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I.
The first time Louis was told to lock himself away, he was fighting eight different waves of exhaustion while playing back each moment of the past couple days in an attempt to feel a glimmer of the exhilaration that filled his soul the night of their last gig.
A flicker of darkness in the back of his mind tells him he knows what this was about. Or he has an inkling, at least, that grows and grows as the unsmiling assistant whose name he already forgot leads him down pristine hallway after hallway. The rare London sunshine makes it easy to push away, though, along with every reminder of the band’s fresh success. It’s so easy, in fact, that when Louis finally enters the wide conference room, it’s with a lilt in his step and an easy smile on his lips.
After all, he can argue his way out of anything. The band may barely be a year old, but they’ve already achieved levels of success unheard of for most X Factor finalists. Or winners even. And if the snatches of conversation he catches in between interviews are any indication, well….
His grin falters as the towering, broad-shouldered men stab neatly trimmed fingernails at the flat screen before him, lit up with shots of the performance that had snuggled its way into Louis’s heart.
Okay sure. Louis knows he’d ignored the grumbling voices gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, had locked them up tight because this was his moment, what he’d hardly dared to dream of since the night he and Stan had stumbled into a club just a little brighter than the others, a little flashier. Something had unfurled in Louis that night. It’s hazy now, but he’d sworn every day since then that he’d give anything to feel that sense of rightness, of wholeness again.
Well. Almost anything. The long row of seats on either side of him thrums with the ache of his heart. But he’s alright, of course. Louis’s a big boy.
As the PR team’s words settle in, though, something twists in his chest. He has a distant feeling it may be his heart. It just doesn’t make sense.
Yes, of course he wants the band to break in America. But he never thought the games he played with Harry would actually hurt their chances.
He never thought he would hurt their chances.
It hits him all at once, a block of ice whaling at his shoulders, his chest, his gut until there’s nothing but a fuzzy grey cloud in his head. Louis knows who he is. Has done since he played kingdoms with his sisters, where he was always the dashing prince waiting for his knight in shining armor.
Yet these people are telling him, in no uncertain terms, that who Louis is is a liability. That this “charade” couldn’t continue, or he could be sued for breaking contract and One Direction’s future would be over before it began.
There’s talk of “adjusting mannerisms” and “outings” with Eleanor, even pushing forward their relationship announcement. It hardly registers with Louis, though. His brain is split between the same grey cloud, weighing down his soul like he’s got the entire world on his shoulders, and an echo of his mum’s voice.
It was a few days into the band bonding session at Harry’s stepdad’s bungalow, when the overwhelming tenderness he felt towards Harry was taking over his every thought. She’d smoothed over his despair as easy as anything, her words silencing the nerve that had been jangling louder and louder over the last few years. He’d sworn he would never doubt himself after that.
He should have known the dirty tricks Simon had up his sleeve. Curse his endless optimism.
Not even Princess Park’s endless opulence can shake the shattered feeling following him with every step. Harry’s arms help, though, as do his bouncy curls.
Yet even as he curls into his boy that night ( his boy and no one else’s, as he would have roared at any of those dark-suited figures if given the chance), a set of questions still rattle around his skull,
How can this thing that feels so good be so wrong?
And, more importantly, does that make him wrong?
In the end, Louis isn’t sure he wants to find out.
II.
Louis is nothing if not resourceful, though. And cunning. And far too in love with his and Harry’s games to call them off because of a few stinky guys in suits.
It doesn’t hurt that he’d promised his mum and Anne that he’d be Harry’s ray of light through this ridiculous double bearding period--and Louis knows damn well he can’t spread sunshine when his own candle is extinguished. So he uses anything he can to undercut their bullshit narratives and in any rare bursts of free time, fills his head with snatches of ammo he can use against their assailants, always with some part of him wrapped around Harry.
