You & I Were Made For This - 1D: Louis/Harry - Chapter 6
Title: You & I Were Made For This
Author: Me, imagination55
Pairing: Louis/Harry
Chapter: 6
Rating (by chapter): PG-13
Summary: Sometimes what's in front of you is not what you should be looking for. - Harry is kidnapped whilst One Direction are in Brighton, recording music. With a first hand look at the seedy underbelly surrounding his captor, will Harry ever be found, how are Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and his family coping in his absence and, the biggest question of all - if they do, what kind of state will they find him?
Disclaimer: This is not true, made up and not meant to offend. The beauty of fiction.
A/N: Oh dear. SO sorry about the long wait! Had the worst kind of writer's block. I won't promise another chapter soon, but here's this one anyway. Comments are always love. <3
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
The two police officers stand up, their eyes turned away for a moment from Louis as he sits in front of them. They look towards the open door and at what looks to be a nervous junior officer who’s just interrupted their chat with Louis. After a beat of silence following his fidgety entrance, one of the two others gives Louis a brief, polite smile.
“If you’d excuse us,” she says to include her male counterpart, “we’re working on a high priority case and...”
Louis feels his jaw clench as he nods tightly at her in acceptance, cutting her apologetic explanation off at the same time that her sentences seems to fade anyway. He wants to jump to his feet as they leave, protest that Harry should be “high priority” too, but he knows that they’ve barely scratched the surface of this yet and that the world doesn’t actually revolve around either him or Harry.
Once he’s alone, he lets out a long, deep sigh to try and release the tension squeezing his chest. This part of his day, the part he had been dreading increasingly since their talk with David at Sony that morning, had actually been going alright so far, all thing considered. Then again, most of it had been a lot of waiting around and sitting in a surprisingly nice room. It was the kind that looked to be used for the victims of crimes rather than interrogation, even though Paul told him not to phrase it like that, like he’s being poked and prodded and then accused. Louis wonders if he’s a victim, whether the other boys are. Maybe Harry is too. Yet he still feels like he’s about to be hauled over the hot coals of the law once those police officers know of his recent catalogue of tiny mistakes that appear to have had some sort of terrible, disastrous consequences.
Despite being by himself, he hasn’t forgotten that everyone is right outside the door. They’ve been questioned by themselves and Louis’ no different. He supposes that’s a practice well used by the police to ascertain any possibility of fact from embellishment or deep-seated emotion or, at its worst, blatant lies. He takes to looking around the room, his interest vaguely piqued by the window opposite the sofa he’s restlessly sat on the edge of. He stands and walks towards it and knows it’s probably rationally a window anyway, but feels like he has to check it isn’t a one way mirror covered by blinds to make it look inconspicuous. He pokes his head through and Niall’s immediately shoots up like a meerkat as he senses movement, but Louis merely shows him the anxious straight line of what would otherwise be a smile and lets the blinds fall back into place.
He’s not sure how long he waits exactly (there’s been a lot of that today), but the two police officers do eventually return and bizarrely that’s when it hits Louis. He’s in a police station with the police and they’re about to ask him God knows what about Harry, what he knows of the situation and maybe even about the fact that he looks like he’s gone several rounds with some angry fists.
“So, Louis?” the female questions to make sure she’s remembered his name right, as she takes a seat in front of him with the low coffee table between them and her male partner next to her.
They already got the pleasantries out of the way before they’d been interrupted and Louis wordlessly nods his head, suddenly self conscious of what he’s saying or doing, despite knowing that they’d not want him to hold back in case anything he thought of was important. He feels under pressure and it makes him want to shy away again, to block it all out until Harry reappears. Something horribly dark in his gut tells him it won’t be that easy.
“What is your connection to Harry?”
“He’s - ” he tries to clear the roughness from his voice, “ - um, he’s my best friend.”
“And the young men out there?” she inclines her head to mean just outside the door where the other boys are sat.
“Are my best friends too,”
Louis sees her smile a little and lean forward, as if conspiratorial, “They said much the same.”
“Police Constable,” speaks the male police officer for the first time since they sat down again.
It sounds like a warning to not get too familiar with their interviewee and her posture straightens as she gathers her thoughts once more.
“Louis, can you take us back to when you last saw Harry?”
Irrational panic lights up within him like a firework - they know, they know I let him go then drank myself into a fight - before he blinks to see expectant expressions which tells him they don’t. He reaches up tiredly to rub at his eye, forgetting that it’s still quite swollen and definitely a raging red that will turn into proper bruising in the next few days. Both of the officers’ gazes seem to twitch, maybe with interest. Who is he kidding? Of course it’s with interest. They’re trained to spot non-verbal clues as well and if a guy met him with a bruised face, he’d probably be curious as to how that happened too. He expects them to want to know all the gory details, but they gesture for him to answer the question they asked and suddenly the guilt of feeling selfish creeps back in.
“A couple of days ago, we were in Brighton - writing and recording some tracks for our album - ” he adds as an aside with a hint of pride, before they can ask him what they were doing there, “and, in the evening, we decided to go out for a few drinks. I lost him in the crowds.”
“Louis,” the female says firmly, “can you be more specific? How long did it take you to get separated? What happened to make you lose him?”
“Well, I was a bit tipsy,” he jokes weakly before he can resist then lapsing into seriousness lest he antagonise the very people he’s trying to help. “In all honesty, not much happened. We drank together then the five of us mutually decided to separate and explore for a bit. I went to the bar, with Niall, and Harry...”
“And Harry...?” she prompts as he takes a breath, clearly the designated interviewer of the two.
“He would disappear then come back, usually for another drink or just to have a good time with us. It was a perfectly normal night.”
“Does he often wander off by himself for long periods of time and tell no one where he’s going?”
Louis presses his lips together and clamps down on the swirl of emotions within him, unsure whether his eyes will fill or a humourless laugh will spill forth once he unclenches his fists from resting on his knees. Eventually, he settles for keeping things plain and simple, the cold hard facts. “No, never. Not while I’ve known him anyway. We like to stay close by each other.”
The female nods, processing each of Louis’ answers carefully as her partner jots things down in his pocket-sized notebook. “So my next question is, Louis, what changed? How ‘normal’ was this night?”
There it was - the opening for which he needed to reluctantly but importantly mention the girl he and the boys had seen Harry with in the distance. He hesitated anyway, the icy trickle of guilty doubt that he was about to maybe wrongly accuse someone else of foul play causing him to close his eyes and exasperatedly hold his palms close to his face. For a moment, it blocks everything out and there’s nothing but black behind his eyelids as he tries to breath deep. Then Harry’s face flashes in front of him and Louis blinks and feels dizzy for a split second at the change in light. His breathing may be under control, but his ribs feel like they’re shrinking, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing his heart until he fears it might crumble into dust. It’s the push he needs. Apparently a physical attack is what he needs these days to get him to properly respond. He’d be worried about that if there wasn’t something else on his mind.
“I saw someone,” he blurts out, not quite how he wanted to but relieved that it’s now out there nonetheless, “with him. A girl. She was different from the others...”
Louis’ gaze falls from the people listening intently to him and to the floor as heat floods his cheeks. He’s confused by his own reaction. It usually has to be something truly mortifying to make him blush, but the way he remembers the girl - fitted dress and her thighs and the intimacy she didn’t mind directing at Harry has him wondering if he’s betraying Harry’s trust in some way. After all, he doesn’t go running the papers every time Harry pulls a girl and maybe this is still all this is. Maybe Zayn was right. As he impatiently pushes his fringe away, Louis wishes for the umpteenth time that he could speak to the boys, to get an inkling on what they seemed to divulge so easily. But you’re different, a small voice intones and, although he can’t quite get a handle on who it sounds like, he knows it’s familiar. You have more to share. The possibilities are almost endless.
As if sensing his sudden crisis of confidence, the female officer leans forward in her seat but doesn’t do more than that. Louis figures it’s against protocol or something, at least until they’ve gained all the information they need. Or maybe that’s what liaison officers are for, doling out contact and comfort whilst the bobbies on the beat try and solve the cases.
