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The call comes at 4am. It wakes Harry with a start and he can only answer in monosyllables, confused and drowsy and not really processing any of it until after he's hung up and has been sitting there for a few minutes staring into space with his brow furrowed.

"Lou," he mumbles then, turning to gently nudge the still-sleeping body beside him.

"Mmm."

"Lou." Harry nudges him again. The worry is just beginning to gnaw at him, that nagging feeling of something not being right. He can't remember this ever happening before—not like this, with this sense of urgency.

"What?" Louis sounds grumpy, his voice sleep-rough, as his eyes flutter open to look at Harry.

"Emergency band meeting," Harry says. "We have to get up."

Louis frowns at him, uncomprehending, for a long time. Then he says, "It's the middle of the night."

"I know. They're sending a car. We have to get up."

Louis looks frightened, and it makes the anxiety churn more violently in Harry's stomach, as if Louis knows something he doesn't. "What happened?" Louis asks faintly.

"They wouldn't tell me."

"Is it—everyone? Not just us?"

"Yeah." Harry, satisfied that Louis is properly awake now, slips out of bed and starts getting dressed, pulling on the clothes he wore yesterday. Louis lies there for another long moment, and Harry prompts him with, "We have to go," and then it's like he snaps out of his daze, getting unsteadily to his feet and pulling on some pyjama trousers over his boxers.

The car is startlingly quick; the boys have only just finished getting dressed by the time they hear it pull up outside. They must have sent it before even making the call, which for some reason makes Harry feel even more nervous. Whatever this is, it's important, and it's pretty clear that it's not good news.

Liam is already waiting in the car by the time they get outside, offers them a cheery "Morning!" and Niall appears just a couple of minutes later, padding across the courtyard in his slippers and eating a chocolate chip muffin.

"What's this about?" Louis asks the driver, twice, but he doesn't get a response. "Did they tell you anything?" he asks Liam and Niall, who know no more than anyone else.

Finally Zayn turns up, and now that all five of them are here the atmosphere feels a little less tense. They tease him about the fact that he's got his shirt on inside out and still looks like he's half-asleep, and he settles down beside Harry and Louis and says flatly, "What've you done this time, got caught shagging in a park?"

He gets a nipple twist from Harry for that, but Harry can't help but feel like this must have something to do with him and Louis. All their other "emergency band meetings" have been in that vein, discussing damage control after they got a little too affectionate in public or Louis kept forgetting about Eleanor's existence or some website posted an anonymous article about gay boyband members. But they've been so careful lately, and all the 'Larry Stylinson' gossip seems to have calmed down, and Harry just can't think what the problem could be. What could be so bad that they have to get up at four in the morning to discuss it?

They file into the office and slump into seats in front of Jonathan's desk. There's never enough space; Harry and Louis always end up sitting in each other's laps which only serves to get them more judgemental looks from their superiors. But when they're telling them off for exactly that sort of thing anyway, it just makes Harry want to shove it in their faces, so he pulls Louis down onto his knees and wraps his arms around him, reaching up to rest his chin on Louis's shoulder.

"I'm not sure how to say this," says Jonathan, gravely, and Harry is really starting to feel unsettled by how serious this whole thing is. "I think it's best if I just show you."

He has a laptop in front of him, and slowly he turns it around to face them, and it takes Harry a long time to process what he's seeing. Because that picture on the screen, it's on a gossip site, and it's not a paparazzi shot or even some embarrassing old scanned-in photo from their childhoods, it's—it's him and Louis, kissing, snuggled close together on Liam's couch, Louis's fingers in Harry's hair and Harry grinning like a goofy kid against Louis's lips. It's private. Liam took that photo. Liam took that photo because he thought they were being cute, and he promised that they didn't have to worry about it getting out.

And now here it is, plastered on the internet for everyone to see, along with a sensationalist, exclamation point-heavy title that makes Harry feel sick to his stomach.

Louis has gone absolutely tense, muscles seized up; his weight feels strange on Harry's lap. Nobody is saying anything. Harry wants to look at the others, or to demand to know what's going on, but he can't speak. All he can do is look at that photo that shouldn't be there, shouldn't be on someone's laptop, should've stayed on Liam's phone or never been taken in the fucking first place.

Jonathan seems to decide they've got it, and turns his laptop back around, sighing gently. "It seems Liam's phone has been hacked into," he says, as if they were all too dense to figure that out. "Now, we've spent the better part of an hour here looking into the coverage of the story—" and Harry feels his stomach turn at the thought that the picture has been out there for an hour, probably longer; that people were looking at it and discussing it while he and Louis slept soundly back at home, "—and things might not be as hopeless as they seem."

Harry wonders what that's supposed to mean, and the only thing he can think of is that the response must be positive—management are always banging on about how they'd lose fans if this got out, how people would turn against them, but maybe they were wrong? Maybe, he thinks wildly, maybe the gossip blogs are full of support, comments from people saying "aw, how cute" and then going on with their lives.

"There's so much speculation surrounding you two—" Jonathan addresses Harry and Louis specifically now, "—that no one seems quite sure what to think. A significant number of commenters are putting forward the argument that this is just a couple of mates messing around, a joke that happened to be captured by a camera, nothing more."

Harry almost wants to laugh at that. It's ridiculous, the things they've managed to get away with over the years, the way people will excuse his and Louis's behaviour as platonic even when Harry feels they're being so obvious that they may as well be shouting it from the rooftops. It's equal parts a relief and a source of frustration for him. When they made it through that incident at the bar in Wellington back in April, Niall found it hilarious, said that even if a crystal clear shot of the two of them snogging found its way into the world, people would still find ways to explain it that wouldn't make them a couple.

And now it seems that they have.

"What do we do?" Louis says in a small voice, then, and he sounds so scared, and Harry can't stand it—he dips his head and presses a kiss to Louis's shoulder through his t-shirt, but Louis doesn't react, still stiff and tense in his arms.

"Well, I think you're very lucky here, boys," Jonathan says, in a way that tells them they better be thankful, "because it seems people will be quite happy to accept a denial. It's lucky that you've got that BBC Breakfast appearance on Friday too, it'll be a good chance to brush the whole thing off."

Louis clutches tightly at the side of Harry's thigh, and Harry clears his throat. "Uh," he says. "Does it not—I mean, does it not make more sense at this point just to tell the truth?"

He doesn't like the fact that the picture's out there any more than anyone else, but there's nothing they can do about it now except try and make it work in their favour. There's a long pause and then Louis starts shaking his head, repeatedly back and forth like he's silently begging Jonathan to shoot down the idea, even though it's pretty fucking obvious that Jonathan is going to do just that. "We've had this conversation, Harry," he says sternly. "It's not the right time to break news like this, you know that. The second album hasn't even been released. You have no idea of the longevity of the band. You—"

"I know," Harry interrupts, because he's heard this speech many times before, "but how many times can we laugh it off before it just gets stupid? Isn't this a good chance to just—"

"Liam, as it's your phone, you'll have to explain why you took the picture," Jonathan interrupts, breezing ahead as if Harry hasn't spoken. "Probably best to just say you found the moment funny, maybe you even wanted to use the photo to embarrass them later on, though of course you didn't realise it'd be happening on this scale..."

"Okay," says Liam, his voice wavering a little, and Harry suddenly feels a surge of anger at him for just mindlessly agreeing, going along with it.

"Can we at least discuss the alternative, here?" Harry snaps, a little louder than he means to. "I know we've managed to cover up a lot in the past but don't you think maybe this is a sign that it's time to stop all that and just come clean?" He gives Louis a little squeeze, adds, "Don't you think?" in a softer voice, directed at him.

But Jonathan says, "The Madison Square Garden concert is coming up," before Louis has a chance to respond. "The last thing we need right now is a scandal. You'll do the interview, you'll laugh the whole thing off; Louis, it's probably a good idea for you to Tweet Eleanor at some point today—"

Harry zones out, ignoring whatever else Jonathan has to say. Louis is quiet, just nodding in response to everything, and Harry can see that he's pale and shell-shocked, happy to have someone to tell him exactly what to do.

As soon as they get out of there, Liam is falling all over himself with apologies.

"I'm—I'm so sorry," he bursts out, looking wretched, his face white and his hair beginning to curl a little with sweat at his temples. "I—I shouldn't have kept it but—"

"Liam, it's fine," Harry interrupts him, a little sharply. "It's not your fault."

"I took the picture!" Liam cries. "Who else's fault would it be?"

"The dickhead who hacked your phone," Harry says quietly. "Really, Liam, that's the only person we can blame. Don't beat yourself up."

He doesn't want Liam stressing out about this but he also just kind of wants him to shut up, because god, this whole thing would be pretty great actually and he'd be thanking Liam right now if management would just realise once and for all that they can't deny everything forever. Of course he'd rather this wasn't happening because of a mistake, and he doesn't like the idea of thousands of people witnessing that private moment without his permission, but in a strange way it's like he's been waiting for this. Expecting something like this to happen at some point. The initial shock of it is fading fast and now it just seems like an opportunity, and no one else seems to get that, and Liam's always the first one to do what he's told without asking any questions and it pisses Harry off.

They've got a couple of days before the interview and management wants them to stay in and lie low, but it's difficult at home; things with Louis are strained. He's being weird about this whole thing, alternating between acting like it's no big deal at all—"Seems like we got away with it, so," he says once, and that keeps nagging at Harry because of the word choice, the way he makes it sound like they did something bad or wrong—and going all quiet, stuck in his own head, obviously worrying about the interview. A couple of times he asks Harry what he thinks they should say, if they should work on their denial so they sound more sure of themselves, but Harry refuses. He doesn't want to do this at all, he's certainly not going to plan it.

It's always been a difficult topic for the two of them, the idea of coming out, because it's one of the few things they seriously disagree on. Over time they've learned simply not to talk about it because they're never going to convince each other to change stance. But now, it's harder to ignore, and Harry feels like they're so close to it and a part of him always thought that if something like this ever happened, Louis might finally see where he was coming from, understand that it's possible to just reach a point where it's the more logical option. Louis doesn't even consider it though, and Harry knows he should be offering him more comfort at a time like this but he's so frustrated and he finds himself not wanting to even be around him so much anymore.

He turns to Niall instead, because he doesn't want to hear Liam's sensible explanation of why this is supposedly the best thing for them in the long run or whatever his reasons are, and Zayn is wise and everything but he doesn't have that pure emotional sympathy that Niall does. It's not that Niall doesn't see where Louis's coming from too, but he finds it harder to engage with, because he loves their relationship so much that he finds it hard to imagine why the whole world wouldn't, why they shouldn't be allowed to see it—and Harry likes that.

He doesn't really want to talk about the interview specifically, because he hates the entire idea and just doesn't even want to think about it, figures he'll deal with it when the time comes. He probably won't say anything at all, he thinks, a little bitterly—he'll let Liam and Louis do all the talking if they're so eager to cover things up, and he doesn't even care if it'll look suspicious. He's always said, right from the start, that he'd never make an outright denial. He won't lie like that. It's not fair and it's not even necessary and he won't do it. If someone asks him outright if he and Louis are dating, he's going to answer them honestly, because he's an honest person and he doesn't have anything to hide.

"It would be so great," says Niall, taking a sip of his beer and changing the TV channel. It's the night before the interview and Harry's over at his place, not wanting to be around Louis and his jitters, and he feels like a dick for it but—he just can't stand it when he and Louis aren't on the same page.

"What would?" he asks.

"If you could just—you know. Announce it and have done with it." Niall's voice is wistful. The two of them get like this sometimes, just kind of fantasising about how it could be.

"Yeah, I know," Harry says with a sigh, swigging from his own beer. It feels almost painful to imagine it right now, because they're so close and yet still so far, but he can't help it. It's always been a tempting place to go in his own brain, imagining a perfect world where management would let them come out and people would accept it.

"Not even just for the relief of finally saying it," Niall goes on, "but so you could be, y'know, a normal couple."

Harry nods. He thinks about it. He thinks about being able to hold Louis's hand in public, going on proper dates, kissing him onstage like he so often wants to when Louis's doing really good during a gig. "Yeah," he says, a little sadly, "and it's not about like, flaunting it, it's just wanting to be—"

"Be yourselves, yeah," Niall finishes his sentence for him immediately; they're always on the same wavelength when they talk about this. It's a conversation they've had so many times that they don't really need to keep having it, but Harry likes to indulge in the fantasy sometimes and Niall is happy to let him. "I mean, even I'm starting to get really sick of this, so I can't imagine how you feel."

He puts a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's heart aches. "I don't wanna talk about that part," he says. "Can we—can we just keep daydreaming?"

Maybe it's not healthy, to keep dwelling on how things could be instead of learning to live with the way that they are, but—he needs this. Tomorrow morning they're going to have to go on TV and break down everything Harry thought they might have been slowly working towards, and tonight—tonight he just needs to escape for a bit, even if the only place he can do it is in his own mind.

"Yeah," says Niall softly, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah, sure."

They've done BBC Breakfast once before, about a year ago now, and it feels strange to be sitting here again in such different circumstances. Management has told them to approach it like any other interview, to be relaxed and calm so as not to give the impression that they're covering anything up, but Louis doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to relax in a situation like this.

Harry isn't being terribly reassuring about the whole thing, either; he's made it abundantly clear that he disagrees with management's plan of action and though he at least seems willing to go along with it, he's obviously not happy. He's barely been around since that initial meeting, and Louis has been left to desperately try and convince himself that it's all going to be fine, or try and get Zayn to do that job for him when he starts to feel the nerves spilling over. This morning, Harry is moody and quiet, and it seems to have been left to Liam to try calm Louis down, probably because he still feels so guilty about the picture, feels like it's the least he can do.

"I think they're right, you know," Liam's saying now, rubbing Louis's back between his shoulder blades in that way that always makes Louis feel a little more settled, evens out his breathing. "I think as long as we just act really chilled about the whole thing no one'll make too big a deal of it. Just act like it's crazy that people are reading so much into this one photo. Remember that time in Dallas when you had to say it was mental that anyone would think you two were together? You were so good then. Really convincing."

"That was different," says Louis weakly. There's so much more at stake here; people actually have evidence.

"And remember that time Zayn told a magazine that he'd kissed me?" Liam goes on, obviously desperately searching through his memory for reassuring past experiences. "People accepted that that was a joke. Maybe we can convince everyone that we all make out all the time and it's just us being weirdos."

