You & I Were Made For This - 1D: Louis/Harry - Chapter 9
Title: You & I Were Made For This
Author: imagination55 / theprincessed @ ao3
Pairing: Louis/Harry
Chapter: 9
Rating (by chapter): R
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?
Warnings: Minor character death (OMC), homophobic slurs.
Disclaimer: This is not true, made up and not meant to offend. The beauty of fiction.
A/N: I'm still such a fail, sorry. This is also the only chapter that I know will be this media/Twitter heavy. I just felt like adding a sense of scale to the fic. All fan usernames are 100% fake. Comments are always love. <3
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |
1D RECORD LABEL RELEASE STATEMENT ABOUT HARRY STYLES’ WHEREABOUTS: “THE SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL”
So this morning, we at Sugarscape Towers woke up to some very worrying news. Syco, One Direction’s record label, has released a statement all about where the devil Harry Styles is and the news isn’t great. As we have all been busy speculating, we haven’t heard a peep or seen a curl of ol’ Hazza’s for some time now and it seems Uncle Si and co are keen to finally let us know why. Except...to cut through all the PR mumbo jumbo, the simple answer seems to be: they don’t know.
Worry alert.
But fear not, Scapers! Apperently, the situation is “under control” because the police (!!!) have become involved and hope to put this confusing, sad matter behind us all very soon. Huzzah!
They move on to ask that fans of the boys’ DO NOT under any circumstances whatsoever approach anyone you do not know and to report anything that seems suspicious. Your safety is what they and One Direction care about the most. Stay tuned for more updates on Harry and the rest of the boys as soon as we get them.
To cheer us up (maybe even send a psychic link to Hazza to show how much we miss him) click below for a video of 1D’s funniest X Factor moments.
----
@onedirection Official Syco Statement Released RE: Harry Styles via @SYCO_NEWS syco.ne/22PdkLf
@MailOnline WORLD EXCLUSIVE - X FACTOR STAR MISSING: One Direction’s Harry Styles goes missing as police report the situation is under control’ bit.ly/13rSvOA
@TheSunNewspaper X FACTOR STAR STYLES MISSING bit.ly/78gl2Cm
@heatworld #FINDHARRYSTYLES #COMEHOMEHARRY
@GemmaAnneStyles Love you baby bro @Harry_Styles xxx
@AnneFoxyCoxy Yes, it’s true. Harry is missing BUT it won’t be that way for long I’m sure. Everyone is doing all they can to
bring him back to us. Please respect our right to privacy always, but particularly now. Love you sweetheart @Harry_Styles xxx
@JohannahDarling @AnneFoxyCoxy @Harry_Styles Make that two mummies xx
From: Anne
That was hard but it’s the right thing to do. I hope you and the boys are doing okay x
From: Dad
Your mum and I love you very much. Stay strong x
From: Granddad
Keep your chin up lad. Here for a chat always x
From: Mum
Baby I’m only a text, a call or a car ride away. PLEASE remember that. The girls say hi. I love you lots poppet xxxx
----
They couldn’t keep it from the fans any longer and quite frankly that didn’t want to, now that they knew the police were treating the situation not as a missing person but a kidnapping.
Kidnapping.
It was still a foreign word to Louis, as he’s sure it is to the other boys too, but the fans deserved to know what they did even if it wasn’t much. Progress was slow but until they had more to go on it was supposedly to be expected.
Meanwhile, the boys had been told to lay low but also carry on as normal as much as they could. Louis had looked at them aghast at the time, despite his rational brain telling him over and over that there was nothing else for the police to really say. Things had officially turned into a professional waiting game until certain parameters had been set and he didn’t like it one bit. He was a doer, the type to grab life by the throat and live every opportunity to the last second. He was not comfortable twiddling his thumbs, especially with Harry being out there somewhere in probable real danger, so when they got the go ahead from Paul and the bigwigs that they could go out to dinner for a change of scenery and to try the whole ‘normal’ thing a couple of nights after Syco had told the rest of the world about Harry and their phones had beeped incessantly with reminder texts from their families, the foursome had jumped at the chance. So what if Louis had a slight ulterior motive, if he thought that maybe it’d stop the maddening rush of his thoughts taking up his every waking minute.
“ - so I told him about that ramp we wanted to build out back for skateboarding and he said - oi Louis, are you listening?”
Evidently, distracting himself with the outside world wasn’t working too well yet.
