Archive of Our Own

1.

Oli can't remember a time when Louis Tomlinson wasn't an integral part of his life. It's as if Louis has always been there, like he fit into this place inside of Oli and it was as natural as breathing, like a limb. Oli wasn’t even sure if he was missing something before him, but after Louis takes up residency, it’s hard to ever think of a time without him. Louis has that way about him, an uncanny ability to draw people in, to make you feel safe and at home. He's the sun and everyone else is just a part of the orbit, circling and circling, blinded but never once considering closing their eyes. Once you have Louis' favor, once you're one of his, you never want to lose it.

It feels good to know you have Louis' attention.

Oli can still remember primary school, how all the other lads would rush around, try to make Louis notice them, watch them, be his best mate. Stan always came close, always a good contender, and Calvin too. But only Oli was chosen to sit by Louis at every snack, on the reading carpet, often in the corner for time outs. It was Oli who listened to Louis sing in the car, in his room, working up the nerve to try out for the drama club. It was Oli who helped him memorize lines.

The lads might have known about every crush, every sloppy make out in the back of a theater, about the girls who would stare and whisper from across the lunchroom. But it was Oli, on a cold September night lying on the floor next to Louis in his room, that had heard Louis ask about kissing boys. It was the awkward fumbling on a sleepover when Oli told Louis just to try it and see. A friendship secret kept between the two of them. A trophy for Oli to covet and keep close to his chest.

A piece of Louis that no one else could say they had. And maybe Oli was always doing that. Collecting pieces of Louis that he’d let him have.

They had grown up together, had bled together on the same cobblestone streets, rubbed grass stains from the same footie pitch into their knees. Oli was there for every birth of a sibling, for every long day at school, for every sleepover and movie night and mischief. Would follow him to the end of the street, the end of time, the end of a rope.

Louis is a king. Would charge into battle at the slightest provocation. A champion of the right and the just, even as he shrugs his shoulders under all the weight of it all. He had been the one punch the first bully to ever pull on Oli's ears and hiss 'ginger minger‘ at him. He had been the one to plot the revenge on the teacher who had called Luke a worthless dickhead. Would go stand up for anyone, help anyone who had been pushed down, loudly proclaiming he wouldn’t stand for it.

It was more than just in each other's pockets, more than neighbors, more than Donny lads. They were brothers. No secrets between them. Swore fidelity to each other. Made plans to be lads for the rest of their lives.

Then Louis went to an audition in London and he never came home.

It wasn’t like he slipped away piece by piece, grown apart the way most friendships formed in early years always seem to do. It’s like one moment Louis was there and the next he was behind a cloud, gone from sight. Or maybe not really sight because Oli saw him everywhere, on the telly, on billboards, on adverts for radio shows, on shirts and bags and any other type of wearable. He even saw Louis' charming face on Christmas ornaments, on duct tape, on plastic cups.

How can Oli reconcile the man running around a stage in front of thousands and the lad he remembers sneaking into Oli's window with a mischievous grin and a bottle of pilfered rum?

The whole thing is surreal, made more so now that Oli's sat in the same room as him, a place that he knows thousands of others would kill for the chance. But it isn’t Louis Tomlinson™ sprawled out over his beige couch. It's just Lou, Oli's best mate, even if he's wearing a jumper that probably cost more than all of Oli's clothes combined. He's still a bit damp around the ears from the shower, ruddy cheeks, and a sparkle in his eye that Louis keeps sending towards the other boy in the room.

Oli remembers that phone call, the first one, back when they weren't sure if Louis was going to make it past the auditions. It had been late, so fucking late, and Louis had rang him with the sound of loud laughter and shouting behind him. Oli had barely been awake, bleary eyed and exhausted from a day's work, but Louis had sounded so excited - so breathless with wonder - when Oli had finally picked up the line.

"I've met someone. I've met the most wonderful boy."

Harry Styles is an enigma. He's got the face of a choir boy - soft curved cheeks, big eyes, a mess of curls that he's constantly pushing to the side. He's the type of guy that Oli knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that the rest of the Donny lads would have bullied relentlessly. He just has this way about him, like Harry wants so much to be part of it all, but he's just too sweet, too bloody kind. The type to pull a prank and then turn himself in because he feels too guilty about it.

He's also wearing a jumper that Oli knows Jay gave to Louis for his birthday a few years back. The Adidas logo on the front is so faded it's nearly gone, collar frayed a bit so every time Harry shifts his weight forward, Oli can see the dark, purpling bruise right on the side of his neck. It’s not like he’s looking for it. Oli isn’t some sort of creep. It’s just that Harry wears it so casually, like it doesn’t matter. Nonchalant in his own display.

"Yeah, Zayn was saying there was this pub we should go to when we get a break. Up towards us a bit." Louis' arm is thrown over his head, aimlessly tugging on the thin tassels on the edge of the throw pillow he's resting on. Oli didn't even know Louis knew what a throw pillow was, honestly, or that he'd buy one, but there they are – a matching set in fact.

"Sounds ace." Oli answers, because it does, even if he's only said a few words to Zayn since arriving. He seems to be about though, good Northern boy, a bit of a competition for Oli but he’ll save the friendship crisis for later.

“Would be cool to take the rest of the lads around Donny, eh? Show ‘em the sights.” Louis grins in a rueful way and Oli already knows what he means. The sights aren’t going to be much more than the footie pitch they used to play on, the pub they’d find themselves in after school, and the alley that was usually designated for two things – pissing and puking.

Feels like a distant memory compared to now though.

They’re in Spain, the sunshine and the ocean spilling in from a window nearby. Louis had asked him to come, hadn’t even listened to Oli’s excuses, his protests of lack of funds. It was just decided, easy enough, and suddenly a plane ticket was in Oli’s email and then he was here, picked up by a few burly guys with a big car, escorted to the hotel. Felt the closest thing to important that Oli’s ever gotten, made even more so when the guys had ushered him through the underbelly of the place, past staff and dark corridors until they deposited Oli safe and sound right at Louis’ suite door.

The electric kettle flips off and Harry, who had been leaning on the counter in the kitchenette on his phone, pushes off and pours the water into the two mugs – each with the logo of the hotel on them. It was part of Oli’s present to Louis – a green box of Yorkshire tea and a pack of Nutella biscuits – things he wouldn’t be able to get on the road, things Louis misses. It had felt so important for Oli to bring him something, something to remind him of home, something to remind Louis of him – of Doncaster and growing up just a stone’s throw away from each other. Like an offering to a king, the spoils of his travels.

Now, it feels a bit silly. Louis probably has assistants and managers and the lot to take care of shit like this. All he has to do is snap his fingers and Louis probably gets whatever, whenever he wants it. Hell, even has one of his own band learning how to make him his cuppa. Though, Oli isn’t sure it’s fair to diminish Harry down to just band mate.

“So, what do you wanna do with the day? Got a bit of time before the show tonight and then tomorrow morning.” Louis asks, sits up a bit from where he was nearly laid down. Twenty years old and he looks tired, a little bruised around his eyes, makes the blue seem brighter somehow.

“I’m flexible.” Oli answers because he knows that really, neither of them have a choice. The large man outside of the suite door had implied as much when Louis had tried to open it to ‘go see what’s going on with the lads’ and the security had firmly pulled it shut.

In the kitchen, Harry is pulling the tea bags out of the cups, setting them in the bin nearby. He does it like it’s second nature, like it’s part of their routine, like he fits into this space that Oli never even knew was an option. Standing there in Louis’ clothes, in his suite, making Louis’ tea the way he likes. Didn’t even have to time it to steep it. Harry with his tousled curls and his too big eyes, happy to play this domestic game with Louis.

Louis himself is already becoming a stranger to Oli, a familiar place slowly eroding away with time and space, but Harry seems to be chipping at it too. Like he doesn’t even realize the way he’s changing Louis, reshaping him.

It makes Oli angry all of the sudden, feels hot in the chest with the way Harry bends down into the mini fridge to grab the milk, hums a little under his breath. This whole time Oli had been nervous that Zayn was taking his place and he hadn’t even realized it had been Harry carving out a spot for himself that Oli can’t ever fit. It feels distant, untouchable, and Oli doesn’t like it. He especially doesn’t like it when Louis trails his gaze over, ignores whatever conversation they were having to watch Harry walk across the room. It’s like he’s seeing part of his best friend that he didn’t know existed. He didn’t know Louis’ gaze could go soft like that, that Louis had a fond grin in that shape.

“I hope you don’t mind, Oli. When Lou said you were coming, I asked how you take it.” Harry's got both mugs in hand and he sets them delicately on the table between Oli’s chair and Louis’ couch, nestled on a pair of dark coasters. “Let me know if you need a bit more sugar.”

“Thanks, darling.” Louis catches Harry’s forearm as he moves to stand, is gentle in his tugging, pulls Harry into him so Louis can kiss him. It’s not even that intense of a kiss, more a press that lingers a little, but Oli feels his face go hot. That’s another part of Louis he isn’t privy too, and he doesn’t know why it fits weird in his chest to know that – to know that it matters to Oli – but maybe not in the same way it matters to Harry.

After all, isn’t everyone a little in love with their best mate?

“No. It’s good.” Oli isn’t even lying. The cuppa is perfect, sweet and a little bitter in the way only Yorkshire tea can be. It tastes like home, feels close to home too with Louis being here after so long, if only Oli wasn’t so caught up in his own head about it.

“Great. I’m so glad.” Harry beams, actually looks so pleased. It’s hard to be angry with him when he looks like that, barely eighteen and so eager. No wonder Louis was enamored from day one.

“You’re very kind, love.” Louis praises, tugs on Harry’s arm again to get his attention, gives him another kiss too. “When do you have to leave?”

“Fifteen minutes.” Harry glances at the clock on the mantel. It’s nearly two. “Paul said it was only Nialler and me today. Just an interview and some pictures. Be home early.”

“Will you text me?” Louis doesn’t seem that bothered that they have an audience, even if he’s speckling his words in between little kisses to Harry’s cheek.

“If I’m allowed.” Harry cards his fingers through Louis’ fringe, cups his cheek lovingly in his palm. “You know the handlers….they take it away from me if I’m in the room with too many people. Anyone could see and last time-“

“S’alright, baby. Just have Niall tell me when you’re on your way back so I’m here.” Louis soothes, leans up all the way to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

Oli’s stomach twists a bit watching Louis’ mouth fall into that grimacing straight line after, made worse when Harry lets out a miserable little sigh. All the fame in the world and they have to ask permission to text their own boyfriend. Seems like a cheap trade.

“If you’re not here, it’s okay. I don’t want to impose or anything. Know you have a guest.” Harry turns his head, gives Oli a small, charming smile. The tabloids haven’t lied about him. Harry is really quite lovely in person, like a doll almost, or plucked out of a painting. He’s Paris standing before the tree, golden apple in hand.

“Not imposing. Want to be here with you too.” Louis turns Harry’s chin one last time, kisses him deeper, enough that Oli sees the slip of tongue, watches Harry shudder in a breath, before he pats his thigh with a quick swat. “Now, go on.”

Harry looks like he’d rather not. In fact, he looks pretty eager to slip off the arm of the couch and into Louis’ lap. He doesn’t though, instead he stands up, gives Oli another small, shy smile before heading deeper into the suite. There are a set of double French doors just behind the couch that Louis is spread out on and the end of a king size bed can be seen, covers rumpled and tossed around a bit. Oli had seen the Do Not Disturb sign on the door when he got here, can only draw so many conclusions before he starts to feel weird about it.

“Could do a bit of shopping if you want. Got the afternoon off.” Louis goes back to making plans. “Have to put up with a few security and some fans though, if you’re alright with that. Or we can go really undercover if you’d rather not. Hit up some off the map pub.”

“Either, mate. Whatever you’re allowed to do.” Oli shrugs, doesn’t really care. He knows that it’s hard for Louis to have chill time, made even harder when his face is practically plastered on every billboard around the hotel. Still, there are ways. Louis has said so himself.

“I’ll go see what we can manage.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows at Oli, mischievous and clever, before he pushes himself up off the couch, padding over with bare feet to open the hotel suite’s door. This time, the security guard actually allows him to step out, but not without a small grimace when Louis pats him roughly on the arm.

Left alone in the room, Oli can do nothing but sip his tea and look around. It’s a nice place, real high end, with white walls and stark furniture. Has a modern feel to it, lots of contrasting tones, with some soft ones added in – real wood, a cotton throw blanket on the couch, a few dozen candles on the mantel by the faux fireplace. Oli has to wonder if Louis even notices any of this, if he’s even aware of the luxury he’s in or maybe Louis is just used to it.

Oli can’t help the way his gaze shifts over the far wall and then through the double French doors, back to the hidden bedroom. The bed is still there – still worn in and rumpled – a pillow left haphazardly close to the end, a mug of tea on the right nightstand. It’s like a secret, one out in the open, made that much more clear when Harry steps into view. He’s taken Louis’ jumper off, standing by the edge of the bed in a pair of skinny jeans curved low on his waist, edge of his briefs cutting a stark line across his skin.

Oli doesn’t mean to stare, should look away really and forget he even noticed, but he’s dumbstruck a little. There are bruises going up Harry’s back, just a few of them, scattered from the dimples at the base of his spine and then higher, a particularly dark one on his right shoulder blade like someone sank in and latched on. Oli isn’t naïve enough to ignore what they clearly are. He bets if he took Louis’ mouth, he could match up each little kiss bruise perfectly to the shape of his teeth, like Louis has left his mark all over Harry, claimed him in a way that Oli really shouldn’t be thinking about but he is.

It just fills up his head and he can’t seem to get it out.

Does Harry like it when Louis does this? Does it make him feel important, wanted, loved? What is it like then, when they’re together, intimate and close? Oli wonders if Louis is gentle in his love making to Harry. He seems like he would be. Like he’d want to keep Harry to himself, selfish and greedy in his love. There was a time when Oli knew Louis loved him, he still does, but not like this. This form of Louis’ affection is foreign and dark and Oli’s stomach twists with jealousy when he doesn’t even know why.

He never thought that there would be any part of Louis that was unknowable to Oli, and yet Harry is living proof that in fact there is. There is another side, a new facet that Oli is barely catching glimpses of.

Slipping on his shirt, Harry leaves it open as he steps back into the room, a pair of sneakers clutched in his hand and phone in the other. He’s got this odd little expression on his face – half bemusement, half shy – and he ducks his head a little when Oli still doesn’t drop his gaze. You’d think for all the attention that is always on Harry, he’d barely cringe at another set of eyes, but he seems almost nervous now, a little put on the spot.

“He’s so excited you’re here.” Harry murmurs, glances once at the closed hotel door before dropping his shoes next to the edge of the couch. “Could barely stop talking about it since you agreed to come out.”

“Yeah, it’s been a bit since we’ve seen each other.” Oli agrees, tucks his elbows up on his knees, forces his gaze down. In the glass of the coffee table, he can see Harry bite into his bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt before starting in on the buttons. They’re small, mother of pearl ones, could even be called dainty with the way Harry’s longer fingers stroke over them, slip them through each hole with such intention, smoothing the fabric around. What’s a boy like this doing with Louis?

“If you, um, stay out or whatever, it’s fine. I know he said he wants to come back, but like, it’s not. Um. It’s not like a big deal.” Harry’s aim at being flippant and nonchalant lands a little heavy, a little guilt trippy even if his eyes are earnest as he finishes. “If you want to go drinking or whatnot. I heard Spain has wicked clubs.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to get up to.” Oli answers, mostly because it’s honest but also because he doesn’t really want to talk to Harry about it. He barely knows him, barely more than a passing glance and a nice word, though Oli is sure he could fill books with all the things Louis has told him about.

“Oh, well,-“ Harry starts, raising a shoulder, but he gets cut off as Louis comes back in, shouting loudly over his shoulder.

“Alright, alright. I know. I was in the bloody meeting. Signed the contract meself. I know the rules.”

He turns around with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a bird flipped over his head. Whoever is on the other side of the hotel door only gets a glimpse of it before it slams shut, the lock clicking over automatically. It seems whatever happened out there, Louis doesn’t let it bother him that much, as he bounds back over to the couch, jumping over from behind and landing on his spot.

“Well, me ginger lad, looks like you and I are going out.” He grins wide, all that mirth reflecting in his eyes. “Alright?”

“Alright, great.” Like Oli would ever disagree. He’d probably follow Louis out into the middle of the crowd right now, just throw open the balcony doors and let the fans consume them.

Having successfully shoved his feet into his trainers, Harry slips his phone in his pocket and makes to head for the door, only to be interrupted again by Louis. This time though, he lets out a sharp little noise in the back of his throat, almost like a command with no words attached. It has the desired effect though, Harry turns on his heels, comes quick to stand just off to the side of the couch, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“Going to leave without even telling me goodbye then?” Louis pouts dramatically, scrambling up onto his feet again. With Harry in shoes and Louis barefoot, they’re practically the same height now. Oli wonders how much more Harry will grow, if he’ll finally fill out enough to match his big feet and big hands – much like a puppy in that regard.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to impose.” Harry mutters, runs a hand through his curls, pushes them back from his face. “You know with-“

“Stop.” Louis drops his voice, keeps it barely above a murmur as he leans in, kisses Harry in a way that seems to melt on forever. Harry’s knees shake a bit when he’s done, quiver as Harry rests a hand on Louis’ jumper. “You’re never imposing with me, alright?”

“Okay.” Harry nods, looks entirely chastised until Louis leans up and kisses the tip of his nose, gets a little giggle out of him, dispels the angst that seemed to shroud Harry just a moment ago.

“There he is. Now go have fun with Nialler, yeah? Can’t wait to hear the shit they’ll be on you for.” Louis rolls his eyes good naturedly, seems to can’t help himself from kissing Harry one last time, before he has to push him away a bit. Oli isn’t sure if it’s to get Harry to go or to keep Louis from making him stay.

Once the hotel room door has closed behind him though, Louis lets out a deep breath, sighs for so long Oli is sure that his lungs must be burning, before he turns around. He’s deflated a bit, shoulders down, hands curved in the sleeves of his jumper, and Oli suddenly feels like any sort of banter has been thrown out of the room when Louis sinks down on the edge of the couch.

“Look, mate, I didn’t just ask you here for a visit.” He’s got his legs spread wide, hands rubbing together before him, leveling Oli with a look that he’s never seen before. It seems this whole trip is turning into it – finding parts of his best friend that Oli didn’t know existed, being blind sided with this new Louis the one that beams with stage lights always pointed on him.

“Okay.” Drawing the word out, Oli presses his feet into the plush carpet, gets his elbows back on his knees. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“I-“ Louis’ tongue peeks out, swipes over his bottom lip as he ponders what he’s about to say. Louis isn’t always the one to sit and contemplate what he’s about to say – quick minded and wickedly clever – it all just seems to come to him. But this – Oli can tell by his furrowed brow and pinched mouth – this is different, important even.

“I’m being selfish, mate. And I know it. Shouldn’t even be asking you this without being transparent.” Taking a deep breath, Louis gets out the rest in an exhale, rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling. He’s twenty with the weight of the world on his shoulders, looks fucking bedraggled for it. “But I’ll be honest, it’s not like it’s not been at the back of me mind. Things here…they’re getting complicated. Management – they expect certain shit. Doesn’t matter what we do as long as it fills the stadiums and sells the shit. Write it all nice into contracts and say it’s for the band, for the best, ya know?”

“I don’t-“ Oli shakes his head. He doesn’t understand at all.

“Look, I know you’re not going to uni. Your mum and mine still talk, yeah? I know you’re kind of doing your own thing, and don’t get me wrong lad, I respect that. I do.” Louis holds up his hand, reassuring when Oli goes to protest. “And you can tell me no and to fuck off and I’ll not ask you again.”

“I don’t even know what you’re asking me in the first place.” Shaking his head, Oli wants to go sit by Louis, to pull him into a hug and reassure him, but he doesn’t even know what is wrong.

“It’s about to get really fucking complicated around here, alright? Worse than before. And I need someone on me side, someone to help me. Who isn’t going to run to the fucking Sun with the first bit of insider info on me for a quick buck. Someone I can trust.” Louis’ gaze sweeps momentarily to the cups of tea on the table, the way the cups are situated leaves just the corner of the paper coaster showing and Oli can see a small black heart drawn on the corner of Louis. “Someone I can trust the people I love with.”

“Oh. Is um-“ Oli doesn’t want to ask but he does anyway, just wants to get the full picture. “Is this because of what they’ve been saying to you about you and Harry?”

“Not part of the plan. Doesn’t work in their narrative, you know, to have their bloody lothario fucking around with another member of his band. Bad for business.” Louis hisses through his teeth, rubs a hand over his jaw. “Fucking eighteen years old and he’s being sold off to any middle aged bird that looks his way.”

“Lou-“ Oli murmurs, wants to say more, to reach out, but Louis sniffles hard, wipes a hand just over the edge of his eye.

“Look, mate, I just need help. I need someone on my fucking side, alright?” Looking up from under his wet eyelashes, Louis looks so familiar to Oli. He’s seven years old, fallen down on the pitch just down the road, skinned knees and bruised ego. He’s twelve and being so strong as the eldest, as the one Jay relies on the most, always attached to her side. He’s seventeen and singing his heart out, enamors every single person who meets him.

Everyone wants to be like Louis, everyone wants to be Louis, but no one knows Louis like Oli does. No one.

“Of course, lad.” Oli doesn’t have to think about it, just says it, coming around the table to sit against Louis’ side, knees to shoulders pressed tight. “Whatever you need. I’ll be your second in command, yeah? Can trust me with whatever.”

“Thank you.” Wrapping his arm around him, Louis pulls Oli into a tight hug. He smells expensive, like high end cologne and posh hotels, but he also smells like boyish sweat and Yorkshire tea, and Oli can still feel his best friend under all of it.

“Now come on, I promised you shopping. Let’s go spend some of Dickhead Cowell’s money, eh?”

2.

Three months in and this isn't exactly what Oli had in mind when Louis had thrown around the title personal assistant. He had figured he'd be in charge of the mundane shit - making Louis tea, picking up the dry cleaning, being the first out of the car at events. Hell, Oli was prepared to carry the luggage at the airport so Louis' hands were free to take pictures and sign autographs.

Except, there is an army of people to pick up Louis' clothes or go fetch him something he wants. Security opens the doors and escorts Louis - and really all of the boys - everywhere they could possibly go. Hell, even Louis' tea gets made for him specifically by Harry himself (though Oli chalks that up to more of a domestic thing than part of a job).

So, instead, Oli finds a lot of the time that his sole purpose is to be Louis' shadow, his personal reminder. Oli is the one given the long itinerary, and although most of the time someone is there to Shepard them along, it's Oli that reminds Louis fifteen times a day when his wake up call will be, where he's going next, the names of every radio host on the Eastern seaboard.

It doesn't feel unnatural then when Oli receives a 'come here' text from Louis. What is strange is that it's barely eight in the morning and when Oli arrives at the hotel door, Louis is the one to yank it open, not even allowing Oli to speak before he's shushing him and pulling him into the dark suite. It's on the smaller side this time, no real wall to separate the lounge from where the king size bed is. It only takes a single glance for Oli to realize that Harry is still in bed, curled up in the center under the large duvet.

