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Chapter Text

In the meeting, Harry Styles’ eyes barely flicker over him. He glances around the room often, but seems to be listening so intently to McGee’s words that Louis suspects he isn’t quite registering his surroundings. The way a person lost deep in a troubling phone conversation looks at the world. At one point Harry’s gaze lands on Louis, half-seeing. Louis is careful not to fidget. After a moment the crease in Harry’s brow furrows to a ferocious scowl, and he whips his head around to glare at McGee. Louis lets out the breath he has been holding. He tries to focus back in on McGee’s deep, smooth voice and attempts to figure out what it is he has just missed that has made Harry frown.

After the meeting, Harry heaves himself up slowly from his chair. He hasn’t taken his jacket and scarf off the entire meeting, so he has no need to put them back on. Instead he thrusts his hands deep into his pockets, and turns, shoulders slightly stooped, towards the stern looking woman who has approached him. At least Louis thinks she looks stern, with her dirty blonde hair scraped back into a sharp-toothed crocodile clip and her tight frown. He doesn’t think he has seen her around the office before and although she hadn’t said much in the meeting, she had spoken with great authority. Harry clearly is not intimidated by her but he doesn’t seem all too fond either. He responds to her in a mumble too low for Louis to hear, as he finds himself being swept out of the room along with the other assistants. It takes every ounce of professionalism in him not to turn back as he reaches the door, and steal another glimpse of Harry. Harry Styles. The Harry Styles. The one and only. The man himself. Pop idol. Superstar. International heartthrob.

Louis sits at his desk and feels oddly deflated. Harry Styles isn’t quite what he expected. He frowns at the two hefty new piles of paperwork in front of him, labelled “Recouped Royalties First Quarter” and “Unrecouped Royalties First Quarter” respectively. A pink post-it on the top of one of them informs him that they are “to be filed according to client in order of dates paid”.

“More filing,” Louis says. He is torn, once again, between whether to feel eternally grateful for the fact that he has landed pretty much his dream job, or to despair about the fact that so far his dream job turns out to be filing, upon filing, upon filing, with the odd bit of photocopying thrown in for good measure.

From her desk opposite Perrie sends him a sympathetic grimace.

“Once I get these invoices to accounts I can help you,” she offers, and gestures to a pile of papers as high as Louis’ own. Her optimism at least is endearing.

“Thanks, that’s sweet of you, but I’ll manage” he says, before suppressing a sigh and lifting up the first set of papers. As he gets stuck into the thrilling job of sifting through pages and pages of old statements, his eyes keep wandering back over to the door which has remained shut ever since the meeting. It’s strange to think that just on the other side of that door is Harry Styles. Even stranger to think that just ten minutes ago Louis was in the same room as Harry Styles.

“This is why they say you should never meet your idols.”

Perrie’s voice cuts through Louis’ thoughts with more than a little hint of a tut-tut in its tone. He looks at her, feeling his cheeks flush red as though he has been caught in the act of something far more shameful than staring quizzically across a busy office at Meeting Room B.

“Quite disappointing isn’t it? He comes across so sweet and charming in interviews and stuff but in real life he’s just a bit…” she shrugs and makes a funny face “… kinda meh.”

Louis lets out a small breath of air, intended to pass as a laugh, and thinks about it. He shakes his head.

“It wasn’t that he seemed bad or anything, or “meh” as you so eloquently put it my dear.” Perrie smiles winningly at him. “Just… he looks different to how I imagined.” Louis frowns. He’s not exactly sure what it is that’s troubling him so much. He looks down and sees that he has filed an unrecouped statement in the recouped folder.

“They always do. Always.” Perrie smirks knowingly and shakes her head. “They’re always surprisingly short, or surprisingly tall, or not-so-surprisingly-when-you-think-about-it skinny. Or they have bad skin, like Harry for example, did you notice?” She hardly pauses for breath before continuing. “Or they’re way more muscly, or way more tired, or way less funny than you expected. Basically if there is one thing you can guarantee, it’s that they will not be what you expected.”

With a satisfied slap she adds another completed invoice to the tray on her desk.

“Oh and you would know, would you?”

“Oi,” she fixes him with a playful glare, “I’ve been here longer than you. I’m wiser and better than you in every way so I advise you to heed my words.”

Louis sticks his tongue out at her and files several more statements. Around him the office has a buzz of energy to it. Louis figures he is not the only assistant with Harry Styles’ meeting fresh in his mind. Harry has been away on tour for four months so this is the first the office has seen of him since before Christmas.

“He…” He pauses, mid-hole-punch, and looks at the door again. “I guess I just thought he would be happier or something. I dunno. He seemed sad.”

Just at that moment, Louis catches Eleanor from across the office looking determinedly in his direction. Before he has time to properly steel himself, she swoops her way over to his desk, poised as always on her sharp stiletto heels.

“Mr McGee says you are to go and get these reports from accounts.” She hands him a slip of purple paper. “You are to remind them to stop emailing the reports to him as attachments. He will only look at hard copies. You are to not-so-gently remind them that this is the third time they have been reminded. You are also to get him a grande skinny latte and a pain au raisin. And you are not to let the latte go cold on your way back up here. Thank you.” She delivers these instructions in her usual brisk and bossy tone. As always her voice is laced with a hint of anxiety, which Louis figures probably has something to do with the fact that she works for one of the most notoriously impatient men in music.

“Of course,” Louis says politely. Eleanor nods, and just as she is turning on her heel to leave, Louis makes his first mistake of the day. “Should I do it now or after I’ve finished these?” He gestures to the pile of paperwork in front of him.

Eleanor spins round, and out of the corner of his eye Louis sees Perrie shaking her head.

“What do you think?”

“Erm, I think I should do it now.” Mentally Louis kicks himself. Hard.

“You should. That is correct.” Eleanor’s voice is the very definition of condescension and the smile she sends Louis as she moves away from his desk is nothing short of menacing.

“Charming,” he mutters. Perrie giggles into her hand. Louis throws her a wry smile before standing up, making sure to straighten out his shirt and blazer as he does.

Louis heads out of the office towards the lift, and just as he is passing the door to Meeting Room B, he hears it click. A familiar voice spills into the corridor.

“Well, we’ll see about that, Harry.”

“I guess we will,” comes the low, drawn-out response.

Louis doesn’t dare turn around. He keeps walking until he reaches the lift doors and pushes the up button. He feels his heart rate increase as a set of footsteps approaches him from behind. The idea of sharing a silent lift ride with either McGee, the stern woman or Harry Styles is palm-sweatingly stressful.

The footsteps come to a standstill next to Louis, and one downcast glance to the left, taking in suede boots and skinny jeans, informs him that it is Harry Styles who will be joining him on his adventure to the eighth floor.

Or in fact not, as it quickly becomes clear when Harry leans awkwardly across him to press the down button.

“Scuse me,” he mumbles and withdraws his arm, folding it back into his huge coat pocket.

“No worries,” Louis says. His voice sounds weird, as though it hasn’t been used in a very long time. He coughs it out. He can sense rather than see Harry turn to glance at him before staring expectantly at the lift doors. After a few seconds more Harry speaks.

“You’re new aren’t you?” His voice, deeper and more northern than on radio, sounds extremely close.

Louis takes a moment to swallow down the dry lump in his throat before answering, determined not to sound like a squeaky schoolboy this time. Hearing the word “you” come out of Harry Styles’ mouth and be directed at himself is surreal, as though a figure in a much-studied photograph has suddenly turned to look straight out of the frame.

“Yes, I am.” Mercifully his voice is now free of schoolboy squeak. “I’m one of McG… I mean Mr McGee’s new junior management assistants.”

“Ah, well in that case,” Harry says, “we’ll probably be seeing more of each other and therefore you need a name.” He turns to face Louis, his posture a little more relaxed all of a sudden.

“It’s Louis,” Louis says, following Harry’s lead and turning just enough to look him in the eye. The effect of piercing emerald green is startling, now that it isn’t cast in shadow by a frown.

“Harry,” says Harry, offering up his hand for Louis to shake. His smile is small, the sort born out of politeness rather than genuine happiness, yet even so Louis could swear the space around him gets brighter.

“I know who you are,” Louis replies, smiling himself. He shakes Harry’s hand. The action itself is so familiar that for a split-second he almost forgets he is talking to someone with more followers on Twitter than the populations of London, New York and Paris combined.

Harry sighs and stuffs his hand back into his pocket.

“Of course you know. But I’m being polite.”

Oh god, really? Louis feels disappointment settling in his bones. If he is about to discover that Harry Styles is in fact a massively egotistical prat, well, he would rather not.

Harry smirks knowingly and as quickly as it came, the fear falls away. For the first time that day, Louis thinks he recognises something of the cheeky popstar he had thought he knew.

“And I apologise for McGee’s utter inability to introduce me to anyone,” Harry continues, looking up casually at the arrows which tell them the lift is finally on its way back from its foray up to the twenty-first floor. “He thinks it’s pointless on the basis that I am clearly too famous and important to require an introduction and his assistants are clearly not important enough.”

Louis studies Harry’s face again, just to make sure he is definitely joking, before letting out a small laugh. He thinks he can detect a bitter edge to Harry’s voice, and he notices as well the dark bags under Harry’s eyes, which definitely hadn’t been there in his recent photo shoot for Italian Vogue.

They fall silent. It is Louis’ turn to speak by all the normal conventions of conversation but considering that neither “so, what do you do?” or “do you come here often?” are appropriate in this case, he finds himself at a loss for words. In any other situation, faced with a pretty man and a moment to kill, Louis would have made a move by now, but his confidence in the flirtation department, whilst enviable, does not extend to international celebrities. And straight ones at that.

The lift is on floor sixteen according to the red arrows above the door.

“How long have you been here?” Harry asks. Louis wonders if Harry makes polite conversation with all the staff here or if it is just because Louis is new that he is making the effort.

“Nearly a month.”

“How are you finding it so far?”

“It’s really good,” he nods, “I’m really enjoying it.” He finds that there is something very natural about Harry, which puts him at ease. Even if he does look like he frowns more than he smiles.

“You’re lying. You must be.” Harry narrows his eyes in mock suspicion. “Where were you at before Modest?”

“University.”

“Really?” Harry raises his eyebrows and seems to straighten up slightly, studying Louis with more interest. Or maybe Louis is just imagining it. “You mean, this is your first job out of uni?”

“Er… yeah,” Louis nods, feeling flushed all of a sudden under Harry’s scrutiny.

Harry whistles softly. “Quite some job for a first-timer to have landed.”

“Well, first proper career type-job. I worked at bars and stuff before, and did a couple of internships at like, little indie labels. And I took a year out to go travelling,” says Louis, feeling a sudden rambly need to explain himself, “but my degree was in Music & Media Management you see so....” He gestures awkwardly at himself as if to say so here I am.

“I see.” Harry nods gravely, before casting his gaze down and smiling at his shoes.

Although Louis can only see the side of Harry’s face, he thinks that this is maybe the first genuine smile he has seen on Harry all morning. The difference is the appearance of a deep dimple in Harry’s cheek. Why, of all the things to make Harry smile, the fact that Louis has studied Music & Media Management is the thing to do it is beyond Louis.

He decides then and there that Harry Styles is slightly odd. He supposes it is to be expected of someone so famous. He must hardly live in the real world, Louis thinks. Maybe mundane things like university amuse him. Maybe he is unimpressed, having spent his own would-be-uni-years touring the world and being received by international acclaim and hoards of screaming fans.

A ding alerts them to the presence of the lift. As the doors slide open Harry gestures to let Louis go in before him.

“Oh, no, thanks, I’m heading up.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry says lightly as he steps in and turns back to face Louis, who can suddenly feel his cheeks flushing furiously. If Harry were gay, Louis might almost mistake his tone for flirting. Luckily, Harry is notoriously one of the most red-blooded heterosexuals on the planet, so Louis quickly brushes aside any thoughts of that kind.

“It was very nice to meet you Louis.”

Harry Styles saying Louis’ name.

“Nice to meet you too.” He can’t bring himself to say “Harry”.

“Try not to get fired,” Harry smirks as the doors close. Louis thinks he maybe catches another flash of dimple.

“I’ll try!” Louis’ answer is met by silence and the cold, metal front of closed lift doors. The red arrow above the door shows that the lift is now on the third floor, now on the second.

Louis flicks his fringe out of his face and tries to calm the slight fluttering in his chest. How strange to think that Harry Styles is in that lift. Even stranger to think that just a moment ago he had been speaking to Louis.

Chapter Text

“How are your minute-taking skills, Louis?”

“Erm… sorry?” Louis looks up from his desk to where the source of the shadow which has fallen across it is looming. Eleanor is peering down at him, brow furrowed.

“Mr McGee wants you to sit in on his eleven o’clock. Connor is off sick so you’re to take the minutes. Got it?” She is turning on her heel already when he nods his confused consent. McGee is supposed to be very particular about who he allows to take his minutes. “Oh and by the way,” she calls over her shoulder, “the meeting is with Harry.”

The swoop in Louis’ stomach at the sound of the name is unmistakeable but he decides to ignore it. Perrie raises her eyebrows at him from across her desk and Louis detects more than a couple of jealous glances thrown his way from several of the juniors in the office as the clock approaches eleven.

At five minutes to, Eleanor passes Louis’ desk briskly once again and drops an agenda into his lap. It is multiple pages long and on the front is a pink post-it with the words Mr McGee’s office pronto! You’re already late by his clock.

“Shit,” Louis mumbles and leaps up, frantically rummaging for a suitable notepad in the drawers of his desk. As soon as he has located one he grabs his pen and sets off across the office floor, only to rush back a moment later to pick up the agenda as well.

“Calm, my dear, calm,” Perrie teases and he gives her a look as if to say this is going to be horrendous isn’t it. “You’ll be fine,” she says, unhelpfully. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Louis murmurs before making a dash for it towards McGee’s office, his cheeks flushing under the hawk-eyed gaze of Eleanor, which seems to follow him all the way across the bright, open plan office.

When he reaches the door to McGee’s office he glances at the clock. Four minutes to eleven. He adjusts his button-up collar, takes a deep breath and knocks. There is a pause in which Louis wonders whether it would appear impertinent to knock twice and then,

“Come in.”

He pushes open the door tentatively and peers around before stepping in the whole way. Just as he lets go of the door it catches behind him and Eleanor slips in.

“Where’s the other one?” says McGee dully, barely looking up from his computer screen.

“Connor is ill, sir, so Louis is covering for him. I sent you the memo,” Eleanor responds in a far pleasanter tone than the one she uses with Louis and Perrie.

“Ah, Louis.” McGee lifts his head just slightly, surveying Louis briefly across the long expanse of his dark oak desk, and the deep cream rug populated by several rather uncomfortable looking chairs, which Eleanor is now beginning to arrange into a semi-circle. “The supposed wunderkind.” McGee seems to say it as much to himself as to Louis. He goes back to typing at his computer. Eleanor jabs her thumb in the direction of the chairs and Louis takes it to mean he is to sit.

For three minutes Louis sits perched on the edge of his chair, whilst McGee types away as though completely alone. His eyes are naturally drawn to the shiny statuettes and glass plaques, scattered across shelves amongst stacks of dusty vinyl. On the walls, gold and silver discs, hanging in proud rows, pay testament to record sales on a monumental scale. The photographs of artist after artist accepting Brit Awards and Grammys, show McGee somewhere in the background, smiling, at various ages. He had had hair once upon a time it would seem. Wunderkind. Louis has no idea what McGee means but he hopes it isn’t a dig. He has hardly any inkling of how he has been faring so far in his time at Modest, almost two months now, but he hopes the fact that McGee recognises his name is a good thing.

There is a knock at the door, followed by Eleanor’s head poking around to announce that Harry has arrived. Louis subtly tries to wipe his palms on his blazer, just as the door is thrown wide open and Harry Styles steps into the room.

Louis has no idea what he had been expecting but he is struck, just as he was a month ago, by how incredibly human Harry looks; real and made of flesh. Harry heads straight for the desk with a hand outstretched to McGee. His hair is tied in a scruffy bun and his complexion looks rather wan in the harsh office light, accentuating his cheekbones. A loose shirt hangs off his shoulders revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin on his chest. Louis gulps. He feels the movement of air as Harry reaches the centre of the room.

“Hey,” Harry says politely, not unpleasant but not overly friendly either, as he takes McGee’s hand in his.

“Harry, how’s it going?” McGee’s low rumble of a voice does nothing to settle the nerves in Louis’ stomach. Everybody in the room gives off the air of being incredibly important and Louis feels very small, standing awkwardly as though awaiting royalty.

Just then another young man enters the room, followed by a stern, dirty-blonde woman whom Louis recognises from the previous meeting. The young man nods politely to Louis, being so far the only person to have acknowledged his existence, and comes to stand next to him. Louis knows his face, he spoke several times in the previous Harry Styles meeting, and his desk is not too far from Louis’ own. His name is something generic like Matt or Tom or…

“You alright mate, I’m Will”, he says lowly, offering up his hand. “I’m Harry’s day-to-day manager.”

“Louis. I’m one of the junior management assistants.”

Will nods as though he already knows this. He looks to be a few years older than Louis, probably late twenties, and has the sort of easy-going friendliness which is not necessarily completely sincere but is effective nonetheless at putting people at ease.

Harry turns at that moment and lets his gaze fall upon Louis. Smiling, he takes a step forward and extends a hand. Louis blinks and smiles back, his politest, most professional smile, and hopes to God his cheeks aren’t red.

“I’m…”

“Louis, I remember,” Harry grins as he takes Louis’ hand in his. “How’ve you been?” Louis’ hand feels tiny in Harry’s.

“Good thanks,” he nods, “muddling through.”

Harry laughs and lets go.

“Aren’t we all!”

“Don’t mind Louis. He’s one of my new assistants,” McGee explains, almost apologetically, as he takes his seat back at his desk.

“Thank you, I remember.” Harry directs it at McGee and Louis doesn’t miss the tightening of his jaw.

He watches, mesmerised, as Harry folds his long limbs into one of the chairs next to Will, whom he greets with the most informal of knee-slaps. Louis is so distracted he almost misses the introduction of the stern woman, who turns out to be called Sarah, although Louis is still none the wiser as to what she does.

The meeting turns out to be a fascinating insight into the inner workings of the industry. Louis finds himself getting carried away with his notes, desperately scrawling down every little detail that is said. Oh well, he supposes, he’ll just have to spend longer typing it up. The only times when he is in danger of missing something that is said are when Harry speaks. He doesn’t speak as often as McGee and Will, generally only when directly addressed, but his low, gravelly drawl is captivating and more than once Louis realises that his pen has stopped moving and his mouth is just slightly more open than it should be. He shakes himself and goes back to scribbling.

The main topic of conversation is the progress of Harry’s fourth album, the schedule for its release date, which will not be until the autumn at least, and the production team. It seems Harry is at odds with his record label over some members of the production team. He is insistent on using the same writers and producers as before, whereas they want him to work with some big-name producers whom they feel will take the album in a “more marketable direction.”

“What they mean is they want to go back to all the poppy crap on the second album,” he scowls, and his scowl only deepens when McGee points out that the second album did sell better in the US than the third.

“But the third album is better music,” Harry mutters to Will, who nods sympathetically.

“Look, I’ll add it to the agenda, Harry, but I need to be clear what I am saying to them. I can’t be bothered with all the fucking toing and froing,” McGee says. “I’m happy to ring Carrie today if you want, so they have prior warning, but you need to be certain who it is we are asking for…”

“Julian,” Harry says emphatically without a moment’s hesitation, “we’ve already been in the studio a couple of days, as you know. Josh.”

“Teddy as well?” Will offers.

“Yep, Teddy definitely,” Harry nods. “And Liam Payne.”

McGee mouths the names, making notes of his own in a book on his desk and Louis hesitates slightly over the spelling of the last name before writing Liam Pain/Pane?.

“And I want Zayn Malik for production again.”

The stern woman shifts silently in her chair as McGee frowns.

“Bloody hell Harry, you aren’t exactly going to make this meeting easy on us are you?”

“I want Zayn,” Harry repeats. “You just said they want big-name producers.”

McGee raises his eyebrows and writes down the name.

“Well, I’ll give Carrie a ring and I’ll make sure to bring it up on Thursday. Who knows how much they’ll be willing to bend. Maybe I’ll ring Simon directly…” he trails off as he finishes his note. “What about mixers?”

Harry shrugs.

“I’m more flexible on that. I think Ash did a great job so m'happy to keep him if it appeases them.”

“Yeah, I assume Syco will be wanting to stick with him,” Will adds. “But perhaps we should hold off on confirming a mixer for now anyway. See where we’re at in a few months.”

“And I’m assuming there are no changes to your musician line-up?”

Harry nods.

And so it goes on. It quickly becomes clear to Louis that this meeting is a preliminary to a much larger and more important meeting with the record label, which is evidently to take place on Thursday and which Louis presumably will not be privy to. Still, this meeting in itself is throwing up more light than an entire lecture series at university ever did. Details about budgeting, about the negotiations on the finer points of various contracts with the musicians and with the studio, some sort of allusions made to an on-going legal dispute over royalties, an overview of the upcoming leg of Harry’s tour; all are lapped up by Louis eagerly. One day, he thinks, he will have his head around it all.

After what feels like ages, there comes a natural pause in conversation and Louis glances up from his notebook. He could swear he catches the tail end of Harry’s gaze flicker away from him, but when he studies him more closely he is looking straight ahead at McGee’s desk, the faintest flush of pink on his cheeks which is most likely due to the overly stuffy office. Spring has arrived early this year, but the heating in the office is still set for winter.

“Right… Sarah, where are we at?” McGee asks as he turns over a page on the agenda.

Louis has almost forgotten about the stern woman in the corner, as she has said nothing for a solid forty minutes at least. She clears her throat.

“Ok, just to give you a quick overview…” She leans forward on her chair, her voice firm and authoritative, with just a hint of an Essex accent. The creases on her brow seem to be a permanent fixture. “We’re in a good place at the moment in terms of public opinion. Social media seems happy enough. The fans are still bitching about the last Ben Winston video,” – Harry visibly winces – “which is all fine. Keeps them occupied while Harry’s out of the limelight. Lying low through the whole Zayn Malik, Naughty Boy fiasco was certainly the best idea. I think wading in all guns blazing would’ve been foolish at this point. Now that things have cooled down a bit we’ll do a tweet from Harry’s account. Nothing forced or official sounding, just a spontaneous reply to a fan tweet, to quiet the part of the fandom which is getting antsy about Harry’s perceived silence. Essentially let them know that he and Zayn are friends but he’s staying out of it. No comment type thing.”

Louis watches as Harry stares fixedly at a point on the floor in front of him. He is tapping his knee incessantly.

“Hold off until after the meeting on Thursday, will you?” McGee says. “In case the label kicks up a hissy fit about Harry wanting Zayn for production again.”

“Good point,” Sarah nods and jots something down on her agenda.

“Did you see the way Jessie J’s people handled it all?” Will laughs.

“Oh God, I know, massive error on their part,” Sarah agrees and McGee tuts, his lips pulled into a smug smirk. Harry is quiet, eyes downcast. Louis notes that he has sunk a good inch further into his slouch.

Louis casts his mind back. He didn’t pay much attention to the Zayn Malik vs. Naughty Boy case. Some argument over splits, blown horribly out of proportion. A friendship in tatters, according to the press. A load of celebrities wading in to take one side or another. Most of them, if Louis remembers correctly, took Zayn’s side, although the media had been pretty scathing on all fronts. He seems to remember the word “drugs” being bandied around a lot.

“Obviously,” Sarah continues, “what we want to do now is just maintain a general buzz in the weeks leading up to the second leg of the tour. Thankfully not too much is needed, seeing as you’ve sold out already” – Will smiles at Harry and Harry continues to stare at the floor – “You’ll appear as a guest at a benefit ball which Vogue is hosting for… oh some charity or other, I forget the name. I’ll have Jade send over the details. That will just be standard red carpet fare. In prep for that, there will be an insider story doing the rounds implying that you are getting bored of the lothario lifestyle and are potentially looking to settle down. We’ll feed it a few days before the ball so that when you show up in red carpet pictures with Cara the articles will essentially write themselves.”

McGee has been nodding along to all of this as though it is not news at all, and neither Will nor Harry have been showing any sign of whether they already know about these plans or not, but at the name Cara, Harry’s eyes dart up to McGee. A palpable tension descends in the room. Louis frowns. Maybe this is an ex-girlfriend of Harry’s? He racks his brains trying to think through all the women Harry has been linked to but there are so many…

“Cara Delevingne,” McGee says levelly, seeming to answer Harry’s unspoken question. “Pretty certain I spoke to Will about this, did he not mention it to you?”

Will, who looks as surprised as Harry, bites his lip indignantly and shakes his head in frustration when McGee isn’t looking. Louis wonders what being Will is like. Presumably “scapegoat” doesn’t even begin to cut it.

Harry doesn’t look at Will, but merely continues to glare at McGee until he speaks again.

“It’s only going to be a light story. Fuel the speculation. Mutual promo,” he says brusquely, as though anticipating resistance.

“Yes, a very light story, no official confirmation,” Sarah jumps in. “She’ll just be linked to you until you go on tour. It would be good to do an outing, maybe at Selfridges or somewhere similar, a couple of days before you head off, picking up last minute on-the-road supplies.” Will snorts softly. “Or maybe just lunch outside your rehearsal studio. It’s negotiable…” she adds, as she sees that her words have done nothing to displace the thunderous look on Harry’s face.

Louis is confused. Nothing about what they are suggesting seems especially taxing. Louis is pretty sure it is standard protocol for celebrities to do outings for the benefit of the paparazzi. Presumably Harry has some personal problem with Cara Delevingne. Whatever it is, Louis seems to be the only person in the room at all surprised by Harry’s response. The others seem almost to have expected it.

“You said you were going to tone it down,” Harry snaps, now glaring directly at Sarah. She smooths her sharp pencil skirt across her lap and looks over to McGee, who sighs.

“Harry, we didn’t make any promises. And this is toning it down. This is nothing. It’s mutually beneficial. It just keeps your name out there for a bit longer. Keeps up the image.”

Harry shakes his head and closes his eyes. He looks tired, so very tired and Louis notices the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows his upset down. He doesn’t look like a popstar at all.

“To be fair, Harry,” Will now says tentatively, “this one is pretty harmless. And at least it’s Cara. You guys are friends anyway so this is just a good excuse to spend some time with her…”

Harry gives Will a sideways glance full of distaste and Louis wonders whether their initial appearance of closeness had been misleading. Will is still on the side of Modest and Harry doesn’t seem to like anything to do with Modest right now. Louis sits very still, desperate for Harry not to glance his way again.

“It was Cara’s people who approached us, presumably?” Will asks in another abortive attempt to ease the tension.

“Erm…” Sarah hesitates and glances at McGee.

“Look, Cara’s people have made it clear that in this case the pairing will be especially beneficial to both parties.” McGee lays emphasis on his words in such a way that Louis has the distinct sense he means to imply a great deal more than he is letting on, although for the life of him Louis cannot think what.

Evidently the meaning of his words is not so obscure to Harry. He sighs and fixes McGee with a tired look.

“Has she agreed?” He asks the question as though it is one he has asked many times before.

“Of course.” McGee smiles smoothly. “She’s a professional.” If there is something disingenuous in his demeanour Louis is having a hard time placing it.

Harry scoffs and shakes his head.

“I can’t quite see what the problem is here Harry.” Still that same smooth tone.

“You know perfectly well,” he says, before letting his shoulders slump back into his chair. He looks defeated already which seems odd considering he has hardly put up much of a fight. He didn’t actually give a single reason for his sudden change of mood, although from the responses of everyone else in the room, he didn’t need to. This is clearly an on-going point of contention.

He looks down at his notepad. How is he supposed to minute this when he doesn’t even know what the discussion is about? Louis glances over at Harry again. Harry Styles: mysterious, sullen, withdrawn, massively, massively famous across the globe, multi-millionaire before the age of twenty, tired, not as tall as in photos.

As the meeting draws to an end, Harry remains distracted. He picks at his nails and frowns to himself whilst Will and McGee discuss the immediate actions that need to be taken before their meeting with the label. At one point he looks up absently and his eyes meet Louis’. Louis freezes. He hasn’t been acknowledged at all since the start of the meeting. He nearly rips his gaze away in embarrassment but something about the way Harry holds his attention, calm and unimposing, keeps him transfixed. He smiles awkwardly. The corners of Harry’s mouth twitch and then also break into a smile. Although it is only small and quite sad, it feels like the most genuine thing in the room.

Harry holds his gaze for a second too long. A second in which Louis feels a pulse of something beat between them, before McGee speaks and shatters the moment, making Harry turn sullen once again. I’m on your side, Louis finds himself thinking, inexplicably. I don’t understand what your side is, but I know that I’m on it.

When the meeting is over, Harry leaves as he entered, politely and without much ceremony, although Louis can tell his mood is darkened considerably. He shakes hands with Sarah and McGee and then follows Will towards the door. Just as he is about to leave he turns back, almost shy, and says, “bye Louis, it was nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Louis answers and with a small nod Harry shuts the door.

The next afternoon Eleanor catches Louis on his way back from lunch break.

“Mr McGee has seen the minutes you typed up from yesterday’s meeting.” Oh God, Louis thinks, bracing himself for the worst. “He wants you to attend the meeting with Syco tomorrow.”

“Really?” Louis gawps at her. “But… what about Connor?”

Eleanor shrugs.

“He wants you to do it.”

Chapter Text

Soon McGee is requesting Louis for almost every meeting. Clearly Louis is doing something right, although most of the time McGee hardly gives him a second glance, just a cursory nod when he enters five minutes before each meeting. Once Louis had thought that McGee was smiling at him as they passed each other in the hallway, but moments later McGee had stepped past him, smile still in place and held out his hand to greet a man in a suit, whom Louis didn’t know. He had gritted his teeth, flicked his fringe out of his eyes and remembered Perrie’s advice, if he’s ignoring you, he isn’t angry at you, and trust me that’s the best possible scenario.

“He sounds like a massive douche if you ask me,” Niall says one breakfast over eggs and toast. It’s a Saturday morning and Louis is looking forward to doing absolutely nothing all weekend, after an especially stressful week at the office. Cheryl Cole’s album figures are in and they aren’t great, and everybody in the office has been suffering for it.

“He does come across like one,” Louis muses. “But I can’t figure out if he’s one of those guys who seems like a douche but actually underneath it all is properly sound, or if he is just a massive dickhead.”

“You’ve been there what, two months now?”

“Yeah.”

“And he doesn’t even acknowledge you in the hall?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Definitely a dickhead. Still, at least you get to hang out with Cheryl Cole.” Niall’s eyes glaze over slightly at the thought. It was a meeting he had required Louis to describe to him in inordinate detail.

“It was hardly hanging out Niall. I sat in a corner and took notes. I don’t think she would even recognise me if she saw me again.”

“Yeah, but you got to sit and look at her. Up close, like. Your job is way better than mine.” Niall says it wistfully.

“Shame the sight of Cheryl is wasted on me,” Louis says, raising one eyebrow suggestively. Niall groans, setting down his plate by the side of the couch he and Louis are sprawled on.

“That’s what’s so upsetting,” he says dramatically, stretching out and plonking his feet in Louis’ lap. “Although I suppose if we traded positions, the finer points of Mr Harry Styles’ oh-so-kissable lips would be lost on me, so it’s all a much of a muchness really…”

Louis pokes him in the shin. He is starting to regret that one drunken evening when he had opened up to Niall about the fact that he has maybe developed a certain less-than-professional crush on a certain curly-haired popstar. A crush which is only being fuelled by the ample time spent at close range during all the meetings he has minuted. Four since the first one. And each time, at least once, Harry has glanced over and caught Louis’ eye and sent him a small smile, which has made Louis’ insides do somersaults. This part, thankfully, he has not mentioned to Niall.

They are lazing around in front of the TV, discussing with no great conviction the possibility of maybe hitting the gym in a bit, when Louis’ phone rings. He frowns at the unknown number as he picks it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Louis?”

“Yes,” Louis says lazily, one eye still on the TV.

“This is Will… from Modest.”

Louis sits bolt upright. Why on earth is Will phoning him at ten thirty on a Saturday? Surely they can’t fire him at the weekend? Oh God, is it the weekend? What if it is actually Friday and he just hasn’t bothered to show up to work…?

“Er… Hi Will. Everything ok?” Louis forces out after a stilted pause.

“Fine, fine. Well, sort of. Connor is ill again and he’s meant to be accompanying Harry to the studio today.” A pause. “And you see, I would do it, except I haven’t had a proper weekend in four weeks and Harry has expressly forbidden me from doing anything work related… I mean,” he continues hurriedly, “I’ll go if I have to, it’s not actually up to Harry when I work, it’s up to McGee. But I just thought, considering how well you’ve been doing round the office, it’s maybe time for you to get some hands-on experience.”

“Erm…” Louis opens and closes his mouth and glances over at Niall who is watching him curiously.

“If you’re free that is?”

“Er, yeah, sure, I’m free.” Louis stands up and begins to pace as Will goes over the details, which he promises he will also send over in an email. Thank goodness because Louis can only half take it in. The thought of spending an entire day with Harry, without McGee, is doing strange things to Louis’ brain.

When he gets off the phone he just stands there dumbly, staring down at Niall.

“Everything ok?” Niall asks. He looks genuinely concerned. “You’re looking a bit pale.”

Louis tries to shake it off.

“I’m fine. I’m good actually. I’m going to accompany Harry Styles to the studio today.”

Niall raises his eyebrows and sends Louis a knowing smirk.

“I see.”

Louis hurries to his room to frantically find a suitable outfit, anything being better than his current outfit of joggers and nothing else, and shuts his door to block out the kissy-kissy sounds which Niall has decided to start up from the living room.

The car calls for him at eleven, as Will had promised it would, and along with the driver Louis is met by a tall, burly man who introduces himself as Alberto, Harry’s security.

Louis isn’t sure what he expected but… security. And a driver. As they speed across London, Louis thinks how used he has become to seeing Harry in meetings, unstyled, arriving on his own, no fuss. Louis has never stopped to think who might be waiting for him downstairs in reception. Harry doesn’t seem like the sort of person who requires a driver. Although, Louis reminds himself, he hardly knows Harry as a person at all, and Harry is one of the most famous faces on the planet.

It is with this in mind that the nerves build and build inside him, until he has half-convinced himself that he is going to be spending the day being looked down at by a dreadful diva version of Harry in dark glasses. When they pull up on a wide, quiet street, large houses obscured by high walls and dark green hedges, Alberto looks at Louis expectantly.

“You’re meant to call him to let him know we’re here.”

“Oh,” Louis frowns. “Will didn’t mention. I don’t have Harry’s number.”

“Really?”

Louis nods. He’s pretty sure he would know if he had the number of Harry Styles in his phone.

“Hold on a sec.” Alberto pulls out his own phone and types something out. Louis sits and looks awkwardly out of the window. “You’re new,” he says, stating the obvious, as his phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down. “Will says it’s fine for me to give you his number and he’s sorry he forgot to include it in the email.”

Louis gulps and sends a silent prayer that Will hasn’t forgotten any other vital pieces of information, as Alberto recites the number to him.

Harry picks up after only two rings.

“Hello?” His voice on the phone sounds soft and sleep-roughened. It takes Louis a beat too long to find his voice. “Hello?”

“Hi Harry, it’s Louis. We’re here in the car outside ready to pick you up.”

“Louis!” Harry says it like a greeting. “Just give me one sec, I’m heading out now.”

Less than two minutes later Harry emerges from a gap in the hedges a few metres down the street. He is clutching his phone in one hand and a brown leatherbound journal in the other, and he has on large dark glasses. He looks every bit the artist and it strikes Louis how much older than his twenty one years he seems.

He clambers into the car with a friendly greeting to the general group and sits himself on the back seat next to Louis.

Although Louis has by now spent several hours sitting in close proximity to Harry, it has never been so close as this and never has he felt so much pressure to break the silence. In the end he doesn’t have to.

“You weren’t in the meeting on Wednesday,” Harry says. Louis turns to look at him. He had been required to assist Eleanor with some incredibly tedious paperwork and McGee had not deemed the meeting of enough significance to require formal minutes. He had wondered whether Harry would notice his absence.

“I was doing paperwork,” he says, and then immediately regrets not coming up with anything more interesting, or at least vaguely funny.

“Oh.” Harry is peering at him with that same slight smile Louis has become accustomed to. “That’s a shame.”

Louis is sure his cheeks are blushing and is glad to be able to look out of his window instead of at Harry, whose face, up close, is far too real.

“Did I miss anything interesting?” he asks, after a moment’s pause in which he is careful to steady his voice. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry shrug.

“Not really. Same old shit.”

Louis laughs politely. He is very aware of how close their knees are to each other.

“How is it going for you at Modest?” Harry asks. “It’s been… what? Two months?”

“Yeah. It’s going fine,” Louis nods.

“Just fine?”

“No actually, it’s good. I like it.”

“What’s it like working for McGee? I mean, I have a pretty good idea of what it might be like but…” Harry smiles his wry smile.

“It’s good, yeah. Mr McGee is… nice.”

Harry snorts and shakes his head.

“Well if that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

Louis smiles knowingly in response. They seem to understand each other. The driver takes a corner too fast.

The journey isn’t a long one. For the rest of the way Harry chats amiably to Alberto and Louis tries and fails to think of something witty to say. He generally considers himself to be a pretty funny guy but in the presence of Harry he finds that his brain goes slightly fuzzy round the edges. He listens to how Harry and Alberto chat. They could be uncle and nephew, maybe. They definitely do not seem like popstar and entourage member. Thank goodness, Louis thinks, and baulks at the notion that right now he counts as being part of a celebrity’s entourage.

As they pull up to the studio Louis sees a small crowd in front of the gates. As they draw closer he notices that the crowd is made up mostly of teenage girls, with the occasional burly man holding a fat, black camera around his neck. As the car rounds into the drive, the crowd seems to turn as one and all at once the screams and the flashes begin.

It’s like being in a fish tank. The car drives slowly as the fans bang on the windows and Louis sees spots in his eyes. He turns to Harry, who is waving politely at the girls throwing themselves against his window. Alberto is looking at his phone and the driver is chatting about something, although Louis can’t hear it over the roar of the crowd. He looks back out of his window just in time to see a girl press her lips up against it in a smudgy kiss, her pout distorting as the car continues forward and she has to hop to keep up.

“Is it always like this?” Louis asks as they pull safely through the gates and are met by several members of security who have not allowed the fans or paparazzi past. Louis feels as though he can breathe again.

“This is pretty standard, yeah,” Harry says. “For a studio session I mean.”

“This is on the small side for a studio crowd I would say,” Alberto muses and Louis gawps at him. There must be a hundred people at least in that crowd, all here just to see a glimpse of Harry. And they aren’t even supposed to know where his studio is.

They get out of the car and again the crowd goes wild, reaching through the gates and brandishing their cameras. Harry waves politely, twisting round as best he can, as Alberto guides him firmly towards the studio doors. Louis tries to ignore the crowd entirely. Stepping into the brightly lit entrance of the studio is like a breath of fresh air.

Harry grins at him.

“You ok?”

“Oh yeah,” Louis nods, “I’m fine.” He squeezes his eyes together but it only makes the flashing spots worse.

They are greeted by a pretty receptionist who seems to know them already. Harry winks at her and she blushes, before leading them towards a studio. Louis watches Harry out of the corner of his eye. He seems taller out of the office, and more relaxed. He has a small smile playing on his lips as they walk briskly down the corridor and when he catches Louis watching him, the smile widens. It is strange how quiet the place seems, until Louis realises, it’s the weekend. Have they opened the place just for Harry?

They enter through a door marked SSL Room 1 and are greeted by a guy who Harry introduces as Liam. He is dressed informally in joggers and a t-shirt. The baseball cap on his head makes him look very young. Louis greets him politely, and then remembers Will’s instructions. Check that everything is ok, and then leave them to it. Apparently Harry doesn’t like having anyone from management hanging around when he is trying to be creative. Louis thinks this is fair enough.

“Do you need anything or…?” Louis doesn’t even know what he is asking. These are adult men. He’s sure they’re just fine. Is he meant to get coffee or something?

“We’re good,” says Harry, already approaching the huge grand piano in the middle of the room. It is an impressive studio. Not that Louis has seen many but he can tell this one is reserved for the best. Liam must catch him looking.

“Beautiful isn’t it.” He nods in the general direction of the room, as if to include it all. The mixing desks glinting like runways, the glass panelling of the booth, the lights which trail around huge silver mirrors, and in the middle the sleek, black grand piano with its pearly white teeth, and amongst it all Harry, trickling his fingers across the notes like running water.

“It is,” Louis breathes and Harry looks up at that moment and catches his eye. He isn’t smiling this time, but his eyes seem to talk and Louis feels his cheeks flush.

“The Rolling Stones use this room,” Harry says quietly, and he looks younger than Louis has seen him look before. He looks at home. This is his world. His and The Rolling Stones’, amongst others.

Louis mumbles something about leaving them to it and slips out of the room. He makes his way back down the corridor and his head spins. How many famous musicians have walked this corridor, he wonders. A lot, is the answer, if the photos on the walls are anything to go by.

Will warned him of the next part. The waiting. Will says ninety per cent of being a management assistant is waiting. Louis sits in the reception and makes conversation with the pretty receptionist. It quickly becomes clear she is only at work because of Harry.

“He’s Harry Styles,” she says, and her eyes are full of wonder. “If he wants the studio on a Saturday he bloody well gets it. If he wants the studio on Christmas Day he bloody well gets it.”

Louis laughs politely and time passes slowly. He quizzes her on the many artists who use these studios. It turns out there are quite a few.

“But of course, we have our priority clients who always get first dibs. We hold the best rooms for them in case they need a room at short notice.”

“What happens if all the rooms are booked?” Louis asks.

“Then we have to cancel on someone else. Well, not cancel, we reschedule. But that’s very rare. You can imagine it doesn’t go down too well when we have to do it.”

Louis frowns. That seems like bad practice but then, he supposes, what’s worse? Pissing off a bunch of small-time indie bands or pissing off the likes of Beyoncé? Or Harry Styles, for that matter?

At around three Louis wanders off in search of Alberto, who had been dozing in a corner and then announced he was going for a cigarette over an hour ago. Louis finds him at the back of the building, out of sight of the crowd who, amazingly, are still there, although they are now sitting placidly by the gates, almost as though they are in a park at some festival.

“Everything alright?” Alberto asks as Louis approaches.

“Fine,” Louis says.

“You bored?”

Louis hesitates. It feels unprofessional to admit it. Alberto nods. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Am I supposed to check in on them at all?” Louis asks.

“Not unless you want to get your head bitten off.”

“Really?” Louis must look worried because Alberto laughs.

“Well not bitten off exactly, more mildly nibbled at. You’ve met the lad, he doesn’t go about shouting at his staff. He just really doesn’t like to be disturbed when he is writing. Breaks his creative flow or something.” Alberto says creative flow as though even the words don’t sit right with his view of the world.

They chat for a while about small things. Louis wants to ask about Harry, what it is like protecting him everyday, what he’s like, but he doesn’t want to come across as unprofessional or gossipy. Instead they talk about nothing much. Football and TV.

His phone buzzes and a text from Harry appears on the screen.

Louis? Can you come here please?

Louis frowns at it. What a strange way to word a text, almost as if Harry doesn’t quite understand the medium.

“Erm… Harry wants me to go to him,” he says by way of explanation.

Alberto raises an eyebrow, and Louis heads back inside. When he reaches the studio he takes a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

Liam is sat playing around at one of the many mixing desks and Harry is quite close to him, a guitar in his lap and a scattering of sheets around his feet with what Louis assumes are lyrics scribbled all over.

“Louis,” Harry looks up from his guitar, “take a seat, we need some advice.”

Liam looks amused as he watches Louis search for a seat.

“You know, we don’t normally let anyone into our inner chamber. You’re very privileged,” he teases as Louis perches on the piano stool.

“You may not make it out alive,” Harry says in a menacing drawl, as he fiddles with the tuning pegs on his guitar. A second later he pushes flowing curls from his face and grins up at Louis, a wide, bright, toothy grin… and suddenly there it is. Harry Styles. Harry Styles as Louis has seen him a thousand times in interviews but never before in the flesh. Mischievous and promising the world. Utterly young and utterly beautiful. This is why you are a superstar, Louis thinks, because sometimes you look like this.

Harry’s eyes seem to laugh a moment later as he goes back to strumming a few chords on his guitar. Does he know the effect he has on the world, Louis wonders. Liam explains that they are stuck on a chorus and would like an outside ear. Louis can’t decide how sincere the request is.

“Ok,” he nods, wondering if this is standard procedure. He is hardly a musician and Will didn’t mention anything about having to give advice.

Harry begins to play. His voice is soft and coarse at once. The chorus involves high notes which Harry gently hums rather than belting them out the way Louis has seen him do onstage. It’s only short and when he comes to an end he looks at Louis expectantly.

“Well?”

“I like it.”

Liam laughs, not unkindly, but as if to suggest that he had expected nothing more. He seems slightly wary of Louis’ presence.

“But it’s missing something don’t you think? In the chorus?” There is urgency in Harry’s voice.

