Chapter Text
Glimpses into the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, 2012 to 2016.
Winter 2012
Harry and Louis get five more days in Paris.
They spend it the way they spend all off days: in bed, hardly dressed, eating ridiculous food from the room service menu and taking far too many baths. When they leave the hotel room it’s for quick jaunts to nearby bakeries and coffee shops, short walks where Harry can stretch his legs and Louis can see something besides the same four walls for a quick minute. They shop in boutiques they pay to keep quiet about their visits and they eat in restaurants with policies of no cameras or phones.
It’s different, because in all the time Harry and Louis were dating and keeping it from the public, it was mostly management-sanctioned (though they tried to pretend otherwise) and so, while they never went out of their way to get caught hanging out together, they never necessarily cared if it got out, either. This is different because this actually is self-imposed; Louis makes a thousand jokes about being spies, and keeps trying to convince Harry to go out in a balaclava to complete the look. It’s a little exciting but incredibly exhausting, and they’re so thankful for their discreet new friend at the front desk, who calls security when fans who think they’ve spotted Harry and Louis try to sneak into the hotel to confirm.
It’s nice, just for a few days, to pretend everything’s going to go back to normal.
After they send the boys home with thanks for checking up on them but unsubtle hints that they’re going to have a whole lot of sex whether the other three stay there or not, Harry and Louis steel themselves, unplug their phones, and call their mums.
“Lou!” Jay exclaims, the phone not even ringing once before she answers. “Boo, where are you?”
“Um,” Louis laughs, abashed. “Paris?”
“Paris?” Jay echoes. “Why on Earth- nevermind. Did Harry find you? Are you okay?”
Louis looks over his shoulder, where Harry’s standing out on the balcony, eyes a little misty as he talks with Anne. Despite the winter chill, he’s got his sweater sleeves pushed up on his forearms; Harry says he likes it better that way, but Louis knows it’s because he likes to look at the rose. Louis doesn’t mind. “Yeah, he found me.”
“And?” Jay demands. When Louis doesn’t answer immediately, she says, “Louis William, I know you like your drama but this is quite enough-”
“He found me, Mum,” Louis says again, smiling slightly. Harry turns and catches him looking, grins back. “And I told him. Or, well, he already knew. He figured it out.”
Jay seems stunned into silence. “He- what?”
“He Bonded back, Mum,” Louis says, and he knows there’s disbelief in his voice but he also can’t really help it. “I said his name on stage, he Bonded to me. And when I- when I left, he pieced it together. We’re Bonded, Mum.”
“Lou,” Jay whispers, her voice breaking too. “Oh, baby, I’m so happy for you.”
She demands the whole story, of course, and Louis makes it quick but tries to fill in all the gaps between now and when he left her with a short, rushed phone call saying he’d be fine, but he was going to hide out for a while until everything died down. He’d hated leaving her with that burden, but it was necessary—they haven’t talked about specific details of the days they were apart, but Louis is absolutely sure that the first place Harry went after he found their London house to be empty was Doncaster. So Louis tells her, every gory detail of the fight and the epiphany, everything except the part where Harry f*cked him six ways to Sunday as soon as they’d both slept off their exhaustion and emotional hangovers. She doesn’t need to know that much.
At one point Harry wanders over, cupping the bottom of his phone to hide the mouthpiece. “Mum wants to talk to you,” he whispers.
Louis nods, saying, “Hey, Mum, wanna talk to Harry?”
Jay says yes, of course, and he and Harry do a quick phone switch. Louis takes a moment before raising the phone to his ear. “Hi, Anne.”
“Hello, love,” comes Anne’s voice, so soft and so like her son’s that Louis is instantly teary. “I’ve heard we’ve had an interesting few days.”
Louis coughs a laugh, wiping under his eyes. “You could say that.”
Anne laughs quietly as well. “Louis, dear, Harry told me what a hard road this has been for you, and that you were willing to walk away if that would be what made Harry happiest.” Louis sniffs, his lip wobbling. “And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being willing to do that, but.” Anne sniffs too, her voice scratchy when she chuckles. “Oh, honey, I’m just so glad it was you.”
Tears stream down Louis’ face and he breathes, breathes and breathes, trying not to dissolve into the hysterical tears that are threatening to fall. “Me too. God, I’m so glad it was me.”
Anne’s voice is like sunshine when she says, “There’s not a single person in the world who deserves Harry more than you.”
Harry’s wiping tears away as well across the room, and Louis doesn’t know what Jay said to cause it but he’s sure it’s not unlike what he was just told by Anne. Louis feels warm, warm and happy and loved, so loved, and suddenly he can’t stand to be across the room for another moment. Louis refocuses on the phone in his hands for just a second. “Anne, I’m so sorry, but I need to go tell your son I love him.”
Anne laughs a watery laugh. “Of course, of course.”
Louis drops the phone to the bed and crosses to stand in front of Harry, pulling him close by his belt loops. Harry, who gets weepy at chewing gum commercials, is red-eyed and hiccuping. “I p-promise,” he says, tracing Louis’ jaw with his thumb. “I won’t ever let him hurt again.”
Louis slips the phone from his hand and holds it to his own ear. “Mum? Harry’s busy.”
Jay scoffs lightly, though she sounds teary as well. They’re all just a big, blubbering mess, and Louis would be embarrassed for them all if it wasn't so beautiful. “Alright then. At least let him dry off a little before you attack him.”
Louis ignores her and tosses that phone aside as well, bringing Harry in for a slow, sweet kiss that leaves them both breathless and smiling so hard their cheeks hurt.
Harry’s the one who sets up the meeting.
“You’re the important one at the moment,” Louis says, shrugging. “I’m the one that disappeared and made their lives easier for a little while. If you hadn’t been looking for me, I doubt they’d’ve cared.”
So Harry makes his second call of the day, dialing a number he never thought he’d willingly dial and expecting a much less friendly reception than when his mum had answered the phone earlier. Unsurprisingly, the person he dialedanswers on the second ring.
“Claudia speaking.”
“This is Harry,” he says clearly, then panics a little. “Harry, uh, Harry Styles.” He squeezes Louis’ hand to relieve some of the tension in his wrists. “I’d like to set up a meeting.”
Claudia is quiet for a long moment, and Harry’s hand starts to sweat against the back of his phone. “With whom?” she finally asks.
“Everyone.”
It’s quiet again, for long enough that Louis starts to think that maybe Claudia has hung up. Then: “Saturday. Arrange your own plane tickets to LA, we’ll reimburse you. I’ll text the details.”
Harry breathes out heavily when he ends the call, Louis watching him carefully. “Saturday, then?”
“Saturday,” Harry answers.
“Saturday,” Louis echoes. He rubs his hands on his jeans. “Okay, then. Let’s pretend it’s not happening until we’re forced to think about it.”
Then he tackles Harry back onto the mattress, and they’re sufficiently diverted for an impressive amount of time.
Simon’s in town, or so they’ve heard, and so Harry and Louis are sent a car at the airport that takes them to the CBS Studios in west LA rather than the Columbia offices.
It doesn’t matter either way, because there’s just one goal of this whole charade of friendly meetings and amicable scheming: all Harry and Louis want out of this is to not be completely screwed over.
This is a hundred times bigger than any Modest-scheduled meeting; Modest is a tiny fish here in the big ocean, and their ripples barely have an impact. Instead, Louis and Harry are escorted to a top-floor conference room with its own security team, shiny glass tables and leather chairs as far as the eye can see, and a far cry from the tiny Fountain Studios rooms where eighteen-year-old Louis used to be shamed for being so openly infatuated with Harry when they were still contestants on a talent show.
The room is crowded, Louis can see through the frosted glass of the door. The murmuring inside is a low rumble, one that will probably go silent when he follows Harry into the room.
Harry grabs his hand. “Together?”
Louis smooths his shirt, twitches his wrist to fix his fringe. “Together.”
As predicted, the room goes silent when Harry and Louis walk through the door. They’ve both worn long sleeved shirts on purpose, but there’s still a laser-like amount of focus directed at Harry’s arm. His Marker is still unrevealed, as of yet; the media has been speculating for weeks, but to guess a person’s Marker they would need to know his soulmate, too, so the guesses have ranged from One Direction song lyrics to his (unknown) soulmate’s initials to a realistic pair of wings across his whole back.
No one ever guessed a rose, for some reason.
Familiar faces are on the side of the table opposite them when they sit down in the last two empty seats: Paul, who nods sadly but doesn’t say anything, Claudia, Magee and Griffiths, Hackford and Jones, Ann-Marie Thomson, Jake and Alice from the PR team, one of the Columbia execs, Joel, and, of course, the center of the web, Simon Cowell himself.
“Boys,” he says, and there’s no coolness in his tone but no familiarity either; Louis shifts his shoulders, because if they want today to be all business, that’s what it’ll be.
“Simon,” Harry nods.
“We were expecting only Harry today, I thought,” he continues idly. “Thought you were still hiding out in France.”
Louis stiffens, because there’s nothing like running away from the world only to be told that the world knew where you were the whole time.
“You said you were looking for him,” Harry says to Claudia.
“We did, and we found him, and we left him alone,” Claudia answers. “We felt that was best.”
Harry’s hand clenches, but he doesn’t rebut. The last thing they need is an all-out war where they’re on the defensive right away; they have a plan, they can stick with it. Louis places his hand gently on Harry’s thigh. Harry shakes a shuddery breath, then says, “The reality show will have to be cancelled. I found my soulmate, and I won't sign a contract to do a show based on a false premise.”
Tension in the room twangs like a plucked guitar string. “You found your soulmate,” Griffiths repeats. “And you've confirmed it?”
Harry resolutely does not look at Louis, just like they practiced. “Yes.”
“You've had a Marker test done already?”
“Didn't need to,” Harry says. He's uncomfortable carrying their side of the conversation but, for all intents and purposes, Louis is moral support today, nothing more. He can’t speak on Harry’s behalf, not here.
Simon isn't watching Harry, though—his eyes are narrowed right at Louis when Jones asks,“And who is this soulmate?”
Harry clears his throat, and here comes the part where the strife is going to show: “I’d rather leave that undisclosed, thanks.”
The small crowd of executives and PR professionals seems shocked. “Harry, why?” asks Hackford, looking truly baffled, like his work creating their PR narratives hasn't caused them more grief than anything else they’ve dealt with so far.
Louis can't contain the tiny snort of derision, but he otherwise stays quiet. Harry seems to absorb that, making his shoulders lift higher in defiance. “We want to come out together, but I want to sign the contract for it before I say who it is.”
“Harry,” Magee says, sounding like a principal dealing with a naughty child: disappointed, but unsurprised. “Let’s cut the bullsh*t, shall we? That’ll make this whole process go so much quicker.”
“I don’t care about a quick process, I want it done right,” Harry argues. “I’m not going on record.”
“It’s Louis,” Simon says, and there’s not a hint of question in his voice. The room goes still. Louis’ blood freezes.
Ann-Marie turns, like a shark smelling blood in the water. “Is it? I thought that was a half-Bond?”
“So did I,” Simon answers, like Louis isn’t sitting right there. “I wasn’t aware he didn’t ever do the obvious thing and try to say Harry’s name back, but it seems that might be the case."
“H,” Paul says, speaking up for the first time. “Is it true?”
“I’m not confirming anything,” Harry answers shakily, though he doesn’t look directly at Paul.
“The entire world is waiting for you to reveal your soulmate,” Ann-Marie says, folding her hands together on the table. “How do you propose we handle that if you won’t confirm who it is?”
“That’s your job, not mine,” Harry says.
“Just tell us who it is!” Magee says, frustrated.
“No.”
“You can tell us,” Hackford wheedles. “Whoever it is, we can spin this.”
“Let’s move on, shall we? Address the real issue here,” says Joel, the Columbia rep. “Harry is our most recognized name in the band, and has been pushed to the frontman spot for years now. If he doesn’t want to reveal his soulmate, that’s fine. Especially if it’s an inter-band relationship.” he says, looking right at Louis, and a panicked voice in his head yells they know! They all know!
Ann-Marie taps her fingers on the table. “And, whoever this soulmate is, the two of you want to publicly come out as Bonded?”
“Yes,” Harry says, his voice solid for the first time since they sat down.
“No,” Simon answers simply. Harry’s mouth gapes.
“Why not? That was the plan, right? For one of us to Bond on stage and for you to spin it into the biggest media story of the decade?”
“Louis is your soulmate,” Simon rumbles. “You might not confirm it here, but we know. And we will not let you go public with your relationship.”
“A public fan Bond would have garnered incredible media attention, and we could have shaped your soulmate into a celebrity in their own right in no time,” Ann-Marie says. “All a Bond within the band does is set you up for band breakup rumors every time you don’t look overjoyed to be in each other’s presence.”
Louis scoffs, and he shouldn’t jump in, but he can’t help it. “As though you’ve ever cared about breakuprumors before.”
“They have their uses, in certain times or situations,” Hackford answers.
“To sell tour tickets to impressionable teenagers who don’t know not to believe the media,” Louis shoots back.
“Either way, you will not be coming out with Louis,” Simon says to Harry. “It goes against the image we’ve set up for you, and we can’t afford to lose your name as a public interest. If you’re unavailable, that’s what happens.”
“That would have happened when I Bonded to anyone, though, regardless of who it is,” Harry argues, his voice going a little shrill. “This makes no sense! You could spin me coming out with anyone! If we’re both famous, shouldn’t that be even better?”
“It doesn’t fit your image,” Magee says.
And, apparently, that’s the end of that.
“So,” Joel says, rubbing his hands together. “We need a distraction from an on-stage Bonding and a way to explain his Marker. What’s the plan, team?”
“We’ve still got a half-signed contract with Taylor Swift that can be used,” Ann-Marie answers, “and I think I’ve got an idea for the Marker, too.”
Harry and Louis spend the rest of the meeting in silence; they’re contract-bound to follow what their team says to do as long as it isn’t against the law, and while pretending to date someone while newly Bonded to someone else is horrible, it isn’t illegal. Modest and Syco have them trapped.
