Chapter Text
Louis had spent six years mastering the art of pretending.
Pretending that Harry Styles walking into a room didn’t immediately draw his attention.
Pretending that hearing Harry laugh somewhere down the hallway wasn’t enough to distract him from memorizing an entire page of dialogue.
Pretending that it didn’t matter when Harry forgot his name during interviews but remembered everyone else’s.
Six years.
At this point, Louis deserved an award.
Instead, he got summoned to Conference Room B on a Tuesday morning.
He stared at the email while nursing a coffee that tasted vaguely like burnt cardboard.
Mandatory attendance. New promotional strategy.
He sighed.
“That sounds ominous.”
His manager, Eleanor, looked up from her phone.
“Probably another photoshoot.”
“Maybe they’ll make us dance on TikTok.”
“They absolutely will if it sells.”
Louis groaned.
“Can I quit?”
“No.”
“Can I fake my death?”
“No.”
“What if I actually die?”
“You still have a contract.”
“Right. Forgot about capitalism.”
She rolled her eyes while trying not to smile.
By the time they reached the conference room, almost everyone from the cast was already there.
Stylists.
Producers.
Marketing executives.
Assistants running around with tablets.
And Harry.
Of course Harry looked like he’d accidentally wandered out of a luxury magazine. He leaned against the window, sunglasses tucked into his shirt despite the fact they were indoors.
He didn’t notice Louis.
Which was probably for the best.
Louis chose a chair as far away as possible.
Then the marketing director entered with the energy of someone about to ruin several lives.
“Good morning, everyone.”
No one answered.
She smiled anyway.
“As you know, our series premieres in three months. Initial testing shows incredible chemistry between Harry and Louis.”
Louis nearly inhaled his coffee.
Harry frowned.
The director continued.
“Our analysts believe audiences respond strongly to the romantic tension.”
Someone clicked a remote.
The screen lit up with photos.
Harry and Louis laughing between takes.
Harry helping Louis off a prop staircase.
Louis fixing Harry’s collar.
Thousands of comments underneath.
JUST DATE ALREADY.
THE CHEMISTRY IS INSANE.
I DON’T CARE IF IT’S REAL.
Louis wanted the floor to open and swallow him.
“Our proposal,” the director announced, “is simple.”
Nothing good had ever followed the phrase simple.
“We’d like Harry and Louis to present themselves publicly as a couple.”
Silence.
Then—
“What?”
Harry’s voice cut through the room.
The director maintained her professional smile.
“It would involve appearances together, interviews, social media content, premieres, and carefully managed public interactions.”
Harry actually laughed.
“No.”
She blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said no.”
“You haven’t heard the compensation package.”
“I don’t care.”
Louis stared at the table.
He wished he could disappear.
The director shifted tactics.
“It’s temporary.”
“No.”
“It benefits the show.”
“No.”
“It benefits your careers.”
Harry crossed his arms.
“I’m not pretending to be in love with someone because strangers on the internet think we’re cute.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Louis kept his expression perfectly neutral.
Years of practice.
Someone else cleared their throat.
“The contracts contain promotional clauses.”
Harry looked toward his own manager.
“You agreed to this?”
His manager looked uncomfortable.
“I agreed to discussing it.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Louis finally spoke.
“Actually, I think it’s brilliant.”
Every head turned toward him.
Harry looked genuinely confused.
Louis smiled sweetly.
“I mean, if we’re already selling fictional romance, why stop when the cameras turn off? Might as well commit.”
Harry narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t mind?”
“Oh, not at all.”
Louis shrugged.
“I’ve survived worse.”
“Like what?”
“You talking.”
A few people coughed suspiciously into their hands.
The director clapped once.
“Wonderful! Great energy already.”
Harry stared at Louis.
“I wasn’t joking.”
“Neither was I.”
“You think this is funny?”
“I think you’re dramatic.”
“I’m dramatic?”
“You’ve said ‘no’ twelve times. At least diversify your vocabulary.”
Harry leaned forward.
“I am not doing this.”
Louis met his eyes for the first time that morning.
Blue-green.
Exactly the shade he’d spent years pretending not to notice.
He smiled anyway.
“Then tell the lawyers.”
The meeting dissolved into negotiations, schedules, percentages, image consultants, and media plans.
Louis heard almost none of it.
Because Harry kept looking at him.
Not warmly.
Not curiously.
Annoyed.
As if this whole disaster had somehow become Louis’s fault.
When the meeting finally ended, Louis escaped into the hallway.
He almost made it to the elevator.
“Tomlinson.”
He stopped.
Harry approached with long, irritated strides.
“What?”
“I hope you’re not actually excited about this.”
Louis pressed the elevator button.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
“I have zero interest in whatever fantasy people are creating.”
The elevator doors opened.
Louis stepped inside.
He looked at Harry with the brightest smile he could manage.
“That’s comforting.”
Harry frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re finally agreeing on something.”
The doors slid shut before Harry could answer.
Only then did Louis allow himself to breathe.
Six years.
He had imagined a thousand different ways Harry might someday look at him.
None of them included irritation.
Still—
He’d take irritation over indifference.
At least irritation meant Harry noticed he existed.