Archive of Our Own

Harry Styles has been in the public spotlight for a long time. Ever since he was six, people cared – in his humble opinion – way too much about his private life.

From family pictures at the age of ten, to his first girlfriend with fourteen, to photos of him at his graduation at eighteen, to him coming out two years later. The public has seen all of it.

At first, he didn’t really care. It’s not like he understood it anyway. But he liked being in movies and TV shows, and he liked the attention he got at red carpets and during interviews, he liked sharing his passion with others.

Once he hit puberty and became more aware of the world around him, he started to dislike some parts of it. The way pictures of him surfaced at the worst time. Like the time he was thirteen and grocery shopping with his sister Gemma, and suddenly everywhere he looked seemed to be a picture of him with pimples and the worst possible bedhead.

Not only was it embarrassing and uncomfortable, Harry also felt like someone stole something from him. He didn’t ask to have that picture taken and no one had permission to publish it.

Later that week, his manager explained to him that, no matter how much he hated it, people were in fact allowed to publish it as he was a person of the public eye.

Over the years, he never grew to like it. Harry still hates the invasion of his private life, which is why, after his coming out, he stopped working for over a year. He almost never went out in public, just spent a lot of time back at his mother’s house, reading and helping her out.

All of this is the reason why he doesn’t trust his ears right now.

“You want me to date a stranger?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

“Not really, no. Fake-dating. It’s just a PR-relationship to get your name back in the headlines while you work on new projects. A few pap walks, coffee dates, holding hands. That’s all,” his publicist, Diana, explains and leans back in her chair.

“I don’t even make my real relationships public,” Harry says.

“You don’t have to do it, Harry. It would make things easier for us and you, but we totally understand if you don’t want to,” Dave interjects.

“Do you think it would be a good idea to do it?” Harry asks him directly.

If he trusts someone in this room completely, it’s Dave. He has been Harry’s manager and somewhat of a father figure to him ever since his mother decided that she was in over her head with managing him herself.

“Those things can always go wrong, H. But I think it’s the perfect way to re-introduce you to the public,” Dave says slowly, as if he is really thinking about it.

“Do you have anyone in mind? I mean, this is all very sudden”

Harry told Dave two weeks ago that he wanted to start filming again, and yesterday he called him to let him know that there will be a meeting about it.

“Do you know Louis Tomlinson?” Diana asks, sorting through a file until she finds what she’s been looking for. It’s a picture of Louis.

“He’s that footballer that came out a few weeks ago, right?” Harry says, looking around.

“Yes. His team is looking for a PR-relationship right now. I guess they are looking for some positive headlines,” Diana responds.

“Can I have a few days to think about it?” he asks her.

He completely understands what this is supposed to do, he has been in this industry long enough. He knows about closeted celebrities in such relationships to hide their sexuality and make them look straight. He just never thought that would be him.

Of course, he isn’t really hiding anything, he came out over a year ago. But apparently, this is what it takes of he wants to be as successful as he used to be.

*
Harry can’t help but feel weird about this PR-thing. At first, they just need to be spotted in public together. Diana explained that the rumors would start on their own, they always do.

It’s not like Harry doesn’t like Louis, he seems nice enough, but also very distant. He rarely talks apart from Hello and Goodbye, just offers smiles whenever Harry asks him something and replies short-spoken.

“Maybe he just can’t stand me,” Harry tells Zayn one night, who just looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“He probably only needs time to warm up to people,” Zayn answers, shrugging. “When we first met, we never really talked, either.”

But Louis never ‘warms up’ or anything like that. Eventually, when the rumors start whirling around about them, Harry’s publicist explains the new strategy.

They should go out more often, coffee dates, movie nights, whatever they want to do. Just look intimate, Diana advises.

So, they hold hands and pretend to laugh about things the other person said and there are hands on the small of each other’s backs. Harry eventually finds it’s not that different from acting on screen. For fuck’s sake, he has filmed sex scene’s before, he’ll manage holding hands for a couple of weeks.

The thing that pisses him off most, though, is the three-hour car ride he has to endure for every second Manchester United game. Apparently, that’s what supportive boyfriends do. To Harry, it’s just a waste of time. The car ride, the football game and then he usually stays the night in a hotel and drives back the following day. Harry doesn’t even like football that much. On weekends, he manages to get Niall, his childhood best friend, to accompany him. It only makes it twenty percent more bearable.

*
Three months after they start ‘dating’ and Harry’s work-life is starting to pick up again, he gets a call from Dave.

He is having dinner at his mother’s house with Gemma, who both look at him disapprovingly when he picks up the call. He’s leaving for Los Angeles in a few days to start filming a new movie, and they want to spend time with him.

“Can’t you call him back? I’m sure it can wait for twenty minutes,” Anne scolds him.

“Sorry,” he mouths as Dave starts to talk.

“Hi Harry, change of plans. The States closed their borders because of the virus, so your flight has been cancelled,” Dave says.

Harry hasn’t given the virus going around much thought up until this point. Sure, he started washing his hands more often and watched the news every day, but he kind of assumed it was nothing more than some kind of flu.

“What?” Harry asks, not quite understanding yet.

“I’m sorry. Your agent called me, the production of the movie stopped as well, they’ll start filming as soon as it’s safe again”

“Wait, are you telling me that I’m out of work because of a stupid virus?”

Anne and Gemma eye him curiously from the side.

“Cut the crap, Harry. I know this upsets you, but first of all, you’re not out of work, it just has been postponed. Second of all, there are people out there who actually lost their jobs and have families to support. Third of all, you didn’t mind not working for over a year, you’ll deal with a couple more weeks,” Dave calls him out.

Harry knows he’s right. He sounds like a spoiled rich boy that doesn’t get to vacation in the Hamptons this year.

“Alright, I’m sorry. So, I’ll just wait until all of this is over?”

“Actually, no. There are some rumors about a lockdown and schools are closing, the government is recommending social isolation,” Dave says.

Harry frowns, “What has that got to do with me?”

“Diana and Louis’ publicist had a talk, and she told me to tell you. They want you to isolate together”

“And why would I do that?” Harry asks, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys have a contract, that’s one thing. It would make your relationship more believable, too”

“I’m not moving in with a total stranger, Dave. You can’t make me do that,” Harry exclaims.

Now, his family has stopped eating entirely and is just looking at him with questioning looks on their face.

“You’re right, we can’t. Louis already agreed to it, though. It’s just a move that seems smart at this point, people are desperate for something that can distract them from their own lives. Plus, it would keep you in the news during this time, even though movie production has stopped,” Dave explains.

“Alright, whatever. I’ll do it,” Harry groans. In the end, he’s a people pleaser and if this is what’s going to make his team happy with him, he’ll do it.

“Perfect. We’ll send you a car tomorrow evening, is that okay?”

“Wait, where am I going?”

“Manchester. Louis’ team is still training, so he can’t actually leave the city right now,” Dave says.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope, dead serious. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, have a nice evening”

“Thanks, you too. Say hi to the girls for me,” Harry says, talking about Dave’s two daughters, four and eight years old.

“Looks like I’m going to be quarantining with my fake boyfriend,” Harry then tells his family.

*
On the drive to Manchester, Harry has received multiple instructions from Diana over the phone, which all basically mean the same: they should make it obvious on social media that they’re quarantining together but not too obvious, just hinting at it.

Which makes sense, because Harry would never actually post about it if it were true.

He feels rather confident about this entire thing, up until the point where the driver lets him out in the driveway of a large house and Harry is standing on the porch with his luggage, consisting of a suitcase, his backpack and his guitar, waiting for Louis to open the door.

He definitely did not think this through. Point one, in the past three months, they have maybe had three real conversations. Point two, they are going to be living together for God knows how long and –

Harry doesn’t get to point three, because the door opens, and standing in front of him is Louis in sweatpants, a grey shirt and with hair that’s still wet.

“Hi. Sorry it took so long, I was taking a shower,” Louis says before stepping aside so Harry can come in.

This is maybe the most words he’s gotten out of him without actually making him talk.

“No worries, it’s alright,” Harry responds, and sets his luggage down in the hallway.

Looking around, the house is huge on the inside as well. He’s kind of surprised by the way it’s furnished, all black, white and cream colors. It’s not how he imagined this place to look.

“Nice place you got here,” he says in order to say something, the silence is already killing him.

“Thanks. If you want, I could show you around?”

“That’d be nice, yeah. Given the fact that I’m going to live here and all,” Harry responds, to which Louis just nods. Jesus Christ, someone help him understand this man.

“Okay, uhm. Down here is basically just the living area. Kitchen, living room, dining area, all that stuff. Through there,” Louis points to a door with a number pad as security code, “You can get to the garage. I wrote all the passwords down for you.

