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it started when he was stressed. their first live performance was tomorrow night and louis could feel his heart in his throat. the cool rush of booze running down his throat managed to calm his nerves, to stop himself from shaking from head to toe. three beers in, he felt at ease, nerves fizzing out. four beers in, he’s completely calm. five beers in, he blacks out.
it’s the first of many to come.
-
the next time came when they lost. placing third in a competition that he and the boys put their hearts and souls into crushes him. suffocates him. he feels as if he can’t breathe and he’s drowning on land.
the boys and him get plastered that night. he loses count of how many beers he downs, how many shots. vaguely, he remembers doing a body shot off of harry. or was it liam? the last thing he remembers doing is yelling at the top of his lungs while a random girl grinds against him.
louis wakes up the next morning with the hangover of the century, in his home, the sound of screaming girls coming from downstairs. he doesn’t know how he got here, but he’s safe. there’s a glass of water and some paracetamol on his bedside table. he’s safe.
but not for long.
-
it becomes routine after the third time. something bad happens, he gets drunk. he drinks until his stomach can no longer support the liquor and he’s passed out somewhere in his home. expect these times there’s nobody who set him out a glass of water, nobody to baby him back to being normal.
living with harry doesn’t help. neither does living alone. but he hurts less people by living alone, so alone he lives.
the thing is louis knows the boys are worried about him. he knows it, can see it in the way they look at him and the way they talk behind his back. he can hear them when they think he’s asleep, the concern in the voices. it makes him feel guilty, ashamed.
it makes him realize that he needs to change. needs to get better. he promises himself every time will be the last time, every drink is the last one. and he believes himself, believes this will really, truly be the last time he disappoints his friends and family. be the last time he causes them heartache.
but there’s this thing about addiction. it’s never really over.
-
louis wakes up shaking. it’s been days since his last drink and he can’t see straight. he’s getting out of bed, trying to stabilize himself as he stumbles down the hall. barely registering that his band mates are in the living room, he quickly acquires a beer and downs it as fast as he physically can.
he’s disgusted with himself, but the shaking has stopped and his eyes can focus. he glances at the clock on the stove, stomach sinking when he sees it’s just past 9 in the morning.
day drinking. something he said he’d never do. but alcoholism does funny things to you.
he turns to leave the kitchen when he’s stopped by a body in the doorway. without even looking up, he knows it’s harry without even see his face, broad shoulders giving him away. he’s been caught, dropping the bottle to the floor.
“you said it wasn’t this bad,” harry mumbles, voice slow. “you promised it wasn’t this bad.”
“it’s one drink, haz,” louis tries to argue. “i just had one drink.”
he hears sniffles and, fuck , he’s starting to cry, too. “that’s what you said the last time.”
and he’s gone. louis is left staring at the wall across the dining room table. vaguely, he registers the door opening and closing and harry’s really gone. he’s left alone and all he can do is grab another drink.
and another drink.
and another drink.
and another drink.
and another drink and soon he’s passed out on his kitchen floor at barely 10 in the morning.
-
zayn leaves the band. leaves louis. he tells him he can’t sit back and watch him kill himself anymore. so he just leaves, doesn’t answer any calls or texts. doubts he listens to the voicemails.
louis spirals more. nobody’s there to catch him.
-
they announce their hiatus and they all breathe a sigh of relief. five years of nonstop action finally catches up to them and they need and deserve this break.
louis walks into the green room before one of their performances and finds the rest of his band mates waiting for him, looking pensive. harry won’t look at him, neither will niall. the only one who’s brave enough to spare a glance is liam, arms crossed over his chest.
“what?” he laughs lightly, looking back at liam. “you all look like you’re having an intervention.”
liam coughs, dropping his eyes to the ground. “it is, it is an intervention.”
louis laughs again, doubles over and gives a full belly laugh. an intervention is for people with problems. his alcoholism isn’t a problem. he’s fine.
“this isn’t funny, louis,” niall says, shifting in his seat. “this is serious, you have a problem.”
“no, i don’t,” he denies. “i haven’t even had a drink today. see? progress. my hands aren’t shaking, i’m fine.”
“no, you’re really not,” liam runs his hands over his face, sighing. “we’ve been quiet for too long. you do have a problem, lou. we’ve watched you destroy yourself since the beginning of the band. you drink until you pass out, i’m scared - we’re scared that we’re going to get a call saying you’re dead.”
“i think you’re over exaggerating there, li. i’m fine. sure, i drink a little more than i can handle sometimes, but it’s nothing people our age don’t do. i’m okay.”
“ no! ” harry yells, standing up. “you’re not okay! you’re killing yourself with every drink and it’s destroying the goddamn band! are you too thick to see past your alcoholic haze? zayn’s gone, louis. he’s not here to coddle you anymore. we’re sick of it.”
“harry…” liam reaches out to grab his arm, but he pulls away.
“no, liam. he doesn’t fucking get it,” he turns to louis, “you don’t fucking get it. your body isn’t meant to take in so much alcohol. you’re going to kill yourself if you keep doing this.”
“no, hazza, no i won’t. there’s not a problem with what i’m doing and you lot won’t stop me,” he points an accusing finger at all of them, locking eyes with harry.
harry doesn’t take too kindly to his words, flipping the coffee table in front of him before storming out of the room. louis jumps back quick enough before the table could hit him, glaring at the door. who gives him the right to act like this? there’s nothing wrong.
it’s niall that breaks the silence. “we think you should go to rehab.”
louis scoffs. “rehab is for people who have problems. i don’t, so i don’t need to go.”
