The call comes at 4am. It wakes Harry with a start and he can only answer in monosyllables, confused and drowsy and not really processing any of it until after he’s hung up and has been sitting there for a few minutes staring into space with his brow furrowed.
“Lou,” he mumbles then, turning to gently nudge the still-sleeping body beside him.
“Mmm.”
“Lou.” Harry nudges him again. The worry is just beginning to gnaw at him, that nagging feeling of something not being right. He can’t remember this ever happening before—not like this, with this sense of urgency.
“What?” Louis sounds grumpy, his voice sleep-rough, as his eyes flutter open to look at Harry.
“Emergency band meeting,” Harry says. “We have to get up.”
Louis frowns at him, uncomprehending, for a long time. Then he says, “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. They’re sending a car. We have to get up.”
Louis looks frightened, and it makes the anxiety churn more violently in Harry’s stomach, as if Louis knows something he doesn’t. “What happened?” Louis asks faintly.
“They wouldn’t tell me.”
“Is it—everyone? Not just us?”
“Yeah.” Harry, satisfied that Louis is properly awake now, slips out of bed and starts getting dressed, pulling on the clothes he wore yesterday. Louis lies there for another long moment, and Harry prompts him with, “We have to go,” and then it’s like he snaps out of his daze, getting unsteadily to his feet and pulling on some pyjama trousers over his boxers.
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The car is startlingly quick; the boys have only just finished getting dressed by the time they hear it pull up outside. They must have sent it before even making the call, which for some reason makes Harry feel even more nervous. Whatever this is, it’s important, and it’s pretty clear that it’s not good news.
Liam is already waiting in the car by the time they get outside, offers them a cheery “Morning!” and Niall appears just a couple of minutes later, padding across the courtyard in his slippers and eating a chocolate chip muffin.
“What’s this about?” Louis asks the driver, twice, but he doesn’t get a response. “Did they tell you anything?” he asks Liam and Niall, who know no more than anyone else.
Finally Zayn turns up, and now that all five of them are here the atmosphere feels a little less tense. They tease him about the fact that he’s got his shirt on inside out and still looks like he’s half-asleep, and he settles down beside Harry and Louis and says flatly, “What’ve you done this time, got caught shagging in a park?”
He gets a nipple twist from Harry for that, but Harry can’t help but feel like this must have something to do with him and Louis. All their other “emergency band meetings” have been in that vein, discussing damage control after they got a little too affectionate in public or Louis kept forgetting about Eleanor’s existence or some website posted an anonymous article about gay boyband members. But they’ve been so careful lately, and all the ‘Larry Stylinson’ gossip seems to have calmed down, and Harry just can’t think what the problem could be. What could be so bad that they have to get up at four in the morning to discuss it?
They file into the office and slump into seats in front of Jonathan’s desk. There’s never enough space; Harry and Louis always end up sitting in each other’s laps which only serves to get them more judgemental looks from their superiors. But when they’re telling them off for exactly that sort of thing anyway, it just makes Harry want to shove it in their faces, so he pulls Louis down onto his knees and wraps his arms around him, reaching up to rest his chin on Louis’s shoulder.
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“I’m not sure how to say this,” says Jonathan, gravely, and Harry is really starting to feel unsettled by how serious this whole thing is. “I think it’s best if I just show you.”
He has a laptop in front of him, and slowly he turns it around to face them, and it takes Harry a long time to process what he’s seeing. Because that picture on the screen, it’s on a gossip site, and it’s not a paparazzi shot or even some embarrassing old scanned-in photo from their childhoods, it’s—it’s him and Louis, kissing, snuggled close together on Liam’s couch, Louis’s fingers in Harry’s hair and Harry grinning like a goofy kid against Louis’s lips. It’s private. Liam took that photo. Liam took that photo because he thought they were being cute, and he promised that they didn’t have to worry about it getting out.
And now here it is, plastered on the internet for everyone to see, along with a sensationalist, exclamation point-heavy title that makes Harry feel sick to his stomach.
Louis has gone absolutely tense, muscles seized up; his weight feels strange on Harry’s lap. Nobody is saying anything. Harry wants to look at the others, or to demand to know what’s going on, but he can’t speak. All he can do is look at that photo that shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be on someone’s laptop, should’ve stayed on Liam’s phone or never been taken in the fucking first place.
Jonathan seems to decide they’ve got it, and turns his laptop back around, sighing gently. “It seems Liam’s phone has been hacked into,” he says, as if they were all too dense to figure that out. “Now, we’ve spent the better part of an hour here looking into the coverage of the story—” and Harry feels his stomach turn at the thought that the picture has been out there for an hour, probably longer; that people were looking at it and discussing it while he and Louis slept soundly back at home, “—and things might not be as hopeless as they seem.”
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Harry wonders what that’s supposed to mean, and the only thing he can think of is that the response must be positive—management are always banging on about how they’d lose fans if this got out, how people would turn against them, but maybe they were wrong? Maybe, he thinks wildly, maybe the gossip blogs are full of support, comments from people saying “aw, how cute” and then going on with their lives.