“Downstairs is a pool, home gym and a second living room. I don’t ever use it, so it’s all yours if you want”

Harry follows him up a different staircase.

“Here’s your guest room, with bathroom and a little office in case you need to do any work. If you don’t like it there’s another one down the hall, though. My room is upstairs.

“Whenever you need anything, just take it, you don’t need to ask. Make yourself at home, alright?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Harry says, still in awe of how much Louis just talked and how big this house is.

“I’m going to bed now, I’ve got training tomorrow morning, I hope that’s okay with you. If you haven’t had dinner yet, there’s food in the fridge.”

“Okay. Sleep well,” Harry says.

“Thank you.” With that, Louis is out of the guest room, disappearing down the hall.

After eating dinner, showering and unpacking his bags, he calls Niall.

“How’s it going with your boyfriend?” Niall asks instead of saying ‘Hello’ like a normal person.

“Horribly,” Harry groans. “We talked for about five minutes, and then he went to bed”

“That doesn’t sound like he’s the best host,” Niall says.

“I know. Plus, this house is huge. What does he even do with all this space? And you should have seen his fridge. There are containers with veg and meat and shit, and they are all labeled with dates and the time of the date he needs to eat it. It’s so weird”

“He plays footie, he’s probably on some sort of diet,” Niall says.

“I guess. I didn’t dare eat any of that stuff, so I just ate toast,” Harry complains. “And I still need to figure out how to do that PR-stuff. At this rate, no one will ever know I’m here. We could basically live here together without seeing each other at all”

“Stop being so dramatic. Other people would kill to be in your spot”

“And with other people you mean yourself?” Harry asks, laughing.

“Maybe. Look, it’s not that bad. Just give it a little more time”

After the phone call, Harry goes to bed. Not to exaggerate, but this might be the most comfortable bed he’s ever slept in.

*
Waking up in this overly large house is a little eerie. Downstairs, a robot vacuum cleaner is roaming around in the living room. Except for that, it’s completely quiet.

After inspecting the fridge, Harry decides to make pancakes for breakfast. It takes him a second to find everything he needs, and while looking for flour he finds an entire shelf full of protein powder.

Harry likes working out, but the labeled food containers and the protein are a bit much, even for him.

He’s sitting down at the kitchen island to eat and watches YouTube on his phone, when he hears the lock of the front door buzz, and then someone coming in.
A very sweaty Louis walks in and stops in surprise when he sees Harry in the kitchen, almost like he forgot he was here.

“Oh. Hi. I forgot something, I’ll be gone in a second,” he says as some sort off explanation, and Harry shrugs.

“Okay”

Louis gets something out of the fridge and stuffs it into the bag that’s slung over his shoulder.

“My publicist called, he wants one of us to post something tonight,” Louis says, and once again disappears without giving Harry the chance to reply.

He sighs and starts cleaning up his stuff.

Out of boredom, he walks around the house. He’s not trying to snoop around, but he still notices a few things.

One: Louis isn’t a tidy person. The dishes that are piled in the sink look like they have been there for a few days, and in the laundry room next to the home gym are heaps of unwashed jerseys and active wear.

Two: Louis seems to have a really big family. There are a few pictures in the living room of them, two older girls, a set of identical twins, two babies.

Three: There is a wine cellar. Well, maybe not a cellar, but one of these ridiculously large fridges that make an entire room, full of different bottles.

When he finishes his house tour, he decides to clean up a little. Does the dishes, takes out the trash, stocks up the bathrooms with new toilet paper. He doesn’t dare do the laundry, though. That would be crossing a line.

After that, it’s only half past eleven, so he decides to work on his laptop a little bit. He doesn’t use the office belonging to his room. He would feel way too closed off from the rest of the world from there.

Gemma calls when he’s just finished answering his e-mails.

“How’s my little brother doing?” She asks him.

“I’m alright. Feels weird to be in a house that isn’t mine all by myself. You?” he responds and closes his laptop.

“I’m good, too. Just had lunch with mum. How is Louis?”

“You’re really enjoying my suffering, aren’t you?” Harry asks.

“Is it really that bad?”

“I don’t know. He’s not very talkative, that’s all,” Harry says.

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” Gemma says, but he knows she’s kidding.

“Ha ha ha. Very funny. I don’t know how I’ll survive in this house, though”

Gemma is saying something, when Harry hears the buzz of the front door again.

“I gotta go, Gems. Say hi to Mum for me when you see her,” Harry says and hangs up.

Louis walks into the living room, where Harry is sitting with all his stuff sprawled out on the coffee table.

“Hi,” he says, and dumps his bag on the floor before sitting down next to Harry.

“How was training?” Harry asks and starts to gather up all of his papers.

“Okay, I guess. The usual stuff,” Louis responds. Apparently, he doesn’t think about the fact that Harry isn’t a football player and therefor has no clue what ‘the usual’ means.

“What are you working on?” He asks. Which is – Is Louis Tomlinson trying to make conversation? Wonders never cease.

“Nothing, really. E-mails, reviewing scripts, stuff like that,” Harry says.

“I heard about your movie getting postponed. Sucks, huh?”

“Pretty much. I was really excited to do it,” he responds.

“I get that. We’re all really disappointed that the League is getting cancelled, too,” Louis says.

“We could all be off worse, but,” Harry shrugs, “still sucks.”

Louis gets up from the couch again. “Did you already have lunch?”

“Uhm, not really,” he responds and follows Louis into the kitchen.

“Did you clean my kitchen?” Louis asks, stopping in the doorway.

Harry almost bumps into him.

“Yeah. ‘Was bored,” he says, sort of explanatory.

“You don’t have to do that,” Louis says, walking over to the fridge and getting out one of the containers.
“I don’t mind,” he says and watches as Louis removes the lid and puts the container into the microwave.

“Wait. Do you eat that shit microwaved? It looks like it’s not even seasoned,” Harry says, baffled.

“Yeah?” Louis says. “’M not much of a cook. I usually have lunch at the training complex, but they closed the canteen”

“Yeah, no. I’m not going to let you eat that,” Harry says, extending his hand. “Give me that”

“It’s fine, it actually tastes okay”

“Liar. Now give me that,” Harry demands again.

Louis defeatedly sighs and hands it over.

*
After that, things go more smoothly. They still don’t have any long conversations, but they get along.

In the evening, they manage to get what their publicists want from them. An Instagram story, where Louis films the neighbor cat strolling through his garden and Harry talks in the background.

Diana sends him an approving text, so they post it.

During the next week, they settle into somewhat of a routine. While Louis is gone, Harry works on his laptop and when he gets back, they have a late lunch together. Some days, they even watch TV together in the evening but still keep their respective distance.

It’s Wednesday of the second week, when Harry gets a phone call from Louis.

“Hi, uhm, I don’t want to be a bother or something, but my car’s motor won’t start and I’m getting it towed to get into the garage. Could you pick me up?”

“I would, but I don’t have a car. I had a driver bring me here,” Harry says, feeling bad about it.

“You can drive, right?” Louis asks.

“I’d say so, yes”

“You can take the SUV that’s in the garage. Keys are in the bowl next to the door,” Louis says.

“Okay, I’ll come and get you. Can you send me the address?”

“Thank you so much. I’ll text you, just tell the security guard at the complex that you’re picking me up, he’ll let you through”

“No problem. I’ll call you as soon as I’m there,” Harry says, already getting his jacket and shoes.

The SUV Chevy is black and polished, and it almost looks like no one has ever driven it. Harry stops short when he sees the booster seats on the backseat, but shrugs and gets into the car.

Which poses a slight person, because, apparently, Louis as very short legs and Harry struggles with adjusting the seat so he can actually drive.

By the time he gets to the parking lot of the training complex, it’s already been forty minutes since Louis called.

“Hi. I’m here to pick up Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says to the security guard at the gate of the parking lot.

“Name?”

“Harry Styles,” he says, and gets a raised eyebrow from the guard.

“You’re not on the list. I’m sorry, I can’t let unauthorized people in,” the guard grunts, and Harry has to suppress a groan.

“I’m his boyfriend? His car broke down and he needs a ride home,” Harry tries, because, officially, he is.

“I’m sorry,” the guard shakes his head no.

“Fine,” Harry says and looks up a picture of him and Louis on his phone. It takes google two seconds to pull up thousands.

“Alright. But this is an exception, next time, you better be on the list”

“Thank you so much. Have a nice day,” Harry says and drives through.

He waits leaned against the car for Louis.

When he finally walks out, he looks slightly pissed off. But then, he stops right in front of him, puts his hands on Harry’s hipbones and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“There are paps around the corner,” Louis whispers into his ear, before he backs away a little.

Harry nods, and puts on his most charming smile as he walks around the car to open the door for Louis.
Louis’ smile is the same when he places a hand on Harry’s bicep while he gets into the car.