And that’s how Harry has a follow-up meeting scheduled for him with Taylor Swift and her people in two days, and another publicdate following that.
As the meeting wraps up, there’s no more tension in the room. Not for the management team, anyway; they’re loose-shouldered and relaxed, confident that their plan will not only work but will grab headlines and media speculation for days. Harry, though, is shaking, shaking hard, and Louis feels numb.
“Well, boys,” Simon says as the last details are decided. “Anything to add?”
Harry shakes his head, but Louis, well. Louis has just seen the boy he loves have his idea of being able to come out with his soulmate be ripped to shreds.
“Over the past few years,” he says slowly, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, “you have let thousands of truly awful rumors about all of us, but Harry in particular, be spread like wildfire. You started a lot of them, but you didn’t bother to deny any of them. And now you…” he trails off, feeling all the eyes in the room on his heavy shoulders. He stands, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor the only sound in the room, and takes Harry’s hand to pull him to his feet as well. “You’re supposed to protect us when we make mistakes and divert when we have problems. Not advertise them. Not make up more drama for press mentions."
“This is how the business works, Louis,” Simon says, spreading his hands like he’s played no role. “It is what it is.”
Louis’ chest burns like he'd said it on purpose. Maybe he did. “You’ve taken something amazing, and you’re treating it like a liability. I don’t want any Bond of Harry’s to be used and manipulated for promo, but it could have been done. The whole world loves him, and they’d love his soulmate no matter who it is."
He pulls Harry with him to the door, stopping for the quickest moment with his hand on the handle. "I know you’re not going to change your minds, but that's your loss. Because the reality? It’s a goldmine. Way better than any romance you could ever try to create. And I hope it's that bullsh*t way of thinking that ruins you.”
“They’re just going to… ignore it?” Liam asks incredulously when Harry and Louis return to the hotel. “Like there aren’t a dozen videos and twenty thousand eyewitnesses that saw you grab your arm and run off stage?”
“They’ve ignored all our other rumors,” Harry shrugs dully. “Why not this one?”
“But you’ve got a massive f*cking rose on your arm that wasn’t there before,” Zayn points out.
“I’m going to be papped at a tattoo parlour soon, they’ll spread that’s what I got.”
“There’s got to be something you can do,” Niall says. "Some way to fight back."
Louis is about to deny that when he realizes something. “Actually…” he says slowly. “Ni, will you grab Harry'sjournal? I’ve…” he looks up at Harry, feeling a little bit of sparkle back in his eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”
The meeting with Taylor Swift and her team goes about as well as Louis and Harry thought it would; she’s getting the bulk of the benefits, including almost a guaranteed number one album that will be all about Harry when he inevitably breaks her heart. Harry, well, he’s getting some promo for their new album, at least, and maybe people will finally stop calling him a cougar chaser. That's about the extent of what he can hope for.
“Listen,” Taylor says to Harry at the end of the meeting, when her manager and Claudia are shaking hands like they didn’t just sign away all of Harry’s dignity. “I’ve heard the reason why you’re finally agreeing to this. And, I mean, I know it’s not confirmed or anything, but Ed talks about you two all the time, and I feel like I really know you.”
“Okay,” Harry says, not sure where she’s going with this.
“This is amazing promo, for both of us, and I’ll have tons of material to use for my next album, but I don’t want to ruin your relationship. And, honestly, I can spin a lot out of just a few dates, trust me. So,” she says, her famous wide eyes soft when they catch Harry’s, “if this ever gets to be too much, just let me know.”
Harry nods, his ribs aching a little less. Taylor’s a smart businesswoman, everyone in the industry knows this, but Ed really does seem to like her. She’s got to be a better fake relationship partner than Caroline Flack, right? “Thanks,” he murmurs.
She leans closer, tilts her head towards Harry’s. “From what Ed’s said, you and Louis are, like, the perfect couple. And I really don’t want to mess anything up for you, or make things difficult.”
“I mean,” Harry shrugs, “it’s tough no matter what. Louis… he has hard time when I’m linked to anyone, and this is going to get way more attention than anyone else I’ve dated.”
Taylor pouts her lip in sympathy. “If I can do anything to make it a little easier, you should definitely let me know.”
And then an idea strikes; or, well, an addendum to Louis’ idea strikes. “Actually, I think there is.”
When Harry outlines Louis’ plan, Taylor’s eyes go wider. “Wow, that’s devious.”
Harry grins, nodding. “That’s Louis.”
“I love it,” she grins, then she’s back to cheerful princess in the blink of an eye. “And, you know, maybe you can write a song about me someday, too!”
Harry grins a little, but he shakes the idea away.
The last thing he wants is to spend the rest of his career being asked about Taylor Swift.
“It’s a good thing I like you two,” grumbles Freddy, his eyes bloodshot as he unlocks the door to Shamrock when the sun’s still barely peeking over the horizon.
“I know, thank you so much, Freddy,” Harry says, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. The parlour is silent and still, the way it never is during regular hours, and there’s one chair in the middle of the room that’s set up and waiting for Harry. Freddy grabs a binder of designs and hands it to Harry before settling onto his stool. Harry flips through the pages, tracing some of the pictures with a careful fingertip.
“There are some more geometric and abstract designs towards the back,” Freddy says, watching Harry. “But I know you said you wanted realistic.”
“Yeah, no, these are perfect,” Harry murmurs. He turns the page and he’s hit with certainty. “This one.”
“Yeah? It’s gonna take a few hours,” Freddy warns him.
“That’s fine,” Harry shrugs. Freddy does some quick prep, shaving the large swath of Harry’s arm so that it’s smooth and ready, and then he starts.
Taylor appears about an hour later, looking sleepy but excited. “I’ve never been in a tattoo shop before,” she says, walking the walls and taking in all the sketches and designs. “Tattoos are the coolest things, but they terrify me."
“It’s not—” Harry stops, groaning a little when the gun runs over a tender spot. He laughs quietly. “Not that bad.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Taylor teases, rolling her eyes.
Slowly, the shop opens around them, different artists Harry’s met with before coming to check on Freddy’s new work. “You and your sailor tats, man,” says one of them, shaking his head.
Harry grins. “Gotta have something to remind me of home.”
One of the other customers eventually leaks that Taylor is there with Harry, just like they’d planned, and it isn’t long before paps are congregating outside the windows. Harry watches them for a while, and when Freddy leans back at one point to wipe his brow, he notices them too. “Want me to call them off?” he asks.
“Nah,” Harry answers. “That’s the whole point, innit?”
Taylor comes over after talking with some fans in the corner—one was getting a treble clef tattooed on her ankle—and makes it just in time to see Freddy finishing up some of the details. “It’s gorgeous, Harry,” she says. “Good choice.”
When Freddy goes to wrap the new tattoo gracing Harry’s bicep, Harry stops him for a second. “Can you wrap the rose too?”
“But that’s not a tattoo, that’s- oh.” Harry can see the point slamming into Freddy like an anvil. “Oh, I get it.”
And so when Harry leaves Shamrock Social Club, Taylor’s hand clasped in his so that the picture’s guaranteed to be picked up and run by the major press, it’s with what seems to be two new tattoos: a massiveship on his upper arm, and a delicate curling rose right underneath.
And the news of his potential Bonding is forgotten completely as outlets around the world spread the latest gossip on everyone’s favorite It Couple and the tattoos Harry Styles definitely got to represent Taylor Swift and not anyone else.
Freddy’s last customer of the day doesn’t get nearly the amount of attention as his first, not within the general public, at least.
But when Louis Tomlinson leaves Shamrock with a brand new compass on his arm, the arrow pointing home and, coincidentally, also pointing towards Harry’s side of the bed when they’re sleeping, One Direction fans nearly have a meltdown.
Louis unwraps the ship reverentially when they both get back to the hotel that night, tracing the mast with light, trembling fingers.
“It’s gorgeous,” he whispers.
“I know we sort of fell into the nautical theme because of the dagger,” Harry says, thumbing Louis’ bottom lip, “but they’re sort of fitting, aren’t they? Keeping your home with you even when you’re apart.”
“And I’m your home?” Louis murmurs, his eyes suspiciously shiny.
“The only one I’ll ever need,” Harry promises, and kisses Louis like he’s trying to steal his breath.
Louis and Taylor meet eventually, it’s sort of inevitable. Harry expects the Louis Tomlinson Dislike specialty, frosty voice and cruel-edged laugh, stuff he reserves for members of The Wanted that get a little big-headed and Simon’s best friend Dan who writes terrible articles about the band and then tries to be their best friend.
It’s a little stilted, a little cordial, and Louis scoffs when he hears that Harry’s taking Taylor out to release doves in the English countryside (and no, Harry doesn’t get it either, because there’s nothing about it that screams romance). But they make it through with no blood shed, and Harry sighs in relief.
Harry thinks that's it until a few days later, when Louis gets a paperairplane tattooed on his arm.
“She can have you in the papers, with her fake necklace and fake relationship,” he says, slightly smug and ridiculously attractive about it. “I have the real thing. Forever.”
Spring 2013
“You know,” Louis mutters to Zayn as he takes a swig from his water bottle, “I’ve always wanted to be an actor.”
“Role of a lifetime,” Zayn snorts. “Louis Tomlinson as himself.”
They watch a little longer as the cameraman circles Harry and Liam some more, trying and failing to look like they’re having a casual conversation that isn’t being recorded, then Zayn shakes his head and goes to have a smoke (unfilmed, of course, because that sort of thing won’t be put in the documentary) and Louis goes to cuddle with Niall.
It’s a strange experience, having a crew filming them at all hours. There’s not a moment when Louis feels like he isn’t putting on a show, and only a few weeks into it they’re all already exhausted.
And then they were sent a couple of pictures from a One Direction marketing presentation, and the reasoning behind management’s sudden interest in a documentary becomes a little more clear, and the band themselves get a little more infuriated.
(4:46 p.m.) Kate (Sugarscape): I’m only sending these because I think you should know what your team’s not telling you
(4:47 p.m.) Kate (Sugarscape): And this isn’t short term, it’s long term
(4:47 p.m.) Kate (Sugarscape): I’m so sorry :(
Louis had opened the email she’d sent and felt a hot rush of anger. There on his screen, in cheery primary colors on a goddamn Powerpoint presentation, was his marketing image laid out in nice, simple terms.
And his main selling point? Eleanor.
She won’t be in the documentary, he’s already made sure of that, and he knows she doesn’t want to be; someday, when Harry and Louis do come out as Bonded, she’s going to want to be as far from being linked to them as possible. Nobody tends to sympathize with the girl or guy keeping a Bonded person closeted.
But it was even worse: on Harry’s slide, above the happy bubble talking about Harry’s hair and the boxes calling him beautiful, were the words “adorably slow.”
And Louis- Louis saw red. Harry’s been sexualized by the media and his own team since he was sixteen and was, for all intents and purposes, pimped out to a woman twice his age for some promo thatonly made her more unlikeable. He’s been called a womanizer, a homewrecker, a manwhor*, and their team has not only not stopped those rumors, they’ve fed them. His name is used to promote unknown models and D-list actresses, and he never once got a say in any of it.
And now this—they’re simultaneously sexualizing and infantilizing him, painting him as stupid but cute to millions of people who love him dearly. Louis shut his laptop when that idea clicked in his head; he couldn’t look at the slides anymore, it was making him sick.
So now he sees cameras circling Harry like vultures over a carcass, and he has to leave. He can’t stand to watch Ann-Marie and her well-trained stooges edit out all the brilliant parts of Harry Styles and sell his image to the world as a beautiful simpleton. He can’t do it.
Harry finds Louis later, nearly asleep on Niall’s lap.
“Lou,” he whispers, and Louis snuffles into Niall’s collarbone.
“Good, you’re here, you can take him,” Niall says in a rush. “I’ve had to piss for an hour, but I didn’t want to move him.”
Niall shifts out from under Louis just as Harry reaches over and pulls him closer to himself, and Louis curls around him tightly. Harry presses a kiss to his hair, leaving his lips there for a long moment. “You okay, babe?” he asks after a quiet moment.
Louis shrugs. “Don’t like it. Don’t like the idea of them selling you as an idiot when you’re smarter than anyone.”
“I mean, I appreciate that,” Harry says, “but there’s not a thing we can do.”
Louis grunts, shifting on Harry’s lap. There aren’t any cameras around, and even if there were, it wouldn’t matter. The documentary crew signed intense non-disclosure agreements before they ever started filming, and Morgan Spurlock was told explicitly to include little to no interaction between Harry and Louis in the finished product, no matter how much video evidence they collected otherwise.
“Besides,” Harry continues, “maybe I could use that to my advantage. If the whole world let’s me speak because they think I’m an idiot, I can do a lot more damage than if I’m kept silent because they think I’m intelligent and up to something.”
Louis sighs. “Maybe.” He stands, stretching his achy limbs. “Come on, come help me cheer up. Let’s bleach dick shapes on Niall’s hats.”
They get used to it, in the following months. It becomes normal to wake with a lensin their faces, it becomes typical to angle their bodies to the cameras for the best shots, to read relevant texts and tweets out loud for the cameras.
It’s weird, but weird becomes normal. Nothing in their lives is ordinary, not anymore.
Julian joins the tour full time in March.
“Simon’s set a pretty heavy deadline,” he explains when he joins the boys on their bus. “We have to have this next record ready to go by November, but you’ve got no open time between now and then to set aside and record, and I know you boys wanted to try writing on this one, too.”
“So what’s the plan?” Liam asks, looking confused.
Julian spreads his arms, like introducing the next big adventure. “We, my friends, are going indie rock. We’re recording on the road.”
Writing with Julian, John, and Jamie is worlds different than writing with Simon’s old hand-picked crew. It’s quieter, usually, and entirely less methodical. Where Savan and Rami started with an already constructed base meant to convey a specific meaning to a specific audience, the new writers are far looser, more worried about putting out a musically and lyrically sound track than conveying certain messages.