“There’s so much speculation surrounding you two—” Jonathan addresses Harry and Louis specifically now, “—that no one seems quite sure what to think. A significant number of commenters are putting forward the argument that this is just a couple of mates messing around, a joke that happened to be captured by a camera, nothing more.”
Harry almost wants to laugh at that. It’s ridiculous, the things they’ve managed to get away with over the years, the way people will excuse his and Louis’s behaviour as platonic even when Harry feels they’re being so obvious that they may as well be shouting it from the rooftops. It’s equal parts a relief and a source of frustration for him. When they made it through that incident at the bar in Wellington back in April, Niall found it hilarious, said that even if a crystal clear shot of the two of them snogging found its way into the world, people would still find ways to explain it that wouldn’t make them a couple.
And now it seems that they have.
“What do we do?” Louis says in a small voice, then, and he sounds so scared, and Harry can’t stand it—he dips his head and presses a kiss to Louis’s shoulder through his t-shirt, but Louis doesn’t react, still stiff and tense in his arms.
“Well, I think you’re very lucky here, boys,” Jonathan says, in a way that tells them they better be thankful, “because it seems people will be quite happy to accept a denial. It’s lucky that you’ve got that BBC Breakfast appearance on Friday too, it’ll be a good chance to brush the whole thing off.”
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Louis clutches tightly at the side of Harry’s thigh, and Harry clears his throat. “Uh,” he says. “Does it not—I mean, does it not make more sense at this point just to tell the truth?”
He doesn’t like the fact that the picture’s out there any more than anyone else, but there’s nothing they can do about it now except try and make it work in their favour. There’s a long pause and then Louis starts shaking his head, repeatedly back and forth like he’s silently begging Jonathan to shoot down the idea, even though it’s pretty fucking obvious that Jonathan is going to do just that. “We’ve had this conversation, Harry,” he says sternly. “It’s not the right time to break news like this, you know that. The second album hasn’t even been released. You have no idea of the longevity of the band. You—”
“I know,” Harry interrupts, because he’s heard this speech many times before, “but how many times can we laugh it off before it just gets stupid? Isn’t this a good chance to just—”
“Liam, as it’s your phone, you’ll have to explain why you took the picture,” Jonathan interrupts, breezing ahead as if Harry hasn’t spoken. “Probably best to just say you found the moment funny, maybe you even wanted to use the photo to embarrass them later on, though of course you didn’t realise it’d be happening on this scale…”
“Okay,” says Liam, his voice wavering a little, and Harry suddenly feels a surge of anger at him for just mindlessly agreeing, going along with it.
“Can we at least discuss the alternative, here?” Harry snaps, a little louder than he means to. “I know we’ve managed to cover up a lot in the past but don’t you think maybe this is a sign that it’s time to stop all that and just come clean?” He gives Louis a little squeeze, adds, “Don’t you think?” in a softer voice, directed at him.
But Jonathan says, “The Madison Square Garden concert is coming up,” before Louis has a chance to respond. “The last thing we need right now is a scandal. You’ll do the interview, you’ll laugh the whole thing off; Louis, it’s probably a good idea for you to Tweet Eleanor at some point today—”
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Harry zones out, ignoring whatever else Jonathan has to say. Louis is quiet, just nodding in response to everything, and Harry can see that he’s pale and shell-shocked, happy to have someone to tell him exactly what to do.
As soon as they get out of there, Liam is falling all over himself with apologies.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he bursts out, looking wretched, his face white and his hair beginning to curl a little with sweat at his temples. “I—I shouldn’t have kept it but—”
“Liam, it’s fine,” Harry interrupts him, a little sharply. “It’s not your fault.”
“I took the picture!” Liam cries. “Who else’s fault would it be?”
“The dickhead who hacked your phone,” Harry says quietly. “Really, Liam, that’s the only person we can blame. Don’t beat yourself up.”
He doesn’t want Liam stressing out about this but he also just kind of wants him to shut up, because god, this whole thing would be pretty great actually and he’d be thanking Liam right now if management would just realise once and for all that they can’t deny everything forever. Of course he’d rather this wasn’t happening because of a mistake, and he doesn’t like the idea of thousands of people witnessing that private moment without his permission, but in a strange way it’s like he’s been waiting for this. Expecting something like this to happen at some point. The initial shock of it is fading fast and now it just seems like an opportunity, and no one else seems to get that, and Liam’s always the first one to do what he’s told without asking any questions and it pisses Harry off.
They’ve got a couple of days before the interview and management wants them to stay in and lie low, but it’s difficult at home; things with Louis are strained. He’s being weird about this whole thing, alternating between acting like it’s no big deal at all—”Seems like we got away with it, so,” he says once, and that keeps nagging at Harry because of the word choice, the way he makes it sound like they did something bad or wrong—and going all quiet, stuck in his own head, obviously worrying about the interview. A couple of times he asks Harry what he thinks they should say, if they should work on their denial so they sound more sure of themselves, but Harry refuses. He doesn’t want to do this at all, he’s certainly not going to plan it.