“You’re a literal angel for doing this, Styles,” Louis says when they’re both in the car.

“It’s not a problem. I was getting bored anyway,” he replies and starts the engine. “Do you know what’s wrong with your car?”

“Not really. The guy from the towing service said it might be something with the petrol pump, but they can’t be sure until they check it out,” Louis sighs.

“Lucky you got an extra one, then,” Harry says.

“I only take it when I visit my family in Doncaster. Hence the safety seats,” Louis says.

“You’ve got a big family, right? I saw them on the pictures in the living room”

“Yeah, my mum’s got a handful of children around the house. Don’t know how she does that, to be honest. There are seven of us. I’m the oldest,” he explains, and then starts talking about his family back home.

Harry listens with interest, astonished by how personal the stories Louis tells him.

“Wait, stop. Turn left here,” he says all of the sudden, causing Harry to hit the breaks abruptly. The car behind them honks at him.

“Where do you want to go?” Harry asks, but follows Louis’ directions either way.

“Burger King. I’m craving fast food,” he answers. “The drive through is still open”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your diet?” Harry asks carefully. He’s not trying to get Louis in trouble.

“I don’t give a shit. It’s not like there are any games coming up,” Louis snorts, so Harry shrugs and lines up behind two other cars that are waiting for food.

“Welcome to Burger King, what’s your order?” A woman asks through the intercom, and instead of letting Harry answer, Louis unbuckles his seatbelt and leans all the way over, until he can speak through the open window.

One of Louis’ shoulders is jammed into Harry’s chest, and he curses underneath his breath when his elbow gouges into his leg.

Finally, he seems to be satisfied with order and sinks back into his own seat.

“You couldn’t have let me order like any other person, couldn’t you?” Harry asks, rubbing his chest as he drives up to the window.

“My car, my rules,” Louis says, smiling contently to himself.
“What kind of shit argument is that?” Harry says, but he can’t help but laugh.

Louis doesn’t get to say anything else, the girl working the drive through interrupts them.

“Oh my God, oh my God. You’re Harry Styles, right?” She asks, hands gesturing wildly.

“Yeah. Do you want an autograph or something?” He offers, smiling politely.

“That would be really great, oh my God. I’ll get a pen, hold on,” she says, disappearing from the window for a second.

Harry signs the napkin she hands him, while her colleague gets them their food.

“How much is it?” He asks, but the girl shakes her head.

“It’s on the house,” she says. “I’m a big fan of you”

“Yeah, I can tell. Thank you very much,” Harry replies and hands Louis the food.

“How rude that she recognized you but not me,” Louis complains while looking through the bag.

“She’s probably not that into football,” Harry says as he drives off.

“Maybe. Oh God,” Louis cackles all of the sudden.

“What is it?” Harry glances over at him but can’t tell what it is that Louis is holding.

“She left her phone number in the bag,” Louis laughs. “I think she missed the message that you’re gay”

“Can you blame her, though? I’m a catch”

“Careful with all that confidence, Styles. I still remember that scrawny fifteen-year old in Up All Night”

“Shit, you saw that?” Harry asks laughing. “That was honestly the worst movie I’ve ever been in”

“I thought it was okay. I just didn’t like Matty, he was so annoying,” Louis says in a provocative tone.

“I can’t even argue with that,” Harry shrugs. “I loved shooting it, though”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I was fifteen, and I just had fun with it. No matter how shitty the plot was, the cast was great, and it was one of the first big movies I starred in. In a chief part, no less”
“I remember watching that movie in the cinema with my Mum,” Louis says.

“No way. That’s so weird”

“How is me watching a movie with my mother weird?”

Harry pulls into Louis’ driveway, “Not what I meant. I forget sometimes that people actually watch those movies. It’s hard to explain it”

“It must be hard to have people watch you grow up on screen,” Louis says quietly.

“I guess. It is what it is,” Harry shrugs, “I don’t know any different.”

They get out of the car and carry the bags of food into the living room.

For the rest of the evening, they eat and watch television, but don’t actually talk that much. Maybe Louis is only capable of one conversation a day, Harry thinks to himself. Which is fine. It’s just not that easy to learn the pattern of his silences.

Halfway through Clueless, Harry’s phone rings with a call from Diana.

“Hey, what’s up?” Harry asks, turning down the volume of the TV.

In the penumbral living room, Louis turns to look at him curiously.

“Are you with Louis right now? It’s about the photos from today,” Diana says, and for once, her voice doesn’t seem completely stressed out.

“Uhm, yeah. You want me to put you on speaker?” Harry asks.

“Sure”

“Okay, done. What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to let you both know that picking Louis up was a great idea, the press loves it. It’s all over social media, too,” Diana says.

“It wasn’t exactly planned, Louis’ car broke down,” Harry explains.

“Well, either way. We – meaning Louis’ publicist and I – were thinking you could do that again. Not every day, but from time to time”

“Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

He looks over to Louis, who just shrugs. Seems like he doesn’t care.

“That’d be all. Harry, can you send me a review of the upcoming projects by one pm tomorrow? Marc needs them,” Diana asks.
“Will do. Have a nice evening,” Harry wishes her.

“Alright, you too. I’ll talk to you soon”

“I hate it when she does that,” Harry groans when she hangs up.

“When she does what?” Louis asks.

“Milk every last thing she can get from me. I pick you up once, she wants me to do it again. I wear an outfit people seem to like, she makes sure I get PR packages from those companies. I know she only does her job, and this is what I pay her for, but still. It’s messed up,” Harry tries to explain himself, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“It’s like you’re not your own person anymore, like you only do stuff to please other people,” Louis adds.

Harry looks at him in surprise.

“Exactly! I hate that so much. And this is a notorious people-pleaser talking right here,” he says, smiling.

“Is that why you’re doing this?” Louis asks carefully.

“Specify, please”

“Fake relationships? Moving in with a total stranger for an uncertain amount of time?”

“In general? Probably. But I also trust my team, and if this is what I need to do to get back on the horse, I’ll do it. I was pretty desperate when they first started talking about PR relationships. I would have done everything,” Harry admits seriously.

“You’re – ,“ Louis pauses, “very honest”

“I guess. Bullshitting didn’t get me anywhere but in trouble”

“Do you, I don’t know, want to talk about it? Shit, I sound like a therapist,” Louis laughs self-consciously.

This is something Harry never thought about. That, maybe, because Louis doesn’t talk that much, he might be an excellent listener.

“It’s just that thing when you do something for your entire life, and you’re really good at it, you never think about anything else, you know? What am I talking about, of course you know. You’re the best player Man U has seen in a long time, at least that’s what Niall says, and I trust his opinion.

“Anyway, in my last year of school, all of my friends started talking about Uni and what they wanted to do after school. Until then, I never thought about anything else, and no one talked to me about what I wanted to do. It was like everyone automatically assumed that I wasn’t going to do anything else than acting.

“I don’t know what it was that happened in my brain, but I just stopped. Told my team that I didn’t want any new movies, shows, anything. Not even interviews. The only thing I would do after my graduation was go out with friends and get really, really drunk.

“It was almost like I would walk to the edge of life, look right down, and stumble back. Obviously, people started talking about it. The Downfall of Harry Styles and Another Child Actor Gone Bad. I didn’t stop until my mother sat me down and talked some sense into me. Thank God she did. After that, I needed a while to figure out what I wanted to do, who I wanted to be.

“When you’re invisible for such a period of time, people stop waiting for you. I learned that the hard way. When I was finally ready to start again half a year ago, I wasn’t welcomed back with open arms. Hell, there were hardly any offers for me. So, I held onto everything my team offered to me”

“Which was me,” Louis concludes.

“If you want to put it like that, yes,” Harry says, smiling a little.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that”

“It is what it is,” Harry says, to which Louis snorts.

“What?” He asks him, slightly offended.

“You keep saying that,” Louis says.

“How is that a problem? I like the meaning behind it. You can’t change it, so get over it”

Much to Harry’s surprise, Louis pulls the neckline of his shirt down. Only at second look Harry realizes what is tattooed there. It is what it is.

“Huh,” Harry says. “That’s funny”

“I guess we’re more alike than I used to think,” Louis says.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Harry asks himself.

“Alright, I’m going to bed. Got training tomorrow,” Louis excuses himself. Harry watches as he climbs up the stairs, then gets up as well.

By the time Harry has showered and is in bed, there’s a message from Gemma on his phone.

Nice car you got there, it says. Attached is a series of photos. Louis walking out of the training building, Harry leaning against the SUV, Louis kissing him on the cheek, both of them inside the car. When Harry scrolls through them, he has to rolls his eyes.

For some reason, Gemma loves to do this to him. Sending him pictures that either fans or paparazzi took. He knows it’s only a joke, though.