“louis…” niall sighs, head in his hands. “i’m not going to argue with you on this. but you do have a problem. it’s bad, like harry flipping a coffee table bad. stop trying to put up this front where everything’s alright when it’s clearly not.”
with that, he leaves, following out and probably goes to find harry. he’s left in the room with liam, and, by the way he’s shifting uncomfortably on the couch, he doesn’t like that he’s alone.
“louis, we love you. but cut the shit. there’s something seriously wrong going on with you and we’re tired of it. we’ve been standing by the wayside waiting for something to go wrong and we’re tired of waiting. go to rehab, enroll in aa, do something . just get better.”
liam gets up, gives a quick hug, and walks out of the room, leaving louis by himself. they’re wrong, there’s nothing wrong, they’re all just pulling a massive prank on him. go to rehab , yeah right. louis laughs in the room alone, looking around, and then leaves to go find a beer.
what? he isn’t perfect.
-
the next time he sees anyone in the band is before an interview. he hasn’t changed anything since he’s last seen them before their performance, and he doesn’t plan on changing anything. he’s fine. everything’s fine.
(everything isn’t fine.)
he doesn’t tell anyone that he’s three drinks in for the day, waking up shaky and needing to get the edge off. the only thing louis is worried about is not fucking up the interview. he’s sat getting makeup down, doing his best to sit still, when he feels a presence next to him.
“you smell of alcohol.” it’s harry, the slow draw of words gives it away.
louis laughs. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, h.”
“you smell of alcohol,” he repeats. “niall and liam can smell it, too. how many have you had today?”
“that’s none of yo-“
“how many. have you. had today?” his voice is steady, but he can hear the anger in it. harry knows him better than he knows himself. he should’ve expected this.
he sighs. “three.”
“three?!” harry tried to keep his voice low, but it’s obvious he’s furious. “what the fuck is your problem, louis? you can’t fucking day drink when we have shit to do.”
louis knows how he mad is because of how much he’s cursing, and it hurts to know that he’s the cause of it. but he can’t help it. his hands were shaking and it was either down a few or have shaky hands for an interview. a recorded interview, mind you.
“calm down, it’s not a lot,” he waves harry off. “i’m perfectly fine and can do the interview.”
“no, it’s a lot, louis. you can’t keep doing this to yourself. what if you,” he cuts himself off, looking around with his hands on his hips. “what if you died of alcohol poisoning? huh? have you thought of that?”
“i’m not going to die, i’m perfectly healthy.”
the makeup artist lets him know that he’s done, louis hopping down from the chair and faltering a bit. immediately, harry reaches out to catch him. he pulls himself out of his grip, giving harry a dirty look. he’s fine.
“perfectly healthy?” harry mocks. “you just almost fell over.”
“says the one who trips over nothing,” he scoffs, walking off to finish getting ready for the interview.
he stumbles a bit, but he’s fine. everything is fine.
-
louis goes out that night. or least he tries to. as he was leaving his flat, he’s confronted by his band.
“where are you going?” liam is the one who asks, arms crossed over his chest.
“out,” he replies.
“where exactly?”
“wouldn’t you like to know,” louis tries to push past his friends, but the united front makes it hard. “i’m 23 years old, guys. i can handle myself.”
“you obviously can’t, or you wouldn’t be going out.”
louis feels like he’s 15 again in trouble with his mum, all he wants to do is go out. that doesn’t mean he’ll drink. maybe he’s going to the movies, they wouldn’t know because they’re being assholes.
stupid bandmates.
“look, louis, we love you. we want what’s best for you,” niall starts, looking to liam to continue.
“you’re killing yourself by drinking,” harry says instead. “all we’re doing is watching you slowly die because you won’t give up the bottle.”
“ harry ,” liam mumbles, looking back at him.
“nobody is saying what he needs to hear! louis, you’re going to die. no matter how much you say you’re fine, you’re not. you’re destroying yourself from the inside out and if you don’t stop you are going to end up six feet underground.”
“jesus christ, harry.”
louis is speechless, staring at harry with his jaw ajar. he knows that it’s not the best thing to have a habit of, but he’s not going to die. it’s okay, he doesn’t get drunk every day.
“guys, it’s okay. i’m okay. i wasn’t going to drink tonight anyway. i don’t drink every day. if it makes you feel better, i won’t go out. i’ll just stay home and watch movies, deal?”
nobody looks happy with louis. which, weird, because everyone should be happy looking at him. but eventually, harry sighs, shrugging his shoulders.
“just don’t get drunk, louis.”
harry leaves, boots clicking as he walks away. niall and liam hug him, mumbling their goodbyes as they follow after him, leaving louis to pick up the pieces of his band.
-
“louis?! lou, please wake up. please, please wake up!”
his body is jerked around, pressure on his chest next to his heart. he’s not dying, but there’s definitely something wrong. his shirt is wet, when did his shirt get wet? all louis wants to do is cough, but he can’t get his body to cooperate to cough.
“louis, you can’t fucking die on me, please! i’m so sorry, i should’ve been here sooner. please, just wake up.”
the voice sounds like harry. why is harry here? he wasn’t here earlier.
“just wake up, please wake up.” there’s crying. “you can’t die on me.”
finally, his body allows him to cough, body raising off the ground. he coughs for a while, air graciously getting to his lungs.
“oh, thank god,” harry breathes, head going to louis’ chest. “i thought i was going to lose you.”
“i’m right here,” louis’ voice is croaky. “‘m not going anywhere.” he reaches out to pet harry’s hair, knowing that will soothe the younger boy.
“you wouldn’t wake up,” he mumbles. “you wouldn’t wake up and i-i couldn’t hear your breathing and i thought i lost you, lou.”
harry keeps talking, nonsense falling from his lips as he tries to calm himself down from almost losing his best friend. all louis can do is pet his head and back, let him settle down from what just happened. he doesn’t even know what happened. one minute he was taking a drink in his green room, the next he’s on the ground with a harry styles crying into his chest.