He listens to Harry’s endless chatter about tattoos and they both cry when Zayn brings up the idea of couples’ tattoos, neither Louis nor Harry taking it as a joke, not even for a second. They have to be careful about it, so careful, especially after the album debuts at number 1 in America. But there’s a fire licking through his veins every time he strokes the Hi inside Harry’s tricep. His Hi. It’s living, undeniable proof that Harry is his and Louis could die every time it hits him.
They’re called in for yet another meeting in the weeks leading up to their second album announcement. This time, Louis can’t mask his growls at the slideshow of “suitable” pop stars and supermodels meant to “boost” Harry’s image, driving his nails into his palm when the team goes on and on about Taylor Swift.
They say it would be a “mutually beneficial” relationship, whatever the hell that means. But all Louis can hear is the frenzied shouts of reporters tearing Harry to shreds.
A nasty voice whispers that he should be grateful she’s only four years older, and maybe some tiny part of him is. But it’s all such bullshit.
He should have known the word he mutters (and screams) all week would be the same word that wakes him up just days before the single release.
It’s Liam’s texts that show up first, with about eight million question marks from Niall sliding in a few moments later. As expected, Louis’s heart slams against his chest, then drops to his feet while a cocktail of rage and despair brews behind his eyes.
Liam: Think you might wanna chekc your twitter, mate
Liam: Actualy Zayn said u probably don’t wanna see it
Liam: Just um. What the hell did u do to them??
The thing is, Louis hasn’t done a damn thing and neither has Harry, apart from their usual games--which they have toned down, thank you very much, not like it was his choice or anything. And they were downright civilized in that meeting, or as civilized as Louis could be while a lion roared inside of him. His eyes narrow at the little blue icon as an earthquake ruptures in his chest.
Beside him, Harry’s eyes blink open. Louis never will get over his impeccable ability to wake up without moving. He moves to hide his phone, but Harry pulls him to his chest in the same breath, apparently recognizing the look in Louis’s eyes before Louis can think about finding a way to explain this.
The tattoos are right against his nose now and yet, even as his entire world is spinning off its axis, something in the deep black ink pulls him back. So Louis slides his hand out from where it’s anchored at Harry’s side and traces over the 17BLACK , the hanger, his Hi , finger shaking as much as his chest. He could drown in Harry’s tiny shivers. And maybe he would, maybe he could open up a portal to another world here in their massive LA bed and pull Harry with him to a place where hearts were never broken and nobody could tell them what to do, if only Louis wished hard enough.
He’s wishing so damn hard when Harry pushes aside a droopy bit of fringe and whispers, “You know, whatever happened, we’ll make it through, yeah? You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Promise?” Louis can hardly hear himself over the thundering of his heart.
“Lou, I still don’t know how I manage to wake up next to you every morning. So unless…. oh my God, they can’t make you marry her, can they?”
A cackle shoots out before Louis can help it, but the terror in Harry’s eyes, so much like Louis’s own just a couple minutes ago, has his heart squeezing in agony.
“No, no, there’s no way.” He shakes his head two, three times to clear the traitorous images from his mind. “The contract’s only for three and a half years and they know I’ll never do that. No, Liam said something about checking my Twitter…”
In a flash, Harry shifts forward so that Louis’s nose is pressed squarely into his underarm ( thanks for that, Haz ) and snatches Louis’s phone before Louis can squeak out a protest. He tilts the screen so they can watch together as Twitter loads, stabs his way into Louis’s profile, and….
Oh. Oh fuck.
The phone falls out of Harry’s hand, landing somewhere between them in the grey sheets. Louis can barely process the words. Much like in that insufferable meeting a year ago, he has the sense of being shoved into a tub of ice water. Yet at the same time, he’s sure it’s happening to someone else.
Not Louis. Never Louis.
The worst part is, they got his hostile tone right. It’s exactly the way he snaps in those horrid PR meetings, exactly the way he had snapped a few days ago when they tried to force him to do a magazine spread with Eleanor. But it’s all wrong. So wrong.
It makes him want to break everything in this room, in this house, until all that’s left is the one good thing. And for fuck’s sake, they were just starting to build something good with the fans on their side too.
Now they’ll be lucky if anyone is on their side.
