Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey, boys! Had a meeting with Jeff recently. How’d you all feel about a reunion tour next year? Not anything super long, just several months to give a chance for fans to hear us perform our hits together one last time!

Louis was, to put it lightly, completely fucking appalled by the text Harry had just sent to their old group chat. One that had been mostly dead for years. Like a digital ghost town made up of poor, sick souls too tired to face the existence of one another, kicked back to life by Harry’s overly animated message. 

It’d been forever since anyone had interacted with the heavy space. (Sure, they’d sometimes say hi now and then, occasionally one of them would send a professionally cordial “Happy Birthday” message, maybe a gif of snow during Christmas time.) But, even those messages were few and far between. And after Liam had passed away several years ago--well--the distance between the remaining four of them had only multiplied by miles. As though it hurt too much to think about One Direction, and the wonder and chaos that had risen from their shoot to stardom, and their notorious, inevitable split.

It was even more appalling that such a suggestion came from Harry. Worldwide superstar who had just finished another tour but a few months ago. The same Harry that had broken his heart more times than he could count. The same Harry that he’d finally ended things with for the last time four years ago, after he couldn’t take the toxicity that arose from years of strain, a toxicity that had corroded their relationship until they were strangers with the same last name.

And after Harry had filed for divorce once they’d spent two years away from each other--the longest break up in their tumultuous relationship--succeeding Louis asking to take some time apart for what must’ve been the hundredth time in the last seventeen years, Louis could honestly say he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear from him again. But here he was, asking them to band together, all hunky-dory and warm.

Niall was the first to text back. Almost immediately, because of course he did. 

Uh, yeah, that sounds interesting. I’ll have to check my schedule to be sure, but I should be able to make time for it.

Punctual, responsive Niall.

But then there was silence again, for a few hours, Louis drinking the evening away, watching footie on the television, still deciding if he even wanted to respond at all, before his phone buzzed again and Zayn’s name appeared in his notification list.

I’ll think about it. 

Yeah, that sounded like Zayn. 

Louis sighed. With the replies from Zayn and Niall, Louis knew how awkward it would be if he decided to not say something as well. But, he really didn’t want to. And Zayn’s text had been non-committal enough that he didn’t feel any great sense of urgency to either. So, he decided he would ignore it. At least for tonight.  

The front door burst open with a gust of wet wind, the cool air of Doncaster’s autumn wafting into the foyer, as Oli strutted in like he owned the place.

“Just been dickin’ around all day, have ya?” Oli asked and sank into the couch next to Louis, his hoodie dappled with the moisture of the drizzling rain outside. Louis didn’t bother to look at him, just took a sip from his beer bottle and shrugged.

“Enjoyin’ me time off, alright? Just got off tour. It’s November. It’s cold as shit. I’d like to stay sat right here for the foreseeable future,” Louis answered coolly, Harry’s text definitely not still infecting his every thought.

“Look, I made plans to go down to Hollies' Bar with the lads, and I told them you’d be there, driver’s waitin’ outside.”

“Why would you tell them I would be there? You didn’t even mention it to me,” Louis declared, his brow stern and displeased.

“Thought a surprise might get you off your arse. And when I was makin’ plans with Sam, they said they had a pal they wanted to set you up with, and he’s gonna be there tonight.”

“What the fuck are you bloody on about?” Louis demanded. He did look at Oli this time. Shooting him a dark, irritated glare, sharp enough to cut straight through him.

“I said ‘Sam wanted to set you up with someone.’ And you gotta get out there sometime, mate.”

“Get out there?” Louis questioned with a scoff, “I’ve got around plenty, thank you very much.”

“One night stands with blokes from the club don’t count as a relationship. You’ve been acting like a proper slag, and that’s when you’re not holed up in the living room like you are right now. You haven’t made it past a first date in years, since you broke up with Ha-”

“Please don’t, Oli. Just don’t. I really don’t want to go over this again. If I meet someone I’d like to see more seriously, I’ll go for it, alright? Just not in the mood to go out tonight. And he just texted me and the boys’ group chat a few hours ago, and I don’t need to think about him anymore than I already have today.”

“He texted you!? What’d he want?” Oli begged. Louis wanted to slap off the wild, teasing grin he had on his face.

“Alright, first of all, don’t perk up like that when I talk about my ex-husband. And second, I didn’t say he texted me, I said he texted me and the boys.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think that distinction mattered since it still included you too, you bloody knob. Now, what did Harry want?”

Louis went tense at just the sound of his name, which he absolutely hated. Hated that just hearing his name out loud, uttered within a completely mundane question, still sent a brief shiver up his spine. His life was simpler when he pretended Harry didn’t exist, and he wanted it to stay that way, dammit.

“Reunion tour. One Direction,” Louis said, and took another much needed sip of his drink.

“Fucking hell! That’s exciting, mate! When?”

“I haven’t said yes, yet, you dick.”

“What do you mean you haven’t said yes, yet? What’s there to wait for?”

“Dunno if I wanna do all that,” Louis relented. 

Oli had an egregious look of bewilderment on his face, as though Louis had just offended him deeply, “What do you mean? Don’t you know how much money you’ll make?”

“I don’t need money,” Louis said curtly and gestured to his exorbitant living room. 

“Still, he was the main thing holding you all back from doing something like this, right?” Oli asked.

Louis huffed. Oli was practically right. While Louis and the rest of the boys were in no particular hurry to do anything as a band again, their greatest obstacle was the fact that, Harry, at the height of his stardom, outshining all of them in an egotistical display of his talent and international appeal, had no plans to do a reunion any time soon. Until now.

“Yeah, but-”

“‘But’ nothing, Louis. Get over yourself and go for it. Now, I don’t wanna keep the driver waiting, so I’m heading back out. I’ll just tell Victor you couldn’t make it, I guess.” With that, Oli stood from the couch, grabbed his wallet from where he’d left it on the counter in the open kitchen, and headed back towards the front door, his keys jangling with every step, when Louis stopped him.

“Wait,” Louis took in a deep breath and finished the last swig of his beer, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him before he stood as well, grabbed his own things, and followed Oli out of the door.

“That’s the spirit! Knew you couldn’t stand to disappoint me,” Oli remarked with a pinch of mischief, as they approached the sleek, black SUV humming outside.

Louis released an exasperated grin while they piled into the car, “Don’t make me change my mind.”

As they sped off to Hollies’ Bar, Louis grew weary with the anxious prospect of going on a blind date he’d been thrust into at the last minute. But, he had already made his bed. And as he approached the front doors to the bar, it was time for him to lie in it. 

The warmly lit space was buzzing with excitement, cheers all around as patrons watched the same football game Louis had been watching at home, where he faintly wished he still was. But, Oli was right. He needed time out of his lonely, ridiculously large home, and sitting on the couch would only remind him that Harry had texted him, his mind swirling with the weight of his offer.

Oli led him to a table with the rest of their friends, Mark, Alex, and Sam, all sitting there with an unfamiliar face that Louis could only deduct was the aforementioned “Victor.” 

“Victor, this is Louis,” Oli introduced kindly, giving Louis another teasing smile, as he sat in the only other open seat that wasn’t next to Louis’s date, forcing him to sit next to the handsome stranger.

“He already knows who he is,” Sam said dryly.

“Well, it’s still the polite thing to give a proper introduction,” Oli defended and Sam gave just the twitch of a smile before they took a sip of their whiskey neat, scratched at their buzzed, green hair, and thrust themselves back into their conversation with Mark and Alex.

“So,” Victor said, and it took a moment for Louis to realize he was talking to him, “Sam’s told me a lot about you.”

“Yeah? Good things I hope. Know they can be quite, uh, honest about people,” Louis said awkwardly, rubbing the thick stubble coating his chin in an attempt to soothe the nerves tickling his insides. 

Victor gave a small chuckle, “Of course good things.”

Victor was cute, Louis guessed. His short mop of wavy blonde hair curled around his cheeks and complimented his sculpted, Roman features and crystal eyes. He had a quick laugh and a kind spirit, and though it was definitely too early to tell if Louis had any real hope that their first date may lead to another, he was having a pleasant time with him as they sipped on burning liquor and glanced occasionally at the game on the screen in the corner of the bar.

Before Louis knew it, he was quite drunk. The beer from his time relaxing at home, mixed with the several shots they’d shared were thumping euphoric confidence through his veins, and as he cozied up further to Victor, he found himself hoping that he wasn’t one to not put out on the first date. The liquor muddling his brain and igniting his sex drive.

“You wanna maybe get out of here soon?” Louis questioned, doing his best to keep his words from slurring together. “Go somewhere, I dunno, more private?”

Victor gave a weak smile, “Maybe in a bit.”

Well, that was…something. Not exactly what Louis hoped, but it wasn’t a no, and Louis found himself, while the tiniest bit impatient, willing to continue with their group activity of drinking and swearing and causing a loud ruckus in the already overcrowded and rumbling bar for at least a little longer.

“Is that your phone or mine?” Mark asked Alex, who was sitting next to him as a loud jingle and faint vibrations of a phone broke their conversation.

“I actually think it’s mine,” Louis realized after a drunken moment of spacing out.

He took his phone from its place face down on the table and looked at the caller ID, and suddenly all of the blood warming his cheeks from the irresponsible amount of booze he’d slammed down, drained from his face.

His mouth went dry, his fingers nearly numb. And for a brief moment he wondered if he was hallucinating. But, when the ringing didn’t stop, and the name on his screen didn’t dissolve, as if part of a bad dream he was waking up from, the reality of the moment hit him hard. 

Harry.

Fuck.

“Excuse me, Victor, lads, I gotta take this,” Louis said in his politest tone, doing his best to not let the discomfort of Harry’s phone call seep into his voice.

He crossed the bustling room to the doors of the building, where he stepped into the chill of the night, the gentle, enduring rain tapping down on his shoulders. The sensation was a cool relief, and Louis cleared his throat softly before he spoke.

“Um, hello?”

His heart was pounding out of his chest, and next to Harry’s soft sigh on the other side of the call, it was the only sound he could make out. A distracting and powerful drum that threatened his ability to stand upright.

“Lou,” Harry said. The delicate abbreviation of Louis’s name was a familiar endearment, and hearing his voice for the first time in years, saying that breathless endearment was something close to painful, and he wished from the moment Harry had spoken that he hadn’t picked up the phone at all.

“What’s up, lad?” Louis asked impatiently. As he waited for Harry to respond, he pulled a lighter and a cigarette from the sleek, silver case in his pocket, his phone settled between his neck and his shoulder as he did so. He lit it in a rush, housing his hand over the end to protect it from the frigid precipitation, and took a much needed drag, the smoke pooling into his lungs in a magnificent consolation.

“Um, sorry, it’s just…Jeff really wants to know…if you’re on board. Niall and Zayn already said yes, so we’re just waiting to get an answer from you before we decide to move on or not.”

“Oh uh--Zayn said yes?” Louis said, surprised. To his knowledge he hadn’t messaged anything after the extremely vague, “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, he called me earlier today. Said he’d made up his mind and decided he wanted to. So…do you want to?”

“Um, you can’t just give me a few days to think it over?” Louis begged, taking another puff of his cigarette, desperately not wanting to commit to anything.

“Well…I guess, but, Louis, you didn’t respond at all. Just ignored my message. And it’s been seven hours. You never take that long to text back. Are you okay?”

Louis was filled with a belligerent anger the instant the question left Harry’s mouth. It was as though his words were a dagger to the heart, a tight attempt at pulling out some pathetic admission of Louis’s discomfort towards the fact that he was the one who had sent the message. Harry could see right through him. And it annoyed Louis to no end that he was capable of such perception.

“I’m fine, Harry, I’ve just been--busy” Louis lied, “and don’t know if I want to spend time on that next year.”

“Alright,” Harry said slowly and softly, as if not wanting to startle the beast that was Louis’s anger any more than he already had, “Let me know in the next few days then.”

Louis ran a long, tired hand through his fringe, pushing it up out of his face and tugging on it lightly to gain some sensation that wasn’t the pounding of his heart, and the sound of Harry’s gentle voice on the other end of the phone.

“Bye, Harry,” Louis spit out, more aggressive than he’d strictly intended, the vodka he’d been shooting clouding his ability to hold back the irritation in his voice.

“Bye, Lou,” Harry whispered, disquieted and sympathetic. 

Louis tapped the screen to end the call with a speed faster than he thought his thumbs were capable of.

He finished his cigarette quickly, in several long, intense drags, and dropped it to the pavement, stomping it out in an angry twist of his foot, before he wandered back into the bar and tried to satiate the feelings he dared not touch with the distraction of noise and inebriety.

“You okay?” Victor asked as he returned to the table. 

“Never better!” Louis said with a forced enthusiasm that he was sure couldn’t hide his frustration.

“Louis, who was that? What’s wrong?” Alex asked, the warm, brown skin of his face twisting into a look of concern. Oli was giving Louis a worried look, but had yet to speak, and Louis, unable to handle the attention on him, took Sam’s third glass of whiskey and sunk it down in a single gulp, before sliding it back over to them without a second thought.

“Um, thanks, I didn’t wanna finish that anyways,” Sam remarked.

“Harry, wasn’t it?” Oli asked. The table went silent at the name. As though it was an affront of two syllables. And to Louis, it was. A terrible, grating sound that scraped his ears like a razor blade. 

He really wished his ex-husband hadn’t fucking texted him.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it,” Louis snapped. Mark hid behind his drink, taking a long, awkward sip of beer, the foam coating his mustache as he averted his gaze. 

The way that Louis’s friends were acting only proved to ignite his fury more. Four years. It had been four years. And the subject of Harry was no less sensitive than the day after their divorce had been finalized. The reality of it drove Louis insane, and when Victor pressed a bit, Louis could hardly stand the tightness in his chest that came of the blunt words he uttered.

“Why are you so upset? Sam told me you two had been done for a while. You don’t still have feelings for him, do you?”

His probing inquiries were a twisted, tired, and invasive thing. A final splash of gasoline to the furious fire that was brightly aflame within the depths of Louis’s hands, his arms, his entire body. He couldn’t stand the thought that someone could still think that. It’d been way too long for those feelings to still be lingering within Louis’s complicated emotions, and it hurt like hell that anything he said or did could be even subtly conveyed in that light.

“No, I don’t still have feelings for him!” Louis shouted as he shot up from the table. “Maybe I just don’t want to hear from my fucking ex-husband, alright!?” 

The volume of the bar had suddenly quieted down. Faint whispers from spectators teasing the air around him. Louis’s breath was ragged, and a drunk sweat collected at the edge of his scalp. Victor's face broke into a visage of embarrassment and indignation, his lips curling into his mouth in a purse of discomfort.

Well, there went any chance of him getting laid tonight.

“Ugh,” he groaned, and piled a few hundred quid onto the table--more than enough to cover the night--before heading for the door again, yanking his phone from his pocket and ordering a ride home. Oli followed him outside, but his friendly gesture was only another symbol of Harry’s unfairly powerful influence on the outcome of his emotions. Everyone had to make sure the sad divorcee was alright. 

The pity made him sick.

“Harry bugging you about the reunion again?” Oli whispered into the dark.

Louis gulped down a breath, “Yeah.”

“You gotta do it, mate.”

Louis clenched his fist at his side, cracking his knuckles in soft rumbles, absolutely infuriated, “Yeah? Why? Why do I have to do it?”

“Because, I think if you see him again, and get through it, you might be able to finally move on…To be honest, Louis,” Louis studied Oli’s face with a furrowed brow, and watched him swallow a nervous lump in his throat, “I don’t think you constantly avoiding him is helping you.”

Louis wanted to scoff. He wanted to give a bitter laugh and a cutthroat comeback. Something unnecessarily cruel and loud, just for the sake of releasing the cluster-fuck of emotion that racked the very core of his being. But, he wasn’t twenty-something anymore. He would be thirty-six years old in just over a month, and he couldn’t let his emotions manipulate him into treating the people who cared about him with an immature spite.

“I know,” Louis admitted, and then, changing the subject completely he affirmed, “I’m just tired. And fucked up. I need to get home and crash.”

Oli let his mouth hang open, clearly wanting to say something more than, “Alright mate, stay safe. I’ll be there tomorrow to check up on you. Take care of yourself, lad,” before placing a kind, caring pat to Louis’s shoulder, as Louis did his best to not let the embers of his lividity resent the friendly display of affection.

His car pulled up just a few minutes after Oli went back inside the bar, and Louis could tell by the look on his face, as he peered through the bar window, that he was in the middle of apologizing to Victor on his behalf. The scene (as well as the copious amounts of alcohol he’d had) made him nauseous, and he slammed the door to the car shut as he climbed inside. 

As his ride cruised through the damp streets, Louis couldn’t tear his vision from the stars, peeking through the clouds in the quiet abyss of the endless sky, reminiscent of the many nights he’d spent both with Harry and utterly alone. So, instead, he closed his eyes. Letting them rest in a moment of deep contemplation and dejection, before they fluttered open again and he pulled his phone back out and hammered his fingers onto the glass so hard it created audible and forceful taps against the slick surface, and sent a text to the group chat faster than he could talk himself out of it.

I’m in.

Chapter Text

Harry had heard his phone chime again as he was settling in bed after his and Louis’s phone call. His breath had hitched at just the sound of it. But, he’d been too tired, and too frightened to look at it, unsettled by the thought that it might’ve been a text from him.

Though as Harry woke up to birds chirping among the London morning air, the wandering dread that had filled him to the brim as he’d tossed and turned to sleep, came crashing back into him as soon as he sat up in bed. It was weird texting Louis…and the boys, so…unexpectedly. But his manager had given him a choice. “Either you pitch it to them, or I call their managers,” after suggesting, no, demanding they seek out the boyband’s reunion once he’d finished his last tour, and the sales had been, well, not as promising as they’d all hoped. And he figured his old bandmates might be more receptive if they heard it from him personally.

Love on Tour had been within the top ten highest grossing tours of all time, and he, along with the rest of his team, had expected this one to not be too much different, but he hadn’t even made the top thirty this time. His last album not being nearly as well received as his previous one. His spotlight was fading. At least that’s what the panic that came of the waning numbers felt like. As the sun passed over the horizon, there was no longer enough light to keep him in bloom. He was a rose, wilting in the rot of winter.

It felt horrible. He wished it didn’t. Wished he was self-assured enough to not care. But the reality was that, even though he was only thirty-three, and he knew it was a ridiculous and self-indulgent woe, he was beginning to feel old, and irrelevant, and scared. Not just that he was no longer as famous as he’d been in his twenties, but that the prospect of a reunion would mean revisiting old haunts. Terrible, strange, ancient haunts.

And talking to Louis the night before was just a brief whiff of the pain he knew could only come if the tour ended up actually happening. For every short and inconsistent time Harry had talked to him in the last four years, Louis’s voice was always swollen with an aching displeasure. And it made him feel terrible. Like he was nothing but a nuisance to a man he once thought he’d spend the rest of his life with.

And when he picked up his phone, he was ready for both the possibility that Louis had texted to decline his offer, or that he still hadn’t said anything at all. Which was why when he’d read the message that was on his screen under his name, he had to blink for a moment to make sure it wouldn’t disappear if he looked away.

I’m in.

Two little words and he suddenly felt like he was having a heart attack, and he found himself almost wishing that Louis had said no. They’d been divorced for two years. They hadn’t seen each other in person in forever. And though Harry had been the one to send Louis the papers, it wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted. Louis had been the one who called for their separation the last time they’d split, and Harry had assumed that somehow, they’d still eventually find their way back to each other. Like always. But after he’d barely even texted or called for two entire years, Harry decided he couldn’t wait for them to “find their way back to each other” any longer.

“Morning, love,” Richard greeted, the sleep still in his voice as he stretched awake. 

Harry’s head whipped over to his boyfriend in bed next to him, torn from his barrel of thoughts and the crushing sensation of the message on his screen.

“Good morning,” Harry said with a self-soothing enthusiasm. 

Richard was breathtaking, all dark hair and cool skin, kissed with freckles along the bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders. His facial hair was cut close to his face, just enough for Harry to feel it between his thighs when they were intimate, his hazel eyes peering up at him through long lashes. 

A relatively successful actor and model, they’d met at a party in New York a little over a year ago. One Harry hadn’t wanted to go to, but attended in a bitter celebration of finally being finished with the drama of his and Louis’s marriage. They’d connected over being the only two men from the UK in a room of flashing lights and thunderous music. He was nice, and simple, a predictable, grounding presence that made Harry feel stable. And though they were quite serious in their dedication to one another, and had been living together for a while, the anxiety of having to keep the secret of his true romantic interests was still a never ending burden. The only blessing being that at least Louis didn’t have to read about it in the news.

Well, it wasn’t that he cared if Louis had to, he just…didn’t want him to. Not that that was indicative of anything.

“Big important, superstar message from the team?” Richard teased. Harry giggled with a hint of nervousness.

“Sort of. Gotta call Jeff.”

Harry pecked Richard on the cheek and swung his legs out of bed as he opened Jeff’s contact and dialed his number. He disappeared into the ensuite as he did so, having a quick morning piss as Jeff picked up the phone, and he started running hot water into the shower.

“Harry,” Jeff said, matter-of-factly.

“Louis’s in too,” Harry relayed. 

“Great. Meet me at the hotel,” Jeff ordered and hung up abruptly. 

Harry undressed himself of his briefs, the only article of clothing that (sometimes) made it into his bed, and stepped into the shower, closing the crystal door and letting the hot, steamy water soothe his anxious skin. He closed his eyes in relief as he washed his hair, which was longer than he’d let it get in a while, letting his conditioner settle on his scalp as he shaved, just a little at his chest, and rather half-heartedly at his chin and upper lip, leaving only a delightful layer of stubble on his face. As he was finishing up with the razor and trading its place on one of the shelves in his shower for the soap, Richard joined him, wrapping his naked arms around Harry’s waist and kissing at his neck.

“Let me,” Richard whispered and foamed a loofah with soap before he began to run the suds along Harry’s bare chest, “Happy anniversary by the way.”

Harry blanched. And swallowed down a bundle of stress. His heart was leaping out of his chest, and guilt suddenly racked his every nerve.

“Um, yeah, happy anniversary,” Harry said, playing off the anxious discomfort of the fact that he had completely forgotten that it had been not just a little over a year since they’d begun dating, but another one entirely.

“These last two years with you have been the best in my life,” Richard whispered. Harry didn’t know how to respond, both overwhelmed by the fact that he’d been with Richard for two whole years, and the shame that came of not even realizing it until now.

So, instead, he brought him into a warm and apologetic kiss, something sweet and only slightly insincere, as Richard’s hands began to drift towards the intimate parts of his body.

***

After making love in the shower, and dressing in something close to business casual, Harry apologized for having errands to run on their anniversary and headed into his lunch meeting with Jeff. They met at the lounge inside of the luxury hotel as he’d requested. The room twinkling with soft, yellow lights, as it sang the quiet conversations of day drinkers.

“Well, glad that worked out, or we were going to have a crisis on our hands. Not trying to criticize you Harry, but looking at the revenue from last year was a nightmare,” Jeff said, taking a big bite of filet mignon that he washed down with a sip of aged red wine. 

“Uh, yeah, me too, I guess. You really think it was that bad?” Harry said, barely touching his salad as he took a sip of his own drink, a simple cup of sparkling water.

“For someone as big as you?” Jeff weighed his head to and fro, already chewing another bite of the expensive steak. “Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

Harry kept toying at his food with his fork. His appetite was only decreasing further.

“But, hey, this little reunion will get your name back in the news. I’m positive ticket sales will do fantastic and before you know it, you’ll be selling out stadiums by yourself again.”

Harry just nodded, slightly reassured, and popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

Jeff made him follow him to the office he worked out of while he was in London, and they spent the rest of the afternoon talking over the beginning of the tour’s logistics, and what Harry felt like honestly could’ve been a thirty minute conversation, turned into three hours of going over tiny details that couldn’t possibly matter as much as Jeff insisted they did. They ended the meeting by scheduling a Zoom call with the boys and their individual managers as they decided to approach the tour as a collaborative business venture, with Jeff insisting on being the head of the chain in command, citing Harry’s position as a “music industry cash-cow” to be his right to authority. Harry loathed the man.

And unfortunately, after a long and dreadfully boring meeting, he still had an appointment with his therapist that he needed to attend.

And as he crossed the parking lot of her building to meet with her, the wind blew his hair around wildly, having picked up in what felt like an uncanny omen, whispering uncertainties and promises of distress. He ignored the irrational association of the weather and his emotions, though, and met Eloise inside the sleek, yet cozy office, taking a seat on the plump leather couch across from her armchair. 

“So, Harry,” she began, taking a sip of tea before setting it down on the end table beside her, notepad and pen in hand, “it’s been a few weeks. How have you been?”

Harry let out a long, stressful breath, “Um, well,” he shook his head at himself and tapped his hands on his thighs, “I forgot about me and Richard’s anniversary.”

“Yeah? When was it?”

“It’s today.”

“Oh,” Eloise said with a sad chuckle, “I see.”

“I know,” Harry said with a weary and regretful brow, “I would’ve scheduled our appointment for another day if I’d remembered, but I guess it slipped my mind.”

“Which anniversary is it?”

“We’ve been together for two years now.”

“That’s a while,” Eloise crossed her legs, setting her pad on her lap, as she made a quick note. Afterwards, she brought her pen to her chin and asked, “Why do you think you forgot your anniversary, Harry?”

“I dunno,” Harry toyed with the several rings he had on his right hand, “I’ve been busy with work. Jeff keeps reminding me that my numbers aren’t as good. Guess I’ve maybe been a little selfish, plus, it’s the longest relationship I’ve had since Louis and I broke up, and I don’t know…”

“Have you been thinking about him lately?” 

He could notice her pen dancing around in her hand a little faster as she asked him, and the observation made him queasy. He couldn’t believe Louis still came up as often as he did in therapy.

“Yeah, well, I had to text him yesterday. Our band’s getting back together for a reunion tour. My manager asked me to get ahold of them, like, a week ago, but, I dunno. Was too nervous, so I waited ‘til, like, the last minute.”

“And he agreed?”

“Yeah, everyone did. Had to call him to hassle him about it, though.”

“You called him?” Eloise looked a little taken aback. She was aware that it had been a while since they’d spoken to each other with actual, audible words.

Harry nodded.

“How’d that go?” she followed up with.

“Um, not great, to be honest.”

“Yeah?” She had that soft, therapist concern in her voice as she asked, and Harry felt another pang of anxiety from the sound of it.

“He just seemed really pissed off to hear from me, which I don’t blame him for, I’m, like, sort of a piece of shit,” Harry said with a feeble smile.

“Harry, what’d we say about talking to yourself that way?”

“No, I know I shouldn’t, but like” Harry cleared his throat, “I was--I was terrible to him. I mean, he wasn’t perfect to me either, but I did most of the damage.”

“So, you were feeling guilty?”

“I guess so, yeah, I just,” Harry swallowed down budding tears that he found himself frustrated with for even threatening to make an appearance, “I just can’t stand knowing that he hates me now.”

“Why do you think he hates you?”

Harry let out a breathless laugh, “I mean, why wouldn’t he? I’ve hurt him, I mean, I divorced him. And, I dunno, I’ve messed up so many relationships, but…that one lasted over a decade.”

“Do you think that’s part of why you didn’t want to think about having been with Richard for two years?”

“I guess. I dunno, I just, I haven’t made the same mistakes with Richard, and it has been so long…I mean, I’ve been staying sober, well, you know, from the coke. I’ve never had fidelity issues with him, we’ve never even yelled at each other. It just feels so…normal.”

“Normal isn’t bad.”

“No, I mean, obviously not, I guess I’m just afraid of…I’m not used to it, and I don’t--I don’t want to make the same mistakes with him as I did with Louis. I don’t want to ever make those mistakes again.”

Eloise smiled comfortingly for a moment, letting the room breathe with silence before she began, “Well, the good news Harry is that you don’t have to. You’re in control of who you are and what you choose to do. If you don’t want to make the same mistakes you used to, you don’t have to. No one is destined to any future. You get to decide what happens next. I’ve watched you grow a lot over the years, and you’re the most stable I’ve ever seen you.” Harry just looked down at his shoes, not sure what to say, but pondering her advice and applause, before she asked, “What do you think about having to see him again, when you go on tour?”

Harry’s eyes lifted from his shoes and to the wild wind outside of the window, swaying what was left of the leaves on the trees, the lifeless grass blowing in waves.

“I’m terrified,” Harry said candidly, “we haven’t seen each other since the divorce.”

“That is terrifying,” Eloise validated, “but I think once you get there, you’ll see it’s not as bad as you think. He’s still just a person, Harry. Just like you.”

Harry inhaled, and then let it out in a long, deep sigh, “Yeah…doesn’t feel that simple, though.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.”

Harry shifted the conversation away from Louis after that. He’d talked about him in therapy more than he cared to admit, already, and every moment since he’d sent that message seemed to bring up more thoughts of him. And he hated that he was the person dominating his thoughts on his anniversary with someone else. Someone else who cared for him deeply and had never been anything other than ever gentle and kind.

After his appointment was over, he said a quick thank you to his therapist as she reminded him to not be so hard on himself, and headed to a luxury goods shop to pick out a last minute gift for Richard. He went with a bottle of imported cologne, and a brand new wrist watch, silver and inlaid with ridiculously large stones. He knew it wasn’t particularly sentimental, but he hoped that the price tag would be thoughtful enough to satisfy his boyfriend of apparently two years.

But, when he arrived home, he suddenly felt as though his exorbitant gifts he’d spent several thousand dollars on were underwhelming compared to the trouble Richard had gone to.

The front door opened to a trail of rose petals, cheesy but still a touchingly romantic gesture. They led him to the dining room, where a freshly cooked meal awaited Harry’s presence, Richard pouring two glasses of sparkling wine with a stupid grin on his face. Harry set down the presents he’d bought onto the table, now settled in a shiny silver gift bag with black tissue, and bit his lip.

“Richard,” Harry said breathlessly, his embarrassment affecting his ability to smile to his eyes, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Of course I did,” Richard insisted, and pulled out Harry’s chair like a gentleman, gesturing towards the seat with kind eyes. Harry took a deep sigh and sat down, as Richard picked up the gift bag from its place on the mahogany and set it on the farther end of the table, away from their meal. “I’ll open it after dinner, alright? I have something I want to talk to you about first.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his stomach dancing with butterflies, “Yeah, what about?”

“Try a bite of the scallops first, yeah?”

Harry gave another timid smile, but popped a bite of the spongey seafood in his mouth nonetheless. The texture and flavor were something close to perfect. A delectable, richness warming Harry’s tongue. Louis would’ve never been able to pull off a meal like this.

And, wait, what the fuck was that thought? Why was he still thinking about Louis at all? He’d finished talking about him in therapy, and usually after he’d done so, he could go an entire day without letting his mind drift to him. Louis should’ve been far from his thoughts, and Richard should’ve been at the forefront of his, but then again, his mind had wandered so far from their anniversary that he’d forgotten about it entirely. Harry closed his eyes, both appreciating the last few moments it took him to chew the bite of Richard’s scallops and to soothe his own nerves, shoving his thoughts of Louis to the backburner. 

“It’s fantastic,” Harry complimented, and Richard sat down at the table across from him and dug into his own portion.

“I’m glad you think so, dear.”

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Harry asked, taking a sip of sweet champagne.

“Well, you know I have to go to LA soon for that film. And I know you’re going to be busy with rehearsals and touring soon, so I just wanted to make sure to do this before we had to spend so much time apart.”

Harry could sense the nerves on Richard’s face, and it was starting to make him even more anxious than he already was. 

“Richard? What is it? Is everything okay?” Harry asked over the sound of his thudding chest.

Usually when words like, “I have something I want to talk to you about,” came from Louis, it only meant terrible things. Awful, hurtful conversations that left him teary eyed and desolate. But--dammit, there were those thoughts again! Pestering, relentless Louis thoughts that he really wished would just leave him alone.

“No, everything’s fine, Harry, it’s just,” Richard gave another tepid smile, whatever was eating him still clearly affecting his ability to interact.

But then he was standing up from the table, and walking around the other side to Harry, and getting on one knee. 

Harry’s thudding heart stopped for a moment, and his eyes grew wide with shock as Richard pulled out a tiny, red box, dusted with pearls. Just from the sight of the velvet alone, Harry could tell he’d gone out of his way to get something expensive enough to impress him, and Harry’s heart skipped another beat as he spoke.

“I’m sorry…I know we haven’t talked too much about it, but,” a beat, “I love you, Harry, I’m crazy about you. I don’t want us to ever end, and I just--I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

Richard lifted the lid of the box and revealed a ring that was almost offensively garish, a bright gold band with one of the largest diamonds Harry had seen in his life.

“Will you marry me?”

Harry’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t answer right away. A trepidation rose from the depths of his soul. And the nerves that had been flapping their wings inside his stomach, now felt as though they were multiplying, filling him to the point of nausea. 

“Well, will you?” Richard pushed, his smile growing even more unsure by the second, and Harry let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.

“Um, yes, yes, of course,” he finally said, finding it in himself to force a brilliant smile.

And though he’d said yes, and wished that his mind was only on Richard, handsome, kind Richard, who loved him more than life itself, Harry was nearly frozen in fear as he slid the lavish ring on his finger. After his last marriage had ended in divorce, the idea of doing it all over again was horrifying, but…he also couldn’t say no. Couldn’t disappoint Richard, and as Eloise had told him earlier this evening: he got to choose what happened next. Decide which mistakes he would and wouldn’t make. And he swore he wouldn’t make the same ones that he did when he was with Louis.

“I know you can’t wear it outside, but I thought you could wear it for tonight.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Harry said, finally allowing himself to smile. Richard kissed him softly, and they finished their dinner with conversation that would’ve been exciting and wondrous, if Louis hadn’t wiggled his way into Harry’s brain again. But, he had. Because, as much as Harry was dreading it, he would see him in person again soon. Far from now, but in so many ways, still too soon.

And after Richard had thanked him with a slightly performative humility for the gifts that Harry had gotten him, gifts that were made pathetically trivial after his proposal, they made love again in bed and Harry pulled out his phone as Richard slept beside him. Looking at the ring on his finger, and then opening the inbox to the group chat to read Louis’s text again, tracing his thumb over the letters with some uncertain emotion he didn’t think he could quite admit to himself yet.

Chapter Text

The group discussion about the reunion had been inching its way towards Louis for over a week, and for many days prior, he had been pondering possible excuses he could come up with to try to get out of it. Maybe he was sick? Or had a massive injury? Maybe his beloved, non-existent cat, Fluffy, got hit by a car? Anything to keep him from having to look at Harry’s face, even if it was just over a blurry Zoom call.

But, he couldn’t find a good enough excuse to get out of a digital business meeting, and so ultimately, he decided to suck it up and attend anyway. Like Oli had said, avoiding him didn’t seem to be helping. And though he felt like he was shooting himself in the foot, he knew that if he did decide to back out, that would only further prove he still had some sort of hang up over a man he hadn’t seen in years.

So, he had his MacBook out, and was booting up Zoom, and joining a call with way too many people, his (very real) dogs, Bruce and Clifford, hanging around by his feet on the floor. All four of the boys, and all four of their managers were supposed to be in attendance, with Jeff working as their ring leader. 

Jeff. 

God, Louis hated the guy. Hated his name. Hated his face. Hated how he’d watched him treat Harry over the years. Even after everything they’d been through, he knew that no one deserved a Jeff in their lives. He was practically a second Simon Cowell, and after he and Harry had fought for so long to get away from him, Louis thought that it was a true devastation that he had ended up with a manager just as awful.

As he entered the call, he was surprised that not everyone was on yet. Zayn and Harry were both missing, and that only made Louis’s stomach churn violently. Even waiting just one additional moment to get hit with whatever initial reaction might come of looking at him intensified his discomfort.

“Of course Harry and Zayn are the ones who are late,” Niall quipped, which earned him a few tiny chuckles.

“Let’s just give it a minute. If he takes too long, I’ll give him a ring,” Jeff excused.

Zayn popped in just a second after though, giving a quick apology for his tardiness, before Harry’s camera chimed in and he joined as well. Louis gulped.

Why did he have to look like that?

His hair was longer now, just almost touching his shoulders, and his facial hair was trimmed so close to his face, he could barely read it over the low-fidelity webcam. His eyes were the same familiar jade that he’d watch tear up on too many occasions, and he had a nervous smile as he also expressed his contrition for being late to the meeting. He looked gorgeous. As always. And it made Louis extremely irritated that he still couldn’t help himself from thinking so.

“Alright, well, now that everyone’s here,” Jeff started and began to share his screen and opened a blank document as he began to take notes, “let’s figure out when the best time to get this going is.”

“Zayn has a pretty open schedule next year, so we’re pretty flexible,” Zayn’s manager said, Zayn nodding just a little to agree with her.

“What about you, Niall?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, I have a new album I’m working on, but it’s still gonna be in the oven for a while, so I’m pretty open too,” Niall explained. Jeff nodded, typing all of their names onto the document.

“And Louis?” Jeff finally probed.

“I’m, uh, well I just got off tour, and starting work on my next album is still pretty up in the air, so I can work with whatever’s best for everyone else.”

“Sounds like we pitched this at a good time,” Jeff said, pleased, “And Harry, you called the other day and said you have some personal stuff coming up soon, what’s going on with you?”

“Oh, well,” Harry cleared his throat, a nervous tic that Louis was familiar with, “it’s not, like, coming up soon, soon, but Richard and I just got engaged so-”

Before he could finish what he was saying, everyone in the group burst into bouts of cheers and “Congratulations!” with grins wide enough to break the screen. All so happy for him. So terribly, terribly happy. 

But, Louis, well, he just forced a smile. And stayed silent. And tried to ignore the fact that it felt like someone had just reached inside his chest and ripped his heart out. He knew it was silly to be jealous. He hated entertaining the thought that he even was, but when he’d said it, “...I just got engaged.” The words had rung in Louis’s ears in intense and deafening reverberations. He truly had moved on. Moved on so much that he was already ready to commit his life to someone else, and as much as he wished he hadn’t cared. He did. A lot.

“Yeah so,” Harry continued, looking down at the ring on his finger in embarrassment, a rosy blush warming his cheeks, “we don’t want to wait too long, but it shouldn’t affect the tour. We can just hold off until after, if necessary. Like, it’s not a big deal. Just thought I’d mention it. Sorry.”

After Harry’s surreal announcement, they began to discuss the particulars, deciding to plan the tour for the beginning of spring to mid summer of 2028. Promo, costs, and potential setlists floating through conversation for much too long, as Louis did his best to stop staring longingly at Harry’s beautiful face, a face he could tell was just barely pinched with a tiny bit of mutual discomfort at each others’ presence. 

Jeff had declared the title, “Home Again” for their tour, a play on the title of their sophomore album, and had already put together slots for each of them to perform a song from their solo discography as well. There were just a few of the less obvious hits that were coming into questioning, but Louis could hardly contribute to the conversation. 

He was still thinking about the fact that Harry was engaged to someone. Someone who wasn’t him. Someone he hadn’t even known existed until Harry had said that he was going to be getting married to them soon. His body could hardly withstand how much it hurt him emotionally, how absolutely crushing it was to hear, and how irritating it was that it crushed him at all.

And so, to drag himself out of his thoughts and contribute to the conversation, Louis found himself suddenly offering, “What about ‘They Don’t Know About Us’ for one of the deep cuts?” after not saying anything for almost ten whole minutes.

Maybe it was petty, but Harry was on his mind, and so was that melody, and he couldn’t help himself from mentioning the track that touched on the early history of his and Harry’s relationship. It wasn’t even that he cared about singing the stupid, corny love song, but he did care about seeing how Harry would react to the suggestion. 

And he did. A scrunch of surprised brows that he smoothed out in a nervous instant before he replied, “I don’t know about that. It’s from forever ago. I doubt anyone wants to hear it that badly.”

And the brush off only sent another sharp, shooting pain through Louis’s heartbroken chest.

“Hold on,” Jeff said, and brought up a list of their most streamed tracks, “I dunno, Harry, it’s pretty high up there, it might be a good idea.”

There was an awkward silence, Louis nor Harry willing to challenge each other further, though he could barely hear a huff of frustration that came from Harry at Jeff’s consideration of the song. 