Louis doesn't bother responding to this; his mind is working too fast for him to organise his thoughts into proper sentences. Liam just pulls him into a tight hug instead of saying anything else, and then someone yells at them that they've got a minute 'til the interview starts.

"You're gonna be great," Liam murmurs, and the five of them trail out into the studio and sit down beside each other on the sofa. Louis ends up next to Harry and he isn't really sure whether that's a good idea—would it be better for them to sit apart, or would that look even more suspicious at this point? They don't have a chance to switch around anyway, because then there's a camera man counting down and the spotlights are in full flood and Louis's heart feels like it's in his throat, a huge throbbing lump that makes him feel sick. He's not sure he can remember ever being this nervous before.

He barely listens to their introduction, so fixated, waiting for that one question—and thankfully nobody tries to pretend like they've got more important things to talk about, Louise jumping straight in.

"Now, you've been the subject of a bit of gossip in the past few days, haven't you?" she asks, smiling with gleaming teeth at them all. "There was a—well, why don't you explain? I'm never very good at keeping up with all the celebrity rumours going around."

"There was a phone hacking, is that right?" Bill adds, looking around at each of them. "Now, which one of you was it—"

"Me," says Liam, actually putting his hand up like he's at school. He laughs a little and doesn't sound nervous at all, and Louis is equal parts jealous and relieved. "Yeah, it was a bit strange really, you don't really expect that kind of thing to happen to you—I was telling the lads it's something you always associate with people like Rihanna and Britney, you know—" he laughs again, and the hosts are obviously charmed by his self-deprecation.

"Well, I'd say you're almost on their level, wouldn't you?" Bill chuckles. "Biggest boyband in the world now, that's what I've heard."

"Apparently phone hacking is a rite of passage, then," jokes Liam. "Anyway, it—it's quite silly, really, there are a lot of blogs and things making a big deal out of it—we were all just messing around one night, and a certain two of us had maybe had a little bit too much to drink—" he nudges Louis in the ribs at this, and Louis tries to adopt a sheepish expression, "and, well, I took a photo that some people seem to think is incriminating for some reason."

Niall and Zayn chuckle a little at this, and Louis joins in, relaxing a bit, glad that Liam has taken the lead.

"Now, what's—this was you and Harry, Louis?" Louise asks, looking Louis right in the eye. "And what was—you were kissing, is that right?"

"Yeah, yeah," says Louis quickly, trying not to be fazed by her eye contact and the directness of the question. He's so good at hiding his feelings, at lying, at acting, but this—he's never had to do it on this level before. "Yeah, it was just a bit of drunken messing around, like, we're all very close mates, and Liam here—" he claps a hand on Liam's back, "—found the moment so hilarious that he had to capture it with his camera phone. Which turns out to have caused a bit of a scandal."

"Yeah, which we're all a bit baffled by, to be honest," Liam continues seamlessly. "The five of us have always been like this and I think the fans know that, but I guess if something's taken out of context it can look a bit odd to the general public."

"People sometimes read too much into things, you know," Zayn speaks up with a shrug.

"Yes, especially when you're in the public eye as much as you lads are," Bill agrees, and Louis is endlessly thankful that they're not grilling them about this.

"Well, I applaud you," says Louise, grinning. "It's nice to see young men so comfortable with each other, I think. What's a drunken snog between friends, after all?"

"Not sure if I'm close enough to any of my friends for that," Bill says with a wink, "but I don't think it's something that ought to be judged, seems you've got the right kind of attitude—"

"It's not quite like that," Harry says suddenly, his voice low and almost threatening.

The others all turn to look at him, startled.

"What's that?" Louise asks, smiling, bemused and oblivious.

"A drunken snog between friends," Harry repeats, and he sounds scathing, and then for a long moment he doesn't say anything more and it's awkward, it's so awkward, and Louis is terrified of where he's going with this, because now is really not the time to get offended at someone belittling their relationship—

Liam is just about to speak, gets a syllable out, but then Harry is talking over him. "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore," he says, and it comes out in an angry rush. He takes a deep breath, slides his hand onto Louis's knee. "We're together. We've been together for a long time." There's a moment's stunned silence, all round, and Louis wants to laugh, wants to make it seem like he's joking, but somehow he knows it's too late now, there's no turning back, this is going out live and none of them can take back those words. "I'm—I'm sorry, I can't—I'm sick of this, I can't—" Harry stammers for a moment, as if he caught himself off-guard, and then gathers himself together with a shaky breath. "I'm not just gonna sit here and act like it's the most stupid thing in the world. I don't think we have anything to be ashamed of."

Another long pause, and Louis feels like the world is coming down around him; he's staring blankly at Harry's face in profile, hardly able to believe that this is happening, that he really said those words.

"Well," says Louise, her voice a little higher-pitched than normal, "well, that's—that's quite true, nothing to be ashamed of, is there, Bill?"

Bill says nothing for a second, obviously stunned. "Sorry, boys, I'm a little—that was a little unexpected, you'll have to forgive us—not every day that we get an impromptu coming-out-of-the-closet on the show—"

Harry gives them a tight smile and finally, finally Louis gathers the courage to look away from him, and immediately the panic flows over him like a wave—there are so many people surrounding them, stunned faces, their publicist Sara white-faced and muttering to a cameraman, and Louis feels like he's going to be sick and he hates Harry in that moment, furious with him.

"Now, er," says Bill hurriedly, obviously listening to something being said into his earpiece, "you're—you're performing at Madison Square Garden soon, is that right?"

And Louis thinks no, thinks that they can't possibly be, not now, not after this, not now the world is ending. But Liam barrels on, brightly, "Yeah, yeah, December 3rd, it's amazing, really, we haven't quite taken it in yet—"

"And have you started work on your next album yet?" Louise asks, interrupting him, obviously flustered.

"Um, yeah, we've—we've done a bit of—" Niall stammers, and Louis can't even take anything in, barely hearing him, his heart pounding in his ears as he looks around at everybody in the studio, everybody staring back at him, judging him.

Sara is arguing openly with somebody on the other side of the cameras now, and then that person is muttering to someone else, and then suddenly Bill and Louise are wrapping things up, moving clumsily onto a different story while the boys are ushered out of the studio. Louis is in shock, can't find any words to say—to Harry or to anybody, his throat seized up in utter panic. Harry reaches around his waist, squeezing his side, and even though Louis is furious with him he can't shake him off, dazed.

"I'm sorry, Lou," Harry mutters in his ear, leaning right in, lips brushing Louis's skin. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

They're hurried out through a back entrance, and just the thought of all the fans waiting outside the front of the studio makes Louis want to throw up—what are they all thinking? All the people sitting at home, watching the interview as they eat their breakfast—how could Harry do this? The boys are herded into a car and driven straight to management's headquarters, and Louis can't take anything in, his mind and his heart racing, and Harry keeps nuzzling his neck and whispering apologies like a mantra, taking his clammy hand and squeezing, squeezing, offering reassurance that Louis knows will never take.

Management seem to think that if there's no way to go back on this, they're going to take it to the extreme, make the absolute best of the situation that they can. In a way, Harry's surprised he's not in more trouble, but he supposes there's not much they can do—they're not going to fire him, so they just have to try and twist this situation favourably somehow.

The boys are given a story to tell, told that Harry and Louis have only been together for three months—"That means the relationship began in August; remember that, please," says Jonathan with a pointed look at Louis, who's always struggled to remember his and Eleanor's supposed anniversary. Eleanor, they're told, will continue to be presented as Louis's girlfriend, or ex now. Louis had to tweet something soppy to her just a couple of days ago so they can't pretend like they broke up a while ago without telling anyone, he'll have to say he's been cheating on her. Apparently it's better for the fans to believe that Louis was lying to her than to them—management is horrified at the idea of the fans knowing the whole truth, knowing just how long Harry and Louis have been faking for.

"It'll be a little easier to take, if it's just a few months," Sara explains.

"I already said we'd been together a long time," Harry says flatly. Of course he feels bad for the fans, but shouldn't they understand that this isn't his or Louis's fault? If it could all be explained, wouldn't they listen? It's almost like management is more worried for themselves than anything else, more willing to make Louis look bad and it's ridiculous, because isn't the band the most important thing? He wonders if this is a plan they've had in place for a while, in case of emergencies, but it seems a hell of a lot more like something cobbled together in a hurry as far as Harry's concerned.

"Well, we'll just have to hope that people think you consider three months a long time, won't we?" says Sara, a little snappily. "Shouldn't be too much of a stretch, seeing as they've never known you to have a relationship last as long as that."

Harry seethes quietly, thinking about how none of those relationships were even real, that their timeframes were decided—by and large—by Sara herself. But Louis is taking it all in, obviously making little mental notes of all the details, making sure he keeps the story straight. It drives Harry crazy—how can he not want to just tell the truth, finally, now that they have the chance? He knows Louis is scared and he understands that, and he's still sick with guilt over outing them without giving Louis a choice in the matter, but now—now it's done, and he still wants to hide.

None of the others fight back against the blatant lies, either, just listen quietly so that they know the "official story." Jonathan tells them to call their families and close friends so that they know it too, so that they don't give anything away in case nosy journalists come knocking. They're sent home then, and Louis takes his phone out immediately once they're in the car, but Liam snatches it out of his hand.

"I need to call my Mum," Louis says in a weak voice, and Harry knows that telling her the official story isn't the main thing on his mind, knows he wants to speak to her for comfort, out of panic.

"Well, I'm not letting you check Twitter," says Liam, switching the phone off and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

Zayn catches his drift, stuffing his hand into the pocket of Harry's jeans to pull out his phone too. When they reach home, after a journey spent in tense silence, the others march right up to Harry and Louis's flat with them, heading in and gathering up their laptops. Harry can understand it; he knows the temptation to go online would be too strong otherwise. It didn't matter so much when the photo leaked, it was just the usual speculation and arguing that they could brush off, but this—he knows this is going to be different.

"We'll give you them back later," murmurs Liam, pulling Harry close. "Just—leave it for a bit, okay? We don't know what kind of things people will be saying."

Zayn and Niall join in the hug, and Louis is standing leaning against the wall by the door, picking at his lips, staring into space.

"C'mon, Lou," Harry says softly, reaching out, and Louis lets himself be tugged into the huddle, buries his face in Zayn's shoulder.

Liam holds them all tight. "I'm so sorry. We'll get through this," he promises.

It seems so quiet when they leave, empty, and Harry almost wants them to come right back because he doesn't know how to deal with this, doesn't know how to get Louis to understand how sorry he is. Louis won't understand how something like that could have slipped out, because he keeps it locked up tight so deep inside him, covered thickly with lies.

"I'm gonna call Mum," Louis says, breaking the silence. Harry gives him his space, but he can hear his voice coming from his bedroom, growing increasingly hysterical and then going very quiet, and Harry is afraid that he's crying and he wants to go in there, hold him tight and kiss his tears away and promise to make it better—but he doesn't know how.

Eventually the silence lasts so long that Harry assumes the call must have ended, so he slips into Louis's bedroom and finds him just sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Lou," Harry says quietly, his heart aching. He doesn't know what else to say.

"It doesn't matter, it's too late now," Louis says, a little sharply.

Harry goes over, hesitantly, perches next to him and puts his arm over his shoulder. Louis doesn't shrug him off, but it's—it's never been like this, he's never felt like he has to treat Louis delicately, because Louis never shows his vulnerability quite like this, even with Harry. Even when he's cried in front of the others, they've been able to tell that he's holding back, that he was choosing to show his emotions at that moment rather than letting them get the better of him. It's only a handful of times in their entire relationship that he's really shown that he's upset, and it's not enough for Harry to know how to deal with it. Louis is a loose cannon when he's emotional, no one ever knows what to expect—he could cry or scream or get violent, or retreat into himself, making bitchy comments for weeks before admitting that anything is wrong. But he never does this, this defeated pure misery, like he's so distressed he can't even gather the energy to pretend otherwise.

"We can be great," Harry murmurs into Louis's neck. "We can—we can make a difference. We can show all the kids out there that this is okay, that this is—"

"Harry..." Louis says in a small voice, and Harry knows that this is too much for him to think about right now, too big.

The day is spent calling people, and it's awful to have to do it but Harry knows that it's going to be so much worse if they don't. He tells the story over and over, listens to Louis doing the same, hearing his voice crack as he explains. Harry cooks a fry-up for them for lunch, and Louis says he isn't hungry but eats it anyway, in silence, foot tapping against the leg of the table the whole time. They curl up on the sofa together, try and watch some TV, but it's obvious that Louis can't concentrate—he won't stop fidgeting. Harry pulls him close and tries to hold him still, pleads, "Talk to me," but Louis won't, can't.

In the evening Harry cooks again, and then Louis takes a shower while Harry lies in bed, waiting for him to be done so he can hold him again, tell him again how it's going to be just fine. He rolls over, feels something hard against his stomach and fishes out Louis's iPod Touch from under the covers, the headphones still in from last night. They all forgot about it, and he can't resist, has to check Twitter—the main worry on his mind all day has been, what are people thinking? What are people saying? And he knows he shouldn't, but he needs to know; they can't hide from the public reaction forever.

There are five trending topics relating to the issue. His and Louis's names, first of all, and then larry is real, and he doesn't quite know what to make of that, doesn't know if it's positive or negative. The others, the hashtags, are clearer—#worstdayever and his stomach flips when he sees that, and #getbackinthecloset just beneath it. Before he knows what he's doing, he's clicking, scrolling through page after page of reactions, and he can't help but focus on the negative ones, the angry ones, the betrayal and the hurt and the outright viciousness of broken-hearted, bitter teenage girls. In between, there are occasional cries of triumph, people claiming that they knew all along, and it doesn't make Harry feel any better. It almost feels like mockery.

"What are you doing?" comes Louis's voice suddenly, and Harry's head jerks up to see Louis standing in the doorway. "Let me see," he demands, coming over and clambering onto the bed beside him.

Harry presses the iPod screen-down against his chest. "No," he says.

"Harry, let me see," Louis says more firmly, reaching for it.

"Lou, let's just go to bed," Harry pleads, but he's flustered and upset and Louis manages to grab the iPod off him. Harry stares, helpless, as Louis's eyes scan the page and quickly begin to well up.