“harry! we found the nu- oh, he’s awake,” he hears liam say as he comes into the room, followed by what he assumes is the nurse on call for their performance.
harry lifts his head up from louis’ chest, looking at liam with sad eyes. “he’s awake, he’s alive.”
another round of coughing comes through louis’ body, groaning when all he felt was pain. suddenly, his body was being lifted off the ground and moved to the couch. all he can do is close his eyes and hope he doesn’t pass out again.
once he’s on the couch, the nurse checks over him, liam, harry, and now niall talking in hushed voices from across the room. harry’s face is still tear stained, arms crossed over his chest as if he were holding himself together.
“louis, can you tell me the last thing you remember before you were on the ground?” the nurse says, small smile on her face.
“um,” his voice is sounds bad, more raspy than it normally is. “i was drinking, over there.” he weakly points to the spot where he was.
“what were you drinking?”
“guiness?”
“are you asking or are you telling me?”
damn, nurse. he just woke up.
“telling.”
“and how many have you had today?”
shit. “i don’t know.”
he hears a soft he doesn’t know from over where his bandmates are and his stomach drops. he knows he’s fucked up this time.
the nurse presses on his stomach, hard, causing him to groan. everything hurts and all he wants to do is die. he’s upset his band, upset this nurse, probably upset his family and friends outside of his bubble. he’s a disappointment, all he’s doing is hurting his friends.
silently, he vows that he’ll get better after this. find something new to replace drinking. he’s gotta get better. and then he can work this all out.
-
louis does well. he hasn’t drank in months, taking up more musical instruments in place of the bottle. he’s fine now.
that is, until jay dies.
-
it’s day after jay’s funeral that it all goes to shit.
louis has been drinking off and on since he’s gotten the news, trying to be sober and consoling to his family but desperately needing the bottle. he compromises, he stays sober while with his family then goes home and drinks away the pain when he’s alone.
it’s not perfect, but what can you do?
he wakes up the day after feeling like complete and utter shit. his eyes can’t focus, hands are shaking, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.
louis stumbles out of bed, practically running to his kitchen and grabbing the first beer he sees. he quickly downs it, throwing the bottle down and grabbing another one. he doesn’t know how many it takes for his hands to stop shaking but he finally feels free.
he feels sane.
-
there’s a knock at his door hours later. he didn’t ask anyone to come over, but he answers the door anyway.
it’s harry.
“what do you want?” he slurs his words, swaying where he stands.
“you’re worse than i thought,” is what harry says.
“what do you mean?”
“look at you, your words are slurring and you can barely stand up straight. i thought you stopped this.”
harry’s mean, rude harry.
instead of responding, louis walks back into his apartment, searching out another drink. the footsteps behind him indicate that harry follows him, he doesn’t want that. harry’s being mean.
there’s a gasp when they enter the kitchen, and it’s probably about how many beer bottles are on the floor. louis’ even surprised that he’s still standing after how much he’s drank. but it doesn’t matter, life doesn’t matter and the only thing that’s keeping him grounded is liquor.
“louis… this isn’t healthy,” harry sighs, taking a step closer to him. “you need help.”
“why’re you even here, ‘arry? i did-didn’t ask for you.”
“lottie called me, said you weren’t making sense and to come check on you. she’s worried, you know? they’re all worried, lou.”
“ no! ” louis throws the bottle he’s holding at harry. “they’re not worried about me. they just think they’re worried about me.”
“no, lou-“
“ don’t call me that!” he grabs whatever is near him - a loaf of bread - and throws it at harry again. “you don’t know what’s going on with me! you don’t get to walk in here and tell me what the fuck is wrong with me! i’m fine!i just had a couple of drinks! i could stand to have one more!”
louis goes back to the fridge, grabs another drink and -
-
someone’s holding his hand, there’s beeping, and it smells like hospital.
opening his eyes, taking in his surroundings, it’s because he’s in a hospital. great.
“oh, thank god,” a voice next to him says, squeezing his hand. “fiz, go tell everyone he’s awake.”
louis looks to his side and finds his sister, lottie. he squeezes her hand back weakly, offering her a smile. he doesn’t remember what happened, just that he was yelling at harry and then he wasn’t.
“is everything alright?” his voice sounds shot to hell. “am i in a hospital?”
“yeah, you’re in a hospital,” lottie confirms, sad smile on her lips. “we’re just glad you’re alive.”
“what do you mean?” louis’ brows furrow, confused.
“lou, you passed out in your flat. you’re lucky harry was there to call an ambulance. they,” tears start trickling down her face. “they had to pump your stomach. blood alcohol was way above the legal limit. you almost died,” her voice caught on the last word.
“oh, lots,” he reaches up, cupping her face and wiping away a tear. “i’m here, yeah? i’m still here.”
“we almost lost you, lou,” she whispers, not looking up to meet his eyes. “i don’t know what i would do without you, i need my big brother.”
louis feels tears well up in his eyes, dropping his hand from lottie’s face. he sniffles, feeling like a failure. it’s never gotten this bad, he’s never been hospitalized. he kept telling himself that it wasn’t bad, that he could stop when he wanted to. but he guesses that he’s been lying to himself this whole time.
alcoholism is a bitch.
“oh, lou, don’t cry,” it’s lottie’s turn to wipe away tears. “you’re going to get better. we’re going to make sure of it.”
“but what if i don’t? what if i…” he cuts himself off, unable to say the word.
“you won’t, okay? you’re not alone anymore, you have your family and your band with you.” lottie bites her lip. “just promise me you’ll try?”
“i promise, i’ll try my best.”
it’s a promise that’ll be hard to keep.