“I work for the man,” Jamie says once, taking a hit of a joint and passing it to Liam. “That doesn’t mean I am the man. I’m not here to sell your image, I’m here to sell records.”
Louis likes Jamie a lot.
Liam and Louis’ first time songwriting with the new group comes about a week after the production team joins them on tour. Julian doesn’t like to write on the bus—”That’s fine for you, man, I just can’t do it. I need space.”—so they book a hotel room in Belfast. Julian brings his guitar, Louis brings his mini keyboard, and they get to work.
And by get to work, that means they lounge around the room, snacking and drinking and talking lazily until inspiration strikes.
“You know what’s fascinating?” John says, rolling a half-empty bottle of beer between his palms. “That your fans, like, they don’t just want to sleep with you. It’s not like they’re groupies, it’s… It’s just different.”
Jamie nods in agreement. “When we were looking up stuff on you guys, before we agreed to come write on the last album, we kept running into the same stuff. Like, yeah, there are those people who call you Daddy and want your money, but the majority act like your mothers.”
Liam and Louis laugh, because he’s not really wrong. “Yeah,” Liam chuckles. “I could see that. Supportive, call us their babies, make sure we’re looked after and get angry on our behalf.”
“You’re sort of a safe space, aren’t you?” Julian asks. “Like, a happy place for your fans. Is that hard?”
Louis flips his own empty bottle between his hands. “I don’t know about hard. It’s a big responsibility, right? Like, I’ve got sisters, and I remember how it used to be for meself as well—if Beckham wore a certain pair of Nikes, I wanted those Nikes. And it’s more than just what we wear or use, but if we’re happy with who we are, with ourselves, they learn to be the same way.”
“Helps us, too,” Liam adds. “I saw this girl, once, and she didn’t want to take a picture with me because she thought she’d look fat. And I told her not to call herself that, that she was beautiful. She said that was the nicest thing anyone’d said to her, and that hit me, you know?”
“So you’re saving their lives, and they’re saving yours,” John says. “Cool.”
Diana is completely written within the next couple of hours.
Niall keeps the poster from the end of the Best Song Ever video. Before he takes it, though, Zayn adds one little thing to his spray-painted title at the bottom: a question mark.
This Is Us?
Louis and Liam join the writers for a few more songs, taking emotions or stories and weaving them into lyrics. They write Midnight Memories after a night out that Louis hardly remembers, they pen Little Black Dress and Little White Lies back to back and laugh to themselves about being clever, and Harry joins them to write Right Now when he gets stuck on a few lyrics in his journal that he can’t make anything out of: And we won't be going home, for so long, for so long, but I know I won't be on my own.
Louis is incredibly proud of the work they do, he is. Still, he can’t help but keep flipping back to the word doc he’d saved on his laptop during the madness of Haylor, the few weeks he spent watching Harry’s perfect unfolding romance with America’s sweetheart with the rest of the world, the highly-planned and captured-from-every-angle New Year’s kiss, the ski trips and the dinner dates. It was a month, just a month, and Taylor’s got her writing material and Harry’s got his name recognition, and all Louis has is a bad taste in his mouth and a few more tattoos to cover up his pain.
He never brings it up when they start talking new songs, never mentions anything when Julian asks what he’s been working on.
But when insomnia hits, when he’s awake on the bus and the sound of the tires against the road is keeping him awake instead of lulling him to sleep, he pulls out his keyboard, and he writes.
Summer 2013
“I’ve made a decision,” Harry declares one day, bursting into the bathroom halfway through Louis’ shower.
“Um, okay?” Louis calls, still working shampoo through his hair. Harry frowns, pulls the curtain back so that Louis can make eye contact with him because this is important. He takes a moment to appreciate the view because, well, naked and wet Louis, but then Louis laughs and clears his throat, raising his eyebrows. “Thought you were going to tell me something, love.”
Harry blinks. “Oh, right. I’ve made a decision.”
“So I’ve heard,” Louis nods, still smirking.
“Right. I’ve decided that I want to grow myhair out,” Harry says, remembering his mission.
“I think that sounds great, baby,” Louis says, turning so he can rinse his shampoo.
“No, like. Really grow it out,” Harry pushes.
"Really grow it out?” Louis echoes, opening one eye as the water slicks away the suds. “How long?”
“Um.” Harry looks down at his chest, holds his hand at about nipple height. “Here, maybe? I think it would be cool to get it long enough to donate.”
“That’s wonderful, Hazza,” Louis smiles. “I love it. I bet it’ll look gorgeous.”
“Yeah, but,” Harry says, picking at his lip. “I’m sort of. Scared? Because, like, I wore one heart print shirt to my birthday party and everyone said I wanted to be a girl, don’t much feel like going through that again.”
Louis shuts the water off, stepping out of the shower so that he’s toe-to-toe with Harry. He pays no mind to the puddle forming around his feet, just takes Harry’s hand in his and holds it to his chest. “Hazza. I think you’d look beautiful with long hair. I think you looked beautiful with short hair, and I like this quiffy thing you’ve got going on now. You could probably even pull off going bald, though I don’t recommend it,” he grins. “If you want to grow your hair long, I think that’s amazing. And if anyone calls you names…”
Harry’s breath hitches as Louis steps so close they’re sharing air, his warm, slippery body pressed against Harry’s chest. "If anyone says one bad thing to your face, you tell them three things. One,” he says, and presses a kiss to Harry’s right cheek, “you tell them you’re the prettiest person in the world, and they can f*ck right off. Two,” he kisses Harry’s left cheek, “you tell them that’s hom*ophobic and heteronormative, and that they can f*ck right off with that as well. And three,” he says against Harry’s lips, “you tell them that your soulmate will kick their arse if you don’t do it yourself, and that they should get a f*cking life.”
Harry sways a little from all the blood in his body rushing southward. His voice is weak when he says, “I wanna wear my nice fancy shirts, too.”
“You wear all the fancy shirts you like, baby,” Louis says, kissing Harry hard, pulling him close until they’re both breathing unsteadily. Then he steps back, still holding Harry’s hand, and says, “You gonna join me in here, or are you just gonna keep watching me shower? I’m not judging, but I know what I’d prefer."
Harry grins, and shucks his pantsso quickly he almost falls down.
The boys are in an L.A. recording studio, having a quick break between trying to lay in as much material for the new album as possible in a proper studio instead of a hotel room, and Niall, Harry, and Louis are trying really hard to pretend they can’t hear Zayn and Liam screaming at each other out in the hallway.
“-third f*cking album in a row, Li, how can you not see this? I try one little line with a little R&B, they make me record it ‘til I don’t do that any more. There’s no soul in this record!”
“How f*cking dare you? Lou and I wrote half of these songs, we poured ourselves into it, don’t you care at all? Your soulmate and your best friend are writing music and you think it has no soul!”
“I’m not saying they aren’t good songs, I’m saying they don’t f*cking fit me! I don’t fit this f*cking band!”
“Nobody fits the band, not like how it used to be! None of us were actually being ourselves on the first album, it wasn’t just you. We’re changing it, or we’re trying to, we’re evolving it into something real, here, but you’re not even trying! You just assume we’re gonna shoot you down and don’t even bring it up anymore-”
“I’ve been told no too many times to try again.”
“You’re acting like this is all on you. You’re acting like we haven’t had to pretend either. You aren’t f*cking alone here, Z, no matter how much you act like it!”
“Should… should we go out there?” Harry asks worriedly.
“I don’t know,” Niall shrugs helplessly. “They’ve been like this for ages, I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“-go out and have a smoke. Don’t f*cking follow me, Liam.”
It’s quiet out in the hallway for a moment, the sound of retreating footsteps echoing eerily. Liam pushes open the door and sighs when he sees the other three waiting for him expectantly.
“Everything okay, Li?” Harry asks gently.
Liam collapses into a chair. “Yeah, fine. Can we not talk about it?”
So they lapse into uncomfortable silence. Louis can’t take awkward moments, not with this group of boys anyway, so he stands and walks around the room. There’s nothing interesting to play with, so he opens the door to the sound booth and slips inside.
Strumming a guitar is only so much fun since he doesn’t really know how to play one yet (and Harry keeps trying to teach him, but their lessons always go spiraling wildly out of control when Louis sits between Harry’s legs and his hands are covered by Harry’s massive palms. Louis’ got a hot soulmate and he’s easily distracted, sue him), so Louis slides behind the piano instead, fitting his fingers easily to the keys. He plays a scale, another, another, stretching his hands to cover a full octave.
He plays the melody that’s been hanging around the back of his head for months now, the thrumming sound that reminds him of waves on a shore, the one attached to the words that float through his head when he drifts off to sleep. He plays it once to loosen his fingers, twice to smooth it out, and three times just because. He’s sitting back, satisfied and smiling, when the microphone from outside the booth crackles.
“Lou,” comes Harry’s voice, and Louis looks over to see him, Niall, and Liam standing over the soundboard, wide-eyed. “What was that?”
“That?” Louis asks, pointing over his shoulder at the piano. Harry nods. “Just, I don’t know. Something I’ve been working on.”
“Yeah? It’s gorgeous, babe,” Harry replies, sounding a little awed. “Does it have words yet?”
“Um,” Louis says, feeling himself blush. “Sort of?”
“Let’s hear it!” Niall cheers, and he doesn’t even need to be near the microphone for Louis to hear him.
“I don’t know, lads, it’s not really finished,” he deflects.
“C’mon, Lou,” Liam says quietly. His eyes are still a little red around the edges, and that’s what convinces Louis to sigh dramatically but spin back around to face the keys, flexing his fingers a little.
Then he sings.
My hands, your hands
Tied up like two ships
His voice is shaky, it probably always will be the first time he sings new things to people without being able to rehearse it first, but it still goes better than expected. He hits the last chords with heavy fingers and lets the notes fade out, the strings reverberating and humming into the silence of the booth. The door opens before he has a chance to turn around, and suddenly Harry’s there, right in his space, kissing him desperately.
“Lou, oh my God,” he breathes between kisses, “that was so beautiful, holy sh*t.”
“It’s just a—mph—just a song, babe-”
“No it isn’t, f*ck, you wrote our song-”
“Erm, is anyone gonna tell me why we’re watching these two make out in the sound booth?” Zayn asks, his voice throaty like it is after he cries. Louis pulls back from Harry and looks past him; Zayn shifts under the scrutiny, looking uncomfortable.
“Lou wrote a song,” Niall says.
“Ah,” Zayn says, like that explains it. And maybe it does.
“Play it again?” Harry asks quietly, and he curls into Louis’ side to watch his fingers dance along the keys, hums along to the chorus.
Zayn’s familiar presence joins them, pressing along Louis’ other side. Liam stands behind him, and Zayn cautiously leans back against his legs.
They won’t apologize with words, that’s not how Zayn and Liam work. They apologize through looks, through touches; it’s not always the easiest thing for them, but they’ll survive.
"I’ll always hoooold on,” Zayn harmonizes with Louis on his third time through.
“‘Cause you make me strong, ” Harry murmurs in his other ear.
Harry can’t let Louis one-up him in the romantic song department, so he disappears off with an Irish producer who worked with some of his favorite bands and comes back with Something Great, a ballad he tells Louis he wrote on the train to Doncaster before their relationship properly started. And then, because Something Great moves Louis to tears and Harry is a sad*st, he disappears for another few days with their old team, Savan and Carl’s group, and returns, grinning, with a song called Happily.
Julian puts Strong and Happily side-by-side on the album. Something Great almost doesn’t make the final cut—not because it isn’t good enough, but because the Syco executives hear it and claim it’s too personal. Meaning that fans will see Harry’s name on the credits and they’ll piece together that it’s for Louis, and that it’s their cry to come out to the public.
Julian fights for it, though, and it’s a hard fight, but he emerges victorious: Something Great stays on the album.
This Is Uspremieresin London in August. It’s strange, because they’ve been to premieres, they’ve been to album launch parties and award ceremonies and their fair share of red carpets around the world, but they’ve never been to one for their own accomplishments.
And, sure, the whole movie is entirely contrived and so artificial it might has well have been scripted (and some parts completely were—management still doesn’t like to admit that Harry and Louis own multiple homes together, and so they filmed some of his parts in Ben Winston’s attic, spreading rumors through the fans that Harry’s been living there off and on for months while the Hampstead house is being redone. As though Harry, as a millionaire, is more likely to couch surf with the director of their music videos rather than just… go to another of his houses), it’s still surreal to see some of London’s elite dolled up for them.
The boys spend the morning at Niall’s, as it’s the closest to the premiere location. Babs brings breakfast and Lou and Caroline and the style team descend around lunchtime, laying out outfits and starting on hair and makeup. Harry, out of his couple of options, chooses the heart pattern shirt he wore to his birthday, and Louis kisses him as a reward for being brave enough to try it again.
Everyone’s coming tonight, which means that around half-one, when the boys have been plucked and prodded and poked and are fully dressed, they’re sent to Niall’s theater room to watch filmsand pass the time so their families and friends can be primped as well.
The mums pop in to check on them (Karen already teary, Maura squeezing their cheeks, and Anne, Jay, and Trisha planting kisses on their foreheads) and the sisters descend in waves, begging to watch something besides Anchorman, and soon the boys shuffle out to find something else to do as Lottie and Safaa steal the remote and change the channel to a Disney movie.
Louis is passing through the kitchen, grabbing a Red Bull for himself and a water for Harry, when Eleanor walks in, Starbucks in one hand and garment bag in the other. She waves and heads to the living room where the rest of the crowd has congregated, joining Perrie and Gemma on a sofa.
Nearly everyone is dressed and ready to go as it nears four o’clock, and Paul starts dividing the groups; the boys will each arrive with their families, friends, and girlfriends, and after some pictures the band will regroup on the red carpet as the families mingle.
“I think that’s everyone,” Paul says, reading from his list, “except-”
“Sorry I’m late!” says a voice in the doorway, and everyone turns to see a pretty brunette stumble in, pulling on towering blue heels and trying to walk at the same time. “Traffic was terrible, sorry.”
