force of will.

“If he doesn’t wan–”

“You promised,” Harry’s voice cut through, laden with such gravitas it seemed to pull the room’s focus toward him. Louis’ eyes, once steadfast, wavered under his gaze. “You promised,” he said again, but his voice was softer this time, tinged with a vulnerability he couldn’t mask.

Time seemed to halt, leaving Harry feeling laid bare. For a vulnerable second, he wondered if Louis could see the raw hope and fear tangled in his gaze. Yet, as he maintained eye contact with Louis, something shifted in the other man’s gaze—a subtle change that told Harry he’d pierced through, making every unspoken emotion painfully worth it.

Louis gave him a nod, as if to confirm.

The tension in the room seemed to break and reform, a brittle new balance taking its place. Harry watched as Zayn locked eyes with Liam, then scanned Niall. Each was caught in their turbulent sea of thoughts, reinforcing Harry’s feeling of an irrevocable divide.

“So you’re not even going to consider it?” At Zayn’s words, a sharp pang resonated through Harry. The disbelief in his bandmate’s voice felt like a physical blow, challenging his loyalty.

Liam’s eyes snapped to Zayn’s, brutal and unforgiving. “There is nothing to consider. We want to keep the band together, not fracture it.” Liam’s unyielding words landed heavily in the room, and Harry felt a sinking sensation.

Zayn’s disbelief was palpable, making Harry’s stomach knot tighter. “So you’d rather slog through under a contract none of us like?”

Liam’s following words were a punch to the gut. “Even if we get out of this contract, who will want to work with us afterwards? We’d be industry pariahs, Zayn. Did you think about that?”

Liam turned his eyes away from Zayn, shifting his gaze toward him and Niall. “Well? What do the two of you think about this madness?” Harry felt a sudden scrutiny as Liam’s question sliced through the room, its jagged edge catching him off guard.

Harry felt the weight of the room’s attention. “I get your point, Zayn, but I agree with Liam. It’s not that simple.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Niall fidgeting, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I’m not a legal expert, but if Zayn thinks this deserves a second look, shouldn’t we at least consider it?”

Liam’s eyes caught Niall’s, and Harry could almost taste the unspoken challenge in the air. “Consider it? Niall, this isn’t a game. We can’t just decide we’re unhappy and throw it all away.”

Zayn’s mounting frustration was almost tangible. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening. He paced, each footfall reverberating through Harry’s body. “Fine. Have it your way.”

The room descended into a choking silence as Zayn grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the warehouse, the large door slamming behind him. The room felt suddenly cavernous, each remaining breath hanging heavy with the acrid scent of burned bridges.

As Harry’s eyes met Louis’, he felt a hard tug in his chest. Louis rose, the scraping sound of the chair against the floor pulling Harry from his turbulent thoughts. “I should go check on him.”

After they got home from practice, the air between Harry and Louis remained tense as they sat for lunch. Harry stabbed at his salad, the crisp snap of lettuce and cucumber grating against the silence. Across the table, Louis poked at his food, shifting it aimlessly around his plate. Despite Louis’ attempt at nonchalance, Harry could almost touch the residual disappointment that filled the room.

Harry pushed his salad to one side, took a slow breath, and met Louis’ gaze. “You up for some reading later?”

Louis’ eyes flicked up to meet his, hesitating before skittering away. “Thought we were hitting the gym.”

“We could skip it. Just for today.”

Louis looked at him again, his eyes searching. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can read. I’ll even read if you want.”

Louis’ eyes held Harry’s for a moment longer, this time as if sifting through layers of meaning. A subtle smile tugged at the corner of Louis’ mouth as if the idea had momentarily lifted the fog he’d been sitting in. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”

The ghosts of the morning’s disputes stayed hidden, neither willing to unearth them. They resumed eating, not in silence, but in a tacit truce, each absorbed in his muted recalibration. Their forks moved almost in synchrony, a dance neither acknowledged. Tension still lurked, but a softer, more fragile kind of understanding seemed to breathe between them.

After lunch, Harry sat on the sofa, reading out loud. Louis curled beside him, so close their thighs were touching, his eyes trained on the pages. But Harry could feel it: Louis’ gaze would shift occasionally, fixing on him with an intensity that Harry couldn’t decode.

For a second, Harry paused, stumbling over a word as he felt that gaze. He cleared his throat and moved on, but the weight of that unspoken scrutiny remained, wedged somewhere between comfort and unresolved tension.

Chapter Text

Lottie picked up her phone on the third ring, “Hey Lou. How are you?” She seemed calm, but Louis could hear the hint of caution in her voice.

“We told them,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, Zayn told me.”

“What? Zayn told you? When did you speak to Zayn?” Zayn had barely spoken to Louis over the last few days, despite Louis’ constant pestering. Why the fuck was he talking to Lottie?

“He called me on Thursday.”

“Right…” Louis didn't think his head could handle any more thoughts—it had been so loud recently, he didn't know it was even possible—but apparently, he was wrong.

Before he could press her on it, though, she cut through. “How are you holding up?”

“I–uh…” He didn’t even know what he could say. It felt like he was on a rollercoaster or something, and every time he almost found his bearings, something else would happen that would throw him off balance. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Of course it does. This meant a lot to you, and you put much on the line for it.” He was on the verge of losing it when he heard the sincerity in her voice, but he managed to regain control.

Finally, he found an answer. “Pretty shit, I guess. Just…” he took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, the right question, “Do you think this whole thing was a mistake? I should have just stayed out of it, shouldn’t I?”

"No,” her reply came quickly, with a certainty he hadn’t expected. “I think you did the right thing, and I think you had the right intentions.”

“But … I fucked up everything. Band practice on Friday was hell. Zayn and Liam didn’t speak at all unless they were muttering shit under their breath. Niall looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown because of it. Harry ended up having to take charge of practice. Harry!”

Lottie laughed a little at that, and the surprise caused Louis to laugh, too. It was jagged and rough, but it was still a laugh. “Seriously though, it’s bad, and if I’d just kept my mouth shut, it would be fine.”

“You know that’s not true. It was never fine.” She paused as if to let the weight of her words sink in before adding, “And you always knew this was a possibility.”

“Not really, though. I mean, I knew there was a possibility they’d say no, and I knew Harry might get pissed at me, but I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect Liam and Zayn to get so worked up about it.”

Lottie hummed. “It’s not surprising, though, is it?”

“Yes! I don’t understand why the fuck Liam would get like that. He took it so personally. Like we were insulting him. He is the one who gets the brunt of it- Well, him and Harry, why would he want to keep doing that?”

“What did he say exactly? Zayn only told me bits and pieces.”

He refrained from questioning why his sister and Zayn were having their own little chats. “He said that he has been working hard to keep management happy and, like, we just wanted to throw it all away. But that’s why we did it! He shouldn’t have to be working so hard to keep management happy! I don’t get why he can’t see that. I don’t get why they wouldn’t just want to get new management that will treat them better.”

Lottie let out a—somewhat patronising—sigh. “Getting themselves out of the existing contract is a complex. And securing a new management team, potentially along with a new label, won’t be straightforward either.”

“But … But they weren’t going to fight the label, were they? I thought we decided the label was fine.”

“Zayn is still trying to find that contract, and until then, I can't be sure exactly what it says. But, there could be ancillary clauses that intertwine the label and management agreements. Even if it–”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, cutting her off. “What do you mean by anci…lary clauses that intertwine or whatever?”

“There could be a clause in the label contract specifying its contingent upon the band’s continued relationship with the current management. If that’s the case, if the band are no longer under that management, it would affect their contract as well.” Louis tried to speak, but Lottie just continued over him. "Even if there's no clause, the label can still terminate the contract, potentially resulting in the band paying a fine. Given the size and influence of their current label, other management firms may be reluctant to take them on if they’ve incurred legal liabilities or are blacklisted by industry heavyweights. Especially since they haven’t been very active recently, and as far as I know, they don’t have any new music.”

Lous wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something, wanted to pull his hair out, to burn the management and the industry in general to the ground. He wanted to find the band members and shake them for getting themselves into this fucking mess in the first place. “Why the fuck did I even try then?! Why did we bother?”

“Because you care,” Lottie said. “Because you see the injustice and how it affects them.”

Her words didn't do much to make him feel better. “But you make it sound like there is no fucking point.” He knew it wasn’t fair to put that on her; she was only telling the truth. Even so, it felt good to blame someone.

“That’s for them to decide, isn’t it? They need to weigh the risks versus benefits and whether they want to go forward.”

“Yeah, well, I think Liam and Harry have made that really fucking clear.”

There was a long silence. So long that Louis pulled the phone away from his ear to check she hadn’t hung up on him. He wouldn’t blame her if she had. “How did Harry react when you told him? Zayn said you told him first.”

“Okay, can you tell me why the fuck you're talking to Zayn?” Louis wasn't sure if he asked because he really cared about what was going on with Zayn and Lottie or more likely because he'd been freaking out about Harry every 30 minutes since they kissed, and just hearing his name made him feel all woozy.

“I told you, he called me,” she said. She seemed to think it was a good enough answer when it certainly was not. “And now we’re talking about Harry. How did he react?”

Louis huffed out a sigh. “Badly … at the start. Said I was just as bad as everyone else.”

Lottie must have heard the slight catch in his thought because her tone softened as she said, “Aw, Lou.”

“I mean … I don’t know. He said that I was trying to control him like them. I just, like, in some ways, he was kind of right, wasn’t he?” He paused for a few beats before saying, “What? You think he was right?”

“No … But as you said, I can see how he could feel that way.”

“So you think I am just as bad as them?”

“For goodness’ sake,” Lottie exhaled dramatically. “I didn’t say that, and you know I don’t think that. At the same time, I can see why he’d feel that way. Regardless of your intentions or your motivations, I can see how he could feel like he could interpret it as you overstepping. And now, how are you guys now?”

“Um…” Dying. Louis was dying. He honestly had no idea how he had survived the last few days. Whenever he was near Harry, he felt like he would self-combust or something. And he was near Harry a lot. More than he needed to be. Closer than he needed to be. But it was like he couldn’t help it. Not after spending the night with him … Not after kissing him.“Lou? You still there?”

“Uh, yeah. Yep.” It took him a second to remember the question. “Yeah, we’re, uh, good. I guess. Better. I mean, we don’t talk about it,” any of it, “and he still isn’t for it or anything. But I, erm, I don’t think he is mad at me anymore or anything.”