"Thanks for coming, mate. Really appreciate it." In the neon light of the bedside clock, Louis' face glows an eerie shade of red, his neck and bare chest half swallowed up in shadow. "Know it's early"

"It is." Oli glances around. He's mostly surprised that Louis is up and functioning at this hour, but then, with the state of the hotel, he has to wonder if Louis has even been to sleep.

There is an empty wine bottle on the table before the couch, two plastic cups left crimson stained next to it. A few cigarette butts lay discarded on an ashtray, their filters crushed tight except for the two with lipstick on them. Those have been placed delicately on the pronged holder of the tray. Someone’s joggers are on the floor, trainers beside them, a tie, and peeking out from the duvet, half under the bed, is something made of pink lace.

“Listen, I need you to run an errand for me.” Louis whispers, voice a little rough so his accent swallows half of the word. Oli can understand him though, even if he has to lean in a bit. “It’s really important, but I’m not going to have time today to go meself. I just need you to use a little discretion, alright? Can’t have anyone know where you’re going. No security. No fans.”

“Okay,” Oli draws the word out, watching as Louis pats along his thighs. Seemingly to realize that his boxers have no pockets, he reaches for the joggers on the floor, feeling around until he produces his wallet. He pries the leather open, digging through the half dozen notes from four countries before pulling something out.

“I just need you to go here.” Louis hands it over. It’s a business card, ivory paper thick and embossed with small vines and roses. Stamped across it in gold lettering is an address and then just below, a small series of numbers. “Just go in and hand Meredith the card, alright? She’ll know what you’re there for. Make sure you’re real nice to her, alright? She rushed this order for me.”

“Okay, but-“ Oli freezes when a soft moan comes from the bed. Both boys turn as Harry lets out another soft noise, this one in the back of his throat. It reminds Oli a little of a kitten, that high pitched keening noise they make to get attention, to ask for something. “Is he…is he okay?”

“Who? Haz?” Louis looks over his shoulder, pauses as Harry tugs on the duvet, the top of it slipping off his shoulders enough that his pale skin catches the neon light.

“He just seems-“ Oli would be lying if he didn’t say he’s becoming fond of Harry. He just has the energy about him, like a little brother really with his big eyes and his shyness. Louis is protective of him, so Oli has to be too.

“He doesn’t like to set limits, s’all. Pushes it.” Louis rubs at the back of his neck. With the way he’s turned, Oli catches sight of his back for the first time and the long fingernail marks that loop over close to his spine. He’s glad the neon red light won’t show his blush.

“Have to remind him sometimes that there are rules to this.” Louis mutters with a little shrug turning back. “I’ve got to get back to him but will you go pick this up? They open at ten. Wear something nice, eh? A collared shirt or some shite.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course, Lou, whatever you need.”

Oli knows a dismissal when he hears one, retreating back towards the hotel door, slipping the business card into his pocket. It’s not until his hand is on the handle though that he chances a glance back. Louis is back on the bed, pulled Harry – blankets and all – nearly under him so Louis is pinning them down into the mattress. It seems to have stopped the soft whining he’s been doing and Louis is saying something to him, quiet enough it doesn’t carry across the hotel room but directly into Harry’s ear. Oli doesn’t wait around to know what happens next.

When Oli gets to the location, he has to check the business card three times to make sure he’s in the right spot. It’s a tall, plated glass building with large windows tinted black, unassuming really just around the corner from the main strip of shops. The front door is a monstrous thing with a thick, silver handle that Oli has to throw his entire weight into just to get it to open. The moment he steps inside, he realizes immediately why Louis told him to wear something other than trackies.

It's a jewelry store, but way fancier than Oli’s ever seen. There are glass display cases spread out around the room, their silver lining gleaming against the black marble floors and thick, brocade wallpaper. It’s an interesting pattern – similar to the one on the business card – but the more Oli looks at it, the more he can make out other things. It almost looks like naked bodies are wrapped up inside of the thorned vines, twisting around one another.

“Bonjour.”

The woman behind the counter greets, looking up from a large book, pen in hand. She’s the type of woman that is intimidating regardless of her expression and the one she gives Oli isn’t exactly welcome. It’s more the type of look Oli thinks a spider must give to its prey before it finishes wrapping it up. She’s sharp lines of dark hair slicked back, eyeliner sharp, the lace collar of her dress pressed against her smooth, tan throat.

“Can I help you with something, Monsieur?" The woman drags her cool gaze from the tips of Oli's trainers, up over his joggers to his polo. They're all designer. Louis paid for them all so Oli knows they must be expensive. Still, she takes one look at his freckled face, his Yorkshire accent, his bad posture and she's already making assumptions.

“Hello.” Oli isn’t even going to try his hand at French, has horror stories of trying it in school. He was never as bad as Stan but he doesn’t think it counts considering he only passed by copying Luke. “Uh- I was sent here to pick something up.“

"I see." The woman raises an eyebrow, nails tapping on the glass countertop. Inside, a large skull sits nestled on a velvet cushion, its eyes filled with large crystals and diamonds. "And what were you here to pick up?"

Oli's trainers squeak on the marble floor as he walks forward, holds the card out in front of him like some sort of offering. He doesn't know why Louis would come to a place like this, has no fucking clue. All the display cases are filled with large bracelets, with fine metals, with rings and necklaces heavy with pendants. Oli can't even really look at them before the woman is taking the business card from between his fingers. It only takes a glance over it for the woman's face to change though, recognition softening the harsh lines of her cheekbones.

"Oh. Of course." She glances from the card to Oli and then back with a sharp smile. "One moment, sir."

Turning, she picks up a slim black phone and lifts it to her ear, murmuring quickly in French before swiftly hanging up. It's only a moment later that a door to the side opens and a small man appears clutching a large black bag in his hand, careful not to wrinkle the paper, holding it by its rope. He glances over at Oli with a timid sort of smile before instantly snapping his attention to the woman.

"Thank you Joshua." She barely spares him glance, instead takes the bag and gently places it on the counter. It's got the same design as the wallpaper on the side of it and Oli catches sight of the naked figures of two men entwined among the roses before he snaps his attention back.

"I trust that everything will be to your..." She pauses, glances over Oli for another pass before continuing, "employers liking. If he should have any issues or concerns, he has my direct line."

"I'm sure whatever it is, he'll like it." Oli reassures, more for manners than anything else. He still isn't even sure what he's picking up for Louis. What sort of place is this?

"Good. Au revoir, à la prochaine." The woman dismisses him easily with the faintest of smiles, just the corners of her lips raising. "Do give our love to him and sa petite chérie!"

Oli gives an awkward sort of wave over his shoulder, having to yank on the door before him to get it to open. The whole experience has felt surreal now that he's out in the bright sunshine, like he's Orpheus stepping into the world again. Oli has half a mind to glance back to make sure the place was even real but he's afraid of what he'll find.

He hails down a cab and gives them the address to a cafe a block away from the hotel. He knows there will be fans outside but he thinks if he doubles back to the parking garage and texts someone on the security team, they'll come get him. It's not that Oli is afraid of being recognized or anything. Who the fuck is he? He's more worried he'll never get close enough for the people who actually know him to let him inside.

They're nearly halfway back when Oli finally gets up the nerve to look at the bag again. His earlier suspicions are confirmed when he examines the bag closer. They are rose thorns and vines with bodies wrapped up in them - two men lost in an embrace, a woman sprawled wide with her legs caught up in vines. It's nearly hidden in the contrast of matte bag to embossed pattern. Oli wonders what sort of thing Louis could possibly have bought from a place like this. What could he possibly want?

Carefully lifting out the tissue paper, Oli reaches inside and his fingers brush against velvet. It's not until he's pulled it out does Oli realize it's a flat, square wrapped in black velvet. The box itself is exquisite, feels heavy and expensive, so much so that Oli ends up sitting it in his lap before he opens it, takes care not to smudge anything as he takes the lid off.

Nestled in dark blue velvet along the soft inclines of its holder sits a small necklace. Or at least, that's what it looks like. It's thin, barely wider than Oli's thumb, made out of fine, black leather that's been beaten and shined until it's buttery smooth. The front is fastened together small, silver buckle, dainty but sturdy in its design, with a little loop for attachments. Along the edge of the box are nestled some accessories for it - a strong looking ring, a bell topped with a pink, satin bow, and a moon pendant.

Anger floods Oli's stomach as he looks over the gift. He knows Louis acts on impulse, knows he does whatever he can to make people happy, knows him and Harry have been snapping at each other this week, but this? There is no way Louis is honestly considering buying a puppy for Harry. On this tour? They barely have time to sleep, to eat, how can he be so irresponsible to think that anyone can take care of a dog? Besides, Oli was very under the impression that Harry was a cat person.

"Christ Lou, what are you doing?" Oli doesn't even want to know what the price tag was for this. It seems to be handmade, custom really, from the way the gold letters are etched into the velvet lid - L + H.

Slipping the box back into the bag, Oli covers it again with the tissue paper just as they pull up to the cafe. From there, it's a bit of a whirlwind until Oli can get back into the hotel. By the time he does, it's a flurry of commotion on the rented out floor, people moving from room to room, shouting going on, a clothing rack left out in the hall. Oli has to shove past a security guard and he thinks Liam's PA just to get into Louis and Harry's suite.

He finds his best mate surrounded by three woman - each one seeming to be responsible for getting him ready for whatever interview or event is this afternoon. One is working product through his hair while the other fiddles with the hem of his pants. The last one is holding up shirt to him, letting Louis pick between the entire stack. Oli has seen the whole fiasco before, but it still catches him off guard sometimes – the knowledge that Louis is famous.

“Hello,” Oli has to raise his voice to get over all the commotion. Someone in the hallway is yelling, something about getting the right sort of transport.

“Oh! Oli, mate, there you are.” Louis makes a face at one of the shirts the woman is holding, yanking the other from her hand. It’s a pale blue with buttons up the front and Louis starts unfastening them quickly. “How’d it go?”

“It was fine, got it.” Oli raises the bag halfheartedly. There isn’t going to be time now to talk to Louis, not with the way people are moving around them. It’s always a bit of chaos on press days, especially when they’re running behind – which considering Zayn is sat in the corner with a cigarette in his mouth and no shoes, Oli figures they’ve fucked up the schedule again.

“Oh, ace, Thanks, lad. Really appreciate it.” Louis manages to pull away from the women, shrugging the shirt on over his shoulders and then working on redoing the buttons up the front. “That’s perfect. Got a round of interviews this afternoon, but can you work on getting the room ready? I’ve got reservations tonight at eight and then we’ll head back after. Want it perfect.”

“Sure, Lou, Yeah. Whatever you want.” Oli has been doing this long enough to know that Louis can only be talking about Harry, only ever does these little rendezvous with him. Any of the others and Louis wouldn’t bother, let alone be looking forward to it.

“I have to ask though-“ Oli gets interrupted by a woman with very bright lipstick on steps up to Louis, cupping a hand over his eyes to shield him from hairspray. “Do you honestly think this is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?” Louis raises an eyebrow, lets the woman continue to tease his fringe up to the right angle.

“It just seems like a lot.” Side stepping, Oli meets Zayn’s cool gaze. He isn’t being fiddled with, slouched back a bit in a chair, cigarette pursed between his lips as he texts quickly on his phone. He doesn’t seem that interested if not for the way his brow furrows as Oli continues. “Are you really ready for that much responsibility? You can’t just take it lightly, you know? It’s a big step and I want to make sure you’re making a rational decision.”

“It’s not like we haven’t discussed it. At length, might I add.” Louis huffs a bit, offended as he swats the women away for a moment. “I know what I’m doing. I got it from the best place I could find. High quality, might I add.”

“Lou, I’m not questioning your intentions. I’m sure your heart is in the right place, you want to make a good choice on this.” Oli frowns, doesn’t understand why Louis is getting so upset about this. So, what if he talked to the other boys about getting a dog? Is Louis going to have time to feed it? To walk it? To train it? “You killed your goldish. Twice.”

“That’s bloody offensive, mate. I’m sure Lou has taken the right precautions, yeah?” Zayn pipes up, puts his phone against his chest. “Besides, I’m going to assume Harry asked for it?”

“More or less.” Louis nods once, has to allow the woman back to fix the curl he knocked loose. She sprays it and then holds it, waits for it to completely dry.

“Has Harry even done this before?” Oli thought Harry was a cat person. He distinctly remembers a cat.

“Watch your mouth.” Louis once again side steps the woman, glares at Oli a bit. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. He hasn’t. Which is why I got the best. I know what I’m doing, alright? I did me fucking research. I’m being safe. Doing all I am supposed to.”

“I’m not trying to be a prick.” Oli sighs, runs a hand through his short hair, tugs on it a little. “I am just trying to be protective. Part of the job, remember?”

Turning to look at the mirror, Louis’ cheeks have gone a little pink but he doesn’t look embarrassed. He looks annoyed, even as he shakes his hair a little, reaching for a jacket nearby. He looks so good, always does. Oli will never understand how Simon knew what he had when he signed all five of them – dork lads with too big feet and ears slowly growing into themselves. Oli would have to be blind not to see it.

“Listen, can you have some wine waiting and find me like two dozen English roses to be sent up by the time I get back?” Fiddling with the collar, Louis checks his reflection in the mirror one more time, straightening himself. “I’ll text you if I think of anything else.”

“Two dozen roses?” Oli pulls out his cellphone, starts to make a list. “And red wine, I suppose?”

“English roses.” Blue eyes dart from the mirror to Oli, Louis’ mouth pulled back in a slight grin. He’s back to the rueful, mischievous boy, all happy lines and secrets. “And don’t cheap out on the wine. I can afford it.”

“Alright, but-“ Oli doesn’t get to finish his thought.

“Come on lads, to the bus. Hurry up.” Josh – a handler with a large clipboard tucked under his bicep – comes bustling into the room. He’s a hurricane of a human and he rounds both Zayn and Louis up with a quick wave of his hand. “Shoes! I need shoes for Zayn!”

A woman comes barreling out of the room down the hall, a scuffed pair of Dr. Marten’s clutched in her hands. Behind her, Niall and Harry are whispering to each other, a tired looking Liam trailing behind them. They’re of course surrounded by security and other handlers, all of them like a large parade ushering everyone down the hall and towards the elevator.

“I’ll text you, mate. Swear.” Louis dashes back into the room for only a brief moment to yank Harry’s phone off the charger before he’s sprinting back out. “I owe you!”

“Lou! Louis!” Oli tries to call over the shoulder of one of the security guards but Louis is already in his position – hand firmly on Harry’s waist, already whispering in his ear. It’s the last thing Oli sees as the elevator doors shut leaving Oli’s last phrase hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Where am I supposed to find English roses in France?”

- - -

Oli never gets the chance to have the talk about the dog and surprisingly, no puppy appears on tour. Instead, they move from France to Spain to Portugal. A whole caravan it feels like, bags packed, moving nomads from one city to another. The whole time, Oli is in a constant state of being the best friend he possibly can be and also trying to gain a sliver of respect from the rest of the team. He knows that some of them – the ones who have been doing this for years – look at him like a charity case. Like the only reason he’s here is because Louis got homesick and decided to be a bit kind to his best mate. Still, Oli isn’t the type to fall into self-pity. If they think he’s shite, then Oli is going to have to prove them wrong.

His loyalty to Louis extends beyond what the others may think of him.

Oli signed the contract, the NDAs, the long list of legalities that threaten him if he should ever break trust. What the lawyers didn't know, and probably half the staff working for him could never comprehend, is that Oli signed his fealty to Louis a long time ago. Only, it wasn't with some fancy pen in a high rise. It was on the playground, in a school filled to the brim with loud, brash Doncaster children. Oli has been Louis' right hand man since before either of them really knew what he meant - the Lancelot to Arthur - a devotion forged with blood.

Sitting here now, staring across the table at them, Oli can't deny that this is going to become an extension of his allegiance. For every knight needs a King, but every King needs his Queen, and Louis seems to have found his. Queen Guinevere in a legging brunette with ocean green eyes and a smile that seems to pull the very sun into the room. His love for Louis is grounding, earthbound, mud in his veins that sticks under his skin, but Oli’s love for Harry is summer rain and fields of roses all in bloom.

It snuck up on him, his adoration of Harry. Maybe it’s just the way Harry seems to fill Louis out, doesn’t dull Louis’ sharp edges but seems to direct them, to give them a purpose. If Louis is a dagger, Harry is the one whispering into his ear, hand on his wrist not telling him to stop but telling him why to strike. Louis has always been clever, devilishly so, but with Harry beside him it’s like the wine before the poison, a rose before the thorns. You’ll be too struck by the beauty to notice the blood.

They’re in the plane now, coasting high above the rest of the world, and Oli is too tired to remember where they’re off to. It’s been a constant rush of screaming fans and airports and hotel rooms and venues. If he’s exhausted, he can’t even imagine how the rest of the lads must feel.

Across the aisle from Oli's seat, Louis and Harry are curled up together in one of their own. They slipped in together the moment the seatbelt light went off, Harry fitting his long body into the space between Louis and the wall, head pillowed on Louis' shoulder. The television screen in front of them is playing some movie, something with a lot of scenes of nature and a sad looking man, but neither of them are really watching it.

It's not like Oli is creeping on them. He just can't not notice that they've been whispering to each other, spilling secrets between their lips. For every sentence, it seems that they have to follow it up with a series of small kisses, dizzying and intimate. There isn't even enough air between them for them to really breathe anything but the other's exhale, like any further separation will hurt them, is impossible.

It makes something hot settle in Oli's stomach, a sort of awareness he isn't even sure how to categorize. It's made even worse when Louis' fingers draw Harry's curls back and there, peaking just over the top of Harry's jumper, is black leather. It could be explained away by a fashion statement, some new trend that Harry has seen online or in a magazine while waiting in the airport and decided to try out. It could be, except, Oli knows exactly what it is. He picked the collar up himself.

A lot of things seem to bombard into his brain all at once. What does it mean? What does any of it mean? Oli isn't some blushing virgin. He's seen porn. He knows what sort of things collars can mean, kind of, but it's hard to wrap his head around. He can't imagine Louis in some black leather get up, whip in hand, while he holds Harry down and hurts him, beats him with a flogger or some shite. Or worse. Oli knows there are worse things. But Harry cut his finger on a cardboard sleeve for his tea yesterday and Louis acted like he was dying. Insisted he be the one to put the plaster on him, kissed it better too. There is no way that Louis is abusing Harry in the privacy of their hotel room. No fucking away.

But the other option is too much to think about too. Harry can't even swat at a fly without apologizing. Can Oli really imagine Harry whipping off one of his expensive YSL belts and beating Louis with it? Hardly.

The festering heat of it all turns a little acidic in Oli's throat the longer he thinks about it. And then comes the anger. Why did Louis make him do it in the first place? Why did Louis send Oli of all people to go pick up his sex gear? Custom-made sex gear. Shite probably cost more than Oli's first car. Is this what he was hired for? To go pick up Louis' dirty secrets? Because this shit was not in the job description.

Across the aisle, Harry lets out a loud giggle, burying his face in the front of Louis' jumper and Oli catches Lou's eye. He looks calm, exhausted sure, but in a weird way like it's okay. Like Louis would rather spend the whole flight awake if it meant he gets to spend it awake with a lapful of Harry. No upper management is on this flight. Paul had just waved his hand when Harry had gone to talk to him. No one around to yell or tell him no. The audible sigh of relief when the door to the plane had closed seems to resonate even now.

"You good?" Louis mouths, his fingers buried in the wild curls at the back of Harry's head. Through them, Oli can see the buckle of the collar fit snugly at the back of Harry's neck.

"Yeah, just zoning." Oli answers, shrugs a little as he reaches up a hand to rub his eye. Whatever Louis reads on his face, he furrows for a minute, before giving Oli a small smile. It's a secret Louis expression. Usually only reserved for times when someone has exponentially pleased him.

"Go to sleep, lad. You're off the clock." Louis' lips form the words before he ducks his head down, kisses the top of Harry's forehead, gets him to look up so he can kiss him properly again.

Oli turns away from them, arches in his seat so he can see out the window. Over the plane’s engines and the murmurs of conversation from the others though, he can still hear them. The soft tone of Louis' voice, Harry's sighs and swooning, the creak of the seat when they shift around under the plane's complimentary blanket. They're just a pair of love drunk fools, honestly, barely old enough to call themselves adults.

It all seems so incredibly unfair suddenly. That this is the way things are for them. That a moment of peace, their privacy, isn't ever really private. Even surrounded by their friends, by security and assistants, that not even a kiss is left unnoticed. Had to learn a whole other language just so they could communicate because speaking was prohibited.

Maybe that's why Louis trusted Oli to go get it, knows that even if Oli knows - he won't spread it around. Isn't that what he said when he asked Oli to come on board? He needed someone he could trust - someone to trust Harry with.

Tightening his hand into a fist, Oli feels the acceptance wash over him. He might not get it. It might feel strange to know so many new things about someone who Oli swore didn't have any secrets left from him. It does. He feels like he's getting to know a whole other Louis inside of the Louis he already knew, but if he's been trusted with it, he's not going to fuck that up. He's been given the task, and Oli takes his knighthood very seriously.

3.

There are rules on tour. Long lists of rules, actually, that have been drilled into each of the boys at every single meeting, every check in, every phone call sent over from management and conversation had while pulling the boys into a closed room. Oli has started compiling a list of them, a whole notepad worth in his phone, a long record of the restrictions. He's not even sure if half of them are technically legal to impose on them outside of the writing of a contract. There are rules for all of the boys, specific ones for each of them, a complex do not list for Louis and Harry's interactions.

Oli has made it his personal mission to remind Louis before management can, even though it feels like new rules are added every day. It was Oli who touched Louis' shoulder and murmured Quieter when Louis was shouting his joke at Liam. Hidden behind a cough, Oli warned Louis to drop his hands off his hips. Oli was the one to step between Harry and Louis on the way to the cars, cut off the gentle brushing of fingertips. It's not a fun job. It's not even half as enjoyable as Oli imagines gouging his own eyes out would be. He wishes he didn't have to, but wishing doesn't really change anything.

He's not even sure where they are. Another hotel in another city, a crowd of people lingering outside, chanting. Oli isn't sure if he's had a full night's sleep without earplugs since he started working here. He plucks them out of his ears now, tosses the little orange nubs down on the coffee table. He's been trying to nap but it's all hopeless anyways. There is an interview in an hour - Louis and Liam on some talk show. Oli has it in his calendar with a small emoji of a strong arm next to it. It's a reminder to make sure they're not bickering on the way into the hotel room to do the interview, to be on their best behavior.

Swinging his legs off the couch, Oli stretches his arms above his head, cracks his back. He'll be happy when they're back on buses. At least this way it's a little quieter, only has to block out the lads mostly and the occasional sound of something more intimate.

Padding out into the main room, Oli rubs at his eyes, glances around the room. Niall and Zayn are sharing the same couch, talking softly over Niall's guitar strumming. There is sheet music spread out between them and Zayn is marking all over it with a pen, half notes half doodles. They look up when he comes in, Niall raising the hand holding his guitar pick in a mini wave.

"Nice nap, lad?" He asks, gives a soft grin. Oli has had nothing but affection for Niall. What's not to like? Niall is made up of contagious good energy.

"Yeah, bit." Oli shrugs, goes into the kitchenette, pulls a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. "Where is everyone?"

"Liam is out on the balcony on the phone with his mum." Niall answers, tilts his head as Zayn lets out a little snicker. "Lou and H are-"

"Nialler, don't." Zayn kicks his leg out playfully, foot tapping on Niall's knee.