“Soph!” Liam exclaims, giving the newcomer his crinkly-eyed smile. Louis flicks his glance at Zayn, who’s watching them embrace with narrowed eyes. “Hello, babe, how are you?”
“Right, that’s everyone,” Paul announces. “Harry, you and your family take the first car.”
The crowd shuffles outside, talking excitedly, and Louis hangs back until Liam and the new girl are near him.
“-meet them, oh! Here’s one—Lou, this is Sophia. She’s a friend of mine, we met back at Andy’s birthday.” Liam beams as Louis and Sophia shake hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Louis says, sending a thoroughly confused look at Liam.
“Soph is, uh, she’s my date,” Liam coughs, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.
“Ah, another fake girlfriend, eh?” Louis chuckles, nudging Liam with his elbow. “Funny that, for a boy band, we sure have to hire a lot of girls to hang out with us.”
Sophia chuckles, and Liam grins a little. “That’s true.”
“Here, you should meet-” Louis turns, lifts up on his toes to peer through the One Direction-related crowd spreading through Niall’s neighborhood. “El!” Eleanor turns, peering over the top of her sunglasses, and makes her way to Louis, Liam, and Sophia. “Eleanor, meet Liam’s fake girlfriend Sophia. Sophia, meet my fake girlfriend Eleanor.”
“Ooh, new blood,” Eleanor says, waggling her eyebrows. “Welcome to the club, doll. Perr’s gonna make us t-shirts.”
Sophia laughs at that as well, and Louis thinks she’ll fit in just fine.
At the end of the summer is when everything changes.
Louis and Harry, ever since that disastrous meeting back in December where Simon shut down all plans of them coming out anytime soon, have fallen in line (mostly) and let the management team get complacent. They’re pretty much locked in their image contracts and, until those are finished, won’t have much say in anything, what with Modest and Syco PR teams working together against Harry and Louis instead of the two of them and their management working to protect themselves from Syco like it should be. So, they decided after Haylor hit its fiery (or should it be watery?) end and a new list of people needing promo was drawn up for Harry to date, they’d play along. Louis wouldn’t fight back too much against tweets being sent to Eleanor or scheduled Starbucks dates. Harry would go to fashion shows and art galleries with the model of the week. They’d be quiet, and, the whole time, they’d be planning.
Through three years in the industry, a couple of international tours, and buying a house in Beverly Hills, Harry and Louis have built up quite the extensive list of contacts in the business. Hollywood and L.A. are incestuous and smaller than a lot of people outside the industry think: everyone knows somebody who knows somebody, and there’s no need for six degrees of separation in the music business when connections can be made in less than four.
They hear the nameAzoff in conjunction with 30 Seconds to Mars; Harry doesn’t know much about them as a band, their music is more Louis’ style than his, but he’s met Jared Leto and he seems like a good guy. Ariana Grande, who’s been talking with Harry about writing something for her second album, has a friend whose lawyer worked on 30 Seconds to Mars’ case against EMI, and, when hearing through the grapevine about Harry and Louis’ search for a competent manager once they (inevitably) split from Modest, let them know that Azoffmight be just the kind of manager they’re looking for.
They have to be careful, though; setting up an official meeting with Azoff violates their contract with Modest, and Harry has no doubt in his mind that they’d sue overa lot smaller of an infraction. It has to seem natural, then, and it can’t be seen or heard by the wrong people. Harry asks around discreetly for some more information, maybe a way to get in contact, but in the end, Simon does all the hard work for them.
They’ve just finished their last show of the North American leg of the tour at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, and the boys tumble offstage in a haze of sweaty limbs and adrenaline, bouncing off each other like puppies. They give out high fives and hugs with the crew as they pass through the backstage area to the dressing rooms, Liam, Zayn, and Niall diverting off to their own individual rooms as Harry and Louis make their way to their shared dressing area, which is separate from everyone else’s because, in Paul’s words, “I never want to hear either of you make the sounds I’ve heard you make in private ever again.”
They undress quickly, stripping out of their dampclothes and trading sweat-sticky kisses, gulping water and trying to cool down. Louis has just plastered himself onto the sofa and Harry’s contemplating a shower when there’s a knock at the door. Harry considers putting on a shirt but shrugs, assuming it’s Niall to share which random celebrity he’s decided to be best friends with this week has invited them out, but-
Well, it’s not Niall.
“Hey, Harry, sorry to interrupt,” says Brian, one of the tour managers through CAA who joined them when they hit America. “I’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”
Harry, who’s expecting a crew member’s daughter, maybe, or even a low-level celebrity who was at the show tonight, does not expect the short older man who sticks out his hand and gives Harry an obvious, and unimpressed, once-over.
“Nice to meet you, son,” he says. “I’m Irving Azoff. Why don’t you put on a shirt and we’ll have a little chat.” Harry scrambles aside, open-mouthed, and Brian nods and shuts the door behind Azoff. Louis sits up on the sofa, wide-eyed as well. Azoff nods as he looks around the room and chooses a chair, crossing his legs and looking intently at Harry for a long moment, and then Louis. “I’ve heard you’ve been asking about me.”
“I have,” Harry agrees after a moment, clearing his throat. “I- we need help.”
“You’re under Simon, am I right?” Azoff asks, and Harry nods. “Well, that explains it.”
“How did you know we were looking for you?” Louis asks.
Azoff chuckles. “I know everything, kid, but I heard it from a couple different places, actually. My son works for CAA, you haven’t met him yet, but you will. And I had a meeting with the man himself today, he wants me to manage his AmericanX Factor acts next year and he’s starting to realize that Modest Management is the worst excuse for a client team that the world’s ever seen. I told him to f*ck off, of course, that show’s a sinking ship and I won’t work anywhere near him, but a few of your crew members stopped me on the way to the meeting and asked me to find you two. They’re loyal to you, and that means you must have done something worth being loyal for. Normally that’s money, but for you two, I think it’s something else.” He taps his fingers on his knee, still watching them closely, then, “Tell me what you want.”
Harry looks at Louis, who nods imperceptibly. “We’re Bonded,” he says. “Simon won’t let us come out because our availability is our main selling point and he thinks if we come out we’ll lose fans.”
“First of all,” Azoff replies, taking off his glasses and wiping them clean. “That’s total bullsh*t. That excuse only works when people are attractive but untalented. I’ve heard your stuff, and now I’ve seen you perform—you don’t have to hide behind a pretty face. Second of all, that’s a dick of a move and something he’s been doing for years, and I’m sick of it. Assholes like him are the reason this business is the way it is.”
Harry’s heart rate picks up, and he sees Louis sit up straighter.
“I can help you,” Azoff says, and Harry’s breath catches. “It won’t be easy, but I can make it less terrible until we get you out from under them. It’ll have to be covert at first, and then it’ll have to be blatant. No missteps, no jumping the gun. We’ll have it planned down to the day. But it’ll happen.”
And so Harry and Louis start planning their escape.
Winter 2013
Harry’s hair tumbles down to his shoulders now, lengthening into heavy waves that frame his face and curl invitingly on his neck.
On a day out shopping in London, he spends hundreds of pounds on a pile of headscarves. Louis thinks nothing of it, until the day Harry comes downstairs with one wrapped up in his curls to keep his hair out of his eyes, and Louis nearly chokes on his cereal.
He takes Harry right back upstairs, uses four of Harry’s pretty new headscarves to tie him to the bed, and doesn’t let him loose for hours and hours.
Management sends Harry a list of potential winter girlfriends. He secrets it to Brian, who sends it to Jeff, who gets it to Irving. Harry gets a message back within a day to pick Kendall, since she’s an Azoff client who’s hiding a few secrets of her own, and she’ll at least be a friendly face to work with while Syco spins their friendship into the love story of the season.
“Holidays are so much more fun when you’re rich,” Louis says bluntly, running his hands over a pile of new cashmere throws they just bought for their mums. Harry throws his head back and laughs, earning aggravated looks from a pair of rich old ladies on the other side of the shop.
“You’re so right,” he chuckles. “Alright, who’s next?”
“We got all the sisters, Jeff and Glenne, Nick, our mums, our stepdads, the lads, Stan, and Jonny,” Louis reads from his phone. “All that’s left now is Ed.”
“Ah, Ed. What do you get someone just as well-off as you who doesn’t care about material things?” Harry asks, swinging bags of gifts from his arm thoughtfully.
“New tattoos?” Louis suggests.
“I mean,” Harry says, looking down at the littlepadlock on his inner wrist. “We already tattooed each other. That’s pretty intimate.”
“He doesn’t need a car, he doesn’t need a holiday. What do you get the musician that only wants to make music?”
Harry stops in front of a shop with a massive grand piano in the front window display, struck by inspiration. “More music.”
Ed uses the guitar they buy him to write what will eventually become the biggestsong in the world. The words he composes are based on the ones he heard fall from Louis’ lips into Harry’s ears as they danced slowly together at their Christmas get together that year, candles and music low in their living room, not able to notice another soul in the world save each other while every soul in the room couldn’t look away from the two of them.
Louis has kissed Harry under the light of a thousand stars, and he’ll do it again and again and again, every time he has a chance.
Spring 2014
The Where We Are tour is harder than any other tour they’ve done so far.
Harry isn’t sure why; maybe it’s because it’s the third year in a row where they’ll be in hotel rooms more than ones they actually own, maybe it’s because he misses his family fiercely, maybe it’s because this past winter, even with him having his easiest fake girlfriend setup so far, was still incredibly hard on them. Harry wins Villain of the Year for the second year running and cries into Louis shoulder for a whole night, hiccupping and sobbing until his voice goes. An article comes out claiming Harry has slept with over four hundred women, and that’s the one that gets to Louis. They’re shaky—not the relationship, never the relationship, but their hearts are hurt and their shoulders are heavy. And they’re tired, so, so tired.
Where We Are is also more intensive for another reason; Harry and Louis aren’t allowed to interact at all. They can’t look each other’s way, they can’t speak on stage. Consequences are severe, now, and Ann-Marie is not the type to bluff. So they lock it away. Learn to sing to each other without looking right at one another. Figure out how to step back, slip behind a mask. They react in different ways: Louis withdraws, letting Liam and Niall take the bulk of the talking and fan engagement while he stays off to the side with Zayn, and Harry tends to isolate himself and focus everything on the fans. Either way, the shows change, because two members pretending the other doesn’t exist is incredibly difficult, especially among the most affectionate band in the world.
It’s all a swirl of false media images and clutching each other close backstage to ward off bad news. Sources claim Harry’s out with different girls every night, when in reality he’s usually curled up with Louis and a good book, trying to get comfortable on his fifth new mattress in five nights. When he wants to go out, he does; he’s a celebrity, he’s barely out of his teens, he wants to drink and have fun, but those nights aren’t as numerous as the tabloids make it out to be. He’s not crashing and burning, he’s not sleeping his way through the States, he’s just having fun and letting go.
If there’s one part of his image Harry tries hard to change, it’s that of the frontman. The womanizer image will probably never die, not with his team helping it along, watering it like a dying plant when it’s been a few months without Harry being raked over the coals for something scandalous. The rumor of him and Louis falling out and quickly growing into animosity won’t ever go away either, because if Syco PR is committed to the playboy Harry image, that’s nothing compared to how badly they want the fierce Stylinson hatred rumor spread.
But Harry can control whether he’s the frontman or not, and he declines as often and as obviously as possible. He steps himself out of the spotlight unless it’s impossible for him to do so; in interviews, he stops answering unless he’s directly addressed, and he swerves confirming rumors like he’s dodging bullets. It’s ridiculous that he was ever pegged as the frontman anyway; the band never needed anyone to be the clear leader, and in moments of indecision it was never Harry that made the final call. That always fell to Louis, or, in a few rare cases, Niall.
So Harry steps back. He hates being the focal point of all One Direction vitriol. He hates that, as the frontman, it’s so incredibly easy for the PR team to whisper little rumors about him leaving the band to go solo, miraculously always at the times where they have singles to be bought or concert tickets to be sold. He hasn’t wanted to be a solo artist since the first time One Direction sang Torn for an audience. He’s not the best at being the mouthpiece and spouting the official management-given lines to the press, that’s Liam, and he’s never been the best at the business end of things, that’s Louis. He’s not the frontman, and he ducks every insinuation thrown his way that implies he is.
Harry sings love songs to Louis every night that were written just for him, and he knows Louis knows the truth even if they never look each other’s way, even when others try to tear down the happiness they build.
And so begins the Where We Are tour.
They’re in Manchester, a month into the tour, when a rainbow bear is thrown on stage at Harry’s feet. He’s not supposed to look at Louis, it’s an accident that he even does, but he sees Louis’ quirked lips trying not to smile at the bewilderment on his face and so he signals Alberto to take the bear backstage and hide it away to keep for themselves.
Later, it’s Niall that gives them the idea. “Lads,” he says, finishing off the last of his beer and wiping his lip with the back of his wrist, “wouldn’t it be, like, hilarious, if you dressed it up and stuff.”
Louis’ eyebrows scrunch cutely in the middle, and Harry wants to kiss him. So he does. “Why on earth would we do that, Neil?”
“Because it’d be funny,” Niall says easily, shrugging.
They tape the bear up to look like it’s in bondage gear and dub him Teddy Mercury (once everyone finishes groaning at Harry’s pun), but there’s no way to tell the fans that, so online they start to call him Rainbow Bondage Bear. They also start digging for some hidden meaning, as though, like Harry’s tweets and Louis’ behavior around Eleanor, if they look hard enough they’ll find secrets and clues that prove Harry and Louis are in a relationship.
“Well,” Louis says dubiously as he scrolls through his secret Tumblr account, “we always said we wished we could actually tell the fans what’s happening. They took Twitter away, they took Instagram, and they took all our public appearances. Maybe a rainbow bear is the only way.”