There was silence. A long, long silence that Louis had no intention of breaking. He sat there with a racing heart until Lottie finally spoke. “Oh … kay. Well, that's… good. I think.”

Louis hummed in reply.

“So what’s your next step?”

“My what? Nothing. There’s none. I mean, he’s my boss and, like, he is the Harry Styles. Nothing else can happen…”

After clearing her throat, Lottie said, “I meant about the band, but, I mean, we can talk about tha–”

“No, no.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I was talking about the band, too!” He fumbled. “I mean, like, he is my boss, so I can’t like … force him to leave or whatever. What, uh … what did you think I meant? Actually, no, it doesn’t matter. But yeah, with the band, I mean, is there even a next step?”

“Well…” Just one word shouldn’t have given away her scepticism at his response, but somehow it did. Thankfully, because she was a decent sister, she seemed to drop it, though. “I don’t think Zayn is ready to give up.”

“What? Really?” When Zayn had dodged Louis’ attempts to talk, Louis had assumed it was all over. In fact, he’d kind of thought that once Liam reacted the way he did.

“Mhm. So you should go and talk to him.”

“Maybe next time you’re having one of your chats, you can tell him to stop ignoring me?”

“When you said nothing else can happen with Harry, what did you mean by that?”

“Bye Lottie.”

“Bye, Louis. Tell Harry I said hello.”

“Fuck off. Tell Zayn to reply to me.”

“Zayn agreed to go to art class?” Harry asked, coffee in hand, looking at Louis from behind the breakfast bar.

Louis sat on the sofa and pulled on a sock. Usually, he'd put his socks on in his room, but he heard Harry in the kitchen and, being a total idiot, he didn't want to miss hanging out with him even if it meant having to answer that question.

“Kind of…” Louis felt Harry’s eyes on him while he pulled on the other sock. Once it was on, Harry looked expectant. After taking a steadying breath, Louis began untying his shoes and staring down at them as he said, “He wants to skip art class but said we could go to a cafe or something to talk.”

When Zayn had said it, Louis had hesitated and then hated himself for pausing. He used to hate that they felt like they couldn't go anywhere and wanted them to fuck the rules and do whatever they felt like doing. And he still wanted that. He still wanted them to live their lives as a big ‘Fuck You’ to management. But this didn’t feel like a fuck you to management; it felt like a fuck you to the band. A fuck you to Liam.

But there was no way he was going to turn Zayn down. Not since he was giving him an opportunity to talk. And maybe, even if Zayn didn’t see it as a fuck you to management, Louis did.

He finally looked back at Harry, who was still watching him. His forehead was slightly creased, and he didn’t look happy, but he also didn’t look too pissed off either. Really, it was the best Louis could have hoped for.

“Look, I tried to get him to agree to talk at his apartment or somewhere … less risky, but this was all he’d agree to. I need to talk to him.” Louis quickly added, “You know, to check he is okay and everything.”

To Louis’ surprise, Harry nodded. He didn't really need Harry's approval, but it did make him feel better that Harry wasn't mad about it.

Louis nodded back and got to his feet. “Okay, well, I’ll be back later.”

Rather than replying, Harry walked to the front door and held it open for Louis. It was weird, and the expression that Harry was wearing indicated that he realised it was weird, too. Nice weird, though. Really nice weird.

After walking through it, Louis turned back around, and Harry had his foot propping it open, both hands back around his mug. “Thanks.” Louis knew it came out too breathy, too … needy… too, well, too much. But there was fuck-all he could do about it because that’s exactly what Harry made him feel.

“No problem,” Harry said before reaching one hand back down to the doorknob. “Call me if you need anything.”

Harry saved them the embarrassment of Louis giving some other awkward response by closing the door before he could. Honestly, he’d never been so grateful for Harry to shut a door in his face.

The drive to the cafe was quiet, mainly taken up by Zayn fiddling with the stereo. He’d donned a cap and fairly plain clothes, and while an eagle-eyed fan might spot him, he looked reasonably inconspicuous.

Zayn muttered how he took his coffee to Louis before heading to a table at the back and Louis ordered for them both.

By the time he’d finished ordering, Zayn was set up, his back facing the rest of the cafe, and again, some of Louis’ anxiety about him getting recognised eased.

“So,” Louis started before he’d even sat in the spare seat, “Lottie said you don’t want to give up?” Since she’d told him that, Louis had thought of little else except when thinking about Harry … which took up too much of his brain capacity. But in the moments that he wasn’t thinking about Harry, he was thinking about Zayn.

“Fuck no,” Zayn said, locking eyes with Louis, who was taken aback by the intensity in both his stare and voice. “This whole thing is fucked, and if they think they can just push it aside, they are wrong.” There was a hint of a challenge there as if he was expecting Louis to argue.

Maybe Louis should argue. Lottie had done her best to be realistic with them before they spoke to the band, but Louis had figured if the others were on board, it would be worth it. Now that they’d burnt that hope to the ground, he really didn’t see a way forward. “Do you have a plan?” He asked Zayn.

Zayn huffed out a sigh. “Not completely. Lottie thinks I should give them some time to calm down before bringing it up again.”

“She does, does she?” Because seriously, what the fuck was going on? “What do you think?”

After staring at his nails briefly, Zayn said, “She’s probably right, but I don’t know how I’m meant to do that. Liam is being such a fucking prick about it all, I doubt the bloke will ever calm down.”

Louis couldn’t help but silently agree while a server placed their drinks in front of them. “And if he doesn’t? Calm down, I mean. What will you do then?”

“Leave.”

It was said with such certainty that Louis dropped the spoon he used to stir his tea. “Leave?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” Louis had no idea how he was looking at Zayn but tried to relax his features. “What other choice is there? Two albums, Louis. We are locked in for two more albums, and we’ve got nothing for them. If they all want to waste their lives, they can go right ahead, but I’m not going to.”

“Okay…” Louis knew Zayn was right. He never let himself think about it, but deep down, he knew Zayn wouldn't stick with management, no matter what the others thought. “Can you do that?”

“I’ll probably lose everything.” There was a distinct tone of resignation. “It was going to cost a fuck-ton with all of us, but at least we could all put in for it. And the band, as an entity, has money. But if I do it myself, I'll have to use my own money, and technically, they could come down on me just as hard as they would if we all did it.” Zayn closed his eyes and ran his head across his forehead.

“Do you reckon they’ll fight it?” Louis needed to calm down, but Zayn was talking about walking away from the band, maybe losing everything, and it was fucking hard not to stress about it.

“Dunno. It’ll be easy to replace me and I think all of management can see that, so there is no actual point in making it harder…”

“But?”

“But maybe they’ll want to make an example out of me or something. Or they’ll just do it for fun or spite or whatever sick reason that could come up with.”

Given how revolting their management was, Louis wouldn’t put it past them. But even if they didn’t, Louis still hated the thought of it. “No. You’re all going to get out. We’re going to get you all out of it.”

Zayn gave Louis a sad smile, making it clear he didn’t believe Louis, but all it did was add fuel to the fire igniting within him.

“No, Zayn, we’re going to convince them.” They would. They’d have to find a way. He had no idea how–not a single idea. But miracles happen every day, and it was about fucking time the band got one.

As he stood in Liam’s bathroom and watched him spewing up his guts in the toilet bowl two days later, he had to wonder where the fuck the miracle was.

“What are we going to do?” Niall asked from beside Louis, sounding more exhausted than worried. And if that wasn’t a testament to how screwed up the entire thing was, Louis had no idea what was.

“Do you know how long it’s been going on for?” Louis didn't realise how close he was to Harry until Harry spoke, and his breath dancing on Louis’ neck sent chills down his spine.

Niall sighed. “No idea. He called about twenty minutes ago, but I don’t know when it started. I haven’t seen him since band practice.”

“Neither,” Harry and Louis said together, and that was almost nine hours ago. Louis had no idea if Liam was sick then since he’d been avoiding looking or talking to any of them, except occasionally Harry.

Niall chewed his lip, eyes trained on Liam, who was dry retching. “Do we call the doctor again?”

From behind them, Zayn huffed, causing them all to look at him. “What?” He asked, and as intense as his eyes had been at the cafe, it was nothing compared to the glare he was giving all of them. “What the fuck will calling the doctor do? He’ll come and tell us he is sick and needs to rest, and then tomorrow, he acts like we didn’t spend hours looking after him and that everything is fine. And we’ll let him. Then we’ll be back here in a few weeks to do it all over again.”

“Well, what the fuck do you think we should do?” Harry asked, but there was no bravado with it.

“Call a fucking ambulance. Get him to a hospital so they can work out what the hell is going on. This isn’t normal! Something is wrong!”

Liam moaned, maybe to protest, maybe just because he was in pain; Louis couldn’t be sure.

“What do you think?” It took Louis a second to realise that Harry was asking him.

Without missing a beat, Louis said, “Zayn’s right. You know he is right.”

Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair before looking at Niall. “You?”

“I…” Niall’s eyes flickered across all of them before landing on Liam. “I agree that something is wrong, and someone needs to work out what it is. At the same time, if we call an ambulance, we lose any chance of privacy. Maybe if … maybe we can get him stable somehow and then take him to a private hospital.”

“You know that if we wait until he is better, he won’t go to the hospital,” Zayn said.

Louis’ heart sank because Zayn was right; if they got him well enough to get him down to one of the cars, he’d probably just refuse to go.

“Last time the doctor came, he gave him meds to help with the nausea, didn’t he?” Harry asked Zayn, completely ignoring what he said, which made Zayn's face even harder as he just glared at Harry. The glare must have been enough of an answer for Harry, and he stepped further into the bathroom. As he reached for the cabinet above the sink, Liam let out a loud noise, causing Harry to pause. It seemed like he was going to say something, but instead, he turned back to the toilet bowl and began retching again.

After a few seconds, Harry pulled the cabinet open, causing a few things to fall into the sink. Louis was watching Liam, but in his periphery, he could see that Harry had frozen. Automatically, he walked forward next to Harry, looking down at the box that Harry was turning in his hands.

“Are they the meds for the nausea?” Louis asked. The change in Harry’s posture was causing Louis to grow increasingly concerned. Harry didn’t answer. “Was it zolpidem tartrate?” Louis turned to Zayn, knowing that he probably butchered the name.