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It’s always been a difficult topic for the two of them, the idea of coming out, because it’s one of the few things they seriously disagree on. Over time they’ve learned simply not to talk about it because they’re never going to convince each other to change stance. But now, it’s harder to ignore, and Harry feels like they’re so close to it and a part of him always thought that if something like this ever happened, Louis might finally see where he was coming from, understand that it’s possible to just reach a point where it’s the more logical option. Louis doesn’t even consider it though, and Harry knows he should be offering him more comfort at a time like this but he’s so frustrated and he finds himself not wanting to even be around him so much anymore.
He turns to Niall instead, because he doesn’t want to hear Liam’s sensible explanation of why this is supposedly the best thing for them in the long run or whatever his reasons are, and Zayn is wise and everything but he doesn’t have that pure emotional sympathy that Niall does. It’s not that Niall doesn’t see where Louis’s coming from too, but he finds it harder to engage with, because he loves their relationship so much that he finds it hard to imagine why the whole world wouldn’t, why they shouldn’t be allowed to see it—and Harry likes that.
He doesn’t really want to talk about the interview specifically, because he hates the entire idea and just doesn’t even want to think about it, figures he’ll deal with it when the time comes. He probably won’t say anything at all, he thinks, a little bitterly—he’ll let Liam and Louis do all the talking if they’re so eager to cover things up, and he doesn’t even care if it’ll look suspicious. He’s always said, right from the start, that he’d never make an outright denial. He won’t lie like that. It’s not fair and it’s not even necessary and he won’t do it. If someone asks him outright if he and Louis are dating, he’s going to answer them honestly, because he’s an honest person and he doesn’t have anything to hide.
“It would be so great,” says Niall, taking a sip of his beer and changing the TV channel. It’s the night before the interview and Harry’s over at his place, not wanting to be around Louis and his jitters, and he feels like a dick for it but—he just can’t stand it when he and Louis aren’t on the same page.
“What would?” he asks.
“If you could just—you know. Announce it and have done with it.” Niall’s voice is wistful. The two of them get like this sometimes, just kind of fantasising about how it could be.
“Yeah, I know,” Harry says with a sigh, swigging from his own beer. It feels almost painful to imagine it right now, because they’re so close and yet still so far, but he can’t help it. It’s always been a tempting place to go in his own brain, imagining a perfect world where management would let them come out and people would accept it.
“Not even just for the relief of finally saying it,” Niall goes on, “but so you could be, y’know, a normal couple.”
Harry nods. He thinks about it. He thinks about being able to hold Louis’s hand in public, going on proper dates, kissing him onstage like he so often wants to when Louis’s doing really good during a gig. “Yeah,” he says, a little sadly, “and it’s not about like, flaunting it, it’s just wanting to be—”
“Be yourselves, yeah,” Niall finishes his sentence for him immediately; they’re always on the same wavelength when they talk about this. It’s a conversation they’ve had so many times that they don’t really need to keep having it, but Harry likes to indulge in the fantasy sometimes and Niall is happy to let him. “I mean, even I’m starting to get really sick of this, so I can’t imagine how you feel.”
He puts a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s heart aches. “I don’t wanna talk about that part,” he says. “Can we—can we just keep daydreaming?”
Maybe it’s not healthy, to keep dwelling on how things could be instead of learning to live with the way that they are, but—he needs this. Tomorrow morning they’re going to have to go on TV and break down everything Harry thought they might have been slowly working towards, and tonight—tonight he just needs to escape for a bit, even if the only place he can do it is in his own mind.
“Yeah,” says Niall softly, giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze. “Yeah, sure.”
***
They’ve done BBC Breakfast once before, about a year ago now, and it feels strange to be sitting here again in such different circumstances. Management has told them to approach it like any other interview, to be relaxed and calm so as not to give the impression that they’re covering anything up, but Louis doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to relax in a situation like this.
Harry isn’t being terribly reassuring about the whole thing, either; he’s made it abundantly clear that he disagrees with management’s plan of action and though he at least seems willing to go along with it, he’s obviously not happy. He’s barely been around since that initial meeting, and Louis has been left to desperately try and convince himself that it’s all going to be fine, or try and get Zayn to do that job for him when he starts to feel the nerves spilling over. This morning, Harry is moody and quiet, and it seems to have been left to Liam to try calm Louis down, probably because he still feels so guilty about the picture, feels like it’s the least he can do.
“I think they’re right, you know,” Liam’s saying now, rubbing Louis’s back between his shoulder blades in that way that always makes Louis feel a little more settled, evens out his breathing. “I think as long as we just act really chilled about the whole thing no one’ll make too big a deal of it. Just act like it’s crazy that people are reading so much into this one photo. Remember that time in Dallas when you had to say it was mental that anyone would think you two were together? You were so good then. Really convincing.”
