Chapter Text
LA is exhausting. The people are exhausting, the traffic is exhausting, the unfamiliarity and sense of not belonging is exhausting. Louis should have spent enough time in LA in his life as a multimillionaire pop star to become accustomed to the place. To the heavy, hot air that sticks to your skin like a sheet. Yet it still feels otherworldly to him, a million miles away from the grey skies and homeliness of London.
Louis tries to bring a bit of home with him wherever he goes. Whether it be some old friend in need of a holiday like Oli or Calvin, or just something as small as a 6x4 picture of his mum in his wallet. He never used to get homesick, back when the band was first gaining momentum. Back when he was going to places for the first time, too absolutely distracted by the absurdity of the reality he found himself in. Thrown into something he didn’t even realise he’d wanted, with four boys he barely even knew.
That’s another reason he finds himself out of place in LA, unable to get at an itch that’s been bothering him for years. Back in the early days, home hadn’t been a place. It’d been a person. He’d etched it permanently into his skin for fucks sake. It was always him and Harry. Stuck to each other like super glue. Pulled together by some magnetic force, existing in their own bubble. Everyone could see it, but that was half the problem, wasn’t it?
It’s not like Louis can pinpoint the exact moment in time when him and Harry fell out of sync. There wasn’t really one at all. It had been a gradual slip, like the tide wearing away at a sandstone cliff. Chipping the solid foundations until there was nothing left to stop the structure falling to the waves below.
It’s not like he spends all of his time sitting around moping over a lost friendship, he’s good at distractions. But LA only seems to accentuate the distance between them. Two separate planets, not even in the same solar system.
Harry is so at home here, spends every second he can basking in the California heat, networking with music moguls and rubbing shoulders with Kardashians. Harry glows in LA, like the city was built for him. Louis spends most of his time inside luxurious, air conditioned villas, too clean and un-lived in for him to feel comfortable. Sprawled on the sofa Googling his name and seething at the shit that follows it.
The latest stream of articles are depressingly hilarious. Pictures of him falling out of clubs, surrounded by a mob of beautiful, leggy blondes.
‘Newly single Louis Tomlinson takes five lucky girls back to a hotel.’ One article reads, Louis scoffs. He’s always been a clingy drunk, desperate for attention and overwhelmed by the feeling of just wanting to hold somebody close.
He can’t help but feel sorry for the girls he latches onto at clubs. Going back to Louis from One Direction’s hotel room sounds great in theory. In reality it involves little more than sitting on Louis’ bed whilst he rolls sloppy joints and passes them around before calling cabs for the girls and letting them borrow his warm clothes for the ride home.
The most intimate thing he’s done in months is grab Liam’s dick on stage so he fucked up his high note. Eleanor and him had fallen into nothing more than friends a long time ago. It’d been like a safety net, she was one of the best people Louis had ever met and although their relationship had been little more than platonic for a long while, she meant a lot to him. They’d ended it officially months ago. Even though Louis knew there was nothing there, it’d still hurt like hell to hear it. “I’m seeing somebody else, Lou. I can’t keep calling myself your girlfriend, it’s not fair on either of us. We need to start a new chapter. ”
He’s brought back to the present when his phone buzzes noisily against the arm of the sofa. He checks it and groans.
’Cars coming @ half past, be ready to leave. Tight schedule’
It’s from his personal chauffeur, Louis has no idea why he has to have a personal chauffeur, he can fucking drive. They’re taping James Corden’s show today, their first interview as four piece. The last thing Louis wants to deal with. If someone had told little, naive nineteen year old Louis, that in five years Zayn wouldn’t be in the band and him and Harry would go weeks at a time without speaking, he’d have laughed in their face.
‘alright mate , see you later’
He jabs into his phone, pressing send and locking it. He shrugs himself off the sofa, catching a glance of himself in the mirror and wincing at the heavy bags under his eyes. Something for their make up artist to fix later, he thinks as he makes his way to the shower, stripping his clothes and leaving them in a messy pile on the floor.
*
The CBS studio’s dressing rooms are by far some of the nicest Louis has encountered. Minimalistic and refined, black leather and shiny marble flooring. Glass bowls filled with the candy they’d requested. Smoking is allowed, which is definitely a plus. Liam and Louis share a ten pack of some shitty menthol brand between them. Louis cant remember when he picked up smoking, cant actually remember ever having to buy himself a pack. Thats the thing with being famous, people are so willing to give you everything you ask for, even if it comes with a severe health warning on the back of it.