“No idea what it was called, but the box wasn’t that big.”

“It’s Ambien,” Harry said and handed the box to Louis.

“Ambien,” Louis looked at the sticker Liam’s name was printed on. “That’s just to help with sleep, right? And it’s prescribed to him. I don–”

“These aren’t, though.” Harry’s voice faltered as he held up a blister pack, the letters spelling “Ritalin” clearly visible.

The tension in the room thickened as Louis glanced at the box, then back at Harry. “Shit,” was all he could manage.

Niall picked up the blister pack of Ritalin, examining it as if the tiny pills could offer answers. He set it down next to the box of Ambien. “Do you recognise the name?”

“No. Zayn?” Harry asked, and Zayn stepped forward to look at it.

“No fucking clue. So we reckon he has been taking them?” Even though it was posed as a question, they all knew the answer.

“It was filled two weeks ago. Can you see how many tablets are missing?” Louis asked.

After pulling out the sleeves of tablets, Niall grabbed the one that had tablets missing. “Seven. So he mustn’t be taking them every day.”

Technically, he could have just got the script filled early, but Louis kept that to himself. “And the Ambien?” Louis asked.

“It was filled three weeks ago, and twenty-three tablets are missing, so it seems like at least one a day.” After an uncomfortable silence, Niall said, “So he takes stimulants that aren’t prescribed to him? And then the Ambein… to get to sleep?”

Louis stared at the medications. “That would be my guess,” Louis said. “Explains how he can get it all done, I guess.”

Zayn clenched his fists, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Yeah, well, I’d say that’s why he keeps getting like this. He is fucking killing himself.”

Liam let out another groan curled over the toilet.

Harry looked at Louis, his eyes filled with a despair that broke Louis’ heart. “What do we do?”

“What do you mean ‘what do we do’?” Zayn asked indignantly. “We call a fucking ambulance, that's what we do!”

“But–”

“No, Niall. This is fucked up. We need to call an ambulance.” Zayn turned and looked at Louis expectantly. “Right?”

“Well…” Louis did his best to ignore the hurt in Zayn’s eyes. “He has been worse than this before and gotten through it. If we call an ambulance, it will likely be leaked.”

“You didn’t care about that a minute ago!” Zayn said.

“Yeah, but that was before we knew what was going on. I’m not saying we won’t or can’t, but we should at least work out what we’re dealing with and come up with a plan.” Zayn was glaring at Louis, and Louis hated it. “Zayn, regardless, we will get him help, okay? Right now, let's work out how to get through tonight.”

“He’ll just refuse tomorrow. We get him better, and he’ll refuse.”

“He won’t,” Harry cut in. “We didn’t force him to before because we thought he was just ill. Now that we know…” his voice trailed off and his eyes darkened, and all Louis wanted to do was pull him into his arms. “Now that we know, we will make him.”

Zayn glared at all of them; the room filled with silence as they waited for him to say something. Just as Louis got ready to assure him again that they would call an ambulance if needed, Zayn said, “Fine. We need to work out what happens when you mix them together.”

Harry nodded, visibly relieved, and fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll look it up and see if there is anything online.”

As Harry started typing into his phone, Niall said, “Should I ring the poison’s helpline? They can advise on this sort of thing, right?”

Louis thought for a second. “Yeah, they would. Just make sure you don’t tell them who you are. Make sure your number is private or something so they can’t work out who it is.”

“Got it.”

Niall walked out into the hallway, and Louis turned to Zayn. “You remember what the box looked like? We should at least try to get on top of the vomiting.”

While rolling his eyes, Zayn let out a sigh before stepping forward closer to the cupboard. He pulled out a box and handed it to Louis. “You should check he can have it with all the other drugs. I’m going to call that doctor for advice.” Zayn sent him a glance as if he dared Louis to challenge him.

“Good idea,” Louis said instead. “I’ll check if he can have them.”

“Fine. If it says he can, he just puts them under his tongue and it’ll dissolve.” Zayn stared at Liam for a second before walking out of the room.

Once Zayn had left, Harry said, “This site says that they shouldn’t interact with each other, in theory. But because one is a stimulant and the other is a depressant, it could put stress on his body if he has taken them around the same time. Or, it’s possible maybe he took too much.”

Niall’s voice came from the doorway. “The poison’s line wasn’t too helpful. They said he needs medical attention and either the hospital or a doctor.”

"Of course they did," Harry said, his frustration evident in his voice.

Automatically, Louis reached out and brushed Harry’s shoulder, hoping to provide some kind of comfort. “Zayn is calling the doctor that came last time now,” he told Niall.

As if on cue, Zayn came back into the room. “Spoke to the doctor. He said it sounded like he had probably vomited up everything by now. He said we can try to manage him at home, but did recommend the hospital.”

“What did he say about managing him at home?” Harry asked, and Louis barely held in his groan. He got it; he did. He understood why Harry didn’t want to take him to the hospital. At the same time, it sounded like the better option.

After huffing, Zayn said, “Get fluid into him–but slowly–and keep monitoring him. If he gets worse, we need to call 999.”

“Okay, well, we’ll do that,” Harry said.

Zayn glared at him. He opened and closed his mouth twice until finally saying, “He also recommended a private nurse who could come and keep an eye on his vitals and everything. Said she works with him and can give Liam any meds he needs.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Niall asked from beside him.

“Forgot.”

It seemed more likely that he hoped they’d send him to the hospital, but Louis kept that to himself.

“So, you want me to organise that?” Zayn looked just as resigned as he sounded.

“Yes, please,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Louis called as Zayn started to leave the bathroom. “Do you reckon you can ask about the nausea meds? We didn’t get a chance to look it up.”

“He said to give them,” Zayn muttered before leaving.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Niall looked between Harry and Louis as he asked.

“Dunno,” Louis answered truthfully. “Honestly, I have no idea. We’ll see what the nurse says, I guess. Take her advice.”

Harry and Louis finally returned to their apartment after two, only because Zayn had sent them home. He’d insisted that between him and the nurse, everything would be fine, and there was no need for them to all be there.

Louis had known Harry was seconds away from insisting he be the one to stay, but Louis had pushed him out instead. From the time the nurse arrived, Harry had barely said two words, no matter how hard Louis tried to get him to say something. There was no way Louis could leave him there alone with whatever fucked up thoughts were swirling around his head.

The door had barely shut behind them before Harry said, “I should have stayed.”

“No, Zayn was right. There was no reason for all of us to be there.” Louis walked into the kitchen and pulled down two glasses.

“I should have stayed instead of Zayn.” Harry glanced up as Louis placed water in front of him. “Zayn hates Liam.”

“Zayn doesn’t hate Liam.” It was difficult to hold back his eye roll, but Louis managed to. “You know Zayn doesn’t hate Liam. Do you want something to eat? We kind of missed dinner.”

Harry shook his head, staring down at his glass. “I should go back.”

“You’re not going back. They’ve got it covered,” Louis gently nudged him to the sofa, “and if they need us, they’ll call.”

Finally, Harry sat down on the sofa, and Louis sat next to him. He hated that during a time like this, he was still trying to work out how close he could sit next to Harry, exactly how much comfort he could provide him. They sipped their drinks in silence, and Louis had to assume that Harry was doing it just to do something like Louis was.

“Do you think he is going to be okay?” As Harry asked it, his voice cracked a little, and Louis shuffled a little closer to him so that their knees were touching.

“I think as long as you keep your promise and force him to get help, yeah.”

“What do you think they’ll make him do?”

“Who?” Louis asked.

“I don’t know. Whoever he sees.” Harry took another sip of water. “Do you think he’ll be sent away?”

“Honestly, Harry, I have no idea.”

“Where are we even going to send him? We’re going to need to tell management. Fuck.”

“Harry,” Louis said softly, “They’re problems we can deal with in the morning, not the middle of the night. Right now, he is safe and resting, and we should probably get some rest, too.” Even as he said it, Louis doubted he’d be able to get much rest and figured Harry would probably feel the same.

“Zayn won’t be able to rest, though. He’ll be up all night.”

“Zayn can take care of himself.”

“Zayn hates me.”

“What? No he doesn’t. Why do you think Zayn hates everyone?”

Harry pushed his hair off his face. “I was a dick to him tonight.”

The temptation to say that Harry was a dick to everyone most of the time was pretty high, but Louis held back. “Then you can apologise in the morning. He’ll understand.”

“He’ll blame me.”

Something about the words, or Harry’s voice, sent off alarm bells within Louis, and he immediately turned his body so that he could get a better view of Harry. Despite Harry staring at the ground, Louis could see the concern etched on his face. “Blame you for what? He isn’t going to blame you for anything.”

Harry sucked in his bottom lip, his lips turning downward. Louis wanted to say more, wanted to reassure Harry, but also wanted to give Harry space to speak, so he waited.

“This is all my fault,” Harry said finally, resolute.

The words didn’t surprise Louis as much as they probably should have. He’d almost been expecting them. “This isn’t your fault.”

“He’d been getting sick and I didn’t do anything about it.”

“None of us did.”

“I knew management was pushing him too hard and I didn’t help.”

“He wouldn’t let us.”

“I didn’t even notice. I see him every day; I should have seen something was wrong.”

“Harry, no one noticed.”

“If I weren’t such a mess and fucking up all the time, they wouldn’t have put so much pressure on him.”

“I…” Louis paused, the weight of Harry’s words pressing on him. “You’re not a mess.”

Harry was silent, and it was the kind of silence that Louis knew he wouldn’t break on his own.

“Even if you were,” Louis started, “and you’re not, but even if you were, that’s not why they did this. I don’t really know why they did this, but I know they are dickheads, and they would have done this or something like this anyway. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s theirs.”

“I think…” Harry started. “I think we should call Lottie in the morning. You know, before we decide where to take him or whatever.”

Louis nodded cautiously. “You mean, just for, like, general advice… Or?”

Harry let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “About everything. You were right. Zayn was right; Liam is killing himself for no reason.”

“Okay,” was all Louis said, worried that if he said too much more, Harry might change his mind and ruin the euphoria pounding through his veins. “We’ll do it as soon as we wake up. Speaking of which, we should probably get to bed.”

Louis picked up his and Harry’s empty glasses from the coffee table and took them to the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

When he looked up, Harry stood but still hadn’t moved away from the sofa. Disappointedly, he looked almost as troubled as when they walked into the flat. “Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“If I can’t, I know where to get some Ambien.”