“You’re doing great, Louis.” she encourages softly with a ghost of a smile, “Tell us why this girl was different...?”
“She didn’t have to be all over him to get what she wanted.”
It’s out of his mouth before he’s even thought how to phrase the words and he’s surprised by the obvious bitterness and anger. To their credit, the officers delve deeper for the facts and pay his tone little mind.
“So, she was manipulative?” she clarifies, “Persuasive?”
“I...I don’t know. I guess.”
“Louis.” the male police officer demands his attention and he blinks, not used to him speaking directly to him. “Tell us exactly what you saw and what was said. Please.”
Swallowing as the “please” is offered as an obvious afterthought from a far more hard-nosed police presence, Louis drops his eyes to his feet again to better focus and concentrates on the carpet as he sees everything replayed in his mind from that fateful night.
“Harry was on the dancefloor. He went up to the girl, maybe he thought it was someone else, I don’t know. But then he seemed pleased anyway because he was with her for ages. I was at the bar with Niall and Harry came towards me, demanding to have a word with me. I didn’t really have a choice. He told me to be careful, seemed...on edge, like he’d seen something or someone he hated and that’s - that’s not like him. And that was it. He walked away from me and he’s never really done that before. I wish I’d done more, but I was too...” realising that it’s all spilling out at once in a ramble he hopes is somewhat coherent, Louis meets their eyes as he grapples for the right word, before he shrugs wearily, “any number of things - surprised, hurt and frustrated that he was being a bit of a hypocrite, but mostly just confused. It wasn’t a big fight or anything, but he doesn’t lash out like that at all, not to me. He’s too chilled for that. We don’t have that kind of relationship. That was the last time I, uh, saw him.”
A tense silence follows with only the scratching of a pen on paper barely audible then the female police officer looks a little awkward and Louis knows what’s coming. He braces himself, knowing he’s going to tell the truth, even if it’s just snippets of the actual story.
“It was just words?” she asks, “You and Harry had a conversation and then he walked off? No fists involved?”
Louis debated flat out rubbishing the question, but the mere thought that Harry would raise his hand to anyone, let alone him as his best friend, made his insides twist into such a mess that he felt the need to point out Harry’s true character, to make them understand that he was only a possible victim in all this and it wasn’t some fucked up karma coming to bite him on the arse.
“He’s cooked for me before.”
It’s another unchecked titbit that falls from his mouth and the two officers blink at him, but wait to see if he’ll continue. Louis smiles slightly, what feels like the first one in a short while and it feels good. Thinking about Harry feels good.
“When we were in the,” he hesitates drawing attention to their situation at a serious time like this, so simply shrugs, “in the house. Not all the time, but it was...nice whenever it happened. He’s thoughtful like that. There’s never any drama with Harry, at least it doesn’t start from him. He’s a cheeky so-and-so too, but I like that. Sometimes I feel like I need it, almost. I guess that’s one of the reasons we are close. We bounce off each other like it’s supposed to be that way y’know? I can look at him and have a conversation with him without opening my mouth. Things are just...easy, so easy. Sorry,” he apologies suddenly, only now realising that neither of them have prompted further.
The female shakes her head, “No, it’s good. We needed to clear that up.”
Louis blinks at her, expecting more of an interrogation. “So you don’t want to know what happened to...?” he points to his face awkwardly.
“Is it relevant to Harry’s disappearance?”
He breathes a little deeper to rid himself of the temptation to be a smartarse towards the male police officer’s curt question and actually thinks about the answer. Yes. No. Sort of. Is it? “No.” he settles on after a thoughtful beat, “Just got into a fight. Bit one sided really. I had no hope of coming out of it unscathed. Wish it hadn’t been the face though. Zayn would feel the same, but I’m not above admitting to being a bit vain. It’s part of my job these days...Sorry.”
The female looks at his sheepish expression and smiles faintly. “It’s fine. So, Harry. You think there’s a possibility he could still be with this girl?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay.”
“Are you going to find her?” he blurts out, remembering her smile that now seems terrifyingly sly with every hour Harry is not around.
“We’ll want to talk to her, yes, as she was the last person to see Harry as far as we know. Now Louis, we need you to do a few things for us. We need you to describe the girl as detailed as you remember and then we need the same for Harry. It’d be best if we could have some photographs of him, so the rest of our team has something to refer back to.”
He wants to say surely you already know what he looks like but immediately feels guilty for being so presumptuous. Besides, even if it was likely that they did, photographs in a file could be classed as evidence. So no one will forget. The female officer also listed a few other tools and formalities to get the ball rolling until one caught his attention.
“DNA?”
“Yes. If we find...” she pauses and Louis almost feels the way his face drains of colour.
She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. If they find suspicious stains at the girl’s place or at the club or anywhere else Harry has been during their stay in Brighton, if they find a weapon or if they find something less disputable like...a body.
“Something like a toothbrush would be fine,” she remarks, her voice softer than it was a moment ago.
“Okay.” he answers, but he can’t help it, he’s distracted and this time he really doesn’t want to be.
“And the photographs - ”
“I’ll sort it.” he snaps and it seems to be what brings the colour back to his cheeks as well as his brain into the conversation, “Sorry. But leave it with me.”
“What about Harry’s family? Do you want us to contact them so they can help you?”
Louis feels his eyes widen in realisation and there’s suddenly only one word in his vocabulary that he’s thinking of.
Fuck.
-----
When Harry first woke up in Freya’s bed, he hadn’t really connected the dots together. It wasn’t possible. She was just a girl he met in an amusement arcade and a club and he was the boy hopefully showing her a good time for the night. There was nothing wrong that, it had happened before, and there was certainly nothing untoward in the set up. It was more romantic comedy than the thriller it seemed to become. But lying awake at night and shutting your eyes against the slivers of light you’re no longer quite so used to can do strange things to your mind. He’s had the visions of death, of his captors and his own, but there can also be a startling amount of clarity. Like he knows with every fibre of his being that he thinks of and loves the boys like family now and he never wants to take that for granted. He knows that he’s as proud of his mum and sister as they are of him. He knows, with at least half certainty, that - before made Freya and Luka themselves known - he had been followed.
The quiet and the pain (in an effort to numb it by thinking of anything else) let him see that. The exact details are still fuzzy, but he remembers the day he actually confided in Louis like it was yesterday. Harry smiles. He knew he wouldn’t be judged by his best friend, whatever he said and however crazy it sounded. This was the bottom line why he stopped wrestling with the decision to tell him or not and simply come out with it.
“Lou,” he whispered tentatively, even though they were the only two in the living room at the time, “I think...I think I’m being followed.”
Sitting on the velvet green sofa that whilst slightly sunken in places was pretty comfortable, Louis shuffled his arm further along the back of the seat and taking that as his cue whether he meant it to be one or not, Harry moved closer until he was resting against Louis’ side. A hand slid into his curls, twirling those at the top of his head that didn’t seem to be as curly as others near his ears. It was like Louis was daring his hair to be even curlier and Harry found himself relaxing just from the touch.
Louis made a questioning sound, asking if they were still supposed to be talking about this without taking his eyes away from the television screen in the corner. Harry nodded, his cheek brushing his t-shirt covered chest and he felt the hand move from his hair to squeeze his shoulder.
“We’re always being followed, Harry.”
Harry knows that’s meant to be a comfort to him and if it was the truth it oddly would be, but he just has this feeling that it’s not. So he shook his head, maybe burrowing deeper into Louis’ body to find the warmth, to feel the comfort and the truth he suddenly craved. “I’m being serious,” he mumbled as the doubt reared its ugly head.
Louis froze and Harry actually felt his body stiffen underneath his ear. His heart didn’t know whether to sink in disappointment or speed up in panic, so it kept a deceptively steady pace despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave and take his worries elsewhere. He must have twitched a limb because in the next moment, Louis’ touch returned and was stronger than ever. His cheek was a warm weight on the top of Harry’s head, keeping him in his embrace instead of letting him entertain more thoughts of escaping. Luckily, he didn’t want to, especially when Louis gave him the words that meant he believed him.