Thanks, I stole it, Harry texts back, smiling to himself.

They banter for a while, and then Harry finally goes to sleep.

*
During the next two weeks, Louis finally seems to relax around Harry. They start talking more and actually spend time together rather than just being in different rooms of the house all of the time.

While all of that is great, Harry starts getting cabin fever. Contrary to Louis, he doesn’t have a regular schedule to follow or somewhere to go. He tries to work out in the home gym downstairs, but that’s only an hour of the day gone.

On top of that, he starts missing his family and friends more and more. Of course, they talk on the phone and over facetime, it’s just not the same.

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” Louis swears when he walks in on Harry in the kitchen where he’s making breakfast.

“Sorry. Do you want breakfast? I made waffles with your weird protein powder,” Harry says, pointing to the plate next to him.

“Why are you even awake? It’s six in the morning,” Louis says. He sits down at the kitchen island and puts a waffle on his plate.

“’Couldn’t sleep, so I got up instead. D’you want coffee?”

“Harry, stop. You seem off, are you okay?” Louis asks, his forehead pulled into a frown.

“Yeah, I just need to get outside today. I’m feeling kind of useless,” he admits.

“You can always take the SUV if you want. Liam picks me up and drops me off anyway, I don’t need it,” Louis offers, picking up his fork again.

“I’ll think about it, thanks. Maybe I’ll go grocery shopping, there aren’t any eggs left, nor milk”

“Harold, you don’t need to do my shopping for me, I can do that very well on my own”

“I know, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, though,” Harry snorts.

“If that’s what you want to do, I’m not complaining. Shit, I’m late. See you tonight!” Louis calls out, already halfway out of the kitchen.

“Have a good day!”

*
Even after grocery shopping – which was quite the experience, wearing a mask and gloves – and cleaning the kitchen and his bedroom, Harry still is bored out of his mind.

Being locked up in this house without his family or friends, but instead with a grim football player that doesn’t like talking that much, makes Harry twitchy and irritable.

He decides to get out his guitar to somewhat calm downs his nerves. Not having played it in over a month, it’s very out of tune and Harry almost snaps a string when trying to tune it.

But, eventually, playing helps. The time goes by rather quickly as he goes through his repertoire.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that”

Louis’ voice startles Harry, he didn’t hear him come in.

When he turns around, Louis is leaning against the doorframe of the living room, watching Harry. He’s wearing football shorts and a red hoodie with his name on it. 28, it says. One day, exposed soccer-calves might be the death of him.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to sneak up on people?” Harry grunts, regaining his composure.

“Not when they’re living in my own house, no,” Louis counters and flops down beside Harry.

“You’re so full of shit, Tomlinson. It doesn’t make a difference if you make me have a heart attack in your house or somewhere else. Still voluntary manslaughter,” Harry replies.

“What are you playing?” Louis asks, ignoring Harry’s comment.

“Nothing. I’m done anyway. My fingertips hurt,” he says.

They actually do. Inspecting them more closely, he spots white points under his skin. They’ll turn into calluses in a few days, but it’s probably better to stop now.

“You want me to kiss them better?” Louis asks with a challenging smirk on his face.

Harry cocks one eyebrow at him, then snorts.

“Just offering,” he says nonchalantly while playing around on his phone.

“Do you want something for lunch?” Harry asks and puts his guitar to the side when he gets up.

“I really do feel bad about exploiting your cooking skills like that, but yes please. I did way too much physical activity for one day”

“You’re a professional football player, this is literally your job,” Harry mocks him.

“Are you not going to eat something?” Louis asks and stops in his tracks when Harry only puts down one plate on the kitchen island.

“No,” Harry says, sliding onto a bar stool, “’m not hungry”

“Did you eat breakfast?” Louis’ facial expression shows a resemblance to actual concern.

“Are you my mother, Louis?” Harry scoffs, causing him to raise his hands in defense.

“Relax, I’m just asking”

It’s not like Louis is wrong, though. On a rational basis, Harry knows he probably should eat something, but his stomach feels like it’s one giant metallic clump, and there is no way he could actually keep any food down.

“Well, you don’t need to. I’m perfectly fine,” he lies and puts on a smile.

Louis doesn’t seem entirely convinced but keeps quiet. Harry can feel his piercing blue eyes on him, as he checks his phone in order to busy himself with something.

He skips through stories on Instagram and almost misses Louis’ one, but he rewinds it when he spots himself in it.

It’s a shaky video captioned nice view to come home to, and on it, Harry watch himself playing the guitar. Louis must’ve taken it from the hallway right before nearly startling him to death.

Harry can feel anxiety welling up from a point behind his navel, rising up all the way to his throat. It’s like the feeling you get on a roller coaster, right before it drops, and you race toward the ground at a million miles per hour. Only right now, there are no breaks.

“You filmed me?” Harry asks, now looking up from his phone.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs at Harry, “Figured that would seem intimate. People love that shit”

“You’re right, it’s intimate. That’s why you shouldn’t fucking post it without asking me. Shit, I didn’t even know you were there,” he snaps, tugging at his hair.

“Jesus, calm down. I’ll delete it if you want,” Louis says, voice defensive as ever.

“That’s not the point! You, like, invaded my privacy. You sing in the shower and I don’t put that on fucking YouTube,” Harry isn’t intending on raising his voice, but it comes out booming.

He gets up from the bar stool he had been sitting on and startles at the piercing sound of the chair legs scratching over the tiles of the kitchen floor.

“What’s going on with you? Stop being so obnoxious, alright? I’ll delete it and we won’t talk about it again,” Louis argues. Harry can tell that he’s getting more and more annoyed by the way his voice closes off.

“I’m being obnoxious? What about you, huh? You don’t talk, you don’t interact with other, you let me clean up after you, you – “

“I told you, you don’t have to do that!”

“And live in your dirt? No, thanks,” Harry scoffs.

He doesn’t wait for Louis to say something else, he just storms out of the kitchen like a five year old and retreats to his room.

He wants to go home. This was the worst idea of his entire life. To him, Manchester feels like a big shell without any comfort for him, and this big house that seems almost uninhabited, without any real personality, is no help, either.

Harry’s entire body is longing for the contentment that his own flat. He’s about to text Dave that he wants to go home, when there’s a soft knock at his door.

“Can I come in? It’s me,” Louis’ voice dully percolates through the door.

Harry just groans into his pillow which Louis seems to take as a ‘yes’. The lock clicks softly when Louis closes the door behind him, and Harry can hear his footsteps on the rug, as he moves toward the bed.

“I know we’re not best of friends or anything, but you’re stuck with me, so,” the mattress budges when Louis sits down at the edge of the bed, “I’m not blind, Harry. I can tell that something is up”

Harry rolls over, now staring at the ceiling.

“I guess being holed up somewhere that isn’t my home with someone that I’m not close to – no offense – is taking its toll on me,” Harry admits quietly.

“Do you think I’m feeling any different? I miss my family, my friends, too,” Louis says softly.

“I feel stupid complaining about being quarantined in a mansion,” Harry huffs out a laugh, “But my anxiety is driving me insane”

“I can tell”

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, now finally looking at Louis, who just shrugs.

“I’m a competitive athlete, H. I know what anxiety feels and looks like. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat, you’re all fidget-y and that meltdown downstairs? That was anxiety at its finest”

“I just don’t know what to do to make it stop,” Harry sighs.

“No one forces you to stay here, you can always go home,” Louis offers with a genuine smile on his face.

“And leave you all alone in this,” Harry gestures wildly at the room, “house?”

Louis snorts.

“Come on, you need to get outside for a while,” he says, getting up from the bed. He looks expectantly at Harry until he moves as well.

Louis drags him outside onto the lawn. It’s drizzling, and the sky is made out of multiple shades of grey.

At the other end of the lawn, about twenty meters away from them, is a large net spun between two posts.

“That’s a kickback rebounder,” Louis explains, pointing toward the net.

“Here,” he then says, placing a football in front of Harry.

“I’m not much of an athlete,” Harry says, turning to him, “It’s like I have two left legs”

“Doesn’t matter. Kicking something really helps with built-up and pushed-down feelings,” Louis explains, taking two steps back. He hauls off, then kicks the ball so hard, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he kicked it through the net.

Instead, it just bounces off and comes right back to him.

“Come on, try it,” Louis urges him when he stops the ball with his foot.

“Do you remember those stupid walls with two holes in them, one at the top, one at the bottom that every school gym used to have?” Harry asks instead. “I hated them, I could never kick the ball through the hoop. I bet you were one of those guys that hit every single time”

“Might have been,” Louis laughs and shrugs. “Wanna see something?”

“What?”

Louis doesn’t answer, instead, he walks over to where the garage is connected to the house and presses a button.

Thirty seconds later, one of those hellish walls is in front of him, and Harry groans.