And yet…. a thought flutters down to him like they sometimes do when Louis is at his worst, as if some other queer artist was looking down on him.
He’s not the first person to go through this.
He can’t be. Sure, maybe he’s the first to be forcibly closeted on this huge of a scale in the age of social media. But he’s not the first performer to be closeted, by any means. And neither is Harry.
So he sucks in a breath, cursing at how much it shakes, before turning back to Harry. He’s in no way shocked to find tears in Harry’s eyes, but that doesn’t stop his insides from crumbling into a million tiny pieces. He inhales again, a little bit stronger now, and traps Harry’s hand between both of his.
“Hey. You were right, love. We will get through this, because we’re not the first to deal with this. Remember what Helene said? This is just par for the course in this industry.”
They’d found out early in the game that their vocal coach not only had a good ear for harmonies, but also for life in general. And that she’d worked with countless other performers at various levels of stardom, so she’d picked up a few things backstage and in the vocal booths. But most importantly, she knows the boys and their dynamic and gives them the tools to fight for themselves whenever she can.
Louis hopes she’ll never have to leave them.
As it stands, Harry’s eyes only grow darker. Louis can’t blame him for that, though. So he runs his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand, even as his heart aches to the tune of whatever sad Bowie song Harry had been playing the other day, hoping that this could bring some calm to one of them at least.
After a while, Harry sits up and extracts his hand, clasping it with the other, and lets out a long sigh. “Yeah. I mean, maybe it sounds childish, I don’t know, but it just…. it shouldn’t have to be like that, you know? Nobody deserves that, and we should have been the ones to end it. And I just,” here, Harry turns his eyes to Louis and in them is a brokenness that splits Louis in two, “like, this is where a year ago, I would have said we still could, but now I really don’t know.”
And this is where it breaks Louis. Because as much as it may help to know that they’re not the first to bleed, he can’t stand knowing that they won’t be the last either. He feels trapped, a prisoner in this damn machine with no space to breathe. How many people after him will be locked away, torn to shreds simply because of who they are? How many people are stumbling through that now?
Louis feels sick just thinking about it. So he steers his brain over to something he can act on.
With a soft squeeze of Harry’s hand and another deep, cleansing breath, he digs out his phone from between them and basks in the late morning sunshine hitting his face for just a moment. Then he starts googling.
“As much as it sucks, I think we can learn a lot from our elders, don’t you think? And who knows, maybe they’ll know a thing or two about how to make things a bit better. That has to count for something, yeah?”
Harry’s tiny smile is enough to set Louis’s entire chest alight.
III.
And yet, nobody ever thought to tell Louis how hard it is to be torn from your family at the tender age of eighteen. Sure, maybe he would have had to go through this anyway, had he actually gone to uni, but in all his dreams of stardom, he never dreamed of this.
Yeah, it’s insane running around those arenas and basking in the stage lights, following the thrill of just how much he can get away with when those lights are down--and sometimes when they’re up too. And to do all that with four other guys who know you inside and out, who are the only people in the world who know these trenches as well as he does? It’s unbeatable.
But nobody ever told him about the award shows sandwiched between tour dates he barely remembers now. How his sisters would continue growing up and going to school, having all these experiences Louis will never know about, because the One Direction machine stops for no one. How the ache never goes away, no matter how many FaceTime calls he makes.
So is it any wonder he’s ready to snap when the band is called in to discuss their second tour?
At least there’s plans to bring out a band of slightly younger Australian boys, who for all intents and purposes seem fun and easy to get on with. And their sound is a bit rockier, which could be amazing , considering the direction Louis is desperate to steer their music in. Of course there’s a catch, though. With these demons, why wouldn’t there be?
The ban on interactions with Harry is expected at this point, but it doesn’t stop Louis’s heart from splitting in two. It’s the announcement that comes complete with a towering stack of contracts that really sets his blood boiling, however.
What the hell is “camera ready at all times” supposed to mean anyway? They aren’t playthings . Nobody in their right minds would expect them to work that much. It’s unheard of.