Louis doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to disappoint Harry. This feels like a test somehow.

“Maybe… maybe you could add like, something in between the lines?” Louis isn’t sure what he wants to say exactly but he has to say something so he keeps going. “Cos I think the lyrics are good, simple but effective, so you don’t need to play around with them, but it’s the bits in between, like a couple of bars of instrumental where maybe it goes a bit flat? Like, not flat as in out of key but…” Louis searches around for the musical jargon and realises he doesn’t know it. “Loses some… momentum maybe?”

There is silence for a moment. Louis cringes internally.

“Momentum. That’s what it is, Liam,” Harry turns to his producer, eyes wide, “it loses momentum. He’s right.” He looks triumphant. “Nice word,” he adds in Louis’ direction and then starts strumming again, playing around with the chords and humming under his breath.

“Maybe,” Louis feels emboldened by Harry’s response, “maybe if you do right now I wish you were here with me but like sing it up like me-ee-ee and then, I don’t know, just like an ooo or something, so that the space is filled and it builds more into the next line.”

Liam is looking at Louis strangely. Harry is smiling, a satisfied glint in his eye, as he plays the chords of the song again. He sings it just as Louis has suggested. He stops and looks up.

“That’s brilliant.” Harry looks excitedly to Liam, who nods. He seems impressed. Louis blushes fiercely.

“You have a really nice voice, Louis,” Harry says gently. Louis thinks he might die.

“Have you studied music at all?” Liam asks.

“No, I just listen to it a lot.” He laughs nervously. Harry raises his eyebrows at Liam in a way which suggests I told you so and Liam nods.

“Right,” he claps his hands and leans back over his mixing desk, “let’s work out how we can actually incorporate this into the track. I think if we want to go with this sort of thing, we could even get away with extending the second phrase…” He begins to say a load of things that Louis doesn’t understand. Neither of the boys is looking at him now and he feels that he has been silently dismissed.

“I’ll just be in reception,” he says awkwardly as he stands. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Liam glances his way and nods politely. Harry’s eyes bore into him as he makes his way to the door.

“Thank you Louis,” he calls out, just as Louis opens the door, and it swings shut behind him before he has time to answer.

On Monday morning Will catches Louis by the photocopier.

“Saturday went well then,” Will says, smiling.

“Yeah, it seemed to be ok,” Louis says.

“More than ok. You’ve done something right.” Will’s smile is infuriating.

“What do you mean?”

“McGee’s office.” He jerks his head towards the door. “He wants to see you.” Louis gulps. If this is some sort of horrible trick and he is actually about to be fired he would rather Will just tell him now.

When he knocks on the door he is greeted with that deep, familiar voice. He steps into the room and McGee doesn’t look up from his desk.

“From now on you’ll report to Will, instead of Eleanor, understand? You’ll be exclusively working on Harry’s team.” Louis opens and closes his mouth. Is he getting a promotion? Is this a joke? McGee glances up and, as though reading the questions on Louis’ face, shrugs and says, “Harry has requested you personally.”

Chapter Text

For the first week, being on Harry’s official team doesn’t feel very different from being a general assistant. Louis still has a lot of filing to do. Just now all the documents have Harry’s name on them. He gets to know the others on the team a little better. Aside from Will, there is Leigh-Anne, who is primarily responsible for everything to do with Harry’s image and social media. She spends a lot of time on the phone to stern Sarah, who it turns out works for an entirely different company altogether, a company called HJPR who handle all Harry’s PR and press. There is Aiden, who seems to spend a lot of time going back and forth between Syco’s offices and McGee’s, and Louis’ pretty sure there should also be Connor although he hasn’t seen him in a while and is rather reluctant to ask what has become of him.

Will is in charge. They all report to Will and he reports to McGee. He explains to them all that he intends to have Louis shadow him closely, as a direct assistant to himself.

“So that means you will be helping me with Harry’s diary, with organising his whole life basically – well, his professional life at least. Drawing up his schedules for shows, rehearsals, everything. Processing studio bookings, confirmations. You get the idea. Basically doing whatever the fuck either of us tells you.” He smiles but Louis gets the sense he isn’t joking. Then Will frowns and adds, “unless he tells you something different than what McGee or I have told you. Then you don’t do anything until you’ve checked it with me.”

“Ok,” Louis nods.

“And make sure you have your phone on at all times. And not just like office hours. All times. If for some reason I can’t answer the phone and Harry needs to get in touch with management, then it will be you he calls. He rarely calls McGee direct. So you had better never miss a call from him.”

“Ok.”

“And one more thing,” Will smiles brightly, “from now on you’ll be accompanying him to anything work related that I can’t be at, or that requires more than one of us. Evening, weekend, whenever. If Harry’s there then you probably are too.”

Louis’ insides are doing strange things. How did this happen? How has his job become spending time with Harry Styles?

“And don’t worry, he’s usually fine. Most of the job is just hanging around, like I told you. And making sure he keeps his mouth shut.” Will raises his eyebrow and, before Louis has time to ask exactly what he means, he swings round in his chair to where Leigh-Anne has just approached the desk.

“Sarah has sent over their proposal for the album launch schedule. We should go through it before her phone call.”

“Right you are,” Will says and dismisses Louis with a nod of his head.

Since his promotion, McGee at least seems to acknowledge Louis’ existence, although he still is yet to smile at him in the corridor. Louis still sits opposite Perrie and Eleanor still clacks about looking officious, although she no longer bosses Louis about, a state of affairs which Perrie is most envious of.

“It’s not fair,” she hisses one day glaring at Eleanor’s retreating back. “I don’t see why Sam can’t get the bloody coffee, I mean, he’s just sitting there, look at him.” Louis glances over at the office intern, who seems to be making some sort of chain out of paperclips, and shrugs.

“You’re her new bitch, now that Will has forbidden her from ordering me around.”

“Brilliant,” Perrie grumbles.

“Remember, it’s a grande skinny latte and a pain au raisin,” he says in his best Eleanor voice, “I’m sure someone will have an umbrella they can lend you.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and grudgingly gets up, making a large show of doing up her coat and wrapping her scarf over her head, presumably for Eleanor’s benefit.

“Louis?” Will calls across from his desk.

“Yep?”

“Could you come here a sec?”

As Louis approaches Will’s desk he wonders dully what new pile of filing Will has in store for him. He is shocked when Will hands him a lanyard with a plastic card hanging from the end of it. It reads “Management Pass.”

“This Friday you’re coming.”

Louis knows exactly what this means. His heart skips a beat and he grins at Will. This Friday is a big press day for Harry. There is a book signing followed by a gruelling six hour session of interviews for about fifty different newspapers, and magazines and TV channels. Louis has seen the schedule, in fact he has helped to draw it up, and it’s intense. Now, finally, he thinks, he will really be able to get his teeth stuck in.

“This is awesome. Thanks so much.”

“Before you get too grateful I should warn you it’s a six am start. Got to get to the secret location in plenty of time.”

“Of course,” Louis nods.

Will laughs at Louis’ excitement and waves him away. Louis sits back down at his desk and wonders just how much Perrie, and Niall for that matter, are going to hate him when he tells them.

On Friday Louis drags himself out of bed at the ungodly hour of five am and practically crawls to the bathroom. It is still dark. He does his hair half in a blur and tries to ignore the jealousy he feels towards Niall, who is snoring loudly in the next room. He shakes the sleep out of his limbs and makes himself some tea.

He makes it to their office building with five minutes to spare and finds Will already waiting with Leigh-Anne and Alberto by a large blacked-out jeep.

“I’m not late, am I?” he asks by way of a greeting.

“No, no. You’re fine.” Will barely glances up from where he is leaning over Leigh-Anne’s shoulder, staring intently at her iPad. Louis greets Alberto and then stands awkwardly. Both Will and Leigh-Anne seem to know exactly what they’re doing. All Louis has been told is to show up.

They set off at six exactly. The backseats of the car face each other, like a taxi, and Louis finds himself sitting backwards, watching the London streets whizz by in reverse. It does nothing helpful for his stomach.

“Louis,” Will addresses him directly for the first time that day, “do you want to do the honours and give Harry a call. Let him know we’ll be there in twenty.”

Harry picks up after five rings.

“Hmm?” He groans followed by a cough.

“Harry?”

“Yeah.” His voice cracks. He sounds as though he is still asleep.

“It’s Louis.”

“Hi Louis.” Or at least Louis thinks that’s what he is trying to say. “Sorry, my voice.”

“You ok?”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re gonna be with you in about twenty minutes, ok?” Louis tries to make it sound like a positive thing. Harry groans again.

“Ok,” he croaks. It doesn’t just sound like sleep now. Something worse. Maybe he is ill.

“Do you need us to bring you anything?” Louis asks.

“No. M’fine.” Harry sniffs and then coughs again. “I’ll be waiting. Can you ring me again when you arrive?”

“Of course,” Louis says brightly.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles and before Louis can say anything else he hangs up. Louis bites his lip as he puts away his phone. Alberto must notice his face.

“Everything alright?” he says.

“I think so,” Louis replies, “just Harry sounded a bit croaky. Like maybe he’s ill or something.”

At that both Leigh-Anne and Will snap their heads up.

“What kind of ill?” Will narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“I don’t know. Like a cold maybe.” When Louis sees the thunderous look on Will’s face he wishes he hadn’t said anything. “But I could be wrong. Could just have been tiredness.”

“He can’t be ill,” Leigh-Anne says, wide eyed. “Of all days, he literally cannot be ill today. This is like three months worth of interview footage we’re creating. He can’t be ill for three months!”

Louis shrugs unhelpfully. He figures they’ll find out soon enough. Will is hastily scrolling through his phone and seems to be searching for something. Suddenly he stops and taps angrily on the screen. He shoves it in front of Leigh-Anne’s nose and she growls.

“The little shit.”

“What?” Louis asks, feeling thoroughly worried now that he has landed Harry in trouble.

“He knows he has to be up at six and does he go to bed at eleven like I tell him to? Does he fuck!” Will passes the phone to Louis.

On it is a blog post which includes several wildly unflattering pap photos of Harry, apparently stumbling out of a club in the early hours of the morning, radio 1 DJ Nick Grimshaw in tow. It is dated with today’s date.

“Well,” Louis tries, “are you sure about the date? Don’t the paps sometimes lie…?”

“No,” Will shakes his head. “Not like this. That was definitely last night.”

“This morning,” Alberto corrects, leaning over his shoulder, and unless Louis is mistaken, he seems to take some pleasure in the look Will throws him.

“The little fucker. An unauthorised pap outing.” Leigh-Anne shakes her head. “He did this on purpose you know. He went there because he knew there would be paps. He wanted us to see.”

“Well,” Will looks at her darkly, “wanted us to show McGee. Which we will have to do.” He sighs and puts his phone to his ear. Leigh-Anne goes back to her iPad, swiping with more ferocity than before.

Louis thinks it through. Leigh-Anne and Will seem angry but not surprised. They are under the impression that Harry has purposefully done this to spite them or at least McGee, and to be honest Louis has to agree. Reluctantly. After all, it does seem to be a bit off, going on a bender the night before a big work day and making sure to get papped. The club Harry was seen at is a notorious feeding ground for paps. Nobody goes there unless they want to be seen. Louis thinks the behaviour seems kind of brattish. But, he figures, as they pull into Harry’s road, he is more than prepared to give Harry the benefit of the doubt.

As they pull up he phones again.

“Louis?” Harry answers. He wonders if Harry has saved his number in his phone yet.

“Yep, we’re outside.”

“Ok, one minute.”

One minute turns into six and Will, having come off the phone to McGee, seems no less agitated than before.

“What did McGee say?” Louis asks.

“Well his voicemail was incredibly laidback about the whole thing,” Will snaps.

Harry eventually emerges in dark glasses, his hair hanging lank and unwashed. He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans and he looks as though he doesn’t know quite what time of year it is.

He clambers in and plonks himself down on the only free seat, the one opposite Louis, and sinks into the leather. He doesn’t even glance around at the others, although he croaks out a “hi.” His legs are so long that his knees brush against Louis’ as the car begins to move. Louis tries to ignore the fluttering in his tummy which he has come to associate with Harry.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Will asks, overly bright.

Harry makes a noise that definitely isn’t a proper word and drops his forehead against the window.

“Glad to hear it. Big day coming up.” Will looks across at him, terrifying smile in place, and slaps his thigh. Harry winces at the contact.

These people are weird, Louis thinks to himself, and something somewhere in his chest tightens as the car swings round a sharp bend and presses Harry’s knee straight into Louis’ inner thigh. He can’t tell whether Harry has even noticed but neither of them moves their legs.

Leigh-Anne launches into a run through of the day. Harry is still wearing his sunglasses so it’s difficult to tell if he is listening. Louis has the sneaking suspicion that he has his eyes closed.

When they arrive at the venue, they all pour out. Louis blinks up at the hotel. It’s a grand old house set in acres of parkland. In the pinkish glow of the rising sun, Louis thinks it looks rather beautiful. Harry doesn’t even look at it, just walks towards the front steps and sits.

“Leigh-Anne, you and I need to meet with the Functions Manager and make sure everything has been done exactly to our brief,” Will is saying. “Sarah and Jade should be here already. Alberto, first thing for you to do is meet with John, who is heading venue security,” – Alberto nods – “and Louis, that leaves you to keep an eye on Harry. Take him to the dressing room. Lou should be there already.”

Lou Teasdale, Harry’s stylist. Louis has been making sure to try and learn as many of the names as possible for today’s event.

Louis nods. The others disperse and Louis heads towards where Harry is sitting.

“We have to go to the dressing room Harry. Lou Teasdale should already…”

“Shhh,” Harry says softly and Louis stops abruptly. For a second he wonders whether he is in trouble and then Harry says “come sit.”

Louis does so cautiously, looking around to check that Will isn’t still in sight. Harry seems to be purposefully keeping his head very still.

“You ok?” Louis asks softly.

“No,” Harry mutters and then, “do you think the others noticed?”

“I hate to break it to you,” Louis teases gently, “but, er, yes. I think they did.”

Harry sighs heavily.

“Did they see any pictures yet?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says. Harry lets out a strangled groan. Louis frowns at him in confusion. “Surely you knew there would be paps there?”

Harry makes a small noise of assent somewhere in the back of his throat.

“So,” Louis continues, “you knew they would see them?” He hopes he doesn’t sound at all judgemental. He just wants to understand.

“Yep,” Harry replies. “It seemed like a good idea last night when I was bitching about everything to Nick on the phone. He can be quite persuasive and he has a very ‘fuck-‘em-all’ attitude towards Modest. Well, towards everything really.” He groans again.

Louis doesn’t ask more questions although he could. What was Harry bitching about? Why does Nick Grimshaw think Harry should be so fuck-‘em-all about his management? It’s his career that’s at stake after all. Louis just doesn’t get it. He is silent for a second longer and then says tentatively, “I think we should head to the dressing room now.”

Harry gives no indication that he has heard. Louis tries again.

“If Will finds us still sitting here he’ll have my head!” He means it to be light-hearted but it falls flat. He looks across the steps down the long driveway stretching out in front of them. The sun is bright and on the rise, and there are birds high above them, wheeling through the sky.

“Louis,” Harry’s voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Yes Harry.”

“I can’t do it.”

Louis looks at Harry strangely. His words are weighted with something more than a hangover. He sounds desperate almost.

“You can do it,” Louis says gently. “It’s just one day and then…”

“It’s not just one day,” Harry interrupts. “It’s every day. All the fucking time.” His voice is bitter.

“Well,” Louis treads cautiously. He isn’t one hundred per cent certain what they are talking about. “For now you just have to get through today. I know you can do that.”

Harry shakes his head and then abruptly stops and winces.

“I can’t. I don’t want to.”

He sounds like a child not wanting to go to school. Louis remembers it well. Petulance to cover up fear.

“Look, Harry, we’re going to get you some painkillers and some water and we’ll at least get rid of that headache of yours.” He stands up brusquely, hoping to will Harry into action. “And then we’ll get you all styled up and you’ll feel much better.” There is a part of his brain which wants to reach out and hug Harry, but that would be beyond unprofessional so…

He looks down. Harry’s head slumps forward onto his knees. Shit, Louis thinks, nobody in the office mentioned anything about this. Louis has gathered that Harry can be a bit of a moody git, but this isn’t that. The moodiness that Will and McGee raise their eyebrows over and exchange flippant remarks about isn’t this. Surely not? This is something else entirely and it makes Louis’ heart ache just a little.

He sits back down with a sigh, a few inches closer now, and tentatively reaches out his hand to place it gently on Harry’s arm.

Harry looks down at it and then up at Louis. His expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses. For all Louis knows, being touched by his staff is a huge no-no for Harry, but at this moment Louis doesn’t care. He just wants to offer some comfort. He gives Harry’s arm a small squeeze and Harry continues to look at him.

After several moments have passed, Harry slowly nods.

“Ok,” he says weakly, “let’s go inside.”

Louis lifts his hand from Harry’s arm, almost reluctantly, and they stand up together. Louis smiles at Harry and Harry tries to offer a smile back. He just about manages.

When Harry emerges from his dressing room he looks every bit the teenage heartthrob. His hair is glossy and swept artfully to one side. His skin is glowing and his ratty black t-shirt has been swapped for a fabulously low-buttoned purple shirt. The steps where Louis and Harry sat only hours before are now covered in security and complicated barrier formations and queues of impatient fans clutching books with Harry’s glossy face on the cover.

Throughout the morning Louis keeps a close eye on Harry, which is his job after all, making sure that he has enough water and worrying desperately about the boy who told Louis he couldn’t do it. Not that there is even the tiniest hint of that boy now. Harry is smiling his most dazzling smile and engaging with every single one of his fans, satisfying all their requests for hugs and high-fives and answering all of their questions, some of which are utterly bizarre. Louis looks around in awe. The charm Harry has is magnetic and so strong it seems to exert a physical pull on the room. How the fuck are you managing this, Louis wonders.

He watches as a train of fans pass by Harry, each with their phones out. Some of them push their phones into his face in a way that Louis thinks is incredibly rude, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind and grins obligingly into their lenses. Look at him, Louis finds himself thinking, look at him you idiots, you’ve paid all this money to come and see him for real, so see him.

After the last of the crying fans has been ushered away, there is a break in the schedule. Journalists and cameramen start to arrive in swathes. Louis has glimpsed some of them over the course of the morning, but judging from the many vans parked outside, there are now a lot more of them.

While everybody else is occupied, Harry sidles up to Louis just as he and Leigh-Anne are finalising the seating arrangements for the filmed interviews.

“Leigh-Anne,” he says, “I want to go for a walk around the gardens. You can spare Louis to accompany me can’t you?” He says it half-heartedly, as if reciting a line from a script, and Leigh-Anne frowns up at him.

“Sorry Harry, but you know there is no way that’s possible with all the press and everyone outside.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says dully, and Leigh-Anne gives him a sympathetic glance before rushing over to shout at an ill-fated member of hotel staff who has inadvertently moved a chair.

“I always ask anyway. I live in hope,” Harry smiles wryly after her.

“For what it’s worth,” Louis inclines his head conspiratorially towards Harry, “I would have loved to join you in the gardens.”

Shit. It’s only after he has said it that he realises how suggestive he just sounded. Accidental flirting is one of his biggest liabilities. Niall says there is just something about his voice.

“Well who wouldn’t?” Harry says as his dimples appear. “I’m wonderful company.” He leans closer and whispers under his breath, “come with me.”

“Er… ok,” Louis says carefully and glances around. Harry seems to understand and grabs Louis by the wrist, dragging him into the hall and right up to Will.

“Louis is going to accompany me while I take my break. Need to get away from all the craziness.”

Will glances between them, looking surprised and then nods.

“Sure, that’s fine. Just make sure Harry is back by quarter to two,” he calls after them as Louis follows Harry’s lead down towards the deserted end of the corridor and round a corner.

Harry tries several doors but they are all locked. Eventually he reaches a fire exit. He places his hand on the metal bar and pushes, glancing back to make sure Louis is still with him. They enter a concrete stairwell. Louis has the distinct sense that they aren’t meant to be here.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks, as they begin to climb.

“The brilliant thing about these sorts of buildings,” Harry says, “is that they all have roofs. That’s one of the most important lessons I have learnt.”

Louis laughs at the determination in Harry’s voice as they continue to climb until Louis’ thighs start to burn. Finally they reach a top landing, with another fire exit, and just as fearlessly Harry pushes that one open too.

A fresh breeze hits them, and as they step out onto the roof, Louis has to shield his eyes against the brightness of the sun.

“Glorious,” Harry says contentedly and lets his head fall back to soak it in.

From this height, the hustle and bustle in front of the hotel sounds very distant. The birds sound closer.

There is a small brick structure in the middle of the roof and Harry sits back against it, closing his eyes. The hem of his shirt gets slightly caught on the wall and a slither of pale skin is visible. That soft part at his hip. Louis gulps. He’s straight, he reminds himself, and you work for him. Louis takes in the curve of his jaw, the sweep of his wide mouth, his perfectly styled chocolate curls. He looks so perfect he is almost unreal, Louis thinks, and then, for some reason he can’t even begin to understand, he feels sad.

“Sit with me, won’t you?” Louis jumps. Harry opens his eyes and smirks at him, but it’s cheeky, not unkind. “I didn’t bring you up here just to gawk at me.”

Fuck, Louis thinks. His cheeks burn as he goes to sit by Harry’s side. When Harry doesn’t say anything else Louis bites his lip in thought.

“So how have you found it so far? It’s not so bad right?”

It’s an attempt to change the subject but also, Louis thinks, he wants to make Harry remember their conversation this morning. Perhaps then Harry will explain… something… anything. Whatever it is that is going on inside his head.

From the look on Harry’s face, Louis reckons he is remembering it.

“It’s fine,” he says softly, “but the morning isn’t the worst part.”

“Oh?” Louis frowns. He assumes that would be the hardest part. Journalists are much calmer and their general behaviour is much more in line with normal social convention than fans.

“Meeting the fans is nice. The fact that the book is a load of bull is frustrating but I think it’s good to meet the fans. I mean, the fans. That’s what it’s all about isn’t it.”

Louis supposes so.

“But your fans are bloody terrifying,” he teases. He relaxes a little against the brickwork, enough inches between them to remain entirely professional.

“Not to me,” Harry shakes his head and he sounds totally sincere. “I love my fans.”

“What an original thing for a popstar to say.” Louis grins when he sees Harry pout at him. That’s a new expression that he hasn’t seen yet. He likes it.

“No, but I mean it,” Harry replies earnestly. “I really do love them.” He frowns for a moment. “Well, ok, so I guess I don’t love them in the same way I love, like, my family for example. But it is a kind of love. It’s like we’re connected somehow. I do something for them and they do something for me and we care about each other and, I dunno, it sounds so cheesy, I know it’s ridiculous but like, sometimes it just amazes me how cool it is. It’s this thing that connects me to so many people, all over the world. And they are such wonderful people.”

Louis realises he is staring at Harry. He also realises that this is the most he has ever heard Harry speak in one go. He wants Harry to speak again.

“What about the intrusive ones,” he asks, “or the ones who shout all sorts of rude stuff at you. They don’t sound so wonderful.”

Harry is silent for a moment while he thinks.

“I still care about them. I worry about them mostly. I wonder why they got like that.”

“Wow,” Louis lets himself say and he means it. “You’re a saint, I swear to God. I don’t think I could handle it. I mean, the way some of them treat you. It’s like they think you’re their property or something.”

“I am, kind of,” Harry shrugs.

Louis stares at him in disbelief. He sounds so casual. So dismissive.

“What?”

“Well,” he says slowly, “they pretty much created me. When you think about it.” He squints against the sun and hangs his head, picking at the heel of his shoe. He looks quite young, Louis thinks. “I just mean that without them there is no Harry Styles,” he adds after a moment, looking back up at Louis.

“Well… that’s blatantly not true.”

Harry frowns in thought. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“You’re Harry Styles, fans or no fans,” Louis presses.

“Hmm,” Harry huffs, “well, ok, sure… but I’m not Harry Styles.” He frames his own name in air-quotes and Louis decides then and there that that is fundamentally not ok. “Not the Harry Styles that matters, the one that people want to…” Harry stops abruptly when, before Louis can think better of it, he reaches out and grabs Harry’s wrists mid-air.

“You’re the Harry Styles that matters,” Louis says urgently, “You. No matter what other versions of you the fans create, or the press writes about...” He looks directly into Harry’s eyes, willing him to understand. “The rest is all just meaningless illusion. Smokescreens and mirrors. You, Harry, right in front of me now, you are the only version of Harry Styles that’s real. The only version that matters.”

Louis’ heart is suddenly beating very hard in his chest. He doesn’t know where this little outburst has come from, but he feels almost giddy with it. Harry blinks at him slowly.

The commotion down below is carried to them on a strong gust of wind and Louis suddenly remembers himself.

“Er…” he coughs and lets go of Harry’s wrists. Harry isn’t saying anything, but the intensity with which he is studying Louis’ face is too much and it makes Louis squirm. He stands up abruptly, dusting himself off.

“I guess we should go back inside,” he says gruffly. “We need to make sure you have time to eat some lunch before the afternoon starts.”

Harry peers up at him. He is sitting in Louis’ shadow.

“I’m not hungry,” he says eventually. “Not sure I can stomach anything given my current state.”

“Oh. Are you still hungover?” He had thought Harry seemed fine…

“I feel like death,” he groans. “Literally, you know when you’re mouth gets that horrible fuzzy feeling,” – Louis makes a face – “and my stomach is all swirly still.”

“Well,” Louis says, “you’re doing a very good job of hiding it.”

Harry fixes him with a strange expression.

“That’s because it is my job.” He holds out his hand and instinctively Louis reaches to grab it, holding Harry steady as he heaves himself up. “Ok,” he sighs, sweeping his hair off his face, “lets go back in and meet the vultures.”

The interviews are, on the surface of it, much easier than the book signing had been. Just as Louis had predicted, journos turn out to be far easier to control than fans, and considering that Will and McGee have pre-approved all of their questions in advance, and Sarah is the one running the schedule, this part is really relatively laid back. For everyone that is, except Harry. He is sitting on a huge grey sofa in the middle of the room, and all alone on it he looks very small. When the cameras aren’t rolling nobody seems to talk to him and he sits quite still. He smiles gratefully when Louis brings him a bottle of water and sneaks some painkillers with it.

The questions are pretty inane mostly and quite repetitive. Quite quickly Louis finds that he starts to be able to predict how Harry will respond to a question. Questions about his music, the recording process, the tour, all of which Louis finds sadly lacking, are clearly his favourites. He actually seems to give his answers some thought and he leans forward on the couch, almost willing the interviewers to ask him more.

Questions about his fans he answers with a sort of formula, and the same with questions about fame and media attention. He loves his fans, they’re the best fans in the whole world, he is very lucky to have them, he’s not sure how he feels about the concept of fame, it still doesn’t seem real to him, he enjoys the attention, of course there are bad aspects to it but really who is he to complain, he wouldn’t trade it in for anything, he has the best job in the world. He sounds as though he has given these answers so many times he might as well be reciting them in his sleep.

Questions about his personal life are met with… well, Louis’ not exactly sure but certainly not answers at any rate. If the interviewer asks a question about girls in general, Louis notices that Harry will make a joke and side-step the question entirely. If the interviewer asks a question about a particular girl whom Harry has been linked with he will insist it’s just a rumour. One interviewer, a woman in a tight body con dress and false eyelashes, flirts outrageously with Harry and, whilst he is perfectly polite, he does a terrible job of providing her with the answers she clearly wants. In fact, Louis notices that he seems to shrink right into himself. Huh, Louis thinks, maybe not so much of a womaniser after all. But then again, he supposes even the voracious Harry Styles surely doesn’t feel like flirting when he is hungover and surrounded by burly cameramen. After that particular interview, Harry looks around the room and catches Louis’ eye. His expression is subtle but Louis is sure he detects a silent plea for help. He doesn’t know what to do so he brings Harry another bottle of water.

“Are you trying to make me wee myself?” Harry asks. His eyes seem to laugh as he says it.

In one of the last interviews of the day, a slightly lecherous daytime TV presenter with too-white teeth asks Harry whether he has a current celebrity crush. Louis is sure Harry will say no.

“Patrick Dempsey,” Harry grins at him. “He’s a beautiful man.” Cheeky bugger, Louis thinks.

“Oh man. I am with you on that one. He is very beautiful indeed!” The TV presenter is too smooth for Louis’ liking. “Harry Styles and McSteamy. What a bromance that would be.”

“I can see the headlines now,” Harry says and the look on his face is one of absolute glee. Out of the corner of his eye Louis sees Will shift slightly closer to the sofa, just out of shot.

“A match made in bromance heaven. But, dude,” the presenter leans forward conspiratorially, “when I say celebrity crush I mean, you know, any special ladies you might have your eye on? In particular any supermodel ladies perhaps?” The presenter wiggles his eyebrows and Louis is suddenly overcome with a violent urge to slap him.

He looks at Harry. Harry’s smile is still in place and yet the glee is utterly gone. He shrugs obnoxiously.

“I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“We’ll take that as a yes then,” the presenter smirks down the lens. As the camera man cuts rolling, Harry is glaring straight over his shoulder at Sarah, who stands as stern as ever and doesn’t flinch.

These people are weird, Louis thinks, and not for the first time wonders what the hell sort of shit-show he is getting himself into.

Chapter Text

“That’s the fourth message this week,” Louis mutters at his laptop.

“Are you on Grindr again?” Niall calls, as he drops his briefcase unceremoniously in the hall.

“Haha, very funny.” Louis looks up from where he is sitting at their tiny kitchen table. “You’re only just getting back from work now?”

“Uh huh,” Niall sighs heavily.

“It’s quarter to eleven!”

“Is it? Fuck.” He groans and heads straight for the fridge. “Fucking Mollison has taken two of our guys off the Gym-Go campaign so it’s become a nightmare for the rest of us.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums sympathetically. “That’s shit. I have leftover pasta on the top shelf if you want some.”

“Yes, you legend.” Niall grabs it gratefully and flops down on the seat opposite Louis. “I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad if the client could at least be vaguely flexible with the deadline but no. Of course not. Because that would be actually helpful.” He stabs his fork angrily into the tupperware box. “And who even gives a shit about Gym-Go anyway? It’s a fucking stupid idea.”

Louis watches Niall across the table and notices that he has dark shadows under his eyes.

“Louis?” Niall sighs, putting down his fork.

“Yes, Niall?”

“When did this happen?”

“When did what happen, Niall?”

Niall looks at Louis and shakes his head, helplessly. Louis thinks he understands.

“When did I become someone whose life revolves around a fucking sports marketing job? It’s hardly the dream is it? And I don’t even have enough time to actually do any sport anymore.”

“But you will again. Once this campaign is over.”

“Then there’ll be another campaign.”

“Well,” Louis casts around desperately, “just think of the money. I mean, you make more than double what I make.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees sadly. “But…” He opens his mouth, frowns and closes it again.

Louis sighs. This isn’t the first time they have had this conversation. Poor Niall. He was so bubbly at university, so damned charming and happy all the time that Louis couldn’t help but fall in love with him. But he was so determined to make it in the city, to fork out a more privileged life for himself than the one he had been raised in, so confident in his brilliance, that he never seemed to stop for one second and consider what all those dark, corporate suits might do to him.

“Do you remember,” Niall leans across the table, “that night in Cambodia?” His eyes are suddenly bright again like they used to be all the time.

“There were many nights in Cambodia,” Louis smirks, although he knows perfectly well what Niall’s talking about.

“The full moon party when we got totally lost and it felt like we were in a fucking jungle in the middle of nowhere” – Louis laughs at the memory – “and we were trying to follow the lights back to the beach and you turned to me and you were high off your face and you said…” Niall pauses and points for dramatic effect. “Do you remember what you said?”

Louis nods his head. He remembers.

“You said Niall, isn’t this just the most brilliant metaphor for our lives in this very moment. We’re lost right now because we’ve never been here before and we have no clue where the fuck we’re going, but we can see the lights up ahead and we know if we follow ‘em things will be ok. Man, you were so fucked. I thought you were going to get lost. You were like running and skipping ahead…”

“I was not skipping!”

“Oh you were skipping,” Niall counters fondly. “Niall you said, Niall, these lights represent all our dreams and ambitions, and all we have to do is follow them and we will be ok. This is our future Niall. Right there.” He points dreamily as though at some distant horizon.

Louis can’t help but cackle at Niall’s swishy, wide-eyed impression of himself as he had been back then, just out of the closet, just graduated, high on the excitement of life and God knows what drugs. Just the memory of it makes Louis feel younger again.

“…just follow the lights Niall! You kept saying it over and over. And as long as we stick together we will be ok! You were like something out of a movie. Just close your eyes and click your heels three times, all that nonsense…”

Suddenly, Niall’s voice tails off and his smile slides from his face. He shakes his head.

“I believed you, Louis,” he says quietly. “That’s the stupid thing. I really believed you.”

And just like that, they are back in their flat, and the kitchen feels very small.

Niall rummages distractedly through his pasta and swallows a few mouthfuls, whilst Louis goes back to his laptop.

“What were the messages you were complaining about before?” Niall asks after several minutes, scooping out the last pieces of pasta from the tub. Louis looks up.

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining as such. It’s just weird. Listen to this… you remember Stacey Carrington from halls, right?”

“Yeah…” Niall nods and frowns. “Hang on, she was the one who started the rumour about you and Hattie Brown? With the big teeth?”

“Yeah that one. Well, get this, she messaged me this afternoon saying…” Louis peers at the screen and puts on his best Stacey Carrington voice, “Hi babes, how’s it going? Can’t believe how long it’s been! I heard you’re working in music now. You’re doing pretty well from the sounds of it! That’s so cool. I’m working in fashion btw. Just at a little boutique store in Shoreditch atm but my plan is to go into personal styling. But anyway, enough about me! It would be so lovely to grab coffee or something and have a long overdue catch-up. Hope you’re well babes, lots of love, Stace. And then five kisses. Which seems a little excessive.”

“Pah,” Niall says, “long overdue catch-up! Since when are you two even friends?”

“Well apparently since you went to the pub the other night with Justin and Mark and that whole lot and told everyone that I now work for Harry bleeding Styles,” Louis says, sending Niall his most stern glare.

“Oh… erm… oops?” Niall at least has the decency to look vaguely sheepish.

“Oh erm oops indeed. It’s funny how all of a sudden a bunch of people I hardly spoke to whilst we were actually at university together now want to go out of their way to “catch-up” with me. I mean, look at this,” he points at his screen, “Richard Jones says dude, it’s been way too long. I hate to disagree with you Richard Jones, but no length of time away from you and your fucking homophobic “banter” will ever be too long.”

“Well,” Niall shrugs, heaving himself up from his chair, “it’s always nice to be popular, I suppose.” He chucks the tupperware box in the sink and heads back into the hall.

“That’s the thing,” Louis calls after him, “it’s not me that’s the popular one.”

Louis knows he should go to bed but he stays up for another half an hour, scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed aimlessly. He can’t work out why the messages are bugging him as much as they are.

“You still up?” Niall says, when he pads back into the kitchen in just his boxers to get a cup of water.

“No, Niall, I’m actually in bed right now,” Louis says and keeps his eyes glued on his screen.

Niall stands a minute, sipping his water. He must notice the deep frown on Louis’ face.

“Just think,” he muses, “if this is what you’re getting just for working with Harry Styles, imagine what it must be like for him. I mean he actually bloody is Harry Styles!”

“But it’s different for him,” Louis quibbles. “Cos he actually is the one that’s popular. So at least with him its not fake.”

“Louis,” Niall stares at him in disbelief, “I would imagine for him, it’s about as fake as it gets.”

Huh.

Niall says his goodnight and heads back to his room. Louis really should go to bed too. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow. Lots of final preparations for the U.S. leg of Harry’s tour, plus the negotiations with the label over the fourth album’s production team are far from solved.

Louis sits in his fluorescently lit kitchen and remembers Harry putting air-quotes around his own name. He thinks of the time that Richard Jones had made fun of him just for wearing red trousers and braces to a drinks event, how he had goaded the other lads on the football team to do the same. He thinks of himself and Niall following the lights, and how much they had laughed that night, so much that Louis felt like his sides would split open.

At eleven o’clock the next day, Louis finds himself already desperately counting down the hours until the weekend. He has already been snapped at three times by Will, twice by Leigh-Anne, once over the phone by someone from Harry’s tour company, and once by Aiden. The Aiden one is the one that is niggling in Louis’ mind right now. He and Aiden have been getting on really well and Aiden is generally the sweetest and the most patient of all the team.

“Chin up,” Perrie smiles sympathetically across their desk. “It’s almost the weekend.”

“Thank god,” Louis mutters.

“Louis?” comes Leigh-Anne’s voice from somewhere behind him.

“Yes?” he swings around. She is looking slightly sheepish.

“Call for you on line four.” She scuttles back to her desk before Louis has the chance to enquire further.

He sends a look of confusion at Perrie, who shrugs, and then picks up the phone and presses for line four.

“Hello, this is Louis speaking, how may I help?”

“Hello Louis, it’s Sarah.”

Sarah? From HJPR. Right. Except she has never even spoken directly to Louis, let alone phoned him. Louis didn’t even know she knew his name.

“Oh hi Sarah, how are you?”

“Very well thanks, Louis, how are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Good good. Now, I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to make sure you’re clear on the changes for Harry’s pap outing tomorrow?”

“Erm… changes?”

“With Cara. Yes, there have been some changes. Did Leigh-Anne not mention?”

“Erm…”

“It’s just that obviously with Harry’s whole little rebellion the other week, managing to get himself papped with Nick Grimshaw again, Mr McGee wants us to up the anti on the Cara story.”

“Ok…” Louis is just about following the conversation although he is confused as to why he is the one having it.

“Obviously, as we all know, Harry isn’t going to be too pleased about it. But Mr McGee and all of us at HJPR are agreed, and we’ve confirmed it with Cara’s people so there is absolutely no wiggle room. He’s going to have to play ball this time.” She sounds even more stern than usual.

“Er…”

“So I suppose just stress to him that it’s going to be easier in the long run for everyone involved including himself if he just goes along with it. And, if he asks, it is just the one pap outing, I can confirm that. And it’s only hand holding so really he doesn’t have any grounds to kick up a fuss but… well, you know…”

Nope, definitely not following the conversation as much as he thought he was.

“I’m sorry, Sarah, I’m just a little confused. What am I supposed to be doing?”

There is a pause on the other end of the line in which Louis cringes internally.

“You’re supposed to be explaining to Harry that he has to hold hands with Cara Delevingne at their pap outing tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

What?

Perrie is mouthing questions at Louis. He shakes his head at her in bewilderment.

“But why me? Isn’t this Leigh-Anne’s domain? I mean of course,” he adds hastily, “it’s absolutely not a problem for me to do it, I’m just er… surprised is all.”

“Well yes of course it’s usually Leigh-Anne, but she told me that Will instructed her to pass this on to you. So I just wanted to make sure everything is clear. You will make sure Harry is one hundred per cent clear that this is non-negotiable. If he refuses tomorrow we will simply schedule in others. He knows the drill.”

“Erm… ok, yep. Holding hands. Non-negotiable. Got it.”

“You do?” She sounds unsure.

“Yes,” Louis nods firmly, still utterly confused.

“Ok well great. Get Leigh-Anne to email me when it’s all good.”

“Ok.”

“Good luck Louis! And have a nice day.”

“You too.”

“Bye then.”

“Bye.”

Louis puts the phone down and stares at Perrie.

“Who was that?”

He shakes his head.

“It was stern Sarah from HJPR but…” he doesn’t even finish the sentence. He gets up and heads straight over to Will’s desk.

“Will?” he begins. Will looks up politely, if perhaps a tad impatiently. “I was just wondering if it was correct that Sarah was meant to phone me to discuss Harry’s outing with Cara tomorrow. Something about them holding hands?”

“Ah that. Yes. I suggested you for the job.”

In any other circumstance Louis would feel pleased right now. Usually, every time a new responsibility gets passed to him he gets a little rush of pride in his chest, and sometimes he has to work hard to contain his smile. But something about this is different. There is no little rush. He is sure he detects a hint of guilt on Will’s face.

“Why me?” He tries not to sound too suspicious. After all Will is his superior and he can technically get Louis to do whatever he wants.

“I just think Harry might respond better to the news if it comes from you.”

“Really?” Louis is genuinely surprised at that.

“Yeah,” Will shrugs. “He seems to respond very well to you. You guys seem to have a natural rapport, which is great. It’s perfect in fact. It’s what you need to be a successful manager.”

“Oh, ok.” Louis feels distinctly uncomfortable. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

Will nods. When Louis fails to go back to his desk, Will raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Sorry…” he stutters, “er… I’ll give him a call at lunch.”

“Great,” Will smiles one of his winning smiles, “cheers, Louis.”

Louis thinks about it all the rest of the morning. His cheeks burn every time he thinks about the fact that his basically-boss has picked up on his “rapport” with Harry. It’s true that Louis likes Harry an awful lot. Who is he kidding? It’s true that he fancies him an awful lot. But still, he had thought he was being more subtle than that. And he had no inkling whatsoever of Harry treating him any differently to anyone else. Granted, perhaps Harry asks him a few more questions, shows a little more interest in him, but he assumes that’s just because he is new. Harry is just being polite and getting to know the new member of his management team. Surely? Either way, Louis supposes, if Will has got it into his head that Harry “responds well” to Louis, that can only be a good thing. Professionally speaking, of course.

Louis tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He gets up for his lunch break at one and heads for the Starbucks a few doors down from the office block.

On the downside, if Harry really is responding better to Louis than the others maybe that’s just because Louis hasn’t had to be the one to break any bad news to him yet. Maybe once he does, that will be it. Not that he understands quite why holding hands with Cara Delevigne is such bad news - he’s sure Niall would jump at the chance - but Louis has become very used to accepting Harry’s strange quirks as part of his whole otherworldly-famous-person thing.

On an even downer downside, perhaps this is just a joke. Louis feels his stomach clench painfully at the thought. Perhaps the whole team are in on it. Perhaps they have all noticed Louis’ little crush. Perhaps it’s hilariously funny to them that little obviously gay Louis would have a crush on straight, unattainable, massively out-of-his-league Harry Styles, and it doesn’t really make a difference who phones Harry…

No. Louis shakes it off. That’s stupid. He and Harry do have a good rapport. It makes sense that Will wants Louis to be the one to speak to him. He takes a deep breath and pulls up Harry on his phone.

At the sound of Harry’s answering voice, Louis’ butterflies increase exponentially.

“Mr Louis Tomlinson sir, what a lovely surprise!” He sounds bright and cheerful and utterly delicious.

Louis explains his conversation with Sarah slowly, trying to make sure he doesn’t miss anything important out. Even though it is so loud Louis can hardly hear himself above the lunchtime crowd, he still makes sure not to mention any proper names or anything which might be recognisable to an average member of the public. Just enough for Harry to understand. At the end, Harry is silent for a few moments.

“They’re fucking shitheads,” he grumbles eventually. “They’re using Nick as an excuse, this has nothing to do with Nick.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. As always with conversations involving Harry and Modest, he has the unsettling notion that he can only understand about half of whatever is being meant.

Harry sighs.

“I guess I don’t have a choice really, do I?”

“Not from the sound of it, I’m afraid. She said that it’s all been confirmed with Cara’s people and if you don’t do it tomorrow they’ll just schedule more.”

“They’d love that.”

Louis highly doubts that. Presumably organising more outings will take up more time which they don’t really have before Harry goes away.

“Multiple outings mean more articles. Plus it makes it look like a more serious relationship.” Harry answers as though he has read Louis’ mind.

Louis feels really bad.

“Harry, I’m sorry to be the one breaking the news to you. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear…”

“That’s ok, it’s not your fault, Louis.” He says it almost forcefully in a way that strikes Louis as odd. Harry is never so forgiving to Will.

“I guess it must suck a bit… more than a bit, having to pretend to be in a relationship when you’re not. People talking about your private life but like… not really knowing the real you.” Louis is not sure why he is saying these words. He just wants Harry to know that he is trying to understand.

“Hah,” Harry laughs sadly, “you could say that.” He sighs again and there is a moment’s pause between them. It feels surprisingly un-awkward.

“How come it’s you phoning me and not Leigh-Anne or Will?” Harry asks.

“Er…”

Even though he is sat alone in a giant Starbucks with nobody at all watching him, he’s sure that he is blushing furiously.

“Er… I don’t know. Will just asked me to do it.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Hmm,” Harry says, and Louis wonders if he can detect a note of suspicion in Harry’s voice. Maybe he’s just projecting. “Well, whatever the reason,” Harry continues, “I’m glad you phoned. I was actually going to text you.”

“You were?” Louis’ butterflies are back in full force.

“Yeah actually… I, er… I’m going to, like, a small party tomorrow. Well not even a party, just like drinks and stuff, at Grimmy’s, and I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Louis’ stomach is doing somersaults. Is this a work thing? None of the others in the office have mentioned it.