“Have you seen anyone around that you don’t know looking shifty? For the record, I haven’t and you’re almost with me all day every day, so...”
Harry backed away from his arms eventually and turned his face towards him, putting his hands in the space left to support his position as he slowly shook his head again, “It’s just...it’s a feeling I get. Like there’s eyes on my back. I...I don’t like it.”
He thought he probably sounded whiny and pouty and like a baby, but Louis didn’t seem to see it like that and pulled Harry forward once more with a kiss to his forehead. “Its alright.” he said, faintly smiling when Harry raised his eyes to look into his, “I believe you, but there might be a simple explanation for this. Don’t make yourself paranoid. It won’t do you any good. And besides, anyone comes after you? They’ll have to go through me first.”
He grinned and Harry tried to return it, really, but the pitch of Louis’ voice made him oddly feel like he didn’t want to shatter the sudden peace he felt. It was a private tone, like how they were when they used to slip into each other’s beds at night in the X Factor house and talk for far longer than they should’ve, and it brought those fun memories back until Harry felt calm and relaxed and carefree again. Something told him Louis used that voice on purpose. Quickly, there were words on his tongue and it was if he was about to say something ridiculous like you have a hundred different voices (when in reality it was probably about five, but whatever) when -
“Liam’s making dinner and I’m starving, so can we please - oh put him down, Tomlinson!” Niall cackled suddenly as he stepped in from the hallway and started for the kitchen that they could see from their snuggled place on the sofa.
Harry blinked as Louis’ hand begun to pat his head and smooth his hair but Louis’ eyes were only playfully on Niall. “But I want him as my pet!” he fake pouted.
There was a clang from the kitchen as Niall opened an overhead cupboard and narrowly missed getting brained by a precariously balanced tagine pot. Harry snorted in amusement as much for that as for Louis’ comment, “Thanks a bunch.”
“I didn’t say what kind of pet, babycakes,” he winked back.
With the outlandish pet-name in use and the mischief in his eyes, Harry should’ve laughed it off like he had always done before or even better flirted outrageously in return, but for some reason he felt stuck. He blinked again, but slower, and Louis was still looking at him as if waiting for the usual response.
“Hey.” This time it was Liam, as he had obviously come to take over and save Niall from death by clay dish. “You’d better vote quick on what we’re having for dinner before Niall decides for us all.”
Just like that, Louis’ arms disappeared from Harry and he watched dumbly as the other boy stood up, pulling at the waistband of his jeans even though they hadn’t moved an inch since he sat down. He turned and ruffled Harry’s hair with a knowing smile and his heartbeat decided that now was the time to kick up weirdly, even as Louis muttered laughingly, “I know what you want,” (meaning dinner, of course) and left Harry to lounge on the sofa. By himself.
Harry might’ve hoped that Louis would believe him and be supportive like he was, but the extra thoughts were unbidden. He doesn’t remember them happening or feeling them at the time, but recalling the memory now has them feel so real, so visceral and increasingly with all this time in the world on his hands, Louis is not just Louis anymore. He’s...Louis.
Harry shakes his head, feeling muddled, as damp curls stick irritably to his face. He wonders if this is what it’s like to truly miss someone and whether he’ll feel like this about the other boys soon. It’d be a lot less confusing if he did.
-----
“Hello, this is Anne. I can’t take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye.”
With his mobile phone pressed to his ear, Louis sighs anxiously and thinks about hanging up but somehow knows that that will just make her even more worried. When she finds out the reason for his call, she’s going to be worried enough.
“Hi Anne, its Louis.” he says, feeling strangely formal and like he’s leaving words for a stranger, not the woman that has almost become his mother’s best friend. “When you get this, could you give me a call back? Don’t - uh - don’t worry, just...call me, okay? Bye.”
Ending the call, he cringes immediately. Don’t worry? Don’t worry? Her son’s missing, possibly kidnapped, and he’s telling her not to worry? He feels like an idiot and the worst of it is he doesn’t know how to fix that or anything else. Still, he knows he can’t sit and wait for her to call back like he wants to or, worse, mope around. He told the police he’d sort things and he meant it.
As their meeting at Syco had been so very early in the morning and the police’s preliminary investigation only at mid-morning, Louis and the boys had a lot of hours left in the day. The label had discussed bringing them closer than going back to the guesthouse in Brighton until it was quickly agreed that they’d finally move into a small place in London. They’d heard rumblings of being allowed to get their own spaces, but the thought of doing that without Harry made them all distinctly queasy. For Louis, he and Harry had nonchalantly talked about the idea of moving in together and all he could feel now was a suffocating kind of loneliness that yet again took over his mouth without his brain’s permission until he was practically thinly veiled begging the others not to separate and for them to find a little something as one. What possessions they had with them were moved swiftly to London and Louis feels like he only had to blink before he was stood in the fully furnished bedroom he’d have to share until further notice, until, he presumed, Harry came back. When the four of them loitered in the tiny hallway, Niall had weakly joked that it would be “just like old times, like the X Factor”, although he didn’t believe it and neither did anyone else. They simply fell against one another in a huddle and tried to overlook the missing piece of their puzzle that worked.
Louis was also equally parts glad and uncomfortable that he hadn’t been tasked with collecting Harry’s belongings from Brighton. The removal vans had brought them along with everything else but, on the other hand, the thought of someone unknown messing with Harry’s stuff had him feeling like a crazed mother hen. “Don’t touch that!” “Keep it like it is!” “Do not disturb!” This was at least part of the reason why he was scared of Anne returning his call.
Deciding to get to business before the police turn up at the house in the late afternoon, Louis slips out of his and Zayn’s room and pads quietly to the bathroom. He’s supposed to be in here anyway, telling the boys downstairs eating takeaway that he needed the loo and would be right back...twenty minutes ago. As if he hasn’t dawdled enough, Louis opens the bathroom cabinet above the sink and stares at the toothbrush leaning in a cup inside. If he could just pull it out and wait for the police to get here so he can hand it over that’d be great. But he can’t. It’s an innocuous green and blue toothbrush and he can’t. It’s Harry. Just like his randomly empty cardboard coffee cups are Harry and the pen marks on his fingertips are Harry and the misshapen outline of his jeans pockets where he’s shoved his phones in deep are Harry.
Louis shakes his head. “This is stupid.” he whispers to his increasingly pale, battered complexion. “And you really fucking need a tan. Man up, Tommo.”
With a breath, he takes hold of the cabinet door and yanks it open at the same time there’s a knock to the bathroom and that door opens to reveal Liam’s head popping through. Louis hates that he jumps but he wasn’t concentrating on being interrupted and he rears back as the cabinet manages to hit him clean in the nose and as he’s blinking away the pain and spitting curses he sees Liam’s face fall.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean - ”
“Stupid fucking wanking shitting thing!” Louis yells crossly, cutting Liam’s apology off as he slams the door closed and watches with a tiny curl of satisfaction as the glass momentarily shakes in its bonds.
Unfortunately, the toothbrush in his hand drops to the tiles as well and suddenly he sees an ugly, misdirected surge of red to make him harshly stamp on it without a second’s thought. He happens to be wearing something other than Toms on his feet and he crunches his heel again and again into the plastic, hard enough to feel the effect up his calf, before the feeble plastic splinters on the end.
“Louis? Louis?” its louder the second time and Louis blinks to clear his vision, to see that Liam’s now stood in front of him with his hand lightly on his shoulder and his doe eyes wary.
Silently, they switch to looking down at the crushed remains of the toothbrush.
“Is that - ?”
“Yeah,” Louis sighs and bends to pick it up, relieved that the important part is still intact. He half points it at Liam. “Evidence for the police. Said they needed some kind of DNA.”
Liam wrinkles his nose at that. Louis thinks he looks confused or disgusted at the thought, but he can’t bring himself to explain so he just lets the moment hang. Mentioning the visit seems to snap Liam into reality and the hand on Louis’ shoulder squeezes briefly.
“They should be here soon.” he says softly.