Right?
If promo season had been stifling, this was the final dot of glue sealing them into their fishbowl. Now the entire world would have access to their perfectly curated personalities, flawed in just the right ways. Exactly the way so many of these girls wanted them.
They’ll be clamoring for tickets faster than Louis can tackle his sisters in an embrace on the few days he gets at home. It’s a damn good marketing strategy.
Too bad it feels like a prison sentence.
In interviews and between meetings, Louis does anything he can to propel his thoughts away from the devastating awareness that this dream he put his entire soul into only got him smashed against the mirror separating him from his freedom, by running over and over the biographies he’s started reading, each one giving him the breath of resistance he needs to keep fighting. He chases the boys around studios and bounces through photoshoots with an undercurrent of aggression simmering just below the surface that even Zayn asks him about. So Louis forces himself to take a second before he does anything to ask if his emotions are fueling him or if this is really a good idea.
It only lasts an hour. But damn it, can you really blame Louis for being ready to lay down his life for these boys at any second?
He gushes over the contents of these books with his Harry every night. There’s Bette Davis and k.d. Lang and Claire Richards and Danny la Rue. And of course Elton and Bowie and Freddie Mercury and *NSYNC. Not all of them are gay, but they all have some kind of connection to the whole fame thing. Louis would love to have a conversation with most of them, but, well…. they probably wouldn’t want to hear from a not even 20-year-old boybander. Even if Louis has enough stories now to write his own tell-all.
Harry drinks it all up. He begs Louis to let him read these books once Louis is done, even though he gets the play-by-play of each chapter as Louis finishes them. The books return (and sometimes don’t, the distinctions between what belongs to who have long disappeared now) littered with highlights and notes crammed in the margins. They agree that they have to use this newfound knowledge somehow. They have to communicate this to their fans.
But how? And when?
IV.
The answer comes a year later in a spacious Portuguese hotel room that’s all too familiar to Louis now.
Really, you’d think these hotels would have something that makes them stand out, that would make people want to choose them over the thousands of other hotels out there. But they’re all the same. There’s a bed that’s far too big for him alone, a massive TV and mini fridge in front of it, a tiny closet and large window off to each side and somewhere on the floor is his suitcase spilling over with athletic clothes that Louis can’t bear to look at right now. His heart hurts too much. And the tears aren’t too far away.
He knew this would happen. God. The press conference postponed not once but twice, a staggering lack of promo, and now dragging his name and the trust through the mud. Of course buying an entire football club, even that of his hometown, was a long shot, but Louis had to have a win at some point, right? The universe owed him at least that much.
Yet even after scrolling through his indirects for a bit (and finding one from a truly lovely supporter of him and Harry), he still feels empty. So he pulls over his laptop and dials into his longstanding group Skype call.
As expected, Harry’s face is the first to fill the screen, then Liam and Zayn and finally Niall, all with matching frowns and wide eyes. The concern would be enough to grind Louis’s gears, if he was capable of feeling anything at this moment.
“We saw your tweets just now, mate, we’re so gutted,” Liam starts. “I obviously don’t know exactly how this was all meant to go down, but I know how important it was to you.”
“Yeah, if there’s anyone we need to fight, I’m down.” Niall turns his screen around to show a distant TV high on the wall displaying what appeared to be a wrestling ring. “Been watching some UFC to try and pick up some moves.”
“Mate, you couldn’t ruffle a damn wrinkle in their suits!” Zayn crows. “Ultimate fighter Niall, now that’s something I’d like to see.”
Despite the usual shenanigans of the other three, Harry’s silence burns a hole in Louis’s soul. And it’s this, along with his intense focus on his screen, bordering on desperation, that makes Louis’s breath hitch. It’s game over from there.
Try as he may to stifle his sobs, the tears come hot and heavy and faster than Louis can gulp them down. He does his best to mask it with a smile, but Harry is on him in less than a second.
“Lou?”
And that’s all Louis needs to let the gaping hole in his heart swallow him completely.