“You can bring someone else as well if you want, like a friend or…” he seems to hesitate and clear his throat, “or partner or whatever. And er, yeah. It will just be casual. But I thought it might be cool. Liam Payne will be there, who you’ve met….” He tails off. If Louis didn’t know better he could swear Harry sounds slightly nervous. Maybe he isn’t supposed to invite unknown, non-celebrities to Nick Grimshaw’s parties.

There is a silence and this time it is awkward. With a start Louis realises he hasn’t actually responded and he just about finds his tongue.

“I’d love to,” he says, and breaks out into a wide grin.

“You would?” Harry’s voice sounds so bright and eager it makes Louis want to laugh.

“Yeah of course, it sounds really fun!” He is grinning like a massive idiot in the middle of Starbucks. A girl is looking at him strangely, and he just thinks fuck it, if you had any idea who I am talking to right now, love…

“Can you send me the name of whoever else you want to bring by the end of today and I’ll make sure they’re on the guest list too, if that’s alright?” Harry asks. “Erm,” he adds sheepishly, “perhaps not a Modest person…”

“Oh I can tell you now, it’s Niall Horan.”

“Nile like the river?” Harry asks. Louis finally lets himself laugh.

“No, Niall like… don’t worry. I’ll text you.”

“Ok.” Harry is smiling, Louis can hear it in his voice. “And I’ll text you details and everything... and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great! Ok, well, see you tomorrow, Harry.”

“See you, Louis.”

Louis hangs up and hurriedly dials Niall’s number, praying he won’t be in a meeting. The butterflies are everywhere. They have invaded. His heart is fluttering at a million beats per minute.

“Louis, I’m meant to be at work,” Niall hisses when he picks up his phone.

“As if I give a shit. Niall, what are you doing tomorrow evening?”

“Erm… as far as I know, I have no plans.”

“Well, you do now. We’re going to a party at Nick Grimshaw’s house!” Louis says it slightly louder than he means to and the girl at the next table turns around to gawp at him.

Oops.

Chapter Text

As soon as Louis steps into Nick Grimshaw’s dimly-lit apartment, all wooden floorboards and art deco, he feels as though he is back at university, the first time that he had realised how much posher everybody else was than him. He had felt really rather short and ever so northern, and again he’s hit by just what a different world London is to Doncaster.

Very quickly he spots Harry, who simultaneously catches sight of Louis and offers him an enthusiastic wave, disentangling himself from a tight crowd of people and heading straight towards him. He is in a dark, semi-see-through shirt which Louis is almost sure has actual sequins on it, and as he comes closer the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the soft curves of his dimples momentarily make Louis forget his own name.

“Louis!” Harry cries above the music. “You’re here!” He spreads his arms wide and scoops Louis into a friendly hug. Louis is met with the soft smell of warm, musky cologne and he realises that they have never hugged before. He wonders how he is going to manage to hold onto his sanity tonight. He has literally only just walked in the door.

As they break apart Harry looks expectantly over Louis’ shoulder. “And this is Niall I presume?”

“Oh, yes… er… this is Niall,” Louis says, remembering his friend who steps forward and holds out his hand.

“It’s good to meet you mate, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Niall says eagerly and then his face falls. “Er… I mean, from him,” he nods towards Louis. “Not from like the papers… er…” Louis rarely sees Niall flustered so he enjoys it while he can but also makes a mental note to punch him later.

“Have you really?” Harry sounds rather pleased with himself as he shakes Niall’s hand.

“Oh yeah, he talks about you all the time,” Niall nods and if Louis could quite literally stare daggers he would.

Harry grins at Louis.

“Let’s get you both drinks, shall we?” he says, and Louis hopes the dimly-lit hall is enough to hide his cheeks as he and Niall follow Harry into a bright, shiny white kitchen which is probably about as large as their whole flat.

“We have whatever you could possibly want,” Harry says proudly, sweeping his hand to indicate the array of bottles and cocktails spread out across every available surface.

“Oh my god, you really do!”

“Help yourself,” Harry says, “unless you want mojitos, in which case, sit tight!”

“Harry darling, would you be a doll and pass me the vodka?” says a young man with lilac hair and mascara, leaning across the counter so that his tank top exposes a great deal of his pale chest and a hint of nipple.

“She suggested I wear the Balenciaga but I really think it’s more of an Yves Saint Laurent type event, don’t you?” says a voice somewhere behind Louis, rising loudly above a peel of laughter. Louis turns curiously to see a skinny girl sporting a platinum blonde topknot and an oversized knitted jumper, talking animatedly to her friend who seems to be drinking straight out of a bottle of champagne.

Good God. These people, Louis thinks. He raises his eyebrows at Niall and wonders if he too is thinking about Stacey Carrington. He looks at Harry. Harry looks as though he fits in comfortably enough, but at the same time, he seems separate from them all. Maybe it’s just Louis, but there seems to be an air of something around him, so that wherever he moves within the kitchen the energy of the room seems to shift. Occasionally eyes flicker towards him, but not for long.

It turns out Harry is very good at making cocktails, if perhaps a little liberal with his ratio of alcohol to mixer. It’s not long before Louis and Niall get stuck in, and Louis doesn’t think he has ever tasted such expensive rum in all his life. The music pumping into the kitchen is hilariously reminiscent of Radio 1’s current playlist, and when Niall mentions as much Harry grins.

“Well, yeah, Nick actually genuinely likes the music he has to play. Which is quite refreshing.”

“Doesn’t he play your music like, all the bloody time?” Louis teases.

“He does,” Harry nods proudly.

Three cocktails later and Louis finds himself and Niall once again following Harry, this time back through the entrance hall and into a large open plan living area, with a makeshift dance floor where people are dancing in small clusters, and at the other end are large white-latticed doors which lead out onto a balcony, through which people occasionally disappear with cigarettes tucked behind their ears.

In all of this, people are constantly coming up to Harry and greeting him, so much so that it is quite difficult for him to maintain any sort of proper conversation with Louis and Niall. He is wonderful and delightful and incredibly patient with everybody who comes up to him, not all of whom, Louis suspects, are really as close friends with Harry as they would like to think. Harry introduces Louis and Niall to more people than Louis can remember and it takes a while but Louis finally begins to realise why nobody seems to linger long. Harry seems to be refusing to leave Louis’ side. Well, Louis’ and Niall’s. They are perfectly capable of looking after themselves, and Harry is being pulled in so many directions there is really no need for him to stick to them as closely as he does. Louis is grateful though. He supposes Harry feels responsible for them, seeing as he was the one to invite them.

“We should find Nick. Introduce you guys,” Harry says, when he has sweetly disentangled himself from a tall girl with impressively long braided hair. “I’m not sure where he is…”

They skirt around the edges of the dancefloor until finally they come across a group of people gathered territorially around the sound system, amongst them Nick Grimshaw, whose voice, even above the loud music, Louis would recognise anywhere.

“As if she was ever going to get them to fill the whole thing with pineapples. I mean, of all the fruit she could have chosen…” he is saying, as they approach and the group dissolves into laughter.

“Hey guys,” Harry says, and immediately heads turn and the little group readily widens to make room, several pairs of eyes falling curiously on Louis and Niall.

Louis tries his hardest not to look as out of place as he feels. He shakes everyone’s hands and forgets their names instantly. Louis' not normally this bad with names but the tightness of the group is such that Harry’s body is pressed up close to his side. Nick is leaning his elbow on a bookcase, swirling his wine sloppily and giggling at something which the woman next to him has whispered in his ear. He looks like a veritable Gatsby except for how his shirt buttons are slightly skewiff

“Oh I saw the shoot in Vanity Fair by the way,” one girl says to Harry, “you looked gorgeous, darling.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles.

“Who did the styling for that? Was it Marco by any chance?”

“Er… yeah. It was actually.”

“How did you find him?”

“Great, yeah. Really sweet guy. Actually he said I should say hi to you.”

“Aw bless him, I need to catch up with him, it’s been ages.”

“I think he’s in London next week actually,” says another girl. Well, woman. Louis is finding a lot of the guests’ ages difficult to guess. Wrinkles are suspiciously few and far between.

“Well in that case, we should all do lunch!” There is a general murmur of assent around the group. God knows who Marco is. Louis and Niall stand politely and sip their drinks.

As conversation continues, most of which seems to be based around mutual acquaintances who aren’t there, he has the distinct impression, out of the corner of his eye, that Nick is staring at him. He does his best to avoid his gaze. He starts to worry that maybe he has something on his face.

“So,” Nick suddenly pipes up during a pause in conversation, his voice carrying clearly across the small group. “Modest, huh?”

Harry shifts slightly next to Louis, moving almost imperceptibly closer, and Louis takes a second to realise that Nick is talking directly to him. The others are all looking at him curiously as well.

“Er…” he clears his throat, “yeah.”

“What’s that like?” There is a flash of something in Nick’s eye and Louis is sure he detects a not altogether friendly tone.

“It’s really good. I like it.” He says it slightly defiantly.

Nick snorts softly into his wine and ok, yes, Louis was definitely correct about the less than friendly tone.

“I’m sorry, is something funny?” he asks, voice as even and polite as possible. He has no interest in picking a fight with the host of the party, but he also has no interest in being scoffed at by some hyped-up radio guy with a too-high quiff and a too-frilly shirt.

Nick looks at him, tight smirk in place and takes a sip of his wine.

“How is old Geez?” another member of the group whose name Louis has already forgotten asks.

“McGee? Er, yeah, he’s fine I think,” Louis says.

“Still stashing his cash in the closet I suppose,” the asker comments, and a few of the others titter awkwardly. Louis smiles politely, hoping it’s not obvious that he has no idea what that is supposed to mean. Harry is so close to his side that Louis can’t see his face, but he hears him mutter a dry “yep” under his breath.

“You know,” Nick’s voice cuts above the rest of the group, “when Harry said he was adding someone from Modest onto my guestlist I honest to God thought he was joking.”

Louis really doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Yet here I am,” is what he comes up with.

“Here you are indeed,” Nick raises an eyebrow over his wine and looks between Harry and Louis. Harry shifts again and Louis’ side becomes distinctly colder. Niall glances at Louis as if to say what a douche, but his gaze lands on Harry and his expression falters for a second, so fast that a moment later Louis wonders if he has imagined it. He is itching to turn around and look at Harry, but for some inexplicable reason he feels like that will give away something he doesn’t want to share with Nick.

Louis is quite thankful when Nick gets pulled away by some people to dance, and then Liam Payne appears, bounding up and hugging Harry from behind. He greets Louis too, almost like an old friend in a way which makes Louis feel much less out of place. He is accompanied by a thin, black-haired Asian man, strikingly beautiful even amongst this crowd. He looks vaguely familiar to Louis and when he introduces himself as Zayn Malik, casually holding out his hand, Louis realises why.

As the night goes on Louis finds that he is starting to relax a little more. People are smiling at him, and he smiles back, unsure if he has already been introduced to them or if they are just very friendly. Niall is happily chatting away to Liam and Zayn, and a woman whom Louis recognises from TV. Harry is pressed up close and keeps whispering silly things in Louis’ ear. He seems to know everybody in the room and he’s not adverse to sharing what he knows about them with Louis.

“You see that guy over there,” he whispers, his breath so close it tickles Louis’ ear.

“Which guy?”

“The one over there,” Harry swings Louis around, so that his front is pressed against Louis’ back, and points, “with the awesome boots.”

“Oh yeah.”

“He used to be married to,” Harry swings them both round a quarter of a circle, “that girl there, with the massive earrings.”

“Ridiculous earrings.”

“But now he’s screwing,” he swings them round again, “that guy there. You see the one with the leather trousers.”

“Uh huh.” Louis nods, hardly listening, too distracted by the feel of Harry against him.

“But what he doesn’t know,” Harry whispers lowly, “is that so is she.”

Louis snorts. “You mean, they’re both sleeping with the same guy and they have no idea.”

“Yep.” Harry accompanies the word with a soft poke to Louis’ side. Louis feels his pulse increase and momentarily struggles to formulate a response.

“I wouldn’t have had you pegged as such a gossip,” he says eventually, swinging round to face Harry and poking him back. Harry giggles.

“Well… I’m not, really. Except that I like whispering things in people’s ears. And gossip is a good excuse to do that.”

“You’re weird.”

“Shhh,” Harry’s eyes go wide in shock. “Don’t say it too loud. This lot still don’t know. And anyway, this is the music industry, gossip is our bread and butter.” Louis raises his eyebrows.

“So I’ve noticed. So, why do you like whispering things in people’s ears?” he asks and marvels at the curve of Harry’s mouth. It is wide and sweeping, like a river, Louis thinks and then shakes his head. Maybe he should slow down on the drinks.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs playfully, “I guess it makes whatever I am saying sound far more important and dramatic than it actually is.”

Louis laughs. He reckons that’s probably true.

“For example,” Harry continues, “if I were to say to you, let’s go and get another drink, it sounds normal right. But if I were to whisper it in your ear, well… suddenly it sounds exciting.” His eyes are bright and full of mischief, and Louis has to swallow a lump in his throat. When he doesn’t say anything Harry leans forward.

“Let’s go and get another drink.” He whispers it so quietly it’s hardly sound at all, it’s warm breath against hot skin and it sends shivers across Louis’ body.

Harry smirks as he pulls away. No fair, Louis thinks. Why are you so sexy? Why are you straight? Why are you the way you are?

They are soon joined in the kitchen by Niall, and shortly thereafter by Liam and Zayn, who seem to be attached at the hip. An unlikely pairing, Louis feels, but considering he hardly knows either of them he supposes he should reserve judgement.

When Louis checks his phone he sees that he has seven missed calls from Ethan. He sighs and holds his phone screen up to Niall’s face. Niall groans.

“I’ve just got to make a call,” Louis announces and Harry looks up from where he and Liam are attempting to chop up limes for gin and tonic with a butter knife.

“Oh. Alright. Is everything ok?” Harry asks earnestly. He’s so pretty, Louis thinks, before shoving the thought back down.

“Yeah, fine. Just er…” he holds up his phone by way of response and shrugs apologetically. He makes his way out of the kitchen, politely trying to push his way to the bathroom on the far side of the apartment.

Once inside he locks the door and makes the call.

“Louis?”

Immediately, Louis can hear it in Ethan’s voice that he is drunk. From the sounds of it he’s at a bar maybe, or outside a club.

“Ethan, why have you been calling me?”

“Louis.” He sounds sad and more than a little pathetic. Louis doesn’t have time for this.

“Ethan,” he says firmly, “I’ve told you to delete my number. I don’t want you calling me all the…”

“Louis, why did you delete me on Facebook?”

“What?”

“You de-friended me.”

“Well…” Louis does feel slightly guilty, but only very slightly. “I think it’s obvious why. Look, this isn’t healthy…”

“I miss you, Louis.”

Louis can feel anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“You fucking broke up with me Ethan. Remember? You broke my heart. Not the other way around. You don’t get to miss me.”

“But, Louis… I just…”

“No. Ethan, stop it. This isn’t fair.”

“I just want to be with you again. I miss us. I want to be us again.”

“There was no us, remember? You made pretty damn sure of that.”

“Louis, don’t be like that… I just… I want you so bad.”

Louis has to focus to keep his voice down.

“What you mean is you’re horny and you want to fuck me. Well, I’m sorry babes, but I’m not your dirty little secret anymore. You want a boyfriend? Fucking grow a pair, and come out. Or if you won’t do that, at least don’t treat whoever is putting up with being your dirty secret like they’re scum.” Louis can practically taste the bitterness in his own voice, can feel it in his veins.

“Louis…” Ethan sounds defeated. He almost sounds as though he might be crying. Louis closes his eyes. This is so unfair.

“You’re not going to drag me back in, Ethan.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ethan’s tone makes Louis’ eyes snap open. Here it comes. “You’re too good for me now. Is that it? Too high and mighty now that you’re hanging out with Harry Styles.” He says the name as though it is poison. “Bet you don’t say no to him.”

“If you’re going to be like this I’m hanging up.” Louis takes a deep breath to steady himself. He hears a knock at the door. “One minute,” he calls out. “Ethan, I’m going to hang up now….”

“But Louis… wait…”

“Go home, drink some water, go to bed. Stop calling me.” With that he hangs up.

He takes a second to check himself in the mirror. He looks ok but his cheeks are rather flushed. He feels bad about Ethan but more than that he feels angry at Ethan for making him feel bad because he knows he has nothing to feel bad about, Niall has told him that enough times. When he thinks of re-joining Harry in the kitchen his anger ebbs away and by the time he opens the bathroom door he decides he is already over it. A year ago he would have been in tears over something like this. He’s pretty proud of himself right now.

Louis gets accosted several times on his way back to the kitchen by people eager to introduce themselves. He wonders if they are mistaking him for someone much more important until it hits him. They have seen him standing next to Harry Styles all night. Louis doesn’t know how to feel about that. He smiles politely and forces his way back to the kitchen.

As he re-enters, glad to find the guys exactly where he had left them, Niall gives him an inquisitive look. Louis nods to say, it’s fine, I’ll tell you later, and smiles when he catches Harry’s eye.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks worriedly, jumping down from the kitchen top and crowding Louis’ space. Not that Louis is complaining. “Who was that?”

“Oh nobody. Just an ex. Sort of ex. Not really, even.”

“A not really even sort of ex,” Harry’s eyebrows raise, “and what did they want?”

Louis could get annoyed that Harry is asking a question that is none of his business but Louis reckons it is probably scientifically impossible to be annoyed at Harry Styles and more than that he feels a rush of warmth flutter through him. Harry said “they.” Louis knows he doesn’t exactly come across as straight, but the lack of presumption either way is like a breath of fresh air.

“He’s trying to get me to go out with him again.”

Harry smiles a small smile, more to himself than to Louis.

“Are you going to go out with him again?” he asks quietly.

“Nope.” Louis shakes his head determinedly.

“Why not?” Harry’s eyes flicker over Louis’ face as he takes another sip of his drink. The question doesn’t sound quite as innocent as Harry probably meant it to.

“Because he’s a dickhead.”

Harry nods in understanding.

“Fair enough. Not gonna go out with a dickhead are you!”

Louis wonders whether he is allowed to ask Harry about his love life. He reckons he might just get the same response as the interviewers on press day. But then again, that was work, this is… whatever this is, and Harry has several cocktails in him right now, and the way that he is looking at Louis suggests he might just about be ready to spill.

But Louis’ not sure he actually wants to ask. He reckons that the idea of hearing about Harry’s love life, the parade of women throwing themselves at his feet, might be too much to bear. Louis isn’t usually the jealous type but exceptions can be made.

After a moment Harry says casually, squinting down into his glass, “so you’re not with Niall, then?”

“What…? No. God no,” Louis laughs, staring at Harry in amusement. Even just the notion of it is laughable. Harry must see that in Louis’ expression because he shrugs, looking slightly sheepish.

“Well, I dunno… you could be.”

“Nope babes, I really couldn’t be. He is potentially the straightest person I know. The straightest person that there ever was.”

“Oh is he now?” Harry asks, and it sounds almost like a challenge.

“Yes. He is.”

“So then what do you call that?” Harry draws Louis around him, turning them slightly so that Louis is facing Niall. Once again Louis feels Harry’s front pressed up against his back, his warm solid weight, the hint of cologne, the brush of his arm against Louis’ chest. Louis wonders whether it is part of some evil plan Harry has concocted to drive Louis crazy. Harry is saying more things and pointing, and Louis forces himself to focus on Niall, who is sat on the kitchen counter incredibly close to Zayn, leaning in to listen to something he is saying, eyes bright and cheeks slightly flushed. Louis has to admit that the way Niall is laughing at whatever Zayn has just said does border on the infatuated.

“Well, Zayn Malik doesn’t count,” Louis says, “he’s so beautiful I’m sure even straight men must be throwing themselves at him all the time. Can’t say I blame them.”

When Harry doesn’t answer Louis glances back at him and notices that he is frowning.

“I guess,” he shrugs after another moment. He steps back and holds up his almost empty glass, declaring that he needs another drink and that he is disappointed at how sober they all still are. Louis nods his assent, although he isn’t sure sober is the right word to describe them at this point, and follows Harry back over to the greatly depleted but still impressive selection of booze.

They mix cocktails until Louis is no longer sure what he is drinking. He ends up chatting to Liam a lot, about song writing, about having sisters, and about really silly, nonsensical things, and he decides that Liam is potentially one of the cutest people he has ever met. Except for Harry, a part of his brain says, but that part he is trying desperately hard to ignore. Matters aren’t made easier by the fact that wherever Louis turns, Harry is right there, laughing at his jokes, topping up his drinks. He’s gorgeous. He really is gorgeous. Louis gets it. He gets why Harry is so famous. Why he has so many adoring fans all across the world. Anything less just wouldn’t do him justice.

They drink some more, and Niall and Liam start up a haphazard game of beer pong across the island in Nick’s kitchen. Other guests stumble in and out, laughing loudly, topping up their drinks and asking, mainly Harry, but also Zayn, who seems to get almost as much attention, why they’re all cooped up in the kitchen and not out dancing with everyone else. Zayn declares that he doesn’t dance, indifference plain in his voice, whilst Harry just happily shrugs them all off, saying that he’ll dance in a bit, but for now he’s having fun here. A lot of these people throw surreptitious glances Louis’ way, but now that the alcohol is working itself in his veins he doesn’t particularly care.

“Harold,” Nick points sternly at Harry from the doorway of the kitchen. “You are being a terrible guest tonight.” Harry just sticks his tongue out at him and turns his full attention back to where Louis is leaning next to him against the fridge. In that moment, Louis cannot for the life of him remember what he had just been saying.

“I’m going for a fag,” Zayn announces abruptly a while later, long after the huge clock hanging on the wall has struck two. “Either of you lads smoke?” he asks, looking between Louis and Niall.

Niall shakes his head glumly and looks terribly disappointed in himself.

“I’ll have one,” Louis says, laughing at Niall’s expression and adding another shot of something, he’s not sure what, to the new concoction that Harry has invented for the both of them.

“You smoke?” Harry asks.

“Not properly,” he shrugs. “Well, I smoked at uni kind of and a bit whilst travelling. But I’m really just a social smoker.”

Zayn hands him a cigarette and nods towards the door. “We’ll see you shortly lads. Save something for us,” he adds as he watches Niall trying to shake out the non-existent dregs of an empty vodka bottle.

“Will do,” Liam calls after them and Louis follows Zayn out, Harry’s gaze burning the back of his neck. They push their way back through the party and towards the balcony doors. He glimpses Nick, dancing wildly and surrounded by a throng of people, and avoids catching his eye.

The night air hits him as they step outside, and a couple sheepishly draw apart and head back inside, so that it is just Zayn and Louis on the balcony. It hits Louis that they now need to make one-on-one conversation. He can’t work out whether he is too drunk or too sober but he finds himself unable to think of an opening line. Zayn passes him a lighter, seemingly unbothered by this sudden silence between them, and takes a lazy drag of his cigarette. He kind of looks like a model, Louis thinks, and wonders whether he can ask if Zayn has ever done any modelling work without it sounding like a line. He decides no.

“So Niall says that you two went to South East Asia last year,” Zayn says, flicking ash at his feet and leaning against the wall.

“Yeah, we did,” Louis nods, “Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand…”

“I love Thailand,” Zayn interrupts, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I keep trying to get Harry to come out there with me but he’s always too busy, you know.”

Louis nods. He doesn’t really know except that he has seen Harry’s schedule for the next six months so he can imagine. “But wait,” he frowns, “didn’t he already play a concert in Thailand really recently?”

“Did he?” Zayn shrugs. “Maybe, but that doesn’t count. I mean to actually visit the place. There’s never any time for that and it’s a shame because I reckon he would really love it. And Singapore as well. That place is cool.”

“Oh yeah? We didn’t get to go there in the end. But yeah, I hear it’s really great.” Louis takes a drag of his cigarette and looks out across the higgledy-piggledy London skyline, Victorian chimneys and concrete tower blocks. He sighs internally. London is wonderful but he would love to travel again.

“Hiiii,” comes a familiar voice from behind. Louis turns around to see Harry in front of him, drink in hand, and smile firmly in place. “What you chatting about?”

“Thailand,” Zayn says dismissively, pushing himself away from the wall and looking at Harry with a knowing smirk. “You don’t smoke.”

“I know. I just wanted some fresh air,” Harry says breezily. He is flushed from the drink and his rosy cheeks against his porcelain skin make him look ever so young.

“Well,” Zayn says, flicking his two-thirds smoked cigarette into a nearby flowerpot, “I’m going to go back inside.”

“Ok,” Harry says and makes no move to follow him. Louis finds that he doesn’t either. He thinks he has just become quite used to following Harry this evening.

Zayn sends Harry a loaded look before stepping back through the double doors. Louis misses its meaning but is too happy and tipsy to care. Harry is looking at him with the most dazzling smile. Louis finds that he is smiling too and for a moment they just stand there, foolishly, grinning like idiots before Harry sways slightly and reaches out for Louis to grab onto.

“I think I’m maybe just a little tipsy,” he giggles.

“Me too,” Louis agrees. Harry, once he has regained his balance, takes a few steps and grabs onto the balcony railing, leaning down to look at the street below and then tipping his head back until he is almost bent backwards staring up at the night sky. His hair is whipping in the cold night wind.

Louis can’t help but laugh at him as he comes to stand beside him.

“It’s big, isn’t it?” Harry says. His voice sounds strange from where his neck is stretched backwards.

“The sky?” Louis asks, also looking up. Even with the thick glow of light pollution a couple of tiny stars are just about visible.

“Yeah.” Harry nods and snaps his head back sharply to look at Louis. “You’re different than the others, you are.” He says it sloppily, poking his finger into Louis’ chest and sloshing mojito on him in the process.

“I am?”

“You are,” he grins and takes a huge gulp of his cocktail. “S’why I like you.”

Louis’ blood tingles in his veins. Why I like you. He looks out again across the city skyline. The stars may be obscured by dark orange clouds, but in their place bright white windows are winking at them beneath the black rooftops.

“It’s silly… all of this,” Harry gestures vaguely around, spilling more mojito. He looks like a child putting on a play. “So silly.”

“What’s silly?” Louis asks and then laughs nervously as Harry grabs his arm in earnest, his eyes wide.

“Everything, Mr Tomlinson, everything is silly.” He hiccoughs. “All these people are silly, and the money… oh my fucking god is the money silly! So silly and there is so much of it.”

“I’m devastated for you,” Louis says.

“No, really though. It’s just silly. All this fame stuff and celebrities and the stupid PR. All the girls. It’s just so very silly.” He tips his head back again and shakes it with each word. “Silly, silly, silly.”

Louis can feel his whole face stretching around a smile. Harry’s lips are so pretty when they move.

“You know who else is silly? McGee is silly,” he counts them off on his fingers, “and Sarah is silly. And Simon fucking Jones is silly…”

“You’re silly,” Louis says fondly and before he has time to register what he is doing, he reaches out and pokes at Harry’s dimple. Harry giggles and turns into his touch. Louis pulls his hand away abruptly suddenly remembering himself but it’s too late. He’s done it. The tiniest touch of skin on skin and suddenly the air around them has changed.

Louis stares at Harry. He is transfixed. His heart is pounding. Harry is staring back. The moment stretches on for an eternity until slowly, very slowly, Harry leans forward, steadying himself on the balcony railing. They seem to be a million miles from the ground. For one hazy moment Louis thinks that Harry is going to kiss him but then Harry’s lips brush past his, to his ear, and he whispers.

“It’s all a lie.”

He pulls away and pauses inches from Louis’ face as though for dramatic effect. Up close his eyes are electric.

“What’s a lie?” Louis whispers back. The night seems to hold its breath. Harry’s eyes flitter over Louis’ face, his brows pulled into a tight knot. He sways slightly and then all at once he seems to shut down. He pulls away and leans over the balcony, and stares, sullen, at the street below.

“Harry?”

What just happened?

Louis frowns. Harry visibly sighs.

Why is Harry so sad when he is so beautiful, Louis wonders. It doesn’t make any sense. The sadness in Harry’s face makes something inside Louis ache to reach out. He shifts just a fraction closer along the railing but can do nothing more.

They stand like that for several moments. Louis finds the line of Harry’s gaze and watches the cars below. They look like toy cars in a toy town. It’s all a lie according to Harry.

Harry eventually speaks again, subdued.

“You’re different, Louis Tomlinson.”

“How am I different?” Louis says it so quietly his voice cracks over the words. He doesn’t know what response he is expecting but he knows he isn’t expecting Harry to turn to him the way he does, and to stare into his eyes the way he does and to make him feel the way he does. Nothing about Harry is expected.

“You’re different,” Harry begins, and his eyes are sharper than a moment ago, his words more urgent, “you’re different because you…” He shakes his head in frustration, gorgeous curls framing his troubled brow, “I don’t know why. You just are. You treat me differently.” He pauses a moment in thought and frowns down at the street again, placing his glass gently on the top of the brickwork. “You see me differently I think.”

Is it a question? Is it an accusation? Louis can’t tell.

“I… I’m sorry if I treat you wrong, I don’t…”

“No.” Harry whirls around and grips Louis’ upper arms tight, as if he means to shake him. Louis can do nothing but stare at his green eyes, his flushed cheeks, his soft, pink lips.

“No,” Harry is saying, “it’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing.” He is so earnest. He looks so solemn. Louis wants to kiss everything away until Harry is happy again. He tries to swallow the thought down.

Harry’s fingernails are digging into Louis’ arms. His breath is so close Louis can feel it on his face. The cars below are so small and the two of them up here in the clouds… Louis doesn’t know why but he closes his eyes. Feels the sway of standing on a precipice. He can feel the warm alcohol in his veins and the cool breeze against his skin. And then… Then it’s Harry’s lips against his that he feels, and Harry’s body pressed against his, and he lets his eyes flutter open just to make sure it is real…

Harry is kissing him. The world seems to shift on its axis and Louis reaches out to grab onto the front of Harry’s shirt, steadying himself against the rush. Terrified of falling.

As his fist curls in Harry’s shirt, Louis lets his lips part and pulls Harry in, deepening the kiss until they melt into each other. The night around them seems to shrink and all the chatter and the music to fade. Harry’s mouth is warm and so beautifully soft, and he tastes of mojitos and lime.

His hand is in Louis’ hair, curling around the nape of his neck, delicate yet firm, drawing Louis in and in, urgent and desperate to be close. Their bodies fit against each other so perfectly it aches. Louis clutches at Harry, tongue sliding against teeth. He pulls their hips together and feels rather than hears the low moan that escapes Harry’s lips. It vibrates through Louis like a breath and leaves him even giddier than before. They break apart for only a second, breathe into each other’s mouths, gasping for air, before coming together again, hot, impatient, intoxicated, all sense of time gone.

They kiss until Louis’ lips become numb and he begins to feel wet tears on his cheeks that aren’t his. He realises with a jolt that… is Harry crying? No, he can’t be. He can’t. He kisses Harry even harder, bringing a hand up to tangle desperately in his hair. Don’t cry, he thinks, please please don’t cry. He is so confused. Harry’s fingers dig into him so tight it hurts and pull him in so close that their hearts are beating only an inch apart.

And then Harry is pushing him away, and it physically aches, like being rudely awoken from the most beautiful dream, and the cold air rushes in and fills the space that Harry’s body has left.

Louis slowly opens his eyes and his hand falls pathetically from Harry’s shirt. Harry is staring at him, his breaths sharp and fast. His lips are swollen and wet, and so are his eyes. Louis is having a hard time processing the situation. Harry kissed him and now Harry looks even sadder than before.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Harry hangs his head and the coarse regret in his voice is crushing. Louis can’t find the words to answer in time. He can hardly think straight. His lips are burning from the memory of Harry’s tongue.

“I’m sorry Louis,” Harry murmurs, “I shouldn’t have…. I….” He shakes his head and just like that he turns away. He doesn’t look at Louis once. He stumbles slightly as he retreats hastily back into the party, into the crowd of lights and people and noise. Louis can still see him through the glass doors. His head is hung low and his figure is stooped. Louis stands frozen in place. He doesn’t understand. He swallows down a lump in his throat and blinks back the first oncoming threat of tears. Harry kissed him. It was real. Yet…

He wants to go home. He will find Niall and he will leave. He sways forward. The city lights are dizzyingly bright and the noise from the party is deafening. Louis blinks and shakes his head. Harry kissed him. And now Harry is even sadder than he was before. He can still feel Harry’s hand at the back of his neck, can still taste him on his tongue, can still feel his curls tickling his cheekbones.

Harry kissed him. And now Harry is even sadder than he was before. The more Louis thinks it the more he feels something within him sinking.

If he cries in the taxi on the way home, well, nobody except Niall needs to know.

Chapter Text

Louis wakes to the shrill sound of his phone alert. He grabs groggily for it, feeling around on his bedside table until finally he locates it and peers at the screen. One message from Harry.

Suddenly Louis feels a lot more awake. He holds his breath as he opens the message.

Hiii. I hope you’ve slept well. I just wanted to massively apologise for last night. I was really really drunk and I was way out of line and basically I’m just really sorry, pretty mortified actually, and if it’s ok with you please can we just like forget about the whole thing? I’m also really sorry I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to you. That was so rude of me. I hope you and Niall had a good night, despite me being such an idiot, and I hope you got home safe and all that jazz. H x

Louis chucks his phone onto the floor and groans, rolling onto the other side of his bed and sinking further into the sheets. He screws his eyes shut. His head aches a bit and he’s really thirsty but he can’t be bothered to actually get up and get water.

He must fall asleep again because it doesn’t feel like long before once again he is being rudely awoken by a piercing ding. He rolls over and squints at the floor where his phone screen is lit up. He sighs and reaches for it. One message from Ethan. Louis grits his teeth and opens it.

Hey Louis, you alright? I’m so so sorry about last night babe. I was a twat. I shouldn’t have phoned you. I just really want to see you. Please? I’ve been thinking so much about us and I want to change, I really do. I can’t bear not having you around Louis. Just please please think about it and give me a call. x x

Louis flops down on his back and lets out a cry of exasperation. Fucking straight boys fucking with his head. It’s so not fair. Just when he finally feels like he’s over Ethan, Ethan decides he wants to take Louis back, and now to make matters worse, straight boy number two comes along and fucking kisses him and… fuck. Just fuck them all.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there for but it’s long enough that he starts to get a crick in his neck. Slowly he drags himself up and checks his alarm clock. It’s midday. That means he is officially allowed to wake Niall and Niall is officially not allowed to get angry with him.

He pads across the hallway to Niall’s room, blinking against the bright light spilling through the window, and pushes gently on Niall’s door.

“Niall,” he hisses and then a bit louder, “Niall? Are you awake?”

There’s movement underneath the dark blue duvet and Louis spies a tuft of blonde hair poking out.

“Niall?”

“Hmmm” the duvet groans.

Louis takes a few steps towards the bed and then stops.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he asks warily.

Niall huffs and pushes down the duvet to expose his face, screwing it up against the light. “Just get over here, you twat,” he grumbles and Louis smiles, crawling into the bed with him. Niall shifts over, making a song and dance of how much of the duvet Louis is stealing but finally, when they are both settled, he looks at Louis gently and smiles.

“Y’alright?” he asks.

“Mmm,” Louis says, “not really.”

“What happened last night?” Niall asks. “One minute we were all having a great time and then the next minute Harry stumbles into the kitchen looking like he’s about to break down in tears and then you’re texting me saying that you’ve already booked a taxi and…”

Louis closes his eyes. He doesn’t really want to think about it.

“Did you two have a fight or something?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, something must have happened because when Harry came back he…”

“He kissed me,” Louis says in a great rush of frustration.

“Huh?” Niall blinks at him.

“He kissed me. We kissed.”

“Huh?” Niall says again, looking even more confused than before.

“I don’t really know how else to say it, mate. He kissed me. We were outside on the balcony, just talking about stuff and then…”

“Oh my god!” Niall sits up on his elbows, staring wide-eyed at Louis.

“Oh my god indeed.”

“He kissed you?”

“He kissed me.”

“Fuck. Hang on… Harry Styles kissed you? Harry Styles?”

“Yes, Niall!” Louis cries, grabbing his pillow and chucking it at Niall’s face. “How many times!”

“I’m sorry, this is just…” Niall brings the pillow down into his lap and chews on his bottom lip. “It’s just… what the fuck?”

“Now you’re starting to get how I feel.”

“But isn’t he…”

“Straight?”

“Yeah. Well,” Niall shrugs, “at least, I thought so. But I guess not if...” He frowns again. “So why did he seem so upset? Did you reject him?”

“No,” Louis whines pathetically, curling deeper into the duvet and pulling it almost completely off of Niall. “He rejected me.” When Niall peers down at him blankly he continues. “I don’t know what happened, but one minute he was kissing me and then the next… he just stopped and…” Louis is about to say that he had looked as though he were crying but something in him holds back. “This morning he sent me this,” he says instead and pulls up the message on his phone.

Niall’s frown deepens as he reads it.

“Kind of a dick move,” he says finally.

“I don’t think he means to be a dick,” Louis says quietly. He feels very small in Niall’s massive double bed.

“Louis, don’t. Don’t defend him. This is how it always starts.”

“He’s not Ethan!” Louis snaps defensively.

“How do you know that?” Niall says it gently but firmly. “You don’t want to go down that road again.”

Louis groans. “I know, I know. I get it, ok. This always happens to me. Fucking hell. I’m like cursed to always be the straight guy’s experiment. I get it. But Harry… I don’t know, it feels different with Harry.” He knows how pathetic he sounds even as he says it. Niall snorts.

“Well, yeah, it’s different. Different in the sense that he’s fucking famous. If he starts something with you and it gets into the papers…” Niall shakes his head. “Just be careful, Lou.”

“He’s not exactly going to start anything with me,” Louis says, trying not to sound as sulky as he feels, “you saw his text.”

And then the full force of Niall’s words hits him. Shit. Harry is famous. And straight. What if somebody saw them kissing? They weren’t exactly in private. How had Louis not even thought of this? What if someone talks to the press? Harry Styles kissing a man. It would be front page surely. There would be so much damage control to be done. And Louis would be fired.

Shit.

He’s going to be fired.

“Oh God,” he groans and buries his head into the pillow, “Niall, what have I done? I’m going to lose my job, aren’t I?”

“There, there,” Niall pats his back sympathetically, “you’re not going to be fired. It’s fine, I’m sure nobody saw you.”

Louis huffs. Knowing his luck the whole party probably saw them, the whole city. He thinks of all the bright windows facing them. Who knows who was watching.

“It’s all a lie,” Harry had said.

“I’m going for a shower,” he announces abruptly because he reckons if he thinks about this anymore his head’s going to explode. He sits up but then suddenly stops and looks at Niall helplessly.

“It’s going to be ok, isn’t it?” he asks, voice pitiful.

Niall nods. “Of course it is. Just, like Harry said, just forget about the whole thing. Nobody needs to mention it. He’s not going to mention it. I won’t tell a soul, you have my word on that.”

Louis nods. He knows Niall is right but something about the whole plan makes him feel slightly ill. How is he supposed to sit in a meeting with Harry and ignore the fact that he knows what his mouth tastes like? He sighs again and heaves himself up from the bed. Just as he is about to reach the door Niall speaks.

“Lou, promise me you won’t get caught up in anything? I can’t bear to see you get hurt again.”

He looks so earnest, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Louis smiles sadly. Niall’s a good friend. Louis isn’t sure he deserves him but he’s sure as hell grateful to have him.

In the shower he realises that he hasn’t texted Harry back. He spends the entire time that he is rinsing out the last of his conditioner formulating a response.

No worries mate. I was really drunk too. Consider it forgotten. And thanks for inviting me. Niall and I both had a cracking time. Bit worse for wear now tbh!

He stands in his towel for ages, dithering over whether or not to put a kiss. He must type and delete it twenty times before deciding finally that he should put one on the basis that Harry put one and he doesn’t want to look like he’s being cold. Then he deletes Ethan’s message entirely and flops down on his bed again. He’s exhausted. He has work tomorrow. He cringes at the prospect and then cringes again when he remembers that Harry is in for one of his final meetings before he goes to the U.S. next week. Fucking Harry Styles. With his stupid dimples and his stupid curly hair and his stupid eyes and his stupidly stupid gorgeousness, and his stupidly soft lips and his stupid tongue and the stupid way it had fit so stupidly perfectly against Louis’.

Fuck.

The next morning, when Louis checks his twitter feed on the way to work he nearly has a mini heart attack. Harry Styles has bagged himself a new special someone and his choice has got more than a few tongues wagging. Louis stares at the tweet with his heart in his throat. He eventually musters up the courage to click through to the link which accompanies it and when he does he lets out a huge and very shaky sigh of relief. It’s a picture of Harry and Cara Delevingne from their pap outing on Saturday. Harry hadn’t even mentioned it at the party and Louis had all but forgotten about it, what with everything else.

He frowns down at the picture on his screen. Sure enough, Harry and Cara are holding hands and they look for all the world as though they would rather be anywhere else. Louis supposes it just looks like they are annoyed at being unexpectedly accosted by the paparazzi. He snorts. What a farce. The photo is accompanied by a caption that suggests that a friend close to the “happy couple” - at which Louis snorts again - says that they’ve been inseparable for a long time now but are both quite private people and didn’t want anything to get in the way of their relationship. Louis decides not to click through to the full article. He hasn’t eaten any breakfast yet and he doesn’t think it’s something that should be faced on an empty stomach.

He spends the morning proofing and sending out amended diary schedules to all the members of Harry’s tour team. His stomach flutters hideously every time he looks at the clock and realises that this afternoon’s meeting with Harry is closer than it was twenty minutes ago.

“Ok, what’s going on?” Perrie finally asks, pushing aside her papers and looking at Louis head on. “You’ve been weird all morning.”

“I’m fine,” Louis insists, and avoids looking up from his computer. He is pretty sure he can imagine the look on Perrie’s face.

“You alright, mate?” Will claps him on the shoulder just as they are about to enter McGee’s office at two for the meeting. “You look a bit peaky.” Louis clutches his notebook close to him and nods, gritting his teeth into a tight smile.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He feels kind of sick.

When they enter the office stern Sarah is already there, sitting in front of McGee’s desk. So is Harry. Immediately, Louis’ plan of playing it cool slips entirely through his fingers and it takes a minute for him to realise that he is staring.

“Hi,” Harry says, smiling cautiously, kind of at Will but more at Louis. Will is already making his way to one of the chairs next to Harry, and McGee is saying something to him but Louis doesn’t register what. His feet seem to be glued to the floor. When he still doesn’t move and Harry’s expression falters, Louis realises that he must look awfully rude. He forces himself to smile and hopes it doesn’t look too much like a grimace. He’s sure his cheeks are crimson.

He slips across the room and into his chair, mumbling a general “hi” which probably goes unheard by everybody except Harry. A few moments later Leigh-Anne and Aiden arrive too and, once everyone has settled into their seats, the meeting begins.

Louis keeps his eyes trained on his notebook. He makes his notes meticulously, having become very used to exactly how McGee likes them. A couple of times he thinks he senses Harry, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t dare look up. He promised Harry he would forget about it, just like Harry wants him to do, and he’s terrified that if he looks at him it will be written plain across his face that, far from forgetting about it, it’s all he can think about.

“Right,” McGee says towards the end of the meeting. “Let’s get a quick rundown from Sarah, shall we?”

Louis shifts in his seat. There is a palpable change in the atmosphere, as is always the case whenever Sarah speaks. Louis has become used to it, even though he doesn’t fully understand it yet, but still, it makes him uncomfortable.

“So,” Sarah begins in her usual brisk tone, “Saturday’s pap walk seems to have been exactly what the doctor ordered.” She chuckles at herself and nobody else laughs. Louis has to force himself not to look at Harry.

“The press has really picked it up and run with it, which is great. Social media is lapping it up. Lots of stuff about what a good-looking couple you are.” She says it as though she means to compliment Harry. The answering silence says it all. “And of course,” she continues, “you two attending the ball together on Friday will be the big news. We’ve got spaces held in all the main weekenders…”

“What?” Harry snaps, the first he has spoken in a long while. “We’re not attending it together.”

“Well, to all intents and purposes you are. We need some nice HQs of you both together on the red carpet and that’s just easier to arrange if you arrive together.”

“You said,” Harry begins and his tone is steady, dangerously quiet, “that we would be seen standing next to each other and that the articles would write themselves. Not that we would actually be pretending to be a couple.”

“Well, Harry,” McGee steps in, “that was before your little outing with your friend, Nick Grimshaw, and anyway, the hand holding seems to have worked nicely. Cara’s people are keen to up the ante, at least for a little while longer. This is a stronger story than just the insider rumour.”

“And this way,” Leigh-Anne pipes up, “we can generate a new wave of articles during the tour about the struggles of the relationship being long distance.”

“Exactly, Leigh-Anne.” McGee sounds as though he is congratulating a child on the right answer to a maths question. Louis allows himself to glance up briefly, just as he sees Harry look down at his lap.

“If you don’t want to arrive with Cara, I suppose you could always leave with her instead,” Sarah suggests. Harry doesn’t respond. “I mean it, Harry, I know you think me cruel and unbending but I am actually willing to negotiate with you on this if it means you’ll co-operate and not look miserable in all of the photos.”

Harry looks up and glares at her, as though daring her to go on.

“I get it, you don’t want to have to play the happy couple all night. That’s fine,” she continues, her tone almost sincere. “There are ways we can do this without you two needing to interact at all.”