“That was different,” says Louis weakly. There’s so much more at stake here; people actually have evidence.
“And remember that time Zayn told a magazine that he’d kissed me?” Liam goes on, obviously desperately searching through his memory for reassuring past experiences. “People accepted that that was a joke. Maybe we can convince everyone that we all make out all the time and it’s just us being weirdos.”
Louis doesn’t bother responding to this; his mind is working too fast for him to organise his thoughts into proper sentences. Liam just pulls him into a tight hug instead of saying anything else, and then someone yells at them that they’ve got a minute ’til the interview starts.
“You’re gonna be great,” Liam murmurs, and the five of them trail out into the studio and sit down beside each other on the sofa. Louis ends up next to Harry and he isn’t really sure whether that’s a good idea—would it be better for them to sit apart, or would that look even more suspicious at this point? They don’t have a chance to switch around anyway, because then there’s a camera man counting down and the spotlights are in full flood and Louis’s heart feels like it’s in his throat, a huge throbbing lump that makes him feel sick. He’s not sure he can remember ever being this nervous before.
He barely listens to their introduction, so fixated, waiting for that one question—and thankfully nobody tries to pretend like they’ve got more important things to talk about, Louise jumping straight in.
“Now, you’ve been the subject of a bit of gossip in the past few days, haven’t you?” she asks, smiling with gleaming teeth at them all. “There was a—well, why don’t you explain? I’m never very good at keeping up with all the celebrity rumours going around.”
“There was a phone hacking, is that right?” Bill adds, looking around at each of them. “Now, which one of you was it—”
“Me,” says Liam, actually putting his hand up like he’s at school. He laughs a little and doesn’t sound nervous at all, and Louis is equal parts jealous and relieved. “Yeah, it was a bit strange really, you don’t really expect that kind of thing to happen to you—I was telling the lads it’s something you always associate with people like Rihanna and Britney, you know—” he laughs again, and the hosts are obviously charmed by his self-deprecation.
“Well, I’d say you’re almost on their level, wouldn’t you?” Bill chuckles. “Biggest boyband in the world now, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Apparently phone hacking is a rite of passage, then,” jokes Liam. “Anyway, it—it’s quite silly, really, there are a lot of blogs and things making a big deal out of it—we were all just messing around one night, and a certain two of us had maybe had a little bit too much to drink—” he nudges Louis in the ribs at this, and Louis tries to adopt a sheepish expression, “and, well, I took a photo that some people seem to think is incriminating for some reason.”
Niall and Zayn chuckle a little at this, and Louis joins in, relaxing a bit, glad that Liam has taken the lead.
“Now, what’s—this was you and Harry, Louis?” Louise asks, looking Louis right in the eye. “And what was—you were kissing, is that right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Louis quickly, trying not to be fazed by her eye contact and the directness of the question. He’s so good at hiding his feelings, at lying, at acting, but this—he’s never had to do it on this level before. “Yeah, it was just a bit of drunken messing around, like, we’re all very close mates, and Liam here—” he claps a hand on Liam’s back, “—found the moment so hilarious that he had to capture it with his camera phone. Which turns out to have caused a bit of a scandal.”
“Yeah, which we’re all a bit baffled by, to be honest,” Liam continues seamlessly. “The five of us have always been like this and I think the fans know that, but I guess if something’s taken out of context it can look a bit odd to the general public.”
“People sometimes read too much into things, you know,” Zayn speaks up with a shrug.
“Yes, especially when you’re in the public eye as much as you lads are,” Bill agrees, and Louis is endlessly thankful that they’re not grilling them about this.
“Well, I applaud you,” says Louise, grinning. “It’s nice to see young men so comfortable with each other, I think. What’s a drunken snog between friends, after all?”
“Not sure if I’m close enough to any of my friends for that,” Bill says with a wink, “but I don’t think it’s something that ought to be judged, seems you’ve got the right kind of attitude—”
“It’s not quite like that,” Harry says suddenly, his voice low and almost threatening.
The others all turn to look at him, startled.
“What’s that?” Louise asks, smiling, bemused and oblivious.
“A drunken snog between friends,” Harry repeats, and he sounds scathing, and then for a long moment he doesn’t say anything more and it’s awkward, it’s so awkward, and Louis is terrified of where he’s going with this, because now is really not the time to get offended at someone belittling their relationship—
Liam is just about to speak, gets a syllable out, but then Harry is talking over him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore,” he says, and it comes out in an angry rush. He takes a deep breath, slides his hand onto Louis’s knee. “We’re together. We’ve been together for a long time.” There’s a moment’s stunned silence, all round, and Louis wants to laugh, wants to make it seem like he’s joking, but somehow he knows it’s too late now, there’s no turning back, this is going out live and none of them can take back those words. “I’m—I’m sorry, I can’t—I’m sick of this, I can’t—” Harry stammers for a moment, as if he caught himself off-guard, and then gathers himself together with a shaky breath. “I’m not just gonna sit here and act like it’s the most stupid thing in the world. I don’t think we have anything to be ashamed of.”