He’s sat back in the hair and make up room now, perched on a chair in front of a mirror whilst Lou sprays some sickly smelling product into his hair.
“You need a haircut, Louis.” She says, tugging at the long strands at bottom that fall onto his neck. “Want me to chop these bits off quickly?”
“No.” Louis snaps, pulling his head away and receiving a bewildered glance from Lou. “I’m growing it a bit…” He explains, avoiding eye contact with her in the mirror.
Lou just raises her eyebrows and squeezes his shoulder, “Fair enough.”
Louis has always been fussy with his hair, always fiddling with it and fixing his fringe. Always spending the longest out of all the boys in front of the mirror armed with hairspray and straighteners. It’s not like him to let it grow out into the unkempt, un-styled do he’s currently sporting. He likes the comfort of it though, likes to twirl it around his fingertips when he can't sleep, running his hands through it and feeling it fall between his fingers.
That’s one thing he’s always loved about Harry, his ridiculous mop of hair. Found himself idly winding his fingers through it, scratching at the back of Harry’s scalp or moving a strand that had fallen in the wrong place.
Harry’s hair is the longest it’s ever been right now. Loose ringlets falling past his shoulders and pooling in the dip in his collarbones. Every now and then Louis will catch himself staring at it, noticing a strand parted to the wrong side that he would have gently pulled between his fingers and put back right. He wonders if it still feels as soft, if he still has the springy bits right at the back under the heavy outer layers.
Louis remembers a time when they were still so young, Harry mustn’t have long turned seventeen. Their styling team had demanded he get a hair cut to tidy it up a bit, keep it neat. Promised they wouldn’t take too much off.
Louis had come back to their flat to find Harry sat on the sofa, eyes red and puffy and hair so short it barely covered his ears. Harry had looked up at him, eyelashes wet with tears and his lips pouty. “It looks so bad, Lou.”
Louis had sat down next to him, scooping him up into a hug and threading his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t Haz. It looks fine, and it’s just hair. It’ll grow back in no time.” Harry used to be so insecure, so wary and guarded. Nobody on the outside got to see it though, Harry was the face of the band, the cheeky Lothario bedding 30 year old women. “I look so ugly.”
Louis remembers Harry saying that like it was yesterday, whispering it wetly into Louis shoulder. He remembers it because it was so baffling to him. So confusing to Louis that Harry could ever think that about himself. Everyone knew Harry was gorgeous, but Harry was gorgeous. Is gorgeous. And he was most gorgeous vulnerable and open in Louis’ hold.
Louis hadn’t told him that though, instead what had left his lips was “Shut up Harry, your irresistible face was the only reason we got to the X-Factor final.”
Harry had let out a choked laugh, nuzzling further into Louis’ side as Louis combed his fingers through what was left of his hair.
“All done.” Lou’s voice comes from behind him, pulling him back to the present. “You like it?”
He looks at himself in the mirror, touching his fringe softly with his fingertips. “Yeah, sick. Thanks.”
Lou smiles back at him, “The other boys shouldn't be long, think they’re gettin’ mics fitted.” She says, tapping him on the shoulder before turning on her heel and heading off in the direction of her dressing room.
Louis pulls out his phone, checking the time. Still over a fucking hour until they have to be on. The surprising downside to being a pop star is that there’s a lot of waiting around, stuck in holding areas, biding your time.
He’s about to put his phone away when he hears someone approaching. He looks up into the mirror and sees that it’s Harry. He’s dressed like he always is these days, tight jeans and an unbuttoned shirt with ridiculous boots that don’t really match.
“Hi.” Louis offers, occupying himself with scrolling through his phone.
“Alright?” Harry responds, fiddling with a bag on the floor.
“Yeah, good.” Louis replies, fixing his fringe back the way he likes it.
“You seen Ben?” Harry asks him, still crouched out of Louis’ sight.
For a split second Louis thinks ‘Why? Why do you need Ben? Why do you need anyone? I’m right here.’
“Nah, haven’t. Sorry.” Is all he gives him.
Harry just makes a small grunting noise, pulling out some magazine from the bag. Louis looks up and watches him make his way over to where Louis is sat, placing himself in the chair next to him. “Are you nervous?” Harry asks, flicking the magazine open.
