Work Text:
💚👹💚
all the lights couldn't put out the dark
running through my heart
lights up and they know who you are,
do you know who you are?
Freedom.
Harry’s not sure what exactly it means anymore. For him, for Louis. Personally. Professionally. Musically. There are so many layers to it, and it feels like as he gets older, the thicker those layers become.
It used to feel simpler. In the band, he used to feel like he had one singular goal: to come out, with Louis. To be fair, that’s still his goal. But that was before he knew what it was like to have the spotlight focused only on himself. He thought he knew, he thought they were under a microscope whilst in the band, but being a solo artist, there’s nowhere to hide. If he’s doing an interview and he’s asked something he doesn’t want to answer, he can’t depend on there being someone else to answer or distract from the question. It’s odd how restrictive it feels, to be given all that space to speak.
And on the flip side, it’s intoxicating, being the sole focus. Having the attention he has now. He’s longing for the time he could blend in with the group whilst his inner attention seeker is relishing in what he has. One of the many dichotomies of his life.
The pressure was different too. In the beginning, it came from the outside. They were made to feel like their success depended on keeping this secret, and as the band transcended success, it felt more and more ridiculous to keep hiding. Harry definitely reached a point, and he knows Louis did too, where he couldn’t see how much further they could go, how much this could really hold them back. In 2014, 2015, in the bubble they were in, with the intense dedication of the fans, perhaps in their naïvety, it felt like they could survive it. And in the suffocation of so many restrictions, this was the one that was the hardest to live with, and so it was the one his attention focused on removing.
It’s almost strange, to look back on how singular his focus was. How freedom was the motive behind almost every choice they made, in some way. How he thought if there was no band to protect, it’d be easier. How happy he’d been, signing his solo contract, how sure he’d felt that it was only a couple years away. How it felt like he and Jeff were on the same page, because Jeff told him everything he needed to hear. And how the pressure changed. Because now it’s not about whether it’s something the band can survive; it’s about his brand, his image, his career, and Louis’s too, and all the people who depend on them for their livelihoods.
It’s almost 2020, Harry’s released his second solo album, and he used to think by this point it’d be done. That things would be so wildly different. He hates thinking of himself four or five years ago and how devastated he’d be to know that this is where things are. With Louis only just about to release his first album, he’s just getting his feet under him, and he’s in no place to change everything up. And Harry’s been luckier, he’s been allowed to signal more than ever, he’s just done two of maybe his favourite photoshoots ever — his album shoot drenched in symbolism and the SNL shoot where he got to live his ballerina mermaid dream. He’s gotten to go on tour and see how the fans showed up every night with their rainbows, how every night felt like being baptised in pride. He’s covered Girl Crush and he’s just covered Juice and he got to relish in knowing so many of the fans get it. There’s a fucking photo of him wearing his shirt about fellating George Harrison out in the world now. He gets tastes of freedom all the time, and it’s as euphoric as it was back then, maybe even moreso.
But he’s also recently been questioned by the Guardian about his sexuality. He’s had to lie and duck around the truth. He’s had to put a fucking beard’s voice on his album and refer to her as an ex-girlfriend, something he’s made up his mind to never allow again. And Louis is still in Simon’s clutches, still has Eleanor, still has his fake child, even if he puts in so little effort there it’s laughable, it’s a stab to the heart every time Harry remembers and there’s no end to it in sight.
Somehow, everything feels more extreme now than it did in the band. The division amongst the fans. The distinct ways people see him — and see Louis — and how fixed they are in those opinions. The environment around them feels both more accepting and more hostile at the same time. And somehow it feels like there’s so much more at stake.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to come out. He does. And Louis does. But Harry feels like everywhere he goes, everything he does, everyone he meets, people see him the way they want to see him. And over the last decade, so much has been demanded of them. They’ve found oasises amongst it, places they can go together, ways of coordinating their schedules, so that actually it feels like now they have so much more private time than they did when they were living every moment in a circus. The distinction between public life and private life becomes greater with every year that passes when they aren’t seen together, and Harry has found himself growing more and more protective of that. He thinks Louis has too.
The part of him that still longs for freedom hates the way things are, but there’s another part that’s terrified, and takes comfort in the familiar. This is all they’ve ever known. To have that spotlight on the two of them — what would it do to them? And who is Harry, if he’s not hiding? Who is Louis? Will it change them? Will it bring new pressures, to face public scrutiny? To have their whole worlds blown up? Can you ever really be free, when you’re in the public eye? Is it better to keep what they have secret and safe? Or will that eventually destroy them?
Lord knows it’s already tried. It’s eaten at them for a decade.
All Harry has going into 2020 is questions, and no answers for them. It feels absurd that he’s been living for a decade with so much of his life a badly kept secret, but it feels equally absurd to imagine a future where he isn’t. There’s so much he doesn’t know.
But Louis’s excited for the year ahead, and it’s contagious. They get to spend New Years together, midnight anyway, after Louis’s come back from a party he’d put in an appearance at and joined Harry in the garden of their private London home. Louis’s already drunk and Harry’s on his way there.
“This is our year, Haz,” Louis says, disheveled and happy, and Harry has to kiss him for it.
They’re going to tour, so they’ll be separated, but they’ve managed to align their tours so they’ll see each other. And touring is Harry’s favourite thing, but more than for himself, he’s excited to see what it’ll do for Louis. They know how intense Louis’s fans are, and he’s already gotten a taste of it with the couple shows he’s done; it’s going to be so much more to witness, night after night, to see them show up with their rainbows like Harry’s sure they will. Louis can’t quite believe they’ll create the same space for him as they did for Harry, but they will. Especially after they hear Only The Brave, Harry thinks. And Louis plans on covering Beautiful War, and 7. He'll be singing fucking Larry every night, it's the most surreal and hilarious thing and Harry loves him so much for it. Even if Louis can’t be as obvious as Harry, he’s obvious in his own way, and there’s hope that the fans’ll see that.