“Well, I’ll get back to you guys later in the week about the draft of the setlist. And since we’re starting the tour early spring, we should start taking some promo photos and get you all working together again soon. I’m thinking at least two months of rehearsals since it’s been a while since you’ve all performed together, and then we’ll give you a week buffer between the end of rehearsals and the first concert. Does that sound good to everyone?”

Nods and yeses sounded from the call, and Jeff continued to type their information into the document he was working in. 

“Alright, let’s say, early January, we’ll all meet in London, since Louis and Harry are already in England, and start holding rehearsals there. I’ll get the specifics and any other information you all need before then, but it looks like we’re in a good spot. I’m gonna make the announcement for the dates and setlist, probably, a week from now, once I get it all laid out, and then we’ll start ticket sales a little closer to when rehearsals are about to begin, let’s call it…middle of December, maybe grab some holiday sales.”

And god, it was all happening so fast. Louis had vertigo from the sudden, short distance he had between now and the time he would see Harry in person again. Engaged Harry.

“Alright, sorry, just,” Harry started, tearing Louis away from the uncomfortable apprehension of the reality of their eventual reunion, and then shoving the emotions back down his throat as he said, “I just wanted to offer, to Niall, Zayn, and,” he took a deep breath, and the hesitation before Harry said his name did not go unnoticed, “and Louis, I was just going to offer that you all can stay at my house while we’re in rehearsals. I mean, if you’d feel more comfortable in a hotel, obviously, that’s fine, I just thought it might be nice to, I dunno, get to know each other again, and I know how much it sucks to spend two whole months in a hotel, so.”

“I’m down,” Niall said immediately.

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” Zayn added with a hint of sarcasm.

Which only left Louis to respond, and he hated that he had to, and fuck, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than stay in a house for two months with Harry. But, if he said no, he’d be the odd one out, which would be even more awkward, and Oli’s words rang in his ears again, “I don’t think you constantly avoiding him is helping you.”

So, he swallowed his pride and shrugged as though it didn’t affect him at all, “Sure, whatever.”

He watched Harry give a timid smile after he agreed and thanked god that the call ended just a few minutes later, as he shut his laptop with a pained groan.

Harry was engaged. And he’d just agreed to stay at his house with him and, presumably, his fiancé as well. The thought was almost too much to bear, but it was a done deal now. This is what he’d signed up for. And, as much as he wanted to, it was a little late to take it back.

Louis petted Clifford on the head, and stood up from his seat on the sofa and crossed the room to the kitchen, where he pulled out an ice cold beer from the fridge and opened it on the corner of the granite counter. Harry was engaged. Engaged. He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

And after about six beers and several hours later, he was calling Oli in a hysterical fit as the alcohol (surprisingly) hadn’t helped numb his emotions, instead: amplifying them, with no other comfort than his two dogs. A sweet, but ineffective company that couldn’t talk him off the ledge he felt he was teetering on at the moment. 

When Oli picked up, he sounded half awake, and Louis glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was already eleven o’clock on a week day, and he must’ve just woken him up.

He couldn’t be bothered by it though. Couldn’t care about anything. Harry was engaged. Engaged! To someone who wasn’t Louis.

“He’s engaged, Oli,” Louis wept into the phone. Saying the words out loud allowed the tears pricking the corners of his eyes to finally fall down his face, shattering the weak façade he’d tried to maintain of not giving a shit.

“Oh, mate, I’m sorry, Louis,” Oli said, his voice still groggy.

“I mean…I just can’t believe he’s engaged!” Louis let out a little sob, unable to contain himself as the words spouted from his mouth again.

“I’m sorry, lad. But, it’ll be alright, okay? I promise. I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can talk about it, alright? But it’s late, and you know I have work to do early tomorrow morning.”

“I know,” Louis said, sniffing away the rest of his tears, “I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright…Be safe Louis. Take care of yourself. I know you’re not okay right now, but one day you will be.”

Louis paused for a moment, still unable to take it all in, before he said “Yeah,” and hung up sooner than he wished he had.

There was no way he was ever going to be okay again.

Chapter Text

Today was the day. 

After a month of half-hearted wedding planning with Richard, not wanting to get too ahead of themselves as they probably still had at least a year before any actual ceremony would come to fruition, it was time for the band to begin their rehearsal schedule. His old friends would be arriving this afternoon, getting there the Saturday before their work week began, and Harry was aflame with both excitement and terror at the prospect of actually seeing all of his bandmates (and ex-husband) all together again.

It had been strange seeing Louis over Zoom, especially when it came to announcing his engagement and proposing hosting them all. He wasn’t even sure why he’d mentioned it. Richard had been happy to wait a little while before they did the deed, and Harry had known that it probably wouldn’t affect the schedule of their tour, but at the same time, he was relieved that Louis knew going into the stay that he was committed to someone else. 

In fact, Richard had openly expressed a little hesitancy at Harry’s decision to invite all three of them into their home, especially with the knowledge of his and Louis’s history, but Harry had assured him that that part of his life was over. Even if he was still dealing with a little emotional residue of their relationship in therapy, it didn’t mean he was destined to fall back into old habits as soon as they saw each other again. After all, it had to happen at some point. They’d be rehearsing together starting Monday next week, and then touring together for even longer. And proving that they could stay under the same roof without anything weird, or terrible, or, Harry didn’t know, familiar happening, would only prove further that they could handle being around each other again.

And he had to be able to handle it. He just had to.

So, when he heard the first knock, he fluffed the throw pillows on his couch, and made sure the decanters and glasses he’d laid out on the coffee table to greet everyone with were perfectly oriented, and adjusted the shiny new blouse he’d bought last week. Louis lived the closest, just three hours away by car, within the same country, and Niall and Zayn were flying out all the way from the US, so it was a bit, well, surprising, when he opened the door and Niall was the first one to show up.

“Niall!” Harry exclaimed with too much enthusiasm, doing his best to cover up the twinge of disappointment that it hadn’t been who he was expecting. Richard came down the stairs behind him to also greet him at the door.

“Harry,” Niall returned, and brought him in for a hug, “And you must be, Richard, was it?”

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Richard said, and shook Niall’s hand.

“Well, um, come in, you must be exhausted,” Harry allowed, holding the door for Niall to let him inside.

“Eh, you know me, I can sleep anywhere. I’m actually pretty rested up. Was out for basically the entire flight. Got anything strong to drink?” he asked with a chuckle, which Harry joined in on nervously.

“Yes, of course, I have drinks set up in the living room. Let me just show you to your room first so you can put away that luggage.”

“Here, I can take it,” Richard said politely, and grabbed Niall’s bags from off of the porch.

After Niall arrived, Harry was sure that the next person who would knock on the door, just had to be Louis, but instead he was met with Zayn’s yawning face as he opened it for the second time.

“Hey, Harry,” Zayn said, barely awake.

“Zayn! Jetlag, huh?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, wish they didn’t allow infants in first class.”

“You have a daughter, you know,” Harry reminded him.

“And thank god she’s not that age anymore.”

Harry laughed and led Zayn to his room.

“I might, uh, take a nap for a little while, if that’s okay, lad,” Zayn said, his eyes half-lidded already.

“Of course, let me or Richard know if you need anything,” Harry assured and touched Zayn on the back of his shoulders, before heading back downstairs, where Richard and Niall were getting to know one another over glasses of hard liquor.

As the hours went by, Harry was becoming increasingly anxious to the fact that Louis had still yet to show. It was going on six o’clock. Zayn had already had his nap and was hanging out with the group in the living room, drinks and stories going around, as Harry bounced his knee up and down nervously. 

What was taking him so long? He hoped nothing had happened. What if he got in a car accident? Or maybe his chauffeur was secretly a human trafficker, whisking away Louis to sell him on some heinous blackmarket? The places Harry’s thoughts were drifting to were ridiculous and delusionally worrisome, but he couldn’t help it.

He should’ve been here hours ago.

But finally, at just a quarter to seven, the doorbell rang, and Harry was several drinks in and his stomach was aching from laughing with Niall, Zayn, and his loving Richard. And though he might’ve been more nervous than ever if he was still sober, the spirits had drained him of fear, and filled him with excitement. 

He was going to see Louis again! His Louis. Well, not his anymore, but still. Louis. He was going to see Louis. And it had been forever.

He stood from the couch before the doorbell had even finished chiming through the house and skipped over to the door for the third time. He took a deep breath, straightened his collar, smoothed down his slacks, and finally, twisted the handle to reveal a familiar stranger wearing the tiniest, tight lipped smile.

“Louis,” Harry breathed.

“Hey, Harry, sorry I’m late,” Louis apologized, but Harry didn’t care about his apology. He brought Louis in for a tight squeeze, that Louis grew stiff under, patting him on the back slowly with one hand, barely returning his affections.

God, he really did hate him, didn’t he?

“Sorry, just, I was getting worried. I’m glad you’re okay,” Harry excused when he pulled away from the awkward embrace. And Harry just stood there for a moment. Taking Louis in. 

He was wearing a crisp, white polo, under a maroon jacket, and expensive denim. His hair had new patches of silver that aged him like a fine cabernet. His eyes blue as ever under the porch light, and that sexy overgrown stubble that he always wore added the familiar rugged edge to his appearance that Harry could never manage to get over. Damn, how was he still so attracted to him?

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. So, can I come in?” Louis asked after a while.

Harry shook away the unbidden and overstayed appreciation for Louis’s striking good looks, and nodded, unable to form words for a moment as he led him to his room upstairs.

“Your new place is fucking massive,” Louis commented as he set his suitcase on the bed. Harry just shrugged humbly, unsure of what to say for a second.

“Yeah, I know,” he ended up fumbling out stupidly. Dammit, he hoped that didn’t come across as conceited. He quickly followed up with, “Um, thanks,” and then changed the subject. “Well, the rest of us are drinking in the living room, if you wanna join us. We have tequila, and the vodka I saved just for you.”

“Yeah?” Louis said with a raised brow, he was visibly amused--and Harry, for the life of him, couldn’t understand why.

“Well, I just know you won’t drink tequila.”

“Hmm, yeah…Well, uh, I appreciate that. Guess I’ll have a drink or two.”

As Harry led Louis into the living room, Richard stood, and Harry could sense the nervousness on his face.

“Lou, this is my fiancé, Richard,” Harry introduced, and swallowed down the absolute strangeness that was his ex-husband meeting his future husband.

“Louis, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Richard said, and shook Louis’s hand firmly.

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Louis retorted with a chuckle, already charming Harry’s fiancé with ease. So charming. He’d never been anything but.

“I promise nothing too bad,” Richard assured, returning Louis’s friendly demeanor.

“Um, Richard’s an actor,” Harry mentioned. “He has a film he’s starting to shoot next week, and is flying out tomorrow evening, but I wanted to make sure you could get here in time to meet him.”

“Ah, an actor. Sounds like a fun job,” Louis commented.

“I’m sure not as fun as being a pop star.”

“Ha, well, y’know,” Louis trailed off.

And then, the room went quiet for a moment, as though none of them knew what to say next, and Harry watched with peculiar eyes as Zayn whispered something to Niall with a smirk, their eyes trained on Louis and Richard, before Niall burst out laughing, stifling it with a cough. Harry was glad he was standing too far away to overhear whatever that was. 

“So, vodka?” Louis asked.

“Right!” Harry exclaimed, focusing his wandering mind on being a good host as he fixed up a cocktail. A simple vodka Red Bull, Louis’s favorite drink.

Louis took it with a quiet, “Thanks, love,” that made Harry’s heart jump, as he sat on the couch next to Niall and Zayn, and joined in on their chat. 

Harry took a seat in the chair next to Richard and looked at him with a weak smile, and Richard, kind, sweet Richard, just gave him a comforting look and squeezed his hand, calming away the remnants of his anxiety’s reprise.

They all took a moment to reflect on both their rediscovered unity and held a brief moment of silence for Liam, led by Harry, as they reflected on the fact that they were absent of their late friend’s brilliant and wholesome disposition. A single, sad brick missing from their tower, that Zayn seemed, naturally, most affected by. 

But after, they fell back into the same comfortable dialogue they’d been engaging in, and before Harry knew it, Louis was knee deep into conversation with Richard, getting along with him in a way that felt almost uncanny. Suspicious. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. It’s not that he was hoping Louis would be made uncomfortable by the presence of his fiancé, he was just expecting him to be at least a little bit uneased by it. But, he wasn’t at all. At least, it didn’t feel that way. Instead, they were nerding out over football together and clinking shots, exchanging stories of Harry, teasing him together even. Acting like old friends, even though they weren’t. And for a moment Harry thought that maybe Louis was actually happy for him. Maybe Louis wasn’t nearly as affected by Harry’s presence as Harry was affected by Louis’s.

And for some reason, that hurt.

As the night began to decay, Niall was the first to retire to bed, sending himself off with a cordial, “See you lads in the mornin’.” before the rest of them fell back into a quieter discussion now that their group had been made smaller.

Zayn was the next one to go.

“I’m gonna hit the sack, too. Night guys.”

Which left Harry, Louis, and Richard alone together in the most awkward combination of company possible, and Harry was relieved when Louis didn’t wait to follow suit.

“It is quite late, isn’t it? I’ll see you two later. Nice meeting you Richard,” he said, dismissing himself politely, as he also headed upstairs.

“We should probably get to sleep as well,” Harry suggested once he was gone. “Help me clean up?”

“Oh, darling, don’t worry about it,” Richard returned, “I know tonight must’ve been stressful for you. I’ll tidy the living room, you head on up to bed.”

Richard placed a warm kiss to Harry’s mouth, Harry thanking him softly, before taking advantage of his generous offer and ascending the staircase to their bedroom. As he passed through the hall, though, he found himself stopping in front of Louis’s door, a mixture of angst and a yearning he could hardly divulge swimming inside of him. He didn’t know why he wanted to do it, and it was probably a rude disturbance to bother him, but in his insobriety and raging curiosity, he knocked on the door.

“Uh, come in?” It was a question. Which made sense. Harry should’ve been heading to his own bedroom, not Louis’s. But inexplicably, he was.

He opened the door and found Louis sitting up in bed in just a t-shirt and boxers. His suitcase, now on the floor, wide open with Louis’s clothes from the day strewn across the front flap. He was writing something in a notebook, but tore his eyes up to look at Harry standing in the doorframe.

“Harry,” Louis said with a sigh, “what’s up?”

“Just, I,” Harry swallowed, unsure of what he’d come in here to say. He saved himself with the first thing he could think of, even if it was a sorry excuse and something he easily could’ve just texted from the comfort of his bed, “I forgot to show you where the bathroom is. Um, it’s just around the corner. Second door on the left.”

“Oh, yeah, um, thanks,” Louis said, already returning his attention to whatever he was jotting down in his notebook.

“What are you writing?” Harry asked. Louis’s eyes flashed up at him and he released another sigh.

“Had a few ideas for lyrics. Gotta get them out before I go to sleep and forget them. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, just barely audible. 

He knew he should be leaving now, giving Louis much needed space. But he still couldn’t find it in himself to. Louis was here. In front of him, and it was as though he was afraid if he took his eyes off of him, even for a second, he might vanish. “So, what did you think of Richard?”

Louis gave a playful scoff, as though he was surprised by the fact that Harry had asked him such a question. “Seems nice, Harry. Real nice bloke.” He paused for a moment before asking, “He treats you well, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry swallowed, “he does.”

“Well…good, I’m uh--I’m glad you’re happy,” Louis said. Harry’s eyes widened at that. He was happy for him. He was fine. And Harry couldn’t stand the fact that he found himself selfishly wishing that Louis had said something else.

“Um, yeah, thanks. Sorry for bothering you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Louis just nodded, not saying anything else, and Harry finally left his room. Shutting his door, and then leaning against it as he let out an anxious breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling something beginning to simmer from the pit of his stomach to the top of his shoulders. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But, something.

He’d gotten through several conversations with Louis now, without exploding or bursting into tears. But, in that moment, as he forced himself to walk away from the door, and into his master suite, he found himself, for the first time in a while, aching for more attention from him. Wishing that he could go back to his room and find some other minor excuse to stay and talk to him even more. But, he couldn’t. It was weird that he had already. And he struggled to fall asleep that night after spending hours staring at the ceiling, as though he could fall into it, and find Louis up there, thinking about him too.

Chapter Text

It had been a weird weekend for Louis. From Harry squeezing the life out of him when he showed up late, to genuinely enjoying chatting with Richard into the late hours of the evening, even as he did his best to maintain his veneer of kindness as a fiery storm of jealousy and regret brewed beneath the surface. And then Harry knocking on his door. Effortlessly gorgeous, Harry. Showing up in his room as he was heading to bed. To talk about basically nothing. It was weird. Just--weird.

So weird that on Sunday he’d decided to take some time to himself for a while. Spending most of the day working through the painful writing inspiration that came from living with Harry and meeting his fiancé as he kept his distance from the living room until he’d heard Richard say goodbye to everyone as he left for the airport. 

They drank together again that Sunday night, Louis being sure to sit as far from Harry as possible as he engaged primarily with Niall and Zayn, not staying up nearly as late since they had rehearsals the following day.

And as Louis stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, getting ready for his first Monday rehearsing as a band again with the boys, he nearly pissed himself when he noticed that Niall was standing in the other half of the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Niall! Don’t you have a loo on your side of the house?” Louis demanded with derision, his startled chest heaving.

“No, this is an old fucking estate,” Niall said through the foam of his toothpaste, “you’d think it’d have at least, like, three more, but this is the only other one up here that’s not the master.”

“And you didn’t think, ‘Hey, Louis’s bloody naked and in the shower, maybe I should brush my teeth downstairs?’”

“Oh, get over yourself, Louis,” Niall said, finishing up with a spit and a quick rinse of mouthwash, “We’ll be sharing a tour bus soon, you know?”

“Don’t remind me,” Louis said with a roll of his eyes.

“So, how’s it been seeing Harry again?”

Louis’s face scrunched up with disdain.

“Can you please get the fuck out now since you’re finished in here and just let me get ready in peace?”

“Hmm, thought you weren’t handling it as well as you were playing it off,” Niall joked, reminding him, “Be sure to dress sharp, we’re taking photos today,” before he finally left the bathroom. 

Louis shook his head of whatever the hell that exchange was and finished preparing for the day, cursing himself for being so transparent as to let Niall know how much seeing Harry was affecting him.

When he showed up to the rehearsal studio, the smell of leather and dust hit Louis with a wave of familiarity. The rest of the band was already hanging out with their vocal coach and starting warm-ups, and Louis hung up his backpack on one of the hooks on the wall and met with them, Harry, in a little cream colored suit, gazing at him for just long enough for Louis to notice, before he swept his head back over to their coach.

Great. Now his week was getting weird too.

He ignored it though, joining them, Louis humming and harmonizing, as they all got prepared for hours of singing and choreography as he stood next to Niall, and tried to brush off the third day he was spending in Harry’s presence. 

“Alright, I think you boys are warmed up. We’re just waiting on your new manager to get here to go over some things with you guys, and then your music director will get you all going,” Sarah, their vocal coach, relayed, and Louis’s brows shot up in surprise.

“‘New manager?’” Louis questioned.

“Yeah, what?” Harry tacked on, his eyes meeting Louis’s for a brief second that made Louis’s pinky twitch, “I thought Jeff and the other guys’ managers were in charge?”

“Jeff called us on Friday, said he was tired of trying to wrangle working out a four man operation with all of your individual representation, so he put a legacy manager in charge of you instead to handle everything during the reunion. It was an option written in your contract. Believe me, it’ll be easier for everyone. ”

“Oh, okay,” Louis absorbed, “Well, what’s his name?”

“Hi boys!” All four of their heads whipped towards the door at the sound of his voice, and a heavy, concrete brick fell from Louis’s tight throat and into the pit of his stomach. 

He was wearing the same stupid white t-shirt he’d been rocking for the last forty years, before any of them had even been conceived. His stiff black hair barely moved as he walked in, his salt and pepper stubble brushed around his mouth, unkempt and horrid. His face was stiffer now, and glossy, tightened by too much Botox, and he was taking off his sunglasses and jacket with a widening smile as he approached them.

“Fuck,” Zayn whispered.

“Shit,” Niall grumbled under his breath. 

Louis didn’t say anything, too frozen in shock to react.

But Harry did, erupting into hysteria the moment their eyes met. And it was like watching a fading scar be sliced open all over again, Harry’s words a gush of angry, red blood.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” Harry uttered, followed by an increase in volume as he declared, “This isn’t real. No, no, no. NO!”

“Harry!” Louis tried as Harry sprinted out of the rehearsal studio before anyone could say another word.

“It’s nice to see you all again too,” Simon quipped with a huff of annoyance, “Louis, you got this?”

“‘Got this?' What? Have I ‘got’ what?” Louis asked. His brain wasn’t working at full capacity anymore. How could it? The devil himself had just strutted back into his life in the most horrific surprise in all of human history, and his presence was dizzying.

“Someone has to go calm down Harry. You were always pretty good at that, weren’t you?” Simon said this with a sly grin, and Louis looked to Niall and Zayn, who were already looking around the room aimlessly, checked out and disassociated from their own discomfort as they tore themselves away from the situation.

“Okay,” Louis said slowly, as though he was testing his words to make sure they wouldn’t choke him when they came out, “I’ll go check on him.”

Louis crossed the room, and yanked the zipper of his bag down and snatched out his cigarette case and a lighter before he met Harry outside, who was screaming up at the gray sky as though he had just entered a battlefront.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO-UUUGGHHH!!!” He screeched at the top of his lungs. Louis’s heart was only beating faster at Harry’s unfiltered reaction, his eyes squeezed shut in both a wince to Harry’s volume, as well as his own frustration and disbelief.

“Harry,” Louis began, opening his eyes, filled with an unsettled discomfort as he balanced a cigarette between his lips, one that Harry snatched out of his mouth, along with the lighter between his fingers.

“Give me that!” 

It took him about four tries of the flint with shaking hands before he actually lit the cigarette, and passed Louis back the lighter, which Louis used to light his own, before he took a few small steps closer to Harry and took a deep, satisfying inhale of nicotine.

“So, you’re excited to see Simon again too, huh?” Louis teased, unsure of how else to deal with the raw and sick reality of the cruel man’s presence, and the intense and tragic effect he had on Harry.

“I’m really not in the mood for your witticisms, Louis,” Harry snapped, and took a drag of the cigarette, coughing out smoke that Louis knew he wasn’t used to.

“Sorry,” Louis apologized.

“Don’t be. I take it he's the one who sent you out here. Know you wouldn’t be checking on me if someone hadn’t ordered you too.”

Louis was a little whiplashed by that. Jesus, he got that they were estranged ex-husbands, but he still hated seeing him this upset. And scared. Through his quivering hands, Louis could still sense the teenage boy he’d met years ago, no less terrified of a man who had hurt them both deeply and consistently for years. And despite everything, Louis’s care for Harry hadn’t faltered enough for it not to wound Louis as he looked at Harry’s eyes, glossy with tears of frustration.

“That’s not true Harry, I mean--okay, yeah, he asked me to, but I still care about how you’re feeling. Genuinely.”

Harry let out a sarcastic laugh, “Yeah, I’m sure you care about my feelings as much as every other person you absolutely hate.”

Louis huffed. He understood that Harry was pissed off, and that his anger towards Simon and their current situation was likely being misdirected at him, but it still was upsetting to know that Harry had accused Louis of hating him. 

Sure, things were complicated, but Louis didn’t hate him. He could never hate him. He was Harry.

“Christ Harry,” Louis swore, “I don’t fucking hate you. I wouldn’t be out here watching you scream and steal my cigarettes if I did.”

“You don’t?” For a moment, the fear and wrath that had been shaking Harry’s every limb subsided, as he looked sincerely surprised by Louis’s words.

“Of course not.”

His pale, emerald eyes flashed wide for a moment, and Louis watched him swallow something heavy and anxious as he took another hit of the cigarette he was close to killing. 

“Well, at least you can go home to Donny tomorrow. I’m not staying and doing this if he’s going to be involved,” Harry declared, finishing his cigarette, and stomping it out on the pavement.

“You know you can’t back out now, Harry,” Louis argued.

“What do you mean, I can’t? I sure as hell can. And I will. I’m not working with that bloody demon, and nothing or no one can change my mind.”

“Harry, dear, you--we signed a contract. Forget about the financial damages, which I’m sure you can handle. They already announced the tour, several cities are already sold out. Not only will the fans be pissed off, but so will Jeff, so will the tour company, so will your label.”

“I don’t care,” Harry spat, bratty as ever. Always such a petulant brat when he was angry, and it was no less cute now than it ever had been. Still, Louis needed to be talking him down, not admiring his behavior--even if it was painfully adorable.

“Well, you have to care, Harry. I’m not gonna let you piss away your career over Simon fucking Cowell. He’s in charge of this stupid little reunion tour, and then he’ll fuck off for the rest of time once we’re through. We’ll get past it, okay?” Louis insisted. 

Harry just looked at him, his eyes raking up and down his body in a way that made Louis slightly uncomfortable. It wasn’t out of anger anymore, but his fear wasn’t completely gone either, and there was some other third thing that he was clearly feeling that Louis couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Okay,” Harry finally said, and let out a deep, tired breath, “I need to call my therapist tomorrow.”

“Great, do that. Now let’s get in there and face him--together, alright?” Louis encouraged. 

Harry almost smiled, “Okay.”

When they re-entered the studio, Louis put away his cigarettes and lighter, and joined Niall and Zayn, who were sitting on the slightly raised stage, Zayn puffing on a vape, and getting his own needed nicotine relief. Louis sat down next to him, and was astonished when Harry joined him on his other side, settling himself just close enough so that their shoulders brushed when either of them fidgeted. 

Ignoring Harry’s strange decision to be that close to him, Louis watched and waited as Simon discussed something with their music director, Charles, before he noticed that Louis and Harry were back and approached them, towering over the band from their timid spots on the edge of the platform.

“Alright, now that we’re acting more rational, let’s talk about this tour, yeah?” Simon began, and they all braced themselves for his control to conquer the creative decisions, overtaking the entire operation, as he usually did, while Louis and Zayn traded the nic vape back and forth.

He went over the overall goals, two different drafts of the setlist, the aesthetic for the stage and their wardrobe, not giving them even a second to try to speak up, a dictator ordering around his secret police. Nothing they all weren’t used to. But no less frustrating.

“Charles is going to run through both setlists with you all, see which one works better, and then go from there, alright?” Simon wrapped up, adding quickly, “Oh, and one more thing, Harry and Louis.”

“Yeah?” they said in unison, only briefly sharing embarrassed glances at having spoken at the same time.

“Listen, I know that you both hate me, because I didn’t want the public to know about your little romance, but,” Simon gave a cozy smile, and Louis didn’t like wherever this was going. He looked as though he was about to say something warm and gentle, which was more than suspicious coming from the vessel of pure evil that was Simon Cowell, “if you want to, I dunno, have a few flirty moments on stage or during your press coverage, or the like, something, you know, cute, but not obvious, I’m okay with that. We’re in a new decade, and it’s part of your legacy. I don’t think it will hurt.”

Harry laughed a breathless laugh, and Louis tossed his eyes over to him and let out an exhale of concern.

“How generous of you,” Harry spit out, “You do realize we’re not adolescents anymore, old man? I’m engaged to somebody else.” 

“Yeah, Simon, we’re divorced. We have been for a while now. I don’t think that’s going to work,” Louis explained, shoving down the pang of hurt that came of being reminded of Harry’s engagement.

“Right, well, never mind then. One less thing to worry about, I suppose. Now, I’m gonna hand you boys off to Charles for the day. Be good. I’ll be checking in about once a week.”

After that, he grabbed his sunglasses from the table in the corner of the room and put them back on, shrugging on his coat as well, and saying a quick, “Cheers,” before he left out the door.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Louis mumbled under his breath.

“Never thought I’d see the man again,” Niall commented.

“He looks like shit these days,” Zayn insulted.

“Let’s just get this day over with,” Harry decided, and they took their places on the small stage as they started their actual rehearsal.

The day would’ve dragged if they weren’t busy for every single millisecond. Running over the setlists (they’d decided on the second one), starting their basic stage blocking, scheduling moments for fan interaction, transitions between their solo section and rejoining the stage as a group. Even their lunch break was cut short by photographers, grabbing group photos in the middle of it to revive the One Direction Instagram with and use for the ad campaign that would be ramping up as they went forward.

And even through the exhausting, mentally-draining, and absolutely relentless day of rehearsing, only made more unsettling by Simon’s surprise appearance, Louis found himself feeling dangerously nostalgic towards their collaborative work. Goofing around with Niall and Zayn, Harry, trying to keep them focused. It all was so familiar. Too familiar. And several times throughout the day, Harry had caught Louis staring at him, something he would’ve found humiliating if he hadn’t caught Harry doing the same thing. It was strange. Mystifying. And so epically surreal, that when they landed back at Harry’s house after the day had come to a close, and started drinking together, Louis thought for a moment that maybe he’d somehow time travelled to the past.

“It was weird practicing without Liam, though,” Niall had said sullenly over their second round of drinks.

“Yeah, it was,” Louis agreed.

“He’d be proud of us though, I bet,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Zayn smiled softly to himself, a private smile, just for him, “he probably would.”

After another night of drinking and partying like old friends, they began to retire again, but not before Louis went outside for a bedtime cigarette, the orange flame of the lighter glowing in the brisk, January evening while he lit it. 

As he sat out on the back patio in a chair that was too expensive to be as uncomfortable as it was, he jumped a little when the sliding glass door opened and Harry stepped out, barefoot, in just a thigh-length, baby blue, silk robe. He looked lovely. And Louis nearly blushed to think that he likely didn’t have much on underneath.

He joined Louis at the patio table and sat in a chair next to him, crossing his legs like a delicate princess and gesturing for Louis’s cigarette. God, Louis hated how beautiful he was, the moonlight beaming down on his face like a dream.

“Since when do you smoke cigarettes so much? Earlier, and now tonight,” Louis brought up with a teasing grin, but handed Harry his smoke anyway.

“It’s been a stressful day,” Harry excused and took a beautiful puff of the cigarette, his plush, ruby lips wrinkling around the filter obscenely. Louis cleared his throat to lead his mind away from its dangerously close drift to the gutter.

“Why did you think I hated you?” Louis asked, both to distract himself, and because he actually wanted to know. He didn’t think he’d been particularly harsh to Harry, just…distant. Which could only be expected behavior from someone who he’d divorced.

“I dunno. I just, I know I fucked up a lot while we were together, Louis. And I know that even though you broke up with me,” Harry let out a cloud of smoke and passed the cigarette back to him, “I was the one, who, you know, made it permanent.”

Louis let out a little sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t anything Louis had done, personally.

“It’s okay, Harry. If I were you and didn’t hear from me for two whole years, I’d probably divorce me too.”

“Hmmm,” was the only thing Harry offered at first, looking into the hazy, starless dark, and then back at Louis, before asking, “How does it feel? Being back together again? I mean--with the band. Being back together with the band again?”

“I dunno,” Louis pondered, “It’s…strange. Even without Liam, it still somehow feels so, natural, so familiar, like-”

“Like we never even left,” Harry finished.

“Yeah,” Louis agreed quietly and took another drag from his cigarette. Harry was hugging himself, in something that looked like a mixture of nerves and chilliness.

“It’s cold,” he declared after a moment, “I’m gonna go back in,” And then he gave a pretty, little nervous giggle, as he followed up with, “Don’t leave your cigarette butts on my patio.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” Louis flirted, shamelessly. Well, maybe he should’ve been a little ashamed, but Harry didn’t seem to mind, just gave him one last look with a tiny, playful smile before he disappeared into the house.

Louis was finally starting to feel a little more comfortable with the whole “reunion” thing, even with Simon on their backs, and rigorous schedules, he was back with some of his closest friends. And as the clouds rolled over the night of London, Louis smiled a little to himself, finished his cigarette, and admired his recent company with too much sentiment.

Chapter Text

After a week, they began to fall into a routine, rehearse from dawn to dusk, and top it off with too many drinks and chatter. And the alcohol and close proximity of Niall, Zayn, and, well, Louis too, were the only things keeping Harry standing up right in light of Simon fucking Cowell managing them again. It had been one of the most vexing moments he’d had in years. Just seeing him saunter into the room with that disgustingly smug grin had given him shivers.

Their first morning that he was due to make another appearance in the rehearsal studio the following week, he’d even called Jeff to plead with him, terrified of seeing the man again, “I can’t believe you hired Simon to manage us. I don’t know if I can see him again, Jeff,” he’d expressed in a moan of disbelief and betrayal.

But Jeff had shut down his panic with a derisive, “He knows you all, he knows the business. Don’t be a little bitch about this, Harry.” 

And that hadn’t left much up for debate. 

Tonight had been a rough one too. They’d just finished filming a segment for a popular internet podcast right after a six hour rehearsal, and returned home as tired as could be, only gaining a second wind once Zayn had gone out for a while and showed up with weed that he’d offered to share.

They smoked a joint together out on the patio. Zayn had even bought a cute, stained glass ashtray to give he and Louis a place to dispose of their smoked cigarettes and roaches. And by the end of the joint, they were all pretty violently stoned. 

It was fun. Talking and hanging out like lads again. But all the while, Harry could hardly keep himself away from wanting to spend more and more time with Louis. As much as he hated to admit it. 

Richard was so busy on set. They hadn’t spoken much since he’d left for LA. And it was hard finding times that weren’t unreasonable for the other with the egregious time difference and Harry’s busy schedule as well. And the times that they had managed to call each other, they were both so tired that their conversations didn’t last very long, consisting usually only of a few quick, How-have-you-beens, I-love-yous, and I-miss-you-toos. 

But Louis was there with him. Live and in the flesh. His familiar smirk and sharp wit charming everyone around him. It was intoxicating. Dangerously so. And Harry was met with both the power of nostalgia and the wisdom of his age tugging and toying with his emotions.

As they all settled back inside from their joint, Harry poured shots and they became quickly cross-faded while watching Goodfellas, a movie Harry hadn’t bothered with in years, but Zayn had expressed really wanting to watch with them that night. And after he’d gotten them all stoned, they’d decided it was only fair to let him pick out the film.

But as the credits rolled, Niall was standing up from his spot between Louis and Harry on the couch and stretching, Zayn standing too, both of them clearly sleepy and ready for bed, which Harry thought was a shame, because they actually had a real day off tomorrow. One that didn’t include promo, and photoshoots, and other bullshit that drained them of any real free time. He had been ready to stay up late and party, and worst of all, if Niall and Zayn were going to bed, that meant Louis was too, as he’d noticed Louis had rather transparently been avoiding spending time alone with him.

“You lads are already checkin’ out?” Louis teased, “It’s only ten o’clock.”

“I’m tired, Louis. We’ve been busy all fuckin’ day,” Zayn defended.

“Yeah, damn, if you two wanna stay up, that’s up to you guys, but I’m beat too,” Niall agreed, before saying a quick “good night” as they both crossed the room to the staircase and climbed up to the second floor of Harry’s home. And as Harry and Louis were left alone in the living room, nothing but an open space between them on the sofa keeping them apart, a tense silence settled within the air.

“Damn, I’m not tired at all,” Harry complained.

“Yeah? I’m not really either. You always got hyper off grass for some fuckin’ reason though, I could never understand,” Louis remarked. Harry giggled shyly.

“Yeah, well, I dunno, just makes me…”

“Giggly?” Louis finished with a teasing smile. 

Harry responded with another giggle, “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be, Harry. You’re wonderful.”

Harry couldn’t help the blush creeping onto his cheeks and heating his neck at that. Not knowing how to respond to Louis’s persisting admiration.

“So, do you wanna, maybe,” Harry began, ignoring the compliment and swallowing his nerves, “keep hanging out for a little bit?”

“Yeah?” Louis questioned, and Harry could feel the unease radiating off of him, “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I mean,” Harry wasn’t sure if he should’ve said it. Maybe it was too blunt. But, with the THC and alcohol coursing through his blood, he didn’t hold back, “you’re always the one avoiding me. I don’t mind spending time with you.”

Louis bit his lip, “I’m sorry, Harry, I-I just--it’s just hard to be around you sometimes, mate.”

“Well, it hasn’t been exactly easy for me either, Louis,” Harry retorted with a tense brow, perhaps a little harsher than he’d meant to so he added, “but I’d like to think that someday we could be friends again.”

Louis smiled a little, half-heartedly in a way that tugged at the already prevalent remorse Harry lived with everyday, “Alright.”

“Yeah?” Harry said, a little surprised, his face animated with excitement, “You think you can handle it?”

“Yeah, Harry,” Louis decided, “I can handle it.” 

And Harry couldn’t help the cheeky grin that he was sure was making him look absolutely idiotic at the moment.

“Good.”

Harry poured them more shots and insisted on The Notebook as the next film to throw on, something they had used to watch together a lot, as it was both Harry’s favorite film, and something Louis didn’t mind, even liked it, though he was sure he was tired of it with how many times he’d seen it over the years. Not that it mattered. Not that they were paying much attention to the movie at all. 

They talked over it practically the entire time. Louis was rolling them more joints from the weed Zayn had left out on the coffee table, while Harry kept their glasses full. And they fell back into familiar rambles and old, inside jokes, some of which Harry had completely forgotten, catching him off guard and making him laugh like it was the first time he’d heard it. They were as giddy as teenagers. Swept back into a dynamic that was second nature and easy, as they swapped old stories for new ones. Catching up on parts of each others’ lives that they’d missed out on, while reflecting on the past as well.

Harry was so caught up in their time together that he almost didn’t notice when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and pulled it out to see a text from Richard.

You’re not still up by any chance? I have time to call right now and I’d like to hear your voice. Xx

Harry stared at the message for a second, debating whether he should respond right away or let it wait until morning. He was having fun with Louis, and he didn’t want to stop for even a second, afraid that if he took a call it would be the perfect catalyst for Louis to dismiss himself to bed, as it was already a little after midnight. So, he decided on a text instead, something that was transparent and caring, while also playing it cool.

I’m actually hanging out with Louis right now, and we’re having fun. Can I call you tomorrow morning? I’ll get up early so I can catch you before you go to sleep.

He hoped the fact that he was spending time with Louis didn’t set off any alarms in Richard’s head, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lie or ignore him either.

“Harry?” Louis said, pulling Harry back from the harsh weight that came of juggling both the attention from his fiancé and his ex.

“Oh, um, sorry, it’s just, Richard’s texting me.”

“Oh,” was all Louis offered.

With just Louis? What are you guys doing?

Harry didn’t like the tone of the text Richard had replied with, and couldn’t help the frown that twisted his face. It wasn’t exactly an accusation, but Harry could sense the uneasiness in it.

Just hanging out. Watching films and stuff. Catching up. Nothing weird. I’ll call you early tomorrow morning, before you go to bed, I promise. 

Harry only hesitated slightly before he added:

Love you. 

And put his phone on the coffee table, doing his best to forget that it was even there.

“Everything okay?” Louis asked.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, you were saying?”

Louis hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to ask something else about Richard, but Harry was thankful that he didn’t. Instead, slipping back into the story of how he met Gene Simmons on a cruise and watched him get smacked on the side of his face by his wife for making a pass at one of the waitresses in front of her. 

“Proper arsehole, like truly. Never met anyone willing to be such a public sleaze.”

“Except, Simon, of course,” Harry tried. They broke into another bout of laughter and finished another joint. Harry, having gotten tired of the up-and-down of going outside, had brought the ashtray into the living room and they smoked on the couch casually. “I’ve missed hanging out with you,” Harry said out of the blue, perhaps too candidly. Not that he was sober enough to care. The substances were making him honest and loose. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess I’ve missed hanging out with you too,” Louis returned.

“You ‘guess?’” Harry pried.

“I’ve missed hanging out with you too, Harry. Okay? Happy?” Louis corrected, throwing Harry a playful smirk that made his heart flutter before he put the joint out on the ashtray.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry said slowly, not thinking about much else except that he was happy. Very happy. And he was happy the rest of the night too, as their time spent together stretched into the early morning hours, until only a few words were being said by either of them, and Harry found himself, still on the couch, his eyes falling closed, and Louis’s warm body just inches away from him.