Harry grips the side of his chair.

“Any ideas, guys?” McGee says suddenly, looking around the room. Louis is so startled by this sudden change in tone he gawps at McGee blankly. Is this a test? “Harry here doesn’t want to do the very simple job of arriving at a public event with Cara Delevingne, therefore we all need to come up with a way in which this can be avoided but the papers and Cara’s people still have the story they’ve been promised. Any ideas?”

Louis’ fist tightens around his pen. McGee is smooth and well-spoken but he puts Louis in mind greatly of a kid on his street growing up, who’d thought it entertaining to poke babies in their prams when their parents weren’t looking.

After a moment of awkward silence, Leigh-Anne goes to open her mouth but, before she can speak, McGee turns to stare directly at Louis.

“Louis, you’ve been with us a while now. Perhaps you have an idea?”

The way he says it makes Louis’ stomach curl. He has never addressed Louis directly during a meeting before.

He knows. Oh god, he knows. Does he know? Louis can feel himself beginning to panic. All eyes are turned towards him, including Harry, who is staring, wide-eyed and anxious, and oh fuck. McGee knows. He knows and he’s going to fire Louis. Louis is sure of it. His mouth is dry and it’s an effort to unstick it. He coughs slightly. If he can just think for a second. Maybe it’s a test. Maybe McGee really just does want his opinion. He needs to give an answer. They’re all staring at him. He needs to give an answer now.

“Erm…” he begins, his brain whirring a mile a minute. Think, Louis, think. “I guess… if Harry doesn’t want to spend anytime with Cara in person then… er…” he is speaking the words before he has even had a chance to think them through, “I guess you could do like, a… a morning after thing… like, maybe pap shots of them leaving the same hotel.” Yes, ok. He can think a bit more clearly now. McGee is watching him closely, eyebrows raised. “You could have them each leave separately, and at different times. Maybe even out of different exits so it looks like they’re trying to be subtle… which fits with the whole private couple thing actually,” Louis adds, feeling his heart rate slow to somewhere approaching normal again, “but you could give certain clues. Like Harry could be wearing the same clothes as the night before. Or maybe Cara could be wearing his t-shirt or something. That way the papers can infer what they want, but Harry and Cara don’t even have to interact, just be in the same building, not even necessarily at the same time.”

There is a pause after he finishes, and he thinks he holds his breath. McGee is looking triumphant and Sarah is looking at McGee, her eyebrows raised.

“Thank you, Louis,” McGee says softly. He sounds incredibly satisfied with himself. Or maybe Louis? Maybe Louis isn’t going to be fired after all. “That’s not a bad idea.” He turns his attention back to Harry, eyes aglow, and Louis lets out a small sigh of relief, before glancing back down at his notes. He wishes everyone would stop staring at him.

When he looks back up a moment later, he realises that they have. Everyone that is, except Harry. Louis expects Harry to give him a nod maybe, to acknowledge the fact that Louis has potentially just got him out of spending any more time with Cara, a person whom he is for some unknown reason utterly averse to spending time with. What he doesn’t expect is for Harry to be glaring at him the way he is. Louis’ stomach lurches.

Harry’s gaze doesn’t falter even when Louis meets it head on. His mouth is set in a tight line. His brow is furrowed, his eyes dark and ferocious. And he looks…. he looks hurt. Louis can’t pinpoint the expression exactly but it makes the growing ache in his chest expand until he can hardly breathe. Harry’s never looked at him like this before. This is how Harry looks at McGee, at Sarah, sometimes at Will, but never at Louis. He smiles at Louis, he raises his eyebrows at Louis, he rolls his eyes at Louis. He always lets Louis know that he knows Louis is on his side.

Shit. It hits Louis like a cold, hard tonne of steel. Louis has always been on Harry’s side. Until now. He still doesn’t understand why what he did was quite so wrong. He had thought he was helping. But the way that Harry is looking at him now… Louis reckons he can pinpoint the expression exactly… betrayed. Harry looks utterly betrayed.

Chapter Text

“Seriously Louis, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong right now I am going to pour this beer down your neck.”

Louis looks up from where he is slumped, head in his arms, to see Perrie standing over him, two beers in hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he takes one from her. “Thanks.”

Just behind her, Aiden appears, sipping his own beer and slipping onto the hard wooden bench on one side of their table. Louis shuffles forward on his own rickety stool to allow Perrie in, too.

“Is it something I’ve done?” she asks, suddenly looking worried.

“No,” Louis frowns, “don’t be silly. I just… it’s nothing. It’s really stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” Aiden says reasonably. “Maybe a little silly but…” He grins winningly until even Louis can’t help but chuckle weakly at his goofy smile.

“It is silly,” he thinks and then his heart clenches painfully at the memory. You’re silly. He shakes his head and sighs. “Ok, so, basically it’ll probably sound ridiculous, but I’m worried I kind of… pissed Harry off in the meeting today?”

“Really?” Perrie frowns.

“Why would you say that?” Aiden looks genuinely perplexed, which at least is a good sign that Harry’s hatred wasn’t as screamingly obvious as it had felt to Louis.

“I dunno. He just was really weird with me, after I said that thing about Cara and the hotel idea…” he briefly explains to Perrie what happened and Aiden nods along patiently.

“But Harry always gets in a bad mood about stunting,” Aiden says simply when Louis has finished explaining. “It’s nothing personal to you.”

“Yeah, but…” Louis stops himself. He realises that of course, to Aiden it’s going to seem like nothing, and he can’t exactly explain it without sounding incredibly arrogant. Deluded even. Harry treats Louis differently. Or at least he did. So it feels personal. And if it’s not personal, well, that just makes it hurt even more.

“I don’t want to piss him off. I feel kind of beholden to him,” he tries to explain. “He was the one who asked for me personally to be on his team. If I piss him off, he could just ask to have me removed again. Couldn’t he?” he adds when Aiden doesn’t say anything. Aiden’s uncertainty says it all.

He wonders what these two would think if he told them Harry had invited him to a party on Saturday. That he had been the only staff member of Modest ever to get such an invitation. Maybe then they would understand.

“Honestly Louis, don’t feel bad,” Aiden says gently, “I’m sure he won’t ask to have you removed. Like I say, not personal. He just gets like this. He can be a right moody git at times.” Perrie nods encouragingly beside him.

There it is again. This moody git that everybody seems to like referring to. Louis thinks of Harry, sat on the steps of the hotel, shades on, face pale. I can’t do this. The way his voice had cracked. Tired and scared and desperate all at once. Louis feels like he’s banging his head against a brick wall. Nobody gets it. Perrie and Aiden mean well but they don’t get it. They don’t get Harry. Nobody does. It makes Louis angry just to think of it.

“I think,” Perrie says thoughtfully into her beer, “he can’t be blamed for how much he hates it all.”

“But it’s for his own career,” Aiden counters. “Ultimately it’s his choice. Nobody is physically forcing him to do this stuff.”

“I guess…” Perrie shrugs. “But I feel like, if I were gay, and this whole straight narrative was being constantly forced on me, I think I would probably flip out a bit too. Now and again. No matter how much money I was making.”

Huh. Louis blinks at her.

“Well, yeah, I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Aiden holds up his hands, “I do sympathise. But I think sometimes he makes life harder for himself by not co-operating…”

Aiden is still talking but Louis is struggling to process his words, with Perrie’s still ringing in his ears.

“…it’s the fact that he doesn’t really do compromise. So illogical. He fights and fights it until you almost think he’s going to crack and then he gives in and goes along with it all, for a time at least, and it’s even worse than it would have been if he had just…”

“Hang on,” Louis interrupts, “what did you mean, if you were gay?”

Perrie turns to him, looking slightly confused. “I just meant, if I were in Harry’s position I think I would…”

“But Harry’s straight,” Louis interjects.

“Huh?”

“Isn’t he?”

“Huh?” Perrie says again. She peers for a moment at Louis and then smiles slightly and then frowns again. “Wait, I don’t get it.” Aiden is staring blankly between the two of them. Nobody quite seems to know where the conversation is at. Louis’ heart is beating very, very fast.

“Louis, Harry’s gay,” Aiden says quietly after a moment, as though talking to a slightly unstable person. “You know that.”

“I…” Louis panics. Oh god. Aiden knows too? Everybody knows.

“Everybody knows he’s gay, its… hang on. Are you messing with us?” Aiden raises his eyebrows at Louis. “He’s messing… you’re messing, aren’t you? I am so confused right now.”

“Harry’s gay?” Louis says again because… huh?

“Yes,” Perrie and Aiden nod emphatically, starting to look rather amused.

“Harry Sty…”

“Shhh,” Aiden hisses, clapping his hand across Louis’ mouth, even though the pub is so noisy nobody can hear them anyway. Louis stares at him, perplexed. Slowly Aiden pulls his hand away. Perrie laughs openly at the expression on Louis’ face.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know this. You’ve worked here… how long? Like three months. Seriously, how the hell could you not know this?”

“Nobody said.”

“Nobody says because everybody already knows!” Aiden exclaims. Both he and Perrie look as confused as Louis feels.

“Harry never said,” Louis grumbles defensively. And the realisation of that really stings. Why hadn’t Harry just talked to him?

“He probably assumed you already knew. Seeing as how everybody knows.”

“Literally everybody,” Perrie adds helpfully.

Harry is gay. Oh God. Harry is gay. That explains…

“But what about all the women?” Louis says helplessly, shaking his head, because this can’t be right. He can’t have been this blind. Isn’t Harry not just straight, but famously straight? Notoriously the straightest of all straight people ever? When you think womaniser you can’t not think of Harry Styles.

“You mean all the women he dates?” Aiden asks, smirking at Louis. “Like Cara Delevingne for example?”

Oh.

So Louis is officially one hundred thousand shades of idiot. “But why… I mean… what?” He blinks. “What the hell?”

Perrie ruffles his hair fondly, clearly still baffled by Louis’ stupidity. Louis is starting to feel that she probably has a point there. “I can’t believe you didn’t realise. Like seriously, aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

“Apparently not,” he says in defeat and slumps his head forward into his arms. “Oh my god I’ve been such an idiot.”

“I really wouldn’t let it get to you mate. Even though it is glaringly obvious that he is just about the most homosexual guy you could ever possibly meet,” he can hear the laughter in Aiden’s voice, “we won’t tell if you don’t.” Aiden claps him on the back.

“It’s not that… I mean…” Louis shakes his head. He can’t explain it to them. He needs to speak to Harry. Actually no, he needs to speak to Niall and then he’ll speak to Harry. Fuck, what is he going to say? He sighs heavily, lifting his head again and takes a huge gulp of his beer.

“So, how long has everybody known he’s gay?” he asks weakly.

“Since forever,” Aiden shrugs. “I don’t really know much about it, but I get the impression he’s been out since, like, even before he got famous. I think… but I could be wrong. It’s not like it’s something I regularly bring up with him. But I know HJPR have had to deal a lot with his old friends and acquaintances back home.”

Louis lets out an almost laugh, borne of sheer bafflement. No wonder Harry is so weird in meetings. No wonder everything is so tense with McGee and Sarah. There’s been this absolute humungous ginormous elephant in the room the entire time and Louis has been too stupid to notice.

“Poor guy,” Perrie shakes her head, looking genuinely sad. “It must be really tough on him.”

Louis’ breath catches and suddenly he feels it all so much more acutely. The sad slope of Harry’s shoulders when he had sat on the huge grey couch and been grilled about the many, many women he was supposedly fucking. He had looked to Louis for help. Louis remembers those little looks so painfully, each one a pinprick to his heart. Louis had done nothing. Louis had brought him bottles of water. And then Louis had gone back and stood next to Will and watched from the side-lines, as everybody had ignored Harry completely, and refused to see him. Harry had put his own name into air-quotes. Louis wants to cry. Harry is so so beautiful, he thinks all of a sudden, overwhelmed with the thought, he is so so beautiful and he has such a beautiful soul and nobody sees it. All they see is “Harry Styles.”

Louis downs his beer and then two more, as the conversation moves on and he tries to engage with it but he can’t seem to think of anything except Harry. On the last tube home he starts to feel a new flutter of optimism emerging out of his miserable thoughts. If Harry is gay and out at least in his private life then Harry definitely isn’t Ethan. And if Harry isn’t Ethan then maybe he and Harry…

The flutter dies a death when Louis thinks of the text. Whether or not Harry is gay, it doesn’t change the fact that he only kissed Louis because he was drunk and that he explicitly asked Louis to forget about it. He made it pretty damn clear he regretted it ever happening.

As Louis enters his flat he finds Niall sitting on the couch watching telly. One look at his face and Niall is up and leaping across the room, scooping Louis into a tight hug.

“Dude, what’s the matter?” he says gruffly into Louis’ neck. Louis sighs as they pull apart.

“Can we sit?”

“Sure,” Niall says, hopping back onto the couch. Louis follows him at a slower pace.

“So,” he begins cautiously, “I found out something rather interesting about Harry, but you have to promise you won’t say anything to anyone…” Louis takes a deep breath.

“He’s gay,” Niall says.

“Harry’s ga… what now?” Louis blinks at Niall and Niall blinks back.

“He’s gay.”

Jesus Christ, does literally everybody except Louis know?

“How did you…?”

“I was thinking about what happened with you guys,” Niall explains, “and the way Harry was with you, and then I just googled ‘Harry Styles gay’, just to see if it was like, a thing that people talk about, and it seems… I dunno. It seems like he’s probably at least a little bit gay.”

“Hang on. You googled it? You can literally just google it?”

“Yeah. Today at work. I was bored,” Niall says sheepishly. “You know, it wasn’t even that hard to find stuff. Had to do a tiny bit of digging but there are a whole bunch of blogs where people discuss all these theories about how he’s being forced to stay in the closet - by Modest, actually, they hate Modest - and giving evidence of why certain stories about him and girls don’t add up. There are videos too. Of little things he’s said in interviews which seem to imply things. Just the way he uses pronouns. That kind of thing. It’s all major speculation and some of it is a bit extreme. But it seemed quite convincing to me. And especially considering… well, you know… you guys.”

Louis slumps into the back of the couch, leather creaking beneath him. He shakes his head for the millionth time that evening, trying to take it all in.

“I think I’ve heard about those blogs actually,” he says slowly, as blurry details from the past few months begin to take on a sharp clarity. “Leigh-Anne often mentions this whole subset of fans which she refers to as the conspiracy theorists. But she never explains what the theories are so I assumed she meant they were actually just conspiracy theorists. Like the Illuminati or something. I never realised they might be right!”

“Well, I guess they are.”

Louis sits dumbly, so many thoughts whizzing around. He needs to sleep, he decides. His limbs are heavy and his head is done thinking for one day.

“What confuses me,” Niall muses, “is how you’ve been working there for three months and you didn’t know?”

“Yes, thank you, Niall,” Louis groans. “I am an idiot. Perrie and Aiden have already made that very clear.”

“No,” Niall shakes his head, levelling Louis with a serious stare, “you’re not an idiot. You’re really smart. This is the sort of thing you of all people would usually pick up on straight away.”

Niall’s right. That’s what’s so frustrating. Louis groans again. Maybe his brain is just slowly and steadily turning to mush.

“I wonder what it was about Harry which meant you didn’t see it,” Niall says after a moment. “Maybe he has you under a spell,” he chuckles to himself, and slumps back on the couch, turning his attention back to the telly.

“You laugh,” Louis says quietly. Niall sends him a sympathetic half-smile and Louis wonders if he looks as pathetic as he feels.

That night, as he is lying in bed, wide-awake, he hovers over his phone for ages, deliberating. He needs to talk to Harry. He also desperately needs Harry to talk to him. But he doesn’t know what to say for now, so eventually he sighs, shutting off his phone, and decides to sleep on it.

On Tuesday morning, Louis spends a great deal of time on the phone with a rough-spoken, rather rude man named Bill, who works at Harry’s tour company. Most of the conversation revolves around catering logistics for the crew. Don’t ever let it be said that Louis’ job isn’t a glamorous one, he thinks dully, as Bill swears loudly in his ear for the fifth time in as many minutes.

At three in the afternoon Perrie looks up from her computer screen, hands frozen mid-type and stares at Louis.

“What?” he says irritably when she doesn’t look away. “Something on my face?”

“I still can’t get over the fact that you didn’t know!” she exclaims, shaking her head in disbelief. Louis scowls at her.

“Thank you for your input.”

She grins, “you’re welcome,” and goes back to typing.

Every second that he gets, Louis checks his phone, thumb hovering uselessly over Harry’s name. He feels like he has even less of an idea of what he is supposed to say than he did last night. What is he meant to say? Sorry surely isn’t enough? Harry is understandably pissed off with him, and probably has better things to do than have to read Louis’ jumbled explanations for why he has been a complete and utter arse.

At ten to five Will, who happens to be passing Louis’ desk, stops suddenly and says, “Oh Louis, meant to mention before. Sarah and Jade have decided it’s best not to come to the ball on Friday, so it’s you and Eleanor instead if that’s alright?”

“Er…” Louis blinks dumbly at him.

“You didn’t have any plans this Friday, did you?” Will asks casually, flicking through a bunch of papers in his hand until he lands on the one he wants.

“Well…” Louis stutters. “No?”

Yes. It’s his little sister’s birthday and he had been planning to go straight from work to the train station and make a surprise visit to Doncaster.

“Good,” Will nods absent-mindedly. “Jade will send over all the details.” He moves away and Perrie glances at Louis.

“That’s not fair, why does Eleanor get to go?” she grumbles. “She’s not even on Harry’s team.”

“I dunno,” Louis shrugs. He’ll have to put the present in the post, he thinks sadly. He had so hoped to see his sister’s face when she opened it.

“I wish I could go to these things,” Perrie huffs under her breath. “All I ever get to do is go to meetings with the accounts department.”

Louis sends her a sympathetic smile, and tries to remind himself that yes, she is right. He’s really lucky. He tries to push down the sense of utter dread that he feels at having to accompany Harry to a public event. So much for their “rapport”.

That evening as soon as he gets home from work, Louis kicks off his shoes, flops down on his bed and opens his laptop. He types in ‘Is Harry Styles gay?’ He stares at his screen, eyes widening as the number of results climbs up and up. Where does he even begin?

Niall hadn’t been lying, that’s for sure. It’s like being hit with a barrage of cold, hard reality check. The papers lie. Louis already knew that the papers lied but he didn’t really realise just how much. The papers lie and they lie through their teeth. They lie and they know they’re lying and it’s not long before Louis has himself questioning every single thing he has ever read. Probably for the best, he thinks wryly, and clicks on yet another link which claims to show why Harry’s relationship with Caroline Flack was in fact a publicity stunt.

The more Louis reads, the more he scrolls down blogs, the more he watches videos of Harry using male pronouns and nobody even picking up on it, the sadder he feels. Sad, and then angry. Because, fuck, this is Modest. It’s Modest and it’s HJPR and it’s Syco. These are the people Louis works for. This is what he is contributing to. The thought makes his stomach lurch.

It’s not even the closeting that gets to him. Closeting on its own, Louis can handle. It’s the fact that Harry so clearly doesn’t want to be in the closet that breaks Louis’ heart. Or maybe he does? Louis shouldn’t jump to any more conclusions, he decides. Clearly he isn’t any good at it. He should talk to Harry but instead he texts Aiden:

Quick question. I know Harry hates the whole womaniser narrative, but does he actually want to come out? Is that what is going on here?

Aiden replies almost straight away.

This is really bugging you innit! I don’t really know tbh. Will would know more than me. But I kind of get the impression that yeah, ideally he would like to be out.

Louis frowns at the response. It doesn’t make any sense.

So he could just like come out? Tomorrow? He could just tweet, I’m gay, or something?

Not under his contract. I dealt with the contract with Syco, in fact I could pretty much recite it backwards in my sleep. No way can he come out without breaking it.

Louis’ frown intensifies. This is fucking bullshit. He knows it’s not Aiden’s fault specifically but right now he’s angry at everyone.

Couldn’t McGee have negotiated a different contract for him? Is there a plan for him to come out at some point? This just seems so unfair. Like you said at the pub, it’s HIS career at the end of the day.

Louis doesn’t get a response for several minutes. In that time he sits and scrolls through more blog posts. He sees a gif of Harry waving enthusiastically at a fan holding a rainbow flag at one of his recent concerts. The way his face lights up… Louis has to look away from the screen. He thinks of Harry, on Nick’s balcony, head tipped back to stare dreamily at a vast and endless sky… It’s all a lie.

His phone buzzes him out of his thoughts.

Doesn’t work like that. You’ve met McGee. He’s old school. Harry being gay won’t make the same money that Harry being straight will. Simple as that. If Harry breaks his contract he loses everything and the label will sue him for everything he’s worth and then some. And so will McGee.

Louis doesn’t even know how to formulate a response. His eyes are burning. He blinks down at his phone as another message from Aiden appears.

They keep promising him that he might get to come out soon. That they’ll at least slow down on the womaniser narratives and start seeding for a possible coming out. But they never do it. It’s just to try and keep him on side.

There’s a knock on Louis’ bedroom door. It startles him so much he nearly drops his phone.

“Fuck’s sake, Niall,” he mumbles.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Just try not to give me a fucking heart attack next time.”

“Sorry,” Niall’s head pokes around the door, “I was just wondering if you wanted…” he stops abruptly when he sees Louis’ face. “What’s wrong?”

Louis holds his phone up in despair, just as a third message buzzes in.

Welcome to the circus Louis. It’s fucking bullshit.

On Wednesday Will asks Louis to get Harry on the phone for him. Some of Louis’ horror must show on his face because Will peers at him, frowning before adding, “Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind being interrupted during rehearsals.”

Uh huh. Louis nods, as if that is the reason for his panic. He picks up the phone reluctantly, and presses number one, which goes through directly to Harry’s mobile.

Harry picks up after several rings.

“Hello,” he says warily.

“Hi Harry, it’s Louis here. Will asked me to get you on the phone. He needs to chat about travel arrangements for Saturday.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“Is now a good time?” Louis’ voice feels artificially bright. He can’t help it. He seems to have gone into full-on receptionist mode. There is an awkward pause before Harry’s reply, which he seems to deliver around a sigh.

“Yeah, now’s a good time, Louis.”

Harry saying Louis’ name makes everything worse.

“Great, I’ll just put you through.” Louis presses the button to redirect the line. He takes the phone away from his ear with a shudder of relief and calls across the office to Will that Harry is on line one for him. He slowly puts the receiver back in place and taps it distractedly.

“Still reckon he’s mad at you?” Perrie asks.

“Yep,” Louis nods grimly. He feels as though he might cry and excuses himself to the men’s loos just in case.

On Thursday evening Louis realises that his one pair of shoes which are just about acceptably stylish enough to wear to an event hosted by Vogue are back at his mum’s house in Doncaster. He hits the shops of Oxford Street in a flurry of self-loathing. Why had he taken them up that last time? He hadn’t even worn them in the end. Fuck it all. This week cannot end quickly enough, he seethes, as a woman on her phone, with too many French Connection bags by her side, bumps into him and tuts as though it is his fault.

That night in bed he fists his hands into his sheets, and tries to bite down a growl. He’s dreading tomorrow so much that the thought of it makes him feel physically ill. He doesn’t even consider messaging Harry now. There’s no point. Harry hates him, he’s sure of it, and he’s going to have to spend a whole evening seeing it in Harry’s bright green eyes. He thinks it might just about break him.

In his frustration he finds his hand sneaking it’s way down to his half-hard cock. He desperately needs some form of relief and he closes his eyes, trying to block out the guilt. He doesn’t want to think about Harry, because thinking about Harry makes him sad, yet still he sees Harry as though his face is burned onto the back of his eyelids. Chestnut curls, emerald eyes, rose pink lips, porcelain skin. He strokes himself faster and faster, chasing the memory until he can almost feel the night breeze, taste the mojitos and lime. When he comes he lets out a strangled sob of frustration. He lies on his back, his breathing shallow and fast. His hand is sticky and the dull stillness of his room is punctuated only by the occasional honking of horns outside his window. He didn’t have any right to do that, he thinks to himself bitterly, Harry asked him to forget all about it. He curls onto his side and closes his eyes. At least he falls asleep more quickly than he has done every other night this week.

Friday comes around all too quickly. Louis’ day is spent watching the office clock speed ahead, and before he knows it he finds himself in the back of a blacked-out car with Will sat opposite, looking uncharacteristically suave in a tight navy blue suit, and Eleanor next to him, who even Louis can appreciate looks stunning in a silky and completely backless jumpsuit. Alberto, dressed all in black is sitting up front with the driver, chatting animatedly about tomorrow’s upcoming Arsenal v Chelsea match. They speed through the centre of London, watching the orange evening settle like dust on the skyline.

When they pull up outside Harry’s house, Will looks at Louis expectantly.

Harry doesn’t pick up. Louis doesn’t leave a voicemail. He looks down at his screen and decides he’ll wait a minute before calling again. Will shrugs and says, “that’s ok, we’re kind of early,” before going back to his conversation with Eleanor. They’re laughing about something, and Louis wishes he could find it in himself to laugh too. He looks up at Harry’s house. Dark green hedges almost completely obscure it.

His phone buzzes. One message from Harry.

I’ll be out in 2. Lou is just finishing my hair.

“He’ll be out in two,” Louis says dumbly, his eyes not once leaving his screen.

Two minutes. Just two minutes. Louis’ stomach clenches and he has to close his eyes for a second, otherwise, he thinks, he might be sick.

Chapter Text

From where Louis is standing, Harry cuts a very impressive silhouette. His black coat and dark curls stand out sharply against a solid wall of white-flashing cameras four metres high. All over there are shouts, “Harry, over here! This way, Harry!” and it’s almost impossible to tell from which part of the paparazzi wall the voices come. Louis can’t see Harry’s face but he can imagine his expression, blinking down the lenses of a hundred cameras, smiling just as he’s been instructed to do.

Alberto stands tall and firm on Harry’s right and Will, Eleanor and Louis hover slightly to his left, all of them just enough paces back that they will be out of the pap shots. Will has his back slightly turned, speaking into his phone so quietly that he can’t be heard over all the commotion. Louis looks down at the red carpet beneath his feet. It isn’t here for him and he feels distinctly uncomfortable, as though he really should have taken off his shoes before daring to tread on it. Further along the carpet he can see Emma Watson being interviewed, who, Louis notes with a small smile, is absolutely tiny, and just behind her is none other than Cara Delevingne herself. Louis has to force himself not to stare. As far as he can tell, Cara hasn’t once looked at Harry and Harry hasn’t once looked at Cara.

“That was Sarah,” Will huffs, bringing his phone down from his ear and sliding it back into his pocket.

“What does she want?” Louis asks, trying to keep the dread out of his voice.

“She wants you to talk to Harry and get him to pose for red carpet pictures with Cara.”

Louis swallows down a sigh. He should have expected this. Of course Sarah was never going to stick to the deal.

“It’ll be best if you do it,” Will suggests quietly. His face is a picture of serenity. Any onlooker would assume that the three of them were just engaged in friendly chatter.

“I’m not sure it would.” Louis tries to keep his voice level. He can’t help but glance over at where Harry is still posing, back to them all. Harry had hardly said more than a cursory “hello” when he had clambered into the car. He hasn’t looked in Louis’ direction once since they arrived.

“Honestly Louis, he’ll take it better from you than from either of us,” Will insists, and Eleanor nods in agreement, “you should do it.” Something in Will’s tone reminds Louis that for all his easy-going friendliness he is, at the end of the day, Louis’ superior. Louis straightens out his fringe and glances at Harry once again.

“Ok, of course,” he nods, forcing a small smile, “I’ll do it. I’ll wait until he’s done with this section.”

As Harry edges along the red carpet, Louis notices that Cara and her team seem not to have moved at all. It’s subtle but it works perfectly. When Harry and Cara are only a few metres away, Will raises his eyebrows almost aggressively in Louis’ direction.

Ok, ok, Louis thinks, and has to stop himself from saying it out loud. He clenches his fists and feels where his palms are sweating slightly. This is crazy. Less than a week ago he and Harry spent an entire evening giggling and whispering in each other’s ears, pressed up so close Louis could smell his cologne, and now the thought of approaching Harry makes him blanche. He takes a deep breath and steps into shot, ignoring the low rumble of dissatisfaction which runs through the paparazzi as he tugs lightly on Harry’s arm.

“Harry.”

Harry turns in surprise, looking first at Louis’ hand placed on his arm and then up into Louis’ eyes. He frowns and Louis fights every urge in his body not to recoil from Harry’s dark gaze.

“What is it?” he asks after a second in which Louis stands dumbly. Louis drops his hand as though burnt, and coughs.

“Erm, well, Will sent me over to say that Sarah phoned,” – Harry’s eyes darken even at the mention of her name – “and she… she wants you to pose with Cara.” Louis says the last bit in a rush. Like pulling off a plaster.

Harry is silent for a moment. He continues to frown at Louis so intensely, Louis isn’t sure that he’s even registered what has been said. Suddenly he feels it again, as strong as it had been the first time: that overwhelming sense that he is on Harry’s side. It pains him that Harry might think, even for a second, that Louis is on any side other than his.

“Harry,” he says softly, and only realises too late that he has automatically reached out and pulled Harry into him, turning them just a little more from the flashing cameras and the new wave of celebrities and bodyguards who are making their way along the carpet. “Harry, I… I just want you to know…”

Harry’s expression is tight-lipped and unreadable. Never before has Louis been so aware of the height difference between them.

“I just… Will sent me to tell you this but it doesn’t mean I agree with it. In fact,” he takes a deep breath and stares into Harry’s eyes. It’s like taking that first dive off a cliff, churning sea beneath, green and unknown, “I think it’s bullshit. I think what they’re making you do, it’s fucking bullshit, and if I had my way I wouldn’t make you do any of this and you could just be yourself and…” He stops abruptly. What is he saying? He glances nervously across to where Eleanor and Will are watching expectantly. He’s sure they are too far away to hear. Alberto however… well, Louis isn’t sure what Alberto can hear. His face is giving away nothing but he is close enough that Louis can make out each line on his impassive brow.

Harry still isn’t saying anything. Still frowning. Louis speaks again and when he does it is barely more than a pleading whisper.

“I know I shouldn’t say any of this, because I work for them and it’s so unprofessional of me… like, I know. I get that. But I just wanted you to know that this is how I feel about it all.” He finishes weakly. He feels sure that he has said too much. He avoids looking at the lenses which he knows are pointed at them both.

“I…” Harry opens his mouth, eyes wide and piercing, and he is about to speak and then suddenly he is being pulled away.

“Harry, mate! How’ve you been?”

Harry’s frown is quickly replaced by a wide, practised smile, as he turns and warmly greets the man who is drawing his attention back to the lights and the carpet and the cameras. Louis stands frozen in place, and watches as Harry gets swallowed into a conversation with a group of people who look exactly like they just stepped out of one of Nick Grimshaw’s parties, but in slightly more Dior. A vicious shout from a pap brings Louis back to himself, and when he realises that it’s him the pap is shouting at to “get the hell out of the way”, he does so in a slight daze.

Will rushes up to him and hisses in his ear. “Did he say yes?”

“Er…” Louis takes a second to realise what Will is referring to. “He didn’t give an answer.”

“Fuck,” Will huffs, “I told Sarah this wasn’t a good idea. She has this way of just bloody springing stuff on us.” He signals something to a woman, whom Louis assumes must be one of Cara’s people, and pats Louis on the back. “At least no answer is better than an outright no.”

Louis feels like Will is slightly missing the point.

He watches Harry in awe as they all gradually inch further down the red carpet. What had he been going to say? Louis can’t take his eyes off him. He is radiant again, just like he had been on the day of the book signing. Even in this sea of famous and not-so-famous faces cluttering up the red carpet, Harry stands out, bright and dazzlingly beautiful. Everybody wants to say hello to him. Everybody seems to know him. But unlike the book signing, he doesn’t look for Louis. He doesn’t seek Louis out in the crowd. He doesn’t send small smiles. He doesn’t even seem to ever look in the general vicinity where Louis is standing.

Harry greets Cara with the most laughably platonic of hugs, and then stands for less than ten seconds with her, arm lightly around her waist, shoulders slightly stooped. They make an impressive couple, it’s true. But both of them have a strange look about them, almost as though they have been airbrushed already, before the photos have even been taken.

Inside the venue, even Louis has to admit that he is impressed. He glances around at the high ceilings, the floor-length mirrors with gilded frames, the elaborate chandeliers which drip light onto polished marble floors. There are no paparazzi here, only a few select photographers who flit amongst the guests, along with the waiters, expertly balancing precarious trays of champagne glasses.

Harry very quickly allows himself to be swallowed by the crowd. As the minutes pass, Louis employs a great deal of mental energy in the task of not looking for him. He tries to focus in on Will’s words, as he takes his third champagne glass from a passing waiter.

“…it feels a little like he’s checking up on us is all I’m saying!” Will holds his hands up in defence.

“Oh so that’s how you see me? Like a spy,” Eleanor narrows her eyes and Louis doesn’t miss the way that she pokes Will playfully in the arm.

“Well…” Will pokes back, “I wouldn’t put it past him. Or past you for that matter.”

“Oi, watch it!” Eleanor giggles, and Louis takes such a large gulp of his drink that the fizziness burns the back of his throat and bubbles into his nose.

“I’m going to find the little boys’ room,” Will says to Eleanor, and she pouts at him. Louis glances around and for a second thinks he sees Harry in the crowd. A second later he thinks he is mistaken.

Once Will has excused himself, Eleanor turns to Louis and raises an eyebrow.

“You’re very quiet.”

“Am I?” he says, and takes another sip of his drink not quite meeting her gaze.

She studies him for a moment and then leans forward. “You want to know a secret?” she whispers.

Louis isn’t sure if he does but he smiles obligingly.

“I am kind of here to spy. Kind of.” She grins wickedly. She isn’t drunk but Louis reckons she’s had as much champagne as him, and the way that she teeters slightly on her heels betrays her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods proudly and waits for Louis to probe further.

“McGee sent you to spy on Will?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head meaningfully and takes another sip of her drink.

“Harry?”

“Nope.”

“Me?”

She smiles down at Louis, noticeably taller than him in her five-inch heels. She holds her glass in front of her lips and for a moment Louis thinks she isn’t going to answer, until slowly she nods.

“He wants you to spy on me?”

She nods again and remains infuriatingly tight-lipped.

“So why are you telling me?” he almost snaps. He isn’t in the mood for this tonight. “Not a very good spy.”

“He never told me I couldn’t tell you,” she protests. “Just that I should keep an eye on you.”

“Why?” Louis asks, indignantly. She shrugs again and smiles.

“He didn’t say.”

She is wearing what Perrie calls her smug-in-the-know expression but, unlike her brisk office manner, she has a hint of mischief in her eyes. Just at that moment a woman sidles up to them and introduces herself as Angela from Turn First Artists. She seems to know McGee, as does everybody, and small talk ensues. Louis wonders where Will has got to. And Harry for that matter. He hears a depressingly familiar laugh somewhere behind him and forces himself not to turn around.

At some point Will appears again, notably drunker than he had been when he left, and excitedly talking about the industry people who he knows here. Louis internally kicks himself. He knows he should be making the most of this opportunity to network, but he just can’t.

After what feels like an age but is probably, realistically, less than an hour, they all start to be ushered into the main ballroom, where allocated tables are indicated by huge, elaborately decorated seating charts. Of course, McGee has booked one of the largest tables, round and adorned with silver cutlery, right at the front, so close to the stage it is almost lit by the stage lights. Harry is already standing by one of the chairs at the far side of the table, deep in conversation with some women Louis doesn’t know, and he glances up only briefly when Louis, Eleanor and Will take their seats. His eyes linger for a second too long as Louis carefully lowers himself into his chair, but when Louis looks up again Harry has turned back to his conversation. With a sinking feeling, Louis realises that he has taken the seat directly opposite Harry’s.

The evening proceeds in a parade of speeches, entertainment, auctions and alcohol. Their complimentary dinner is, Louis reckons, not as much cop as it should be considering how much McGee will have likely paid for this table. The chattering amongst the guests is so loud that Louis has to lean in just to hear what Will and Eleanor are saying. He quickly regrets sitting in between the two of them as they spend most of their time leaning across him to talk to each other. He doesn’t know where to look. Harry also seems to have sat himself in an awkward place, between two separate conversations, but he hardly seems to care. More than once Louis looks up and catches Harry’s eyes boring into him. Each time, Harry’s gaze snaps hastily away, but Louis doesn’t miss the flush on his cheeks, even in the dimly lit ballroom.

Louis takes gulp after gulp of champagne in a misplaced effort to calm the trembling butterflies in his stomach. He doesn’t dare look up again, and instead forces himself into Will and Eleanor’s conversation.

“Eleanor says she’s a spy,” he announces abruptly, during a pause in their chatter.

“You what?” Will says.

“She’s a spy. She told me. She’s here to spy for McGee.”

“I knew it,” Will grins smugly and Eleanor giggles under his intense gaze.

“No, no, seriously. She told me. She’s spying on me specifically.” Louis will talk about himself if it kills him, so long as it gets Will to peel his eyes away from Eleanor long enough to acknowledge anybody else’s existence.

“Really?” Will asks, looking slightly more serious.

“Yeah, it’s true,” she nods. “But you know what? He needn’t have worried.”

“What do you mean?” Will and Louis ask in unison.

“Well…” Eleanor leans forward sloppily, and adopts a conspiratorial whisper, “he told me to watch how Louis and Harry behave together, but they haven’t said one word to each other all evening so…” she shrugs, seemingly disappointed at the anti-climactic outcome of her mission.

“Haven’t they?” Will glances across the table, slight frown in place, and Louis feels certain if he dared to look up now, Harry would know that they were talking about him.

“Nope, they haven’t,” Eleanor shrugs, “so that’s what I’ll be reporting back to McGee. I don’t know what exactly he was expecting anyway.”

Will frowns again, momentarily lost in thought. Louis doesn’t know what to say, thinks that the roof of his mouth might be stuck to his tongue anyway, so says nothing.

“I was actually only joking before about the spying thing,” Will muses. “But I guess… well, I suppose it makes sense that he would want to keep a closer eye on Louis.”

“Yeah, it makes sense,” Eleanor agrees. Louis finds his voice again at that. Indignant doesn’t even begin to cut it.

“How on earth does it make sense? What have I done?”

Both Will and Eleanor turn to him in mild surprise, as though they’ve half-forgotten he is there.

“Oh you know, because you weren’t his appointment,” Will says. “He’s so selective over who he chooses to have in what role, and Harry’s his biggest client.” Louis must look confused because after a moment he explains further. “No way would he normally let someone who had only been around for a couple of months move to such an important team. He was super reluctant to do it as well, but Harry kicked up such a fuss he figured it wasn’t worth fighting him on it. Pick your battles and all. Plus, I like you so I put in a good word.”

Louis smiles weakly and wonders how much of his shock is showing on his face.

“But you knew that, right?” Will adds a moment later when Louis doesn’t say anything. “I assume Harry told you?”

Louis shakes his head dumbly. He’s pretty sick of being the last to know about things at this point.

“Well, McGee did say Harry asked for me personally…” he stops abruptly for a moment and then says quietly, “McGee didn’t want me on the team?”

“Oh no!” Eleanor says, and her expression is one of genuine concern. “It’s not like that, Louis. Just, like Will says, he wouldn’t normally let someone, anyone, who was that new onto such an important team. It’s not a personal thing.”

Louis nods reluctantly. His boss doesn’t like him. Harry doesn’t like him any more. Basically he works for people who don’t want him to work for them. He feels very small.

“I guess he’s suspicious, well, not suspicious, just cautious I guess, because of how much of a fuss Harry made about it,” Will says thoughtfully. “He’s generally pretty indifferent about Modest employees, but he really dug his heels in. Insisted he wanted you on his personal team. From what I gather he didn’t really give much of a reason, just refused to get off the phone until McGee had given his word that he would promote you immediately…”

Will’s words fade as Louis feels the impact of them rush through his blood, filling up his entire body until all he feels is the pounding in his veins and all he can see is Harry, on the far side of the table, lips moving, head inclined to the woman on his right. After several seconds Harry’s lips falter and then he’s looking up at Louis. His wide green eyes find Louis’ across the round table and for a moment there is no one but them in the huge ballroom. Harry is frowning slightly, and looking at Louis as though Louis is the answer to a question he doesn’t quite understand.

Louis inhales sharply and comes back to his senses, snapping his eyes away, and letting the din of the room rush in around him.

“…and with Leigh-Anne he didn’t even let her officially on the team until after she had already covered a bunch of promo for the first album. So really, Louis, it’s not a bad thing. Just probably taking him a bit of getting used to. That’s the reason you’re not accompanying us for this leg of the tour. It’s not because you’re not good enough. He just takes a long time to get to trust people. You’re still an unknown in his eyes…” Will trails off.

“Uh huh.” Louis nods absently. He stares down at the remnants of his soufflé. His stomach lurches and suddenly he wishes he hadn’t downed quite so much champagne.

Will looks slightly guilty and Louis doesn’t miss the grimace he exchanges with Eleanor. The conversation moves on and leaves Louis behind. He keeps his eyes fixedly down. This evening is even worse than he imagined and that’s really saying something.

It is almost midnight when Eleanor returns to the table, having taken a call, with a mumbled “sorry, it was work.”

“Everything ok?” Will asks, when he sees her frowning face.

“That was Sarah. Olly’s Sarah,” she adds as she slips her phone back into her purse and sits down. Louis casts around in his mind. He met Olly Murs’ day-to-day manager only briefly before she set off for his European tour back in March. “Apparently there’s a mixer contract on McGee’s desk which hasn’t been sent out. She says she sent it to him to sign on Monday but of course she didn’t tell me at the time, and he clearly hasn’t done it, so now I have to go back to the office.” She slumps in her chair and scowls at her champagne before taking a huge gulp.

“Just do it on Monday,” Will shrugs.

“It has to go out asap. Apparently the mixer’s management are insisting it gets to them by Monday morning at the latest. There’s already been some whole mix-up with it… I dunno. S’typical.” She sighs a world-weary sigh and then whines, “I don’t want to leave.”

“I’ll go,” Louis pipes up, suddenly energised by the idea that he might have just found a legitimate reason to leave this godforsaken event.

“Really?” Eleanor’s eyes light up. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No, not at all,” Louis shakes his head emphatically.

“It really should be me that goes but,” she looks at him thoughtfully, “I guess it doesn’t really make a difference. You’ll need to take my keycard for McGee’s office.”

“Ok,” Louis nods, and is already half off his seat, shrugging on his jacket as she retrieves the keycard from her purse.

“The contract should be on his desk. Text me when you find it, yeah?”

“Sure,” Louis takes the keycard from her and pushes in his chair.

“Will you come back after?” Will asks.

“Probably won’t be worth it, I’ll just head home.”

“Oh Louis, I’m sorry! Honestly, I can go. I should really go,” Eleanor says, but makes no move to get up.

“Seriously, it’s fine. It’s only a few streets away,” he says and then remembers to smile at them. “Have fun, guys.”

He wants to look up at Harry again. He wants to look into those beautiful green eyes one more time. He at least should say goodbye to Harry, on a professional level if nothing else. He doesn’t. He turns and weaves his way out of the ballroom. He wonders if Harry’s eyes follow him out the door. He hopes that they don’t and hopes that they do.

Chapter Text

Just as Louis turns the corner and the office block comes into view, he feels the first tentative drops of rain begin to fall. As if this night could get any worse, he grumbles to himself and takes the last twenty or so metres at a sprint, just managing to buzz himself into the lobby before the rain becomes torrential.

The building is eerily silent and he hurries down the polished corridor to the lifts, mindful of how loud his footsteps are. When he reaches the door of McGee’s office he pushes it open cautiously, as though half-expecting to find McGee asleep in there, curled up in a corner somewhere, protecting his litter of Grammys.

After allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust, Louis heads straight for the desk, dappled by rain-light and shadow, and starts sifting through papers, careful not to set any out of order. When he doesn’t find anything relating to Olly Murs on the desk he walks around the other side, and, after a moment of slight hesitation, opens the top drawer. Old fountain pens, bits of broken CDs, a bunch more papers which Louis deftly sifts through. Nope. Not in there. He searches through each of the drawers in order, increasingly certain that he is not going to find what he is looking for, and when he gets to the bottom drawer and finds a half-drunk bottle of whisky, a broken Rolex, and a packet of condoms, he shuts it with a snort. Definitely no Olly Murs contracts in there. He stands for a moment, hands on hips, and glances around the shadowy office. He must be missing something. He sighs and starts sifting through the papers on the desk again.

He startles as the door creaks and he whips his head up.

“Harry?”

It’s Harry alright. He’s standing in the doorway, expression unreadable in the shadows. Only the city lights, spilling through the blinds in stripes, illuminate his face and the expanse of dark oak and white rug between them. They are silent and the silence stretches on until Louis can’t take it anymore.

“What are you…”

“Will told me you were here,” Harry says. His voice has a slight quiver to it, which matches the feeling in Louis’ stomach. Carefully, he places the papers that he has been holding back on the desk and comes to stand in front of it, peering at Harry in bewilderment. Is he drunk?

Harry takes a step into the room. He doesn’t look drunk.