Harry snuggles close to him, curves his body alongside Louis's as close as he can get, kissing his shoulder. "They're idiots," he promises fiercely, reminding himself just as much as Louis, "they don't know, Lou, they just—"

Suddenly Louis's arm flies out and he throws the iPod across the room, lets it hit the wall. Harry's body jolts and for a second he's frightened, afraid that Louis is going to yell at him, take out all his anger on him for making this happen—but then Louis is curling into him instead, suffocatingly close, hiding his face in Harry's chest and sobbing, open and honest like Harry's never seen before, and he can feel his tears soaking through his t-shirt, and he feels useless and rotten and all he can do is cradle the back of Louis's head and let him cry, murmuring desperate helpless things, shushing him and telling him it's going to be okay—but he's not sure he even believes himself anymore.

The next morning Louis checks Twitter again because he can't help it; he wants to know if anything's changed since last night, hoping against hope that there'll be more optimism this time. There isn't, as far as he can see, but he quickly gathers from his feed that the band's official website has been updated, and he clicks on over there to see a post from management. It's only brief, just affirming what Harry said yesterday, asking for support in these "difficult times," and reminding the fans to treat the boys' families and Eleanor with respect. It also adds that there will be an article about the matter in next week's issue of Hello! magazine, and Louis hates how it sounds like they're urging people to read all the sordid details.

The interview is set up for this very morning, because management are fucking quick with this, wanting to do as much damage control as they can, and because the media is hungry for it, all desperate to get their greedy paws on the story. Louis doesn't think he can handle it; the thought of actually discussing this, with some clueless reporter just eager for the gossip—it makes him feel sick with anxiety, twisting in his belly. He barely slept last night and can't eat this morning—Harry tries to force him to have some cereal at least but just the thought of eating makes him want to throw up.

"I'll do all the talking if you want," Harry promises, cuddling him close in the car.

But they both hesitate when they're asked how long they've been a couple, just because it's so fucking strange to have a reporter refer, in very clear terms, to the one topic that's been completely off-limits for longer than Louis can even remember now. And it makes Louis uncomfortable, so uncomfortable, to have this strange man suddenly asking about what was—until very recently—Louis's biggest secret. And Harry's dithering and it's making Louis agitated, because Harry's supposed to be doing the talking, and before Louis even knows what he's doing, he's speaking.

"Go on, Harry," he says, nudging Harry with his elbow. "You outed us on live telly, I think you can handle a simple question."

It kind of sounds like harmless teasing, but—not really, because it's bitter, and Louis didn't even mean to say it, it just slipped out; he doesn't know how to handle this situation because the whole thing makes him feel so vulnerable and when he feels vulnerable he does everything in his power to hide it, even if that means lashing out. He uses his quick wit as a shield, but the more he feels like he needs it the nastier it gets.

"Don't put that in," says Sara sharply. She's supervising the interview because it's like they can't be trusted now, everybody's scared that they'll screw this up and give too much away. The journalist looks bemused but nods, scribbling something down on his notepad.

"So, er," he says awkwardly, trying to get back on track, "how long—?"

"Uh, about three months now."

Harry speaks over him, and it sounds clumsy and not genuine at all. Louis is the better liar of the two of them, by far. Harry is better, though, at everything else, at discussing their concerns about the fan reaction, and how wonderfully supportive their families and the other lads have been, and even answering the personal questions about how their relationship began while Louis's hands clench into fists.

Louis stays mostly quiet. Every time he tries to open his mouth, what he says comes out harsh and odd and sometimes spiteful. He keeps making jokes about things that he knows they shouldn't joke about, things that aren't even funny, and whenever he tries to direct a comment to Harry it comes out barbed and almost vicious and he's not doing it on purpose, it just happens. The interviewer is clearly uncomfortable, fidgeting with the dictaphone, and Sara has to tell him three times not to print something Louis's said.

The interviewer does not mention Louis's quietness, perhaps sensitive to it, but of course the subject of Eleanor has to come up sooner or later. Louis feels that twist of nerves in his gut again as he tries to look into the journalist's curious eyes, and focus on what management told him, and not make any more fucking jokes because this, this is serious. He's pretending he's been lying to his girlfriend, cheating on her, and he doesn't want to make any of it sound flippant. They need the fans to forgive him.

"I—I'm not proud," he says, and his voice sounds uncharacteristically shaky. "It's—it's awful, really, and I feel awful about it, she's—she's a lovely girl and she didn't deserve—" He makes shit up all the time, why is this so hard? He just keeps thinking about Eleanor, about how she's known right from the start, about how her entire job revolves around knowing, and keeping secrets, and how he has nothing to feel guilty about when it comes to her.

"We would never, ever encourage infidelity," Harry jumps in, seeing Louis falter. "There's no excuse for it, so we're not going to try and make one. We want the fans to know that."

And Louis is grateful and jealous at the same time—he's so glad that at least one of them knows what to say but he just wishes it were him. He's not used to feeling so out of his depth like this, having nothing to hide behind.

As soon as they've wound up the interview, security come in and tell them that the building's surrounded by people, that someone must have seen them going in and the word has spread. Louis swears, kicking the leg of the table, and Harry steels himself, standing up and holding out his hand. Louis takes it, reluctantly, but as they get closer to the door his grip gets weaker and he lets go before they head outside.

"Lou," Harry says softly, reaching for it again, and Louis snatches it away. Harry grabs and holds on tight, because he knows Louis needs this, knows he's just scared—and this time Louis doesn't fight it.

There are actually fewer people than Harry was expecting, but it's still far too many. At first all he can see is paparazzi, their cameras clicking and snapping, and they're surrounded by the sound of yelling and screaming. None of it's new but suddenly it feels it, with Louis's hand sweating in his and everything they've just said to the press still going around in Harry's head. Everyone's eyes are on their interlocked fingers, and security is trying to hold people back and let the boys through, and Louis has his head hung low like he can't even bear to look at what they're facing.

As they move through the crowd Harry suddenly hears a shout, a clear female voice amongst the barrage of questions that all blur together, and his blood runs red-hot. He turns wildly, spots two teenage girls amongst the paparazzi and drags Louis over, shouldering off security's attempts to hold him back.

"What did you say?" Harry snaps.

"Nothing," says the blonde girl, giggling and looking a little taken-aback by his outburst.

"What did you say?" Harry repeats, anger and impatience quickly welling up inside him. He wants to hear them admit it.

"She said 'hi, faggots,'" says the redhead quietly, and the blonde one elbows her sharply in the ribs, hissing her name, but Harry barely even hears.

He steps a little closer to the two of them, squeezing Louis's hand more tightly. "Don't say that," he says, keeping his voice as low and calm as he can manage. "Ever. To anyone. All right?" The blonde one giggles again, more nervously this time, and Harry adds in an undertone, "I'm not kidding."

"S-sorry," blurts the redhead, and, linking her arm through her friend's, she drags her away, off up the street.

The paparazzi are still yelling, bombarding them with questions about their families and Eleanor, things they've just been asked in the interview but so much worse because they're being shouted at deafening volume and every few seconds there's a blinding camera flash, and it's overwhelming even for Harry so he can't imagine how Louis feels. All he can do is hold his hand, tight, like they've never been allowed to in public before, and let all these middle-aged men with their zoom lenses get a good long look.

Security push ahead and Harry and Louis follow, and beyond all the paparazzi they can see more fans—teenage girls staring fixedly at the boys' linked hands, snapping photos on their phones and talking a mile a minute and Harry can't even tell if it's positive or negative or somewhere in between, if maybe they just needed to see it for themselves. Near the back of the crowd, getting jostled by the girls, Harry spots a young boy, maybe fifteen or so—he always zeros in on the guys right away because it's rare for them to see male fans—and he notices that he's clutching a copy of their CD in shaky hands like maybe wants them to sign it. But security guide them right on past, and Harry can tell that Louis doesn't even see the boy standing quietly at the back, thanking them with his eyes, lost in the shuffle.

When they finally get home, Louis crawls straight back into bed. Harry knows how much this is bothering him—not just the violent, intrusive chaos of it all but the way he's reacting to it, the extent to which it's getting to him. He's taking it out on Harry, and that hurts, but Harry can understand it—knows that on some level he deserves it for causing all of this in the first place (though he doesn't regret it, at least not so far). It's how Louis deals, when he's upset. He tries so fucking hard to hide it, covering it with jokes and teasing. And when it's serious it'll be more pointed and unpleasant, he'll focus in on somebody in particular and get cruel. All the boys have figured it out by now and they try not to let it get to them, because it's just a defence mechanism and he doesn't truly mean it, but—this is different. Harry knows that this time, a certain part of him does.

But that just means Louis needs Harry's support and reassurance more than ever right now. Needs to know that Harry isn't against him in this, that he's here and he's sorry and he's going to be right by his side through all of it. He's not the enemy.

"You were great," Harry murmurs, slipping into bed beside Louis now. He's tired himself, emotionally exhausted as well as physically, and it feels good to slide under the covers and curl up close alongside Louis's warm body. "You were so great." He kisses Louis's shoulder. Louis is facing away from him.

"You were so much better," says Louis quickly, voice cracking.

Chapter Text

Louis stays in for the most part after that. Every time he leaves the house he gets swarmed by paparazzi and fans and people he doesn't even want to call fans anymore because the things they say are so cruel that they leave him speechless. He only ever goes out with Harry, feeling safer that way, but it's a double-edged sword and he can't help wondering if he'd attract less attention if he went alone. The worst part is that he doesn't think he's forgiven Harry yet. Sometimes he thinks he has, and then there's another shouted slur or a shove from a stranger in the supermarket, and he can't help but think that if Harry had kept his mouth shut they wouldn't be here. They wouldn't have to deal with this.

But he needs him. He clings to him, because Harry is handling it so well. He knows when to ignore the comments, when it's obviously just delusional young girls who thought they were going to marry one of the boys one day, and when it's something more harmful and dangerous, something Harry need to speak up against. And it's confusing, because Louis is so grateful and so in awe of him, and yet at the same time there's this bitter resentment simmering under the surface that he can't ignore. Harry will hold his hand even if there are cameras surrounding them, and Louis hates it and loves it at the same time—it makes him feel so exposed, but safer too.

Things get a little better with the magazine's release because at least now people have some answers to their questions, but it seems to make people think they're entitled to even more information now, like everything concerning the boys' relationship is up for grabs. And then there are the fans who can tell it's mostly bullshit, the fans who pick holes in the story and demand to know the real truth. Louis stays inside more and more and Harry braves the public on his own, going out and doing their shopping and errands and handling it all so well. It rattles him, of course, and he looks worn-out when he gets back home and often goes quiet, sloping off to be alone—but he can cope with it, and that's the important thing. That's what Louis can't do.

Of course it's not all bad, but even the good stuff is stressful sometimes. There's so much pressure, suddenly, from the LGBT side of things; they want Harry and Louis to be representatives and now it seems like everywhere they go they're being asked for their opinions on political matters. Harry embraces it, wearing his 'Love is Equal' t-shirt far more often now, showing his pride. Officially, they've both come out as bisexual—the true details of Harry's sexuality were deemed "too complicated" by management, and of course Louis can't be gay when they need the public to believe that his relationship with Eleanor was real. And in a way that's okay, because Louis doesn't think he's ready to come out fully yet, doesn't know if he could handle the fan reaction—it seems bad enough already. But he doesn't feel comfortable in the LGBT community if he's still technically lying, still feeding into society's homophobia, and so he has to distance himself from it, and that makes people angry. It seems like no matter what they do, they're upsetting someone.

As time passes, they receive more positive comments. It still doesn't come close to reaching the same volume as the outrage, but it seems like the supportive people are quieter, understanding, and maybe a little bit scared themselves. They approach Harry, mostly—they seem unsure of Louis still, because he's been so tight-lipped about the issue—and every now and then Harry will come home from somewhere a little emotional, and he'll tell Louis about a gay teen who stopped him in the street and thanked him. They still check Twitter, too, and though the majority of their messages are still truly horrible they're getting better at ignoring those, and there will be some gems of support, the occasional trending topic reminding them to stay strong. Larry Fans Have Your Back trends for several hours the day their Hello! issue comes out, and Harry actually cries as the two of them scroll through the related Tweets.

But then, #cheatersarecowards trends too. Louis tries to ignore it—it doesn't even apply to him in reality—but knowing that so many people are judging them for something they haven't even done is so frustrating. Management says it's necessary, that they just can't risk exposing how much fakery goes on in this industry, but it seems unfair that it has to be at Louis's expense, and Harry's—people attack him too, for starting something with Louis in full knowledge that he was still with Eleanor. Harry says it just shows how dumb management is, if they really thought it was a good idea to add even more reason for the fans to turn against the boys. He tries to keep them both strong by telling Louis that one day, even if it's in ten years when they're no longer relevant, they'll get to tell the whole truth. (And Louis wonders how he can say ten years with such certainty, when Louis feels like everything they've worked so hard for is about to fall apart in a single month.)

It's just that none of this is predictable, it's so overwhelming and it's like a rollercoaster—every time Louis is feeling a little better, something comes along to tear him down again, and it can be the slightest thing, just one nasty comment he stumbles across on a Sugarscape article, or something bigger, like hearing that one of his sisters is getting bullied at school now because everyone knows her brother's dating a boy. That's what hurts the most, he thinks, the way that all of this extends so much further than it ever has, that their families and friends and even vague acquaintances are having to deal with the cruelty and viciousness of the public. Reporters keep trying to get exclusive interviews from their parents, and fans hover around outside their homes, shouting, taking out their anger and disappointment on the boys' families.

Eleanor is facing troubles too, always being stopped in the street and asked if she ever suspected Louis was cheating on her, getting barrages of Tweets telling her she should have known and that she was an idiot not to see it. The fans aren't so cruel to her but they're mocking and it seems just as bad, and she's so frustrated by it, calling Louis a few times to rant to him about how much it sucks that they can't just tell the truth.

"Just, whatever you do, don't do one of them shitty tell-all interviews in a gossip rag," jokes Louis, trying to cheer her up. "I Didn't Know My Boyfriend Was Gay, or something like that."

"Oh please," says Eleanor. She laughs, but she sounds stressed and tired, and Louis hates how much this is affecting everyone; it makes him feel so guilty even though he knows deep down they haven't done anything wrong. (He knows it, but he has to keep saying it to himself anyway, repeating it over and over in his head.)