And in July, Louis’s contract with Syco will expire. He’ll finally be free of Simon, and Sony, and who knows what doors that will open for him.
And Harry’s got his eye on a film, a gay leading role. He’s been reading the book, and he thinks he’s talking Jeff into it. He’s not sure how much acting is for him, but he’s already signed up with Marvel, so he may as well try this out too. It could be a test of how people feel, seeing him as a gay man. That’s how he’s selling it, anyway.
There’s hope. Who knows where they’ll be next December. Louis could very well be right; this might finally be their year.
Going into their tenth year together, Harry kisses the love of his life and takes his words as a mantra.
💙👹💙
we were lucky once,
could be lucky again
This won’t be their year, Louis’s fairly sure. Certainly not in the way he’d imagined.
It feels like everything’s on an indefinite hold, which is too close to how his whole solo career’s gone for comfort, really. He’s still heartbroken over just getting a taste of tour before having it ripped away, and then there was the miserable separation that followed while Harry was in LA working on his next record. They’d had to make do with endless FaceTime calls, which was nice in a way, the way they’d plan their days and nights around each other, talking well past the sun rising in London. Despite the ocean between them, Louis feels like it was the most they’d really talked in years, because they had the time and the inclination to really get into everything, their deepest thoughts and fears about their entire situation. The thing about Harry is, he compartmentalises, or he shuts down. Louis gets it, is a bit the same himself, and especially over the last year they’ve had so little time together that when they are, the last thing they want to be doing is talking about all the shit that gets them down. They just want to be together, get so lost in each other and how good it feels to be together that it’s easy to ignore all the rest. This time apart, especially early on, when it was clear all Harry wanted to do was cheer Louis up and the only way he could see to do that was through talking, it opened the floodgates for the conversations they’ve badly needed to have.
It was so good. Despite the distance, Louis wound up feeling closer to Harry than he had in ages, even though it’s not like things were bad between them before. He just felt like he knew for sure they were on the same page, because they’d talked about it, not just assumed they knew what the other was thinking.
Having a weird telepathic connection with your spouse can be a drawback, sometimes. When you rely on it instead of actually talking through your shit.
And Harry’s gotten better at talking in general, Louis thinks, not just with him — with Mitch and Sarah, with his mum and Gemma, and with his therapist, who he’s been on Zoom calls with more frequently. He’s spent this year so far trying to work through his shit, and Louis is so proud of him for that.
March, April, and May had their benefits, and he’s not sure he’d trade them, but he’d still say ultimately they sucked for one reason: he just wanted to hold Harry. So much of the time. When he was down about tour, when Harry was sad and lonely, when he was sad and lonely. The fucking yearning was stronger than he’d felt in forever, with no end in sight, it was enough to drive him mental.
But then June came, and Harry came home.
June was wonderful. June was romance, and sex at all times, and dancing in their kitchen like they used to, watching rom coms and documentaries, listening to old music they’d forgotten and new stuff they’d discovered. Hearing some of Harry’s new songs, and being teased by his ideas for others. Talking, still, about what they want to do next. Planning. Thinking of new signals, new promo ideas for when they eventually release music, tour outfits and visuals and merch. Louis is so excited about his merch ideas.
And he’s thinking about the next record. He’s maybe got a title. He’d thought of Faith In The Future before the pandemic, when he’d been so hopeful about where the year would take them. It was a nice little slogan to keep him focused on where he was heading, and something to tell the fans to hopefully soothe their minds as well. Harry calls him his optimism boy and maybe he’s right, because even with the pandemic Louis can’t help feeling it’s an apt phrase. It’s something he needs, even, especially when everything feels so up in the air. He needs optimism, he needs to have faith that at some point, eventually, they’ll have the future he dreams of.
For now, though, it’s July. He’s still got Harry home in London, and tomorrow his contract with Syco expires. He’ll be free of Simon.
In a way, they’ll never be free of Simon. The measures he started are going to exist long after he’s contractually out of their lives, and the emotional scarring he’s left might always be there. But Louis won’t be chained to him any longer, won’t have to bend to his shitty whims or listen to anything he has to say. This is the one thing this year that’s gone perfectly to plan, even if Louis’s had nightmares where he was somehow stuck in his contract forever, and Harry says it’s worth celebrating.
His idea of celebrating is getting drunk and watching their entire X-Factor journey someone’s put on YouTube.
It’s been up for years apparently, but they’ve never watched it. Whenever they’ve felt nostalgic, they’ve watched the video diaries and that was enough. But Anne has, and Niall has, and they both recommend it. And even if Louis feels it’s somewhat of an oxymoron to celebrate being free of Simon by watching hours of his face, he can see why Harry suggested it. It is a celebration, to relive where they started, to remind themselves just how young they were when Simon got his claws in. To watch their teenage selves fall in love.
And it’s almost the ten year anniversary. Harry will probably be in Italy for it, and Louis hasn’t decided yet if he’s going to join him. So when they cuddle up in their big bed with a few bottles of wine, YouTube cast to the telly (which Harry always says shouldn’t be in here for ‘good sleep health’ but he hasn’t removed it and Louis doubts he will), it’s an early anniversary celebration as well.
Harry’s the first one they show, his interview in the crowd, and Louis has flashbacks instantly. He remembers it so vividly, the first time he’d seen Harry, in front of the cameras amidst all those people. Remembers the way he couldn’t take his eyes off him, the magnetism he’d felt, like his entire being just knew how special that person was. Knew he was going to be everything.
Harry’s audition has Louis pinching his cheek and cooing. “Look at you! Didn’t stand a chance, did I?”
Harry giggles. “God. I was a baby.”
“Yeah,” Louis says. “Proper cherub.” Harry sings on screen, and Louis sighs. “Can’t believe you did that song. You’re the fuckin’ most precious thing. Wanting a baby at sixteen.”
