Work Text:
Breathe.
Harry repeated the word over and over in his head, grasping for a gasp of air. He clutched a corner of the large wooden coffee table in front of him. His body was seated on the long sofa, unmoving next to the other boys. But his mind was numb and his vision milky white and blurred around the edges. He felt like he had fallen into white rapids and couldn’t escape. He was drowning.
Harry forced his gaze upward and caught the stern stare of his handler who was standing off-stage. Her eyes pointedly glanced at the interviewer seated on a stool in front of them. The indistinct humming in the background of his senses briefly revealed itself to be their interviewer and Liam chatting about his new hairstyle.
She’s not looking at me, Harry thought. He would have breathed a sigh of relief, if he could breathe. His eyes panned over Liam to the right and landed upon a small pair of elegantly laced-together hands. One of the thumbs twitched upwards slightly like a smirk on a friend’s face might, goading him into looking up. The roaring numbness in Harry’s head seemed to quiet itself for a moment as his eyes lingered on these delicate hands. His eyes traced each angle and knuckle as if seeing it for the first time.
Like the gates of a dam giving way to floodwaters, the fingers pulled apart and rushed Harry back into the rapids. His mind reeled as his vision was inundated by the colors around him: Niall’s golden hair, the white lights shining from where the cameramen and his handler stood, the smoky brown of Liam’s boots, the dark swirl of Zayn’s hair, the soft rosy pattern of the interviewer’s blouse. But the most shocking color of all was the blue of the eyes that flashed to meet his. A wave of emotion rushed to his chest as he gazed into the eyes of the person he loved the most.
When Louis looked at him, Harry always felt like the mechanisms of the universe were in perfect motion. Whether it was Louis’ feelings for him or his own for Louis reflected back at him, Harry was never quite sure. But what was certain was the connection. Not simply the connection between the two of them. No; that was something intrinsic. It was sewn into the air they breathed in and expelled from their laughing lungs. No. This connection was different. This was an electric plug that powered the hopes and ideals of a person whose heart burst with them. When Louis looked at Harry, the world paused and clocks chimed.
Louis’ lips seemed pursed and thin, framed by his golden brown scruff. His brow was slightly furrowed and his eyes squinted as he searched Harry’s features for the problem. He must know, thought Harry. But just as quickly as contact was made Louis’ head snapped back to the interviewer, who had questioned him.
Harry looked the other way. The small blossom of warmth that had formed inside him seemed to sink and rot. Harry felt so intensely alone and upset he felt sick to his stomach. But there was also a new sensation of anger growing inside him that wouldn’t quiet. The interviewer’s question lashed at him again and again. It had transported Harry from his normal mood into stark numbness, and a run-of-the-mill interview into a nightmare.
“What about you, Harry? Have you got a secret love interest you’re not telling us about?” The interviewer said it with a teasing tone, but as she looked Harry in the eyes he could tell she was targeting him for a reaction. Harry squeezed out an uncomfortable laugh and shook his head slightly.
“Sadly no, not at the moment,” he emitted with a sideways glance at the other boys. Liam and Niall were staring with blank expressions while Louis stared forward. Zayn put on a small encouraging smile. Liam recognized the immediate tension of the situation and changed the subject. “I can see how easy it would be to fall in love here in LA, with so many beautiful women walking around.”
Harry replayed the scene over and over. He recalled the aggressiveness in the eyes of the interviewer whom at the start of the interview had seemed friendly. Niall, Zayn, and Liam had been silent but understanding as they usually were. But Louis hadn’t even looked at him. Harry forced out a puff of air from his nostrils as his temper flared. Why couldn’t Louis acknowledge him when he was forced to lie to answer such a question? Harry looked over at Louis chatting and smiling and instantly felt guilty for blaming him. He knew the question must have hurt Louis too.
His anger doused, Harry sighed and slumped against the sofa. He began fiddling with the black wire bracelet encircling his left wrist. Or rather why, he thought, can I never control how I react to questions like that? He nudged the bracelet to rest parallel to the words inked into his skin.
I CAN’T CHANGE