It hurts . It all hurts so much. It’s been what, four years now of this bullshit? He’s done every damn thing he can to fight for himself and his boys, especially the one that he needs by his side right now. He’s read their image clauses over and over, memorized them even, called up anyone and everyone who knew anything about their situation and could help him decipher the stupid legal language. How many nights had he spent with his phone, diving into others’ stories for the tiniest morsel of hope?
How many times has he gone onstage before thousands and thousands, feeling like the biggest fraud in the world--because they made him that way? And then this, his one chance to prove himself to his hometown and the idiots who’d told him he wouldn’t do anything substantial with his life because people like him didn’t get anywhere, especially not in the music industry. Torn to pieces again, all because of some greedy assholes too devoted to their pride and money to see straight.
He pulls his sweaty T shirt over his face, but the other boys are already murmuring in varying states of unease, Niall diving off the screen and returning a few shaky moments later with a guitar. Astoundingly, it’s the errant picking that dries up his tears, but his lungs still ache with the force of howls desperate to break loose.
Within moments, the entire call is silent save for Niall’s guitar. Blushing, and with his focus on the strings, he mutters, “This was what I always did when m’parents would argue sometimes, figured I wasn’t the only one who needed it.”
Louis is silent. In the top left corner, a tear rolls down Harry’s cheek but he doesn’t wipe it away. The sight alone is enough to shatter him again, but then Zayn breaks in with a soft voice.
“Lou, you know we love you for who you are, right? I know management and PR and all them are absolute assholes, but we’ll always be here.”
The other boys murmur their assent, Harry reminding him of what they’ve been through before with what Louis knows is forced strength, practical Liam reminding him that it’ll all blow over soon and Niall adding, emphatically as ever, that they all love him.
“Oh, and hey!” Liam says, lighting up and rocking side to side with his hands clasped together. “We’ve still got your mum’s wedding on Sunday, nobody’s gonna remember this after that.”
“Shit, Payno, you’re right!” Louis falls back onto his plethora of pillows, allowing his eyes to bounce around the room until they land on a shock of rainbow fur poking out of his suitcase. And then--
“OH MY GOD!!!”
Niall, chuckling, abruptly cuts off his strumming. “You sure you’re alright there, mate?”
Louis’s clapping his hands so hard his palms are stinging and he’s sure his grin is cutting his face in half, but he doesn’t care. He couldn’t give less of a shit, in fact, because, “Guys. I just got the best idea of my entire life. ”
He pauses only a second for dramatic effect, reveling in the rapt attention he’s drawn, then barrels on. “Alright, so only Hazza here is really gonna know what I’m on about, but anyway, remember all those books I’ve been reading this year, and the celebrity cases I’ve been reading about, and how Haz and I have been diving into the queer community in any way we can? Well, I’ve been dying to get this out to the fans somehow, and--the bear! It’s an actual rainbow bear, it’s perfect!!”
“Lou, oh my GOD! You’re a genius!” Harry crows, all signs of tears wiped from his face.
The other boys appear a bit more quizzical, but their smiles are wide. Then Niall claps a hand over his mouth, bouncing up and down a little. “Ohhhhh, and you guys could put him up at shows so everyone can see!”
“We’ll have to be so, so careful though. You know how strict they’re getting these days, we can barely breathe,” Harry muses.
Louis bites his lip, nodding fast. “Yeah, yeah, I think we’ll have to start off general, just some dumb fun shit, maybe showing him with someone in the band to get people off the scent…”
“Oh, I bet Josh would be down for that,” Liam says. Beside him, in a rare shout, Zayn pipes up, “Yeah, and you guys could make a Twitter for it too, for anything you can’t do at the shows!”
“I like the way you think, Zaynie.” Louis pulls up Safari, heart racing with a thrill he hasn’t felt in ages, refusing to waste a single second in deliberation.
And that’s how he spends his Tuesday night setting up a Twitter account for a stuffed bear, dreaming of all the hints he could transmit through scenes and costumes and props.