“Hm? What?” he blinks at Zayn sat to his left, shakes his head quickly, “Sorry, tell me again, mate - what did you say to Ant?”
Zayn’s expression melts from patience into something a little more pained and Louis has to look away because it’s edged with concern and considering his recent catalogue of meltdowns he can’t take that tonight. “Danny, Lou. I told Danny - ah, don’t matter.” he sighs after a beat.
“Louis?” Liam chimes in. He’d forgotten the other lads were there, everyone is...except Harry. “You alright?”
It’s the million pound question these days. They’re all undoubtedly a bit off kilter because the balance isn’t right, just like at Judges’ Houses when - he’s been told since - the group didn’t feel or sound as good in his absence. The memory raises the ghost of a smile, enough to reassure Liam as he’s still a little antsy from being in public again.
They’d tried to get a reservation for one of the restaurants in the city that was less frequented by big “celebrities” to keep up with the low profile shtick. Despite The X Factor being over, One Direction had already garnered a huge following and with everything that was going on with Harry it meant a continued professional presence around them as they swapped show handlers for a proper security team. The restaurant itself had the requisite ambient, dim lighting, softly playing top 40 acoustic background music and seemed fond of a dark wood look. With the little tables and overstuffed sofas for comfort by the windows, it kinda reminds Louis of the cosy feel to a coffee shop. There are of course the usual dining formations, dressed in cream tablecloths and a single flower, but they knew when they walked in that they would go straight for the sofas. However, reflecting on the last couple of days on a personal level, Louis’ not entirely sure that a window seat with all its people-watching opportunities is the best spot for him as conversation cautiously strikes up around him again in quiet murmurs and he’s glad that the boys are determined to make the most of this evening out when there’s not much else for them to do in this state of limbo. The thing is, he’s been doing a lot of that - getting lost in his head as he looks people over - since he came back from Doncaster. He’s not stupid, he understands the reason why, but the implications are difficult. Stan and his ‘wondering’, Stan poking at his friendship with Harry, Stan trying to connect the dots to a picture that’s still far from clear. It’d be easy to hate him for planting such a seed, but Louis knows that’s unfair. He wouldn’t be the first person to question his relationship with Harry and probably won’t be the last.
Reminded, Louis takes his phone from his pocket before the menu gets around to him and looks at his phone with the same helpless kernel of hope he’s increasingly got used to already blooming in his chest. It dies immediately as he sees the screen with nothing new in the last few hours to him personally and ventures onto Twitter instead, scrolling through his timeline.
@purplecarrotswag101 OMFGGGGGG OMFGGGGGG IS IT TRUE??? HARRY??? :’((((( @Harry_Styles @Louis_Tomlinson @Real_Liam_Payne @zaynmalik @NiallOfficial RT @onedirection
Official Syco Statement Released via @SYCO_NEWS syco.ne/22PdkLf
@benwinston He’s a smart one, that @Harry_Styles. I’ve got faith that he’ll come home soon!!
@piper12345 have a look at this LOOOOOOOL!! pic.twitter.com/GKDJ9lweg
@edsheeran @Harry_Styles there’s a sofa waiting with your name on it, old chum
@BeLlYbUtToNz FOLLOWWWWW MEEEE PLEEEEEEEASEEEEEEE??!!1!!11!!!!
@izecreamshize ur so gay
@izecreamshize GAAAAAAY
@izecreamshize gaaaaay hair say sumink gaaaay haaaaair
@MattEdmondson Just heard the news about @Harry_Styles...I’m not sure how you lose a potential popstar, but it’s worrying all the same. Get home safe x
@tumbleweedsqueeze947 limp wristd motherfucka fuckin die
@starlite44 hi louis how r u 2day? :) ilysm xx
Niall’s voice pulls him away from the eclectic mix of tweets, asking him what he wants to eat once he meets his gaze.
“I dunno,” he shrugs, clutching tighter to his phone, “’M’not that hungry.”
He blinks rapidly and almost flinches as, in time with Liam’s furrowed brow; Zayn takes the menu from Niall’s hands and shoves it at Louis, covering the screen. “You’re not listening, but you’re eating, yeah?”
Despite being a little more forceful than the other two, he instantly counteracts it, touching Louis’ wrist with gentle fingertips. His heart and stomach pass each other like a rollercoaster daily, but Zayn’s caress to his arm calms him and before he’s aware of it, he’s agreeing to eat and points blindly at something on the laminate. As he’s sat closest to Louis, Zayn looks at him like he’s being a bit stupid in the head.
