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Louis had actually been having a pretty fantastic day when he got the news.
He should have known something was up when management asked him for a face to face meeting. Normally they hated being in the same room with Louis, because quite frankly Louis hated them and that made it very difficult to carry on a conversation without him being a little shit.It was actually one of the things that Louis most prided himself on, the ability to make the lives of those who ruined him as miserable as possible.
He usually did better talking to management over the phone because he could distract himself by doing other things and maybe not get so pissed off. Management knew it, too. So the fact that they asked Louis to come to the hotel room across the hall from his where some of the team members were staying should have been a giant red flag warning him of what was to come.
But naturally, as it usually goes with tragedy, the news came as a surprise.
He knew something was up though as soon as he saw their faces. One of the team members, a man named Frank who had been with them from the start looks more irritated than anything else. The other, a fresh-faced girl named Elise, just looked downright sad. “We need to go over some things with you,” Frank said. “It's about your deal with the Rovers.”
“What about it?” Louis asked. “I already cleared it with the label. It has nothing to do with music so there's no sort of conflict.”
“It isn’t the label that has an issue. We, as your management, have some concerns.”
Louis’ face is instantly hot. “What the fuck do you mean, concerns? Don't you think you should have brought those up sometime before now?” He scowled at the pair. “I swear to God, if this is about me wearing Harry's coat in that stupid interview-”
“It's not about the interview, Louis,” Elise broke in. “We did some research about what fans think of you getting so involved with the football team, and there seems to be a lot of concern about what this means about your place in One Direction. Some of the fans worried that this might be a sign that the end is coming.”
“What, like this is the fucking apocalypse? Football has nothing to do with music. We're allowed to have hobbies outside of the band.”
“Of course you are, but it's no surprise that the fans prefer it when the five of you do things as a united whole. I'm only telling you what the fans have been saying.”
Elise was taking on a soothing tone that was probably meant to make Louis calm down and stop seeing red, but it was far from working. It was the same stupid publicity head game management bullshit that he's been getting for four years now, and he was tired of the politics of it all.
“So what ridiculous thing are you going to make me do now?” Louis asked through gritted teeth. “Are we going to have to do a commercial together? Because honestly it pisses me off that you’re going to make me inconvenience my four best friends just so that you can pretend like we're one compact unit you can own instead of five independent human beings.”
“That's just the point,” Frank said brusquely. “The fans know that you all have your own lives outside of the band. They're just starting to worry that if your life outside of the band is getting so complex that the band life must be becoming less important to you, and that One Direction is coming to an end. That's why your deal with the Rovers is such a bad idea.”
“Well while I'm certainly glad you guys give a shit about how the fans feel, because half the time I think you forget that it is literally all about the fans, you've got it all fucking wrong on this one.” Why was it so difficult for them to see? “They're proud of me- they want this for me just as much as I want it for myself.”
“Louis-”
“No, seriously, knock it off,” Louis snapped, panic starting to rise in his throat. “They know how passionate I am about Doncaster and football and they love that about me. The fans are always afraid about us breaking up, they have been since day one. It has nothing to do with this deal, and I swear to God if you try to make this difficult for me-”
“It's above our heads now,” Frank interrupted. “It wasn't even a decision made by this management team. It was a companywide decision.”
All of a sudden Louis’ mouth is dry and it became very difficult to draw the breath to ask, “What decision?”
“The deal just isn't going to work out, Louis,” Elise said gently.
Louis sort of knew that this was what the conversation was heading towards. He’d known since halfway through the conversation. Maybe he'd known since the first time he got the idea to strike up a deal with the team he was so passionate about. How could it end any other way? He was so wrapped up in contracts and expectations at this point, even four years down the road, he could practically depend on these people to destroy every good thing that he'd ever had.
His relationship with the fans was censored. His family was attacked in the press. The love he shared with Harry was shoved so far into the back of a deep, dark closet that he couldn't even look at him without getting a formal reprimand. Nothing good in his life was outside of the realm of influence of this damn company, because they owned him.
Why would he expect that one of the few things he’d actually dared to do for himself since the fame had set in would be any different? It was all just the same old song and dance.
He should have been calm about it, probably. He should have stayed and tried to explain his position. He could have even made some threats, dangled some blackmail over their heads to make them rethink this decision. But quite frankly, fighting took a lot of energy and it was all the energy Louis could muster to nod once, turn around, and walk right back out that door.
For the next few hours, whenever anyone tried to come to the door of his hotel room, they were met with either absolute silence or ferocious, “Fuck you!” Four years had made the entire team smart enough to know that they should not go inside. Louis Tomlinson was not to be a creature to be messed with, and when he was, he was not a creature to be crossed.
It must have been an idiot then, who actually got ahold of a key card and entered his room late that night. “Get the fuck out,” Louis said blandly from beneath the pile of sheets and blankets and duvets that he had pulled over his head. The dark was better. The quiet was better.