Chapter Text

Louis found himself wearing a tuxedo in a ballroom, the space alit with sparkling chandeliers and the faint hum of a jazzy Etta James piece. And Harry, all chestnut curls and glowing skin, was wearing a crisp white suit, patterned with flowers, a rose brooch, pinned to one of the lapels. He held out his hand towards him, and Louis, unable to resist the gorgeous sight, took it, as they began to waltz along the marble floors. He had a brilliant smile and the glitter of his eyes sunk into Louis, making him incapable of focusing on anything or anyone else.

“It’s okay, Louis,” Harry whispered as they danced, “I’m still in love with you too.”

Louis woke up with a jolt and a gasp, to the clatter of plates and loud rushing water from the sink across the room, the kitchen that pooled into the living room, occupied by Niall. And as Louis’s eyes blinked open and he allowed himself to snap back to reality, shaking off the ridiculously wistful dream, he was taken aback by the sensation of a weight on his lap, and when he looked down, Harry’s head was resting on his thigh, tiny snores pouring from him softly. 

Shit.

They’d fallen asleep on the couch together. Neither of them even waking up to go to an actual bed. This didn’t look good. And when Niall poked his head in from the kitchen and found them, he broke into a bout of obnoxious laughter.

“Fuck, well, we all knew it would happen eventually, right?” Niall said with a smile that was much too wide. Oh no.

“Knew what would happen?” Louis demanded, playing the fool, and did his best to be gentle as he slid out from under Harry’s head as he stood up. The shift in weight disturbed Harry enough to wake him too, and he yawned and stretched as he regained his bearings.

“I mean, you two sleeping together,” Niall explained. Zayn cornered from the staircase as he’d said it.

“We must’ve just fallen asleep while we were hanging out last night,” Louis defended.

“Wait, so, nothing happened?” Niall probed, a faint look of--was that--disappointment on his face?

“No, nothing happened!” Harry practically shouted, fully awake now, and clutching at his beautifully messy hair.

“Dammit,” Niall swore. 

“‘Dammit?’” Louis questioned.

“Wait, so you two didn’t-” Zayn had begun, but Niall just shook his head, waving his hand at his neck as if signaling for him to shut up, Zayn responding with a self-indulgent, “I told you.”

“I still have plenty of time,” Niall said.

“Plenty of time for what? What the hell are you two on about?” Louis demanded.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Niall waved off. 

Louis just pursed his brows, incapable of bothering to pry more, even though he was certainly weirded out by his and Zayn’s bizarre exchange and asked, desperately wanting to change the subject, “What’s for breakfast?”

“Lunch,” Niall corrected.

“‘Lunch!?’” Harry begged, sitting up straighter on the couch, “What time is it?”

“Little after noon,” Zayn said. He was sticking a cigarette between his lips, and glancing at the coffee table. “Shit, did you guys smoke all my fuckin’ weed?”

“Sorry,” Louis tried. Zayn just shook his head, grabbed the ashtray, and headed out back to smoke.

“I have to call Richard,” Harry insisted, “fuck, I promised him I would get up early to call him.”

“Well it’s too late now. It’s like four in the morning in LA,” Niall reminded him.

“Shit,” Harry swore again, rubbing his forehead, and grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “Great, four missed calls. I’ve gotta stop leaving my phone on silent.”

“So, listen, while you two were cuddling on the couch, Zayn and I were talking about going to Piccadilly since it’s our day off. Go see our old phone booth, you remember? Thought it might be exciting. Nostalgic.”

“You want to go to Piccadilly, all four of us? Are you mad? We’ll get bombarded by fans the second we step out onto the street,” Louis argued.

“We’ll be fine, Louis. It’s been years. It’s not like we’re the ‘it’ thing anymore. Don’t overthink it.”

***

It turns out, Louis had not been overthinking it. The second they exited the public garage, where Harry had parked his car, they were practically chased by groups of girls in their twenties, shocked and excited to see them all together again. 

“Please, can we just get a picture!” one shouted as they all briskly walked to the Hard Rock Cafe, where the stupid phone booth that Louis couldn’t care less about seeing again was located.

“We’re a bit busy right now, sorry!” Harry called back, too polite for his own good as they dashed through the streets.

They somehow managed to reach the place without getting kidnapped, though, entering the landmark restaurant, and looking at the red, metal phone booth with a flattened appreciation. The “One Direction” placard still there, dull with dust and worn lettering.

“Well, I guess it’s not that exciting,” Niall admitted. Louis looked to Harry with a weary, annoyed brow and Harry just gave an amused smile.

“Well, you wanna grab a bite while we’re here?” Zayn suggested.

“I could go for a burger!” Niall said excitedly.

So, they sat down, ordered food, and Louis was, for the first time, relieved and not annoyed that Niall and Zayn had taken up one side of the booth, allowing him to sit next to Harry. Sweet, perfume smelling Harry, eating just a plate of salmon with a glass of water, while the rest of them dug into their burgers. Niall was scarfing down his like an animal, and Louis couldn’t hold back the grimace of disgust gracing his face.

“Christ, Niall, how can you eat like that? You just had a sandwich like an hour ago,” he said scornfully. 

“Don’t judge me, Louis! I’ll burn it off tomorrow at the gym,” Niall excused, washing down a bite of his burger with a sip from his tall glass of soda.

“It’s actually not that bad now that we’re settled in here,” Zayn said. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Louis barely agreed, hyper aware of the sneak-photos other patrons were failing to take as inconspicuously as they thought they were.

“They’re just excited, Louis,” Harry whispered to him, no doubt noticing him side-eyeing a group of friends aiming their phones in their direction.

“I know,” Louis said, returning his attention to their group, “What do you wanna do after this?”

“I dunno. I just wanna head to the liquor store and go home honestly,” Harry said, and took another bite of his fish, stabbing his fork into it murderously. It’d taken Louis a second to notice from the distraction of nosy Directioners, but he seemed a little tense. 

“You okay?” Louis asked.

“Fine,” Harry insisted, not meeting his gaze.

They finished their meal rather quickly, over menial conversation and dumb jokes, Harry still somewhere between annoyed and happy, for reasons Louis couldn’t understand. And when they stepped back out onto the street for the second time, that’s when the real chaos began. A hoard of strangers rushed them as soon as they stepped outside, and just as Louis didn’t think they could get anymore attention laid on them, someone shouted:

“It’s One Direction! They’re back together!”

And the crowd must’ve multiplied by a hundred. Screams and limbs tearing through the air.

“Fuck,” Louis cursed, following up with, “Um, I guess, we should probably get out of here.”

So, they did. Fighting their way past spectators as they dashed through the busy London streets. Louis did his best to keep his eye on Harry, trying to not let him get trampled by fans as they tried to fight their way to, well,  somewhere. Anywhere. Away from the crowd. Louis had never been ungrateful for their admirers, but being swarmed by a massive assembly of young women wasn’t exactly fun, either. 

After a long jog and several wild turns of the corner, he and Harry had managed to make it away from the buzzing sting of invaded space. The only problem being that in the madness of their escape, they had lost Niall and Zayn. Which was definitely no good. As it left Louis and Harry alone in public, and he could already hear the angry call from Simon the next morning in his head.

As they caught their breath, Harry huffing with his hands on his knees, Louis leaned against the brick of a local business and checked on him, “You alright?”

Harry nodded, pushing himself to stand upright as he let out a small chuckle of amusement at the ridiculous predicament they’d put themselves in. 

“You were right, we shouldn’t have gone out together,” Harry mentioned, “Christ, what a nightmare.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Louis said with a small laugh of his own.

“Liquor store, right there, let’s go,” Harry said, pointing at the little wine and spirits shop just down the way.

They crossed the street quickly, before a gaggle of cars got too close, doing their best to try to not get seen by fans again as they entered the establishment.

“I’m gonna ring Niall,” Louis let Harry know, pulling out his phone. Harry nodded before disappearing down the aisle, browsing the vodka and gin sections. Niall picked up immediately. “Hey, you lads alright? Sorry we got split up.”

“We’re fine. I just found Zayn. We’re gonna start heading to the parking garage,” Niall said. He was still out of breath. They must’ve had a harder time getting away.

“Alright, sounds good. Harry and I are at the off-licence a few blocks down, but we’ll head back once we’re done here.”

They said a quick goodbye to each other and hung up, as Harry returned from the aisle holding bottles of liquor. 

“Are they alright?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, they’re fine. They’re heading back to the car.”

“Great,” Harry let out, still completely devoid of energy. What the hell was wrong with him?

They approached the counter and Harry set down the spirits on the wooden surface, his eyes widening when the clerk asked, “ID?” 

Harry let out a little laugh, “You’re kidding?”

“Hey, take it as a compliment, mate, you don’t look a day over eighteen,” Louis teased sarcastically. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, Louis.”

Nonetheless, Harry pulled his ID from his wallet and handed it to the employee, and Louis went a little cold when he saw the name on it.

Tomlinson, Styles Harry.

He still hadn’t legally changed his name. And Harry must’ve noticed the pale look on Louis’s face, because when Louis glanced up from his driver’s license, he watched Harry dance his eyes around the room nervously as he took back the small, plastic card and stuck it back in his wallet quickly.

They said a short thank you, and began to make their way back to the car, the brown, paper bag of spirits tucked under Harry’s arm. It shouldn’t have mattered to him as much as it did. It really shouldn’t have. But seeing it was a knife in the gut, and though he probably shouldn’t have brought it up, he couldn’t help himself. It was gnawing at him. Harry Tomlinson. His name was still Harry Tomlinson. 

“So, never got your surname changed back, huh?” he finally asked after much (okay, maybe not that much) internal debate. 

Harry smiled an embarrassed smile, the cutest little blush warming his cheeks as he pushed a few swaying, wind-blown hairs behind his ear. “Well, you know, it’s a lot of extra paperwork.”

“Yeah, and I suppose you’ll change it again anyways when you marry Richard,” Louis quipped, and for some reason, he wasn’t feeling any pang of bitterness as he said it. It was almost a joke. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Harry said, something sad flickering onto his face again. It was only there for just a second, but still long enough for Louis to notice.

“What is his surname, by the way?” Louis asked. 

Harry huffed a little, “Um, Blakely.”

“Hmmm, Harry Blakely. Sounds a little awkward, no?” Louis taunted further. Harry snickered.

“Whatever. You drive us back. I’m gonna pop open this gin,” Harry announced as they entered the parking garage, tossing Louis his keys out of his coat pocket.

“Can’t wait even a little bit to get drunk while you’re around me, hm?”

“You’re really pushing it, Lou,” Harry scolded, though there wasn’t even a hint of a threat on his face. He looked utterly charmed, torn from whatever melancholy had been biting him, and Louis was, perhaps, a little self-satisfied by the effect he had on Harry. He just couldn’t prevent himself from picking on him, though. The way his face grew rosy and broke into a guilty smile was enough to keep him too entertained, and he pushed just a little further, even in spite of Harry’s warning, as they climbed the stairs to the second level of the garage.

“You’re right, Tomlinson, you’re too pretty to make fun of.”

That really flustered Harry, complete with an eye roll and a toothy smile and a gentle shake of his curly head of hair as they made their way to the car, Niall leaning against it, while Zayn had a smoke.

“Do you two walk with your shoes tied together?” Niall teased.

“We’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes,” Zayn added.

“Sorry, guess we took our time,” Harry apologized, giving Louis a side-eye that almost came across as--romantic? Louis didn’t know, wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. All he knew was that it left him breathless and tingly all over.

“Well, let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?” Zayn replied, and they piled into the car, Harry taking the passenger seat as Louis started the engine, before he pulled out the gin, as he’d announced he would, and took a long, awful swig that left him groaning in displeasure. 

“You’re mad,” Louis said with a chuckle.

“Not as mad as you,” Harry returned, and they sped back to Harry’s house in a hurry.

When they got back to the estate, they slipped into their usual routine of hanging out together in the living room, Louis and Harry sinking into the couch next to each other as they took shots and chatted too loud, Zayn and Niall taking the arm chairs in an unusual, but not unwelcome configuration.

And once again, Niall and Zayn went up to bed first, leaving Louis and Harry alone for the second night in a row, to talk and watch cheesy musicals and rom-coms that they could never convince the others to enjoy with them. Harry had gotten his pick of The Notebook last night, so Louis happily insisted on Grease this time. And as Danny and Sandy disappeared into the sky in the vintage convertible, they finished singing the tune of “We Go Together” barely in key and without much effort.

By the end of their make-shift concert, they were laughing like hyenas, completely unashamed and more comfortable with each other than they probably should’ve been.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry said, coming down from their moment of hyperactivity and synergistic enthusiasm, “I forgot how much you make me laugh.”

“Well, I aim to please,” Louis retorted, which only earned him another giggle.

“You really do,” Harry returned, and Louis was struck with about a thousand volts of electricity as Harry’s pale, pink fingernails (which he’d noticed he’d only recently started to paint again regularly) brushed deliberately against the back of Louis’s hand that had been resting on the couch between them. His long, gorgeous fingers running along his knuckles delicately, soothingly, and Louis just stared at it for a while, only finding his bearings again when Harry uttered, “Lou.”

And Louis met his eyes, which were shining with a familiar glaze of attraction and lust that Louis, after seventeen years, couldn’t help but recognize. And before he could react, Harry was biting his bottom lip before reaching across the space between them and reaching for his neck, pulling him in for what would’ve been a kiss, if Louis hadn’t recoiled, like he’d been burned, and stood from the couch as his body lit with anger.

Sure, it was fun, flirting and teasing each other, but he could hardly comprehend the fact that Harry had just tried to do that. Like he wasn’t engaged. Like he hadn’t promised himself to someone else. Someone who Louis knew wouldn’t appreciate what he just did.

“Harry, don’t. Just--stop,” Louis demanded, and Harry’s face twisted up in hurt and frustration, and he crossed his arms defensively.

“You’ve been flirting with me all day, Louis, I mean…God, why are you so pissed off?”

“Because, Harry, I’ve been on the other side of you fucking around! You’re bloody engaged, and you just came onto someone else. What do you think Richard would make of that, hm?”

“I know, I just, but--well, Louis, I’m not the only one who was unfaithful while we were together.”

“Oh, please! One time! And you cheated on me, what, six times? And you’re just gonna go ahead and make me your new mistress?” Louis bit out. Harry shot up from the couch with a scowl.

“It was three! Three! And you know how fucking terrible I felt! They were the worst mistakes of my life, alright? I still beat myself up enough about it, and we’re not even together anymore!”

“Exactly, Harry! We’re not even together anymore. You’re getting married to Richard, and I’m not about to be the other man! Just, fuck. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow,” Louis declared and headed for the stairs. And he made sure, that as he heard Harry’s last words to him before he left, he didn’t turn around, because if he had, he was afraid he wouldn’t ever be able to walk away again.

“Lou, wait…I’m sorry.” 

Chapter Text

It was a cruel joke that Richard had called Harry the next morning. His head was drumming, and he still felt nauseous from the excessive amount of alcohol he’d drank the previous night. And the ringtone was like a gong of doom in his ear. But he picked up his phone anyway, because he couldn’t just ignore it, and tried to not puke from his hangover and the painful pang of guilt shooting through his every nerve.

“Hey, love,” Richard said gently into the phone.

“Hey, Richard,” Harry said, still clearing the sleep from his voice.

“Oh no! I didn’t wake you, did I, darling?”

“It’s okay, I needed to get up anyways. Backing band is finally practicing with us, and things are getting more serious, so I wanna get there a little early to have more time to warm up.”

“Alright, well, I just wanted to call and say that I miss you before I head to bed. Don’t work too hard, alright?”

“Alright.” 

Harry had a lump in his throat. Should he tell him the truth? Should he admit to his moment of impulsive wrongdoing and attempted unfaithfulness? He knew the answer was obvious. In fact, he knew it wasn’t a question at all. But, he just couldn’t find the courage to do so, instead ending the call with a contrite, “I, uh, I love you.”

“I love you too, dear,” Richard responded with ease, “Talk soon.”

After they hung up, Harry stared at his phone screen, taking in Richard’s contact photo like it was all of his poor decisions, leering back up at him, and collapsed onto his bed, as wet, awful tears soaked his cheeks.

Once he’d finally managed to stop crying, he hit the shower, brushed his teeth, and dressed casually for today’s rehearsal, just a pink t-shirt and jeans, and then cursed when he opened the door to his bedroom to see Louis in the hall, freshly showered as well, with his backpack on his shoulder.

“Louis, I-” he tried, without even thinking through whatever he was going to say.

“Save it,” Louis dismissed and headed down the stairs, while Harry forced himself to not run back to bed and hide under the covers forever.

Once they were in the studio, things only got more awkward. Louis practically pretended Harry didn’t exist, as his heart began to thud while he watched Louis flirt with their drummer, Quill, or Quinn? It was something weird and with a “Q.” Not that Harry gave a damn about his name. He was simmering with a jealousy he couldn’t control. And Niall, while he tuned his guitar on the edge of the platform, looked up to Harry as his eyes bore a hole into Louis and the drummer, his nostrils flaring when he watched Louis tap him on the forearm playfully, his eyes meeting Harry’s for just a moment as he did so. Fuck. He was flaunting it.

“You doing okay?” Niall asked.

“‘M fine,” Harry mumbled. 

Niall opened his mouth, as though he was thinking about saying something, but shut it after a moment, and Harry thought for a second he wasn’t going to say anything at all. But then he stood up, set his guitar down, and came closer, talking under his breath in a calm and measured voice.

“You know, Harry,” Niall started, “it’s none of my business, but Louis told me what happened last night.”

“He did!?” Harry whisper-shouted, mortified. Niall petted the air in front of him at the reaction, as though Harry was a horse who had bucked and he was trying to settle him down.

“And I know that you both must be feeling a lot of complicated things right now, but,” Niall took a deep breath, “all I wanted to say is that, if Louis was actually as bothered by it as he says he was, he could’ve checked into a hotel this morning.”

And, oh. Oh. Harry had been too embarrassed by Louis’s rejection to read the layers behind it, but Niall had a point. He didn’t have to stay with Harry anymore. He could’ve packed his things and left yesterday night. 

But, he hadn’t. 

And just as a tiny, self-satisfied smile was creeping across Harry’s face, Simon entered with a door slam, looking like he was about to tear their heads off. He wasn’t even supposed to be here today. Which only meant one thing, of course. 

They were in trouble.

“Harry! Louis!” Simon called and Harry took quiet, bashful steps over to the man, ignoring the second wave of jealous discomfort that rolled under his skin as Louis clapped Quill/nn on the back and made his way over to Harry and Simon. 

“What’s this about you two walking around Piccadilly alone together?” Simon started, “Do you know how many pictures are on the internet that I have to try to explain? You told me you two were divorced.”

“We are,” they said at the same time. Harry said it coolly, feigning composure; Louis spit it out like venom.

“Well, that’s not what the public is going to think! That’s not what news outlets are saying right now!” Simon exclaimed.

Harry was checked out, barely paying attention in light of his recent realization (thank you, Niall) but Louis’s face was twisted up in anger.

“Listen, I need this to never happen again. I’m already working with your PR to run a story about you two just being friends again. And you better hope it silences some of the public outcry. I said a few flirty moments on stage were fine, but when you start rolling out on the streets of London, shoulder to shoulder on your own time, people are going to get the wrong idea.”

“We get it, Simon,” Louis declared.

“Okay,” Harry muttered, distracted.

It felt all too familiar. Simon scolding them like children for interacting in public. A masterful control freak exerting his absolute control. Except this time, they knew it was futile to try to protest. Louis was flirting with somebody else, and Harry was engaged. There wasn’t even anything worth fighting for anymore. And he left without another word, as they all took their places on the platform.

Rehearsal was going late that evening, and Harry was growing increasingly frustrated watching Louis get along with the hot drummer. He knew he was doing it on purpose. He knew he was trying to prove that he didn’t want Harry the way Harry had wanted him last night. And even though he knew he shouldn’t be bothered. Knew that Louis had, perhaps, done him a favor by not allowing him to cheat on someone else, all he could focus on was the rising envy threatening to split him open. 

So much so, that at one point, as they were trying to choreograph their stage blocking, Louis had turned around and winked at Quinn (Harry had confirmed his name eventually as they all took corrections) which caused Harry to trip as he walked back to the mic stand and almost fall on his face. 

And he’d fumed even more when he watched Louis hold in a laugh.

He’d come to a decision.

Fine. Fine. If Louis was going to scorn his advances, and make him feel like shit about still having, just maybe, a tiny bit of feelings for him, even though he’d toyed and flirted with Harry too, all the while still deciding to stay in his home and hit on their drummer, at least Harry could show him what he was missing.

Yes, Louis, Harry could play this game too.

***

Before Harry came home after they’d wrapped for the day, he went shopping. An expensive women’s boutique that sold primarily lingerie. He entered with a confident strut, and browsed the shop for a while. He needed something perfectly seductive, but still subtle enough to sell his behavior as casual. And after several rounds around the luxury store, he found it.

A cute little, lilac pajama set with a sweet, curly, white trim. The shorts were short enough to show off his thighs and backside, and the top hung down in a babydoll silhouette from the thin, alluring straps that would hold it up on his shoulders. It was sexy-cute, but not crazy. It was just what he needed. A touch of revenge in lavender and lace.

When he checked out at the desk, he received a strange look from the adorably plump old lady who was working the register, which he shut down with a quick, “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday tomorrow,” which replaced her glare of discomfort with a thoughtful smile.

He thanked her (rather disingenuously after her intense judgmental glower) and raced home, his heart beating out of his chest. When he arrived, Louis was sitting at the kitchen island, writing in his notebook and listening to music, singing faintly to himself in that soft, gorgeous voice that Harry had fallen in love with years ago. And with Louis distracted, he ran upstairs to try on his new piece of bait.

Zayn and Niall would be out for a little while too, as Zayn made another weed run that Niall had decided to tag-along to. Amplifying the intensity of his fishing operation. Leaving he and Louis as the only ones who would be home for at least a little while, a fearful and threatening prospect that he’d decided to run headfirst into.

He undressed in a hurry, practically fighting the clothes on his body, before he replaced them with the sexy new lingerie he’d bought with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. He topped off the look with several spritzes of his most expensive perfume, and a sheen of light, sparkly, strawberry flavored lip gloss. And as he was about to exit his bedroom and enter the pond of seduction, his hand lingered on the doorknob.

This was…stupid. It was petty, and impulsive, and childish, and self indulgent. He shouldn’t be doing this. He had a fiancé, for Christ’s sake! Someone who cared for him deeply, and Louis had already rejected him once. But, dammit, that’s why he was doing it. Louis had rejected him, after flirting with him all day. And was still staying in his house, giving him side-eyes as he made playful chit-chat with Quinn. Ugh. All Harry was doing was giving him a taste of his own medicine. He deserved it.

And so, after his mental pep-talk, he took a deep, empowering breath, and stepped into the hall and headed downstairs. It was time for him to make himself a cocktail, and look absolutely temptatious as he did so. 

When he cornered the kitchen, where Louis still was, the warmth of the overhead light, dim and enchanting against the otherwise dark house, rained down on the silk of the lingerie he was wearing in a splash of golden illuminance, and Louis looked up to acknowledge his presence, giving him a small grin that was almost mocking. Uh oh. Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

He was going to have to up his strategy.

So, as he wandered into the kitchen to begin to fix himself a margarita, he was sure to reach high up as he opened the cabinets to get himself a glass and the cocktail shaker, allowing the top of the set to reveal a sliver of his waist, before he made his way to the refrigerator for phase two. 

Opening the freezer drawer, he deliberately bent over slowly and obscenely as he filled the shaker and his glass with ice, being sure to do so painfully slow to give Louis a clear look of the fabric as it accentuated the contours of his arse and revealed even more leg. And when he turned around, he was sure that he would find Louis averting his gaze or scratching his head awkwardly. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for him to be standing right behind him, leaning against the counter opposite to the fridge with a wry smirk on his face.

“Jesus, Louis!” Harry exclaimed, startled, his heart beating hard and fast.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Harry?” Louis asked with just a hint of condescension in his voice. 

Harry played it cool, pouring the tequila, lime juice, and triple-sec into the shaker, and giving it a ridiculously vigorous and suggestive shake with both of his hands, “I’m making myself a drink,” Harry said, returning his tone.

As he poured the mixed drink from the shaker into the glass, Louis’s smirk returned, and he did his best to not let it affect him. His smile was dominant. Challenging. Something that was beginning to make Harry weak in the knees, in a reverse effect to what he’d been going for.

“Yeah? In that?” Louis questioned.

“Yeah, it’s cute, isn’t it?” Harry gave with a grin, filled with faux-innocence as he smoothed down a few creases in the top and did his best to maintain his composure.

“Harry, I know what you’re doing. I mean, Christ, how stupid do you think I am?” Louis questioned.

“I never said I thought you were stupid,” Harry said sweetly, and took a shy sip of his drink as he challenged Louis’s patronizing stare.

“Is your ego really so fragile, that me refusing to kiss you last night has sent you on some, god, I don’t even know how to put it--sexual vendetta?” 

Harry couldn’t help the scrunching of his brows. Goddammit, he was really not taking the bait, and Harry was more than frustrated. He should’ve been reeling him in by now.

“Is your ego so fragile that you had to go hit on the first guy to look your way at the studio just to prove you don’t want me anymore?” Harry shot back.

“Prove I don’t—god, you really are obsessed with yourself, aren’t you? At least he’s single. Does your fiancé know you’re prancing around in lingerie trying to seduce your ex-husband?” Louis retorted. His words were like a bullet, and they hit Harry straight through the heart. 

“Whatever, Louis!” Harry exploded, slamming his drink down on the counter so hard it splashed onto the marble. “Keep acting like you’re not into me! I don’t give a shit! You’re the one who started flirting with me! You're the one who decided to stay here after I came onto you! If you’re really so bothered by me, then maybe you should just pack your things and get out of my bloody house!” Harry shouted.

“Forgive me for trying to respect your engagement more than you do! Fuck, god, Harry. Jesus. You know what? You’re right! I’m gonna go get my shit together right now! I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I decided to stay here with you!” Louis fought back and stormed towards the hallway, as Harry’s eyes brimmed with tears. 

And just as Harry thought Louis was about to disappear, he stopped. Hanging onto the edge of the arch that led out of the kitchen, and looking back at Harry with a softening face, as Harry stood there. Blushing, hugging his arms to his chest, absolutely lost as to what to do. This was supposed to be a moment of triumph, not another humiliating rejection.

But then Louis swore, “Fuckin’ hell,” and he was turning all the way back around towards Harry, closing the space between them in an instant, and gathering his waist in his arms as he collided their mouths in a deep and passionate kiss. 

Harry could hardly contain himself. A mixture of relief, longing, confusion, and lust were clouding his judgement, and he returned Louis’s embrace with fervor and excitement. Soaking into his touch. Harry reached for the sides of his face, and cradled him gently, spreading his fingers through his hair, as Louis grabbed his arse and lifted him onto the counter in a swift, deliciously sexy gesture that sent heat coursing to Harry’s groin.

Their lips danced aggressively. Punishingly. Both of them hungry, no, starving for each other. As though no one or nothing else in the world mattered in that moment. He had Louis in his arms again, running his hands up the intimate sides of his skin, toying at the lacy hem of his shirt, before he tore it off completely, it laying useless and forgotten on the glossy wooden floor as they reconnected their tongues, toying and biting at each others’ lips in clashes of teeth and flesh.

And then the door flew open, Niall and Zayn crossing the foyer and into the open-floor plan of the kitchen with laughs and quips, before Harry could even think about trying to get his shirt back on.

Louis pulled away from him as they entered, and the space went quiet as the boys’ eyes landed on the salacious scene, Louis’s gaze not leaving Harry for a second, before he breathed a soft, “Damn you,” and stormed out of the kitchen for good this time. Harry still sat awkwardly on the counter, alone in the room with the other two, who were standing there with dopey grins like golden retrievers.

“Well, pay up,” Niall said to Zayn, who rolled his eyes, reached in his wallet, and handed him a note.

Chapter Text

Louis was packing. And swore under his breath when he heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and towards his room. 

A soft knock. 

“Lou?” Harry’s gentle, teary voice sounded from the other side. “Please, Lou, can we talk about it?”

Louis threw the last of his shirts into his suitcase, and opened the door, and his heart almost tore in two when he was greeted with Harry’s red, tear-stained face. His chest still bare, his lips red and bitten from their kiss. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. You’ve already done enough damage.

Louis took in a deep breath and moved past him, not saying a word as he approached the bathroom and grabbed his razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste, and headed back towards his bags, Harry following him into the room like a lost pup seeking out resolution.

“Louis, please don’t leave! We’re going to have to see each other in the studio tomorrow anyway, so you can listen to me now or listen to me then!” He proclaimed as Louis finished packing up the rest of his toiletries.

It took a phenomenal amount of strength for Louis to not just allow Harry’s beauty and sorrow to pull him back in. To not fall harder into old habits. But he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do it to himself, he couldn’t do it to Harry, and he couldn’t do it to Richard, either. Even if the man had everything that Louis wished he still did. He had already fucked up enough when he’d tasted Harry’s strawberry lips on the counter, and he was at least thankful that it hadn’t gone any further than a heated few seconds of impulsivity. 

“Louis!” Harry pleaded, and Louis finally met his gaze, closing the last zipper on his suitcase, as his eyes sunk into him deeply. “Just, listen to me, please, look, I-I think I might still feel something for you, and I think you still feel something for me too! Just, please, I know, I know you’re mad because you feel like I’m being reckless and impulsive! I know you feel like I’m just starting drama again, but, Louis, I-I didn’t realize how much I missed you until now. Just--don’t leave. Please.”

Louis took in a breath. And held it. Before he let it go and looked deep into Harry’s eyes. Still wet and tired with tears. And for a moment, Louis could still see the boy he’d fallen love with years ago, before they’d made any mistakes. Vulnerable and honest, but not yet broken. 

This wasn’t fair. Harry was pleading for him, begging him to stay, after he’d let him drag him into this childish tumble, this game all over again. They were no longer together for a reason. And here, a siren just barely covered in lace-trimmed silk, was the reason why. 

It hurt like hell. It killed him inside. But Louis had to resist, because Harry was like a drug. And Louis had been dependent for most of his adult life. And just after he’d been clean for four years, he’d had a terrific relapse. But even so, having a relapse didn’t mean he had to go right back to being an addict. This could be a single mistake and he could move on from it. In fact, he had too. Because, just like any addiction, it wasn’t healthy. And he knew that getting pulled into Harry’s orbit again, while Harry revolved around another, was only further proof that Louis could never trust him again. 

“Well, will you say something? Are you gonna stay?” Harry begged. Louis just let out another sigh, “Louis, please! Will you just talk to me? Yell at me! Tell me I’m a piece of shit! Call me a slut! Please, just say something!”

“Harry,” Louis finally let out, “You’re going to be hearing enough of that from yourself.” And then he grabbed the handle of his suitcase in a painful grip, threw on his backpack, and left.

Chapter Text

After Louis had run from Harry’s estate and moved into a hotel, time seemed to pass both much too slowly and all too fast. Between press, and rehearsals, and fits of crying, Harry was emotionally exhausted and overwhelmingly busy. 

They hadn’t talked since that night. Not really. They were civil as they could be in rehearsal and wardrobe fittings, and plastically friendly in interviews, but they hadn’t said a real word to each other since Louis had left. And the only person who was happy about it was Simon, as he didn’t “have to worry about ‘Larry Stylinson’ ruining everything.” A notion that only made Harry even more upset.

The rest of the boys were clearly caught between them too. Sometimes Niall and Zayn would disappear for hours and would come back mentioning Louis’s name to each other in whispers they tried to keep Harry from hearing. But Harry wasn’t a complete idiot; he knew where they would go some nights. And it hurt him deeply that he’d not only ruined the budding friendship he’d been building with Louis, and possibly destroyed his relationship with Richard, but that he’d also practically broken up the band, Zayn and Niall splitting their time between them like children in joint custody.

Needless to say, it had been a fantastically excruciating month and half, and as they moved into March, Harry had decided to use his week off before their first concert to visit Richard. 

The plane ride to California was a ten hour nightmare, but it still felt as though it had passed in the blink of an eye as he spent hour after hour, rehearsing in his head how he could possibly explain what happened with Louis to him. He still hadn’t mentioned it. Over a month and their texts, phone calls, and FaceTimes were withheld from the miserable truth that had been stabbing Harry’s insides with remorse.

He had been a hopeful child, still believing in fairytales, to think that he could win Louis over again at all. He had clearly seen what happened in the kitchen as a mistake, and had more than distanced himself from it. He’d officially outgrown the tug of war that had been their relationship. And at this point, all Harry could hope was that Richard could be more forgiving than Louis had. Not that Harry was worthy of it.

“Love!” Richard said as he greeted Harry the evening he arrived at Richard’s hotel suite. Harry barely had time to set his suitcase inside the room, before Richard was picking him up from off of the ground in a fantastic squeeze and kissing him hard. 

And when he broke their kiss and set him down, Harry was made even more anxious by the sensation of their mouths connecting than even trying to tell him about it. 

The kiss felt foreign. Mundane. Harry hated that he thought so, but almost…boring. And he wondered as the bitterness of the disappointing display of romance stung his lips, had it always been that way? When he’d met Richard, had the lack of excitement in his life allowed him to perceive his affections as something more passionate than it actually was?

He broke through the thoughts with a soft smile, not wanting to give them anymore attention. It didn’t matter. Even if Louis’s kiss had felt more…whatever, it didn’t matter. Louis wasn’t taking him back, and he had Richard now. Richard, who was too kind to deserve to hear what he was about to.

“Um, Richard,” Harry began, but Richard was dragging him to the bed, and pushing him into it, and already trailing wet, hot kisses down Harry’s collar.

“Shh, dear, I wanna make you feel good tonight. I haven’t gotten to touch you in forever.” 

Harry closed his eyes in discomfort and swallowed his anxiety as he tried again, “Richard, I need to talk to you about something.”

That got his attention. And he pulled from the place on Harry’s neck that he was trying to plant a mark on, and sat up on the bed. 

Harry returned his posture, doing his best to straighten out his back and shoulders, attempting to look as put together as he could, before he further prepared to come clean.

“What’s up, love? Everything alright?”

“No,” Harry said honestly, “um, god,” Harry’s head fell in his hands and he took in a sharp breath before he spit it out, getting it over with as fast as he could, “I-uh…I kissed Louis.”

“What?” Richard said slowly, his face had fallen in hurt and disbelief, and Harry’s heart grew tight with compunction.

“I know, I know, I’m really sorry, Richard,” Harry said, his eyes already stinging with tears. 

He watched Richard swallow something hard and pained, “It was just a kiss?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah—I mean, yeah, for the most part.”

“‘For the most part?’”

“I don’t know. I guess he flirted with me, and I guess I kind of was flirting back, and I don’t know…we made out, and he--grabbed my arse for a second--but that’s it. I swear.”

“Christ, Harry. I knew you shouldn’t have let him stay there.” Richard ran an angry palm through his hair. “When did this happen?”

“Like,” Harry swallowed. It was honesty time. Full. Honesty. “About a month ago.”

“A month ago?” Richard recoiled and stood, rubbing his forehead as he looked out the wide, LA window, and then back at Harry as he pointed out, “And you’re just telling me now.” He followed up with, “Has he been staying at our place the entire time after you two kissed?”

“No! No, he-he left that night,” Harry barely got out, flashing back to Louis leaving him in tears after a woefully vulnerable beg of him to stay. “He’s been staying in a hotel since then…We both knew it was wrong. Richard, you have to believe me when I say I’m sorry,” Harry pled. Richard’s face was twisted up in a raw amount of hurt and betrayal. Tears were just barely threatening his eyes, and Harry watched him try to discreetly blink them away as further guilt tore him up inside.

“Dammit, Harry. Are you still-do you still love him?” He sat back on the bed with Harry as he awaited his answer.

And fuck. That question. Harry should have seen it coming from a mile away, but it still swung into him like a wrecking ball.

“I-I love you, Richard,” Harry managed, doing his best to deflect from the inquiry. “It was a one time mistake. That’s all. I know I fucked up.”

Richard took a heavy, sore breath, and let it out in a careful, measured exhale, “Okay.”

Harry blinked, “Okay?”

“If you say it was a one time mistake, I believe you. And you did tell me, even if it took you an entire month, so…it’s okay.”

“So,” Harry swallowed down his fear, “you’re not breaking up with me?”

“No, Harry,” Richard relented, “I still love you to pieces,” and then he paused for a moment before he said, “But, I really don’t think you should go on tour with him.”

Harry stalled for a moment. 

“What? I just--I mean, Richard, you know I can’t do that…I’ve been in rehearsals for months. The public outcry would be incredible, I could get sued, publicly, in trouble with my label, like, I can’t just walk away now.” 

The words were even more bitter in his mouth, knowing he was paraphrasing them from the man he’d cheated on his fiancé with. Words that had been said to him in a moment of shared trauma and compassion.

“I know it might be hard, but, Harry, shit…you’ll be on a tour bus and on stage with him for even longer! And you want me to trust nothing will happen after what you just told me?”

Harry sighed. He knew exactly where he was coming from, so he assured, “I won’t let it, Richard. I’ll keep my distance. He will too. I promise. I won’t let anything happen again.”

Richard didn’t take his eyes off of Harry for a second, and Harry felt like he might fall through the floor from the intensity of his stare, “You promise?”

Harry let out another relieved little sigh, “I…promise.”

***

It had been an odd break. Richard hadn’t wanted to “make [Harry] feel good” at all after that. And what gnawed at Harry even more than the painful confession to Richard, was that, the entire week with him, as he laid in bed next to him at night, he found himself still thinking about his kiss with Louis. And not always in the guilty, heartbroken way. Sometimes the thought still brought heat to places between his legs, and he would reach between them once his fiancé had gone to sleep, finding guilty release as he fantasized about it. And it hurt not just for the fact that he’d been awful to Richard, but because they had pretended each other didn’t exist for months after a moment that felt like electricity in his lungs and lips.

And now that it was time for their first show, his promise to Richard and the violent, forbidden kiss they’d shared were pulling him in emotionally opposite directions. Crushing what little spirit he had and biting him in a twisted turmoil.

They were starting with the North American leg first. Making a splash in New York. And when he showed up to Madison Square Garden, his heart was already thumping out of his chest. His palms were becoming uncomfortably moist, and as he met Niall, Zayn, and Louis backstage, he did his best to ignore the scalding presence of his contradictory feelings when their eyes met.

For once he was thankful when Simon approached them, with a pretty, young stranger on his elbow, because it only helped to further distance him from the clutter that was his current emotional state.

“Boys, this is your opener, Clara Oliver. She got her start in Phoenix, Arizona, and she just had her first hit single last year. She also grew up as quite the fan of yours,” Simon introduced. 

“Nice to meet you all,” she said with a quivering American accent. Clearly excited and anxious to meet them.

Clara was no taller than five-foot two. Her mane of curly black hair was endless, going well past the middle of her back. She was wearing a glittering teal dress that contrasted strikingly against her deep, umber skin, highlighted in gold under the lights. She had a wide, brilliant smile across her face, and was clutching her hands together nervously. But, what was most notable about her, something that Harry couldn’t dare miss, was the tattoo she wore.

It was subtle. But not subtle enough for Harry to not catch its meaning immediately. Five silhouettes of birds in formation. One of them with a more freshly inked halo that made Harry’s heart tighten. And two of them side by side, with a little, half blue, half green heart between them.

Oh god.

“Nice to meet you too, Clara,” Harry forced himself to say and held out his hand. She shook it gently, and he could feel her shakiness when he touched her. He glanced at Louis as he did so, unable to hide his slightly amused smile, and Louis returned it with a slight shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, knowingly.

“Well, Clara has to go finish her soundcheck. Charles will come grab you when it’s your turn,” Simon relayed, and placed his hand at the small of her back as he walked her out onto the stage. 

“So, how does it feel,” Niall began, a teasing grin already lighting his face as she walked away, “to know our opener loves Larry Stylinson enough to get a tattoo inspired by you lads?”

“It feels like my foot up your arse, Niall,” Louis returned, which sent Niall into a bout of hysterical laughter, Zayn fighting his own smile of amusement. Harry just sent another look towards Louis, something nervous but not unhappy. It was rather hilarious, even in all its awkwardness, and Louis just gave him another eye roll and walked away.

