Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Harry!” Anne called from the bottom of the stairs. “Have you got everything? We need to go!”

“In a minute!” Harry replied before walking back into the television room and shaking Louis awake. “Lou, come on, we’ve got to leave right now!” Louis mumbled and swung an arm out, trying to push Harry away, but he jumped out of the way with a tut. “Not this morning, please. We’ve got to get to Manchester!”

“Remind me why?” Louis muttered, lifting his head from a cushion and pushing his mussed up hair out of his eyes.

“My audition!” Harry snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “X-Factor? Remember? You’re the one who signed me up!”

Louis let out a sigh and nodded, pushing himself off the couch with a groan. “If I’d known I’d have to get up at bloody five in the morning…” He assessed Harry’s state, looking him up and down. “How long have you been awake for? You showered?”

“Well yeah! I can’t look bad on my audition! It’s filmed! For telly!” Harry bounced on the balls of his feet. “I woke up at three.”

With a roll of his eyes, Louis started putting on clothes. He was still clumsy with sleep, unsteady on his feet, and Harry had to catch his elbow before he toppled to the floor as he tried to pull on his trousers.

Once Louis was dressed, Harry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along while Louis still looked half-asleep. Anne pointed at her watch, annoyed, once they finally exited the house and Harry nodded towards Louis with an apologetic smile. They got settled in the car, with Louis sprawling across the backseat and resting his head against the window to go back to sleep, and Harry in the passenger seat.

It was still chilly outside because of the hour, but the rising sun promised that a good, beautiful May day was ahead of them. Resting his own head against the window, Harry smiled to himself. So much had happened in the past months that sometimes, he couldn’t quite believe that it was his actual life and not something pulled straight out of a movie.

He’d continued his singing and guitar lessons through the winter, growing in confidence and skills every week. His YouTube channel had kept gaining views and followers, so much that he was starting to have his very own fanbase. A week earlier, he’d posted a video announcement that he was about to go to his final audition for The X-Factor and the response had been overwhelmingly positive, with his fans – and god, he would never get used to that word – promising to vote for him if he got through. He had a Twitter account, now, and a fair amount of followers, and that, too was odd. He’d always seen Twitter as just a fancy way to shout meaninglessly into the void, but he was getting replies, even to the most insignificant of tweets. He’d posted about getting ready for his audition earlier that morning and had gotten replies almost instantly from people in the United States who were up late wishing him good luck and to break a leg.

The first two auditions were a blur, blending into each other. There had been louds crowds and endless queuing, and then waiting in an uncomfortable seat for hours, and more queuing, so much that the actual auditions seemed like tiny blips in the whole process. He’d gotten the final call back a week earlier telling him he’d be auditioning for the real judges and it would be televised. He’d barely slept since.

Harry scrolled through the many replies with a smile and a yawn. He glanced in the backseat when he heard Louis let out a small snore and smiled, his heart skipping a beat like it always did whenever he was made aware of Louis’ existence, not just as the abstract concept of his long-distance boyfriend, but as a real boy, breathing and talking and presently slightly drooling down his own chin as he slept.

So much had happened with Louis, too. There had been visits, too few in numbers and too short each of them. They’d spent most of the month of March filling in university applications for Louis and then anxiously waiting for replies. The course Louis had applied for was behind their most serious fight to date and Harry still seethed when he thought about how Louis was ruining his life because he didn’t believe in himself. Instead of applying for musical theatre like he’d always dreamed of, he went down the practical – boring, soul-crushing – road and applied for accounting, claiming that if he was going to have a singer for a husband, he’d have to bring in a good salary. Harry had exploded, telling Louis that he had no right to pin his own insecurities and fears on Harry’s dreams and Louis replying that not everyone had grown up in a gilded world where dreams came true and that sometimes, sometimes, being logical was the only way to go.

In any case, Louis had been accepted to the London Metropolitan University despite his nearly dismal A-levels results and he was scheduled to move into his residence by the middle of September. Harry had a few thoughts on the matter and they could be summed up by a resounding ‘no’.

Twisting in his seat, Harry snapped a picture of Louis, smiling softly while his heart ached to be reminded of how much things were about to change.

“Nervous?” Anne asked, patting his thigh.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, letting out a shaky breath. “But it doesn’t feel real, yet.”

“Just be yourself and they’ll have no choice but to put you through.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re my mum and you have to support me.”

She clucked her tongue and shook her head with a fond smile. “You’re right. I think you’re mediocre, but I don’t have the heart to tell you.”

“That’s better,” Harry said with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His stomach twisted uncomfortably when the first signs for Manchester started appearing.

Harry wished Louis were awake so he could ask him for tricks to control his nerves before he faced the judges. Louis had been so composed before his opening night as Danny Zuko while Harry had been racked with nerves on his behalf, his heart thumping all the way through in case Louis made a mistake and everyone made fun of him. Harry couldn’t have dealt with hearing people make fun of his boyfriend. It’d have killed him. He’d hid behind the bouquet of flowers he had brought whenever Louis had to kiss his Sandy and he’d been the first on his feet to applaud him, initiating a standing ovation with his enthusiasm.

“We’re picking up Gemma at her flat, did I tell you?” Anne said, taking Harry out of his memories.

He looked away from the road to nod at her. “You did. Three times.” Harry frowned, smiling. “Are you nervous?”

She laughed. “Probably as much as you are, love.”

Somehow, it calmed him down to know he was not the only one worried out of his mind. He twisted around to look at Louis once more, reaching with a smile to push his fringe out of his eyes with careful fingers. Louis stirred and scrunched his nose, rubbing it at it with his hand a few times before growing motionless once more. Harry pressed his head against the side of the headrest, his nerves receding temporarily. Without being able to quite explain it, Harry had the besetting feeling that he needed to commit that moment to memory, to secure it safely in his head so he could remember every detail of it: the sound of the tyres on the asphalt and the open road ahead of them; the lingering smell of eggs and bacon from their fast-food breakfasts and the bittersweet hint of coffee; the early morning sun bright in his eyes and warm on his skin and Louis, Louis asleep and as peaceful as he ever got, with his hoodie balled up under his head to serve as a pillow and his mismatched-socked feet up on the backseat. Harry closed his eyes for a second, stamping the moment in his memory, etching the way he felt like his heart was too big and too warm to be contained within him, belonging in deep space alongside suns and red giants, before he turned back to face the road with a yawn.

“Thanks, Mum,” he said after a moment, cradling his cup of coffee between his hands. “It’s not every mother who’d do what you’re doing now.”

Anne hummed and winked at him, her brows furrowing as they pulled into the early morning Manchester traffic. From somewhere off to their left, a car honked and Louis woke up in alarm, sitting up straight, confusion etched on his face.

“What—?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye.

“It’s nothing,” Harry replied, twisting around to smile at him. “Did you have a good nap?”

Louis yawned, big enough that his jaw popped. “Not long enough.” He blinked a few times before leaning in to peck Harry’s lips, stroking the side of his head at the same time. “Nervous?” he asked in a whisper.

Harry only nodded, his heart in his throat. “I might retch soon.”

“Don’t,” Anne said, voice authoritative. “Robin just had the car shampooed.”

“He won’t, Anne, it’s just the nerves,” Louis replied for Harry, his voice still scratchy with sleep.” Louis petted his head once more. “Join me back here?”

Harry waited a few seconds for the car to be stopped, the traffic going into the city completely halted, before he unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed across the console to the backseat, ignoring his mother’s protest with a giggle. He sat down heavily on the seat and then buckled up once more before exchanging a high-five with Louis.

“That was gracious, Bambi,” Louis teased, sticking out his tongue.

“Right? I’m like a proper ballerina.”

Louis lifted an eyebrow, turning so his back was against the door and he could wedge his toes underneath Harry’s thigh. “I’d like to see you in a tutu and tights.”

Harry giggled. “I know what I’m giving you for your birthday.”

“Oi, I’m right here,” Anne snapped.

Harry leaned forward to peck her cheek. “Sorry!” he said quickly, laughing when she pushed his face away.

It took them almost an hour to get to the venue for the audition, between the traffic and stopping by Gemma’s flat to pick her up, and getting lost until Gemma turned on the GPS despite Anne’s insistence that she could find the place without it. After that, finding a parking spot was a nightmare and they circled the venue for twenty minutes before Louis snapped and said he’d pay for the bloody car park if it meant actually getting somewhere.

The queue was already long when they neared it. Anne checked the time and frowned, getting ahead of them to ask a lady sporting an X-Factor shirt a question and then motioning them forward. “We’re a tiny bit late, but she said it’s fine and we can still get in line. Go on,” she said, shooing them away until they joined the back of the queue.

As long as that queue was, it was nothing compared to the first day of auditions, when Harry had seriously considered turning around and leaving. They’d arrived around seven in the morning and only left after nine at night, exhausted. The second day had been slightly better, so Harry had high hopes for the third and final auditions. There couldn’t be that many people left to audition in front of the judges. There just couldn’t.

With every step forward that he took, Harry’s stomach twisted in a tighter knot. He was clinging to Louis’ hand, holding it tight enough that it had to hurt Louis and yet he said nothing. Louis hadn’t come to the first two auditions, unable to get out of work, but he had promised that he’d quit if he had to before he missed the final audition. Harry hadn’t commented on it, at the time, instead telling Louis that he was an idiot, but it had meant the world to him to know he’d have Louis by his side to face the single most nerve-racking moment of his life.

They were ushered inside and to a waiting room where people were already gathering, looking as nervous and sick as Harry. A man came over to him to give him a number to pin to his shirt and Harry tried to do it himself, but his hands shook so much that Gemma had to take over. He let her do it and caught Louis’ hand again, entwining theirs fingers and clinging to it with both hands. Around them, he could see certain people being interviewed by a camera, most of them the eccentric candidates that Harry had no clue why they’d been called back.

“It’s the weird ones. They make for good television,” Anne explained when she noticed him looking. “They bring them back because it’s funny, nothing else. That’s not your competition, love.”

Eventually the camera made it to him and he gave his first proper interview, talking a bit about where he was from – and probably insulting the entire population of Holmes Chapel by accident at the same time – and his dreams, finding as he talked that he was oddly comfortable with being on camera. The words came to him naturally and his confidence grew as he talked, allowing for his personality to shine through. They’d already interviewed him before his second audition, while he was queuing, but that one had been much more general. That one, he felt, was built specifically so the viewers at home could learn to know him better. He liked that, thinking that he was building his likeability with them, making sure they voted for him before he even got through.