“I should’ve known with you being a professional and all”

“I have a lot of that shit, but I hardly use it. It’s not like I’m not training enough as it is”

Again, he kicks the ball, hauling it right to the hole at the top left.

“How the fuck do you do that?” Harry asks, at least partly in awe.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Louis offers, rolling the ball in Harry’s direction.

“If I get frustrated, you can’t be mad at me,” Harry warns.

As it turns out, Harry is worse than expected, but Louis is a great teacher. It seems like nothing can drain his patience when it comes to demonstrating how to position your foot again and again.

“Just draw through,” Louis says, showing him.

“My body just doesn’t do that,” Harry says, laughing. Once again, the ball bounces off the wall.

“Hey, that was close! You’re turning your hip too much, try keeping it straight”

“I doubt that’s possible,” Harry says giggling, to which Louis rolls his eyes.

“I’ll show you, you big gay mess,” he snorts, and is suddenly very close to Harry.

Standing behind him, Louis places his hands steadily on Harry’s hips. Harry hates to admit that his breath hitches in his throat from the feeling of the warmth of Louis’s hands seeping through the fabric of his jeans.

“Don’t do this when you kick,” Louis pushes Harry’s hips softly into a twisting motion, “but stay steady and secure instead,” He applies a little pressure, and then his hands are suddenly gone.

“Got it?” He asks, stepping away from Harry.

“What?” Harry needs a second to get his thoughts into order again, “Yeah. Got it”

The next ball misses the hole by maybe two inches, and the one after that flies right through.

“I did it!” Harry yells excitedly, jumping up and down like a little child.

“I told you that you could,” Louis smiles fondly.

“Thank you for fulfilling my childhood dream,” Harry laughs.

“You’re very welcome. Plus, it was time that someone showed you how to properly kick a ball,” Louis says.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Your first attempt was pretty horrible, to be honest”

“How rude!” Harry exclaims, boxing Louis into his shoulder.

“You said so yourself! Now you know how to do it like a professional,” Louis smirks and takes a step toward Harry.

Their feet are aligning tip to tip, and Harry is suddenly acutely aware of how close they actually are.

Louis hooks his index fingers through Harry’s belt loops.

“Is that part of the professional way?” Harry asks, letting his hands fall down to Louis’s waist.

Rather than answering the question, Louis raises one hand to cup Harry’s face, gets on his tiptoes and softly brushes his lips against Harry’s.

“Take it as a celebratory kiss,” he says quietly, backing away a little.

*
The next day, when Louis is already out of the house, Harry’s still thinking about the feeling of Louis’ lips on his.

It’s not like he didn’t like it, just – what the fuck was that?

Harry hasn’t really thought about Louis in that way. To him, he was something along the lines of a work colleague. Of course, that changed at least a little ever since living together and looking back, there might have been some flirting, but nothing serious.

Then again, who said that this kiss had to be something serious? Sometimes, stuff just happens.

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone that’s buzzing on the coffee table.

“Hello, this is Harry Styles,” he says into the speaker, not recognizing the number on the display.

“Hi, I’m Liam. I’m one of Louis’ football mates”
“Oh, hi. Louis is at training, his phone is probably just off if you can’t reach him,” Harry says, frowning. Why would someone call him about Louis?

“Yeah, um, well. I’m at the hospital with him right now,” Liam says. Harry’s head snaps up.

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“I’m at the hospital with him. It’s nothing bad, only a clavicle fracture, but our team’s doctor isn’t attending trainings anymore because they need her somewhere else, so I drove him to the ER”

“A what?” Harry asks. His brain is apparently refusing to process information right now.

“A fracture in his collarbone, he’ll be fine. It would just be nice if you could pick him up, I have a doctor’s appointment myself in half an hour so I can’t give him a ride,” Liam explains.

“Oh, of course. I’m on my way,” Harry says, already slipping into his shoes.

“Thank you, I’ll wait until you’re here”

When Harry arrives at the Emergency Room, there are signs everywhere, asking him to put on his mask. He does, maybe it will shield him from people recognizing him as well.

Before he can ask a nurse where Louis is, someone he quickly identifies him as Liam taps him on his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming, mate. Louis is getting an arm sling right now, he’ll be out in a second. I really need to go, thanks again,” Liam says, and then rushes toward the exit without waiting for an answer.

Maybe that’s some kind of footballer thing.

Two minutes later, Louis comes out of one of the rooms, eyes scanning the waiting room for Liam. His arm is in one of those arm slings that make you look like you’re wearing a straitjacket. Harry thinks he remembers it being called Gilchrist-bandage. There are two loops, one around his bicep, one around the wrist. Both are secured by a belt around the waist.

Louis is a little pale around his nose, and his hair is shaggy and sweaty, but apart from that, he looks perfectly fine. Which is a great relief to Harry.

He frowns when he spots Harry leaning against the wall, speeding up his steps to get to him.

“Why are you here? I told Liam he didn’t need to call you,” he says.

“And do what? Walk home?” Harry snorts.

“I could have taken a cab,” Louis says defensively.

“Yeah, right. Come on, let’s get you home,” Harry prompts, guiding Louis to the exit with a hand on the small of his back.

“Stop,” Louis hisses, batting Harry’s hand away.

“Stop what?”

“All of this. You’re not – You’re not my boyfriend, you don’t have to do any of this”

Harry would be lying is he said that Louis’ words didn’t sting a little. It’s not like he thought they would be, but – he expected things to change after yesterday. He expected Louis not to be so defensive about everything.

But he doesn’t say anything about it, just swallows the feeling before he looks back at Louis.

“I know I’m not, but I’m also not a dick and let you take a cab after you injured yourself,” he grunts.

“It’s barely an injury,” Louis argues, eyes sparkling with provocation.

“Is your arm in a sling or not?” Harry says. “Shit, there are paps. Someone must have seen either you or me,” he exclaims when he spots someone with a camera behind a car on the parking lot.

“It just keeps getting better and better,” Louis grumbles.

This time, he doesn’t bat away Harry’s hand when he places it on his back, guiding him toward the car.

He can hear the shutter of the camera click as they walk past them, even though they’re not even that close.

“I really want to flip them off,” Harry groans, “We’re walking out of a hospital, and all they feel like doing is take fucking pictures?”

“I always want to flip off paps, no matter where I am,” Louis mutters.

*
Over the rest of the day, they don’t talk much. Louis seems grumpy and frustrated, and Harry knows from experience that talking won’t make it any better.

By the time Harry is watching a movie on his laptop, splurged out on his bed, there’s a soft knock on his door.

“Come in,” Harry calls out, pausing the movie.

“I think I need help,” Louis says, and his voice seems tiny.

He seems tiny in general. He’s illuminated by the light of the hallway, casting his entire body in shadows. His shirt is too big and hangs low on his shoulders.

“I can’t get this fucking thing back on,” Louis says, holding up the arm sling.

Harry switches on the lamp on the bedside table before he scoots out of bed.

“How exactly does this work?” He asks, inspecting the sling with a puzzled look on his face.

“The biggest loop obviously goes around the waist, and those two around my arm and need to be secured with that strap over the shoulder. The little strap is to fasten the wrist to the belt-thingy,” Louis explains.

“I really don’t want to hurt you,” Harry mumbles with his lower lip sucked in between his teeth.

“I’m not fragile, I’ll survive,” Louis replies and holds the sling out to him with his left arm. He holds the other one close to his body, concentrated on not moving it.

“Did I just pick you up from the hospital or didn’t I?” Harry asks as he reaches out and takes the sling.

“Whatever,” Louis grumbles.

They both stay quiet during the two minutes it takes Harry to figure out how to put it on without moving Louis’ arm. The only sound interrupting the silence is the ripping of the Velcro strip and their breathing.

Louis twitches when Harry touches his wait but doesn’t say anything. Interesting. Harry didn’t know he was ticklish.

“All done,” he finally says.

“Thank you. I’m sorry if I’m a bother”

“C’mon Lou, you can’t be serious. You’re hurt, not a bother,” Harry says, smiling lopsidedly. “How did that even happen?”

“I fell on my shoulder when we were doing sprints in the rain. I guess the grass got really slick and I slipped,” Louis explains, shrugging with his left shoulder.

“Shit. Does it hurt?”

“’M taking pain killers, so it’s bearable,” he says nonchalantly. “I had injuries worse than that”

“Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll leave my phone on, so just call,” Harry offers, already nestling back into his bed.

“Actually, uhm. Would you mind a little company? I think I need to be distracted of how shitty my day was,” Louis says quietly, not daring to look Harry in the eyes.