-
the next day, when lottie and fiz leave for lunch, there’s a knock at his door. the nurses have already done their rounds. confused, louis calls out for them to come in.
it’s harry, and he’s brought a bouquet of flowers.
“oh, hazza,” louis coos, sitting up in bed. “you shouldn’t have.”
harry just smiles, setting the flowers on his bedside table. he sits in the chair next to the bed, reaching out and grabbing louis’ hand. “scared me, loubear.”
“didn’t mean to,” louis mumbles, looking down at their hands. “can we not talk here?”
“whatever you want, just promise me you’ll try and get better.”
louis lays back down in the bed, watching as harry runs his thumb against his hand. “promise.”
it’s a promise that feels better than the one yesterday.
-
louis stays in the hospital a total of six days. the doctors run tests on his liver and heart to make sure he hasn’t destroyed anything. he skates by with just inflammation of his liver and signs that he’s heading towards hepatitis c. they put him on a treatment to make sure it doesn’t spread further than the stage it’s at, and tell him to consider rehab or something to help with his addiction.
hearing it from the doctor's mouth makes it more scary, more real. he should’ve listened to his friends sooner.
they also keep him hooked up to an iv for fluids, since he was incredibly dehydrated from all his drinking. he should’ve been taken to the hospital after the green room incident, but they don’t scold him too hard for not coming.
he’s told he should live with a friend or family member for the first couple weeks after getting home, not only to make sure he’s not drinking but to make sure he’s transitioning well back into sober living. which includes taking his medicine and drinking lots of water. harry immediately volunteers himself and fights for the position with lottie, and ends up winning.
there are worse things than living with harry again.
-
okay, there’s nothing worse than living with harry after being treated in the hospital for your alcoholism.
harry, apparently, has taken the liberty of clearing out any alcoholic beverages out of his flat. which, fine, louis needs to lay off the bottle and, frankly, stop drinking. but he could’ve done it on his own, he’s a big boy who can make big boy decisions.
at least that’s what he tells himself, not that he’s alcohol dependent.
harry’s an early riser, anybody knows that. louis likes to sleep in. but living with harry again means harry is going to force him awake at the crack of dawn. because it’s “healthy” and “starts your day off right.” louis thinks it’s bullshit, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping until 10 and not getting out of bed until 12.
he’s a recovering alcoholic, give him some slack.
sometimes, harry’s not the worst. he likes to cook, and he cooks for him a lot. they order out sometimes, but most of the time they’re eating at home. he reminds him to take his medicine, to drink his water, and helps him find ways to get his hand to stop shaking.
it’s easy the first two weeks being sober. the real challenge comes when harry leaves.
-
the day after harry leaves, louis can’t get out of bed. he can, but he can’t. under any circumstances can he leave this bed.
the bed is a safe haven. if he leaves the bed, he’ll drink.
his hands shake too much to reach his phone and his closest fidget toy is in his living room and he can’t leave his bed . he just stares at the ceiling, let his hands shake, and tells himself that everything will be fine .
this is what they didn’t warn him about. there’s no guide to how to recover. he wants to be fine, he wants to be okay. he wants to just skip over the hard part and just be louis again. and he wants his hands to stop shaking so he can call his mum a-
wait. he can’t.
mum’s dead.
his hands shake more. but he can’t leave the bed.
louis just wants his mum. she’d know what to do.
-
the day after, louis leaves the bed, leaves the flat, and walks himself to the nearest liquor store. he stares at the outside of it from across the street, internally battling whether or not he should go in. the answer really is clear, he shouldn’t. yet, there’s a part of him that’s pulling him towards the door and into the shop.
louis stands in front of the hard liquors aisle for twenty minutes, nothing behind his eyes as he just stares down the bottles in front of him. he doesn’t move to grab one, but he also doesn’t move from where he’s standing. his hands are shoved in his pockets to stop them from doing anything.
it’s only when the store’s employee calls him out on just standing there that he makes a decision.
“hey!” it causes louis to startle. “are you going to buy anything or just eye the bottles?”
“uh…” he looks around on the shelves and grabs the closest one, walking to the front while looking down.
“aren't you that guy from one direction everyone keeps talking about?”
louis swallows, shrugging. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” he throws money on the counter, grabbing the bottle and walking out.
fuck that worker, he’s louis goddamn tomlinson.
-
the bottle of tequila is on his coffee table, he’s sat on his couch staring at it. he has two options, call someone and get them to talk him out of a big mistake or open the bottle and make the big mistake.
desperately, his hands want the second option. they want to stop shaking, they want back what’s normal for them. but, deep down, louis knows he can’t grab the bottle. he’s been sober now two weeks and some change, he can’t throw it away for anything.
his only option is to call someone. he already feels like a burden on all his friends and family, he doesn’t want to make them worry about him more than they have to.
but he has to do something.
louis looks around in search of his phone. there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now, and he just hopes he picks up.
“hello?”
“harry?” his voice can’t be more than a whispers, tears prickle his eyes.
“louis? what’s wrong?”
it takes a while for him to respond, trying to get his breathing under control and will himself not to cry. “i-i bought a bottle.”
there’s swearing on the other end, louis’ stomach drops. “you have?”
“i haven’t opened it,” he rushes out. “but i’m not confident that i won’t.”
“louis, don’t do anything, okay? i’ll be right there. just don’t open it, okay? can you do that for me?”
louis nods his head, letting out a shaky breath. “yeah, just. please get here?”
“yeah, yeah. i’m on my way, okay? you don’t have to open the bottle, lou. you’re stronger than that.”
he cuts off the call, staring back at the bottle as tears roll
down his face. okay, he can do this. just don’t open the bottle, easy task. he doesn’t need tequila, he’s gone two weeks without it. it’ll be fine.
it feels like years by the time harry gets there. the bottle remains unopened, which is a feat in itself. louis is curled in a ball on the couch, crying, when he hears a knock on the door. slowly, he gets up from the couch, arms wrapped around himself as he walks to the door and answers it.