Louis’ own surprised laugh caused the ghost of a hint of a smile to flash on Harry’s face before it fled again.

Louis wasn’t sure what caused him to do it, his exhaustion, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all if he knew Harry was lying awake upstairs all night, needing Harry to stop looking like he was seconds away from tears, or just that he needed comfort just as much as Harry. Maybe it was all of that, plus the vague confidence that Harry wouldn’t object. But he walked towards Harry and reached out, taking one of Harry’s hands in his own.

Wordlessly, he turned to talk towards his room and gave Harry’s hand a light tug. It was all that was needed, apparently because he followed Louis without any resistance.

When they reached Louis’ room, he walked in and switched on the lamp, worried that the main light would somehow make it all too real, all too much.

In silence, they got ready for bed. Louis opted for joggers and a t-shirt rather than a jumper, figuring Harry’s body heat would keep him warm enough. Harry stripped down to his underwear. It felt a lot more intimate than it should have, given that Louis saw him basically naked every morning.

Harry reached the bed first and slid under the covers before Louis walked over and did the same, his weight causing the mattress to dip under him. For a moment, the only sound was Louis shuffling and getting settled onto his back.

“You okay?” Louis’ voice wasn’t much more than a whisper as he turned his head to look at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said just as quietly, although he was staring up at the ceiling, looking anything but okay.

After a moment of hesitation, during which Louis could almost hear Harry’s thoughts in his head, Louis rolled onto his side, facing Harry, the dim light from the lamp casting shadows over his face, highlighting all of his perfect features. Louis reached out, purely on instinct, his hand brushing Harry’s arm, which was surprisingly warm considering he was almost naked.

Without a word, Louis shifted closer. Harry turned his head towards him, their eyes locking for a moment, and Louis was met with a distinct vulnerability in Harry’s.

Not wanting to overthink about it, and given that Harry hadn’t been resistant to anything else he had suggested, Louis said, “Roll over.”

Without any protest, Harry did and shifted closer towards Louis at the same time until their bodies were already almost touching. Louis reached back towards his bedside table and fumbled until he turned the lamp off. The darkness gave him the final boost of confidence to slip an arm under Harry’s neck and circle the other around his waist.

Harry didn’t give him time to worry if it was okay because he immediately nestled into the curve of Louis’ body, and Louis pulled him in tighter, doing his best not to focus on how much of Harry’s bare skin was touching him.

It might have been Louis’ imagination, but it felt like an unasked question was hanging heavily in them.

And even though Louis cringed every time he remembered the particular conversation, or, more realistically, speech, he’d given Harry, it was the first place his mind went. “This doesn’t scare me, okay? This…shit with Liam, shit with the band and everything. None of it scares me. I meant it when I said I’m not afraid of standing in the storm with you.”

Louis hadn’t realised just how tense Harry had been until he relaxed into his arms, and within minutes, his breathing settled into a slow rhythm. Whether or not Louis pressed a kiss into his hair doesn’t really matter.

Chapter Text

Louis’ eyes flickered open at the sound of his alarm. He rolled onto his side and fumbled with his phone, silencing it quickly, before moving back to the other side, gaze landing on Harry. The alarm hadn’t seemed to stir him, which wasn’t too surprising since he needed a personal wake-up call each morning.

They weren’t touching–not precisely–but their feet and legs were so close to brushing that Louis could feel the transfer of heat. He watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, his breath mirroring it, coming out in a soft, almost peaceful rhythm. It was a distinct contrast to the energy he radiated last night, and Louis couldn’t help but feel more assured he made the right decision by bringing Harry to bed with him.

Not that he’d really had much doubt. Harry’s absolute lack of protest, lack of confusion or words as he’d directed him into his room had given him enough confidence to feel as though it was the right thing to do—an okay thing, at the very least.

Even though he knew he was being creepy as fuck, Louis didn’t take his eyes off Harry. He’d watched him sleep way too many times on mornings before he’d wake him up and felt like a creep every single time. When he was a teenager, his sisters made him watch Twilight, and he couldn’t help but feel like the stalker vampire every time.

This time was different, though. Not any less weird of him, but still different. Harry was right there. Right next to him. In bed. In Louis’ bed. Practically naked. There was something a whole lot more intimate about it, especially since Harry had fallen asleep in Louis’ arms and drifted off so easily.

Not that Louis was crediting himself for Harry being asleep - and from what Louis could tell, sleeping well, given that Louis hadn’t woken up to any tossing or turning. The sheets were lying over him neatly, unlike some of the times he’d woken Harry up, and the entire bed was in complete disarray … but he still felt that he deserved a little credit, maybe.

Just as Louis was considering–well, he wasn’t sure what he was considering, but knew it was inappropriate; he felt a familiar, undeniable warmth spreading through his body. The options seemed to range from shuffling just a little so that his track pants-clad legs did actually brush against Harry's, to pushing Harry onto his back and straddling him. The awareness of it all was almost too overwhelming in the dim, soft light.

Just as he was considering all of it, Harry stirred, probably sensing that Louis was close to justifying any of it.

Harry’s movements were soft and slow, eyes remaining shut but tightening and then relaxing again, a slight shake of his head, repositioning it so that his hair fell over his eyes. The hair that Louis had kissed last night.

Louis knew he should put space between them, not only because of how weird it would seem that Louis was even watching him sleep but also because there was no guarantee that all the inappropriate things rolling around his head wouldn’t be visible on his face. But he didn’t put space between them. He didn’t look away, his body not listening to a single rational thought.

After a soft pout and a crease forming between his brows, Harry’s eyes blinked open, immediately meeting Louis’s gaze. They were tethering on the side of awkwardness, and every sane part of Louis was screaming at him to get up, to look away, to do anything.

Instead, they both lay there, gaze not faltering. Somehow, though, he could tell that Harry’s plan was to pretend that nothing happened. Or, at least, that there was nothing meaningful about what happened. It wasn’t surprising, really. It seemed to be Harry’s go-to–their go-to.

“You sleep okay?” Harry asked, voice rough with sleep.

It took a second for Louis to process that Harry had spoken and that he’d been the one to break the silence. But really, it was probably to break the awkwardness, to pull Louis out of his utterly inappropriate staring.

“Yeah.” Louis’ voice sounded rough as well, and all he could do was hope that Harry would just assume it had to do with sleep, too. “Not bad. You?”

“Better than normal.”

It took every part of Louis not to read into that.

They both stayed there, Harry not making a move to get up, and Louis wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. He knew that moving would shatter whatever it was that they were doing.

After a moment, though, Harry did it. “We need to deal with Liam.”

The fact that Liam hadn’t really crossed Louis’ mind since he’d woken up was another testament to how bad Louis’ preoccupation with Harry had gotten. The situation had been lingering in his mind, of course. The need to deal with it had been there. But at no point had he considered it was more important than watching Harry sleep.

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “I think we should call Lottie first. Just so we don’t … do anything that could mess up…everything.”

Harry pursed his lips, and the reality that he might have changed his mind about going forward with taking on management crossed Louis’ mind. It wouldn’t be that surprising if he had. Maybe sleeping, the distance from it all, made Harry reconsider it all. Perhaps he’d just said it in the heat of the moment.

“Yeah, we should.” He pushed himself up to a seated position, the comforter pooling in his lap, revealing his completely naked chest. Usually, Louis would be all but out of Harry’s room by this stage when he woke him up. Having him centimetres away, shirtless, was something he didn’t know if he could handle.

However, getting up and running would likely give away a lot more than staying put. He reached back over to the bedside table and picked up his phone before sitting up, thankful for his clothes because he wouldn’t be able to deal with feeling that exposed as well. He was incredibly grateful for his loose track pants because he wasn’t sure how much the doona would be able to cover.

After pressing the call button on his phone, he placed it on speaker and held it between him and Harry. Even though they only had to wait a couple of rings before Lottie picked up, the tension in the room, or at least in him, was palpable.

Without even greeting him, Lottie said, “Lou, yo–”

“Lottie, hi,” Louis said, urgency taking over. “Harry’s here. You’re on speaker. But last night something happened wi–”

“Lou–”

Louis kept talking, though, needing to get it out. “Something happened with Liam. You know how–”

“Louis, stop!” Her tone was enough for the words to die in his throat.

“What?” Louis’ brows furrowed as his eyes met Harry’s, who looked almost as confused as Louis’ felt. Because what the fuck?

“Louis, you need to stop talk–”

“But I need to tell you stuff because shit has cha–”

“For goodness’ sake. Just shut up for a minute and let me talk.” There was a brief pause as if she was expecting him to interrupt, and he would have if he weren’t so confused. “Zayn told me what happened, and you can’t tell me.”

“What the fuck, Lottie?”

“It would go against your NDA, you can’t tell me.”

“But … I’ve told you other stuff.” He hoped that his voice hadn’t dropped enough to give away the guilt he felt about telling Lottie anything about Harry.

“None of it when against your NDA.”

That wasn’t entirely true. He had told her stuff about Harry. He’d paid her, sure, but he’d told her. “Can’t I just pay you? I can transfer money now.” His fingers reached to open his bank app, but she cut him off.

“No, it’s best if you don’t. Not anymore. You need to keep this as clean as possible.” It was clear it was calculated. She’d given this thought.

Louis’ finger froze about the screen, his frustration mounting. “So, what? You’re just not going to help anymore? I know it’s messy, but…” Harry had just agreed, and now the only current hope they had was bailing on them—his own sister.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help, just that I can’t talk to you.”

“How the fuck are you going to help if we can’t talk about it?”

“You can’t talk about it, but the band members can.”

It took a lot not to glare at Harry, so he glared at his phone instead. “Why are they allowed to talk about it if I can’t?”

“Because they’re in the band … and you’re not?” she said it like he was an idiot.

“But they’d have to have NDAs too, wouldn’t they?” He wasn’t sure why he even said it, given it seemed to be the only option going forward.

“They do, but they’re the primary parties in the contract. They’re allowed to talk about their lives and experiences, and that’s not considered sharing someone else’s confidential information. They have more leeway in that regard. Theirs is more about preventing them from discussing things regarding their music.”

Louis huffed. Then he caught Harry looking at him, and surprisingly, he didn’t look as concerned as Louis felt. If anything, he seemed slightly amused at Louis’ frustration. “Fine,” Louis said to Lottie, hating how Harry’s relative calmness increased his own. “So what now? I’m just not involved anymore?”

