Chapter Text
Chapter 1
We made a fire
Went down in the flames
The office smelled like expensive coffee and overworked air conditioning.
Louis was slouched halfway down in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, while some man in a suit explained how the next few months were going to work.
Actually, he wasn't explaining anything at all.
He was reciting rules.
The same rules.
The same sentences they'd been hearing for years.
"No unnecessary interactions during interviews."
"Don't sit next to each other."
"Separate vehicles at public appearances."
"No private sightings outside of scheduled paparazzi opportunities."
Louis let his head fall back against the chair and stared up at the ceiling.
The usual, then.
Beside him, Harry hadn't said a single word in almost twenty minutes.
Not unusual during meetings like these. Harry always seemed to grow quieter in rooms like this. Not intimidated.
Just... closed off.
As if something inside him slowly folded inward.
"And the situation regarding the Larry rumours needs to disappear once and for all."
Louis felt something tighten in his jaw.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed Harry going perfectly still beside him.
"The fans continue to misinterpret every interaction," the man went on. "Which means we need to be more consistent."
More consistent.
As if they hadn't already spent the last few years deliberately avoiding each other whenever cameras were around.
"Louis," a woman said from the other end of the table, glancing down at her tablet. "We still need a few additional paparazzi pictures with Eleanor next week. Nothing major. Maybe lunch somewhere. Something casual."
Louis gave a short nod.
He didn't have the energy for an argument.
Not today.
"And please mention her a bit more in the next interview," she added. "People respond well to it."
Louis pressed his lips together.
Respond well to it.
As if his life were some kind of marketing campaign.
Then the woman's attention shifted to Harry.
The atmosphere in the room changed immediately.
"Harry," she began carefully, "we also need to talk about your image."
Harry didn't lift his eyes from the table.
"The rings need to go."
No reaction.
"The nail polish as well."
Silence.
"And the sheer blouses and patterned shirts don't really fit the image we're currently trying to maintain."
Louis felt himself tense instantly.
Harry sat perfectly still, hands resting loosely in his lap.
Too still.
"We've already had some outfits prepared for you," the man beside her said. "Simpler. More masculine. White shirts. Black trousers. Classic."
Louis let out a dry laugh through his nose.
"More masculine," he repeated quietly.
No one acknowledged it.
"And the hair has to go."
Slowly, Harry lifted his head.
He didn't look angry.
Louis almost wished he did.
Anger would have meant Harry was still fighting.
Instead, his expression was empty.
"You're starting to look like a girl," the man said matter-of-factly. "It only leads to more unnecessary discussions."
Louis straightened immediately.
"Okay, seriously—"
"Louis," someone cut in at once.
"No." His voice sharpened. "What exactly is your problem with him wearing a bloody shirt?"
"Our problem is public perception."
"He's a musician, not a politician."
"He's a product."
The words landed heavily in the room.
Harry blinked slowly.
Louis's hands curled into fists.
For one brief moment, he genuinely thought he was going to stand up.
But then Harry moved.
He simply got to his feet.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Louis turned towards him immediately.
Harry wasn't looking at anyone.
"If that's everything."
And before anyone could respond, he walked out of the room.
Louis remained seated for another two seconds.
Then he stood abruptly as well.
"Brilliant work, by the way," he said coldly. "Really inspiring."
The flat was quiet when they got home.
Harry kicked off his shoes the moment he stepped inside and disappeared straight into the bedroom without turning on the light.
Louis followed a few seconds later.
Harry was already sitting on the edge of the bed.
Cotton pads.
Nail polish remover.
His hands resting calmly in his lap.
Louis stopped in the doorway.
Say something, he thought desperately.
But Harry simply began rubbing the black polish from his fingernails without a word.
The sharp chemical smell slowly spread through the room.
Louis watched in silence as Harry's hands trembled ever so slightly.
And then he saw the tears.
They slipped silently down Harry's face while he kept going, as though he simply had another task to finish.
Something inside Louis broke apart instantly.
"Haz..."
Harry didn't react.
He reached for another cotton pad.
Kept rubbing.
"Baby," Louis tried again, softer this time as he stepped closer. "Look at me."
Harry barely shook his head.
Louis sat down carefully beside him on the bed.
"They're just a bunch of bitter old men," he murmured. "They don't know a thing."
Quietly, Harry slipped the first ring off his finger.
Then the second.
Louis recognised every single one of them.
Because half of them had come from him.
Harry placed them carefully beside himself on the bed.
His fingers were trembling more noticeably now.
Then he stopped at the final ring.
The peace ring.
Louis's chest tightened painfully.
He remembered exactly how Harry had smiled when he'd first received it.
Nineteen years old.
Curly hair.
Dimples.
Hopelessly in love.
Now Harry simply brushed his thumb over the silver band.
As though he were saying goodbye.
"Leave that one on," Louis said immediately.
Harry stilled.
For the first time, he looked up at him.
His eyes were red.
Tired.
Empty.
And God.
Louis would have done absolutely anything in that moment to stop Harry from looking at him like that.
"Please," Louis said quietly.
Harry swallowed hard.
Then gave the smallest nod and let go of the ring.
The rest of the day passed in near silence.
Harry made lunch.
Louis watched him from the kitchen doorway.
The way he chopped vegetables.
The way he switched on the stove.
The way he occasionally brushed the back of his hand across his eyes, as though trying to forget that he'd cried.
They ate without speaking.
Later, they packed for the next trip.
Louis threw clothes haphazardly into his open suitcase, forgot half of what he needed, and muttered curses under his breath while Harry quietly followed behind him, adding the things Louis had left behind.