“lou…” harry says upon seeing him, opening his arms up to engulf louis.
he lets himself cry harder now, in the doorway of his flat, in harry’s arms. he cries until he’s got nothing left to cry, where he’s left with staccato breaths. harry holds him through it all, whispering soft, sweet words in his ear. louis’ thankful for him, lucky to have a friend who cares for him so deeply.
harry gets them to the couch, pulling him into his lap and resting his head on his shoulder. his arms are around louis’ middle, holding him close. he rocks them back and forth as they stare at the bottle on the table. louis lets out a quiet whimper.
“so, you bought a bottle of tequila,” harry states. “and you haven’t opened it, right?”
“no,” he answers quickly. “no, i haven’t.”
“what’s the plan, then?”
“what?” louis looks back at harry.
“are we drinking tonight or what?” harry moves louis off to the side, grabbing the bottle.
“harry? what are you doing?”
“me and you are going to get drunk together.”
“what?” louis furrows his brows. “i don't think that’s a good idea, haz.”
harry opens the bottle. “well, you bought a bottle for a reason. we might as well get drunk.” he raises the bottle to his lips, tipping his head back and -
“stop!” louis yells, getting off the couch and grabbing the bottle. “we are not drinking! i want to get better, harry! i don’t want to -“ he cuts himself off, tears spilling out of his eyes again.
harry’s back hugging him in an instant. “hey, no. don’t cry, lou. we’re not going to drink, i was just kidding. but i’m so proud of you. you know what we’re going to do?”
louis sniffles. “what?”
instead of answering, harry pulls him to the kitchen. he stands them in front of the sink, louis in front of harry.
“you’re going to pour it out.”
“what? are you kidding? this was expensive.”
“either you pour the tequila out or you’re going to drink it, lou. you said yourself you wanted get better, this is the start. you called me instead of drinking, that’s huge. and i’m so proud of you for doing that. but this is where you get to choose. either dump it and choose get better or drink it and get worse. it’s all up to you.”
louis looks at harry and then at the bottle in his hand. it takes him a while to make the decision, and he stares at the bottle for a long time. eventually, he tips the bottle into the sink and watches as the liquid disappears out of it. he watches until all of the tequila is gone and drops the bottle in the sink, falling backwards. luckily, harry is there to catch him.
“you did so good,” harry mumbles into his ear. “i’m so proud of you.”
yeah, he’s proud of him, too.
-
louis has brought a bottle of vodka home.
where did he get it from? he doesn’t remember but now it’s here.
he’s back in his kitchen, the bottle mocking him on the counter. it’s been three weeks since his hospital stay, a week since the incident with harry, and he feels like he's back at square one. the boys are coming over, should be here soon, to pick him up and take him out to eat. but there’s a bottle of vodka sitting on his counter that he has to deal with first.
what he should do is dump it down the drain like the tequila. what he’s doing instead is opening the bottle and pouring a shot.
louis walks backwards away from the counter, sliding down the cabinets when he hits the other side and curls in a ball. he doesn’t have to take the shot, he can dump it down the sink and then dump the bottle and the boys would be none the wiser. then he won’t have to start from the beginning again and he can continue his sobriety.
there’s a knock at the door. louis doesn’t move to answer it.
there’s another knock a minute later. still, he doesn’t move to answer it.
he hears his doorknob start to jiggle. harry still has house keys to his flat, of course. he still doesn’t move from his spot in the kitchen to greet them.
“louis?” harry calls out when he gets the door open. “louis? where are you?”
louis doesn’t answer. doesn’t move. doesn’t do anything.
“is he even home?” he hears niall ask.
“he told me he would be,” harry answers, walking into the flat further. he can hear the click of harry’s boots as he walks closer and closer to the kitchen. “liam and niall are with me, i hope that’s alright.”
no, it’s not alright. louis feels like he’s about to cry because he can’t control anything worth shit and all he wants is his mom.
“maybe we shouldn’t have come in, harry. it doesn’t look like he’s here,” liam tries, footsteps indicating he’s following him in.
“his shoes are still by the door, he has to be home.”
footsteps continue until he hears them stop in the threshold of the kitchen. there’s silence for a while, tears start rolling down louis’ face.
he’s a failure. that’s what his band mates seem him as. a failure.
“oh, louis,” he hears liam say, walking towards him. “don’t cry, it’s okay.”
“no, it’s not okay,” his voice cracks. “i’m not okay.”
“and it’s okay to not be okay,” liam rubs his hand on louis’ arm in a calming gesture. “did you drink?”
louis shakes his head no, taking in a shaky breath. “couldn’t do anything past pouring the shot.”
“good.”
it doesn’t feel good.
he hears someone clear their throat, and there’s more silence. liam coughs next to him awkwardly.
“so, um, me and the lads were talking about rehab,” liam starts. the word runs cold in louis’ blood. “we were thinking that might be an option for you.”
“if you wanted it, of course,” harry adds.
“yeah, we’ve looked up some places if you’re interested. called a few and they’d being willing to work with you. keep everything confidential. we could visit you, too, so you wouldn’t be alone.”
louis doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes trained on the ground. niall takes it from there. “we’re not forcing you to do anything, but we’re worried that what we’re doing now isn’t enough. you’ll be able to talk with a therapist there and start going to aa meetings. they can help you there, more than we can.”
“we just want what’s best for you, lou,” harry says quietly. “we don’t want to lose you.”
“can i think about it?” louis lifts his head up, looking directly at harry for the answer.