It took almost three hours before he was called to audition. He walked to the door on shaky knees, white as a sheet and not saying a word, his heart in his throat.

“Oh! Wait!” Gemma exclaimed, searching through her handbag while they waited outside. “We forgot something!”

She pulled three shirts out of her bag and gave one to Louis and Anne, keeping one for herself and putting it on over her top. It said ‘We think Harry has the X-Factor!’ and Harry let out a groan before he could stop it.

“Oh my god, why?! Don’t wear that on telly!”

“I think it’s lovely,” Louis said, putting it on with a smirk.

“Harry Styles? Come in,” a man said, opening the door for them and writing something down on his clipboard. “Your guests can come, too.”

Anne nudged him forward and he led the way, his breath shallow, his eyes as wide as they could go. Seconds later, a bright light was shone in his face and a camera appeared, making him gasp in surprise.

“So, Harry,” a man said, smile bright. Harry recognised him from telly and he froze, star-struck, when his name popped into his head a second later: Olly Murs. He paled even more. “Tell us a bit about who’s here to support you today!”

Harry swallowed, feeling like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Hm, my mum and my sister and…” he faltered, glancing at Louis, “and Louis.”

There was a beat, a second of something uncomfortable hanging in the air after Harry’s hesitation and his final choice of words. He had no idea why he hadn’t been able to say what he’d planned: calling Louis his boyfriend. He’d never had any issue with it before.

“Well, good luck to you, Harry! You’re up next! Go!” the man urged him, still smiling that dazzling smile.

Harry was grabbed from all sides by Anne and Louis who smacked kisses on his cheeks and forehead before pushing him towards the stage, Gemma explaining to the presenter that there was no way she was kissing her brother on national television. He stumbled a bit over his own feet before straightening up and walking out on stage, immediately blinded by the spotlights. He shielded his eyes with his hand and waved at the judges, taking a deep breath and smiling his most winsome smile. He could already feel his heart getting lighter to see that Simon Cowell wasn’t part of the panel. He might not get eviscerated on national television, after all.

Harry lowered his hand and lost sight of who was talking to him, but he kept on smiling, hyper-aware of the cameras aimed at him.

“Hello, love,” a female voice said. “Tell us a bit about yourself.”

“Hm, my name’s Harry Styles, I’m 17… I’m from Cheshire and I work in a bakery.”

“And what will you sing for us today, Harry?”

He bit his lip for a second, smiling softly. “I’ll sing ‘Yellow’ by Coldplay. It’s for my—it’s for Lou.”

He cleared his throat, closed his eyes for a second, and started singing. He held the microphone with both hands to hide how much they shook and he made sure that he looked into every camera at least once, wanting to connect with the audience as much as he did with the judges, whom he tried to look at despite the blinding lights. He glanced once at the side of the stage, where he saw Louis looking at him and beaming with pride, and Harry poured all of the love he had for Louis into the line, singing ‘do you know, you know I love you so.’

Harry bit his lip once more when his allotted time was over and he shifted his weight between his legs as he waited for the judges to speak up. It had gone well, he knew it. He’d given his best performance to date and he had a really, really good feeling about it.

“That was lovely, Harry, thank you,” the same voice as earlier said.

The three judges began discussing his voice, complimenting him while also saying how young and inexperienced he was, and Harry’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears he felt like it might explode.

“It’s a yes for me,” a first judge said.

Harry blinked back to the moment, eyes wide.

A second voice spoke up. “You have a surprising voice for such a young man. I think that with proper vocal coaching, you could be brilliant. It’s a yes for me, too.”

Harry’s heart leapt. He’d done it. No matter what the third judge said, he was going through. His face broke into a wide smile, the kind that made the dimples in his cheeks appear, and he jumped with happiness when the third judge gave him a yes.

“Thank you!” Harry said, voice shaky with relief. “Thank you so much!”

He ran off the stage and into the arms of his family, laughing and crying happy tears. The whole process of the actual audition had taken no more than five minutes and it felt completely crazy to think that his life had been turned around in such a short time.

“I’m through! I’m going to be on The X-Factor!” he said, kissing cheeks at random and clinging to whomever was closest. He was only vaguely aware of a camera filming everything and it might have been why he only hugged Louis instead of going with his instinct and kissing him. He clung to him for a very long time, balancing from side to side.

“We’ll see you soon at bootcamp!” he heard Olly Murs say and the only reply he could have to that was a half-giggle, half-yelp of bewilderment.

-

There’s a phenomenon that happens in the dead of winter, when the world has been repainted in steel and charcoal, when it feels like cold is endless and forever: black ice, these thin layers of ice, invisible to the naked eye, turning the pavements treacherous and motorways deadly. One second you’re going about your life, unaware that in a moment the ground will slip from underneath your feet and send you sprawling down with no possibility to hang on to anything.

Harry’s life felt a lot like stepping on black ice. From the moment he came back home after his third audition in Manchester, it was like he was losing his grip on time, watching it slip away from him and feeling like the ground was vanishing and all he could do was tumble down and go wherever it took him. He finished his school year in a daze, disconnected from the reality of examinations to prepare and projects to work on, going through the motions like he was watching himself from outside his body rather than living the moment. When Harry closed his locker for the last time of the year, its content packed into his backpack, he took a long look around, knowing that it might be the last time he ever stepped foot in that building. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone he’d made it to the bootcamp round – they’d made him sign enough non-disclosure agreements to legally shut him up for the rest of his life, it felt like – so he had to pretend things were normal despite the knot in his throat and the tears prickling his eyes.

By then it was already July, less than a month until he had to face London alone for the bootcamp, and despite the sluggish, uncharacteristically hot summer that had descended over England and made time go by in slow motion, he still felt like he was running out of time.

On a particularly restless day, Harry listened to his impulse of the moment and logged online to buy a train ticket to Doncaster with no return date, packed his bag and called his mother on his way to the train station to say he was off to spend a few days in Donny and he wasn’t quite sure when he’d come back, but he would let her know. He felt restless, like his skin was too tight, and he itched for something to happen to him, anything to make the endless waiting feel a bit more manageable.

The walk to the station, which took him almost an hour and left him covered in sweat and what promised to be sunburns, did nothing to alleviate his jitters. The train ride only made it worse, the two hours of it feeling like an eternity and a half. Once in Doncaster, he began realising that no one was expecting him and that he had never had to navigate public transportation on his own. He knew Louis’ address and could map in his head where his neighbourhood was in relation to the station, but he’d never had to get there by himself. He’d also never showed up unannounced and he gulped, hoping it wouldn’t bother anyone.

To try and calm down, Harry wandered into a Costa to buy something to drink, hoping that a dose of caffeine might help him refocus. He was about to, perhaps, go live on his own in London, surely he could handle Doncaster. With that in mind, Harry took a deep breath and left the coffee shop to try and find a map. He found one at the other end of the station and spent almost ten minutes studying it, muttering to himself as he tried to understand the route he needed to take.

Once sure that he’d deciphered it, he bought a ticket and went outside to wait for the bus, shielding his eyes against the glaring, late afternoon sun reflected into the windows of the building on the other side of the street. He was so nervous about getting to Louis’ house alone that he was forgetting about his now baseline X-Factor-related anxiety, which was exactly what he’d sought when he jumped on a train without any warning.

He made it to Louis’ house in a little under an hour, having missed his connection twice because he was waiting on the wrong side of the street. The driveway was empty, but he could hear the telly playing through the open windows, so he knocked, bouncing his foot.

Félicité opened and frowned when she saw him. “Harry? What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a surprise!” he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. “I’m surprising Louis with a surprise visit.”

“Louis’ at work,” she replied, still frowning.

Seconds later, Charlotte’s voice sounded from within the house: “Fiz? Who’s there?”

“It’s Harry!” Félicité called over his shoulder, opening the door wider so Harry could see that Charlotte was poking her head out of the living room.

“Harry? Louis didn’t say you were coming?”

She approached the door, the twins on her heels, and Harry was momentarily overwhelmed by the number of siblings Louis had. It was daunting to face their quizzical, enquiring eyes all at once.

“I’m surprising him. I… I don’t know. I felt like seeing him. Is it a bad time?”

Félicité and Charlotte shared a look. “No, no, it’s not! Come in,” Charlotte finally said, motioning him inside.

Louis’ sisters parted to let him in and Harry stood in the hall, uncomfortably aware of how weird it was to be alone with them for the first time.

“When is he coming back from work?” Harry finally asked to break the silence endlessly stretching between them.

“In an hour and he’s bringing dinner, Mum’s working a double shift,” Phoebe recited.

Harry nodded. “Can I… do you mind if I take a shower? I’m gross from the train.”

“No, of course not,” Charlotte said, finally setting things in motion by leading him upstairs to the bathroom. “You know where everything is, so make yourself at home.” She paused in the doorway and hesitated. “Louis’ been packing for uni, just so you know. I… he said you were taking it hard, so… be ready to see boxes in his room.”

A pang seized Harry’s heart for a second, like a hand wrapping around it and squeezing, cutting his breath for a heartbeat before it receded. “Thanks, Lottie,” he managed to push out, forcing a smile or, rather, the approximation of one.

“I’ll let you shower, now,” she said before leaving Harry alone in the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Harry emerged from the steamy bathroom a while later, smelling of Louis’ products and immensely calmed by such a simple detail. He’d have to remember to buy the same ones when Louis would be gone so he would feel less lonely.

From the bathroom, he made his way to Louis’ room. He held his breath as he pushed the door, expecting to see it stripped down and bare, with everything wrapped up in boxes, but Charlotte had been exaggerating. There were boxes, yes, but nothing had been put in them, yet, which – Harry realised with a sigh of relief – was to be expected coming from Louis. Harry sat down on the bed, smoothing down the duvet with his hands and looking around with curious eyes. He’d never been truly alone in Louis’ room before, only brief instants whenever Louis had gone down to fetch something to eat or to use the loo, but never completely and never for long.

There was a framed picture on the nightstand and Harry picked it up, wiping a light layer of dust off the glass with a smile. It was a picture of the two of them taken after Louis’ opening night of Grease, arms thrown around each other and caught mid-laughter. For the first time, Harry noticed the way Louis was looking at him in the picture, his eyes soft and full of love. It was overwhelming to look at and he put the picture back on the nightstand, getting up to walk around the small room to let his eyes wander over the mess.