Harry grins at him. “I’ve always wanted kids. Even as young as I was.”
Louis cackles. “Swear to fuckin’ God,” he laughs. “Don’t you quote Larry Moments at me.”
“What’re you gonna do about it?” Harry says, giggling, and Louis obviously has to kiss him to shut him up.
There’s Liam, and they boo at Simon’s smarmy insistence that he was right to reject him before. Then Niall, with all his bouncy confidence, which contrasts hard with Zayn’s nerves.
Then there’s the ten excruciating seconds of Louis’s audition, which he winces through. “Horrible,” he says.
“No,” Harry says emphatically, frowning. “Shut up, oh my God. I’m gonna cry,” and he sounds it, his voice cracking. “Look at you. You’re so cute. That’s the boy I fell in love with. Makes my heart fucking burst.”
“Oh, H,” Louis says. He thinks if he could see himself the way Harry’s always seen him, his ego would never recover.
“Can’t believe they didn’t show more of you. The whole nation would’ve fallen too.”
“Think ‘m glad they only showed that much,” Louis says, but his heart aches. Sometimes he feels so sorry for his younger self it hurts, and the one thing that helps is knowing how much Harry’s always loved him.
“The editing’s fucked already,” Harry grumbles. “I murdered Hey Soul Sister. They should’ve shown that.”
“No, they shouldn’t’ve,” Louis says, kissing his cheek. “S’okay, love. Came out of nowhere and wowed the public with my charisma later, didn’t I.”
He’s joking, but Harry looks at him seriously and says, “Yeah. You did.”
Yeah, some things never change, and Harry’s unwavering admiration is one of them. Louis has to kiss him again for it.
There’s Bootcamp and being put together and Louis jumping into Harry’s arms. Still one of the top ten moments of his life, he thinks. There’s Judges Houses and Louis’s trip to emergency and how desperately lost the boys were without him, something he really couldn’t understand at the time. They get through and all Louis can remember is how surreal that’d been, how sure they’d been that they wouldn’t. He and Harry had already been orbiting around each other, already had late nights and kisses at the bungalow, already felt they were inevitable. They’d thought Judges Houses would be a laugh, but they’d go home together. Instead, everything changed.
Harry falls asleep during Week Five. Louis takes his empty wine glass from his loose grasp and reaches over to put it on the bedside table, then switches the telly off and curls back around him. He knows Harry’ll be grumpy in the morning about not brushing his teeth, and Louis probably will too, but right now he can’t be arsed. It feels infinitely more important right now to cuddle Harry; all he can really think about is the baby version he’s been watching for hours, the stars in both their eyes, the way his hyperactive younger self did everything possible for his attention. He remembers how it felt to make Harry laugh — that glow has never gone away, but god it was something special back then. And he remembers when he realised how deep he’d fallen.
There’d been two realisations, really, with that. The first was about Harry, and it was the first week of living together in the X-Factor house. They’d only properly decided to make a go of it the week earlier, because yeah it was risky and stupid but how far could their slapdash band really go on The X-Factor? As badly as they wanted it, the realist in Louis just didn’t think they’d make it very far. Meanwhile Harry just thought they could have both. They were so young and neither of them had ever felt so much for another person before and basically Louis thought he’d die if he waited any longer for Harry to be his boyfriend. They figured they could easily keep it a secret for a few weeks until they were eliminated.
But then they weren’t eliminated, and they couldn’t really keep it a secret, and the second realisation came weeks later — shit, they’d be coming up to it now, wouldn’t they? When Simon pulled them into a meeting, told them off (gently, really, nothing like the bollockings they’d get later, because they hadn’t signed their souls over to him yet), and sent Louis home for a few days to ‘think about what he really wanted’.
Harry wasn’t expendable to the band, of course. But Louis was. Simon made that clear.
Louis still remembers how inconsolable Harry had been. It was their first taste of the cruelty to come, and even with as shrewd as he was, poor precious baby Harry couldn’t fathom how gross the industry could be. Louis had been in shock himself, but his priority had been to convince Harry that everything would be fine, that this wouldn’t change anything, that he’d still be in the band and he’d still like Harry just as much.
Because somehow that last point was in question. Ridiculous.
He was right in a way. He came back and things were more or less the same. But with Simon they’d changed forever. And they didn’t win, did they, and their emotions were manipulated so badly that they didn’t think about what they signed, and Simon had the prior knowledge to sneak in some clauses that are still fucking them up a decade later.
At least this is the last night Louis has to spend beholden to his solo contract. He feels the rise and fall of Harry’s chest and knows he wouldn’t change any of it if it wouldn’t get him here. He’s lucky, really.
He falls asleep thinking about his reason for doing any of this, his muse and inspiration and partner in crime. His because.
“There’s no way out,” a horrible, familiar voice booms, mocking, menacing. “You’ll never get out.”
Louis’s in the dark, and he can’t breathe, and he can’t move — he looks at his arm spread out beside him and sees his hand is stuck to paper, his other hand too, his feet, like a bizarre game of Twister, like a sticky spiderweb, a finger trap that tightens the more he struggles.
“You did this. You wanted this. You chose this. I own you.”
Louis tries to yell, to argue, but nothing comes out, he can’t speak. There’s a wall of paper behind him, he feels it as he struggles, his back sticking to it.
Harry’s here somewhere, his feverish brain screams. He needs to find Harry. Save Harry. They can’t both be stuck here in this never-ending void of paper and cruel laughter, but he can’t free himself, can’t even call out to him.
“I’ll always own you.”
You won’t, Louis wants to yell, but the voice isn’t even his priority, it’s fading into the background, it’s not important. What’s important is Harry, he needs to get to Harry.
“You’re nothing without me.”
Another wall of paper flies towards him, and words jump out at him — Clause C, the artist agrees, five years, throughout the universe in perpetuity — “I will destroy you,” the voice says calmly, and the papers explode in Louis’s face, and Louis manages to find his voice as he screams Harry’s name.