“yes, of course, lou. we don’t want to make any rash decisions. just, keep us involved?”
louis nods, even smiling a bit. “let’s go to dinner then, yeah?”
-
it takes another week before louis enters into rehab. it doesn’t take a lot of convincing from his friends and family to realize this is the best option for him at the moment.
the rehab that liam recommends is embrace recovery rehab centre on the east london side. they deal with celebrities the best, from liam’s research, and they have an on-site therapy building where recovering addicts go while they’re there and after they’ve been discharged. he will get his own room, be able to wear his own clothes, and be able to use his phone.
the phone part wasn’t much of an issue, but a nice added bonus.
true to the boys’ words, they visit him. they come together as a group once a week, sometimes niall and liam come to visit by themselves, but harry comes every day. he tells him little tidbits about his day, brings him flowers once a week to brighten up his room, and treats him like a normal person not in rehab.
louis’ happier, happier than he’s been in a long time.
harry comes around one, right after they have their lunch and right before louis has group therapy. louis smiles when he hears a knock on the door, quickly going and answering it. today, he’s brought new flowers to replace the ones from last week and brought along a couple of drinks from starbucks. he takes the drinks from harry, stepping out of the way to let him in.
“these flowers look amazing as always, hazza,” louis comments as harry fixes the flowers into place.
“thank you, lou,” harry blushes like he always does. “tell me about your day.”
“i woke up late for breakfast because i forgot to turn on my alarm, therapy was after breakfast. then i messed around on my phone until lunch and now we’re here,” he shrugs.
“what did you talk about in therapy?”
“usual stuff. today we started talking about how it all started.”
this grabs harry’s attention. “oh? you’ve never told me.”
louis nods. “yeah, i haven’t really told anyone.”
harry gestures for louis to continue. he clears his throat. “there’s no, like, definitive moment but we - she thinks it started as a coping mechanism for the sudden fame.”
“do you not think that?”
“no, i’m sure she’s right. i didn’t start really drinking until our first tour. but it all started,” louis coughs, “it all started back in the x factor house.”
harry raises his eyebrows. “really? i-i never even noticed that anything was wrong.”
“i would only get drunk when everyone else was too, it wasn’t easy to pick up, i guess. but it was all anxiety and…”
“and what?”
louis takes a while to answer. “repressed emotions.”
this takes harry aback. “repressed emotions about what?”
“um,” louis shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “i had a crush on you. have a crush on you, pretty sure it’s borderline proper in love now. but back, i never felt attraction to another guy and i just didn’t know how to deal with it? simon was already putting pressure on me to not be gay. i’d go overboard with the drinking every single time, i don’t know why. i just couldn’t cope with performing and dealing with possibly not being straight at the same time.”
he watches harry nod out the corner of his eye, keeping his focus trained on the flowers. “so you’re saying i’m the reason why you’re an alcoholic?”
what? “no! no, that’s not what i’m saying. newfound fame and my continued inability to cope is what made me an alcoholic. my sexuality has nothing to do with why i drank past x factor.”
harry’s quiet for a moment, a long moment, taking in everything louis’ said. it wasn’t abnormal for them to talk about therapy and what happened, louis actually enjoys it. it’s like his therapy after therapy, where he gets to talk out what him and the therapist, a lovely woman by the name of hannah, talked about. he goes twice a week, tuesday’s and thursday’s, and they talk about everything and anything. just recently had they started talking about his alcoholism in depth, having been there three weeks now.
“you say you’re in love with me,” is what breaks the silence. “how do you know for sure?”
“when i look at you, my stomach does this little flip. i feel like i can be myself around you, that i don’t have to put up any walls. you make me happy even when i was at my lowest, you treat me like a human being and not like something about to break. i don’t know how else to explain it, h, i just love you.”
harry smiles, looking down at his hands. “i love you, too. but i don’t think we should be together.”
louis’ heart drops. “what?”
“not until you’re better, at least. i’ve been in love with you since you jumped into my arms onstage and watching you just destroy yourself was heartbreaking. that’s why i got so mad, lou. that’s why i yelled and threw things. i couldn’t believe that the love of my life couldn’t see the things that we could see, that i could see was wrong. i want to be with you, but you have to focus on yourself first.”
“what if i never get better?” louis’ voice is small, like how he’s feeling. “what if, after all of this, i get worse again?”
“loubear, i’d wait years if it meant i’d get to be with you.”
that’s what makes louis start crying. he starts out sniffling, wiping away tears, because he will not cry. but those words hit hard and soon he’s full on sobbing. harry comes over and pulls him into his lap, letting him cry into his chest. he rubs louis’s back, making soothing noises as he just cries and cries and cries.
he cries until his breathing gets choppy, gripping onto harry’s shirt with all his might. harry continues to rub his back as he calms down, hugging him closer. once he believes he’s done, louis pulls away, opens his mouth to say -
there’s a knock at the door. it’s group therapy time.
“oh,” is what he says instead. “i didn’t realize it was time.”
“it’s okay, i’ll be back tomorrow, you know,” harry smiles at him, dimples popping out.
it makes louis smile back, looking down at his hands on harry’s shirt. “i should let you go then.”
his head is tilted back up, and before he can register what’s happening, he feels harry’s lips on his. it’s a brief kiss, nothing too extravagant for their current setting, but to louis, it means everything.
“what was that?” he asks harry when they pull away.
harry smiles again. “a promise.”