“Oh. Of course,” Harry scoots over to the left side of the bed and lifts the duvet, so Louis can slip underneath it. “You can’t laugh over what I’m watching, though”

“I won’t,” Louis promises, relaxing into the pillows. He turns his head to Harry and says, “Thank you for dealing with me. I know I can be a lot to handle”

“We’re in the same boat, remember? And now hush, this is the best part”

On the screen of his laptop, Rapunzel whacks Flynn Rider over the head with her frying pan, making Harry cackle out loud.

“You’re watching Tangled?” Louis asks, snorting.

“Hey, what did I just say about laughing?” Harry says but doesn’t avert his eyes from the screen.

“Sorry,” Harry can hear the smile in Louis’ voice, “I can’t blame you, though. It’s a great movie”

*
Harry is woken up by a loud thud coming from upstairs. He doesn’t actually remember falling asleep, he just remembers Louis’ cheek resting on his shoulder and him quietly singing along to I See the Light in his high, sweet voice. If anything, it made Harry fall even more in love with Louis.

Not that he is. Falling in love with Louis, that is. That would be ridiculous.

Right now, the right side of the bed is empty, which only reminds Harry that the thud upstairs must have been Louis. All of a sudden, he is wide awake.

He scrambles out of bed and hurries up the stairs, almost falling flat on his arse himself when he stumbles over a stray pair of shoes in the hallway.

“Lou? Are you okay?” He asks when he finally reaches Louis’ bedroom.

“Yes, go back to sleep. It’s nothing,” Louis answers from the en suite bathroom.

Cautiously, Harry takes a step forward into the bedroom. He’s never been up here. The floor is messy, littered with clothes and books and chargers, and on the walls are pictures and quotes and little notes. It’s completely random, but Harry decides he likes it. It’s likely the only room in this house that actually reflects Louis’ personality.

“What happened?” Harry asks, making his way to the bathroom.

Louis is standing in front of the mirror, squinting at his own reflection. “Nothing, you can go back to bed. I’m fine”

“Just tell me”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Louis says and leaves the bathroom, going back to his own bed.

“Did you fall? Did you break something?”

“You need to stop, Harry. I’m alive, ain’t I?”

Harry follows Louis to his bed and sits down at the edge of it.

“What are you doing, Styles?”

“For all I know, you just fell out of bed. Now, scoot. I’ll sleep here in case anything happens”

“You’re a menace,” Louis grunts, but moves to the side nevertheless.

“A menace that prevents you from dying,” Harry fires back, already cuddling into the duvet.

“I’m not dying, I lost my balance when I got up, it’s weird that I can’t use my right arm,” Louis huffs, hugging himself with his not-injured arm.

“Was that so hard to tell me? Look, you don’t have to pretend that you’re not struggling. I know this sucks, and I just want to help, make it easier. Just let me, alright?”

“Whatever,” Louis says, but Harry can tell he’s letting his defense down. “Just don’t hog all of the blanket”

*
For two days, everything seems alright. Harry takes to sleeping in Louis’ bed every night, although he does tell himself he’s doing it to make sure he’s safe, but in reality, he’s only making excuses. It’s selfish and maybe even creepy, but Louis just seems more open and unguarded at night. During those hours, they can actually talk without infuriating each other.

For the reminder of the day, Harry does domestic work like cleaning and the laundry, cooking and entertaining Louis with stories about his friends.

On the third day, though, Louis is just as closed off as he was a month ago. He only grunts and makes vague noises at any questions asked, doesn’t talk during breakfast or lunch. And Harry knows pushing him never gets either of them anywhere, so he just leaves him be.

“Here’s your cold pack,” Harry says, placing the ice in front of Louis.

Louis being his grumpy self just mumbles something, and puts it carefully on his collarbone. He winces at the touch, face pulling into a pained expression. He presses his eyes shut until the wave of pain seems to pass.

Harry just frowns at him.

“Is it getting worse?”

Louis looks up at him, rolling his eyes. “Calm your tits, Styles. I’m okay”

“Just saying. When is your checkup appointment? I read that they need to check that the sling is attached correctly so it doesn’t heal the wrong way”

“Tomorrow, Liam is taking me”

“Why is Liam taking you?” Harry asks, a little hurt. “I could have done that”

“What, are you my boyfriend now?” Louis snorts, looking at him with a derisive look on his face.

“Why do you keep saying that? Would it really be that horrible?” Harry asks, and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Wait, what? I didn’t say that,” Louis says. His eyes squint a little in confusion.

In need to blow off at least a little bit of steam, Harry gets up, walks a circle through the kitchen before coming to a rest in front of the stove. He leans against it, and glints at Louis who is still sitting at the kitchen island.

“I just don’t get you, Louis. Why do you always have to be like this?”

“Like what?” He shoots back, voice affronted.

“You want a list? Defensive, closed off, guarded, pissed off, irritable, moody and so fucking distant? No matter what I do, you always hide inside of your little shell”

“So, I don’t like talking, what about it?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Louis. You do like talking. One moment, you’re talking and laughing – shit, even flirting. I mean, the kiss? How you calmed me down when I was anxious as fuck? And the next moment, you push me away again? How the fuck am I supposed to understand you when you’re always hot and cold from one minute to the next? How am I supposed to interpret your mood swings? Should I guess?”

Louis just sits there. He doesn’t say anything. Somehow, this frustrates and angers Harry even more.

“What do you want me to do? I’m doing everything I can here,” he asks, voice maybe a tad too loud.

“I don’t want you to do anything! You’re the one who wandered in here, taking everything over,” Louis fights back.

“The only thing I’m doing is taking care of you, Louis, because you’re hurt and miserable. I’m literally trying all that I can to make you feel better” Harry can feel tears burning hot behind his eyes. He shakes his head to get rid of them, there’s no way he’ll let Louis know how much his words hurt.

“Well, it’s not like I asked you to do that,” Louis mutters, and Harry’s head snaps up at that.

“That’s fucking rich. Jesus Christ. I’m sorry that I didn’t fuck off when someone called me that you’re in the hospital, sorry that I don’t want you to hurt even more,” Harry takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry that I’m not a fucking asshole and actually care about the people around me. And I’m sorry that that includes you, whether you want it or not”

Louis stares at him, mouth agape.

“But if it’s so terrible to have someone around who cares and takes care of you, don’t worry. I’ll leave”

Harry hates the way his own voice quivers at the last words, hates the tears that are brewing in his eyes.

He turns on his heel and clenches his jaw shut, storming out of the kitchen and upstairs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks to himself as he throws the clothes into his suitcase, one drawer of the dresser after the other.

Underwear, socks, shirts. Jeans, sweatpants, hoodies. Button ups, active wear, shoes. He really could care less that they’re getting crumpled because he’s not folding them. He also couldn’t care less that there is a lot of his stuff all over the house that he’s not packing. Maybe Louis can burn it.

“Don’t go back to London,” Louis’ voice comes from the door.

“What, so you can keep on treating me like shit?” Harry snorts, wiping away his angry tears.

“No,” Louis says.

“If this is supposed to be an apology, it sucks,” he says and moves on to the bedside table. Phone charger, two books, his notebook. “Honestly, I don’t even understand why you did any of this if you hate it that much”

“You know how you said bullshitting never got you anywhere?” Louis asks, ignoring Harry’s question.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just crams his laptop into its case.

“That’s the way talking is for me. I tell people something personal, and they turn on me. I trust someone, and they leave. I come out as gay, and all I get is harassment from press and fans. You don’t understand what that does to you”

Harry suddenly remembers what Diana said in the very beginning. They’re trying to get good headlines about him. So that’s why Louis needed a PR relationship. Because, apparently, football fans are homophobic assholes.

He shakes his head to snap out of it. This doesn’t change anything.

“You don’t get to do that, Louis,” Harry shouts, finally stopping. “You don’t get to play the victim right now. While all of that sucks, and in contrary to your belief, I do get it, you don’t get to use that as an excuse. It doesn’t excuse you from treating me like garbage when all I ever did was care”

“Listen to me, H, please”

Harry slams his suitcase shut. “No. You had your chances to talk. God, you had two months to talk, and yet – ,“ Harry shakes his head. “I’m done here. We’re done”

“Harry, I’m begging you. You were right, you are. I’m sorry”

“Give me one reason why I should listen to you right now,” Harry challenges him, crossing his arms.

“I think I’m in love with you”

It’s like someone slapped Harry across the face. What the fuck?

“Excuse me?”

Louis takes a step forward. “I’m in love with you”

And when Louis comes even closer, Harry lets him. He lets Louis cup his jaw with his left hand, and he lets him kiss him softly on the lips. For a second, he’s in a trance. This is everything he wants, he can feel it in his bones. But then, angry Harry is back, taking a step backwards, holding Louis away from him at this shoulder.

“Not good enough,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

“How – How is that not good enough?” Louis asks incredulously, eyes wide.