“‘M here,” Harry says sleepily, but he doesn’t seem jolted awake like Louis is. He’s running his fingers over Louis’s face, like he’s been half-awake for a while, trying to comfort Louis through his dreams. “S’okay, honey. You’re okay.”
Louis needs to catch his breath. He’s in bed, Harry’s here. The room’s fairly lightened, on the verge of daybreak, and he can move. There’s no paper, just soft sheets and Harry.
His throat feels hoarse, like he’s actually screamed. Maybe he has.
“Same dream?” Harry asks, his fingers pushing Louis’s long sweaty fringe off his forehead.
Louis relaxes, finally, into the pillows, getting an arm around Harry as he curls closer into Louis’s side. “Mhm,” he murmurs. “Simon. Contracts. Was stuck, and couldn’t get to you.”
“I’m here,” Harry says again. He kisses Louis’s jaw. “We’re safe. There’s nothing he can do.”
I know, Louis wants to say, but he doesn’t feel like that’s the full truth. “I fucking hate him,” he says instead.
“I know,” Harry says. “Me too. We’ll bury him one day.”
“Figuratively or literally,” Louis says, and Harry huffs a laugh.
“Was it a bad idea, d’you think, watching the show?” he asks, and when Louis looks down at him, he sees him biting his lip.
“Sure I’d’ve dreamed it anyway,” Louis says. “S’today, innit.”
“Still,” Harry says. “Probably didn’t help.”
“Seeing our love story always helps,” Louis says softly, and he can practically feel Harry melt. “Seeing you. Beautiful baby you, the way you looked at me. You’re the cure for everything.”
“The antidote,” Harry murmurs, not even in response, like he’s thinking, and then he meets Louis’s eyes. “It’s you, not me.”
Louis laughs. “Agree to disagree, love,” he says, and stretches a bit, ignoring Harry’s pout. “Don’t think I’m going back to sleep. Might have a smoke.”
“In a minute,” Harry says, his arm tightening around Louis’s waist. “Haven’t had enough of my antidote.”
Louis laughs and kisses him.
When he goes outside for his first smoke of the day, Harry follows him with two cups of tea, and so does Cliff, throwing himself at their feet. They sit watching the sun rise through the trees and fog, the birds tittering in the garden. Harry steals Louis’s cigarette halfway through and Louis lights a second one. Louis leans against him, sharing smoke and relative quiet, and feels like he can breathe.
They have breakfast on the sofa and start back in on the show, Week Five. Harry isn’t sure it’s the best idea, but Louis insists. He wants to relive this. And he wants the feeling of being sat here, cuddled with his baby, ten years after Simon first tried to rip them apart. Wants to look at that smug evil face and think you’ll never break us.
They spend the day watching the rest of their journey, and then they fall into YouTube’s algorithm, watching multiple Funny One Direction Moments and Iconic Larry Moments.
On the one hand it’s beautiful. Louis will never tire of watching Harry so obviously in love with him, of how when Louis teases him about it, Harry is somehow both shrinkingly embarrassed and stubbornly proud. He’ll never tire of the delight on Harry’s face at all the footage of Louis being equally obvious. There’s something wonderful about it, the situation they’re in, the way their relationship has had to be, that so much of it has been documented, that tangible proof does exist out there in the world that they’ve always been in love. It isn’t just theirs, it’s there for anyone who wants to see it.
On the other hand… Louis feels something of a deep sadness, watching the young versions of himself and his lads. How carefree and innocent they were in the beginning, how jaded they became, watching them slowly have enough. Some clips remind him of how badly he misses it, and he can never have that back, never the same way. And some clips make him so fucking angry.
They were kids. Kids. Their brains were still developing, they were still learning self worth and healthy boundaries and their perceptions of self, and they were shown over and over again that their value lay in how many strangers they could attract. Their worth was measured in how many girls were screaming for them, how many wanted to be with them, and they couldn’t do anything to jeopardise that, including and especially be themselves.
It’s so fucked up, and it’s a marvel they’re as normal as they are. That they’ve been able to find themselves through each other. Louis watches himself defend Harry’s hair, encourage Harry to wear nail polish, smile proudly as Harry waves a flag, and his heart doesn’t feel big enough to hold how much it makes him feel. How proud he is of them both for everything they’ve overcome.
A Best Live Moments video starts next, and it’s cleansing, in a way. Because even though it’s a real manifestation of how many girls can you interest, even knowing how relentless the schedule was, how exhausted they were, they really did shine live. Louis watches them switch out lyrics, Harry’s dancing, Zayn’s high notes, his and Liam’s water fights, Niall’s ‘you sing!’ and if he closes his eyes, he’s there. Sweating, singing his heart out, looking out at a sea of lights and overwhelmed faces, sharing a stage with the love of his life.
He misses it so fucking much.
“I do miss it, you know,” Harry says, like he knows what Louis’s thinking. He probably does. It’s probably very obvious. “It’s intense, sometimes, how much I miss it.”
Louis opens his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Feels like everything was… safer, then,” Harry says, then he frowns. “No. Maybe that’s just nostalgia.”
“Some things were safer,” Louis reasons. “You had us. And we were young, nobody took us seriously. And everything didn’t rest solely on you.”
“But it felt like it did, sometimes,” Harry says. “A lot of the time. On us, on keeping hidden. All of it was so… It was so much, like, so extreme. How can something be both the best time of your life and the worst?”
“S’our lives, I s’pose,” Louis says, because it kind of is. There’s nothing that’s just wholly good. But then, nothing that’s wholly bad.
“I know you want to do it again,” Harry says. “It’s not that I don’t. It’s just that it’s… it’s so fucking terrifying. I can’t go back to how it was, Lou. I can’t.”