And thats the thing, it’s not like they hate each other. It’s not like they cant bear to be in the same room. It’s nothing like that. It’s just stilted conversation and awkward glances where lifelong promises and soft touches used to be. That’s what hurts the most, they used to be so fucking good.
“Little bit, feels so weird without Zayn.” Louis replies, picking at the rip in his jeans.
“Innit. At least we’ve got James interviewing us and not just some random journo though.”
Louis flinches at that. Louis introduced Harry to James, Louis has known James for years. Him and Harry used to hang out with James and his wife all the time like some weird double date. It’s just another sharp reminder of what used to be.
“Mhm.” Is all he says back.
They sit in silence for a while, Harry skimming through his magazine. Louis manages to catch a glimpse of it, Ok! Magazine. Typical tabloid trash.
“Why d’ya read that shit?” He asks, meeting Harry’s eye in the mirror.
Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis’ remark. “I don’t, usually.” He shrugs. “It’s a special edition though, royal baby and all that. Four page spread.”
Louis laughs softly, rolling his eyes. “You’re weird.”
Louis expects one of Harry’s classic drawn out “hey’”’s and a cheeky grin, but Harry just presses his lips together and shrugs, going back to the magazine.
Before long Liam and Niall make their way into the dressing room, loud and boisterous as ever. Harry darts up from his chair, slapping both their hands in a high five and pulling them into a hug.
“Tommo!” Liam shouts, coming up behind him and ruffling his hair.
“Watch it would you?!” Louis snaps, slapping Liam’s hand out of his hair. “Only just sorted me fuckin’ hair.”
“Oh!” Liam sing songs. “Tommo woke up on the wrong side of the bed, better watch it lads.”
Louis just sighs, getting out of his seat and placing himself down on the sofa next to Niall. Niall takes pity and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Don’t be a dick, Payno.” Niall laughs softly.
He hears Harry giggle from the other side of the room, he’s talking on the phone. Already lost interest in the situation involving Louis.
“I’m always stickin’ up for you, Louis.” Niall giggles, rubbing Louis’ arm.
“Thanks.” He says, his eyes on Harry.
*
“Smashed it boys!” Niall exclaims, pulling the three of them into a hug. “Smashed it!”
They’d been off air no longer than a few minutes, still slightly dazed and disorientated by the harsh studio lights. To be fair, they had smashed it. They’d handled the awkward questions about Zayn with a practiced ease, Liam taking the brunt of it, like he always did with questions nobody really wanted to answer.
The only really stilted moment being James’s incessant quizzing of Louis’ regular clubbing and partying. It was obvious James was trying to accentuate the point that Louis was single and definitely ready to mingle. Louis’ used to this line of questioning, just never directed at him. Harry’s spent the good part of five years being bombarded with questions about his love life, jokes about him being a womaniser, a home wrecker, shagging anything with a pulse. Louis’ remembers having to sit there and listen to it, absolutely itching to jump in and tell the interviewer to fuck off. That Harry wasn’t like that, not even close. Louis can’t help but wonder if Harry felt that same urge to protect him, watching Louis squirm under James’s questioning. Another part of him wonders if Harry believes it. If Harry thinks Louis really is sleeping with a different girl every night. It isn’t like Louis has given him any reason to doubt it.
“Good job, lads. You were all great.” Speaks one their PR people, patting them each on the back.
Louis really detests their PR people, their handlers and the higher-ups in suits. Individually, he’s sure they’re perfectly lovely, but what they stand for makes his blood boil. They’re the people responsible for creating this warped and twisted version of themselves that the public get to see. The people who’ve dragged Louis’ and the other boys’ names and reputations through the dirt for a few extra figures on album sales charts.
He fucking dreaded meetings with them, still does now. It’s never, ever a good thing to be called in to their offices. More often than not it’d been him and Harry sitting opposite them at a desk, being “strongly advised” to “tone down this whole ‘bromance’ thing.” Louis remembers laughing at them, rolling his eyes at Harry. There was nothing to tone down, neither of them had been aware there was a ‘bromance thing.’
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Louis had bit back, “Why don’t any of the other boys have to tone anything down?”