He’d already felt like he was being pushed out. When they brought it up with the band, he’d let Zayn do most of the talking, acutely aware he wasn’t actually part of the band and didn’t really have the right to try to mess with the other’s careers. Liam, and even Harry, had just emphasised that more. But now that Harry was on board and he was starting to feel hope reignite within him, the idea of being shut out hurt even more.

“That part is up to the band. They’re your employers, so you can be as involved as they want you to be. But, at this point, you can’t discuss any of it with anyone. Especially when it comes to band members who definitely wouldn’t want you talking about them.” When Louis didn’t speak, really not having anything to say, Lottie continued, “We need to navigate this carefully, even more carefully now. We want to avoid causing more problems, either for you or the band.”

“Fine, whatever.” Louis knew he sounded like a child, but it just felt so unfair. “I guess it doesn’t matter then. You can just keep talking to Zayn.”

A beat passed before she said, “You said Harry was there. Would he want to talk to me?”

Louis exchanged a look with Harry, and he almost looked … nervous. Then he nodded.

After clearing his throat, Harry said, “Hi, Lottie.”

“Hi, Harry.” Her tone had softened as soon as she spoke, and there was an obvious smile in her voice. Louis was torn between resenting it and appreciating it. “Before you tell me anything, I need to say that I’m not your lawyer. We’re just talking as friends. I’m not here to give you legal advice, and should you need any, you should hire a lawyer.”

“Okay.” Harry sounded slightly hesitant, and Louis was itching to reach out and soothe him.

“So, how can I help?”

Harry seemed to struggle for a moment, his eyes flicking to Louis, a look of helplessness in them. It tugged at Louis’ heart in a way that it probably shouldn’t. Despite Lottie’s orders for Louis to shut up, he was about to interject before she started speaking again.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. Don’t let my brother force you into things.” There was a hint of teasing in her tone, but her words were genuine. “I gave Zayn some info on how to handle today regarding Liam. I’m happy to go over the info with you as well, but if you go and see him, he’ll be able to tell you it.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Right, okay. Good.” He glanced at Louis as if seeking some sort of reassurance. “The other thing is that I want to get out of the contract.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, a pause that seemed to stretch on forever. “Oh…,” Lottie finally responded, her tone reflecting her surprise. “I assume Zayn doesn’t know this?”

“No. Neither do the others. Just Lou.” Harry’s voice was steady, but Louis could hear the undercurrent of uncertainty. “And I’m not really sure what happens next.”

“I was planning on seeing Zayn after work, so what if I just come over, and we can talk then?” Lottie said.

“You were planning on seeing Zayn today? Why?” Louis couldn’t help but ask.

“You guys should decide if you want to talk to Niall about it first, but I really would advise against talking to Liam about it.”

Harry pursed his lips and if Louis didn’t know any better, he might have suspected that he was holding back a grin. Or the start of a grin. A twitch of a grin.

After glaring at the phone again, Louis asked, “Anything else?”

“Don’t do anything, either of you. Go straight over and talk to Zayn and work out the plan for Liam. That’s it. Don’t message anyone, don’t even call anyone. And absolutely do not talk about it to anyone else except medical professionals. Seriously, don’t, just don’t do anything until we speak.”

“...So I shouldn’t call TMZ then?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose, looking possibly a tiny bit amused.

“Louis, promise me.” Lottie did not sound amused.

With a roll of his eyes, Louis said, “Obviously, I’m not going to do that. I don’t even know how to contact TMZ.”

“I hope you know that you’re not half as funny as you think you are. Go and see Zayn. I’ll see you tonight after work.”

“Bye, Lotts, love you.”

“Love you too. Bye Harry.

“Uh, bye … Have a good day at work.”

Louis had to work extra hard to keep his face blank at both Harry’s words and the uncertainty that Lottie always seemed to elicit from him. Louis didn’t understand at all. Lottie was the least intimidating person he knew.

“Thanks.”

The call ended, and Louis locked his phone, taking a deep breath. The conversation and implications of it hung in the air around them as they sat silently. Louis had spent months getting to this point, and now that it was here, he wasn’t sure he felt ready.

“We should probably get ready.” As Harry said the words, he pushed the blanket off him and then stood up.

Louis tried, he really, honestly tried not to look at Harry, but he just … had to, his eyes travelling over Harry’s shoulders, chest, and abdomen. The only thing that stopped his eyes from dipping further down was that Harry shifted. When Louis looked up at Harry and met his eyes, Harry was looking at him with an unreadable expression. It wasn’t necessarily discomfort, and definitely not anger, both things that Louis expected to see. But it was something.

Before Louis could ask him about it, although he wasn’t sure he ever would, Harry looked away.

“I’m going to have a shower,” Harry said as he made for Louis’ door.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll, uh…”

But Harry was out of the room before Louis had even worked out how to end the sentence.

Louis knocked on Liam’s door and stood back next to Harry. Before he had a chance to work out if they were too close or too far apart, the door swung open.

Zayn stood in front of them, still in the clothes from last night, and Louis felt a bit shit for not offering to go and get him some others before they left.

“Hey,” Zayn said, voice sounding somewhere between disheartened and exhausted.

Saying nothing else, he stepped aside, letting Louis and Harry walk into Liam’s flat. They walked to the living room and judging by the pillow and blanket on one of the sofas, Louis had to assume Zayn had slept there that night.

Only once the three of them were all seated, Zayn spoke again. “He is still asleep. The nurses swapped over and the new one is up there with him.”

After both Louis and Harry nodded, Louis said, “Lottie told us to talk to you about the plan.”

“She gave some suggestions, yeah.”

Louis glanced at Harry before turning back to Zayn. “Are you going to tell us what they are?”

A beat passed and then another, Zayn’s eyes roaming between Harry and Louis, causing Louis to shuffle in his seat.

“We all want the same thing for him,” Harry said, the words and the fact he actually spoke, capturing Louis’ attention.

It seemed to be enough for Zayn, as he let out a sigh and said, “I called a clinic, and they’re sending some people to assess him.”

“Right. So you decided the plan without asking us.” Harry asked, jaw set but sounding less pissed off than Louis expected.

Zayn rolled his eyes, again with less energy than Louis thought he would. “We needed something in place for today, so I made it happen.”

“So, what you’re planning is just to ship him off?” Frustration rose in Harry’s voice, and remembering that just last night, Harry seemed to regret how he had treated Zayn, Louis nudged him.

Softly.

With the side of his body.

Okay, so he kind of just leaned into him. Harry may have softly tilted back into him.

And despite everything—the conflict, the seriousness of the situation, the tension growing between Harry and Zayn, and Zayn’s evident exhaustion—Zayn seemed to catch it. His eyes dropped to where their shoulders met and lingered there with furrowed brows before looking back at Louis. There was a brief flicker of something in his expression, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“No one said anything about shipping him away. They’re just sending some people so they can be here when we talk to him and assess him and whatever.”

“And then what?” Harry asked.

“Then … we decide what to do next, I guess.” Zayn puffed out a breath.

Harry seemed to deflate next to Louis, his exhaustion mirroring Zayn’s.

“Okay, well, what are the options?” Louis asked, figuring Harry wasn’t going to and wishing Lottie had just told them on the phone rather than expecting Zayn and Harry to navigate it in this state.

Zayn squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them again. “They’ll assess him and then give their recommendations.”

“Right, and … what could they be?” Louis prompted.

“I think basically it will be whether they think he can be managed as an outpatient or if he should be in a clinic.” After glancing at Harry, Zayn added, “But they won’t kidnap him or anything. Just give their recommendation.”

“So then we decide?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, with Liam.”

“He isn’t going to want to go to rehab.” The truth in Harry’s words was undeniable. Louis doubted he’d want any help at all, let alone being sent away.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that,” Louis said, forcing a lightness into his voice.

“Security is going to get suspicious,” Harry said finally.

“Yeah, maybe.” Louis wasn’t sure whether Zayn’s honesty would be appreciated. “The people the clinic is sending know to dress casually.”

“You going to tell security who they are?” Harry asked. “How would you explain it?”

Louis had been doing his best to be sensitive, to not step over any boundaries, but he was getting really fucking close to the end of his rope. “It’s not really any of their business, is it?” Surprisingly, his voice didn’t give away just how frustrated he was. When neither of them spoke, Louis added, “You guys own the building, don’t you? So they work for you, right? Why the fuck does it matter what they think? Surely you’ve gotten them to sign NDAs. It’s not like they can go to the press.”

“I’m not worried about the press,” Harry said, his body stiffening slightly next to Louis.

“Management? You’re worried about them telling management? Did management hire them?” Louis looked between Harry and Zayn, who were both pointedly avoiding his eyes. “Why the hell did management hire them? It’s your building.”

It took a couple more moments until Zayn answered, a mix of annoyance and regret in his voice. “They said it would be easier if they took care of it … Then, once Niall set off the smoke detectors, management brought it up the next day, stating that security had told them. Made us realise that they can tell them whatever they want.”

Louis silently added get building new security to his internal list of things they needed to deal with.

Sensing that Harry was about to launch back into, well, anything that wasn’t productive, Louis said, “There is something that Harry wanted to tell you.”

There was a pause and Louis wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut. But it seemed like a better option than talking in circles about what they were going to do about Liam when they hadn’t even spoken to him or professionals yet.

“I want out,” Harry said, finally. “Of the contract, I mean. I’m … with you.”

Zayn stared at Harry before turning to Louis. “Is he serious?”

Despite everything, Louis managed to cough out a laugh. “Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Why are you asking Louis?” Harry crossed his arms, probably trying to look intimidating. He didn’t.

Instead of answering Harry’s question, Zayn turned to him and said, “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“We should tell Lottie.”

“Really?” Louis raised an eyebrow. “That’s your first thought? Tell my sister?”

Zayn had the decency to look a little sheepish, but, somehow, it wasn’t as encouraging as Louis had hoped.

“We already told her,” Harry said. “She’s coming here after work.”

“Oh,” was all Zayn had to offer, apparently.

“What we should do is tell Niall.” Louis reached for his phone, quickly composing a message to Niall. He hit send before turning to Harry. “What will you do if Niall isn’t on board?”

“It won’t change my mind. I think he will be, though.”