“Oh, baby. I know,” Louis says, pulling him in tighter. Even if they hadn’t talked about it extensively, which they have, over the years and over so many of their FaceTime calls, unpacking the damage One Direction did to both of them, Louis would still know. Going back to being boxed in and separated, spending so much of their time together but pretending, trying to keep every natural impulse in check, the complete lack of control, being at the whim of those around them… it’d be hard enough for Louis to do it again. It’d be impossible for Harry. “We can never go back to that.”
“When we do it, we have to do it right,” Harry says, which is what he’s always said, and Louis agrees like he always does. Harry sighs. “There’s such a block in my mind with it. I can’t imagine how it’d be.”
“It is hard to imagine,” Louis says. “It’s been so long, too. We’ve all grown. Some of us literally.” He traces his finger along the moustache Harry’s been growing, and Harry giggles. “I guess it’s more of a fantasy, when I think of it. I just think of us. Open. Writing songs together again. Singing about each other. Performing together.”
Harry sighs again, but this time it’s wistful. “I want that,” he says. “I really miss performing with you.”
Same. There’s a lot they’d sacrifice, back in the day, to be able to perform side by side.
“Nothing really compares to singing to you,” Louis says.
Harry looks at him with soft eyes and kisses him. “I love you,” he says. “One day. It’ll happen.”
It’s a strange feeling when both your past and your future scare you. They know what they don’t want, but the future they want feels so unreal, and to get it means tearing apart everything about their public lives.
Because Simon might be out of the picture, but Louis’s stunts still exist. The plan had been to evaluate the fan atmosphere after the tour, but now that’s all been pushed back. It’s infuriating that he still has to wait, but on the other hand, he’s not sure how ready he is for his entire world to implode. He hates the lies, but there’s a comfort to them, there’s a safety in knowing there are fans who see through it, and knowing the rest don’t actually hate him yet. Because he feels like they will, once they know they’ve been so thoroughly lied to.
Not to mention Harry’s whole situation. Harry doesn’t quite see it this way, but Louis feels like he’s replaced Simon with Jeff and Rob. Columbia is Sony, and Sony is fucking awful still, even if they don’t complain quite as much about Harry being Harry. They still do complain. And they try to monetise it, which is maybe worse, it makes him look inauthentic. Louis thinks it’s really not that different to how it was with the band; every queer action needing an equal or stronger het reaction. And Harry agrees, and hates it, but then he says Jeff has a plan, Rob won’t stand in the way, it won’t be long, certain things just have to happen first —
And Louis realises it sounds just like him and his own bullshit.
Because it is. Their closets might look different, but they’re the fucking same, right down to the complete unknown of whether this will all blow up in their faces.
It’s been such a long road to get to where they are, and they’re still so far from where they want to be. The road feels fucking never ending. They’re not quite wrapped in chains any more, but it’s ribbon and red tape and empty promises.
And other mixed metaphors.
But. Faith in the future. One day they’ll get to a point where it won’t feel like they’re risking everything. They have to. Or maybe the benefits will outweigh the risk, because they’ll know they’ll have enough support. Maybe it’ll happen before Louis’s next record’s out, or maybe it won’t happen for another ten years.
Louis hopes it’s sooner than that. He still has the dreams he’d had in One Direction, of attending events publicly together, loudly supporting each other, going to dinner together without hiding, being able to say who their songs are about. Performing together. The power couple they could be. It’s an incredible, terrifying dream, but it’s becoming less scary every day.
Watching how much they’d put on display while in the band, and thinking about how much support they’d had even then, and thinking about how much the world’s changed since… People would be shocked, and so many of them would be horrible, he’s not deluding himself into thinking they wouldn’t be. Especially the ones who don’t think he’s good enough for Harry. (He knows they exist. He’s seen them on Twitter.) But… largely, those who hate it would move on. They’ve just got to hope there’d be support from the majority. And from the industry.
And that still feels too early to call.
But he thinks about what they built up from nothing with One Direction. The support he and Harry have gathered, even when there was seemingly no reason to keep believing in them. What Harry’s built, the way people expect rainbows of him now, how he’s sung about men, worn dresses, nail polish. His collection of gay shirts. He’s in talks for a queer film. Surely the truth can’t be too far from people’s minds.
So that’s something he needs to build up too, for himself. And he needs to make the connection between them clear, clearer than Princess Park, even. He’s on his way, he hopes. He hopes they both are. He has to believe they can get there.
Someone needs to be Harry’s optimism boy.
There’s a poem Harry showed him. Richard Brautigan. But the wait was worth it. Because I was in love.
It’s really as simple as that.
💚👹💚
i pay for it more than i did back then
there’s just no getting through
without you
In September Harry shoots his Vogue cover. It’s unbelievable, getting to be on the cover of bloody Vogue, getting to wear all the genderfucked fashion his heart desires, being told it’s likely they’ll pick one of him wearing the blue dress for the cover. It feels a bit like getting to show the public a little bit more of who he is, and getting to see how they’d react.
September also comes with good news and bad news. He’s been cast in two films. One is My Policeman, the gay role he’s been pining for all year. He already knows the entire script back to front — Louis probably has it memorised as well, Harry’s enlisted him to rehearse often enough. He’s out of his mind with excitement about it.
But as with everything else in his career, it’s one step forward, one gigantic leap back. Jeff and the rest of the execs were convinced he needed to play a straight romantic lead if he wanted My Policeman; if he wanted a career in Hollywood, he needed to show he could do both. If he ever wanted to come out and not be cast aside into ‘nothing roles’, as Jeff called them.
Harry doesn’t even know if he cares about that. Still doesn’t know if he wants a career in Hollywood. He thinks it’s always going to be back burner, play second fiddle to music, because that’s where he can be the most himself and that’s always going to be more fulfilling.
But he still can’t tour, and he wants My Policeman, and it’s been made clear this is the sacrifice he’ll have to make to get it.