Harry was always quiet, fiddling with his sleeves and refusing to make eye contact. Sometimes Louis wanted to shake him, why won’t you say something, stick up for us? It was always left to Louis, fighting battles for the both of them. Battles he shouldn’t have had to fight in the first place. Stupid things like being allowed to sit next to Harry in signings, or mentioning him on Twitter.
“It’s just not good for the bands image, Louis.” Some higher-up had told him. “Not with your target audience.”
He remembers one particularly awful meeting where they’d brought evidence to back up their claims; a few short clips of the boys in interviews. The first was them being interviewed by some Irish journalist that was trying much too hard to be matey with them.
All the boys were pressed together on a sofa, a bit restless and not really taking the interview seriously. They’d been asked about picking up girls, obviously, and Harry had said something stupid about how watching sad films lead to kissing.
Louis’ remembers the pang of jealously in his stomach, picturing Harry cosying up to somebody that wasn't him. He’d thought about all the times Harry and him had laid around together on their sofa, or in each others beds, watching cheesy films. How they’d always be draped over each other, holding each other close because the heating never worked in their flat.
Louis always cries at sad films, but Harry never used to tease him about it. He thinks back to one time they’d been tucked up together watching some sappy rom com Louis doesn’t remember the name of. When a tear had began to trickle out of Louis’ eye, Harry had reached over and swiped it away with his thumb, running the back of his palm across Louis’ cheek and smiling down at him, eyes sparkling.
That had felt special to Louis, a secret moment between the two of them. Hearing Harry reduce something that was theirs into a joke about girls, so flippantly and off hand made Louis’ stomach hurt.
Without thinking, he’d gripped the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him in close enough that he could feel his breath. Harry had looked down, right into his eyes, grin splitting his face two. For a moment, it’d felt like Harry was going to lean in and kiss him. Instead, he’d leaped forward, cupping Louis’ face and ruffling his hair as Louis did the same back.
When they’d pulled apart, the interviewer looked stunned. “Obviously, they’re a band that are close in more than one way.” He’d joked.
You’ve no idea, Louis thought to himself.
And that wasn’t even the part of the interview their handlers were most concerned about. A few minutes prior, the interviewer had asked them all a question, accidentally skipping over Louis. When he realised, he’d reached out over Harry, squeezing Louis’ thigh. Moments later, Louis felt another hand on his leg, taking up the exact same space where the interviewers had been. Harry’s long fingers gripped his thigh, squeezing once before patting it firmly. The gesture had felt a lot like “mine.”
“See?” Their handler had asked, pointing out the touch. “This is what we mean. You can’t keep your hands off each other.”
The next clip they were made to watch was filmed in New York. It’d been a long day, a mall signing earlier that had gone on for hours, Louis and Harry at separate ends of the table. They were both exhausted and a bit mardy, still so wrapped up in each other that being apart for more than a few hours drained them.
All of the boys were sat on a sofa with Harry perched behind them. His fingers were tapping away non stop just behind Louis’ back. It was like Louis could feel some kind of gravitational pull, dragging him closer to Harry’s hand behind him. He’d risked a glance at the camera, weighing up his options. At the time, it had looked like he was out of frame. Clearly he wasn’t.
Liam’s saying something about how incredible the fans are when it happens. Harry’s knuckles graze the back of Louis’ arm, stroking against his skin softly, up and down. Louis attempts to move his arm back in a way he thought was subtle. Jarring it backwards to lean in closer to Harry’s touch, craving it.
And yeah, to an outsider it probably looked really fucking weird and not very platonic. But that was just Harry and Louis, that was them. They were weird. Louis had never felt like that around anyone but Harry. The touch was anchoring, grounding. Every second Harry wasn’t touching him it had felt like his skin was itching.
“Why did you do that Harry?” Their handler had probed.
“I wanted to.” Harry answered simply, chewing at his bottom lip.
That was it, they just did things because they wanted to and because it felt right. It didn’t have to mean anything, it didn’t.
“Well it’s got to stop. You’ve got to think about your actions, how they could be perceived.” The handler had replied.
Louis remembers Harry turning a deep red, his eyes glued to the floor.
*
They sit around in the holding room of the studio for a while, waiting for the fans to leave and security to clear the area so they can make their way back home. There’s always a quiet lull after the adrenaline of an interview seeped away, especially after big, important ones like the Late Late Show. Louis and Niall occupy one sofa, flicking through TV channels on the complimentary flatscreen whilst Liam wanders off into his own dressing room, mumbling something about FaceTiming Sophia.