Louis nods then Liam darts forward the inch he needs before Louis is wrapped within his arms, his body rigid from the force of it. A couple of seconds later, Liam gingerly withdraws, not quite meeting Louis’ admittedly slightly amused gaze. Louis changes the subject to what the police will do here when they get to the house.
Liam shrugs as they exit the bathroom together and slope down the stairs, “Dunno. Something about monitoring our calls,”
“Oh great.” Louis replies with a huff, really hoping that this won’t mean they’ll have to listen in when Anne rings.
As it turns out, the police are working from an anonymous tip off. The two police officers that interviewed the boys traipse through the door as well as more people they’ve never met before cradling machines under their arms. They take up residence in the kitchen and the female explains what information they have about the tip to the four bewildered boys. Louis thinks he remembers her name as Lucie or Louise or something beginning with L but forgive him he’s been distracted lately and one glance at the others tells him that they’re not faring much better. Apparently, they’re expecting another call any hour now - because calling back with the boys present was the only condition the anonymous caller stipulated - and after half an hour of officers nursing mugs of tea and lazily chomping on whatever biscuits happen to be in the cupboards at the time, they kick into action at the sound of another member of the team’s mobile phone shrilly ringing. He’s older than those who interviewed Louis and, he guesses, more superior and they watch as the police officer takes the phone calmly out of his suit jacket pocket, answers it then slowly lays it in the middle of the machines on the kitchen table and set on speakerphone.
“Am I on speakerphone?”
It’s a male voice and Louis looks to see that his friends are passing glances at each other too. He’s not sure what he was expecting exactly but somehow it wasn’t a man with an English accent that also has the twang of something that quite isn’t, like his ancestry is trickling through. It’s not an especially deep voice but it is crisp and clear, as if he relishes an audience or enjoys public speaking. Louis can’t hear cars or people, strangely imagining a covert phone call from a phonebox on a busy street but he can’t hear any background noise at all and that must mean that of course who ever this guy is he’s at home. He looks at the senior policeman, willing him to speak as he and the boys stand in a line behind the team sat at the table and bank of recording machines.
“You are. Now, do you have some information for us?”
“Oh,” the anonymous caller says and Louis feels himself frown as he can practically hear the delight in the man’s tone, “I have plenty of information for you. It’s whether I’m willing to give it, that’s the real question.”
Louis opens his mouth but Liam catches his elbow in time and shakes his head curtly, telling him in no uncertain terms to be quiet or at least wait until the senior figure in their temporary home says it’s okay to speak.
“Can you tell me what you mean by that?” the policeman asks calmly as Niall, at Louis’ left side, starts to nervously chew on his fingernails.
“I could tell you, but - actually, do you want to hear for yourself instead?”
Louis finds he can’t keep his eyes off the policeman with his greying hair and straight up manner, like he’s been there and seen it all a million times before. A bit like Simon really and Louis decides that he never wants to witness Simon be wrong-footed like this man is. He recovers quickly and is about to formulate a neutral, calm response when there’s already footsteps in the background that are unusually loud in the silence of the phone line and the tiny kitchen in a London flat.
“Say hello, Harry.”
A chill stutters down Louis’ spine the instant he hears those three little words. He’ll admit that hope bloomed in his chest at the realisation that someone knew where Harry was and that at least he was still alive, but it was quickly followed by his heart plummeting to his feet. At first, there is a terrifying beat of nothing and it feels like everyone is holding their breath.
“Come on,” cajoles the caller and Louis feels that his voice is starting to make his skin crawl, like this is all some game to him, “don’t be rude, Harry. Say hello.”
Then there is a quiet sound. A guy sitting to Louis’ left with half of a pair of headphones held to his ear twiddles some parts and pushes some buttons, presumably to increase the volume to stop them from straining their ears. But it seems like the caller isn’t happy and he continues to needle who Louis sort of hopes is Harry on the other side of the line, even as his hackles rise at the thought.
“Be careful, Harry. Now one more time. Say. Hello.”
The sound is as clear as a finely tuned whistle and Niall’s head whips round to stare at Liam’s shocked face and Louis sees the way Zayn tries to get his arm snug against Niall’s shoulder to also reach his. Except the sound doesn’t stop and it suddenly makes sense. It’s a whimper. Like Harry is hurt or something prevents him from speaking properly. The noises rise hoarsely in urgency and Louis knows, probably everyone does, that he is trying to say something more valuable than hello. However, as quick as they’ve begun, there’s a muffled thud before the whimpering cuts off completely. This time, Louis can’t help himself and his body reacts on instinct to grab the phone and demand answers from this prick who knows where Harry is and is more than likely the person who is keeping him there. That part of the situation is still a muddle, how Harry could’ve gone from dancing with a girl in a club to being holed up somewhere with a nutcase, but Louis hasn’t got the patience to question that right now. Instead, he’d like to shove his hand through the phone and pull this man’s guts out through his well punched mouth. He feels sick from knowledge and helpless energy and a white-hot violent edge that he simultaneously wants to cling to and speedily run away from.
Sadly, he’s not taken anyone else into account and he feels arms hold his biceps and soft hands touch his lips so he doesn’t make a sound. The fight inside him dwindles in the protective ring of his friends’ embrace and he feels all the aches and pains he’s been carrying around with him return with a vengeance as sags back against them and wearily listens to the senior detective start negotiations to try and tempt the caller into the demands of a ransom.
“He’s not for sale, at least not to you.”
It’s enough to have Louis’ muscles twitch, but the grasp on his limbs tighten fractionally as Liam mouths “for Harry” with his face close and sincere. Louis nods reluctantly, biting his lip hard to keep his new promise.
“I know a couple of people,” the caller continues casually, like he’s describing the state of today’s grey slate weather, “His looks, he’d do well.”
The four of them squeeze their eyes shut at that, realising that Harry’s vulnerable and exposed to anything - pain, drugs, non-consensual sex - and they remain as helpless as they feel. The pressure on Louis’ arms increases as he stands in the middle of their newly formed huddle, but this time it’s to comfort themselves and he breathes deeper, taking in the fact that he’s not alone. The caller warns laughingly against tracking technology to try and triangulate Harry’s whereabouts and Louis is naturally confused until the line goes dead after a nonchalant “I’ll be in touch,” and the officers’ screens suddenly erupt from methodical calculations into a messed up swirl of dots and colours. He’s faked any signal they might’ve had.
Louis stares at the dots until they blend together. “They know who he is.”
“What, mate?” Zayn touches his shoulder.
He turns and steps back towards the kitchen doorway, framed in it. “They know who he is,” he says, injecting more confidence into his voice, “otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to sell him to the highest bidder like a fucking - a fucking - ”
“Lou - ”
He swallows back words like slave or rentboy, “ - object!” he exclaims, ignoring his friends.
“Maybe the label can pay him off...” suggests that same lilting voice that’s fallen exceptionally timid.
“Weren’t you listening? He’s not for sale!” he yells, sees the way Niall’s eyes widen and instantly regrets it, “Nialler, I didn’t - I’m - ” but it’s too late and the blonde knocks into his shoulder as he pushes past him and thuds up the stairs, upset but probably more than angry at being an unfair target for emotion.
“Fuck!” Louis snaps, his knuckles pummelling into the doorframe and his forehead following before Liam or Zayn can get there.
Even so, Liam pushes him into the hallway so they can at least be away from the strangers in the flat despite the possibility that they’d understand any huge outpouring of feelings and thus probably not pay it any mind.
“Stop it,” he says and Louis feels his shoulders being shook for emphasis, “stop it. Splitting your head open is not going to help anyone, okay? Listen, I’m going to talk to them in there, see if they can let us in on what they’re going to do next. They’ll get him back, Louis. I promise.”
Louis looks between his two friends standing in front of him (he’ll need to apologise to Niall soon) and wants to believe Liam with every fibre of his being, even though he doesn’t think he entirely believes his words himself. Liam pats his shoulder and Zayn rests his arm on Louis’ and stares until he breaks and tentatively smiles. Just as he starts to feel some of the surface tension leave his body, Louis’ phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket and answers it recklessly without checking the caller ID first, still shaken and impulsive from forbidden moves towards Harry.