“Louis? It’s me.”
Normally, there was no ill in the world that could not be cured by the sound of his love’s voice. But now, knowing that Harry was just feet away made Louis’ eyes well up once again. “I mean it,” he says weakly. “Get the fuck out.”
“You know I'm not going to do that,” replies Harry. “Talk to me.”
Coming to sit gingerly on the bed, Harry reaches out and starts gently patting and stroking the mound of blankets (and Louis). He wasn’t sure exactly which way was up or what he was touching. Hopefully something comforting.
“You’re not even supposed to fucking be here,” Louis mumbled. “You're supposed to be in England.”
“I'm supposed to be wherever you are anytime that you need me. I said that in my vows and I meant it.” Harry's voice leaves no room for argument. “So I'm right where I need to be.”
“Well if you’ve come to come for to cheer me up, it isn't going to work.” Louis voice is just as firm. “This whole thing is fucked up and there's nothing you can say that's going to change that.”
Harry knew, of course, that he was going to say that. He tries anyway. “Do you want me to give you a blowjob?”
“No.”
“Do you want to give me a blowjob?”
“No, Harry.”
“Are you sure about that? Because it was a long flight and we've been apart for quite a while and I wouldn't say no to a little physical comfort of my own-”
“This isn't fucking funny, Harry.” Louis’ voice was a little bitter, and Harry could hear even through thick layers of linens that his breath was catching every couple of words. It nearly broke his heart.
“I know, baby. I thought maybe a joke would cheer you up, but I forgot that I'm not the funny one in this marriage.” He smiled fondly at the pile of blankets, despite the distress emanating from beneath them. “It's you who's the funny one, the strong one-”
“Well I can't always be the strong one, okay? Sometimes life fucks me over, too, and I deserve to get to be sad about it. I'm not fucking Superman.”
There's a long silence. Harry hung his head and played with the hem of his t-shirt, looking for the right words to apologize. “I'm sorry, Lou,” he finally settled on. “That's not what I meant. Of course you get to be sad. Hell, you get fucked over the most out of any of us. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant it as an explanation of why I'm so fantastically shit at comforting.”
After a few seconds, a little hand snuck out from beneath the blanket armor and kept going until it hit the soft flesh of Harry’s thigh. Louis held on like it was for dear life. “You're not shit,” he mumbled, so quiet that Harry had to lean close just to hear him. “I'm just not sure I'm ready to be comforted.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I know I can't really fix this for you, and if you don't want to be comforted I'm not going to try to force you to cheer up. Be sad for as long as you need to, I mean that. But like, is there anything? At all?”
“Go back in time and stop me from getting my hopes up about this.”
“Can't do that,” Harry gently replied, placing his hand over Louis’ and breathing a quiet sigh of relief when small fingers wrapped around his own and squeezed. His husband was still in there somewhere. “I could have a hit taken out on our management team, though. I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm pretty famous and a like rich and stuff, so I have the money. And I was looking at twitter on the plane ride and I think there are about 15 million people willing to do the job.”
Louis barks a tiny little laugh. “How was twitter, by the way? Have ‘you deserved it’ tweets started pouring in yet?”
“Fuck no,” Harry said immediately. “The fans are backing you on this one. Almost all of them. They knew something is fishy, and all they want is for you to be happy.”
“Wait, how did they even know?” Louis sat bolt upright and the sheets fell away to reveal tousled hair, red-rimmed eyes, and a fragile man bundled up in the sweater this lover left for him. Harry knows he must be burning up, but he also knows that when they're apart, these are the little things that Louis needs.
“I'm guessing all the tweets aren’t from you, then?” He hesitates to say. “I thought maybe they weren't.”
“Ah, fuck,” sighed Louis, but at least he's crawling into Harry's lap now and hunching his shoulders until he’s small enough to be tucked under Harry’s chin and rest his head on one broad shoulder. “What did the puppeteers have me say?”
“Something about funding falling through. Which doesn't make sense, because they charge our fans enough that everyone knows money isn't an issue for us.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I told you, the fans know something is up.”
“And they’re still proud of me?”
It makes a little lump appear in Harry's throat, to hear the small, insecure voice that comes from Louis’ lips when he asks. “Now more than ever,” he assures the boy in his lap, rubbing big, gentle circles on his back. “They know how much you wanted this, and they're upset on your behalf, but nothing is going to make those fans love you any less.”
“Yeah.”
“And the same goes for me,” Harry went on. “I was proud of you for going after what you wanted, and I'm proud of you for being strong even after it was taken away from you in a really shitty manner.”
“I'm in my hotel room having a cry,” Louis laughed dryly. “Where is my strength now?”
Harry knows that it’s stupid and cheesy, but then again he is the king of stupid and cheesy and it's one of the reasons that Louis fell in love with him. “I'm right here,” he whispers.
Louis just smiles a little smile, wraps his arms around his anchor, and holds on tight.