“Lou,” he says slowly, “you don’t even like mushrooms when they’re cooked. ‘Slimy, weird bastards’, remember?”
He has indeed pointed at something very heavily featuring mushrooms and was being a bit stupid in the head after all. He inhales a shuddery breath as Zayn murmurs to Liam beside him then turns to Louis again, wrapping his arm around his shoulder like a quick squeeze of a cuddle. “You’re okay,” he smiles, “enjoy the night. I’ve heard alright things about this place. Not bad company either.”
Louis finds his answering smile naturally as Zayn bumps their shoulders together and Liam and Niall across from the three of them get into a competition of how many beer mats they can flip with the back of their hands and catch off the end of their low table. It gives Louis a chance to have another look at them.
With Stan’s words fresh in his mind in the hours following his return from Doncaster, there was a small part of Louis who was at least curious about what he said. Having never really given it much thought, as he was back in the little flat, questions started popping up everywhere. What made someone attractive to someone else? What made one gender attractive for one person and not the other gender? What made all genders attractive to one person? What made friends attracted to friends, faults and all?
In the middle of trying to picture a nameless person with everything he physically has instead of boobs and a vagina, the door to the cramped bathroom opened and Louis froze. Sat on the carpet and blocking the way out, his eyes travelled up the bare, slightly hairy legs, long green towel wrapped around a narrow waist and the smooth plains of a flat chest to stop at Zayn’s damp face and hair.
“Hi Lou, what you doing down there?” he chirped, before his face fell dramatically, “Something wrong?”
“I - ” he swallowed, “I - no. Nothing’s - I’m fine.”
He got to his feet and took the stairs quickly, his face set in a grimace. He couldn’t exactly deny that Zayn was attractive but did that acknowledgment mean anything? Wouldn’t everyone with a brain think the same? Only it didn’t stop there. As if determined to confuse him until he could find a definite answer, he found himself staring at the quick blur of Niall’s fingers as he played against Louis at FIFA and really, really thrashed him for the first time in their friendship and aware of just how plush Liam’s mouth could look as he talked until it was all too much and too weird to test a theory like this.
It still is, he realises with a shiver, as he feels his mind rush back in to the present like he’s just done a lap around their corner of the restaurant in an out-of-body experience. Pushing the boys aside, his feelings to the world at large seem stubbornly silent on the matter now. Maybe Stan’s wrong. Maybe he’s got nothing to think about, maybe there is no reason why. Maybe he and Harry are just Louis and Harry and that’s it, no questions needed.
@PistolsAtDawn ur the gayest boybanders eva omg lol stop lyin to urself @Harry_Styles @Louis_Tomlinson
----
With a meal sans mushrooms, dinner is going well and Louis feels his tense shoulders relax in increments with every passing second in the presence of his boys. It almost makes him shake his head, the thought that he went to Doncaster to find his strength when it was right in front of him all along - in the way Niall laughs at something or someone he finds funny, even if it’s at an inopportune moment like through a mouthful of food, in the way Zayn reminds him that he’s never alone in this mess with just a simple touch, in the way Liam unwinds and lights up once he believes Louis feels better. Of course the strong sense of home from his mum and sisters and even Stan is welcome, but this is where he’s meant to be right now. Once he’s found, Harry will be brought back to them as a group after all and Louis’ll be damned if he’s not there with bells on to see it happen. He’s in the middle of sticking straws up his nose with his cutlery haphazardly arranged and the next morsel of food already speared when he picks up his glass before realising that it’s empty.
“Another round, lads?” he grins as he springs up, not really giving the others a chance to refuse as he shuffles past Zayn and Liam, maybe wiggling his bum in their face just because. A good meal and good company and the outside world not crashing down around them, he feels lighter than he has in days. “Maybe something a little stronger?”
“I dunno, Lou,” Liam grimaces, “we don’t want to go overboard,”
“Come on, grandda!” Niall cackles, bumping his fist onto Louis’ in agreement, “Have a drink, let loose,”
“I’ll even buy it for you legally,” Louis winks, “Oldest perk.”