“Hello, Louis. It’s Anne.”
tbc.
Author: Me, imagination55
Pairing: Louis/Harry
Chapter: 6
Rating (by chapter): PG-13
Summary: Sometimes what's in front of you is not what you should be looking for. - Harry is kidnapped whilst One Direction are in Brighton, recording music. With a first hand look at the seedy underbelly surrounding his captor, will Harry ever be found, how are Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and his family coping in his absence and, the biggest question of all - if they do, what kind of state will they find him?
Disclaimer: This is not true, made up and not meant to offend. The beauty of fiction.
A/N: Oh dear. SO sorry about the long wait! Had the worst kind of writer's block. I won't promise another chapter soon, but here's this one anyway. Comments are always love. <3
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
The two police officers stand up, their eyes turned away for a moment from Louis as he sits in front of them. They look towards the open door and at what looks to be a nervous junior officer who’s just interrupted their chat with Louis. After a beat of silence following his fidgety entrance, one of the two others gives Louis a brief, polite smile.
“If you’d excuse us,” she says to include her male counterpart, “we’re working on a high priority case and...”
Louis feels his jaw clench as he nods tightly at her in acceptance, cutting her apologetic explanation off at the same time that her sentences seems to fade anyway. He wants to jump to his feet as they leave, protest that Harry should be “high priority” too, but he knows that they’ve barely scratched the surface of this yet and that the world doesn’t actually revolve around either him or Harry.
Once he’s alone, he lets out a long, deep sigh to try and release the tension squeezing his chest. This part of his day, the part he had been dreading increasingly since their talk with David at Sony that morning, had actually been going alright so far, all thing considered. Then again, most of it had been a lot of waiting around and sitting in a surprisingly nice room. It was the kind that looked to be used for the victims of crimes rather than interrogation, even though Paul told him not to phrase it like that, like he’s being poked and prodded and then accused. Louis wonders if he’s a victim, whether the other boys are. Maybe Harry is too. Yet he still feels like he’s about to be hauled over the hot coals of the law once those police officers know of his recent catalogue of tiny mistakes that appear to have had some sort of terrible, disastrous consequences.
Despite being by himself, he hasn’t forgotten that everyone is right outside the door. They’ve been questioned by themselves and Louis’ no different. He supposes that’s a practice well used by the police to ascertain any possibility of fact from embellishment or deep-seated emotion or, at its worst, blatant lies. He takes to looking around the room, his interest vaguely piqued by the window opposite the sofa he’s restlessly sat on the edge of. He stands and walks towards it and knows it’s probably rationally a window anyway, but feels like he has to check it isn’t a one way mirror covered by blinds to make it look inconspicuous. He pokes his head through and Niall’s immediately shoots up like a meerkat as he senses movement, but Louis merely shows him the anxious straight line of what would otherwise be a smile and lets the blinds fall back into place.
He’s not sure how long he waits exactly (there’s been a lot of that today), but the two police officers do eventually return and bizarrely that’s when it hits Louis. He’s in a police station with the police and they’re about to ask him God knows what about Harry, what he knows of the situation and maybe even about the fact that he looks like he’s gone several rounds with some angry fists.
“So, Louis?” the female questions to make sure she’s remembered his name right, as she takes a seat in front of him with the low coffee table between them and her male partner next to her.
They already got the pleasantries out of the way before they’d been interrupted and Louis wordlessly nods his head, suddenly self conscious of what he’s saying or doing, despite knowing that they’d not want him to hold back in case anything he thought of was important. He feels under pressure and it makes him want to shy away again, to block it all out until Harry reappears. Something horribly dark in his gut tells him it won’t be that easy.
“What is your connection to Harry?”
“He’s - ” he tries to clear the roughness from his voice, “ - um, he’s my best friend.”
“And the young men out there?” she inclines her head to mean just outside the door where the other boys are sat.
“Are my best friends too,”
Louis sees her smile a little and lean forward, as if conspiratorial, “They said much the same.”
“Police Constable,” speaks the male police officer for the first time since they sat down again.
It sounds like a warning to not get too familiar with their interviewee and her posture straightens as she gathers her thoughts once more.
“Louis, can you take us back to when you last saw Harry?”
Irrational panic lights up within him like a firework - they know, they know I let him go then drank myself into a fight - before he blinks to see expectant expressions which tells him they don’t. He reaches up tiredly to rub at his eye, forgetting that it’s still quite swollen and definitely a raging red that will turn into proper bruising in the next few days. Both of the officers’ gazes seem to twitch, maybe with interest. Who is he kidding? Of course it’s with interest. They’re trained to spot non-verbal clues as well and if a guy met him with a bruised face, he’d probably be curious as to how that happened too. He expects them to want to know all the gory details, but they gesture for him to answer the question they asked and suddenly the guilt of feeling selfish creeps back in.
“A couple of days ago, we were in Brighton - writing and recording some tracks for our album - ” he adds as an aside with a hint of pride, before they can ask him what they were doing there, “and, in the evening, we decided to go out for a few drinks. I lost him in the crowds.”
“Louis,” the female says firmly, “can you be more specific? How long did it take you to get separated? What happened to make you lose him?”
“Well, I was a bit tipsy,” he jokes weakly before he can resist then lapsing into seriousness lest he antagonise the very people he’s trying to help. “In all honesty, not much happened. We drank together then the five of us mutually decided to separate and explore for a bit. I went to the bar, with Niall, and Harry...”
“And Harry...?” she prompts as he takes a breath, clearly the designated interviewer of the two.
“He would disappear then come back, usually for another drink or just to have a good time with us. It was a perfectly normal night.”
“Does he often wander off by himself for long periods of time and tell no one where he’s going?”
Louis presses his lips together and clamps down on the swirl of emotions within him, unsure whether his eyes will fill or a humourless laugh will spill forth once he unclenches his fists from resting on his knees. Eventually, he settles for keeping things plain and simple, the cold hard facts. “No, never. Not while I’ve known him anyway. We like to stay close by each other.”
The female nods, processing each of Louis’ answers carefully as her partner jots things down in his pocket-sized notebook. “So my next question is, Louis, what changed? How ‘normal’ was this night?”
There it was - the opening for which he needed to reluctantly but importantly mention the girl he and the boys had seen Harry with in the distance. He hesitated anyway, the icy trickle of guilty doubt that he was about to maybe wrongly accuse someone else of foul play causing him to close his eyes and exasperatedly hold his palms close to his face. For a moment, it blocks everything out and there’s nothing but black behind his eyelids as he tries to breath deep. Then Harry’s face flashes in front of him and Louis blinks and feels dizzy for a split second at the change in light. His breathing may be under control, but his ribs feel like they’re shrinking, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing his heart until he fears it might crumble into dust. It’s the push he needs. Apparently a physical attack is what he needs these days to get him to properly respond. He’d be worried about that if there wasn’t something else on his mind.
“I saw someone,” he blurts out, not quite how he wanted to but relieved that it’s now out there nonetheless, “with him. A girl. She was different from the others...”
Louis’ gaze falls from the people listening intently to him and to the floor as heat floods his cheeks. He’s confused by his own reaction. It usually has to be something truly mortifying to make him blush, but the way he remembers the girl - fitted dress and her thighs and the intimacy she didn’t mind directing at Harry has him wondering if he’s betraying Harry’s trust in some way. After all, he doesn’t go running the papers every time Harry pulls a girl and maybe this is still all this is. Maybe Zayn was right. As he impatiently pushes his fringe away, Louis wishes for the umpteenth time that he could speak to the boys, to get an inkling on what they seemed to divulge so easily. But you’re different, a small voice intones and, although he can’t quite get a handle on who it sounds like, he knows it’s familiar. You have more to share. The possibilities are almost endless.
As if sensing his sudden crisis of confidence, the female officer leans forward in her seat but doesn’t do more than that. Louis figures it’s against protocol or something, at least until they’ve gained all the information they need. Or maybe that’s what liaison officers are for, doling out contact and comfort whilst the bobbies on the beat try and solve the cases.
“You’re doing great, Louis.” she encourages softly with a ghost of a smile, “Tell us why this girl was different...?”