Harry’s spread over the other sofa in the room, long legs dangling over one side. He’s texting somebody, text tone just filtering through the noise of the television. A few years ago Louis would have thrown a pillow at him and told him to put it on vibrate, now he just rolls his eyes every time a ping rings through the room.
“Cars are here boys.” A security guard calls through the door.
As they all walk to their individual cars, offering a wave and a nod to each other, Louis can’t help but sigh at how much of a far cry it is from the days when they’d all bundle into one SUV, gaggle of limbs and laughs. The other boys have always been too polite to mention, but it’s more than obvious that Harry and Louis’ distance has impacted the entire group dynamic.
He remembers one night he’d spent on the bus with Zayn, when after one too many blunts he’d slurred out, “Sometimes it’s like… I feel like I’m just your replacement for Harry. Like I’ve got t’be half of what he was to you or somethin’.”
“Don’t be daft.” Louis had replied, “It’s not that much of a big deal. Me n’ Harry are fine, we’ve just grown up. Not so clingy anymore.”
Zayn had patted Louis’ leg that was slung over the top of his thighs. “Whatever you say mate.”
*
Louis is sat in the back of a shiny black Range Rover, being driven back to his rented apartment. He really doesn’t want to go back there, doesn’t want to sit around all alone and fall asleep in a bed too big for him. He opens his phone, scrolling through Twitter looking for something to do tonight. One tweet in particular catches his eye. There’s an event on at some club, Snoop Dogg’s album release party. He gets up his LA agents number, typing out a message.
‘any chance you can get me a few tix to snoops party tonight ?’
Honestly, how was Louis living in a world where he’s just casually inviting himself to Snoop Dogg’s party? It doesn't take long to get a reply.
‘no problem, I've got u on the guest list with a +4’
Louis scans his brain for four people in LA he can drag along with him. What a depressing thought. Three million people in LA and Louis is struggling to find four to hang out with. Calvin and Oli are always up for anything, still in awe at Louis’ celebrity lifestyle five years later. Liam’s a good shot and Alberto will take up the last place. He calls Liam, he picks up on the second ring.
“Alright, lad?” Liam asks him.
“Yeah, fine. You busy tonight?”
There’s hesitation. “Nah, not really. Why, whats up?”
Louis’ scratches at his jaw, feeling a bit awkward at how often he’s been trying to drag Liam out lately. “There’s this party later tonight in West Hollywood, Snoop’s gonna be there. Album release or some shit. Up for it?”
“Snoop as in Snoop Dogg? Are you joking mate? Of course I’m up for it. Look at us being all VIP, hanging out with Snoop.” Liam laughs down the phone.
“S’mad innit?” Louis laughs back. “I’ll text you details in a bit, yeah?”
“Yeah go for it. I’ll see ya later.”
“See ya.”
Louis’ is about to end the call when Liam’s voice comes through the speaker again. “Louis?”
“Yeah?”
“S’everything alright, mate? You’ve been a bit off since we got here.”
Louis lets out a sharp breath, had it been that obvious? “What’d’ya mean? I’m fine. Probably just jet lag messing with me head.”
“If you say so.”
Louis sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll speak to you later, alright?”
“Good lad, see you laters.”
Louis hangs up, letting himself sink back into the leather seat. Fucking hell. Liam was hardly the most observant person in the world, if he was picking up on Louis’ sour attitude it must be bad.
He curses himself for letting it get to him, he’s managed to effectively not think about it for almost years now. It’s this fucking place, so far away from home and a million miles away from normality. It’s made a thousand times worse now everything else has changed too. There’s no Zayn to take his mind off things with a warm hug and a shoulder to lean on. No Eleanor to hold his hand and guide him through the screaming crowds of people, give him some sense of grounding.
He thinks about ringing his mum, just listening to her babble about Ernest and Doris or how the plumber still hasn’t been round to fix the leaky sink. Something to make him feel normal, remind him he still has a million and one other things going for him outside of this mess with Harry and shitty LA smack bang in the middle of it. It’s just gone seven though, making it three in the morning back home, so that’s blown out of the water.