Management want the two of them to make more public appearances, don't want to give the impression that they're hiding away or that the band is going to be less active now. It's convenient, perhaps, that all of this has happened during a quiet period, a bit of downtime—but Harry wonders if it might've been nice to have the distraction of touring at the same time, and a more immediate way of judging the fan reaction. The MSG concert isn't for a while, still, and they've got a signing set up a few days before it but it all seems so far away to Harry.

They attend a movie premiere together, their first official outing as a couple, and it feels strange to go without the others. It's almost like the band has been split in two, now, it's "the couple" and "the other three" and Harry doesn't like it; the five of them are a unit, always have been and always should be, even if the media's focus wants to separate them neatly. The others are pretty much getting sidelined by management, actually, not allowed to mention the boys' relationship at all. None of them really understand it—they get hassled in the street and online just as much as anyone else who has the slightest connection to Harry and Louis, and it seems like it might be better if they were allowed to speak up about it but they're not.

At the premiere, Harry and Louis do a couple of red carpet interviews and Louis is sarcastic and self-deprecating to an almost uncomfortable degree. They pose for photos, and Louis is tense, shrugging away from Harry's arm around him—and it's not even any different from how they've been photographed before, and paparazzi have amassed several pictures of them holding hands by now, but there's something about the statement of it, the reality, the knowledge that now every slightest touch means something. Now everyone sees it what it truly is, when before they could hide behind the guise of intense friendship and simple tactility. Harry accidentally comes across some of the photos online later, and people have noticed how awkward they look together, already speculating that perhaps they're going to break up.

A couple of days later there's a phone interview with Nick Grimshaw and that goes a lot better—it's so lovely to have Nick speaking out in support of them on Radio One, telling them how brave they are and how he's really rooting for them. Nick has known about their relationship for a long time, and even though he's not allowed to admit that on air, Louis is much more relaxed speaking to an old friend, someone he doesn't fear is judging him.

But Louis still can't cope with it all, not really. He's wildly unpredictable lately—even more so than usual—and Harry has to walk on eggshells because he doesn't know how to judge Louis's moods. It's never been easy anyway, because Louis is an enigma even at the best of times, but this has sent him into some sort of breakdown and he will veer wildly from one emotion to the next. In the public eye he still feels so exposed and Harry can't stand it, the way he'll freeze up in front of the paparazzi and sometimes the reporters too. He's never like that, usually. He's always been able to mock people for their stupid or nosy questions, barely giving it a second thought, putting up his defences in an instinctive split-second. But this—this is different. Every time it's mentioned by a stranger it's like they're stripping Louis bare, leaving him with nothing to hide behind. Of course Harry wants him to open up, but not like this, not when he's being forced to, not when strangers are doing it for him, peeling back his layers and prying.

And sometimes Louis will spend hours on end just moping, wandering listlessly around the flat, barely eating and unable to really concentrate on anything. He'll cling to Harry, needy, telling him not to go out. He'll just want comfort at those times, want to curl up together in bed or on the sofa, have Harry pet and stroke at him soothingly and hold him close and not talk unless it's to tell him everything's going to be okay. But it can all turn around in mere minutes and he'll snap, push Harry away, shout at him about how it's all his fucking fault in the first place. Then he'll storm out, go to Zayn's for a bit until he calms down (and he'll invariably not mention any of it again when he comes back, sidling back in all false smiles like everything's fine). Sometimes he'll just needle Harry, making little hurtful remarks all day long until Harry's the one who loses it, demanding to know what his problem is.

"What do you fucking think?" Louis will scream back, raw emotion bursting out of him, and Harry can't stand it, can't stand knowing that he's caused this, that no matter which way he tries to look at it, Louis's hurt is because of him. He tells himself sometimes that this would have happened sooner or later but he knows, knows it's worse that he did it the way he did, without Louis's permission. He knows it feels like a betrayal and he knows that Louis's trying to forgive him but that a part of him can't let go, because none of this is over, because every time someone calls them fags or Tweets at them about how let down they feel, it's like opening the wound up all over again. It can't heal, not like this.

It's getting to them. Harry knew it would. He's tried so hard to be the strong one, to take all of this in his stride, and for the most part he manages it, because he's been ready for this for a long time and there's no nagging fear or worry in the back of his mind that they might have done something wrong after all. No, he loves Louis and sometimes he's so proud of it that a part of him wants to talk about it all day long, wants to answer all those intrusive questions that get shouted at him on the street. Because sometimes it doesn't even matter to him that no one has the right to know—Harry's had to keep his mouth shut for so fucking long that he just wants to say it, say everything finally, tell that stranger about the first time Louis kissed him, tell that interviewer about the first time they had sex, tell that paparazzo about the way Louis still can't stop his face from lighting up whenever Harry says I love you.

And it's so hard to put up with it, to carry all of this on his back—to have to shut up and lie when they've finally been given a taste of what it could be like if they were truly honest instead, and to keep fighting against the idiots that act like he's the worst person on earth for loving who he does, and to try and be so strong for everybody. He has to try to sense out Louis's moods and it seems to be getting harder and harder; there's no pattern where there used to be. He no longer knows when he's supposed to give Louis space, if he should respond to the yelling with silence or with kisses, or whether Louis will welcome Harry's hand down the front of his sweatpants or slap it away.

He tries so hard to do the absolute best that he can, to give Louis whatever he seems to need, but it's just getting so difficult to tell these days and Louis won't talk to him about it. Whenever Harry tries to get him to, he clams up even more like Harry is one of those prying strangers, and it's like a physical ache in Harry's chest because he feels like they're being torn apart by this and that's the one thing he thought would never happen, could never happen.

His Mum suggests he come back home for a little while, and at first Harry is completely against the idea because how could it help to leave Louis, now? To willingly separate themselves when they're already being pulled further and further from each other as it is? But his Mum says it's probably what they need, that the stress of it all is getting to them and they're taking it out on each other and maybe they need a few days to cool off. Harry relents eventually. Part of him wants it, anyway, a guilty part—Louis is driving him mad and just because he deserves it doesn't mean it's pleasant. And he's worried for his family anyway, knows they're still getting hassled and maybe that won't exactly ease off if he goes up to Holmes Chapel and joins them but at least he can help them fight back.

Louis utterly freaks out when Harry tells him the plan. Harry has been supporting the two of them for days now, Louis barely leaving the house anymore. Harry always does all the housework anyway but now he's doing all the errands as well and he does worry that things will completely fall apart without him. At first Louis is angry but it quickly slips into pure panic, and he nestles his face in Harry's shoulder and mutters "Don't leave me," in a voice so desperate that it makes Harry feels sick with guilt.

"Just for a few days," he promises, voice rough as he strokes Louis gently, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I think we need it. Your Mum can come stay, right, 'til I come back? Call her and see if she will? Or you could have the others round every night or go round to theirs so you're not alone."

The suggestions seem to calm Louis down a little, though Harry knows that what Louis really needs is him and it won't be quite the same, won't be good enough. Harry's the only one Louis really believes when he says that things are going to get better, the only one who can soothe him with sex when he's panicking, the only one who can hold him close under the covers until everything stops spinning.

But it's a struggle even for Harry these days.

Jay can only get away from work for a couple of days and Harry is planning to be gone for five, but Louis has quickly turned around on his initial alarm at the idea of being left alone and now assures Harry he'll be fine, and—god, Harry can't stand it, can't stand not knowing what's going on in Louis's head. He's always had at least some idea and lately he just feels like he's floundering, like he can't even begin to predict Louis's reaction to anything. He accepts this, though, glad to think that Louis is at least willing to try and cope—or pretending to himself that he is, which is still something.

But on the day that Harry's planning to leave Louis's mood swings once again and he won't leave Harry alone while he's packing, making stupid snide comments and riling Harry up until he can't fucking take it anymore. He tries so hard just to keep his mouth shut when Louis does this, not to rise to it because he really doesn't want them to fight, but sometimes he can't help it. He doesn't have a proper outlet for his emotions because he's supposed to be the strong one, everyone's fussing over Louis and Harry's not allowed to break down as well because one of them needs to cope. He's had late-night Skype chats with Gemma and calls to his Mum and stepdad that have lasted hours and he's cried at least twice on Zayn and Niall by now, but it's not fair that Louis is allowed to be a mess around him and Harry has to stay stoic and calm.

"You could at least just say how you actually feel," he snaps at Louis as he tugs his suitcase down the stairs, following him into the living room, "if you're mad at me just fucking say why."

Because Louis always seems to do that, starts in at Harry about something completely insignificant just because it's easier for him to pretend that's what's bothering him, so he doesn't have to admit the real reason.

"You know why!" Louis shouts back at him, throwing himself onto the sofa and crossing his arms like a petulant child. And yeah, that's the thing, Harry does know, and Louis's let up his guard a few times now and said what he really thinks, which is why it's so fucking stupid that he still seems to think he's clinging onto some kind of cover. Like Harry doesn't know how upset he really is. It's delusional and it makes Harry feel like Louis doesn't trust him.

"So stop hiding behind excuses!" Harry cries, and he can feel the anger boiling up in his blood just looking at Louis sitting there acting like he's done nothing wrong, like he's some victim of Harry's deliberate cruelty. He keeps going before he can stop himself. "Just stop hiding full stop—hiding how you feel, hiding from the world, hiding in the fucking closet—"

He knows he's gone too far as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Louis's head jerks up and his mouth opens, like he can't believe Harry would even say that, and for a moment Harry sees it, sees how much he's hurt him; the pain is all over his face like he's been slapped and Harry feels awful, but in a split-second Louis gathers himself, builds his walls back up.

"That's rich coming from the person who dragged me out," he snaps. "Not everyone wants to go around flaunting it, do they? Maybe I want to keep it private instead of shoving it in people's faces all the time with t-shirts and fucking bumper stickers. You're not some kind of saint, Harry, just because you've given a few little lesbians a cuddle and told some reporters you support gay marriage. Jesus."

Harry clenches his fists. He knows that's not how Louis really feels and it's so frustrating, the way he keeps dodging the real issue. "You can pretend it's not jealousy if you want, but I know you wish you could go out there and face everyone the way I do every day."

Louis sneers at him. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Shut up, alright?" Harry bursts out, the fury really rising in him now. "Don't act like it's so easy, you don't even do it! I'm the one who's having to put up with it all the time, for both of us, and you get to stay here and avoid it all just because you're scared. Do you think I'm not scared, Lou?" His voice cracks, softens. "I'm scared as shit but I know it's not going to get any better if I just hide under my duvet all day."

Louis's face goes hard; it looks like a conscious effort to avoid letting Harry see that he's upset. "It's funny how you think you've got the right to criticise how I'm dealing with this when I wouldn't have to deal with it at all if you hadn't outed us in the first place." He says it almost airily, like he's trying to sound offhand.

"There we go," Harry sighs. He's glad they've finally got there; now maybe they can talk this out instead of just carrying on with the avoidance. Louis's admitted it before, of course, but it's always been in a sudden explosion of emotion and then he's panicked at the idea of actually going into it, and stormed out before Harry could get any further. Harry goes over to the sofa, slides in to perch on the coffee table, and speaks softly. "I've said I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do. I can't take it back."

"I know that," Louis scoffs. "That's why it's pointless trying to talk about it. It's not gonna change anything."

Harry had gone calm, but at Louis's words he feels the anger trickling back in. "Then you've got to stop punishing me for it," he says tightly. "That's not gonna change anything either."

"No, but you fucking deserve it," Louis mutters, kicking at the coffee table, his arms still tightly folded. He's not looking at Harry at all.

"I made a mistake!" Harry shouts. "I'm not saying you have to forgive me completely but I can't live with you like this, you're making me crazy." He doesn't even mean it to come out so harsh, but it does.

"It's not easy for me either," Louis bites out. "Having to be around you all the time when you're the one who's caused all this."

"It's a good thing I'm going, then, isn't it?" He'd almost forgotten, but it all comes back to him now, that he's going to be leaving, gone for five whole days. He has to get going pretty much now actually, but he can't just walk out on Louis when they're still fighting. He leans forward, putting a tentative hand on Louis's knee, but Louis jerks, shaking him off. "Lou," he says gently, "I'm not trying to attack you, I just—I can't do this. I don't know what you want from me."

"If me being a bit difficult is your biggest problem, you're lucky," Louis says bitterly. "Try and imagine how I feel for once."

Harry is speechless for a moment, so stunned by how little they're understanding each other, and it provokes his temper again, he can't help it. Louis just doesn't fucking see how much Harry's doing for him.

"That's all I do these days," he almost snarls. "You don't even get how hard I'm trying."

Louis sets his jaw, looks up at Harry defiantly. "You wanted this to happen, so fucking deal with it."

They go round in circles, each of them getting more and more aggravated as the fight goes on. It's probably one of the worst they've ever had, because they're not holding back, because Harry physically can't anymore. Everything he's been trying to keep locked inside, all the rage, just explodes up out of him and it comes out brutal. Louis is even worse and neither of them can rein it in, not until they're both hoarse and exhausted and their faces are wet with tears. And that's when Harry realises how late he is, that his Mum is going to worry if he doesn't set off right now.

"I don't want to leave it like this," he says brokenly, trying to pull Louis towards him even though a part of him is still seething, wanting to shove him away instead.

Louis shrugs him off, turns his back on him, heading upstairs without looking back. "No, whatever," he says, and it hurts how well he can do that, make his voice sound like he doesn't give a shit, so easily when Harry feels like his feelings are written all over him, obvious in everything, in the way he talks and moves and the look on his face. "Just go, I don't care."

"I know you do," Harry says weakly, but he feels like he's assuring himself more than anything, and he doesn't follow Louis up, just stands there and watches until Louis is out of view.

And then he wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, gets his suitcase and his keys, and leaves.

It's awful without Harry. His Mum makes it a little better, helping out around the flat and looking after him, but it's just not the same. Harry's absence is like a constant ache and Louis keeps thinking about all the things he said, and the worst thing is that he knows he meant all of them. When they were screaming at each other he really wanted Harry to leave, but now that he's gone Louis can't stand it.

His Mum keeps telling him he just needs to stick it out, that when Harry comes back they'll kiss and make up and everything will be fine. They just need a bit of time apart, she assures him. She tries to get him to go out for dinner with her on her last night there but he won't; he can just imagine them getting hounded in the restaurant and it's bad enough that he and Harry have to put up with that, he won't inflict it on her too.