One of his sweaters was lying on top of a pile of Louis’ clothes and when Harry picked it up, he saw pyjama bottoms underneath. With a smile, Harry buried his nose in the sweater and inhaled, smelling Louis’ scent. It was time for a switch, he mused, saddened that he hadn’t brought Louis a new one.

There was a pamphlet for Louis’ new university lying on his desk and Harry picked it up, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he looked at the bright and happy faces of the students photographed in it, leisurely studying on the steps of an old building or sitting in a classroom. Louis had drawn moustaches and eye-patches on a few of them and it made Harry chuckle, made the knot of his stomach loosen slightly.

Hanging on the wall over the desk was a corkboard overflowing with pictures of Louis and his friends, a few of them two scattered amongst them. Louis had glued a couple of sticky notes in the shape of a snowman to the edge of the board that said ‘Haz July????’ and ‘Niall Horan’ followed by a phone number based, if Harry was right, in Ireland.

Harry heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, accompanied by Louis’ loud voice proclaiming he was just going to change before they sat down for dinner, so he sat on the bed and waited for Louis to find him, jittery with anticipation.

Louis didn’t notice him at first, making a beeline for his closet, but he froze halfway and slowly turned on his heels, his face going through several emotions in a row, from uncertainty to confusion, finally landing on surprise and unbridled happiness, his eyes crinkling from how hard he was smiling.

“Harry?!”

Harry waved, laughing. “Surprise!”

Louis closed the distance between them and pulled Harry into a tight hug, pressing his knee into the mattress to keep his balance as he leaned his weight into the hug, nearly crushing Harry.

“That’s a lovely surprise, Kitten,” Louis whispered in his ear, pulling back just enough to give Harry a kiss.

“I missed you,” Harry said against Louis’ lips instead of the thousand other reasons that had brought him there, choosing the simplest one for the moment.

Louis smiled and kissed him again. “Missed you, too. How long are you here for?”

“As long as you want me. I don’t have a return ticket,” Harry admitted, laughing. “It was a very spontaneous thing I did.”

“You mean my mum doesn’t know either? How did you get here?”

“I rode the bus,” Harry said, shrugging.

“Alone?”

“I figured it out, yes. I have to get used to doing that if I’m moving to London soon.”

Louis nodded and smiled, pecking Harry’s forehead and burying his nose in his curls. “I’m proud of you.” He giggled. “You smell like me, it’s odd. I don’t like it.”

“I love it, personally.”

Moving away to change out of his work uniform, Louis stuck out his tongue playfully. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and then held out his hand for Harry, who got up and took it, letting Louis lead him downstairs.

“I brought Maccies for dinner, you can have my burger, I’ll eat something else.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll make myself a toastie, as long as you share your chips I’m happy.”

“Is that all? You only need chips to be happy? And here I was working hard to be a good boyfriend!” Louis said, playing up the dramatics until Harry giggled and bumped their shoulders.

Dinner was a joyous affair, so much so that it had to be faked. Harry paid close attention to Louis through the meal, noticing how he worked hard to make sure the mood stayed high and light. The reason hit Harry hard, nearly choking him: Mark was gone and Louis was trying to fill the absence of the girls’ father, trying to make them forget that there should have been a father sitting at the table with them while their mother worked double shifts to make ends meet. It brought back a tidal wave of memories to the surface of Harry’s mind, some he thought he had forgotten forever. He could remember how wrong it had felt the first few months they were having dinner just the three of them, Gemma, his mother, and him, with his father’s chair empty. He remembered walking on eggshells around his mother, cautiously studying her moods and modelling his behaviour on them.

He remembered, then, the way Phoebe had seemed to be reciting something she’d been told hundreds of times and it left a bitter taste in his mouth to imagine Jay or Louis explaining to the twins what was going on and why they never saw their parents anymore. They would have to be explained why Louis was leaving, soon. The thought finished ruining Harry’s appetite and he abandoned his toastie on his plate, half-eaten. The hollow feeling in his chest, the one he’d tried running away from by coming to Doncaster, was back.

He tried to keep a smile on his face and conceal his anguish, but after they had put the twins to bed and bid Charlotte and Félicité goodnight, Louis expressed his worry.

“You look upset,” he said, his voice soft and careful, as he pulled Harry into his room and closed the door behind them.

“I suppose I am,” Harry mumbled with a dismissive shrug.

Gently, Louis sat him down on his bed and settled next to him. “Tell me?”

Harry swallowed around the permanent lump in his throat and sighed. “I don’t like change.” When Louis didn’t reply, Harry continued. “We’re about to change. Everything is about to change. I will lose you to London and you will lose me to that stupid show and nothing will ever be the same.”

“Hey, hey, what’s that, now? You’re not going to lose me, what’s this nonsense? Just because I’m going to uni doesn’t mean I’m getting rid of you!” His voice was coming out high and soft, and laced with concern.

“But you’ll meet an older bloke who’s more fit than I am and more clever and he’ll be living in your building and you’ll forget me.” Harry knew that was he was saying made no sense, that Louis loved him, but he couldn’t stop. His anxiety was getting the best of him. It had to come out, even if it made him sound crazy.

“Harry,” Louis snapped. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and held his gaze, eyes stern. “Harry Edward Styles. Shut up, now. You’re being completely mad. Do you honestly think I could ever forget you? That we have an expiration date? You’re my boy!” His expression softened. “You’re the love of my life. We’re soulmates, remember? You need to tell me when you think like that, I don’t like knowing you’re upset and scared.” Louis rubbed his arms. “I’m there for you and I always will be.”

Harry nodded. “I know you are, it’s just… I’m under a lot of stress, right now.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with that whole X-Factor thing? It’s really messing you up.”

“I’m sure, yes. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Did you? Because sometimes I feel like I’m the one who pushed you. I’ve been pushing you to try out since Disney World, remember? With the American Idol ride?”

Harry let out a small laugh. “I remember. I was too shy in front of you at the time to sing, though. I was still trying to impress you.”

“You didn’t have to try for that, you know, yeah? I was so impressed by you from the start. But, hm, yeah? You really want this for yourself?”

“I do, yes. There’s just many things happening at once in my life, it’s a bit overwhelming.” Harry took a deep breath to calm down, casting his eyes around the room to try and get a grip on the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. His gaze fell on the corkboard. “Who’s Niall Horan?” he asked.

“My roommate!” Louis perked up at the mention. “We’ve been assigned last week! And we’ve been texting a bit since and we decided we’d rent a flat rather than stay in a residence, y’know, like proper grownups! And it means I’ll have room for you when you’ll come visit.” Louis gave Harry an exaggerated wink. “He’s a great guy, the kind everyone gets along with, you know what I mean? You’ll love him and he said he wants to meet you because I talk about you so much.”

“Have you found a flat?”

“Not yet, I mean, London is bloody expensive, but we’ve found a couple places where it’s not too expensive, but it’s kind of far from campus, so we don’t know, yet. We just know we don’t want to live in a residence. Here, I’ll show you.”

Louis got settled next to Harry with his laptop and started showing up listings for flats and talking about his plans with that Niall bloke and Harry nodded and hummed at the right time, but his mind wasn’t there. He wished he were the one Louis was making plans with, not some Irish bloke who wouldn’t appreciate Louis the way Harry did. He’d probably get annoyed by the quirks Harry found so endearing. As much as he desired what The X-Factor promised to bring him, at the moment it felt more like a gilded prison awaiting him.

Despite Louis’ best efforts, Harry’s stay remained clouded with doubts and dark thoughts. He had thought that being near Louis would make it easier, but it only brought into sharper focus what he might lose in the near future. He stayed for five days, babysitting the twins whenever Louis had to go to work before spending the evening helping Louis pack his room, watching him store a lifetime of memories into a handful of boxes. Louis was cavalier about discarding things he didn’t want anymore and it only worsened Harry’s anxiety, making him fear that he might one day be one of the items Louis so carelessly got rid of when his purpose was passed.

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling, as his train was pulling out of the station and taking him away from Louis, that a chapter was ending. He didn’t think he’d ever go back to Doncaster to see Louis at his house; from now on, it would be London that he’d have to reach to see Louis. Louis wouldn’t be home in Doncaster anymore and he knew his boyfriend well enough to know that once he got out of Yorkshire, he’d never go back. He’d make London his home and take roots there, and it was up to the future to tell Harry whether he’d have room for him there or not.

-

The bootcamp was nothing like the auditions had been. It was pure concentrated stress mixed with pressure and the omnipresence of the cameras, always watching him and waiting to see if he would crack under the demands. Harry was the youngest by far; the contestant closest in age to him was in his early twenties, placing him roughly an ocean apart from Harry in terms of life experience and shared interests. The rhythm was hectic and the stakes high, wringing them all to the last of their sanity. Harry tried to make friends, but there was always the underlying knowledge that they were competing for spots on the show.

The day before Robin drove them to London, Louis called Harry excitedly to tell him he’d found a flat and that he’d be moving to London in two weeks, and Harry’s anxiety had gotten so bad that he rushed to the bathroom, feeling like he was going to be sick. He’d hidden it from Louis, forcing his voice to come out as happy as he could make it and then pretexting having to help his mother so he could hang up and crumble to the dank tiled floor, his heart racing and his mind in chaos.

In comparison to that moment, the low point of Harry’s summer by far, Harry felt oddly calm as he stood in front of the judges, awaiting their decisions. So calm, in fact, that when they told him he’d been selected, it took a few seconds for his brain to process the meaning of their words. A smile exploded on his face and he thanked them a thousand times before rushing offstage to call his parents and Louis, a mix of adrenaline and relief coursing through his veins.

There was only the judges’ house left to get through and he was soon informed that he’d be flown to Los Angeles to perform in front of the judge who took on performers in his age range. None of the friends he’d made, all relatively close in age to him, had gone through, making him the youngest in the ‘boys’ category by a whole six years.

Louis was, predictably, ecstatic to learn Harry had made it through to the final step before the actual show, but his happiness wavered when Harry had to cancel his first visit to London because of it. They rescheduled, but not without a hint of bitterness from Louis who admitted that he’d already planned the whole week and would have to move everything. He assured Harry that it was fine and that of course he should prioritise The X-Factor, that there was no question there, and that he couldn’t wait to see him and show him around his new city.