“I’m just,” Louis stutters, suddenly defensive, “just looking for a contract for Eleanor, well for Sarah actually, Olly’s Sarah, not stern Sarah. I mean, HJPR Sarah. As in, not HJPR Sarah…” he’s babbling. Harry takes another step towards him, and he falls silent.

Harry’s hair looks strange and Louis begins to see, in the half-light, that it’s wet. The ends curl into dark clumps where beads of water run off them. His coat, now that Louis looks at it, is soaking.

“Did you… did you walk here?” he asks, meeting Harry’s gaze. The way Harry is staring at him, piercing him straight to the core, makes his breath catch. “Harry?”

As though on cue, Harry walks forwards again, until he is only about a metre away. If Louis reached out now he would be able to touch him, yet something about his presence feels surreal, as though Louis’ hand might clasp at air. Harry’s chest is rising and falling in small, sharp breaths. His eyes flicker across Louis’ face, making him feel vulnerable and exposed.

When Harry speaks his voice fills the space between them like a wave of warm relief. At least he doesn’t sound angry.

“Louis, I’m sorry I was so weird before, I just kind of…”

“No,” Louis interrupts, voice quiet and meek, “no. I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.” He fixes Harry with a meaningful stare. “I was stupid before, but I get it now.”

“You’re not stupid,” Harry says and the ghost of a smile passes his lips.

“I’ve been pretty stupid,” Louis counters, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of his own mouth.

Harry frowns and bites his lip. There is silence between them again. The raindrops on Harry’s cheeks are unnerving. They almost look like tears.

“Did you ever see that old magic trick?”

Louis stares at Harry, not even trying to hide his confusion. Harry presses on.

“The one that Houdini did. With the glass tank of water and the glamorous assistant. Where he ties her up and puts her in it and you don’t know whether she’s going to make it out alive.”

Louis nods dumbly. He watches Harry’s lips move and tries to understand.

“That’s what it’s like.” He pauses, his eyes never once leaving Louis’ face.

“What it’s like?” Louis echoes, barely more than a whisper.

“Like being in a glass tank, onstage. Houdini’s glamorous assistant. Everyone’s clapping and cheering and it doesn’t matter to them that you’re drowning because it’s all just part of the act.” He clenches and unclenches his fists as he speaks. “The harder you struggle, the harder they clap and the louder they cheer.”

On the last word his voice breaks.

No, Louis thinks all of a sudden, the thought a rush so physical and urgent that before he even realises what he is doing he has stepped forward, closed the gap between them and clasped Harry’s cheeks in his. They are soft under his palms, wet and cold from the rain.

“You’re drowning?” he says. Harry stares at him helplessly, green eyes quivering.

“Sometimes I think that I am,” he confesses. He casts his eyes down as though ashamed.

“Then why don’t you get out,” Louis growls, clutching Harry’s face more tightly, holding it above water, “why don’t you stop? Just jack it all in tomorrow. Fuck ‘em. Just walk away. Take a final bow,” he adds, through a desperate half-laugh. Don’t let them have you, he wants to say.

Harry’s brow is set in deep lines, yet up close his eyes are young and fearful as a child’s. He’s shaking his head, showering Louis’ arms in drizzly London rain. Their bodies are pressed so close now that the motion sways Louis too.

“You’re not listening,” he says desperately, willing Louis to hear him. “I’m not Houdini. I’m the one in the tank. Behind the glass. I’m stuck. Louis, I’m so stuck and I don’t know how to get out. It’s like I can’t breathe.”

“Hey…” Louis whispers, pressing Harry’s forehead into his. He breathes deeply, trying to emanate calm enough for the both of them. He feels Harry’s hands come up to hold onto his forearms, clinging tightly. Their breaths merge until they are in time with each other. The office around them is deadly still.

Something is happening. Louis can’t explain what it is. But he feels it, in his blood he feels it. He hears it in the rain beating against the windowpane and in the hollowed shadows of the office, with its dusty cabinets and all those awards lined up like sentinels.

“Fuck Houdini. Fuck them all,” he growls into the silence.

Harry’s eyes flash. Louis doesn’t see the flash but he feels it when their lips crash together in a surge of fire and the heat pools under his skin. His cheeks, his lips, his chest, his thighs, at every point where his body is touching Harry’s he feels it. Harry’s mouth parts and Louis moans into it, losing himself entirely. He lets his tongue explore, and Harry answers him. He screws his eyes tight shut, so tight he feels as though he could scream. The want in him is so violent it scares him. He pours it all into Harry instead and Harry’s hands grip him everywhere, roaming over his body, pressing deep, moulding him until he is nothing but flesh under Harry’s touch.

Harry is gasping into him, the sound filling up Louis’ ears until it is one with the rushing of his blood. Everywhere that he is, Harry is, pressing into him until he feels the dull ache of hard, solid wood against his thighs. His knees buckle and his thighs part, drawing Harry in. The solid desk grounds them both, and Louis’ hands slip under Harry’s coat, shoving it off his shoulders as Harry bites down on Louis’ bottom lip, desperate not to lose the contact that suddenly feels like a lifeline. Louis fists the front of Harry’s shirt, pulling him down and down, until Harry’s hand slaps the desk beside him. He runs his palms along the tight muscles in Harry’s trembling arms. He breaks away for a second, gasping for air, and Harry takes the opportunity to deftly undo his own buttons, before letting his shirt slide to the ground, white silk ghosting over porcelain skin. His bare chest is smooth and pale and heaving. When their eyes meet Louis’ heart skips painfully. Harry’s pupils are blown wide, and his lips are swollen, red and parted in invitation.

“Louis,” he breathes, and Louis answers him with a bruising kiss, dragging them both down until his back hits the desk. Harry’s hands scramble behind Louis’ back, frantically clearing his fall. Papers and pens scatter to the floor, and Harry drags him, almost violently, shifting them both so that they narrowly miss the sharp edges of the computer at one end of the desk. Louis’ hands curl in Harry’s hair, tangling, dragging him down even further until they are almost horizontal. Harry buries his face into Louis’ neck, his tongue tracing haphazard lines against Louis’ skin and his lips sucking bruising kisses. In bliss, Louis cries out into the silent office and his own voice awakens him.

“Harry…” he mutters, his lips numb and unwilling to form words. “Harry… we can’t… we…” his head hits the desk as he melts under Harry’s tongue. His thighs are pressed between Louis’ and the heat that is pooling there makes Louis’ thoughts so hazy it’s an effort to collect them.

“Harry!”

Harry lets out a frustrated sob, and pulls away from Louis until their chests are no longer touching. It’s cold, and it’s horrible, but Louis can breathe again. Still though, he cannot bear to untangle himself from Harry’s curls.

“We can’t do this. Someone could catch us,” he says, breathless and pained. “I could lose my job…” Harry shakes his head, shutting his eyes against Louis’ words, “… you could lose everything.”

Louis knows that what he is saying is right, can feel it whispered in the corners of the silent office, this is heat and it is lust and it is so powerful it could burn everything, all of this, all of Harry’s success, to the ground, yet saying it is painful.

Harry’s chest heaves slowly, up and down, up and down, and he gazes into Louis’ eyes. He seems to understand, yet when Louis looks at him, sees bright, electric green and soft wet lashes and sweet pink lips, he cannot for the life of him remember why anything he just said is important.

He tugs Harry back down, and Harry groans with relief, melting eagerly into the kiss. It tastes all the sweeter now, invigorated as they are by the knowledge that there’s no point trying to fight this.

Louis’ fingers fumble at Harry’s belt, and at his own, as Harry’s teeth scrape along his jaw, bite on his earlobe, brush against his cheekbones. He can feel Harry’s cock, swollen and hard against the fabric of his trousers, and Louis’ own is throbbing so much it aches. They are an inch apart. Finally he manages to undo Harry’s trousers and Harry’s fingers brush against his as they both hurry to push Louis’ jeans down. Louis feels the air around his cock as it springs free. The solid oak against his arse is cold and unyielding.

“Wait…” Harry stutters, against his lips. He looks around the room frantically. Harry’s swollen cock is brushing against Louis’ arse, flesh against flesh, and he follows Harry’s frantic eyes around the room, slow to catch on until, through the murky haze of his mind, he begins to understand.

“Condom,” Harry says, and he looks as though he might cry in frustration. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Neither do I…” Louis bangs his head painfully against the desk, fighting every urge in his body to pull Harry into him, to take every risk and just lose himself completely. “Neither do I. Fuck.” He digs his fingertips into Harry’s hips, trying desperately to quell the impulse.

Harry drops his head helplessly into Louis’ neck and moans.

“Hang on,” Louis says, remembering in a rush, wriggling underneath Harry to twist and reach across the desk. “McGee has condoms.”

“What?” Harry laughs in confusion, pushing himself up just far enough to look at Louis.

“In the desk… in… in the bottom drawer,” Louis is breathing heavier again, impatience catching up with him. Harry’s eyes widen in understanding and he springs into action, rushing around the desk and rummaging noisily until he finds what he is looking for with a triumphant yelp. All the while, Louis stays in place, propping his elbows up on the desk just enough to watch Harry. His legs are dangling down to the floor and look awkward without Harry between them.

When Harry comes back round he stops and his breath catches. Louis’ cheeks flush as he follows the line of Harry’s widening gaze and it hits him how exposed he is, with his shirt shucked up, and his cock lying thick and heavy against his stomach, his thighs pale and exposed by the faint street lights, which are also reflected in Harry’s eyes. Harry blinks once and swallows, parting his lips, and before Louis knows what is happening, Harry is above him again, tearing open the condom packet with a vicious bite and spitting it out by his side. As Harry rolls it on, Louis licks his own fingers, slathering them with as much saliva as he can manage before he brings his hand down, past his aching cock, to open himself up, desperate to feel Harry inside him, unwilling to wait.

Harry watches, mesmerised, before hurriedly doing the same, sinfully sucking on his fingers with wet lips and hollowed cheeks. When he pushes one, and then another inside Louis, Louis feels his whole back arch against the desk. He cries out, gripping the edge of the desk with white knuckles and grinding desperately against Harry’s fingers, impatient and urgent. Harry’s eyes are trained on Louis’ face, flickering with every move he makes, and Louis pushes down deep, deeper, until he can feel Harry’s fingers brush against that spot which makes him squeeze his eyes shut and cry out. He could almost come like this, he swears, and he forces his eyes open.

“M’ready,” he nods frantically, “I’m ready,” and just like that Harry’s fingers slide out of him, and for a moment he is empty and he whines in frustration. And then he feels Harry push inside him, feels himself stretch, feels a slight burn, and he lets out a sigh of relief, breathing into it, gripping the soft, delicate skin of Harry’s hips, drawing him in and in, until they are locked together. Louis pressed on his back, and Harry above him, biceps strained, flushed and trembling where he’s holding his whole weight against the desk. He breathes a long, steadying breath, and looks deep into Louis’ eyes. If Louis wasn’t completely undone before, he is now.

Harry moves his hips back and then pushes forwards again, slow at first and then building and building, as intense heat pools in Louis’ stomach and his breaths are nothing but cracked and ragged gasps against Harry’s skin. Harry leans down and catches Louis’ lips in his own, and the angle is so deep, so overwhelming that Louis is close already. He snakes his hand between their stomachs, and tugs at his neglected cock, needy and desperate for relief. When Harry feels it, he braces himself on one arm, bicep bulging against the effort, and brings the other down to meet Louis’, stroking him in time with their thrusts. Louis lets his own hand drop away, helpless under Harry’s touch.

Harry’s eyes are dark and his lashes are wet, his brow is glistening with sweat and his lips are bruised. Louis closes his eyes. It’s too much to take, too much beauty. Too much. He feels himself rushing over the edge. His orgasm pulses through him like a crescendo until he lets out a strangled moan and comes between their stomachs, spurting over Harry’s hand. Two more deep thrusts and Louis opens his eyes just in time to see Harry’s face scrunching into the most perfect gasp, his closed eyes crinkling around the edges. The sound that escapes his lips is as beautiful as a song, and its melody seems to linger in the following silence as it comes crashing back around them.

Harry pulls out carefully, still trembling slightly, and flops down on top of Louis, pressing a kiss into his neck. Louis lets his hand come up to tangle once again in Harry’s curls. Neither of them speaks. They breathe deeply, their chests rising and falling as one, and Louis has no idea how long they remain like that. It wouldn’t feel like anytime at all, except he begins to realise that his spine is digging into hard wood, and the backs of his thighs are aching where they are pressed in sharply to the edge of the desk. Still, he can’t bring himself to move.

Slowly, ever so slowly, it begins to dawn on Louis what they have done. It comes in waves, small at first and then larger and larger until his chest tightens painfully and he shifts the tiniest bit to look down at where Harry’s head is resting against his shoulder. What have we done, he thinks desperately. What are we doing? He can feel the first flutterings of real panic settle in as he looks around the office, suddenly acutely aware of all the shiny awards glinting at them from the shadows and all the eyes watching them from behind their glass frames.

Despite the panic, Louis can’t bring himself to regret it. He should but he can’t, with Harry’s breath against his neck and warm weight against his chest and beautiful curls under his fingertips, he just can’t, and that, he thinks to himself with a lurch of his stomach, is how he knows he is in real trouble.

Harry must hear it a second before Louis does, because he whips his head up just as an electric light, somewhere down the other end of the corridor, flicks on.

Chapter Text

They spring apart as though by electric shock. Harry scrambles frantically to gather his shirt and coat from the floor and thankfully has the forethought to rush to the door and close it, wincing as he quietly eases it shut. Thank goodness because Louis’ brain isn’t in a fit state to think of anything as sensible as shutting the door. He hastily tugs at his jeans and looks around in horror as, for the first time, he properly takes in the mess around them. Papers and folders and a whole pot of pens scattered on the floor. What the fuck were they thinking? They hadn’t even closed the door! Louis thinks he is about ready to lose his mind.

Harry does a shhhing sign at Louis and points to the desk. Then, clutching his crumpled shirt and coat, he carefully tiptoes around to the other side of it and disappears underneath. Ok fine, Louis thinks, trying, and, in his haste, failing to buckle up his belt, fine, that’s fine. Harry is under the desk and I’m… He looks around him again. If anybody sees this mess he is done for anyway, half-naked Harry under the desk or not. He stands, frozen in place as he hears the faint sounds of footsteps.

They are getting louder.

Louis closes his eyes and holds his breath, as though maybe, if he doesn’t see whoever it is that is about to be the reason he gets fired, they won’t see him either. Desperate times and all that. He has no idea how long he stands there, heart in his mouth, belt buckle hanging loose, but it is with a small fluttering of hope that he hears the footsteps fading away again. Yes, they’re definitely getting quieter.

He opens his eyes and stares at the slither of light underneath the door. He holds his breath. When the light goes off, Louis’ knees almost buckle underneath him, weak with relief, and he clutches the desk to steady himself.

“Harry,” he hisses, after several more moments. “Harry. They’re gone.” He realises there is no need to whisper now, they hadn’t been whispering before, but suddenly it feels as though the very walls have ears. How could they have been this stupid?

Harry emerges, somewhat ungracefully, from under the desk. They look at each other for a beat too long. Louis drops his gaze and mumbles, “we need to clear all of this up.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice hoarse. He coughs it out and comes round to the front of the desk. It’s the first sound he has made since he made the most beautiful sound anybody has ever made. A sound he made as he was coming inside Louis. It takes a moment for Louis’ brain to snap out of it, and when it does he follows Harry’s lead and drops down to the floor, hurriedly gathering the papers into haphazard piles.

“This stuff is all going to be so out of order,” he mumbles, “I’m going to have to say something. Eleanor will know it was me.”

Harry pauses and looks at Louis, guilt written plain across his face.

“We’ll say it was me,” he insists.

“And why exactly would you have been in McGee’s office?” Louis snaps, a little more harshly than he means to, as he scoops up a handful of pens and stuffs them unceremoniously into their holder.

Harry shrugs helplessly. Louis sighs.

“Look it’s fine. I’ll call Eleanor and say… I don’t know… I’ll say I fell or something. She can probably help me put most of it back in order…” He looks up at Harry, who is still shirtless. He looks very young in the middle of the huge office. “What did you do with the condom?” Louis asks suddenly. If this is a clear-up operation, he is going to make sure that it’s thorough.

Harry points gingerly to where he was hiding under the desk. “Wastepaper basket,” he says quietly.

“Right well, that needs to go and then I guess…” he looks at the mess in dismay, although now at least, it is all on McGee’s desk rather than on the floor, “I guess you should leave. It’s too risky you being here.”

“You’re staying?” Harry asks and something in his small voice makes Louis’ chest ache. He can’t risk looking at Harry for fear of losing his last shred of sanity.

“I need to stay and sort this stuff. And find the contract for Olly,” he realises.

“I could help you?”

“No, Harry. I think it’s best if you go. We should leave here separately. You need to go back to the ball. You’re meant to be seen leaving with Cara.” Louis can be sensible, he can, even though still, after everything, his body is crying out to touch Harry again, to be touched.

When Harry neither responds nor makes a move to leave, Louis dares to glance up at him. Don’t look at me like that, he thinks desperately.

Eventually, heavily, Harry begins towards the door, shrugging his shirt back on. He glances one last time at Louis.

“Are you going to be ok?”

Louis isn’t sure that he is talking about finding the Olly Murs contract but nevertheless he says, “I’ll be fine, I’m sure the contract is here somewhere. I… It needs to go out tonight, is the thing.”

“Ok,” Harry nods. He looks as though he wants to say something more but he doesn’t. They stand there, Harry at the doorframe, Louis by the desk, just as they had been twenty minutes ago. There is silence again but this time it is loud, deafening in fact, full of the memory of what they’ve just done and the sounds that they have just made. Harry turns away and closes the door. Louis lets out a shaky breath and tries to compose himself, turning back to the desk. He quickly whips out his phone and texts Eleanor.

Help! I stupidly managed to knock a bunch of papers off McGee’s desk and I don’t know what order they are meant to be in… :s

He stuffs it back into his pocket and picks up two pieces of paper, trying to work out if they give any clues to any sort of filing sequence. Two minutes later he hears the door creak again. He looks up. Harry is standing there, shirt buttoned and jacket back on, holding up a thick brown envelope with a bright yellow post-it on the front.

“This what you’re looking for?” he asks.

Louis hurries towards him and takes the envelope gratefully. The post-it reads Olly/Mixer Contract. Send out ASAP. The envelope is stamped and addressed and all ready to post. Small blessings.

“Yes,” he breathes a sigh of relief, “oh my god, thank you. Where did you find it?”

“On… is that Eleanor’s desk?” Harry points behind him and Louis groans.

“Oh for goodness sake Eleanor! It was on her desk all along?”

Harry blinks at Louis. “I guess so.” The last time their faces were this close they were kissing.

“Ok well…” Louis coughs, “I still need to sort this stuff out, so…”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

Always later.

Louis’ heart is in his throat. He has to physically force the words out of himself. “Yeah, ok. Night, Harry.” And with that Harry leaves again, and this time Louis listens until he hears Harry’s footsteps disappear down the hallway. He checks his phone and sees the reply from Eleanor.

Babes don’t worry! M never knows what order any of his stuff is in anyway. I’ll sort it on Monday morning. Did you find the contract?

Louis lets out a shaky laugh. All that worrying for nothing. He looks around him, shoulders sagging with relief, and as he does he happens to catch a glint of something shiny on the carpet. He peers more closely. He hadn’t noticed it before, nestled in amongst the pale tufts of carpet, but right now it’s catching the light in such a way that it stands out starkly, bright and metallic against dull, cream wool. He bends down and reaches for it. It’s the part of the condom wrapper that Harry had torn off with his teeth and spat out. Louis grabs it and shoves it deep into his trouser pocket, as the panic comes flooding back threefold.

He waits in the office for another twenty minutes, just to be one hundred per cent sure Harry will have definitely left, and then phones a taxi. He stands outside on the curb, trying to shield the envelope from the relentless rain. He thinks of Harry, back at the ball, with Cara by his side, smiling politely. He directs the taxi driver to take him straight home, only stopping to post the envelope in the red pillar box at the end of his road, shoving it triumphantly through the slot, glad to be rid of it. He doesn’t bother to take off his clothes before rolling face first into bed. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth. He doesn’t even bother to wash off the come, which he knows is dried against his stomach. He doesn’t bother to check the time on his phone or to see if he has any messages. He just drags it from his trouser pocket, flicks it onto silent and chucks it on the floor.

The next morning he wakes up to four missed calls from Will including a voicemail, two from Eleanor, and then a text from Will at two thirty in the morning which says,

Crisis averted! We found him thank fuck!

Oh fuck. Louis drags himself out of bed and showers and tries to ignore the delicious ache in his bum. He closes his eyes, letting the hot water pour over him, and the memory from last night is so real he feels his cock begin to swell. No, no, no, he thinks, but can’t help himself, as the memories wash over him in waves and his hand finds its way between his thighs.

He doesn’t tell Niall. He deliberates over it all morning, hardly listening to whatever new work problem Niall is complaining about, nodding along in just enough of the right places to give at least the vague impression that he’s paying attention. He will tell Niall eventually of course, but right now he can’t find the words to give voice to what he and Harry did.

He stares blankly at the TV screen as he shovels cereal into his mouth, and tries to forget how Harry had looked as he came, how his eyes had fluttered open moments afterwards and found Louis’. Niall is flipping irritably through channels and when he flicks onto the music channel he pauses. Louis blinks and comes to his senses. That’s Harry on the screen.

It’s one of those trashy celebrity breaking news items, with rolling subtitles about Kim Kardashian and the latest Channing Tatum movie, and Harry. It’s Harry on the screen and he’s coming out of a building, being hastily shoved towards a car by Alberto and another towering security guard. The lady announcing the news is saying things, but Louis can hardly hear her. He can only focus on the crowd of fans and paparazzi swarming in so tight Louis actually feels scared for Harry, who keeps his head down, dark glasses hiding his expression. He’s bundled into the car and immediately the screen changes to show Cara Delevingne. Same building, same crowd, different security men. She too is only just detectable amidst the hoard and she too is hurried away by a waiting car. The story really does tell itself.

“Wow,” Niall says, looking over at Louis and frowning. “They’re really determined to make sure he looks straight, aren’t they?”

Louis gulps and forces himself to nod. He feels slightly sick. That was his story. Right there. That was his idea and they did it. He put Harry through that. He gets up abruptly and storms into his room, slamming the door behind him and ignoring Niall’s confused questions.

It is four o’clock in the afternoon, after several hours of lying around in his room, stalking random acquaintances he doesn’t really care about on Facebook, trawling through mind-numbing BuzzFeed articles and consuming video after video on YouTube, before he finally plucks up the courage to message Harry.

I looked up that magic trick you were talking about and I realised you got it wrong… It’s Houdini in the tank! That’s the whole point of the trick. Because he’s the one with the magic powers or whatever the hell he is meant to have. So he’s the only one who can get himself out. It seems like an impossible feat, probably even to himself at times, but somehow he always manages it. Just thought you would be interested to know.

He stares at it for a long time without pressing send. It is potentially the strangest message he has ever typed. Who knew having illicit sex with an international popstar would also lead him to become an expert on the twentieth century’s most prestigious illusionist. It certainly isn’t something he would have expected. At that thought he smiles warmly, suddenly overcome with fondness for Harry bloody Styles and how bloody unexpected everything about him is. He hits send.

A few moments later, still gripping his phone tightly, he types out another message, which, he reckons, probably better gets across his point than rambling on about Houdini does.

Basically, just because something seems impossible, doesn’t mean it is. X

He knows Harry is flying so he doesn’t expect a response straight away. In fact he doesn’t know whether to expect a response at all. He forces himself to the gym, he cooks dinner with Niall, and he goes to the pub with some old uni friends. At half-nine he realises Harry will have landed by now. He opens WhatsApp and sees two little blue ticks by his message. So Harry has read it. No reply. Louis stuffs his phone back into his pocket, takes a huge gulp of beer, and tries his hardest to put Harry out of his mind. He fails spectacularly but he reckons he deserves double points for effort. At midnight, as he rolls into bed and switches his phone on silent, there is still no reply. He slaps it, face down, on his bedside table and groans into his pillow.

The next morning he wakes up, dehydrated and groggy, blinking against the bright light pouring through his half-drawn curtains. After several minutes he musters the energy to roll over and grab for his phone, resigned to the fact that clearly Harry has no interest in engaging with Louis’ ramblings about a dead magician, and half-terrified that he will be met with a repeat of last week’s painful morning text.

Three new messages from Harry. He blinks and his chest tightens in anticipation as he opens WhatsApp. The first two were sent at 00:36 London time.

:o :o :o

I never realised that! Are you sure?!?? Hang on I’m going to check on YouTube…

And then, sent at 00:44, the third message.

Thank you Louis xx

And just like that, Louis feels lighter than he has done in a long while. He smiles to himself and types out a reply.

No problem! You can always rely on me for helpful Houdini facts!

Good to know. I’ll remember that ;) how are you this morning? It is still morning for you isn’t it? comes back the instant reply.

Just about. And I’m good thanks. How are you? Louis hits send with a nervous flutter in his stomach. Another instant reply seems almost too good to hope for so when it comes he has to bite down on a grin.

I’m ok but soooooo tired!

Then why are you up so early?

Can’t sleep. I always get nerves the night before the first show of a tour.

You could always try counting sheep…

I tried but I ran out of sheep! They’re pretty few and far between here in NY.

You could get some delivered. Surely! You’re a popstar. If you can’t get sheep delivered to your hotel room then really what’s the point?

You put forward a good argument. Maybe I’ll start requesting a flock of sheep in my rider. I’m sure McGee would love that.

Haha! I’m sure he wouldn’t!

Even better then ;)

Louis giggles out loud, properly giggles and feels his cheeks aching from where he’s smiling like a lunatic. He spends the rest of the day glued to his phone and only blushes a little when Niall asks who it is that is texting him and making his face look like that. From the smug look on Niall’s own face, Louis is pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Chapter Text

All the garish, trashy magazines are lined up in rows like confectionary. Louis looks up and down the shelves in distaste. He used to buy these magazines. He used to trust that at least half of what they were printing was the truth. Now even the thought of opening one turns his stomach slightly. How many others are there like Harry? How many of the shiney, airbrushed faces smiling out at him are living a lie?

He moves further along the aisle and stops abruptly when he sees Harry. It’s a beautiful picture. Although at this point Louis doesn’t think a single picture of Harry exists which isn’t beautiful. Harry had texted him last week, complaining about the recent cover of Grazia. To be fair, they had caught him at a strange angle, halfway through chewing gum, squinting against the glare of the paparazzi cameras, which had been lying in wait for him outside his favourite bar in New York. Still though, he had looked beautiful. Louis had deliberated over how to respond and in the end had sent back some silly comment about his flamboyant taste in shirts.

This Harry though, the one on the front of Heat magazine is dressed very soberly in a white t-shirt and black jeans. His hair is too short. This is clearly an old picture. The ugly lettering reads Cara’s heartbreak: “Harry says he just doesn’t “do” long distance.” Against his better judgement, Louis picks up the magazine and flicks through until he finds the feature. There is a picture of Harry and Cara from the Vogue ball last month. And there is a picture of Cara without any make-up on and in sweatpants. The caption claims Cara is so heartbroken she’s starting to let herself go. Louis squints at the picture. Judging from the gym bag by her side she’s just been to the gym. But whatever.

“Excuse me,” says a gruff voice from the counter.

“Yes?” Louis snaps his head up, looking quizzically at the shop attendant, who is glaring at him.

“Are you going to buy that?” he stabs his finger in the direction of the magazine.

“Er…” Louis thinks about it for a second. He really should. He’s been mooching around in here for well over half an hour. “Nah, you’re alright,” he says and stuffs the magazine back onto the shelf. He grabs his carry-on luggage and marches out the shop, sending the shop attendant a not entirely sincere “thank you” over his shoulder.

Back in the main hall of the terminal he looks up at the large display screens. His flight is still very much delayed. He knows this. He knows that they will announce it when it is time to start boarding. But still he stares up at it just like everybody else.

0700 LGW – LAX: BA4603: Delayed

He frowns despite himself. This morning, as he had dragged his suitcase out to the taxi, he had been so nervous about the prospect of finally seeing Harry again after all this time, that he had all but forgotten about the twelve hour flight ahead of him, let alone mentally prepared himself for the mind-numbing boredom of being stuck in the terminal for five whole hours waiting for a plane which seems to be delayed indefinitely.

He had, of course, phoned Leigh-Anne immediately to explain.

“No problem, these things happen,” she had said sympathetically. “I’ll let the driver know.”

He had then, as he has become used to doing these past few weeks, messaged Harry.

Bloody flight is delayed. Gatwick is dull as fuck. Entertain me please?

Harry had sent back an emoji of a flamenco dancer followed by an emoji of a top hat. Louis had stifled a giggle into one hand and typed his reply out with the other.

You’re weird.

You love it! had been the almost immediate response. Louis’ heart had skipped a beat when he saw it.

A few moments later, as he had looked down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling through his Facebook, he had had a thought.

Why are you awake already? Isn’t it the middle of the night where you are?

Haven’t been to bed yet. It’s 2am. Pretty sleepy right now.

Well then go to bed you numpty!

Heyyy, who are you calling numpty? I’ll have you know I prefer Humpty Dumpty.

I’ll say it again. You’re weird.

Haha. I’ll say it again. You love it!

And then a minute later.

Ok. I’m actually going to go to bed now. Night Louis. Have a safe flight please. See you soon! X

It’s the see you soon that has Louis’ stomach in knots right now. He stares down again at the message. It was sent three hours ago. He’s probably looked at it about twenty times already. Harry’s asleep right now. Fast asleep on the other side of the world and, in twelve hours, or maybe a bit more than that depending on when this bloody plane decides to arrive, Louis will be with him once again. Face to face. In the flesh. When he thinks of it, the memory of McGee’s office is as vivid as though it were yesterday. They haven’t mentioned it once. In all their many messages, not once. But it’s there. For Louis at least, it’s always there.

Six hours after it’s scheduled departure time, the plane finally takes off. Louis watches as the yellow and green patchwork fields of England get smaller and smaller, the roads running to thin grey ribbons, swirling across the countryside, connecting tiny toy towns. He’s never been to America before. The last time he was on a plane he and Niall were returning from Asia, far poorer and far more tanned than they had been when they set out. If Louis had known for even a second that the next time he would be on a plane he would be flying to join Harry Styles on tour as part of his management team, well, he would have freaked. Now though, it’s not Harry Styles he’s joining, but just Harry. Lovely, quirky, unexpected Harry. Although he’s still freaking.

He tries to sleep to take his mind off of everything but his head is buzzing. It’s been buzzing ever since he opened Will’s hurriedly sent email two days ago.

Louis,

Poor old Aiden has glandular fever. Flying him back tomorrow. You’re catching the 7am on Thursday from Gatwick (details attached). I’ve cleared it with McGee. Pack a decent amount of clothes. Don’t know yet when you’ll be returning.

Any problems give Leigh-Anne a shout. She’ll organise someone to pick you up from the airport.

Will

p.s. Don’t forget your passport!

Louis flicks through the channels on the in-flight TV. He can’t settle on one. For a while he tries to get into a film about aliens invading Earth but the plot is so dreadful and the acting so appalling he switches it off in disgust and instead contents himself with gazing out of the window, looking down on the clouds.

Niall had been wracked with jealousy when Louis had told him, on Tuesday evening, that he was flying out to LA.

“Oh mate. You’re gonna have such a wicked time! Fucking hell, why is your job so much better than mine?”

He had phoned his mum to let her know as well, and she had insisted on putting him on speakerphone to say goodbye to all of his siblings.

“For goodness sake, Mum, I’m not leaving the country for good, you know? I am actually planning on coming back.”

“But you said you don’t know when that will be!”

“Yeah, but as soon as Aiden gets better they’ll send me back again. Don’t you worry.”

“Well, be safe darling.”

“I will, Mum. Love you.”

“Love you too,” had come the cacophonous sound of five voices in unison.

Several hours into the flight, Louis thankfully manages to drift off into uneasy sleep. He is woken a few hours later by a screaming child in the next aisle. Well, at least it made it for this long without crying, he thinks grudgingly and peers, bleary-eyed out of the window. Below him, stretching for miles and miles, he can see nothing but cracked, brown earth, rising up at jagged points to form a line of mountains running into the horizon. Long way from England now, he thinks to himself, and his stomach clenches with nerves. They continue to chase the sun westward and it’s not long before the pilot is ordering the cabin crew to prepare for landing.

The first thing that hits Louis when he steps out of LAX is the heat. It’s heavy and dry, and completely unlike the sporadic, sticky summer days they’ve been having in London. The second thing that hits him is how exhausted he is, despite his nap. It may still be light but as far as he is concerned it’s one o’clock in the morning.

Thankfully it doesn’t take his driver long to find him. The car cruises down the wrong side of the road as Louis watches palm trees streak past, silhouetted against the setting sun. He gets a call from Leigh-Anne just as they hit the freeway.

“Hey Louis, how’s it going?” she sounds far too bright and chirpy for one in the morning, and also as though she is in a very crowded room.

“Ok thanks, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Currently in the middle of a meet and greet but I thought I would just check up on you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I’m all good. Driving as we speak.”

“Good. So plan is, Jim’s gonna drop you off at the venue directly, there’s literally no point you going to the hotel seeing as we’re moving tonight…”

“Sure,” Louis says mildly, although internally he mourns for the nap he now knows he isn’t going to get.

“So if you’re ok with it, you’re going to dump your stuff on the bus and then head straight up? You’re on Harry’s bus by the way,” – Louis’ breath hitches before he can stop it but Leigh-Anne doesn’t seem to notice, thank goodness – “there’s a bunk free and Harry suggested it so I hope that’s ok…”

“Yeah,” Louis manages to squeak out.

“And then just give me a… oh my god, sorry, one of the fans just fainted, Jesus, anyway… erm… give me a shout when you’ve dropped your stuff off and I’ll come get you. We’re all watching from a box tonight. Considering how late your plane was, by the time you get here there won’t actually be anything to do, so you can just sit back and enjoy the show, cheeky beggar.”

Louis laughs nervously, brain still stuck on Harry suggesting Louis sleep on his bus. Leigh-Anne wraps up the conversation briskly and Louis slips his phone into his pocket. He sinks back into the leather seat of the car, small, nervous smile playing on his lips. This feels like the calm before the storm.

About ten minutes later Louis’ phone buzzes again. Harry.

A little birdy tells me you’ve landed. You didn’t tell me! ☹

And then, one minute later:

Btw that sad face was for the fact you didn’t tell me, not for the fact that you landed. Just to be clear. The fact that you landed is a happy face. ☺

Louis sinks further into his seat, trying to hide his blushing grin from the driver.

You’re a dork did you know that? But I’m glad my landing gives you such joy. Btw I don’t know if I’ll get there in time to see you before the show so if not good luck! I’ll see you after x

Thaaaaaanks. But FYI you’re supposed to say break a leg. Just saying.

I thought that was just for the theatre?

Who says music isn’t theatre? I am acting after all. What did that dude once say? “All the world’s a stage…” *cue sad violins*

Oh don’t give me that sad violins Shakespeare shit. You love the drama. Just get onstage and break whatever limbs you need to break.

Did anyone ever tell you that you’re cute when you’re bossy ;)

Louis doesn’t even know how to respond to that and luckily he doesn’t have to when a second later another message comes through.

Sigh, got to go. Next lot of fans are about to enter any… minute…

Break a leg! x

NOW bye x

By the time they arrive at the arena and are met by a harried looking Leigh-Anne, Louis has just enough time to drop his suitcase off on the tour bus she points to, before they both rush through a side-entrance, down a squeaky-white corridor where the first strains of Harry’s set can be heard seeping through the ceiling.

They encounter a few security people, and Leigh-Anne chucks a pass at Louis to wear around his neck. “He’s management,” she explains to them, as Louis sends quick nods in their direction, and lets Leigh-Anne steer him towards another door. When they push it open a wall of deafening noise greets them, and for a moment Louis stands in shock. He blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the flashing lights and the tiers of people which seem to go on for miles. Leigh-Anne drags him forward, pushing past the small crowd of people in their box, until they reach Will.

“Louis!” Will appears to say, and they greet each other with a quick hug and friendly smiles. Will says something else but Louis just shakes his head at him in bemusement. He’s sure he has never been to a concert this loud before, and he quickly realises it’s not the music but the crowd that is making such a racket. Will pats him on the back and leads him towards the front of the box. They’re not too far from the stage, right by the side of it, and when Louis looks down and lets his eyes adjust, his breath hitches. There’s Harry.

Over the past month Louis has played this moment in his head over and over again, the first time he gets to see Harry in the flesh since… well… But of all the scenarios he had imagined, he never thought of this.

Harry onstage is something else. Louis’ seen videos before, of course - recently he has watched more than he would care to admit, in fact - but in the flesh Harry just… sparkles. That’s the word for it. He rushes about the huge stage, filling it with his energy and his endearingly quirky dance moves. He sends kisses galore to the audience in between verses and he smiles the most dazzling smiles, which Louis can just about make out in real life, and can see duplicated up-close and larger-than-life on the screens surrounding the stage.

“He’s not bad, is he?” Leigh-Anne shouts in Louis’ ear, clearly amused by how captivated he is. All Louis can do is nod dumbly in agreement. His head is whirring, and as song after song unfolds, whilst everyone around him claps and cheers, all Louis can do is grip the railing in front of him and stare. Harry is a popstar. Fuck. Harry is a superstar. Right now, Louis is just one of fifty thousand dots and Harry is… something else. More than human almost. All these people are screaming for him.

Considering he’s a superstar it’s strange to see how small he looks on the stage. It’s the screens and the microphones and the lights that make his presence in the arena so huge. On his own, he is tiny. Louis looks down at him and wonders if it gets lonely onstage. He has so much ground to cover, so much audience to please. He’s doing a stellar job of it.

Louis thinks of the boy on the steps who told him he couldn’t, the boy who told him he was drowning. Right now he shines so bright he is almost blinding. Right now, if Louis tried to tell someone how he has seen Harry’s shoulders sloped in self-doubt, and his eyes dark with sadness and fear, he’s sure nobody would believe him. He would hardly believe himself.

After the concert, Louis gets caught up in polite chatter with Will and is introduced to some of the other members of the team. He also gets instructions to report to Will at eight a.m. prompt tomorrow. He is dead on his feet and it’s six in the morning by his body clock so the thought of only eight hours sleep makes him want to cry.

By the time Louis gets back to the bus, Harry is already there. He’s crouched over a duffel bag with his back to the entrance so he doesn’t notice as Louis carefully picks his way down the aisle, ears still ringing from the fifty thousand screaming fans. Louis stops for a moment, his nerves getting the better of him. How does this work? Does he just say “hi”? Maybe he should just hide out until Harry has gone to bed and then sneak back. Fucking hell, he needs to get a grip.

He coughs lightly. Harry whips his head around and the grin that spreads across his face when he sees Louis, well, quite frankly, it’s radiant. The screens just don’t do it justice.

“Louis! Finally, you made it!” Harry beams, as he stands and spreads his arms wide.

“I made it,” Louis agrees. He steps forward into Harry’s welcoming arms and instantly everything comes rushing back. Harry’s warm, musky cologne with a hint of apple and spice, the muscular curve of his arms, his soft, unruly hair. Louis’ eyes close automatically and they stand for a touch too long, hugging each other tight.

When they break apart Harry is still beaming.

“I thought you were never going to arrive. Leigh-Anne said you got held-up on the freeway as well?”

“Yeah we did. It’s not exactly been my day transport-wise.”

“That sucks. Still, you’re here now.”

“I’m here now.” Louis nods and feels his cheeks aching with how widely he is grinning. Suddenly Harry’s face falls.

“You must be exhausted! You can’t have slept in, what, twenty four hours?”

“Well, I slept a bit on the plane. But yeah, I’m pretty knackered. I was just about dead on my feet when I arrived but then I saw your show and if anything was gonna wake me up it was that.”

“You saw it?” Harry’s eyes widen, and Louis allows himself a moment just to admire them before he nods.

“Yeah, I saw it. I was watching with the others. Arrived just in time. You were awesome by the way, Harry,” he adds, although awesome doesn’t even begin to cut it.

“Really? You’re not just saying that? Don’t just say it if you don’t mean it.” Harry fixes Louis with a serious stare.

“No, I mean it. Honestly Harry, you’re incredible. Onstage, I mean,” Louis hastily adds and hopes that he isn’t blushing. “It’s like you were born to perform.”

Harry chuckles shyly and if Louis isn’t very much mistaken his cheeks go slightly rosy.

“Born to perform,” he muses after a moment. “That kinda rhymes.”

“Kinda,” Louis half-agrees and his heart swells with how much he has missed Harry and his weirdness. They stand there like that for a moment more, Harry’s overflowing bag at his feet, both grinning like idiots, until a cough behind Louis reminds him that they are one hundred per cent blocking the already tiny aisle.

“Fancy seeing you here,” comes Alberto’s gruff greeting, and when Louis whips round he is met with a raised-eyebrow and a knowing look.

“Hey,” he smiles, to hide his blush.

“Alright? How’s it goin’?” Alberto asks.

“Good thanks, you?”

“Not bad. Can’t complain and all that.” He makes to squeeze past the two of them, an almost impossible feat given the space. “Good show tonight, lad,” he says to Harry as he passes, throwing him a casual high-five.

“Thanks Albie,” Harry returns, and looks for all the world like a shit-eating teenager being congratulated on a good grade at school.

Alberto disappears into the little bathroom at the end of the aisle.

“That’s where Al sleeps,” Harry pats the bed underneath his own. “And then Paul, you’ve met my tour manager, Paul? Yeah, well Paul sleeps there,” he points at the bed opposite Alberto’s. “So this one is yours,” he taps the bed above Paul’s. “And I’m opposite you.”

Louis looks across from his bed to Harry’s. They will be sleeping less than a meter apart. This is going to be torture. Something must show on Louis’ face because Harry frowns and bites his lip.

“Er… are you ok with this?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis smiles in an attempt to reassure Harry. “So it’s just the four of us on this bus?”

“There’s also Lou and Lux,” Harry says, and points to the back end of the bus where a curtain blocks off the last section. “They sleep in that bit back there so Lux gets a bit of privacy.”

“Aw that’s cute,” Louis says. Still, something in the crease of Harry’s brow unsettles him. “So where do the other Modest guys sleep?” he asks to prevent what he fears might be an awkward silence.

At that Harry looks crestfallen. “Erm… They’re on another bus with the creative team. Would you prefer to be with them? I’m sorry, I should have checked with you first. If you’d be more comfortable there just say…”

Woah. Where is this coming from? Louis stares up at him, bemused.

“No, no, I’m quite content here.” He smiles widely to illustrate the point. Harry’s eyes are cast downwards so for emphasis Louis takes off his jacket and whips it casually up onto his bunk. “Seriously, this is perfect. And I would probably rather not see my colleagues in PJs if I’m being totally honest.”

“You sure?” Harry eyes Louis’ strewn jacket cautiously.

“Yes,” Louis grins. “You silly popstar,” he adds for good measure and feels incredibly proud of himself when Harry giggles.

“This is the best bus, you know,” he admits it like a secret.

“I’m sure it is.”

“For one thing, Lux is just the cutest little bean…”

“Someone say my angel’s name?” Lou says, emerging from behind Harry. She throws Louis a friendly wave when she notices him, her other hand holding her silk kimono in place. She taps once on the bathroom door and sighs when Alberto replies.

“I was just explaining to Louis where everyone sleeps.”

“Ah, I see,” Lou nods. “Did he mention that the bit back there was meant to be for him but he insisted me and Lux take it instead?”

“He didn’t mention,” Louis says and looks at Harry, who is scowling at Lou.

“It’s sectioned off cos it’s meant to be where the artiste can get their privacy but bless him, he insists he’s fine with these miserable, middle-aged farts.” She nods towards the bathroom door and grins fondly when Alberto’s muffled “oi” answers her.

“Well, yeah, obviously. It’s stupid me having it when you have a four-year-old who needs to sleep,” Harry grumbles. She shakes her head in amusement as she pushes past Alberto who has just manoeuvred himself out of the bathroom.

“That’s sweet of you,” Louis says quietly and a second later he hears it as Harry must have heard it, all fondness and soft gushing. Fuck. Establishing any sense of normality between them is going to be harder than he thought.

“Just basic decency,” Harry shrugs it off, but he looks delighted nonetheless.

How had Louis forgotten this? Just how lovely Harry is up close? Sure, he’s gorgeous in interviews, and yes he looks hot as fuck in pictures and onstage he absolutely glows, but here, up close under the harsh glare of the bus light, where Louis can see every little thing, every line around his eyes, every tiny pimple on his forehead, every crease in his lips, the dark shadows under his eyes, the stray hairs curling with sweat at his temple, all these little things that serve as proof that he is a real human being, well, he is just about the most beautiful, exquisite thing Louis has ever laid eyes on.

Yep, this is going to be a whole lot harder than he thought.

Louis takes his turn in the cramped little bathroom, almost sitting on the toilet as he brushes his teeth over the sink. He washes his face and changes out of his jeans into sweat pants. As he awkwardly greets Paul, who has appeared out of nowhere, already lying in bed, he is reminded of the many hostels he and Niall had stayed at in South East Asia. The way that something as intimate as clambering into bed, snuggling down into pillows and sheets, is done just feet away from an almost stranger. Louis is very aware of Paul below him. He shifts onto his side and winces at the creak in his thin mattress.