Another long pause, and Louis feels like the world is coming down around him; he’s staring blankly at Harry’s face in profile, hardly able to believe that this is happening, that he really said those words.
“Well,” says Louise, her voice a little higher-pitched than normal, “well, that’s—that’s quite true, nothing to be ashamed of, is there, Bill?”
Bill says nothing for a second, obviously stunned. “Sorry, boys, I’m a little—that was a little unexpected, you’ll have to forgive us—not every day that we get an impromptu coming-out-of-the-closet on the show—”
Harry gives them a tight smile and finally, finally Louis gathers the courage to look away from him, and immediately the panic flows over him like a wave—there are so many people surrounding them, stunned faces, their publicist Sara white-faced and muttering to a cameraman, and Louis feels like he’s going to be sick and he hates Harry in that moment, furious with him.
“Now, er,” says Bill hurriedly, obviously listening to something being said into his earpiece, “you’re—you’re performing at Madison Square Garden soon, is that right?”
And Louis thinks no, thinks that they can’t possibly be, not now, not after this, not now the world is ending. But Liam barrels on, brightly, “Yeah, yeah, December 3rd, it’s amazing, really, we haven’t quite taken it in yet—”
“And have you started work on your next album yet?” Louise asks, interrupting him, obviously flustered.
“Um, yeah, we’ve—we’ve done a bit of—” Niall stammers, and Louis can’t even take anything in, barely hearing him, his heart pounding in his ears as he looks around at everybody in the studio, everybody staring back at him, judging him.
Sara is arguing openly with somebody on the other side of the cameras now, and then that person is muttering to someone else, and then suddenly Bill and Louise are wrapping things up, moving clumsily onto a different story while the boys are ushered out of the studio. Louis is in shock, can’t find any words to say—to Harry or to anybody, his throat seized up in utter panic. Harry reaches around his waist, squeezing his side, and even though Louis is furious with him he can’t shake him off, dazed.
“I’m sorry, Lou,” Harry mutters in his ear, leaning right in, lips brushing Louis’s skin. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
They’re hurried out through a back entrance, and just the thought of all the fans waiting outside the front of the studio makes Louis want to throw up—what are they all thinking? All the people sitting at home, watching the interview as they eat their breakfast—how could Harry do this? The boys are herded into a car and driven straight to management’s headquarters, and Louis can’t take anything in, his mind and his heart racing, and Harry keeps nuzzling his neck and whispering apologies like a mantra, taking his clammy hand and squeezing, squeezing, offering reassurance that Louis knows will never take.
***
Management seem to think that if there’s no way to go back on this, they’re going to take it to the extreme, make the absolute best of the situation that they can. In a way, Harry’s surprised he’s not in more trouble, but he supposes there’s not much they can do—they’re not going to fire him, so they just have to try and twist this situation favourably somehow.
The boys are given a story to tell, told that Harry and Louis have only been together for three months—”That means the relationship began in August; remember that, please,” says Jonathan with a pointed look at Louis, who’s always struggled to remember his and Eleanor’s supposed anniversary. Eleanor, they’re told, will continue to be presented as Louis’s girlfriend, or ex now. Louis had to tweet something soppy to her just a couple of days ago so they can’t pretend like they broke up a while ago without telling anyone, he’ll have to say he’s been cheating on her. Apparently it’s better for the fans to believe that Louis was lying to her than to them—management is horrified at the idea of the fans knowing the whole truth, knowing just how long Harry and Louis have been faking for.
“It’ll be a little easier to take, if it’s just a few months,” Sara explains.
“I already said we’d been together a long time,” Harry says flatly. Of course he feels bad for the fans, but shouldn’t they understand that this isn’t his or Louis’s fault? If it could all be explained, wouldn’t they listen? It’s almost like management is more worried for themselves than anything else, more willing to make Louis look bad and it’s ridiculous, because isn’t the band the most important thing? He wonders if this is a plan they’ve had in place for a while, in case of emergencies, but it seems a hell of a lot more like something cobbled together in a hurry as far as Harry’s concerned.
“Well, we’ll just have to hope that people think you consider three months a long time, won’t we?” says Sara, a little snappily. “Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch, seeing as they’ve never known you to have a relationship last as long as that.”
Harry seethes quietly, thinking about how none of those relationships were even real, that their timeframes were decided—by and large—by Sara herself. But Louis is taking it all in, obviously making little mental notes of all the details, making sure he keeps the story straight. It drives Harry crazy—how can he not want to just tell the truth, finally, now that they have the chance? He knows Louis is scared and he understands that, and he’s still sick with guilt over outing them without giving Louis a choice in the matter, but now—now it’s done, and he still wants to hide.
None of the others fight back against the blatant lies, either, just listen quietly so that they know the “official story.” Jonathan tells them to call their families and close friends so that they know it too, so that they don’t give anything away in case nosy journalists come knocking. They’re sent home then, and Louis takes his phone out immediately once they’re in the car, but Liam snatches it out of his hand.