After she leaves, the flat seems even more empty, and he knows he should probably pop round to one of the others' for some company but he just wants to mope instead, sit around and wallow in his own gloom. There are leftovers in the fridge, meals Harry made for them before he went away, but looking at them just reminds Louis of him and so he decides to live off Pot Noodles and cereal instead.

On his last night alone, Liam shows up at the door.

"You need to go out, Lou," he says.

"Not really," Louis shrugs. "Harry always shops like he's preparing for the apocalypse; we've got tons of food. I could probably survive for a good few months like this."

He tries a grin, but Liam just looks at him with sad, sympathetic eyes.

It's complicated with Liam. He's the one Louis's stayed in touch with the least, the one whose calls he's ignored the most. It's not fair and he knows it, because Liam isn't really to blame. Liam didn't go out and sell the photo to the papers, he just took it because his best friends were in love and seeing them kiss made him happy. And the thing is, Louis's the one who persuaded him to keep it in the first place. Liam's had his email account hacked before so he was wary, but Louis really couldn't bear the thought of the photo being deleted and lost forever. It's so rare for him and Harry to have any real mementos of their relationship. Their Mums have some photos taken with a film camera, the two of them snuggling at various family gatherings, but it's always seemed so risky to have anything more, anything digital. And Liam's the sensible one, and so Louis thought it would be okay and made him keep it. He used to sneak Liam's phone out of his pocket sometimes when he wasn't paying attention, just to look at the picture, to see the way he and Harry look in private, so happy with each other, not having to hold anything back. It was the worst feeling in the world to see that picture on Jonathan's computer and to realise it was being viewed on millions of screens around the world. It was so intimate, so fucking special to him, and now it's tainted.

And maybe that's the worst part, the fact that he knows he ought to be blaming himself just as much as he blames Liam. He knows, if he's really honest with himself, that Liam probably would have deleted it in a moment if Louis hadn't encouraged him not to. But it's easier to blame someone else, someone who's not just a nameless faceless hacker, and there's something that just keeps nagging at him with Liam, like it does with Harry, that feeling of you caused this that he can't shake. And when Liam looks at him with that worried, guilty face it makes him almost angry, because a part of him is glad that Liam's suffering but another part (a much bigger part) can't stand it, can't stand that they all have to be hurting and mad at each other because of something that somebody else started.

"I'm going to take you clubbing," says Liam, kind of decisively, though there's a slight note of questioning in his voice like he's not sure if it's okay to take charge like this. Louis knows that's his way of dealing with things, though; it's like taking their phones and laptops away, taking control of the situation in any way he can that will make him feel better.

"You hate clubbing," is Louis's response.

"Yeah, but you like it, so we're going," Liam says. "Get your jacket on. Oh, and I guess some proper trousers would be a good idea."

"What you trying to say?" Louis retorts, still trying to go for the jovial approach. "Height of fashion, these."

Louis is wearing pyjama bottoms and has been for about three days now. He was sitting in front of the TV watching reruns of Mock The Week when Liam showed up, and though a part of him wants to go right back to the warm comfort of the sofa, he is starting to go a little stir crazy and he misses going out, misses the fun of it, the loud music and the noise and the lights.

"Come on, let's get going," Liam says encouragingly, coming inside and guiding Louis towards the bedroom to change.

Louis stops. "There are gonna be people, Li," he says in a small voice, because he can't pretend—he can't just forget about it and act like he's not scared, as much as he wants to.

Liam rubs his back. "I know," he says, "but we can go someplace weird where people won't expect to see you."

Louis laughs at that, but he is starting to come around to the idea. Maybe it won't be so bad if he's with Liam because people will be expecting him to be with Harry and might be less likely to notice them. He feels a stab in his gut at the thought of going out without Harry, though, not having him by his side to stand up to all the jeers and taunts. But he feels Liam's strong hand between his shoulder blades, soothing and sure, and he thinks about how sick he is of hiding away, and—he knows he can't hide forever.

They go to some bar Louis's never heard of, and it takes an impressively long time for anyone to catch on that they're there. It's a slightly older crowd, mostly people who don't recognise them or don't even know who they are, and Louis relaxes into the scene after a few drinks and persuades a still-sober Liam to come dance with him. He actually starts having fun; it feels kind of like old times, back before they got so popular and they could go for a night out sometimes without being noticed. And it feels especially good after everything that's happened in the past few weeks—it's a relief to just relax, to be in a crowd of people who aren't yelling at him and insulting him and telling him he's broken their hearts. He thinks of Harry and he thinks he'll be proud of him, pleased he's been brave and gotten out of the house, and he decides to phone him when they get home. He'll apologise, explain why he's been so off with him lately, and they can properly talk it all through and make up, and maybe those feelings of resentment will fade.

A song Louis loves comes on and he takes Liam by the hands, trying to get him to dance a little more enthusiastically, and Liam splutters with laughter. He looks so thrilled that Louis is having a good time, and Louis thinks of the calls he ignored and feels awful, because he knows Liam has just been trying to help all this time, trying to do whatever he can to make Louis feel better. And Louis does feel better.

And then someone bumps into him, violently, on the dance floor, elbow jabbing into Louis's stomach. It's not an accident, not really.

"You're one of them gay ones out of that boyband, aren't you?" says the guy. He's obviously drunk, and he looks big and strong and Louis is actually a little scared. He can't help it, he instantly imagines newspaper headlines about homophobic attacks and photos of himself lying beat-up in an alleyway, and he freezes.

But then Liam shouts "What?!" at the guy, cracking up and acting bewildered. "Who?"

The guy's too drunk to persist, luckily, and he just shrugs and then gets dragged away into the crowd again. Louis flashes Liam a grateful smile but—the spell is broken now. Reality has come crashing back down over him. Everybody fucking knows, even middle-aged men who can't remember the name of the band, they still know, and it makes Louis feel sick with nerves again and he feels like he'll never get used to that, the fact that it's not a secret anymore.

"Hey," says Liam, hand on Louis's waist as he leans in, and Louis both loves and hates that he's still willing to touch him like this even in public, even after that—it warms his heart but he can't help but feel like it's a bad idea; it's not exactly going to help anything. "Hey, do you wanna go somewhere else?"

"Home," says Louis, before he even really thinks it through. He just wants to go home again, where it's safe, and he wants Harry to be there waiting for him so he can read out positive Tweets to him or tell him again about the teenage gay couple that stopped him in Tesco the other day to say what a difference they've made. He wants Harry to curl around him and protect him and kiss him and tell him it's going to be okay, over and over and over until he finally believes it.

Liam doesn't argue, can tell from the look in Louis's eyes that there isn't any point. "I'll call a car," he says, already fishing out his phone.

As they make their way towards the door, Louis can feel eyes on him and he can't even tell anymore if he's just being paranoid but he swears people are staring at them now, whispering—he sees one woman hold up her mobile, snap a photo. They hurry out the door and instantly Louis is almost blinded by camera flashes—paparazzi are lined up, waiting. Someone must have spotted them and not approached them, just Tweeted about it and let the news spread. Louis's heart leaps into his throat. He feels sick, so sick of this, he just wants to be left alone. But it's not rage, it's more like defeated acceptance now, and so he just drops his head and tries to force his way through the cluster of photographers with Liam in tow.

"Hey, where's your boyfriend?" calls a voice, a little louder than the others and familiar—Louis looks up and spots the speaker, a paparazzo he's seen before, at least three times now and always more obnoxious than the rest. He looks back down, ignoring him, but the guy persists. "Had a bit of a tiff, eh? Whatsa matter? Not pleasing him in the bedroom?" Louis rolls his eyes and forces his way through; they're almost up to him now. "Hey, which one of you is the bottom and which is the top, anyway? Something tells me you seem like the kinda bloke to just lie back and take it—"

"Hey," says Liam, "leave him alone."

His voice is too gentle to really have any effect and Louis turns to see that he's actually smiling a little, attempting friendliness even when this arsehole's done nothing at all to deserve it. For a second Louis finds himself wishing he was with Harry instead of Liam; Harry, who'd get right up in this prick's face and tell him in no uncertain terms not to speak to Louis that way. He's never really mean about it, just about eight billion times more sure of himself than Liam sounds right now.

"Li," Louis mutters, reaching for Liam's arm to tug him along past this idiot. Liam reaches up to take his hand instead and another series of flashes go off.

"Oh-ho," calls the paparazzo, grinning, "making your way through the rest of the band now, eh? Boyfriend won't be happy to see these, find out you're cheating on him. Once a cheater, always a cheater, though, that's what they say—"

It happens in a flash—Louis feels Liam let go and then suddenly there's commotion; he doesn't see it happen, by the time he turns around the paparazzo is already doubled over, camera swinging loose around his neck and his hands cradling his face. Liam is hissing, rubbing at his fist, and—

"Did you just deck him?" Louis blurts, incredulous, looking from Liam to the crumpled paparazzo and back again.

"Uh—yeah," says Liam sheepishly. The other photographers are snapping away, making sure they've got decent coverage of this development, but at least they've shut up now, stunned into silence. Louis quickly takes Liam's non-punching hand and pulls him along, off down the street and around the corner while the paparazzi are still distracted.

"We probably should've brought security," says Liam in a small voice, still nursing his fist, as they come to rest against a wall and wait for the car to pick them up.

Louis shakes his head in amazement. "Who needs security when you've got Liam Payne?" he says, and faux-swoons. "My hero!"

"Shut up," says Liam gruffly, but he's grinning and Louis sees that he's blushing a little too. "I've never punched anyone before, have you? I didn't realise it would hurt so much."

"You wimp."

"Hey, I just defended your honour back there! I think I even made the guy's nose bleed." Liam goes rapidly from bragging to regret, then, biting his lip and adding, "I hope he's okay."

Louis cracks up, shaking his head. "He was a wanker, Liam. Don't feel bad about it."

Liam still looks a little conflicted, but Louis pulls him into a grateful hug, nuzzling into his chest, and he feels Liam relax against him, strong arms enveloping Louis's body.

"Thanks," he says into Liam's shirt.

"Mmhm," is Liam's meek response.

They cuddle for a bit, and then joke around, Louis winding Liam up by suggesting that the paparazzo might be gravely injured and have to go to hospital. But then Liam starts wondering aloud about how this'll be presented in the press, says maybe they should call one of their publicists and see if they can stop the story getting out. Louis informs him that he could probably punch an old lady and get away with it, and Liam snorts with laughter and then goes sombre, says perhaps it'll be good for people to see just how much the boys are being affected by everyone's negativity, show them that it's not okay and they won't stand for it. And then Louis goes quiet too, and on the journey home he starts to come down from the high of it, the exhilaration of seeing Liam do something so bizarre and wonderful. It was wonderful, and already Louis can feel that resentment slipping away and forgiveness creeping in, the whole incident with the photo fading into the past, but—

There's something about it that makes him feel somehow useless, pathetic, and it's only once he and Liam have hugged goodbye and gone into their separate flats that he really reflects on it and realises why it's bothering him. He should've been the one to punch that wanker in the face. He should have done it for himself, because he was the one being taunted and insulted, not Liam. It's not Liam's job to fight Louis's battles for him, and, he realises now, it's not Harry's either. Louis should be standing up for himself, especially in a situation like this, where it feels like he's had no say in anything that's happened so far. Forced out of the closet by circumstances beyond their control (and Harry, a bitter little part of his brain reminds him) and shoehorned into a story by management, and now he can't even fight back against one guy saying some dickish things; someone else even does that for him.

He can't control any of this, it feels like. It's out of his hands and that's terrifying.

He thinks about Harry, but the idea of calling him seems silly now—Harry probably doesn't want to hear from him. He hasn't tried to get in touch with Louis either, after all. He's probably sick of having to deal with all of this, having to look after Louis as well as himself throughout all this mess, and getting a panicked phone call from Louis at nearly 2am is probably the last thing he wants.

Louis puts his pyjama bottoms back on and goes to bed.

He's woken up by his phone ringing only a few hours later and he startles, sitting bolt upright, brought out of an alcohol-induced heavy sleep. There's something about early morning calls that causes him anxiety now. It's like every time he's woken up by the phone he expects another catastrophe, and as he reaches out for his mobile he tells himself, it's okay, it's okay, it can't exactly get worse.

He's got a few missed calls, he realises then, all from management, and he realises he must not've heard his phone ringing while he was out. His mouth goes dry and his heart starts in on that nervous hammering and he wonders what it could be, what's gone wrong now—and then he remembers Liam punching the paparazzo last night and he relaxes a little. Maybe it's just that.

"Hello?"

"Louis, Jesus Christ, answer your phone," snaps a clipped voice back at him. It's Clive from public relations. Louis doesn't like Clive. He suspects that Clive is homophobic. He always regards Harry and Louis with a faint air of disgust, and never even bothers to try and sound sympathetic when he's barking orders about how they really need to stop sitting beside each other in interviews if they can't keep their hands to themselves.

"He was standing up for me," Louis says groggily.

"What?"

"Liam," Louis clarifies, "when he punched the guy."

There's a pause, and then Clive just completely bypasses the topic. "Have you been in touch with Eleanor? Checked Twitter?"

"No?" says Louis, puzzled, and his stomach twists with the realisation that if this isn't about Liam then he has no idea what it is about.

"She's announced that she was a beard," Clive tells him. "Tweeted it last night. Must've lost her patience, s'pose the girl's been under a lot of scrutiny, but even so, terribly irresponsible. She deleted the Tweets at our request but of course they still got out there."

It's 5am and Louis is still bleary with last night's drinking and lack of sleep, but the words feel like a stab in the gut. "She—what?" he sputters.

"Do you understand what this means?" Clive says condescendingly.

"No, please enlighten me," Louis snaps, losing his patience.

"The fans aren't idiots, as much as they may seem like it sometimes," Clive says. "They've figured out that this means you and Harry must have been an item for at least as long as Eleanor's been on the scene. And they're not particularly happy to find out they've been lied to."

Louis feels sick.

"Anyway," Clive goes on with a sort of long-suffering sigh, like all of this is just such an inconvenience to him, "there's not a lot we can do at this point, can't exactly backtrack on it, so we're working on a statement now to give the press, the gossip blogs, that sort of thing. We're hoping to make it quick and quiet—a brief little apology and we might be able to prevent all this from blowing up."