After hours of soundcheck, getting in wardrobe, and vocal warm-ups, the sound of the stadium filling with an ocean of fans was beginning to cause Harry to feel something he hadn’t felt in years. 

Stage fright. 

After all, it had been over a decade since they’d performed together for an audience. Over a decade since he and Louis had been seen on a stage together. And god, it was endlessly frustrating that he still was having such an intense attraction to even just the thought of Louis. Especially after the hurtful conversation he’d had with Richard. Receiving forgiveness that he still wasn’t sure he even deserved. 

Louis had been right. Even after he’d told Richard, he was still hurling all sorts of insults towards himself.  

Slut. Slag. Impulsive brat. Cheater. Whore. Idiot. Selfish piece of shit. Egomaniac. Insecure fuckwad. 

The list went on. His therapist would not be proud. And these self deprecating, intrusive thoughts, along with the budding and sour discomfort of the absence of an important member of their band, only solidified the fact that he really needed to schedule another meeting with her. 

Clara’s opening act had been too short, and Harry found himself wishing that she could’ve prolonged her set in some way, any way, as a nervous chill was rising goose hairs along his skin.

But now that it was time, and they were about to make their entrance, rising up from a platform and onto the stage, Louis must’ve been able to see Harry’s nerves in the way his hands were trembling, because Harry, shocked that he was even trying to say a single word to him, nearly melted when he’d reached for his bicep and gave it a light squeeze through the sparkling, blue blazer he was wearing.

“It’s gonna be alright, okay? We’ve all done this a hundred times,” Louis encouraged, and Harry, all too torn, couldn’t return more than a gentle nod as the platform began to rise, and his heart started thudding even faster.

Louis removed his arm just before they raised into the view of the audience, and the sound of the arena roaring as they were lifted onto the stage was absolutely deafening. But as Harry looked into the sea of fans, he could feel the initial anxiety he’d felt wash away with the energy of twenty-thousand people in the same space as him. Cheering them on with fervor and admiration. And as the band began to pound their instruments to the tune of “Drag Me Down,” Harry began to sing with forgotten nerves, “I’ve got fire for a heart…” 

And when Louis picked up with his, “If I didn’t have you there would be nothin’ left…” he couldn’t help but feel in his bones the way the volume of the crowd’s cheers increased by what must’ve been a thousand decibels. Their trade of the lyrics causing cries from fans donned in blue and green, holding signs up in the air that told tales of their shared history.         

Towards the end of their set, “They Don’t Know About Us,” began to play. Harry, still winded from the fact that it’d even made the setlist, withheld the  flinch that came of an even louder stream of screams, leaving no room for the interpretation of their excitement. People were excited to see Harry and Louis on stage again together. Extremely so. And that observation pulled at something regretfully delightful within Harry’s very soul.

They finished their first concert with their most well known single of all time, “What Makes You Beautiful,” and took about five comical bows before exiting on the same platform that had brought them on stage.

Immediately afterwards, Niall, Zayn, Harry, and Louis were waiting for their limo to take them to the afterparty when Harry noticed Clara outside the venue, waiting on her own ride to the event. And, in his post-concert buzz and rather generous mood, he decided to approach her.

“Would you like to ride with us to the afterparty?” he asked, and pretended he didn’t see Louis’s head flick towards him as he’d spoke.

“Oh my god! Um, yes, that sounds-yes, I would love to,” she agreed, truly a fan girl, disguised as a pop star, doing her best to maintain composure.

In the limo, they drank champagne and yapped over-excitedly in group conversation filled with laughter. But then, once they were almost at the exclusive hotel event hall where the party would be held, Clara, no doubt tipsy on their pre-game drinks, asked something that only further displayed her position as not just as a fan of One Direction, but also a fan of Larry Stylinson.

“So, I’m sorry, I know this is none of my business, but I just have to know,” she began, looking at Harry and Louis individually before she finished, “are you two still together? I know that’s nosy, but I couldn’t help myself from asking! And I’m just sure something went down in the past, I mean, I’ve been on Larry blogs since I was thirteen! But, is there still something there?” 

Harry released a sad, little chuckle, and Louis was fit with a tight, closed lipped smile as he shook his head no. Both of them ignoring the looks of amusement Zayn and Niall were sharing.

“Really?” Clara begged in disbelief, “I mean, okay. Again, I’m sorry I asked.” She looked down at her tattoo with disappointment and Harry’s brows only slightly faltered as he watched her scratch at it, as though she was suddenly filled with shame of the graphic decorating her arm.

The party they arrived at felt almost as packed as the arena did. Crew members, band members, execs, all of their individual managers, Simon, and more strangers still. The place was overflowing.

And as Harry navigated the lake of social obligation, he was met with the foreign emotion of feeling out of place among the excited crowd. Niall, Zayn, and Louis were all hanging around each other, Harry noticing briefly that Oli, as well as Louis’s sisters had also come to support him. And since Gemma, Harry’s own sibling, couldn’t make it, and Richard hadn’t been able to get time away from set, Harry found himself awkwardly alone. Not even Larry obsessed Clara to keep him company, as she was cuddling close with another woman, one with tatted up pale skin and a blonde pixie cut. He sighed. The last thing he needed to be reminded of was a happy queer romance given his current tumultuous love life.

So, he hung out on the sidelines, sipping cocktails and playing the unusual role of a wallflower at a table by himself, until the party had been going for a little over an hour, and Simon took a microphone from the live musicians playing the upscale event, and Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever cheesy, performative toast he was about to give.

“Everyone, ahem,” Simon began, quieting the room, “everyone, I would just like to thank you all for coming to celebrate the reunion of one of the greatest boybands of this generation.” A rumble of cheers. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day that this would happen. Niall, Harry, Louis, and Zayn, I am so proud of all of you. In a way, I feel like a second father to you lads--” And that was it.

Simon trying to craft a sense of familial comfort, some veneer of emotionality from a man who Harry knew to be incapable of having any actual empathy made him want to vomit. And that, on top of the group he saw just a few tables away doing lines of coke off of a silver plate were his cue to head out. So, he downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp and left the suite, getting away from the temptation that was his drug of choice, and the knife in the back that was Simon’s constant attempt to make everyone believe he had a heart.

When he stepped out of the private elevator he’d taken down from the top floor, he made his way out to the rear door of the building and into the cool, March evening, mild as ever, as spring settled along the breeze. He began to pull out his phone to order one of the cars they had on standby to give him a ride back to his own hotel, but nearly jumped when Louis, who he’d only now noticed had been standing right next to him, smoking a cigarette, grew closer with a breath of smoke.

“You couldn’t stand to hear Simon pretend to have a sentimental side, either, hm?” Louis asked. 

Harry nodded, “He’s such a two-faced son of a bitch. And, I dunno, coke was starting to go around and I didn’t want to tempt myself.”

“Yeah?” Louis finished his cigarette and kicked it out on the pavement, “Good on you for staying on top of that, lad.” 

But then, Harry, already surprised that Louis was willingly making conversation with him, was even more surprised when he offered, “I already texted the team to send a car if you just wanna take mine back to the hotel.”

“Oh, um, okay…you’re alright with that?” 

“It’s just a car, Harry. We rode here in one together already. I think I can handle it.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

So when the sleek black, tinted vehicle pulled around to pick them up, they hopped in the back together, and Harry tried his best to pretend the tension that was biting the air between them in the car wasn’t there, not wanting to piss off Louis, or Richard, ever again. 

Instead, he stared out of the window, resting his hand on his stubbly chin as he waited for the length of the car ride to The Mark Hotel to be over. The Madison Suite was waiting for him, and he couldn’t wait to sink into his bed covers and get some rest, maybe even phone Richard, before he drifted to sleep.

But then Louis said, absolutely out of nowhere, “Lots of Larry action in the crowd tonight,” and added with a chuckle, “And that Clara girl? Whew!”

Harry’s eyes fluttered around nervously and he just shrugged a little as he kept his gaze outside the window, not really knowing how to respond to that.

But as they rode along the busy bustle of Manhattan, inching their way across congested streets, Harry grew faint when Louis’s hand reached across the seat between them, and held his, in the same delicate move Harry had put on Louis. A move that had ended in an argument and rejection. 

Harry’s eyes whipped to meet Louis’s at the touch. Louis, who had an anxious, unsure look on his face, that even in all its weariness, could not hide the gleam of desire in his eyes. One Harry couldn’t help but recognize.

“I realize this makes me a hypocrite, Harry,” he whispered, “but holy shit, I just can’t help myself anymore.” 

And then he was kissing him, hard and fast, Harry returning it because, fuck, how could he not? It was Louis. Louis, who’s touch he was still absolutely helpless to. And as he found himself more and more annoyed with the gap of space between them, he undid his seatbelt and straddled Louis in one swift, incredibly heated gesture, looking back and chuckling as a sigh sounded from the driver before he rolled up the partition, and Harry returned his focus to making out with Louis, reconnecting their warm lips in desperate, intense, needful movements, filled with forbidden cravings and guilty pleasures. 

Harry didn’t leave Louis’s lap for the entire car ride, and as they pulled up to their second discreet hotel entrance, Harry grabbed Louis by the hand and helped him out of the car, pulling him up to the service elevator that they continued to make out in, two magnets finally snapping together in a powerful force of energy. Allowing themselves to fall into the moment, the consequences of their actions far from their minds.

“Come on!” Harry whispered when they reached his floor, pulling Louis by the hand again, down the hall to his suite. He fought the little silver button on his clutch, fumbling out his hotel key that he tapped to the lock and stumbled past the door once he’d managed to get it open.

But once it was open, it was over. 

Louis was shutting the door behind them, and sauntering over to Harry like a predator, circling a piece of prey wrapped in sequins and satin, and Harry knew that there was no turning back now. 

Louis kissed him again, tasting him with further aggression and lust, before he was gripping Harry’s waist in one arm, and bending just slightly to pull Harry over his shoulder.

“Louis!” Harry squealed, caught off guard by Louis’s unassuming strength and dedication to igniting every aching desire within him. He spanked his bottom with his other hand that wasn’t securing him over his shoulder, earning him another squeak from Harry as he carried him to the bed, and dropped him onto the fluffy, white duvet in an instant, before he leaned over him and began to suck a love bite onto his neck. 

“Louis,” this time it was a moan, and Harry could already feel his loins on fire with need. Need for Louis. Need for this reckless, short-sighted decision that they would sure regret later, but that neither of them dared back out of.

Clothes flew across the room, lost and unneeded for what they were about to do, until they were both bare and burning with electric hunger. Harry flipped Louis onto his back from his place on top of him, and kissed his way down his chest and to his large, heavy sex, already stiff as stone, as he wrapped his lips around the pulsing head of his cock. 

Louis let out a long, satisfied groan, one that only rushed more hot blood to Harry’s own member. And god, he had Louis in his mouth. Not just anyone, but Louis. And the taste of his cock was a delicious comfort. Something he’d missed more than he ever could’ve realized on his own. His sounds of pleasure, a sweet and sensual melody. And now, reunited in lust with the weight of it on his tongue, he could hardly think straight. His brain, devoid of all other thoughts except the up and down motion of his lips around him.

Harry pulled off of Louis once the heat in his own groin had become too much, but he didn’t stop stimulating him for a second. Running his hand up and down his shaft and tapping his tip on his tongue like a porn star before he begged, “Fuck me, Louis. Please. I want you. I’ve missed you so much.” 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis whispered, and then he was sitting up and grabbing Harry by the arms roughly and tossing him onto his back. He bit at one of Harry’s nipples and growled, “We don’t have any--you know.”

“Look in my bag. I have body oil in there, just--we can use that. Please, Lou. I need you,” Harry whined, nearly incapable of making out any other thought that didn’t involve Louis’s cock between his legs.

Louis crossed the room to Harry’s suitcase, undid the zipper to it and swore, “Holy shit, Harry, you have like a thousand skincare products in here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Ugh, just grab the oil in the gold bottle--the one that’s not the pink one.”

“I don’t see a gold one!” Louis exclaimed, and grunted with frustration as he fingered through Harry’s products, before pulling out a slender, pink bottle, the one Harry had specifically asked him not to, and Harry was already moaning like a brat at him for not listening.

“I said not that one! It’s real sandalwood and costs over thirty-thousand--” 

Louis slapped his hand over Harry’s mouth.

“Shut up, Harry,” he demanded, and was already lathering Harry’s cock and balls up with the oil, earning a high, pathetic moan, before sliding his hand lower, and toying with his entrance. 

And god, he forgot how perfectly primal Louis was in bed. Dominant and aggressive. Not afraid to be rough and man-handle the fuck out of him. With Richard, sex had been sweet, but a bit, well, predicatable--and fuck, that was the one person he really needed to not think about right now. And thankfully, when Louis pushed two fingers inside of Harry and pressed their lips together again, it was a pretty effective distraction.

After working Harry open quickly, impatiently, Louis was spreading more of the ridiculously luxurious oil in wet pumps of his own cock, before he was pushing it inside of him. 

One swift, forceful motion, and Harry nearly screamed at the sensation of Louis filling him up, and Louis’s hand was on his mouth again, muffling his whines of ecstasy.

“Shhh, baby,” Louis cooed, removing his hand again to hold the headboard for stability, before grabbing Harry’s neck with his other.

Louis’s strokes were a deliciously familiar medley of rough and fast, between intermissions of deep and slow, and all Harry could do was let Louis take him, moving his hand over his own sex as he worked towards a release.

He felt embarrassed, but it had both been so long since he’d been fucked, and so long since he’d fucked Louis, specifically, that after only a few minutes, he could already feel himself starting to spiral. He tore his hand from his cock in an attempt to keep his orgasm at bay, and was even more frustrated when it didn’t help at all. 

Louis felt too good. After spending over a decade together, he knew just how to move to bring Harry close to the edge of madness. And Harry couldn’t hold back. 

He was coming, handsfree, between their hot, connected bodies. His wanton eyes, rolling to the back of his head as he scratched at Louis’s back and let out a deep, painful sob of pleasure. 

“Oh, Lou,” he moaned as he let the remains of his orgasm ripple through him, and Louis, god, filthy, perfect Louis, spread his fingers through Harry’s come, pooling on his abs, and brought it up to his mouth, shoving his fingers in his throat, while still ramming inside of him like an animal. Harry’s mouth latched onto his fingers as soon as they entered, and the tang of his own come sent him reeling.

“Taste it, baby. Taste how much you missed me,” Louis whispered in Harry’s ear, his grip on his neck deliciously tight. The words alone nearly made Harry’s cock blurt out another rope of ejaculate.

And though he’d already found his own pathetically quick release, Louis moving inside of him still felt unreal. So incredibly good, that even relieved, he was filled with a minor disappointment when Louis stalled, stuttered, and came inside of him, Harry matching his moans as he felt the pulsations of Louis’s climax.

He pulled out with a wince, both of them overstimulated and spent, and he collapsed onto the other side of the bed, raising his arm so Harry could cuddle onto his chest in the same position they always had after sex.

And though it was over, and the cold reality of Harry’s broken promise should have been hitting him in the face, cuddling Louis’s warm body, tracing his unbelievably sexy chest hair as they drifted to sleep, Harry decided that maybe he could push back the meeting with his remorse until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

When Louis woke up, for a second, he thought he still might be dreaming. Because when he opened his eyes, he was spooning Harry tightly to his chest, his arm wrapped around his waist as though he didn’t ever want to let him go again. But as he blinked away the haziness of sleep, the real world came crashing back down on him like a ton of bricks. 

It’s not that what happened last night hadn’t been what he’d wanted. He’d wanted it more than anything. But, he also knew that every time he and Harry got together, the specters of their past were incapable of not haunting their relationship, chilling them with old mistakes and arguments, until it was easier to just run away from it altogether. And starting up again, doing what they did last night, while Harry was still engaged to Richard, was even more proof that whatever they’d rekindled was likely doomed to fall apart.

But, he just couldn’t help himself. The way Harry’s reunion tour debut outfit had moved on his hips. The energy of a thousand fans, excited by his and Harry’s every single, minor interaction. Clara. Their secret leader. The disappointment on her face when he’d shook his head no to her sweetly asked, yet absolutely invasive inquiry. Like she could feel how it hurt them too.

He’d tried so hard to resist. Tried for what felt like forever to convince himself that he was capable of keeping Harry at an arm’s length. But that second alone with him in the car, the first second they’d spent alone together since Louis kissed him in the kitchen and ran away, was all he needed to prove that everything he’d been trying to tell himself, for not just the last few months, but the last few years, everything about how he didn’t want Harry anymore, simply wasn’t true.

He more than wanted him. He craved him. Craved him so much that he couldn’t have stopped his hand from reaching across the backseat of the car even if he’d wanted to. Last night, Harry had been his. Moaning out sweet little Lous. And it had been so long since Louis had held him in that way. Since Louis had kissed him, and loved him, and made those desperate whimpers spill from his pretty mouth. 

He was still asleep when Louis pulled his arm away, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, frustrated that he had over twenty texts from various people he’d ditched last night, asking him where he’d wandered off to. He let out a tired huff and looked to his missed calls instead, incapable of looking at all of the messages at the moment, and began to dial Niall back after seeing that he’d rang him several times this morning. 

But, his phone went straight to voicemail, and as if on cue, there was a knock on the hotel door. 

Harry woke to the sound, reaching for the ceiling in a powerful stretch, Louis’s eyes incapable of ignoring the way his gorgeous, inked muscles moved as he did so.

“Hey, Harry!” Niall’s Irish accent and another knock rang throughout the suite again. “Are you and Louis in there?” 

Louis watched as Harry’s beautiful body fell into the same blue, silk robe he’d worn in the chill of London’s winter evening. Somehow even more beautiful in it now, all hickeyed neck and disheveled curls (that he was failing in trying to use to cover the mark). Louis bit his lip in response to what was probably his one-hundredth memory of what had happened last night, as Harry cleared his throat, and crossed the suite to the door.

Louis waited in bed, still conflicted, still guilty, still horny, and listened as Niall practically forced his way inside the suite when Harry opened the door for him.

“Sorry Harry, I just, uh, I have to, uh, talk to you, about, um, something, if I could just-” but all the while Niall was stumbling out whatever thing he was trying to say, he was walking further into Harry’s room, despite Harry’s soft protests of him not to.

“Can’t we just talk out in the hall?...Niall!...God. What the hell?...Niall!”

And when Niall made it far enough inside for his eyes to land on Louis, in the bedroom, the only thing covering his dick being the expensive comforter, he stopped, and Harry let his hand fall into his face.

“I knew it! I thought I saw you leave together, and neither of you would pick up this mornin’! I just knew it. Zayn! You owe me another twenty!” Niall called immediately, already heading back out, and Harry gave Louis a weak smile, that Louis barely returned as he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, lingering his hand on the frame to the ensuite.

“Is it okay if I shower here?” Louis asked. 

He hated that he was staying. That he wasn’t getting his clothes back on and going to his own damn room to shower. But after what happened yesterday, he was in it. Fully submerged. Even if it was unwise and he was hurting himself and a perfectly reasonable man who he’d shared pleasant conversation with one night--over mixed drinks and easy grins--he would be kidding himself if he said he wanted what they’d started to end anytime soon. 

And even if it did end. Once again. In a violent crash of broken hearts. Louis didn’t want to face it. Not right now. Not while he still had lust and hope.

“Um, yeah,” Harry allowed, something surprised, but not at all unhappy, in his voice, “I’ll join you.”

After a long, hot, steamy shower, they ordered a quick room-service breakfast and talked. About nothing. Joking like they hadn’t since they’d first warmed up to each other again on Harry’s couch. Neither of them willing to address it. Not wanting to ruin the moment. Too warm from the nostalgic feeling of sharing hotel suites and talking over breakfast like they’d done for years. Like they’d done when they were still married. Married. When saying “I love you,” to each other was still second nature, and it didn’t feel like a crime to make love.

And Harry always looked so beautiful on mornings like this. His skin still blushed pink, his hair tousled and wet from shower sex. He was as breathtaking as ever. And getting to hear him talk about bullshit, and give Louis that sweet, achingly familiar dimpled grin when Louis made him laugh felt like the good old days. Times that Louis had forgotten how much he’d been fond of, how much he’d missed.

It wasn’t until they pulled up to soundcheck at their second night at Madison Square Garden that there was a sudden shift in energy. When Harry got a phone call while they were still backstage. He didn’t pick it up, but Louis knew just by the look on his face exactly who it had been. 

And after Louis had watched him decline the call, he found that Harry was a lot less smiley, and a lot more quiet. And then, just twenty minutes until they were due on stage, Clara’s set booming through the walls, he went missing entirely. 

“Where the hell is Harry?” Charles practically shouted at Louis. 

“I-I don’t know,” Louis stuttered, rather uncomfortable with the crew’s partialness to him at the moment, seeking out his input on Harry’s whereabouts like he was still his husband. It was almost like they all knew too. Like somehow they were also aware that their romantic history had led to the sins they’d committed in The Mark Hotel last night, and were punishing him with their attention. 

“Zayn?” Louis called from across the hall as Zayn exited his dressing room, trying to get some eyes off of him. He looked Louis’s way. “You seen Harry?”

Zayn just shook his head though, already on his way to finish getting mic'd up, as Louis’s phone chimed in his back pocket. And when he looked at it, he sighed

Lou, I’m on the tour bus. I’m so sorry. I’m having a panic attack. Will you please come here?

And Louis ignored the further swears Charles hurled at him, demanding to know where he was going, as Louis ran down the hall and out of the back door, taking a brisk walk to the loading dock where their tour bus was parked. 

They’d be leaving Manhattan in it tonight.

When he knocked on the door, Harry opened it immediately, looking like a sad, Victorian bride. He’d talked Simon into letting him wear a few more androgynous outfits on tour, even as Simon insisted on rebuilding a sense of unity among their style, and he was currently in a billowing white blouse, and matching, flowy, organza trousers, his eyes twinkling with tears. 

“God, Harry, you look so--”

“Awful,” Harry finished, and stepped to the side to let Louis on the tour bus with him.

“Gorgeous,” Louis corrected, and Harry slumped into the plump, black and red seat with an undying pout. 

It was scary. It obviously wasn’t the same exact tour bus they’d used the last time they were touring in the US as a band, but it was similar enough to raise the hairs on the back of Louis’s neck. As though he could still hear faint echoes of the late night conversations they’d all shared in the space. Liam and Zayn, playing video games in the back on the TV. Louis, rage quitting after losing to them too many times, and finding Harry writing poetry in their bunk. Niall, playing the guitar and--eating. 

“Damn, this place feels a little too familiar, huh?” Louis said after he’d let the wave of nostalgia pass over him.

“Way too familiar. I just came here to get a breather, and I--fuck, seeing this stupid bus. It looks so much like the old one. I guess I got a little triggered by it.”

“I get it. It’s…a lot,” Louis validated and sat down next to Harry.

“Fuck, Louis. What have I done? What am I supposed to tell Richard?” Harry bit his lip and shook his head, “Sorry, you’re probably not the person I should be asking about this, but I dunno—I just wanted you here.”

Louis sighed. He didn’t really have a good response planned out, so he just asked the first couple questions that came to mind, “I know I’m, like, officially a homewrecker, and, the last person who should be allowed to ask this, but…Christ, Harry, do you actually want to be with this guy? I mean, you came on to me twice basically as soon as he left. Do you even love him?”

Harry swallowed, sparkling eyes flicking around the bus, “I thought so…I mean, I think so. He’s so nice to me, I just, but…” Harry trailed off, clearly too afraid or unsure to finish whatever his thought was. “Since I talked to you on the phone that night about doing this fucking tour, I just feel like I can’t get you out of my head, Louis. And then last night. Fuck,” Harry shook his head and let out a little cry, “I just don’t know what to do.”

Louis’s heart must’ve skipped a beat. Just hearing Harry admit that he couldn’t stop thinking about him either. That even before their guilty flirts and hot, impulsive sex, he’d been thinking about Louis, just as much as Louis had been thinking about him, was hopeful. And he hurried to ask, “Well, Harry, what do you want to do?”

“What do I want?” Harry repeated the question slowly, curiously, like he hadn’t even thought about it. “I-I want…” 

But then he was just looking at Louis, deep into his eyes, Louis, growing both self-conscious and aflame with a hope that he hadn’t had in four years as he lost himself in Harry’s gaze.

And then Harry kissed him, pressing their lips together in something longing, and intense, and conflicted, and undeniably sweet. He pulled away just a moment later, and looked at Louis with a confused brow, like he was a complicated mathematics equation he didn’t know how to solve.

“We, uh, we should probably get back,” Louis pointed out, and Harry nodded, gave a soft chuckle, like he was embarrassed, and they walked out of the tour bus together and into the stadium.

“Oh my god! There they are! Bloody hell! We’ve got ten minutes ‘til call time! Get those two mic’d up and in their places!” Charles barked to the crew as soon as he laid eyes on them, and Louis and Harry were rushed with techs, shoving them from place to place backstage until they were on the platform, prepared for another night in the arena that to Louis, with Harry at his side, felt suddenly--oddly--like home. 

Chapter Text

It was the middle of the night on the bus. The engine quivering the space around them, as they sped over the pitch-black highway. Niall, Zayn, and Louis were all lying in their bunks asleep. But Harry was awake in the lounge, trying to get comfortable on the sticky, pleather sofa. Opening up the online portal to his virtual appointment with his therapist on his phone. At three in the morning. 

It was ridiculous, but he needed it. And Eloise was five hours ahead of him, and he figured he’d have the most privacy on their cramped tour bus during the dead of the night, anyways. So he joined their call a few minutes early with a heart that was already too heavy.

“Harry!” Eloise’s voice buzzed through Harry’s earbuds as he watched the pixelated image of her appear, slowly growing clearer as their connection strengthened. “How have you been, love?” 

Harry couldn’t speak, though. 

He cried a lot in therapy. It was pretty usual for him. When his emotions got too high, or he was talking about something particularly traumatic or intense, it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to shed a few tears. But it was rare that he started crying as soon as the session began. 

Yet here he was, sobbing before he could even attempt to say a word.

“Oh, dear,” Eloise cooed, as though he was a little boy who’d just scraped his knee, “It’s okay, Harry. Let it out. I’ll be ready whenever you’re ready, alright?”

Harry did his best to catch his breath, to even out the terrible, infantile cries that were bursting from him in a volcanic eruption, trilling his lips to stop himself from choking on the weight of every gush of tears that spilled from his soul.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed after a while, sniffling, “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time more measured as he wiped at his eyes with a knuckle.

“It’s alright Harry. You don’t have anything you need to be sorry about. Do you think you’re ready to talk now?”

Harry nodded, “Um, yeah,” he took a deep, settling breath, and repeated, this time more to himself, “yeah.” And then he began, “So, do you remember our appointment a few months ago when I told you that Simon was back, and that I, uh, I kissed Louis?”

“I do,” Eloise affirmed, asking, “Did you ever get around to telling your fiancé about that?”

“Yeah,” Harry barely got out, wiping another stray tear from under his eyes, “yeah, and it was fine, he forgave me, but then--” Another sob escaped his lips, and he had to give himself a moment to do a quick grounding exercise before he could even say it out loud, “Sorry, I just, fuck--” the betrayal still tasted bitter in his mouth, “--I slept with him last night.” And then he was crying again, his body shaking from wails that had come back with a vengeance. “I just can’t believe I did it again! I can’t believe I cheated on Louis again! I can’t believe I ruined my chance at a fresh start!”

“Oh, Harry,” Eloise purred, before she asked, “So, just to be clear, you’re upset that you slept with Richard, after you kissed Louis?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, confused. What was she talking about? “What? No. I’m upset because I cheated on Richard with Louis. Again. I kissed him a few months ago, and this time we had sex—and then we had sex again in the morning, and god…I can’t even remember the last time I had sex with Richard. He’s still all the way in LA.”

“Ah,” Eloise assessed, scribbling something down off screen, “you know that’s not what you said, though?”

Harry blinked, “What? What did I say?”

“You said, ‘I can’t believe I cheated on Louis again.’ Not Richard.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry swallowed down another floodgate of tears that were trying to break through, “I’m sorry. I just got my words mixed up. It’s been a rough day.”

“You know, Harry, I’m not the kind of therapist who tries to tell you exactly how you may be feeling, so—I won’t, but…just, hear me out, I want you to answer this question and I don’t want you to think about whatever has happened between you and Richard, or you and Louis since you were intimate with him, okay? I just want you to answer the question. Don’t start judging yourself. Don’t start thinking about what would make either of them feel better, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said, blinking away his leftover tears as he bit his lip nervously.

“When you think about what happened between you and Louis last night, how does it make you feel?”

“I mean, pfft--it makes me feel like shit, obviously. It makes me feel like a fucking whore. Like I can’t do anything right and I hurt everyone around me,” Harry said immediately. 

Eloise was tsking her tongue, “Harry, I said don’t start judging yourself. Forget about how it affects them, forget about what you think it means about you. How did it make you feel?”

Harry swallowed once more, petrified, trying so hard to not start crying again as he started, “Um, god, well, I guess I felt…” The first thought that came to mind was painful. Overwhelming. And worst of all, it didn’t involve Richard one bit. So he pardoned, “I can’t say that.”

“Why can’t you say it?”

“Because it’s awful! Because, I--I don’t think I can answer this question without thinking about how it makes them feel too.”

“Harry,” Eloise led him in taking another deep, grounding breath before she insisted, “Focus, and forget about them. Just try.”

“It makes me feel, I dunno,” Harry nearly choked, “happy.” And then he was crying again. “I know that’s terrible, but when I was with Louis, I just--I realized how much I’d missed him. It felt…good…to be with him again…in that way, and even just eating breakfast together the next morning. You know? Like, I still have a lot of love for him, obviously. We were married for years.”

Eloise was just nodding, level-headed and calm, almost like she’d been expecting his exact answer. “You know,” she began gently, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been mentioning Louis a lot in our sessions since you started talking to him again.” 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, “I guess I’ve noticed that too.”

“And you’ve been talking less and less about Richard,” she added.

“Well--what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Harry, is that--Louis has been on your mind a lot lately. He’s been on your mind a lot since we started seeing each other years ago, even. And when you think about cheating on Richard, you seem like you’re more upset because it reminds you of times when you were unfaithful to Louis. And, as you just said, being with Louis makes you happy.”

“Shit,” Harry swore, and then he laughed.

Laughed, because although it was the most obvious thing in the world, and he’d been tiptoeing around the idea of it for months, in the pristine mirror of emotional reflection that was therapy, there was no inner turmoil fighting the idea. No place for him to hide from it. No guilt or shame to fog things up, just understanding and validating conversation that truly cemented something he’d been running from for much too long. 

“I’m still in love with him.”

***

After his session, Harry was almost certain that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep that night. The most obvious revelation in the world that had taken him an entire light year to actually reach, was too heavy to let him sleep. It drained him of any possibility of rest. Whatever ability he had to relax, gone. Obliterated by his re-examined love for Louis.

So, instead, he was writing. Still on the sofa in the lounge, still scared, still somehow crying even though he’d done so in therapy for an hour. The sun just peeking over the horizon as the morning truly crept in. He wrote what would hopefully become lyrics someday, in his journal, as he prayed that maybe Louis could forgive him for their past. That maybe they could try again. And that when Harry, inevitably, broke up with Richard, neither of them would die of heartbreak.

He’d already decided that he had to. He couldn’t actually justify staying engaged to someone while he was in love with somebody else. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. The big question was: when could he do it…and how? 

He refused to do it over the phone. Not after two years. Not after Richard had proposed. His film would be wrapping soon, and he’d be headed back to London, too. To Harry’s house. Where they’d lived together. And oh, how that complicated things even further. He was supposed to attend their concert in LA in a few weeks. Maybe Harry could do it then? But he couldn’t do it then. Not right when Richard was coming to support him.

In sum, he didn’t know how. Or when. But he knew he needed to do it. And he would. Eventually.

When Louis entered the lounge, Harry jumped, clearing his throat of his crying session and looking at his ex-husband with absolute yearning. 

After his realization in therapy, it almost seemed absurd that they were no longer married. That Harry could have possibly divorced him. And he wondered as he looked at Louis, shirtless and yawning in front of him, how he hadn’t fought harder to keep him.

“You’re up early,” Harry commented, quiet and meek.

“Never really slept. To be honest I was waiting up for you,” Louis confessed and sat on the couch beside him. Close, but not too close. And Harry tried to not let the careful choice of Louis’s body language drive him to further tears. 

He wished it wasn’t like this. Wished that Louis could just sink into the couch with him, hip to hip, arm around his shoulders. But Louis was guarded around Harry, even after they’d had sex. And he had every right to be.

“You were waiting up for me?” Harry questioned.

“I dunno, I thought I heard you crying so I wanted to make sure you were okay, well--okay as you can be. But when I came to check on you it sounded like you were talking to someone. So, I just, uh, I thought I’d wait until you came to bed to ask you about it…but, you never did.”

“Lou,” Harry was already on the verge of tears again, “you didn’t have to stay up all night worrying about me. I’m fine.”

“Are you? I mean, Jesus, you’ve been crying for hours, Haz,” Louis pressed. And the ancient pet name felt like cuddling a warm teddy bear. Soft, and fuzzy, and sentimental. “Were you talking to Richard?”

Harry snorted a laugh, “No. No, no, no.” 

Harry considered telling him what had happened in his session with Eloise, but only for a moment. He was too scared to. Louis may have not been avoiding him or pretending that he didn’t exist, after they’d fallen into bed together, but Harry was still filled with trepidation at the prospect of admitting that he was still in love with him. 

Louis had broken up with him so many times. And many of them had been absolutely rightful, as Harry had warmed his bed with other men and practically refused to communicate when he felt anything other than happy with Louis. He’d been a petulant, passive-aggressive, manchild of a husband, and he would more than understand if Louis still didn’t want to be anything more serious than bandmates hooking up in hotel rooms.

He liked to think that he’d changed. That working on himself in therapy, and having to pick up the pieces after Louis broke up with him was progress. That the divorce had been even further proof that he had grown up a little. And maybe he had. But he’d still made the same mistakes he’d made with Louis with someone else now. Which could only make him wonder, had he really changed? And if he had, was it even enough?

“I was talking to my therapist. Sorry I kept you up,” Harry offered.

“Oh? You’re still seeing--is it still, Eloise?” Louis asked. 

Harry’s brows shot up in surprise. He’d just started seeing her less than a year before they’d ended things for good. Over four years ago. It felt almost like a miracle that he’d remembered.

“Yeah, it is,” Harry offered. 

And dammit, Louis. 

Louis, Louis, Louis. 

Thoughtful, romantic, charming, Louis. Glowing with masculine grace and emotional warmth. He was even more handsome now than when Harry first fell in love with him. All mature and resolute. Harry had seen him shirtless more times than he could count. Just earlier this morning (or he supposed, now yesterday morning) he’d touched that shirtless chest in the shower. But in light of his re-evaluated feelings, the sight was overwhelming. Louis was overwhelming. Overwhelming and…mouthwatering.

“How did it go?” Louis asked, “Sorry, obviously you don’t have to go into detail.”

Boundary respecting. 

“It was,” Harry let out a breathy giggle, “uh--enlightening.”

“Wow,” Louis said with a wickedly teasing grin, “well that’s about as mysterious as you could have put it.”

Harry let out another giggle. 

Funny. 

“Sorry, I just--don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.”

“Well that’s fine, love. As long as it’s helping you.”

Sweet. Understanding. Kind. 

God, Harry was running out of gooey adjectives to compliment him with. The point was: he was Louis. Perfect, irreplaceable, Louis.

“Will you lay down with me?” Harry asked gently. 

He might’ve not been ready to say the words to Louis again yet. Not with their torrid, broken past, and the monkey on Harry’s back that was still technically being engaged to Richard. 

But, he was ready to cuddle.

Louis hesitated, clearly fighting something, but stood up anyways and allowed, “Sure, Harry,” and gentlemanly offered him his hand to help Harry up from the couch. 

Louis had taken the top bunk on the left side of the bus. The same one they’d shared when there had still been five of them, and Harry and Louis didn’t even have a marriage certificate to their name…much less finalized divorce papers. 

They crawled up and into bed together as quietly as possible, and Harry took off the t-shirt he’d been wearing and let it fall to the floor, before he rested his head on Louis’s chest, and Louis’s arm wrapped around his back. 

“Harry?” Louis whispered. The only other noise was the hum of the engine and Niall’s low snores.

“Yeah?” Harry returned, just as quiet.

“Is this just messing around for you? Is this just--am I just another one of your--games?”

“What do you mean, Louis? There is no ‘game.’ I just--”

“I-I don’t--I mean, I’ve watched you do this. You get bored, or you get lonely, or you get pissed, and then you run to someone else. I’m asking,” Louis huffed, “nevermind.”

“No, Louis, please,” Harry encouraged.

“Am I just some,” Louis sighed, “affair? Are you still planning on marrying Richard?”

“No,” was all Harry returned. Willing to give some, but not all. Not yet.

“So I’m not the only one who feels like things are--yesterday wasn’t just physical for you, either?” Louis probed.

“No. No, it wasn’t,” Harry assured, sniffling back his tears’ reprise as a warmth overcame him at Louis’s longing questions.

“Okay,” Louis let out a breath, clearly relieved, “good.”

“Is it okay if I try to go to sleep now, Louis?” Harry asked, tired, but giving Louis a chance to not let any other critical thoughts keep him up too. 

“Of course, darling,” Louis allowed, and kissed Harry’s curls in a soft, quiet affection that added further tinder to Harry’s hope, and a soothing bloom of calm inside his anxious chest. 

They still had a lot to talk about. Too much to talk about. Deciding what they were. Working through where it all went wrong. Finding solace in each other’s arms and not conflicted sorrow. But it could wait until later. Tonight, Harry would just hold Louis--until he drifted to sleep.

But not before Zayn groaned in the bunk below them and declared, “Thank fucking god. I was afraid you two would never shut up.”

Chapter Text

Louis didn’t get much rest on the bus. They were dropped off at the hotel in Boston just a few hours after he and Harry had finally managed to fall asleep. At least today they had a day off before their grind of promo, and singing old songs in front of thousands would continue. And, with the soft assurance that Harry maybe shared the same ill-found hope that he did, that he had decided to not marry his fiancé in light of their recent recoupling, they decided to dive in head first, and had one of their assistants book a single room. For both of them.

When they made it up to their suite, they went straight to bed, sleeping in until the afternoon to try to catch up on their restless night, and Louis woke up to kisses down his waist and hip bones, and when his eyes snapped open, Harry’s gorgeous face was between his legs.

“Feeling well rested now, are we?” Louis teased with a grogginess in his voice and a shit-eating grin. Harry released a cute, closed-lipped titter, before he started mouthing over Louis’s underwear, his sex already growing heavy and hard underneath.

After a blow job and a shower, Louis had texted Niall and Zayn, inviting them into their hotel suite to day drink on their day off together, spending much time resting and relaxing, as they had a round of interviews they were due for tomorrow, before their next show the following night. 

And as they sat on the sofa of the exorbitant living room, they sipped on cocktails made from the minibar and decided on a rather masturbatory film choice to make fun of and reminisce on. The prehistoric One Direction documentary, This is Us. 

They spent their viewing mocking Simon’s commentary, gushing over how young and baby-faced they all were then, and growing misty-eyed at Liam’s kind, wonderful presence. All devastated that he couldn’t be here to enjoy it with him. A cruel, ever-mourning pain that left them with tears of memory and a contemplative appreciation for their friend who was taken from them too soon.

But after their initial reactions to the window into the past, as liquor soothed their emotions, and their reignited grief subsided, they began to tease each other in a comfortable dynamic they’d never managed to kill.

“You were so little, Niall!” Harry exclaimed, sipping a cosmo, tipsy and giggly as a school girl.

“Whatever, Harry. Not all of us are six foot, Herculean giants,” Niall shot back. That threw Harry into another fit of chuckles.

“I am not a giant! You probably weigh more than me!”

“His height makes him look heavier than he actually is,” Louis teased, nudging Harry with his elbow and sipping his vodka Red Bull as he gave him a mischievous glance. Harry released an embarrassed gasp that broke all of them into a bout of laughter.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Zayn quipped with a smirk.

Louis sighed and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, “What can I say? He’s very tossable.”

“Alright! That’s enough!” Harry protested.