"Are?" Oli isn't going to even let himself get distracted by that. Zayn can be a petty bastard some other time. Oli is just trying to do his job.

"They're-" Niall starts again but Zayn seems annoyed by it and he clears his throat.

"Don't tell the snitch." Slipping off the couch, Zayn levels Oli with a cool glance, eyebrow raised. "Right Oli? No need. You can be a big boy and survive without Louis for an hour or so, can't you?"

"Z." Niall protests softly, lays his guitar flat in his lap. There is not a mean bone in Niall’s body.

"What? I'm just being honest. He asked for an hour - we're giving him an hour." Zayn shrugs his shoulders, steps away from the coffee table. "Least we can give them is that."

He slides open the balcony door and then shuts it again with a sharp snap. Out on one of the lounge chairs, Liam looks up from his phone, squinting a little in the bright sunshine but grinning at the other boy all the same. He doesn't even seem to falter as Zayn takes the few steps to him, gracefully folding himself into Liam's lap. Oli doesn't keep his eyes on them long enough to see the welcoming kiss.

"Don't mind him. He's been in a mood all day." Niall soothes, sliding off the couch now himself and coming toward Oli with a gentle smile. "You know how he gets when they send Liam away for press. Clingy."

"Yeah I guess." Oli doesn't know. Oli tries to stay as far away from that disaster waiting to happen as possible.

"You're a good mate. Don't let Zayn get to you." Niall lands a soft hand on Oli's shoulder, shaking him a bit. "We're all just a little tired, yeah? Bit out of sorts."

"Yeah, for sure. Where is Louis, by the way?" Oli can see by the clock on the microwave that it's now fifty-five minutes until this interview. He’d love to spend the time just chatting with Niall, but Oli never gets to just hang out. He’s Louis’ right hand man from the moment he wakes up to the moment they all crash.

"Oh. Um." Niall scratches a little at his nose. He’s not going to even try to lie. "Him and Haz snuck out."

"Snuck out!" Oli shouts, not a question but more like he's not sure he heard him right. That has to be like number seven on the preliminary list of rules. For fuck’s sake. Louis should know better than this.

"Not out of the hotel or anything!" Niall is quick to correct himself, shaking his head. "No, no. They went downstairs to go swimming. Since they closed off the hotel to guests, figured it wouldn't be watched or anything. They’ll be back in a bit!"

"To the pool? You've got to be fucking kidding me." Oli back pedals, turns towards the door. He's not even sure if the slides he shoves his socked feet into are his but they fit so he takes them. “To the pool!”

"No, wait, lad. I wouldn't. I don't think-" Niall calls out, but it falls on deaf ears as Oli yanks the door to the hotel suite open and starts making his way towards the elevator.

Niall stands there awkwardly in the middle of the suite, his soft, they didn't bring suits lost in the slamming of the door.

The whole lift ride down to the lower level, Oli tries to count back from ten. He can feel the tension creeping up his back, tight in his shoulders, along the back of his neck. Since the day he’s started, Oli has worked non-stop to be respected in this role. He knows that the others – management, the aids, the other boys – they all think it was a charity project. Like Louis heard something about Oli and had to swoop in and save him. And yeah, Oli might not have known what the fuck he was doing with his life when Louis invited him on tour, but he’s sure as hell not dumb enough to fuck it up. He needs this opportunity, wants it.

With a soft ding, the elevator lets Oli out on the basement floor, in a hallway that looks to be made up entirely of doors. There is a little alcove across from him with a sad looking vending machine flanked on either side by what looks like a few mechanical rooms, door tightly sealed. A low buzzing fills the hall too, like a drying machine left to run its cycle. On a small placard on the wall, a sign reads Swimming Pool with a sharp arrow pointed left and Oli gives it a sarcastic salute as he turns on his heel and makes his way over.

It's kind of astounding that there is no security down here. When they had driven in, Oli had seen the crowd surrounding the front of the hotel, blind to the way the cars had slid past to the garage underneath. It’s becoming a bigger deal now, every place they do, more and more people crowding around to catch a glimpse of the band. Oli finds it a bit ironic, really, that only a few years ago all these people wouldn’t have known any of the boys as any different than any other lad on the street. Oli doesn’t look at Louis and thinks he’s some famous pop star. He remembers the kid in sixth year that got detention for sticking over twenty pencils in the ceiling during a boring lecture. At this point, Oli has seen all of them – even darling sweet boy Niall – do something that was weird or gross. And yet there are people outside of this hotel that would lick the bottom of any of their shoes. Fucking mental.

The entrance to the swimming pool is a large, frosted glass door with an ancient looking monogram of a swimmer mid-stroke on it. It isn’t locked when Oli pulls on the door, swinging on silent hinges, but he’s careful to only open it a crack. He has learned by now not to just throw the door open of any room that Louis and Harry have sequestered themselves to. Has had too many things thrown at him, seen too many things to not be cautious now.

Leaning in, Oli peeks through the crack and tries to get a sweep of the room. The smell of chlorine and bleach makes Oli’s eyes water as he peeks around. It’s a pretty big pool, an aquamarine with the water rippling in small waves. The tile around it is a pale yellow, a little dull with age and seems to match the plastic lounge chairs. The white of their straps have dimmed with time, a relic from the last decade, with some discoloration at the feet.

Oli can’t see anything from his vantage point, half the room cut off, but he can hear something. Nothing that really makes sense though. It sounds like murmuring, quiet talking over the continued lapping of the water. With a quick glance at his watch, Oli balks at the forty minutes he has left to get Louis into that interview and he takes a deep breath as he pushes the door all the way open and steps inside.

At first, Oli isn’t really sure what he’s seeing. He knows it’s Louis and Harry, all the way down on the other end of the pool on what looks like a short flight of stairs leading into the shallow end. Louis is sprawled out on the steps, water lapping at his knees and over the tops of his thighs, kissing the golden skin there - a summer tan that is lingering. He's propped himself up on an elbow, looks disastrously opulent, a hand buried in the dripping curls currently moving in his lap. Surrounded by the bright water, the sun spilling in from the sunlight above, he could be a painting. Some sort of water nymph bathing in the bright sunshine.

Before him, Harry is floating in the water, long legs extended behind him, summer skin crisscrossed at the bottom of his spine where his tan line starts. He’s got one hand grasped – white knuckles – to the railing just to Louis’ left, keeping himself from floating backwards as Louis keeps rocking his hips up. Dark curls spill out around his cheeks, up through Louis’ fingers, into the pool water as he rocks forward, taking Louis deep into his throat.

Rationally, Oli knows he should just turn away. He should pedal back, maybe make some noise outside before knocking on the door and making his presence known. There is no denying what he’s seeing, what he’s fucking hearing at this point as Louis drops his head back for a moment, staring up at the skylight ceiling. It’s the long extension of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the curling of his fingers tighter in Harry’s hair that finally tips Oli over the edge.

“Oh my god!” It slips out of Oli’s mouth, a sharp cry that seems to echo amplified along the empty pool room. It turns a gasped curse into another rolling of noise, so boisterous that the boys in the pool startle with shouts of their own.

“Oli! What the fuck?” Louis is the first one up, scrambling a bit on the wet stairs, wrenching away from his boyfriend. Before him, Harry starts coughing violently, probably caused by the way Louis had jumped when he finally spotted his best friend.

“Fuck! Sorry!” Smartly, Oli flaps a hand over his eyes, turns back to the door which causes him to shuffle. He trips a bit, crashes into a stack of pool floaties kept back against the wall with a bungee cord. They don’t break loose but the plastic creaks dangerously.

“Why are you fucking down here? Christ’s sake, mate!” Louis snaps, manages to get his footing under him so he’s now more kneeling on the step than sitting, one arm braced over the railing. “I said give us a fucking hour.”

“You’ve got an interview! At three. You and Liam.” Oli doesn’t dare turn around, continues to stare into the eyes of an inflatable hippo raft. The way the eyes are made it almost looks like it’s glaring at Oli, like it has something to say. “You’ve only got a half hour or so to get ready.”

Water crashes loudly behind Oli’s back, the pool turned choppy as the boys at the other end move around in it. It’s accompanied by Louis’ creative – if not lyrical – swearing and Harry’s continued hacking. Whatever happened, it must have hit his upper palate because Harry doesn’t sound like he’s catching his breath.

“Shit. Baby, are you okay?” Louis seems to momentarily forget about Oli entirely as Harry continues to wheeze. He’s standing now, waving a hand to dismiss it, but Louis still rubs at his back, tries to see his face. “Does it hurt?”

“Just jabbed a bit.” Croaking, Harry lets out a humming sort of noise after, pushes his hair back from his face. “No problem. It’s okay. Go.”

“Like bloody hell I’m going to just go.”

Oli chooses the exact moment Louis is getting out of the pool to turn around. It’s a barely there peek, a quick glance over his shoulder, but it does give Oli a full view of Louis’ naked back. He doesn’t have tan lines, all still golden from summer, perhaps a tad paler when a pair of footie shorts would have been on him. Water ripples off Louis’ spine, down along the soft give of his waist and hips, and over the plump curve of his ass. It gets lost between his thighs, that dangerously dark shadow that presents itself as Louis bends over to grab a towel off a nearby chair. Oli almost gets a peek of the front of him if he didn’t immediately slam his eyes shut, turning his head back around.

“I’m so sorry, love. So sorry.” With a towel now around his waist, Louis reaches his hand down, helps guide Harry up the steps and onto the platform as well. “Let’s get you dried off and I’ll make you a cuppa.”

“Stop apologizing, babe. It’s okay.” Harry lets out a soft wheeze, teasing and bright in his tone. “Not your fault you’re so big you hit both my tonsils at once.”

“Harold!”

Louis’ laughter fills the pool room, head thrown back, absolutely delighted. Harry doesn’t join him, but he does flash a wide grin, nose wrinkled up in fondness. He takes that moment – the distraction – as an opportunity to lean in and kiss Louis’ cheek, a quick brush of his lips, and Oli once again regrets looking back at them.

“You’re so naughty.” Louis teases, breathless, pulling Harry towards him by the edge of his towel. “I thought you were a good boy. Do good boys talk like that?”

“Maybe you should punish me?” Harry’s answer reverberates across the pool, loud as if Oli wasn’t standing right beside them. “Bend me over and-“

“Interview, lad?” Oli’s voice cracks but he still keeps going. Has to keep them on task, has to get Louis to focus. It’s not just him who is going to be in trouble if Louis is late, there are others who abide by this schedule.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.” Louis pulls his mouth away from Harry’s face where he was peppering kisses all over it, reaching down for his clothes. He’s still dripping water, the whole pool deck under the two of them now sprinkled with droplets. Louis might have no issue pulling on what looks like the joggers in his hand, but Harry’s no doubt designer skinny jeans looks like an impossible feat.

“Don’t look this time, eh?” Louis raises a rueful eyebrow at Oli as he uses another towel to rub at his chest and arms. “No sneaking a peek there, Tom.”

“I didn’t look!” Affronted, Oli pointedly rolls his eyes, turns his attention back to the hippo. It seems to be just as unimpressed with him as before. “I’m not a creep.”

“No one said you were.” Harry tries to soothe, voice still a little hoarse. Management is going to be pissed about that if it’s not better by tomorrow night.

It only takes a few more moments before the pair is semi-presentable. And Oli is using the term incredibly generously. Louis looks like he could have been just getting done at the gym, just showered after with his wet hair and his sweats, a loose t-shirt on top. Harry on the other end looks like a model who was thrown in a pool. His jeans stick to his thighs, twisted a bit on his calf. The button up he has on is also clinging to his chest, so tight now that Oli can see the clear outline of his nipple pebbled up in the cool air.

It doesn’t help that on the elevator up, Louis keeps leaning over and kissing at Harry’s throat, slipping his hand between the damp folds of Harry’s shirt and rubbing at his chest. They’re whispering to each other too, little snippets of a conversation that really shouldn’t be shared within the confines they’re in. Oli wants nothing more than to kick both of them, but instead, he stands at attention just before the doors, waiting and praying for the whole elevator to move faster.

Fate seems not to be on their side as just as they reach the floor, doors sliding open with a ding, Oli nearly runs smack into Paul. He’s standing, flanked on either side by surly looking security guards, with a deep frown pulling down on his face. Dark eyes swing from Oli up and over his shoulder to where Louis and Harry are, and then back down with a sharp grunt.

“Lads.”

Oli hears it more than sees the way that Harry and Louis immediately pull apart. It’s not like their relationship is a secret to anyone in the close circle. Paul is practically their dad on tour – always the one to keep them in line, to be the acting authority figure while on tour. Most people in power Louis immediately takes a natural dislike for, but there is something about Paul that makes Louis push limits but not fully disregard them. There is respect there.

“Oh, going down?” Awkwardly, Louis pushes his elbow into Harry’s side, gets him to side step out of the elevator and into the hallway. “Have a nice time!”

“Louis.” Paul isn’t smiling though, his dark eyes locking in on the other boy. Beside him, Harry starts chewing on his bottom lip. “We’ve talked about this.”

Peeking through his eyelashes, Oli glances at the other two boys. They’re barely holding hands between them, just Louis’ fingers pressed into Harry’s wrist, grounding him in spot. Harry isn’t like the other lads. He isn’t quick to defiance. He’s a good boy. Always with his manners and his soft tone and his shyness. On stage, Harry is a wild fire. He’s bright and loud and extroverted. But there are no shining lights on him now and he falls in place, a half step behind Louis, nervously rocking on his feet.

“You can’t just sneak out of your room, lads. We’ve talked extensively about this already. The security risk you create when you don’t listen-“ Paul starts in on the lecture, his bulky arms flexing across his chest as he settles himself in. It’s a conversation they clearly have had before as Harry immediately starts nodding, always eager to please.

Louis’ sharp gaze meets Oli’s around the bulk of Paul’s shoulder, eyebrow twitching. It’s a look that Oli is already too familiar with. Louis is a Peter Pan type – always willing to play games, always for mischief, and Oli has been drawn into them way too many times. But Louis also doesn’t always like to take the blame for his actions so he makes the others be his alibi – his character witness of sort. Oli has taken the blame for Louis’ games one too many times, has a whole record of detention for it too.

“It was my fault.” It flows out of Oli’s mouth so naturally, almost sweet and bitter at the same time. Like charred sugar cubes. “I did it.”

“What?” Paul turns slowly, one dark eyebrow arching up on his smooth forehead. Oli feels like a bug pinned to a tray.

“I um, I did it. It was me.” All those weeks of working on gaining the respect, the trust, seem to be slipping through Oli’s fingers. Paul looks at Oli like he’s a child, like he’s a twenty year old no body who Paul isn’t sure how he got stuck babysitting.

“It was you?” He says it like he’s waiting for an explanation and Oli thanks all the stars in the sky that he’s learned to have a motormouth from Louis.

“Yeah, uh, I thought it’d be funny. A prank.” Oli lets out a choked laugh, shrugging his shoulders in jest. “Sneak down to the pool for a bit of fun, you know?”

“Mhm.” Paul’s arms flex as he shifts his shoulders. His eyebrow stays up.

“So, I got them down there and then you know, dared them to go swimming. Thought it’d be funny to steal their clothes while they’re down there. Bit of bants. Bit of a jest, really. Kinda dumb now that I’m thinking of it. Can’t have our celebrity boys running through a hotel naked, you know?” Oli continues on, babbling at this point, the heat creeping up his neck now burning on his face. “Louis got mad, reminded me about the interview he has. So responsible, you know.”

“Responsible?” Glancing over his shoulder, Paul makes a considering noise at Louis who just flashes him a wide grin, wrinkling up at his eyes.

“The poster boy of responsible.”

“Right.” Paul glances back at Oli, waving his hand for him to continue.

“So, I gave them back their clothes. Louis gave me a bit of wallop for it. And now we’re up here, safe and sound, no issue. And Louis is going to go to that interview with Liam, yes? And Harry is…going to do whatever it is that is on Harry’s list.” Oli continues with another strained laugh, running a clammy hand through his hair. “No harm, no foul.”

“No harm. No foul.” Speaking slowly, Paul feels out the words in his mouth. Beside him, the security guards look entirely unimpressed by this whole thing. They probably got their asses handed to them for not noticing half of the band being gone, but that’s not a problem for Oli right now. What is a problem is Paul’s condescending stare down his nose at Oli, his expression reading entirely unamused.

“Well, Oli, you’ve clearly got some things to think about. Like the ramifications of your actions had you been caught or had someone seen you or if evidence was taken.” Paul says the statement louder than the rest, turning on his heel to stare down at the two boys still dripping on the carpet. “We can have fun but we have to be responsible about it, don’t we?”

“Yes, Paul. Yes. I’m sorry.” Harry cracks first, only stops from rambling by Louis tugging sharply on his arm.

“Yeah, Pops. ‘course.” Louis reaches forward with his free hand, grips Paul’s shoulder in a friendly sort of squeeze before he slips past him, dragging a reluctant Harry. He pauses, big green eyes staring up at Paul, already opening his mouth probably for another apology, but Louis tugs on him again, dragging him along. “Come on, Harold. You can help me pick out an outfit for the interview, yeah?”

“We only-“ Oli calls out, pauses when he feels the other three men’s attention circle in on him. “We only have fifteen minutes, Lou. Please hurry.”

“You got it, Oli boy!” Louis shouts back, raises his hand before he tugs a fretting Harry into the hotel room.

With them gone, the hallway turns awkwardly silent. Oli isn’t sure if he should follow them, or perhaps go somewhere else. Is he even free to go? The answer is given only a moment later when Paul drops his arms, reaching up to ruffle Oli’s ginger hair and give a sort, fond huff of breath.

“You’ve really got to stop being his whipping boy, you know?”

“Can’t.” Oli smiles tight lipped, takes the opportunity to duck away, scampering a bit towards the hotel door. “It’s in the contract!”

“Yeah well, just remember to take care of yourself too, lad!” Paul calls after, lets it linger as Oli finally gets away, slips back into his own room. His face is hot, angry at Louis, embarrassed, fearful. He doesn’t do anything than rub his hands over his face though. He signed up for this shit after all.

4.

He should be used to it by now – the flashing lights, the screaming fans, the rush of men in suits and clipboard wielding staff. It's not even an awards show, not even something that should draw attention. It's just a social call really, a party for some man with a big name and a bank account behind him. Then again, Oli has been doing this long enough to know that even if one of the lads sneezed in view of a camera, it'd be international news within the hour.

Oli is wearing a suit tailored so well it feels like a second skin. It's by some designer Louis suggested - Italian, expensive - Brioni. Jet black with a small pocket square of pearly silk. It hugs against Oli's body, gives him a shape he isn't even sure he knew he had. But then again, he's an important member of the crew today. It's not enough to just be in the background of the photos, not like it once was, now Oli needs to be an accessory just as much as the pretty girl sitting across from them in the car.

Louis has been silently staring out the window since the moment they climbed in, refuses to be bothered with the rest of the occupants, moodily working a piece of gum between his molars. One of the Syco execs are with them tonight - a man who could be Simon Cowell's uglier twin - sitting posh in his thick suit, phone clutched in his hand, hair stuck close to his head by a glob of gel so it gleams every time they pass a street lamp. He keeps stealing glances towards Louis, a tight-lipped expression pulling over his already thin mouth. He looks like he's bitten into something sour, acidic on his tongue as Louis huffs a little, tugging at his collar.

"Everything should go according to plan tonight, yes?" Simon 2.0 asks, growls it more like, clicking harshly on the side of his iPhone to lock the screen. "Everyone clear on the plan?"

"Yes." Eleanor opens a small compact, reaching in for a small poof before she dabs some powder over the bridge of her nose. Oli has to admit that she looks lovely, a good fit for a boyband pop sensation – thin, pretty, and classic. Fits the image like a glove, if not for Louis' actual significant other riding behind them in the car.

"We all have our part to play, Louis. You know that." Simon 2.0 continues, adjusts himself in his pants, his foot nearly coming in contact with the shined oxford on Louis'. "Let's not embarrass ourselves tonight-"

"Oh, 'course, 'course. Don't need to spew the fucking warnings at me, yeah?" Turning his head, Louis glares at the man through narrowed eyes. He's got some stubble tonight, jaw looking sharp, entirely masculine, royalty among black leather. "Got it all down, thanks. Act right. Speak right. Don't look like you might be anything other than what all you management wankers have created. God forbid there be anything genuine in all this."

"Lou," Oli tries, he does. He reaches a hand out, lets his pinkie brush over just where the rope tattoo is peaking out. It's a reminder less than a warning. Oli doesn't have the same impact as an anchor would at this point, but he has to try.

"Oh right. Forgot. Not up for discussion. All written in the fine print, hm?" Louis huffs out a laugh, turns back to the window. "Signed it in me fucking blood, didn't I?"

"Do we need to make another lap?" The driver up front asks - another man in a starched suit on Syco's dime.

"Do we?" Simon 2.0 asks, leans forward a bit. He smells like cologne - like thick peppercorn and juniper. It clogs up the whole car, enough that even Eleanor wrinkles her nose a bit, glances at Louis like she's expecting something from him. And aren't they all?

"No. Let's just go."

Rolling his eyes, Louis makes a face just as the car comes up to the curb, schooling it instantly when he sees the crowd. Tinted glass is only so good at hiding things. In a brief moment of recklessness, Oli reaches down between their thighs, presses the tips of his fingers into Louis' palm. It's not really anything - not a proper hand hold - but Louis takes in a slow breath like it's enough and Oli counts it as a win.

Lights are flashing already, voices screaming for him, waiting for the big reveal. Inside of the car, Eleanor picks up her small beaded bag, smooths her curls behind her shoulder, primped and ready as the car door slides open. Louis is out first, grinning and waving, ready to join the rest of his band, but remembers at the last moment and reaches back to her.

No one cares or screams for Oli when he gets out. He's Peter Pan's shadow, following close to make sure Louis is still moving, that he's still grounded, that he remembers his lines and his marks on the carpet. Oli has a whole itinerary in his phone, memorized in the back of his mind, of who Louis is to talk to, who is to pose for, when and where he's to put his hands on Eleanor.

They stop for just a moment for the Daily Mail's photo and it's through the flashing lights that Oli spots them - the rest of the lads. They're just inside, waiting, need to probably be papped by The Sun before they can enter the party proper. Oli can see through the plated glass of the front door that Niall is whispering quickly into Harry's ear, Liam on his other side with Zayn. It's enough to crowd them close, but not enough to hide the tall glass that is already resting between Harry's elegant fingers.

"Alright, through here now." Oli urges, gently presses a few fingers into Louis' back to direct him. He's pretty sure he's the only one allowed to do that outside of the already mentioned company, because Louis doesn't recoil from the touch, instead turns with his hand on Eleanor's side, pushing her just a little so they can walk.

Out of sight of the closest cameras, separated by a wall of men in expensive suits with earpieces, Louis drops the charade. He recoils back into himself, still tall with his shoulders rolled back, an air of haughty disinterest about him that feels nearly genuine as they're ushered inside. The minute he sees the other lads, he's quick to go to them, Oli and Eleanor trailing behind like forgotten accessories.

"There he is. About time, Tommo." Niall greets with a wide grin, arms out in welcome. He's the constant in their group - the candle that refuses to be blown out. Even when things are at their worst, their darkest, Niall seems to let a little sunlight in.