"But—just a statement? We're not going to do another interview?" Louis doesn't even know which would be better; at least if it's in management's hands entirely then he doesn't have to figure out how to deal with it, but if they're going to tell the whole truth finally he'd kind of like to do it on his own terms.

"We can't afford to wait around, Louis," says Clive sternly. "We need to try and recover from this as quickly as possible before it spreads further. You don't need to worry, we're going to make ourselves look like the bad guys, paint you in a really good light—innocent party in the whole thing, forced into lying to your devoted adoring fans, yada yada yada. You'll win them all back in five minutes."

"But—" says Louis.

"I don't have time to argue," Clive cuts him off sharply. "It's a busy morning."

Then he hangs up.

And—Louis doesn't even think about it, not for more than a couple of seconds at least. He climbs out of bed. He throws on some clothes. He gets a backpack out of the closet and stuffs some more clothes in it. He storms through to the bathroom to get his toothbrush, and then he leaves the flat, and just gets on a train.

Chapter Text

Harry heads back to London that evening, but he's not particularly looking forward to it. He doesn't know which Louis will be there to greet him. It's the longest they've been apart in—ages, Harry can't even remember, and they've probably never even gone more than a day without being in contact with each other since they first met. But Harry didn't want to call, because whenever he and Louis fall out about something it's always Louis who offers the olive branch, regardless of who was in the wrong. It's always up to Louis when they make up. If Harry apologises first, even if Louis's already forgiven him he'll stubbornly leave it for a while before apologising back, and he'll always swing it to make it seem like it was his idea in the first place. Harry doesn't mind exactly, because he understands why Louis does it. It's just a matter of being in control, a way for him to feel like no one has any power over his emotions but himself.

So Harry hasn't called. He's talked to Zayn and Niall a bit, and asked for the news from them—heard that Louis's been in touch sparingly and mostly stayed in, and Harry isn't surprised, but he dreads the thought that, even after five days apart, maybe nothing will have changed after all. Maybe being away from each other won't have made any difference. He doesn't want to go back and find everything the same, but he'd rather that than stay away, of course—he fucking misses Louis more than anything, it feels wrong to have gone without him for so long. He's just so used to hearing the sound of his voice, being able to talk to him and touch him whenever he wants, and the knowledge that the last time they spoke they were shouting at each other weighs heavy on his mind.

He wonders if Louis has forgiven him, wonders if the distance has helped him sort his head out, in the quiet emptiness of their flat, all alone. He wonders if maybe when he gets home, Louis will act like nothing ever happened and it'll all be in the past, or if he'll want to talk it all through. He wishes he could make a guess but it's just so difficult to tell with Louis these days.

He's about halfway home when his mobile rings, and when he glances at it he's so surprised to see that it's Liam that he pulls over immediately. He and Liam haven't really talked for the past few weeks, certainly not one-on-one. It's not anything huge, it just happens that way sometimes; they're close but they're not as close as the others and can cope fine without contact for fairly long periods even if there's no real reason for it. Of course, Harry has to admit there has been a reason lately. And it's silly, because he can't really blame Liam, and yet he always has a little bit. Liam's always seemed like he's on management's side, always used to look disapprovingly at him and Louis when they'd get a little carried away in front of the cameras, and it felt like judgement rather than concern even though Harry knew it wasn't really.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Harry says when he picks up the phone. He doesn't know why he assumes that—Liam could easily be calling for a chat, he often does that if he and Harry have been distant for a while, uncomfortable with letting it go on for too long.

But then Liam says, "Yeah, actually, um—" and Harry's heart leaps into his throat.

"Is it Lou? Is he okay?"

"He's—he's not home," Liam says, uncertainly.

"What do you mean? Where is he?"

"I don't know, Haz," says Liam, and he sounds scared now, and Harry's blood runs cold. "I—I took him out for a few drinks last night and I came by to check on him this morning and he didn't answer the door, and I thought he was just sleeping off a hangover but—you heard about El, right?"

"Yeah," Harry forces out. "Liam, what—"

"Well I was worried, you know, that he might've taken the news badly so I came round again and he still wasn't answering and he wouldn't pick up his phone, and Zayn and Niall didn't know where he was either so I used my emergency key—I'm so sorry, I hope you don't mind, I just thought—"

"No, of course not," Harry says in a rush, because really, like he cares about that right now. The thought of Louis just disappearing like this is making him feel sick to his stomach. What if he's moved out? Just had enough, packed up and left, gone to stay with—with Stan or someone? "Is his stuff missing?" Harry asks urgently.

"S-some of it, yeah," says Liam quietly. "I'm here now and it feels really weird, like he left in a hurry. His—his phone's just lying on his bed and there are clothes missing? But his car is still outside. And I don't, I don't want to panic you, but I rang Jay, and Stan, and Eleanor, and they haven't heard from him either and, I don't know, I thought maybe he'd gone to see you or something, but..." Liam trails off.

Harry is silent for a long time.

"Haz?" Liam asks quietly, the worry evident at the edges of his voice.

"I'm still here," says Harry. "Listen, I'm—I was on my way home but I'm going to turn back, okay? I think he might have gone to the bungalow."

"The bungalow?" Liam echoes, sounding surprised. "Why?"

"I just—I have a feeling." Harry tries to relax, tells himself that's definitely where Louis will be, safe and sound. "I'll let you know, alright? When I get there?"

"Yeah, please," says Liam. "He was okay last night but I think maybe the Eleanor thing really got to him. Still, I didn't think...I wouldn't have thought he'd just...take off."

Harry doesn't really want to dwell on it; he knows he's got another two hours of driving ahead of him for that. "Listen, Liam, I'm gonna set off now," he says.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, sorry, I won't keep you."

"But—thanks, yeah?" Harry swallows. His throat feels dry. "Thanks for letting me know, and for taking him out. I think he really needed that and, I'm sure he appreciated it. And...I do, too."

"It was the least I could do," Liam says meekly, and then, in an even smaller voice, he adds, "I miss you, Haz."

It hits Harry suddenly, his five-day absence, the way they've all been a little distant with each other over the past few weeks, and in a flash he finds himself longing for the way things were before all of this. Maybe he should be thinking back to last month, but his mind takes him even further and he finds himself thinking of the really early days, the five of them splashing about naked in a pool, sleeping on pushed-together airbeds, huddling around a fire. He knew the bungalow was his first thought for a reason.

"Me too, Li," says Harry a little brokenly. His eyes are welling up; the lights of the motorway around him start to blur. Cars slide past him in the night and he blinks a few times to clear the tears. "We'll all do something when Lou and I get back, okay?" He doesn't really give Liam a chance to answer. "I'm gonna go now. I'll text when I get there."

They exchange shaky goodbyes and then Harry's pulling out, driving on 'til he has a chance to turn around, and then heading straight back the way he came. The journey is almost unbearable, just him alone with his thoughts. He stops a few times more to call the bungalow but no one picks up the phone and he hopes and prays that Louis is actually there, because he doesn't even know what he'll do if he's not. He turns the radio up loud but every song reminds him of Louis, and can't drown out his thoughts at all. He gives in, eventually, lets his mind go, and succumbs to the constant nagging of the worries and wonderings.

Harry knew Louis wouldn't react well to the news about Eleanor. Eleanor ensured, in a simple 140 characters, that Louis would no longer have anything to hide behind. He'll have to come out properly now, there isn't really a way around it, and from what management told Harry it didn't sound like they were giving him much of a choice anyway. Harry hates the statement idea, it seems so impersonal, as if they're quietly admitting defeat and slinking out of the ring. At first he thought Louis might be relieved that the onus wasn't on him to announce anything, but of course it's just another event in a long stream that makes him feel like his self-agency is being stripped away. Harry's heart aches. It takes him an hour and forty minutes to get to the bungalow because he speeds for the last part of the journey; the roads are quiet this time of night in the country and he can't stand knowing he's so close and just not there yet.

The key that's usually hidden under the mat outside the back door is missing, and Harry's heart leaps with hope as he presses the bell. But there's nothing. It feels like a long time but it's hard to tell, Harry is bleary from so much driving and the cold November air feels surreal on his skin after being stuck in the stuffy car and he's impatient, ringing again and pounding on the door with his fists and calling out, "Lou, Louis, open up, please, it's me," until finally he sees a blurry shape through the window, growing closer. Harry falls back and the door opens, and he almost sobs with relief when he sees Louis, looking small and pale with a tattered beanie of Harry's pulled over his head.

For a moment they just look at one another; Harry feels like his heart is bursting just seeing him again but Louis looks apprehensive, like he thinks Harry is going to yell at him. And then all Harry can do is fling himself over the threshold and envelop Louis in his arms, the collision of their bodies so forceful it almost hurts, and Harry buries his face into Louis's neck and inhales, smells something sharp and rich like alcohol.

"I'm sorry," says Louis into Harry's shoulder, his voice weak and a little slurred. "I'm so sorry. I was treating you like shit. I know that now, I just—"

"Shut up," says Harry fiercely, grasping him tighter, "just—don't, I don't even care—I was so fucking worried, you scared me to death—"

"I'm sorry," Louis says again, sounding choked.

"Don't," says Harry, clutching at him, breathing him in.

Louis nuzzles into Harry's shoulder, blurts another "Sorry," automatically and then laughs, fighting the urge to apologise, to apologise for apologising, and then Harry is laughing too and they're stumbling, limbs still locked around each other, swaying clumsily.

They part then, but only for a second before they're moving back in to kiss, and Louis's mouth tastes sour but it's him, it's them, and it's been five days, and Harry doesn't want to leave him for that long ever again. He presses him into the counter, kissing him deeply, probably too eager when there are still so many things left unresolved but it's so hard not to and Louis is melting right into it, relieved.

They notice, after a little while, that the door is still standing wide open and moths are beginning to flit into the kitchen. Harry shuts it and traipses after Louis into the living room, where a nearly-empty bottle of red wine stands on the coffee table next to Louis's iPod, headphones tangled and trailing onto the carpet, obviously torn out quickly. It makes Harry feel a little better to realise that Louis might not have been ignoring the phone or the doorbell after all, might just have been too lost in his head and his music until he heard Harry's voice shouting desperately for him.

They fall onto the sofa, cuddling close, Louis's fingers in Harry's hair, and for a while they don't speak again, just needing to catch up on the comfort of touching one another. Harry texts Liam, and Louis pretends not to know what he's doing, obviously feeling guilty and a little embarrassed to think about how much he must have worried everyone by disappearing like that. Harry puts his phone away again and pulls Louis's head into his lap, lets him lie sideways across the sofa.

And then Louis says, in a broken voice, "It's all over, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—I knew it would be, eventually, I knew it would have to end but I just—I didn't want it to be so soon, it feels like—it feels like we were only just getting started."

"Lou, what are you talking about?" Harry asks. Louis's like this when he's drunk, bad at stringing thoughts together and worse still with sentences, expecting everybody to catch his drift anyway.

"I mean, they're not even letting us do an interview or anything, not letting us explain—it's like that statement is just...the end of things. Like okay, you win."

And now Harry does know what he means; was thinking the exact same thing himself. The way management has handled everything has been such a mess, and Harry knew that all along, but it seems even clearer now that the truth has finally come out. If they'd let them be honest in the first place, it might not have been so bad. Louis wouldn't have been shunned for being a cheater on top of everything, and neither of them would have had to keep on lying. It seems like it'll be so much harder, now, to win back the fans' trust—what reason will they have to believe them now, after all that's happened? They still haven't heard Harry and Louis's story, not really, just official statements and other people's opinions and a tale fed to them by big bosses who think they're doing the right thing and just aren't.

Harry strokes Louis's cheek gently, trailing his fingers over his skin. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to reassure Louis when he has the exact same fears.

"And I just—I know I shouldn't have just vanished like that but I don't think anyone gets it," Louis says then, and it kind of bursts out of him like he's been dying to talk about this for a long time but couldn't find the words until now. "I haven't—I haven't had a say in any of this. It's not like I never wanted it to happen but I wanted it to be on my terms and it's just, it's on everybody else's, and everyone's making all these judgements and decisions and I feel trapped 'cause I can't do anything but go along with it and it's just—it's fucking exhausting, Haz." His voice goes from harsh to soft and helpless, and Harry cradles him closer.

"I know." And that guilt is still there, that reminder that he started all of this off, and he's about to tell Louis again just how sorry he is, but it's like Louis's reading his mind.

"I'm not even mad at you anymore," Louis says, "because I get it now, I get why you did it—you felt like this, like I do now, sick of everybody making your choices for you and taking away that control, and I didn't get it before but it makes sense now and I can't blame you anymore."

"You can," says Harry, smiling a little, "if you want. If it'll make things easier."

"It doesn't, though," Louis says seriously. "Me blaming you was turning everything to shit."

It feels like Louis is being entirely honest with him now, and Harry hope it's not just the alcohol, hopes this is really how Louis feels. It's rare for him to open up like this, to say what he's feeling without hiding behind jokes or lashing out. And when it happens Harry has to be quiet, let it all come from Louis, not push him at all and try and keep it light so that Louis feels he can stop easily when he needs to. He has to leave it up to Louis, how much he's willing to say.

And clearly Louis has reached that point now, because he rolls over, burying his nose in Harry's sweater for a moment, and then says, "Liam punched someone. Did he tell you?"

Harry lets out a surprised bark of laughter at the subject change, and something in it is relief as well, he thinks—it's good for him and Louis to talk this out, but it almost feels better to laugh with him again. "No," he says. "Who did he punch?"

"It's probably going to be in the papers," says Louis, not terribly helpfully. "Did you hear about it?"

"No, Lou," Harry tells him patiently. "Hence the question."

"This paparazzo thought I was cheating on you with him. With Liam. So Liam gave him what for."

"Are you having me on?" Harry asks suspiciously, trying to imagine Liam doing such a thing and really, really struggling.

Louis shakes his head. "Uh-uh. It was pretty impressive actually. I wanna see the pictures." He yawns against Harry's stomach, and Harry gazes down at him, seeing how his eyes are beginning to droop.

"You sleepy?"

"Mm."

"Do you wanna go to bed?"

"No," says Louis, stretching a little and then curling up again. "I wanna sleep here."