-
louis stays in rehab for six months. the day he leaves is much celebration. his family and band mates greet him outside of the building, cheering and celebrating his accomplishment. he still has therapy twice a week, and they’ve given him a list of aa meetings in london, but he’s accomplished something he hasn’t done in years.
he’s nearly seven months sober.
currently, he’s made himself at home back in his flat. harry’s in the kitchen making them food as they wait for the others to come over. louis is on his couch, scrolling through twitter when he finds there’s a twitter moment about him.
weird. he hasn’t done anything of note to get this.
he clicks on the twitter moment, laptop redirecting him to a page filled with articles about him and… oh .
it’s about his addiction. and all his lowest points are plastered onscreen, tabloid articles written about how his health is and making wild accusations. when he went into the hospital, to going to rehab. a good number of them display the same picture of him just days after his mum’s death, pointing out how he looked to be skin and bones and wonder if he was doing heavy drugs.
come to find out it’s really alcohol that’s taken its toll on his body. god, was he really that thin? did he just forget to eat when he was drinking? no wonder he passed out so many times.
“everything’s almost d- louis?” harry stops midway between the kitchen and living room. “what’s wrong?”
louis looks up to him, shrugging. “found a twitter moment about my alcoholism. it’s fine.”
“well, obviously it’s not fine, you look upset.” harry crosses his arms. “most of those articles aren’t even true. who are they written by? the daily mail? you know they spew as much bullshit as they can.”
“i didn’t know i was so thin,” he continues to look at his computer screen, looking at article after article. “was i really that thin?”
“what?” harry walks over to the couch, taking the laptop away from louis. “no, you were never that thin. your cheekbones were more defined, but never like this.”
louis starts sniffling, tears welling up in his eyes. he knew that the media never really liked him, he’s known that since his mum sent him the first bad article she came across. but he can’t believe how mean they could really get, especially with how he’s been suffering with his addiction. even altering his photos to make it worse than it is.
“oh, baby,” harry sets down the laptop and sits on the couch. he pulls louis into his lap, hugging him close as he starts crying. “you know all those articles are made to tear you down. they’re not true, we all know that. don’t cry, baby.”
louis turns his head down into harry’s chest, gripping his shirt tightly in his fists. he continues to cry, he feels like that’s all he’s doing nowadays is cry. but he can’t help it.
“i can’t believe they would take something so bad and make it worse,” he says as he catches his breath. “don’t they see that i was dying? that i was killing myself?”
“they’re just there to make everything worse, lou. you don’t need to be worrying about them.”
they’re quiet after that, louis slowly stops crying and soon they’re sat in silence. he wipes away at his eyes, pulling away from harry’s chest.
“i’m sorry you have to deal with this,” louis mumbles, looking down at his hands. “you don’t deserve this.”
“don’t say that, lou,” harry reaches out and lifts louis’ head up to look at him. “i signed up for this when i fell in love with you, i’m going to be here for you through thick and thin. i told you i’d wait years for you, and i mean it. just because you cry a few times doesn’t mean i’m going to leave you.”
louis sniffles, nodding. “i just don’t like that i’m pulling you down with me.”
“you’re not doing anything, lou. you’re in recovery. i shouldn’t expect you to be fine immediately.”
harry smiles at him, rubbing his thumb against louis’ jawline. his eyes drop to his lips, thumb running over the bottom lip. louis gives a slight nod, and then harry’s leaning forward and connecting their lips.
louis’ fingers dig deeper into harry’s shirt, pulling him closer. this is unlike the kiss they shared at the rehab centre, that one was chaste. this one, oh boy, this one makes louis’ toes curl, his heart beat fast in his chest. harry’s hand comes up to cup his face as he deepens the kiss, smiling against his lips.
they jump away when there’s a knock at the door. louis looks at the door and then back at harry. immediately, they fall into a fit of giggles, falling back into the couch.
-
“so, louis,” hannah begins the session once they’re settled. “let’s talk about leaving rehab.”
“i’ve been out for a week and a half now,” he starts, shrugging. “i had the boys over for a celebratory dinner. my hands shake, but i don’t seek out alcohol. it’s all going good right now.”
“you had some concerns about leaving rehab, didn’t you?”
louis nods. “yeah,” he clears his throat. “i was incredibly worried that i was going to relapse quickly after leaving. but, so far, i haven’t really had time to let myself be sad or go back to the mindset i had when i was drinking.”
“and why is that? you’ve mentioned that your friends visited you while you were here.”
“they did, and they’ve definitely been helping me. harry has been visiting me a lot and getting me out of my flat so i don’t just sit in sadness.”
“you’ve mentioned harry before, has that relationship changed?”
louis shakes his head. “no, nothing’s really changed. he doesn’t want to be together while i’m still in the beginning stages of recovery. which i completely understand, i don’t think i’m ready to handle everything that’s being thrown at me plus a relationship. but we have been spending a lot of time just us. i think we’re at the start of starting a relationship?”
“what makes you think that?”
“we, um, do a lot of things that couples do? we don’t do them in public, i don’t want any more attention than i’m getting. but we’ll cuddle on the couch and he’ll kiss me on the cheek. he calls me baby and honey, and i call him dumbass.”
“have you two gotten intimate?”
louis’ eyes go wide, quickly shaking his head. “no, we just act like a secondary school couple, really. harry wants to keep it at a pace i’m comfortable with. we talk a lot about a potential relationship whenever it’s on the mind. i like what we have right now, he makes me feel supported without being overbearing.”
hannah writes down a few things, so it’s quiet for a moment. “do you have any fears about being with harry?”
he swallows, but nods. “i’m scared that, one day, if i’m still not ready but he is, he’ll get tired of waiting for me and ‘leave’ me for someone who doesn’t have the baggage i do.”
“he doesn’t seem like the type, from what you’ve told me.”
“no,” louis sighs. “he’s honestly the greatest guy i’ve ever met. and he said so himself he’d wait years for me. but everyone has their limits. what if i’m not ready for ten years? i’ll be in my mid thirties by then. i know harry wants children, i do too. but is waiting until we’re in our thirties too late?