Niall stormed in, causing a jolt to run through Louis in surprise. His easy–although Louis doubted it was easy at all–smile was gone, a frown replacing it. His eyes darted across the room, and he dropped into a seat, leaning forward. “How’s Liam?”

“Sleeping,” Zayn said it almost hesitantly, studying Niall with a confused expression.

Words burst from Niall before anyone else could speak. “I’m getting out of the contract.” Louis had never seen the fierce determination in his eyes before.

From next to Louis, Harry opened his mouth, but Niall cut him off. “No. I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t do it anymore. I was willing to stick it out since it seemed to be what you two wanted, but after this, I’m done. It’s not worth it anymore. And if Zayn’s changed his mind and wants to stay now, then fine–”

Louis glanced across the room at Zayn, who was watching Niall, looking both amused and impressed.

“--But I’m out. I’m not going to stand by and let all of you fall apart anymore.” Niall’s Irish accent seemed to be much more obvious when he was worked up. “We started this whole thing because we liked the music. We had fun. We liked each other. I’ve spent almost a decade watching all that fade away. All of us morph into these people I don’t even recognise. And I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.”

Silence loomed over them, and so did the weight of Niall’s words. Louis knew they needed to speak, to tell him it was fine, and they were going to get out, but he couldn’t talk. Niall was panting slightly, his face pink like he’d run a marathon. And Louis decided he had, in a way,–a ten-year-long marathon and was finally calling it quits.

“Me too,” Harry said softly.

“What?” Niall asked.

It was clear Harry was holding back his sigh, but Louis didn’t think he could really blame either of them for being surprised by it.

“I agree. We need to get out,” Harry said.

Niall glanced around the room as if he was trying to work out whether or not it was real life. “You agree?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Yes, I agree.”

“Where is the frypan?” Louis asked as he dug around in the bottom kitchen counters.

Harry, who was sitting on a stool at the kitchen bench, said, “Do we even have a frypan?”

Louis pressed his lips together, holding back a smile, even though his back was to Harry so he wouldn’t see it if he did. It meant nothing, really. We made sense. They lived together. They shared a kitchen. Louis had a part in buying half of the things in there. So the we meant nothing. But still…

“I’m sure I saw one once.” Louis rested on his knees as he pulled random appliances out of one of the cupboards.

“We can just eat a normal breakfast,” Harry said. “We’ve got to be back at Liam’s in thirty minutes.”

That was exactly why Louis insisted on making breakfast and forced Harry to sit there and watch him. He wasn’t going to let Harry get too in his head. Not about Liam, not about the band. Not about anything.

If that meant that Louis had to pretend to know how to cook, then that’s what he’d do.

After a bit more rummaging, Louis finally laid hands on the frypan. It was tucked away, looking brand new, in the back of the cupboard. He turned around and held it up to show Harry. “See, I told you!”

Harry simply raised his eyebrows at him and then said, “You going to put away all that mess?”

“Don’t you think you should as a thank you since I’m cooking you breakfast?” Louis started shoving the boxes back and then stood up, placing the pan on the stove.

“Do you even know how to cook?”

Louis shot Harry a mock glare, “Of course I do.” He grabbed one of the eggs he’d already gotten out of the fridge and cracked it into the pan, trying to recall the last time he’d actually cooked anything more complicated than toast.

The eggs sizzled as they hit the hot surface, and Louis found himself concentrating more than he expected. He glanced at Harry, trying to gauge his reaction. Harry just sipped his coffee, eyes trained on Louis, his signature unreadable expression in place.

Louis turned back to the eggs, forcing himself not to squirm under his stare. “You know, a bit of encouragement wouldn’t go amiss.”

“If they’re edible, I’ll be thoroughly impressed,” Harry said, his tone dry but not unkind.

“That’s not very encouraging.” He poked at the eggs with the spatula. “Obviously they’ll be edible. Edible is my middle name.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Louis paused. Edible? He just told Harry he was edible. Considering everything–everything being that Harry was, well, Harry, and that they spent the night in his bed, inches apart–Louis had done pretty well at keeping his focus away from all the inappropriate thoughts he had about Harry, and even things he wanted to do with him. Obviously, he wasn’t perfect at it, because who could be when Harry was … well, Harry? But he’d been doing alright.

And then he went and said he was edible.

He glanced back at Harry, expecting to see … something. But Harry seemed completely unaffected by it, just taking another sip of his coffee. Louis needed to get a fucking grip, so he turned his focus back to the eggs.

The eggs were a bit rough around the edges but definitely passable. Kind of. As he slid them onto a plate and handed them over to Harry, their fingers brushed and their eyes locked. And that’s all it took to undo the resolve he’d spent the last five minutes building up–his mind going straight back to inappropriate thoughts.

They ate with an ease that had been growing lately. Louis, stealing glances at Harry, caught him actually studying his face. And fuck, Louis really needed to get his shit together. It was just the way Harry pushed back his hair, the tiny furrows on his forehead when he was deep in thought. All of it tugged at something in Louis.

Once they were finished eating, Louis rinsed both their plates and sat them in the dish drainer before looking up at Harry. “Ready to face the day?”

Harry let out a long breath and then nodded. “Don’t really have a choice.” He stood and his gaze lingered on Louis a moment longer than necessary before saying, “Thanks for breakfast.” He walked to the front door, leaving Louis glued on the spot in the kitchen.

Louis and Harry went back to Liam's apartment, already feeling the weight of the day. When they entered, Liam was up and looked relatively well physically, but there was clearly something brewing underneath.

Niall was already there, and the expression turned to one of relief as soon as they walked in. “The nurse just left,” he told them. “Zayn should be back any minute now.”

Louis and Harry sat down on a sofa and Louis cast a glance at Liam. “Hi Liam.”

Liam grunted in response. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor. For the first time, the reality of what was going to happen and how difficult it might be hit Louis.

Thankfully, Zayn walked in, and his arrival pulled Louis back to reality.

“Hey,” Zayn said as he sat down next to Liam.

“Liam, we need to talk about the meds...” Harry, shifting closer, broke the silence with a mix of concern and resolve.

“What meds?” Liam’s gaze was fixed on a distant point, his tone calm.

“The Ambien and Ritalin,” Harry said. “You know we found them last night.”

“They’re prescription meds. It’s fine.” Liam continued staring at the floor, absolutely avoiding all eye contact.

“Yeah, but the Ritalin isn’t prescribed to you.” It was probably a good thing that Liam was staring at the ground because, while Zayn sounded calm, he didn’t look it.

“Plenty of people take it,” Liam said.

“Yeah, because they need it.” Zayn’s expression grew even tighter.

“We know you have a lot on your plate, which might be why you’re taking them,” Harry said, eyes still focused on Liam. “But that doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

Defensiveness crept into Liam’s manner as his foot tapped. “It’s just occasional when I have stuff to do. It’s not a big deal.”

“You always have stuff to do,” Zayn leaned in. “And we’ve seen how many you’re taking.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Liam snapped back.

Louis had been weighing up whether to get involved, but Zayn looked a little too close to yelling, and Louis doubted that would be helpful. “It doesn’t look like it, mate. We’ve noticed you struggling.”

“I’m taking something legal to help me get things done, and now I’m a mess?”

“We don’t think you’re a mess,” Harry said calmly. “We’re just concerned.”

“I’m handling it. You’re making too much of it. It’s not a big deal!”

Meeting Liam’s eyes, Louis said, “It’s a big deal to us. You matter to us, Liam.”

“Fine,” Liam pointedly looked away from Louis, who couldn’t deny the sting. “I’ll just stop taking them. Problem solved.”

Despite, or maybe because of, Liam looking away, Louis spoke again. “Stopping suddenly isn’t the answer, Liam. We need proper help.”

“Let’s just talk to someone,” Harry said, again somehow perfectly walking the tightrope between gentle but insistent. “No pressure, just talk.”

“Talk... Fine. But no promises,” Liam exhaled slowly, and Louis knew that he only gave in because it was Harry who said it. Just like he knew Harry would listen if Liam said the same thing to him. It might take a little longer for him to come around, but he trusted Liam’s advice. It was just another reason why Harry was taking it so hard.

“We’ve actually arranged for someone professional to come over this morning,” Niall said, speaking for the first time. “They can help us understand this better.”

Liam’s eyes flicked up to Niall. Any argument he had must have died in his throat because he said nothing, and somehow Louis knew it was enough.

Chapter Text

Harry was entirely to blame and the weight of that weighed down on him heavily. It was Liam who had protected him from management, after every single misstep. It was Liam who management forced to bare that responsibility. Whether or not it was to create animosity between Liam and Harry, Harry had no idea. Their rationale was meaningless regardless. All that mattered was that Harry's fucked up, selfish actions drove Liam to self-medicate.

With trepidation, he risked a glance in Liam's direction; his gaze was fixed downward, his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. Harry's heart sank like a stone, drowning in a sea of despair. How had he missed the shadows beneath Liam's eyes? How long had they been there while Harry had been so self-obsessed that he'd missed them?

Zayn's phone rang, the tone shattering the silence and the illusion that life existed outside that space the room, of that moment. That life continued. The world hadn't stopped for others, like it had for Harry.

Zayn left the room, murmuring that the psychs had arrived and he’d help them with the paperwork. Harry watched him go, noticing Zayn's defeated demeanour and the tension building between him and Liam.

Louis' leg leaned gently against his own sending a thrill through Harry's body as Louis shifted closer to him on the sofa. Even after spending the night together, even amid Harry’s personal hell, Louis’ touch still had the power to cause such a visceral reaction. Louis' proximity alone was enough to make his heart race.

The door swung open, and Zayn reentered, two strangers following him. The woman introduced herself as Doctor Forster, her tone professional as she explained she was a psychologist. Beside her, a man introduced himself as Doctor Shah, a psychiatrist. As they arrived, the reality situation settled upon Harry.

After the introductions and sharing what they knew so far, Dr Foster, with a voice both gentle and insistent, said, “It’s good to see everyone here for Liam. Your support can make a considerable difference.” Harry couldn’t help but notice Liam’s discomfort, the subtle shift in his posture, the slight tensing of his shoulders. He was torn, caught between the urge to protect Liam and the knowledge that this confrontation was necessary.

“It is crucial that we have a holistic view of the entire situation, including all relationships among individuals,” Dr Shah stated calmly. “The dynamics within a group can significantly impact an individual’s overall wellbeing.” Harry felt a pang of unease at these words, knowing how big his role was in Liam’s mental health.