"You went with the Saint Laurent." Louis doesn't answer him, instead looks straight at Harry, raising an eyebrow. "You look good, babes."

"Yeah, well, it was between this and Armani but we both know who would show up in that. Bit predictable, isn't it?" Harry rolls his eyes, takes the rest of his champagne glass in a quick toss of his head. His curls have spilled out over his shoulders, along his neck, highlight his sharp jaw.

"Nice to see you too, Harry." Eleanor drawls, crosses an arm over her waist and raises the other to inspect her nails. They're a pale shade of white, nearly pearly, and when she flicks them they shimmer.

"Is it?" Glancing down his nose at her, Harry smirks a little, just a slight drunken flush to his cheeks.

"Haz-" Liam warns, gentle a bit, stepping closer. "Easy, yeah?"

"Why? It's a party." Glancing down his nose at the other lads, Harry gives a little grin. "We're supposed to be having fun right? I want to have fun."

“From what I’ve heard, that’s all you do.” Eleanor rolls her eyes, glances around the room like she’s above all of this – like she isn’t the hired help. She plays her role well though, noticing the cameras pointed towards them and purposefully leaning into Louis’ side, gracefully brushing her fingers along his collar like she’s adjusting it.

“Don’t do that.” Harry’s voice goes deep, teeth clenched as he turns his head. He’s got some height on him, sparkly boots on, and he uses it to glare down his nose.

“You’re so fucking selfish, Haz. You have to make everything so difficult.” Eleanor murmurs, barely moves her lips as she works her manicured fingertips through Louis’ hair, tucking it behind his ear.

“Stop it.” Louis doesn’t make it obvious, knows not to cause a scene, but he turns then, raises his eyebrows at Zayn who places a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

"We've got to move. The Sun is calling for us." Oli interjects, points to where a photographer is gesturing wildly at them and then at his watch. Like clockwork, a handler comes to them, starts ushering them forward.

Liam is first, then Niall, and then Zayn and Harry. Louis trails behind with Eleanor, his nose flaring a little as he takes measured breaths. The crowd is so loud but Oli is close enough he can hear her prattling voice in Louis' ear, posh little accent thick as she rips into him.

"You know, this would be so much easier if you could keep him in check. He makes this so fucking dramatic. He knew I was coming! I'm not trying to fuck you, alright? I'm here to do my fucking job. One that you both pay me for!"

"Simon pays you." Louis corrects under his breath, flashing a sharp smile towards a group of women from Vogue UK. "This is his show, remember?"

“Well, you’re the lead.” Eleanor hisses, leans in just at the right time to smear a kiss to Louis’ cheek, waits for the camera flash before she pulls back. “And it’d be great if you got the understudy to stop stomping all over me!”

“He’s not the understudy.” Louis snaps, says it through his own tight-lipped smile, doesn’t let the expression flicker even as the cameras flash around them.

“Louis,” Oli motions his head slightly, gestures for him to join the others as Eleanor pulls away, disappears slightly into the crowd with a bodyguard.

“Fucking wanker.” Louis seethes, turns on his heel, goes back to the rest of the lads.

It’s kind of mind boggling how easy it is for them to all snap into formation – Zayn, Liam, Louis, Niall, and then Harry. Can't ever have them together, like it's not more obvious when Niall plays bumper. Oli is kind of amazed at them, all of them really, working their way through interviews and press. It was supposed to only be some low key shit but it never ends up this way with them.

They finally get to the inner parts of the venue, big round tables scattered around a large ballroom, lots of chatter and mingling. The music is loud in here, lights too bright for the way the bass is thrumming along the crystal chandeliers. Oli sticks close to them, half guards half guides them across the room with the rest of the security detail, a whole crew to make sure they actually make it to the table. Here, there are no cameras, no evidence to be collected. Management is still around, always watching, but there is a freedom here.

"Alright lads. This is us." Niall chimes in, pulls a chair out. There is a small card in the centerpiece with "One Direction" in slim script, not even bothering with the names. Oli rolls his eyes at that, takes a complimentary mini bottle of wine off the table and twists the top off.

"Thank god." Liam mutters, unbuttons the front of his blazer, smooths his hand down his front. "Bit a stuffy in here, ain't it?"

“Closer to hell ya get, mate, the hotter it is.” Louis rounds the table, sinks into a spot right off Liam’s left. He’s got a little bit of a scowl pulling at his thin mouth, shoulders tense. Now that they’re away from the flashing lights, he doesn’t necessarily have to keep El besides him, but there are still enough eyes around that he probably should.

“Think Hell would have better company.” Zayn sits one seat away, purposefully leaves an empty chair between him and Louis. Again, no cameras.

“Is a bit dry, hm?” Niall isn’t mean enough to say what he really is thinking. Always a good boy, a kind boy. Never has a bad thing to say about anyone – at least not in public.

“What can you expect when Winston invited us?” Liam leans back from where he was ordering with a waiter, reaching to fiddle with the card in the center piece. His suit jacket is open, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the tattoos now permanently on his skin.

Oli sinks into his own chair, on the other side of Louis, sips from his small bottle. He knows half of the people here, both from meeting and seeing their faces on the covers of magazines. Always on the fringes, it feels. Not significant enough for people to know him as anything other than that one ginger who’s always with Louis Tomlinson. And Oli probably should be bothered by it, but he’s gotten over his own pipe dreams of stardom a long time ago.

“How long do we have to be here?” Reaching into his pocket, Zayn pulls his phone out, taps at the screen a little, scrolling. He looks a little peevish tonight, tired. All of them do really, could do with another day off, though Oli knows first hand that’s not going to happen for another two weeks. There are concerts to be held, interviews to do, pap walks to be scheduled. It’s never a dull moment in the life of One Direction ™. Never a moment of peace either.

“Just until one.” Oli answers, knows the schedule tonight too. Can tell you the rest of what Louis will be doing for the whole week too. “Make a few appearances, shake a few hands, get photographed a bit. Then back to the hotel.”

“Where’s Haz?” Louis cranes his head around, trying to see past the crowd of fine black suits and sparkling dresses. They’re a bit off to the side, not fully tucked away in a corner, but enough that it feels like it’s meant to keep them out of trouble.

“Mm,” Niall motions with his glass, out across the room. “Seems to be with the man of the hour.”

Over by the dancefloor, Harry is leaning heavily into Ben Winston’s side, head tilted, chatting with a few other men around him. Ben has his arm over Harry’s waist, a casual hand on his hips, grinning at whatever Harry is saying. He has that effect – Harry could charm the habit off a nun if he needed to. No one can resist those dimples, that shy little grin, the way he looks filled out in that suit. His shirt is mostly unbuttoned tonight and there is a flush on his chest, a dusty nipple playing peekaboo every time he laughs.

“Wanker.” Zayn mutters, rubs at his jaw a little, held tilted as he watches Louis. Oli is watching too, watching the slight tick in Lou’s jaw, the way his fingers are flexing a bit on the table, drink abandoned nearby. The ice in the vodka is making tiny frozen droplets stick to the glass, slide down to the brocaded tablecloth.

“I swear he does this shit on purpose.” Louis takes in a slow breath through his teeth. He’s gearing up for a rant, always so quick with his tongue lashing. “Winston. Such a dickhead. Parades him around like he’s a fucking show pony.”

“I don’t know, mate. I mean, Harry went over to him.” Niall shrugs a shoulder, still so nice. Like pulling teeth to get an insult out of that one. “He thinks they’re friends.”

“Harry thinks anyone who smiles at him is his friend.” Liam rolls his eyes, slumps forward with his elbow on the table. “Worst judge of character.”

“Watch it.” Louis pulls his glass up to his mouth, takes a long pull, eyes never leaving the scene before him.

Harry is on his fourth glass of champagne since they entered the ballroom, holding the glass by the top, gesturing with it while he chats up his little crowd. There is no denying that Harry plays this part well. He’s young and he’s hot and he has the group of men eating out of the palm of his hand, enchanted by Harry’s long curls, his thick, posh accent, the way his clothes fit him and fall off of him in a tease. Everything about him is a carefully curated caricature of rockstar meets goddess and the men froth at the mouth for his attention.

Even Ben who holds onto Harry’s waist in a tight grip, raises an eyebrow at him as Harry sways a little. He’s been drinking too fast. Back on one of his stupid diets so there is nothing in his stomach to cushion it a bit. Everyone at the table knows this. Everyone who knows that Harry hates gatherings like this just as much as they do. That’d he much rather be curled up in a hotel suite with a cup of tea and the lads then let himself become the center of attention.

“He’s off his fucking face.” Oli sighs slowly, watches Harry throwing his head back with a loud laugh.

“He forgot she was coming.” Niall mutters, drums his fingers a bit on the table, keeps his voice down. “They reminded him on the way over.”

“It wasn’t like I fucking planned it.” Louis interrupts, drains the rest of his glass and raises his hand for another. “I don’t get a say.”

“No, Tommo, we know. He knows. He’s just being a bit…dramatic.” Zayn soothes, reaches over to grip Louis’ shoulder. “You know how he gets. Takes it as a personal slight.”

“Could do with some self-control though.” Liam adds in, leans forward so he can talk around Zayn and directly at Louis. “He’s not a baby anymore. He’s got to-“

“He’s got to do nothing you fucking tell him, Liam.” Louis snaps, sharpness turning his tone brittle. No argument. “And I’d rather you shut your mouth before you say something you regret.”

“I’m only trying to help. We all pay for it when he acts up.” Liam argues back, still pushing buttons, still having this air about him. “We all have to do things we don’t like-“

“Yeah? And what would you know of it?” Louis turns then, ignores it when the waiter sets another drink before him. “Tell me, Liam, tell me all of your hardships.”

“He only meant we’re all a part of it, Lou.” Niall tries to interject, tries to help. “We see how bad it can be.”

“You’re not alone, mate.” Zayn leans in, bumps his nose against the side of Louis’ head, hides a kiss in his hair. He’s usually the one now a days to calm Louis down, to make him feel better, center him on the present and not let his mind spiral. Oli used to be good like that too, back when things weren’t complicated. When it wasn’t five boys against the music industry, but back when it was Louis against the pressures of growing up, of being in Donny, of having the whole future before him. As good as Zayn is though, as well thought out his approach, how easy Louis falls under his hands - it’s all in vain though as in the next moment, Ben and Harry appear at the end of the table.

“Hello boys. Seem to have lost something that belongs to you?” Ben smirks. His hands are low on Harry’s waist, tucked along where the laurel is inked on Harry’s hips, where he’s still a little baby soft.

“So, we have. Thanks for returning him.” Niall smiles amicably, reaches out to tug on Harry’s wrist. “Nice to have you back, mate. You want to sit? Have some water?”

“No.” Harry’s bottom lip falls forward, pouting dramatically as he turns towards Ben. His mouth is bruised, puffy a bit from chewing on it and drinking, stained a strawberry shade of pink. “You told me we were going somewhere fun.”

“I’ll give you a private tour later, yeah?” Ben laughs a little, pushes Harry back. “Pretty sure you’re needed here.”

“Why?” Tilting his head, Harry blinks his eyes rapidly at Ben, fluttering his eyelashes. “Didn’t you help find my boyfriend his girlfriend? I think that’s who he’s here with, isn’t he?”

“Alright, enough. Come on, babes. Come sit by me.” Louis is up and out of his chair fast, arms out in a placating sort of gesture. He might be okay with going to bat against the likes of Ben Winston, but Harry – especially drunk Harry – isn’t equipped to play that sort of chess game.

"Oh. No. I don’t want to.” Harry frowns, tries to pull his arm out of Louis’ reach, stumbling back a step. Around them, a few heads turn, watching the proceeding with a careful sort of coolness. But where passivity lies so does deceit.

“Don’t throw a fit, darling. If you want to fight with me, then let’s go somewhere a bit more private, eh?” Louis crowds into Harry, slips his hand gently to Harry’s waist, where the curve of his ribs leads into the soft, cello shape. It’s the place where Louis’ palms were made to hold.

“Come on, Harry. Don’t be difficult.” Ben laughs a bit, like it’s all just some joke, so funny little thing. He even taps Harry’s nose, rolling his eyes. “Be a good boy and stay with your lads. I’ll be back for you in a bit.”

“We’ve got it, Winston.” Zayn snaps. He’s standing too, hands at his sides into loose fists. Zayn is a lover, not a fighter, but he seems fairly pressed now.

“Mhm. Make sure you do.” Ben says it with his gaze shifting down his nose at Louis, sniffing a little, unimpressed before turning on his heel and stalking off. He’s never been a fan of the rest of them, not really, not anything more than base level.

“Come on, baby love. Let’s get you some water.” Louis murmurs, keeps his hand on Harry’s side, guides him around the table.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Harry interrupts, stops walking all together so they’re awkwardly standing just behind Oli and the empty chair. To anyone glancing over, it’s clear to see by their body language that something is happening, voices low but their stance is so loud.

“Don’t be like this.” Louis keeps his voice even as he snaps his fingers towards the table, asking for one of the bottles of water. Oli quickly hands one over but when he extends it out, Harry is quick to push it away.

“Are you going to kiss her tonight?” Harry hiccups a little, wipes at his mouth with his fingertips. He’s so drunk that the tops of his cheeks have gone red, flushed a cherry pink that makes his eyes gleam even brighter in the lights. “Is that on the list? A good one for the cameras? The money shot?”

Oli has the sinking feeling that this is going to end badly. Even as Louis’ brow falls, even as he starts to frown, Oli can feel the tension shifting a bit. It’s incredibly unfair because with how Harry is looking – bratty, mouthy, dressed for sin – he could have seen this evening ending very differently for Louis. But, like always, Harry gets lost in his head and then this happens. It’s not usually this bad though. Usually he holds it together, just is a bit melancholy.

“If they paid you, would you fuck her?” Harry asks and that seems to be the breaking point.

“Stop it. You don’t get to act like this.” Louis hisses, draws himself in close, turns his body so it’s blocking the pair from the crowd. Even in his anger, Louis is careful to protect them. “It’s not my fault. You know that. I didn’t ask for her to fucking come with us tonight. It was already pre-planned out, which you should know, because you also have a fucking stunt schedule.”

“I don’t parade her around in front of you.” Harry snarls back, lip drawn up, teeth flashing.

“You’d have to be around to do it.”

Louis says it and immediately it is clear he wishes he could take it back. He tries to reach for Harry, to pull him closer, to try and soothe the wound but it seems a little too late. Harry is too drunk for heartfelt apologies or some declaration of undying devotion. He glares down at Louis with tears gathering up in his eyes until he can’t seem to stand it any longer as he wrenches away.

“Piss off.”

Harry turns around, stumbles through the crowd, and Niall is quick behind him, already calling his name. They have a pact – the boys – that they never leave one of them alone. Not in a place like this. Not when so many hungry people seem to be just waiting to snatch one of them up. Louis can do nothing but stand there watching the back of him go.

“Fuck.” Zayn is the first to speak, takes in a slow breath then out, rocks on his heels as he turns to face Louis. “Fuck, mate. Fuck.”

“Eloquently put.” Oli snaps, is surprised at himself but he doesn’t have time to get in another spitting match with Zayn. Instead, he turns towards Louis too, reaches out to touch his shoulder gently. “It’s alright.”

Louis has his hands over his face, breathing in deep, calming breaths, and when he lowers his palms there is something so very solemn and almost defeated in the way his shoulders curve under his fitted black suit. He’s got this little wrinkle between his eyebrows, mouth in a thin line, and Oli already knows that he’s going to be sent out tomorrow to get some necklace or some trinket to sooth over this little misstep, but right now, there isn’t much he can do.

“I’ve got pictures in ten minutes.” Louis glances at his watch, takes in another long breath, “And then when I’m leaving, yes? The Sun is getting another set?”

“Yeah, with Eleanor for both. Need to be seen leaving together.” Oli nods. Doesn’t even need to get his phone out to check his notes.

“Okay, ace. I’m good then.” Directing his attention to Oli, Louis meets his gaze carefully. Not hesitant, but more cautious, like what he’s about to say is important. It is. “Can you please take him home?”

“Who? Harry?” Oli can feel the heat prickling up the back of his neck. It’s not that he doesn’t adore Harry. He does. It’s just – it’s a lot. Harry is a lot right now and Louis knows that.

“Look, mate, he’s off his fucking face. I can’t leave yet or I would. None of the other lads can either. We’ll get our asses handed to us if we all try to sneak out, but Ben saw him, we can just play it off that Harry got sick.” Louis explains, makes it all seem so easy, so practical. He’s always the one with the ideas, the man with the plan, the boss. The rest just fall into line.

“Will he even go with me? He seems pretty pissed.” Oli looks over his shoulder, half expecting to see Harry glaring at them from the corner. Instead, all he can see is a sea of suits and glitter. “Can’t we send Niall with him? Or Paul?”

“No, of course not.” Louis dismisses the ridiculous idea with a wave of his hand, the other landing heavy on Oli’s shoulder – a king to his knight once again. “It has to be someone who can sneak away and I know won’t just leave him alone with the mini bar, alright?”

“Alright, but, Lou, I mean, come on. Harry is really wasted.” Oli tries to shake his head, tries to protest in the nicest way possible. “I don’t think he wants me to-“

“You just need to get him back to the hotel. Make sure he gets in safe and doesn’t puke everywhere.” Louis shrugs a bit, makes it seem like the easiest thing in the world. “Just do what I’d do, alright? Get him out of his shoes, put him to bed, just like any other lad. Get him a glass of water and that’s it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Louis-“ Oli tries to protest, but Louis is already clapping him on the shoulder.

“There’s a good lad.”

That’s how Oli finds himself ten minutes later sitting in the back of a black suburban with a very teary eyed and pouting Harry Styles. Oli isn’t even sure how they got here. He just knows that Louis had said something to Zayn who had went to find Niall who was with Harry. Then suddenly they were being led out the backway to a waiting car, Harry stumbling inside and Oli quickly behind him. The driver had been smart to put up the patrician, able to block out the frigid atmosphere of the car as they fly through the streets and Harry turns towards the window and sniffles loudly.

It occurs to Oli as he watches the city light play over the dark curls spilling just to the tops of Harry’s shoulders, that he’s never been alone with Harry before. Not really alone. Not without the lingering presence of one of the boys just in the other room, right around the corner. Not with Louis - loud, loud, loud - filling up the airway. It’s like Harry is this coveted sort of creature, the queen hidden away in her tower and only left to roam free with her whole entourage around her. It feels surreal that they’re sitting in the backseat together, close enough that if Harry shifted his hand just slightly, flexed his fingers, his pinkie would brush Oli’s.

In some ways, Oli supposes, Harry is an extension of Louis. They’re made up of the same material, that same, shimmering ethereal fiber that lights up the sky. They’ve ceased being two people a while ago, now exist to ebb and flow between each other, tied up tight with an eternal rope. Oli wonders if Harry feels like Louis does, if it’s safe and warm to have him so close, if everything feels okay with the world when Harry turns that bright grin towards you.

There is something else there, something darker, something that Oli has been thinking for a while even if he never really allowed himself to fully form the thought. There are other parts of Harry that belong to Louis, that have Louis’ stamp all over them. Oli bets Harry tastes like Louis, bet he smells like him, deep in the corners of his body where it’s natural and strong. Oli bets there are times when Harry sighs or moans or whispers and it’s just for Louis – only for Louis, only Louis.

“Alright Hazza, we’re here.” Oli unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, slides over the leather seat to open the door. “Let’s get you inside, mate, hm?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Muttering, Harry tosses his curls out of his face as he fumbles with the seat belt. It’s like his hands don’t exactly want to work, clumsy as he feels around before pushing hard on the red button. The belt releases with a loud click and Harry mumbles under his breath as he fights to get the nylon up and over his shoulders.

“Not trying to babysit you. Just want to get you inside, yeah?” Oli isn’t sure where to put his hands, braces one on the top of the car as he reaches in with the other, beckoning. “Come on, Harry. Up you get.”

“I’m fine.” Eyes half lidded, Harry pushes himself across the seat until he can get his sparkly boots out of the car, stumbling as he gets to his feet. “I’m not even drunk.”

“This way Mr. Styles.” The security guard – Oli thinks his name is Bert – motions with his hand, not touching the singer but herding him towards a large door of the basement to the hotel. They’re going in the backway, down where the staff rush around in the underbelly. It’s easier to move them through the hotel this way, avoiding any guests or fans who might be lingering around.

Oli tries to think of what Louis would do in this situation, how he’d handle it, the way he’d get Harry to move. He’s seen him lead a drunk Harry into a hotel before, seen how Harry had let himself be pulled, the way Louis’ hand had naturally curved to Harry’s waist, gentle in his guiding. Then again, Oli has only ever seen Louis touch him there. There are so many unspoken rules when it comes to Harry, so many ways that he’s not allowed to be talked to or touched, and most of them don’t even come from the man himself.

“Alright, lad. Here we go.” Oli isn’t bold enough to grab Harry there, instead, he places his hand firmly on his back, pushes him a little towards the door. “Let’s get you in bed.”

“Is that what he told you to say to me?” Harry cuts a glance towards Oli, drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Giving you all his secrets? I’ll give you some advice, he usually grabs my ass when he says that.”

“No! Louis just wanted to make sure you got home safe, is all. I’m just here to help.” Heat pours up the back of Oli’s neck, hot on his face and throat. He knows he’s probably flushed up to his ear as Harry leans into his side, giggles right into his ear.

“Aw Oli Bear. Are you getting embarrassed?” Harry’s fingertip brushes Oli’s cheeks, a quick drag right where the blush is the warmest as he continues to laugh. “You don’t have to be shy. I know he probably tells you everything. Probably know too much by now.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Oli mutters, leans against the wall as they’re shepherded into the elevator. Where there is enough space for all of them, Harry collapses on the mirror right next to Oli, shoulders back, hips out, arching his back. Through his sheer shirt, Oli can clearly see where Harry’s nipples have gone hard.

“You smell like him.” Harry comments as Bert inserts a key into the elevator, flicks it over and pushes the button to the floor they’re staying on. It’ll keep the elevator from stopping on random floors, cutting down on the security risk. Oli wishes he could focus on that instead of the way Harry’s hand is once again on his cheek, fingers dragging down to Oli’s neck.

“Did you know that? Expensive. Right here.” Harry lets out another one of these breathy, kind of high pitched giggles, batting his eyelashes. With the way he’s leaning, he’s staring right at Oli, level enough that he can meet Oli’s quick glance with a knowing one of his own. “Did he pick it out or did you?”

“It was a gift.” Running his hands down the front of his blazer, Oli can’t tear his eyes away, has to force them down over Harry’s throat, along the way open cut of his shirt, butterfly flexing a little as Harry lets out another laugh.

“Of course it was.” Harry grins, just the corner of his mouth raising. Under them, the elevator gives a little shake. “You know he does that. Picks and chooses what he can put his hands on. Likes to be in control of everything.”

“He’s the boss.” Oli shrugs a shoulder, turns his attention back to the mirror across from them. Bert is blocking part of it but the other half is the reflection of the two of them – Harry and Oli – so different and yet so similar at the same time.

“He is, isn’t he?” Humming a little, Harry tugs on his bottom lip. “But you already know that. I bet,” Leaning over, Harry drags his cold nose over the burning line of Oli’s jaw, inhaling sharp. “I bet you want him to fuck you so bad it drives you insane.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry!” Oli hisses, yanking himself to the side, staring at Harry with wide eyes. He doesn’t want to give anything away, wants to just play it off as drunken rambling, but something heavy and hot sits in the pit of Oli’s stomach, an acidic sort of churning – and not for the first time.