“I need to call my Mum,” Louis says in a weak voice, and Harry knows that telling her the official story isn’t the main thing on his mind, knows he wants to speak to her for comfort, out of panic.
“Well, I’m not letting you check Twitter,” says Liam, switching the phone off and slipping it into his jacket pocket.
Zayn catches his drift, stuffing his hand into the pocket of Harry’s jeans to pull out his phone too. When they reach home, after a journey spent in tense silence, the others march right up to Harry and Louis’s flat with them, heading in and gathering up their laptops. Harry can understand it; he knows the temptation to go online would be too strong otherwise. It didn’t matter so much when the photo leaked, it was just the usual speculation and arguing that they could brush off, but this—he knows this is going to be different.
“We’ll give you them back later,” murmurs Liam, pulling Harry close. “Just—leave it for a bit, okay? We don’t know what kind of things people will be saying.”
Zayn and Niall join in the hug, and Louis is standing leaning against the wall by the door, picking at his lips, staring into space.
“C’mon, Lou,” Harry says softly, reaching out, and Louis lets himself be tugged into the huddle, buries his face in Zayn’s shoulder.
Liam holds them all tight. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get through this,” he promises.
It seems so quiet when they leave, empty, and Harry almost wants them to come right back because he doesn’t know how to deal with this, doesn’t know how to get Louis to understand how sorry he is. Louis won’t understand how something like that could have slipped out, because he keeps it locked up tight so deep inside him, covered thickly with lies.
“I’m gonna call Mum,” Louis says, breaking the silence. Harry gives him his space, but he can hear his voice coming from his bedroom, growing increasingly hysterical and then going very quiet, and Harry is afraid that he’s crying and he wants to go in there, hold him tight and kiss his tears away and promise to make it better—but he doesn’t know how.
Eventually the silence lasts so long that Harry assumes the call must have ended, so he slips into Louis’s bedroom and finds him just sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry says quietly, his heart aching. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s too late now,” Louis says, a little sharply.
Harry goes over, hesitantly, perches next to him and puts his arm over his shoulder. Louis doesn’t shrug him off, but it’s—it’s never been like this, he’s never felt like he has to treat Louis delicately, because Louis never shows his vulnerability quite like this, even with Harry. Even when he’s cried in front of the others, they’ve been able to tell that he’s holding back, that he was choosing to show his emotions at that moment rather than letting them get the better of him. It’s only a handful of times in their entire relationship that he’s really shown that he’s upset, and it’s not enough for Harry to know how to deal with it. Louis is a loose cannon when he’s emotional, no one ever knows what to expect—he could cry or scream or get violent, or retreat into himself, making bitchy comments for weeks before admitting that anything is wrong. But he never does this, this defeated pure misery, like he’s so distressed he can’t even gather the energy to pretend otherwise.
“We can be great,” Harry murmurs into Louis’s neck. “We can—we can make a difference. We can show all the kids out there that this is okay, that this is—”
“Harry…” Louis says in a small voice, and Harry knows that this is too much for him to think about right now, too big.
The day is spent calling people, and it’s awful to have to do it but Harry knows that it’s going to be so much worse if they don’t. He tells the story over and over, listens to Louis doing the same, hearing his voice crack as he explains. Harry cooks a fry-up for them for lunch, and Louis says he isn’t hungry but eats it anyway, in silence, foot tapping against the leg of the table the whole time. They curl up on the sofa together, try and watch some TV, but it’s obvious that Louis can’t concentrate—he won’t stop fidgeting. Harry pulls him close and tries to hold him still, pleads, “Talk to me,” but Louis won’t, can’t.
In the evening Harry cooks again, and then Louis takes a shower while Harry lies in bed, waiting for him to be done so he can hold him again, tell him again how it’s going to be just fine. He rolls over, feels something hard against his stomach and fishes out Louis’s iPod Touch from under the covers, the headphones still in from last night. They all forgot about it, and he can’t resist, has to check Twitter—the main worry on his mind all day has been, what are people thinking? What are people saying? And he knows he shouldn’t, but he needs to know; they can’t hide from the public reaction forever.
There are five trending topics relating to the issue. His and Louis’s names, first of all, and then larry is real, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of that, doesn’t know if it’s positive or negative. The others, the hashtags, are clearer—#worstdayever and his stomach flips when he sees that, and #getbackinthecloset just beneath it. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s clicking, scrolling through page after page of reactions, and he can’t help but focus on the negative ones, the angry ones, the betrayal and the hurt and the outright viciousness of broken-hearted, bitter teenage girls. In between, there are occasional cries of triumph, people claiming that they knew all along, and it doesn’t make Harry feel any better. It almost feels like mockery.
“What are you doing?” comes Louis’s voice suddenly, and Harry’s head jerks up to see Louis standing in the doorway. “Let me see,” he demands, coming over and clambering onto the bed beside him.
Harry presses the iPod screen-down against his chest. “No,” he says.