“So, are you two like--actually back together now?” Zayn asked.

Louis and Harry just looked at each other. Neither of them were able to answer. And luckily, Niall began to speak before they could try to put a response together.

“Yeah, I was wonderin’ the same thing. But, I dunno, thought Harry was still engaged to Richard, so…” Niall trailed off.

The space grew quiet again for a moment, and Louis’s heart was already sinking before Harry even admitted with a somber change in his expression, “I, uh, technically am.” 

“Wait, you actually are?” Zayn intruded, half-way through a sip of his drink, “And you’re still sleeping with Louis? How can you actually justify that?”

“It’s actually none of your business, Zayn,” Louis spat back. 

It wasn’t that Zayn was wrong. Louis knew how awful it was too. But, after Harry had cried his eyes out last night and had declared he wasn’t still planning on marrying Richard anyways, Louis thought he could at least stand up for him. It wasn’t any of their business. As much as they seemed to treat it like it was. Their bets and petty remarks were, at times, invasive and annoying, and though most of it was all in good fun, Zayn’s question came across as accusatory and judgemental.

“I’m planning on breaking up with him,” Harry said quietly, giving them more of an explanation than they were entitled to. “I just don’t know how to do it yet.”

Louis’s brows grew a little weary at that. He hated that Harry had sounded so noncommittal about it. Like it was something he was still convincing himself to do. And Louis knew Harry. He was often too bashfully polite and ashamed to actually materialize a confession when he knew that it would hurt the receiving party. 

And even Louis was rarely an exception to that fact. The second time he’d found out Harry had cheated on him had been through a text that popped up on his screen while his phone was laying on their kitchen counter. He just hoped he’d grown up enough since he was twenty-three years old to actually be more honest with Richard than he had been with him.

And if they did get back together for real, to be more honest with Louis too.

“Anyways, this is getting painful to watch, let’s just put on a real movie, yeah?” Louis suggested, desperately wanting to change the subject, and an awkward mumble of agreements aired the room of the discomfort of their previous interaction.

After an afternoon that bled into the evening, spent hanging out with the rest of the band, Harry and Louis had sent for another one of their assistants to pick them up some actual lubricant from a local sex shop. Not wanting to fumble around with spit or body oil again. And now, with their goods delivered and Harry looking utterly stunning in all his nude glory, he was straddling Louis on the bed, leaning down to kiss him gently before he sunk his arse down on his cock. Louis let out the softest moan at the sensation of being wrapped in his heat, and Harry smiled brilliantly as he began to ride him.

“Fuck,” Louis groaned, and sat up more so he could hold onto Harry’s back as he bounced up and down over his length.

“Louis,” Harry said, breathy and delicious.

Louis was fucking up into him with virility as Harry further girated his hips, kissing his tattooed shoulder as they moved. And while they made love comfortably and closely, old lovers reconnecting further through the powerful exchange of body heat, Harry whispered something in Louis’s ear that drew more warmth to his groin, but a little worry to his chest.

“Louis, call me a slut.”

Louis stilled. The request was undeniably sexy, but also a little…concerning. 

“Slut” had always been a trigger word for Harry. He’d heard it all the time, both through the perception of his public image as a heartbreaking playboy, and the way he used to ridicule himself after he and Louis had fought over his lack of faithfulness. Mimicking things Louis had regrettably said in some of his darkest moments. So, when the word had left his mouth, Louis, doing his best to not persist with his motions in his overwhelming stimulation, grabbed the sides of Harry’s face to orient him so he could check his expression for any signs of distress.

“Harry, love. Are you okay? What was that? I know how much you hate that word,” Louis tried. 

Harry just shrugged, and Louis could feel the subtle jerk of his shoulders all the way down to his sex, and did his best to not let it distract him from his assessment of Harry’s feelings, “I just--can we talk about it later? I just want you to do it, alright? I’m consenting to you calling me that, so will you please…” Harry didn’t finish, just gave an exasperated sigh and kissed him. 

And Louis, unable to resist after his reassured desire for the dirty talk, and sweet, soft lips touching his, pushed Harry onto his back and held his wrists, all while not drawing out a single inch, before he began to fuck harder, earning immediate whines and moans that poured from Harry’s mouth like music.

“You certainly sound like a slut, whining around my cock. You want it bad, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Harry whimpered. 

“You like it when I fuck you like a slut, like being a little whore for me?”

“Yes!” Harry practically shouted. 

Louis didn’t lose speed before he pulled out, and commanded Harry to flip over, placing his hips in a bruising hold before he pounded him harder from behind, all as Harry grabbed at the soft sheets and cried in ecstasy, his body writhing in complete abandon. He was a dream on all fours, back arched and breath shallow, as Louis heard the unmistakable sound of him coming over his own hand. Louis came not too soon after, letting his orgasm fade inside of Harry before he dismounted him. 

“You okay?” Louis asked as they cuddled, and Harry nodded his already sleepy head on his chest.

“Yeah…sorry if that was weird, I know I talk about hating that word, I just, dunno…” Harry wandered, clearly embarrassed. 

“Darling, it’s alright. I just want to make sure you’re not doing it to--I don’t know--punish yourself or something,” Louis said. He knew Harry had a habit of doing so. Even in all his beauty and charisma, he could still be so cruel to himself, and when he was it was hard to watch. No one was flawless after all, and self loathing wasn’t an acceptable solution for anyone. No matter what guilt lay there.

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just, you know…trauma becomes kink or whatever,” Harry gave, mumbling towards the end. Louis just smiled warily, kissed his curls as he loved to do and smiled down at his big, glossy eyes, gleaming up at him with an adorable shyness. 

“Well, it was pretty hot,” Louis confessed. 

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I thought so, too.”

***

The next day, full of press junkets and an afternoon on the radio was a frustrating blur. Terrible questions from people that should have never been allowed to be journalists, stupid games that were clearly geared more towards the teenage One Direction people remembered than four men less than a decade away from middle age. It was painful. Belittling and annoying, but it had to be done, and only having to worry about their show the next night was a wonderful contrast. 

And when Louis, without thinking too much about it, kissed Harry backstage just ten minutes until their opener went on (he’d looked much too beautiful not to), murmurs of gossip and surprise floated around them. Unsubtle, but low enough that they couldn’t hear whatever multitude of things their crew must’ve been saying about them. What didn’t go unheard, though, was the squealing shriek that came from Clara, all ready for her show in pink glitz and glamour, glitter covering the tips of her dark brown shoulders.

“Oh my god! You guys are still together! I knew it!” she declared, followed by another squeal and a bright, unrestrained laugh of delight.

“Clara, it’s time,” one of the techs said to her. And they had to practically drag her away in all her fan girl pleasure.

“You two are so cute! I can’t believe it! Oh my god!” Were just a few of the words of excitement she was able to get out while she was still in earshot before she was being whisked away to entertain their audience for the first half hour of the show.

“She’s sweet,” Harry observed, still looking at the empty space she’d left as she’d clicked her heels away to the stage.

“She’s certainly something,” Louis responded. Harry gave a breathless laugh.

“What if we--” Harry began, his eyes flicking up and down Louis’s figure with a suggestive glint.

“Harry, if we’re going to fuck backstage we should at least find a dressing room,” Louis teased.

“No,” Harry said through another chuckle, “no, I mean--Simon said it’s okay if we flirt a little on stage, after all, and you know they’d go crazy for it.”

“Oh,” Louis couldn’t help the little smile tugging at his lips, “okay.”

So, when it was time for them to make their appearance, Louis joining in with his part on their opening song, he was sure to give Harry a playful smile and a suggestive wink, one that the cameraman grabbing footage for the jumbotron didn’t skip to show, crisp in its ten million pixel, LED screen. 

The reaction was incredible. 

The audience must’ve screamed so loud it shook the building, a booming sound noisy enough to make Clara’s squeal feel like a whisper. Enough to inflate their hearts with ambitious wishes. Wishes that Louis hadn’t had in a very long time. And in light of that reaction, and his reignited wish, he further tested the waters with Harry in front of the wide abyss of fans.

They kept a relatively close distance, but did their best not to linger either. And then, as “They Don’t Know About Us” began to ring throughout the stadium, they were sure to keep their eyes on each other, Harry even going so far as to practically make out with the mic as he belted his lyrics, his eyes on Louis the entire song, while Niall and Zayn rolled their eyes and held back laughs. The real magic happened though, when they started doing their last fan interaction segment of the night.

Harry, in all his solo career showmanship, had been made more confident with a microphone than Louis had ever seen him be, reaching his hand out into the crowd to hold a fan girl’s in a gentle gesture that made her wrist tremble. She was all red hair and freckles, wearing a shirt that read “If I Could Fly,” with a graphic of Harry and Louis cuddling, some early footage before Simon started policing their every interaction, complete with a little cartoon heart between them.

“I just want to say thank you, to all of you, for your support. It’s been many years now since One Direction’s journey began, and you’re all fantastic, I truly do feel Home Again” Harry punned stupidly and looked at Louis, adding as he let go of her hand and returned upstage, “Great t-shirt by the way!” 

Another wave of cheers cried from the audience, and they finished the set with a bang, as towards the end, Louis draped an arm over Harry’s shoulders as they said good night and exited the stage, the last increase in volume growing quieter as they descended from view on the platform. And though Harry was beaming at Louis, and pulling him in for a kiss as soon as they were backstage, their sweet, playful moment came to an abrupt end when Charles appeared.

“What the hell was that bloody nonsense?” he demanded.

“Simon said it was fine if we messed around a little,” Louis defended with scorn.

“I know what he said! But Harry giving my microphone a blowjob during your song about secret love and reaching in the audience to talk to one of those, ugh, ‘Larry’ lunatics was more than ‘a little!’”

“Did you even hear that crowd? They loved it! Why don’t we wait and see what Simon has to say? You’re our stage director Charles, not our manager,” Harry returned, beautifully bratty. 

Charles just stared at them both for a moment, his mouth agape in an irritated disbelief, before he scoffed and walked away.

And though Louis knew that both philosophically and morally, he and Harry were right, Louis was left with an uneasy feeling in his stomach as their director stormed off. For though Harry’s comeback had been brave and wonderful, Louis knew that if their director wasn’t happy about it, Simon’s reaction was likely to be even more…intense.

Chapter Text

From behind the curtain, Harry could see his future before him. A dark stage. A single spotlight. And when he glanced back, he was met with a mirror that seemed to appear only after he’d turned around. And his reflection was something out of fantasies and fiction. 

He was adorned in probably the poofiest wedding dress his mind could possibly conjure. Crisp, creamy taffeta, nearly white gold in all its luminosity. It had a timeless, Baroque flair and bell-shaped silhouette, made even more wondrous with the accessory of matching gloves that coated his toned, tattooed arms up to the off-shoulder sleeves. His throat, doused in pearls, brushed against the back of his long veil, which was crowned with a white rose that also pinned his mane into a loose, elegant bun in the back. Just a few stray curls cradling his cheeks delicately. 

He was a blushing bride so beautiful he would have put a Disney princess to shame. And as a soft piano began to play, Charles, who seemingly appeared out of thin air, was urging him onto the stage with a twist of his weasely little face and a nod of his shiny, bald head. 

Harry followed his direction, only slightly spooked by his presence, and took shy steps along polished wood, in white satin booties that complimented his dress to no end, and approached his dashing prince charming in the center of the spotlight.

His Louis. Perfect, unbelievably handsome Louis.

He was all sexy and dapper in his navy suit. His left lapel was ornamented by a boutonniere made of the same white roses that were on Harry’s veil. His hair was slicked back, his stubble neatly trimmed and tidy. An officiant stood next to him in an eerie, silver, Greek style theater mask that contrasted against the black suit he wore, its exaggerated features embodying tragedy and despair.

It was only when Harry was standing in front of Louis, a shy smile breaking his face at the absolute vision that was his groom, he noticed that beyond them there was a sea of fans. Congested and crowded, the space in front of the stage must’ve increased by a thousand feet to make up for the wide array of admirers, shrieking and cheering like it was a concert.

“Don’t worry about them, love,” Louis said to Harry, pulling his eyes back to him and away from their overwhelming audience. Harry just gave a little nod as he instead focused on the task at hand: getting married to Louis--again.

“Well, let’s get this wedding started, shall we?” the officiant said, beginning to flip through the pages of a worn Bible. But, before he could reach chapter thirteen of Corinthians, he stopped himself, interrupting with an, “Oh, my! So rude! I almost forgot!” And then he was taking off the horrific mask to reveal a sight that could only be described as, well, even more horrifying. 

Richard.

“Ri-Richard,” Harry stuttered, his heart drumming in shock and fear.

“It’s alright, love! I totally understand. Spend two years with someone and the second you see your ex-husband, you already want him back, it’s totally fine! Don’t worry about me!” Richard exclaimed, with a face much too cheerful to be comforting.

“Richard, I just--I don’t want you to be the one to do this!” Harry begged stupidly. As though Richard being the officiant at their wedding was the only odd thing about the entire ordeal.

“Hey! I said don’t worry about me! You guys clearly love each other very much, and your fans love you guys together too! Let’s all stop pretending!” Richard encouraged with the same unsettling amount of glee, and tossed his mask into the audience, and Harry watched Clara, in a mint, green bridesmaid dress, catch it in the middle of the rolling waves of fangirls like it was a bouquet, her Larry-tattooed arm waving the mask around like she had just found a golden ticket.

“Please! I’m sorry, Richard! Please! I just don’t want this to happen like this!” Harry was yelling now, tears drenching his cheeks. Louis pulled him close.

“Shhh, darling, all that matters is that we’re together,” he consoled, and even Louis’s gentle reassurance was a sick and twisted caricature of his actual kindness. 

But then there was a large thunder that vibrated the entire building. And then another roar of thunder. And then another. And then the ceiling was falling in heavy chunks of steel and plaster, onto the fans, onto the stage, all around them, as asteroids in streaks of fire demolished the space they were in. Harry, all the while, just held onto Louis, sobbing uncontrollably as the room around them eroded into dust and debris, the rest of the audience and Richard’s presence completely washed away by the catastrophe.

“All that matters is that we’re together,” Harry whispered to himself as his tears finally began to subside, and he gripped tighter onto Louis’s jacket, as the world around them continued to fall apart.

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing was a welcome and abrupt end to the vivid, Lynchian nightmare he’d woken up from. And Louis stirred beside him in bed, gradually waking up as well in response to the disturbing noise. But when Harry looked at the caller ID, it was as though he’d been sucked right back into the bad dream as he read Richard’s name, complete with a little red heart next to it. He probably needed to remove that emoji.

“Hey, Richard,” Harry said into the phone, picking up despite not wanting to, and clearing his throat of sleep. Louis seemed to jerk further into consciousness at the sound of Harry saying the name, and feeling just a tad embarrassed by the phone call, he stood up from the lake of smooth cotton and began to pace the bedroom as they spoke.

“Hey, Harry, um, I, uh, I wanted to check in,” Richard began, “I get that you’ve been really busy, but you’ve only texted me back a few times and you haven’t picked up the phone in days. So, I just wanted to know--is everything okay?”

Harry cringed at the question, “Um, yeah, sort of. I just, um, like you said it’s been busy. I haven’t had a lot of time to myself, but everything’s fine” Harry managed. It wasn’t a complete lie, and when he flicked his eyes to Louis to pick up his reaction, he could see just the tiniest flinch of hurt gracing his features that bit Harry with further guilt. 

“I’m sorry, love. That sounds stressful,” Richard allowed, and Harry, incapable of being on the phone with Richard while he was in the same room as Louis, padded his bare feet into the living room of the suite, where he’d only left one awkward situation for one that was even more awkward. For when he strolled into the other half of the hotel room, he found Simon Cowell, tipping a server as he handed him a tray of breakfast food. He was really glad he’d decided to wear underwear to bed last night.

Richard was going on about something else. But whatever it was, Harry couldn’t make it out. His morning had been one nightmare after another, and he did his best to gently push Richard off the phone.

“I’m sorry, I-I have to go,” Harry whispered, and hung up without another word. Okay, maybe not so gentle, but the anxiety that came with Simon Cowell’s presence derealized him to the point of being unable to employ his usual politeness. Thankfully, Simon hadn’t seemed to notice that he’d come out yet, and not wanting to be in just his briefs around the industry tyrant, Harry glided back through the bedroom and into the ensuite, where he reached for his silk robe from the hook on the door and slipped it around his frame, tying it tightly at his waist before he relayed to Louis, “Simon’s here.”

“What?” Louis barely managed to say, “like right outside our room?”

“No, like right inside our room,” Harry corrected, and Louis swore, got out of bed and shrugged on a t-shirt and pair of athletic shorts before they went to face him together in the living area.

As Harry re-entered the room, now feeling just the smallest amount less anxious with Louis at his side, Simon tossed a glance their way as he set up the breakfast that had arrived, on the dining table near the kitchenette.

“Oh good, you lads are awake. I was just about to get you two out of bed,” he said casually, and took a seat at the table, setting a napkin in his lap and pouring mugs of coffee, “I ordered breakfast.”

“How the fuck did you get in our room?” Louis demanded.

“You boys have known me long enough to know that I have my ways. Now, come sit, and have a bite,” Simon beckoned, already digging into a bite of eggs from his own plate.

Harry exchanged a glance with Louis before they approached the dining table with the energy of prisoners being escorted to execution. They sat next to each other across from him, where he’d set the other two plates of food, each of them plated with a stack of pancakes, a pile of eggs and several strips of bacon.

“So, what’s up?” Louis asked, not even trying to feign kindness, neither of them touching the decadent breakfast. They both knew why he was here, but it didn’t make his presence any less unsettling. In fact, it made it even more so.

“Hmph,” Simon snickered with a cheshire grin, “we’ll get to it in a minute. Both of you, eat.”

Harry looked at Louis, who was sighing as he picked up a fork, and Harry blinked away his discomfort as he did the same, picking up the greasy strips of bacon and setting them on Louis’s plate, before he picked at a piece of pancake.

“Not a fan of bacon are you, Harry?” Simon asked.

“I don’t eat that kind of meat anymore,” Harry explained without energy.

“Oh? What kind of meat do you eat?” Simon asked, adding, “Besides the kind that hangs between Louis’s legs of course.” Another gross, obnoxious smile lit up his synthetic face, and Louis let his fork fall in a clatter onto the ceramic of his plate at the remark. Harry didn’t move a muscle. Immobilized in abashment.

“Fish,” Harry deadpanned. 

Simon chuckled to himself, saying under his breath, “Bit ironic,” before he said, at full volume this time, “Well, let’s talk, boys.”

“You said it was fine,” Louis began before Simon could continue, “you said you didn’t give a shit if we fucked around a little bit.”

“Louis, let’s just settle down and keep a level head about this for now, alright?” Simon said. And his continuous, therapeutic calm was a sinister sound, as they both knew he could go off at any moment.

 “Charles has informed me that you two have reignited your romance. So, I wanted to start off by saying, congratulations.” And just when Harry was opening his mouth to say a sarcastic thank you, Simon interjected, “Let me finish. I know you two have had your ups and downs, I know you two have even had bumps in the road due to my influence, but I just would like to say,” Simon was gnawing on a bite of bacon, and savoring the taste with a hum of enjoyment, “you really are missing out, Harry…Anyways, I-well, I have something I’d like to share with you two.”

Louis was looking at Harry to gauge his reaction as Simon pulled out his phone, but Harry couldn’t take his eyes off a man he was still amazed had become their manager again. He really should have read the fine print of the tour agreement he’d signed, as he hadn’t known it would come with a monster dressed in human clothing. And though the sight of him was absolutely revolting, Harry found himself feeling like he was staring at a scene from a slasher film he couldn’t turn away from, despite its nauseating gore.

“Ah, here we go!” Simon exclaimed and set his phone down on the table, turning it around so the text was oriented in their direction as he slid it over to Louis. “Louis, you mind reading that headline out loud for me?”

“‘Out loud?’ Is your age affecting your eyesight?” Louis quipped. 

Simon laughed, “You did always have a great sense of humor Louis, that’s one of the things I love about you. Now, read it, and maybe I’ll think about letting you two still share a hotel room.”

Harry tried to not let his eyes water too much at the threat. A sudden shockwave of memory hit him like an eight-wheeler. It had been Simon’s signature, go-to punishment. Separating them and splitting their time so neither of them had a chance to see each other. Purposely sabotaging their bond as he pocketed money he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the blood, sweat, and tears they put into entertaining thousands for nights in a row. And Harry watched Louis’s angry face soften at the sight of Harry’s misty eyes, before he cleared his throat and began to read.

“‘Larry Stylinson Is Real: At Least That's What Fans Are Saying as Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson Flirt Shamelessly on Stage During One Direction Reunion Tour.’” Louis cocked a brow, “Bit of a lengthy title, yeah?” 

He slid Simon’s phone back to him, but Simon was pushing it back in Harry’s direction now, before Louis could get it all the way across the table.

“Now, Harry,” Simon started again, “Could you describe those images attached to this article? Try to keep it down to only a few sentences, please.”

Harry flashed his eyes towards the screen, and then at Simon with scorn, and then back at the screen, before he scrolled further down the article to look at each picture. When he was done, he handed it back to him, and described the photos in a humiliating power move he didn’t fight off only because he was more than terrified of the mere memory of Simon’s meddling in their time together, building indestructible walls between them that they had fought and failed to break down.

“One is of Louis winking at me. One is of me, um, messing with the mic while looking at him. And the other is of Louis’s arm around me.”

“And where did this happen, boys?”

“What?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“Um, here? In Boston?” Louis attempted.

“No, I mean, what place did this happen? What surface were you two standing on?” Simon clarified. Harry was meeting Louis’s eyes again, running his tongue over his teeth nervously, neither of them quick to answer, so Simon tacked on, “Not a hard question, boys.”

“On stage,” they said at the same time, and Harry was digging his fingernails into his thighs while they answered the patronizing question, fighting back anger and tears as Simon gave an artificially impressed smile as he nodded, and gulped down a sip of coffee.

“On stage, exactly!”

“Simon, you literally told us it was fine if we did something like that on stage,” Louis repeated.

Simon stood up from the table with a force so loud it shook the silverware, and he towered over them, discontent and domineering, “I said it’s okay if you flirt on stage! Not pretend to suck Louis’s dick via microphone, Harry! Not give him a cuddle like he’s your boyfriend during your exit, Louis! Not compliment a t-shirt that has a picture of you two together with a heart between your stupid heads! A few glances or fun interactions during fan attention segments would have been fine! Would have tugged at heartstrings but still kept things vague enough to not give the media fodder for an article like that! But this--I mean, Christ you two, I give you one little green light, and you go and sabotage this entire tour!” 

“You said it was fine!” Louis shouted for what felt like the fiftieth time. 

Now he was the one standing up from his seat, rattling the dishes yet again, as Harry crossed his legs awkwardly and checked out from the entire exchange. Watching the scene play out in front of him as though it was just another bad dream. He wished it was just another bad dream.

“You literally told us to do it, you bloody hypocrite!” Louis continued, “I’m sorry that we don’t have a dos and don’ts list that we all signed in blood, Simon, but Jesus--this is fucking ridiculous!”

“You’re right,” Simon said, lowering his voice in another frightening change in tone, “this is fucking ridiculous, Louis. And I don’t know what I was thinking encouraging this anyways. It’s not happening again. So here’s what’s going to happen: The Sun and The Mirror are going to run stories about you two leaning into the rumors for attention and laughs, and you will have Niall and Zayn between you every moment for every concert following this incident. You’ll be seated separately in interviews. You will enter the hotel alone, and you will leave alone. Never together. I don’t care if it’s to go to the parking lot for a smoke, I don’t care if it’s to go shoot up heroin. You will not be seen together alone. Ever. And if anything like this does happen again, I’ll see you never book the same suite.”

“You’re such a cunt,” Harry mumbled, though the insult made Simon break into another bout of maniacal laughter.

“You haven’t even begun to see me at my cuntiest, Harry. It still amazes me that you two haven’t settled into the fact that acting professional is part of your trade. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you have to let everyone in the world know, Harry. You signed contracts years ago that say you can’t, and you won’t.”

“What the hell is that? I still haven’t even publicly labeled my sexuality because of you and Jeff,” Harry said flatly.

“Don’t bother with him, love. He doesn’t care,” Louis started, bowling over Harry’s words as though he was his knight in shining armor, riding in front to protect him.  “Not everyone is as ashamed of who they are as you, Simon. And you can’t do shit right now even if you do want to, or you’d be the one sabotaging a tour you’re making money off of. You’re just trying to threaten us into not being obvious, because you’re worried what it will imply about you.”

“And smart as a whip, you are too, Louis! And I just want to say that, since I don’t manage you anymore regularly, if either of you get accused of something career-ruining after this tour, it won’t affect me. And I want you two to remember that. We all have reputations to maintain. Your managers wouldn’t be taking the same precautions I always have with you two if your reputations weren’t important. Not everywhere in the world is accepting of what you boys get up to in the bedroom. And as I’ve explained to you a thousand times, we couldn’t sell tickets in every country on your schedule if you two acted like this at all your shows. Now, you can keep villainizing me, you can keep calling me a ‘cunt,’ but I will remind you that I’ll still be collecting my paycheck if you keep breaking your contract and are denied yours. You could be on the hook for much more than either of you have ever made or ever will if you keep pushing the limits. You can forget about royalties, ownership, and I can get you blacklisted with one, single phone call. That said, I won’t retaliate in order to protect myself and my reputation, if I don’t have to.”

“You’re psychotic,” Louis declared with a derisive chuckle of disbelief, “Even after everything you’ve done to us, running us ragged, practically encouraging us to get addicted to drugs by the time we were twenty, locking us up in closeting contracts while we were still too young to know what we were getting into, the stunt you made me pull in 2016, I am still amazed by how much of a prick you can be, Simon. But, this is just fucking pathetic. This isn’t a threat of retaliation. It’s your promise of bloody revenge. You can’t stand the fact that we’ve all been fine, working by ourselves, and you don’t own us like you did when we were kids! This isn’t about the stupid article! This is about you saving your own arse from looking even more like the evil piece of shit that you are! The entertainment tycoon who can dish it but can’t take it! Big bad Simon Cowell can’t handle people knowing he’s a monster who exploited and abused five teenagers and had them legally bound from ever talking about it!” Louis’s breath was hard and labored after he finished his spiel, and Simon was still just challenging his glare with a condescending smirk.

“My, my, you children get to be thirty-something and you think you know everything,” Simon whispered. He pocketed his phone and sighed, finally approaching the exit to their suite as he cautioned, “This is your first warning. I don’t intend on giving too many more,” his hand lingered on the door handle as he turned and asked with a wicked smile, “Didn’t Harry say he was engaged to someone else?” When neither of them spoke, he just shook his head and said through another laugh, “That’s alright. I don’t actually care, anyways.” and left with a door slam.

Harry looked up to Louis with glassy eyes, threatening strong tears that only started to pour when Louis sat back down at the table and embraced him. Harry held onto his t-shirt like it was the last thing he might touch as his sobs overcame him, and as they embraced, tight and close, he could feel himself shaking in panic against Louis’s warm, sturdy chest. Glued together as though if they didn’t attach themselves permanently, they might never see each other again. And as Harry continued to cry horribly into the crook of Louis’s neck, Harry felt a few quiet tear drops of Louis’s own soak the silk of his robe as they sat there for a while. Reunited in the band, reunited in the bedroom, and reunited in their absolute loathing towards not just Simon Cowell, but the capitalist, oppressive nature of the industry they had given their entire lives to.

Chapter Text

Days passed, and as they wound their way back down to the United States, after a quick peek into a few Canadian cities, Louis getting to be around Harry all the time, but never being allowed to touch him, was a familiar trauma turned to modern devastation. When they had been on their solo tours and were still together, things had been more complicated, but at least there wasn’t the strangeness of still being in the public eye together 24/7 and having to act as though they were little more than distant friends. And because Louis could not escape from his situation, his true identity buried underneath an inferior public simulacrum for the last eighteen years, when Harry got back to their new hotel in Chicago in the morning, after a long run, he decided he was going to take his turn to get out of their room, stealing a page out of Harry’s book and going for a run as well.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, pulling his earbuds from his ears, as Louis got up and grabbed his wallet off of the kitchen counter.

“Thought I’d go for my own jog. Could use some fresh air too,” Louis answered.

“Since when do you go for jogs?” Harry teased, a cheeky dimple cratering a cheek.

“Alright, you don’t have to be such a little brat about it,” Louis returned with a chuckle.

“Wait, Louis,” Harry hung onto Louis’s forearm as he headed for the door, and just smiled at him warmly, and savored a kiss on Louis's lips before he let him go. Louis gave a delighted sigh as he left, smiling back at him as he let their door shut. But once he’d made it downstairs and outside, into the chill of the Chicago weather, the thoughts that he’d ran to avoid were instead chasing him as he jogged down the sidewalk.

Simon’s outburst. Harry’s engagement that he still hadn’t officially broken off. The consistency of being forbidden from directly interacting. It was all a waking nightmare. A sick horror show that weighed on him like lead. But even so, what was disturbing Louis more than anything else, was that he didn’t even know what the hell he and Harry were. They’d both said it had been more than physical, but not much else besides that. And though Louis had uttered, “I love you,” to Harry, and had heard the words back from him over a million times in the past, after several years of not saying them, their weight was just as heavy as the prospect of saying it for the first time. And the fact that Harry still hadn’t actually ended things with Richard--even if he had allegedly already emotionally done so--left Louis with a sour taste in his mouth, struck with a fear that maybe he still was thinking about staying with Richard after all, and that maybe he’d never hear Harry say those words to him again.

He ran harder as his thoughts were catching up to him, and did his best to burn off the anxieties and emotional torture that was gnawing at his brain, and then, while he was beginning to break a sweat, he’d ran so far from their hotel that he’d reached a strip of local businesses that he slowed down to have a rest near, and window shop a little. And then it caught his eye.

It was a dinky, little toy shop. The windows were cloudy with age, and the sign was a faded green and blue that felt like a divine force calling Louis’s name. But what was most striking was the large, rainbow teddy bear on display towards the front of the foggy glass. It was a lot larger than the one he and Harry had in the old days, probably as large as a small child. In other words, too large for it to be placed discreetly on stage. But large enough to draw Louis into the toy store to look for something of a more manageable size. A dangerous, stupid, and utterly rebellious idea circling his mind.

When he entered, the door released a silly chime of quacks, and he looked up past the hinge of the door to see a family of plastic ducks hanging above him. He pitied the employees who had to hear that sound every time someone walked in, but was relieved that aside from him and the cashier behind the counter, the place seemed empty.

He probably looked like a weirdo walking around in a toy store with his graying hair and sweaty forehead, with no offspring tugging at his sweats begging for gifts, but he did so anyway, wandering the aisles until he found the perfect substitute. There didn’t happen to be a rainbow teddy that was a size down from the one in the window, but there was one that was a reasonably sized fluffy tie-dyed blue and green that was arguably even better. 

But as he looked at it for longer, he hesitated as he stroked the synthetic fur. He still had an undeniable, aching love for Harry, but with Harry’s fickle commitment to telling Richard the truth, it raised up his defenses. The way Harry had lied over the phone and said things were fine to him had been a punch in the gut. And a blue and green choice would be cementing not just queerness, but also their relationship, their affair. And that notion, along with Simon’s choice words from several days ago, caused his hand to pull from the stuffed toy, before he walked away and headed for the door.

But then again, there was still that hope in him. That youthful wish that maybe he and Harry could somehow be more open. That one day they wouldn’t have to do publicity stunts with women and hide their true identity like a tragic superhero. That they could somehow break free from their shackles. It was embarrassing how long it had gone on already. And, he knew all too well that if they didn’t fight for themselves, no one else would. 

His hand was lingering on the door as he argued with himself, before he turned around in a sudden, decisive instant, and snatched the teddy bear off of the shelf, paying for it with a rumpled, twenty dollar bill he’d still had in his wallet from his latest ATM pull, and carried it back to the Four Seasons in a black, plastic bag. He was grateful that it was opaque enough to obscure the item inside.

When he arrived back at the suite of the hotel, Harry was lounging on the couch on his phone, freshly showered and with enough perfume for Louis to catch a whiff of it before he’d even got close. And prior to Louis going to clean himself up, he yanked the bear from the bag, which he set haphazardly on the coffee table, and tossed the toy onto the couch next to Harry, who picked it up and looked at it and Louis with a wide grin.

“What’s this?” Harry asked.

“You know what it is,” Louis returned.

“Shit--you mean? You want to? Like we did back in the day? What if Simon finds out again?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. We’ve weathered that storm before Harry, and we have to fight back somehow. Worked pretty well at first the last time we did it. Maybe this time we could make it actually lead to something,” Louis coaxed. Harry was still smiling at the stuffie, and releasing a breathy giggle, and then turned to Louis, already teary eyed and emotional, and said a few words that soaked into Louis’s very bones.

“I’m still so in love with you, Louis,” Harry confessed, “I’m sorry I waited so long to say it, but I am. I love you so bloody much.”

Louis smiled and let out a relieved exhale. Just hearing that, in all their recent chaos, was a soothing cool against his hot, nervous skin. It was as though a child’s toy in their signature colors was a gesture of commitment for both of them. And Louis was as great as a mountain, hugged with a blizzard of snow that was Harry’s verbalized love for him. He took a seat beside Harry on the sofa, and kissed him deeply, tenderly.

“I love you too, darling. I always have, even when I wished I didn’t…And I’m pretty sure I always will,” he also confided, and Harry just grinned wide, dimples deep and eyes crinkled, like he was the happiest man in the world, and though Louis hated that he knew very well that his next words were sure to wipe the smile off of his face, they really needed to talk about it. 

“But, Harry,” Louis began, “what’s going on with us? I mean, if you love me, why haven’t you still talked to Richard? Why are you telling him everything’s fine? Like, baby, I-I need to know where this is going.” 

And, as expected, his smile did falter, transforming into a subtle frown as he let his eyes fall to the floor with a sigh.

“I know. I’m sorry, Louis. I do want to break up with him. I guess I’m just a little scared of how he’ll react. And I dunno, I think it would be better if I did it in person,” Harry explained, “But, I do want me and you to try…again.”

Louis blinked warily, “I want us to, too, Harry, but…I also have to know that you’re going to be honest with me. Given everything that’s happened in the past, I just, I need to know we’re going to be able to rely on each other, and the way you’re lying to Richard and avoiding talking to him--well, I’ve seen you do it to me too. And I don’t want that to be part of our relationship again. Like, I get you wanting to do it in person, but we’re gonna be on the road for months.”

Harry blew out another breath, “That’s fair. I know I’ve hurt you. And I know I broke your trust several times, but Louis, I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you. And I’ve grown a lot over the years, and--I want you to know that I do want to be honest with you this time. One-hundred percent. And I will end things with Richard. He’s going to be done filming the first week of April, and on our first extended break, I’m gonna fly back to London and talk to him.”

“You’re going to wait for him to fly back to London? And break up with him after he’s already moved back into your house?” Louis groaned, “Like, fuck, Harry, we don’t have our first extended break until May! I just--I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you waiting that long. I’m not even comfortable with how long you’ve already waited.”

Louis watched Harry gulp down his discomfort, pausing for a moment before he responded. And though he did seem to be getting further upset, Louis was a bit surprised that he wasn’t huffing already and leaving the room to give him the silent treatment for pushing him. Previously, he had always run from conflict, refusing to talk about it for hours or even days, well after they were due to have an actual discussion. And it was absolutely infuriating sometimes.

“I understand, Louis…You’re right,” Harry finally admitted, and Louis was even more surprised to hear him say that. “So, I will. I’ll call him tomorrow, and I’ll end it. But, Louis, I have something I need to ask you too.”

“Okay,” Louis allowed.

“Will you--come to therapy with me? I have another virtual appointment later this week. It’ll be like, seven in the morning our time, but I’d like you to sit with me so we can talk. There’s a lot I think we need to go over if we are going to be together again, and I just think that might be a good place to do it.”

Louis’s brows shot up. He hadn’t been to therapy himself in years. After several losses in his life, he’d gone a few times to help him grieve, and he and Harry had done couple’s therapy once or twice when things between them were falling apart. But it had been forever ago. And the thought of talking with Harry’s therapist, who knew him well, and likely knew faults of Louis’s that Harry had no doubt mentioned, was a little intimidating. But then again, Harry was trying for him. And it was only fair that he did the same.

“Sure, love, of course,” Louis agreed.

Harry kissed him again, relieved and warm, and Louis ended their kiss with a squeeze to Harry’s shoulder, before he hopped in the shower and got ready to go to their next venue. For after all, if they were going to start up a new secret, teddy bear project, they would need to get there early to prepare.

***

“We’re gonna need help with this. If we didn’t have Kate last time, we probably wouldn’t have been able to get away with it as long as we did, you know?” Louis reasoned as they arrived backstage. The teddy was in his backpack that he always brought with him, along with a few other supplies he’d stopped for on the way, and Harry was looking at him with a mischievous grin that matched his energy to an unsettling degree. “What? Do you have someone in mind?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Harry whispered, and nodded his head to Clara, still in her street clothes, as she headed into her dressing room after her soundcheck was complete.

Louis just smirked and gave a nod of agreement and they followed her to the dressing room and knocked on the door. Maybe her fan girl zeal would come in handy after all. 

The door swung open with a gasp, and Louis and Harry exchanged wicked smiles, as Clara asked, “Oh, um, hi there. What’s up, guys?”

“Is it alright if we come in?” Harry asked, politely. 

“It’s a bit private,” Louis added.

“Oh! Um, sure. Of course!” So, she opened the door wider and let them both in, and Louis shut the door behind them gently. “Is everything okay?”

“Great,” Louis gave, half sarcastic, and took off his backpack and set it on the makeup table. He unzipped it and grabbed the bear and set it on the same surface, before he said, “Given how much of a Larry fan you seem to be, I take it you’ve seen something like this before.”

“Oh my god!” She said in her usual squeal and picked it up, “It’s another Rainbow Bondage Bear! But, blue and green! It’s--” she took a moment to chuckle to herself, “it’s a Larry bear!”

“That’s perfect,” Harry commented and gave Louis an adorable smile.

“We need your help,” Louis started, “our art director, Kate, used to help us with the old one. It’d take days to plan, sometimes, and with press and how long our soundcheck takes, we’re not going to be able to do it on our own.”

“What about Niall and Zayn?” Clara asked, “Don’t you think all four of you could split it up--”

“They’re just as busy as us,” Louis interrupted.

“And if this gets traced back to us, our management might be--unhappy,” Harry mentioned, “And we don’t need to get them in trouble too. It’s a risk. We’re…not going to lie to you, but we couldn’t do it on our own before, and I don’t think we’ll be able to do it on our own again. And we know you signed NDAs, but you’re not bound legally from talking about our relationship in the same way all of us are either.”

“Oh, well,” Clara smiled down at the toy and sighed, “okay.”

“Okay, as in, you’ll do it?” Louis requested with a growing smile.

“Of course. You two have been my idols since I was twelve, I mean, how could I not? And I know how--unfair the industry can be sometimes, I mean--the things I’ve been through due to my skin color alone,” she trailed off, her words were personal and deep, “Do you want me to put it out during my set, instead of yours?”

“That would be really lovely of you,” Harry said, giving Louis another beautifully brilliant smile that made Louis’s heart stutter, before he returned his gaze to her, “Thank you.”

“We know you need to get dressed, so we’ll let you get ready and get going ourselves, but after us and the boys get back from soundcheck, we’ll meet you here and go over it more, okay?” Louis proposed. 

“Okay, so, you guys have like--I mean, I remember the rainbow bear had little easter eggs near it. Are we doing anything like that?”

“There’s stuff in my backpack. We don’t have much yet--this was a bit of a last minute decision for us, but next time we’ll plan further ahead, yeah?” Louis gave.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Clara affirmed, and they left her dressing room as she squeezed the bear in her arms with another whine of excitement.

Their soundcheck went by thankfully fast. They didn’t run into any major issues, and Louis was already finished with his stylist. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a crimson polo. And he walked over to Harry’s dressing room and knocked before opening the door. Harry was in the middle of putting on his handful of rings, but was otherwise ready in his red trousers and complementary polka-dot t-shirt.

“You ready to head back to Clara?” Louis asked, leaning in the doorframe.