“I’m only playing, Oli. Only teasing.” Harry rolls his eyes, pushes off the wall as the elevator finally comes to a halt, the door sliding open with a soft ding. “It’s not like it’s not fucking obvious that everyone wants to. Got himself a girlfriend and they still act like he’s the easiest cock around.”

Stumbling forward, Harry can’t seem to get his feet to cooperate, looks like a baby deer fresh to the world with the way those long legs go on forward, shuffling a little. Model stride gone as Harry bumps into Bert, lets out a childish, feminine sort of laugh as the security guard rights him with a confident pat on the back. Harry has that ability too – that babying affect - where it seems everyone around him – old, young, man, woman, anyone really – will immediately want to treat him like some little child. Like a baby. To be protected and kept safe at all costs.

“Come on Oli Oli Oxen Free.” Harry sing songs, righting himself and starting to stomp down the hall. “Won’t babysit myself, now will I?”

Looking at himself in the mirror one last time, Oli rubs his hands over his cheeks, up over his eyes, his forehead. He hadn’t even really agreed to this. Only did it because Louis didn’t give him an option. He’s Louis’ personal assistant after all. Supposed to assist when needed. He just didn’t think it would be this – not even midnight yet and here he is quickly stepping down a plush carpeted hallway, watching Harry Styles trip over himself before collapsing next to the hotel door. His sweating a bit, curls damp near his face, the Irish flush to him a nice cherry red, compliments his pink mouth.

Oli slides the keycard into the slot, feels Harry’s gaze burning a hole in the side of his face while he does it. It’s the spare key – the one Oli always has. Sometimes he’s on wake up duty and it seems that Louis will react better to Oli coming in and seeing them curled up in bed, the aftermath of an intimate night spread out along the floor, than some random handler or security guard. Oli has nearly become desensitized to it at this point, just expects to see the peek of a bare shoulder, a long leg thrown out from the covers.

“Alright, mate, let’s go in.” Oli pushes the door open, waits for Harry to go in before he follows, letting it slam loudly behind them.

It’s a posh room, a small living room with a plush looking couch and chair, a low table holding a crystal ashtray already filled. There is an adidas hoodie thrown over the back of one of the chairs, a pair of trainers half hidden under the couch, an expensive looking tote bag perched on the sideboard. Two mugs are left on the coffee table too, one with an impression of a pink lipstick kiss on the side.

Harry doesn’t even look towards it, staggers a little into the wall before he’s digging his toes into the back of his boots, trying to kick the stiff leather off of him. The glitter scratches loudly and Oli forces himself to stop staring around the room and go to help.

“Don’t kick me in the face, alright? I’ll help you.” Muttering to himself, Oli braces one hand on the wall as he gets down to one knee. Harry’s pants are tucked over the tops of the boots so he has to push them back up a little, finding the small zipper on the inside and tugging it. Surprisingly, Harry doesn’t protest, just raises one foot and then the next, only sniffling a little when his mismatched socks dig into the carpet – one a pale yellow with sunflowers on them and the other a plain one with three stripes over the toes.

“You don’t have to help me.” Harry murmurs after a moment, shrugs his shoulders as he eases his blazer down and off his arms. He lets it pool at his fingertips before tossing it carelessly towards the couch. “You got me in the hotel. You can text him and get off the hook.”

“He asked me to help you get into bed.” Oli purposefully doesn’t look anywhere but at Harry’s eyes, doesn’t want to see those long, nimble fingers working open another button. He’s still clumsy with it, feeling along the silken fabric of his shirt first. “Told me to take care of you.”

“I’m sure he did.” Harry scoffs, running a hand through his curls. “I’m sure he fucking did.”

“Harry. Don’t think like that.” Oli’s own hands tremble as they take up where Harry’s had stopped, working a small mother of pearl button through the hole. Something twists in his stomach, hot and lurching, as he watches the top of the laurels come into view, the butterfly flexing a little as Harry seems to turn his attention downward too. “You know he loves you. It’s not his fault.”

“It never is.” Harry mutters, wipes at his nose with the side of his hand, lets Oli keep working on his shirt. “Why would it be? When they make sure a pretty, fucking picture? Prince and princess. She is so pretty, isn’t she?”

“He doesn’t even-“ Oli looks up then, surprised to find that Harry is already looking down at him. The hem of his shirt comes apart with the last button, flutters to either side of Harry’s torso. He’s pink there too – chest flushed, a little sweaty under the cross necklace. Oli can smell his perfume – has to be – with how light and floral it is, and Oli realizes all at once that he’s got the same scent on Louis a million times.

“He doesn’t even see her when you’re in the room, Harry. He doesn’t even look her way, doesn’t look at anyone but you. You have to know that. You’re Louis’ whole world.”

“And yet he’s not here. He’s off kissing some girl and I’m here in our hotel room with his best friend.” Harry lets out a laugh – bitter and frail, a broken sort of noise – before he turns his head, pushes off the wall entirely to move towards the chair. He discards his shirt there, lets the silk slip off his arms, down over his hands, expensive fabric set to wrinkle on top of Louis’ hoodie.

“You know, I think about it sometimes. How things would be different,” Harry muses, doesn’t even really seem to be talking to Oli, just voicing thought. He’s got his hand on the front of his pants, stroking a little over the waistband as he stares down at the cushion of the chair. “How very different things would be if I was a girl.”

“Louis wouldn’t like you if you were a girl. He’s gay.” Oli feels stupid even saying it, brow furrowed. It’s like no matter what he says though Harry isn’t satisfied. He wants the fight. Wants to make it bigger than it is or at the very least, spill all his feelings all over the carpet.

“He was dating a girl when he met me.” Harry shrugs a little, swaying on his heels, a little too far gone to stay still. “Hannah. Made me the other woman and everything.”

“Hannah and him were on the outs by the time he went to the X-Factor.” Oli argues, shaking his head. He had been there for that. Been there for the entire thing – start and fiery end. It was Oli who had told Hannah not to worry, that maybe Louis wasn’t actually into boys.

“Make it easier, wouldn’t it?” Harry muses, rubs a hand up over his stomach, cups it over his flat chest. He’s getting so thin now, so small, tiny waist and hips, abs fluttering under soft skin. “Be whatever fantasy they want, right? I could be his girl. His boy. His in between.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you other than Louis has never ever looked at anyone the way he looks at you.” Oli feels a little helpless, hopeless, out of depth. How is he supposed to solve any of this? How is he supposed to cure a problem that’s been brewing from the moment the band was signed? He’s heard this argument a million times, different versions but still the same verse. It’s a broken record at this point.

“You’re so sweet, Oli.” Harry smirks a little, shaking his head as he looks over his shoulder at the other man. “Always so fucking loyal to him, aren’t you? His favorite lost boy.”

“Harry, you’re drunk. You need to sleep, okay? I don’t think you want to talk about this right now. Not really.” Oli gestures towards the hallway where he knows the bed must be, gentle in his prodding. “Let’s get you tucked in, yeah?”

Tucking his fingers into the waistband of his pants, Harry snaps the button open, lets the zipper drag down. Oli feels the lurching in his stomach start to twist. He should look away. Shouldn’t wonder, shouldn’t let his mind do that fucking thing it does where he overthinks, where he rationalizes the worst. But maybe this is as close to being Louis as he’s ever going to get. A year ago, Oli would have given anything to be in Harry’s shoes but now everything is a mess inside his brain where he can’t decide where he wants to be – just in some gravitational pull between them.

Harry drops his trousers in a pile at his feet, steps out of the stretchy fabric. He’s grown so much since the cute sixteen year old that sang his heart out to Simon Cowell. This Harry is filled out, model thin, with those eyes and those long legs. Oli has heard Louis lamenting all about how perfect Harry’s body is, how fit he is, but now Oli can see it all in high definition and he’s not even sure if he should be. Especially with the way the lace cuts across Harry’s waist, a set of expensive looking panties holding back the last trace of Harry’s modesty. He’s so fit it kind of is melting Oli’s brain, tangling up all the reasons why he shouldn’t and can’t.

“You’re staring.” Harry laughs a little, breathless and a little wet. There are tears in his eyes even as he glances over Oli with a raised eyebrow. “You like what you see, Oliver?”

“We’re not doing this.” Oli shakes his head quickly, backing up half a step. “You’re off your face, mate.”

“I am. I’m so fucking drunk.” Harry does that little high pitched giggle, a helplessness to it as he wipes a hand under his eyes. “But isn’t this what you want? What everyone wants? Parade me around, Oli. Get what you want. I am everyone’s little whore, right?”

“Harry,” Oli’s breath catches tight in his chest, a sharp pain digging into the center of his lungs.

“Let you have it for free too. Don’t even have to sign a contract,” Harry drags his fingertips along his side, showing himself off, highlighting the curve of his waist, his soft hips. “Come on Oli. You can’t tell me you’re not curious. Every magazine is talking about how good I am in bed. You want to know first hand?”

“That’s not you. That – that narrative isn’t you.” Oli shakes his head, feels his mouth go dry as Harry sniffles a little, shakes his head. “I know this. We know this.”

“Of course it is. It’s whatever they want it to be, right?” Harry lets out a deep breath, shoulders rolling forward, back arched. He looks small now, so very young. “Put a price on emotion. Sell whatever you want as long as you are the one behind the counter.”

“It’s going-“ Oli’s voice cracks, feels himself shudder, feverish and cold at the same time. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How is any of it going to be okay?” Harry asks, sniffles hard as he wipes again at his cheek. “I’m over here drunk and he’s across town playing someone else’s boyfriend. He’ll come home smelling like her, tasting like her, and I’ll still be expected to smile and nod. Take it all. What does any of it matter anymore?”

Pushing away from the chair, Harry pads over into the hallway, unbothered by his near nudity. He never has been, always the first to strip down, lounges around nude when he knows it’s going to just be Louis in the room. But Harry’s said too many things and Oli is trying to follow it, tries not to panic at what all this means, what the ramifications of tonight will bring.

“Oli.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry bites into his bottom lip. The light from the bedside table has turned him golden, all long lines of muscle and soft skin, of freckles and moles. And Oli tries to keep his eyes up but the way that black lace lays across Harry's waist is almost sinful, an angel with his cherub curls but the devil in his eye. It's almost worse that Oli can faintly make out where a splatter of fingerprint bruises trace their way along the soft curve of Harry's upper thighs.

"Bit of a waste, isn't it, Oli?" Harry asks, sighs it like heaven is falling from his lips. "All dressed up for a man that won't even be here to appreciate it."

"H."

Tongue swollen in his mouth, Oli has never wanted so badly to turn away and run in his life. But like a man who's fallen into a lion's den, he can't do anything but watch with wide eyes as Harry turns a little, shows the long line of his flank, the thin strap at the side of the panties cut to rest just along his laurels.

"But then again," Harry murmurs, licks over his lips, bruised and bright from drinking and biting at them. "I guess he sent you instead, didn't he? Gotta mean something, right? A boyfriend in place of a girlfriend."

With a toss of his curls, Harry stumbles down the hall, only nudging his shoulder into the wall once he gets there – bambi legs and no grace. From his spot in the living room, Oli hangs his head so he doesn’t have to watch the way Harry’s ass sways, hips leading him. This should be the part of the evening where he leaves, where he shuts the door behind him and sends Louis a text to let him know his boyfriend is drunker than shit but safe. But Oli can’t do that. He just can’t. He told Louis that he would make sure Harry got into the bed and went to sleep and he can’t do that from out here.

And he’s selfish.

Taking a deep breath, Oli steels himself. Whatever he’s about to walk into in that hotel room, he’ll just do what he was asked and that’s it. He’ll make sure Harry is away from the mini bar, is safe in bed, and then he’ll leave. He’ll go back to his hotel room and try not to think about the fact he just saw his best mate’s boyfriend nearly naked. That he doesn’t have the undeniable knowledge now that Harry dresses up in lace and satin for Louis on the regular. That those expensive boxes Oli is always rushing around to pick up, tied up in expensive ribbons with French names across them are probably Harry’s personal lingerie collection.

“Fuck me.” Oli curses, takes in a slow, deep breath. He’ll just go in and out. That’s it. “Pull yourself together, Oli. Christ’s sake.”

Boldly, Oli turns on his heel and strides down the hall. He’s expecting to see Harry sprawled out on the bed, seductive and coy. Hell, he’s even expecting Harry to already be looting through the liquor cabinet, taste testing all the little bottles of vodka and rum. What he’s not prepared for is Harry curled up on top of the covers, a hoodie clenched against his chest. It’s red, familiar, with a few white letters poking. Oli knows it without having to see it. Louis’ Doncaster Rovers jumper, embroidered with his name and number on the back, the crest in the front corner.

He's crying now, fully, face buried in his hands. It’s rocking his entire body, these great big sobs that make his ribs stick out when his chest constricts, skin blotchy and pink from the pressure. Oli is so startled he nearly forgets why he came in, stopping just inside the door to watch as Harry’s voice goes hoarse, as he clings tighter to the cherry fabric. And then, like waking from a daydream, Oli’s body seems to spring into action before his mind can even play catch up.

“Hey, hey, Harry. It’s alright.” Sliding onto the edge of the bed, Oli reaches out a tentative hand, places it gently on Harry’s bicep. “Don’t cry, love. It’s okay. You’re just drunk. It’s okay.”

“You’re still here?” Tugging his palms away from his cheeks, Harry stares up at Oli with a deeply furrowed brow, his lips trembling. “I thought you left.”

“Couldn’t leave until I knew you were settled.” Oli explains, rubs a thumb along the faint cut of muscle in Harry’s arm. “It’s okay. You’re alright. You know that?”

“Oli.”

Letting out a broken sort of noise in the back of his throat, Harry sits up and he’s suddenly throwing his arms around Oli and pulling him into a tight hug. Harry’s skin is so warm, so soft along the curve of his ribs, of the dip in his waist. He clings to Oli like he’s a life line, like the sweater in between them wasn’t enough, that he needs more, needs touch to sooth that burning hole in his heart. Oli holds him as carefully as he can, doesn’t try to squeeze or bruise him or leave any trace that he’s been here. That he’s been graced with holding someone like Harry, someone so above Oli.

“Everything hurts. Everything is so awful.” Harry slurs, rubs his damp cheek on Oli’s shoulder, nuzzling into his throat. “I’ve ruined it.”

“You haven’t ruined anything.” Oli soothes, is brave enough to reach up and gently stroke the back of Harry’s head. His curls fall through his fingertips like silk. “You’re just off your face, love. It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

“No. Louis hates me. He’s going to hate me.” Harry continues to cry, gripping onto Oli tightly, nearly crawling into his lap with how close they are. “He’s probably out there with her not even bothering to think of me.”

“Now that’s not true.” Sniffing lightly, Oli catches a whiff of that perfume again, florals and amber, mixed a little heavier by the jumper being crushed between them. It’s LouisandHarry and HarryandLouis and Oli can’t seem to escape it. Feels just as drunk on it as Harry is.

“I just want to be loved. Why can’t anyone just love me?” Harry fumbles back a little, stares up at Oli with wide, tragic eyes. He looks like a weeping doll, there out of his clothes, cheeks and neck flushed pink, mouth wet with tears. “Not what they see or think they know but me. I just want to be me.”

“People love you. So many people love you.” Oli tries to say, tries to find the right thing to say, the soothing thing to say, but it seems to only produce another tear falling straight from Harry’s right eye.

“You smell like him.” He mumbles, rubbing at the tip of his red nose. “You smell like him and you feel like him. Just like him. And I just want him to love me.”

“He does love you. Louis loves you so much.” Oli soothes, thinks if he just keeps repeating it then maybe it will break through Harry’s drunken rambling. He’s not even making full sentences anymore, face hot with tears, nuzzling into Oli’s throat. “Harry-“

“I want Louis. I just want Louis.” Voice cracking, Harry lets out a soft, miserable sort of whine in the back of his throat. “Why is he never here? I just want my boyfriend.”

Leaning forward, Harry’s cheek bumps into Oli’s, leaves a wet print that feels cold in the hotel room’s conditioned air. It’s like a mark, left to linger, as suddenly Harry tilts his head the right way. Oli opens his mouth to say something, maybe some other thought that might soothe the wound of an evening ruined by management, but it all falls out of his mind the moment he feels Harry’s tongue brush his lips. It’s not coordinated, a desperate sort of leaning in that has Harry’s hand warm and a little clammy on Oli’s neck, leaning into the kiss as if he’s not completely sure what he’s doing, just wants to fit their lips together, to taste along the roof of Oli’s mouth.

For the briefest of moments, a thought crosses Oli’s mind. A deliriously selfish thought, something he should be ashamed of and probably will be for the rest of his life. But it’s there – the thought that while he’s kissing Harry, he’s really kissing Louis too. He bets if he searched for it, Oli would be able to find the lingering taste of Louis along Harry’s mouth, the cut of a tooth, the curve of his tongue. This mouth that has been on Louis’ a thousand times by now, a million, holds little relics of him no matter what. He’s left his mark all over Harry, claimed every bit of him he can.

If he was a stronger man, Oli would push Harry away, would protest, would denounce it. He would put Harry back in his place, talk about Louis and remember his role as best friend and assistant. But instead, Oli just kind of lets it happen. Lets Harry lick along his tongue, kiss warm and wet and too much all the same. This isn’t some soft kiss based out of love or adoration. It’s desperate and messy and it’s Harry who ultimately ends it. Harry who falls back with a helpless, broken noise still in his mouth, hand immediately flying up to touch his lips.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, Oli. I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Harry shakes his head, eyes widening in horror. “I just-“

“It’s fine, Harry. It’s fine.” Oli thinks if he repeats it enough that maybe it will be true. Maybe he won’t still feel that buzzing against his mouth, won’t revel in the idea that he knows now what Harry tastes like, what LouisandHarry taste like. And how fucked up it is that he’s not that bothered by it.

“It’s not. It’s not. And I’m so fucked-“

Harry doesn’t get a chance to finish whatever thought he had. He pushes past Oli, manages to brace one hand on the nightstand as his stomach suddenly lurches and he vomits directly into the little trashcan tucked in beside the mattress. The sound is immediately sobering as Harry’s stomach constricts again, his back arched, letting out a low, gurgling sort of noise as the sickness keeps rolling through him.

Oli won’t unpack right now why he feels more relieved than grossed out. Instead, he steadies Harry with a hand on his shoulder, bracing him while Harry’s sick turns from full on emptying his stomach to dry heaves. It seems once his body stops convulsing, all of the energy in Harry’s body gives out at once. He barely protests when Oli gets him back down on the bed, when he pulls the duvet up and over him the wrong way, creating a sort of bundle.

Everything Oli does is methodical now, doesn’t think, just moves. He grabs Harry a bottle of water from the mini fridge, moves the sick trashcan into the bathroom and rinses it out in the tub. He even goes as far as laying two pills out next to Harry’s side of the bed and plugging his phone in before Oli takes his first deep breath in what feels like ages and lets himself collapse against the bedroom wall. Shooting off a quick text to Louis to let him know that Harry is now asleep, Oli rubs a hand over his face, into his hair, tugging it sharply.

It’s nearly one now, nearly time for Louis to be leaving the party, so Oli flips the lights out and slinks towards the door. It’s only when he reaches it that he glances backwards. Harry is back to being curled tight around the jumper. His hair is a mess, cheeks blotchy from tears and sickness, and dark circles line under his eyes. Oli has never seen him look so hopeless. But Oli also knows that no matter what he would offer to do, this isn’t his job to fix. No one can fix this but Louis.

“Goodnight Hazza.” Oli whispers, watching the gentle rise and fall of the boy’s chest before he slinks out of the room.

He's not lucky enough to escape unscathed though. Of course not. As soon as he shuts the door to the hotel, barely takes half a pace down the hall, the one for the elevator is sliding open with a soft ding. Louis and Zayn come out, surrounded on either side by security, laughing about something as they bump shoulders. Neither of them look that worse for wear, maybe a little tired, but Louis’ grin turns somber, eyebrows furrowing the moment he sees Oli awkwardly standing in the hallway.

“Oi, mate. You alright?” Waving off the security detail, Louis stops short in front of the other boy, hands coming together, legs wide apart.

Shame.

It hits Oli straight in the chest, turns him warm all over again. He had been foolish to think that he would be able to walk away from this without feeling at least somewhat guilty. Is it obvious what happened in the hotel room? Does Oli now smell like Harry? Is what is stuck to the roof of his mouth from Harry’s? Oli can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, always watching, calculating. But Oli can’t do anything but rub a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck, stare off to the side.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He mutters, doesn’t want to say more than that but he knows Louis’ going to pry. Never leaves it alone. “Just knackered. Haz is asleep now. Poor lad. Threw up everywhere.”

And just like that, Oli feels the lie slip out from between his teeth and linger there – now fully formed. This narrative carefully created to leave out the messy bits. It’s not that Oli wants to lie like this. He’s not even really lying. But what good is it to bring up something that is only going to make the situation worse? It was clear from the get go that the kiss was just a drunken mishap. That Harry didn’t mean it. He wasn’t begging for Oli. He was begging for Louis. He’s always asking for Louis.

“Shit.” Running a hand through his hair, Louis glances towards Zayn, face pinched, but the other boy just gives a little shrug.

“Nialler said he was drinking in the car.”

“I cleaned him up a bit. Put him to bed.” Oli interjects, takes half a step forward. “He was asking for you though. Might be worth letting him know you are here.”

“Shit.” Louis repeats, already pushing past Oli and going towards the room door. It only takes him two tries to get the keycard to work and then he’s disappearing into the darkness without even so much as a goodnight thrown over his shoulder.

It leaves just Oli and Zayn and a few sleepy looking security guards in the hallway. They’re not even looking at the pair of them – one stationed at each end, another at the door to the stairs. It’s late and they should all just go to bed. Oli is about to head down to his room – end of the hall on the right – when Zayn suddenly steps into his path, eyebrow cocked. He’s got the type of stare that immediately makes Oli feel millimeters tall, so insignificant before him.

“Louis loves you, mate. Trusts you.” Zayn speaks slowly, softly, like he doesn’t want to be overheard and like he’s landing each word with a blow. “You know that, eh? You know he fought to even have you here.”

“I know that.” Oli replies, feels that dreadful heat start creeping up the back of his neck. “I’m grateful for it.”

“And Harry.” Annunciating, Zayn sounds out each word, makes it impactful, a dagger pointed at Oli’s throat. Who is the knight and who is the betrayer? Oli has often wondered who claimed the title of Lancelot. “You know, he goes through a lot. He’s put through a lot. And when he’s away from those fucking cameras, he’s supposed to be safe. We’re family, Oli. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Why are you even saying this shit to me?” Oli feels his hackles rising, can taste the acidity in the back of his throat, burning through whatever part of Harry still lingered there.

“Don’t. Fuck. Around.” Zayn taps his fingers into Oli’s shoulder with each word. He’s barely taller than Oli, sharp lines and those dark eyes, but he looms over Oli like he’s just asking for a single reason to take it a step further. “Louis might be blind to it, but I’m not. I’ve got eyes on you, Oli. You fuck with them, you fuck with me, alright?”