“Harry, let me see,” Louis says more firmly, reaching for it.
“Lou, let’s just go to bed,” Harry pleads, but he’s flustered and upset and Louis manages to grab the iPod off him. Harry stares, helpless, as Louis’s eyes scan the page and quickly begin to well up.
Harry snuggles close to him, curves his body alongside Louis’s as close as he can get, kissing his shoulder. “They’re idiots,” he promises fiercely, reminding himself just as much as Louis, “they don’t know, Lou, they just—”
Suddenly Louis’s arm flies out and he throws the iPod across the room, lets it hit the wall. Harry’s body jolts and for a second he’s frightened, afraid that Louis is going to yell at him, take out all his anger on him for making this happen—but then Louis is curling into him instead, suffocatingly close, hiding his face in Harry’s chest and sobbing, open and honest like Harry’s never seen before, and he can feel his tears soaking through his t-shirt, and he feels useless and rotten and all he can do is cradle the back of Louis’s head and let him cry, murmuring desperate helpless things, shushing him and telling him it’s going to be okay—but he’s not sure he even believes himself anymore.
***
The next morning Louis checks Twitter again because he can’t help it; he wants to know if anything’s changed since last night, hoping against hope that there’ll be more optimism this time. There isn’t, as far as he can see, but he quickly gathers from his feed that the band’s official website has been updated, and he clicks on over there to see a post from management. It’s only brief, just affirming what Harry said yesterday, asking for support in these “difficult times,” and reminding the fans to treat the boys’ families and Eleanor with respect. It also adds that there will be an article about the matter in next week’s issue of Hello! magazine, and Louis hates how it sounds like they’re urging people to read all the sordid details.
The interview is set up for this very morning, because management are fucking quick with this, wanting to do as much damage control as they can, and because the media is hungry for it, all desperate to get their greedy paws on the story. Louis doesn’t think he can handle it; the thought of actually discussing this, with some clueless reporter just eager for the gossip—it makes him feel sick with anxiety, twisting in his belly. He barely slept last night and can’t eat this morning—Harry tries to force him to have some cereal at least but just the thought of eating makes him want to throw up.
“I’ll do all the talking if you want,” Harry promises, cuddling him close in the car.
But they both hesitate when they’re asked how long they’ve been a couple, just because it’s so fucking strange to have a reporter refer, in very clear terms, to the one topic that’s been completely off-limits for longer than Louis can even remember now. And it makes Louis uncomfortable, so uncomfortable, to have this strange man suddenly asking about what was—until very recently—Louis’s biggest secret. And Harry’s dithering and it’s making Louis agitated, because Harry’s supposed to be doing the talking, and before Louis even knows what he’s doing, he’s speaking.
“Go on, Harry,” he says, nudging Harry with his elbow. “You outed us on live telly, I think you can handle a simple question.”
It kind of sounds like harmless teasing, but—not really, because it’s bitter, and Louis didn’t even mean to say it, it just slipped out; he doesn’t know how to handle this situation because the whole thing makes him feel so vulnerable and when he feels vulnerable he does everything in his power to hide it, even if that means lashing out. He uses his quick wit as a shield, but the more he feels like he needs it the nastier it gets.
“Don’t put that in,” says Sara sharply. She’s supervising the interview because it’s like they can’t be trusted now, everybody’s scared that they’ll screw this up and give too much away. The journalist looks bemused but nods, scribbling something down on his notepad.
“So, er,” he says awkwardly, trying to get back on track, “how long—?”
“Uh, about three months now.”
Harry speaks over him, and it sounds clumsy and not genuine at all. Louis is the better liar of the two of them, by far. Harry is better, though, at everything else, at discussing their concerns about the fan reaction, and how wonderfully supportive their families and the other lads have been, and even answering the personal questions about how their relationship began while Louis’s hands clench into fists.
Louis stays mostly quiet. Every time he tries to open his mouth, what he says comes out harsh and odd and sometimes spiteful. He keeps making jokes about things that he knows they shouldn’t joke about, things that aren’t even funny, and whenever he tries to direct a comment to Harry it comes out barbed and almost vicious and he’s not doing it on purpose, it just happens. The interviewer is clearly uncomfortable, fidgeting with the dictaphone, and Sara has to tell him three times not to print something Louis’s said.
The interviewer does not mention Louis’s quietness, perhaps sensitive to it, but of course the subject of Eleanor has to come up sooner or later. Louis feels that twist of nerves in his gut again as he tries to look into the journalist’s curious eyes, and focus on what management told him, and not make any more fucking jokes because this, this is serious. He’s pretending he’s been lying to his girlfriend, cheating on her, and he doesn’t want to make any of it sound flippant. They need the fans to forgive him.
“I—I’m not proud,” he says, and his voice sounds uncharacteristically shaky. “It’s—it’s awful, really, and I feel awful about it, she’s—she’s a lovely girl and she didn’t deserve—” He makes shit up all the time, why is this so hard? He just keeps thinking about Eleanor, about how she’s known right from the start, about how her entire job revolves around knowing, and keeping secrets, and how he has nothing to feel guilty about when it comes to her.