“Yeah, just about,” Harry gave, sliding his last ring on his pinky finger, and messing with his hair in the mirror, before he was headed towards Louis, grabbing his hand and tugging him down the hall back to Clara’s room in an excited jog.

Just as they reached her door and Louis raised his hand to knock again, Niall and Zayn passed them as they also made their way from their dressing rooms around the corner, and stopped once they caught them.

“What are you two doing next to Clara’s dressing room?” Niall asked, irritatingly curious.

“She probably invited them over to have a threesome,” Zayn quipped, and Niall laughed. Louis and Harry didn’t though.

“Can you please, not?” Louis requested impatiently.

“We’re, um, collaborating with her,” Harry answered coyly.

“Oh my god, you are having a threesome,” Zayn said, “didn’t think you two would be down to try girls ever again.” Niall was laughing even harder now.

“Shut the hell up, Zayn! No one is having a threesome, you annoying twat!” Louis exclaimed.

“Well, then what are you doing?” Niall asked.

Louis glanced at Harry, and Harry glanced back and shrugged. 

“Alright, come on,” Louis beckoned and knocked on the door as Niall and Zayn drew closer.

“Come in!” Clara shouted from the other side, and they entered the room, Niall and Zayn tagging along.

When they walked inside, Clara was on her knees on the floor, ready for her show in full glam, the items Louis had gotten from a party supply store next to her, along with construction paper, markers, and tape. She was making a complementary sign to go along with the bear, a smaller square of green stuck to another sheet of blue.

“Christ! This is already looking great,” Louis complimented, crossing the room and squatting down next to her to get a better look.

She’d dressed the bear in black tape in a similar fashion as they did to the classic Rainbow Bondage Bear, an obvious and nostalgic nod to its predecessor, and had draped a pink, tinsel garland over its shoulders. Harry joined her on the floor, sitting criss-crossed as he looked at what she was writing on the construction paper she’d put together, Louis glanced over at it too and smiled. It was an Elton John quote, written in pretty silver Sharpie that read, “You see, I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue.”

“Thanks,” Clara said with a shy giggle, and took a break to pull out her phone and show them a few social media accounts she’d opened, both with the username: @larrybear, “I also made it an X and an Instagram already, and I used a burner email to sign up for it, just to be safe. I haven’t posted yet or anything, but I can text you guys the login if you give me one of your numbers.”

“Let me give you them, now,” Harry said and gestured for her phone, and she handed him it, and Louis watched as he began to add them both to her contacts, her smile lighting up the entire room.

“Oh no,” Niall said and walked closer to them, Zayn joining at his side. “Did you get management to sign off on this? There’s no way they’d go for it after what happened last time.”

“Well, so what if we didn’t? Are you gonna tell on us, Niall?” Harry shot back.

“Of course not! But, Jesus! Harry, Louis, after what you told us Simon said to you?” Niall asked.

“He’s gonna kill you both when he finds out about this,” Zayn warned.

“Well, we’ll deal with it when the time comes around then,” Louis insisted. Simon’s name was the last thing he needed to hear at the moment.

“It’s okay. It’ll just be on stage during my set, and I’ll have Kiera take it down before you guys come on, if things get messy and it gets pinned on me at least I won’t get into legal trouble,” Clara offered.

“Who’s Kiera?” Louis asked.

“My girlfriend. She’s my assistant. She’s cool. Don’t worry.”

“This is a bad idea,” Zayn insisted.

“Thank you Zayn for making it absolutely clear that you think so,” Louis shot back, growing increasingly annoyed by his alerts.

Though he meant well, Louis was sure, it was a fearful thing to hear their nervousness about it. And the second-hand anxiety was only making Louis’s worse. He knew what they were doing. He knew how it could end. And even still, Louis was going through with it. And Harry wasn’t spooked either, despite Niall and Zayn’s discouragement. They were fighting back. And this was one of the few ways they knew how. Even if it was ridiculous as can be.

“Zayn’s just saying, be careful, lads,” Niall gave, like a parent cautioning their children, before he and Zayn exited, finally, Zayn shaking his head as they closed the door behind them.

“Alright, how can we help?” Harry asked once they were gone.

“Well…” Clara began.

They decided to add a few more accessories to the Larry Bear before Clara needed to head out to open, a little plastic tiara, another blue sheet of paper, folded and taped around the neck to look like a bandana. Louis had watched in awe as she’d knocked out a detailed, paisley pattern with a black marker on it like it was nothing, which she contributed to her time in an art school she’d dropped out of to pursue music.

“Alright, now we just need pictures for its socials,” Clara gave as they all sat back and admired their cute little project, before a knock sounded on the door and it opened, revealing a woman who wore her blonde hair cut short, and was covered in more tattoos than, perhaps, anyone Louis had ever met.

“Clara, they’re calling you, it’s time for mics and places,” the woman said.

“Okay, Kiera, one sec,” Clara gave, and then called back before she shut the door, “Wait! We need to take pictures first, but after, can you put this somewhere on stage? Somewhere where people can see it but that’s not obvious? We’ll put it up before everyone’s here next time, but we had a bit of a time crunch.” 

“Huh, another Rainbow Bondage Bear style project?” Kiera said, crossing her arms with an amused smile.

“You know about that too?” Harry asked her.

“Um, well, Clara won’t shut up about you two, so yeah--I know more about you guys than I would like to.”

“Kiera!” Clara grunted, embarrassed.

“Look, honey, you really need to get out there, you’re on in fifteen minutes,” Kiera begged again.

“It’s okay, Clara, we can grab the pictures,” Louis offered and then asked to her girlfriend, “Can you put it on stage though?”

“Sure, whatever,” she dismissed, urging, “Clara, come on.” 

Clara whispered a quick,“Sorry, thank you” to Louis and Harry as she stood up, grabbing her ear monitor from the table and shoving it in her ear, before she waved a quick goodbye and left.

“Alright,” Louis said, and he and Harry stood, taking in their work again, this time, from a distance, before Louis pulled out his phone and started trying to get a good angle as he snapped a photo.

And then there was another knock on the door.

“Oh my god!” Harry groaned and walked over to open it, and as he did, the gasp that came from him made Louis’s head do a quick turn to see who it was. And when Louis saw him through the tiny crevice Harry had cautiously allowed, he blanched, and, absolutely terrified, ran to hide in the closet like a child afraid of the boogeyman (in a fitting commentary on his current professional and personal situation).

“Richard, what are you doing here?” he heard Harry ask through the door.

“We wrapped early on the film, so I came to surprise you!” Richard declared happily.

“How did you know I was in here?” Louis could hear the panic in Harry’s voice, and it only made his heart beat even faster.

“I asked Niall where you were…So, can I come in?” Richard asked.

“Um, now’s really not the best time,” Harry excused.

“Come on, Harry, I haven’t seen you in forever! Why are you acting so weird? What’s going on in there?”

“I-I, um,” Harry sighed and relented in a horrifying grant of permission, “okay, come in.” Louis could hear Richard’s footsteps as he entered, as well as the shut of the door, and clenched his teeth in discomfort at the sound.

“What the hell is that?” Richard asked, and Louis could notice even through the muffle of the closet that his voice had dropped an octave.

“Um, it’s--”

“That was rhetorical, Harry. I know what the fuck it is. You made the other one while you were still with Louis. God, and wait--is that--a hickey on your neck? Fuck. You promised me you wouldn’t--shit Harry!” Richard paused for a moment, and said lower, “Where is he?”

“Um,” Harry mumbled and Louis could watch his eyes flick to the closet through the crack in the closed door, before he sighed and said, “Louis, just--come out.”

And Louis threw his head back in absolute dread. His heartbeat was shallow and fast. He couldn’t stand the thought that he was going to have to go out and face the victim of their crimes. Not while they were making silly arts and crafts of rebellion and he had a show to perform after. Still, he opened the door slowly and took equally slow steps out of the closet and met Richard’s eyes, a miracle given how much he really didn’t want to be around to witness whatever was about to happen.

“God! Fucking hell! I knew you shouldn’t have gone on this goddamn tour!” Richard shouted, and Louis held his breath and watched Harry’s face twitch at his volume.

“Richard, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” Harry whispered.

“Oh? So you did mean for it to happen at some point, though!? Dammit, Harry, you promised me it wouldn’t! You promised! How the hell could you do this to me!?” Harry’s eyes were already red and glossy, and his creamy skin was blushing a brilliant rose, as he flinched at every word of vitriol that left Richard’s mouth, riddled with shame, and though Richard was the one shouting, Louis couldn’t take his eyes off the guilt on Harry’s face.

“I knew this would happen,” Richard persisted, absolutely violent with his heartbreak, “I just knew!” his eyes were shiny with his own hurt, “God, I loved you so much, Harry. And it made me such an idiot. I can’t believe I actually decided to trust you after you told me you two had made out! But, I can’t keep giving a shit. I’m done. I know that’s what both of you want anyways.” Richard scoffed, proceeding with further venom, “You know it’s funny, I used to feel sorry for you, because everyone in the world thinks you’re some dumb, womanizing manwhore, but god, they’re right! You might be gay, Harry, but aside from that, you’re just as much of a fucking slag as everyone thinks! A selfish, cheating slut!”

“I get that you’re pissed, Richard, but you don’t have to call him names,” Louis bit out, barely, as he was still cringing inwardly at the absolutely mortifying awkwardness of the situation. 

“And you!” Richard began again, ignoring Louis’s remark entirely as he shot daggers at him, “You arsehole! I can’t believe I shared a drink with you, you piece of shit! You shook my hand and now you’re fucking my fiancé! How can you bloody live with yourself?”

Louis didn’t know how to respond to that. He had been having a hard time living with himself lately, and he really wished he could fall into the earth and disappear right about now, instead of having to look in the eyes of a man he’d been complicit in hurting deeply. And with Harry, now full-on sobbing and shaking next to him, Richard’s anger still a threatening scrunch on his face, he knew that there was nothing either of them could say to make the situation better.

“You are still in love with him, aren’t you?” Richard asked, returning his attention to Harry, blinking away the angry tears that had wet his cheeks.

“I-” Harry stuttered, his own cries choking him as he croaked out a quiet, “Yes,” and then exclaimed, “Richard, I’m sorry! I was going to call and tell you tomorrow, I swear! I really didn’t mean for you to find out this way!”

Richard just shook his head, released a deep, single cry of his own, before he composed himself and said, “You ‘swear?’” A vicious, torn, chuckle, “Well I appreciate the fact that you were planning on letting me know that you’re leaving me for your piece of shit ex-husband after staying with me for two years while you were still in love with him! I hope I was a nice distraction,” He scoffed again, and then announced as he headed back for the door, “I’ll send for my things before I leave for London. And I want my ring back. That thing cost eighty-five grand.”

And with that, he left, with a door slam loud enough to make Harry flinch once more, before he released a great cry and collapsed onto the couch as he continued to sob into his hands. 

Louis could hardly stand it. Harry’s guilt. Richard’s contempt. His own shame. He was wearing the pain of three people. And as he sat down next to him, he held him as he cried from the verbal abuse of another man who was also (though more rightfully than Simon) furious at the mere thought of them together.

Chapter Text

Harry was puffing on a cigarette with Louis by the back of the hotel after their show, in yet another act of rebellion, even though he knew that just three cigarettes in the last few months were still probably too many for him. But after the night he’d had, he could really use the nicotine, and it was a better alternative to the cocaine he was craving even more, so he figured he’d smoke now and apologize to his lungs later.

It had been about one of the worst nights he’d ever had. Getting chewed out by Richard for being a “cheating slut.” The excruciating heartbreak on his face. Kiera, keeping her word of grabbing the bear to display while Louis was still holding Harry as he cried. The way she’d averted her gaze as though she felt embarrassed to even look at them. Then having to go perform just a half hour later and pretend that everything was fine while he kept his distance from the only person he wanted to be close to. It was emotional torture. One dark thing after the next, and as they stood outside in the cold, smoking next to the tour bus that was packed up and leaving in just ten minutes, Harry shook his head to himself as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

“I’m sorry you had to be there for that, Louis,” Harry apologized.

“It’s alright, love,” Louis whispered and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but hissed out his own puff of smoke in an uncomfortable tic that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry. “When’s that appointment?” he asked, changing the subject completely. Harry couldn’t be more grateful.

“Oh, uh, day after tomorrow. Friday.”

“Shit, we have a show on Friday,” Louis complained.

“I know. I’m gonna be there too, believe it or not,” Harry said. He’d meant it humorously, but it came out almost completely flat.

“Well, you’re lucky I love you enough to get up that early the same day we’re on stage,” Louis teased.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry said, entirely solemn as he caught Louis’s eyes for a lengthy second.

“Let’s hop on, love,” Louis whispered, tossed his cigarette, and planted a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek before Harry got rid of his as well and they boarded the bus together.

Niall and Zayn were hanging out in the lounge already. Beers open with the TV on. And while Louis was already heading for the kitchen, no doubt to pop open his own from the fridge and join them, Harry opted instead to hang out in their bunk, write, and isolate, truly having had enough social interaction for the day.

As Harry watched Louis pass him through the bedroom towards the lounge, where he was comfy in just his joggers and graphic t, chewing on the end of a pen, he locked eyes with him as Louis took a sip of his beer and stalled, “You okay, mate?” he asked gently.

Harry rubbed at his temple and shook his head, “Not really, babe, I’m--I’m still thinking about what Richard said.”

Louis frowned, and climbed carefully up into the top bunk with Harry, being cautious to not spill his beer as he joined him on the bed. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Louis offered.

Harry looked at him with big, wet eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I’m already kind of writing about it right now.”

“Yeah? Just journaling or lyrics?” Louis asked.

“I mean, lyrics, I guess…maybe? I don’t know, it’s just something I’m laying down, it’s really rough, and it might not even turn into an actual song--”

But Louis was snatching Harry’s notebook from his lap and looking at it before Harry could even finish, twisting up his face in appall as his eyes flashed over the page.

“Christ Harry, ‘Chances, don’t give me chances; I’ve never been great at romances,’” Louis read aloud, quoting again, “‘I know I’m all those things you said; maybe I should put myself to rest?’ You sound like you’re suicidal.”

“Well, I’m not…and like I said it’s really rough. But, I mean, shit, did you see the look on his face? I’ve never seen him blow up like that. I’ve never seen him so hurt. Like, I love you, honey, and I’m so glad I get to be with you, but I broke his heart, Louis.”

“I know,” Louis allowed, a look on his face that read of his own shame, “But, Harry, he didn’t have to talk to you like that.”

“You used to,” Harry whispered. He hadn’t wanted to say it. Hadn’t wanted to make Louis feel as terrible as he did, but it just came out. And…it was true. While Harry knew they both had every intention of approaching things from a healthier perspective this time, he was hyper aware that they both had a track record of being toxic. While Harry didn’t yell very often, he would still shut down and ignore him for days, and Louis would nearly always detonate.

“I know, Harry,” Louis said, his voice dripping with remorse, “I’m sorry. I never want to treat you like that again. You don’t deserve it. And you’re not everything that Richard said. I could see how awful you felt while he was shouting. I mean, Christ, I just read this. I never want to make you feel like this.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. So, instead, he just held him, embracing Louis tightly. He was his rock. His foundation. Louis built Harry up when he didn’t even feel worthy of it. And though he was living in euphoria now that he was able to have him back, he hated that Richard had gotten hurt in the process.

“I love you, Louis,” Harry breathed, “I want us to make it this time.”

“I love you too, Harry,” Louis returned, petting his curls. The sensation was heavenly, and so was his reassurance, even if Harry wasn’t sure if he believed it, “and we will.”

Harry pulled away, and Louis gave him a longing smile before he took a sip of his beer, set it down on the little shelf on the side of the wall hugging the bed, and let out a breath. “Alright, let’s edit some of these,” he declared and grabbed Harry’s pen from him too.

“What?” Harry questioned.

“Alright, we’re changing ‘I know I’m’ to ‘What if I’m,’” Louis reasoned, and Harry watched over his shoulder as he struck out part of the line and wrote his version above it, “And then we’ll replace, ‘maybe I should put myself to rest’ to ‘I know…I wasn’t…at my best,’” Louis did the same to that line, and Harry could feel his dimples forming as he looked along the handsome, aged contours of Louis’s face. Impossibly smitten.

“That’s good…I know it was pretty self loathing. I’m just, you know, upset with myself. It’s not like I think that way all the time,” Harry explained.

“I know, love. But you shouldn’t use it as an excuse to be that cruel to yourself,” Louis encouraged. Harry smiled again at Louis’s unbelievable sweetness. “Though, I get it, I’ve been feeling like absolute shite too, and have been doing me own depressin’ writin’.”

“Yeah? I remember you writing in the bedroom and the kitchen back at my house.”

“Yeah, I remember writing in the kitchen too,” Louis said with a mischievous grin, and Harry chuckled. 

“Sorry--I was jealous, and--I really missed you,” Harry admitted.

“I missed you too, baby,” Louis returned and gave Harry, a heated, mouthy kiss, that Harry pulled away from before it got too steamy, not because he wasn’t into it, but because it was his turn to raid Louis’s depressed doodles.

“So, what were you writing?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Louis excused with a chuckle.

“Hmm, I dunno, you came and invaded my journal. Maybe I should go grab yours.”

“Harry--”

“Is it in your backpack?” Harry persisted, and when Louis didn’t answer right away, Harry knew.

He hopped out of bed at the speed of lighting, and ran for the front of the bus, where seats and tables were set up. Louis always kept his backpack on one of the seats, and though it’d been a while since they’d been on a tour bus together every other night, some things never changed. Louis was already chasing him, of course, and Harry unzipped the bag fast and carded through its contents, and as he was grabbing it, Louis was wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him from it.

Unfortunately for Louis, Harry already had it in his hand, and was lifting it high into the air, where Louis couldn’t reach it.

“Fuck you, Harry! Why do you have to be so damn tall?” Louis complained with a chuckle, and Harry giggled as Louis let go of him, finally giving up.

Harry flipped through the notebook and took a seat, Louis joining him at his side, with a frustrated grunt, as Harry found the more recent pages and began to read.

Harry,

Their were secrets we buried

Still we were able to find the light

But now I’m in the dark

Without you

And now seeing you with him

I know you truly want us apart

The verse read like an intimate letter. Yearning and full of soul. Simple but candid. Even rather literal, it still managed to be beautiful. And Harry was smiling away the mist from his eyes as he studied the page.

“That’s sweet, Louis,” Harry complimented, and let out a deep, sorry breath, “I didn’t know me being engaged was hurting you that bad even then.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis mumbled, barely audible and adorably embarrassed.

“I can’t believe you used my name,” Harry said under his breath.

“I don’t even know if I’m gonna do anything with this either, it still needs a lot of work, and if I do, I’ll change it, obviously.” 

“Don’t! It’s…perfect. I mean, if you want to put it out, then, yeah, that's fine, but…I like it how it is,” Harry insisted, and then proposed something they hadn’t done in years with a joyous burst of creativity, “We should write together more, you know?”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, “we should.”

“I’m gonna go grab mine,” Harry announced, and headed back to the bunk.

When he returned, they began to turn the front of their tour bus into a makeshift production studio. Having their own private, little writing session with thoughts and care. Exchanging little notes and bits of poetry that they took turns critiquing and editing and marrying together, until they were going on having the verses, choruses, and bridges of a few songs roughly sketched out. And as the evening poured into the early a.m.s, they continued to create as a team, until Zayn came and checked on them.

“Well this is better than what I was afraid I’d walk in on,” Zayn joked, “You guys better not be writing songs for a new One Direction album, because I’ll let you know now, I’m not sticking around that long.”

“We’re not,” Harry affirmed and admired Louis’s wonderful features again for a moment before he said, “We’re writing songs for us.” 

“Like, for just you two? To sing together?” Zayn requested.

“Yeah,” Louis said, and gave Harry a similar, familiar, endearing look that still somehow managed to give him butterflies, even after eighteen years.

“Well, good luck getting your publisher to put that out.”

“Not everything we write has to get published, Zayn,” Louis returned.

“Yeah, it’s just…for fun,” Harry expresed.

“Oh, um, well, fair enough…I guess. Look, Niall misses you guys and is begging you to come hang out, before it gets too late. So, can you take a break from writing duets ‘for fun’ and join us?” Zayn asked. His attitude was sharp and cutting, but it didn’t hide his desire for their company.

“Sure,” Harry relented, and he and Louis stood from the table and followed Zayn to the lounge.

It had been a therapeutic experience, to dive into his emotions about what had happened with Richard and his hopeful future with Louis through writing. It was a bonding moment. Quality time that was gathering lumber for the home of commitment they were already rebuilding.

“Must’ve been a long session of physical intimacy, yeah?” Niall said with a smirk as they entered the room and took a seat on the couch with the other two. Harry draped a thigh over Louis’s as they got comfortable and shared annoyed glances.

“We were actually in the process of making art, Niall,” Harry returned.

“Yeah, we were writing lyrics, you petty little pervert,” Louis added, and they all broke into a bout of laughter.

But Zayn broke up the jovial, teasing energy when he asked Harry, “How was seeing Richard?” 

And Niall added, “We heard him shouting.”

Harry’s heart sunk at the mention of the incident, but it only made sense that they were curious. He supposed if he were in their position he would be too.

“You two, Christ, can’t you just leave it alone?” Louis begged, already jumping to Harry’s defense. And while it was a delightfully caring and romantic gesture, Harry had already worked through it a fair amount through their collaborative writing exercise, and so he decided he would take the opportunity to talk about it. They were his friends, after all, and they were asking because they cared.

“Yeah, well, you know,” Harry began with a deep breath, “he saw the bear. And, he knows all about the old one of course. I literally told him about it like a few weeks after we first met, so…Anyways, he saw it and knew what it meant. Then he noticed my love bite, and then…he lost it. And he had every right to,” Harry explained, keeping the emotion out of his mind and far from his voice as he recalled the events with a dreary matter-of-factness.

“So, I’m guessing you two aren’t together anymore?” Zayn asked.

“No, Zayn, we are not,” Harry confirmed with a hint of brattiness. 

“Well, I just want to brag that I won both of our bets,” Niall began, clearly trying to add a light note to the heavy subject in a most insensitive, infantile way, “I knew it was going to happen within the first week of the tour. You two can never manage to keep your hands off each other.”

The room went stiff, and the rumble of the engine became a cringeworthy sound as the air filled with silence.

“So, what are you two watching?” Louis asked, as if he hadn’t heard what Niall had said at all. Bless him. And so, Harry and Louis spent the rest of the late hours watching the back half of a film over shitty beer, limbs tangled together for most of it, before they all retired to their bunks for the night.

***

Harry woke up to two texts when they arrived in Tennessee in the early morning. And one of them was from Richard. He opened his first, both out of a remorseful obligation and a desire to get the interaction over with. And the message, absolutely cold and filled with hurt, tightened Harry’s chest in sorrowful compunction.

Send the ring here.

Was all it said, along with an address. Harry swallowed down the pain of his frigidity and texted back:

Okay. 

And, just before he closed their inbox, he added:

I’m so sorry again, Richard. 

Because what else could he say? He hated that to find his own happiness with Louis again, he’d had to bring Richard to tears of lividity. And the pain of last night was still fresh in his mind and heart. Though, he did do his best to try to shrug off his persistent guilt, and decided to check his other message and put his thoughts aside (not before he finally got around to removing that pesky little heart next to Richard’s name). 

The other one was from Clara, in a group chat with him and Louis. 

@larrybear has over 10,000 followers on Instagram already! Did you see?

Harry had not seen. He was vaguely aware that Louis had posted the picture at some point, but had been much too occupied mentally to even let the reality of their recent expenditure register correctly. But it was something to take his mind off of Richard’s pain, and the resting fear he still had that even with how much he wanted he and Louis to make it, that it might not actually happen. And he would be left heartbroken, himself, once again.

The comments under the post were rich with excitement, intrigue, and also layers of skepticism.

OMGGGGG It’s happening again!

No way is this real XD

dumb

Cute! OMG! They were so obvious the other night! 

RBB was reincarnated into the Larry Bear, and this queen is LOUD!

This is obviously fake and taken in someone’s house. I can’t believe sum of y’all are buying this bs. 

It’s an object that weighs less than a pound??? It could have moved??? I was there and it was literally at the concert on stage w Clara Oliver

In sum, it was garnering attention, and while ten thousand followers wasn’t much yet, if they were able to do that in one night, Harry could only hope that soon enough there would be enough people to help with the exposure of their oppression. For the next step, now that it had a minor following, was making its reason for existing clear, and making sure that they could build social power through its voice, before they inevitably, unavoidably, and possibly violently--were caught.

Chapter Text

Louis was disturbed from sleep by Harry’s loving gaze and the brush of his fingertips on his shoulder. They’d spent the entire day, after arriving in the conservative, American South, premeditating their next set up for the Larry Bear, in between writing and editing songs together. And even though Harry had insisted on them getting to bed early, with all the calamity that had been just the beginning of their tour, Louis hadn’t been able to sleep for a while.

And though Harry was absolutely stunning in his messy, morning beauty, Louis really didn’t want to have to get out of bed at 6:50 a.m. to talk with Harry’s therapist on a fuzzy computer screen. But here he was, allowing himself to be dragged from bed by his ex-husband turned boyfriend. And though it felt weird being in such an early definer of a relationship with Harry, he guessed that’s what he technically was.

“Can I have five more minutes?” Louis begged, but Harry was already shaking his head.

“I already gave you five more minutes, Lou. At least we don’t have to get dressed up for it. It’s just a fifty minute call and then we can even go back to bed for a little while,” Harry argued, his voice gentle yet firm, with just a hint of his own grogginess. And it had come out so deliciously sultry that Louis found himself sitting up, and stretching, and throwing on a t-shirt as they prepared for the call on Harry’s laptop at the dining table. 

Eloise rang in with a kind smile. And for some reason she looked nothing like Louis expected. Due to the fact that therapy was her chosen profession, and she was given the name “Eloise,” Louis had been expecting a grey-haired old lady. But she wasn’t much older than either of them, with just a few more fine lines that they would likely gain, themselves, in just several years. Her dark hair was cut neatly above her shoulders, and she had a warming presence that settled some of Louis’s apprehension to the entire ordeal almost immediately.

“Louis! It is so nice to finally meet you. I’m glad you could join Harry and I today. He talks about you quite a bit, so it’s nice to get a chance to speak with you directly,” Eloise began, and Louis’s anxiety was reignited at the sound of that.

“Does he now?” Louis asked, feigning playfulness, though his heart was thumping with nerves. Harry just shrugged, a shy smile gracing his face.

Eloise chuckled, “Well, I know Harry has expressed to me that he has a lot that he wants to talk to you about. But I want to first ask before we start, what are you both hoping to get out of our time together?”

Louis didn’t speak first, waiting for Harry to lead in a foreign discomfort.

But then Harry was saying, “I want to know what Louis says first,” with a cheeky smile now, and Louis was rolling his eyes and huffing a laugh.

“Okay,” Eloise settled with a titter of her own, “Louis, do you mind starting off?”

“Um, alright,” Louis said, clearing his throat, “I guess I want--I want us to find a way to put the past behind us. I suppose that--I’d like a fresh start with him.” It felt almost as though Louis was hearing his thoughts from another entity. For while he knew that’s what he wanted, a new, healthy relationship, free from the pain of the past and a focus on their future, it must’ve been the first time he’d actually managed to put it into words.

“Alright, thank you, Louis,” Eloise returned, writing something on the notepad in front of her, “That’s a lovely goal. Now, Harry?”

“I want the same thing,” Harry confessed breathlessly, “I want to--I want to rekindle the marriage we had into something better than before.”

Louis’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he gave Harry a surprised look that didn’t go unnoticed by Eloise.

“Louis?” Eloise inquired, “You seemed to have a strong reaction to that, do you want to talk about it?”

“Oh, uh, it’s just, we haven’t talked about getting remarried or anything,” Louis explained.

“Do you not want to?” Harry asked, and the look of panic on his face as he glanced at Louis was enough to tear Louis’s heart up.

“Well, I’m not saying that, love. It’s just, we haven’t talked about it.”

“Well, it seems like both of you still have some things to work out, so why don’t we start by establishing what that is,” Eloise said, mediating respectfully, “What do you think was the main source, or I don’t know, sources of conflict in your relationship? Harry, why don’t you go first this time?”

“Um, I guess, for me, it’s probably been the um, infidelity, the anger, and just also stuff that’s sort of out of our control, like just, having to keep things quiet. Not being able to have a normal relationship in public,” Harry confided. He was averting his eyes and picking at his yellow nail polish with a look of hurt.

After a pause of Eloise taking more notes she asked, “And what about you Louis?”

Louis took in a deep breath and spoke his truth in a single word, “Trust.”

“Trust?” Eloise repeated, and rested her knuckles on her chin with intrigue, “That’s an important one.”

“You don’t trust me?” Harry asked. He looked hurt again, and Louis felt guilty for saying it, but it was the truth. And that’s what this was all about right? The both of them needed to be honest, even if it hurt.

“I want to, Harry,” Louis reassured, “but you don’t,” Louis corrected himself, remembering from their previous times in therapy to not use accusatory language, “I feel like you don’t act trustworthy.”

“Why do you feel that way, Louis?” Eloise asked.

“I don’t know. I guess, I feel like he has a hard time communicating sometimes. We sort of--got back together while he was with someone else. And, I don’t know, I love you Harry,” Louis said, focusing on his, pretty, worried eyes, “but you cheated on me three times, and the only one you actually told me about was the first one. I had to find out about the other two on my own.”

“Okay, yeah, and I’m obviously very sorry, but that was after-” Harry didn’t finish, but was clearly growing frustrated.

“Harry, he’s being honest about his feelings. Don’t let yourself get defensive, alright?” Eloise warned. Louis was starting to like her. “This is a safe space. Now, Louis, was that all you had to say?”

“Yeah,” Louis granted.

“Okay, Harry, why don’t you try to say what you were going to say more gently, alright? I know this is a sensitive subject, but let’s try to talk about it from an analytical perspective, not a judgemental one.”

“I didn’t cheat on him until after he cheated on me,” Harry said immediately, like he’d been waiting to spit it out. 

And fuck, Louis should have seen that coming, but it still stung like the bite of a deadly insect, and Harry’s venom was lighting Louis’s skin aflame with shame, guilt, and frustration of his own.

“It sounds like you still have some anger about that, Harry,” Eloise assessed. “So, let’s talk about it.”

“I just, I don’t know,” Harry was on the verge of tears, and Louis couldn’t take his eyes off of him. It was cruel and unfair that someone could appear so beautiful while they were crying. And he’d watched Harry weep so much lately. “I just, I’m sorry I broke your trust Louis, but you broke mine first. And god, I was just so heartbroken. I couldn’t believe that you could do that to me. Like, I’ve loved you more than anything, for so long. And knowing you did that--I just, honestly—I resented you, at least for a while, and I wanted to make you feel the same pain I did. And I don’t know, then I’d felt like I found an effective way to get back at you, and so I kept doing it when I’d get that angry and impulsive again. But, I know how awful that is. I know how awful I am,” Harry affirmed, wiping the tears that were falling down his cheeks.

And Louis felt like someone was peeling the flesh off of his bones as Harry cried over their mutual infidelity.

“That’s okay, Harry,” Eloise soothed as he cried, “It’s good that you’re able to identify the emotions that led you to making your decisions. But don’t start being overly self critical. Louis, do you have anything you want to say?”

“Fuck,” Louis swore, “I just, I don’t know…It was a fucked up thing, I did, obviously. I had a much harder time than Harry did when we were younger when it came to accepting who I was, and I just--I don’t know. I made some bad decisions because of it. I thought if I was with a woman again--I guess I just still wasn’t sure about who I was. But, he, fuck, like he just admitted, he used to just go out and do it when he was pissed at me, after not talking to me for days while I begged him to,” Louis said, a pain of his own pinching his face with a blush and tired eyes.

“Okay,” Eloise said stoically, and wrote another note down. And watching her make little annotations on the most intimate parts of their relationship was another kind of strange discomfort that left him weary and already emotionally exhausted, “Harry did also mention anger and resentment affecting your relationship, how do you each experience each other’s anger? Louis, why don’t you elaborate a little more and then Harry, you’ll have your turn.”

“Okay, well,” Louis sighed, “like I said, he just wouldn’t talk to me. Once in a while we’d get into an actual fight and we’d both be yelling and shit, but most of the time if we fought, he would just give me the fucking silent treatment. Not even look at me. Sometimes, like I said, for multiple days, and it was just--hard. It was impossible. I’d want to talk about it and make up, and he would just refuse,” Louis said, becoming irritated by just the memory of it alone.

“I understand how that could be hard, Louis. What about you, Harry?”

“I just hate hearing him scream at me. He gets pissed off and makes it everybody else’s problem,” Harry said, with his own sourness. “Even when I did tell him that time, he still got so angry. He’d start swearing and just, fuck, he would explode. Sometimes it was like he’d turned into a different person, and I just couldn’t take it. And I guess eventually I just didn’t want to deal with even the possibility of it turning into that so I wouldn’t even try.”

“Alright,” Eloise said quietly, grabbing more notes before she took her own deep breath, and started, “Well, I have good news and bad news for you two,” Eloise began, “The bad news is that it sounds like there is still a lot of tension from your past that you two are going to need to talk about if you want to have a healthy relationship.” A beat, “ But, the good news is, I think that it really sounds like you both love each other enough to put in the work. I think you two still have something there worth saving, and I think you both are aware of what caused some of your more harmful actions and I think that with more communication, and forgiveness, you two can start to learn to rebuild trust in your relationship, and also, maybe find out how to deal with conflict in a way that isn’t so destructive. Are you both interested in learning how to do that?”

“Yes,” Harry said, wistful and desperate.

“Yeah,” Louis allowed, headstrong and determined.

“That’s good!” Eloise exclaimed, “I can really see two people who care about each other a lot here, and it sounds like you’re both willing to take the right steps to start building something stronger than before. So, that said, are we ready to dive in, for real, now?”

Harry nodded, and then Louis did, and what was already an uncomfortably candid therapy session, quickly became a gentle flagellation of each other’s previous mistakes. They talked more about Louis cheating because he was feeling confused. They talked more about Harry cheating because he was feeling vengeful. They talked about Richard. For a while. And trust. And after going over some of the most contentious moments in their relationship’s history for fifty minutes made a session that was less than an hour feel as long as a century. But somehow, finally, they were within the last five minutes of their appointment and Eloise was having them do a wrap-up exercise.

“Alright, I know we dug into some heavy stuff, so now I would like you both to do a little something before we sign off,” Eloise began, “Both of you, I want to state why you want to make things work with each other. Why it’s important for both of you to have a second chance. What motivates you about your partner. Louis, would you like to start?”

“Okay,” Louis began as he gathered his thoughts, and sunk his eyes into Harry’s as he spoke with reverence, “You make me so happy, Harry. You’re smart, and absolutely adorable, and so creative, and sweet, and I want us to make things work because,” Louis let in a deep, contemplative breath, “because when I’m with you--I feel like I’m home. I made a mistake when…I left you, and…I’ve never loved anyone more.”

Harry was blushing wildly by the time Louis had finished. He had a dopey smile and a tired, but grateful gleam in his eye, and he returned Louis’s gesture of love and a commitment to change clearly, very personally, and spoke with a similar attitude. 

“I love you too, Louis,” Harry assured, “You make me laugh, and you’re so considerate and--you never make me feel like I’m a burden. When things are good, they’re what I want for the rest of my life, and I want us to be able to make it that far.”

Eloise was giving another, warm, kind smile as she concluded,“That’s wonderful, both of you. Let’s talk more in a few weeks. Harry, I’ll see you by yourself next week. This process is off to a brilliant start.” 

They ended the call a moment later, and looked to one another with heated glances.

“How do you think that went?” Harry asked timidly.

“Better than I thought it would,” Louis answered.

“Me too,” Harry said, just barely above a breath, before he moved from his chair and onto Louis’s, sitting in his lap and connecting their mouths in a fulfilling, reparational kiss that grew hot in an instant, “It’s pretty sexy being vulnerable with you,” he declared when he pulled away, his lips close enough to brush Louis’s mouth as he then asked, “Do you still wanna go back to bed?” 

Louis gave a lion’s grin, “Absolutely.”

And with that, he grabbed Harry’s slim thighs in either hand and carried him from the dining table to the bedroom, and went back to sleep after a long, romantic, emotional fuck that ruined the sheets and left them both breathless.

***

Weeks passed and they were finally at the location of their last show within the North American Leg of the tour. After they would be headed directly south, picking up in Mexico after a much needed week off, which Louis planned to spend with Harry in bed most of the time. They were attending therapy regularly, and growing, both of them feeling the ease of past haunts being put to rest. And, unrelatedly, the Larry Bear was on an absolute roll. 

They’d managed to raise their following from a mere ten thousand followers on Instagram and about half of that on X, to a little over a whopping five-hundred thousand on each account. With props like a cage and a speech bubble they’d attached that read “Let me out!” And the appearance of a plastic cow with a bell they’d written, “psycho” on, they were dropping hints that were both visceral and humorous and kept their team of Larries engaged and also managed to garner attention from blissfully oblivious fans too. But what was itching Louis with a nervous doom was that despite the massive following they’d gained, and the bear’s presence during Clara’s set every night, they still hadn’t received any calls from Simon or Jeff.

Until this morning. 

They were crawling out of bed in their nautical themed suite in Seattle, when Simon rang Louis, and his heart was already caught in his chest as soon as he saw his name on the screen.

“Louis, I warned you two already, now what do you think you guys are doing?” Simon asked, without so much as a “hello” to start off with.

“Um, what’s up Simon? What, uh, what are you talking about?” Louis said, feigning innocence and idiocy as Harry glanced over with large eyes as he referenced the man by name.

“I know about the bear. Harry’s manager does too, and he’s not happy about it either. Now, what are you two doing?”

“It’s just playful antics, Simon. And it has an even larger following than the one we used to have. It’s become a crucial part of the tour. You can’t argue that.” When the words left Louis’s lips, Harry’s eyes flashed wide yet again from across the room as he gathered his outfit for the day and prepared to shower.

“How many followers does it have?” Simon asked. There was a change in his tone that Louis couldn’t quite decipher.

“About five hundred thousand on X and Instagram,” Louis relayed.

“Hmmm,” Simon hummed, and then Louis didn’t know what to make of it when he said, “Jeff and I will be stopping by this afternoon before soundcheck so we can talk about it. See you then.”

“Alright, see you--” But Simon had already hung up, and Louis was swearing in an anxious terror for whatever was to come.

“He knows,” Harry stated.

Louis kissed his teeth and took off his shirt as he got ready to join Harry in the shower, “Yeah, he knows.”

Chapter Text

“Alright guys, what’s been going on?” Jeff asked.

Harry and Louis were seated at the glass dining table. Jeff and Simon across from them. Sort of good vs. mostly evil in a smackdown of media control and manipulative condescension.

“We’ve just been having a little fun, Jeff,” Harry offered. “Half of our fanbase still hasn’t even noticed it, or don’t care who’s behind it.”

Jeff looked at Simon, and licked his lips with a conflicted expression, brows knit, before he took a sip of the whiskey neat he was swishing around in a glass tumbler.

“A lot of them seem to know who’s behind it though,” Jeff argued, “but I mean, you couldn’t have done it yourselves. We only give you so much time off.”

“Um, well, we still find-” Louis tried.

“Who’s helping you?” Simon interrupted.

“No one, it’s just us,” Harry immediately denied.

“Is it Clara Oliver?” Simon persisted. And when they hesitated for even a second to answer, he added, “I thought so.”

“It has gained a little bit of social media traction though, hasn’t it?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, it has,” Harry answered.

“Well here’s the deal,” Jeff started up again, “we can’t have you going around trying to out yourselves and shit talk the music industry right now, that’s just not gonna fly…But, if you two tone it down, you two can keep using it to help promote the tour and bring more attention to it. There’s a few venues that still need some more last minute sales, and that’s a great object to get more niche, late-in-the-game attention.”

“Really?” Harry and Louis said simultaneously.

And then Louis asked, “What’s the catch?”

“Hmph,” Simon snickered, always petty and ready to return their attitude with snipes of his own, “You two are denying your relationship on the radio tomorrow.”