The trip to Los Angeles felt completely surreal. They were flown in first class and put into a five-star hotel, and Harry vowed to never get blasé about this lifestyle if it ever were to become his own. Being in another country meant that Harry couldn’t text Louis as much as he wished, especially since the production company made sure to keep them busy by showing them around the city when they were not rehearsing for their final performance. Cut as he was from communicating freely with Louis, Harry spent the first day feeling disconnected from himself and like half of him was missing. By the end of the second day, though, he was distraught to see that he had just as easily slipped into a rhythm where he didn’t talk constantly to Louis as he had started doing it in the first place, months ago. It was terrifying to see just how easily he could adapt to the absence of his boyfriend.

The verdict fell, but didn’t feel real: he was through. He was officially an X-Factor contestant and he would be moving into the house in September.

The news left him feeling numb despite his parents’ and Louis’ reactions once he told them.

He could picture himself standing on the edge of a cliff. Behind him was a house, its windows lit from within by a warm, yellow light and Harry knew that if he went inside of it, he would feel the comforting embrace of home and know he’d never have to worry. He’d get the reassuring presence of familiarity and the promise of a new school year, soon, and visits to London to see his boyfriend with a marriage a few years down the road. No alarms, no surprises, just an ordinary life like his parents and their parents and everyone down his family tree had ever lived.

Before him, beyond the edge of the cliff, down by the agitated sea, was the unknown, the glamourous promises of fame and the exhilaration to know he was, perhaps, a few months away from accomplishing his life-long dream. There was the sun-backed glitz of Los Angeles and the sleek glam of London, and everything every big city had to offer. The world could become his playground and he might never have to think about money another day in his life. He wouldn’t have to find a job or go to university and he could buy a house or two for him and Louis and their children to come.

The realisation came upon him like a wave, crashing over him and then receding softly, leaving him with the feeling of having been cleansed: Louis would be there, whether he pulled out of the show or went through with it. Louis was the only constant in his life and – he knew then – the only one he needed to push forward.

With a smile, he stepped off the edge and into the unknown.

-

“Harry!” Louis’ voice resonated above the chaos in the station. “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry!” he kept shouting as he ran through the crowds and crashed into him, hugging him and lifting him off the floor. “You’re here!”

Harry laughed and held Louis just as tightly. Around them, King’s Cross Station was an organized mayhem of commuters and tourists weaving around each other to get to their destination, but in their small bubble in the middle of it all, Harry felt at peace. Between the bootcamp, the judges’ house and Louis’ move to London, they hadn’t seen each other in almost two months, the longest they’d ever done and it had been A Mistake, capital letters and all.

“I saw an ad on telly for the show and you were in it! I saw you! I shouted so loud, Niall fell in the shower, he thought we were getting robbed!” Louis shouted, seemingly unable to lower the volume of his voice. “Come on, I’ve already got you a card for the Tube and I don’t live far, but we need to leave your stuff at my flat before we go out for dinner, I made reservations for tonight!”

Louis grabbed his wrist and pulled him along while Harry struggled to keep up and craned his neck around to take everything in. The crowd swallowed them up as they headed for the Underground, people pressing in around them and making him feel highly conscious of how big his bag was. He hadn’t packed everything, yet, his parents would bring the rest with them once they came down to London to get him settled inside the house. For the moment, he’d only brought what he needed to spend the week at Louis’, yet his bag felt bulky and cumbersome on the packed train. Louis kept him close with an arm around his waist and another holding on to a pole to stay up as the train rattled and jerked down the dark tunnel. It was Harry’s first time on the London Underground and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. This is Holloway Road. This is a Piccadilly line service to Cockfosters,” Louis spoke along with the announcement, grinning. “I’ll never get sick of this,” he said, “it’s just so bloody incredible to think that this is my life, now!”

“So you like living in London, then?” Harry asked, pushing his way out of the train to follow after Louis, grabbing his hand as soon as he could.

“Like? Haz, oh my god, I love it! It’s incredible! I am never living anywhere else! I mean, we live close to the university so we can walk pretty much everywhere and we’re close to everything and I can’t believe this is my life, Haz, I honestly can’t!”

Harry laughed and pecked Louis’ cheek, smiling. He had never seen Louis so enthusiastic in his life. “I’m so happy that you’re happy, love, it’s great. You’re making me a bit jealous, to be honest.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Please, Mister X-Factor, you’re not allowed to say things like that. You’re about to become a big pop star, you don’t get to be jealous!” Louis pinched his waist. “But it’s nothing to be jealous of. It’s fun now, but wait until I start having to study.” He grimaced. “And besides, it’s missing my favourite boy, so it’s not perfect.”

“You’re allowed to like it even if I’m not there. I won’t be sad.”

Louis bit his lip for a second before he exploded. “Okay, so it’s literally perfect! And I know you’ll move here with me as soon as you can, so I’m not even sad about it, y’know? Does that make sense?”

Harry nodded. “It does. We’re a constant in each other’s lives. We’ll always be there.”

“Exactly!” Louis shouted happily, pointing at Harry with sparkling eyes. “You’re the one thing that doesn’t change! Oh! We’re there, let me get my key!”

They turned from the main road unto a smaller street. One side of it was occupied by a large university pavilion while the other was lined with disparate buildings. Louis stopped at a door between two shops and took out his key, jiggling it in the lock for a few seconds before it slipped in and he could unlock.

“We’re on the second floor,” he explained as he started up a narrow staircase.

Harry pressed his hands to the walls as he climbed, a bit uncomfortable by how close they were. He felt like his shoulders were barely an inch from scraping on them. A smell like humidity and dust hung in the air and he involuntarily wrinkled his nose.

“It isn’t much,” Louis began, unlocking a second door at the top of the stairs, “But the location is priceless. I’m never more than five minutes away from my classes.” He pushed open the door. “Niall! We’re here!”

The living room – if it could be called that – was smaller than Harry’s bedroom back home. A ratty old couch and a television had been crammed at one end, with barely enough space between the arms of the couch and the walls for a person to pass. The couch had its back to the rest of the flat and the television was placed in front of the couch. Several video game consoles were plugged into it.

Closer to the door was a small wooden table with two chairs, strategically placed so that it was possible to watch telly while eating and Harry spun on his heels to see a cramped kitchen, too small for two people to be in it at once. The counters were covered in dirty plates and cereal boxes. From between the living room area and the kitchen, a short hallway emerged, with a door on each side and one at the end.

“My bedroom’s down to the right, Niall’s on the left, and at the end is the bathroom,” Louis explained, before raising his voice. “Niall!”

The door on the left opened and a boy walked out, giving Harry a bright smile and a wave.

“Hey! You must be Harry! I’m Niall!” he said, holding out his hand to shake Harry’s. He spoke in a thick Irish accent and he was smiling so kindly that Harry immediately liked him. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

Harry glanced at Louis and saw him beaming proudly. He wondered if Louis had trained Niall to be this polite, or if it was just his personality.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Niall,” Harry replied, shaking his hand heartily. “Thanks for letting me stay for the week. There’s isn’t much room, so I know how big of a deal it is.”

“Not at all! The more the merrier!” Niall said. “Louis said you cooked well, I might offer you to stay if he’s telling the truth.”

Harry laughed. “As much as I wish I could, I have plans next week.”

Louis snorted a laugh. “Plans. You make it sound like a dentist appointment.”

Harry stuck out his tongue and Louis mirrored him, causing Niall to laugh.

“Sickening, the both of you. I’ll be in my room,” he said, backing away.

“No, we’re leaving actually. I got us reservations for dinner, so we only need to get changed and then we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, dropping his bag on the floor and rubbing his sore shoulders. “Is it fancy? Because I didn’t really bring any fancy clothes.”

“Not too fancy. Just a clean shirt and trousers will do, I think,” Louis shrugged. “It’s a surprise, where I’m taking you.”

Louis grabbed Harry’s bag and led him to his bedroom, which managed to be almost smaller than his room back in Doncaster. There was room for a double bed, a desk and not much else. Closing the door behind them, Louis crossed the short distance between them to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck and press a long kiss to his lips.

“I hadn’t had my kiss, yet. That’s unacceptable.”

Smiling, Harry returned the kiss, placing his hands on Louis’ waist. “Better?”

“Not quite. You’ll have to be really good tonight to make up for it.”

With a small laugh, Harry kissed Louis’ nose. “I’ll try.”

“Good boy.” Louis slapped his bum. “Now get changed.”

After slipping into the nicest clothes he’d brought and watching Louis do the same, they headed out for the restaurant. They couldn’t have spent more than twenty minutes at Louis’ flat, but already, the rush hour crowd was thinning and Harry managed to find a seat on the train. He let out a loud peel of laughter when Louis sat in his lap, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle and resting his forehead against his back.

Harry had a thousand things to tell him, but he kept quiet. He was unsure where to start as well as hyper-aware that it was slowly becoming a problem, this thing of is where he did not know how to tell Louis what he had to, skimming to the surface in their conversations rather than admitting what troubled him. He lied to himself and said he’d tell Louis at the restaurant while knowing he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t bring up his growing anxiety problems or how jealous he was of Louis’ new, adult life during a romantic dinner, just like he wouldn’t tell Louis that he hadn’t had a full night of sleep in weeks because of the stress The X-Factor was causing him when they went back to his flat. It’d be simpler to talk song choices and outfits. It was less likely that he would cry.

“Covent Garden, hm?” Harry commented as they exited the station, hands entwined. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Just take notes and give it all back to me once you’re rich and famous,” Louis replied with a wink.

“And if I’m never rich and famous?”

Louis smirked. “You think I’ll still talk to you if you lose?” He cast a quick glance at Harry and continued when he saw that Harry was smiling. “I don’t date losers, sorry.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m glad you were honest with me. It’ll save us a lot of awkward moments in the future,” Harry replied in a deadpan, a smile cracking at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, it’s good that we’re so honest, it’s healthy.”

“Can you imagine, though,” Harry began, smiling at last, “if the show was like that book, The Hunger Games, have you read it?”

Louis burst out laughing, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Could you kill people? If your life depended on it? I think I could.”

“I know you could. I’m not sure if I could.”

“I’d protect you,” Louis immediately replied. “We’d team up like they did and we’d conquer because love conquers all.”

“Love doesn’t conquer all. Have you read the sequels?”

“So what, you think Katniss should have killed Peeta to win?”

“No, I’m just saying, they didn’t win. No one did, in the end.”