Harry is getting ready to get into bed. He was the last to use the bathroom, insisting on letting everyone else go first, even though, as Louis had pointed out, he’s the one who needs to get his beauty sleep.

“Are you saying I’m ugly?” Harry had cried in mock offence.

“No, I’m saying your pretty face pays all of our wages and then some so be sure to take care of it,” Louis had quipped, ignoring the look Alberto had sent him, and yet still Harry had refused to go before him, insisting that Louis deserved it after his hell of a travelling day.

Louis curls deeper into his mattress and watches the muscles in Harry’s bare back flex, his shoulder blades drawing together as he stands in front his bed, tying up his hair in a ponytail. Soft, wispy hairs escape and curl at the nape of his neck, just a foot away from Louis. It’s impossible for Louis not to remember the feel of those delicate curls tangled in his fingers.

It’s only when Harry is finally in his bed, long limbs clumsily enveloped in his thin duvet, that he turns and catches Louis watching him. To his own surprise, Louis doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his gaze away. He doesn’t know why or how but for some reason, he isn’t at all embarrassed that Harry has caught him looking. The corners of Harry’s lips lift the tiniest amount. Louis lets out a soft breath and Harry’s smile widens.

Just an hour ago Louis had been a dot amongst thirty thousand others, and he could hardly hear himself think. Now he can feel his heart beating in his chest above the ringing in his ears, can hear Paul’s faint snores beneath him, can hear Harry’s duvet rustle as he tucks his legs under himself, can see the pillow below his cheek moulding to accommodate his smile, and can feel his own doing the same. And he can see Harry’s shimmering green eyes, studying him, mapping him out, drinking him in. They seem to hold promises. Tomorrow they seem to say.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow turns out to be torture. Louis drags himself out of bed when his phone goes off at half seven, and he feels like he’s hardly slept at all. Harry shifts slightly in his sleep but doesn’t wake. The others are already up and off the bus, it seems. Louis pads about quietly, trying not to fall over, and blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

It’s disorienting stepping off the bus and finding it parked outside a completely different arena to the one they left last night. This is San Diego. Louis cannot for the life of him remember the name of the venue. He fishes his pass out of his pocket to hang around his neck, and asks a passing roadie where the management team might be.

“Breakfast,” he grunts and points towards the building. Helpful.

Louis checks his watch. He has two minutes. Luckily breakfast turns out to be relatively easy to find after all. It’s a makeshift buffet in a charmless, dark-carpeted room backstage. Will spots him and waves him over to their table. Louis takes a seat next to Leigh-Anne, who already looks irritatingly fresh and awake, and is scrolling through her iPad. Will introduces Louis to the others at their table, who turn out to be Harry’s vocal coach, Helene, and his lighting designer, Lee, both of whom thankfully are very friendly without expecting much chit-chat from Louis.

He sips coffee in a kind of daze. It’s unprofessional of him to admit it but he essentially cannot function on this little sleep. He’s not sure how he’s going to get through the day. He’s only half managing to take in what Will is saying. The basic gist seems to be that it is Louis’ job to deal with whatever questions, problems, or queries any of the crew have that Will and Leigh-Anne are too busy to deal with. Will and Leigh-Anne it seems, are operating a sort of office-away-from-home. When Louis asks Leigh-Anne what she’s doing, she points out a schedule for the fourth album and explains that she’s currently negotiating a deal with Snapchat to release sneak previews of selected tracks in the countdown to the album release.

“The album isn’t even finished yet,” Louis points out mildly. “What if it isn’t finished in time to meet this schedule?”

“It will have to be,” Leigh-Anne says grimly and Louis wonders at how anybody expects Harry to finish an album when he is touring right up until album promo season. His answer comes a few minutes later.

“Apparently,” says an unfamiliar voice, as Louis feels a clap on his shoulder, “you’re the new Aiden.”

He looks up to see a dark-eyed man with a scruffy ponytail peering down at him.

“That’s me,” he says politely, and the man’s eyes soften into a smile.

“I’m Julian.”

“Louis.”

“It’s good to meet you, Louis. Sorry to disturb your breakfast but I need to ask you, do you know when we’re meant to be getting into our hotel room? It’s just, we need an hour to set up for recording and Paul’s just informed me that they’ve moved the tech rehearsal from four to two which basically leaves hardly any time for recording.”

“Erm…” Right, ok. It’s begun. Louis can do this. He looks across at Will, who nods encouragingly.

Louis pulls up the tour schedule on his phone and flicks to today’s date. He feels self-conscious with Julian standing over him, and it takes him longer than it should to figure out what he is looking for amongst Will’s complicated colour-coded system.

“Er… ok, so… we’re meant to be in the hotel at eleven, so I guess if you need an hour to set up, that would mean you would start recording at twelve?”

“Hmm. Yeah, that’s not really enough time.” Julian doesn’t say it unkindly but still Louis feels as though it’s his fault. He gets up and looks around the room. He doesn’t see Paul.

“Tell you what,” he says, “I’ll talk to Paul and see if there’s any way he can reschedule, and I’ll call the hotel as well. I’m sure they’ll already have at least one room available, and then you can take one of the buses ahead with the equipment. Get a head start.” He takes a slightly shaky breath and glances at Will again, who sends him a reassuring smile.

Julian nods his agreement. “That would be great, thanks. This is meant to be a recording day, remind him.”

Louis downs the last tepid dregs of his coffee and makes his way back towards the buses, where the roadies are unpacking. He finds Paul amongst them and feels very small as he approaches, winding his way through the forklifts and heavy equipment being wheeled into the arena. After Paul’s initial grumbling, that this is meant to be a tour and it’s not his fault if other people are trying to record albums at the same time, Louis manages to sweet talk him into agreeing that in fact four is fine for the tech rehearsal after all. What’s more he manages to get the hotel to agree that it’s ok for Julian and his team to head over straight away. When Julian hears that he literally cheers.

“Dude, that’s fantastic, thanks for sorting it,” he claps Louis on the back, and Louis counts it as a win.

By ten o’clock Louis wishes he could just curl up in his bed and sleep for an eternity. Julian has asked him to wake Harry up and send him over to the hotel as quickly as possible. When he gets back onto the bus he is struck by how different it looks now that his eyes are at least open enough to register how the bright California sun is pouring through the half-drawn curtains, throwing the whole bus into a warm, reddish glow. Harry’s back is to the aisle, his curls peeking out of his duvet and splayed across the pillow.

“Harry,” Louis whispers tentatively, and then when there is no answer, a little louder, “Harry.”

“Mmm,” comes the sleepy response.

“I’m so sorry to wake you,” Louis says softly, coming to stand by Harry’s bunk, “but Julian’s asked if you can go straight over to the hotel so you can start recording.”

A moment’s silence and then Harry’s body wriggles under his bed clothes and he let’s out a long half-yawn, half-sigh. He rolls over onto his back, blinking away sleep, and then turns his head to look at Louis. With the bunk at this height their eyes are practically level. Louis can’t help but smile when he sees the way that Harry is squinting against the light, his eyes and cheeks puffy from sleep. When their eyes lock together, Harry grins too and Louis has to supress the urge to kiss him right then and there.

“Hi,” Harry croaks, before biting on his bottom lip, his dimples deep and inviting.

“Morning,” Louis whispers.

This is what it would be like, he thinks, this is what it would be like to wake up next to you.

After a few more moments, in which they grin like idiots, Louis remembers himself, and shakes his head, trying to settle the swooping sensation in his stomach.

“You… er…” If Louis isn’t much mistaken, Harry’s smile just got even brighter at the sound of Louis’ voice, “you have to get up now…” Louis’ so flustered he can hardly remember why. “You have to… erm… Julian…” he shakes his head, “you have to go to the hotel to record.”

“Uh huh,” Harry agrees, but doesn’t make any move to get up. In fact, he seems to almost snuggle further down into his duvet until his smile is half-hidden in his pillow. “In a minute,” he sighs dreamily.

Louis shakes his head, laughing at how much like a child Harry seems right now.

“Nope, Julian says now.”

When Harry pouts, Louis has to physically restrain himself from poking Harry’s lips with his finger. Instead he pouts back, and settles for poking Harry somewhere around the chest area, the effect of his poke somewhat lessened by the layer of cushiony duvet between them. Still, Harry giggles and squirms away, and although the bus isn’t moving, it might as well be hurtling down the freeway at one hundred miles per hour for all the dizziness Louis is currently experiencing.

A few more pokes and pouts later, and Harry sighs exaggeratedly. “Fine!” He flings his duvet off himself, and partly into Louis’ face, before hauling himself out of bed and standing in front of Louis, chest bare and sweats slung low.

“You’re crueller than McGee, you know that,” he says, although the endearing smirk on his face makes Louis doubt his sincerity. When he doesn’t make any move to get changed, Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“What? M’ready,” he shrugs with a glint in his eye.

“Clothes?” Louis suggests pointedly. Harry looks down at him for a beat longer, smirk playing at his lips, before he shrugs again.

“Fine, if you insist.”

Just as Louis and Harry are emerging from the bus, Harry still buttoning his shirt - a shirt which Louis had teased him mercilessly for: “Are those flamingos? Oh my god, they are actual flamingos” – Leigh-Anne happens to be approaching. When she sees them she laughs.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you two were having some kind of affair!” She looks pointedly from Louis to Harry’s still mostly unbuttoned shirt, and smirks when she sees Louis’ face.

“Jesus, Louis, I was only joking,” she scoffs and Louis forces himself to laugh it off, not daring to catch Harry’s eye. “Harry, are you ready to head over to the hotel? Jim’s driving us.”

“Er… yeah?” Harry says, and Louis catches him frown just slightly out of the corner of his eye. “Isn’t Louis taking me?”

Leigh-Anne shakes her head just as her phone goes off, and she frowns down at it as she answers. “Will wants Louis around today to get him familiar with how set-up works, and I’ve just got online stuff… to do…” she trails off as she starts typing furiously on her phone.

Louis looks across at Harry just in time to catch his small, apologetic smile. Louis smiles back and nods.

“Right, we ready?” Leigh-Anne says brightly, looking up from her phone again and stuffing it into her pocket.

“Yep,” Harry nods, and turns to follow her towards the waiting car. “See you later, Louis?” He says it like a question, and Louis nods again, sending him a reassuring smile.

This bloody curly popstar, Louis thinks, as he lingers for probably a beat too long, watching Harry fold himself slightly clumsily into the car. When Louis finally manages to tear his eyes away, he notices Alberto smirking at him from the other side of the car. When did he appear?

“Will wants you. He’s backstage,” he says, before smirking once again, in a way which inexplicably makes Louis’ cheeks go crimson, before getting in the front seat of the car himself and nodding at Jim to start driving.

Louis finds Will and spends the next few hours being introduced to more members of the crew than he had realised it was possible for one tour to have. He vaguely recognises several of their names from having seen them at various points on contracts and crew lists, but putting names to faces is proving tricky. Especially because pretty much every single crew member is a burly white man of thirty or forty something, and all of them seem to share a penchant for cargo shorts, trainers and socks. Some of them eye Louis slightly warily at first but, as soon as he cracks a few jokes and completes a few tasks that they’ve given him without messing up, they start to warm to him.

Louis has to work extremely hard to stay awake as the hours drag by and the sun reaches scorching levels. Whoever’s idea it was to tour southern California in late June is not Louis’ favourite person right now. Around lunchtime he receives a text.

Louis? I need your help!

His heart freezes. Oh God, something must be wrong. He stares at his phone for a second in horror before furiously typing as fast as he can.

What’s happened?? Are you ok Harry????

MAJOR LYRIC RELATED EMERGENCY comes back the reply a minute later, and Louis lets out such a violent sigh of relief he gets a very strange look from a passing roadie.

FFS Harry, you nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought something actually bad had happened to you!

Oops followed by a string of blushing emojis and then a second later sooooorryyyyy.

Louis shakes his head fondly and snorts.

It’s ok! I’m just pleased you’re alive.

Well of course I’m alive! Otherwise I couldn’t have messaged you. Duh. :p But I’m pleased that you’re pleased I’m alive. I’m pleased you’re alive too!

Louis bites back a grin and steps out of the way of a passing clothes rail to lean against the wall.

Oh my god, why are you such a strange human being?! What is your lyric related emergency?

Ok… this is the first verse of the song (so you can see how it goes) and then the next two lines of the next verse. We need two more lines and we are so so stuck! Literally, we have just been chucking grapes at each other for like an hour trying to come up with stuff and nothing’s working. Grrr! Here it is:

Louis waits patiently as he can see that Harry is typing. He smiles to himself, thinking back to that day in the studio, when Harry had first asked for his help and looked as though he genuinely wanted it.

1st Verse:
One day you’ll come into my world and say it all
You’ll say we’ll be together even when you’re lost
One day you’ll say these words I’ve thought but never said
You say we’re better off together in our bed

There is a pause as Harry types more, and Louis has to shake off the blush he can feel creeping up his cheeks. For goodness sake, these are song lyrics, its hardly as though Harry is actually aiming these words at him. He focuses on reading the lines a few times, trying to get a sense of their cadence in his head.

2nd verse:
The script was written and I could not change a thing
I want to rip it all to shreds and start again
Blah blah blah blahhhhh??????

Help!

Louis chuckles.

Ok, give me a bit of time to think about it he types out before adding, I really like the lyrics so far btw. Especially about ripping the script to shreds and starting again. X

Harry sends back a string of smiley faces and a watermelon.

Louis ends up responding to Harry’s messages a lot quicker than he had expected he would, inspiration suddenly hitting him just as he’s helping Lou set up her products in the dressing room. He types the lyrics with one hand, whilst bouncing Lux on his knee with the other.

One day I’ll come into your world and get it right
I’ll say we’re better off together here tonight.

He feels slightly nervous as he waits for a reply. The little ticks turn blue but no reply comes. Louis reassures himself that Harry is simply running the lyrics by Julian, rather than coming up with a way to gently explain to Louis that they’re shit and obviously not what he’d meant at all when he had asked for help. It’s not until gone three, when Louis and Will and several other hot and bothered crew members are finally, thankfully being driven to the hotel, that Louis gets a reply.

These are perfect Louis. Julian loves them! Thank you ☺

Despite the praise Louis feels slightly deflated. He deliberates for a moment before finally typing out a reply which he reads and re-reads ten times.

I’m glad Julian loves them! What about you though Mr Popstar? You’ll have to sing them after all so if you’re not 100% on them I really won’t be offended!

Too needy? Too forced definitely. Since when has Louis ever called Harry Mr Popstar, for goodness sake? He grimaces at himself in disgust and deletes half the message just as his phone buzzes. Harry.

Oops, should probably have mentioned that I absolutely love them too. Seemed so obvious I forgot to actually write it down haha! They’re honestly perfect Louis, they fit the song so well. I can’t wait for you to hear it ☺ x

Louis lets out a sigh of relief and beams, deleting his previous message and instead sending a simple You flatter me. Can’t wait to hear it too! X

“You seeing someone?” Will asks, bringing Louis back to his surroundings. Louis blinks at him before hastily shoving his phone back into his pocket and staring out of the car window.

“No,” he replies breezily. “Why d’you ask?”

“Just because every time you look at your phone, I swear to God, you look as though all your Christmases and birthdays have come at once!”

When they finally reach the hotel and are ushered to their rooms on the third floor, the whole of which is taken up by members of the tour, Louis feels like he might collapse from exhaustion. When he sees his hotel bed, fresh white sheets crisp and inviting, he’s sure he actually lets out an audible sigh of longing.

He’s meant to have only twenty minutes to settle in before they’re back and heading to the arena for the tech rehearsal, but Louis must have done something good in a past life because mercifully, five minutes before they’re supposed to leave, Will pops by his room to say that he doesn’t need to join them.

“You just sleep, mate,” he says, and adds sheepishly, “I’m well aware you’ve been thrown in at the deep end and you haven’t had a chance to catch up on sleep since you flew here, and there isn’t really anything you’ll be needed for tonight so just take the whole evening off, yeah?”

Louis could hug Will. He thanks him so profusely that Will laughs and says, “You won’t be saying that by the end of the tour, trust me. These things are fucking exhausting!”

Louis quickly strips down to his boxers and clambers into the huge bed, already feeling the tiredness in his limbs ease up. He has to force his eyes open long enough to set his phone on silent, and check the time. It’s almost four. If he naps for a couple of hours he’ll be able to catch Harry after his rehearsal and before his dinner with some LA record label execs whose names Louis is sure he should know, but which right now he can’t… quite… remember…

When Louis wakes again he rolls over and tries to blink away the strange disorientation that comes with waking up to find that all of a sudden it’s dark. He reaches for his phone and is shocked to see that it’s almost midnight. He also sees that he has a message from Harry.

Heya, Will says that you’re probably asleep right now, but text me when you wake up? Xx

That was sent six hours ago. Louis sits up in bed and bites on his bottom lip, frowning down at the phone. For all he knows Harry is still out at dinner, or in a bar somewhere. He could already be asleep by now.

Louis sits for long minutes, deliberating. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to disturb Harry. He has a show tomorrow and he deserves not to be woken up. On the other hand, Louis is desperate to see him. Every fibre of his being is itching to see Harry, just the two of them, to look into his eyes and finally, finally, just to be able to talk, face to face. He sighs, deeply frustrated with his own indecision.

Harry said text me when you wake up. He didn’t say text me if you wake up in time, or text me if it’s not too late. Just text me. Louis stares at it. It feels momentous somehow and he finds himself frozen. Fuck, what should he do?

He throws off his duvet and sits on the edge of his bed for several moments, before he grabs sweatpants and a t-shirt from the top of his suitcase and hastily shoves them on. He figures he won’t text. If Harry is already asleep, he doesn’t want to risk waking him, but he’ll go to Harry’s room. He’ll stand outside and listen for movement. He’ll knock tentatively and see if Harry answers.

Louis walks towards his door and stops as he reaches it. This is a stupid plan. He’s really going to go and stand outside Harry’s door and listen like a creepy, hall-lurking weirdo? This is a very stupid plan. He lingers, hand on the doorknob, and nearly has a heart attack when he hears three soft knocks from the other side.

“Fuck,” he utters under his breath. His heart is racing. This is ridiculous. It could be anyone. It could be Will with an update on tomorrow’s schedule, it could be any one of the tour crew come to complain that they’ve lost their room key. It could be a member of hotel staff, it could be a random stalker fan with the wrong room number, hell, it could be the fucking Pope.

But he knows. Instinctively he knows it isn’t any of them and despite his nerves, he’s so glad because there is only one person in the world he wants to see right now. He takes a deep, steadying breath and turns the doorknob.

“Hey,” he says, feeling a warm curl in his stomach as his eyes meet brilliant green.

“Hey,” Harry says back, small smile in place. “You’re awake.”

“I’m awake,” Louis nods and flicks his fringe nervously. “Just.”

Harry looks stunning. His shirt is half-unbuttoned and his jacket is black and expensive looking. He looks as though he’s come straight from dinner. Louis feels silly by contrast, in his faded t-shirt and old, comfy sweatpants, frayed at the hem.

“Can I come in?” Harry asks quietly, as though Louis might possibly say no.

“Of course you can.”

He steps back to allow Harry into the room, and is hit with the sweet smell of his cologne, mixed with a hint of his conditioner and his own natural scent. He smells like heaven and if Louis could just wrap himself up in Harry and never leave, he would.

Harry shuts the door behind him and steps closer, until he is only inches away. He gazes down at Louis, eyes wide and flickering. All of a sudden Louis feels an overwhelming need to fill the silence.

“I feel pretty underdressed right now,” he says in a pathetic attempt to be light-hearted. “I’ve just woken up, so apologies for my general appearance.”

Harry smiles. His voice when he replies is low and soft, with only the faintest tremor betraying his nerves. His words are unexpected but they cut straight to the heart.

“You’re beautiful.”

Louis’ breath hitches. In that moment he cannot find the words to respond, can hardly register what’s just been said. He wonders if Harry is thinking the same as him. Feeling the same as him. As though Harry can read his thoughts, he answers them. “I want to kiss you.” He utters it like a confession. He swallows and closes his eyes for a moment. “I always want to kiss you.”

If this were a film, Louis would step forward and kiss him. Right now. He would. Instead he stands dumbly, reeling from it all. From the memory of that first kiss, from the memory of that first night, from the presence of Harry now, here and real and saying things which make Louis want to create more memories like those and live in them forever.

When Harry opens his eyes again and finds Louis’, they have a wonderfully calming effect. Louis steps forward, just as he had done in that dark, rain-smudged office all those weeks ago, and takes Harry’s face in his hands.

“If you want to kiss me,” he says, his voice breathless and filled with awe, “you can.”

Harry’s cheeks swell under his palms into the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. He isn’t sure who kisses who. It doesn’t really matter. They come together as one, soft lips meeting soft lips, and Louis smiles as Harry sighs into the kiss, parting his lips and deepening it, wrapping his long arms around Louis’s waist and pulling him in until they are pressed chest to chest.

Louis’ heart is beating, and Harry’s heart is beating, and Louis cannot for the life of him tell which is which. It’s like finally breathing again after being underwater for too long.

Chapter Text

It’s different this time. It’s slow and luxurious, splayed out on crumpled white cotton sheets and soft, velvety carpet, bathed in the warm golden glow of lamps. Louis feels himself at once sinking and floating as Harry’s tongue traces promises along his skin. He wraps his arms and legs around Harry, looking up at him through hazy eyes, clinging on just to stay afloat.

“Louis” is the word that Harry mutters against his skin, and whispers into his hair and groans into the air around them, which is warm and heavy with the smell of sex.

The first time Louis comes, with Harry deep inside him and Harry above him and Harry everywhere, he cries out so loud he has to bite down hard on his lip. He can’t feel his toes. When Harry comes too, shuddering against Louis with an ecstatic sob, chest heaving, it takes Louis several moments to blink his senses back into existence, like waking up from a deep sleep.

“Oh my God,” he finally pants, his voice barely more than a dry crack. “Harry.”

Harry grins down at him, his long legs resting between Louis’ own. His hair is wild, one side a matted knot where Louis must have been tangling his fingers in it. He can hardly remember. Already it’s a blur. He clenches and unclenches his hand in an attempt to feel his fingers again. Harry’s glazed eyes become brighter as he watches Louis.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” Harry whispers in awe. “You’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.” He giggles softly when Louis shakes his head and purses his lips together, simultaneously trying to suppress his grin and stop his cheeks from flushing bright crimson.

Louis has no idea how long they lie together, regaining their senses, but eventually he musters up the energy to turn his head just enough to glance at the clock by his bedside. It’s 1 a.m. A foggy, very far away part of Louis’ brain tells him that he should probably send Harry back to his room. That it will be much easier for him to sneak out now than tomorrow morning. Louis ignores that part of his brain entirely.

The silence stretches on just long enough that Louis starts to wonder whether it’s a bad thing. It doesn’t feel bad, but he doesn’t want a repeat of last time. He feels as though he should say something. But nothing feels profound enough, nothing feels articulate enough to convey whatever the hell it is that’s going on inside his mind right now…

“Hiii,” Harry says sleepily, lifting his head from Louis’ chest just enough to be able to look straight into Louis’ eyes.

“Hi, you,” Louis mutters back, tugging on one of Harry’s curls. Trust Harry to know exactly what to say.

Harry smiles, shifting forwards just enough to peck Louis on the lips, before tucking himself back into Louis’ side, his warm open palm resting gently on his stomach.

“That was incredible,” he says gruffly a moment later. Louis turns to bury his face into Harry’s curls. He nods his agreement, lost for words. “Even better than I remembered,” Harry continues, and Louis can literally hear the smile in his voice.

It’s the first time either of them have mentioned that night in McGee’s office. It had been so surreal it seems almost like a dream now. Louis thinks back to the panic he had felt, lying with Harry’s curls tangled under his fingertips, statuettes and photos blinking at them from behind glass cabinets. This time, wrapped up in a soft duvet, long red curtains covering the windows and the hotel’s luxurious upholstery cladding the room in a soft, protective layer of warmth, it’s almost possible to forget the world outside these four walls.

Almost.

“Harry,” Louis begins tentatively.

“Mmm,” Harry murmurs, his breath tickling Louis’ collarbone.

“Are we really doing this? Like… for real?”

Louis is so reluctant to ask that the words come out cracked, only half-formed. But he has to ask. He has to be sure that Harry understands as much as he does, how dangerous this is. How absolutely reckless and terrifying and ill-advised and potentially damaging this is, for both of them, but especially Harry.

Harry’s fingers curl slightly into Louis’ stomach.

“You don’t want to?” he asks, his voice small and brittle.

“Harry,” Louis breathes into Harry’s hair, wrapping his other arm around his shoulders so that they’re pulled into an embrace so tight that they rock slightly on the mattress, “Harry, you silly thing, of course I do. I want this… I want you, more than anything. I want you so much it terrifies me and… I just have to know, I have to be sure that you want this too, because this is massive, Harry…” Louis should shut up, a part of his brain is screaming at him to shut up now, before he scares Harry away, before he ruins it all when it’s hardly even begun, but he carries on regardless, “it’s so massive. If anybody found out about us… God, I don’t know what would even happen but, Harry, I can’t bear the thought that I could be the reason that you lose everything…” he trails off helplessly, and clings to Harry even harder, almost too scared to give him enough space to reply.

Harry presses a kiss into his neck, and then pulls away just enough to look up into Louis’ eyes. He looks so calm, how can he possibly look so calm, Louis thinks, even as he feels the nerves in his tummy already begin to seep away under Harry’s soothing hand.

“Lou,” he begins, “I know where you’re coming from. I do. I get it. And I’ve thought about it a lot. Believe me. Pretty much from the moment I set eyes on you my brain has been one massive mess of what if, what if?”

Louis’ nerves return in full force and he shuts his eyes.

“Hey,” Harry says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Louis opens his eyes again. “I just want you to understand that I have thought about it. That I’ve had weeks and weeks to think about it in really serious detail, and every time, no matter what scenario I play out in my head, every time my conclusion is always the same.”

“Yeah?” Louis says breathlessly.

Harry nods, and brings up his hand to run it gently through Louis’ hair.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I think you’re worth it. Whatever the risk, you’re worth it.”

Louis’ breath hitches. “But… how can you be so sure?” he says in awe. “There’s still so much about each other that we don’t know…” Even as he says it, he realises how redundant it is. Harry is still an absolute mystery to him in so many ways, a strange, captivating, oddball mystery, and yet he’s sure. He’s absolutely positively certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wants him.

“True, of course,” Harry muses, “there’s stuff we don’t know about each other. But that goes without saying for anyone. And it’s exciting don’t you think? Because everything I’ve learnt about you so far has just made me want to learn even more, and made me want to tell you things about myself that I’ve never told anyone before.” He pauses. “I want to be with you. If you’ll have me, Louis.” He laughs softly, almost to himself and shakes his head in wonder. “I want to be with you so badly it hurts. It actually physically hurts. You’re all I want. These past few weeks, few months in fact, have been absolute torture, all the not knowing… you being on the other side of the world…” Harry takes a deep breath and sighs dreamily, looking straight into Louis’ eyes, his hand still running soft trails through Louis’ hair. “But they’ve also been amazing. I’ve felt like myself again, for the first time in forever.”

Louis chest feels tight with an emotion he can hardly recognise. With each word Harry utters, Louis feels it more and more.

“You make me feel like myself, Lou. Or rather, you make me feel like there’s more to me. More than what everybody else sees.”

Louis finds his voice then, overwhelming as it is.

“You are so much more than what they see, Harry. You are. You’re so lovely, you have such a beautiful heart, and it hurts so much to see those moments when you doubt yourself, even for a second.”

Harry swallows, his hand stills in Louis’ hair and for a moment Louis thinks he is about to speak. But the next moment, Harry’s eyes are spilling tears and Louis is wiping them away, his heart beating furiously, fuelled by an affection so violent he hardly knows it for what it is.

“Sorry,” Harry sniffs a moment later, smiling sheepishly, his wet cheeks faintly blushed. Louis shakes his head, and presses a kiss to Harry’s lips.

“Don’t be,” he says. “I hope they’re happy tears.”

Harry sniffs and nods, settling back into Louis’ side, burying his face into Louis’ neck. Louis places kisses on his forehead and traces circles on his shoulder blade.

“Yes,” Harry whispers after several minutes, “to answer your question. Yes. We’re really doing this.”

“Ok,” he says firmly, tightening his grip on Harry, heart racing. “Let’s do this.”

The second time that Louis comes that night, the second time he gets to hear the beautiful sound of Harry’s voice crying his name in ecstasy, he feels as though he has been handed the key to the most precious safe in all the world. Every doubt, every fear, every threat posed by the outside world fades into dust as he takes a step inside.

It must be gone 3 a.m. by the time Louis finally drifts off, lulled to sleep by Harry’s slow, steady breaths and the warm aching in his limbs, one arm draped over Harry protectively. The last thing he whispers into Harry’s ear is a promise. “We’re gonna be ok.”

He finds himself in front of an angry mob, who are chanting things at him and running towards him, a huge wave of pounding feet and guttural jeers. He tries to talk to them, to shout at them to stop, but he can’t hear his own voice. They keep running and running, not quite reaching him, but being just there, just threatening to spill over into his space and trample him.

He looks around and realises that he is in Times Square or Piccadilly Circus or perhaps somewhere in Tokyo because he can’t understand any of the writing, and behind him there is a billboard, huge and stretching up into swirling storm clouds, with Harry’s face on it. He realises then that it’s Harry the mob is running towards, not him.

“Stop!” he tries to yell, “please stop! You don’t understand!” But they can’t hear him and they keep running, and then they are rushing past him, flocking to the billboard and crawling up it like ants over an anthill. They have tools and they tear holes in Harry’s eyes and rip through his teeth with their pickaxes. Louis tries to run to them but he can’t move. He tries to cry but his tears won’t flow. All he can do is watch. He looks around him and sees Niall, standing a few metres away, shaking his head.

“I believed you, Louis,” Niall is saying. “He believed you. We all believed you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Louis is saying and although he can’t quite remember what it is that he has done wrong, he knows it’s his fault. He knows that Niall is right. Niall’s face is terrifying, his eyes wide and darker than Louis thought they were. He is tall and even at this distance his voice sounds close.

“I believed you, but you were wrong.”

Louis tries to press his hands to his ears, but when he does the noise only increases, like turning up the volume on a switch. He twists his fingers into his ears until he’s sure they’re bleeding and the crowd roars so loud it’s as though they are inside his own head, trying to split it in two.

“I’m sorry,” he shouts but nothing comes out and they scream even louder and even louder. They sound so near…

Louis wakes with a jolt to the furious vibrations of his phone, inching its way to the edge of the bedside table. He realises with a frown that the roaring of the crowd from his dreams hasn’t gone away, although now it’s duller and more distant, muffled as though behind glass.

His disorientation seeps away as he feels Harry’s warm weight pressed up against him, a long, languishing arm thrown across his shoulders. They must have switched positions during the night. As he reaches out to grab his phone he hears Harry sniff and feels him wriggle slightly. He smiles as the memories of last night come back to him in warm, delicious waves.

“Morning,” he says softly, craning his neck around to glimpse messy curls. Harry hums contentedly in response and wriggles in closer.

“Eurgh,” he groans into the pillow a moment later when he looks at his phone, “it’s Ethan.”

“Who’s Ethan?” Harry asks into Louis’ neck, his warm breath tickling the skin there, his voice low and gravelly with sleep.

Louis sighs exaggeratedly at the effort of rolling over, under the dead weight of Harry’s arm, until they are face to face, their noses nearly touching.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he giggles as he watches Harry’s eyes slowly open to meet his, and his smile gradually widen into a grin. He relishes their stillness for just a moment and then says, “What the hell is going on out there? It sounds like a bloody ticker tape parade.”

Harry frowns for a moment, as though he hasn’t noticed and then suddenly his eyes narrow in recognition. “They’re… fans?”

He looks rather sheepish.

“Fans?” Louis snorts. “Jesus Christ, how many of them are there?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugs. “It varies. Sometimes they don’t find us at all, sometimes it’s just a couple of the really dedicated ones…”

“Stalkerish ones,” Louis interjects.

“…who camp outside, sometimes it’s a whole bunch.”

“This definitely sounds like a whole bunch. I think they were in my dream!”

“That happens,” Harry says apologetically. “And yeah, it does sound like rather a lot of them. Urgh! Means we’re not going to get any sleep for the rest of our nights here. Paul’s going to be even grumpier than usual.”

“Must drive you crazy,” Louis says softly, staring at Harry in awe. How can he be so calm, so composed, with a horde of screaming strangers outside his window?

“Well it’s about to drive you crazy, too,” Harry grins wickedly before shifting forwards and placing a quick kiss on Louis’ lips. When Louis realises that this is the first time they have ever kissed in daylight, the first time they’ve ever kissed lightly, just because they can, without it being anything more, he feels giddy.

A moment later Harry brings him back down to Earth when he says, “So, who is this Ethan guy?”

“Oh,” Louis sighs. “He’s that guy I told you about. My ex who wants to get back with me.”

Harry looks at him oddly. “You mean the dickhead?”

“Yeah,” Louis huffs sadly, “the dickhead.”

“What does he want?”

“Er… well, to get back with me. I think anyway…” A quick look at Ethan’s message of Babes I just want to talk to you, why won’t you hear me out? coupled with his three missed calls makes Louis pretty sure that he’s correct in his assumption.

He doesn’t bother to reply, just rolls onto his back enough to chuck his phone somewhere on the floor on his side of the bed. Harry huffs his approval at the action and curls in tight to Louis’ side. Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in close, their limbs slotting together like pieces of a jigsaw.

“Tell him you have a boyfriend,” Harry says quietly. Louis’ chest feels as though its about to burst, especially when Harry tentatively adds, “After all, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“It’s the truth,” he nods into Harry’s curls. Harry lifts his head then in excitement, and kisses Louis once, twice, three times, each more deeply than the last, making Louis’ tummy tingle with the memory of last night. He’s sure he can still taste himself on Harry’s tongue.

“The problem is,” he says eventually, once Harry has settled back down, this time with his chin perched on Louis’ chest so that he can look him straight in the eye and Louis can run both hands through his curls, “’m’not sure how well me having a boyfriend would go down. He knows everyone that I know, including Niall, not that they like each other very much... But it’s all my uni lot. I’d have some serious explaining to do.”

“You could give me a fake name?” Harry grins. “Like… Peregrin, for example.”

“Like… what?”

“Peregrin. It’s a name,” he says firmly. “It’s from the Lord Of The Rings. I sometimes use it for hotel bookings and stuff.”

“Peregrin?” Louis snorts.

“What? It’s a lovely name!”

“I am not telling people that I have a boyfriend called Peregrin. That’s just…” he shakes his head in fond bemusement.

Harry laughs at him and for a second Louis can hardly breathe with how beautiful his laugh is, with the way his eyes squeeze shut and his dimples deepen and his mouth rounds into an open grin, wide and lovely.

“Ok, fine,” Harry concedes a moment later, “but you have to tell this Ethan bloke something. Because he can’t have you!”

“No,” Louis agrees softly, feeling how wide his grin is, “he can’t have me.” He tucks a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. “What about you anyway?” he says a moment later.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do you have any exes I should be wary of?”

Harry blinks at him and a moment later shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. I’ve never really had a proper boyfriend,” Harry says, settling back down with his cheek on Louis’ chest, his voice slow and wistful, still half-steeped in sleep. “I mean, I’ve dated some people. Kind of. There was this A&R guy from Sony and a random guy at some fashion event… I dunno.” He takes a deep breath. “Like, it wasn’t even really dating to be honest, more just… sex. But even then not for, like, two years? Not since, you know, not since everything got really massive.”

Louis vaguely notices that his fingertips are tracing lines along Harry’s arm, as he thinks about his words. “You haven’t had sex in two years?” he says eventually, because it seems the simplest place to start.

“Well,” Harry grins up at him, “I actually had sex about five hours ago.”

Louis giggles, and feels his cheeks flush with giddiness to hear Harry say it out loud. “I mean before me.”

“Yeah. More than two years in fact.”

“Wow,” Louis says softly. “S’long time.”

“It’s just, you know, with my job, what I do, it’s kind of more stress than it’s worth.” He frowns and hastily adds, “I mean, normally. Not this time.”

Louis smiles, and nods to show that he understands.

“I did have a boyfriend,” Harry continues, “when I was like, sixteen?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He was my only really proper boyfriend. My first boyfriend. He was my first kiss with a guy actually. And we started dating maybe about a month before my audition for X Factor. He was at the boys’ school near me. Alex, his name was. Kind of posh. And he was in the year above.”

“Oh really?” Louis raises his eyebrow.

“Yep,” Harry says proudly. “He was a sixth former.”

“Oh. Get you!”

“We were dating but then…” he sighs, “but then the producers of the show convinced me that I would be better off breaking up with him.”

“Hmm” Louis hums in sympathy, watching the trail of his fingertip along Harry’s bicep.

“So I did it. Like, just a couple of weeks into filming.” He sighs again, and he sounds so tired Louis wants to wrap him up in a blanket and let him sleep for a week. “I dunno. At the time it was just like this one thing, you know. Like, ok, break up with him and you’ll have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. So of course I did it. But looking back on it now, it’s like. That was just the start. I didn’t know it then but that was just the start of…”

He trails off but there’s no need for him to finish. Louis gets it perfectly well and it makes his blood run cold with fury to think of a baby-faced Harry, wide-eyed and innocent, trusting the advice of McGee, unwittingly signing the contracts which would force his life into a box and mould his face into an identity way beyond his control.

They stay wrapped in each other for some time, talking in soft voices and sharing occasional crinkly-eyed kisses. The dull rumble of the crowd outside provides a strange backdrop to their conversations, a shroud which at once makes their whispered words feel all the more intimate, and yet at the same time gives Louis the uneasy sense that whatever cocoon is suspending him and Harry in their protective bubble might not withstand the crush of the mob, threatening at any moment to burst through the cracks in the window panes, spewing shards of glass across the bed.

When Louis’ alarm goes off, obnoxious and insistent, cutting through their little bubble, Harry groans and pouts and makes such adorable puppy eyes at Louis, that Louis nearly says, “Fuck it, let them find us!”

But he doesn’t. Instead he does the wise thing and pushes Harry out of bed, showering him with as many kisses as possible in the time it takes them both to hastily throw on clothes and reach the door.

“Hang on,” he hisses, just as Harry is reaching out to turn the door handle. “Let me check that the coast is clear.”

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes widen, and he pulls his hand away from the door as though it’s on fire. “Good point.”

Harry stands behind the door, his shoes dangling from his hand, as Louis pulls it open a notch, peeking out into the shadowy corridor. He’s about to turn and say that the coast is clear when all of a sudden…

“Oh, hi, Paul!” He says it a little too brightly and Paul quirks his eyebrow at him.

“Hi, Louis, y’alright?”

“Yep,” Louis nods, grinning. He suddenly realises that perhaps he should have put on more than just boxers and a t-shirt. As Paul reaches Louis’ door he pauses and cocks his head at him.

“Are you ok?” he asks and Louis nods again. He can’t think of any actual words to say. The feel of Harry’s presence just on the other side of the door is so tangible that Louis has to force himself not to glance at him.

“Are you sure you’re ok? Paul frowns down at him.

“Yep. I just… er… I thought I heard a knock at my door, but clearly not,” Louis stutters and then laughs, a touch too hysterically.

“Well, er… I was just heading to breakfast,” Paul says after a moment, clearly confused. “Are you coming?”

If Paul leans forward and peers through the crack in the door right now, he’ll see Harry, Louis thinks, and even though he knows it’s ridiculous, he can’t stop the rush of nerves pulsing through him, making his brain freeze.

“Louis?”

“Er…” he shakes his head and laughs again. “I should probably get dressed first. You don’t all want to be looking at me in my boxers while you’re eating your cornflakes. Hahaha…” More laughter. Fuck, Louis is not good at this.

“Ok,” Paul says warily. “See you down there.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before making a swift get away towards the end of the corridor. As soon as he’s rounded the corner Louis let’s out a huge sigh of relief.

“You are a terrible liar,” comes Harry’s amused voice from behind the door. Louis closes it just enough to glare at him.

“It’s clear now, go quick before someone else comes!”

Harry pouts again and for a split second Louis thinks he’s going to refuse to move. But then he lunges forwards, before Louis has any time to react, and kisses him square on the mouth, in full view of the corridor.

“See you,” he grins cheekily, before Louis has the chance to protest, and then makes a dash for it across the corridor, holding his shoes in one hand and fishing for his room key with the other. When he reaches his door, just three down from Louis’, but on the other side, he stops and looks back. When he sees that Louis is still watching him he grins and pokes out his tongue. Louis starts to grin back but when he hears the muffled tones of a male voice somewhere just around the corner he slams his door shut.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, leaning against the door and holding a hand to his chest, trying to calm his frantic heartbeats. So this is what it’s like, having illicit sex with a world famous popstar. He’s not sure his stress levels are going to be able to handle it.

He takes a deep breath and thinks of Harry just a moment ago, standing in front of his door, shoes in hand, shirt half undone, turning back to poke his tongue out at him.

In that moment, despite all the million and one reasons racing through his head telling Louis that he should be absolutely terrified right now, he grins, and has to bury his face into his hands when he realises that however hard he tries, he can’t stop grinning. He swears Harry Styles is turning him fucking loopy. Correct that. He swears his boyfriend is turning him fucking loopy. When he thinks of that he grins even harder and isn’t sure that he’ll ever be able to stop.

Chapter Text

“I KNEW IT!” Niall shrieks gleefully, clapping his hands in triumph. “I fucking knew it, you sly bastard. Why the fuck has it taken this long to tell me?” He scowls accusingly.

“Because…” Louis whines, although really he is grinning ridiculously wide, “because I wanted to tell you in person. Well, sort of person,” he nods at his laptop screen, on which a blurry, slightly time-delayed Niall is looking back at him from their tiny kitchen in London, “and you’ve been so difficult to reach, what with the time difference and all.”

“Me! I’ve been difficult? You’ve been fucking impossible, mate!” Niall puts on his most camp, most overly-Yorkshire voice and flaps his arms as he says, “Oh sorry, Niall, can’t Skype now, just with Harry, oh sorry, Niall, just sucking Harry’s dick, sorry, Niall…” he doesn’t manage to finish from laughing at himself so much.

Louis stares him down. “Have you quite finished?”

“Yes,” he nods eventually, as his laughter subsides.

“Firstly, I don’t sound like that,” Louis counts off his fingers, “secondly, not once did I tell you that I was sucking Harry’s dick…”

“I read between the lines.”

“… and thirdly, well, I don’t know about thirdly but basically fuck you.”

Niall grins like he’s just been complimented and Louis can’t help but laugh at him. He’s been so occupied with Harry and the tour since he’s been away, that he’s had hardly any time to think about home. Now though, seeing Niall in their flat, seeing the fridge in the background, covered with magnets and all their photos from uni and travelling, he feels a sharp pang of homesickness.

“You must be missing me dreadfully,” he says teasingly.

“It’s only been three weeks, mate. You know, I can actually survive without you.”

“Really though?”

‘Fuck you, I am a grown man. I’ll have you know I’ve actually replaced you with a new roommate already and we’re getting along great.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he called?”

“Er… Bernie?”

Louis snorts and is about to make some nonsensical joke about Bert and Ernie when Niall cuts him off.

“But enough dodging, Lou. Tell me everything about Harry! I want to know all the details…” Niall stops and frowns at himself. “Well, ok, not necessarily all the details. You can skim over the butt sex parts, but the rest!”

Louis shakes his head. Where to even begin? With the small reassuring smiles when they’re sat at opposite ends of the breakfast hall, with the brief touches, no more than a whisper of skin on skin as they pass each other backstage, with Harry’s open, bright laughter, with his wide, sweeping lips, with his hands on Louis’ bare chest, with his mouth around Louis’ cock, with his head buried between Louis’ legs?

“Oh my God, Niall,” he says, his voice low and filled with awe, “Niall, I don’t even… I can’t…” Niall smiles and waits patiently for him to continue. “He’s just… he’s so wonderful. He’s so lovely. He’s such a sweet person. And he’s so funny. And he does the cutest faces at me when he thinks nobody is looking.”

“Oh God,” Niall groans. “You’re that kind of couple aren’t you?”

Louis chooses to ignore him.

“And he’s so brave. Like, you know how it’s been for him. With all the closeting and everything. But the way he puts up with it all, because he’s so passionate about his music and his fans, oh Niall… you should see him. Some days he’s just like this beam of light and energy and it’s like, how is he even real, but then other days he’s so quiet and I can tell that he doesn’t believe in himself and all he wants to do is bury down under the duvet and snuggle…” Louis sighs. “I wish I knew how I could help him.”

“I’m sure the snuggling helps,” Niall says.

“I hope so,” Louis says earnestly, and then snorts and buries his face in his hands when he realises what a lovesick teenager he must have just sounded like.