Louis took in a deep breath and Harry looked over to him and saw a deep frown, as Harry gave his own sigh of annoyance.

“Okay,” Louis spit out.

“And again, I said no more queer shit, no more fuck the industry guys,” Jeff insisted, and both of them just gave nods of agreement.

“And no more cows with the word ‘psycho’ on them,” Simon said and added with a curt flair, “Very clever, by the way.”

“Yeah? I thought so too,” Louis said proudly, a sarcastic grin lighting up his face.

“It was a good one,” Harry complimented with a smile of his own.

“Alright, well, nice chattin’ with you two,” Jeff said and downed the rest of his drink before he and Simon left their room.

“Oh my god!” Harry exclaimed and hugged Louis tightly for a moment. And though it wasn’t something to be thrilled about, Harry still found himself relieved with joy that at least their little project wasn’t immediately shut down. It felt like a win. Albeit a tiny win, but still. A win.

“We’re not going to stop speaking out though,” Louis said immediately, pulling from their embrace, “Even if it catches on more than it already has, like it would be nice if it led to something but— we’re still probably going to end up in the closet for the rest of our lives, so I don’t even know why they’re getting their bloody boxers in a bunch. At least this way we can still reach out to the community.”

“You think this is going to go on for the rest of our lives?” Harry asked.

“I mean, yeah. Don’t you? With the thing with the Jungwirths and with how hard they’re up our arse already, I doubt anyone will officially know until we’re dead and they make a tell all Rocketman style biopic about us,” Louis quipped.

“Elton John came out,” Harry mentioned.

“Yeah, well, he came out as bi first and didn’t actually come out as gay until he was forty five, and even then,” Louis said, getting up from the table, “he didn’t have a girl loving, boyband image.” He kissed Harry on the head and went to start getting his things together for soundcheck, and Harry looked down to his chipping blue nail polish with a sigh. 

He really didn’t want to be in the closet for the rest of his life.

***

Their show last night had been great. They had done a more subtly queer reference for the Larry Bear that time, just to err on the safe side as they had just gotten their dark overlords’ blessing. And, today was the day they lived out their “catch.” And as they sat in the room of the live radio station, with Niall and Zayn seated between them, the camera turned on for the YouTube cut of the interview, they braced themselves as the host, a handsome man with dark skin named Ray, began to ask the question of the hour.

“Hey so, we just wanted to ask, uh, there have been a lot of rumors going around about Louis and Harry. This whole thing with the ‘Larry Styles-son,’ and everything. You know, BuzzFeed did that article about you guys in Boston, and I think people are just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on there. So I mean, do you two have anything you wanna say about that?” Ray asked.

“Uh, well, y’know,” Louis began with a nervous smile, looking at Harry, who was trying to bat away his anxious nose scrunch and nervous smile of his own with a losing mental fortitude, “we were just messin’ around, playin’ with the rumors and all. Obviously we’ve heard a lot about it over the years, but you know, there’s nothing to really know. We’ve uh--we’re good friends, and it’s just been a bit of lads just fuckin’ around, really.”

“Okay, and Harry? You got anything you want to say too?” the co-host, Stephanie, prodded, tossing her sleek, blonde ponytail in his direction. 

And though he was relatively sure it’s not the sort of answer he would be encouraged to give, he truly had nothing he wanted to say, and Louis had denied good enough, so he let out a concise, “No comment.”

And Louis, Niall, and Zayn’s heads whipped over dramatically to meet his gaze when he’d given the ironically nothing answer.

They were asked a few more questions as they moved from the subject, plugged the release of the Home Again Reunion Live album that would be releasing later next month, and signed off, or Harry thought they had when Louis took off his headphones and whispered to him through a chuckle, “That was great, Harry. You think I did okay, love?”

“I think it was convincing,” Harry returned with a giggle.

“Good. Hope that satisfies Simon and bloody Jeff.” 

But then they noticed Ray was giving them a mouth of “Still on the air!” And making a “cut” motion with his hand towards his neck.

“Whoops,” Louis let out, and then they cut, for real. And all four of them exchanged worried glances as the live footage traveled the radio waves.

***

No more of the bear. What an utter shitshow.

Was the text Harry woke up to from Simon after the disaster interview. While they had cut the portion from the YouTube edit, it wasn’t a surprise when a recording of the audio from the bit that got accidentally caught on air ended up online. And it was spreading like wildfire.

The gossip was palpable with a bristly dialogue from all directions.

Holy shit are they actually gay? Read a comment on an X upload of the unintentional segment.

That makes it sound like they’re being forced to hide it or something. Smh.

Notice how Harry and Louis haven’t done anything on stage like that since that article dropped? And then they got asked about it SPECIFICALLY. Straight up suspicious.

They’re not gay. Or idk, Harry is bi or pan or something, but he clearly seems into pussy. Louis is not at all. He literally has a kid. They just know they had to answer this question probably because it gets asked ALL THE TIME 

You’re clearly new here. Louis AND Harry have the personality of someone who wouldn’t touch a pussy with a six foot pole

Harry chuckled a little at that reply, but locked his phone and put it away as he climbed out of bed and started on tea. Tired of the noise, and tickled painfully by the absurdity of it all. The bears. The radio. Everything. It was all a stupid waste of time. They shouldn't have to do any of it. But here they were, doing all of it.

When he showed up to soundcheck with Louis that afternoon, they noticed Clara was in the middle of packing her things when they walked into her dressing room, still in her street clothes with her hair in a messy ponytail. They were supposed to be starting to put together the next Larry Bear post, in an immediate defiance of their orders, and looked to each other at the odd sight of her getting ready to leave.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“Just got a call,” Clara said. She had a bitterness in her voice and when she looked up at them, Harry noticed her eyes were red with tears, “I’m not opening for you guys anymore.”

“What?” Louis demanded.

Clara trilled her lips in exasperation, “They doxxed my old Larry blog from back in the day, sent out a few articles calling me a ‘deranged fanatic’ and saying that I made the whole Larry Bear thing up, and…then they just called and fired me. They thought it, along with the little snippet that leaked from that interview yesterday was too damaging so…I mean, you guys told me it was risky, and you were right,” Clara elaborated, “But it’s whatever. You know? ‘It is what it is,’” she teased through her tears. Clearly fighting to stay strong despite her clear and crushing disappointment. 

Harry just gave her a pitiful look, filled with a new form of guilt for dragging her into their mess, and reached to give her a hug, one that Louis joined in on comfortingly.

“I’m so sorry Clara,” Harry apologized, “we shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

Clara let out a little sob, but as they pulled away from the group embrace she was shaking her head and disagreeing with him, “No, it’s okay. It’s not your guys’ fault. And, you know, I still hope you two can have a little more freedom some day. I just um, I’m glad I got to be a part of it at all. I love you both.”

“We love you too, Clara,” Harry returned, and Louis gave a sad, reassuring smile. And then the door opened, and Kiera walked in, and when she saw them her pretty, boyish face lit up with frustration.

“Man, fuck you two for getting her involved with your bullshit,” Kiera scoffed, and then said to Clara gently,  “The car’s here when you’re ready, baby,” before she left.

“I’m sorry. She’s taking it harder than I am,” Clara excused.

“It’s okay. I understand where she’s coming from,” Louis sympathized. And they gave her one last hug before she headed for the door, on her way out, Louis offering, “If you’re ever in London or Doncaster, or we’re ever in LA, we’ll all have a drink together, yeah?”

And Clara nodded, a doubtful look on her face as she whispered, “Yeah,” and left the dressing room with a wave. 

Harry was blinking away tears of his own now, “Can’t believe we got her fired.”

“It sucks,” Louis groaned, and then added, “We can still help her out though.”

 “What? How?” Harry asked.

“If we still put it up tonight. At least people will know she wasn’t just winding everyone up by herself,” Louis proposed, and Harry tilted his head to the side, considering it.

So, against all warnings and in Clara’s honor, at soundcheck they taped the bear to part of the scaffolding and posted a picture on its socials with a caption that read: 

She didn’t do it alone.

Chapter Text

The late night, subtropical breeze of Mexico City was blowing through the opened window of their suite as Louis and Harry sat on the couch and continued to write songs together. They’d been workshopping lyrics for over a month together now, and were going on having around fifteen good compositions that both of them could already imagine vividly with instruments and production applied. It was truly a shame that most of them were likely to stay within the confidential contents of their notebooks.

“It’s crazy,” Harry mused, tapping his pen to his cheek, “We have like more than enough for an album now.”

“Yeah, we do,” Louis agreed, stroking one of Harry’s legs that was in his lap. “Sucks we’ll never get to do anything with it. I would love to release an album with you. You know, with just you.”

Harry smirked a mischievous smirk and said, “It does sound fun. Maybe someday we will.”

“Hmph,” Louis chuckled in disbelief, “yeah, maybe.”

Harry stood from the couch, still in just his freshly laundered robe, and planted a kiss on Louis’s lips before he declared with determination, “We’re not going to be hiding for the rest of our lives,” and sauntered off to the bedroom, still within the view of the doorway as he let the robe fall from his body seductively. “Now, come lay down with me.”

And with Harry looking like that, the cool, gentle moonlight pouring over every inch of his gorgeous nudity, Louis couldn’t argue with either statement.

***

It was the middle of the night on the bus when things took an unexpected and irrevocable turn. It’d been another few weeks, and they were on their way to their last South American venue, and though Harry was asleep next to him in their bunk, Louis was still up on his phone as he continued to wind down. They’d still used the Larry Bear when they could, even though they weren’t supposed to and didn’t have as much time for it without an accomplice. But, its following had grown even more after Clara had left and it continued to show up on tour, no doubt cementing their role as the culprit in circles familiar with Larry Stylinson. And as Louis perused comments in his own self-indulgent glee, he noticed one that stood out amongst the rest. Posted a little over twenty minutes ago.

I never believed in Larry until the reunion tour. And then that interview with Richard Blakely??? Holy shit. I can’t believe people are saying he’s lying for clout when the timeline and everything matches perfectly.

And oh no. Interview with Richard Blakely? As in Harry’s ex, Richard Blakely? What the hell were they on about?

Louis’s fingertips typed too fast and his Google search included several typos as he browsed for said interview. And before the video even appeared, there resulted several featured news overviews of the incident. The article titles, damning enough without him even having to watch it.

Actor Richard Blakely loses it at press conference for new film, Week’s Time, and claims intimate relationship with Harry Styles!!

Did Harry Styles leave Richard Blakely for alleged EX-HUSBAND Louis Tomlinson!? Actor claims he did in heated moment during press conference.

Louis’s heart must’ve stopped beating for several seconds as he read the headlines, and he sat up in bed so fast he bumped his head on the roof of the bus. 

“Fuck!” Louis swore, both in physical pain and emotional turmoil. His injury and swearing woke Harry, who moaned in distress.

“Louis, please be a little more quiet. I’m trying to sleep,” he complained and Louis didn’t know what to say. He blinked away his panic and tried to think of what to do next. Should he wake Harry up all the way, and tell him? Should he try to contact one of their managers? A member of their PR firm? Someone? Would that only get them and Richard in more trouble? Shit, what on Earth could he possibly do? 

A respected public figure had just outed them to the public.

He, after a while, decided he was getting ahead of himself. It was past two in the morning, and their team was scattered across nations. And before he got too upset, he needed to know exactly how much Richard had said. No article overviews or salacious headlines. He needed the facts. 

And so, he climbed out of their bunk and landed on the floor before he headed for the lounge to not disturb the rest of the band and his blissfully unaware Harry. 

He fell onto the sofa with a heart that had now begun to beat so fast and hard he could hear it in his ears, nervous blood rushing to his face as he clicked on a thumbnail of the clip of the press conference on YouTube and prepared for the worst.

The video began with a shot of a journalist in a conference hall asking a question. 

“So, I just wanted to ask to Richard Blakely. There are a lot of rumors going around about Harry Styles’ sexuality online. Especially after the One Direction reunion tour. There have been a few photos of you two in the media, and it seems like you two are close friends so, I just wanted to know if you have any information on that, or--if you know anything,” the woman asked, a thick beautiful, Latin accent tying her words together. She had a hopeful grin and timid timber to her voice.

The camera panned to the panel of actors for the upcoming action movie, and settled on Richard who had a wry smile and a look of what could only be described as pain lacing his features.

“Um, well,” Richard began and took a deep breath. Louis did too as he awaited his response, “if you’re seriously asking me to label someone’s sexuality, I don’t think I can do that. I’m not going to label anyone’s sexuality who hasn’t already done so publicly.” Louis’s brows furrowed. That didn’t sound like the words of someone about to expose some greater truth. And Richard’s image went out of focus for a second, and then grew clearer again as he continued, “But I will say of my own personal account, yes, I was very close to Harry Styles, and yes, he is very close to his One Direction bandmate too.”

“Alright,” the woman said again, a microphone still in hand to let her voice reach across the gasping crowd, “so are you confirming that he and Louis Tomlinson were or are together?”

“Um, aren't we supposed to be talking about the film?” Richard shot back with a sarcastic smile. He was clearly getting, well, to understate it, upset, “Like what do you want to hear me fucking say? Yeah, Harry Styles sleeps around a lot? He left me for his ex-husband, Louis? Do you want all the gory fucking details into one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life!?”

And then one of the handlers of the cast was saying, “Let’s take a ten,” and the clip ended. And Louis rubbed at his bristly chin with a huff of amused terror. It was about as transparent as it could possibly be.

“Fuck,” Louis swore again, and locked his phone, and walked back to the bedroom to climb into his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight. Not after that. Not while facing the fear and dread that was whatever their handlers would do in light of this. 

And in all his fear, and anger, and absolute appall, he nudged Harry with his elbow, and whispered, “Hey, Harry, wake up.”

“What?” Harry grunted, “I’m really exhausted, Lou.”

“Richard just outed me and you to the press,” Louis said, faster than he could consider the outcome of waking Harry in the middle of the night with the news.

It did get his attention, though. And he turned from his side facing away from him to look at Louis with wide, confused eyes, still traced by the daze of sleep.

“Am I awake?” Harry asked, “Did you just say that Richard outed-”

“Yes, Harry, Richard did. He just fucking told the press and--fuck, like what the hell do you think Simon and Jeff will do to him for that?” Louis whisper-shouted. His ability to keep his voice down was quickly shattering.

“Let’s talk in the other room,” Harry suggested, and so they climbed out of their bunk together and Louis followed Harry back into the lounge.

 “I’m sorry, so, what exactly did he say? What are you talking about?” Harry asked. 

Louis sighed, and pulled out his phone, opened his YouTube history and started the video, letting Harry watch with his own wide, horrified eyes.

“Shit,” Harry said as the video ended, “Fuck. Oh, god, this is all my fault.”

“What the hell do you mean it’s all your fault?” Louis asked, as measuredly as he could. What the hell did he mean it was all his fault?

“I--I mean. I guess I sort of gave him the go ahead to talk about us.”

“What!?” Louis exclaimed, low and gravelly with betrayal.

“I don’t mean--he texted me a few days ago. I knew there were pictures that came out of me and him hanging out in Korea from when we were still together. He said he might get asked about it, and asked me what he should say. And I--I mean, I didn’t think he would take it that far,” Harry explained. Barely.

“What did you say to him, Harry?” Louis asked, doing his best to keep his voice from rising with fury.

“I just told him to say whatever he wanted. I didn’t think he actually would say whatever he wanted,” Harry revealed. 

Louis nearly choked, “Why wouldn’t you tell me that Richard texted you? Why wouldn’t you tell me you told him that?”

“I mean, it was a nothing question, Louis. I didn’t think you’d be mentioned at all. I just meant it like, ‘I don’t care what you say.’ I didn’t mean…this. He signed an NDA when we started going out. Like, he just broke a contract.”

“Still though, Harry. I mean, I don’t even really give a shit about what he said. You know Simon and Jeff work for the fucking devil and will find some bullshit to twist this story around, probably for the worse, but Christ, why wouldn’t you tell me that your ex-fiancé hit you up asking about you?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you intentionally,” Harry tried, “I promise, Louis. We’ve been doing so good in therapy. I wouldn’t hide this from you on purpose. I just, literally, didn’t think to mention it. I love you, Lou. I just--fuck, I’m not trying to hide stuff from you anymore. I want to be trustworthy. I want to be someone you can rely on.”

“Well,” Louis took a deep breath. Don’t explode. Don’t give him a reason to not talk to you, Louis commanded to himself, and chose his next words carefully, “Well, I appreciate that, Harry. I’m--sorry I got upset. Just, please, if anything like that happens again--”

“I’ll tell you about it, Louis. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Louis relented, and Harry let out a sigh of relief and brought him into a hug, that Louis returned gently, kissing his neck chastely, before they pulled away. “What the hell are we going to do?”

Harry shrugged and let out a breath, “I don’t know.”

***

But Simon and Jeff knew what to do. 

They were in contact with Richard’s team immediately. And he released a follow up interview the very next day that said he was “being sarcastic,” and didn’t mean it literally. And to add further fuel to the fire, there was a leak spread around that linked the director of Richard’s film to a sexual harassment lawsuit, a scandal sure to crush the film’s sales and the actors’ reputations. And though it was a painful, unfair abuse of power that neither Louis nor Harry were happy with, Richard was discredited, at least as much as they could discredit him after the tirade he’d gone on.

And, Harry…Louis had watched him spiral. He was absolutely shredded with guilt and self hate in the face of the victim of their resumed relationship. And at their next show in Brazil, to make his own form of public amends, Harry took the lead on setting up the Larry Bear. Uploading a picture of the teddy with construction paper tears taped to its face, tied to a caption that read: 

Apologies to Dick. You didn’t deserve any of this.

Chapter Text

Things were unravelling. 

And Harry could feel it. 

The Larry Bear. The botched denial on local Seattle radio. Richard.

Despite Simon and Jeff’s best attempts to discredit him, most of the public were not buying it. Not with the combined factors of the leaked radio clip, and the apology from the Larry Bear to Richard. Harry had thought by calling him by his name’s traditional abbreviation of, “Dick” it might have been just vague enough to still pass for a coincidence. 

But, he was wrong.

The additional hundreds of thousands of new followers were word enough. 

It had almost reached a million on Instagram.

People were overwhelmingly suspicious of their management. Accusations were being thrown left and right. And “#LarryStylinson” and “#LetLarryOut” had been trending on just about every social media platform for over a week. He did his best to ignore it. To not let the stress of his publicized personal life tear him apart completely. But the pressure from their team, muddled with the heartbreak he’d caused, was a potent combination.

And the ramifications hurt him to no end.

“Have you seen the bear, honey?” Harry asked as he continued to pack his bag for sound check. 

Louis shook his head, “No, I thought you had it.”

“I can’t find it,” Harry declared, rifling through their hotel room in search.

“Whatever, it’s probably around here somewhere, or I don’t know, it might’ve gotten left on the plane or something. Don’t worry about it, love. We’re not even supposed to be messing with it anyways. We gotta get going or we’re gonna be late.”

And Harry just clapped his hands to his thighs in frustration, because Louis was right. He didn’t have any more time to look for it. So, instead, he finished grabbing the things he needed that he could actually identify and they headed out one by one.

It was June. And when he stepped out of the car into the warm, Parisian weather, finally into the final, European leg of the tour, after poking their heads into Southeast Asia and Oceania for only a few dates, Harry was finally beginning to feel a little comforted by the ground of his home continent. Until he noticed the group of fans standing near the loading dock, dressed in rainbows and hues of blue and green with angry signs. 

He couldn’t read most of them off of the top of his head. His French was not fluent enough. But, he did catch one written in English. A simple but effective statement that sent a chill up his spine as his bodyguards and assistants ushered him inside quickly, as though they didn’t want him to see them.

“Queer Erasure Harms Society”

And as he stepped into the building and headed for his dressing room, it hit him. Those weren’t just fans. They were protestors.

Their story had woven itself into representational LGBT politics, and Harry didn’t know whether to feel hopeful, or proud, or terrified. 

But then he stepped into his dressing room.

And he decided on terrified.

Though it was just piles of stuffing and synthetic fur, looking at the scene was nearly as gut wrenching as stumbling across an actual dead body.

He had found the Larry Bear. Lying on the floor. Its limbs were sliced into pieces. Each arm and leg cut off, its head brutally decapitated from its body. And next to it, there was a card. A greeting card that read, “Get Well Soon” with a teddy bear wearing a band-aid printed on the front.

Harry let out a quiet sob at the violent sight, and fell to his knees, toying with the stuffing as he could feel the beginnings of a panic attack course through each layer of his body, until he could sense the anxiety in his very bones. He picked up the card with a trembling hand and opened it carefully, reading the penned inscription inside of it.

Remember, I can still dismember your entire life, too.

And he let out another cry as he read the vile sentence. He was hyperventilating. Terrified of the message that had been sent in the dismemberment of a toy, accompanied by written scare tactics that left him shaking even harder.

But in all his anxiety, and guilt, and unbidden anger towards the control and oppression of it all, he made an impulsive and likely unwise decision.

He was going to close the Larry Bear account. 

But not until after he made a final post.

So, with his hands still jittery, and his tears still running, he laid out the open greeting card next to the ruined toy and took a photo. And sent it out to their X and Instagram accounts in his final act of defiance, with plans to deactivate both accounts later that night. 

And then the door opened. And Louis stood in the frame, and Harry looked up to him from his meek spot on the ground as Louis swore.

“Jesus Christ, this is serial killer shit. What the fuck happened?”

“I,” Harry tried not to gag on his tears, “I just walked into my dressing room and found him like this.”

“Fuck!” Louis cursed again, and closed the door behind him, squatting down beside Harry in his own panic, picking up and reading the card himself before he scoffed and tossed it back to the ground.

“I posted a picture of it,” Harry admitted, and Louis’s eyes went dark with something between shock and dread.

“You posted a picture of it--like this?”

“Yeah. I figured we should probably delete the accounts later tonight anyways. I just--I wanted one more act of rebellion. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first. I-I guess I acted on impulse. I’m sorry.”

“It-it’s okay, Harry,” Louis decided. And Harry could hear the frustration and no doubt fear of his own at the terroristic display of their fluffy symbol of resistance. “Look, let’s just--let’s clean this up before the stylist gets here and um, just go about our day, alright? Everything will be okay.”

“Did you see those protestors outside?” Harry asked in a whisper as they began to pick up the pieces of the slashed up teddy.

“Um, yeah. I did.”

They disposed of the bear in the bin inside of the toilets down the hall, and prepared for their show in an illusion of status quo, and when Harry stepped out of his room, fully styled in subdued black trousers and a yellow button up, he approached Louis hanging out backstage in the open area with Niall and Zayn.

“Harry, are you doing alright?” Niall asked.

“Louis told us about the bear, and…we saw the protestors outside,” Zayn added.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just perfect,” Harry said with a bitter sarcasm. So strung out, he was incapable of maintaining composure.

“It’s gonna be alright, darling,” Louis comforted and held him close for a moment before they were approached by the four members of The Rise, an up and coming boy band that had replaced Clara as their opener.

“Sorry to bother you,” a blonde member said with a smile. Harry still hadn’t memorized their names, “We were just wondering if we could get a picture with all of you. We’ve been meaning to for weeks. We didn’t want to disturb you, but you don’t seem super busy right now, so we thought we’d ask.”

“I don’t know that all of us are feeling up for that, lads,” Zayn said, giving Harry and Louis a reassuring look.

“Come on, please!” Another member begged. Like a child. And Harry held back the powerful urge to roll his eyes at the infancy of his plea.

“Let’s just--sure, let’s do it,” Harry allowed and they all leaned in for a photo, all eight of them, getting uncomfortably close to their acquaintances as they took a selfie. Harry held up a peace sign and smiled as much as he could, and they thanked them after they were done and walked away. 

And after the awkward and annoying exchange, Harry and the rest of the group finished their soundcheck and hung out backstage for a while longer while The Rise performed. And as they all sat on the couch in Louis’s designated dressing room in an uncomfortable silence, Harry, not wanting to risk catching a glimpse of even a single fiber of the remnants of the mangled Larry Bear on the floor of his own, Zayn’s brows came together as he looked at his phone screen.

Louis had his arm around Harry on the couch, and when Zayn looked to them both, from his spot right next to Harry, Harry watched him gulp as he handed him the device.

“Did you notice that your reflection is in this picture?” Zayn asked quietly and Harry re-examined the image he’d taken of the Larry Bear, reposted by another account on X already, and his eyes bulged as he looked at it.

The full length mirror attached to the wall had ended up in the photo, and while it didn’t catch his entire figure, his arm, in a short sleeved shirt, was completely identifiable as it revealed his tattoos, marked with a red circle around it by the re-poster. 

“Holy shit,” Louis cursed as he glanced at the photo over Harry’s shoulder, and they all looked at each other in awkward dismay.

When it was their turn to go on, Harry had probably given one of the worst performances of his life. His voice sounded fine, but his energy was close to nothing, and Louis’s wasn’t much different. Niall and Zayn were keeping a comforting proximity, giving both of them the emotional reassurance they wished they could give each other on stage, and ended the show with more of a fizzle than a bang.

When Harry exited the building and approached the car to take them back to his hotel, he was struck with even further terror when two, burly handlers he was pretty sure were named Brian and Earl, were holding a car door open for him, and he watched as Louis piled into a separate one.

“I’m not riding with Louis?” Harry asked pathetically. The answer was already painfully clear.

“Not tonight,” Brian answered in his gruff voice, all seven feet of him looming over Harry in a powerful intimidation, and Harry climbed into the car with a thumping heart. Petrified of what was to come the next morning, when Simon and Jeff would no doubt be calling or visiting them.

He arrived at the hotel just fifteen minutes later, and grew weary with the company of Brian, who had escorted him all the way up to his floor without so much as a single word. And as he approached his and Louis’s room, he caught Earl standing outside the door, as Brian’s hand clamped around Harry’s arm.

“What are you doing?” Harry spit out.

“You guys are in different rooms from now on,” Brian relayed.

“Fuck you,” Harry declared, and reached for his hotel key out of his pocket as fast as he could and tried tapping it to the lock. Frustrated when the reader flashed red. And suspicious when Brian didn’t even try to stop him. His breath caught in his throat, and as he looked closer to the card, he noticed that the graphic of the Eiffel Tower that had been printed on the front, was now one of Notre Dame. “You switched my key,” he realized.

“Let’s go, Harry, your new room is just down the hall. We already moved your stuff,” Brian said, his grip tightening on his arm as he tried to lead him away, but Harry wasn’t going down without a fight.

He pulled away from Brian as best as he could and pounded on the door with his fist.

“Louis! Louis, it’s me! Let me in!” Harry shouted.

“Harry!” Louis’s voice sounded from the other side, but Brian was rectifying his escape attempt in a humiliating gesture. 

He swiped Harry’s bag in one hand, yanking the strap over his shoulder, before he picked him up like he weighed nothing and slung Harry over his other one. And it was much less sexy than when Louis would do it. Harry pounded his fists on Brian’s taut, wide, muscled back and screamed, “Louis! Louis!” 

And when Louis opened the door to try to come to his rescue, Earl was blocking his path with an arm, shoving him behind him, and Harry began to sob.

“It-it’s going to be alright, love,” Louis tried, incapable of hiding the tears in his own voice as Brian continued to drag Harry away. And Earl was ordering Louis back inside as two rich, teenage girls exited another one of the rooms and gasped when they saw Harry, who was still kicking and pounding and wiggling uselessly.

“That’s Harry Styles!” One of the girls exclaimed quietly, but still loud enough for Harry to hear her, a look of shock and outrage on her face, as he continued to fight, and scream, and cry. And Brian tossed his head back at them and groaned. But they had already snapped a photo with their phones and were running for the elevator.

“Earl, can you go chase those girls down and make them delete that picture! Bribe them if you have to!” Brian ordered, and Earl nodded with a huff as he started down the hallway. And Harry took the distraction to his advantage and bit into Brian’s shoulder like a rabid dog as he continued to struggle. But that just earned him an angry reflex of a fist to his spine that made him cry out in pain.

“Fuck, Harry! Stop making this harder than it has to be! You’re going to get us both in trouble!” 

And then Brian was yanking his room key back out of Harry’s pocket, in yet another violation of his person, and unlocking the door to his new room and practically throwing him and his bag down onto the hardwood inside of it. Harry stumbled and fell on his bottom as soon as he set him on the floor, but immediately ran back to the door after Brian had closed it, and cursed to himself as he looked through the peephole and saw him standing directly in front of the exit. A warden keeping prisoners in line.

Harry erupted into further sobs, and looked through his bag for his phone, desperately trying to find it so he could at least call Louis. But it was nowhere to be found. 

“I think I left my phone at the venue! Please, can you at least have someone go grab it?” Harry asked Brian through the door.

“Both of your phones have been confiscated for now!” Brian shouted back, “After you posted that picture, your manager said you can’t have it unsupervised. At least for a while.”

And Harry let out another gasp of tears as the muffled words stabbed their way through the door. And he stomped his foot like a pissed off toddler in absolute anguish. He made it over to the couch of the suite, and fell onto the cushions as his crying overcame him, and then he noticed something curious on the coffee table.

It was a little silver tray, with unmistakable fine, white powder. A few lines had already been cut, and next to the serving of narcotics laid a short straw. 

“Shit,” Harry sobbed. 

He understood who the offering was from immediately.

Jeff had almost been disappointed when Harry had finally gone to rehab. When he was coked out he was more malleable. Willing to do whatever so his manager would provide him with his next line. He was also a stimulated, overenthusiastic performer on the drug and it had been good for his showmanship, and there were many times Jeff had offered him some to get him through the strenuous schedule of touring, and relished in its resulting manipulative control over his autonomy. Simon, back in the day, had a similar approach with the band’s drug use too.

And staring at it, with his stress past its precipice, the temptation was already bringing sweat to his brow. He clasped his hands together over his mouth. Still just staring. Considering. But not yet ready to act on his second overwhelming impulse of the night.

But, fuck, was he stressed. And it was right in front of him. Ready for consumption. And he didn’t even have access to one of Louis’s cigarettes to quell his nerves. His knees were bouncing. His breath was heavy. And he finally grabbed the straw and brought it to the edge of one of the pre-cut lines of cocaine with contempt and carelessness as he leaned down to dose.

But before he could inhale to allow the powder to travel through the straw and dust the inside of his nostril, he stopped. And held his breath. 

If he was doing this, he would be letting them win even more. He’d been off the coke for over two years. He’d been fine without it. Better. Healthier. And if he did this, he was afraid it would destroy all his progress and he would, inevitably, sink back into the struggle of his addiction in a loss of power over his decisions. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go back to being a pliable, drugged out robot for Simon and Jeff. No, he couldn’t.

He set the straw down on the table and grabbed the tray, where he took it to the bathroom and dumped the powder in the sink, rinsing it all down the drain, and washing the silver to prevent himself from losing the battle later in the night and trying to rub the residue on his gums. He needed it completely gone. And by the end of his discarding of the coke through the plumbing, dissolved and useless, he let out a relieved, proud breath and wandered to bed, where he collapsed and continued to cry.

He may have won the battle against his addiction tonight, but it still felt as though he was truly losing the greater war in front of them. One for their freedom. And their safety.

Chapter Text

Louis wasn’t asleep, though he’d been laying in bed for a while. It had been several hours since Earl and Brian had practically abducted them, and he still couldn’t believe he had another show in Paris tomorrow night he would have to attend and pretend he was fine during. 

But then, there was a knock on his door. And he grew excited in an instant that it must’ve meant their colossal guards had left and Harry had come to meet him. He’d been checking the peephole by the hour, but he hoped Harry would come to him if he’d noticed first. He also hoped he was okay, after he’d watched Brian pick him up and had heard even further shouting and crying through the walls, tucked back into the suite they’d originally been sharing, incapable of rescuing him.

But when he opened the door, instead of being greeted by Harry’s handsome face, he was greeted by two members of the Parisian police force. A pale, tall, older man, and a younger dark haired officer.

“Monsieur Louis Tomlinson?” the young one addressed in his low, French accent.

“Oui?” Louis tried, “Yes, that’s me. I’m sorry, I’m British. I don’t really speak French.” 

The two officers exchanged looks of annoyance once they heard him talk, and the other, taller, older officer began to try English as he picked up the conversation, “We received a call from a résident in the hotel that there was, uh, agression, an-I’m sorry, assault?” He looked to his fellow officer, unsure, “A hit, a fight,” he made a whacking motion with his hand, “and in the caméras, you can see it. You are a witness, non?”

“Um,” Louis hesitated, somewhat relieved and somewhat terrified of whatever was to come if he answered. But still, he found himself being honest, with a hope that the men who had hurt and grabbed his Harry like he was an object of merchandise might actually be put to justice, “yes, I am.”

“Come out, and speak, yes?” the older officer requested, and Louis slowly nodded his head, grabbed his hotel key from the table, and stepped into the hall, which revealed a scene so surreal he wondered for a minute if he was dreaming. 

Harry was leaning against the wall of the hallway, in a t-shirt and pj shorts, talking to another officer, and her presumed partner was talking to two young girls in front of a room in the other direction, their parents at their side as they all stood in their pajamas as well and traded bits of French. 

Though when Harry’s eyes rested on Louis as he’d exited the suite, he came running over to him, the officer he’d been talking to completely forgotten. And their bodies connected in a powerful, tight embrace, and Louis held him in a squeeze around his waist in absolute relief to hold him, planting a powerful kiss to his mouth. Thrilled to know that he was alright, and feel him in his arms again.

But then Harry was hissing in pain and pulling away.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What did he do to you?” Louis demanded, his worry rising back to the surface in an instant.

“I’m fine, he just--I bit him and he punched me in my fucking spine, but I’ll be okay. It just hurts a lot.”

“Shit, Harry. Those fucking bastards.”

“Monsieur! Monsieur! We have to finish!” The female officer was shouting down the hall as she briskly chased Harry, and continued to interview him.

They tried to go over everything. From being escorted up to their rooms to Harry being forcefully taken away. To the blow he’d taken to his back, which the Paris Police Prefecture were sure to take pictures of, instructing Harry to lift up his t-shirt so they could grab photos, and when Louis saw it, he’d nearly burst into livid tears. The bruise was red, and angry, and fresh. A clear piece of evidence in a case of assault that was escalating terribly fast. 

But Harry and Louis’s French was terrible, and the Paris police were quickly becoming frustrated as they tried to communicate in English, and eventually, one of the officers grabbed one of the teenage girls who had also witnessed the event, a bilingual godsend who made communicating much more comfortable for all of them.

“He asked if you want to press charges,” the girl relayed to Harry, and Louis looked at him with raised brows.

“Do you?” Louis asked when Harry hesitated to answer.

“I-uh,” Harry swallowed, “Can I have some time to think about it?” And the girl repeated his question in French to the officer.

“He says that the police report has been filed, so if you decide you want to press charges you can call them later,” the girl translated after the officer had spoken and Louis watched Harry just nod solemnly in agreement. The officer then handed them each a card with their department phone number and the gaggle of police began to gather towards the elevator to exit the building.

Louis was already pulling the hotel key from his athletic shorts and tapping it on the reader to let them back into the room when their young translator addressed them.

“Are you two okay?” she asked sweetly, timid and concerned.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Harry said with a sad smile.

“Yeah, we’ll uh, we’ll be alright,” Louis assured.

“I was at your concert earlier tonight. I really like you guys. I know One Direction’s kind of before my time, but I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah?” Louis questioned, and then teased while giving an amused glance to Harry, “are you a ‘Larrie’ too?” 

“No,” the girl began with a chuckle, “I mean--I wasn’t. I didn’t really know enough to feel sure about it…until tonight.”

Louis smiled.

“Well…I think we’re gonna go lay down. It’s been a long night. You should probably get some rest too, young lady” Louis said, politely and humorously attempting to dismiss themselves. The girl just gave a shy nod and a humble titter, and rejoined her family down the hall.

So, they entered their room and Louis shut the door with a sigh, and he and Harry immediately went to lay down. And Louis’s chest was aching with pain as he watched Harry wince as he settled into bed. He crawled in beside him after removing his t-shirt and let their naked torsos touch in an intimate sensation of skin-to-skin, Harry resting his beautiful head on Louis’s chest as he attempted to get comfortable on his side.

“What a night,” Louis groaned out. Harry snickered. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, and then mentioned, “Someone sent coke to my room.”

“Wait, seriously?” Louis begged, absolutely enraged, “Did you take some?”

“No,” Harry answered, “I really wanted to, for a second there. It was all ready on the coffee table, and fuck, I almost did. But…I decided to wash it down the sink instead.”

“Oh, love,” Louis said, and kissed his head, “that’s wonderful. I’m sorry they tried to fucking tempt you like that.”

“Yeah, they’re terrible. Always have been,” Harry stated, matter-of-fact and detached, adding with a curiousness in his voice, “I wonder who called the police, though.”

Louis huffed out his bewilderment, “Yeah, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. They said they have it on the cameras and I’m sure other people could hear what was going on outside their rooms. I mean, I could…I’m just glad it happened.”

“You are?” Harry inquired, offended.

“I mean, I’m not glad you got hurt, obviously, Harry. But, I’m glad the police are involved. It gives us quite a bit of leverage for when Simon and Jeff show up tomorrow.”

“Huh, yeah, I guess so,” Harry considered, “What would we even say?”

“I have a few ideas,” Louis said, “and if they don’t work out, we could always still press charges.”

Harry just let out a breath and looked up to Louis with a crooked smile and a gleam of mischief in his eye, “Yeah, I guess we could, couldn’t we?”

***

Despite going to bed rather late, Louis and Harry woke up bright and early the next morning. Prepared for the appearance their managers had scheduled over Louis’s hotel room phone for 10:30 a.m. They showered, and dressed, and put on tea, had a quick couple’s therapy session via video chat, and ordered four servings of breakfast to the room to anticipate their arrival. And as Harry settled the meal on the table, Louis went to peer out of the window as the sound of a crowd drew louder. And when he saw the large group of fans protesting outside of their hotel, he smiled wide, and gave a little wave that incited cheers.

“What’s going on out there?” Harry asked, finishing setting down silverware and napkins, before he walked over and met Louis by the window. And when he looked out and saw the political activists with their queer rights signs and angry voices, he closed the curtains with a small smile of his own, and placed a kiss on Louis’s mouth. 

“I told you we weren’t going to be hiding forever,” Harry quipped, and Louis just kissed him again.

And then there was a knock. A terrible, familiar knock, and Louis made his way to the door. And despite his courage and their sudden and powerful leverage they’d obtained the previous night, seeing the faces of Jeff and Simon on the other side of the doorway still made his heart thump with anxiety.

But, he put on a brave face anyway, and gave a sarcastic smile, and invited them in with a taunting, “Well, boys, we ordered you two breakfast.”

And Jeff and Simon exchanged nervous glances as they entered the room. Louis shut the door behind them and he and Harry sat down across from them at the table. Where they reluctantly took their own seats. And for once, Louis could feel the fear of their handlers radiating off of them in a role reversal that was both novel and empowering. And upon the looks of unease on their faces, Louis could feel the initial anxiety he’d had wash away.

“So, you two thought you’d be heroes last night and phone the police, yeah?” Simon bit out, feigning composure, though Louis could still feel the discomfort in his voice. And hearing Simon Cowell, fearful for his reputation and legal repercussions was the sound of a string orchestra raining from the heavens.

“We’ll get to that in a minute, Simon. Eat,” Louis demanded, firing the words Simon had uttered to him months ago in his own prideful, bitchy tone. 

“So, what do we have to do to keep you two quiet? You want money? Drugs? We can get you what you want,” Jeff asked, cutting to the chase in an immediate bribe as he took a meek sip of tea.

Harry and Louis exchanged smiles of amusement.

“I’m actually alright on drugs and money, though I appreciated your offer last night,” Harry retorted and popped a bite of honeydew into his mouth.

“Was it good? I got it from the same provider I used to for you,” Jeff offered, something like hope in his eyes.

Harry giggled and Louis smiled back at him as he dug into his omelette.

“No, I mean, I don’t do that stuff anymore, and it washed down the sink nice and easy. I mean, I’m alright, in that, I don’t need your money or drugs,” Harry clarified, and Jeff and Simon exchanged another nervous glance at Harry’s comeback.

“Listen to me, boys-” Simon tried, but Louis was interrupting before he could fall into his spiel of condescension and intimidation.