“You’re chipper tonight, aren’t you?” Louis grimaced. “Is something the matter?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, sorry, I’m just hungry,” he replied, biting his cheek in anger to have missed a good opportunity to be honest.

“Well, cheer up because it’s right there.” Louis pointed at a restaurant with red awnings. “Clos Maggiore. Apparently, it’s very romantic,” he added, a bit self-conscious.

‘Apparently, it’s very romantic’ would turn out to be the understatement of the year, because as they were led through the main room of the restaurant into the conservatory, Harry’s heart skipped a beat. The ceiling and the walls were hung with leaves and white blossoms with fairy lights interwoven through them. A fireplace occupied the back wall and a fire was roaring inside of it, casting long, dancing shadows around the room. It was still light outside, but the conservatory was so cosy and dim that Harry immediately felt like it was the middle of the night. They were seated at a table near the back and Harry hurried to take the seat that gave him a good view of the fireplace and the rest of the room.

As soon as they were seated, Harry reached across the table for Louis’ hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Lou. This place is beautiful.”

Louis smiled at him, eyes crinkled. “The fairy lights make your eyes twinkle. I can’t believe you’re real.”

The comment was so earnest, so heartfelt, that Harry let out a giggle and looked down, bashful around Louis for the first time in months.

“You’re such a good boyfriend, sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you,” Harry began, feeling a flow of words coming on and not knowing how to stop it. “You do all of these amazing, romantic things for me and I never do anything in return. I can’t believe you still put up with me, it’s just insane.”

A cloud passed over Louis’ mood and his eyes darkened. “Harry, let me be the judge of who deserves me and who doesn’t, yeah?” He shook his head. “You’re overthinking this, you’re letting your anxiety get the best of you.”

Harry was startled to see that Louis had noticed he was struggling more and more with anxious bouts. He gulped and let him continue.

“I’m not doing what I do because I expect the same from you, but because I love making you smile. You say you’ve never done anything for me, but, love, look around. We’re in London because I live there. I wasn’t even planning to go to uni before I met you. I never told you that, did I? But you made me feel like I was worth something, love. And the way you just go after what you want… it’s inspiring. It’s made me want to be a better person just so I could deserve to stand next to you. You burn so bright, Harry, and we’re all just glad to be allowed to live in your shadow.”

Breathless, speechless, his heart hammering in his chest, Harry stared at Louis for a moment. Here was the boy he’d always looked up to telling him that he was inspiring and that he’d changed his life.

“I had no idea…” Harry reached for his glass of water and took a long sip, his throat parched. “But you don’t live in my shadow, Louis. You burn just as bright.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “That’s sweet, but I don’t. By some sort of miracle, you haven’t noticed yet that I’m a deadbeat dirtbag, but believe me, I am not what you think I am.”

The waiter neared their table to take their orders, but left without a word when he saw that their menus were still untouched. Harry squeezed Louis’ hand tighter.

“You’re not a deadbeat dirtbag. You’re… you have the biggest, most selfless heart I’ve ever seen in anyone in my entire life. The way you take care of your sisters, it’s incredible. And the way you take care of me, always putting me first.”

Louis gave him a small, wavering smile. “All right, so… let’s agree that we both deserve each other, yeah? And order? Because I’m famished.”

Their conversations lightened after they received their first course and some of their hunger receded. Louis ordered wine and winked at Harry when he was about to protest that he’s not 18 yet, and by the time they had scraped the last of their dessert off the plate, Harry felt warm and happy.

“Do you want to walk for a bit?” Louis offered after they’d mildly bickered for the check, deciding to go Dutch when they’d seen the amount printed on it.

They wandered down the streets, hand in hand, until they reached the Thames, and from there they walked longer still, talking and making plans for their future, crazy plans like living on a deserted island together and more realistic ones, discussing numbers of children and locations for the wedding, until the moon was high in the sky and their feet were sore.

Back at the flat, they tiptoed to Louis’ room and locked the door, falling on the bed in a tumble of limbs. They kissed and kissed and kissed, taking their time to explore their bodies, relearning every angle and curve, and by the time Louis pushed inside of Harry, the two of them were shaking with desire and love and, for the first time in weeks, Harry’s anxiety had completely disappeared.

-

By the fifth day of his stay, Harry was glad that he’d packed a comfortable pair of trainers. Louis kept them out of the flat at all times, taking Harry on a tour of the most touristic spots London had to offer. Nothing was left unvisited: from the London Bridge to the Tower of London, with an unexplainable visit to The Globe despite their mutual disinterest for Shakespeare. Louis only skipped the museums, saying that he wasn’t a fan of them and didn’t really care for old paintings. Harry found the time to get a tattoo impulsively, watching in amazement as Louis sweet-talked the artist into letting Harry get one despite being a minor. He chose the outline of a star and clung to Louis’ hand as he watched the artist tattoo the inside of his bicep, grinning to feel so wild and young and free. They had tea in a quaint teashop near Hyde Park, where they then went for a stroll, and had a picnic in St James Park before visiting Buckingham Palace, where Harry snapped a priceless picture of Louis mimicking a guard.

It was only one amongst close to a thousand pictures that they took between the two of them. Wordlessly, they shared the same plan to immortalize the other as much as they could before they were separated by the diverging roads their lives were taking. Despite living in the same city starting next week, they knew they wouldn’t see each other much, if at all. Harry did not yet know how cloistered he’d be inside the house, but he didn’t expect he’d be allowed to pop out for a quick visit to his boyfriend once he’d been locked in. They were making memories and, at times, it almost felt too much, over the top, ridiculous.

The day before Harry’s parents were coming down to London to get him settled, they’d finally admitted that they were exhausted and needed a quiet day, so Louis offered they go for a stroll in Kensington Gardens and take a nap in the shade.

Harry had expectations about Kensington, knew it was one of the poshest areas of London, but it didn’t prepare him for the immediate and bone-deep love he felt at the first sight of the tall, rust-coloured houses lining Kensington Court. Everything about the neighbourhood had charmed him, but there was something about the row of houses on that particular street, standing straight like soldiers in attention and looking like they’d been taken out of postcards that tickled his fancy.

“If I ever get rich,” Harry said, craning his neck to look all around them, “I’m going to live in one of these houses.”

“Of course you will, posh boy,” Louis said, snorting a laugh. “You want a house with a view of Queen Victoria’s palace, don’t you?” Louis added, putting on his best approximation of a posh accent.

“Why not?” Harry giggled. “Wouldn’t it be grand to live here?”

“Oh, ‘grand’, your vocabulary’s already changing, old chap,” Louis continued in the accent, grinning.

“Fine, you’re not invited. I’ll live in my grand house here and you won’t be allowed inside,” Harry said with a laugh.

“But who’s going to cover you in kisses, if I can’t come in?”

Harry put on a mock thinking face. “I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose you could come in, but you wouldn’t be allowed to enjoy it.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter. “Deal. As long as I get to be with you, I can pretend that I hate your posh house.”

Harry threw his arms around Louis’ shoulders and smacked a kiss on his cheek, grinning when Louis giggled and leaned into him. They made their way to the park like that, half-crab crawling and half-shuffling so they wouldn’t have to stop being wrapped up in each other.

They walked around the park for a while, searching for the perfect spot, and after half an hour they finally found it, nestled between flower beds and trees. The grass was dappled with flecks of golden sunlight, the breeze was just right, and when they lay down, still wrapped up in each other, they were lulled to sleep by birdsongs and distant laughter.

Waking up a while later, neither of them bothering to check how long they’d slept, they lazily made their way back to the Tube station, arms around waists and debating dinner options, skirting impending arguments with well-timed kisses. The consensus was to order takeout and Louis pulled out his laptop once they reached his empty apartment, Harry sitting close to him and kissing his jaw every time Louis spoke.

With the food ordered, they turned on the telly and distractedly watched it, exchanging kisses and gentle, reverent strokes that left Harry feeling dizzy with happiness.

Their curry arrived and they made the effort to move to the table to eat it, and while they discussed with their usual enthusiasm, the topics they chose stayed mundane. The shadow of their separation loomed too big, too dark over them for them to think about it, let alone address it.

Once the dishes had been cleared away – and Louis’ definition of that was to pile them in the sink on top of what was already there – a heavy, uncomfortable silence descended between them. The first they’d had since they met, it seemed to Harry, and it made his stomach twist up uncomfortably.

“So…” Louis said, clearing his throat. “What do you want to do?”

Harry looked at Louis, at that boy he’d met a little under a year earlier, and he felt a surge of affection and love for him. Behind the bravado and snark, Louis was just as overwhelmed by their love as Harry was, he could see it plain as day in his eyes as he watched Louis watching him. It physically hurt him to think about it, made his chest feel too small and his heart beat faster like it was trying to squeeze more beats into the little time they had left together. And it still looked like the same Louis he’d met all those months ago, but little details had changed, so minute he hadn’t noticed them appearing, but that became obvious when he looked at the whole picture. Louis’ cheeks now showed the patchy beginnings of a beard, which promised to be full before he turned 20; he was leaner than he had been when they’d met, but despite his narrow chest and frail wrist, he looked stronger, older. Harry had met a teenager, but now he was looking at a young man.

Louis shook his head to the side, nervously adjusting his fringe under the scrutiny. “Hm, Haz? Say something, please.” His voice was barely above a breath.

“You,” Harry replied, standing up and getting closer to Louis. “I want to do you.”

A shiver shook Louis and his eyes flicked up to lock with Harry’s. He had grown since they’d met, just enough for Louis to need to look up when they were close enough for their heartbeats to mingle. For a second, a breath, Louis looked lost for words, but blinked and it was gone, the uncertainty replaced by the fire of lust in his eyes.

“You want to take me while I’m still enough for you, rock star?” he asked, coyly and with batting eyelashes.

“I’m not a rockstar, yet,” Harry replied, latching unto that part of Louis’ question, knowing that he’d lose control as soon as he let himself consider the rest of it.

“But you will be.” Louis closed the distance between them to kiss Harry’s lips. “And—”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted him with another kiss. “Don’t finish that sentence. It won’t happen. I’ll always want you. You’re the one for me.”

“You’re my ecstasy, you’re the one I need…” Louis hummed under his breath, prompting Harry to pinch his waist.

“Stop it. I’m serious. I’m not going to find a new boyfriend just because I might become famous. I don’t want anyone else, I only want you. For the rest of my life. Unless…”

“No,” Louis snapped. “I won’t be the one to end it between us. Never.”