It’s worse, though, than just playing straight, worse than the sex scenes that he fears will be awkward as hell. Harry will be replacing someone who backed out, the film starts shooting early October, barely enough time for him to meet the cast considering he’s got to be in Italy this month to shoot the Golden video. The studio’s scrambling, already trying to figure out a promo push, how to set this film apart, and apparently the producers won’t make a shitton of money unless it breaks even. They need a box office draw, which is him, apparently, and Florence Pugh. And they’re thinking they need a PR relationship.
Harry knows Florence; she’s with Zach, and so there’s no way she’s doing a stunt. Which leaves Harry, and the director, Olivia. Jeff is really enthused about the idea, says now he can pass off all those romantic songs he’s been writing as being about her, and Harry feels ill. He can’t see how it’ll be anything but regressive, back into ‘Harry loves older women’ territory but worse, she’s his director, she’s been in a long term relationship, she has kids. This’ll make him look like an unprofessional homewrecker, and he has absolutely no desire to bring kids into another stunt.
But he wants to do My Policeman, and his team says he should do the straight role before that, and that he’s lucky to get this one so last minute. Jeff says he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find another, and anyway, doesn’t he want the freedom to write whichever love songs his heart desires? And he says she’s a feminist, she aligns so nicely with Harry’s views and image, and Harry heard great things about Booksmart. This is meant to be a feminist film. It’s perfect for Harry, his team all say.
Louis fucking hates it, and he rages about it with Harry, and then holds Harry while he cries out his frustration. He doesn’t say any ‘I told you so’s about Jeff, though he’d be well in his right to. This is probably the time Harry would agree with him without any caveats. Jeff’s manipulation is painfully obvious, and he breaks his own heart wondering if they were ever really friends, if Jeff ever wanted to help him, or whether he just saw a meal ticket desperate and naïve enough to believe any bullshit fairytale.
And he’s still believing it, isn’t he? Still hoping the haze on the horizon is the change he wants and not something worse.
At the end of the day, he supposes, he hopes, if he plays along, he might get to where he wants to be. And after all, right now he has dresses and gay roles. This’ll be bad, but it can’t be that bad. And so he insists on lawyers and clauses and strict rules about how public they can be, how much they’ll confirm. He won’t call her his girlfriend. He won’t have another Cherry. And he gets his way on all of that, almost too easily, but… that’s it. Once shooting starts, they’ll start seeding it.
The day the contract’s signed and sent off, Harry puts on one of Louis’s UMBRO shirts and goes out into the streets, walking around until he finds a fan who wants a selfie. Because fuck it. Recklessly showing the fans he and Louis are together has always been his best coping mechanism.
At the end of September, Harry goes to LA, and then to James’s empty house in Palm Springs. Louis waits a week before joining him, right before shooting starts. And it’s such a wonderful gift, Harry is so fucking glad he’s there, because there’s so much pressure.
Like, sure, he’s technically played a straight role for the last ten years, but one would argue not very well. And he’s never tried very hard — he’s never even had to, usually standing next to a woman is good enough. So he’s got to be believably romantically interested in a woman on screen, which is challenge enough, and then there’s sex as well, which is just, God, so fucking weird. And then he’s got to be believably romantically interested in the bloody director off screen, because they’re kind of counting on the crew to talk.
Harry hasn’t felt so anxious about a stunt since Taylor, and now even that feels so much smaller than this.
Maybe it shouldn’t matter so much. If he can’t pull it off, maybe he’ll be fired, and then this whole little problem will solve itself. But it feels like if he can’t do it, there goes his acting career.
“I know you’re trying to figure out who you are, beyond music,” Louis says carefully, after he sweetly asks how Harry’s feeling and Harry dumps out all his insecurities. “But worrying about fucking up your acting career is — sorry, baby, I just feel like it’s pointless.”
Harry frowns. Louis’s voice and eyes are as soft as can be, but that still stings a bit.
“I’m sorry, I know you can’t help it,” Louis says before Harry can say exactly that. “Of course you’re feeling the pressure. There is pressure. But freaking yourself out, psyching yourself out with all your fears, it won’t help.”
Well. He’s right. “Yeah,” Harry says, then bites his lip.
“First of all, you know, I’m not really that worried about you selling it. You’re a brilliant actor, you know that.”
Harry’s face scrunches. Louis would say that, wouldn’t he. But it’s nice to hear, even from a biased source.
“But also, like. D’you remember that video, when we were on Sesame Street, and you look like you’re flirting with a muppet?”
Harry laughs, mainly in surprise.
“You can have sexual chemistry with a fucking muppet. You zero in on anyone you’re talking to and it looks like you want to fuck them. It’s just how you are, you know that. I really don’t think you need to worry. People will eat this up just like they always have.”
Harry sighs, relaxing back into Louis's lap. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m always right,” Louis says as he runs his fingers through Harry's hair. “But even if, on the off chance, you fuck it up. And your options for roles narrow down. Well, so what? Acting isn’t your main priority anyway, and I’m sure you could still find something interesting. I don’t really see the issue with you only getting queer roles, to be fair.”
He always makes it sound so simple. There’re so many voices in Harry’s head, all the people on his team who want him to be a certain way or believe doing xyz would be the best or only move for him. And Harry stresses over it all until Louis reminds him, it doesn’t fucking matter. What they want for him usually isn’t even what Harry wants, and just because industry professionals say something, doesn’t make it true.
“Also, shit, it’s so fucking fickle,” Louis continues, almost ranting now. “You could be incredible but the critics think it’s a shit script or summat and then what.” He shrugs. “I know what Jeff and that’ve been saying but I just, I don’t want you to pin everything on this role and make it scarier than it is. Just. Dial it back. It’s not that important. And unless you can find some fun in it, you’re going to be miserable.”