“No,” Louis shot back, “I’ve listened to both of you boys enough. It’s your turn to listen to us.” Louis took a deep breath and wiped his mouth with his napkin before he continued, “We didn’t phone the police last night, although we probably should’ve. Someone else in the hotel heard the commotion and decided to report it. And lucky for us, they have the entire thing on the security cameras. Guess you didn’t think of everything while you were having us kidnapped. They also have photos of Harry’s injury. And this sweet little girl had some pictures too that managed to make it to the internet before your goons could get to her. Saw it on the front page of BBC when Harry and I got out his laptop for therapy. All in all, Simon, Jeff, this doesn’t look good for you guys.”

“I can still ruin both of your lives. I can still cut off your royalties and leave you both paying back millions until you're broke if you don’t do what we say,” Simon returned. 

“You could,” Harry gave, “but I don’t think you will.”

“You see, Cowell,” Louis addressed as Harry took another bite, from his authentic French pastry this time, and Louis watched him chew with adorable delight for a moment before he resumed, “we finally have as much on you as you could ever release about us. Any smear you try to send out would look awfully suspicious in relation to the abuse that’s come to light, wouldn’t you think?”

“You’re underestimating me, Louis,” Simon warned in a sing-song voice with a challenging smile of his own.

“Right,” Louis said with a chuckle, “except I’m not. Simon, if you come after us, we will come after you just as hard. You can smear us. Run some story ruining our reputation, but with everything that’s come to the surface, we can still hurt you both in a single interview. It’s called mutually assured destruction, and if we go down, I promise that Harry and I could press charges and drag you down with us.”

“So what do we have to do for you guys to keep that from happening?” Jeff asked, looking only slightly more calm than Simon, who appeared so angry there might as well have been cartoon smoke blowing out of his ears. “I mean, Christ, Harry, you and I go back, are you really going to choose this guy you just got back together with instead of thinking about your career? You haven’t been with him in years.”

“Well, Jeff, I am now,” Harry gave a sweet smile and blinked at Louis with a playful demureness as he wrapped his arms around Louis’s shoulders and rested his head in the crook of his neck. Harry’s curls tickled Louis’s skin in a lovely sensation, and he smiled down at him, absolutely lost in his feelings for his beautiful partner, and the freedom he could feel just beyond the horizon, “and a good boywife stands by her man.”

Louis chuckled a little at that and kissed his curls, before Harry pulled away and continued to eat the fruit off of his plate

“So, for once, let me tell you what’s going to happen,” Louis began again and took another bite of egg, “starting now, you are going to void all clauses in my contracts and in Harry’s that refer to morality and image, and you’re going to let us come out on our own terms. And if you don’t,” Louis sipped his tea, “we will press charges, and Brian and Earl, along with you, of course, for enabling and premeditating our kidnapping could all face not just the loss of millions of your own money, but serious prison time as well.”

“I’m telling you boys,” Simon began again, “the world’s not ready for that. You’re not just getting us in trouble, you’re hurting your own image.”

“I don’t think we are, though, Simon,” Louis continued, “what’s hurting our image is you,” Louis looked to Jeff, “and you.”

“You will lose half of your fanbase if you do that,” Simon argued and Louis scoffed, and stood from his seat, and crossed the room to the window, where he opened the curtains and pulled the glass aside so the sounds of the protestors rang clearly into the room.

“Listen to that!” Louis shouted, and Harry was looking back at him with a proud smile that only made his courage stronger, “And that’s just in Paris! I’d hate to see the protests happening if we were back home, or still in North America! Stop trying to manipulate us, you pathetic, little coward! It’s not going to work! The public is on our side! Not yours! They never have been! I would love to pull out my phone and have you read all the articles about our suspected abuse out loud, but, oh wait! You had them confiscated! Our personal property you had taken from us and refused to give back when we demanded you do so! You treated us like primary school children in trouble for texting in class! Our phones are worth over a grand, Simon, and the police know about you taking them too. And I bet if we did decide to press charges well--that would count as theft of over a thousand. Which is another indictable offense you could be held accountable for!” 

Louis took in a deep breath after shouting out his plea for justice, and crossed the room back to the dining table, where he sat back down and let out the air from his lungs in a powerful exhale. He kissed Harry firmly on the side of his face, smiled at him, took another sip of his tea, and then turned his smile in the direction of their enemies, their poker faces staring back at him, immobile but still incapable of hiding their unease, “You void our contracts, without any financial or social repercussions, or Harry and I will burn you two to the ground.”

“What he said,” Harry agreed with yet another grin.

And to Louis’s surprise, Jeff nodded, barely. And Simon let out a breath.

“You can’t do this. We’ll still find a way to take you down, this isn’t over, we’re each worth more than both of you combined and we could-” Simon tried, but he was interrupted again. This time, by Jeff.

“Oh, just knock it off, Simon. This isn’t just going away,” Jeff said with scorn, “They’re offering us a deal that won’t end in legal trouble. We’d be idiots to not take it.”

And Simon was suddenly abashed at even his colleague in their oppression taking him down a notch. And then he took a deep breath of his own, before Jeff continued.

“We’ll talk to our legal teams and edit your contracts. But, just please, I’m asking as a favor. You still have a tour to finish and promote, and I don’t want this interfering with it too much, so just--can you at least wait until after the last concert in London before you two say anything?”

Louis looked over to Harry, and Harry returned his glance.

“What do you think?” Louis asked.

“Okay,” Harry agreed, arms and legs crossed in his own defiance.

“Alright then, we have a deal,” Jeff said and he and Simon stood. Louis and Harry stood up too, as Jeff held out his hand and Louis and Harry took turns shaking it before they left, Simon sure to shoot them daggers of contempt as he walked out in a clearly furious mortification with a slam of the door. He was the sorest loser on the face of the planet.

Once they were gone, Louis picked up Harry carefully, sure to grab at his middle back to not disturb his wound, and spun him around in a fantastic and excited twirl and kissed him harder than perhaps he ever had.

“I can’t believe it!” Harry exclaimed gleefully as Louis put him down.”I mean, we won, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. I think we just did,” Louis allowed.

And then he kissed him again.

Chapter Text

The next month was a fantastic blur as they traveled through Europe. Harry and Louis had resumed their onstage flirts and shared hotel rooms. And the best thing about it was that neither Simon nor Jeff could say anything. They hadn’t spoken to them again after the breakfast they’d shared at all, and their silence was like a warm and comforting blanket.

The Larry Bear accounts had been deleted by their team, they’d discovered, once they got their phones back later that day. But neither of them were bothered by it. In light of their newly granted freedom, they didn’t need it anymore. And after tomorrow night, their last show of the tour, picking up at their most nostalgic venue of the O2 arena in London, they wouldn’t need anything like it ever again.

They were at Harry’s house now that they were back in the UK, and their final show would be held tomorrow night. And Harry was over the moon with joy as he and Louis set their luggage down onto the floor of his bedroom.

Louis was pushing him into the bed immediately, and connecting their mouths in a heated, sexy kiss that spelled out his intentions in an instant, and as he began to trail his affection down Harry’s neck, he whispered something in Harry’s ear that only caused his arousal to rise further.

“You wanna get kinky tonight?”

Harry let out a breathy, little gasp of excitement,“Yeah.”

“You have any toys?” Louis asked. Harry giggled.

“A few, yeah. Actually, wait!” Harry jumped from the bed, and ushered Louis towards his closet. “There should be stuff in the little black chest inside, close the door and pick out whatever you think will be good.”

“What the hell?” Louis asked with a chuckle, “Why do you want me to close the door?”

“Just do it, Louis! I have a surprise,” Harry insisted and continued to push Louis into the wide, walk-in closet.

“Alright, alright!” Louis relented, and wandered inside and shut the door as instructed.

While Louis perused his closet, Harry opened his dresser and yanked out a bundle of silky, lilac lingerie that had once been a cry for attention. The pretty little revenge he’d worn in the kitchen in a heated moment of regretful passion that had left them both confused. But now, with their rekindled commitment and persisting resistance to their previous toxic habits, it wasn’t a symbol of bitterness and jealousy. It wasn’t a ploy to inflate Harry’s ego. It was a sexy top and shorts that would excite Louis to no end, without any guilt or conflict to affect it.

He undressed completely and began to put on the set as he listened to Louis dig through his closet.

“Christ you have even more clothes now than you ever have, huh?” Louis mocked playfully through the door. Harry chuckled and finished sliding on the shorts over his bare arse and crotch, shrugging the top on as Louis continued, “You still have this collar I got you. The one you wore in that photoshoot.”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry responded, raising his voice only slightly to read through the closet door as he tried to settle onto the bed in a seductive pose.

“Did you use it with Richard?”

“No, Louis,” Harry said with only a hint of impatience with Louis’s jealousy. “He was never that super into kink; he was pretty vanilla compared to us.”

“Well, alright…Sorry for asking, love--Can I come out now?”

And Harry fixed the folds at the end of his top, before he shouted, “Yes!” and Louis opened the door holding the collar and a pair of handcuffs, as well as a new bottle of lubricant that had been sitting next to Harry’s sextoy box.

“Fuck, baby,” Louis whispered lowly, as his eyes fell to Harry in a pinup pose on the edge of the bed, ready and waiting for Louis to take him. He sauntered over to him with a delicious slowness, and set the toys and lube on the bed beside him before he leaned over Harry, toying with the silk with a wicked grin, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to not fuck you against the kitchen counter in this that night.”

“Well,” Harry shook his long curls out of his face and kissed Louis, catching his bottom lip in his teeth before he finished in a whisper, “now you can fuck me in it.” 

“Can’t believe you were with someone who wasn’t into kink for two years,” Louis teased and reconnected their mouths in another gentle gesture of affection.

“It wasn’t always easy,” Harry said honestly when he pulled away, and Louis was already tracing his lips down the front of his shoulder. 

And Harry liked this. He really liked it. Liked that talking about their past mistakes and their odd reunion while Harry had still been seeing Richard had almost no weight anymore. For through all their sessions with Eloise, and private conversations with each other, they had truly moved on from so much hurt, some of which Harry was afraid he’d never be able to, and it had only made their relationship feel even more intimate.

 “Be my daddy tonight,” Harry breathed out as Louis continued to nip and suck at his neck and shoulders.

“As long as you're a good little slut for me,” Louis mumbled over his skin, and sent another flush of lust to Harry’s groin. “Here, sit up straight,” Louis ordered, standing up right as he picked up the collar. Harry’s breath hitched at just the sight of it in Louis’s hand, and he pulled his hair out of his face as he fastened the black leather around his neck, being sure to fix the buckle snugly, but not overly tight. “You still look so gorgeous in that,” Louis breathed, and kissed him gently again, and then asked, “Give me your hands.”

And Harry, absolutely helpless to every instruction from his sultry lover, did as he was told and held out his wrists in offering, and sighed with delight when Louis slapped the cool, steel handcuffs on them. He was growing harder with each subtle touch and assertion of dominance. Hopelessly devoted to his absolutely perfect Louis.

“What are you going to do to me, Daddy?” Harry asked timidly. Louis smirked a delicious smirk that only made Harry’s cock pulse even more intensely.

“Why don’t you flip over and find out.”

And Harry, eager to please and submit to his absolutely delectable partner did as he was ordered, cuffed hands above his head. Louis leaned over him and kissed down the back of his neck and shoulders yet again, sucking and biting in an excruciating foreplay that Harry was growing increasingly impatient towards, and he couldn’t help the little rub-wiggle motion he gave into the bed to try to find even a modicum of relief. But then Louis was gripping a fistful of his hair in a tight, stinging grip and Harry groaned with further desire.

“Don’t you start being impatient. I get that you’re a desperate slut, but you can handle not acting like it for a few minutes,” Louis scolded, and Harry swallowed his overwhelming lust.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Harry apologized, though he was still aching with absolute need.

And then Louis was kissing further down his back, pulling up his shirt just a little to press his lips to his bare skin, until he finally reached Harry’s arse, and Harry’s breath wavered when Louis yanked down his barely-there shorts to his thighs.

“Not a thing under here, huh?” Louis taunted, “you really are desperate.” And then he was spreading him open, taking yet another moment to tease Harry as he breathed against his puckering entrance. And given the fact he’d been moaning from Louis’s breath on him alone, it was no surprise that he nearly sobbed when Louis finally ran his tongue along him. 

The moisture of his mouth on Harry’s intimate parts was a filthy nirvana. A dirty sin that felt like a virtue in all its euphoric pleasure it brought. Louis was worshiping Harry’s arse with everything he had. And the brush of his stubble against him with each motion ignited every one of Harry’s nerves with a pleasant fire and raised gooseflesh along his skin. He had his cheeks still spread in his hands and was giving them soft squeezes as he continued to drive him to the edge of madness with slow, wet strokes.

“Please,” Harry begged, incapable of withstanding the sensation any longer. He needed more. Needed to be filled and fucked and called a whore and a slut while his Louis--his daddy used him.

“‘Please’ what, baby?” Louis requested as he surfaced, and gave him a light spank.

“Please, fuck me Daddy,” Harry begged, “Lou, please, I can’t take it any longer. I need it.”

And when Harry looked back at Louis, he was taking off his shirt and jeans, (finally) and laying on his back next to him on the bed. “Why don’t you suck my cock and I’ll decide if you deserve it?”

Harry was tempted to release a bratty groan, but did as he was told without complaint instead, deciding he would be a good submissive today, and not a defiant one, as Louis pulled his boxers down and Harry kept his cuffed hands tucked in his lap, shorts still awkwardly at his thighs, as he leaned over and took Louis into his mouth, earning a low groan that satisfied him just a tad in knowing he was making Louis feel good. 

He slurped, and gagged, and let Louis thrust up into his throat for a while. Eyes watering. Nose stuffy. He must’ve looked absolutely wrecked already. 

“Oh baby, you really do want Daddy’s cock, don’t you?” Louis asked, deliciously in control. Harry pulled off of him immediately and nodded, embarrassingly needy.

“Yes, please,” Harry insisted, and Louis was tossing him onto his stomach. 

He pulled at Harry’s hips so he was face down, arse up, back steeply arched, and Harry let out another breath of relief as Louis yanked his shorts down further and he heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle of lube click open, and felt a drizzle of it pool onto him. Louis used two fingers to spread the slick inside and around him hastily, before Harry listened to the sloppy noise of him wetting himself as well before the head of Louis’s cock was pressing into him. And Harry let out a painful, wanting cry at the fullness of his girth, splitting him open and fucking into him delicioulsy slow. Teasingly slow.

“Harder, Daddy!” Harry pleaded impatiently, and Louis smacked the side of his arse and gripped his hips tighter.

“God, I’ve missed hearing you beg like that,” Louis continued to taunt and humiliate Harry with words that sent further euphoria between his legs. He couldn’t even bother to jerk himself off with his hands cuffed, and he wanted more. More of Louis, more of the heavenly sensation of him claiming his body. “You just need it rough and fast like a whore, all the time, don’t you?” Louis added as he picked up his speed, just a little, all while he slapped Harry’s bottom here and there in perfect stings of pleasurable pain.

“Yes! Please, Louis!”

“Such a good little slut for Daddy,” Louis grunted and gripped the back of Harry’s collar with one hand as he began to really fuck him. Punishing, and primal, and perfect. He fucked him hard, and fast, in his almost innapropriately adorable little lingerie, and each slam of his hips sent Harry reeling with further desire and pressure that he could feel within his own cock, dangling between his legs, pathetically hard, as Louis continued to take him.

With each pound of ecstasy, Harry was becoming quickly wanton. His moans were deeper, his cries of, “Daddy!” were becoming more and more frequent, and then he was coming. Quivering through his orgasm as Louis didn’t let up in the power of his thrusts.

“Oh baby, you’re shaking,” Louis said, in between ragged breaths, “is Daddy’s whore coming nice and hard, all untouched and pitiful?”

And when Harry didn’t answer right away, still riding out his orgasm as he felt several further droplets of come drip from the head of his cock, Louis tightened the grip on his collar and smacked his arse again, still pumping himself in and out relentlessly.

“Answer me baby. I want you to tell me how ruined you are for me.”

“Yes, Daddy!” Harry wailed, “You made me come so hard. I love your cock so much.”

“That’s it, princess. I love how pathetic you are for me. Love watching you come on my cock like it’s all you’re good for,” Louis continued to taunt, pouring further tasty filth from his mouth before he was pulling out, and instructing Harry to get on his knees. And Harry did so in an instant, completely losing his shorts on his way down as he knelt before Louis and held his mouth open, ready to taste his spunk.

He came after just a few tugs of his cock, spilling all over Harry’s face and tongue with a deep, powerful grunt that still managed to send a brief tingle to Harry’s softening member. And then Louis was catching his breath, and undoing Harry’s cuffs before collapsing onto the bed, and Harry was wiping the remaining ejaculate on his face onto the silk of his shirt, staining it rather ungracefully (but that’s why laundry detergent existed) and laid on top of Louis’s chest, smiling up at him with pride and post-orgasmic warmth.

“I’ve really missed being a perverted maniac with you,” Harry whispered gently, and Louis huffed a laugh, and briefly toyed with the front of Harry’s kinky, leather collar.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

***

Backstage at the O2 arena was a nightmare. Everyone was tense, and their music director, Charles, was absolutely losing it because, “This is the closing show! We have to wrap up on our strongest note!” and well, Harry and Louis certainly intended on following through. 

They had been practicing in secret with their backing band, practically as soon as they’d made their deal with Simon and Jeff. Preparing for just a tiny concert of their own after they finished their usual set, and had okayed it with Niall and Zayn too, requesting to have the arena to themselves after their One Direction performance. 

Right now, The Rise was starting their opening set, and all four of them were hanging out in Harry’s dressing room. Talking over each other with excitement and cocktails from the little bar they’d made out of the table. All enthusiastic and relieved to be done with the tour after tonight, and Harry and Louis, brimming with giddiness in anticipation of their special little project they’d been working on for weeks.

And then there was a knock on the door, and Harry dismissed himself with a laugh from a stupid joke Louis had told, to answer it, and when he did, he gasped with joy and brought Clara in for a hug.

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” he asked with surprise, and opened the door wider to let her in.

“Clara!” Louis exclaimed and stood up from his chair and gave her a quick embrace as well.

“I just couldn’t miss your guys’ last show, and Charles was kind enough to let me back here,” Clara answered with a brilliant smile, and added, “You all look great, by the way.”

And Harry said a quiet, “Thank you,” looking down to his sharp white suit, just a pink graphic t-shirt underneath, and then at Louis, and his jeans and dark button up. Louis did look good. All sly and casual. Harry couldn’t imagine a more handsome man. And he got to be with him. And it just felt like a miracle.

Clara joined them as they hung out during the opening show, and Harry made her a cocktail and sat on Louis’s lap on the couch to make enough room for everyone, not at all unhappy to do so. Though he could feel Louis forming a halfie underneath his bum that would probably need to die or be dealt with before they went on stage.

“I’m so happy for you guys, everyone’s coming to your defense. And when you texted me about your contracts getting changed, I literally cried! I just couldn’t believe that photo of Harry getting carried away like that when I saw it on X. That made me cry too, honestly,” Clara had commented, a little tipsy and oversharing, when the conversation had managed to somehow circle its way back to that fateful night in Paris.

“What I always still wonder is who called the cops,” Harry mentioned.

“Yeah, I wonder that too,” Louis added.

“Yeah, you’d think they’d speak out about it after that picture and the fact that it, you know, happened to a celebrity,” Clara explained.

“Yeah well, it’s,” Zayn started, and then confessed, “it’s ‘cause I was the one who did.”

“Really?” Everyone else in the room exclaimed.

“Why are you all so surprised?” Zayn asked, sinking into the couch in his spot beside Harry and Louis, appearing suddenly shy and overwhelmed.

“I mean, you do act like you hate them sometimes,” Niall defended.

“Well, I don’t, alright? I was worried. I heard some shouting, and when I looked through the peephole I saw Brian hit Harry, and I just--I couldn’t not do something,” Zayn explained. And Harry was about to stand up to hug him when Louis held his hips in place, no doubt to hide his erection (which had grown further now that it’d been a while), and Harry just gave Louis a secretive smile before he hugged Zayn while still in Louis’s lap.

“Thank you, Zayn,” Harry breathed. And he meant it. 

“Yeah, thanks, mate, you did the right thing,” Louis added and Harry leaned into Louis’s chest as they fell into lighter, less traumatic conversation, Niall already telling some boring story about being a kid in Ireland, that Harry listened to anyways, because he was with Louis, and being with Louis made just about anything bearable.

As the opening show was reaching a close, Zayn and Niall let themselves out of Harry’s dressing room, and Clara announced she was leaving too, to go to her VIP box to watch their concert, and that left Harry and Louis alone in the room together. And Harry turned around from his spot on Louis’s lap, only to return to it in an instant, straddling him, face to face as he pressed their lips together.

“God, Harry,” Louis breathed when he pulled away, “did you have to wiggle your cute little bum on my crotch the entire time you were sitting there?”

But Harry didn’t have a witty comeback or a cheeky smile to tease him with, he gave a genuine one, wide and unrestrained as he said, entirely certain, “I love you so much, Louis. And if I’m being honest, I really do want us to get married again someday.”

“Yeah?” Louis said. But he had a cheeky smile.

And then he was reaching in his pocket, and Harry was gasping.

“You didn’t!” Harry squealed in disbelief

But Louis had pulled out a little, navy blue satin box and Harry was taking it from him before he could even show him what was inside. And when Harry opened it, happy tears were already pricking the corners of his eyes, and he slid the ring on his finger. It was a slim, silver band, dusted with a few tiny pearls in an asymmetrical pattern, and it was absolutely breathtaking. It wasn’t exorbitant or flashy, but it wasn’t subtle either. And most of all, it was very Harry. And Harry could feel Louis’s love for him through the weight of it on his skin.

“Oh, Lou, it’s gorgeous,” Harry complimented.

“I take it that’s a yes,” Louis quipped with a nervous chuckle.

But then Harry whispered, just a tad anxious, but still overwhelmed with joy, “You--you really want to? Are you sure? I just, I mean, after last time, and god what if I fuck up again, or you fuck up again? I know we’re doing great in therapy and this is the healthiest we’ve ever been, but, I can be so impulsive and-” Harry rambled, but Louis silenced him with a kiss. 

And, god, he wanted Louis. He wanted him more than anything, all to himself and forever, but he’d also remembered how things ended up the last time they’d gotten married, and the heartbreak it’d caused him.

“Harry, listen,” Louis said when he ended their kiss, “neither of us know what’s going to happen in the future, but this is what I want. And I know you well enough to know it’s what you want too. I don’t care about then. I care about now. And right now, I want you to be my husband. Again.”

“I want that too, babe,” Harry began, “but, we both broke each other’s hearts in the past, you know? What if it happens again?”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Louis said, “and I like to think that now we could deal with that together too. But even--if for whatever reason--we can’t, even if everything falls apart, I will always love you, Harry, and it will simply have been a pleasure to be married to you again. Whether it’s for the next forty years, or the next four…I want you.”

“Oh, Louis,” Harry sobbed and brought him in for a terribly tight hug, gripping his shirt for dear life. When he let him go, he looked deep into Louis’s eyes, as though he could see his very soul peeking through the surface of them. “So you really want to marry me? Even if it ends in--I don’t know, a meteor crash of destruction and chaos? You’re that sure?”

Louis shrugged and smiled, “Yeah.”

And Harry let out another, ecstatic sob, “Then let’s do it.”

And then Charles was bursting through the door.

“Come on, you guys! You’re on in ten minutes! Fuck your boyfriend on your own time!” Charles shouted. 

“He’s actually my fiancé now,” Harry said with a wide smile, and flashed his new engagement ring around happily towards Charles.

“Really?” Charles said in an exaggerated cheerfulness, “Well, congratulations! Now, get the fuck out here so I can finish mic’ing you up!”

And Harry brushed his hand playfully over Louis’s dying erection, subtly, as to not let Charles notice, before he crawled out of his lap and they stood up and followed him out of the dressing room.

The band gave an energized, gleeful last show, the crowd was wild and Louis and Harry were not subtle about their wilting secret for even a second. And once they’d finished “What Makes You Beautiful,” Niall gave a final announcement.

“Alright, you all. We’re gonna do something a little unorthodox here, and give Harry and Louis the stage for a moment. How does that sound?”

And the screams of thousands were so loud after Niall spoke into the microphone that Harry was pretty sure he was going to have at least a little permanent ear damage after it.

Niall and Zayn left the stage as the crowd ‘s noise continued to ring in their ears, and Harry and Louis moved their mic stands closer together. And Harry stared happily at Louis as Louis gave a gentle nod of his head to the band behind them. And the tune to their practiced rendition of, “I Will Survive” began to pound across the stage, and Harry began to belt out the first verse.

And then Louis picked up the second half of it. And they sung the song not for their management’s approval, or their army of Larries, or their dedicated Directioners, but for them. 

Halfway through the chorus, Louis grabbed Harry’s hand and spun him around under his arm, and the crowd, clapping along to the beat, cheered as he did so, and they finished with an explosive single, last, “I will survive!” in melodic unison, and as soon as the music died, Harry’s lips were on Louis’s, and the screams and gasps were louder than he could’ve even imagined. 

He was sure some were excited, and some were shocked. He was sure that some were appalled, and that some were maybe even disgusted. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. For even though they were coming out in a rocket launch of shattered expectations, Harry was still only thinking about Louis. And the look Louis gave him when he pulled away was filled with not just absolute dedication and love, though it definitely included that too, but also, pure relief.

Because it was official now. They didn’t have to hide anymore. They didn’t have to sneak around and beg anyone’s approval or tiptoe around each other. They had successfully ended the dance in the dark that they’d been doing for almost two decades. And now they could rest. Now they could be together all the time and anywhere, for the rest of their lives if they wanted, in front of whoever would support or abandon them. Not that those who abandoned them would matter. Not that anyone else could possibly matter. For, they had each other again. At last. 

And that’s all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Everything had fallen into place. The Jungwirth’s released a statement soon after they had come out, which cleared up Louis’s participation in a stunt that had gone on for much too long. Richard was seeing someone else publicly after clarifying his sexuality to the public after his press conference outburst, doing so on his own terms. And what had once been a bitter and overly publicized feud between Richard Blakely and Louis and Harry Tomlinson, had softened into yesterday’s news, free from hard feelings as they all had moved on with their lives and managed to find their own, personal happiness.

And as Louis sat across from late night TV host, Sandra Beck, he tried to ease his queasy stomach as she looked back at him with a terrifyingly wide smile and a juxtaposingly gentle gleam to her eye. Harry was sitting beside him on the couch, looking beautiful in his striped, pink suit and short, wavy new haircut, just a touch more dressed up than Louis was himself in his dark button up and grey slacks. And being able to sit on a talk show with Harry, the two of them promoting their new album as a fresh, unprecedented, dynamic duo of a queer power couple, simply didn’t feel real.

It was a daydream come to life. And he did his best to focus on the interviewer’s question without letting his amazement become overly distracting.

“So, you two made quite the splash last summer at the end of One Direction’s reunion tour,”  Sandra started and earned cheers and claps from the studio audience, “Didn’t they?” she goaded and another breath of applause exhaled from the live viewers, “Now that it’s been over a year since you two came out about your relationship publicly, how have your lives changed? Do you think it’s added any stress, or I don’t know, relieved some? What did that fall out look like for you two?”

“Well,” Harry and Louis spoke at the same time, and Louis let out a chuckle, but nodded his head to Harry to let him speak first.

“It took us a while to get to the point where we knew hiding it wasn’t an option, and we decided that, you know, we didn’t really want to anymore, either,” Harry said, relaying one of their several rehearsed responses. 

While they finally had their own voice now, part of their agreement with Simon and Jeff included not publicly mentioning the sad details of the abuse they’d suffered, even if members of the general public were aware of some of it. And Louis, not wanting to relive any of the trauma that had come of their years in the closet anyways, was fine with it. He was just happy to be able to have the freedom to be in love without secrets. And he knew Harry was too.

“Yeah,” Louis added, “I think that, y’know, we had a lot of support behind us before, and we saw that. And it’s made us more comfortable with ourselves and each other, and since we’ve been out in the open, the support has only continued to be phenomenal. So, it’s definitely a weight off of our shoulders to be able to walk out in public together and not have to worry about who’s looking at us.”

“I bet,” Sandra agreed, “And you two are getting married soon too, isn’t that right?” Another round of claps and “Whoops!” sounded from the audience and Louis couldn’t help the cheesy smile he gave to Harry, who returned it with his own, filled with the same amount of excitement.

“Yeah, we are,” Louis affirmed, and fiddled with the silver engagement band on his finger while Harry waved his complementary pearl adorned one to the crowd, gaining further praise and attention. 

Most of the public may have not known about their first marriage, and the painful divorce they’d been through, but they knew all about their upcoming one, and that was enough for them.

“Do you have a ceremony planned or anything?” Sandra inquired.

“Yes. Yes, we do,” Harry announced. More cheers. “We’re going on tour in a few months, so we’re gonna have our wedding, before we have to, y’know, start travelling.” 

“So you’ll be on the road as newly weds!” Sandra deducted with further applause and support. “Can you tell us a little about the album? What does the title, 'At Last,' mean to you both?”

Louis began this time, “Well it’s, um, it’s clearly very personal. It’s our first album as a duo, and I think it’s just about you know, that feeling of being apart for a while and finally being together again, and us getting to be together publicly, too.”

“Yeah, we’ve, uh,” Harry picked up, “we’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s about being free from those pressures and being able to embrace ourselves and our relationship.”

Harry gave Louis another adorable smile, and Sandra continued to ask questions about their album and their upcoming tour politely and professionally. And after their segment ended, they both shook her hand and exited the stage for their break, another guest taking their place on Sandra’s couch before their performance window. And as soon as Louis and Harry were backstage in their dressing room, Harry was kissing Louis up against the wall in an absolutely impatient desire and unabashed lust.

“I want you in my mouth, Daddy,” Harry whispered against Louis’s lips, barely tugging from their kiss to say so.

“Harry, we only have a half hour before we’re back on stage,” Louis argued, without even a hint of resistance.

“That’s more than long enough,” Harry breathed with a cocky smile, and then he was leading Louis to the armchair at the corner of the room, pushing Louis down into it, and getting on his knees as he began to undo Louis’s belt buckle.

And Louis couldn’t really find it in himself to protest much after that.

***

They were in California this weekend, taking time to themselves after they’d finished shooting a brief documentary about their relationship for a streaming service. And Harry was hugging Louis from behind as Louis revved the engine and accelerated even faster on his brand new, sleek, chrome motorcycle, unwisely helmetless, and absolutely carefree, music blasting from the speakers. Coming out had granted them even further commercial success than either of them could’ve ever imagined, and Harry couldn’t blame Louis for his recent indulgence, deciding to take up motorbiking as one of his several new expensive hobbies.

Their hair blew wildly as they sped down the highway to the beach, sunglasses keeping the wind from their eyes. And Harry felt like he’d absolutely blossomed in the last year with his new fiancé. They’d been out of couple’s therapy for several months now, and it was a beauteous miracle that they’d finally, successfully managed to put the weight of their past behind them. They were focused on the future now, and Harry still had the sense of living in an impossible fantasy in all their recent euphoria.

As they merged off of the freeway and onto the winding road that led to the shore, he was smiling like an idiot. Especially when an aquamarine convertible Mini Cooper, full of young, LA women approached them, and the blonde driver honked with delight.

“Oh my god! Larryyyy!” A tan skinned, curly haired brunette shouted from the passenger seat, and another girl in the back grabbed a quick photo as she passed them. And Harry, without the fear of the consequences of fan photos, just continued to smile, and planted a quick kiss to Louis’s neck. And Louis kept driving, looking back at Harry for a second with his own idiotic grin.

Once they’d finally made it to the beach, Harry shrugged off his graphic t-shirt and kicked off his socks and sneakers, before he removed his sunglasses, and settled his things on a lounge chair, and watched with admiration as Louis did the same, though he left his glasses on, as he laid down over the towel he’d set out on his lounger, while Harry headed for the water in his short, fuchsia swim shorts.

“You’re not coming?” Harry asked on his way out to sea.

“Maybe in a bit, dear, I wanna get some sun. And, you know how I feel about ocean water,” Louis bemoaned. And Harry watched as Louis crossed his legs over each other in his blue trunks and got comfortable, a beautiful beach dream in all his sultry masculinity.

Harry shrugged at him, mildly disappointed as he jogged into the ocean and let the cool, salty waves soothe his warm body.

He swam for a bit. Doing laps and floating in the relaxing water as the sun beamed down over Louis’s bronzing, tattooed skin. He’d been there for a while. And Harry missed him. But, he also didn’t want to get out of the ocean. And so, as he spotted a young mother making sandcastles with her toddler-aged daughter just a ways away, he got an idea, and headed towards them.

“Hey, sorry, if this is weird,” Harry began to ask as he left the water and approached them, “but can I use that bucket for a second?”

The suntanned local looked up from her child as he spoke, and when her eyes landed on Harry’s face, she let out a dramatic gasp.

“Oh god! You’re Harry! From One Direction!” she exclaimed with a startled chuckle, “My sister and I used to love you guys when we were kids! Um, Suzy, do you mind if he uses our bucket for a second?” 

But shy, little Suzy looked doubtful at the question, so Harry persuaded in his gentlest, “I promise I’ll bring it right back.”

And the little girl tapped on a seashell she had found as she whispered a slow, timid, “Okay.” 

And her mother let out a breathless laugh, “Go ahead, sure.”

“Thank you,” Harry expressed and she handed him the empty bucket, “And I’m so sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Molly. Congratulations on your engagement by the way!” the woman said cheerfully.

“Thanks, Molly,” Harry expressed, thoughtfully, and sweetly added, “And Suzy,” And he watched the little girl and her doting mother smile at him as he took the bucket into the ocean, with a fleeting thought that maybe he and Louis would have a child of their own some day. 

He filled the plastic pail with water, and walked back onto the sand slowly and quietly. Unassumingly. And Louis, with his eyes closed as he took in the sun, was absolutely oblivious to Harry’s presence.

Until he poured the bucket of cold, sea water all over him, of course.

“Harry!” Louis shouted, soaking wet, as he ripped off his sunglasses and shot up from his chair, but Harry was already running away, dropping the bucket off to Suzy and Molly, who laughed at the scene, before he bolted back for the water.

“You little shit!” Louis called after him, a chuckle in his voice as he chased him through the sand.

“You’ll have to come into the water if you want to catch me!” Harry yelled back, still running towards the tide.

“Well thanks to you, I’m soaking wet, so I don’t have any reason not to!” Louis returned, and as Harry’s pace slowed the further he got into the ocean, Louis caught up to him, yanking him by the waist and tugging him against his chest as the waves rolled against their skin.

“You’re getting a spanking when we leave,” Louis whispered in his ear.

“That’s too bad,” Harry said without any real disappointment, and turned around to face Louis as he wrapped his arms around his neck, and his legs around his waist, the water carrying them weightlessly. 

“Lou?” Harry asked with a teasing grin while Louis’s hands cradled Harry’s back.

“What is it, you attention-seeking brat?” Louis bit out playfully.

And Harry just stared at him for a while and let out a sigh, before he declared, “I love you.”

And Louis smiled with a kind passion and a waning annoyance, and kissed him, “I love you too, Harry.”

***

Louis’s heart was pounding as he stood at the white-rose covered wedding arch. His laced up, black loafers, shiny, on the stone floored courtyard of the ancient Spanish castle. He’d been to many weddings, but this would be the first of his own. 

The last time he’d legally married Harry it had been at the register office just a little while after same sex marriage had been legalized in the UK, and the commitment they’d made on September 28th, 2013 had been just a tiny ceremony at home in London. 

But this time, Harry, the princess, had wanted a spectacle. And a destination summer wedding on the outskirts of Barcelona at a structure of architectural Renaissance history was about as much of a spectacle as spectacle could be. 

They had decided on coed wedding parties, in their non-traditional, queer ceremony. And next to Louis stood his best man, Oli, in front of Zayn, and all of his sisters. Aligned in formation behind him in the same layout as Harry’s party, oppositely facing the arch, which consisted of Harry’s sister, Gemma, who was also Harry’s maid of honor, as well as Niall, and his step-siblings.    

And as Harry’s entrance music began to play, a rain of strings and gentle piano from the gifted, live performers, Louis took in a deep breath, straightened his boutonniere pinned to the lapel of his sleek, obsidian tux, and pushed back a hair that had escaped his fanciful quiff. And when Harry entered the courtyard from the other end of the aisle, his mother, Anne, on his arm with a toothy grin, Louis could feel the anxiety he’d initially felt wash away with absolute awe.

He’d expected Harry to look beautiful on their wedding day. He knew that he would. But his expectations had still managed to have been blown completely out of the water. 

A flowy, whimsical, chiffon jumpsuit swayed around his legs and arms in windy billows of creamy fabric as he made his way down. His little, white heeled Oxfords barely peeking from the long, swishing material. He was holding a rose bouquet that matched Louis’s boutonniere, made even prettier against his matching white fingernail polish, and a birdcage veil that gave his angelic figure a hint of mystery and sophistication. He looked almost illegally stunning. And Louis couldn’t be more proud that he got to have him all to himself.

Once he’d finally reached Louis at the arch, he handed Anne his bouquet, and she took it with another teary smile as she stood with Harry’s wedding party. And as the music settled down, and their officiant began to recite his passage regarding everlasting love and commitment, Louis still couldn’t manage to keep his eyes off of Harry and the brilliant grin on his face, lighting up Louis’s entire world.

They said gentle vows. Ones they had written for each other, slow and meaningful with voices thick with emotion. By the end of reciting them, they were both wiping tears from their eyes, steadying each others’ hands as they exchanged simple, silver rings. And after what felt like an infinity of words and only getting to look at his gorgeous lover, Louis was finally peeling back the netting of his veil and holding him close as they kissed to the claps and cheers of those in attendance. 

They held hands while they made their way back down the aisle, grains of rice landing in their hair. And Louis could feel in his heart, while they made their way down to the beach for their pre-reception photoshoot, through the sensation of Harry’s hand in his, and their brilliant smiles towards each other, that no matter what happened, with Harry, in a re-established promise of life long commitment, he could face anything.

***

The audience was noisy in the London arena, and Harry looked happily at his wedding ring, stacked on top of his engagement one, as he shook out his nerves backstage and prepared for his and Louis’s first very own concert as a duo. 

It had been a short honeymoon, just under a week, which they’d spent in the next city over from where they’d held their wedding. For, they still had songs from a recently released album to perform. And their new, shared manager was fair but strict when it came to their schedule. 

They had requested Clara as their opener, who had agreed ecstatically over the phone with her trademark squeal. Paying her back for her termination that they had played an unintentional part in.

When she came back from closing her set, the crowd’s cheers died upon her exit, and she ran to them both and embraced them in tight hugs.

“Good luck you guys! I had so much fun at your wedding by the way! You both looked amazing!” she complimented, flattering them ridiculously, before they headed for the stage entrance and she walked in the direction of her dressing room. 

“You ready?” Louis asked Harry. 

“I am,” Harry said.

Louis grabbed his hand in response, and brought it to his lips in a gesture that was so romantic it made Harry titter and blush like a virgin.

“Then let’s go,” Louis said once he’d pulled his lips from Harry’s wrist. 

He kept their hands together, though, fingers interlocked, knuckles white with the intensity of their grip. And as they stepped out onto the stage, though they were already holding hands, Harry couldn’t help himself. He kissed Louis on the mouth. In front of everyone. Because he could now. Whenever he wanted. And though the cheers of thousands were ringing in his ears, the only sound he could make out was that of his mind’s constant reminder of how much he was in love with Louis, with his husband.

The music to their opening track poured from the instruments on stage, and though their microphones were already settled near each other, he moved his mic stand even closer to his gorgeous partner, as they began to sing a song they’d written with each other over a year ago, when they were still trapped in glass closets and their past was a painful obstacle. 

But now Harry knew, for certain, as he looked to Louis, and looked to the crowd, that this is what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

To sing. And entertain. And combine their passions into a fruitful and fulfilling life together, until their hair turned white and their skin began to sag.

Unashamed, unburdened by secrets, just together. 

Now, and forever.