In minutes, he’s stood by the bar to wait for the bartender to serve a chattering party of women dressed in bright reds and pinks. It looks like the beginning of a hen night and he catches the eye of the one nearest to him, a tiny redhead, with a small smile. However, his gaze is pulled from her as he sees another person behind the bar comes towards him. He opens his mouth to start talking when a friendly voice decidedly not his own jumps in.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” a male voice exclaims as quick, only a couple of words in, and Louis looks to his other side, to his left. A man several inches taller than him but casually leaning onto the bar stares back at him with a little apologetic ‘o’ for his luscious mouth, his eyes round and shiny like the darkest marbles. “I didn’t mean to interrupt - I really - it’s a long order,”
He smiles, impish and blinding, scratching at his closely cropped hair and blinking with long eyelashes that could rival Zayn’s, skin smooth except for a small bumpy scar on his right cheek. In short, he’s beautiful. Louis straightens as if a broom’s been shoved up the back of his shirt, realising he’s been looking dumbstruck all too late.
He clears his throat, clasping his hands tightly together in front of himself in a fidget, “Its fine. Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?” he asks and Louis nods, still a bit useless and confused as to when he started thinking of guys as beautiful. He wants to tell the guy to stop smiling so brightly, like Louis’ done him such a great favour. Louis’ eyes continue to helplessly fix on him as he turns to the girl about to serve him. “Okay, can I have a -”
It really is a long list, Louis agrees distantly after a few seconds of watching the guy’s lips shape around the names of different drinks.
“ - and a double vodka and coke, please.”
Louis’ not quick enough to look away as he finishes his order, but he does so anyway when he’s caught red-handed to notice that the right side of the bar is quiet again, the hen party vanished, smiling redhead included. Damn.
“So, I guess that’s your good karma sorted for the night.” the guy’s deep voice says, bringing Louis’ attention back to him through the low noise of music and chatter, “Thanks, again. My friends can get really impatient if they don’t get their refills in seconds.”
“Sounds like me.” He says it before he thinks and it must show on his face because the guy laughs, a rumbling sound that seems to come direct from his belly. His incredibly flat belly from the way his navy polo shirt is clinging to his body.
“Yeah?” he raises a dark eyebrow but keeps his infectious, white grin, “You should’ve warned me about that before I rudely muscled in on your moment.”
He has muscles too, but seems to be trim instead of overly pumped. Like he could carry someone without being out of puff but his handshake wouldn’t break your fingers. Fit.
Louis licks his suddenly dry lips, inferiority crashing over him similar to the lack of confidence he felt only a few short months ago. The guy takes his awkward, squirming quiet in his stride, offering a hand before Louis can think to himself.
“I’m going to be here a while waiting for that lot,” he jokes, palm extended and the other forearm propping up the bar, gaze attentively on Louis, “I’m Christian.”
“I’m...agnostic?”
Luckily, Christian finds the funny side in Louis’ unfunny jitteriness, “Well, at least there’s room for you to be persuaded. Although,” he adds, as his multiple drinks start piling up on the bar, ice cubes aplenty, “I’d still like to know your actual name before I leave. I can’t carry on calling you Gorgeous in my head for the rest of the night now, can I?”
Louis’ mind is a tug-of-war of please do and oh no he’s flirting, long enough that another low wave of soft amusement from Christian passes through the short gap between their bodies, a space increasingly smaller than Louis first remembers. This time, as Louis bites his lips together shyly and his head is blank of adequate responses, Christian loses some of his playful intensity and falls back into a wide, friendly grin.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers, scrubbing a hand over his shorn head again, “I just know an attractive guy when I see one.”
“No, no,” Louis grimaces, hurriedly fumbling for his money in his jeans pocket as the barman gets round to serving him, “I mean, I’m not - it’s - thanks. Thank you. For saying that.”
“No problem, babe.” He says it amiably enough, but also seems like he senses he won’t be continuing their little conversation, not with impatient friends to deal with and how skittish Louis can feel himself being anyway. Usually he’s not too shabby at this game, but it’s never been this intense with a bloke. A supremely attractive bloke apparently into the sharp features of an emotionally confused and lost nineteen year old. Louis watches him slowly slide one of the trays onto his large hand. “I better get these back to the rabble. It was nice meeting you...?”
Louis blinks, delayed, as Christian waits. “Louis. My name’s Louis.”
A parting grin lights up Christian’s face, clean shaven, his dark, dark eyes sparkling in the glow of atmospheric, intimate lighting, “Louis! Nice meeting you, Gorgeous Louis. See you around.”
Louis’ gone by the time Christian returns for his second tray of drinks, having scuttled back to the boys with the vague hope that his face isn’t aflame. Thankfully embarrassment never shows too easily on his face in a rosy blush, except after he’s set the pints down on the table for the lads, he can’t help answer the pull to look back over his shoulder, to somehow validate that he’s enough for a second glance.