And Harry is sitting up, and still in his shoes and coat, and he hasn't eaten anything in hours, and he feels like he's still moving from spending so much time in the car—but then he looks around them, at the bungalow living room in the dim light, the familiar shapes and patterns of it, and he doesn't try and argue. He remembers that the very first time he slept beside Louis it was right here in this room, on pushed-together airbeds, with Zayn's knee digging into his back and Niall sleep-cuddling Louis from his other side while Liam was a little way away from them, trying to keep his limbs to himself, still not yet used to the easy affection of the group. And Harry and Louis had faced each other in the dark, silent and staring and smiling until they'd drifted off, and somehow Harry had known, even back then, that it was the first time of so, so many.

"Okay," says Harry quietly, "let's sleep here," and when he looks down Louis's eyes are already closed, his lips slightly parted, his face looking truly peaceful for the first time in weeks. Harry smiles to himself and leans his head against the back of the sofa, reaching out a hand to rest on Louis's chest and feel the soft thud of his heartbeat against his palm.

Louis wakes up with Harry gazing down at him, and he startles. "Oi," he grumbles, "you always watch me when I'm sleeping, it's creepy."

"You're moving too fast the rest of the time," Harry says, grinning. "When you're asleep is one of the rare chances I get."

Louis makes a face at him and then rolls over. His brain feels like it's trying to get out of his skull. He groans. "Fuck, my head hurts."

"You drank a lot," Harry says, but without judgement. "My neck hurts," he adds, bringing a hand up to rub at it as he rolls his head back and forth, grimacing.

"Sorry," says Louis guiltily.

"No, no more apologies."

"None? What, ever? What if I set the bungalow on fire while I'm making you breakfast?"

Harry's lips curl into a smile. "You're gonna make me breakfast?"

"I'm gonna try," says Louis, and then remembers that it's highly unlikely that there are any eggs or bacon in the house. "...Maybe just cereal."

"Not much fire involved there," Harry teases him, and then prods him in the cheek. "Get up, I think my entire lap's gone numb."

They spend the day just relaxing, reconnecting. There isn't much food in the house, just a couple of old ready meals in the freezer and some tins in the pantry, but neither of them want to walk down to the corner shop—it feels so good to finally be alone, away from everything, just the two of them in their own little world without all the chaos. Louis finds that he doesn't even want to check the internet to find out the reaction to management's statement; he just doesn't want to know. A part of him wishes they could just stay here for a few months, living off tomato soup and frozen lasagne and Robin's wine until everything dies down.

They shower together and have a nap in the afternoon, neither of them very well-rested after last night. During the day they keep the conversation light but in the evening Harry asks Louis what he wants the plan to be, when he wants to leave, reminds him gently that they can't stay here forever.

"I was thinking maybe we should insist on doing an interview or something," Harry suggests, and Louis can tell he's being very casual with the idea, not wanting to make Louis feel like he's pushing him into it. "Just like, get the whole story out there, show everybody our perspective. Our version of events."

Louis smiles. He actually likes that idea, a lot. He doesn't know if they'll be allowed, but he definitely wants to try, because it's not fair, the idea of them never being allowed to explain this in their own words. And what's it going to be like at the signing they've got coming up, if they still haven't said anything for themselves? The thought makes the anxiety flare up again, as he imagines streams of fans demanding answers to their questions.

They talk about it, decide that they want the others to be there with them to give their side of the story as well, and that it'd be best to talk to a gay magazine to make sure they're portrayed sympathetically. Louis already feels so much better just discussing it, because it feels like they're finally doing something at last, taking things into their own hands, and it feels like they might be able to salvage this after all.

It's late by the time the conversation winds down and so they go to bed, deciding to call PR in the morning, and tonight they go into the bedroom, remind themselves just how happy they can make each other and how well they know each other's bodies. It's been so long since they've touched like this; ever since everything blew up it's been a desperate thing, for comfort and reassurance or simple distraction, or even a way to work out their anger and the tension between them. It hasn't been like this, slow and content, like they have all the time in the world.

In the morning Harry calls their nicest publicist, Pippa, and explains what they want while Louis sits beside him and listens with his head on his shoulder. Harry is very mature and sensible with it, not letting himself get too emotional in case that means he'll be taken less seriously—but he does tell her quite honestly how much damage he thinks management's approach could do in the long run, and the problems it's already caused. Pippa is sympathetic and says she'll see what she can do, and Harry makes it clear that if the answer is no, they may well go ahead and do it anyway. Louis smiles at him, surprised, when he says that, proud of Harry's courage and determination, and it works. It works. Pippa calls them back to tell them there's an interview set up with Attitude magazine in a few days, and tells them wryly that they'd better come back to London in time for it.

They leave the bungalow then, ready to face the world again, and drive back home singing along to the radio and stopping at a KFC for lunch. The services are mostly empty and Louis feels safe taking Harry's hand as they walk in, and he forces himself to fight the urge to let go when people look at them, tries to stare them down defiantly the way Harry does with such ease. A couple of people ask for photos—one of them doesn't even mention any of the recent drama and the other just says quietly that she's so sorry for what they've been going through lately.

"Guess that statement can't have been too awful," Harry laughs as they head back to the car.

"They're probably all just relieved I'm not really a cheater," Louis chuckles.

Back at the flats, they go over to Zayn's for a movie night with the others, and it feels better than it should, perhaps, for something so simple and familiar. The five of them drink beer (even Liam has a little) and sprawl all over each other and don't talk about anything serious whatsoever, and it just feels so good. Louis has this urge to thank Zayn and Liam and Niall, for standing by him and Harry in constant quiet support and always being there when they're needed, but he doesn't want to say it out loud, doesn't want to turn the situation too serious when it's so relaxed. He thinks that this is enough anyway, this return to their own version of normality. They've been too caught up in the turmoil of everything else to even realise how much they've missed it, but they're eager for it now, melting into each other on Zayn's sofa, their reunion somehow frantic and peaceful at the same time.

The interview goes even better than Harry expected. The journalist, Dave, is close to their age, friendly and understanding, and he's followed the story so far so he knows what he's talking about. He doesn't pry, but he doesn't shy away from any of the important questions, and he gives them plenty of time to speak and to steer the conversation when they want to.

"First things first then, lads," he says as they settle on the sofa in front of him, "how long have you been together?"

Harry reaches out and take Louis's hand. "Pretty much since we were on X Factor," he says, interlocking their fingers, and Louis gives him a little grateful squeeze, the physical contact making him relax a bit more. "Like, not officially," Harry adds, "but that's when things kind of started. We always say we've basically been together since we met, in one way or another."

"Love at first sight?" smiles Dave.

Louis groans. "Don't put it like that, it'll sound so soppy."

"It is soppy," interjects Liam. The others are all sitting round a table on the other side of the room, getting on with their own stuff, mostly just here for moral support.

"You were all over each other from day one," Niall chips in.

"Bringing them was a mistake," Louis mutters to Harry, but he's kidding, grinning away.

Dave tries to get things back on track, but he's clearly kind of charmed by them all. "So it was a management decision to have you appear with girlfriends, right?"

Louis nods, shifting uncomfortably. Harry knows before he answers that he's going to be a little evasive here—he hasn't spoken to Eleanor since she announced the truth, and even though it's turning out to have been a good move, Louis still hasn't forgiven her just yet. Harry's not sure if he will. The two of them were good friends, but Harry couldn't really imagine them hanging out under different circumstances.

"Yeah," says Louis. "I mean, we're not going to put all the blame on our management, that wouldn't be fair, 'cause weren't actually forced into anything. We agreed to go along with it because we were told it was best for our career. I wasn't happy about it—I hated having to lie to everybody—but El and I got on well and it just seemed...necessary, I guess." He's gone a little solemn, and there's a slight pause. Then he nudges Harry with his elbow and adds, "Harry put up a bit more of a fight though."

Harry laughs, not minding that Louis wants to take the pressure off himself for a moment. "Yeah, they mostly just had to vaguely link me with women in the tabloids," he says, "I was less willing to actually date them."

"He's a rebel," Zayn jokes.

"But there was one woman," says Dave, "I'm sorry, you must have thought this was all in the past now, but I'm sure everybody's dying to know—what about Caroline Flack?"

Harry smiles. He was expecting her name to come up. "We were just really good friends," he says, and the boys all hoot with laughter hearing him say that sentence for what feels like the hundredth time, but in such a different context now. "People started misinterpreting our relationship, and it was decided that might not actually be a bad thing...for both of us, you know."

"Turned out better for you than her, though," Louis points out mischievously.

"Yeah, the reaction to that really made management nervous," says Harry, serious. "I don't think anyone expected the public to be so like...disrespectful about it, and it made us all think, if that's how they react to this, how would they react to the truth, you know?"

Dave nods, listening intently. They're not actually allowed to say too much about all the lies and cover-ups, because they've already exposed a lot about how the industry works and how dishonest it is, and management isn't exactly pleased about that. But it makes so much more sense to do it this way, at least as far as Harry is concerned, because it doesn't actually matter that much if management comes off badly. The supportive fans have had issues with them from the start anyway, and this way Harry and Louis's relationship is shown for exactly what it is: two people who just love each other, in an industry that won't allow it.

So Harry says, "There really is a lot going on under the surface, hidden from the public. And we don't want the fans to blame us, but we don't want them to turn against management either—like, this hasn't been handled in the best way—" Niall snorts and Harry shoots him a glare, but he can't help but smile; it feels so much better having the guys here to lighten the mood, "—but it's not any one person's fault. It's society's fault. And that's why it's so important to me that we really stand up and talk about this, because hardly anyone does, and nothing's going to change if we all keep quiet."

Dave nods vehemently at that. "Of course, absolutely," he agrees. "Would you say that you've been ready to come out for a long time? It seemed from that initial BBC Breakfast incident that the frustration had been building for a while."

"Yeah," says Harry. "Quite a while, yeah. It was kind of a problem, because it wasn't just that we weren't allowed to. Louis wasn't ready. And I never would've—like, if I'd been thinking, I never would've said anything, because the way I did it was just—"

"Dumb," Zayn cuts in helpfully.

"Thanks, Zayn," says Harry flatly, and the interviewer chuckles. "No, but it was pretty dumb. It was just the pressure of the whole situation, you know. We're under so much scrutiny that we had to make so much effort to hide, and that just..."

"It gets to you after a while," Louis says. "Like, I'm not gonna act like I was fine with it, but I do understand now. I mean, I was frustrated too. We couldn't even go out for dinner together without arriving and leaving separately, and hiding out in private rooms. We both felt really like, trapped. But Harry especially."

Dave nods. "And what's—if you don't mind me asking, how would you define your sexuality, Harry?"

"Uh," says Harry, "I kind of don't, really, but I guess if I had to put a label on it—and society kind of says that we have to—I'd say I'm pansexual."

"Except that no one knows what that means," Liam calls from the other side of the room, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I was told to say I'm bisexual just to make it easier to understand, but like—I think a lot of people do that, and it doesn't make much sense because no one ever will understand if no one talks about it."

"It's just attraction regardless of gender, right?" Dave checks.

Harry nods, and then turns to look at Liam. "See, Li, not that complicated." Liam makes a face at him.

"And...Louis?" says Dave. He says it in a way that suggests he kind of already knows, which Harry supposes makes sense—there's always been a bit of speculation, and rumours in the journalism world, and now that the truth about Eleanor has been revealed it seems like people are just kind of connecting the dots.

Louis nods, squeezing Harry's hand just slightly. "I'm gay, yeah," he says, looking Dave in the eye, and Harry's heart swells with pride at the bravery of it, hearing him say it to this stranger without missing a beat.

There's a brief moment of silence, and Harry expects Louis to make a joke or something but it's actually Dave who cuts the tension, saying "Me too!" and reaching out for a high-five, giving Louis a goofy grin. They all laugh and Harry can feel Louis relax beside him, hand going looser in his.

"Sorry. That was probably unprofessional," says Dave, still laughing, shaking his head. "Right," he checks his notepad, "and when did you both become aware of your sexual preference?"

"I just kind of always knew, really," says Harry with a shrug. "It's hard for me to like, pinpoint it, because I never had a moment of, you know, oh my god, I like boys, or...it was just kind of always there. I never had that big revelation."

"I did," says Louis quietly. "I pretty much had no idea 'til I met Harry. I just never questioned it."

Dave nods sympathetically. "Do you think that could be why you've struggled a little more?" he asks. "Sorry, if that's too much of a sensitive subject—"

"No, it's okay," says Louis, and Harry can't help but be surprised—the interviewer even gave him a way out and he chose not to take it. "I mean, yeah, definitely. I hadn't really had a lot of time to come to terms with it just like, in myself, and suddenly it was something we had to talk about with all our bosses, and I mean—of course there were a lot of sensible reasons behind their decisions but it always felt a bit like the subtext of it all was like, you know..."

"Like, 'your sexuality is a problem,'" Harry cuts in, seeing that Louis's not sure if he should say it. "Which is obviously gonna like, have an effect, if you've only just realised you're gay yourself, you know? I think a lot of people didn't really understand that. Like, people who sort of suspected all along or whatever, they just wanted Lou to come out—they wanted us both to come out. Which, I mean, I think that's fair in some ways, because it's frustrating to think you're being lied to, and in our like...age demographic or whatever, there really isn't enough representation of anyone who's not straight in the media."

"Very true," says Dave. "And, you've brought up something else I was going to ask about, there—a lot of your fans do feel like they knew, don't they? It's interesting, there was a lot of speculation long before anything came of it, and I hate to bring up 'Larry Stylinson' at this point, but—"

Louis laughs. "We knew it was coming."

"I'm predictable," Dave shrugs, grinning. "But did that help, at all, to know that so much of your fanbase supported your relationship? Even before they knew it was a relationship? Or did it all feel like a bit of a joke?"

"Kind of a combination of the two, really," says Harry. "Obviously it was better to have people talking about it positively than negatively, but yeah, we could never really tell how serious it was. We did come across some discussion on the internet between people who were absolutely convinced and that was—"

"Disconcerting," Liam cuts in, and Louis throws a cushion at him.

"But it was a good way to like, try and work out how people might react when we finally told the truth," Harry goes on. "It was so hard to tell, you know, beforehand. I mean, that's why management was so scared—the uncertainty combined with the level of our success, it could have been a total disaster."

"And how do you feel about the actual fan reaction?"