It’s the first time he’s felt connected to his younger, theatre-obsessed self since he stepped foot in the X Factor house all those years ago. For once, Louis has the sense that everything’s going to be alright.
And that’s exhilarating.
V.
When it’s all said and done, though, Louis isn’t ready for the band to end.
He knows not everyone will believe that, choosing instead to point out the scowls, the poorly concealed bags under their eyes, the increasing irritation at the same old interview questions. And maybe he couldn’t have done this, in this regard, for any longer than he had to. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss his boys.
There’s one thing Louis knows he’s good at, that’s the only logical step after the band breaks down, and that’s writing and performing songs. So he writes and records, writes and records, relishing in the opportunity to use his voice as much as Simon and his goons will let him.
Because of course Simon wasn’t going to let Louis out of his sight. He’d seen the boys slipping away, had snapped his talons around their leader, but Louis’s learned enough tricks in these five years to know that two can play at these games. It’ll be long, sure, but he knows things now that would make these men shake in their million-dollar boots. He always has loved having the upper hand.
But damn if it isn’t a mud fight from the very first day. And the thing is, Louis knows he can write some scorching lyrics, can make his voice soar to unimaginable heights, but he’s tired of being pigeonholed.
Exhausted, really.
Didn’t he already deal with this at the start of the band? Shouldn’t once be enough?
Those are the words tumbling over and over in his mind as he slumps through the doors of his London home after another endlessly disappointing day of recording.
“Lou? That you?” Harry calls, then giggles at his rhyme, as he always does when Louis is the last to get home.
“Yeah...” Even Louis can hear the fatigue in his voice, the way it gets swallowed by their massive bookshelves, trailing off into nothingness, as he follows Harry’s voice into the kitchen.
As always, Harry is standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in his hand, prodding at something that smells divine. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s back, pressing a kiss into the top of his curls, and allows himself to revel for a long moment in the way Harry melts into his touch.
“Long day?”
“Well shit Hazza, how’d you know?” But Louis’s smiling for the first time in hours.
Harry just hums in response. “I know you won’t let them push you around if you have any say in it. So what’s going on?”
“I think what isn’t going on is the real question.” Louis pulls his arms away and sneaks a taste of whatever sauce is in the pan, sucking obscenely on his finger and letting out a moan long enough to make Harry push him backwards into the kitchen table. He squacks in protest.
“Hey, that’s no reason to treat your husband who just got back from a long day at work!”
“Maybe you should wait your turn then,” Harry smiles. Then, shaking the spoon at Louis, he leans back against the counter and adds, “Really, Lou. I know I’ve been Mr. World Traveler recently, but it’s killing me to not hear these songs! What’s taking so long?”
He stomps a socked foot for emphasis, and Louis kind of feels like doing the same. He settles for shuffling his feet instead. “It’s just… none of it is me , you know?” And here, the anger and frustration and fear and heartache he’s been holding back all day bubbles over. “Yeah, it’s my lyrics and my voice but it’s not my music, it sounds nothing like me. And like, I get it, I’ve heard a million times that pop is what sells. But what if I don’t wanna sell if it’s not me?” His voice shrinks as small as he feels.
This time, it’s Harry’s turn to wrap his arms around Louis, his spoon clattering against the counter. It’s so soft and warm and home , all the things Louis was missing that day, that he can’t help the sigh that escapes him. How he can’t have this all the time is beyond him. Even after all these years.
“You know,” Harry murmurs somewhere around Louis’s shoulder, heart beating in time with his husband’s, “I’ve been watching a lot of interviews and it got me thinking that everyone always focuses on the end game without getting any joy out of what they’re doing. And I think I was really close to falling into that trap with my music too, but I’m not about to let that be you if I can help it. You deserve an album you love with all your heart! And I want to hear every single one of those songs too, mister.” He drags his lips down Louis’s neck to drive home his point, making Louis shiver.
“Shit, love, you’re so right. Since when did you get smarter than me?”
“Maybe it’s all the time I spend with you, sir galaxy brain.”