“Lou?” Niall asks, licking beer off his upper lip, “Hey Louis!”
“Yeah?”
“What’re you always looking at lately?” he laughs, not unkindly.
Christian isn’t looking.
Then again, he does have to concentrate on grabbing the last of his circle’s drinks, a big, happy bunch Louis spots now down the far end of the restaurant. He lets his peripheral vision linger, so maybe he imagines the wink thrown his way as Christian’s path towards his friends gets the nearest to Louis (which isn’t very near at all).
“Nothing,” he answers, distracted, “I’m not - it’s nothing,”
“Which means it’s something,”
“Piss off, I said it’s nothing.” He shuffles into his seat and sits with a sigh, immediately contrite over the surprised blink from Niall at his firm tone, “I’m just...people-watching, I guess,” he picks up his glass and knocks it against the blonde’s in apology, tries a smile on for size. “Who knows, I might’ve a book in me. There’s that thing that says everyone has at least one book in them, yeah?”
“Sounds painful if you ask me.”
“You’ve only read half a book,” Zayn chips in from Niall’s sniggers, looking delighted at teasing Louis for a change. “And that was about football!”
“Yeah, well, trust him to make it dirty. That wasn’t me!” he giggles, waving a pointing finger at Niall as the four of them start laughing, probably harder than the situation deserves, because it’s nice to do.
At least before all hell breaks loose.
It starts innocently enough, through a family of four - two parents, two little girls - with their children recognising the boys. They’ve had an easy enough time of it that evening, the clientele too adult or too cool to bother them on their downtime, but the girls are adorably excitable and don’t ask prying questions about Harry, so they see no harm in signing a napkin and snapping a picture, until it seems to open the floodgates.
Quickly, they have people from all over shuffling up to them who, whilst largely polite, are a bit overwhelming to deal with without anybody to act as a buffer between them. It’s the last time they try and go out as a group without protection and Louis rattles off an SOS text to Paul who told them he wouldn’t be too far away if they needed him. They have to leave their meals half finished and Liam jokingly picks Niall up by his middle as he tries to down the last of his pint on the run.
If only they were able to run.
It seems that as they were dealing with the curiosity inside, word got around outside and the four of them stumble into the night to be faced with a wall of sound. Camera phones flashing in their faces from eager fans as much as the paparazzi clamouring for their attention, screams and shouts echoing down the street as they wordlessly decide to group together as a way to get into some space, Liam in front, Zayn bringing up the rear and Louis plastered to Niall’s back to shield and keep him calm. He can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly against the anchor of his fingers and makes soothing noises in his ear to counteract the panic welling up truthfully in both of them. Louis knows his head isn’t in quite in the right place, his eyes looking for Harry before he can catch himself, so as long as he concentrates on taking care of Niall he knows he’ll come through this.
@JLSOfficial Ohhhh no! I pray we find @Harry_Styles so so soonnnn! Stay strong lads! @onedirection Much love Ori and the boys xx
@tommcfly Horrible news about @Harry_Styles. I don’t understand. He seems like such a nice guy. Me and the lads hope they find him soon. Now’s the time for some of that fan power!
@iNarryuNarryme NO NO NO THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING NO NO I JUST NO #directionerspray4harry
Liam looks over his shoulder at them as they get a few metres along the pavement, the crush following like an undulating school of fish, and his eyes are wide with his hands flexing by his sides. His focus elsewhere, the call that Louis wants to make as he sees someone try to box Liam in dies in his throat as his friend is shoved backwards and they all feel it as they struggle to stay upright. The screams intensify to a note of shock and defence and Zayn barges Louis’ shoulder as he squeezes past him and Niall instinctively to check Liam’s alright. Louis hears Liam’s shout of “I’m fine!” and squashes Niall into their backs as they try and move forward some more.
@FrankieTheSats omg gutted about Harry! We need to find him every1!!! Sending so much love and kisses to you @onedirection! Xxxxxxxx
@peachtweet I’m crying so much I don’t know what to do :’(((((
He glances up from Niall’s shoulder when their feet appear to be finding some space, but nearly trips over a stranger as Liam and Zayn jostle harder than he expects. He’s a photographer because Louis has to avoid his camera as it flies out of his grasp and bounces to the ground. Enraged at the damage, he and his competitors are clearly intent on retaliating when Louis spots a familiar shape pulling in just ahead.