The car slows, coming to a halt outside of the gated property Louis’ been staying in. It’s a stunning place, open plan and high ceilings, white leather and shiny marble. It’s got a beautiful garden too, two acres of land surrounded by tall hedges. They pull up into the cobbled drive way, parking just outside the steps leading up to the front door. Louis pulls on his backpack, undoing his seatbelt before opening the car door and stepping out.
“Thanks mate.” He offers, tapping his fist on the window of the drivers side, giving him a small wave.
He gets a beep of acknowledgment as the car shudders into reverse, pulling back down the drive. He finds the house keys in his back pocket, stretching up on his tip toes to reach the unnecessarily high up lock. Letting himself in, he wanders around aimlessly for a bit, never quite sure what to do with himself all alone in a big, quiet house.
When him and Harry had first lived together there’d been this comforting sense of routine, yet it had never felt mundane. If it had been a long day, full of appearances and just generally being super famous teenagers, they’d tumble into the flat together, kicking their shoes off at the door. Louis would get the kettle on, making them tea in their favourite mugs. Harry would phone for a takeaway, not even having to ask Louis what he wanted, order memorised after so many nights following the same formula. They’d eat together at the kitchen table, Harry banning all food substances from the sofa and their beds after one too many spilling incidents. More often than not Louis would hook his ankle around Harry’s under the table as they ate. When they finished, Harry would put all their dishes and cutlery in the dishwasher, whilst Louis sat on the table, swinging his legs back and forth. He’d tell Harry all the jokes or funny stories he’d thought of in interviews earlier that day that he hadn’t been allowed to lean over and whisper to him in front of the cameras.
They’d finish the night off in Harry’s room, in his bed. At first Louis would tell Harry there was better WiFi connection in his room, so it made sense for him to sit in there with him. Then they got the router fixed and Louis’ explained that actually, Harry’s mattress was just a lot comfier and softer than his, even though they both came from the same set. Eventually, Louis didn’t need an excuse to spend the good part of his evenings wrapped up in bed with Harry under the blankets. It was expected, worked into their routine. They’d put a film on Harry’s TV, or play Fifa on the Xbox, Louis squeezed up against Harry’s side.
The night would often fly past them, early hours of the morning creeping up on them unawares. Harry had always been particularly fond of sleep, dozing off on assorted soft surfaces throughout the day, so it was no surprise to Louis when he’d turn to say something to Harry and he’d be curled up next to him, fast asleep.
Louis craved that time, lying next to Harry, tucked into his side as he slept peacefully. Harry was always so warm, like a little human furnace giving off heat. He’d plaster his chest up to Harry’s back, letting the warmth seep through Harry to him.
Most nights he would only allow himself a few quick minutes like that, chin hooked over Harry’s shoulder and arms draped over his side before softly nudging Harry awake, whispering his name, gentle and quiet. Louis knew how much Harry hated sleeping with clothes on, or forgetting to brush his teeth before he slept.
“You were sleeping.” Louis would whisper as Harry rubbed his eyes open, blinking up at Louis in the warm amber glow of the bedroom.
“I was cosy.” Harry’d gravel back at him, voice rough.
“You looked it.” Louis had mumbled once, smoothing Harry’s sticking up fringe back flat across his forehead.
Louis would traipse back to his own room, ignoring the pull in his stomach that was desperately trying to drag him back into Harry’s bed.
There had been one time where Louis had found himself unable to do anything but give in to that urge. The one time he’d spent the whole night in Harry’s bed.
It was at a time when things were changing, when foundations were starting to crack. It was towards the spring of 2013, just after Harry and Taylor Swift’s PR stunt nightmare was well over and done with, the shockwaves from it still ricocheting through both of their lives. Harry was getting mobbed by paps and fans all day and clubbing and partying with his London friends all night.
There’d be a significant push from their PR team too, separating the two of them even further on stage and in interviews. Louis had been flown all over the world with Eleanor for photo opportunities and promo. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy spending time with her, but his schedule was busy enough without the added stress of adjusting to timezones.
Constantly being separated by outside sources was exhausting and upsetting, tiring them out. At some point, it had just become easier to take orders than to resist them and they’d found themselves ignoring each other without even being asked to first.
That one night, the show had taken a toll on the both of them. It was their last show in a series of non-stop, vigorous touring and they were exhausted. Much to Louis’ annoyance, management had booked them all into a hotel near the venue, it was easier for the tour managers to handle logistics if they were all together in a hotel, even if they were in London and not further than half an hour away from their respective homes.