“She didn’t have to be all over him to get what she wanted.”
It’s out of his mouth before he’s even thought how to phrase the words and he’s surprised by the obvious bitterness and anger. To their credit, the officers delve deeper for the facts and pay his tone little mind.
“So, she was manipulative?” she clarifies, “Persuasive?”
“I...I don’t know. I guess.”
“Louis.” the male police officer demands his attention and he blinks, not used to him speaking directly to him. “Tell us exactly what you saw and what was said. Please.”
Swallowing as the “please” is offered as an obvious afterthought from a far more hard-nosed police presence, Louis drops his eyes to his feet again to better focus and concentrates on the carpet as he sees everything replayed in his mind from that fateful night.
“Harry was on the dancefloor. He went up to the girl, maybe he thought it was someone else, I don’t know. But then he seemed pleased anyway because he was with her for ages. I was at the bar with Niall and Harry came towards me, demanding to have a word with me. I didn’t really have a choice. He told me to be careful, seemed...on edge, like he’d seen something or someone he hated and that’s - that’s not like him. And that was it. He walked away from me and he’s never really done that before. I wish I’d done more, but I was too...” realising that it’s all spilling out at once in a ramble he hopes is somewhat coherent, Louis meets their eyes as he grapples for the right word, before he shrugs wearily, “any number of things - surprised, hurt and frustrated that he was being a bit of a hypocrite, but mostly just confused. It wasn’t a big fight or anything, but he doesn’t lash out like that at all, not to me. He’s too chilled for that. We don’t have that kind of relationship. That was the last time I, uh, saw him.”
A tense silence follows with only the scratching of a pen on paper barely audible then the female police officer looks a little awkward and Louis knows what’s coming. He braces himself, knowing he’s going to tell the truth, even if it’s just snippets of the actual story.
“It was just words?” she asks, “You and Harry had a conversation and then he walked off? No fists involved?”
Louis debated flat out rubbishing the question, but the mere thought that Harry would raise his hand to anyone, let alone him as his best friend, made his insides twist into such a mess that he felt the need to point out Harry’s true character, to make them understand that he was only a possible victim in all this and it wasn’t some fucked up karma coming to bite him on the arse.
“He’s cooked for me before.”
It’s another unchecked titbit that falls from his mouth and the two officers blink at him, but wait to see if he’ll continue. Louis smiles slightly, what feels like the first one in a short while and it feels good. Thinking about Harry feels good.
“When we were in the,” he hesitates drawing attention to their situation at a serious time like this, so simply shrugs, “in the house. Not all the time, but it was...nice whenever it happened. He’s thoughtful like that. There’s never any drama with Harry, at least it doesn’t start from him. He’s a cheeky so-and-so too, but I like that. Sometimes I feel like I need it, almost. I guess that’s one of the reasons we are close. We bounce off each other like it’s supposed to be that way y’know? I can look at him and have a conversation with him without opening my mouth. Things are just...easy, so easy. Sorry,” he apologies suddenly, only now realising that neither of them have prompted further.
The female shakes her head, “No, it’s good. We needed to clear that up.”
Louis blinks at her, expecting more of an interrogation. “So you don’t want to know what happened to...?” he points to his face awkwardly.
“Is it relevant to Harry’s disappearance?”
He breathes a little deeper to rid himself of the temptation to be a smartarse towards the male police officer’s curt question and actually thinks about the answer. Yes. No. Sort of. Is it? “No.” he settles on after a thoughtful beat, “Just got into a fight. Bit one sided really. I had no hope of coming out of it unscathed. Wish it hadn’t been the face though. Zayn would feel the same, but I’m not above admitting to being a bit vain. It’s part of my job these days...Sorry.”
The female looks at his sheepish expression and smiles faintly. “It’s fine. So, Harry. You think there’s a possibility he could still be with this girl?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay.”
“Are you going to find her?” he blurts out, remembering her smile that now seems terrifyingly sly with every hour Harry is not around.
“We’ll want to talk to her, yes, as she was the last person to see Harry as far as we know. Now Louis, we need you to do a few things for us. We need you to describe the girl as detailed as you remember and then we need the same for Harry. It’d be best if we could have some photographs of him, so the rest of our team has something to refer back to.”
He wants to say surely you already know what he looks like but immediately feels guilty for being so presumptuous. Besides, even if it was likely that they did, photographs in a file could be classed as evidence. So no one will forget. The female officer also listed a few other tools and formalities to get the ball rolling until one caught his attention.
“DNA?”
“Yes. If we find...” she pauses and Louis almost feels the way his face drains of colour.
She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. If they find suspicious stains at the girl’s place or at the club or anywhere else Harry has been during their stay in Brighton, if they find a weapon or if they find something less disputable like...a body.
“Something like a toothbrush would be fine,” she remarks, her voice softer than it was a moment ago.
“Okay.” he answers, but he can’t help it, he’s distracted and this time he really doesn’t want to be.
“And the photographs - ”
“I’ll sort it.” he snaps and it seems to be what brings the colour back to his cheeks as well as his brain into the conversation, “Sorry. But leave it with me.”
“What about Harry’s family? Do you want us to contact them so they can help you?”
Louis feels his eyes widen in realisation and there’s suddenly only one word in his vocabulary that he’s thinking of.
Fuck.
-----
When Harry first woke up in Freya’s bed, he hadn’t really connected the dots together. It wasn’t possible. She was just a girl he met in an amusement arcade and a club and he was the boy hopefully showing her a good time for the night. There was nothing wrong that, it had happened before, and there was certainly nothing untoward in the set up. It was more romantic comedy than the thriller it seemed to become. But lying awake at night and shutting your eyes against the slivers of light you’re no longer quite so used to can do strange things to your mind. He’s had the visions of death, of his captors and his own, but there can also be a startling amount of clarity. Like he knows with every fibre of his being that he thinks of and loves the boys like family now and he never wants to take that for granted. He knows that he’s as proud of his mum and sister as they are of him. He knows, with at least half certainty, that - before made Freya and Luka themselves known - he had been followed.
The quiet and the pain (in an effort to numb it by thinking of anything else) let him see that. The exact details are still fuzzy, but he remembers the day he actually confided in Louis like it was yesterday. Harry smiles. He knew he wouldn’t be judged by his best friend, whatever he said and however crazy it sounded. This was the bottom line why he stopped wrestling with the decision to tell him or not and simply come out with it.
“Lou,” he whispered tentatively, even though they were the only two in the living room at the time, “I think...I think I’m being followed.”
Sitting on the velvet green sofa that whilst slightly sunken in places was pretty comfortable, Louis shuffled his arm further along the back of the seat and taking that as his cue whether he meant it to be one or not, Harry moved closer until he was resting against Louis’ side. A hand slid into his curls, twirling those at the top of his head that didn’t seem to be as curly as others near his ears. It was like Louis was daring his hair to be even curlier and Harry found himself relaxing just from the touch.
Louis made a questioning sound, asking if they were still supposed to be talking about this without taking his eyes away from the television screen in the corner. Harry nodded, his cheek brushing his t-shirt covered chest and he felt the hand move from his hair to squeeze his shoulder.
“We’re always being followed, Harry.”
Harry knows that’s meant to be a comfort to him and if it was the truth it oddly would be, but he just has this feeling that it’s not. So he shook his head, maybe burrowing deeper into Louis’ body to find the warmth, to feel the comfort and the truth he suddenly craved. “I’m being serious,” he mumbled as the doubt reared its ugly head.
Louis froze and Harry actually felt his body stiffen underneath his ear. His heart didn’t know whether to sink in disappointment or speed up in panic, so it kept a deceptively steady pace despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave and take his worries elsewhere. He must have twitched a limb because in the next moment, Louis’ touch returned and was stronger than ever. His cheek was a warm weight on the top of Harry’s head, keeping him in his embrace instead of letting him entertain more thoughts of escaping. Luckily, he didn’t want to, especially when Louis gave him the words that meant he believed him.
“Have you seen anyone around that you don’t know looking shifty? For the record, I haven’t and you’re almost with me all day every day, so...”