“It just isn’t. I wish it was, but it’s not,” Harry says, tears welling up again. “If this is how you act when you’re in love with someone, I’m not sure if I would want to be with you”

“Harry, don’t do this. I’m sorry. You’re right and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve my mood swings. You don’t – I – I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was feeling bad about being injured and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m sorry”

“Maybe you should see a therapist. But I’m not the person to fix you. I’m sorry, but I’m not,” Harry says, pushing past him to get to the small office.

“I don’t want you to fix me, Harry!” Louis follows him and watches as he gathers copies of different scripts.

“What is it what you want, then? I honestly don’t understand you”

“For you to stay. A clean slate. A second chance. Let me prove that I’m not a dick”

“Look. I know you’re not, at least not in your nice moments. But I’m done being pushed around, Louis. This is my decision, and I need to go home. I need to go somewhere where I feel safe and not riddled with anxiety, and that plate isn’t here. I just – Can’t do this right now,” Harry sputters, ruffling his own hair.

He doesn’t wait for an answer from Louis, just grabs his packed-up stuff and hurries down the stairs. He’s already dialing Dave’s number before he is even out the door.

“Harry, what’s up? How are you doing?”

“I’m going back to London,” he presses out between gritted teeth.

“That bad, huh? I’ll send a driver tomorrow,” Dave answers, voice concerned.

“Not tomorrow. I’m walking out of that fucking door right now,” he says, concentrating on not sounding too choked up.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just need to go home”

*
The problem is, being in London doesn’t really help that much. First of all, probably half of his stuff is still in Manchester. His guitar, for example. And two of his jackets. Those aren’t things he necessarily needs but he still wonders how he will get them back.

Second of all, Louis is stuck in his mind. Attached with superglue and secured with duct tape. Not moving a single inch, no matter how hard Harry tries to get rid of him.

I’m in love with you.

Let me prove I’m not a dick.

Not budging at all.
Third of all, Harry feels incredibly guilty. He was right to be upset and angry, mind you, but he left Louis with a fractured clavicle that hurt and left him handicapped to a certain extent. Shit, he didn’t even let Louis sleep alone, why did he think that leaving him alone during a global pandemic was a good idea?

The only thing that mildly relieves his bad conscience is the fact that he texted Liam, whose number was still in his phone, that he went back to London and to check on Louis. Liam, apparently having a heart made out of pure gold, texted back that he’d go over to his house right after practice.

Harry tries distracting himself with talking to his family and Niall and Zayn, and even though he loves them dearly, they’re not much help. Niall advises him to just go back to Manchester, his mother and sister make him feel even guiltier and Zayn only talks about how he needs to face his own feelings.

His team is mad at him for leaving Manchester without telling them. Although they don’t say it, it’s pretty obvious by the way Diana sighs desperately on phone calls and Marc, his agent, suddenly starts looking for interview options again.

Which is why Harry is currently sitting in front of his open laptop, waiting for the Zoom-conference to start. As far as he knows, he’s being interviewed live by Nick Grimshaw ffor his radio show on BBC One about quarantine and future projects. That shouldn’t be so hard. It might actually be fun, Harry feels like he hasn’t worked in ages.

When the call starts, there is music playing in the background and a light signifies that they’re not on air.

“Hello Harry, how are you doing?” Nick Grimshaw greets him, and Harry waves back politely.

“I’m doing alright, yourself?”

“The same. Alright, we’ll be live in a second. I just wanted to let you know that this call won’t be video-recorded”

“Okay, cool,” Harry says, nodding.

“Perfect,” he holds three fingers up, counting down the seconds until they are on air, “This was What They Say by Zara Larsson. I am Nick Grimshaw and you are listening to Radio 1! As I promised, I’m here – well, over video call – with actor Harry Styles. Hello, Harry!”

“Hi, mate. How are you doing?” Harry speaks into the microphone of his earplugs.

“Very well, thank you. How’s treating quarantine you?” Nick asks, pushing some buttons.

“Ups and downs,” Harry says, laughing. “But I’m very grateful to be in a position where I can stay at home and be safe”

“Everyone who is self-isolating should be, there are many people out there on the front lines risking their lives to keep us safe”

“Exactly. The NHS is doing so many amazing things right now”

“You get it, Harry. How are you spending your time in isolation at the moment?” Nick asks, looking at him on the screen.

“To be honest, my main goal is not to stress myself too much. I feel like there is a lot of pressure due to social media to be your ‘most productive self’ and I don’t think that’s really the way to go, so I try to take it one day at a time. But I am working on a few projects right now,” Harry explains.

“I totally agree with you. It can be very easy to be pressured by what we see online, yeah. May I ask what projects those are?”

“I don’t actually know how much I can say, but I definitely will be back on the big screen soon,” Harry says with a smirk on his face.

“Harry Styles, you truly are a tease”

“I do what I can,” Harry laughs.

“The big screen, that’s exciting,” Nick steers back to the conversation, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I mean, yeah. After school, I had a lot of growing up to do and I found it to be easier to do that without having people watch me”

“It takes off the pressure, doesn’t it?”

After that, they fall into an easily flowing conversation about Harry’s career and his decision to continue acting. It’s easy, almost feels like he’s talking to one of his friends, when Nick brings up something else.

“So, rumor has it you’re quarantining in Manchester with your boyfriend Louis Tomlinson, who’s playing professionally for Man U, is that true?”

And. What the fuck? Harry was not prepared to be asked that, he honestly expected Diana to blacklist the topic for the interview, even though he never asked her to. Usually, she gets the message.

“Uhm, well,” Harry fumbles for words, “I was.”

Nick raises his eyebrows in surprise, “You’re not anymore?”

“There were, uhm, a few personal matters I had to attend to at home, so I’m currently back in London,” he says, immediately wanting to smack his head against a wall. No one says ‘attend’, Christ. “It was pretty bad timing with Louis getting injured and all, but some things can’t be helped,” he quickly adds, hoping it might sound more convincing.

Ha. Bad timing. Can’t be helped. Harry wishes that this would be the truth.

“Right, I saw pictures of you leaving the hospital. How is he doing?”

“Injuries are always a struggle, but he’s doing okay. We, uhm, saw the paparazzi when we left, and I just want to quickly say that it can be very upsetting to be followed around and have your pictures taken in situations like that. He was very vulnerable in that situation, and I think it’s pretty fucked up that some people don’t even respect the privacy of others in those situations”

To be honest, Harry doesn’t even know where that just came from. He’s always felt that way about paparazzi, but it seems as if that incident stuck with him.

“So, what you’re asking is to give him some space while recovering?” Nick asks further.

Harry nods before he remembers that those who are listening can’t see him, “I mean, yeah. There’s a lot on his plate right now with self-isolation and recovery”

He needs to stop talking about Louis. This is bad.

“That’s very protective of you, Harry”

“We all need someone we can rely on. Loved ones, family, friends,” Harry responds, hoping that this will steer him into some safer waters.

And it does, because Nick takes the hint – or just genuinely wants to know – and starts asking about how he keeps in contact with his friends and family. Not long after that, the interview ends.

Even though the only thing he wants to do right now is curl up underneath the covers of his bed, he knows that there is another call waiting in line. Diana always talks over interviews with him after him they’re done to assess what went well and what didn’t.

Over the years, he’s gotten good at estimate it himself, but some details always slip his mind.

“Why didn’t you blacklist questions about Louis?” Harry asks after a minute of small talk, “You know we’re not exactly, you know, on good terms right now”

Diana frowns at him, sighing, “You know how this goes, Harry. At one point, people were going to figure out that you’re not in Manchester anymore and there will be rumors. If I blacklisted Louis, it would have only supported the suspicion that something is wrong”

Harry stares at the screen and watches as Diana takes a sip from a mug. It’s probably coffee.

“But there is something wrong, and I don’t really want to talk about him, pretending… pretending we’re something that we aren’t. I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t even have an explanation to why I’m in London”

“You did good either way. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but it seemed very believable. The details about Louis’ injury were good, too. We need to talk about cursing on live radio, though, I’m not sure whether that’s going to be well received. We’ll see,” Diana says, looking over her notes on the desk.

“Well, I curse on a daily basis, I’m not pretending that I don’t. What harm can that do?”

“Plenty, Harry, believe me. But we’ll have a look at reactions and go from there”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m sorry, Diana, I’m not feeling very well right now, would you mind if we postponed this?” He asks her, massaging the skin above his eyebrows. There’s a dull pain throbbing behind it.

“Of course, darling, whatever you need. Get some rest, you look tired,” Diana says, her voice swaying from professional and analytic to caring and concerned.

“Thank you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow”

“Yes, just text me,” she says, smiling at him through the screen.

Harry manages to text Louis about the interview before he crashes into bed, falling asleep in his clothes.