Ed writes another song, another heartbreaking pile of words and plucked guitar strings that leaves Harry's heart in shambles when he hears it. Louis is the one left speechless this time, though; Little Things was Harry's ode to Louis through the mouthpiece of Ed's guitar, and so 18 is Louis’ to Harry.
I have loved you since we were eighteen
Long before we both thought the same thing
Summer 2014
Jay and Dan decide to get a legal Bond and throw a massive Bonding ceremony that July, and it’s the first time Harry has a chance to meet a lot of Louis’ family, what with the non-stop touring and all. Jay drags him to every obscure relative, introducing him as “Louis’ boy” and beaming proudly as all manner of aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, and family friends hug Harry like they’ve known him for years.
There are paps watching their every move, barely hidden on the edge of the garden where the reception tent is held, but if they’re here it’s on purpose, and if it’s on purpose it’s because their team leaked it. So Harry sticks with Liam and Sophia (and not a soul asks Liam where Zayn is, though they all wonder quietly to each other and Louis clenches his fist angrily when he finds out he didn’t bother showing up), and Louis hangs out with Niall and Stan.
That is, they stay separate until the sun falls and the party is taken inside the tent, where a four piece band sits in the corner and plays all Harry’s favorite songs. He sweeps Louis onto the dance floor and holds him close, spinning them slowly under the soft lights.
“That’ll be us, soon,” Louis whispers, his head against Harry’s chest, nodding to his mum and Dan as they circle together, grinning brightly and looking exhausted but exhilarated.
Harry hums, moving his mouth to Louis’ ear. He’d abandoned his hat long ago, so he has no issue dipping close, making Louis shiver when he murmurs, “Two years, love.”
“Which one of us is going to wear white?” Louis teases, pretending like he isn’t clutching at Harry’s arm, needy, biting his lip like a vixen just to drive Harry wild. Louis Tomlinson in a well-fitting suit talking about their own Bonding ceremony—it’s a recipe to make Harry combust.
“Well, I am clearly the pure one, out of the two of us,” Harry says, flipping his hair.
“You haven’t been pure in years, baby,” Louis murmurs. He traces a finger down Harry’s chest. “Innocence never suited you anyway, you’re meant to look tempting. Show up at a wedding in a sheer shirt with your tit* out and your butterfly all on display, and not a single person is surprised.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry asks lowly, sliding his hands down to Louis’ lower back, lower, down to his arse. “You’re one to talk, with your hair and your waist and your bum-”
“You’re just saying parts of me,” Louis laughs, grinning softly.
“If I start telling you details about every part of you that makes me want to lay you out across the nearest table, we’re going to get kicked out of your mother’s Bonding ceremony.”
“Take me somewhere else, then,” Louis says, and that’s all the permission Harry needs.
Round one is in the doorway of the hotel room, Harry’s arms bracketed around Louis as he shoves Harry’s trousers to his knees. Round two is in the shower, Louis’s nails scrabbling on Harry’s slippery back as Harry thrusts hard, pinning him to the wall. Round three is over the desk in the corner of the room, the wood cutting into Harry’s thighs with each snap of Louis’ hips. Round four is against the window, Louis sobbing as Harry licks him open. Round five is in the armchair, Louis laid across Harry’s lap as Harry spanks him until he’s spacy. They collapse into quick sleep when their legs won’t hold them anymore, but there’s still a round six the next morning, and that’s their first one in the actual bed, slow blowj*bs that last endless minutes and leave them tingly and giggly when they come, the glow of their Markers the only light in the room.
The next time Louis meets up with Liam, Julian, Jamie, and John, he has a fully written song ready to present them.
"NoControl ?” Jamie asks, eyebrows raising as he reads the lyrics. “Bit suggestive, mate.”
Louis grins, thinks of Harry face slack with bliss, pillow creases still crossing his cheeks. “Good. It’s meant to be.”
It’s August when their world falls apart. August first, appropriately enough, as though the world decided to start ending on a schedule that made it easy to keep up with.
Harry follows Louis into Zayn and Liam’s hotel room without paying much attention to the destination. He’s on Instagram, watching a video Nick posted and wondering if he’s supposed to get the joke, yawning as he settles into a chair and Louis fallsinto his lap.
“Fellas,” Niall nods, as though they didn’t have breakfast together an hour ago.
“What’s up, Li?” Louis asks, twirling one of Harry’s curls around his finger.
Harry looks up for the first time, noticing that Liam, the one who called them all in here, is sitting with his back to the wall next to the bed, his head bowed. He doesn’t look up at Louis’ question, just gestures at Zayn. He’s sat in the middle of their bed, his shaggy hair a mess, clothed in sweatpants that look too loose and a t-shirt that’s too big. He’s usually so much larger than life with his brooding aura and that unimpressed look that will cut a person open and his ever-present cigarette, and yet here, in this moment, he seems so small. He’s curling and uncurling his fingers, fidgeting in a way he never does.
“Lads,” he says, and when his voice shakes Harry sets his phone aside, knowing that something actually must be wrong. “I’m leaving the band.”
“No you aren’t,” Louis says in the ringing silence that follows. “No.”
“Lou, I don’t- I don’t want to,” he says, his eyes blinking rapidly. “I have to. For- for my own sanity.”
“No,” Louis says again, like he's broken, like he's stuck. He clutches hard at Harry's shirt.
“Z,” Niall says weakly, and he looks almost as devastated as Louis, “we're so close to being free from Simon, and then we can make anything we want to. We can do a whole album of whatever you want, just-” he swallows, “just stay.”
“But, it's right there,” Zayn murmurs. “What you just said. A whole album of what I want isn't the same thing as a whole album of what you boys want. And I can't keep pretending that they're the same."
“Zayn,” Harry says, and usually he'd be the weepy one, the one already in tears on the floor, but for some reason the emotions are stuck, stuck somewhere near his ribcage, and he's hardly able to breathe. “We can talk about this. We’re- we’re brothers, we’re in this ‘til the end. This can't be the way it ends.”
“I can't keep pretending,” Zayn whispers. “I've been with you lads every day we've been prepping for this new album, and even through the bullsh*t and the f*cking media narratives and the fake relationships, it's so clear that you love what we do, and that it's all worth it when we record a song that you created from scratch. I haven't… I haven't found that. Not yet. I can't see being called a terrorist as worth it when I'm recording songs that aren't as deep for me as they are for you.”
“Li,” Louis chokes. “Tell him no. Tell him not to go.”
Liam's face is wet, his eyes blotchy and his nose red. “I've tried, Tommo. I've tried everything. He's been wanting this for years, and I can't…” he sobs, just once, but once is enough to break Harry's heart. “I can't think of any more excuses to make him stay.”
“I don't need excuses to stay, I need reasons not to give up,” Zayn replies, and it sounds like a practiced argument.
Louis crying now too, and he's rubbing at his Bus 1 tattoo like it stings his hand. Harry doesn’t know what to do; he’d always known Zayn wasn’t happy, but he thought the new direction of the band was at least better than where they’d come from before, that Zayn could hold on a little longer.
Louis stands, his knees wobbly, and stumbles over to the bed. “Don’t go,” he sniffles into Zayn’s throat. “Don’t.”
“I have to, Lou. I don’t want to,” he says, and his tears fall into Louis’ hair. “But I have to.”
There are meetings, so many meetings. So many things to decide and plan and rearrange. Zayn is leaving in April during a tour break, and so they have to decide what promotional things he’ll be in and what he’ll have to miss because they’ll be released after that.
And, through it all, Zayn starts to pull away. Maybe he already had been and now he just doesn’t have to hide it. Harry watches Louis watch Zayn, his smiles wider now like he can taste freedom, and he wonders if Louis is thinking about their own situation. If freedom tastes as good as Zayn makes it seem.
A week after Zayn tells Syco and Modest he’s buying out of his contracts, Liam calls the other three and they go get dinner somewhere discreet. It’s quiet but warm between them, because they’re all suffering in different ways, and they talk about unimportant things and eat off each other’s plates and, for a little while, it’s almost normal. But then Liam pushes his empty plate back and clears his throat.
“Boys,” he says, and Harry’s stomach swoops. Is this another blow Harry may not survive? Is Liam leaving, too? “I think we should talk about the band.”
Louis, clearly on the same track of mind as Harry, raises his eyebrows worriedly. “Yeah?”
Liam rubs at his chin, scraping his hand against his stubble. “Yeah. I think… I think we need to be serious, boys, and be honest. If…” he coughs, “if there’s ever going to be a time for a clean band breakup, it’s going to be when- when Zayn leaves.”
“Do you want a band breakup?” Harry asks, and Liam shakes his head immediately.
“No, definitely not. But… well. If anyone else does, I think it should be said now. I don’t think,” he sniffs, and Niall leans over to rub at his back, “I can’t go through another shock. So let’s get it all out in the open. Is anyone having doubts?”
“Never,” Niall says immediately. “You boys know me, I’ll be in One Direction until I’m the only member of One Direction.”
“Same with me,” Harry agrees. “Solo stuff is interesting, but I’ve always loved being in a band. Being in this band, especially.”
Louis shifts a little, but he also says, “Yeah. Me too. In it for the long haul, boys.”
“Okay, good,” Liam says, nodding. “So… what now?”
“I mean… it’s not really One Direction without Zayn, is it?” Niall asks quietly. “We’ve said that before.”
They did, Harry remembers it. Sitting around acampfire and pretending there wasn’t a camera crew capturing their every move, sure, they did it then, but they’ve talked about it other times, too. When the level of their fame would suddenly strike them and they’d have to sit back for a little while, they’d always talk about the odds. What are the odds we’d all be put together and get along this well? What are the odds a little band of losers from the X Factor would smash it like this? What are the odds that we’d be this big if someone else had been picked in my place?
And Harry had always agreed. It always seemed inevitable that the five separate lives would entwine like this. But now one strand is unraveling, and Harry’s on the same page as Liam: does one person leaving mean the end of what they’ve built?
“But…” Harry says slowly. “We are One Direction without Zayn. We have been, for a while now. He hasn’t been present, not really. Going through the motions and everything.”
“I think we also need to take into account that…” Liam says, ruffling his hair and looking frustrated. “I mean, listen. I love Zayn more than anyone in this world. I would die for him. But he’s doing this the wrong way—he’s leaving us stranded and he’s abandoning the fans, too.”
“That’s, um, that’s not all,” Louis says, just as quietly as he did before. “He asked me to come with him.”
The other three freeze. Harry’s heart sticks in his throat. “He did what?”
“He knows,” Louis sighs, playing with his fork, “that I’ve always hated our management, I mean, we all do. But I’d dropkick them into a furnace. I’d run over Ann-Marie with my car and wouldn't bother to check for damage. If they offered me a way to leave tomorrow and never see them again, I’d do it.” At Harry’s stricken look, he rushes to say, “But I couldn’t leave you boys, and that’s what Zayn was asking. I belong here—it took me long enough to realize, but I do. And I’m not giving up on that.”
“And this is why we need to sort this out,” Liam says, brows furrowed. “So, what’s the future of One Direction?”
And, over empty dinner plates in a private back room of a restaurant they'll never return to, they figure it out.
Fall 2014
Life has never felt so uncertain as it does going into album promo season for Four. Zayn is still stepping further and further away, spending time with some asshole named Naughty Boy who sneers at Louis the first and only time they meet like he's better than him. There’s the minefield of getting through dozens and dozens of interviews without revealing Zayn’s leaving, or any of the myriad of Bonds within the band, or that as soon as their contract ends they’re out from under Simon’s thumb forever. They smile when asked questions about girls, they joke about things they’ll do on their second worldwide stadium tour, they play inane games and answer those same few questions over and over.
And, in the middle of it all, during the highest point of madness leading up to the album release, Harry and Louis get a message from Irving: they’re done playing nice behind an iron closet.
They take separate routes to knock on the closet door: Harry’s the household name, so his doesn’t have to be so huge, but he’ll get a bigger backlash. Still, he doesn’t hesitate during an interview after they get the okay to start pushing back; an interview asks his four favorite traits in a potential soulmate, and when Liam gives him a golden setup by saying the person should be Unbonded, Harry shrugs and says “Not that important.”
The quote gets more traction than they’d ever expected. Fans and the general public alike dissect it in comments, blog posts, tweets, and in person: by “not that important,” does that mean there’s already someone in the picture? And, for the segment of their fans who have only become more vocal since the beginning, they write post after post proving that yes, there is someone that Harry’s Bonded to, and that someone is Louis.
Louis watches it unfold and holds Harry’s hand when the inescapable retaliation hits back, all the fans who’d held out hope for years that Harry might Bond to them take to Twitter and Tumblr in droves: some claim he didn’t know what he was saying, some claim he was joking, and some, a lot of them, actually, realize he knew exactly what he was saying and toss vitriol at him because of it.
And then it’s Louis’ turn. If Louis gave a quote like “not that important” in an interview, it wouldn’t matter nearly as much. He’s still the least-known band member, the shutaway with the girlfriend who doesn’t do much and who used to be best friends with Harry. There are also all the rumors that have swirled around him for years, rumors about the dagger on his arm that some fans swear is for Harry. If he said “not that important” to a question about a potential soulmate, he’d be all but confirming what everyone already thinks.
Opportunity comes to him eventually, though: Apple’s CEO Tim Cook comes out as Bonded with another man, and Louis wears his rainbow Apple shirt the next day in support.
He expects the backlash from fans who don’t want him to be Bonded to Harry. He definitely expects the angry messages from Syco and Modest, who couldn’t get too mad at Harry about his comment because of the insane slew of press it garnered for them, but they can get angry at Louis.
He doesn’t expect them to use it against him in another round of self-defamation, though, and his knees nearly buckle when he sees the latest tweet on his account that he didn’t send.
Harry Instagrams in black and white that day, and tells Louis he won’t post in color againuntil they’re free. Louis pulls him close and whispers that he hopes it’s sooner, rather than later.
“You need color in your life, love,” Louis murmurs. “I hate to think I’m the reason you can’t see it.”
“You are the color in my life,” Harry answers, and there’s no more talking for a long time after that.