"Well, it hasn't been a total disaster," says Louis. He does seem to be slipping into jokes whenever he feels a little uncomfortable, Harry notices, but there isn't that undercurrent of bitterness or self-deprecation that there was before, it's just Louis being Louis and he's handling this all so brilliantly. Harry kind of just wants to kiss him right now and tell him how well he's doing, and he tries to quash that urge and listen to what Louis's saying instead. "It's been difficult. A lot of our fans are really young and just don't quite understand the whole issue, and..."

"And I suppose a lot of them believed they were going to birth your children one day," chuckles Dave. "But there's been support, right?"

"Yeah, definitely," says Harry. It seems right to take over from Louis here. Louis still hasn't had as much experience of the supportive fans as he has; he's mostly just seen Tweets and fanmail and Harry knows he finds that difficult to connect with. It's seeing someone's face that makes it real, hearing their voice. "Yeah, every time someone tells us what a difference we've made, like, that we've made them feel more comfortable with themselves, that's just—I mean, you can't beat that. That's the point, really, of everything."

"Harry gets emotional about it," Louis says conspiratorially to Dave, but Harry can tell he's just feeling a little uneasy with the topic, knowing how much more he's focused on the backlash than anything else.

"It's hard not to, to be fair," Liam adds, and they look over at him, see that he's turned around in his chair to listen now and talk to the interviewer. "I mean, I get emotional about it too sometimes. Like even just reading through the positive Tweets it's like—I don't know, I guess it's because the three of us have been with them from the start and seen their relationship grow, it's something that's so important to us and to see people accepting them and standing up for them is great." Dave nods, and there's a slight pause in which Liam looks sheepishly at Harry and Louis. "Sorry. I'm just hijacking your interview here."

"No, it's fine," says Dave. "I wanted to get a word from you lot, actually because you have kind of a unique perspective. You've been there from the start like you said, but you're also still outsiders at the same time."

"Yeah," says Niall. "It's been really difficult, because obviously all we've wanted is for them to be happy—"

"Awwwww, Niall," Louis coos, and Niall chucks the cushion Louis threw at Liam right back at him.

"—but there's been, you know, so much drama obviously."

"Yeah, it's just something we've had to be really aware of, like, constantly, you know—making sure it was kept secret, always keeping an eye out for cameras and stuff," Zayn joins in. Then he pauses for a moment, considering things. "Actually, it's gonna be such a relief not to have to do that anymore."

"I was thinking that," laughs Liam.

After the interview the five of them go out for a meal and drinks, to celebrate. They get a private room in the restaurant so that no one will bother them, and stay for hours, and Harry hasn't seen Louis this happy in such a long time. It's like a real weight has been lifted, he is free and relaxed and maybe it's just the alcohol and the high of finally telling the truth, but Harry feels like they can face anything now, like they can take on the world if they have to.

Their issue of Attitude comes out a few days before the signing, and it's so popular that by the time they sidle down to WH Smith to get a copy for themselves, they've all sold out. They bump into a girl on their way back who's just bought it, and she's reading as she walks, winding a jagged path down the pavement. When she spots them she's so startled and overcome that she looks like she might cry, holding back the tears while they sign the magazine for her.

It's just a small taste of what's to come—the signing is absolutely full of such occurrences. Louis says he thinks he's autographing more copies of Attitude than their album or DVD. There are still a lot of people who don't mention it, a few girls who are giggly to the point of seeming a little malicious and the occasional muttered insult, but Harry won't let it go ignored and—to his pride—the others don't either. He hears Zayn giving one girl a quiet talking-to, and even Liam, who usually has a constant beam plastered across his face during signings, staunchly refuses to sign a copy of the magazine that has rude commentary scribbled all over it.

So many people offer their support, though, and it's hard not to get emotional themselves when the boys come up to the table—more boys than they've ever had at any signing before—the shyer ones just giving grateful smiles, the more confident ones letting Harry and Louis know exactly how much they've helped them, made them feel like they're not alone. Harry squeezes Louis's hand, seeing how he's trying to keep his cool about the whole thing and be casual, but afterwards when they're back home he's dazed with it, overwhelmed. Harry is so thrilled that he finally sees, sees how wonderful this is, what a difference they've made. It doesn't mean it's going to be easy from here on out but it's getting better, so much better, and Harry's just glad that Louis knows that now, understands the good in this.

They hear through the grapevine that a significant number of people decided to sell on their MSG tickets after the news first broke. It's crushing, but apparently the tickets barely stayed on sale for any time at all, were all snatched up almost instantly until all the seats were filled again. Management has tried to keep it from them, not wanting them to be discouraged by the news, and that seems fair because Louis can't help but let it bother him—knowing how many people didn't even want to come see their concert anymore just because he and Harry are together. But he reminds himself that for every fan they've lost, they've probably gained a new one, and that the fans that have stayed with them are the ones who really matter.

"Don't want homophobes for fans, anyway," as Harry puts it. "I'd rather every single person in that arena is happy that I love you."

As they gear up for the concert, Louis gets more and more nervous. Harry keeps telling him to remember the signing and how well that went, but there's a difference—talking to the fans one-on-one is easier somehow than facing them in an enormous crowd, and he keeps having stupid anxiety dreams where they're greeted with booing instead of the usual cheering and screaming as soon as they step onto the stage.

He's still not completely comfortable with behaving like a couple with Harry in public, too—not because he's ashamed but because it just feels so strange, after so long of consciously hiding it, to be allowed to walk down the street holding hands and to know that they've already dealt with most of the fallout. Sometimes Harry will fumble with Louis's hand for a moment like he used to, when he'd reach for it in front of people and then catch himself, and sometimes Louis will flinch away on instinct, but they laugh about it, knowing it's simply habit. Louis still feels uneasy with the amount of focus that's on their relationship, though, the media talking freely about them as a couple now where only Sugarscape used to, and even then only when they could keep it hidden behind jokes.

And Harry gets carried away sometimes—well, they both do, they always have, but Harry is worse onstage, caught up in the adrenaline. Louis can't help but worry that he'll go further than Louis is comfortable with, and he wants to say something but he doesn't want to hurt Harry, doesn't want to say don't kiss me in front of everyone, okay? because it sounds so awful. He just hopes that they're on the same page instead, and Harry does seem a bit nervous too—they all are—because there's so much pressure anyway, this being the biggest concert they've ever done, on top of everything else.

There's another blow when they arrive at the venue on the night. They're on their way when Paul gets a call telling them to avoid the front of the building if they can, because there's a protest going on outside. Some Christian group, apparently, mostly older women who don't want anyone's teenage daughters (or sons, for that matter) going to see a boyband if two of its members are a couple. Harry just scoffs, staying strong.

"The fans'll be fighting back against those idiots as we speak," he says confidently. "I bet you anything."

Liam is worrying his bottom lip, peering out the window for the rest of the journey even though they're nowhere near yet, like he's on the lookout.

"Don't know what you're gonna do if you spot any stray protesters anyway, Li," says Zayn, nudging him in the ribs. "Spit your gum out at them?"

"And then apologise right away, most likely," Harry adds with a grin.

Louis laughs but it's feeble and he's distracted, thinking about how there's enough people who have a problem with his and Harry's relationship that they can form an entire protest about it, make signs and stand outside the arena for hours, trying to discourage people from going in. And what if it works? What if they scare everybody away?

Harry links fingers with him, and Louis nestles their hands together gratefully, but he can't make himself join in the conversation that Niall's starting in an attempt to take everyone's minds off the issue. When Louis is worried he goes quiet. He can yell or cry or fake enthusiasm if he's stressed or upset, but worry makes him just sink into himself, tune out, and the others all know that by now because it's one of the rare behaviours he has that's actually predictable.

They have to swing round the side of the building to get to the stage door, so they don't pass the entrance directly, but they can still see the crowds outside the front. Louis only catches a glimpse and then suddenly Harry's hand is over his eyes, and a part of him really wants to look but he trusts him, lets his eyelids close under Harry's palm as he takes a deep breath.

"Doesn't look that different to anywhere else we've played at," Harry says.

"Yeah, just looks like people queuing up waiting for the doors to open," Niall adds, trying to sound cheery.

"It's not, though," Louis says in a small voice, and as they turn the corner Harry takes his hand off Louis's face and snuggles into him, kissing his neck in reassurance.

Louis's not sure he's ever felt more on edge. It's even worse than before the interviews, because this feels like it's really make or break now. If they go out there and their audience rejects them, that's it. He's not sure they could ever recover from that. And before, he could tell himself those thoughts were ridiculous, but now, with a protest going on outside, it doesn't actually seem that implausible. It doesn't help that he can sense the others' unease, either. He kind of shuts down, all through soundcheck and while they're getting dressed—he goes through the motions but his brain's not there, knotted up with nerves, and whenever anyone tries to talk to him he just wants them to stop because he can't focus on what they're saying, too preoccupied with his anxiety.

By the time they're about to go on he's already half-convinced himself that they're going to be greeted by an empty stadium, and he's lost sight of whether that's a rational fear or not.

But then they get closer, and they hear that familiar sound, the excited screams of the fans waiting for them and counting down. They grin stupid relieved grins at each other and when Louis holds his breath and runs out onto the stage with the others, the joyful shrieking only gets louder. It makes him feel like his heart is going to burst; he's never been so happy to hear that ear-splitting noise.

There are usually banners about him and Harry but tonight it seems like the crowd is full of them. The silly Larry Stylinson ones mean so much now, and he feels suddenly overwhelmed at the realisation that so many of their fans have supported their relationship right from the start, that not all of them treated it as an amusing exaggeration, that some of these people knew even before they were told, and stood by them every step of the way.

He tries to gather himself together but it's a struggle, especially when they start singing. He can't focus on the lyrics because there's too much going on, out there in the crowd and right here in his head and his heart. He can't take his eyes off Harry, so caught up in this, in the openness of it, something he never imagined himself being able to fully enjoy. He keeps trying to look away from Harry, to sing out to the fans instead, but he can't help it and Harry is grinning like a fool and gazing right back at him. Niall makes a comment into his mic between songs about how everyone's just going to have to put up with the "lovesick puppies" and the crowd goes fucking wild.

They try to keep a bit of distance between them, though, more aware of their interactions than usual. Louis thinks of all the times they've whispered to each other onstage, exchanged subtle touches, that time Harry kissed him on the cheek in Brisbane in April, and he wonders how they could be so obvious when now it feels like these little glances are the most blatant thing in the world. But there's something about it, something about putting his love on display like this, that feels good—not just a relief, but a pleasure, as well. He loves Harry and he's proud of it, why shouldn't these people get to see that?

When they get to More Than This, Harry comes a little closer to him, hovers nearby as Louis's verse approaches. He's so hyperaware of Harry beside him that it's even harder to concentrate on singing and he's sure his voice is wavering. Harry ducks behind him and Louis tries to keep his voice under control, wondering what Harry's doing and why he's trying to distract him, especially during this solo which he always gets kind of insecure about anyway—and then he feels Harry's arms wrapping around him from behind. He does it just as Louis sings "...in his arms, I get weak," and then Louis can barely sing his next line at all, laughing, leaning back against the warm strong feel of Harry's body holding him. Harry's chin is hooked over his shoulder and Louis relaxes into his arms, not even caring if it looks like he's swooning. Zayn is so busy laughing at them that he almost misses the intro of his own verse.

After that, they can't really stop looking at each other, and Louis doesn't even let himself worry about what if every show is going to be like this from now on, what if they get too fixated on each other and the others get sidelined—because it doesn't matter right now, tonight is what matters, the freedom and the joy of it, nothing else.

They do Stole My Heart for the encore, which they're all a little unsure about because they don't usually play it live, but Harry breaks the tension when—to everyone's surprise—he changes the lyrics in his verse, sings "It took a minute, boy, to steal my heart tonight," with a knowing grin on his face. The audience goes crazy, frantically checking with each other, did he really say that? and Louis sees Liam throw up his hands but he can tell the whole despairing thing is an act—Liam's grinning just as wide as the rest of them.

"Been waiting for a boy like you," Harry sings, beaming, and he does it with every one of his verses, again and again, pointing at Louis and unable to wipe the smile off his face. It's almost too much but Louis can't help but love it, the ridiculous romance of it and the statement. He loves him so much it hurts. All the time, really, but especially right now. His heart feels too big for his body, hammering against his ribcage, and it's no longer just because of nerves.

The song comes to an end and the boys all slip into place in a row, arms around one another for their bow—but Louis feels like his heart is going to beat right out of him as soon as Harry's hand settles on his hip and he's dizzy and smitten and before he even really knows what he's doing he's pulling Harry into his arms. He means for it to be a hug, maybe, but somewhere along the way their lips meet and Harry makes a surprised little noise and smiles against his mouth and then that's it, they're kissing, in front of twenty thousand people. The boys are laughing and shaking their heads and the audience is screaming deafeningly and making sure they're getting this on their cameras, and Louis doesn't even care. Let it be all over Youtube by tomorrow morning. Fucking let it.

They break apart, stumbling a little, and Louis tries to recover from it but he can't, all he can do is stare at Harry's face, the way it's lit up like that, gorgeous and stunned and thrilled. Liam clears his throat, says something to the crowd that sounds like "Er, please excuse them," along with an awkward laugh. Louis finally manages to tear himself away from Harry in order to pounce on Liam, tickling him and making him squeak into his mic and then drop it on the floor when the others join them instantly in a clumsy group hug, limbs everywhere.

Over all the noise around them, Louis hears Zayn say, "You idiots."

And maybe he has a point, because okay, they might be out now, but they're not sure how public their displays of affection are actually allowed to be and you can't get much more public than this. Zayn's voice is fond, though, and Niall is ruffling Harry's hair, and Louis hears himself force out, "Couldn't help it," as he pulls Harry closer.

They cling to each other, and their tight huddle seems so small, centre stage in this vast stadium, just five boys feeling like they're being watched by the whole world. They can't ignore the crowd; that constant screaming always demands to be heard. It's a sound that's followed them for more than two years, but Louis doesn't think it's ever symbolised support quite as much as it does right now. He buries his face in Harry's neck, his cheeks flushed hot as he tries to hide his smile.

And then he realises there's no reason to hide it. He can show everybody just how happy he is, without shame, and maybe they've still got hard times ahead of them but—here, in this moment? There's just blissful relief.