I don’t know if you heard the interview on BBC, but I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t know they were going to ask me about you. I’m sorry if I said something you didn’t want me to. Hope you’re doing well. H.

*
When Harry wakes up, he feels like throwing up. His head is pounding so hard, he can’t form a single thought. His legs are sweating in his jeans, and there is a bitter taste in the back of his throat. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’s hungover.

The piercing sound of his ringing doorbell reminds him of why he is awake and, in addition to that, causes actual tears to well up in his eyes. On his way to the front door, he has to steady himself with one hand on the wall to prevent himself from puking, fainting or both together. The throbbing pain in his head is getting worse with each step.

“Harry. I thought you weren’t going to – Shit, are you okay? You look like hell”

In front of him, there is Louis. If he were in a better condition, he might have shut the door in front of him. He might have questioned what he is doing here. But he doesn’t. He just steps aside to let Louis in.

“Migraine,” he grits out, closing his eyes again. The bright light from outside is only making matters worse.

“C’mon let’s get you back to bed. You need to sleep,” Louis says, voice soft around the edges.

Harry feels himself nods, and then a light hand is on the small of his back, slowly guiding him toward his bedroom.

“There’s a box labeled ‘Migraines’ in the kitchen. Top drawer, left side. There are pain killers, called Ergomar. Can you get them?” Harry mumbles, letting out a sigh of relief when his head hits the pillow. The softness of it cushioning the back of his neck, swallowing him up to his ears feels like heaven.

“Of course. I’ll be right back”

Louis shuts the door behind him quietly, and Harry lets out a quivering sigh. He doesn’t even have the energy to think about any of this, instead, it takes all of his leftover concentration to breathe through another wave of pain.

“There you go,” Louis whispers, sitting down next to Harry’s shoulder. In his hands, he holds a glass of water and the white box of pain killers.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, takes one of the tablets and places it under his tongue. When it starts to dissolve, the bitter taste burns into his gums and tongue.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. A tear slowly runs down his cheek.

“D’you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” he breathes.

He can feel one of Louis’ hands softly running through his hair, his fingers drawing wispy circles on his scalp. Harry can’t tell whether it’s the pain killers kicking in or if the circles actually help, but he feels himself slowly drifting off.

The next time he wakes up, the only light illuminating his bedroom is the blue hue Louis’ phone screen gives off. Testing out how bad his residue headache is, Harry rolls his eyes. A sharp pain makes him flinch. So, not gone yet. Great.

“How are you feeling?” Louis asks and turns off his phone when he notices that Harry is awake.

“Like a truck ran me over. What time it is?” He says, not moving more than necessary. He doesn’t dare sit up in fear of more headaches.

“Eleven in the evening. You were out for six hours,” Louis answers, resting his cheek on his left hand. His right arm is still in a sling, Harry notices.
“Wait, what day is it?” Harry asks, suddenly afraid that he slept for an entire day.

“Friday”

The interview was just after four pm. That means that Harry has been asleep for seven hours, except for the ten minutes when Louis came.

“Is your head doing better?”

“For the most part,” Harry says, eyes still shut.

“Didn’t know you had migraines. That was pretty scary”

“Yeah. I haven’t had one in over nine months, I’m lucky you showed up,” Harry lets out a huff at the irony of it, “and that it didn’t have an aura”

“Aura?” Louis asks.

“Sensory disturbances. Numb arms or tongue, visual problems, having trouble finding some words,” he explains.

Harry remembers the first time he’s ever had a migraine. It was on a plane back from New York at the age of fourteen, and he legitimately thought he was having a stroke and would die.

“Jesus. Why didn’t I know you had that?”

Because you don’t ever let me have conversations with you, Harry thinks but keeps it to himself.

“Never came up,” Harry lets out a sigh, “Lou, we need to talk. But it’s late and I still feel like shit, so. Let’s talk tomorrow”

“Okay. Whatever you want,” Louis says, smiling. By the way the corner of his mouth twitch, Harry can tell that he’s nervous.

“If you want to eat anything, or shower, feel free. I think I need to sleep this migraine out,” Harry says, watching him closely in the dark bedroom.

“Yeah. Just drink something before you go back to sleep, alright? Don’t want you to dehydrate”

*
“So, why are you here?” Harry asks, hugging his knees close.

It’s Saturday, and after a shower and a light breakfast – surprisingly provided by Louis – he almost feels like a human being again. They are sitting across from each other on the big couch in Harry’s living room and sunlight is flooding his apartment, painting even, bright squares on the grey rug on the floor.

“To prove to you that I can do better,” Louis says, drawing patterns on the pillow on his lap, “that I’m someone worth keeping around. Because, you were right. I’m moody and my walls are up like eighty percent of the time. I was wrong for not trusting you enough, for not seeing the person you really are. There really isn’t a reasonable excuse for it, just – I’m very sorry”

For a second, Harry merely takes Louis in. His hair isn’t styled, his fringe sticks to his forehead all soft-looking and shiny. He has pulled the sleeves of his knitted sweater up to cover the most part of his hands. In the bright light of the living room, he seems almost unreal to Harry.

Maybe Zayn was right. He should have dealt with his own feeling beforehand, because as of now, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say.

“I’m sorry, too. For leaving, I mean. No matter how mad or hurt I was, I shouldn’t have left you alone, especially because I knew that – that you weren’t dealing so well with it,” Harry says, partly because he needs to think about what Louis said before and partly because it’s the truth.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not your responsibility. Your own health and wellbeing should be your priority, and it was your right to leave to get some space,” Louis shrugs, looking at Harry with a lopsided grin on his face, “Also, I know that you told Liam to check on me. He didn’t say so, but I’m pretty sure you were the reason he dropped by every second day”

“Yeah, that was me,” Harry smiles apologetically, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

There’s a small pause when Harry stops to think, but he pushes his foot forward to nudge Louis’ knee. When he finally looks up, right into his face, Harry can feel his heart stumble over the blue in Louis’ eyes.

“Maybe I overreacted. Because, looking back, I just wanted you to be okay and I – I care so much that it really upset me, I guess, when I felt like you didn’t care as much”

“You were right to be hurt, H. I made you feel like that, and it wasn’t okay. I’m very sorry,” Louis says. He leans forward and squeezes Harry’s knee.

“I know you are,” he answers slowly. Two days ago, he maybe would have been mad at Louis. Maybe he wouldn’t have made it so easy for him. But somehow, he crawled right back into Harry’s heart during the last twelve hours. Maybe, Louis Tomlinson, football legend with a tendency for mood swings, might just be everything he needs.

There’s a little rustling and shifting involved, but eventually, Harry is basically sitting on Louis’ lap, one leg straddling his waist, the other dangles over the side of the couch. He’s supporting his weight on his forearms, propped up on armrest. His face is hovering inches above Louis’.

“So, what you’re saying is, that we’re okay?” He whispers, eyes fixed on Harry’s mouth.

“Yeah, that. And, uhm, I somehow might be in love with you, too.”

Louis’ face lights up at that, eyes wrinkling around the corner. He pulls Harry closer by the neck with his left hand and Harry can feel the air on his skin as he exhales, right before their lips touch.

To say the feeling of Louis’ mouth on his is glorious would be an understatement. It’s warm and wet and sweet and it definitely makes Harry weak in his knees. When Louis backs away, there’s a soft tug in his stomach, and he can’t help but smile fondly down at Louis.

“If we are going to do this, I need you to promise me something,” Louis says, tangling his hand in Harry’s hair where it plays with one of his curls.

“Yes, I will cook for you,” Harry says, already pressing another kiss on Louis’ mouth.

“Stop, I’m serious,” Louis giggles, which kind of contradicts his statement, “I don’t want to do this PR-thing anymore. If this is real, I can’t sell it for publicity.”

And Harry just kisses him again. Quickly, sweet and completely dizzying.

He shifts his weight, settling down on Louis’ laps, his own hands cupping his jawline.

“I’m completely with you. There’s gotta be a way out of that contract,” he says, “especially if we both want out”

“Yeah,” Louis replies.

“But I need you to promise me something, too”

“Anything”

“Whenever you feel like closing down and shutting me out – don’t. I’m not sure why you do that, and you don’t need to tell me right now, but don’t push me away, okay? You can just tell me that you need space or whatever, and we’ll deal with it. But I can’t handle your hot-and-cold tactic,” Harry says.

“I promise. I don’t want anything like us not talking at all happen ever again,” Louis says, caressing Harry’s cheek with his thumb before he surges upward, catching Harry’s lips with his own.

That night, when Harry posts a blurry and underexposed picture of Louis cuddling into his chest with Tangled playing on the TV, he doesn’t think about followers, or likes, or what people might think about it. He just does it because he feels deliriously happy when he can feel Louis’ laugh vibrating through his entire body and he needs to preserve this moment forever.