“By the sounds of it, you’re falling pretty hard,” Niall says after a few moments. When Louis looks up at the screen again, Niall’s face is serious, his brow furrowed into a pixelated frown. “How’s this going to work, Louis? I mean,” he hastens as Louis opens his mouth to protest, “not that this is a bad thing, I really don’t mean that. And I’m not trying to shit all over something that is clearly making you happy right now. But have you guys considered the implications of all this?”

“Of course we have!” Louis snaps, slightly insulted. How dumb does Niall think they are? “You don’t think we haven’t considered the possibilities?”

“Well,” Niall shrugs, “I dunno, do I? For all I know, you could both be so wrapped up in the moment that you haven’t really thought it through…” He must see from Louis’ expression that he’s said the wrong thing because he winces and mumbles “sorry”.

Louis huffs and they sit in silence for a moment.

“I just,” Niall tries again, tentatively, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Louis sighs. “You know this is completely different to before though, right? This isn’t that Harry won’t admit he’s gay. This is just that he can’t come out right now. But he wants to,” Louis stresses, “he really wants to.”

He pauses, thinking back to the morning Harry had confessed just how desperately he wanted to come out, so desperately in fact that he’d sometimes fantasise about the different ways he might do it, daydream about the tell-all interviews he’d give. He even told Louis that he had once cried after waking up from a dream in which he had come out on the Ellen Show only to realise that it hadn’t been real. Louis can’t tell Niall this exactly, because Harry has entrusted this and so many other little pieces of himself to Louis’s heart alone, but still Louis needs to make Niall understand.

“He told me he had his first boyfriend when he was sixteen, Niall. That he’s known he was gay since he was fourteen. That he’s proud of being gay. Honestly, he’s nothing like the others,” - Niall looks dubious and as though he is about to reply - “speaking of whom by the way,” Louis interjects, because, although he knows Niall has his best interests at heart, he can’t bear to hear one negative word said about Harry, “Ethan keeps texting me.”

“What?” Niall snaps suddenly, looking alarmed. “What the fuck does he want?”

“He wants to get back with me,” Louis shrugs.

Niall frowns. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I saw him the other day at Toby’s birthday and he was literally going on and on about how he has this new girlfriend and how she’s really hot and… well, he was being more graphic than that but you get the idea.”

Louis grimaces. “Well maybe this new girlfriend is a reminder of me or something. I don’t know.” Louis is struggling to even find it in him to be angry at Ethan anymore. He pities him more than anything.

The conversation carries on in this vein, with Niall hurling insults at Ethan, which is one of his favourite things to do, and updating Louis on the drunken shenanigans of Toby Walters’ birthday party - who got off with whom, who cried, who got into a fight. If Louis’ being honest, he’s pretty glad he had an excuse not to be there. Toby Walters was never someone he had particularly intended on staying in touch with after uni, but Niall has a knack for hoarding friends.

“Everyone was asking after you by the way,” Niall says fondly. “And, mate, I’m not exaggerating when I say I swear I’ve become more popular just by association with you.”

“Congratulations,” Louis says flatly.

“The girls especially were all over me,” he grins. “They kept asking me all this stuff about Harry, how well I knew him and all of this.”

“And what did you tell them?” Louis smirks.

“I told them I knew him really well, in fact that we’re practically like this,” he says and holds up his crossed fingers. Louis snorts. “And when they asked how I knew him so well I told ‘em that its cos he’s round ours all the time. Seeing as how he’s shagging you!”

It takes Louis a moment to realise that Niall is joking. A terrifying, heart-stopping moment in which he feels like he might be sick. He stares at the screen dumbly.

“Mate,” Niall says, “it’s a joke.” Louis blinks at him and can’t bring himself to laugh. Fuck. This is his life now isn’t it? This is going to be his life. A series of tiny, fear-pricked moments in which the ground beneath him seems to crack wide open.

And what if one day one of those moments isn’t a joke? What if one day it’s real? What if one day Louis looks around and realises that fuck, it’s out. The secret’s out and they’re screwed.

“… that I wouldn’t tell anyone, you know that. Louis?” Niall is speaking and Louis forces his attention back onto him. “You know you can trust me one hundred per cent, don’t you?” He looks genuinely mortified at himself, and as Louis’ pulse slows to a normal tempo again he sighs and nods softly.

“I know, Niall, I know. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a weird mood. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Niall looks at him, seeming to study him closely. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just you. And Harry’s told Nick. We decided we would each tell one person. Originally we weren’t going to tell anyone but the thought of lying to you was just…” Louis shrugs. Lying to Niall about something as big as this just hadn’t been a conceivable option. Niall smiles affectionately and Louis really wishes he were here in person. “And Harry said that Nick has been teasing him about me ever since the party, and that he’s impossible to lie to anyway so, yeah.”

“So literally nobody else knows?”

“Nope.”

“And you don’t think anybody suspects?”

“Nope,” Louis says again and then hesitates. Do they? “Well, we haven’t been caught in each other’s hotel rooms. Which is kind of a miracle in a way. Actually, I tell a lie. Leigh-Anne once caught me coming out of Harry’s room in the morning, but I just said Harry had been feeling a bit headachey and had text me asking for some aspirin.” That was the prepared excuse Harry had suggested after he had realised just how awful a liar Louis was.

“What’ll happen if somebody does catch you?” Niall asks thoughtfully.

Louis takes a moment to respond, thinking back to a similar conversation he and Harry had had just a few nights before. “I think it depends who it was. If it was Alberto, Harry’s bodyguard, well… I’m pretty sure he would protect Harry at all costs. And if it was Lou I reckon she would keep it a secret too. In fact, I’m pretty sure she would. Especially as we get on so well, she trusts us with her kid, and Harry and her are really close. And I don’t think any of the band would dob us in. It’s more like, if a roadie or somebody caught us. Somebody who we don’t know quite so well. I kind of think they would be professional about it, but if they were to mention it even to one person, then it would be out of our control and…” He stops and thinks for a moment. “The thing is, it doesn’t matter in terms of the press. Literally the whole tour crew could know. We could literally be having sex in front of them, and they wouldn’t talk to the press. And even if they did HJPR would squash it anyway. It’s just that we don’t want McGee cottoning on.”

Louis pauses again. Even just the prospect of McGee finding out gives him the shivers. He can’t even articulate why, can’t quite think what could actually be so bad about it - beyond him getting fired, he supposes - yet there is something dark and foreboding that he can’t quite put his finger on, lurking in the background, whenever he thinks of McGee in that office, surrounded by his glass frames.

“Because you could get fired,” Niall says.

“Yeah,” Louis nods. That will have to do for now as a response.

“Louis,” Niall says, seeming to hesitate for a second. “I don’t mean to alarm you or anything, but McGee may already be watching you.”

“Huh?” Louis says, and almost wants to laugh at how much Niall sounds like he’s in a bad spy movie. He thinks back to his conversation with Eleanor at the ball, which he has since relayed to Harry as well. “Well, I guess we know he’s keeping an eye on me ever since Harry requested me…”

“It’s not that,” Niall shakes his head. “I mean more recently. It’s probably nothing but you’ve kind of… sort of… caught the attention of the fandom.”

“The fandom?” Louis says with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t know whether to be scathing or impressed by Niall’s knowledge of the word.

“Yeah. You’re in a bunch of fan photos of Harry, and some people have started wondering about you and speculating. They’ve started referring to you as Mystery Fit Guy.”

“Wait,” Louis says, the meaning of Niall’s words suddenly catching up with him in a cold, hard rush of dread. “What?”

“You’re Mystery Fit Guy. I know. I personally would have thought Mystery Short Guy would have been more fitting but…”

“Fuck!” Louis blurts out.

“Louis, hang on. Before you start freaking out, they don’t actually know who you are. It’s all just speculation, and to be honest, a lot of the fans are shutting it down, saying that it’s totally unfounded. And anyway, it’s only the conspiracy theorists who are even talking about it at all. So pretty sure 90% of the fandom has no clue. I just,” Niall spreads his hands wide in apology, “I just figured you might want to be made aware. So you know to be careful when you’re out and about in public.”

Louis takes a deep, steadying breath. Niall’s right. It is good to know this. It seems strange to Louis that Leigh-Anne hasn’t mentioned anything. Presumably that’s a good thing. If Leigh-Anne’s not worried, they needn’t be too. Right?

“You know, they literally pay people to do what you’re doing?” Louis says, by way of a response, because his head is spinning too much to actually address the issue at hand.

Niall nods smugly. “It’s getting a bit ridiculous innit. I even started a blog of my own,” he confesses conspiratorially.

“You what?” Louis splutters.

“I created a blog so that I could follow the other blogs and keep up with what they’re saying.”

“Oh,” Louis says. It’s actually not a bad idea. He sighs. At that moment he gets a message through on his phone. He mumbles “one sec” to Niall as he checks it and sees a message from Leigh-Anne.

Just finishing the last interviews now. Should be back in less than two hours. Will wants to know if everything is ready for run-through? Also have you talked to Julian yet about recording tomorrow? I think we’re going to have to re-schedule and do the pap walk tomorrow evening just around the arena. Also, Aiden’s back in the office. Have you seen his email? We need to talk to Harry about the studio contracts. X

Louis types out his reply with one hand, double-checking necessary details on his laptop with the other, while Niall waits patiently.

“Done,” he says eventually when he hits send.

“They’ve even got you working on your afternoon off,” Niall says, tut-tutting.

“It’s hardly work,” Louis waves it away, and feels a small swell of pride that in just three weeks he has managed to get his head around everything so completely that the rhythm and tasks of the tour already feel like second nature to him. “And it wasn’t exactly an afternoon off. That’s not really a thing. They just didn’t need me for the interviews.”

Louis smiles fondly when he thinks back to this morning, when a very pouty Harry had been just about ready to kick up a monumental fuss, before Louis had pointed out that it was probably wise to pick their battles, and, painful as it might be, six hours apart was hardly going to kill them. Harry had kissed him deeply and said that six hours away from him was six hours too long, and Louis had tickled him as punishment for being such a ridiculously over-dramatic sap.

“What’s it like, by the way? Being on tour? It sounds so rock ‘n’ roll,” Niall says wistfully.

“It’s fucking hard work, is what it is,” Louis says. “And it’s kind of intense. But it’s really cool. The whole crew is so nice, thank goodness. It’s kind of like being one big dysfunctional family.”

“Do you sleep on the tour bus?”

“Only on the nights when we’re travelling between venues.”

“The poor driver must have to cover his ears,” Niall smirks and it takes Louis a second to realise what he means.

“Oh for goodness sake, Niall. We don’t have sex on the tour bus,” he exclaims, although his cheeks flush a little as he thinks back to that night, last week, after a show, when they had realised that it was only the two of them on the bus and Harry had pushed Louis up against a bunk, biting down on his neck and pressing his thigh between Louis’, the knowledge that they might be caught at any moment and the dizzying lights from the show still flashing behind their eyelids both heightening their moment of madness. Louis smirks. “We’d like to - ”

“I bet you would!”

“ - but we don’t.”

Niall shakes his head in amusement. “And what’s America like? Is it as awesome as in the movies?”

“It’s horrendously hot.”

“Where are you at the moment?”

“Er… San Antonio,” he says.

The names of the cities have lost all meaning to him. So far they’ve all been hot and dusty, with wide roads and sun-cracked sidewalks. The people have been friendly in a way which sits strangely with Louis’ innate Britishness, although Harry seems to know how to emulate it perfectly.

“It’s so weird because I don’t even have any concept of how far each city is from the next because we’re mostly asleep when we travel. We just go to sleep in one arena car park and wake-up speeding down a road in the middle of nowhere or in another arena car-park. And then we get driven to a hotel which is almost indistinguishable from the one we just came from.”

“So you don’t really see the places at all?” Niall says, looking genuinely disappointed.

“Not really,” Louis says and can’t help but smile fondly. “Harry likes to try and see something of the cities if he can, so we’ll normally do a day where we go out, walk around a bit, go to a café or something. He’s trying to get me into smoothies!”

“Fool’s mission,” Niall says and Louis laughs. If only Niall could be here too, how much Harry would love him, how much all the crew would love him.

They talk for an hour more. Louis tells Niall about the fans outside the windows at night and the lack of natural light backstage at the arenas, and the shows, how wonderfully loud and exhilarating they are, how consistently brilliant Harry is – “Mate, you better be getting me a free ticket for when he’s next in London!” – and the way that Harry likes to be the little spoon even though his limbs are longer and his shoulders are broader than Louis’.

Niall updates Louis about his work – “Fucking Mollison has been keeping us in the office all hours, slaving over this new sports drink. Which, by the way, is fucking rank. Don’t ever buy it!” – and how he has started a new training circuit at the gym and how he’s planning a major celebratory pub-crawl for when Louis finally returns home.

“When will that be, by the way?” he asks.

“No idea,” Louis says. “I’m trying not to think about it. Will hasn’t said anything. Aiden’s back in the office but I don’t think he’s actually better. I just figure if I don’t ask hopefully nobody will notice and they’ll let me stay.”

“From the sounds of it, Harry would kick up a massive fuss if they tried to take you away from him,” Niall says and laughs. Louis laughs too, secretly pleased that Niall seems to be getting it.

Later that evening, after the show, Louis tiptoes across the hall to Harry’s room as usual. Harry opens the door wide, beaming and brandishing his wrist at Louis.

“Did you see?” he asks excitedly, “did you see?!” The little rainbow bracelet is jangling about on his wrist, his face flushed and triumphant.

“I saw,” Louis says, grinning proudly and stepping into the room, easing the door closed behind him. “Where did you get it?”

“From a fan I met outside one of the interviews today. She handed it to me and told me that she wanted me to know that she knew and that she was proud to be my fan.” Harry’s eyes are bright and glistening, threatening to spill tears. His dimples are deep and his cheeks are flushed. Louis had known as soon as Harry had stepped onstage, that something was different, he was even more energetic, even brighter than usual, but he hadn’t known why until he had seen the bracelet up close on the large screens.

“I didn’t tell you,” Harry says, “because I wanted it to be a surprise. For you. I wore it for them, but I wore it for you, too. I wore it for us.”

He reaches out and cups Louis’ chin in his hand. Louis reaches up and runs his finger along the little piece of fabric wrapped around Harry’s wrist. Such a small thing, he marvels, a little piece of thread around a wrist, and yet so important to so many people. So important.

So important for Harry too, who looks emboldened in a way that Louis has never seen before.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers and the look on Harry’s face is breath-taking. So breath-taking that Louis can’t speak anymore. Instead he kisses him, deeply, desperately, pouring into that kiss all the pride that is threatening to burst inside him. They don’t make it to the bed, the first time. Instead Harry braces himself, holding Louis up against the door, the cold, hard wood against his back a strange reminder of McGee’s desk. Again, like that first time, Louis is filled with a sense of defiance. This is defiant. Their love itself is an act of defiance.

It’s only afterwards, when they’re lying in bed, Louis’ arm wrapped tightly around Harry’s shoulders, his hand resting protectively over his heart, that he realises that he has started thinking in terms of love.

Love. Louis tries it out in his mind, saying the word to himself over and over again. He wonders, as he begins to feel himself drifting off, whether he should be freaking out right now. He thinks of Niall’s warning from earlier. He thinks of Ethan. He looks down at Harry’s wrist, stretched out on the mattress in front of him, follows the colours of the bracelet as they fade one into the next, red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple to red.

He pulls Harry in closer to him and places a kiss into the back of his neck. Love. How natural a word it is, he thinks dreamily. How easy it is, how unexpectedly easy... but then again, everything about Harry is unexpected, he muses as he falls asleep.

He has the dream again. It’s become a recurring feature of his nights. Sometimes it’s more vivid than others. Tonight, they aren’t just hacking at the billboard, they are setting fire to it, cackling and jeering as it goes up in flames. But tonight also, Louis feels strangely calm. Let them jeer, he thinks, let them burn it down, it’s only paper anyway. It’s not Harry. Harry is safe and warm, and although when he looks around he only finds Niall again, shaking his head, his words tonight lost amidst the roaring flames, he feels confident that Harry is somewhere safe.

“It’s ok,” he’s trying to call to Niall. “It’s ok. We’re going to be ok.” Niall looks at him strangely.

“Where’s Harry?” he seems to be mouthing.

“He’s here,” Louis finds himself saying. “He’s here. I’ve got him.” In his sleep, he holds Harry a little tighter.

Chapter Text

“You know what Chicago reminds me of?” Leigh-Anne muses over breakfast.

“What?” Louis asks.

“That part of the DLR line in London, when it goes through Canary Wharf. All those high-rise buildings that look almost like a toy town. Kind of futuristic.”

Louis gulps down his water and doesn’t answer. He isn’t being rude. It’s just too hot for him to think.

“I know what you mean,” Julian chimes in. “That bit where it runs behind the backs of the buildings.”

Leigh-Anne nods.

“I’ve never been on the DLR,” Harry says.

“Massively missing out,” Louis deadpans. Below the table Harry kicks him and sends him a small, gleeful smile.

“Morning, all,” Will says, a little too brightly in Louis’ opinion. “Hot, isn’t it?”

“Well done, Will,” Harry grins at him, “you win the award for pointing out the bleeding obvious.”

Of course the arena’s backstage air-conditioning system has chosen today to break. The weather lady on the hotel’s TV had announced that today would be 93 degrees. When Louis had googled it and realised that that meant 34 degrees Celsius he had died a little inside.

“Isn’t that like… desert weather?” he had whined at Harry, who had been lying naked, sprawled out on the bed, sheets tossed off the mattress at some point during the night.

“And they call this the windy city,” he says now, glancing disapprovingly down at his breakfast as though somehow it’s to blame.

After breakfast, as Louis is rummaging around in his utterly disordered suitcase in an attempt to find his phone charger, and eventually giving up and using Harry’s, Will enters, letting out a small cough as he steps onto the bus.

“Hey,” Louis says, slightly questioningly. Will never comes onto this bus.

“Hey, Louis, how’s it going?” He stands slightly awkwardly.

“Er… fine,” Louis says. “Not much has really changed since I saw you at breakfast twenty minutes ago.”

“Right,” Will titters and Louis peers at him. There is definitely something off about the way he’s not quite meeting Louis’ gaze.

“Will, is everything ok?”

“Louis, did you see…” Harry’s cheerful voice falters as he steps onto the bus and sets eyes on Will. “Oh, hey.”

“Harry,” Will says by way of a greeting and there is a very strange moment between the three of them where Louis isn’t quite sure what’s happening.

Clearly Harry has also picked up on something odd now because he’s biting his lip and frowning at Will with an intensity that Louis remembers from the meetings in McGee’s office all those months ago.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asks eventually, taking a step towards them both.

Will takes a deep breath.

“Everything’s fine,” he begins, “I’ve just got off the phone to McGee,” – always a bad sign, Louis thinks – “and was just about to tell Louis here that… er… well, Aiden’s all better now and McGee wants Louis back in the office, so…” Will trails off, his fake smile faltering under Harry’s withering gaze.

Louis’ heart sinks. He feels like a child being told he has to leave the party now and go to bed.

“I assume,” Harry begins coolly, “that you told him that Louis’ doing a great job here and that we want him to stay.”

“Er…” Will stutters. “I tried but he was pretty insistent.”

Louis realises he must be glaring at Will right now, from the way Will is refusing to look anywhere but his shoes. Louis knows its not really Will’s fault but still he wants to stamp his feet and lock himself in the bathroom and insist that he won’t leave. Instead he tries to school his face into something reasonably professional and looks to Harry.

The look of thunder on Harry’s face is dangerous.

“What’s the real reason he wants Louis back, Will?” he all but growls.

“Just… Aiden’s better now, Harry. It was always the plan that Aiden would…”

“Louis’ been on this leg of the tour longer than Aiden was!” Harry interrupts. “And Aiden’s better off being back in London where he can deal directly with the label. You said so yourself just the other day how much more sense it makes having Louis here and Aiden there.”

“I know I said that, Harry, but what exactly do you expect me to do?” Will snaps his head up and fixes Louis with a strange look. “He said that Sarah’s been getting onto him to bring you back. You’ve caught Simon Jones’ attention apparently.” The tone of Will’s voice is laced with you-only-have-yourself-to-blame. Louis reels from it.

“What the fuck has it got to do with HJPR who Modest has on tour?” Harry asks and Louis reckons that he makes a good point.

“Look,” Will raises his hands in defence, “don’t shoot me. I’m only the messenger. I told McGee you wouldn’t like it but that didn’t make any difference.”

“That probably made him more determined to have me back,” Louis says quietly. He can just picture it. Will on the phone, blithely spouting off every little thing that will have made McGee even more determined to keep Louis away from Harry. But Harry gets on with him so well, they have such a great rapport, they spend a lot of time together, I really think Harry will be upset to lose him.

Fucking Will, Louis thinks, fucking McGee, fucking HJPR. He looks at Harry, who looks about ready to punch a wall. He wishes that he could communicate telepathically; if we fight it we’ll raise more suspicions, Harry, if we fight it they’ll start asking why.

But he can’t communicate telepathically and Harry either hasn’t thought of it or doesn’t care.

“No way am I agreeing to this, no fucking way,” he says defiantly. “You make Louis go back and I swear to God I will make this tour so miserable you’ll wish you’d gone back instead.”

Will answers him in that voice that Louis knows only winds him up even more.

“Harry, look, just relax ok? I mean, really, be reasonable for just a moment. I know you two are… good friends. But I’m sure you can survive six weeks apart. And you and Aiden get on great anyway… I really don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that I don’t want Louis to go back, and that’s why McGee wants him back. To spite me!”

“Seriously, dude. Come on. He’s not trying to spite you. I’m sure he’s got very good reasons for wanting Louis back, or for wanting Aiden out here, or both. Not everything is intended to spite you, y’know?”

“Fuck it,” Harry suddenly spits, running his hands through his hair in frustration and pushing past Will to sit on Alberto’s bed. “Fuck it. Whatever Will, it’s fine. I’ll sort it myself.”

“Harry, look. I really did try…” Will offers more gently, rubbing the back of his neck in agitation.

“Uh huh,” Harry says flatly, in a tone that suggests he’s very much done with the conversation. Will stands awkwardly for a moment, hovering and glancing back and forth from Harry to Louis. Louis shakes his head at him, trying to convey the fact that right now there’s nothing he can do.

“I’m gonna go,” he says eventually, around a deep sigh and just as he’s retreating, Harry speaks, his words slow and measured.

“You always do this, Will. You always pretend like it’s out of your hands.”

Will whips around furiously. “It is out of my hands, Harry! For fuck’s sake, you have no idea how much time I spend trying to get you and McGee to agree…”

“You don’t get it,” Harry says, fixing Will with a stare so cold that it seems to chill the air between them. Louis holds his breath, caught awkwardly in the crossfire. Although he’s never seen them like this before, either of them, he can’t say he’s surprised.

“No Harry, you don’t get it. You can’t always have everything you want. It can’t always be your way. Sometimes you have to be prepared to compromise.”

“Compromise,” Harry laughs bitterly.

It’s the saddest laugh Louis has ever heard. In that moment he has to clench his fists by his side to stop from reaching out. He wants to physically frogmarch Will off the bus so that he can wrap Harry up in a tight embrace and stroke away his sadness.

“My whole life has been a compromise,” Harry says, voice low and ragged, staring at a spot somewhere in the middle distance. “My whole career has been one fucking massive fuck-up of a compromise. I’ve compromised everything I am and everything I believe in.” He casts his eyes down, kneading his knuckles into the mattress he’s sat on. “Don’t you dare talk to me about compromise.”

Will doesn’t say anything. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He looks tired, Louis thinks. Not for the first time, Louis wonders what goes through Will’s head at times like these, how Will reconciles what he does day-in day-out with who he is. He’s a good person, Louis’ pretty sure of that much, but he’s disappointing somehow.

As soon as Will’s off the bus Louis crouches down in front of Harry, who looks up at him, eyes dark beneath his furrowed brow.

“I don’t want you to leave, Louis.”

“I might have to,” Louis says softly, reaching out a hand to stroke Harry’s cheek dry of phantom tears. “But it won’t be so bad, Haz. Honest. Like Will says, it’s only six weeks. And we can still talk and message everyday, and we can Skype and…”

“It won’t be the same,” Harry says forcefully, shaking his head so that his curls tumble down and partly cover his face. Louis gently pushes them back as he answers.

“No, it won’t be the same,” he agrees. “But it will be over before we both know it and once we’re back in London they won’t be able to separate us at all.”

Even as the words escape his lips, a tiny voice in the back of Louis’ mind reproaches him for so recklessly tempting fate. He chooses to ignore that voice and instead rocks up on his knees to place a soft, lingering kiss on Harry’s lips. It’s dangerous, the two of them on the bus with the door wide open in the middle of the day, but in that moment he doesn’t care.

“I need you, Louis,” Harry says lowly, as they pull apart, his voice brittle and fragile. “I need you.”

“You’re stronger than you know, Harry. I’m not sure that you really need me at all.”

Harry’s about to protest but Louis cuts him off. “But, either way, you have me. Whether I’m here on tour or back in London, I promise you, you have me.”

Harry smiles weakly and nods. Louis opens and closes his mouth again, deliberating whether to say his next words. The way Harry is watching him, eyes wide and earnest, full of trust, full of hope. It’s the way he’s always looked at Louis, as though somehow he’s sure that Louis will have all the answers. It makes Louis’ stomach swoop and right now it’s making his thoughts hazy too, but one thought is coming through louder and clearer than the rest.

“I love you.”

It’s out before he can think better of it, but even as he says it he knows he can’t regret it. It’s the truth. He’s known it for weeks now and to finally say it is like a breath of fresh air.

Harry looks at him for several seconds, shimmering eyes flickering over Louis’ face. He nods slowly, dumbstruck, and then a moment later his face breaks into the most beautiful beam of a smile. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Louis’, his hands intertwining with Louis’ own.

“I love you too,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper against Louis’ lips. “I love you, Louis.”

Louis smiles too then and nods, laughing at the way Harry’s head moves with his. He knows, of course he knows Harry loves him too, but hearing it said aloud is like being bathed in sunlight.

Harry kisses him, more fervently this time, bringing his hands up to cup Louis’ jaw and stroke the back of his neck. The two of them nearly forget where they are until the squeals of Lux somewhere just outside their bus bring them back to themselves. They pull apart, Louis jumping up and banging his head on Harry’s bunk in the process, just as Lou appears on the bus with Lux in her arms.

“God, it’s hot out there,” she groans, setting Lux down with a huff. She looks up at them and frowns as Lux squeals and runs straight into Harry’s lap, peering up at him.

“What’s wrong, Uncle Harry?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry says, smiling down at her and bopping her on the nose. “I’m fine, Luxy.”

“You look like you’ve been crying,” she says, prodding at Harry’s cheeks, which Louis now sees are shiny with tears.

“He’s ok, pumpkin,” Lou says soothingly, although she looks at Louis, brows raised in question.

He nods reassuringly. “He’s ok.”

“I’m ok,” Harry echoes and he glances up at Louis over Lux’s head, and smiles. “I’ll be ok.”

As the day rolls on, with the roadies short-tempered and a disastrous tech rehearsal in which Josh gets taken ill with mild sun-stroke, Harry manages to remain surprisingly upbeat.

Twice Louis runs into Harry murmuring softly into his phone and Louis becomes increasingly suspicious that there’s something he isn’t telling him. He has that glint in his eye. That same glint he sometimes gets before he kisses Louis in daylight, the glint that he had when he wore the rainbow bracelet.

When Louis finally asks him what’s going on he simply shakes his head and shrugs.

“I’m just happy because I love you,” he says breezily.

There’s nobody else around when he says it, but even so a spike of fear merges with the rush of pleasure Louis feels at hearing those words leave Harry’s lips again.

“Be careful,” he hisses, glancing round, “someone might hear us.” He’s only half-teasing.

“Let them,” Harry grins and there’s that glint again.

Louis makes a promise to himself that he’ll definitely force it out of Harry after tonight’s show, when it’s just the two of them in bed. He’s not above tickle-wrestling as a means of extracting information.

In the end, as it turns out, he doesn’t have to resort to such tactics. He doesn’t even have to wait until after the show. Around eight o’clock, when Harry has already had his hair done and is about to get changed, he drags Louis into his dressing room, checking first that nobody’s watching, and locks the door.

“I’ve sorted it,” he says, grinning triumphantly.

“Sorted it?” Louis asks in bemusement. Harry nods excitedly.

“Yes! You’re staying, Louis,” he beams. “You’re staying for the whole tour!”

“Harry,” Louis begins, not quite sure what to say. Harry’s excitement is infectious but still Louis knows that this must have come at a price.

“Isn’t it wonderful news, Louis?” Harry urges, and when Louis detects that tiny little note of doubt, he steps into Harry’s arms and holds him tight.

“Yes,” he says into his neck, “yes, it is. It’s wonderful news.”

And it truly, truly is. He pulls back just enough to look Harry in the eye and realises that his grin is probably just as wide and goofy as Harry’s right now. “But how, Harry?”

“Julian,” he responds proudly and Louis blinks at him. That was hardly the answer he was expecting. In fact, it hardly seems to be an answer at all.

“Julian?”

“Yep. And Liam.”

“Liam?”

“Liam Payne.”

Harry looks incredibly proud of himself.

“Ok, babe,” Louis levels, wrapping his arms tight around Harry’s waist, “just saying random producers’ names at me isn’t making any of this any clearer.”

Harry smiles and pecks Louis on the nose before explaining.

“Basically, I was trying to figure out a way that McGee would have to let you stay, for, like, practical reasons, and I had the idea – genius idea if I do say so myself – to explain to McGee that you’re now on my song-writing team.”

“Huh?” Louis cocks his head to the side in confusion. “But I’m not on your song-writing team.”

“Well, I got Julian to vouch for your contribution to Something Great and Liam to vouch for you on Right Now and, ok, so maybe I slightly exaggerated your presence at the writing sessions…”

“Slightly?”

“…but, truth is…” Harry hesitates, all of a sudden shy, “I didn’t actually have to lie to McGee once. You really have contributed. And I really would like you to be involved with writing. Because what you’ve done so far has been really good and I think you have a talent for it and…”

“Woah, woah, woah” Louis says, needing a moment to breathe. His heart is beating a little faster than usual, and his tummy is alive with butterflies. “You want me to write with you?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I think you’d be really good at it, Lou. Julian’s onboard. And just think, this way we have an excuse to spend even more time together.”

“Good point,” Louis muses, actually rather impressed. The idea is a tempting one for sure, but it’s terrifying too. After a moment in which his brain whirs he blinks up at Harry.

“But babe,” he begins quietly, “I’m not a writer. I don’t know the first thing about writing.”

“Well, I disagree,” Harry says brightly, clearly unfazed. “And anyway, you don’t need to know about writing before you do it. You just do it. You learn through doing it. Look at me. I had no writing experience when I started out.”

Louis hums in thought, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement at this boy in front of him. He seems to see something in Louis that Louis isn’t sure is actually there but, for Harry’s sake, he’s determined to will it into existence.

“Ok,” he nods and grins at the excitement on Harry’s face. “I’ll come to your writing sessions.”

“Yay!” Harry cheers before kissing him. His hands, which are tight around Louis’ waist, snake lower and Louis giggles into the kiss.

“But don’t blame me,” he murmurs, placing his hands on Harry’s chest, “when it turns out that I’m a terrible writer.”

“You won’t be a terrible writer, you’re…”

“Harry,” Louis says, fixing him with a stern look.

“Ok, fine,” Harry rolls his eyes, “I accept that I’ll only have myself to blame if you turn out to be a terrible writer.”

“Good,” Louis grins in satisfaction and pecks Harry on each dimple. “I’m glad we’re clear on that.”

It’s a moment so utterly perfect that Louis can’t bring himself to spoil it by asking what this has cost Harry. Better for it to be spoiled by a knock on the dressing room door and Paul’s gruff “Harry, you in there?” than by the acknowledgement that, so long as Harry is bound by his contract, these perfect moments will always come at a price.

He learns the price the next day, waking up in a stiflingly hot hotel room to the sound of the ceiling-fan whirring incessantly and Harry’s bare back sheened with a light layer of sweat. He knows what it is before he even opens the article, but even so, naively, as he clicks on the link, he prays that he’s wrong.

Cara’s Verdict: Harry Is Back In Style

It seems that lovebirds Cara Delevingne and Harry Styles may have re-united after their very public split back in May, despite new information coming to light about the reason behind their break-up. At the time the stylish couple were rumoured to have broken up due to the pressures of a long-distance relationship, but an insider close to the pair has confessed that there may have been more to it than that.

“Harry is a notorious womaniser and Cara wasn’t sure she could trust him, especially on the road with all those groupies. She heard some things which made her doubt him and when he failed to deny certain rumours, she gave him his marching orders.”

It seems Styles has been conducting some extra-curricular activities while on tour, although out of respect to her popstar boyfriend, the sexy supermodel is keeping shtum. Girl’s got class, which is more than can be said for him. It’s rumoured that lothario Styles, 21, makes a habit of bringing back a different girl every night after his sell-out arena shows.

“He’ll spot a girl in the crowd who he likes the look of and then he’ll get his security to bring her back to his hotel room. He’s promised Cara he’s stopped, but given his track record with the ladies it’s no wonder she’s been cautious,” our insider says before adding, “he’s got a real soft spot for blondes!”

Despite the fact that old habits die hard, it seems that lately Styles has been attempting to clean up his act and has been doing everything in his power to persuade Cara to give him a second chance. He’s even resorted to sending her rather expensive and extravagant gifts…

Louis has to stop reading before he explodes. He clenches his phone tight. Perhaps if he clenches it tight enough, he’ll be able to smash the words on the screen to smithereens.

When Harry wakes up, Louis passes him the phone, tight-lipped and scowling, and watches as his eyes flit down it. When he’s finished reading he sighs, shoving the phone onto the nightstand behind him, and draws Louis into his chest, kissing him firmly on the forehead.

“You’re worth it,” he says forcefully, clinging on tight. Louis swallows and closes his eyes, letting the soft thum-thum of Harry’s heart soothe him.

“You don’t deserve this,” he whispers. Harry shifts slightly and takes a long while to reply.

“Neither do you.”

Louis frowns, not entirely sure what he means.

They don’t mention the article again. Louis doubts that Harry’s forgotten it but pretending it doesn’t exist seems to be working so Louis plays along.

“He seems in a good mood, all things considered,” Leigh-Anne comments at one point in the afternoon and Louis nods. They both know exactly what she’s referring to without anything else being said.

“Are you watching from here or from the box tonight?” Harry mutters to Louis, in the corridor behind the stage fifteen minutes before the show is about to start.

“Whichever you’d prefer,” Louis mutters back, hoping that Alberto, who is standing nearby chatting to one of the more sun-burnt roadies, isn’t listening.

“The box,” Harry murmurs. “I want you to see the show properly tonight.” Louis nods, just as Harry gets swept away leaving him with no chance to elaborate further. The box it is then.

As Louis makes his way through the backstage area and out into the main part of the arena, he’s struck once again by just how huge everything is. Granted this arena only holds twenty thousand people, which is small for a Harry Styles concert, but still. Twenty thousand. There are twenty thousand people right now, all waiting in line, to see his Harry. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to wrap his head around it.

He finds Will and Leigh-Anne, along with Helene and some people who Louis doesn’t know, apparently from Harry’s U.S. label, already crowded into the smaller-than-normal box.

He politely and subtly edges his way towards the front of the box, until he finds himself in the perfect spot, as close to the stage as he can possibly be. From here he’s pretty sure that Harry will just about be able to pick him out of the crowd, as long as he knows where to look. Louis leans over the railing to gaze at the audience below, watching the last few stragglers cause little ripples along their rows as people stand up to let them pass. He finds himself wondering what it is, for each of them, that has made them come here today. What Harry means to each of them. He smiles to himself when he spots the ever-present scattering of rainbow flags and signs declaring that Harry’s fans support him no matter what. Louis knows how much they mean to Harry, knows how sad it makes Harry that he can’t acknowledge them. Louis wonders if he’ll be wearing his bracelet tonight.

“Hey, Louis,” Will says tentatively, coming to lean on the railing next to him. “How’s things?”

“Good,” Louis nods, distractedly. Although he’s ashamed to admit it, he’s kind of been avoiding Will pretty much the entire time they’ve been in Chicago and he gets the sense that it may have been mutual.

“Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday,” Will begins and Louis shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Will, honestly. You were just following orders.”

“Exactly,” Will says, smiling with relief, and he seems to take it as more of a compliment than it was meant.

The show is wonderful, as always, and Harry is wearing his bracelet again. Louis’ heart swells when he sees it up on the big screen, and he laughs in delight when he hears how loudly the crowd roars.

It happens during the very last song.

Louis isn’t quite sure at first what’s going on. In an instrumental break, whilst Dan is entertaining the crowd with one of his guitar solos, Harry is leaning over and seems to be talking to someone in the front row. The cameras aren’t focused on him, and his back is to Louis so it’s difficult to make out exactly what he’s doing, but a moment later he stands up and throws something around his shoulders.

Louis actually audibly gasps when he realises what is it. He puts his hand to his chest, and feels where his heart is suddenly racing a mile a minute.

It’s a rainbow flag. A wonderfully huge, brilliantly bold, multi-coloured rainbow flag. In that moment, Louis reckons it’s just about the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Harry draped in his true colours. The cameramen must feel the same because a moment later Harry appears, larger than life, on the screens and the whole arena erupts into such a deafening crescendo of cheers that Louis almost has to cover his ears. “Yes Harry,” he breathes, and inside he’s yelling it.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Will moans, his voice close and poisonous.

Louis chooses to ignore it. Instead he keeps his eyes fixed on the stage, beaming with pride, hands clasped in front of his chest. He is so proud, so very proud that he begins to feel tears prick in the corners of his vision. Nobody, not Will, not Modest, not anyone, is going to take this moment from him. Take it from Harry.

Harry, he thinks, oh Harry. As the last strains of the song come to an end, Harry kisses the flag before letting it gently flutter into the crowd. Louis feels a single tear run down his cheek. He thinks he sees Harry glance in his direction, just before the lights go out.

As soon as the houselights come on, Louis makes a quick getaway. He refuses to listen to what Will or any of them have to say. He knows he’ll hear it tomorrow but he’s not giving them tonight.

He rushes back to the tour bus, trying not to dwell on what horrendous timing it is that tonight is a travelling night. Louis wants nothing more than to kiss Harry all over, to undress him and make love to him, with Harry wearing nothing but his rainbow flag, and to make him feel just how miraculous a creature he is.

But unfortunately that’ll have to wait for tomorrow. Tonight is cheers from Lou and a sleepily bemused Lux, and gruff claps of approval from Alberto and Paul, and Harry grinning from ear to ear. Tonight is Louis’ chest bursting with pride, and Louis’ cheeks aching from smiling, and Louis’ bottom lip hurting from how much he’s having to bite down and stop himself from blurting out just how much he loves his wonderful, brave boy.

When the others have finally fallen asleep, and the outskirts of Chicago are blurring past the windows, Louis reaches out his hand across the aisle and Harry takes it. They lie like that for a long time, smiling at each other across the way. If Alberto or Paul were to wake up now, they would see their joined hands, but really, Louis wonders, would that even be such a bad thing. If Harry can be brave, then so can he.

He looks at their hands, fingers intertwined, knuckles slightly whitened, braced against the push and pull of the bus. He looks back at Harry.

“I love you,” Harry mouths.

“I love you too,” he mouths back.

That night he sleeps a dreamless sleep and he wakes up the next morning to bright white clouds streaking past and green eyes, deep and smiling.

Chapter Text

If Louis had to explain what being on tour is like, and he was banned from simply gushing about how wonderful Harry is, increasingly he thinks he would liken it to being inside a pressure cooker. As July rolls into August, and the tour trundles along, a travelling show jumping from city to city in a strange zig-zag across America, Louis and Harry find themselves with less and less time to themselves. McGee has ordered Harry onto a new training regime in preparation for the autumn release of his album, which has cut down their morning snuggle sessions by half. Will jokes that it’s simply McGee’s way of combating the larger-than-life portion sizes in the U.S. but Louis has a sneaking suspicion that it’s got far more to do with keeping Harry busy and supervised at all times.

Leigh-Anne seems to be under constant pressure to organise all manner of interviews for Harry. Little local radio stations that hardly seem worth their time, especially considering all the shows are already sold out. When Louis offers to lessen her workload by attending a few in her place, she smiles a little too brightly and answers a little too breezily that it’s fine, she’s happy to do it, Louis shouldn’t have to worry himself.

But for all that McGee tries to keep them apart, each day that passes Louis realises he is falling deeper and deeper in love. Every day Harry tells Louis he loves him, every day Harry smiles more brightly and for longer than he did the day before, and every night Harry finds a way to show his fans who he really is. He waves rainbow flags, he blows kisses at rainbow signs, he even wishes the crowd a “Happy Pride!” one night in Baltimore. For all that McGee is trying to make his influence felt, from the other side of the Atlantic it feels tenuous.

Nowhere does the threat of McGee feel less potent than in their writing sessions, which have now more often than not become recording sessions, with makeshift studios set up in plush hotel rooms, mattresses turned on their ends and propped up to create marshmallow recording booths. The album is behind schedule, worryingly behind schedule in fact, and increasingly Louis is cc’ed into agitated emails from Aiden reporting back from the record label and once even an email from Simon Cowell himself, which Louis had had to look twice at.

Despite the constant stream of pressure, the constant ping of phones and worried looks thrown his way, Harry refuses to care.

“If they want a good album they’re going to have to wait,” he shrugs at Will. “They’ll have to push the release date back, like any normal label would do for any normal artist.”

“It’s not that simple…” Will begins and another conversation goes round and round in circles, with poor Will tearing his hair out and Harry unmoving and defiant, voice steady and calm. Louis has to keep a straight face in these conversations but he’s always sure to kiss Harry extra hard as soon as they’re alone.

“Proud of you,” he’ll mumble against Harry’s lips and Harry will seem to grow an inch taller, stand an inch straighter, look a shade more beautiful than Louis’ ever seen him before.

Despite McGee’s best efforts, he can’t do anything about the fact that now, when Harry is writing or recording Louis is nearly always there. The first session had been slightly awkward. Louis had sat quietly, suddenly forgetting how to use his voice, and whenever Harry had looked to Louis to ask his opinion, Louis’ mind had been depressingly blank.

When he had confessed as much to Harry that night, burying his face into Harry’s chest so as not to have to look him in the eye, Harry had held him tight and whispered soothing words into his hair.

“That’s good,” he had cooed gently. “That’s good, Lou, I promise. A blank page is the perfect place for a writer to start,” and Louis hadn’t quite understood him at the time. But now he reckons he gets it. Now, he marvels at how wise Harry is, how full of faith he is in a talent that Louis never even knew he had.

“So you’re a writer now?” Zayn Malik smirks at Louis by way of greeting when he arrives in Columbus, a very jet-lagged but nevertheless smiling Liam Payne in tow.

“He is,” Harry declares proudly, before hugging both Zayn and Liam as though they are old mates from school.

It’s mid-August and both men have been flown out by the label earlier than planned in the hopes that they will speed up the progress of this album, which at the moment is a higgledy-piggledy mess of too many almost-finished songs. A beautiful, heartfelt mess in Louis’ opinion, but a mess all the same.

“It’s ridiculous that they expect you to deliver an album like this,” Zayn mutters darkly, the first time he walks into one of their hotel-room-come-recording-studios.

Liam doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks around in despair, no doubt longing for the beautiful SSL studio in London with its slick sound systems, mixing desks and impressive grand piano.

“This isn’t how you make an album,” he whispers eventually, his puppy dog eyes full of pity.

For all that Louis likes these men, and knows how much Harry thinks of them both, he wants to yell at them to shut up. He knows that they don’t mean it as a criticism to Harry, quite the opposite in fact, but he also knows why Harry is a little quieter that day.

“What if this album is awful?” Harry whispers to Louis in bed that night.

“It won’t be,” Louis says simply because it’s the truth.

“But what if it is?” he whines. “Did you see Liam and Zayn’s faces?” he adds softly after a beat in which Louis tries to figure out the best way to convey to Harry just how wonderful he already knows the album is going to be.

“Look, babe, they didn’t mean it like that. They’re just shocked how much the label is asking of you. You know how I was sat next to Liam at dinner?”

“Hmm,” Harry nods.

“Well, he was saying to me that obviously he knew the label had been expecting you to record a bunch of stuff on tour this time around, but he’d just assumed they’d still be hiring actual studios and allocating actual days off for recording, not just expecting you to record in the morning and go onstage that same evening.”

Harry doesn’t reply, but bites down on his lip, frowning in thought. Louis plays with a strand of Harry’s hair, curling it gently around his finger before pushing it behind Harry’s ear, feeling the velvety smooth skin there.

“Babe,” he says softly, “when they hear the stuff you’ve recorded, they’re going to be blown away. Trust me.” He kisses Harry on the corner of his mouth, hoping to pour some of his confidence into him, and when he pulls away Harry is smiling.

“I do trust you.”

The next day the five of them - Harry, Louis, Julian, Liam and Zayn - spread themselves out on the sumptuous couches in their makeshift studio and play through everything that’s been recorded so far. Louis feels like Julian is a teacher, proudly presenting what his students have accomplished so far under his guidance. By the time they reach the second half of the album, Liam is sat so far forward on the couch that he looks as though he might topple off at any second, and Zayn is looking at Harry with a quiet, contemplative expression.