They’d both been silent checking into the hotel, lugging heavy backpacks behind them. They stood side by side at the front desk as the other boys and the rest of their entourage bounded around the lobby waiting for their rooms to be ready.
Neither Harry or Louis had spoken to the other about it, but it was easy to tell they were both tired out and missing home, not wanting to spend another night in an anonymous hotel bed. More than that, they were both pining for the simplicity of just existing in each others space.
Even stood in the corner of a hotel lobby, Louis could still feel the weight of watching eyes all over him. He wanted to put his arm around Harry’s waist and pull him closer, rest his head against his shoulder and breathe in his familiar scent. Have Harry drape his long arm over his shoulders and tuck him into his side. You can’t keep your hands off each other. The voice inside his head had taunted, replaying the words he’d been told a million times. You’ve got to think about your actions. He’d found himself inching away from Harry’s side, feeling the warmth seep out of him as he’d shuffled himself apart from where he wanted to be most.
Not much later, the rooms were finally ready and Louis had opened the door to his, walking on auto pilot towards the bed. He’d kicked his shoes off and fallen onto the plush sheets, burying his head in the pillows, trying to block out the ringing in ears.
He couldn’t have been there longer than a few moments when he’d heard a tentative knock at the door. Grunting, he’d pulled himself up and stumbled over, pulling the heavy door open. He’d had to blink hard to get his eyes to adjust to the figure that greeted him, Harry.
“Can I come in?” Harry had asked before Louis had a chance to speak.
Louis had just swallowed, nodding his head and waving Harry in. Harry was barefoot, in nothing but a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt. Louis had shut the door behind him, standing in front it, just watching Harry sit himself down on the corner of the bed.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Harry had mumbled, rubbing his forehead with his palm. It was barely even midnight.
Louis was quiet, making his way over to the bed, perching on the other corner. “Maybe my bed’s more comfortable?” Louis mumbled, picking at the stitching on the sheets.
It was silent for a moment, just the sound of the air con and Louis’ heart beating in his chest.
“I think it is.” Harry had murmured back.
Louis bit his lip, “Stay?”
Harry had nodded, standing up and stepping over to the corner of the room. Louis just watched him wordlessly from the bed as Harry began to take off his clothes. Louis’ breath hitched in his throat as Harry stripped down to nothing but his boxers before turning around and crawling back under the duvet. Louis had followed suit, mimicking Harry’s actions before shuffling in next to him. Barely any words had left their lips since Harry knocked on the door, but it had felt like the most important conversation they’d had in weeks.
Louis had felt his bottom lip quiver, throat stinging as Harry had laid on his side, opening his arms and wrapping Louis up in them. It had felt like fresh water after a drought, being tangled up in Harry after having him at arms length for what felt like months. It’d felt like coming home, felt like he was home. He could be a thousand lightyears away from Earth, plunging into a black hole, but if Harry was there with him it’d still feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.
“This okay?” Harry had whispered into Louis’ hair, lips lingering there.
Louis had just nodded back, squeezing Harry tighter against him. He didn’t miss the dampness on the pillow under Harry’s cheek, or the way his eyelashes had been clumped together, wet.
Louis had tried to stay awake as long as possible, savouring the feeling of safety and comfort he felt, entwined with Harry. Long after Harry himself had fallen asleep, Louis’ eyes burning with the effort to stay open, he’d finally drifted off himself.
He’d woken up to an empty bed, it was the first and last time they’d slept the night together.
***
Louis wanders through his rented LA house now, flopping himself down on the sofa and opening up his MacBook. He pulls up a word document he’d been working on last night, lyrics to a new song he’d been messing about with.
He’d never expected to get so into song writing. Never expected to spend so much time scribbling down lyrics, pondering for hours over whether one particular phrase was worded well. Something about it was addicting though, pouring your emotions on to paper then hearing thousands of people scream them back at you months later.
He highlights the text he’s already typed out, deleting the senseless rambling he’d gushed out at 3am. The words he types in it’s place seem to come to him easily, flowing through his veins and rushing out onto the keys.
Remember when, you were my boat and I was your sea? Together we'd float so delicately. But that was back when we could talk about anything.