Harry gulped and nodded. “So, stop talking like tonight is our last night together.”

With a long sigh that seemed to come from deep within him, Louis rubbed his face. “I know, I just—things are about to change and it’s scary. And I’m trying to keep it together to reassure you, but I’m actually terrified. I can’t lose you, Haz.”

“You won’t lose me! I promise—Louis, look at me. I promise that you won’t lose me.”

Louis nodded, hooking his arms around Harry’s neck and he kept nodding as he leaned in for a kiss, pressing his body against Harry’s. Out of reflex, Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis’ waist and he pulled him closer, holding him tight enough that it felt like he was trying to fuse their bodies together.

“I want what you want,” Louis whispered, bumping their noses together. “I want you to make love to me.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat before it started beating wildly and it was his turn to nod emphatically as he started walking Louis backwards towards his room. “But not because it’s the last time I’ll want you, okay? I’ll always want you.”

They had reached Louis’ room and at Harry’s words, Louis moved away to close the door, and Harry suspected he needed a second to hide his face before he could reply. He wished he knew how to show Louis he wasn’t going to get rid of him as soon as he had better options, but he could hardly believe Louis wouldn’t do exactly the same thing to him; it was hard to come up with arguments for something he feared, too.

Before Harry could find something to say, Louis closed in on him and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off Harry and throwing it on the floor. He pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest.

“I’ll always want you,” he said, his hands roaming over Harry’s warm skin. “You’re growing up so fast, you look more like a man every time I see you,” he continued, pressing kisses up the column of Harry’s neck and along his jaw.

Smiling, Harry pulled on Louis’ shirt until he took it off, pausing while Louis removed his glasses so they wouldn’t get stuck. All the while, Louis kept peppering his skin with kisses and showering him with compliments that made Harry’s heart flutter wildly. Letting Louis speak, too speechless to reply in kind, Harry let his hands caress every inch of Louis’ skin, stepping into his space and pressing their foreheads together while he listened to Louis’ babbling about every part of Harry he loved.

They made it to the bed, climbing on it in a tangle of limbs, giggles and kisses mingling together as they fell from their lips, and there were a few minutes of fumbling as they removed their clothes and tried to find a position they were comfortable in. Louis’ mattress was lumpy and Harry made a show of complaining about it, squirming around on his back until he found the right spot. He pulled Louis to him and pressed a long, insistent kiss on his lips, pulling and pulling until Louis finally climbed on top of him, lining them up from head to toe, and still they were kissing and stroking the other’s skin, touching like it was holy.

Their hips rolled together in almost perfect synchronicity. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis and pressed his hands flat against his shoulder blades, digging in his nails and smiling to hear Louis let out a sharp exhale and a high-pitched whine.

“H-how?” Harry choked out, the word getting trapped in the way Louis’ cock felt as it rubbed against his hip, hard and hot and it flooded Harry’s mind with the sudden desire to let Louis take him like they always did, to be filled and surrounded by Louis and have his whole world narrowed down to nothing but Louis, Louis, Louis.

Louis answered, “You on top. On my back,” and the desperation in his voice, the need and want, flushed the ideas out of Harry’s head at once.

He flipped them over, trapping Louis between his body and the mattress, and he relished the mewl that Louis released and the way his body undulated beneath Harry. Louis wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, pulling him even closer and pressing their cocks between their bellies, which drew moans from both of them.

“You need to finger me,” Louis breathed out, flinging out an arm towards his nightstand. He tried, unsuccessfully, to open the top drawer a couple of time before Harry reached out and did it, retrieving what Louis had sought and sitting back on his heels. He looked down at Louis. “You know how, right?”

“I’ve felt you do it to me, yeah.”

“But you’ve done it to yourself?”

Harry shook his head. “The angle’s odd. It didn’t feel good.”

Louis rolled his eyes fondly. “Well, I have to myself so I know what to expect. Except…” He took hold of Harry’s hand, studying it. “Your fingers are bigger and longer than mine. That’ll be fun!” He sounded thrilled. “Start by coating your fingers with lube, yeah? At least three of them, the middle ones,” Louis explained, holding up his three middle fingers. “Be generous, you can’t use too much.”

Harry did as he was told, grimacing when he spilled some on his thighs. “And now?”

“Hm, let me think,” Louis said, frowning for a second. “For that part, I think it’ll be easier for you if you see what you’re doing. Hold on.” Louis wiggled out from underneath Harry and turned so he was on all fours, his bum sticking out in the air. “Better, yeah?”

Harry swallowed. Louis was spread in front of him, hiding nothing and feeling no shame for it. He put a hand to Louis’ cheek, squeezing it until Louis let out a small noise and a laugh.

“Enjoying the view?” Louis asked, twisting his upper body so he could look back at Harry. With a smirk, he used both of his hands to spread his cheeks apart. “And now?”

Any reply Harry might have had died in his throat at the sight. Hesitantly, he pressed a finger to Louis’ pink hole and watched in amazement as it fluttered under the touch. Louis let out a deep sigh and a hum, so Harry kept pressing his finger until it breached in, drawing a surprised moan from the both of them.

The first finger took a while, Louis repeating constantly to go slower, but once it was in, he demanded that Harry start moving it, asking for a faster rhythm whenever Harry faltered for a second. Within minutes he was begging for more and Harry carefully slipped in a second finger, watching them disappear inside of Louis in amazement.

“Curl them a bit, just…” Louis’ words were interrupted by a loud moan when Harry’s fingers hit his prostate – by accident, to be honest – and his body jolted under the sensation. “Y-yes, right there! Again!”

Harry curled his fingers as he pulled them out before pushing back in, doing it again and again. He watched Louis unravel beneath him, his hands gripping the pillow he’d place under his head and moans like Harry had never heard spilling from his lips.

“Another,” Louis begged, “please.”

Harry obeyed immediately, his cock twitching where it hung hard and heavy between his legs when he saw the way Louis’ rim was stretched and bright red around his fingers. Louis let out a long-drawn moan, his breath stuttering as Harry pushed in and then pulled out, remembering to curl his fingers to hit Louis’ prostate.

He only had to move three times before Louis was crawling out of reach and flipping on his back, beckoning Harry closer and grabbing him by the back of the head for a kiss. “Fuck me, now. I need you in me,” he said against Harry’s lips.

Harry searched the bed blindly for the box of condoms and he fumbled with it to take one out, only to be stopped when Louis grabbed the box and threw it away from them.

“Skip the condom,” Louis said in between kisses. “We don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

Harry pulled back to look at him, frowning. “Are you sure?”

Holding his gaze, Louis nodded. “I’m sure. We’re both each other’s first. We’re clean.”

Nodding, Harry grabbed the bottle of lubricant instead and smeared some in his hands before coating his cock, biting his lip against moans as he did so. Once he felt he’d put on enough, Harry climbed over Louis and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Ready?”

“When you are, love,” Louis replied, his voice soft despite his heaving breath.

Slowly, carefully, Harry lined himself up against Louis’ entrance and began pushing in, stopping when he heard Louis gasp in shock.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just—wow, you’re bigger than I was expecting. Keep going.”

So Harry did, pushing in as slowly as he could, fighting the spasms of his hips at the tight, tight heat engulfing him. He pushed in, inch by inch, until their hips were pressed together and he was worried Louis had completely stopped breathing.

“It gets better,” Harry whispered, bowing his head to kiss Louis softly. “The first thrust is the worst.”

Louis nodded, lips pressed tight and eyes watering. He let out a shaky exhale and shifted his hips minutely, testing. “Go,” he said in a breath. “Slow.”

Harry pulled out as slowly as he could, shaking with restraint, and stopped when only the tip of his cock was still inside Louis. He locked eyes with him and waited for Louis to nod before thrusting back in. Louis let out a long, drawn out mewl that ended in a breathless laugh.

“Good?” Harry asked. He was vaguely conscious that his hips were twitching, shallowly thrusting forward.

“Yes, yes, keep going, stop asking questions!” Louis let out in a shrill voice.

So Harry kept going, building up a rhythm that was increasingly fast as Louis dissolved beneath him, turning into a mess of half-sentences and loud, loud, loud moans. Harry had been worried that he wouldn’t know how to do it properly, but his body took over and he let his mind shut down, his head blissfully empty except for the way Louis felt under and around him, and how he wished he could stay like this forever.

Louis was clawing at his back, his nails scratching the skin, sure to leave marks, and the bed was creaking, and Harry was covered in sweat, shaking with exertion and fatigue, sounds and words spilling out of his mouth without him realising, and he could feel his orgasm building at the bottom of his spine, feel the familiar tug and everything inside of him getting tighter, high-strung.

Louis moved a hand up the nape of Harry’s neck to bury it in his curls and tugged on them, forcing Harry to lock eyes with him.

“I love you,” Louis said.

Harry’s rhythm faltered and his heart thumped in his chest, and before he could try to hold it in longer he was coming, spilling inside of Louis, hips stuttering and a long, low moan falling out of his mouth.

Louis let out a gasp of surprise. “Shit, I can feel every spurt!” he commented, his usual lack of filter making Harry laugh before he collapsed on top of Louis.

Louis cradled him against his chest as he shook in the aftermath, stroking his back soothingly. After a few minutes, Harry tried to pull out, but Louis wrapped his legs tighter around him with a whine.

“No, no, no, stay in. I want to come with you in me,” he pleaded, rolling his hips against Harry’s, pushing him deeper inside.

“I can’t come again, Lou,” Harry said, worry lacing his voice. “And soon it’ll hurt…”

“Then hurry up and make me come.”

Harry rolled his eyes and snaked a hand between them to wrap it around Louis’ length, smiling to hear him let out an appreciative mewl. He pumped him fast, his hand slippery with precome and leftover lube, while Louis clenched around Harry’s cock and moaned louder and louder until his voice broke in a high-pitched noise and he came, grinding wildly against Harry’s hips, his back arched off the bed, and gripping the sheets tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Waiting for Louis to come down and relax, his eyes fluttering shut with a satisfied smile on his face, Harry slipped out of him and rolled on his back, landing on one of the mattress’ lumps. He grimaced and shifted closer to Louis, who blindly searched for his hand and entwined their fingers.

For a while, the room was only filled with the sound of their panting breaths and the faraway, distant noises of traffic reaching them from beyond the open window.

“I love you, too,” Harry replied, belatedly.