Zayn only waits half a moment to get Oli’s awkward nod, before he moves past him with a sharp shove of his shoulder into Oli’s. It’s so elementary. So playground rules. But Oli can’t dismiss it as meaningless. Where as Zayn holds the power, Oli knows he’s right. Knows he’s got to make some sense of all of this before he fucks everything up – for him and for them.

A hotel door slams closed behind him and Oli doesn’t look – just high tails it to his own room. He feels dirty now, smudged up, like he’s done something fundamentally wrong. It wasn’t him that initiated the kiss though. It wasn’t him who stripped Harry down. It wasn’t him who instigated the conversation. But that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty of it all. He should have put his foot down, he should have left, he should and he should and he should.

The longer Oli is on the road with them, the further he feels like he’s getting from that place at Louis’ side. It’s not the same. Louis doesn’t need Oli in the same way he used to. He doesn’t look to Oli first when he makes a joke or when he wants a reaction. Now there is Harry. There is Zayn. There are the others. Oli isn’t first choice. Isn’t best choice. And he’s trying so desperately to carve out a little space for him in Louis’ life but it feels like every time he does, it comes caving in around him. Jealousy and desperation have warped it all together in his head, turned him bitter and cold to it and so very eager to please.

The next day, Oli makes it all the way through breakfast before anything else happens. The entire time, Harry and Louis share one chair, Louis sat back comfortably with a lapful clinging and needy Harry. There are tear bruises under his eyes, dressed in an old jumper and trackies that Oli would bet his back account actually belong to Louis as the hem of the pants are just a fraction too short. Harry has on socks though, his feet swinging a little as he listens to whatever Louis is saying to him, petting a hand down Harry's back. Oli doesn't mean to stare, really wants to look at anything else, but it's so oddly domestic. Louis - loud and brash lad that he is - just sits there and smiles and lets Harry feed him toast, hash browns right off his fork.

Over the top of his jumper, a thin strip of leather peeks out every time Harry leans in to kiss over Louis' jaw or fix his fringe. Oli knows barely what it means, has done some reading just because he wants to understand. Wants to be supportive. Doesn't know what this qualifies as in the long list of possible kinks, just knows that Louis seems happy until the very last half hour of the meal.

That's when Oli feels it - those fucking eyes - lock onto him from across the room. It's uncanny really - this feeling that comes over Oli. It's like touching a socket with a wet fingertip, jolted hard, feels it all the way through his nerves, along his spine, into his brain. Oli had been in a fairly interesting conversation with Josh - one of the assistants - about the highs and lows of the French football team when Oli had watched out of the corner of his eye, Louis stand up, gently depositing Harry back into the chair. He doesn't protest, just stares up at Oli with those big, pleading eyes until Louis presses a soft kiss to his upturned mouth. Fits his own lips around that cupid's bow like they were crafted to bet that way before Louis pulls away with a murmured something and turns, stalking across the room.

"Oli. A word?"

He doesn't wait for Oli to follow him, must know he automatically will, as Louis makes his way through the suite and into a side bedroom. It must have been designed for a children because it's small and the twin size bed is covered in a simple but soft blue blanket. Oli wonders distantly if he could tie it into a noose and hang himself to get out of this conversation as he steps inside, the closing door like a gavel on his fate.

"You can stop looking like I dragged you in here to murder you, mate. I know what happened and I also know why you didn't tell me last night." Louis drawls, leans his shoulders back on the wall as he fixes Oli with a careful eyebrow. "Harry told me everything."

"He was drunk, Lou. He was so fucking drunk." Oli already feels the bile creeping up the back of his throat. "He didn't know what he was doing and I never though. I mean. Come on, Louis, I never would have -"

"I know." Louis dismisses with a wave of his hand, though his face has this complicated expression on it. Almost like this is making him nauseated to talk about.

"It didn't even mean anything. Like, I'm straight." Oli defends, heart racing he's sure it's goijng to leap from his chest. Making a considering noise, Louis raises an eyebrow and Oli feels it all slipping out of his mouth before he can bottle it up.

"Okay mostly straight. Maybe. I don't know. Point is-" Taking a deep breath, Oli puts his hands up before him, asking for mercy, "I'm sorry."

"I know, lad. I know." Louis nods once, shoulders lowering as he sighs. "I know you are."

"He wasn't kissing me, Louis. He was kissing you. He wanted you. He always wants you." Oli murmurs, feels a little guilty for betraying Harry like this. Feels like it's a little personal to say but Oli's loyalty is to Louis first.

"Yeah. It's all my fucking fault."

Running a hand through his hair, Louis seems to contemplate what he's about to say before he lets out another sigh. He is the master of bottling things up, not Oli. Louis is a fortress with all his secrets kept in close. He's Arthur and Camelot is his mind.

"Listen, Oli, I only pulled you in here to tell you I know and that you can stop worrying about it. Harry told me and I'm not blaming you." Louis even steps forward, cups Oli's shoulder in a gentle touch. "It's not fine but it's not you. So take a breath because you look like you're a second away from an aneurysm, alright?"

"I'm sorry, Louis. I'm sorry for all of it." Oli means it. For the kiss. For the stunt. For the way Louis is getting stress wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"S'alright lad. Nothing to be done now." Louis doesn't seem to want to talk more, closing up the gate, as he turns to put his hand on the door. He's about to turn it when he looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Oli with a cheshire grin stretched over his face.

"I just hope you know though." Louis says, head tilted. He's sixteen all over again and Oli's stomach lurches. "You ever kiss my boyfriend again and it will be the last thing your mouth ever does, yeah? I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you."

Louis laughs, a teasing sort of manic Peter Pan giggle, and then he's pulling the door open and going back to the busy breakfast room. Oli spends a whole minute staring at the space Louis used to occupy, begging his chest to calm down. It takes a while for him to be able to even move, and when he goes to join the group, he purposefully doesn't look at the couple in the corner. He already knows they won't be looking at him.

5.

The yelling starts in the car even before they reach the hotel, but the minute the door is open, it ricochets around the stone parking garage. Expletives spill out around first a security guard, then an assistant, and then the lad himself who comes stumbling out of the Suburban with his hood pulled up. Louis has always been a bit too loud, boisterous really, has to fill the whole space up with his words and his thoughts. But this, this is Louis projecting. Think the whole city could probably hear him.

"I don't fucking care what they said. I'm not fucking doing it!"

Oli slips out after, grips the straps of Louis' backpack and his own, lifts them out of the car. His palms are clammy around the nylon, feels the pricks of anxiety along the back of his neck. He spent the entire car ride from the airport sandwiched against the window, listening to Louis getting screamed at on the phone. He's heard all of it, the upper exec's thick accent billowing from the iPhone speaker. Now, Oli has to hear the aftermath too. It's causing a headache to blister behind his eyes, a nagging migraine lacing tension between the corners of his skull.

"It's one night, Lou. Just one night." Paul settles a hand on Louis' shoulder, pushes him forward. Behind, Zayn and Liam come trailing out of the other car. Niall and Harry rode together too, though who knows how far back they are considering they had to take a separate plane from New York.

"I don't fucking care. I really don't." Louis is shaking his head, fumbles a cigarette from his pack. "I'm saying no. They’re not even here!"

"Louis, I know. I know, alright." Paul tries to be reassuring, tries to soothe him in the fatherly way that only Paul gets away with, but Louis' mouth thins, shaking his head.

"I'm not doing it. I don't care what they say. I said no." Louis' voice cracks a bit just as Zayn steps next to him, raises his own lighter to help. Oli should feel some sort of way about the fact that Zayn barely looked at him as he does it, can’t be bothered, but that's something Oli can unpack later. Jealousy is a cold emotion and Oli is too warm for this right now.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn murmurs, palm settling between Louis’ shoulder blades, thumb tracing on his spine. “What happened?”

“He’s been gone in New York for a week! He’s been gone a whole fucking week with her, Paul!” Louis snarls, top lip curled away from his teeth, looks so vicious with the way his cheekbones angle is face. “He’s my fucking boyfriend. Not hers.”

“Louis,” Paul sighs deeply, looks fucking exhausted with it. Oli can sympathize. It’s palpable every time Harry leaves, every time they ship him off to play British bad boy to his leggy singer.

“I said no.” Louis shakes his head, eyes wet as he bites back angry tears. “They can’t just take him. He stays with me, Paul. We’ve shared a bed for three years now. You know that.”

"They're mad about it though. Let them get their way tonight and then you have a day off at the end of the week. I swear-" Paul lowers his voice, glances around like one of the security guards is about to overhear them. It's no use really as Louis rears back, something dark fluttering into his eyes.

"You can't be serious. You can't be fucking serious!"

Flicking his still fairly long cigarette away from him, Louis turns on his heel and starts striding towards the elevators. The security team around him scrambles to follow, though Paul doesn’t give chase right away. Instead, he lets out a deep sigh before taking off at a much more controlled and measured gait. Turning his head, Zayn’s dark eyes drift to Oli, eyebrow up. Liam is a looming shadow behind him.

“What happened?”

It always catches Oli off guard a bit when Zayn does that, gives him that look. It’s so strange how one moment he can be funny, loud, Yorkshire lad and the next, he gives Oli a glance like he’s lower than the dirt they’re standing upon. Oli isn’t even sure Zayn is aware that he can do it.

“I don’t know. Harry tripped or whatever and Louis went back to catch him.” Oli rubs a hand over his face, feels the prickle of stubble against his palm. Hasn’t shaved since they left Japan, isn’t even sure what time zone they’re in now. He’s exhausted. Just wants to fall into a mattress and sleep forever. “Management saw the video so they got pissed. Said it was too intimate or some shite. Doesn’t work with what they’re trying to do for the band. I don’t know.”

“It was an accident. Literally impulse.” Liam hisses, rolls his eyes. He’ll back talk management as long as he’s out of ear shot, away from prying eyes. The security guards around them now look half disinterested, half dead on their feet.

“Load of bullshit.” Zayn hisses, keeps glancing quickly from Oli to Louis, back and forth like he doesn’t want to lose sight of him. Oli may have the knighted place of best mate, but Zayn is quickly rising to Sir Galahad. “If any of the rest of us caught him, it’d be fucking fine. But Louis does it and it’s the worst thing to happen. Fucking forbid he just let his bandmate fall and then be labeled as a dick for it.”

“Z-“ Liam mutters, glances up to where they’ve caught the attention of one of the security guards.

“So? Let the fucking wanker hear.” Zayn snaps, flicks his cigarette to the side with a quick move of his hand, finger up as he shouts. “Going to report back to Mummy Simon, eh?”

“Hey, stop.” Oli hisses, reaches out to grab Zayn’s arm, only to let his fingers graze him instead of truly grasp. He isn’t sure what Zayn would do if he was grabbed onto like this, but Oli isn’t sure he wants to find out. “It was an accident today, alright? No need to make it worse.”

“Worse? How the fuck do you think it can get worse? They so much as breathe in the same room and management is pissed.” Zayn mutters, looks after Louis who is stuck by the elevators. He’s got his arms out, yelling at Paul as they wait for the lift, angry and vicious – a lone king fighting against a whole army it seems. “Well, what is the punishment? All locked in for the night? No phones?”

“They won’t let Harry room with him.” Oli sighs, feels the strings that are holding him up to the sky start to sag. He’s beaten down with it all, feels helpless to fix anything.

“What?” Liam interrupts Oli’s slow decline, jaw tight. Zayn’s standing closer and his dark gaze snaps to Oli’s face. “You have to be joking. They can’t do that.”

“Nope. They can. Hotel floor is booked too so I guess they’re moving Harry to Niall’s room or they will move him hotels. Made a big deal of it too. Screamed at Louis on the phone. Think them having space is the answer.” Oli shrugs a little, helpless to fix any of this. He feels like shit about it but it’s true. “Louis is-“

Oli doesn’t get to finish as another car pulls into the parking garage, followed by another. They always split up like this, put some space between them, just in case. There is a lot of security protocols in place when you’re escorting the biggest band in the world through a crowded city. Honestly, Oli is shocked he was even allowed to come with Louis.

By the time they have the doors open and the passengers are stepping out, Louis and half of the crew are into the hotel. They haven’t lingered, though Oli has the distinct feeling he’s supposed to be with them. Louis hadn’t said anything, too frustrated and yelling to notice the what and where he was working. Even security now is starting to usher Liam and Zayn forward – want to keep the boys apart.

Niall comes out first, followed by Harry, who giggles loudly and tosses the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder. He’s been gone all week in New York, playing nice and safe for some pretty, country pop princess. Even if he’s wearing something obviously new money, all that matters if he’ll play the part. He’s a puppet on corporate strings.

“Did no one tell him yet?” Liam asks, sets his palm in the dip of Zayn’s waist as they are pushed towards the lobby doors. The security guard that Zayn flipped off side eyes them with a curl of his lip.

“I doubt it. You know how Harry gets when he feels like it’s his fault. “ Zayn glances over just as they get through the lobby doors, the gritting of his teeth sharp. “Oi, why don’t you go do it? That’s part of your job, isn’t it? Being Louis’ messenger boy?”

Oli’s face goes hot, feels the red creep down over his throat, along his ears. He knows Zayn isn’t trying to be a dick, at least he hopes he isn’t, but he just has this way about the way he says it. Zayn is fiercely protective of Louis, incredibly so, but Oli has quickly learned that Zayn loves Harry. Loves him like a little brother, like a friend who Zayn would stand before and defend even if he knew he was going to get hurt. Maybe Zayn is already on Louis’ knighted round table, maybe he sits close to his right hand.

“I uh-“ Oli glances back, feels that yawning pit in his stomach grow larger. The last thing he wants to do is go out there and upset Harry. It’s not like with Louis who gets loud when he’s mad, louder still when he’s sad about something. With Harry – and Oli has only ever been privy to it once – he just kind of shuts down. Goes silent. Like someone has flipped off the light inside of him.

“Go.” Zayn pushes a hand into Oli’s shoulder, guides him out of the elevator with a flick of his wrist.

“Please?” Liam tags on, sends a glance of some sympathy towards the other boy. “At the very least warn him, eh? He’s going to know the second he hits the floor and hears Lou yelling. Better to be prepared for the ride up.”

Harry and Niall are paused out on the cement, surrounded by security and aids, still laughing at some long winded thing Niall’s been prattling on about. Oli hasn’t heard the beginning of it, or the middle, so the ending is inconsequential when he rubs a hand through his hair and comes to awkwardly linger outside of their circle. Unlike Zayn and Liam, Harry and Niall immediately notice him, their conversation stalling off.

“Oh, hey Oli.” Harry greets, warm smile and flushed cheeks, cherub dimples. He reaches out his free arm, pulls Oli into a tight hug.

“Hey Haz. Welcome home.” Oli tries not to inhale, can’t help it with the way his face is squished into Harry’s shoulder, can smell the faintly sweet scent of him – like coffee cupcakes left to cool, cloves and cinnamon. Oli is used to the lingering Marlboro smoke around him – just a whiff in his hair – but Harry has been gone for long enough that any traces of Louis have been washed away with time and distance.

“I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m fucking knackered.” Niall yawns, raises his arms above him in a full body stretch. It lifts his shirt, exposes the clean cut of his hip.

“All I want is a bath and some rosé.” Sighing a little, Harry shifts his bag up higher on his shoulder, fidgets a bit with a stray curl. “I smell like the plane.”

“Yeah, alright.” Raising an eyebrow at him, Niall gives Harry his best skeptical twist of his mouth, cheeks a bit pink. “That’s all you want? Surprised you haven’t ran for the lift already.”

“Well, I just said that as like a pre-cursor. An appetizer. Mood setting.” Harry lets out that giggle again, turning his head and peering over Oli to look towards the entry door. “Speaking of appetizing, where is my boyfriend?”

“He um,” Oli coughs, licks over his lips, mouth suddenly dry. Fuck Zayn and Liam. Fuck them for making him tell Harry this shit. Fuck management for being monsters. Fuck Louis for not staying down here. “Look-“

Attention snapping back, Harry drops on his heels, the boots clicking a little on the cement. It echoes around the now silent car park, like a gavel ending whatever sort of joy had been coursing through the two of them. Niall looks surprised but Harry – Harry seems to already know, his eyebrows coming down, mouth a tight line.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not even that big of a deal when you think about it.” Oli’s laughter comes out choked, cut off awkward somewhere between the back of his throat and his tongue. It makes Niall’s nose scrunch up, crowding closer. Oli supposes that Harry must have a knight if Louis does, and it seems fitting that Niall takes that role.

“Where is Louis?” Harry repeats himself, drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Did he get sent out again? Are they clubbing? He’s barely slept in three days.”

“I know. I know. We all haven’t.” Oli reaches up, gently lays his hand on Harry’s bicep. It feels forbidden, even if it’s just for comfort, even if Oli just embraced him. Harry doesn’t get the comforting touches from just anyone, it’s a right you have to earn. “But no, no he’s here. Him and Zayn just went up. It’s just that I uh…” Oli takes a deep breath. “I guess something happened earlier? And-“

Oli is literally saved by the bell. The elevator dings behind him and suddenly Paul is rushing forward. He’s sweating, face pulled down in a deep grimace, and when he reaches them, he’s panting a little.

“Oi, did I not tell you all to bring them straight in? Why are we lingering out here like fucking knobs?” Paul snaps at the security, reaches up a hand to gently take Harry and Niall by the shoulders, nudging them forward. “Alright lads. Inside, yeah? You too Oli. Fans found out where we are and they’re running down the street. Be here any minute.”

“Oh but-“ Harry turns towards where the cars had initially drove, the gate being lowered now.

“No, H. Not tonight. It’s late. They’ll understand, alright?”

Paul guides him a little further, lets go of Niall so he can pull Harry closer to him. Oli had been apprehensive of Paul when he first met him, big guy with a close haircut, seemed to always be bossing the rest of the lads around. And Oli wasn’t sure where he fell on the ‘management is shit’ scale, because half the people on tour seem genuine and like they’re just trying to do their jobs and the other half are itching for any sort of insight scoop they can sell for a quick buck. But Louis had told him early on that Paul was a good man - closest thing to a tour father, really. Had kept them safe and on track for a long time. And loyalty to any authority from Louis is hard to find so Oli can’t feel anything but respect for him.

They’re all crammed into the elevator now, the air suffocating really as Paul leans in a little closer to Harry’s space, keeps his voice down even as everyone in the room can hear them.

“Look, Hazza, I’m sorry. I need you rooming with Niall tonight, okay?” Paul says it softly, not the fire he had when he was fighting with Louis, doesn’t have to meet the inferno with his own blaze. No, Paul talks to Harry like he’s giving a blow to fine China.

“What? Why?” Eyebrows furrowed, Harry pulls his head back, looks at Paul straight in the eyes. And he’s getting so tall now, so long everywhere like some catwalk model with his curls and his straight nose.

“They caught wind of what happened on the stairs and the fans with the video. It’s been deleted and we got NDAs and all that shite. But some of the uppers heard of it and think it’s best if you and Lou spend a little time apart.” Paul grimaces on the last word, like it’s some sort of sour taste on his tongue. “It’s just for tonight. We’re all just going to have a quiet night in.”

“But-“ Harry tugs on his bottom lip. Behind him, the hotel floors light up red on the elevator wall. They’re nearly to the top floor. “But I’ve been gone – Paul, I haven’t – It’s been a week and I-“

“I know. I know, love. I’m sorry.” Paul squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “It’s just for tonight though, okay? Just one night and then it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

Harry’s voice – deep, in his chest – goes impossibly soft. It’s a devastating submission, especially because he knows he can’t fight it. And just like Oli knew was going to happen, Harry deflates. Like a candle just blown out with a breeze. Oli looks at his Guinevere and feels like everything is lost.

The rest of the ride up is done in silence and when they get to the floor that everyone is staying on, Harry doesn’t even lift his head. He just keeps staring at his shoes, lets Niall grab his hand, lace their fingers together as he’s given the room key and leads Harry away. And Oli stands there awkwardly in between the elevator let off and the rest of the hall, feeling like this sort of cavern has opened up inside of him.

It's like he’s a spectator to it all, first row to the way that Louis and really all of them are treated. Oli doesn’t have to be some university educated genius to know that some of the shit that’s going on around here isn’t okay. That it’s all packaged up with a pretty bow but inside the wrapping, it’s poison and betrayal. It weighs Oli down. Can’t imagine how hard it is for Louis to ever lift himself up, to stay positive, to ever keep going. But then again, Oli figures, Louis doesn’t have a choice in that either.

Trudging down the hall, he uses his keycard to slip into Louis’ room. He’s not staying here, has his own down the hall, but Oli is still carrying Louis’ backpack on top of his own, and honestly, he wants to check in. Even if Oli can’t change anything about what has happened, he can at least offer some comfort. The only problem is that when Oli files through the main lounge room and towards the double pocket doors leading to the bedroom, his place has already been taken by another.

“It’s alright, mate. It’s alright.” Zayn’s fingers card through the soft spikes of Louis’ fringe, pushing it back from his forehead. They’re sat on the bed, Zayn’s back against the headboard, Louis’ head across his thighs. Even though he can’t see him, Oli can tell by the sniffling that Louis is crying.

“It’s not fair. It’s not bloody fair!” Louis hisses wetly through his teeth, body shuddering a little. “They always think of fucking something. Every time.”

“Yeah, they always do.” Zayn sighs, rubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. He looks just as exhausted as Oli feels, but he’s more angular now than he was a few months back. Like Zayn is becoming sharper at all his angles, like he’s been carved out a bit more, lost a part of himself and grew more vicious in the meantime. “They know what makes you tick though, lad. Know your buttons.”

“If they had it their way I wouldn’t have a fucking button to push. Tie me up and pull all the fucking strings.” Louis lets out a rough sort of choking sob, covers his face with his hands. “Been like this since the start. Never going to be good enough, ya know? Never been the one that deserves to be here. Just the lucky fucking one. Needed a fifth because what boyband has four members.”

“Lou-“ Zayn murmurs, strokes his thin fingers along the curl at Louis’ temple, over his ear. “No. Stop.”

“We know it’s true. You’ve fucking heard them.” Letting out a scoff, Louis shakes his head. “Too loud. Too energetic. Too fucking gay. Like everything I do puts a target on me fucking back. Can’t even breathe the correct way for them. Look too long at me own boyfriend and I’m suddenly a threat to the whole operation.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Louis. Nothing. It’s just political bullshit.” Sighing, Zayn traces long lines over Louis’ forehead, over the top of his eyebrows. “You know that. Harry knows that.”

“He’s going to leave me.” Louis weeps softly, a sort of solemn veil coming down over him. He’s still when he rests his head against Zayn’s thigh, face pink and wet as he stares a head – dead eyed and resigned.

“They’re going to say the right thing. Offer him the better deal. Give him enough of a reason and then he’ll be gone. Out there to be that star he’s meant to be. And I’ll just be the fucking idiot who nearly held him back.”

“No way. No fucking way.” Reaching down, Zayn pushes on Louis until he rolls over onto his back, can look up at Zayn with his bleary eyes, his tear streaked face. “Harry loves you, Louis. Loves you in a way I’ve never fucking seen anyone love another person. Fuck, I’m not sure anyone has.”

”He doesn’t deserve this.” Louis sniffles, sighs deep in the middle of his chest. “He doesn’t deserve me. Deserves someone who is allowed to look at him, to fucking be with him. Not like some dirty secret no one talks about but everyone knows. Best to end it before it hurts even worse later. Nearly will kill me now. ”

”Hey” Zayn taps the middle of Louis’ forehead, gets his attention again. “We don’t give up. That’s what you said to me, remember? We never give up. We have each other. We work hard. And we keep going. No matter what.”