Harry backed away from his arms eventually and turned his face towards him, putting his hands in the space left to support his position as he slowly shook his head again, “It’s just...it’s a feeling I get. Like there’s eyes on my back. I...I don’t like it.”
He thought he probably sounded whiny and pouty and like a baby, but Louis didn’t seem to see it like that and pulled Harry forward once more with a kiss to his forehead. “Its alright.” he said, faintly smiling when Harry raised his eyes to look into his, “I believe you, but there might be a simple explanation for this. Don’t make yourself paranoid. It won’t do you any good. And besides, anyone comes after you? They’ll have to go through me first.”
He grinned and Harry tried to return it, really, but the pitch of Louis’ voice made him oddly feel like he didn’t want to shatter the sudden peace he felt. It was a private tone, like how they were when they used to slip into each other’s beds at night in the X Factor house and talk for far longer than they should’ve, and it brought those fun memories back until Harry felt calm and relaxed and carefree again. Something told him Louis used that voice on purpose. Quickly, there were words on his tongue and it was if he was about to say something ridiculous like you have a hundred different voices (when in reality it was probably about five, but whatever) when -
“Liam’s making dinner and I’m starving, so can we please - oh put him down, Tomlinson!” Niall cackled suddenly as he stepped in from the hallway and started for the kitchen that they could see from their snuggled place on the sofa.
Harry blinked as Louis’ hand begun to pat his head and smooth his hair but Louis’ eyes were only playfully on Niall. “But I want him as my pet!” he fake pouted.
There was a clang from the kitchen as Niall opened an overhead cupboard and narrowly missed getting brained by a precariously balanced tagine pot. Harry snorted in amusement as much for that as for Louis’ comment, “Thanks a bunch.”
“I didn’t say what kind of pet, babycakes,” he winked back.
With the outlandish pet-name in use and the mischief in his eyes, Harry should’ve laughed it off like he had always done before or even better flirted outrageously in return, but for some reason he felt stuck. He blinked again, but slower, and Louis was still looking at him as if waiting for the usual response.
“Hey.” This time it was Liam, as he had obviously come to take over and save Niall from death by clay dish. “You’d better vote quick on what we’re having for dinner before Niall decides for us all.”
Just like that, Louis’ arms disappeared from Harry and he watched dumbly as the other boy stood up, pulling at the waistband of his jeans even though they hadn’t moved an inch since he sat down. He turned and ruffled Harry’s hair with a knowing smile and his heartbeat decided that now was the time to kick up weirdly, even as Louis muttered laughingly, “I know what you want,” (meaning dinner, of course) and left Harry to lounge on the sofa. By himself.
Harry might’ve hoped that Louis would believe him and be supportive like he was, but the extra thoughts were unbidden. He doesn’t remember them happening or feeling them at the time, but recalling the memory now has them feel so real, so visceral and increasingly with all this time in the world on his hands, Louis is not just Louis anymore. He’s...Louis.
Harry shakes his head, feeling muddled, as damp curls stick irritably to his face. He wonders if this is what it’s like to truly miss someone and whether he’ll feel like this about the other boys soon. It’d be a lot less confusing if he did.
-----
“Hello, this is Anne. I can’t take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye.”
With his mobile phone pressed to his ear, Louis sighs anxiously and thinks about hanging up but somehow knows that that will just make her even more worried. When she finds out the reason for his call, she’s going to be worried enough.
“Hi Anne, its Louis.” he says, feeling strangely formal and like he’s leaving words for a stranger, not the woman that has almost become his mother’s best friend. “When you get this, could you give me a call back? Don’t - uh - don’t worry, just...call me, okay? Bye.”
Ending the call, he cringes immediately. Don’t worry? Don’t worry? Her son’s missing, possibly kidnapped, and he’s telling her not to worry? He feels like an idiot and the worst of it is he doesn’t know how to fix that or anything else. Still, he knows he can’t sit and wait for her to call back like he wants to or, worse, mope around. He told the police he’d sort things and he meant it.
As their meeting at Syco had been so very early in the morning and the police’s preliminary investigation only at mid-morning, Louis and the boys had a lot of hours left in the day. The label had discussed bringing them closer than going back to the guesthouse in Brighton until it was quickly agreed that they’d finally move into a small place in London. They’d heard rumblings of being allowed to get their own spaces, but the thought of doing that without Harry made them all distinctly queasy. For Louis, he and Harry had nonchalantly talked about the idea of moving in together and all he could feel now was a suffocating kind of loneliness that yet again took over his mouth without his brain’s permission until he was practically thinly veiled begging the others not to separate and for them to find a little something as one. What possessions they had with them were moved swiftly to London and Louis feels like he only had to blink before he was stood in the fully furnished bedroom he’d have to share until further notice, until, he presumed, Harry came back. When the four of them loitered in the tiny hallway, Niall had weakly joked that it would be “just like old times, like the X Factor”, although he didn’t believe it and neither did anyone else. They simply fell against one another in a huddle and tried to overlook the missing piece of their puzzle that worked.
Louis was also equally parts glad and uncomfortable that he hadn’t been tasked with collecting Harry’s belongings from Brighton. The removal vans had brought them along with everything else but, on the other hand, the thought of someone unknown messing with Harry’s stuff had him feeling like a crazed mother hen. “Don’t touch that!” “Keep it like it is!” “Do not disturb!” This was at least part of the reason why he was scared of Anne returning his call.
Deciding to get to business before the police turn up at the house in the late afternoon, Louis slips out of his and Zayn’s room and pads quietly to the bathroom. He’s supposed to be in here anyway, telling the boys downstairs eating takeaway that he needed the loo and would be right back...twenty minutes ago. As if he hasn’t dawdled enough, Louis opens the bathroom cabinet above the sink and stares at the toothbrush leaning in a cup inside. If he could just pull it out and wait for the police to get here so he can hand it over that’d be great. But he can’t. It’s an innocuous green and blue toothbrush and he can’t. It’s Harry. Just like his randomly empty cardboard coffee cups are Harry and the pen marks on his fingertips are Harry and the misshapen outline of his jeans pockets where he’s shoved his phones in deep are Harry.
Louis shakes his head. “This is stupid.” he whispers to his increasingly pale, battered complexion. “And you really fucking need a tan. Man up, Tommo.”
With a breath, he takes hold of the cabinet door and yanks it open at the same time there’s a knock to the bathroom and that door opens to reveal Liam’s head popping through. Louis hates that he jumps but he wasn’t concentrating on being interrupted and he rears back as the cabinet manages to hit him clean in the nose and as he’s blinking away the pain and spitting curses he sees Liam’s face fall.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean - ”
“Stupid fucking wanking shitting thing!” Louis yells crossly, cutting Liam’s apology off as he slams the door closed and watches with a tiny curl of satisfaction as the glass momentarily shakes in its bonds.
Unfortunately, the toothbrush in his hand drops to the tiles as well and suddenly he sees an ugly, misdirected surge of red to make him harshly stamp on it without a second’s thought. He happens to be wearing something other than Toms on his feet and he crunches his heel again and again into the plastic, hard enough to feel the effect up his calf, before the feeble plastic splinters on the end.
“Louis? Louis?” its louder the second time and Louis blinks to clear his vision, to see that Liam’s now stood in front of him with his hand lightly on his shoulder and his doe eyes wary.
Silently, they switch to looking down at the crushed remains of the toothbrush.
“Is that - ?”
“Yeah,” Louis sighs and bends to pick it up, relieved that the important part is still intact. He half points it at Liam. “Evidence for the police. Said they needed some kind of DNA.”
Liam wrinkles his nose at that. Louis thinks he looks confused or disgusted at the thought, but he can’t bring himself to explain so he just lets the moment hang. Mentioning the visit seems to snap Liam into reality and the hand on Louis’ shoulder squeezes briefly.
“They should be here soon.” he says softly.
Louis nods then Liam darts forward the inch he needs before Louis is wrapped within his arms, his body rigid from the force of it. A couple of seconds later, Liam gingerly withdraws, not quite meeting Louis’ admittedly slightly amused gaze. Louis changes the subject to what the police will do here when they get to the house.