“We’d like to understand more about your band,” Dr Forster said gently. “Could you tell us about what you each do in the band and how you came together?”

As Niall and Zayn began recounting the band’s formation, Harry’s mind wandered back to the Battle of the Bands, the pivotal moment that changed their lives. A part of him couldn’t help but wonder - what if they had never been scouted? Their lives would have been simpler. They would have had a regular teenage hood.

Harry attempted to stay focused on the present moment while his bandmates spoke. When addressed directly, he spoke, but his input felt empty, as if the words had no meaning when he said them. Liam glanced his way, and a wave of shame washed over him, making it harder to focus.

“It sounds like a complex situation. How do you all manage the pressures that come with being in a band? The schedules, the tours, the public attention?” Dr Shah asked.

Harry listened to Zayn and Niall’s words, each weighing on his conscience. The mention of pressures and the band’s schedule stirred a deep sense of regret within him. A reminder that his past struggles with those things had become the catalyst for their current predicament. The long gap between albums, the informal, unaddressed hiatus that wasn’t planned – these were not just outcomes of external factors but also consequences of his own unravelling. Consequences of him being unable to write anything. To feel anything.

As the doctors continued to ask about managing public attention and their hectic lives, Harry couldn’t help but think of the bitter irony. They weren’t grappling with the usual demands bands had of tours and public appearances, but that seemed to affect Liam more. And again, it was mainly in part to Harry being a fuckup.

“It’s important to have a strong support network, especially in high-pressure situations. How do you support each other during challenging times?” Dr Forster’s question lingered, and a knot tightened in Harry’s stomach. Support each other? The words echoed mockingly in his head. He was supposed to be a source of strength, a cornerstone of their unity. But lately, he had been anything but supportive. If anything, he was the disruptive force, causing fractures everyone else had to navigate around.

As he searched for the words, knowing that he should contribute, Harry looked at Liam, seeing more than just the weary lines on his face. He saw the sacrifices, the strength, and the unwavering support Liam had provided, not just to Harry but to all of them. Liam was the glue that held them all together, the mainstay of their support system. He was their support system. And Harry, in his own turmoil, had not only let him shoulder that burden, but piled more onto them.

The words he wanted to say – apologies, explanations, promises of change – they all jumbled in his mind, none of them seeming right or enough. How could he offer support when he was the reason they were all here, in this room, dissecting their problems with two doctors?

He opened his mouth, but no words came. It was as if his voice had been swallowed by the very guilt that consumed him.

When Dr Shah asked, “Are there any specific challenges or stresses that seem to affect the group more than others? How do you usually handle these situations?” Liam’s eyes met Harry’s, a silent plea for discretion resonating between them. Harry knew to tread carefully. There was a fragile line between revealing too much and protecting their private struggles, especially with the possible legal issues and the ever-present shadow of management.

The question caused a silent exchange of looks between Harry, Zayn, and Niall. None of them seemed ready to answer, and Liam remained silent. Louis, sitting next to Harry, shifted uncomfortably.

Breaking the stillness, Louis spoke up, his voice tinged with hesitancy. “Well, I mean, I’ve only been around for a short while, but, uh…” He glanced around, briefly meeting each band member’s eyes as if seeking approval.

“Go ahead,” Zayn said softly, and Harry wished he had been the one to say it. The one to support Louis.

After nodding, Louis said, “Zayn, he seems to be … checked out of the band. And Niall, he, uh, I think he just tries to make everyone else happy, pretending he is too. He wants to keep the peace.” There was a pause as Louis’ gaze met Harry’s, and Harry managed to nod, hopefully making it clear Louis could continue. “Harry, well,” Harry tensed, bracing himself to hear the horrible things Louis would have to say about him, “he’s withdrawn too, but differently than Zayn. More... it’s like Zayn has withdrawn from the band, but uh, Harry has withdrawn from … life, maybe.” Harry didn’t have time to process that before Louis said, “And Liam,” Louis’ voice softened, “given you’re here, not great, really.”

“We understand there have been some concerns regarding medication use. Without getting too personal, can you share any changes or behaviours you’ve noticed that led to these concerns?”

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He had no desire to discuss any of it.

Niall was the first to speak, his voice hesitant. “Well, it started with Liam getting sick a lot. Like a few times, especially at night, we’d find him vomiting in his bathroom.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said slowly. “Liam, well, he kind of takes a lot on.” When Liam made a noise, Zayn hastily added, “Because he has to. Because management makes him. So, I guess he has seemed stressed a lot, but it’s not shocking because of the pressure he has on him.” Zayn didn’t say it was Harry’s fault, didn’t even look in Harry’s direction, but that didn’t change the truth.

Harry’s heart pounded as he thought through the last few months—last year or so, really. “He kind of oscillates between being exhausted and having a lot of energy,” Harry said. As he spoke, he was struck again by all the signs there had been. All the signs he’d missed. He deliberately didn’t look at Liam, feeling like his words were stabbing him in the back. “And, I mean, there were little things, like he’d shake sometimes … but just blame caffeine. Sometimes he’d talk really fast but, I don’t know … I just… I didn’t realise.”

He felt Louis shuffle even closer and didn’t know how to respond. As much as he craved Louis’ comfort, he didn’t deserve it.

Instead, he looked up at Liam again. He looked smaller somehow, a shadow of himself, of who Harry knew him to be. His hands clenched tightly in his lap, the knuckles white.

Dr Shah nodded, jotting down notes and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what the doctors thought of them. Of him. Probably that they’d been irresponsible, that they’d been terrible friends. If Harry were a more courageous person—a better friend—he’d own up to it being solely his fault. Make sure the doctors knew not to blame the others. Make sure that they knew the problems started and ended with him. But he was not that courageous, not that brave; instead he was dictated by his shame, by his weakness, and stayed silent. Letting the rest of them share the blame when it wasn’t theirs to share.

Harry felt stripped bare and vulnerable than he had since they’d found out.

Dr Shah nodded. “Now we’d like to have a private session with Liam. We’ll call Zayn once we’re finished, and then we can discuss going forward with Liam’s permission.”

There was a collective, albeit reluctant, nod of agreement among them. Louis, Harry, Niall, and Zayn rose from their seats, their movements slow.

As Harry stepped into Zayn’s flat, the weight of the morning’s revelations cast a shadow over everyone’s demeanour. Everyone seemed to be as lost in their thoughts as Harry was.

Zayn, moving almost mechanically, headed towards the entertainment unit. “Up for a game?” His voice seemed out of place.

A faint sense of appreciation flickered in Harry for Zayn’s effort to make the situation as normal as possible. Harry wasn’t sure who had agreed, but someone must have because he found himself settling on the sofa and picking up a game controller. Its familiar texture offered a brief respite from the emotional storm swirling inside him. Though his hands moved reflexively, his mind was elsewhere, in Liam’s flat, in the conversations, the looks exchanged, the tensions that had risen to the surface. A sense of unease gnawed at him, a sense that things had irrevocably changed.

Which brought his mind back to the band. His stomach churned as he thought about meeting with Lottie that afternoon. He knew it was the right decision, yet it was still suffocating. Niall’s insistence on moving ahead had provided a small solace, confirming the gravity of their situation. Still, Harry couldn’t help feeling as though he was betraying Liam.

But was it truly betrayal? He wasn’t trying to harm Liam – his intention was to protect him, to protect all of them. Yet, the undeniable truth lingered—his decision would disrupt Liam’s life, potentially jeopardising their careers.

During the chaos of the video game, there was a gentle touch against his thigh. It was Louis’ hand, subtle yet deliberate. Harry glanced at Louis, who seemed partially absorbed in the game, his other hand still manoeuvring the controller. It was an understated touch, but it was like a surge of reassurance amidst the tumult.

The game of Mario Kart finished, and Harry knew the other’s race times were just as terrible as his, proving he wasn’t the only one lost in thoughts. The characters on the screen drifted aimlessly, mirroring their scattered thoughts.

As they settled into a subdued hush, Harry’s mind wandered to Zayn and Niall. Would they blame him for the current situation? He was at the centre of every problem, a constant source of chaos in their lives. The possibility that Zayn and Niall might harbour resentment towards him gnawed at him. Could they see past his mistakes, ever truly forgive him? The question stayed unanswered, adding another layer of uncertainty.

Louis’ hand remained on his thigh, a silent source of support. Harry appreciated the gesture, finding a sliver of relief in it. Yet, even this tiny comfort couldn’t dispel the doubts that continued to cloud his mind.

Zayn’s phone, vibrating abruptly, broke through Harry’s train of thought, and Zayn said it was time for them to return to Liam’s flat.

Gathering in the living area, everyone sat back down. Dr Shah began, “Liam has agreed to let us share some of our conversation with you. We’ve concluded that Liam is experiencing substantial stress, which has led to a misuse of his medication as a coping strategy. It’s not addiction in the traditional sense,” he added, “but the misuse is concerning, especially in terms of daily functioning.”

Dr Foster said, “We’ve explored several support and treatment options together. Fortunately, with proper care and support, Liam has a positive outlook for addressing these issues. Liam has expressed a strong preference for receiving treatment as an outpatient, meaning remaining at home. While we think this is a viable option, we believe in the initial phase of his treatment, it’s vital that Liam isn’t left alone. We recommend arranging for a professional caregiver.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

“A nurse or a mental health professional experienced in these cases would be ideal. We can help coordinate that,” Dr Forster said.

“Great,” Harry said, simply relieved Liam would be able to stay at home.

Harry chose to stay with Liam until the nurse arrived. Louis had also offered to stay, but Harry had told him to leave. Sending Louis away was more challenging than it should have been, though, because so much of Harry was craving the comfort only Louis could give him. However, Liam’s needs were the priority right now … and Harry didn’t deserve any comfort, anyway.

Harry glanced up and was confronted by Liam’s piercing glare. Harry was sure he had never seen Liam wear that expression before, especially not when it was directed straight at him.

The silence in the room was suffocating, and Harry struggled to find the right words. Every thought that crossed his mind seemed either self-serving, inadequate to comfort Liam, or merely a way to lessen his own accountability.

His introspection was broken by Liam’s voice, low and distant. “Can you stop looking at me like that?”

“I… Sorry.” Harry had no idea how he was looking at Liam, but if his face revealed half of his inner uneasiness, he could imagine it would be a disconcerting expression.