“This stuff is awesome!” Liam exclaims the moment the final track, or what is currently the final track but right now lacks a plausible middle eight, plays out.

“You think so?” Harry asks tentatively.

“For sure,” Liam says, shaking his head in genuine amazement. “It’s really great. I can hear how you guys have developed the sound. And I love what you’ve done with our material from the spring. Seriously, it’s really…” Liam raises his hands as though lost for words.

Louis realises that he is beaming like a proud mum. Harry looks delighted.

“Zayn?” Julian asks. All eyes fall on Zayn, who turns his head slowly from Harry to Julian. He takes a second to think, a second in which the room seems to hold its breath, and then he looks back at Harry and smiles.

“There’s a lot of work to do” – Harry nods in earnest agreement – “but…” Zayn pauses as though for dramatic effect, and Louis wants to scold him for teasing his poor boy, “…it’s already your best album yet. By the time it’s finished it’s going to be incredible.”

Julian and Liam cheer, and Harry’s cheeks flush with pride. He looks at Louis as if to say did you hear that? Did you hear that wonderful thing that he just said to me? and Louis nods, grinning from ear to ear. Yes, love, I heard. I’m so proud of you.

It’s after only three writing sessions with Liam and Zayn that it happens. They have spent the whole day recording, cooped up in an especially cramped hotel room, in Harrisburg of all places. The weather has been dreary, with overcast clouds and a slow-steady drizzle of rain that makes Louis feel as though he’s back in London in mid-October. While Harry is having his hair done, Zayn talks Louis into joining him for a cigarette around the back of the arena, where all the tour buses are parked and Louis agrees, if only to get away from Will’s increasingly morose mood.

“God, how does that not drive you crazy?” Zayn says, sparking up and handing his lighter to Louis, as they huddle by one of the buses, trying to protect themselves from the soggy wind.

“Erm…” Louis hesitates, unsure exactly what Zayn is referring to. There are several possibilities as far as he’s concerned.

“This is why I hate touring,” Zayn continues. “There are never enough windows anywhere. Everybody’s on top of each other, slowly going batshit crazy in this little bubble that feels like at any moment it might burst.” Zayn shudders at his own words and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“I know what you mean,” Louis says slowly. “I’ve never heard it put quite like that, but I see where you’re coming from. Don’t really mind too much though, being on tour has been so much fun!” He’s hardly even aware of how much his eyes crinkle with fondness as he thinks back on these past couple of months.

He only remembers himself when he notices how strangely Zayn is watching him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You know, it’s weird,” he says after a moment, “Liam and I were saying just this afternoon how much we both expected to find Harry stressed out about the album and in a bad mood because of all this Cara stuff, but instead…”

Louis looks at Zayn questioningly, although he knows this probably isn’t something he should push.

Zayn shrugs and takes another drag of his cigarette before he says, “I’ve never seen him so happy in the whole time that I’ve known him.”

“That’s good,” Louis says mildly, trying his best to feign disinterest. “I mean, the tour has been going really well for him and despite the Cara stuff I guess he just… maybe he’s becoming more confident in himself or something… I dunno,” he tacks on the end for good measure, shrugging casually.

For a moment, just one moment, Louis is actually naïve enough to believe that Zayn will just let it go and then,

“Or maybe he’s in love.”

Shit. Louis freezes and an instant later he knows that he’s fucked up for real when Zayn’s eyes widen in shock.

“Oh my God, so it’s true…”

Louis can feel his face burning and his heart pounding somewhere around his throat. He suddenly coughs out the smoke he had forgotten to exhale and waves it away agitatedly, as though trying to wave away Zayn’s words as well.

“What are you talking about?” he splutters.

“It’s true, isn’t it,” Zayn says in a low, awed whisper. “Liam said it and I thought maybe, but I wasn’t sure… But oh my God. It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Zayn…”

“Harry’s in love with you.”

“Zayn!” Louis hisses, his fog of panic suddenly replaced by a stark, hyper-awareness of the situation. Zayn seems to realise what Louis is getting at and glances around the empty car park quickly before stepping towards Louis, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly and then “sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”

Louis exhales shakily. His heart is still racing but he realises already that maybe this isn’t so bad. This is Zayn. He’s Harry’s friend. He was at Nick’s. And anyway, as they’ve already established, Louis is a terrible liar. In a strange way, he finds himself feeling something like relief flood through him as he looks at Zayn. This is the first time he has ever looked somebody in the eye, stood in front of somebody in the flesh and been able to admit what he so desperately wants to tell the whole world.

“Yes,” he nods slowly, voice barely more than a breath of air, “it’s true.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Zayn whispers back, although he’s grinning now. “That’s awesome. I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thank you.” Louis feels a rush of gratitude towards this man he hardly knows. If only this could be an indication of how everyone might react.

He has a sudden flash of a smiling McGee, shaking hands with Harry across his desk.

“What wonderful news, Harry, I’m so happy for you,” he is saying, throwing a smooth wink Louis’ way. “And to think, if I’d never employed you this would never have happened. I’m so proud of both you boys. Just you wait until we tell all your fans.”

In a second the flash is gone again, and the image feels about as real as those strange half-remembered dreams of billboards and angry mobs with pick-axes, that Louis can never quite pin down.

“How long?” Zayn asks and Louis figures in for a penny, in for a pound.

“We first kissed at Nick’s party, just after you left the balcony and went back inside…”

He finds himself telling the whole story to Zayn. How unexpected it is, he marvels, that of all people, the first person aside from Niall that he’s telling is world-renowned producer Zayn Malik, who, until three days ago, Louis had only met once.

Zayn turns out to be a very attentive and sympathetic listener, lighting another cigarette as Louis’ story out-burns his first, and when Louis comes to an end his eyes are warm and soft.

“So, nobody knows?”

“I’ve only told my best mate, Niall. And Harry’s told Nick.”

“Niall was the Irish guy?” Zayn asks, and Louis startles for a moment at the strangeness of it. He had forgotten that Zayn and Niall had met. In his head they exist in completely different spheres, quite literally continents apart.

“Yeah, the Irish guy,” Louis says.

Zayn nods and hums in thought.

“And you don’t think anybody else suspects?” The tone of Zayn’s voice makes Louis feel like a child being asked whether he still believes in Father Christmas.

He sighs. “Well… I guess, if Liam figured it out…” He shrugs helplessly and Zayn nods as though he understands. It’s the lack of control, that’s what’s so scary about this. And now it’s out to Zayn, Louis feels that it’s the start of something snowballing.

Almost as though he can read minds, Zayn says, “you know I won’t tell anyone, right? Not even Liam. Although I would suggest you guys would be better off talking to him than leaving him to carry on speculating out loud. He’s not the most tactful person,” Zayn adds, his tone holding a hint of affection.

Louis supposes that Zayn is right. He thinks ahead to the conversation he and Harry will have tonight. He feels sure that Harry will understand why Louis had to tell Zayn. In fact, he suspects he’ll probably be glad.

“Thanks, Zayn,” Louis says. “And you’re right. We’ll talk to him.” He sighs again. “It’s just hard, you know. Having to keep track of who knows what. I’ve never been good with secrets.”

Amazingly, he realises, it’s the first time he’s ever explicitly referred to himself and Harry as a secret. Even just the word tastes sour on his tongue and smacks too much of scandal.

“It won’t be forever,” Zayn says simply and Louis smiles gratefully.

“How did you guys figure it out?” he asks after a moment, because throughout their whole conversation its been playing in the back of his mind.

“Easy,” Zayn grins. “We have eyes!”

Louis knows it’s meant as a joke but his dismay must be clear on his face because a second later Zayn grimaces and tries to backtrack.

“Sorry, that was a joke… I mean, kind of a joke,” he stutters. “I don’t mean that you’re really obvious or anything. It’s just… you know, the way you two are together, you can just tell…”

Really not helping yourself, Louis thinks grimly as he watches Zayn cast around.

Eventually Zayn gives up and says, “Look, there’s no use lying to you. You guys aren’t as subtle as you could be. I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s really cute to watch, it’s just… if you’re trying to keep this on the down-low then you may want to reconsider a few things.”

“Like what?” Louis whines, genuinely dismayed. It’s all he can do to keep his hands off of Harry when other people are around, but he does it. He has done it every single day of this bloody tour, catching his fingers just before he reaches out, curling his fist into a ball to try and squeeze out the itch.

“Well, I guess we can probably see it more because we’re writing with you but it’s just little things, the way you two smile at each other. The way Harry suggests lyrics and then looks at you as though you inspired them somehow, and all his lyrics seem to be about being in love and fighting for a relationship no matter what, and just… I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like, being with you two, even if you’re both sat at opposite ends of the room, you can just feel this… this energy. It’s like me and Liam and Julian are constantly third-wheeling on this little secret that only you guys share.”

Louis stares at Zayn. Is this really true? This sounds kind of beautiful actually, like something out of a film, or a fairy-tale.

What a cruel thing, he suddenly thinks, that in forcing Harry to keep this a secret, they, that whole “they” made up of McGee and HJPR and the record label and the fucking tabloid press, are forcing Harry to suppress the one thing that makes him most beautiful. Trying to get Harry to stop exuding love is about as pointless as trying to get the sun to stop shining.

“Well… at least the fans still have no idea who I am,” Louis says eventually, trying to rein his thoughts back into something manageable. “As long as they don’t know, there isn’t all that much McGee can get his knickers in a twist about.”

Zayn laughs in agreement and as they head back inside the arena, planning to watch from backstage, Louis feels a lightness that he hasn’t felt in weeks. He laughs as Harry does a ballerina twirl in the middle of a song and nearly trips over his own feet. He claps as vigorously as any teenage fangirl when Harry waves tonight’s rainbow flag above his shoulders, skipping from foot to foot and throwing occasional tiny little glances in their direction.

As predicted, Harry looks relieved when Louis tells him about his conversation with Zayn.

“And we’ll tell Liam too?”

“Yes,” Harry readily agrees.

“Thrilled as I am that you look so cheerful about telling someone else, doesn’t it worry you?” Louis asks, staring in awe at the deep dimple in Harry’s cheek. “I mean, it’s one more person we have to worry about keeping quiet.”

“It’s one less person we have to worry about lying to,” Harry says simply, and Louis falls in love all over again.

At least the fans still have no idea who I am.

Louis reckons that if there is a God, he has a pretty fucked-up sense of humour, when he wakes up the next morning to find his phone flooded with notifications.

“Harry,” he says shakily, and then kicks him lightly in the shin when he doesn’t answer. “Harry,” he says a little louder.

“What?” Harry grunts into the pillow, wrapping his arm around Louis and pulling him into his chest. “Sleep,” he attempts to command but Louis shoves his phone in his face.

“Harry, look.”

Something about his tone must break through Harry’s sleepy haze because he snaps his eyes open and squints at the screen in front of him.

“What am I looking at?” he frowns after a moment.

“Look how many followers I have.”

Harry looks at the phone screen again and then back at Louis, clearly confused.

“Is that not how many you’re supposed to have?” he asks.

“No, Mr Twenty Million Billion Twitter Followers, it’s not.”

Louis is probably being unnecessarily harsh but he can’t help it right now. The panic is everywhere. It’s in his stomach, in his heart, in his lungs. “Last time I checked Twitter I had one hundred and eighty-seven followers. A hundred and eighty-seven.”

“Oh…” Harry’s eyes widen as the meaning of Louis’ words begin to dawn on him.

“And now how many do I have?” Louis shoves the phone in Harry’s face again for good measure.

Harry gulps.

“Six thousand, four hundred and eighty-eight.”

Louis nods grimly. “Six thousand, four hundred and eighty-eight.”

They stare at each other for a moment and then Harry pokes the screen, hitting the refresh button.

“Six thousand, five hundred and thirty-two,” he says softly as Louis closes his eyes and groans into the pillow. Perhaps with enough groaning and enough eye-closing he’ll be able to make this all just go away.

“Hey,” Harry whispers softly, somewhere by his ear. “It’s ok, Lou.” He gently prises the phone out of Louis’ hand and settles himself so that he’s wrapping his long limbs around Louis, drawing the covers over both of them to block out the rest of the world. Inside the duvet it is safe and warm and nobody but Harry knows Louis’ name.

Outside Louis can hear the fans who’ve set up camp outside the hotel. Recently he’s become good at zoning them out but now they come thundering back at full volume, like waves crashing against the side of a ship.

When Louis finally decides to brave his phone again, he finds a text from Niall with a link to a blog post. Somebody, somehow, has found him, he has no idea how, but not only have they found him, they’ve created a master post of everything they have on him. They’ve decided that he’s gay. Although his twitter doesn’t say it explicitly, any fool can take one look at his tweets and conclude that he’s probably almost definitely, most certainly gay.

There are so many fan-photos of him next to Harry, in cafés and on the street, and now that Louis stares in horror he sees exactly what Zayn was talking about. The way they lean into each other, the way Louis smiles, the little touches he doesn’t even remember doing. And there seems to be one gif over and over again that the fans keep coming back to. Ironically it’s from that one hellish week when Louis had thought Harry hated him. They are on the red carpet, and Louis is pulling Harry into him, turning him slightly away from the cameras, his hand resting gently on his arm, and Harry is looking at Louis with an intensity that makes Louis’ breath catch in his throat.

“How did they learn your name?” Harry says weakly.

It’s an article. The first thing that strikes Louis as odd is that it’s an article from the Guardian, which is not a publication they’re used to dealing with. Louis clicks on the link, holding up his screen so that Harry can see it too, and stares in confusion as he takes a moment to adjust to what he is looking at.

The headline reads Harry Styles Shows Admirable Support For His LGBT Fans and beneath it is a stunning, high-definition photo of Harry holding a rainbow flag behind his head. He is grinning upwards, out at the crowd beyond the camera. He looks like an Olympic athlete who has just won gold.

“Oh my God,” Louis breathes as he scrolls down and they both begin to read. He can feel Harry trembling next to him, and he places a firm, steadying kiss on his cheek before he says, “shall I read it?”

Harry nods.

“Ok,” Louis says, taking a deep breath and curling his free hand into Harry’s hair. Harry is watching him, wide-eyed and fearful, and Louis feels as though he might be sick as he opens his mouth to begin to read.

“To most grown adults, the “What Makes You Beautiful” hit-maker, Harry Styles, is nothing more than another of Simon Cowell’s clever cash cows, perfectly designed to win over the hearts and sanity of teenage fan-girls across the globe.” Louis falters for a moment. He can’t bear saying this to Harry, even if he is only reading out words that Harry would have read himself anyway.

“But recently the Cheshire-born heartthrob has been drawing the attention of a different crowd. He has been using his platform, a huge platform which has been painstakingly constructed over nearly five years of astronomical record sales, numerous awards and record-breaking tours, to spread a rather powerful message. In an admirable gesture of support for the LGBT members of his audience, Styles has been holding rainbow flags and other paraphernalia typically associated with the LGBT pride movement during his run of concerts on the current U.S. leg of his third world tour.”

Louis takes another deep breath and glances at Harry, whose face is pale and unreadable.

“At a time when much of the still male-dominated music industry is afraid to truly embrace an emerging demographic of young LGBT fans, Styles should be applauded for his unapologetic display of solidarity with a part of society which has typically been shunned by many mainstream artists.”

Louis looks up and smiles warmly, his heart swelling with pride. Harry blinks at him but doesn’t smile back. He looks like a baby deer caught in headlights. Louis glances down again and hesitates when he sees what comes next.

“It…it is especially admirable of Styles to do so despite the continued speculation about his own sexuality. Accusations of contractually binding closets and fake relationships solely for the purposes of maintaining the illusion of heterosexuality have plagued several artists on Cowell’s label for years and recently Styles has been bearing the brunt of them. All this despite publicly declaring his relationship with model Cara Delevingne. Regardless of these rumours, Styles has chosen to rise above the circus of media speculation, and to speak out bravely for a generation of young LGBT fans, encouraging them to be proud of who they are.”

“We spoke to Hannah, 16, from London, who said, “Words cannot describe what a huge deal this is. As a bisexual fan, I sometimes feel isolated from parts of the fandom, but knowing that Harry supports me is just the most incredible feeling in the world.”

“Another fan who asked to remain anonymous told us of her struggle with depression and said, “People think we just like Harry Styles because he’s good-looking, and we all dream of being Mrs Styles one day. But for many of us, that couldn’t be further from the truth. We love him because he speaks to us in a way that very few people do. I feel like he’s literally the only person in my life right now who’s telling me that it’s ok to be the way I am. It may sound dramatic but it’s simply the truth when I tell you he’s saved my life.”

“Pretty powerful stuff, and unexpected too perhaps, given that most people initially dismissed Harry Styles as just another teen-fad, when he won the X Factor at the tender age of sixteen. Now twenty-one, and undeniably proven to have tremendous staying power and a genuine talent for turning out catchy pop records, Harry Styles and the fan culture which has grown up around him demand our considered attention. It is the experiences of fans like those quoted above, which should really make us re-examine not only the role of music in young people’s lives, but the responsibility of those in the spotlight to provide hope and support for those who most need it. The likes of Harry Styles are in especially powerful positions, given the age and vulnerability of their target-audiences, and gestures like this, promoting messages of love and tolerance should be given the credit they deserve. Let’s hope that more young artists can follow in Styles’ footsteps and embrace all of their fans, straight, gay and everything in between.”

Louis falls silent but continues to stare at his phone. His mind is such a whir of conflicting emotions that they have cancelled each other out and he feels oddly blank as he stares and stares at the very last image embedded in the article.

“What is it?” Harry asks eventually, his voice tiny and cracked with wariness.

Louis reads the caption under the photograph, a photograph which he can tell must have been taken several weeks ago, the day after his Skype conversation with Niall. He and Harry had been aware they were being papped as they left that smoothie bar, but they hadn’t thought much of it. Now that Louis looks at it though, he can see that they should have stood a couple more inches apart, they should have smiled slightly less wide.

“Harry Styles recently enjoyed a sunny afternoon in San Antonio, Texas with personal assistant and close friend, Louis Tomlinson.”

“What?” Harry gasps and grabs the phone from Louis, sitting up in bed and peering at it closely. Louis pushes himself up onto his elbows reluctantly, watching Harry’s eyes flicker furiously across the words. “How the fuck do they know your name?” he asks.

Louis shrugs weakly. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Fuck me. McGee, must have cleared someone to give it to them,” Harry says and then goes back to frowning at the screen again.

“You’re not my PA,” he grumbles. “I don’t have a PA.”

Louis snorts softly at the petulance in Harry’s voice. At his concern even now for Louis’ dignity. Louis closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is so much to take in and he’s having difficulty clarifying his thoughts.

He opens his eyes. “Why don’t you have a PA by the way? I’m always meaning to ask…” he stops and grins at Harry who throws him a withering glare.

“Really? Now’s the time you want to talk about my lack of a PA?”

“No, you’re right,” he says softly.

Suddenly Louis wants to pretend that none of this exists. He hauls himself up properly into a sitting position, the duvet falling to somewhere around his waist. He rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder, his hands slinking down to his smooth, bare waist, where Louis can feel the definition of his muscles as he twists to kiss Louis’ cheek.

Well, perhaps he doesn’t want to pretend that none of this exists.

“If we forget the whole them-finding-out-my-name-thing for a second, this article is actually really wonderful,” he says softly. “We shouldn’t lose sight of that, Harry.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums softly, resting his forehead against Louis’ temple. “It’s scary though.”

“I said, forget the whole them-finding-out-my-name thing,” Louis teases, gently poking Harry’s hip at the softest part.

Harry lets out a sad huff of air around a small smile. “I know,” he says, and kisses Louis’ cheek again before he says, “but that aside, it’s still terrifying.”

“Because of the stuff about closeting speculation?”

Harry shakes his head, almost surprised, as though Louis is missing something obvious.

“No. I mean because of the stuff the fans said. That fan who said I’m the only person in her life telling her its ok to be who she is. That’s so scary,” he says quietly. “That means there are a whole bunch of people in her life right now who are failing her. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like.”

“You can’t?”

Harry shakes his head again and Louis’ heart melts a little, as he continues.

“It makes me so angry that there are kids out there who’re unhappy simply because the people around them aren’t telling them how proud they should be of themselves. This isn’t the way the world is supposed to be. Is it?” he asks Louis helplessly.

“It’s not,” Louis whispers and feels something in his chest burst into bloom, like a flower or a firework. Harry is a better person than any of them even know. Louis wants to cry with it, because the realisation is so overwhelming. Instead he holds Harry in his arms.

They’ll deal with the inevitable fall-out from the article at some later moment, a moment that isn’t now, that’s outside of this hotel room, that isn’t yet here. For now there is this, there is the two of them, there are Harry’s soft, reassuring kisses, his tongue, his sharp little moans of longing and his wide, open palms on Louis’ skin. For now the screams outside the window don’t sound quite so loud and the waves don’t swell quite so high.

Chapter Text

Louis expects to find Will in a panic. He expects arguments and shouting and bitter threats thrown from both sides, so he’s oddly unsettled when he arrives at breakfast to find Will laughing at a joke from Paul and Leigh-Anne happily chatting to Lou and fussing over Lux, her iPad nowhere to be seen for once.

“Hi,” Louis says warily as he sidles up to the table. They must not have seen the article, he thinks, and in a way that makes his sense of dread worse.

“Morning, Louis,” Leigh-Anne chimes. “Sleep well?”

“Er… yeah. Thanks,” Louis sits down and reminds himself to smile and try to look normal.

Harry enters a few minutes later, not looking anywhere near as worried as Louis feels but still, Louis doesn’t miss the way he raises his eyebrows in surprise when Will pats him on the back.

“You alright, mate?” Will’s voice is bright and slightly too loud. He’s been trying very hard recently to behave as though he and Harry are the best of friends.

“Fine,” Harry says after a beat and then glances at Louis, eyebrows the tiniest bit quirked.

Louis replies with nothing more than a thought. I have no clue. Harry seems to get it and a second later he shrugs and sits down next to Lou and Lux, whom he pokes in the tummy in the most adorable way possible. Even in his current state of panic Louis can’t help but grin.

He pours himself coffee and sips it thoughtfully, not quite sure what to say to the others, as though saying anything at all might suddenly break this strange peace.

“Have you seen the article yet, by any chance, Harry?” Leigh-Anne says suddenly, and Louis’ cup freezes halfway to his lips. Harry looks startled, glancing almost imperceptibly towards Louis, before he turns to Leigh-Anne and answers.

“Er… yeah?” he says.

Leigh-Anne peers at him for a second and then chuckles.

“Goodness, Harry, I thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic than that!” she says.

“Impossible to please,” Will shakes his head but he’s grinning too.

Louis is so confused right now, and clearly, from the furrow in his brow, Harry is too.

“I assumed McGee would be pissed off about it,” Harry says after a moment.

Will shrugs brightly. “Seems not. I was kind of worried when I first saw it but it turns out he cleared the whole thing.”

“He did,” Leigh-Anne chimes in, smiling. “He cleared me to give them info from the pap outing. Didn’t raise any questions about the content of the article as far as I’m aware. HJPR were handling it. But yeah, I’m guessing it’s all good.”

She grins affectionately at Harry, and Louis is warmed to think that it’s not just him who feels this way. Every single person around the table, even Will, ultimately wants Harry to be able to be himself. Louis can see it now in their smiling faces, can hear it in the way they talk excitedly about how much truth they thought there was in the article, how great it is that HJPR cleared it, how much Harry deserves it. He feels a rush of affection towards them all and that somewhat settles the tiny little voice inside his head telling him that something here doesn’t add up.

Harry smiles bashfully through it all, and grins like a child when Liam bounds up to the table, clapping him on the back and excitedly asking, “Did you guys see the article?”

By the time Zayn arrives at breakfast most of the crew have already finished. Louis is on his second cup of coffee and Harry is bouncing Lux on his knee, entertaining her by making faces out of fruit on his plate.

“So, you’re a PA as well as a songwriter now?” Zayn smirks at Louis. “Busy guy.”

“You mean multi-talented guy,” Louis quips back and Leigh-Anne looks up from her iPad, which has miraculously appeared again and is now firmly back where it belongs in her hands.

“God, yeah, sorry about that, Louis. I told them you were a management assistant and close personal friend but I guess they got confused. I swear it’s like, in the journalist code that they always have to fuck up at least one of the details you give them.”

“Hang on,” Harry glances up from his kiwi-and-banana face. “You gave them Louis’ name?”

“Yeah,” Leigh-Anne says mildly, and then glances at Louis. “I hope you don’t mind?”

Louis doesn’t know how to answer so he doesn’t. He can feel Zayn watching him intently from the corner of his eye, and Liam, who they still need to tell, is frowning at him.

“So…” Harry presses on. “McGee cleared you to give them Louis’ name?”

“Not just that,” Leigh-Anne says. “He was the one who suggested they use those pap shots. The ones with Louis in. Why?” she adds curiously, looking between the four boys’ confused faces.

“Oh… no reason,” Harry shrugs, and shifts Lux back onto his knee where she’s slipping. Louis stares down at his coffee and swallows a lump in his throat. This is a good thing, he tells himself. This article is good. Nobody is shouting at anybody. This must be good. Maybe if he repeats it to himself enough times, he’ll believe it.

They catch Liam after breakfast and drag him into an empty dressing room. As Harry pulls the door shut, Liam raises his eyebrows, looking smugly between the two of them.

There’s a pause in which Louis looks at Harry and Harry looks at Louis before they both turn back to see Liam grinning from ear to ear. Harry takes a deep breath.

“Yes, it’s true…” he begins, but Louis doesn’t catch the rest of it above Liam’s woop of excitement, as he launches himself at them both and scoops them into the most aggressively affectionate hug Louis has ever experienced.

“That went well,” Harry hums happily as they leave the dressing room ten minutes later.

“You think? I don’t know. His response was kind of hard to read,” Louis says and receives a gentle poke in the ribs. He glances at Harry just in time to catch him rolling his eyes and he has to force himself not to giggle like the love-struck idiot that he is as Paul passes them in the corridor.

As the morning rolls into the afternoon, and nothing bad happens, Louis finally starts to let himself properly relax. Harry spends most of the morning training and records a few verses but Zayn and Liam are working on production today so Harry isn’t much needed, and Leigh-Anne has no promo scheduled and there’s no rehearsals before the show and Will hasn’t scheduled any dinners or any meetings. The afternoon ahead of them is blissfully free for once. And the sun has finally come out as though it too knows that this is a happy day.

Where are you? X

Louis looks down at his phone and smiles when he sees who it’s from.

I’m in my hotel room love. Are you done recording? X

Yeah. I’m coming to yours. X

Do you want to go out and explore the wondrous sights of Harrisburg? X

Not today. Just want cuddles. X

Louis clutches his phone with affection. Harry does this some days. Just wants them to snuggle and forget everything but each other. Louis likes these days best.

Ten minutes later and Harry texts again.

Actually do you wanna come to mine? My balcony has a little private alcove so we could actually be outside in the sun and still be us! X

Oh bless you, you gorgeous boy, Louis thinks, as he grabs his room key and sunglasses and makes his way to Harry’s room, glancing over his shoulder the entire time.

Five minutes later, they have successfully managed to push the sun lounger far enough against the wall that they’re confident they can’t be seen. And anyway, Harry’s room looks out onto an inner courtyard, blissfully free from fans and paparazzi, with only the occasional hotel staff member passing through, their sharp American twang barely audible from this height.

The sky is blue and the sun is high, and as Harry lies back against Louis’s chest, slotted snugly between his legs, the two of them stretched out lazily on the narrow sun lounger, Louis is reminded of that morning on the roof when Harry had first allowed Louis to see his vulnerability. Harry had looked so sad that day. Louis realises that he hasn’t seen Harry look sad in a long time. He smiles and kisses Harry on his temple, his curls gently brushing against Louis’ cheek.

“Today is a happy day,” Harry muses softly as though he has read Louis’ mind.

Louis nods and kisses him again. “It is.” They are both silent for a moment and when Harry speaks again he sounds very serious.

“Every day with you is a happy day, Louis, but today is especially happy.”

Louis chuckles softly.

“Why is today an especially happy day?” he asks, although the question feels redundant. Its answer seems to lie all around him, in the gentle breeze, in the sunlight falling across Harry’s arm, illuminating the soft hairs on it and making them golden.

“Because today I feel like maybe things are finally happening,” Harry says. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and McGee clearing that stuff must be a good thing.”

Louis hums a non-committal response. He doesn’t want to douse Harry’s excitement with doubt but he still isn’t sure what he thinks of the whole situation.

“I mean,” Harry continues. “It’s got to be, right? Because I’ve been thinking and thinking, especially about him clearing them to use your image and I wonder if maybe it’s the start of something. He’s always promised me that I’ll be able to come out eventually and now, maybe seeing how positive the reaction has been with all the rainbow flags and stuff, maybe he’s decided that now’s the time. Like, maybe in the run up to the album. For promo.”

“Maybe,” Louis says encouragingly. “That does actually make sense. I’ve been trying to figure it all out too and I haven’t been able to come up with an explanation…”

“I really do think this must be the start. It’s a small start, right? Like, they still mentioned Cara and stuff, but at least it’s getting the idea out there. It’s getting people to pay a bit more attention.”

“And it’s fuelling the conspiracy theorists. He must have known it would,” Louis adds.

“Exactly. Now that they know who you are, of course they’ll look more closely at us, and, well… I guess some of them will figure certain things out. And maybe that won’t be such a terrible thing as we first thought?”

“Maybe not,” Louis agrees. Listening to Harry is calming and that nagging worry in the back of his mind slowly starts seeping away as he gently traces swirls over Harry’s stomach with his fingers. “I hope you’re right, babe.”

“I think I am,” Harry says determinedly, and Louis can hear the grin in his voice.

As the afternoon draws on, and the breeze becomes a little chillier, neither of them suggests moving back inside. The novelty of being in the open air and being able to touch like this is enough to keep them out on the balcony, although at one point Harry does have to grab jumpers for both of them. Harry laughs and Louis pouts at how big Harry’s lilac jumper is on him.

“And the colour makes me look even more gay than normal,” Louis whines, as though it’s a bad thing.

“Yay for gay,” Harry laughs warmly, bopping Louis on the nose as though he’s Lux. Louis makes a smug mental note to point out to Niall that those words actually came out of Harry’s mouth, as Harry lies back against his chest once more, slotting perfectly between his thighs.

They listen to songs on Harry’s phone, each with an ear-bud in one ear. They slip in and out of conversations, one minute laughing hysterically, the next whispering softly, and the next with each of them simply content to just be with the other. Louis finds himself watching the way that Harry’s chest rises up and down as he breathes, the way that his lips move slightly in time with his favourite songs, the way that the slight breeze ruffles his hair every now and then. If Louis were a painter this would be the picture he would paint, every single time.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” Harry whispers back. He shifts on the lounger to look at Louis directly. He smirks. “I don’t know if I ever told you but I’m really rather glad you got a job at Modest, you know.”

Louis giggles and then nods. “Yeah. I’m pretty chuffed to be honest but I don’t like to go on about it.”

“How’s it going by the way?” he says casually. “I’m a very bad boyfriend, I never ask you about your work. Do you like it?”

“My job?” Louis says. “Are you asking whether or not I like my job? The job which has led me to find you” – Harry laughs sweetly and settles further into Louis – “the job which means that right now I get to spend my Thursday afternoon lying on a sun lounger on a balcony in America and I get to do this” – he brings up a hand to turn Harry’s face to his, and kisses him deeply, wrapping his other arm tight around his chest, teasing Harry’s mouth open with his tongue until Harry lets out a soft moan, before pulling away – “you’re seriously asking whether I like this job?”

Harry laughs, a proper open-mouthed laugh, against Louis’ shoulder. “Yes!” he says. “I’m seriously asking.”

“It’s alright, I guess,” Louis shrugs breezily, before grinning and kissing Harry again, just because he can.

Louis shifts across Harry until he’s directly above him, and looks down at his beautiful boyfriend, where his long chestnut waves of hair are spread around him. As he dips down to kiss Harry again, he feels him harden beneath him and he smiles smugly against his lips.

“But we’re outside,” he mutters teasingly.

“We are,” Harry agrees before deepening the kiss, keening against Louis’ hands as they trail down his chest. He pushes his hips up into Louis, who lets out a gasp. He swallows and lets his eyes flutter shut as Louis deftly unbuttons his jeans.

This is something Louis loves. He never used to love it all that much. Not with Ethan who would always hold his head too tightly, or with his first boyfriend who just used to lie there, hardly making a sound, hardly moving until Louis’ jaw ached bloody murder and would then suddenly come without warning down Louis’ throat.

With Harry, it’s different. It’s magnificent. The way that he tastes, the way that he lets little moans escape from his lips, the way that he groans Louis’ name, its fluid vowels low and velvet on his tongue. The way his hand settles in Louis’ hair and traces curves across his cheekbones before fisting into the sun lounger as he tries desperately hard not to buck up into Louis’ mouth. Louis lets one hand roam across Harry’s hips and stomach, digging into the soft flesh and holding him still. He licks long stripes up Harry’s cock, relishing the salt-sweet taste. His eyes water with the effort of taking him down all the way, and he moans around Harry’s cock as he feels the pulse in his own, heavy and aching.

When he looks up through his lashes, Harry is watching him, his pupils blown wide, his jaw slack, his chest heaving in deep pants.

“Lou…” he breathes, and his hand curls tight in Louis’ hair as a warning. Harry screws his eyes shut and comes with a cry so loud Louis worries the people below might hear.

“Fuck,” Harry moans, as Louis pumps him through his orgasm, his thighs trembling and his cock falling limply against his stomach. He hardly gives himself a moment to recover before he growls “now you” and expertly flips them both over in one swift motion so that Louis has to squint against the light. He giggles at the eagerness in Harry’s voice and then lets out a sharp whine of longing when he finally gets to feel Harry’s lips, already swollen and wet, around his leaking cock.

Afterwards, Louis can taste himself on Harry’s tongue. They kiss until their lips are numb and then kiss some more.

Louis’ phone goes off at five and they both pout at each other.

“I hate how time moves even when you don’t want it to.”

Louis nods fondly. “Me too.” He sighs. “I guess we should maybe think about getting ready.”

“Nothing I need to do,” Harry says determinedly. “Until I get an angry call from Will saying that the driver is downstairs and is refusing to wait any longer, I’m not budging.”

Louis smiles at him.

“You know something,” he muses, pulling Harry tight into his chest and kissing the top of his head. “If I could choose any moment in my life that I would want to live in forever, this would be it.”

“Hmm,” Harry sighs quietly into his neck and then falls silent. Louis takes in the sky above them and the sun sinking behind the hotel. They will have to go soon. Harry has thirty thousand adoring fans to perform to, some of whom are probably arriving even now, queuing dutifully, each excited to see their own version of Harry Styles. Louis sighs again. They’ll have to go soon. But not just yet.

“I wonder if the people in the audience will’ve read the article?” Harry says softly.

“I’m sure they will have,” Louis nods and takes Harry’s hand, letting their fingers tangle until he hardly knows which ones are his.

“Today is a happy day,” Harry reiterates contentedly as he presses the pads of his fingertips against Louis’ palm, tracing the lines there.

“It is.”

And it continues happily. It almost feels too good to be true, and yet, Louis thinks, as he watches Harry raise a rainbow flag once again, watches him hold it high above his head in triumph, watches Will look on and smile, actually smile a proper smile, it is true. The crowd looks beautiful tonight, Louis thinks. He notices just how pretty Leigh-Anne is, as she laughs at a joke he makes, and he notices just how lovely Lux is, in her sweet innocent way. How lovely it is that she looks at Harry and sees simply her Uncle Harry, nothing more, nothing less.

Maybe Harry’s right. Maybe this is the start. Zayn and Liam are happy for them. Maybe everybody else will be too.

That night in bed Louis listens to the steady rhythm of Harry’s heart and his deep, lovely voice as he talks excitedly about the show, detailing the signs he saw and how he’s sure there were even more rainbow flags than usual.

“I’m so proud of you, love,” Louis whispers, curling into Harry’s side. He can feel Harry grin.

“Hashtag gay pride,” Harry says and giggles, before pecking Louis on the top of his head. Louis tickles him in the side so that he squeals and kicks until the bed sheets are entangled with their limbs.

They look into each other’s eyes and Louis’ heart pounds so fast he’s sure it must be about to burst. He is so proud of his boy. So very proud. He wishes the rest of the world could know it.

“I’ve realised something,” Harry says softly, a few moments later.

“Hmm?” Louis hums, his fingers tracing a sweeping curve across Harry’s collarbone and around his heart. “What’ve you realised, love?”

“I’ve realised that not everything is about coming out. Like, before I just thought in terms of being out or being in the closet. I wanted out and I thought that rebelling against the closet was the only way… but actually,” he pauses for a moment in thought, “I think what I actually really wanted was a voice. And I see that I can have that now. At least a bit. Without breaking my contract. I do still want to come out eventually, of course, but for now I reckon I can be ok with this, so long as I’m able to let my fans know that I support them.”

Louis tangles his fingers into Harry’s hair and presses a soft kiss to his neck. He feels so overcome with pride he can’t even find the words.

“This is something that’s mine,” Harry says into the silence, his voice strong with triumph. “They can’t take this away from me.”

“And they can’t complain,” Louis adds. “On top of what an amazing statement you made, that article is awesome publicity for you.” He realises that he’s finally allowed himself to fully embrace the article for what it was.

“Precisely,” Harry nods and then stifles a yawn. Louis looks up just in time to catch the adorable way that Harry squeezes his eyes shut, his lips stretched wide and pink. Harry wriggles further down the bed, and rolls onto his side so that he and Louis are facing each other, cheeks to pillows, nose to nose.

“Hi,” Louis breathes.

“Hiii,” Harry breathes back and his eyelashes flutter as his eyes flitter across Louis’ face. “It’s because of you, Louis,” he whispers reverently. “All because of you. You make me strong.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say but Harry’s dimple looks delicious so he decides to kiss it. Harry catches his lips just as he’s pulling away, bringing his hand up to cup Louis’ chin. They kiss, slow and deep at first, and then faster and more frantic. When Louis feels Harry’s hand snake down to play at the waistband of his boxers he smiles at the memory of the balcony this afternoon and curls his toes in happy anticipation. Even now, after so many nights, they are still learning each other’s bodies. Each night still feels like an adventure, and Louis still has to pinch himself sometimes to realise that it’s real. That this really is Harry’s skin against his own, and Harry’s thigh sliding between his thighs, and Harry’s tongue against his lips, on his neck, tracing a line down his chest, his stomach, down and down, undoing him from the inside out.

Today has been a happy day.

Louis wakes up early the next morning, blissed out and slightly achey, to a mouthful of soft, dark curls. His arm is draped over Harry’s shoulder, his stomach pressed against Harry’s back. He lets himself just lay there, basking in the pale morning sun pouring through the blinds and relishing his last few minutes before his phone alarm goes off at seven and he has to sneak back to his own hotel room.

Harry wriggles in his sleep and Louis realises that he needs the toilet. He slips out of bed as quietly as he can. When he gets back he grabs his phone from the bedside counter, still stood half in a daze by the bed, and absent-mindedly unlocks the screen. He is about to crawl back under the covers with Harry when he does a double take at the number of notifications he has. At random he clicks on Niall’s message, already feeling slightly more alert, shoulders tense. Niall seems to have sent him a string of messages on Whatsapp, all about six hours ago, all along similar lines to the first and most visceral of his messages,

What the fucking fuck have they done?

There is a barrage of confused emojis followed by more swearing. Louis bites his lip in confusion and starts to feel the first thrum of fear. What have who done? He quickly opens another message, this one from Leigh-Anne.

Will is calling a meeting to discuss first thing in the morning. For now just make sure he’s ok? He always listens to you. And also on a personal note, please know that this wasn’t anything to do with me. I had no idea. This was HJPR and McGee. Completely over my head.

What? What was over her head? Fuck, Louis thinks, starting to feel real panic now. He looks down at a sleeping Harry, at his tangle of curls, at his bare back, smooth and pale, rising and falling just slightly with each breath. He looks so peaceful. Louis would let him sleep forever if only to shield him from whatever is about to come next. The sense of foreboding is dark within him and his thumb hovers a moment over the Twitter icon. He figures Twitter will break it to him without ceremony.

He shuts his eyes and hits the app. When he opens his eyes again a second later, he’s sure his heart momentarily stops, and then it sinks, slowly sinks and sinks until it is somewhere around his feet. This is worse. This is worse than the most awful thing Louis could have imagined. Because it comes from Harry himself.

Louis stares at the tweet until his eyes go blurry. He clutches his phone until his knuckles are white. He bites his lip until it feels as though it might bleed. It’s from Harry’s own twitter account. It looks for all the world as though Harry himself has tweeted it and that’s what makes it so ugly.

Apparently I can’t just mess around onstage without every action twisted to mean something it isn’t. Pls stop with the presumptuous bullshit. I’m straight.

Louis wants to break something. He has to physically force himself not to let out a cry. He looks down at Harry again and his hopeful words from yesterday echo painfully loud in Louis’ ears. Sleep, Harry, is all he can think, please sleep so that you don’t have to see what they’ve done.

Louis scrolls through some of the replies to the tweet. There are thousands of course, thousands and thousands and some of them break Louis’ heart. He sees that #plsstopwiththeBS is trending worldwide, although at least that one has a diverse wealth of interpretations attached to it. Louis wants to throw his phone against the wall when he clicks on the other worldwide trend, #Harryisstraightgetoverit. He can only get through a handful of tweets before he has to close the app in disgust.

He can’t bear this.

He walks around the bed to the sliding door of the balcony and gently pushes it open. The morning air is still cool enough that it has a soothing effect. He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes tight shut, hoping to wake up for real this time, blissed out and slightly achey, with a mouthful of soft, dark curls.

When that doesn’t happen he reluctantly brings his phone back up to his face to read. He figures it’s not fair to let Harry do this, in fact he can’t let Harry do this, but Harry will want to know what the press are saying. So he googles it and is hit with it all over again. Harry Styles Slams Gay Rumours as B***S*** and Harry Styles Accused Of Homophobic Tweet and Harry Styles Finally Sets The Record “Straight.”

Louis rubs his free hand across his face, trying to wipe away what he has seen. He leans against the wall and then slides down it until he is sitting on the floor, continuing to scroll the entire time. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and he shuts off his phone, placing it facedown by his side.

He looks up at Harry, splayed on the bed. From this angle, Louis can just make out the curve of his chin and his lips and his nose, pressed into profile against his pillow. His breaths are slow and steady, soft not-quite-snores. He looks as peaceful as a child. Louis hardly registers that he’s crying until he feels a tear drip onto his open palm. What will he say? How can he tell him? How can he even form words that will put the sadness back into Harry’s beautiful green eyes.

As if on cue, those beautiful green eyes flutter open, and Louis never would have thought he would be so sad to see Harry wake up. Harry wriggles a little in his half sleep state, blinking against the morning sun. He catches Louis’ eyes across the room and for a moment he begins to smile, but then he stops and instead hastily props himself up, his face awash with concern.

“Louis, what’s the matter?” he croaks, a slight tremor in his voice. Louis should have wiped away his tears. He should have bought himself more time to figure out what he is going to say.

“Oh, Harry…” he says and his voice cracks over the words. “Harry…”

“Oh my God, Lou,” Harry says, dragging himself out of bed, all signs of sleepiness gone. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?” He rushes the few steps to where Louis is sat by the balcony door and sits down opposite him, placing his hands on Louis’ knees. “Are you ok, baby? You’re scaring me.”

Louis inhales sharply and wipes his eyes. “I don’t know how to tell you, Harry.”

“Tell me what?”

“What they’ve done.”

Harry’s eyes are searching his face, wide and fearful. “What who have done? Lou?”

With a heavy heart Louis pulls up the tweet on his screen, all the while aware of Harry’s eyes on him, and slowly he hands over the phone. He doesn’t want to see the moment when Harry realises but he can’t tear his eyes away either. He watches helplessly as Harry’s eyes flit over the words, turning darker and darker as the seconds pass. He watches as Harry closes his eyes and pushes the phone away. He watches as stray tears squeeze past Harry’s eyelids and he stands up, slowly, as though under a great weight. When he opens his eyes again he doesn’t look at Louis. He walks out onto the balcony and grips the railing, twisting his hands over the bars, his head hung low. Seconds spill into minutes.

The silence is the most painful thing. But, Louis supposes, what is there to be said. They’ve spoken for him. Just when he had found his voice they have ripped it from him. Louis leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. He realises dully that he should probably go back to his room, in case anybody knocks. But he doesn’t. He’ll be damned if he’s going to leave Harry alone now, after everything.

A bird lands on the railing next to Harry and chirps merrily, as though mocking his pain. Louis watches the sad slope of Harry’s shoulders through the glass as he turns to look at it.

“Hello little bird,” he mumbles softly, his voice carrying back to Louis on the breeze. “What’s it like to be you, I wonder?”

He reaches his hand out gently towards it. It cocks its head, for one sharp moment fixing him with a beady-eyed stare, and then it spreads its wings and hops off the balcony, flapping against the breeze until it is a dot on the distant horizon.