Louis squeezed his hand. “Haz, guess what?”

“What?”

“I think I’m a bottom,” Louis said, his voice breaking into giggles. “I loved it way more than when I top.”

“Your moans gave it away. I think there’s some people three blocks over who must have heard.” Harry turned his head to grin at Louis, laughing when he saw the offended look on his face.

“I was trying to encourage you! Sorry for being a good, supportive boyfriend!” he squawked before laughing again, curling up into Harry’s side and resting his head on his chest. “Did you like it?”

“The same as the other way around. But if you want to bottom more often, I won’t mind.”

Louis shrugged. “We can share that. I’m quite versatile.” He laughed, quiet and to himself. “Hey, Haz. Guess what?”

“What?”

“Your come’s dripping out of my arse.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s disgusting!”

“That’s yours! It’s your fault!” Louis kept laughing, giddy and brimming with happiness. “Do you want to shower with me, dirty boy?”

“I’m not the dirty one, you are,” Harry replied, sticking out his tongue.

“Keep talking like that, Styles, and I’ll smear it all over your face.”

With a squawk, Harry jumped off the bed and raced to the bathroom, Louis on his heels and slapping his bum repeatedly as he fumbled with the bathroom’s doorknob.

Later, much later, their minutes left together slipping through their fingers like sand, when they were cuddled in bed and trying to pay attention to the movie playing on Louis’ laptop, Louis reached for Harry’s hand and squeezed it tight enough for it to hurt.

“I don’t want you to leave tomorrow,” he said in a low voice, barely above a breath. “I want to be selfish and tell you to stay with me.”

“I would,” Harry replied, entwining their fingers.

“I know. That’s why I would never ask.” He brought Harry’s hand up to his lips and kissed it, sighing as he brought it back down.

Louis freed his hand and took Harry’s left hand, his thumb stroking the turquoise ring he had given him for his birthday. Wordlessly, he pulled it off Harry’s index finger and slipped it on his ring finger. He glanced up at Harry.

“I would do that, too,” Harry said, voice tight in his throat.

Louis nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips before resting their foreheads together. “It’s just another goodbye, isn’t it? You and I, we know how to say goodbye. That's what we're best at. We've got loads of practice."

“It doesn’t make it easier.”

“Nothing ever will, Kitten.”

Something snapped inside of Harry, giving him a sense of urgency, like it was important that he said everything he had to before it was too late, a kind of foreboding sense that it was his last chance.

“Lou,” he said, almost frantic. “I’ve never told you that, but you’re… you’re my prince charming, you know that, hm? It’s like I met you in a fairy tale, with Disney World and all. Things like us don’t happen in real life.”

Louis’ smile was immeasurably soft. “I know you, I’ve walked with you once upon a dream,” he hummed, stroking Harry’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. “If I’m your prince charming, it means we’ll have a happy ending, yeah? So everything will be fine. We’ll be okay, I know it. I will always love you.”

“I’ll always love you, too. I promise. No matter what happens, I will always love you.”

Louis ran his hand through Harry’s hair and kissed his forehead. “Nothing will happen. We’ll be just fine.”

Harry nodded, but still the feeling lingered, a dark cloud swarming inside him, casting its shadow over everything.

-

From the moment Harry left Louis’ flat to get into his parents’ car and drive to the X-Factor house, it was like he’d been sucked into a hurricane. Time lost its meaning, days blending into each other until they turned into weeks and then months, with the weekly live shows breaking the monotony of life inside the house with peaks of what life would be like as a celebrity.

Harry was popular with the public from the start, but he had seen it coming. Without bragging, he knew what he looked like and he also knew that he was already being aggressively sold to the younger viewers. He could feel the way his image was being softly moulded, gently prodded towards this picture of the perfect, well-bred boy-next-door. The clothes they picked for him, while not far from what he would normally wear, emphasised the idea that he was just a regular boy, really.

He felt like a Barbie doll in the hands of an ambitious child, living the perfect rise to fame. Because he was rising, every week placing at the top of the contestants, never once facing elimination. The audience screamed the loudest for him and he knew from the few phone calls he’d had with his mother and Louis that his name was the one that stood out the most in headlines about the show. He was rising up, up, up and by the beginning of December, it had started sinking in that he might actually win the contest and become a star.

Despite how busy they were kept and the nearly debilitating anxiety and pressure he felt every waking hour because of the show and its demands, despite how much he missed Louis, feeling like every breath he took without him was ripping his heart out anew, the downtimes were the worst. Whenever he had a moment to himself, everything came crashing down on him, trapping him inside his own head, reminding him how alone he truly was. He’d made friends in the house, but their numbers had dwindled with the passing weeks until he was left alone with people he shared no affinities with except the surreal experience of being sequestered in a fancy North London house. He had no one by his side to eleviate the suffocating feeling of being caged up and the panic of what it meant if he won.

The only redemption he had were the video diaries he made. It reminded him of his YouTube channel and it was a hint of normalcy in the crazy life he now led. He loved the direct contact with his fans it gave him and it was the only place where he was allowed to be truly himself. The response to them was crazy and Louis loved to text him the GIFs people made of their favourite moments. There were blogs dedicated to him, Louis explained, and he promised to show Harry once he was out of the house. For the moment, Harry focused on Twitter, watching in amazement as his fanbase grew daily on the platform, working on promoting him better than the show’s team ever could.

He had his first real taste of fame when he went back home for a visit, the thing turned into a show with people he’d grown up with swarming him and hysterically telling the cameras how much they loved him, and with people coming from all over the country and filling the streets of his village in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. It was heart-warming to see the support of his neighbours and the people he’d known all his life and nothing would beat the warmth he felt when he saw the pride in his mother’s eyes, but the experience left him feeling profoundly uncomfortable. He’d asked Louis if he might be able to accompany him to Cheshire, but university was getting the best of him, his decision to forego drama for accounting finally catching up with him.

And then Harry won.

The words made no sense, at first, even as the crowd exploded and blinding lights were turned on him. Confetti fell from the ceiling and the other finalist jumped on him, hugging him tightly, and still Harry couldn’t comprehend. He looked around, bewildered, as things seemed to happen in slow motion. A microphone was shoved in his face and he stuttered an answer, something generic that his brain supplied to him automatically, and then he blinked and smiled his winsome smile because that’s what he knew he had to do.

He made his way backstage with the help of a wave of bodies carrying him there. He was pulled into a rib-crushing hug by his mother and he collapsed against her, clinging to her as tightly as his arms would let him, shaking as slowly, the news sank in.

“I won, didn’t I?” he asked, uncertain.

“Yes, love. You won.” She stroked the back of his head almost frantically, lulling him from side to side. “I’m so proud of you, Harry.”

“Is Louis here?” He moved out of her arms, looking around with a frown.

Her face crumbled. “He really wanted to come, but he couldn’t get off work. He begged and begged, but they threatened to fire him. He’s really sorry.”

Something inside Harry shattered. It felt it give out, could picture the way the cracks spread like spider webs. He took a deep breath and a deeper exhale, trying to push out everything negative he felt with it. It meant nothing. It happened.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll see him soon enough.”

Anne nodded and smiled encouragingly. “He can’t wait to see you.” She hugged him again and he let her, resting his head on her shoulder and breathing in her scent, her perfume smelling so much of home that he nearly choked on the knot in his throat.

“Harry,” a woman said and Harry straightened up to smile at her, “you’ve got to give an interview about winning, I’ll get you ready, come with me.”

He looked at his mother and she shooed him away with a wink and a smile. The woman led him to his dressing room and sat him in a chair, saying they’d touch up his hair and makeup before he was on. As he waited, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and swiped to read the message Louis had sent him.

Haz baby love of my life. I’m so sorry I tried to get off work for the show tonight I swear I did but my boss is a cunt and he wouldn’t let me he said I’d lose my job if I didn’t show tonight and I need the job to pay for everything I’m so sorry so so so sorry. ur mum said wed go for dinner to celebrate or comfort you (hoping for celebrate!) and I will DEFINATELY be there I promise love.

Harry sighed, his anger feeling foolish at once. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and texted back ‘It’s okay. I won, btw. I love you’ before smiling at the hairdresser when she came in.

His mobile buzzed in his hand and he looked at it.

“I won btw” HAROLD EDWARD STYLES I WILL KILL YOU S2G. CONGRATS KITTEN ID CALL U BUT I’M HIDING AT WORK. TTYL PROMISED.

Harry squinted at the message, barely recognising the way Louis texted. He’d seen the changes come in the past weeks and could tell that it was the effect of his new friends on him – notably the inclusion of the word ‘cunt’ into his vocabulary, which he blamed on Niall – but it had the result of making Harry feel like he was texting a complete stranger.

He sighed and put his phone away, closing his eyes as various brushes were being swiped on his face.

-

Harry looked up, and up, and up, at the building in front of him. He didn’t dare stop for too long in fear of being swept away by the early morning pedestrian traffic. He stepped out of the crowd and up the stairs, pushing open the doors to the building. He felt odd in his clothes, the suit was too formal and ill-fitting, but he blended in well with the corporate London crowd that filled the streets and then the lobby he had just entered.

He put a hand to his collarbone, pressing down until the tender skin of the hickey he had there hurt. It grounded him, reminded him that he was not alone in this. He checked his phone, rereading the message his mother had sent him telling him she’d be waiting for him in the office they were expected, and he hurried to the elevator, his dress shoes slipping on the marble floor.

The elevator climbed up, the numbers above the door going by at an alarming speed, and Harry’s ears popped before he had reached his floor. He checked his hair in the mirrored wall opposite the doors before they opened and then he walked out, his feet sinking into the lush carpet that covered the floor from wall to wall.

As she’d promised, his mother was waiting for him down the hall and he hurried to hug her and kiss her cheek.

“Did you have a good night?” she asked with a smirk and Harry blushed, knowing he had bags the size of Belgium under his eyes.

“It was short,” he replied with a chuckle. “Louis says hi, by the way.”

She hooked her arm with his. “Ready to sign away your soul?”

“No,” he said with a laugh before walking them inside.

They were led to a conference room in the middle of which a table long enough to comfortably sit at least twenty people stretched. It was made of a dark wood that must have cost a fortune, and the walls that weren’t floor-to-ceiling windows were covered with artworks. Harry took a seat, turning slightly from side to side on the swanky spinning chair.