“Look, boys!” he yells, pointing frantically and pushing at Niall’s back. “Car! Now! Go!”
He grabs tightly onto Niall’s hand for better purchase and so he doesn’t get lost in the ensuing chaos, approaching police sirens wailing, then after what feels like the length of a marathon, they finally reach Paul to be bundled in.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Louis offers with a shaky smile, to diffuse the tension.
Paul is focused on one thing only. “Just get in, Louis.”
@coolbeansmove FUCK.
----
“Oi Harry! Heads up, mate!”
Harry turns towards the sound of Niall’s laughing yell and makes it a full two seconds before a bright yellow object hits him full in the face. The sudden force of it tips him backwards onto the concrete path running next to where Niall and Louis had been having a kickabout in the midday sunshine with some of the other Groups but, as he blinks dark spots out of his eyes and shakes back his curls, he sees his bandmates race towards him with their hands outstretched, placating.
“Oh fuck, are you okay?” Niall exclaims, grabbing one of Harry’s arms to lift him to his feet. Louis takes the other side with his mouth set in a thin line and Harry’s already learnt that the few times he’s seen that expression on his face it’s meant that he’s holding back upset, but right now his eyes are sparkling and a tremble runs through him like he’s keeping in conflicting laughter whilst still trying to help.
Harry sighs. “Go on.”
A small part of him expects to have to push more, but Louis’ powerless to resist as he squeezes Harry’s bicep. “I’m sorry!” he blurts out, giggling, “I just - oh god - he said heads up and it went - and you - you - ”
“What was I meant to do?” he frowns, but his lips are already twitching traitorously. “He called my name.”
“Step out of the way, maybe,” Niall cackles, poking his shoulder, “like a normal person,”
“Oh no, mate,” Louis chirps breathlessly, hand clutched to his own chest. “I thought we discussed this at Harry’s - he ain’t normal,”
“Hey!” Harry pouts, “You’re one to talk,”
His mouth drops then morphs into a grin. “Ooh, getting feisty now? I like it.” Before either of them can say anything else, Harry's left faintly blushing as one of the older guys from F.Y.D comes wandering over to ask where the ball went. “Dunno, over there somewhere,” Louis flaps a hand dismissively and Harry can only stare at his profile in disbelief because he already knows how much football means to him and he’s basically not caring. “Y’know, actually, I think me and Niall are gonna take Harry back up to the house and get him checked out.”
“No, no,” he starts to protest, “look, I’m fine,”
“Listen, you might have concussion.” Louis is as adamant as ever, but it’s only when the three of them are slowly walking away that he leans into Harry’s ear to whisper, “I was bored anyway. What d’you say to a trip to the beach? And pizza for after?”
Whilst they’re not in Italy for the authentic stuff, Marbella in Spain is close enough and might even help settle his nerves. They’re at the Judges’ Houses stage of the competition and tomorrow is the day when newly-formed One Direction has a shot at making it to the live finals. Everyone is simply trying to make the most of the opportunity and have fun at the same time and what better way than playing games in the garden of this massive villa, sunbathing on the nearby beach and scoffing plenty of food.
As it turns out, it isn’t Harry that needs medical attention that day. Escaped from any football injury other than a red bruise on his forehead that’s easily hidden by his floppy curls, he and the other boys convene outside Simon’s place to head down to the beach together. Liam arrives with guilt all over his face as two crew members from the show armed with a camera and boom microphone trail behind him and Zayn.
It’s all fun and games until Louis starts swearing a blue streak. He thinks he’s stepped on something and there’s a commotion as Niall comes barrelling over late, having been distracted into conversation with a pair of pretty Spanish girls in shorts and flip flops, amid Louis’ whining protests that it’s “probably nowt,” and that he’s actually “fucking fine, Jesus, don’t be so dramatic”. Harry blinks evenly at him to convey his thought of irony after his loudly yelling display, but Louis catches Zayn’s disbelieving raised eyebrow instead and soon quietly relents to being dragged out of the water so they can all survey the damage. They find a growing smear of blood underneath his foot but can only watch with dumbfounded expressions as Louis stands on his good leg and uses his balled up t-shirt to wipe away the evidence.
“There,” he says, visibly biting down on his grimace, “All gone, all better.” His shoulders slump on a sigh when he sees their unconvinced faces. “Ugh, alright. I s’pose you’ll want to go back now.”