Liam shrugs as they exit the bathroom together and slope down the stairs, “Dunno. Something about monitoring our calls,”
“Oh great.” Louis replies with a huff, really hoping that this won’t mean they’ll have to listen in when Anne rings.
As it turns out, the police are working from an anonymous tip off. The two police officers that interviewed the boys traipse through the door as well as more people they’ve never met before cradling machines under their arms. They take up residence in the kitchen and the female explains what information they have about the tip to the four bewildered boys. Louis thinks he remembers her name as Lucie or Louise or something beginning with L but forgive him he’s been distracted lately and one glance at the others tells him that they’re not faring much better. Apparently, they’re expecting another call any hour now - because calling back with the boys present was the only condition the anonymous caller stipulated - and after half an hour of officers nursing mugs of tea and lazily chomping on whatever biscuits happen to be in the cupboards at the time, they kick into action at the sound of another member of the team’s mobile phone shrilly ringing. He’s older than those who interviewed Louis and, he guesses, more superior and they watch as the police officer takes the phone calmly out of his suit jacket pocket, answers it then slowly lays it in the middle of the machines on the kitchen table and set on speakerphone.
“Am I on speakerphone?”
It’s a male voice and Louis looks to see that his friends are passing glances at each other too. He’s not sure what he was expecting exactly but somehow it wasn’t a man with an English accent that also has the twang of something that quite isn’t, like his ancestry is trickling through. It’s not an especially deep voice but it is crisp and clear, as if he relishes an audience or enjoys public speaking. Louis can’t hear cars or people, strangely imagining a covert phone call from a phonebox on a busy street but he can’t hear any background noise at all and that must mean that of course who ever this guy is he’s at home. He looks at the senior policeman, willing him to speak as he and the boys stand in a line behind the team sat at the table and bank of recording machines.
“You are. Now, do you have some information for us?”
“Oh,” the anonymous caller says and Louis feels himself frown as he can practically hear the delight in the man’s tone, “I have plenty of information for you. It’s whether I’m willing to give it, that’s the real question.”
Louis opens his mouth but Liam catches his elbow in time and shakes his head curtly, telling him in no uncertain terms to be quiet or at least wait until the senior figure in their temporary home says it’s okay to speak.
“Can you tell me what you mean by that?” the policeman asks calmly as Niall, at Louis’ left side, starts to nervously chew on his fingernails.
“I could tell you, but - actually, do you want to hear for yourself instead?”
Louis finds he can’t keep his eyes off the policeman with his greying hair and straight up manner, like he’s been there and seen it all a million times before. A bit like Simon really and Louis decides that he never wants to witness Simon be wrong-footed like this man is. He recovers quickly and is about to formulate a neutral, calm response when there’s already footsteps in the background that are unusually loud in the silence of the phone line and the tiny kitchen in a London flat.
“Say hello, Harry.”
A chill stutters down Louis’ spine the instant he hears those three little words. He’ll admit that hope bloomed in his chest at the realisation that someone knew where Harry was and that at least he was still alive, but it was quickly followed by his heart plummeting to his feet. At first, there is a terrifying beat of nothing and it feels like everyone is holding their breath.
“Come on,” cajoles the caller and Louis feels that his voice is starting to make his skin crawl, like this is all some game to him, “don’t be rude, Harry. Say hello.”
Then there is a quiet sound. A guy sitting to Louis’ left with half of a pair of headphones held to his ear twiddles some parts and pushes some buttons, presumably to increase the volume to stop them from straining their ears. But it seems like the caller isn’t happy and he continues to needle who Louis sort of hopes is Harry on the other side of the line, even as his hackles rise at the thought.
“Be careful, Harry. Now one more time. Say. Hello.”
The sound is as clear as a finely tuned whistle and Niall’s head whips round to stare at Liam’s shocked face and Louis sees the way Zayn tries to get his arm snug against Niall’s shoulder to also reach his. Except the sound doesn’t stop and it suddenly makes sense. It’s a whimper. Like Harry is hurt or something prevents him from speaking properly. The noises rise hoarsely in urgency and Louis knows, probably everyone does, that he is trying to say something more valuable than hello. However, as quick as they’ve begun, there’s a muffled thud before the whimpering cuts off completely. This time, Louis can’t help himself and his body reacts on instinct to grab the phone and demand answers from this prick who knows where Harry is and is more than likely the person who is keeping him there. That part of the situation is still a muddle, how Harry could’ve gone from dancing with a girl in a club to being holed up somewhere with a nutcase, but Louis hasn’t got the patience to question that right now. Instead, he’d like to shove his hand through the phone and pull this man’s guts out through his well punched mouth. He feels sick from knowledge and helpless energy and a white-hot violent edge that he simultaneously wants to cling to and speedily run away from.
Sadly, he’s not taken anyone else into account and he feels arms hold his biceps and soft hands touch his lips so he doesn’t make a sound. The fight inside him dwindles in the protective ring of his friends’ embrace and he feels all the aches and pains he’s been carrying around with him return with a vengeance as sags back against them and wearily listens to the senior detective start negotiations to try and tempt the caller into the demands of a ransom.
“He’s not for sale, at least not to you.”
It’s enough to have Louis’ muscles twitch, but the grasp on his limbs tighten fractionally as Liam mouths “for Harry” with his face close and sincere. Louis nods reluctantly, biting his lip hard to keep his new promise.
“I know a couple of people,” the caller continues casually, like he’s describing the state of today’s grey slate weather, “His looks, he’d do well.”
The four of them squeeze their eyes shut at that, realising that Harry’s vulnerable and exposed to anything - pain, drugs, non-consensual sex - and they remain as helpless as they feel. The pressure on Louis’ arms increases as he stands in the middle of their newly formed huddle, but this time it’s to comfort themselves and he breathes deeper, taking in the fact that he’s not alone. The caller warns laughingly against tracking technology to try and triangulate Harry’s whereabouts and Louis is naturally confused until the line goes dead after a nonchalant “I’ll be in touch,” and the officers’ screens suddenly erupt from methodical calculations into a messed up swirl of dots and colours. He’s faked any signal they might’ve had.
Louis stares at the dots until they blend together. “They know who he is.”
“What, mate?” Zayn touches his shoulder.
He turns and steps back towards the kitchen doorway, framed in it. “They know who he is,” he says, injecting more confidence into his voice, “otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to sell him to the highest bidder like a fucking - a fucking - ”
“Lou - ”
He swallows back words like slave or rentboy, “ - object!” he exclaims, ignoring his friends.
“Maybe the label can pay him off...” suggests that same lilting voice that’s fallen exceptionally timid.
“Weren’t you listening? He’s not for sale!” he yells, sees the way Niall’s eyes widen and instantly regrets it, “Nialler, I didn’t - I’m - ” but it’s too late and the blonde knocks into his shoulder as he pushes past him and thuds up the stairs, upset but probably more than angry at being an unfair target for emotion.
“Fuck!” Louis snaps, his knuckles pummelling into the doorframe and his forehead following before Liam or Zayn can get there.
Even so, Liam pushes him into the hallway so they can at least be away from the strangers in the flat despite the possibility that they’d understand any huge outpouring of feelings and thus probably not pay it any mind.
“Stop it,” he says and Louis feels his shoulders being shook for emphasis, “stop it. Splitting your head open is not going to help anyone, okay? Listen, I’m going to talk to them in there, see if they can let us in on what they’re going to do next. They’ll get him back, Louis. I promise.”
Louis looks between his two friends standing in front of him (he’ll need to apologise to Niall soon) and wants to believe Liam with every fibre of his being, even though he doesn’t think he entirely believes his words himself. Liam pats his shoulder and Zayn rests his arm on Louis’ and stares until he breaks and tentatively smiles. Just as he starts to feel some of the surface tension leave his body, Louis’ phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket and answers it recklessly without checking the caller ID first, still shaken and impulsive from forbidden moves towards Harry.
“Hello, Louis. It’s Anne.”
tbc.