The American Music Awards that year are a bit mad; hints about Zayn leaving have leaked to the press, so they have to deflect and laugh away all of those rumors. They’re performing Night Changes, which was nobody’s vote for their second single (but, hey, Syco never asked anyway, so why would that matter?) and it’s one of the hardest to perform, so they’re all a little on edge for that, too. And, through it all, Claudia trails them like a particularly irritating shadow, stepping in before interviewers can get anywhere near topics that management doesn’t want the band addressing.
But they step on stage to perform and that melts away; Harry’s wearing the greatest jacket he’s ever laid eyes on, Katy Perry beat Taylor Swift for the pop artist category, and Louis looks like an angel in the spotlights, shadows carving his cheekbones into marble.
Harry doesn’t even notice that he sings every line right to Louis, but the rest of the world does.
“Why do you get to be theprince and I’m just the little one with the cheekbones?” Louis complains when they check the Tumblr link Lottie sends them after the show, but he presses his grin against Harry’s shoulder when they realize that even as management kicks all the dirt on them in the world, their love still outshines it all.
Winter 2014
The next time Louis and Harry are in California, they finalize the paperwork for their newest house, a beautiful beachfront in Malibu that Harry’s been eyeing for ages.
It’s the excuse Harry needs to clean out the wardrobes and closets at the London house which, as the one they’ve owned the longest, has accumulated more once-worn outfits than anywhere else. He’s digging through the shirts that have been shoved to the back of his side of the wardrobe to see if there’s an old favorite he’d forgotten about that he wants to keep at the new place. He finds the heart print shirt that’s too small for him now, blazers and bowties he hasn’t worn in years, and then his hand connects with something he hasn’t felt in ages, cool silk sliding against his palm.
Harry owns clothes now that would make his sixteen-year old self weep for joy, bright patterns and sheer tops and, well, he’s always had an affinity for silk, and every time Harry brings a new one home Louisteases him about his guilty kink.
But he really shouldn’t, because he’s the one that started it all with this, the slightly off-white silk top he’d stolen for Harry from the X Factor wardrobe department. The last time Harry had worn it, it had hung from his shoulders and the sleeves were so long they covered his fingertips. Now, after years of working with a personal trainer and a couple of growth spurts he hadn’t yet hit at that point, the shirt fits Harry like it had been made for him.
He wears it to a music awards ceremony in Cannes, and the next morning he tops a dozen best-dressed lists. When asked for the designer, Harry shrugs, grins at Louis (whose eyes twinkle right back) and says, “Oh, I dunno. Had it for years.”
In January, at probably the dozenth Azoff family dinner that Harry and Louis have been invited to, Irving calls the two of them and Jeff into his office for an after-dinner brandy and a short meeting.
“This year is going to be your year,” he promises, tapping his ring against his glass. “Or, it will be until next year: that’s my plan, that each year is better than the one before. It’s entirely possible.”
Harry, whose alcohol tastes have changed since he was a sixteen year old novice who turned his nose up at anything that wasn’t peppermint schnapps, takes a sip of his drink and nods. Louis, curled against his side, asks, “What’s the plan?”
Jeff and Irving share a grin, and Harry feels himself smiling without even hearing their idea.
In February, for the first time in two years, Harry and Louis take a publicflight together from L.A. to Australia to kick off the new tour. Fans dub it Lairport, Larry Stylinson trends worldwide on twitter, and even all the management-sanctioned update accounts have nothing to say that makes it seem like Harry and Louis still hate each other.
“I wonder if they realize we’re more excited than they are?” Louis asks, switching between social media sites on his phone and grinning widely at each devolution into keyboard smashes and caps lock.
“Doubt it,” Harry answers, chuckling. It’s a private plane, so they’re only sharing with Alberto, Preston, and a couple more security guys they’ll need when they land. “Still, how are we meant to pass all these hours before we land?”
Louis clicks the lock button on his phone and smirks.
The fans are so overwhelmed by Harry and Louis being openly together in the same space that it takes them days to take a closer look at the pictures, theholes in Harry’s shirt that match Louis’ fingers perfectly.
Spring 2015
Between the beginning of the On The Road Again tour and Zayn’s imminent split, Louis nearly misses the break-up with his own girlfriend.
However, it can’t go easily, and it can’t make Louis look good: respectful and kind are not words that Syco PR wants associated with Louis Tomlinson. So, in a private hotel pool in Bangkok, a curly-headed girl named Katie that Louis has never met before walks to his side and says, “Hi, I was told to kiss you? There’s paparazzi here, apparently.”
Louis looks over at Zayn, who shrugs. And then he looks back in the doorway to the hotel, a sick feeling building in his stomach as- yeah, there she is, Claudia’s familiar blonde ponytail and her red lips pulled back in a smirk.
Katiekisses him, and the pictures hit the internet soon after. The Daily Mail and the Sun write righteouslyscathing articles raking Louis over the coals, calling Eleanor his devoted girlfriend and the victim of rampant cheating. But Harry takes Louis’ phone and doesn’t let him check compulsively to see what people are saying and they bury themselves in performing, learning to do shows as a foursome since Zayn went home for a quick breather and says he isn’t coming back until the South Africa shows.
Still, Eleanor and Louis have one more phone call as their fake relationshiptumbles to the ground, and while things have been a little more strained lately—it was much harder than Louis thought it was going to be to see his fake girlfriend in his mum’s Bonding ceremony while his soulmate sat in the audience—they end the contract on amicable terms.
“Good luck, Lou,” El says, and Louis is glad, here at the end when he’s able to look back, that if he had to be stuck with someone to pretend to love for almost four years, it was at least someone decent. “You don’t deserve everything you’ve been put through, and I think you’re gonna be able to come out on top.”
“Thanks, El,” Louis says, and he looks up as the door clicks, Harry slipping into the hotel room after his workout with Mark and smiling a hello at Louis. “I, erm…” he trails off as Harry strips out of his ratty sweats, “I really…” Harry pulls his shirt over his head, leaving him only in an indecent pair of compression shorts, “appreciate…” Harry turns so that Louis can see the sweat trail down his broad back, shoots a lascivious grin over his shoulder, and pulls the shorts down.
Louis chokes, and Eleanor laughs in his ear. “Go,” she chuckles. “Don’t make me listen to whatever is happening over there.”
Harry disappears into the bathroom and the shower starts, and Louis laughs at the ceiling as he lets his head fall back. “Thanks again, doll. Take care.”
And then he strips and follows his stupid seductive soulmate into the shower, kissing the smug smile off his face.
Zayn doesn’t ever come back from his break.
It doesn’t really shock anyone, Liam least of all. When they get the group text from that lets them know he won’t be coming back for the last few Asia shows (srry lads i just can’t i gtta go home), Liam just sighs and turns in early.
When the Facebook status announcing Zayn’s departure from the band is posted, the four members of One Direction are together in a Jakarta hotel room. They don’t speak, just stay where they are sprawled across Niall’s bed. Louis, who would normally be leaning back against Harry’s chest as he drifted in and out of a nap, is curled around Liam like a mother cat with a kitten. He pets his hair and pats his shoulder and all the while he’s lost inside his own head, his eyes blank.
They keep going, of course. They were more prepared for this than anyone else. Still, when they perform a few nights later to a stunned but supportive South African crowd, Harrytears up as he thanks the audience.
“You will always be there for us,” he says throatily, “and we will always be there for you.”
Liam leaves the stage during Through The Dark, and Louis follows to check on him. Niall and Harry hold down the fort, but it’s hard. It’s all hard.
They’ve got a message from Zayn waiting for them when they step off stage, but no one replies. Not even Liam.
(9:32 p.m.) Zaynie: hope ur all ok, i’m sure u smashed it tonite. love u lads.
In the On The Road Again tour break in April, the one where they were supposed to be staying out of the spotlight for a while until Zayn’s news died down, Harry and Louis are apart for the longest time in five years.
They’ve never been the kind of couple that needs to constantly be together; they couldn’t be, not with all the different PR threads and schemes their team made them follow. And it’s weird, Louis thinks to himself as he reclines out under the spring sun in Liam’s backyard, because nothing about his relationship with Harry is the way he thought his Bond—if he ever had one—would go.
There’s the obvious parts: he never knew love was supposed to feel all-encompassing, that when the person who holds his heart smiles it would make his whole body thrum with happiness. He didn’t know that learning to fall asleep wrapped around another person’s body would be so hard to forget when they aren’t there. He didn’t realize, after spending all his life wanting nothing but the sunshine of freedom, that a boy who drips stardust and moon smiles would make him appreciate the night so much.
But there are other things he didn’t realize, either. He didn’t know, back before a dagger ever etched itself into his skin, that it would soon become routine that he and his future soulmate would kiss other people in public to keep their own relationship a secret. He didn’t recognize the depth to which some people would stoop to hide something lovely just because it might not make them money.
Mostly, though, he didn’t think that he’d find a person who would walk into his life and wipe away the cobwebs of fear and doubt like Harry would. That first smile, and he was hooked. Louis had kissed dozens of people, but one press of Harry’s lips to his and he knew he’d never want anything more.
He writes a song, there in Liam’s backyard as Jamie strums along on his guitar, about finding his home in Harry, and Harry finding his in Louis. About being scared and alone, and then finding the person that made everything make sense. About being lost, and finding the person to lead him to the light.
I’ll make this feel like home, he types, and his fingers feel light. Harry is his home, has been for years, always will be. And Louis wants to tell the world.
Harry spends their month apart making his own music too, stuff he teases Louis with while they’re on the phone, playing the demo in the background just quiet enough that Louis can hear the lightest strains of piano.
“Not yet,” he always sings when Louis begs him to send him the song so he can hear. “I want to see your face when you hear it the first time.”
"Harold,” Louis groans. “We do have technology that makes that possible. We can Skype! FaceTime! Snapchat! Anything!”
Harry giggles, and concedes that, maybe, he has a point. They set up a Skype date for later than week and Harry tells Louis to have tissues handy, to which Louis scoffs, claiming that he is stoic and tough and does not cry.
At the first line of If I Could Fly, Louis starts bawling.
At the fourth replay, he’s still crying.
After the eighth time through, he concedes that Harry might have had a point.
One of the charities Liam is a patron for has Gatsby-inspired ball, and he invites Louis and Niall to join him at it. The two of them have a blast strolling into shops and demanding their best Roaring Twenties attire, trying on ridiculous suit after ridiculous suit until they settle on appropriately flamboyant outfits. They go together, because Harry’s still in L.A. and Babs is out in Hawaii for a photoshoot, and head out to the Trekstock event in high spirits.
They’re both a little shocked, though, when they arrive and see Liam, his arm wrapped around Sophia’s waist.
This isn’t their first red carpet, though, and the One Direction boys are nothing if not professional (when they want to be), so they smile and pose for a few minutes until the press get their fill, and then Niall and Louis both steer Liam and Sophia into the ball, finding a discreet corner to have a chat in before Liam’s duties pull him away.
Louis breaks the silence as they huddle together away from cameras. “Lima. Sophia, it’s nice to see you.” He flicks his glance to Liam. “If a little unexpected.”
“Um, right,” Liam says, rubbing at his forehead. “Well. Louis, Niall, Sophia is my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, we’ve met,” Niall rolls his eyes. “We’re just wondering why your hired girlfriend had to come to a non-management designated event.”
“No, lads,” Liam shakes his head. “Sophia is actually my girlfriend.”
“Liam, you’re Bonded to Zayn,” Louis says sharply. “You can’t have a girlfriend.”
“I can, and I do,” Liam says quietly. “Zayn broke it off. We aren’t together.”
Louis and Niall are stunned into silence. Sophia squeezes Liam’s hand sympathetically and murmurs, “I’ll leave you three to chat.”
“What do you mean,” Louis says, and it doesn’t really come out a question, “Zayn broke it off.”
Liam blinks hard a couple of times, shrugging listlessly. “I don’t know what to tell you, Tommo. Zayn needed a break from everything, and that includes me."
“That’s not how it works,” Niall insists. “You’re soulmates, you’re perfect for each other.”
“Yeah, we are, but that doesn’t automatically mean the relationship is perfect,” Liam answers. “I’m not going to force Zayn to stay with me if it’s not what he wants. He deserves the option to say no.” He clears his throat as someone up on stage announces the beginning of the ball, and pats his hair to make sure it’s in place. “I have to go. But don’t… don’t worry about me. I’m going to be okay.”
Niall and Louis watch Liam walk away and don’t speak for a long time, each locked in their own thoughts.
“It just doesn’t make sense, Haz,” Louis whispers on the phone later. “I don’t understand it. They love each other so much, and yet they let it all fall apart just because they’re scared to try.”
Harry hums, his tired voice a low rumble. “Not everyone sees the fight as worthwhile as we did though, Lou. Some people just want relationships to be easy.”
Louis sniffs, rolls onto his side in their massive bed, wishing Harry was next to him to make this all a little easier. “It’s like me mum and dad all over again. I just have to watch as it all falls apart.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Harry replies. “If they need help, they’ll ask for it. Maybe Li’s right—you know he and Zayn only ever fought when we’d been together for long periods of time and they couldn’t get any breathing room. Maybe being apart for a little while will help them sort out whether it’s all worth it or not.”
Louis sighs, fiddling with the pillowcase under his head. “Everybody should just be more like us,” he declares sullenly. “If they all realized how lucky they are to even have a soulmate, everyone would be a whole lot happier.”
Harry laughs. “Right, well, we can’t be the relationship model for everyone.” Louis grins a little, but then Harry speaks again. “Besides, Mr. Perfect, it probably wouldn’t be the best if everyone was exactly like us. I went in to do some laundry today and found a load of your clothes sitting in the washing machine from the last time we were in Malibu. They’re all a bit moldy now.”
Louis gasps, affronted. “I did no such thing!”
“I mean, unless someone who has so much Adidas clothing that there’s no way they could be anything but a walking billboard for them broke in to use our washer, I think it was you, love.”