Except it takes a further trip to the swimming pool inside the confines of the villa with the girl groups, where Harry sees Louis proudly showing off his injury like he’s not bleeding on the grass, and a near-disaster of an almost fainting spell as they meet for dinner in the house for Louis to finally admit defeat. Harry immediately puts himself forward to go with him and one of the team because he feels like he ought to do something to help, but has to settle for a one armed hug and a lame croak of “you’re in charge” as Louis hops his pale-faced self to the local hospital.
It feels like an eternity until Louis’ return and even though the crew film it in some attempt to create drama for the show, the way that Harry throws his arms around him and briefly tucks his face into the warmth of his neck is entirely real as in that moment he realised that the burgeoning friendship between the five of them was a huge factor in enjoying this opportunity that they’d been given. He’s so relieved for Louis’ health and yes, that the group can perform as planned the following afternoon, but he still ends up monopolising Louis’ time once he’s been suitably fawned over by everyone.
That was earlier and now, at early evening, their plans have changed.
Harry’s suggestion of pizza at the local restaurant went out the window when he’d spotted the way Louis was still limping awkwardly on a wound he’s not supposed to cover as he valiantly tried to look presentable.
“Hey,” he cleared his throat when his voice came out surprisingly gentle. “We could stay here? Wait a while, order a pizza and eat by the pool?”
Louis frowned, clutching a baby blue polo shirt in his hands that might’ve matched his eyes. “But I thought you wanted to go out?”
“Not when you’re like this,” he half-laughed, nodding at the swollen edge of Louis’ bare foot. “Honestly, it’s fine. I just want to hang out with you.” he added hesitantly, as if he shouldn’t make such an admission.
They waited until the older members of the show category trickled back into the villa to probably get drunk before casually taking their place by the pool. They’d invited the other boys, of course, because even if Harry wanted some quality time with the boy who was quickly becoming his best friend, he was still polite, but they’d all begged off with reasons like an early night before tomorrow’s big day or X-Box marathons with a few of the twenty-somethings.
They sit next to each other with the pizza box in between them, creating a space that somehow feels wrong since they’ve slept sandwiched together on the floor of Harry’s stepdad’s bungalow, but he says nothing in case he sounds strange. In fact, as the day calms into an evening with a sky of golds and purples, they’re uncharacteristically quiet as they vaguely pick at the food but mostly find their eyes drawn to the horizon and the slice of the blue, blue sea in the distance.
“By the way, how is it?” Harry says eventually, over the buzz of crickets. Louis glances at him curiously, so he nods down to where Louis’ knee and bad foot is pulled up to his chest whilst his other calf and both of Harry’s lazily swipe through the pool water. “Your foot. Does it still hurt?”
Louis grins so wide his eyes nearly disappear. “I’m high on painkillers if that answers your question.” Harry nods as Louis’ shoulders relax into a contented little sigh. “I feel pretty good actually. Here I am, on a free holiday with my new best mates, waiting for my future to be decided in less than 24 hours. Better than what I was doing anyway, whatever happens.”
“Yeah.” Harry mutters, picking up his next slice of pizza.
During their early bonding, he’d heard Louis freely admit to the group that he’d just wanted to see if he could get a Yes from the judges at his first audition, especially as he’d tried and failed in a previous year to get anywhere at all against a backdrop of currently holding onto his A Level prospects by his fingertips and jumping from weekend job to weekend job. He’d said it in a dismissive rush complete with blasé hand gestures, as if filling his side of the conversation by being self-deprecating would stop anybody else asking questions. If it was out there like he had nothing to hide, including his bad habits and weaknesses, there’d be nothing left for anyone else to say.
Harry suddenly feels a burst of confidence surge up within him big enough for the both of them and he leans forward abruptly to grip Louis’ wrist flat against his thigh. “We’re gonna do it, Lou.” He whispers, brow lowered in fierce determination. “Tomorrow. We’re gonna do our best and it’ll be great.”
Louis meets his eyes before a giggle makes him cover his mouth with the back of his hand and Harry blinks, self-consciously wiping at his chin just in case he’s smeared in cheese grease, but Louis shakes his head. “It’s just - you look like an angry kitten, it’s so funny. No, no, hey! It’s okay,” he adds, reaching out, as Harry fights his blush, biting his lip. “Of course you’re right, love. Me, you and the lads, we’ll smash it I’m sure. Got this far, innit?”