“We would never, ever encourage infidelity,” Harry jumps in, seeing Louis falter. “There’s no excuse for it, so we’re not going to try and make one. We want the fans to know that.”
And Louis is grateful and jealous at the same time—he’s so glad that at least one of them knows what to say but he just wishes it were him. He’s not used to feeling so out of his depth like this, having nothing to hide behind.
***
As soon as they’ve wound up the interview, security come in and tell them that the building’s surrounded by people, that someone must have seen them going in and the word has spread. Louis swears, kicking the leg of the table, and Harry steels himself, standing up and holding out his hand. Louis takes it, reluctantly, but as they get closer to the door his grip gets weaker and he lets go before they head outside.
“Lou,” Harry says softly, reaching for it again, and Louis snatches it away. Harry grabs and holds on tight, because he knows Louis needs this, knows he’s just scared—and this time Louis doesn’t fight it.
There are actually fewer people than Harry was expecting, but it’s still far too many. At first all he can see is paparazzi, their cameras clicking and snapping, and they’re surrounded by the sound of yelling and screaming. None of it’s new but suddenly it feels it, with Louis’s hand sweating in his and everything they’ve just said to the press still going around in Harry’s head. Everyone’s eyes are on their interlocked fingers, and security is trying to hold people back and let the boys through, and Louis has his head hung low like he can’t even bear to look at what they’re facing.
As they move through the crowd Harry suddenly hears a shout, a clear female voice amongst the barrage of questions that all blur together, and his blood runs red-hot. He turns wildly, spots two teenage girls amongst the paparazzi and drags Louis over, shouldering off security’s attempts to hold him back.
“What did you say?” Harry snaps.
“Nothing,” says the blonde girl, giggling and looking a little taken-aback by his outburst.
“What did you say?” Harry repeats, anger and impatience quickly welling up inside him. He wants to hear them admit it.
“She said ‘hi, faggots,'” says the redhead quietly, and the blonde one elbows her sharply in the ribs, hissing her name, but Harry barely even hears.
He steps a little closer to the two of them, squeezing Louis’s hand more tightly. “Don’t say that,” he says, keeping his voice as low and calm as he can manage. “Ever. To anyone. All right?” The blonde one giggles again, more nervously this time, and Harry adds in an undertone, “I’m not kidding.”
“S-sorry,” blurts the redhead, and, linking her arm through her friend’s, she drags her away, off up the street.
The paparazzi are still yelling, bombarding them with questions about their families and Eleanor, things they’ve just been asked in the interview but so much worse because they’re being shouted at deafening volume and every few seconds there’s a blinding camera flash, and it’s overwhelming even for Harry so he can’t imagine how Louis feels. All he can do is hold his hand, tight, like they’ve never been allowed to in public before, and let all these middle-aged men with their zoom lenses get a good long look.
Security push ahead and Harry and Louis follow, and beyond all the paparazzi they can see more fans—teenage girls staring fixedly at the boys’ linked hands, snapping photos on their phones and talking a mile a minute and Harry can’t even tell if it’s positive or negative or somewhere in between, if maybe they just needed to see it for themselves. Near the back of the crowd, getting jostled by the girls, Harry spots a young boy, maybe fifteen or so—he always zeros in on the guys right away because it’s rare for them to see male fans—and he notices that he’s clutching a copy of their CD in shaky hands like maybe wants them to sign it. But security guide them right on past, and Harry can tell that Louis doesn’t even see the boy standing quietly at the back, thanking them with his eyes, lost in the shuffle.
When they finally get home, Louis crawls straight back into bed. Harry knows how much this is bothering him—not just the violent, intrusive chaos of it all but the way he’s reacting to it, the extent to which it’s getting to him. He’s taking it out on Harry, and that hurts, but Harry can understand it—knows that on some level he deserves it for causing all of this in the first place (though he doesn’t regret it, at least not so far).
It’s how Louis deals, when he’s upset. He tries so fucking hard to hide it, covering it with jokes and teasing. And when it’s serious it’ll be more pointed and unpleasant, he’ll focus in on somebody in particular and get cruel. All the boys have figured it out by now and they try not to let it get to them, because it’s just a defence mechanism and he doesn’t truly mean it, but—this is different. Harry knows that this time, a certain part of him does.
But that just means Louis needs Harry’s support and reassurance more than ever right now. Needs to know that Harry isn’t against him in this, that he’s here and he’s sorry and he’s going to be right by his side through all of it. He’s not the enemy.
“You were great,” Harry murmurs, slipping into bed beside Louis now. He’s tired himself, emotionally exhausted as well as physically, and it feels good to slide under the covers and curl up close alongside Louis’s warm body. “You were so great.” He kisses Louis’s shoulder. Louis is facing away from him.
“You were so much better,” says Louis quickly, voice cracking.