He’s kind of right there. Harry’s been dreading filming, and he doesn’t want to feel that way. He likes this cast; he likes Florence, Gemma Chan’s a good friend, he gets to work with Chris bloody Pine for fuck’s sake. He wants to enjoy this.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Harry says, twisting in Louis’s arms so he can kiss him. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
“You could,” Louis says, ever the supportive partner. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
Louis’s there until late November, through the preliminary shooting which is rocky at best, a nightmare at worse. Harry couldn’t say how this film will turn out, but he’s fairly sure it isn’t through fault of his own. He hopes. And he really isn’t sure how feels about Olivia. The cast and crew either seem to love her or hate her. At most he can say she’s not living up to his hopes for her.
It’s all a bit of a shame really. But he’s so glad he has Louis to come home to at the end of each day. There’s something about being able to drop into bed with him after playing a 1950s caricature that makes him feel almost like they have normal lives. And Louis asks him every day to tell him something fun, whether it was something that happened on set or something Harry got to do. Harry can see the way he’s trying to reframe the experience into something enjoyable, it’s lovely.
Trying to find fun stuff on set leads to an unlikely friendship with Nick Kroll, who then comes over for dinner at one point with his wife and gets on smashingly with Louis. Gemma comes over every now and then, and so do Florence and Zach. They’ve all signed NDAs about the stunt, but more than that, Harry finds he trusts them, and it’s nice to share Louis with them. So that’s something.
And Louis’s there for the Vogue drop and the shit storm that follows.
Louis’s the one on Twitter and Tumblr, because of course he is. They both know Harry’s better off getting this stuff filtered through him than searching it out himself. His team are sending updates too, but Harry’s ignoring them, his phone periodically buzzing from somewhere in the bedsheets while he focuses on Louis.
The fan reaction is overwhelmingly positive, to Louis’s complete lack of surprise but to Harry’s awe. He sees the posts Louis shows him and feels like he’s buzzing out of his skin, he feels so seen. The first few hours are beautiful.
And then it reaches everyone else, and the discourse begins. He’s being accused of queer baiting on a grand scale, by actual queer people, while conservatives are giving him shit for being too girly and gay.
The latter, they’d expected. The former hurts much more.
Louis’s furious about it, of course. “What the fuck are they even talking about? They’re pissed off you’re not the first to wear a dress? Jesus Christ, you’re not saying you are!” And, “They don’t know anything about you! How can they decide you’re straight and cis when you’ve never fucking said so!” And, “Don’t these people know closets exist? You’d think other gay people would be fucking aware of that, wouldn’t you?” And, ultimately, “What the fuck do they want from you? Come out or you can’t wear dresses? How fucking reductive is that? And, like, you’ve got these Fox News fuckwits blithering on about you on the other side of Twitter — why can’t they see how coming out would affect you? Haz I’m about to lose me fuckin’ mind.”
Harry takes his phone off him then, because he’s been fighting people on his burner account, but he’s about two more sentences away from actually saying something on his main Twitter. Which would be so unreal most people would honestly assume it was a hack, but it feels like the last thing they need. Jeff’s head might explode.
They need to do something else.
One of James’s spare rooms was converted into a little studio when they moved in here, and that’s where they sequester themselves. There’s guitars, amps, a keyboard, and even a basic drum kit Harry had been sure they wouldn’t use, but he finds himself sitting at it. He bashes all his feelings out onto the drums as Louis squeals discordantly on a guitar, both of them screaming, a wall of sound so fucking feral it can’t be anything but cathartic. It drowns out every outside voice, it's just them in a sea of noise.
In the Vogue aftermath, Harry can feel the atmosphere around his image changing. He knows it was foolish of him to hope that the public might see him and draw the correct conclusions without having to be told, especially after a decade of womaniser bullshit, on top of how deliberately ambiguous he's being. His team want him to just say he’s bi, every now and then Jeff suggests ideas for how he can do that, but Harry can’t. He just can’t lie about something as important to him as this is.
He does want to come out. But he wants to come out with Louis, with the truth, with as much of the truth they can manage while maintaining their privacy, not alienating half their fans, not being sued into oblivion. And the timeline for that is so far off anything that would satisfy the parts of the public convinced he’s some cishet queerbaiter.
He needs to be able to shut off how hurt he is that parts of his own community won’t accept him as he is right now. It’s his own fault, in a way. This is partially his choice. Sure, his and Louis’s teams don’t want them out yet, there are still contacts, there’s a whole house of cards that needs to fall first. But doing it this way is what he’s agreed to.
He can’t stand to be halfway free. He can’t say he’s bi or stunt with a man or do anything that undermines his actual truth. Being welcomed by the community isn’t worth it if it means he has to validate his past stunts or invalidate his real relationship. For now, he’s more visually honest than he’s ever been, and he just has to hope that other people will catch on.
It’s hard. It gets harder when Louis goes back to London and Olivia starts coming ‘round to seed their stunt. James and his family come to stay, so at least Harry has a buffer, with James monopolising the dinner conversation. Harry still feels like a shell of himself.
He tries to channel his anger, frustration, fear, hurt, into Jack. There's a day, during filming, a scene where he's yelling at Florence, and he feels completely outside himself. Like he's not in his body, he's watching from afar, from behind the cameras, from a seat at the cinema. He sees Jack, sees Harry Styles, sees the illusion so many want him to be. Maybe it's believable, maybe it isn't, he's not sure. But he sees someone who is so far from himself it hurts. He spends the rest of the day in a daze, and then he goes back to James's and hops in the shower. Washing the makeup off his tattoos helps, seeing the black ink reappear on his skin reminds him of who he is, the truth he knows, but he still feels out of it. Not really clean. He lights some candles and draws a bath and phones Louis, gets him to talk about the rehearsals for his livestream, and eventually he comes back into his body.
Being outside himself is very strange. It's almost like the feeling he's chased in other ways, during sex with subspace and with drugs and alcohol, but whatever this was was different. It was an unsettling thing his brain had done on its own, and he'd felt so alone. Unsafe. And so weird.