Chargers.
Socks.
Medication.
The usual chaos.
Neither of them talked about it.
At some point, Harry found himself standing alone in the dressing room.
Unnoticed, Louis lingered in the doorway.
Harry's gaze moved slowly over the shirts hanging neatly on the rack.
Floral patterns.
Lace.
Sheer fabrics.
Colour.
Pieces of himself.
For a long moment, he didn't move at all.
Then he let out a quiet breath.
And reached for the simpler clothes.
White T-shirts.
Dark hoodies.
Black trousers.
He folded each item neatly and placed it inside the suitcase.
Without saying a word.
--
The airport was loud.
Not just busy.
Loud in that aggressive way that happened when camera flashes, raised voices, rolling suitcases and security announcements crashed into one another.
Louis could hear the fans screaming outside before they had even stepped out of the cars.
He leaned his head briefly against the van window and closed his eyes.
Not now.
Please not now.
Beside him, Liam scrolled silently through his phone while Niall attempted to break the tension with some half-hearted joke that didn't quite land with anyone.
"Maybe they just won't recognise us today," he muttered with a grin anyway.
Louis snorted softly.
"Yeah, Nialler. I'm sure that's exactly what's going to happen."
Ahead of them, security were already opening the doors.
The screaming outside swelled instantly.
Louis felt that familiar shift happen automatically inside him.
Shoulders back.
Expression neutral.
Don't walk too fast.
Don't walk too slowly.
Don't look annoyed.
Don't look too happy.
Just function.
They stepped out.
Camera flashes exploded around them immediately.
Niall lifted a hand with an easy grin and waved at a few fans as if he weren't completely exhausted. Liam smiled automatically towards the crowd as well, polite and practised despite the tiredness in his eyes.
A few steps ahead, Zayn pulled his dark hoodie further over his face.
The fabric was far too big, swallowing him almost entirely.
Sunglasses despite the grey weather.
Head lowered.
He didn't react to the fans or the cameras.
He simply kept walking, as though he were trying to disappear as quickly as possible.
Louis watched him for a second too long.
There had been a time when Zayn would've smiled, at least.
Now he just looked tired.
"Louis! Louis, over here!"
"Where's Eleanor?"
"Harry! Harry!"
Immediately, Louis's gaze shifted forward.
Harry was several metres ahead, walking between two security guards.
Black hoodie.
Curly hair half-hidden beneath a cap.
Oversized sunglasses.
And still, Louis knew instantly that something was wrong.
Harry's shoulders were held too tightly.
One hand rested discreetly against his chest.
His breathing was too shallow.
Fuck.
Louis slowed his pace automatically.
Someone from management appeared beside him at once.
"Keep moving."
Louis ignored him.
Harry glanced up briefly then, as though he'd somehow sensed Louis watching him.
For one tiny moment, their eyes met through the chaos.
And there it was.
That familiar little exhale between them.
Invisible to everyone else.
But Louis knew every shift in Harry's expression.
Harry was surviving on autopilot.
Security ushered them towards the entrance.
Fans screamed their names.
Someone held up a Pride flag.
Harry's gaze caught on it for the briefest second.
Then one of the security guards guided him forward again.
Louis's jaw tightened.
He hated this.
The constant scrutiny.
The forced distance.
The feeling that even their instincts had somehow become wrong.
Because everything inside him wanted to go to Harry.
Just for a second.
Rest a hand against the small of his back.
Ask if he was okay.
Get his inhaler.
Anything.
Instead, Harry kept walking ahead.
And Louis followed several metres behind him.
Like strangers.
Things finally quieted down once they reached the private terminal.
The doors slid shut behind them, reducing the screaming outside to little more than distant noise.
Harry pulled off his sunglasses immediately and dragged a tired hand over his face.
Louis could see more clearly now just how pale he looked.
"You alright?" Liam asked straight away.
Harry nodded too quickly.
"Yeah."
Louis didn't believe him for a second.
Zayn had already dropped wordlessly into one of the seats by the window, hood pulled low over his face.
Niall scrolled silently through messages on his phone.
None of them looked fully awake.
None of them looked happy.
And suddenly, something about all of it felt wrong.
Too young for this much exhaustion.
The flight passed quietly.
Management had booked their seats separately, as always.
Harry sat alone by the window several rows ahead.
Headphones on.
Forehead resting against the glass.
Louis spent almost the entire flight watching him.
Not even intentionally.
He simply couldn't help it.
Harry's hands rested loosely in his lap.
Without nail polish.
The thought hit Louis all over again every time he looked.
But the peace ring was still there.
Silver between Harry's long fingers.
Louis felt that familiar ache in his chest immediately.
Eventually, he got to his feet.
The manager a few rows away glanced up with instant irritation.
Louis ignored him completely.
Without a word, he slid into the empty seat beside Harry.
Harry didn't react for several seconds.
Then he slowly pulled one earbud out and looked over at him.
Tired green eyes.
Messy curls.
Skin still too pale.
"Have you got your inhaler?" Louis asked quietly.
Harry nodded.
The plane hummed softly around them.
Louis's gaze drifted briefly towards Harry's hand.
Towards the ring.
"That one stays," he said eventually.
Harry's fingers shifted instinctively against the silver band.
Then he looked up at Louis.
Really looked at him.
For the first time since the meeting.
Something softer flickered across his expression.
Not happiness.
But maybe relief.
Louis stayed where he was.
And this time, no one told them to keep their distance.