“louis, you can start a family at any age you’re comfortable with. and i do think you’re getting ahead of yourself. do i think you could take ten years to be ready? no, but it’s possible. and if harry is who he says he is, he’ll still be there for you,” hannah reaches across to pat louis’ knee. “i really do believe it. who knows, maybe you’ll be ready in a few months or a few days.”
louis nods, smiling. “thank you.”
“now,” hannah leans back in her chair, looking down at her notes. “i do believe our time is up. is there anything else we should talk about?”
louis shakes his head.
hannah smiles. “i’ll see you thursday then.”
-
harry meets him outside of therapy, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.
“everything went well?”
“yeah, talked about you a bit.”
harry looks over at him, eyebrows raised. “all good things, i hope.”
“yeah,” louis looks back at him. “all good things.”
-
louis is nine months, one week, and three days sober when he almost slips up again.
gucci has sent harry a package to celebrate his campaign. the package includes a bottle of champagne, because celebrations.
harry forgets about putting down louis’ address for the package to be sent to. so having a sizable bottle of alcohol being presented to him with fancy gucci writing on it was a shock. to add more to the fire, louis is the one who answers the door for the package.
fun times.
louis is back where he was months ago, staring at the bottle in his kitchen. his hands are shaking, something they haven’t done in months, and he feels like he’s going to lose control. he keeps his eyes on the bottle and wills himself not to cry.
he forgets harry’s in his flat until he walks into the kitchen.
“louis?” it breaks his trance, looking over to harry. “are you okay?”
tears well up in his eyes, fuck. he told himself he wasn’t going to cry. “someone from gucci came to deliver a package to celebrate the campaign,” he clears his throat. “it included… well it included that.” he gestures towards the champagne bottle on the counter.
“oh, shit,” harry mutters, walking into the kitchen more. “i swear i didn’t know they were sending a bottle of champagne. you know i wouldn’t have accepted it.”
“or at least have it sent here.”
“no, lou. i haven’t drank since x factor. gotten high? totally, all about that kush. but i couldn’t drink after watching you destroy yourself.”
louis wipes away tears, sniffling. “so we’re both living sober?”
harry nods. “i’m here to support you 100%. i can't be doing that if i’m drinking. seems a bit hypocritical.”
louis laughs, walking over and hugging harry around his middle. “thank you.”
he feels a kiss pressed to his hair. “i’d do anything for you.”
louis blushes, burying his face into harry’s chest. they stay like that for a moment, harry resting his chin on his head. he hears him mumble something he can’t quite make out.
he pulls away. “what was that?”
“i said do you want to dump the bottle?”
louis smiles, nodding his head. he detaches himself from harry, going over to the counter and grabbing the bottle. he puts the bottle in the sink before he opens it, letting all the bubbles and whatnot out. after a moment, he turned the bottle over, watching as the alcohol pours out of the bottle down the drain. it’s therapeutic in a way. his hands aren’t shaking anymore and he feels more sane.
he drops the bottle in the sink once it’s emptied. harry leans over and pecks him on the lips.
“so proud of you, loubear.”
and, yeah, he’s proud of him, too.
-
louis hits a year being sober and he’s ready.
the boys took him out for a fancy dinner, all of them decked out in suits and hair styled to the nines. when the waiter asks if they want a wine list, his hands shake but he politely says no. liam claps him on the back, wide smile on his face.
he feels accomplished. it’s the first time someone’s mentioned alcohol and he doesn’t fall into a fit of tears.
it’s progress.
harry takes him back to his flat and they’re both giddy and high on life. they can’t keep their hands off each other, soft touches everywhere and anywhere. louis can’t stop smiling, the effect of being around harry so much.
he’s so in love with this curly idiot it’s almost painful.
they make it to the couch before they’re kissing, hands grabbing more forcefully than they were before. louis’ fingers are threaded in harry’s hair and harry’s hands make themselves at home on louis’ ass. he pulls at harry’s hair, smiling at the moan it elicits.
it takes them practically grinding on each other, a whole lot of making out, and the need for oxygen before they pull away. louis’ hands move down to harry’s chest, pushing himself up. he’s ready, he thinks as he stares down at harry. he wants what a relationship holds, he wants to be able to hold hands with harry in public and kiss him and tell him that he loves him. he wants to feel how full harry’ll make him when they have sex, because he just knows what he’s hiding.
he wants everything harry can give him, and he wants to give harry everything he can.
“go out with me,” he says, breathless.
“what?” harry laughs, obviously not expecting it.
“go out with me,” he says again, balling harry’s shirt up. “i’m ready. i want you. you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me and i can’t stand to go another day without being yours. so go out with me.”
harry’s quiet for a moment, searching louis’ face for any hint of doubt. when he can’t find any, he smiles, pulling him down for another kiss.
“of course, baby,” he mumbles against his lips. “i love you so much.”
louis’ happy. harry’s happy. that’s all that matters in the world.
-
louis is a year and three months sober when the interview happens. it’s his choice to do it, after weeks of trying to decide if it’s the right thing.
it’s prerecorded, per his request, and won’t be released for another month. that way if he changes his mind, he can pull it. he’s in control, what he says goes.
he’s leaps and bounds ahead of where he used to be.
harry kisses his forehead before he walks onto set, wishing him good luck. the interviewer smiles at him as he takes his seat. makeup does their last minute touches. soon enough, they’re live.
“so, louis, tell us why we’re here today.”
louis smiles and takes a deep breath.
this is it.
-
EXCLUSIVE! FORMER ONE DIRECTION MEMBER COMES OUT AS ALCOHOLIC
louis tomlinson, former member of famed band one direction , gives exclusive interview into his life suffering as an alcoholic.
read more here
fin x