Of course the timer chooses this moment to ring incessantly, forcing the two to jump apart as Harry checks on the sizzling stir fry. Louis would feel the absence deep in his heart, but the promise of one of Harry’s glorious dinners is enough to keep his spirits buoyant. Plus, he’s just so cute in the frilly apron Louis gave him for Christmas, Louis can’t stand it.
He rolls those words over and over in his mind over the coming weeks and months, finding that they give him the strength he needs to fight for what little creative control he can get here.
And when he finally wins, the euphoria is potent enough to inspire a whole new song. (And alright, Harry’s upcoming Madison Square Garden shows don’t hurt either.) Because they did make it, goddamnit. And he’s going to let the world know, even if it’s the last thing he does with his solo career.
He has a sneaking suspicion it won’t be, though.
I.
He’s right, of course. Yet the extent of his success is staggering even to him. Here he is, the forgotten 1D member, pulling numbers that ex-boybanders could barely dream of and selling out most of his tour even after he was forced to postpone it.
Plus, he gets to see his Harry slip away in the early hours of the morning to star in a real, actual movie. All in all, he’s feeling pretty kinglike.
Or he would be if he could just figure out this damn setlist.
“You have to do Copy, pleeeeaseeee!” Harry bleats down the phone, which Louis has laid down on their coffee table, next to his music journal. “I don’t care what happens to it later on, the world needs to hear it. They need to hear you. ”
“You really think so?” Louis’s heart flips, then kicks into triple time. He frowns at the list of songs before him and draws a line through one so that only Copy and one other song are left. It’s a safer choice, but when has Louis ever played it safe?
“Hey, you know it’s your best song. And your voice is more than ready for it, I’ve heard your coaching this year.”
He has. Still, Louis can’t help blushing a little. “That’s a lot, coming from a three-time Grammy nominee.”
He can hear Harry’s eye roll all the way down the phone. “I mean it, Lou. Helene knows your voice better than anyone, you’re so lucky you got to stick with her.”
That lifts a few of the clouds from Louis’s brain. He did get lucky, didn’t he? His heart squeezes as visions of the past ten years flash through his mind. He was so scared , beaten to shreds before they’d even had a chance to hit the ground running. Yet even when his demons were dead-set on turning the world against him, he still had his people.
Not for the first time, it hits him that he can be that person for someone now. For himself.
Harry’s words from a minute ago echo back at him. They need to hear you. And then,
“Haz, oh my GOD! You’re a genius!” He flips back to the setlist, nearly ripping the page in two. But shit, Louis just can’t help it, it’s perfect and how didn’t he think of this before...
Harry lets out a hyena laugh. “I mean, I’ll take it, but what…?”
“It’s the perfect thing to round out the setlist. I needed something between Fearless and Defenceless, and Copy bridges those together since it’s basically the grown up version of those, plus Beautiful War.” A chill runs through him, setting his every nerve alight. “Fuck, I could kiss you right now.”
A deep sigh rushes through the speaker. “Love, I’m kissing that big beautiful head of yours so hard you have no idea.”
Louis smiles at that, then clicks the phone off speaker and sandwiches it between his ear and shoulder. He needs to be closer to Harry in any way he can now, and if he can only do that on a transatlantic phone call, then he’ll have to make do.
Harry’s right too. Of course he is. Louis lets his voice soar to heights he never could have dreamed of in the early days. And the freedom that comes with it is enough to power his entire show, and all of London besides.
The people love it too. Try as he might to stay away, Louis eventually falls down the rabbit hole of reaction videos, justifying them as market research. He thanks every one of them in his mind (and even a couple on Twitter) for giving him the chance to do any of this at all, for giving him the opportunity to crawl towards the freedom he so desperately needed as a fresh-faced young boybander.
Things aren’t totally ideal now, by any means. But they’re bearable. And that’s more than a beaten-down Louis could have ever imagined.
Maybe lads like him can make it in the music business after all.
For the first time ever, Louis finally believes that.