Slipping his hand into Louis’, Zayn squeezes down tight, dents the tips of his fingers into the back of Louis’ palm. Louis holds on tight, lets Zayn guide their hands up to his mouth, accepts the kiss Zayn presses to his knuckles. He’s Gawain at the table, swearing his own of fidelity.

“Don’t lose the faith on me now, Lou. Not now.”

Oli backs out of the room, goes further into the living room until he can pull the balcony doors open. His head is pounding, stomach sick, twisted up with this sort of acid recoil. He knows he’s being a little ridiculous. He’s bent out of shape because Zayn got to Louis first, that he got to comfort him, that he said the right thing as Oli can hear Louis’ laughter through the open doors, even if it’s a little water logged still.

But it should be him. It should be him with Louis, knowing how to comfort him when it feels like the whole world is falling apart. Oli earned that place so long ago, so many years ago forged by growing up on the same cobblestone stones, the same alleys, the same families on the same street. But no, Oli’s place at Louis’ side has been jostled, been reshaped, pushed out of the way for now Harry, for now Zayn.

Digging in his pocket, Oli pulls out a smoke, shoves the filter between his lips and lights up. The nicotine tastes bitter when he's half awake, billows up in his throat, the smoke hot in his lungs. It gives him something to focus on instead of the shit in his head. He wishes there was a plug for it, a little stopper he could pull and let all the random, acrid thoughts spill out. But no, they swim around in his conscious, fishbowl style, too full and heavy so his eyes start watering.

The balcony to the right of him is only about two meters or so away, boring structure with a white stone floor and a hip high balcony made of rot iron and filled along with plants. They’re on the back of the hotel, away from the road so no fans have been able to push below, just the busy bustling streets of the nearby neighborhood. They’re none the wiser to who is above them, if it would be even significant at all.

Through the thin curtains hanging on the doors of the next room over, Oli can see into the other hotel room. It’s just a vague shadow at first – a white wall, a table. Someone curled up in a chair, head in their hands, and then the familiar cut of Niall’s shoulders come into view, a small crystal glass in hand that he holds out to Harry. The clear liquid inside swirls a little from Harry’s trembling hands, raises what can only be assumed to be vodka up to his lips. It’s something Oli’s noticed lately – the proclivity of this band and soothing away wounds.

It occurs to him as the nicotine is spilling over his tongue, down his throat, and into his lungs that he can fix this. Not completely. It’s not like Oli can call up management and tell them to fuck off. He may not be some sexy angel that Harry is – all teasing and sweet. Nor is he some mischief genius like Zayn. Particularly ordinary compared to all five of them. But Oli does know Louis, and he knows that the only way to make this better if to give Louis what he wants.

“Oi!”

Stooping down, Oli plucks a clump of dirt from the planted pot on the side of the balcony and tosses it directly at the opposite door. It flies over the gap between the platforms, clunks loudly against the glass. Inside, Niall jumps from where he was crouched beside Harry, speaking to him softly. He whips around to the balcony door, cautious and slow, but Oli doesn't have the patience for it.

"Oi oi!"

Oli lands another clump of dirt onto the window, the speckles of debris spilling out over the white paint, down onto the pristine stones. It’ll be someone else’s mess to clean up tomorrow. With the sound, Niall jumps again but he yanks the door open, leaning his head out with wide, shocked eyes.

"Oli? What the fuck?"

"Oli is out there?" Harry asks, scrambles out of the chair, his head peeking out over Niall's shoulder.

"Yeah, come here." Oli waves his hand, cigarette smoke billowing around him. He’s going to need another after this.

"Oh. We're not allow-" Niall tries to shake his head but Harry squeezes past him, just a bit more, glances around.

"Whose room are you in? Is this yours?" Harry asks, glances the other way, sees the suite to his right is still dark. Not everyone is in for the night.

"Whose do you think?" Oli rolls his eyes, can hear someone moving behind him. It only takes a moment for Zayn to appear just at the couches inside, Louis hot on his heels, must have overheard the voices.

"What do you want?" Niall asks, lets Harry push them forward until they're just barely on the balcony proper.

"Do you want to see your boyfriend or not?" Oli huffs, rolls his eyes as he motions with his hand again. The gap between the balconies would be easy for Harry - a little jump with his long legs.

"Oh, I do, but I-" Harry's words dry up on his tongue as both Zayn and Louis come barreling out of the door, skidding to a stop on either side of Oli. "Oh. Hi."

Dimples. Oli always forgets Harry's dimples. Forgets them until Harry's face melts into that expression - nose scrunched, eyes small, blush high on his cheeks. Oli has seen Harry around hundreds of people by now and he only sees that look when Louis comes into view.

"Hey baby." Louis steps up to the balcony's edge, the cold wind flipping his fringe around. "Hey-"

"Room checks are at eleven. It's barely nine now. Do you want to come over or what?" Oli steps up, motions his hand for the third time at the gap between the balconies. "We can sneak you over and sneak you back. No one will know."

Harry and Niall step forward together, hip to hip as they come level with the rough stone edge of the balcony's fence. It hits Harry about hip high, tall with a stone platform. Seventeen stories down, the busy streets of Luxembourg rush around them. The people look barely recognizable from this high up, like tiny specks of light.

"I don't-" Niall starts to shake his head but Harry hooks his hands up on the edge, pulling one knee up.

"Don't let me fall." Harry murmurs, hoists himself into a half crouch. The window blows his button up away from his body, flashes pale skin and ink, the waistband of an expensive pair of briefs. Oli watches carefully as Harry gets his bambi legs under him, reaches a hand out to hold onto Niall's outstretched arm and stands up.

"Easy, love. Careful." Louis breathes through his teeth, watches the way Harry's bare feet shift a bit on the stone.

"Hop over, Haz. We've got you." Zayn takes a slow breath, a deep inhale. No one has faith in this plan even if they're trying. Harry trips over air.

"Fuck." Harry glances down, the breeze pushing his curls wild and free around him. Oli flicks his cigarette between the balconies, watches it fall before he looks back up.

"Come on. Don't think. Just come on."

Harry closes his eyes and steps forward.

Instantly, Zayn and Oli reach their hands up, one on either side, Louis in the center. It's not that far of a gap, barely two meters, but the wind is whipping around them and Harry wobbles a little. His arms come over to grip onto Oli and Zayn's with white knuckles, a leg held by Niall for balance and Louis catches him nearly in midair. One moment Harry is jumping over and the next he's being swept up into Louis' arms, legs tight around his waist.

"Christ!" Louis lets out a sharp laugh - elated and shocked - before the sound gets swallowed up by Harry's mouth.

Now that they're intertwined, the pair of them seem to forget that they have a full audience. Louis fits his hands on Harry's ass, holds him up, and kisses him open and unrelenting. Harry is giggling even as he holds Louis' face, strokes his fringe back, down over his stubbled jaw. Oli has to see the glint of Louis' teeth - a grin being pressed to Harry's lips - before he turns his gaze away.

"I'll sit watch, let you know when time’s up." Oli mutters, fits another cigarette between his lips.

"You're a true mate." Zayn reaches over, squeezes Oli's shoulder. "A real one."

"Yeah." Oli dismisses, ignores how gentle Louis is when he sets Harry down, keeps him close, still kissing. "Only an hour, Lou. Got it?"

"Alright."

Unconvincingly, Louis throws it over his shoulder as he disappears inside, tugging Harry along. Zayn spares one glance between the three of them and then rolls his head toward Niall with a wide grin.

"FIFA?"

"Yeah. Use the door though." Niall grins, motions his thumb. "Oli join us after?"

"Yeah, sure." Oli agrees, knows it's not true.

He watches them go, watches the room empty out. He knows that they'll probably go get Liam - have a lads' night as Oli curls up on the corner on the couch. Louis and Harry at least had the thought to mostly close the pocket doors. They must have bounced open a little, a sliver of darkness peaking out, bed barely illuminated by a bedside lamp. Oli places himself in a way that he can’t see it unless he turns his head – convinces himself as he pulls his knees to his chest that he’s not going to look.

There are headphones in his backpack, but like a beggar at a church window, Oli burns to know this sort of worship. He’ll feel guilty for it later, in the dark when he has to relive it as it replays in his mind. He hangs on every whispered word, the murmur of voices. Harry is laughing, quiet and breathless, Louis’ voice spilling out around it. Like a fucking melody. The highest of praises and Oli has the hymnal but no context.

It drives him crazy, feels high off the fumes of it all. He wants to know. He wants to look. Just a peek. Turns his head, can see the reflection of warm light sliding over the flexing muscles of Louis’ back. He’s the sun illuminated, shifting, always in command as he crawls up Harry. Harry who is sprawled out like the white lines of foam on the ocean, reaches up with open arms, welcomes Louis back into his rightful place.

Slamming his eyes shut, Oli tries to remember what it felt like to be in Louis’ bedroom, that cold night, when confessions felt too forbidden to be spoken in anything but whispers. Louis had tasted like rum, mouth wet with it, boyishly warm with grass stain on his shorts. Oli hadn’t thought it was giving something up, not losing something, when he told Louis to try. Oli would have done anything for Louis then. Would do it now.

Louis!

Oli doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t think he can turn away. As much as he wants the devotion to turn to acid in his gut Oli can’t blame Harry for it. He hates him. He loves him. He wishes he could crawl inside his skin, to know what it might feel like to have Louis like that, to have him look at Oli the way Louis always looks at Harry. Like there is no sun or moon or heaven. Nothing matters unless Harry is there with him. God would be a fool not to carve out a spot in the stars for them.

Tipping his head back against the arm of the couch, Oli stares up at the popcorn ceiling. If he squints, it could look a bit like clouds. Like he’s floating off into some sort of dreamscape, somewhere that he’s not hearing his best friend gasping and muffling moans. If he was less of a glutton for pain, he wouldn’t be listening at all, wouldn’t be picking out the muffled higher whines of Harry’s voice and the oddly deep cadence of Louis’.

Eyes rolled to the side, Oli lets himself peek even when he knows it’s longer than it should. They’re up on their knees now, Harry’s back to Louis’ chest, rocking together in sharp, short thrusts. Louis’ hands seem to be mapping the fine planes of Harry’s chest, his stomach, his hips. Like his fingertips need to memorize the lines and definitions of Harry’s body, a memory bittersweet to remember until the next time they can sneak away for a few stolen moments of pleasure. Entwined like this, it’s easy for them to kiss through it, turned to face each other so Oli can’t see anything but wild curls and the long lines of their bodies molding into one perfect image. Thinks it might be better this way for him. If he were to catch that grin again, the one Louis presses into Harry’s mouth, he might scream.

Inhaling sharp, Oli throws his arm over his eyes, focuses on his own breathing, the way it’s mismatched to the soft squeaking of the bed. Even in this he is other, an unfit match. He doesn’t want to think about the sting of that type of rejection though. Doesn’t think he can stomach it. Instead, he counts back from thirty over and over and over again until the sounds from the bedroom turn sharp, muffled. Oli doesn’t need to look to know Harry must be crying, Louis’ soft voice soothing words and declarations as the fever dies down, as the heat turns to a different type of warmth. The type that fills you up and sticks around.

“Lay down, baby. I’ll get it. It’s okay.” Louis’ voice comes closer – he must have gotten up – and in a moment he comes through the door with a pair of joggers low on his waist. Oli can see through his eyelashes that he’s flushed pink, chest tacky with sweat, hair a mess. He looks well fucked and Oli wants to spit up all the bile at the back of his throat.

“Sorry mate. Just gotta-“ Louis awkwardly flicks his thumb towards the bathroom. Why it isn’t attached to the bedroom is a mystery to Oli who feels like he’s been in enough hotels to know the basic layout.

In response to Louis’ comment though, Oli can’t seem to pull the words out. He just pretends he’s asleep, pretends that if he keeps his eyes shut enough that maybe the tears burning in them will disappear too. He doesn’t even know why he feels like this. Why he can’t seem to get over it. It’s utter bullshit and Oli drags his sleeve roughly over his eyes. It lets him get one last look, Harry curled up on his side, his back to Oli, still panting hard with a blanket thankfully pulled up his waist. Oli wants nothing more than to find the zipper along his spine, wonders if Harry would fight him if Oli was to crawl inside.

“Mate.” Louis is standing inside the lounge room, a wet flannel in hand, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t look exactly angry, more cautiously careful. Like he doesn’t want to assume. Like he didn’t just catch Oli blatantly staring at his boyfriend.

“Room checks in an hour.” Oli chokes a little, scrambles up, feels his face burning, ears a blaze. On the bed, he can see Harry glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He tries to get out. Tries to get to the balcony. He left his smokes out there, just wants to hide behind the guise of nicotine, but Louis has always been faster. Faster and sharper and smarter and more inept to deal with everything life has ever thrown him. Oli has always been two steps behind, the one trailing after, the side kick never quite beside. The cold Germany air hits Oli’s face just as Louis comes through the balcony door. He’s still holding the towel, the fabric probably cooling with the way the breeze has picked up.

“Oi, what the fuck Oliver?” Louis snarls, head ducked down, motioning behind him. “Giving yourself a free show then?”

“I wasn’t-“ Oli shakes his head, quick and sharp. Why didn’t he just go out the front door? “I didn’t-“

“Didn’t what? Get an eyeful?” Louis waits half a second, not even enough for Oli to breathe, and he’s already starting in again. “Mate, you better fucking start talking or I swear to fucking god-”

“I didn’t watch you fuck your boyfriend! For Christ’s sake. You think I’m some sort of freak?” Oli shouts back, doesn’t even know he had it in him to, really. Doesn’t remember ever yelling at Louis.

“Say that again, yeah?” Louis, of course, takes it the wrong way, voice going deep, dangerous. But Oli has been so angry for so long, once he’s started he can’t seem to stop.

“I’ve done everything for you!” Oli lets it rip out of the center of his chest, festering and furious and an inferno that threatens to suffocate his own lungs. But he pushes forward, lets it out. “I’ve always done everything for you!

You’re going to stand there and question my fucking loyalty to you? I’ve been beside you every fucking step of the way, Louis. From fucking Donny to across the fucking world. I’ve given you my blood and my sweat and my fucking whole life. I’m always the first to stand up for you. I defend you. All the shit that everyone back home always said and I was the one who was getting my knuckles bruised telling them off.”

“Nobody asked you to do that!” Louis shouts back, chest heaving. He’s covered in goosebumps, barefoot and mostly naked. There is still something sticky low on his stomach, the clear gel crusting a little in the wind.

“You didn’t have to! I love you!”

“Hey.” Harry is standing just inside, wrapped up in the sheets off the hotel bed, long curls hair mused like a queen having just woken up from a slumber. Oli burns for a whole other reason.

“Oli-“ Louis rubs a hand down his jaw. He’s got the ghost of a beard going, looks so much more mature than he did at seventeen. He’s a man now and he’s staring at Oli with wide, wild blue eyes. The same blue eyes that he’s had every year before, a whole lifetime of Oli knowing their color, their shape, the way they flicker when Louis is furious. Like now. A familiar glow that Oli never knew could be directed towards him.

“All you fucking care about is him now.” Oli’s voice cracks sharply, points his hand towards Harry who flinches, clutches the sheets tighter to himself. “Harry fucking Styles!”

“Watch your mouth.” Louis snarls, spit on his lips. He’s got his shoulders rolled back, fists clenched at his sides. It’s all falling apart now, all the lines that they swore they never would cross, but Oli can’t seem to grab the rope to pull himself out of the hole he’s dug himself into.

“Why? It’s the truth. It’s him and the others.” Oli heard the sliding glass door behind him. He knows Zayn, Niall, and Liam are outside. He knows they can hear. “Everything about you is gone since you went to that fucking audition. You left the house and you never came back! Is this who you are now? Some fucking superstar asshole? Got yourself a whole new identity, didn’t you, Lewis?”

“It’s late. We shouldn’t-“ Harry again tries to interject, steps outside, hand reaching for Louis’ arm but it seems to catch in Oli’s chest then. That he’s standing in a battle that he’s already lost. That it won’t matter. So there are no consequences when he turns his attention to Harry then, feels it all the way through him, jealousy so thick it slurs his words into a mess of a Yorkshire snarl.

“Fuck off, Harry!”

It’s instantaneous. Harry onstage is a firecracker, a whirlwind of energy and cosmos. No one compares to Harry Styles trademark. But off stage, alone with his friends, he’s just Harry, H - shy and a little quiet, a little eager to be liked and fit in, still devastatingly twenty years old. It’s the same feeling as before when Paul delivered the bad news, only this time Oli is close enough to see Harry’s eyes fill with tears, the quick way he seizes up, drops his shoulders, recoils. A candle flame blown out.

“I’m sorry. I should-um.” Fumbling a little with the sheet, Harry stumbles back a step, gestures with his hand in some vague direction. “Let me grab-“

“Hey, baby, wait.” Louis sends a glare towards Oli, dark and murderous, but it’s unneeded, Oli is already on the offense.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“ Oli shakes his head, feels his face heat up, his hands tremble even as he reaches out. He’s not even sure Louis would allow him to touch Harry right now, but it doesn’t stop Oli from trying to grab his shoulder, his arm. “I’ve been drinking. I’m exhausted. I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“It’s alright.”

Flashing a cool, tight lipped smile toward Oli, Harry finally gets the blanket out from under his foot and turns into the suite. He doesn’t waste time lingering around the furniture, but instead heads directly into the bedroom area, pulling the door shut behind him. It’s chilly outside, wind cold coming up from the city below, but the atmosphere on the balconies seems to be colder. Neither of the lads on the other side seem to know what to say but Louis sure does, rounding quickly on Oli with his voice raised.

“You fucking dickhead! You don’t talk to him like that.” Louis stomps across the cold cement, the tops of his feet have gone red, freezing in the cold breeze. He doesn’t even seem to notice though as he shoves his finger roughly into Oli’s shoulder, pushing him back. “You don’t ever talk to him like that, you fucking hear me?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“ Oli stumbles, finds the words tied up in his mouth, confused and lost among his molars. He hadn’t meant for it to get this far, hadn’t meant for it all to come spilling out of him like that. He didn’t even mean half of it. He likes Harry, loves him even a bit, still trying to figure out where the lines cross and untangle.

“You want to yell at me? You want to fucking call me on my shit? Fine.” Louis shoves his finger in harder, will leave a bruise right where the tendon of Oli’s shoulder connects to his collarbone. “But you ever talk to my fiancé like that and I’ll send you back to Donny with only the clothes on your fucking back, you hear me?”

“Y-Yeah, Louis. I hear you.” Oli nods quickly, has to scrunch his nose to keep from letting the tears come. Louis’ never been mad like this before, at least, never directed towards Oli. Never this poignant. Oli can feel the threads of their friendship creaking and pulling under the weight of this anger, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Lou,” Zayn interrupts just as Harry comes back out. He’s not actually dressed, jeans up and buttoned, shirt yanked on but left a skew and slumped around his biceps. It’s only when he steps outside that Oli can see the stick trails of something on his stomach, smeared in his haste to get other clothes on.

“Baby, Hazza wait.” Louis abandons his tongue lashing of Oli to reach for his boyfriend, manages to grab his arm but Harry still tries to tug away from him. He’s been actually crying, it’s obvious from his blotchy pink face.

“No, he’s right. I should go over.” Harry mutters, tucks his mused curls behind his ear. He has a red mark on his neck, something half smeared by what looks like an eager mouth, and it’s obvious to everyone out here that he’s going to be in trouble for that too. “Paul will be coming and-“

“Babe, he doesn’t-“ Louis shakes his head, voice doing that little warble at the constituent and Oli feels his stomach plummet. He won’t be able to stand it if he has to hear Louis cry again.

“It’s fine. I’ll keep watch. We can sneak you over in like an hour. Paul doesn’t have to know.” Oli pushes himself forward, awkwardly lingers in front of them like some sort of knight, asking permission to go on a quest. He’s Lancelot, taking a knee, asking for forgiveness and with the way Loui stares down his nose at him, Oli has never felt so small. Harry – tear eyed, sex hazy – sniffles and rubs the side of his hand under his nose.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” Oli can feel the panic starting to creep up on him, the snarling, gnawing feeling sinking deep into his chest, tight against his lungs. He knows if Harry leaves this room, leaves this balcony, if he pulls away from Louis that Oli is going to be done for. There won’t be any patching up this situation. Louis is a merciful king but not when it comes to this, not when it comes to Harry.

“Oli-“ Harry tries to start to say, leans away from Louis so he can be a little closer, but that’s almost worse.

“I’m sorry. I’m fucking knackered. Please stay. Please Harry, please.”

Oli wonders what would happen if he actually took to his knees right now. Would he be allowed to bow that low? To press his face into Harry’s thighs and beg with his whole chest? Because as much as Oli feels like shit for hurting Louis, for saying things he should have left to rot inside his head, it’s almost worse with the way Harry is staring at him. Oli just wants to hold him, to touch his face, to scream at him how badly Oli wants to hate him but can’t seem to. Every time Oli is convinced that he can finally let that frigid jealousy take over him and he can denounce Harry entirely, this happens – Harry’s big eyes stare down at Oli, his smiles just faintly with a dimple, too cute and precious and divine to be anything but loved.

“Alright. Just for a little while.” Harry murmurs, tucks the open flaps of his shirt around him, doesn’t look away from Oli when he says it even as Louis lets out an audible sigh. “You really should sleep yourself though, Oli. You look positively exhausted.”

“After. I’ll sleep after.” Oli barely resists the urge to press his face into Harry’s chest, to spill out all his gratitude as Louis reaches for his boyfriend, wraps an arm around his waist.

“Sorry lads. Text ya when we need to do the switch?” Louis asks, raises his voice to get over the wind.

“Save the dramatics for another time, eh? I was just kicking Liam’s ass in FIFA. Barcelona, really Lima?”

Niall waves a hand good naturedly, already turning towards the door, tugging a grumbling Liam behind him. Only Zayn lingers, stares across the space with eyebrow raised and a tight mouth, opinions already written all over his face. His dark gaze sweeps from Louis over to Harry and then lands on Oli where the corner of his lips curls back just slightly.

“I’ll text you.” Louis states again, something in his tone. Something that isn’t meant for Oli or even for Harry. This is something else – the LouisandZayn language – and it lands harshly even as Zayn’s sneer turns sharper, a quick roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, mate. Text me.” Zayn doesn’t turn away until Louis nods his head to, and then, he only does when Harry pivots towards the hotel door himself.

Oli waits until both balcony doors have been opened, left alone in the cold night, before he takes a breath himself. He’s been holding it all in for so long that he can do nothing but let out a long sigh. His breath ghosts in a fog up towards the moon, the dim stars half hidden by all the light pollution, a rumor of the galaxies all staring down at him.

But not just him. Oli feels it then – the infinite rushing of his own small, insignificance. He’s a small part of all of this – of the world, of this place, of this team. He’s not up there singing his heart out. He’s not working to keep the boys safe on stage or make some grand production. But maybe, just maybe, in the smallest part – he has some importance. Maybe he can do something good.