“Oh, was it just my Adidas stuff?” Louis asks, ire forgotten. “I’ll just make them send me more.”
Harry laughs again, his squawky loud one that tends to startle birds when he does it outside. “I love you so much.”
Louis grins, curls around his pillow. “I love you too.”
Summer 2015
Louis, Liam, and Niall fly back to America at the end of April to join back up with Harry and do some writing and recording for the fifth album. They’ve also got a little bit of promo to do, a few interviews here and there and, of course, they have to make a stop by Corden’s new show.
“Lads, you don’t understand,” he says when Harry calls him one day and puts him on speakerphone as he bakes a batch of brownies and the other three sit around and watch."Nobody watches TV at 12:30 in the morning, no one but uni students and insomniacs. Show up and boost my ratings, I’m sure you owe me for something.”
“Are you going to make us do something horrendously embarrassing?” Louis calls, grinning.
“That depends,” James answers slyly. “How do you feel aboutdodgeball?”
But, before that, Harry and Louis are brought in for a meeting with Magee, Griffiths, Ann-Marie, and some of the rest of the PR team.
“We’d like to start raising Louis’ image for a potential coming out in November,” Ann-Marie says shortly, as though the idea of it causes her pain. And as though she’s not the one who nearly single-handedly brought Louis’ image to the depths anyway. “Industry insiders are saying Bieber might be dropping his album at the same general time as yours in the fall, and he’s got the comeback hype on his side. Not to mention Adele, who’s going to sweep any other album out of the water. We’ll need a headline, and we’ll need a big one if you want another number one.”
“How do you plan on raising my image?” Louis asks carefully. He’s incredibly excited by the idea of him and Harry potentially coming out together earlier than they'd planned in November, of course he is, but he doesn’t trust Ann-Marie at all, and they wouldn’t hand that gift out without having an ulterior motive.
“Papped nights at clubs, mostly,” Magee says. “Harry’s image as the partier and womanizer has been cleaned up slowly over the past year or so”—With no thanks to you, Louis thinks snarkily, knowing that any and all headlines involving Louis and Harry are checked by an Azoff before they’re published, even if Modest and Syco don’t know that—”and you’ll be able to take his place as the fun one in the band. We’ve even recruited a few of your friends from Doncaster to join you and make it look more natural. You’ll want your name to be just as famous as his when you come out: you want it to be ‘Harry and Louis of One Direction Bonded’, not ‘Harry Styles Bonds with bandmate.’”
“It’ll be mostly painless,” Ann-Marie says. “Though, there is one plan in the works that would be a sure way for your name to become known.”
That’s more along the ominous route that Louis had been expecting. “And what is that?”
“Well,” says Griffiths. “There are only a few guaranteed ways to garner immediate press: an arrest, a new relationship with someone of interest, a drug scandal, or…”
“Or?” Harry asks, his hand twitching around Louis’.
“Or,” says Ann-Marie. “A pregnancy scandal.”
“Why, though?” Harry asks, grunting a little as he swings his club. It’s a great shot, the ball landing softly in the middle of the green with a gentle thud. “Why would they suddenly be okay with us coming out?”
“They aren’t okay with it,” Irving says from the golf cart, sipping from his beer. “They need it, though. Simon’s empire is crumbling, as I’m sure you’ve heard, and One Direction is their biggest meal ticket. If they lose you, Syco will probably go under. X Factor is failing, people stopped caring about American Idol years ago, and besides you boys and that girl group they're completely ignoring, their record label is almost nonexistent.”
“So they want us to come out under them so, what, we’ll be appeased enough to stay with Syco?” Louis asks incredulously from next to him. He doesn’t golf, doesn’t really see the point, but he told Harry he likes the way his bum looks in the trousers, so he’ll dress the part and spend a day drinking while other people do the actual exercise. “Putting us through years of sh*t and giving us one good thing like they’re handing out presents, do they actually think that’ll work?”
“They might think you see it as worth it,” Jeff shrugs.
“I know this is petty,” Harry says, straightening his pink golf shirt and tightening his bun. “But I don’t want to be the catalyst that keeps Syco alive a little longer. We’re coming out anyway,” he gestures to Louis, who nods in agreement, “so why should it be in November and not when we originally planned when they would reap the benefits?”
“They might try some other tempting offers,” Irving warns. “Solo deals, production and writing work, things like that.”
“I don’t care,” Louis says staunchly. “Niall and Liam won’t fall for it either.”
“Do you know who you’re signing with next, then?” Jeff asks.
Harry shrugs. “Probably staying under Sony, they have more power to keep us than Syco does.”
“I don’t care,” Louis says again. “Just not Syco.”
Irving nods, taps his knee. “How about this, then. They want to raise your profile, Louis? Let them. Play along. It’s not the first time someone used a fake baby stunt to gain some recognition, and the public has a short memory so it won’t haunt you. They’ll start asking for more definitive future plans as the tour comes to an end, but be vague until then. Let them waste their resources keeping you happy and then, when you have some ideas on who you might want to sign with, let them know you won’t be renewing your contract. They already know you want to take a break after the new album drops, correct?”
“Yeah, we told them we want a few months off.”
“Good. They’ll take that as confirmation that you’re resigning after the contract ends and give you some more time.”
“Prepare for a smear campaign if they find out early, though,” Jeff warns. “Try and keep it under wraps.”
“Absolutely,” Irving agrees. Then he claps his hands. “Alright, enough business. If we’re gonna sit in the sun and watch you two idiots play Tiger Woods, I need another drink.”
Fall 2015
Everything goes just as Irving said: Louis takes Simon up on his offer to start a small record companyoffshoot for himself, though he doesn’t know if he’ll get to keep it when they move away from Syco, and Liam is introduced to some producers interested in working with him on some solo projects. A girl that Louis had gone clubbing with in May, Briana, announces apregnancy, and Louis becomes a headline-grabber in the space of a single eventful hour.
On The Road Again rolls through the U.K. at the end of September, and it’s the greatest couple of weeks the band’s ever seen. Even with Louis having to pretend to be excited about a baby that doesn’t exist and, if it did, is definitely not his, even with the absence of Zayn still felt keenly by all of them, it’s still the time of his life. He’s alive on stage again, running and bouncing and playing with Liam and Niall, sending flirty looks to Harry across the stage, watching him absolutely lose his sh*t every time they perform No Control and serenading each other during 18.
It’s a good time for everyone, not just Louis. Harry shines brighter than ever before, absolutely killing his Drag Me Down solo every night and giving everyone in every stadium the view of a lifetime in his fancy sheer shirts that would look ridiculous on anyone else. Niall has become the vocal star of the band, taking over Zayn’s parts in most of the songs, his voice stronger than ever, and when Babs joins them for the month in the U.K. he’s even better. Liam is ever-steady, solid as a rock, and Louis makes it his personal mission to ensure Liam laughs on stage at least five times a night.
He and Zayn are even mending things, Zayn happier and healthier away from the intense schedule the band has gotten used to. Liam’s still with Sophia, and Zayn still has a lot to make up for, but they’re at least getting back to a solid friendship. He’s apologized profusely for leaving mid-tour leg, let alone mid-tour, and admits he’s even got Drag Me Down as his ringtone.
“Don’t get co*cky, though,” he jokes tentatively to Louis on the phone one night. They aren’t back to where they were, they may never be, but Zayn is Louis’ brother, and brothers sometimes might not like each other but they never stop loving each other.
He does warn them, though, of things to come. “My new management are, like, they’re way better than Modest, obviously. But they still need me in this, like, this certain image? And it’s way more like me than my image was in the band, but,” Louis can hear the shrug from across the Atlantic. “Well, they want me to distance myself from One Direction, and I don’t really know how far they’ll take it. So, I mean, you know how print interviews go, just take it with a grain of salt, babes.”
So the tour rolls through England and everything is as good as it can be; Briana’s batsh*t family causes a stir every once in a while, and Zayn’s management spreads a few interviews that aren’t entirely complimentary of One Direction or their fans, and they still have to deal with Claudia and Ann-Marie and Griffiths and Magee and a whole load of other manipulative executives and managers, but it’s still good.
Until they reach Belfast.
It’s shaping up to be a normal night before a normal show: Harry’s sprawled across a sofa writing in his journal, Louis and Niall are playing ping-pong, and Liam’s texting Zayn and watching a film on his laptop. A knock on the door startles them all into stopping what they’re doing: they’re already dressed and quiffed and hairsprayed and they’ve already had their meet and greet, so they aren’t supposed to be doing anything else until they’re called to head to stage. The door opens, and in walks, of all people, Simon Cowell.
“Well,” Louis says, surprised. “Hello.”
“Not the time for pleasantries, I’m afraid,” Simon says shortly, crossing his arms. Claudia and a few members of the PR team are behind him in the doorway, watching with narrowed eyes. “I’ve heard ofa couple of rumors that I’d like some explanations for.”
“Erm. Alright?” Niall answers.
“I’ve gotten wind of a few meetings between executives from Epic and Columbia andan undisclosed band who, from the pictures I’ve seen, look a hell of a lot like you four,” he says coolly. “If there’s an explanation, I’d love to hear it.”
“Just checking our options, I think,” Louis shrugs nonchalantly, though his heart is racing.
“And why would you need to do that, when you’ve made it clear you’re resigning with Syco?” Simon asks through gritted teeth.
“Did we?” Harry asks lightly. “We said we’d like a break this spring when the album and singles are fully out. Didn’t say anything about resigning.”
Louis has seen Simon go red with rage before. He’s never seen him go nuclear.
He screams. He screams and rages and curses and threatens, he howls like a banshee denied millions of dollars made from overworked barely-adults who he’s an authority figure over. Louis screams back, because he’s wanted to for years, and when he runs out of words Niall and Harry take his place. It’s a cacophony, it’s a wretched symphony of voices overlapping into one big mess of sound. They fight, they fight hard, arguing about their rights as artists and unsafe working conditions, rigid control that ended in Zayn being chased away and the other fourclose to breaking.
But it’s Liam who steps in, an enduring presence not unlike a stone in a stream: unmovable, unshakeable, and the one who was always the most likely to side with management.
“No,” he says, a rumble of thunder after the rain. “We aren’t coming back to Syco after the contract ends. Five years has been long enough.”
Simon breathes heavily, sweating patches through his shirt, his skin an unhealthy red. And then he turns, spinning on his heel and stomping out of the dressing room.
The smear campaign starts with Liam, then: One Direction have performed through illnesses, lack of sleep, broken bones, and deaths in their families. Yet when Liam puts his foot down in Belfast, Simon has the show stopped, and places the blame directly on Liam’s shoulders.
So the smear campaign starts with Liam, but it doesn’t end there.
“Maybe that should be my next tattoo, right across the forehead,” Harry says, sweeping aside his curls to trace his hairline."WE ARE NOT BREAKING UP. Has a nice ring to it, yeah?”
They’re squeezed on a sofa for another round of album promo interviews, waiting for the next reporter to arrive and ask them about their earth-shattering hiatus. Harry stretches his arm across the back of the sofa and Louis curls close, yawning sleepily. “It’d help if Dan Wootton stopped reporting exclusives about how much we hate each other.”
“He’s a moron,” Niall says easily. “Hey, did you know everyone on the internet calls him Dan f*ckton? I think that’s more fitting anyway.”
Liam snorts a little, shaking his head. “That is fitting, actually.”
There’s a knock at the door, and an assistant leans in to say, “Ready for the next one, boys?”
Louis sits up, frowning a little at not having near enough time to cuddle, and Harry kisses his forehead in apology before nodding to the girl. “Sure, send them in.”
“Hello, One Direction!” says a loud woman from the Telegraph. “Heard this might be the last time we’ll ever interview you lot!”
Harry sighs and feels the rest of the boys do the same, and they settle in for another round of needless denials.
Winter 2015
As the Made in the AM promo rolls onward, the smear tactics from Simon’s team get a little more pointed and a little more focused: there’s a tiny mention of a drug scandal involving Niall, and when Liam and Sophia break up there’s a little bit of “falling off the bandwagon”press regarding that, but three of the four band members remain relatively unscathed.
Louis, though, not so much.
It’s everywhere, it’s everything. The media picks him apart, his looks, his voice, his Twitter fights and his lack of notoriety. Briana’s family pushes into full on attack mode, calling Louis a deadbeat dad to a child that doesn’t exist and a cheater when Louis is set up with a winter girlfriend of his own for the first time.
It doesn’t matter that Louis donates millions of his personal money to dozens of charities to help kids with illnesses, that he loves his family so much he’d do anything for them, that he is the absolute best thing that has ever happened in Harry’s life and everyone else who knows him; he and Niall and Liam and Jay and his sisters and all their friends just have to watch as the boy made of sunshine is picked apart.
And yet, it’s like it doesn’t even matter. Criticism rolls off of Louis like he’s wrapped in Adidas-branded armor. He’s stronger than Harry’s ever seen him, he’s more confident than ever before. He wrote seven songs on a chart-topping album that fully fits the sound and image they want as a band, including a scathing destruction of Haylor in the form of Perfect. Every time an article comes out condemning Louis for anything, the fans rise up and defend him in droves like a personal army.
It’s tough, there’s no way it wouldn’t be. There are still things to be worried about: Liam and Zayn still haven’t reconciled after a few more of Zayn’s interviews were published where he bashed One Direction fans and criticized their music, Niall and Babs are having a hard time with her being on a month-long shoot in Peru, Briana’s family, while mostly irrelevant, do catch some attention from time to time and send the fans into a panic, and everyone in the world assumes Harry’s going to be the next one out the door for a solo career. The four of them stay up late some nights talking everything over, their fears and insecurities, their worries. Liam talks about his nightmares that Zayn never comes back to him, that he decides he doesn’t want to be tied down and that Liam isn't worth it. Niall tells them that he didn’t think he was going to make it to the end of the year, that he thought he’d either crack under the stress or too little sleep, but that now that they’re on the other side, he thinks he’ll be okay. Louis admits he’s worried that Ann-Marie and the Syco team have been right all along, and that the fans won’t come back when they find out Harry and Louis are Bonded.