It had only been two days since he won the show and it still didn’t feel real. He and Louis had raided the magazine section of the Tesco’s near his flat and bought every single one that had something about Harry inside and they’d spent the evening cutting out the articles and gluing them in a notebook, and still it didn’t feel real. Harry had signed autographs on the Tube that very morning and, still, it didn’t feel real.

But sitting in that room, waiting for the man who would be his manager to come in and make him sign papers, it was slowly sinking in. He was sitting in the nicest office he’d ever visited, he’d been treated like royalty by the receptionist, he’d be meeting a label to sign a record deal later in the day, and everything was moving so fast that it dizzied him.

“Are you nervous?” Anne asked, stroking his hand.

“Not really? It doesn’t feel like it’s my life.”

She smiled. “Well, it is. And you deserve everything that’s about to come your way, love. You’ve worked so hard.”

He chuckled. “Not really. I woke up early for a few auditions and then I just kept singing whenever they asked me until I won.”

“But you didn’t wake up one morning with singing abilities. You worked for them. And it took courage to get on the show and go through with it. Don’t underestimate what you’ve done.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m pretty amazing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can we aim for the middle? In between deprecation and boasting?”

Harry stuck out his tongue. “I’ll try.” He took a sip of the cup of tea an assistant had just brought him. “Oh, I wanted to tell you, I won’t come to dinner tonight with you and Robin. Louis’ taking me out again.” He smiled to himself. “And I won’t come back to the hotel, either.”

Anne kicked him under the table. “I didn’t need to hear that.”

“Sorry!” he said, sounding anything but.

A door opened on their right and they both stood up when a middle aged man, handsome in a rugged, George Clooney kind of way, walked in. He held out his hand for them to shake.

“Hi, I’m Henry Burke, I’ll be representing Mr Styles, if he agrees,” he said pleasantly, shaking Harry’s hand.

“You can call me Harry,” Harry said, smiling in return. He liked the man already. “Mr Burke, this is my mother, Anne Cox.”

“Call me Henry, please,” he said with a wink before shaking Anne’s hand. “Ms Cox, what a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat, please, please.” He waited until they were seated before speaking. “Harry, Henry, we’ll get along for sure, won’t we?” Still, he was smiling. He produced a thick pile of papers from a file he’d carried into the room and placed it in front of Harry before sitting on the other side of the table. “This is your contract. Of course, you take the time you need to read it.” He squinted. “You didn’t bring a lawyer?”

Harry glanced at his mother, waiting for her to answer. When she didn’t, he spoke up. “I… I don’t have one. Is it a bad thing?”

“No, not at all. I’ll explain it to you, then. Informal, I like your style, Styles.”

He switched sides, taking the chair next to Harry. “Most of it is legalese, you don’t need to know all of the details. The gist of it, though, is that by agreeing to be represented by us – and me – you give us the right to control your public image. We book interviews, we secure promo deals with designers, we hook you up with cool free goodies, we help you handle your social media presence, all of that. You have a YouTube channel, yeah?” He got up to retrieve an iPad from his attaché-case before sitting down again, pulling up Harry’s channel on the screen. “That’s great, really. We love it. It’s given you a loyal, core fanbase, that’s what we want. What about the rest, Twitter, Facebook?”

“I’ve got both, yeah.”

“First thing we’ll do, if you sign with us, is get your Twitter verified and your Facebook page will be revamped. It’ll be more like a fan page, you know? Like when you like, I don’t know, Sainsbury’s page, you don’t see personal information, just promo stuff, yeah? Does that make sense?”

“But I’m not a shop. I’m a person. My page is personal. What about my friends?”

“We’ll discuss that after you’ve signed.” He added, quickly, “if you choose to do it, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry echoed, taking the corner of the pile and letting pages fall one by one.

“The contract’s for five years, that’s pretty standard. We get a percentage of your revenue, again, standard deal. Really, it’s just your regular representation contract, the kind we issue to X-Factor winners, at least. You lot are special, you come to us and you’re already almost famous. Our job is to remove that ‘almost’ and make you megastars. I’ve seen what you can do, kid, I’ve got American ambitions for you. Tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you. If you sign with us, two years from now I’m guaranteeing an American tour. And after you’ve conquered America, it’s only one simple step to a world tour.”

Harry’s head was reeling with all of the information Henry was throwing at him. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of offered to him on a silver platter. He picked up the pen and looked at his mother.

“Don’t look at me, love. It’s your career. I’ll support whatever decision you take.” Turning her attention to Henry, she narrowed her eyes. “What are the penalties if he breaks the contract?”

Henry grimaced like it pained him to even think about it. “It’s not pretty, but it never is whenever you try to break a contract, isn’t it? You know what I mean, Ms Cox, you went through a divorce, too. We know how ugly it gets. We’ll fulfil our side of the agreement and in return, we expect Harry to stay with us until the end. There are no penalties, per se, if he wants out, but it’d have to be taken to court, like with any contract.”

Harry nodded. “I won’t break it.”

The table was so slippery with varnish that all Harry had to do was slide the contract closer to him. He turned to the page where a yellow, arrow-shaped sticky note had been helpfully put and let his pen hover above the line under which his name was printed.

Taking a deep breath, Harry signed the page, closed the contract and then pushed it towards Henry. “Done.”

Henry’s smile was almost predatory, it was so wide. “Welcome to show business, Harry,” he said, shaking his hand warmly. “So! Should we get started? We’ll move to my office.” He got up, held up his hand for Anne. “Ms Cox, thank you for coming, today. I’ll take good care of your son, I promise. It was a pleasure meeting you. My assistant will escort you out.”

“My mum can’t come with us?” Harry asked, frowning.

“I’m afraid not. I mean, she could, but I don’t have a non-disclosure agreement on hand, but I could have one drafted, it’d just take longer, and…” he trailed off.

“No, no, it’s fine. Harry, call me when you get out. Have fun, boys!” she said, giving Harry a knowing, heavy look before being escorted out.

“All right, this way, Harry,” Henry said, guiding him with a hand on his shoulder.

They entered a large, brightly-lit office. The furniture was sleek, make of metal, glass and black leather. The desk was bare except for a computer and a keyboard. The walls were covered with more artwork. The desk was placed in front of a window, the chair with its back to it, and the view outside took Harry’s breath away. It had to be one of the best views of London he’d ever witnessed.

“Yeah, you understand why my chair’s back is to the window?” Henry commented when he saw him looking. “Take a seat, we’ll start working right away. Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee? Maybe something to eat?”

“Just tea, please,” Harry replied and Henry waved at yet another assistant, who scurried away.

“Okay!” Henry said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Let’s get to work. Our first order of business: your public image. Did you like what we’ve been trying during the show? This kind of boy-next-door, just a regular guy image? I think you worked it really well.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, it was all right. It’s not much different from what I am anyway.”

“Exactly,” Henry said, pointing at him with a smile. “We want you to be yourself, but enhanced. Question: who’s Louis?”

Harry couldn’t hold back his smile. “My boyfriend. We’ve been together for almost a year and a half, now.”

Henry hummed, tapping his lips with his finger. “I assume you know who’s Adam Lambert?” When Harry nodded, Henry continued. “Word association. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of him?”

The word left Harry’s mouth a second before he realised what Henry was doing: “Gay.”

“Yeah, for me, too. And for everyone, especially intolerant people. We live in a sick world, don’t you think? I say sick because some people will genuinely hate this artist, who’s crazy talented, only because he’s not like them. I’m not saying he’s not doing wonderfully well, but then take Justin Timberlake. Or, I don’t know, Justin Bieber. Have you thought about changing your name to Justin? I’m kidding.” Henry laughed to himself. “What I’m saying is, you don’t want to be pigeonholed, do you?”

Harry’s stomach felt tight and he shifted in his chair. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re not marketing you as Elton John’s heir. I mean—we want you to become as big as him, don’t get me wrong. I’ve never had one of my artists knighted, that’s on the bucket list.” He laughed again. “I’m saying, the boyfriend has to go, Harry.”

Harry burst out laughing. It died down when he saw that Henry didn’t so much as smiled. “You’re not serious.”

Henry quirked his eyebrow. “You gave me the right to control your public image, Harry. That’s the major point that we need to work on.”

Every fibre of his being screamed ‘no!’ all at once, but Harry kept a cool expression. “I don’t have to be public about it.”

“You and I both know it’s not going to work. I watched your audition footage and I’ve seen wedding videos that were less obvious. Besides, people talk, especially when they’re with someone famous.”

“Louis won’t. He wants what’s best for me. He wouldn’t ruin my career.”

“Not intentionally, no. Probably not.”

“I’m not breaking up with Louis, that’s the end of the discussion.”

Every warmth that Henry had been displaying from the start vanished, drained out of his face like a switch had been turned off. “You don’t get to decide that. I do. The boyfriend needs to go. You’re too young to know that, but the world won’t be kind to a gay artist. It never is. You’ll end up as a niche performer, but you’ll never make it to the mainstream. That’s not what you want and that’s not what I want for you.”

“I don’t care. Louis is more important than any of this.”

Henry leaned forward, his eyes narrow in cold fury. “Listen carefully to what I’m about to say. You signed a contract with my firm for the next five years. That means that we’ll be controlling the conversation about you. What the media says, what rumours go around, which shows you perform, everything. Unless you want to perform in malls for the next five years while being slandered in the press until it drives you straight into rehab, you’ll cooperate with us. We’re doing this for your own good. I’ve got a whole team behind me, you know, it’s not just me asking you this. We know our job.”

Harry gripped the armrests of the chair to hide the trembling of his hands. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was, perhaps for the first time in his life, profoundly terrified. The once handsome face of Henry was deformed by his power trip, turning him into a mask of egomaniacal greed.

“I won’t do it,” he said, voice trembling. He cleared his throat. “I’m not scared of you.”

Henry sighed. “I’m not trying to scare you, Harry. I’m being realistic. This isn’t what you want for your career.”

“What I don’t want is you representing me. I changed my mind.”

Another sigh, weary. “Then you’ve got two choices. Either you pick up your phone and call your mother so she hires you a lawyer, but it better be a damn good one because we’re not in the business of letting our artists go easily. It would ruin your parents, Harry, I’m warning you. Or, you pick up your phone and call Louis and you explain to him the situation. I’m sure he’ll understand, he seems to be a reasonable man.”

Harry swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of him, staring at it like it might hold the answer to all of his problems.

He picked it up again and dialled.