Coming inside, Oli can see through the ajar door that Harry and Louis are sitting side by side on the bed now. Shoulders pressed together, Louis has their hands in his lap, stroking carefully over the bony knuckles on Harry’s. They look like they can almost be one unit now, one single entity, entangled together side by side. It’s hard to imagine them apart – hard to imagine them separate. It’s a language all their own, a reasoning beyond what anyone can really comprehend. But it works, it works for them, somehow beyond all odds and meddling.

And maybe this is Oli’s role. He might not be talented or gifted or rich or important. He’s barely anyone really, a chav from Donny who follows his best friend around and runs his errands, really. A paid boy. But maybe this is what he’s really here for. To make sure this happens. To push the obstacles out of the way so that Harry and Louis – like two magnets – can come back together time and time again. He’s the wind pushing the clouds out of the way so the sun and moon can see each other.

It might be the most important job of them all.

+1

Two days off, sequestered off to a rented house in the distant countryside outside of London. Not enough time to really plan anything substantial so it's deteriorated into this - a lads' holiday. Louis flew them out, the Donny crew, all the boys that Louis used to know from school and a few that just like to pretend they were always friends. Oli knows better but he's not going to argue about it. Better to be in the group than out of it.

Still, it's not like they're doing anything productive. Day drinking and playing a bit of footie in the garden had quickly turned into drinking in the den and then someone had lit up. It's like some sort of seedy underbelly club now, with smoke lingering in the low ceilings, bottles cluttering the edges of all the tables. Someone has turned on the television in the corner, hunched over a gaming console of what looks like some first person shooter.

Oli is slumped low on the couch between Stan and Calvin, a cigarette between his lips, floating on a haze. Luke and Nizam are shoved together on the floor, sharing a bottle of Henny between them, arguing about something that sounds a lot like someone they all went to school with. It's a party that's been left to dwindle into the lazy sort of indulgence but Oli can't complain.

To the left, Louis sits in his own chair, legs spread as he watches the front of the room. Niall and Jaime had helped hook up the sound system, tipped a few lamps over so they act like spotlights, the karaoke screen flashing dimly on a large television off the side with neon lights. Harry is up there, looking like a young Jim Morrison with his long curls spilling down by his ears, chest bare except for that cross necklace clinging to his sternum. He's got some silk robe on, sheer panels cut out of multi-colored butterflies and flowers, draped over his shoulders and a pair of tight skinny jeans that lead to his bare feet. Oli knows his toes are painted a lilac shade, saw Lottie doing them a few days ago while they sat in the dressing room and gossiped.

They’ve been fighting. All fucking day. Little harsh whispers behind closed doors, glares from across the room. Nothing in public yet. Nothing to draw attention. They’re media trained enough not to bring everyone into it. But some of the others have noticed – the ones privileged enough to be aware of when the gravitational pull of Louis and Harry is off. Niall had cut eyes with Oli when Harry had purposefully walked out of a room just as Louis entered it. Liam and Zayn had shared a look when Louis purposefully only made one cup of tea. All four of them had watched in absolute agony the awkward moment where Harry had purposefully sat the furthest away from Louis at the table, so close to the end that his plate of food had wobbled as Louis glared down the table at him.

All in all, very dramatic.

So, it makes sense now that Harry – drunk, flushed, Aquarius Harry – is up there crooning an ABBA break up song into the karaoke microphone.

No more carefree laughter
Silence ever after

Niall, the little shit, is quick to pick up the other mic, helping with background vocals. He has the tie to Harry’s robe wrapped around his temples like sort of a headband. The silk hangs down over his shoulder, swaying behind Harry like a sort of interpretive wind sock. Harry leans into the microphone, crooning the lyrics, unfairly perfectly on pitch even with the slight slur to his words.

Walking through an empty house, tears in my eyes
Here is where the story ends, this is goodbye

Harry tosses his head back, lets his curls gleam in the light as he sways to the music. Looks the part of a broken hearted rockstar, crooning his sad, sad song. He’s even got a small sway to his steps, keeping beat as Niall throws shapes behind him.

Knowing me, knowing you
There is nothing we can do
Knowing me, knowing you
We just have to face it, this time
We’re through

Niall fills in both the dreamy sort of ah ha behind each line as Harry continues on with the song. He could be an act in an old bar at this point, some broken hearted duo cranking out the soft hits to a group of drunk bastards all wasting their time. Petty and vicious and singing his little candy filled heart out, a bottle of rogue wine clutched in his hand, Harry spins in a slow circle, head tilted back.

Breaking up is never easy I know
but I have to go
Knowing me, knowing you
It’s the best I can do

“He really is a petty tosser, isn’t he?” Liam mutters, leaning on his elbow as he stares passively up at Harry. He’s got his own bottle of Black Label clutched against the side of his chair, the amber liquid tilted dangerously towards the neck.

“Who? Harry?” Stan glances up from where he’s been twisting a small grinder in hand, shaking it a little. “What’s he singing?”

“ABBA.” Louis answers instantly, takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhales the smoke up towards the ceiling.

“ABBA? Who the fuck are ABBA?” Stan turns his head towards Louis and when he doesn’t get an answer, he looks at Oli instead.

“They won Eurovision.” Oli answers unhelpfully, shrugs a shoulder. His brain feels like cotton, tongue heavy in his mouth. He wants to lay down on something soft, maybe get someone to play with his hair until he passes out. “Seventies band.”

“Bit of a killjoy, that one.” Luke scoffs, raises his own bottle in a mocks toast, shouting over the repeating chorus. “Come on Harry! Sing us a nice song, eh? It’s a fucking party. Don’t be a tosser.”

“Not singing to you.” Louis quips fast, kicking his leg out and nailing Luke in the ribs. “And watch your mouth.”

“Oi you dick head!” Luke shoves his leg away, turning his whole body now as if he’s ready for them to actually start wrestling.

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Louis seems unfazed, stubbing his cigarette out in the small glass dish beside him.

“Liam just said-“ Again, Louis’ trainer clad foot connects solidly with Luke’s side. It’s a quick kick too, knocks the wind out of him a bit.

“Come on you wazzock,” Zayn cackles a little from his spot shoved close to Liam’s side, both of them so close their legs line up from hip to ankle. “Shut up already.”

“Wazzock! You fucking-“ Nizam is quick to jump to his friend’s defense but they’re interrupted as Harry lets out a soft noise into the microphone, a soft sigh at the end of the note at the end of the song. He takes a long swing of his wine, tosses it back like it’s nothing more than juice, lets it linger a little on his tongue as Niall pulls him over, starts whispering in Harry’s ear.

“Fuck this.”

Kicking Luke a third time in the ribs, Louis gets up to his feet, staggers out from behind the table. Luke tries to protest, say something scathing and mean, but it doesn’t really matter as Louis starts marching across the room. He’s a little too crossfaded for it to be anything other than clumsy, swagger lost in the fact that he has to step over sprawled legs of the boys and the stray throw pillow. It’s going to be such a mess to clean this house up tomorrow. Oli is already dreading that conversation with management.

“Oh shit. You ready for this mess?” Liam snickers, points with an arm as the other wraps tightly around Zayn’s shoulders. “Here we go again. This is Peru all over again.”

“Hey, shush.” Zayn nudges his elbow into Liam’s side, not enough to hurt and certainly not like Louis and Luke, but enough to draw his attention, glancing around the room as if to give a silent cue.

Oli knows this story. They don’t talk about Peru. They certainly don’t talk about the hotel bill that came in after that night in Peru, the spilt wine in the bathroom, the broken lamp knocked off the nightstand, the stains all over the sheets from a fight and a make up and a fight and a make up. The fight that had lasted all day and into the night, a soundtrack of yelling and slammed doors and one memorable moment where Harry had been left to stand in the hallway while security acted like they didn’t see.

“Alright babycakes, you want to sing?” Louis is slurring, reaches down and yanks the bottle out of Harry’s hand, taking his own swallow of it. “You want to sing a pretty song, hm?”

“You’re wasted.” Harry slurs back, pulls his microphone into his chest. He’s got his bottom lip out, pouting over at Louis with his arms crossed now.

“You’re one to talk.” Louis sets the bottle down, goes over to the karaoke machines, starts tapping at it.

“Maybe we should all just sit down, eh? Take a breather?” Niall asks unhelpfully, lingering between the pair, though he’s directly addressing Harry, hand reaching for his shoulder.

“Look at this Paddy making peace.” Calvin snickers at the table, tapping the pot down onto a little tray before he goes to pinch some off and lay it down on a thin piece of paper.

“You’re a bit of a dickhead.” Oli mutters, doesn’t really say it loud enough to matter, watches as Louis tugs the microphone out of Niall’s hand, sends him off with a pat to his cheek.

“S’alright Nialler. Harry wants to sing! Let’s sing!” Louis nearly shouts, his voice booming as the beginning guitar starts up at the song.

Harry seems to recognize it immediately because he turns towards Louis with wide, angry eyes – mouth set in a deep scowl. It doesn’t stop Louis from leaning in, stage presence and training taking over him as he sings directly at Harry, still unfairly on key.

Loving you
Isn't the right thing to do
How can I ever change things
That I feel?

Louis leans into the note, drags it out as he circles around Harry, tugs on a loose curl. It’s playground fighting, flirting, whatever it is that seems to keep the two of them constantly in orbit. Oli doesn’t know if anyone really knows what it is – bottled lightening. Strikes once and hard then it lingers forever.

If I could
Baby, I'd give you my world
How can I
When you won't take it from me?

Harry fires back in the chorus, hand clenched at his side in a tight fist as he harmonizes perfectly with Louis. It shouldn’t be fair as they loop around each other, signing out Fleetwood Mac like they’ve been practicing it for months now instead of using it to fight. And honestly, only Harry and Louis would be the type of couple to choose songs from the fucking seventies to carry out their own dramatic argument.

You can go your own way

Crowding up against him, Louis pushes into Harry, wraps an arm around his waist under the robe. The touch seems to be more annoying than soothing though as Harry twists away from it with a barely contained snarl, shoving a hand into Louis’ shoulder to get him to step back. It’s bickering in body language, all sharp glances and rolled up lips, a hand in a waist that pushes a little too aggressively but still careful. Even angry, they would never do anything to really hurt each other.

Tell me why
everything’s turned around

Harry sneers the line out, taking over the verse as he pushes his finger into Louis’ shoulder. He’s trying to gain the upper hand, make his ground, but Louis just rolls his eyes at him. It’s enough to have Harry stepping back, sweeping back the robe away from his body so the curve of his waist is on display, perfectly framed as Harry rolls his hips in a seductive wave.

Packing up
Shacking up is all you want to do

He winks at the crowd, a little barb with a kiss. An insult and a flirt. Oli feels his cheeks heat, an uncomfortable twist in his stomach as Louis lets out a little growl, clearly annoyed by Harry putting himself on display to the room full of lads. Before it had just been teasing, fighting without really fighting, but then as the singing continues, they both seem to have lost their patience.

Open up
Everythings waiting for you

Harry sings and Louis is hot on the heels to make a comment.

“Yeah baby, come on. Open up.” Louis slurs a bit on the words, accent thickening. “Know you always like to run your mouth.”

“Pretty sure you were the one who told me you liked it open.” Harry fires back, following quickly by going into the chorus. But it seems that Louis isn’t done, coming in right behind him, his tenor immaculate as he seems to force feed the words at Harry – enunciating every line.

You can go your own way

Whatever is happening up on stage seems to be spiraling away from them. Louis is a sharped tongue singer, a snake with venom already spitting from his mouth, and Harry seems unable to keep up. He’s losing his breath, fumbles through a chorus line and glares at Louis all while he does it. They’re too drunk to really be making anything better and it seems to unravel as Harry shoves into Louis’ chest again as he loses his breath, unable to keep up as Louis continues to sing – telling Harry to leave him.

“Arsehole.”

Harry’s voice slurs through the microphone, shoves his hands into Louis’ shoulders one last time before he drops it entirely. It clunks loudly on the floor as Harry steps around the tilted over lamps, the cords scattered on the floor, starts making his way haphazardly towards the door.

“There is he. Poor baby Hazza.” Louis mocks from the makeshift stage, his own voice grating a sharp. “Started an argument and now he’s running away.”

“Fuck off!” Harry stumbles a little over a forgotten pillow on the floor, throwing the words over his shoulder as he continues stomping forward. His robe is slipping off his shoulder, looks like a distressed house wife marching out of the room that way, pink and flushed, curls a mess.

“Our super star. Take a look, lads. One night only - Harry Tomlinson. Give ‘em a round of applause.” Louis calls, clapping his hands around the microphone. “In the pettiest show this side of the fucking coast.”

No one claps. No one even moves, really, the sound of the video game going on pause the only real disruption as Harry immediately stops moving. He’s just reached the table that the boys are surrounding, the pot and bottles all spilled out before him like a feast but Harry is standing there, panting hard, staring ahead of himself like he isn’t even sure what he heard was right.

Then, as if realizing, he turns on his heel.

“What?”

“Oh come on, pet. You don’t get to pull that shit and not expect-“ Louis leans off the mic, lets it slide from his fingers along the cord to touch the floor. “You started this!”

“No.” Harry shakes his head, blinks once, twice. His breathing is slowing down, calmed by whatever is happening now. “No, what did you call me?”

It’s a pause, a breath, as the very corner of Louis’ mouth seems to twitch, raising slightly as Harry continues to stare. His dimples are showing, nose scrunching the longer Louis stares at Harry, a fond sort of stare seeming to take over both of them. It’s such a quick change from how they just were, no bite or brass, just the two of them slowly starting to grin at each other in this soft, goofy way.

“Your name.” Louis answers, shrugging his shoulders like it all makes sense. He’s got this gleam in his eyes, cheekbones turned sharp as he barely keeps from grinning.

“What’s my name?” Harry asks breathlessly, rocking a little on his heels, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his robe. “What is it?”

“Tomlinson, of course.” Louis replies, matter of fact, so fucking sure. He steps forward with each word, around the cords and the lamps, each footfall carefully planned as he speaks.

“Harry. Edward. Tomlinson.”

Harry can’t seem to contain himself. He rushes forwards with a soft Oh Louis - a gasped cry – and suddenly he’s launching himself at Louis. It’s honestly a miracle – seeing as how drunk the two of them are – don’t immediately topple to the ground. But no, Louis catches Harry’s legs around his waist, grips him up and tight and holds him secure until he inevitably takes a few steps to the right and crashes them both down onto a lounge chair. Neither of them even come up for air at the change in position, too busy sharing wet, open kisses to really notice.

“What the fuck?” Jaime mutters, leaning forward on his elbows to grab up an ashtray, setting a smoke between his lips. “What was that?”

“Dramatic arseholes.” Zayn rolls his eyes, nudges Liam for a drink of his bottle.

“What’s this then? Did they fucking tie the knot without telling us?” Stan looks immediately to Oli who glances at the snogging pair before carefully forming his answer.

“You know how romantics get, lad. Probably just speaking out their arse. Off their face and all.”

The truth is – they did. Secretly. So fucking secret. With barely any witnesses except their mums and the boys. Jay would have thrown a whole fit and upturned all of England if she didn’t get to hold onto Anne’s arm and watch as Louis and Harry exchanged vows. Of course, it had to be kept as under wraps as possible, so Oli feels privileged that he even got to stand in the room with them. That he was able to see The Tomlinsons share a first kiss as husbands. To watch both of them turn into crying messes and cling to one another. It had been as beautiful as bittersweet. And the mantra of “one day” had been thrown around a lot as the ceremony had winded down to an end.

“Don’t even know why he bothered coming out as gay or whatever,” Stan sighs, motions with his hand towards where Harry and Louis are still wrapped up in the chair. “Basically got a bird for a boyfriend anyway.”

“Put him in a skirt and you can barely tell the difference.” Luke nods, snickering a little when Stan makes a gagging noise. “What? I’m not blind. Harry’s got killer legs.”

“Bit sad really,” Calvin exhales a cloud of smoke, nodding his head. “Louis comes out as a fag and gets with the biggest arse bandit around though. Bloke like him ought to be careful.”

“What?” That immediately gets Zayn and Liam’s attention, Oli’s head popping up from where he’s been sprawled out against the back of the couch.

“What? I didn’t say anything offensive!” Calvin defends himself with a hand on his chest, Jaime chiming in as if to help.

“I think what Calvin is trying to say is that Harry has uh,” Jaime pauses to think of the word, but Luke beats him to it.

“A reputation, you know? We seen him with Grimmy a while back. And that girl from the states. That model or whatever.”

“He’s just a bit of a slag, isn’t he?” Calvin asks like it’s casual conversation, like he is just commenting on a known fact. “Aren’t called a bender for no reason, right? Bend over for anyone?”

“It’s common knowledge.” Luke reasons, nodding his head. “All over the papers, you know. Not that Louis is much better. Like a dog with two dicks, if you know what I mean.”

“You don’t know shite mate.” Zayn snaps just as Niall and Liam start in as well. They’re talking over each other so their words get a little jumbled, both angry though. Both quick to defend.

“You can’t say shit like that.” Oli speaks above the trio, pushing himself up and turning towards the other lads. He can’t believe he has to say this shit to them, to remind them of whose house they're in, who is the only reason they’re able to drink and smoke and lounge about. None of them paid for this shit, so they would do to show some respect.

“Alright, alright. Here comes Oli to the rescue.” Luke mocks, rolling his eyes and tossing up a hand. “Come on, mate. Wasn’t like I said he was a pillow-biter or any of that shite.”

“Watch your fucking mouths.” Oli snarls, doesn’t let the other boys defend themselves before he’s laying into them. “You think you can just say whatever the fuck you want and there are no consequences? You’re all a bunch of Donny chavs, you lot. Half of you weren’t even Louis’ mates in school and you show up at the barest of invites and talk shit about him and his family.”

“Oi now, Oli, we didn’t.” Nizam interjects, shaking his head quickly. “No one said anything about them-“

“Who the fuck do you think Harry is to him then? Who any of them are?” Oli’s voice raises. With the paused video game and the lack of karaoke music, the room falls into an awkward quiet. Even Harry and Louis who had been going at it pretty heavy only a moment ago pull away from each other, turning to watch as Oli gets to his feet.

“You’re getting all angry over something I didn’t even say.” Calvin stares up at Oli with wide eyes, the trail of smoke from his joint swirling around him. “I didn’t say-“

“Get out.”

Oli says it with his whole chest, puts his entire emotion into the words as he glares down at the other lads. He might not be that tall, not some giant, but today he feels like he is. How dare someone talk about them like this? How fucking dare they. All of them. Running their mouth like they have any idea how hard it is for Harry and Louis. All of them really. How every day is a different battle, and then only to have people who claim to be their friends say such vile shit.

“Do you have any idea what you’re even fucking saying?” Oli snaps, throws his arms open wide. It’s like once he’s started he can’t stop, won’t stop. “You’re sitting in the house that they fucking pay for. Drinking the booze that they fucking paid for. High off your ass on the weed they fucking paid for. And you do what, Luke? What is it you do? Oh right. You’re finding yourself while living in your mum’s fucking attic.”

“Oli, mate, think you’ve had a bit much.” Calvin laughs awkwardly, raising a hand. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“And you! You’re one to fucking talk about being easy. The only people you’ve stuck your dick into in the past four months only looked at you because they were hoping you’d help them bag Louis!” Oli shouts, landing the blow with a mocking sort of laugh. “They didn’t even want you!”

“Bloody off his fucking face.” Stan gets to his feet, starts grabbing up his lighter, his pack of smokes. “Fucking offensive that one.”

“No, what’s fucking offensive is you coming in here acting like you’re some big shot with big ideas who can run his big mouth.” Following Stan’s movements, Oli starts shoving into the boys, tossing their jackets at them, pushing the pillows out of the way. “That I would just sit here and listen to it. Listen to you talk about my family like they’re a bunch of talentless slags while you use them for your own enjoyment.”

Before him, Calvin turns his head towards Louis, floundering.

“Mate, you can’t be serious. You can’t let him talk to me like that.“

“Get the fuck out of this house.” Oli shouts then, cuts him off, cuts all of them off. He won’t hear anymore of it. Behind him, Louis is still sitting in the chair, Harry in his lap, though now he’s pulled his robe closed, anxiously pulling at his lip. Louis doesn’t seem that bothered though, rubbing at Harry’s back as he shrugs his shoulder.

“Oli says get the fuck out, then get the fuck out.”

It takes a little longer than Oli would like. The lads get up on staggering feet, grab their stuff, start staggering towards the door. Cabs have to be called and comments mumbled under breath. They’re far out from the city, which means more of a fucking bill for Louis, but he doesn’t seem that bothered. He follows behind Oli as they shepherd the rest of the lads out of the mansion house, wait in the cold until the van shows up. Only Stan turns around at the last moment, meets Louis’ gaze with a deep frown, a deeper sigh. They’ve been friends nearly as long as Oli has been friends with Louis. The bond should have been better than this, stronger, but he doesn’t say anything. Just gets in after Nizam with a hung head.

It isn’t until the car is out of the driveway, the tail lights a fading distant red in the fog that Louis even does anything. From his pack buried in his hoodie pocket, he pulls out two cigarettes, fitting them between his lips. A black lighter comes out of his sleeve next and Louis lights both ends, inhaling once, before he slips the one on the right side out of his lips and holds it up to Oli. With a tired sigh, Oli reaches for it, brings it up to take his own drag and the first time in a long time, the zing of pleasure of having something that was once on Louis’ lips now on his doesn’t happen.

“Don’t know if I ever told you this,” Louis murmurs, his shoulder brushing Oli’s, standing close now, “but thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” Oli shrugs it off, takes another long drag of the Marlboro, looking up at the dreary winter sky. He can almost see stars out here, dim but shining.

“That’s not true and you know it.” Louis lets out a soft laugh, leaning further into Oli’s side so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You’re my best mate, Oli. My very best mate.”

“Been that way since Mrs. Hodgins put us together in first year.” Oli lets out a laugh of his own, grinning towards Louis, leans into the touch, his arm naturally going around his waist. Like they’ve always done. So many years. Fitting together like this.

“Thank you for being here. Thank you for taking care of me. For taking care of my family.” Louis’ thumb rubs over the filter over his cigarette, over the two tattooed on his ring finger. “For being part of my family.”

“I swore to you that I would do anything for you.” Oli’s chest feels tight staring at Louis like this. So close he can see the ring of green around Louis’ iris’, the flecks of gold, the curve of his long eyelashes. A while ago, Oli would have given anything to be this close, would have risked it all just to lean in and kiss him, to have that back.

And maybe that’s the bittersweet realization of it all. That everyone, anyone, would be a little in love with their best friend if their best friend was Louis Tomlinson.

“Let’s go inside, yeah? Bit too cold out here to have a heart to heart.” Louis breaks the mood with a laugh, tilting his head towards the house. “Since apparently this is yours now, shouting at them like that.”

“Well you know, I’m a very important personal assistant to the biggest band in the world.” Oli teases back, lets Louis drag him towards the steps.

In a bit, they’ll make tea in the kitchen with some biscuits. Worry about cleaning up the room later, the bottles and smoke. Oli will roll his eyes affectionately with Niall when Louis and Harry will start swaying together to some song playing from someone’s phone. Zayn and Liam will be sequestered into the corner of the bench talking to each other in soft whispers, fingers entwined. Oli won’t remember what all the anger was about, will just look around, watch his family spinning in orbit.

And for the first time, maybe ever, Oli will take a deep breath and fall into his place in all of it. Fit into the place that has been made for him, carved with careful hands, the one that can only belong to him.