But it’s the light at the end of the tunnel. They’re almost out of the rough patch. Simon’s influence lessens by the day, and they’ve got multiple offers from other record companies ready to welcome them with open arms when they’re ready to return.
They’re almost free.
Spring 2016
The day they’ve been waiting for dawns bright and early over Cheshire, dew on the grass melting away into a pleasantly warm day. Harry and Louis get one kiss, one they laugh into as they keep their eyes squeezed shut and as Gemma tugs Harry’s arm to get him out of bed before he opens his eyes and they start the day with bad luck.
Louis gets a moment to revel in sleep-heavy bliss before he’s dragged out of bed next, Lottie and Fizzy pulling him from the room and into his designated area for the rest of the day. Inside are a row of navy suits hanging by the window, a row of shimmery dresses on the other side, a TV tuned to Manchester United match day commentary, and some of his favorite people in the world waiting for him with breakfast and smiles.
“Hey,” says Niall, the first on his feet. “You ready?”
“Been ready for years, lad,” Louis answers, but his heart beats unsteadily as though to counteract his words. Stan is up next to squeeze Louis in a hug, clapping himon the shoulder as they pull back.
Louis is the last to be dressed, as everyone in the immediate area knows sticking him into a multi-thousand pound Givenchy suit and asking him to not wrinkle it for a few hours is a recipe for disaster.
“You’ve settled down a bit, lovely,” Lou teasesas she starts on his hair. “But not that much.”
Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy, and Phoebe are in glittery gold dresses and towering heels, and Jay rushes in from all her prep down at the chapel to slip into her own gown. Stan and Niall are buttoned into navy suits, their shoes so shiny Louis can see his face. Morning passes into afternoon and he forces down part of a sandwich when Jay insists she won’t be carrying him up the aisle when he passes out.
Soon, the clock strikes three, and it’s time to go. Louis is ushered into a car and then dazedly follows Niall into a side room at the chapel, where they’re to wait until they get their cue.
The sound of a murmuring crowd grows on the other side of the wall, all of Harry and Louis’ family and friends, everyone they love in one room for the first time. That might be the part that makes Louis lose his breath for a minute, wavering and having to sit in the chair Stan shoves at him.
“Not getting cold feet are we, eh?” he laughs quietly. Louis shakes his head: no, not cold feet. Just a whole lot of emotion battling inside him.
The knock on the door is quiet, but it nearly makes Louis’ heart stop. His mum steps inside, shimmering and lovely in the swath of sunlight through the window. “Ready, Lou?” she asks. He takes a deep breath and nods, following her, Niall, and Stan out of the waiting room and to the door outside of the east side of the chapel. His hands are shaking, which is ridiculous; he’s sang in front of stadiums full of thousands and thousands of people, he’s performed countless times on national TV, he’s even sang for the bloody Queen, but a thirty-foot walk down an aisle is nearly giving him a heart attack.
The doors open from the inside, and the ceremony begins.
Stan goes first as the first strains of music float out the door, a string quartet covering Sweet Disposition. Niall turns and gives Louis a massive hug and a wet smack on the cheek before he, too, disappears inside.
“Lou,” says Jay, and Louis takes her arm.
“If you say something to make me cry, Mum, I swear to God-”
“No, no,” Jay chuckles. “Just letting you know I love you, and I’m so proud of you. You’re incredibly lucky to have Harry, but he’s lucky to have you, too.”
“Mum,” Louis sniffs, trying to blink back the tears she said she wasn’t going to cause. She laughs again, tinkling bright, and tugs Louis into the chapel.
Niall and Stan are waiting on Louis’ side of the church, while Jonny and Liam stand on Harry’s side. In the crowd are dozens of people watching and already teary as the two soulmates appear: Ed, Nick, theX Factorgang, Pixie and Alexa and Rita, all the extended One Direction families, Taylor and her newly found soulmate Karlie, Julian and John and Jamie, Irving and Jeff and Glenne, Cara and Kendall, Paul and Lou and Caroline Watson and Alberto and Preston, and dozens of other friends they've met through their years together. Zayn is next to Gemma on Harry's side of the church, smiling that wide, crinkly-eyed smile that anyone so rarely gets to see, and every one of Louis' sisters, even baby Doris, is already sniffling.
Louis and Harry appear at the same time on opposite sides of the chapel, and Louis has to stop for a minute when he blinks the sunlight from his eyes and catches sight of his beautiful soulmate.
Harry’d commissioned a custom suit from Gucci and they’d fallen all over themselves to comply, Louis knew that, but Harry was a stickler for tradition and so this is the first time he’s seen Harry in it. It’s incredible, a vintage slim fit, double breasted with two rows of gold buttons against the deep blue material. As Harry steps into the path of a sunbeam from a window high overhead the suit is lit like a Christmas tree, swirls of subtle sparkling gold in twisting patterns across his chest and arms.
Somehow, by the grace of God or Jay Deakin, one of the two, Louis makes it to the head of the aisle next to Niall, just in time to meet Harry as he reaches the same point. Louis lifts onto his toes and kisses Harry without even thinking about it, doesn’t realize he maybe shouldn’t have done that when the minister clears his throat and the crowd titters with laughter. Louis grins back at his mum, who’s trying to look stern but mostly looks like she’s biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“Sorry,” Louis whispers, and the crowd snickersagain. He steps back to his mum’s side and kisses her cheek as Anne and Harry do the same, holding her close for a long minute before she and Anne trade, pulling their son-in-laws in for kisses as well.
“Take care of him,” Anne murmurs, and Louis nods.
“Of course. Always.”
The mothers take their seats on the front pews next to the rest of the family members, and the ceremony begins for real.
Louis knows the minister is talking, probably saying really wonderful things about love and forever and how Bonding is a covenant and things like that, but Louis can’t really focus on anything except the ways his hands fit into Harry’s and the happy sheen in his best friend’s eyes.
Harry is the first to do his vows, his voice shaky as he turns Louis’ Bonding ring over and over in his hands.
“Louis,” he says, beaming, and takes a shuddery breath. “You’ve been the love of my life since before I knew how true that actually was. You’re my rock and my salvation on my dark days, my sunshine and my champagne on my best days. Every morning that I wake up next to you is the best day of my life and I-” his voice cracks, the first roll of happy tears falling down his dimpled cheeks. The crowds coosin unison, and Harry laughs shakily. “Every day I spend apart from you makes me love you all the more when I get to have you back, and I would never trade a single hour I’ve ever spent with you for any time with anyone else. Even when you’re playing your ninth hour of FIFA in a row and you haven’t showered in four days,” he grins, and the collected crowd chuckles along, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Harry’s face grows serious again, and he uses his hold on Louis’ hands to pull him a little closer. “You said, once, that you wished you could be enough for me. I don’t even know if you remember that or if you know I heard, but I did. And I promise, Lou, you aren’t just enough for me, you’re everything for me. You’re my reason, my everything, and I love you so much.”
He slides the ring onto Louis’ fourth finger with shaky hands. Louis takes a shuddery breath and pulls Harry close to kiss him again, pulling back and wiping his eyes of tears.
“That’s gonna be really hard to top, love,” he sniffs, grinning a watery smile, and the crowd giggles. “But I’ll try. I’ve been so in love with you for so long that I don’t think I even remember how I fell, just that one day you were the curly boy I met in the bathroom and the next you were the most important part of my life. I was so thankful to even get to know you, to be your best friend, that I didn’t even care that I didn’t think you’d ever love me back. You were the brightest star in the sky and I wasprivileged just to get to see your light. And then,” he shakes his head in disbelief, still amazed all these years later, “then you said you loved me, too. And I was astounded that someone like you could fall for someone like me. And then I thought that there would never be any way you would love me as much as I love you, and that was okay, too. To have any of your love was more than I could have dreamed of.”
He swallows, blinks back tears. “And you Bonded back to me, and ever since that day I’ve made a promise to myself, and I’ll make it to you here today: I promise to love you more tomorrow than I did today. I promise to spend the rest of our lives making sure you don’t have a second of doubt in the strength of what I feel for you. I promise to protect you and to let you protect me when I need it. I promise to respect you, to cherish you, to love you forever.”
Harry’s Bonding ring slides into place on his finger.
And that’s how forever begins.
The rest of the day is a blur of laughter and love, champagne and cake, glitter and navy and sky blue. It’s Harry twirling Louis on the dance floor, it’s both of them shucking their suit jackets and never going more than a few minutes without a kiss, their Markers glowing under the fabric of their sleeves. It’s being surrounded by all the people who love them most in the world and being told again and again that they are the luckiest couple on the earth to have found each other.
It’s Louis realizing Harry’s wearing the silk shirt he stole for him during X Factor, it’s Harry realizing Louis is using one of his favorite of Harry’s headscarves as a pocket square.
It's watching Zayn and Liam, whose reunion and rekindled relationship has been nearly entirely done from separate continents, fall into each other's arms and proceed to ignore everyone else in the room. It's being pulling into a lively and quite terrible approximation of an Irish jig with Niall and Babs, whose own Bonding rings glint in the spring sunlight.
It's love, overpouring love, overwhelming love.
The evening slows and Louis can catch his breath as a good majority of their friends stand to make toasts for them. Niall and Liam do one together that has Harry bawling within seconds, Gemma blinks back her own tears as she tells Louis that she hopes one day she’ll find someone that looks at her like Louis looks at her brother, and Zayn toasts to good health and fortune and a lifetime of knowing that they’re the best parts of each others’ lives.
But, surprisingly enough, it’s the most unlikely duo who steal the show: Nick Grimshaw and Ed Sheeran.
“Alright, alright, enough crying, now,” says Nick, waving a teary Cara back to her seat. He’s got a half empty glass of champagne and a wide smile that spells trouble. “I’m not much for speeches,” he says, and half the room laughs, “or for demanding attention,” the rest of the room joins them, “but I’ll give this public speaking thing a go.” He lifts his glass and tips his head at the newly Bonded couple. “Harry and Louis. You two know that I’m a romantic, but I’m also cursed with being the biggest cynic in the world. And life is tough for people like me, or Taylor,” he nods to the popstar in the back of the room, “or Ed,” he gestures to the table he’d just left, where Ed is nodding in agreement. “We want that true love fairytale but don’t really believe it exists. And yet, here you two come along, and you ruin every pessimistic observation about love I’ve ever made.” Harry and Louis chuckle. Nick smiles, but he raises his glass in salute. “You give hope to people who didn’t think that was possible, and you do it without trying. Just watching you two be in love makes the rest of us fall a little more in love with life. Keep that happiness, don’t let it fade. You deserve the very best of fairytale romances.” He nods at the couple. “To Harry and Louis.”
Ed’s comes a little later and, of course, it’s accompanied by a guitar. “For those of you outside the music industry, you might not know this,” he says, strumming along with his speech like he can’t help it. “But these two were the worst kept secret in the business. They can’t go an hour without talking, can’t go a minute in each other’s presence without touching. We all knew how it would end, though nobody really knew. When I met these two, they told me they weren’t Bonded and I thought they were trying some really lame prank.” He rolls his eyes, and Liam, Niall, and Zayn snicker, well aware that most pranks Harry is involved in aren’t the most well thought-out schemes. “I thought there was no way anyone could possibly fit Louis like Harry does, and vice versa. They were always meant to be each other’s missing pieces.”
He takes a seat on a stool and strums his guitar again. “I’ve written a few songs about these two, because they’re sort of a never-ending source of inspiration. They’ve sang a couple, but I kept a few for myself, too. You might have heard of one, it’s called Thinking Out Loud.” The whole crowd chuckles, nodding along, and Ed laughs. “Yeah, it gained a little bit of radio play, thought you might’ve. I won’t play that, I’m sure you’ve heard it before. But there’s another, a little less well known, and I thought I’d play it for you all today.” He adjusts the guitar, meets Harry and Louis’ eyes. “Hazza, Lou, this is for you.”
Loving can hurt
Loving can hurt sometimes
But it's the only thing that I know
Harry pulls Louis back to the dance floor even though their limbs are achy and their shoes are pinching their feet and, really, neither of them should be trying to showcase their dancing skills. It doesn’t matter; the world fades away in Harry’s arms, just the two of them and the words to Ed’s song.
Oh you can fit me
Inside the necklace you got when you were 16
Next to your heartbeat
Where I should be
Keep it deep within your soul
Spring 2018
Harry Styles is standingon the balcony of his Parisian house contemplating the stars.
It's 11:11 on the dot, and the world is quiet.
His soulmate would have a fit if he knew; it’s warming up as the season starts to change but the nights are still chilly, and he tends to be a little overprotective when it comes to the bundle currently nestled in Harry's arms.
"Isn't she lovely?" Harry sings quietly."Isn't she wonderful?"
He's reminiscing, a little. Thinking back on his life and the ways it's changed, thinking back to the beginning, before he knew what his future held.
At age sixteen, Harry Styles wanted fame and to bring strangers closer together. He wanted to make a change in the world, even if only in the worlds of a few people. But, more than anything else, he wanted love.
He never could have imagined, that wide-eyed sixteen year old, that love would do more than hit him out of nowhere. That it would turn his world upside down, that it would hurt like fire and cure all ills, that it is a bliss beyond compare.
A strong, familiar arm wraps around Harry's waist, a chin propped on his shoulder. “What are you two doing out here?” Louis' voice rasps, his stubble a soft scrape on Harry’s bare shoulder. His Bonding ring is cold against the sensitive skin of Harry’s hips.
“Just enjoying the night, Lou,” Harry whispers, and Louis leans over to move the blanket aside a little to see their little girl’s eyes closed, her tiny perfect lips pouted in sleep.
Louis hums, kissing Harry’s shoulder. “It is a beautiful night, isn’t it.”
Pinpricks of light shine in the inky darkness of the sky, and Harry Styles sings Stevie Wonder into the sleepy silence, his baby girl bundledin his arms, his soulmate tucked against his side.
And everything is perfect.