He doesn't want to be that person, and he hates that anyone thinks he is. Hates that he'd felt like he was, even just for the moment. He doesn't want that to be anything close to what people think of when they think of him.
Harry Styles needs to change. Harry isn't quite sure how, especially not when this film might just reinforce it, but he's so sure of that now. He can't be okay living like this.
Days later, Louis has his livestream, which Harry watches alone in the bed they’d shared, and Harry’s heart soars with how beautiful he looks, how incredible he sounds. The H on his shirt is a phenomenal surprise, Harry can hardly contain how it makes him feel to be so obviously publicly claimed. And he sings his new song Copy, his YMCA and Sign Of The Times love child, and Harry is so unbelievably proud of him, he can’t stand it. Their FaceTime call afterwards is full of desperate longing and incredible joy.
He barely has a day to bask in the afterglow before finding out that the stunt will debut in the first few days of January. Right after the TPWK video comes out, which has been pushed back all year, probably to coincide with this. He’s so proud of the video, he feels like it’s queer joy, and of course he can’t drop something like that without having the worst het pushback he’s had in years.
It’s going to destroy his fans. It might destroy him. He’s fucking dreading it.
And it’s so bizarre, what they’re going into 2021 with.
“It feels like such a weird contrast to last year,” Harry says over FaceTime with Louis the day before New Years. Because of course, as a horrible cherry on top, they’re spending it on different continents. “Last year we had all this hope. This year has been a clusterfuck, and I feel… I feel like I’m going into the next one doomed.”
“Yeah,” Louis says, sweeping back his fringe as he sighs. His fringe is so long. Harry’s momentarily distracted. “But. It’s not forever, yeah? We know where the road’s taking us.”
“Just keep driving,” Harry mumbles. He can’t help how obsessed he is with his new album.
“Exactly,” Louis says with his fond smile. “We’ll make it to the other side. Yeah, this next year might be fucking horrible, but the next will be better. Or maybe, it’ll just be some days that are bad. Some weeks. And then the rest of it’ll be — like. Us, together. And you’ll finish your record. And do your gay film. And maybe we’ll be able to tour.”
“You’ll do your festival,” Harry says, unable to help smiling. He really, really hopes Louis will be able to do his festival.
“Hopefully, yeah,” Louis says with his own smile.
“And you’ll write more songs about me,” Harry says.
Louis laughs. “Of course.”
“At least, I guess, I feel more, like — settled, than I did last year,” Harry says. “I mean, I’m not as scared. I think… I feel ready?”
Louis’s watching him, patiently waiting as always for him to find his point, knowing he hasn’t gotten there yet.
“It’s like, kinda like how it was in the band, actually,” Harry says slowly, puzzling it out. “It’s like, when the stunts are this bad, it just makes me want the opposite. All the reasons I want privacy or I’m scared of how everything will change — none of that fucking matters, because this is so much worse.”
“Mm,” Louis hums. “I get that. I s’pose… I feel like, if nothing else, this year got us to, like, analyse what we want. What we need.”
“I feel a bit less like we’re stalling,” Harry says. “Even if there’s still a long way to go. Even if it’s years away. I can see where we’re going. Like, it’s still a huge fucking journey to get there, and there’s still so many roadblocks, but at least, like, I feel like a bunch of the ones in my mind have been cleared out?”
“Yeah,” Louis says, smiles. “Sounds like you have faith in the future, darling.”
Harry honks out a surprised laugh. “Guess so. Not the immediate future. But long term. Yeah.”
“Good,” Louis says. “Despite everything, I’m feeling it more than ever.”
“My optimism boy,” Harry smiles.
“It’s easy, darling,” Louis says. “Because I have faith in us.”
When Harry falls asleep, he feels content. The next few days will be a nightmare, but Louis will be in LA early next week. They’ll weather the storm together, like they always do.
It’s the one thing he’ll always be sure of. Wherever the road takes them, however it looks, it’ll be them at the end of it.
💚👹💚
if the stars were edible,
and our hearts were never full,
could we live with just a taste?
Madison Square Garden. Blue checked dress. Bloomers. Red stockings. Red glitter boots. Blush on his cheeks and false eyelashes, a bow in his hair. The butterflies Harry has while waiting to go on stage erupt across his entire being when he emerges to deafening cheers.
It’s unbelievable. Incredible. The awe and joy on the faces in front of him. The acceptance he feels wash over him like waves carried on their screams.
He prances around to Adore You, skips and twirls and curtseys and loses himself in the freedom. He can do anything, be anything right here on this stage tonight. It’s the most himself he’s ever felt in public, and it’s intoxicating, a heady rush, a high no drug can compare to.
The set’s a happy blur. Every time he catches glimpses of himself on the screens he can’t believe he’s doing this. That the crowd are with him. He sings She and for the first time doesn’t feel like he’s pretending. He’s real and raw like he’s never been before.
When he sings Somewhere Over The Rainbow, he closes his eyes and the room disappears. It’s just him, him and these words he feels in his soul, he’s a bluebird, he’s flying, why can’t he fly?
But one day he will. They will. He’ll be on a stage and everyone will know exactly who he is.
And it feels close now. This is close enough. This is what it could be, what it will be, it’ll be more than this. Someday.
He clicks his heels and finds his home backstage. Falls into his arms. Lets Louis’s praise wash over him and feels just as intensely as he did with a crowd of thousands.
Louis had only gotten to New York today. He said he had to be here for this, and now Harry gets him for at least a week. He feels so thoroughly loved. So cherished.
“Even just for tonight, they know who you are,” Louis says.
“One day they’ll know for good,” Harry says. “They’ll know us both.”
He’s not afraid of it anymore. He knows Louis isn’t either. What they’ll lose won’t compare to what they’ll gain. This night is proof, and he’ll carry the feeling until the end.
Here, sweating off his makeup, in his dress, in the arms of his angel. This is what freedom feels like. He’s ready for this to be their always.
just a little taste
💙💚