Liam’s voice was emotionless, almost hollow. “You know this is all messed up, right? I don’t need help.”

Harry paused and tried to choose his words carefully, worried that a misstep could ruin everything. “You’ve been unwell for a while.”

Liam exhaled a frustrated sigh. “The doctors said it’s not addiction.”

Harry sensed the divide between them, a divide he knew he was partially responsible for creating. “I heard them, and I’m glad about that.”

“So, you can leave then,” Liam replied sharply, his words cutting through Harry.

Harry fought to keep his emotions in check, determined to hide any trace of hurt from Liam. “They also said you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Liam’s frustration was palpable. “This is just going to make everything worse. If management gets wind of this—”

“They won’t,” Harry said, perhaps too quickly. He would make it his mission to ensure management wouldn’t find out. It was the very, very least he could do.

Liam raised an eyebrow, clearly doubtful. “And when they eventually do, everything will just get worse. Then what?”

“They won’t find out,” Harry repeated, trying to inject all possible confidence into his voice.

Wordlessly, Liam stood up and began walking towards the stairs, leaving Harry on the sofa.

“What are you doing?” Harry's voice carried a note of urgent concern as he watched Liam head towards the stairs.

Liam paused, turning back to Harry with an intensity in his eyes. “I have work to do. If we’re keeping this from management, I need to stay on top of things.”

Liam was right, but that changed nothing, for today at least.

“No,” Harry said more firmly than he intended.

“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”

“You can’t work now. You need to rest.”

Liam responded with a petulant eye roll, his annoyance clear, and it struck Harry how easily his mask of responsibility slipped.

“Fine. I’ll sleep,” Liam muttered finally.

Overwhelmed by a sense of responsibility towards Liam, Harry stood up and quietly trailed behind.

Without looking back, Liam asked, “What are you doing?”

“Coming with you,” Harry replied, trying to sound casual. “I was up late, too. Could use a nap.”

Liam muttered something under his breath as he climbed the stairs. “You know where the spare bed is.”

Harry did know, but he wouldn’t be able to make sure Liam wasn’t working in another room.

“I’m staying with you,” Harry said.

This time, Liam stopped and turned around, looking at Harry. “You’re going to sleep in my bed with me?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief.

“Yeah, like old times.”

“Old times?”

“Back on the tour bus, in hotels…”

Liam looked incredulous. “Yeah, when we were teenagers. We’re nearly thirty now.”

Holding Liam’s gaze, Harry said, “Wherever you go, I’m there. If you don’t want me in your bedroom, we can stay in the living area, watch a movie, or nap. Your call.”

Liam's gaze lingered on him, the moment stretching out for what felt like an eternity. “When did you become so talkative?”

A frown creased Harry’s forehead. What he had just said would have been considered normal a few years ago. However, he supposed it was a lot compared to the few words he had spoken lately. The truth was, he’d been leaning on Liam to handle all the details, to protect him. Now, things had changed, and Harry had to speak up to protect and care for Liam.

It was possible that Louis had also played a part, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that.

Harry offered a noncommittal shrug. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, so I guess we’re staying out here.”

Harry nodded before settling onto the sofa, his thoughts consumed by the daunting future that lay ahead.

The room's atmosphere transformed as soon as Lottie stepped into Zayn's flat. She introduced herself to Niall.

“And Harry, good to see you again,” she said, sounding genuinely happy to see him.

All Harry could offer was a nod, too overwhelmed by the meeting. Too overwhelmed by her being Louis’ sister.

Once they sat around Zayn's dining table, Lottie wasted no time and eagerly dived into the conversation. “I need you to know I’m not here in a legal capacity; I'm just giving you my insights. As you know, I have looked through Zayn’s contract at his request.” As she said it, her eyes drifted to Louis, and Harry had to wonder how big of a part Louis played. It might have bothered him a week ago, but right now, with Liam currently being cared for by a nurse, he didn't have the energy to be bothered by it. “The intent was to determine if it would be possible to void the contract. From what I’ve read and my limited experience with this type of contract, I don’t believe they’ve necessarily breached the contract. However, I do believe there are valid reasons that could potentially justify a termination.”

She continued, “The first is related to the signing of it and your legal representation. My understanding is management influenced the choice of lawyers, which could be argued was a conflict of interest. Especially if it wasn’t thoroughly explained to you, and they have since benefited from that.”

She was right. They had always just gone along with the lawyers their management had chosen for them, a decision that had appeared logical and practical back then. Reflecting on it now, a pang of regret washed over him. Now, he couldn’t fathom how he was ever okay with it.

“Then there’s the financial management aspect. Your accounts are limited to spending, while the primary control is elsewhere. It’s potentially exploitative, depending on the details.”

He barely processed that before she continued.

“In relation to that, there also appears to be a lack of transparency. If you weren’t fully briefed on your financial arrangements, that’s problematic.

“The contract itself, some clauses, might be legally questionable. The contract’s length, for instance. It’s overly complicated, which can be a tactic to hide exploitative terms. Personal information, too. How they’ve used it, or could they use it? It’s another angle we need to consider.”

A chill ran down Harry’s spine, and his emotions churned – anger at being manipulated, a sense of betrayal, but more than anything, a wave of frustration at his failings. This wouldn't have happened if he’d paid more attention and given it more thought. Hell, they wouldn’t have even signed the fucking contracts. And then Liam wouldn’t be sitting in his flat under supervision. All of it came back to Harry.

“There are other issues as well,” Lottie continued. “Those aren’t the only ones. So I think you have a potential case. However, it’s important that you’re aware I don’t think it will be straightforward.”

“In what way won’t it be straightforward?” Niall asked.

Lottie exhaled deeply, her expression serious. “It will be costly, time-consuming, and could impact your careers,” she began, her voice direct. Harry’s confidence in her grew. She wasn’t being idealistic.

“You need to keep detailed records from now on,” she continued. “Document all interactions with management, and keep these discussions just between yourselves and in person.

She paused before saying. “Regarding confidentiality, you should probably get me to sign an NDA. It keeps our conversations private but also gives off the appearance of all being legitimate.”

“Louis,” As she said it, Louis sat up straighter, and Harry realised he hadn’t spoken during the meeting, “you’re legally bound to confidentiality as well. Your involvement depends on the band’s decision.”

Without pausing, Lottie kept talking, “Finding evidence is crucial. Dig through old communications, anything that can support your case. Act normally around management,” Lottie advised as she stood. “You don’t want to tip them off about your actions. But try to keep all communications in writing. And Louis, please stop deleting emails.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I stopped doing that the first time you told me to.”

“The next step is to bring on a new legal team, experienced in cases like yours,” Lottie said, her voice steady. “I’ve been speaking to colleagues in the industry and there is a firm they’ve recommended. They’re a smaller firm but more likely to be open to taking on such a large company. Many of the others will avoid handling the case to avoid any potential conflict of interest if management considers hiring them. This firm isn’t like that. I’ve sent Zayn the details.”

Harry was so engrossed in replaying the conversation that he didn't even notice that the others had left the room until Louis nudged him out of the chair.

Once they were alone, Louis, with a softness in his voice, asked, “How are you holding up?”

A knot of emotions formed in Harry’s chest, a maelstrom of conflicting feelings. “Yeah, okay,” he replied, though his voice wavered slightly, giving away the inner turmoil he was trying to mask.

After a moment Harry spoke again. “I think I’m going to go and see Liam.” He couldn’t meet Louis’ eyes; the multitude of thoughts in his head was too chaotic to put into words.

“No problem. I’ll see you later tonight, then.”

Harry hesitated. “I think I’m going to sleep at his place.”

A look of mild confusion washed over Louis' face as his brows furrowed slightly. “Okay … But doesn’t he have a nurse with him overnight?”

“Yes, he does,” Harry said, needing to clarify, to justify. The conflict within him burned fiercely – torn between the guilt towards Liam and his desire to be around Louis. However, Liam's needs took precedence, and Harry couldn't continue depending on Louis. He’d seen what relying on people did. “I just think Liam might need someone else there, too. Someone he’s close to,” Harry added, hoping his words would take away the subtle look of pain on Louis’ face.

Louis was waiting at the front door as Harry went to leave, and he reached out, his hand hovering between them. “If you need anything…” Louis’ voice trailed off, filled with emotions that Harry couldn’t bear dissecting.

So, instead, he just nodded, the gap between them seeming to widen with each step he took away.

Harry was greeted by Liam's voice, which carried a hint of uncertainty and unwillingness. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might like some company,” Harry said.

“I don’t. Besides, you’ve already hired someone for that.” Liam nodded towards the nurse, who offered Harry a polite smile.

Harry acknowledged the nurse with a brief nod, then refocused his attention on Liam. “Well, I wanted company.”

Suspicion flickered across Liam's face as his eyebrow arched. “You and Louis have a fight?”

“No, nothing like that.” The idea alone caused him to feel anxious.

“Then what’s wrong with his company?”

Harry shrugged, struggling to maintain a casual façade. “Nothing. I just… I wanted to be here with you.”

Liam exhaled sharply, his body tense as he settled onto the sofa. Harry joined him, the strained stillness enveloping them. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Work,” Liam’s response was clipped, resolute.

“Li, let’s just—”

“I can’t afford to fall behind.” Liam’s voice was a notch louder.

Harry inhaled deeply, a silent effort to keep calm. “You needed the rest.”

“I don’t have time for rest.” The edge in Liam’s voice grew sharper.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have started taking those pills then. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent all last night being sick.”

“Oh, fuck off, Harry! You didn’t even need to know. If Niall hadn’t come over, you wouldn’t have.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Harry pressed, his frustration building.

“It was just a reaction,” Liam snapped back.

“How many ‘reactions’, Liam? Because we’ve seen a few. Are there others we don’t know about?”

Liam’s silence was his answer, his face betraying a grim acknowledgement.

“For fuck’s sake.” The guilt had continued to pile up, and Harry felt as though he was suffocating under it. “Why, Liam? Why not let us help? Why not tell management to back off?”

Liam’s laughter was sharp, bitter. “You think management would have given a shit if I told them to ‘back off’? You didn’t care about helping every time you did something stupid, so why care now?”

“Liam, I—”

But Liam was now pacing with restless energy. “You kept doing whatever the fuck you wanted and left me trying to balance it all.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Harry’s voice faltered under Liam’s gaze.