He clenches a fist in Harry’s checked shirt to yank him into his side and Harry pushes the pizza box out of the way to narrowly avoid sitting in it as Louis’ arm settles around his shoulders. He sinks into the embrace immediately, already used to the frequency with which Louis doles out his affection and absolutely preening under it. Truth be told, he’s been trying to convince himself just as much that they can get through to the live finals and the validation that he’s not crazy for wanting it so bad is lovely, almost calming. If Louis agrees then it must be possible.
“You’re so cute when you’re determined,” he hears him from where his chin is resting on top of Harry’s ducked head.
But he’s cheeky too. “Only then?”
He squeezes Louis’ waist once, to show that he's just answering back for the fun of it, and nuzzles his sun-warmed nose up under the hinge of his jaw. He feels contentment wash over him as the evening slowly ebbs away to leave them locked together and unwilling to let go. When they haven’t parted a full minute later, Harry’s stomach fizzes and he unthinkingly searches for Louis’ hand, stroking his forearm on the way down. He hears a quiet hitch of breath above and the scent of tomatoes, sea and something spicy but fresh close by making his heart thud harder inside his chest. He drops their hug at the next moment in the hope that his body won’t give him away if he puts space between them again, but his gaze flicks to Louis anyway.
His face is a bronzed statue and eyes bright amber in the melting rays of the faraway sunset and Harry is at first paralysed then magnetised as he sways forward. He shuts his eyes before he’s even made a move, his body yo-yoing giddily when he doesn’t quite catch Louis’ mouth like he wants and Louis helps him, his bottom lip dragging in-between both of Harry’s to slot home. Electrified, Harry clutches at Louis’ hip, tracing the bone and lean muscle everywhere as they tilt their heads and deepen the kiss.
Harry’s sure he heard once that a lack of breathing space during kissing can cause dizziness and he can feel how light-headed he is getting now. He thinks he could easily get addicted to it if that meant more lovely kisses from Louis, even as the edges of his vision start to crackle and the rush of his blood fills his ears. It’s so loud that it soon makes him vaguely queasy, like a concentrated shot of stage fright, and he twists away a fraction to bodily tell Louis to stop a minute, but he seems oblivious, nipping at his lip hard and sharp. Harry squeezes his hand more urgently because that actually rather hurt and not in a sexy way, but his bones suddenly seem like they’re made of air, air that Harry can’t steal for himself as one by one his senses are falling and fading until -
Harry comes to gasping for the lost breath, expression frozen open, and taking another second to register the hand coming towards his cheek before flinching away just in time. That explains the pain then.
Always teetering between that and exhaustion, he’s not sure if a heady mix of surprise and confusion pulled him back into reality and the true present (was that snatches of a real memory or a dream? Or both?), a sixth sense of what was about to happen, or the physical feel of the previous slap to his cheek, but finds he doesn’t much care when his tied hands close into fists to touch the metal links of his watch with an inward sigh of relief. Good. Still there.
Luka’s polished shoe gives his thigh a pointed nudge. “Hey, listen, it’s your lucky day,” he says to the top of his bowed head as he pulls the gag from between his teeth and then takes a step back, Harry mentally stamping on the swoop of joy in his chest before it can even take hold because he knows any sort of kindness from this man hasn’t yet meant anything good in the long run. “Come on now. Don’t you want to know why?”
Looking at a spot of mud that’s started to dry out, Harry tilts his pinkie down to brush the uneven ground and where he’d began to scratch until all that his body had been put through had got the better of him and he’d let his eyelids fall closed. He knows he can’t do more with Luka here, but the reminder that finally he knows something that his captor doesn’t buoys his mood enough that he meets the gaze with a careful, gentle shrug.
“I’m sure you going to tell me anyway,” he pauses, torn how he might take it before licking his chapped lips and muttering a quiet, begrudging, “sir.”
“Oh!” Luka gasps, eyes gleaming, “I like that. I like that very much, Harry. I knew you’d catch on quick. There’s a good boy you are.” His palm moves towards his cheek and Harry clenches his whole body tight to stop the automatic flinch, his posture almost sagging as Luka gives a light squeeze to his undamaged shoulder and nothing more. Harry watches him motion towards the door. “I might even say you’ve earned this.”
The sound of several sets of footsteps quietly but briskly approach and Harry’s head snaps up in alarm as he feels hands start to untie him. He knows not to hope for too much from the last time that happened, so lets the small group of four females and one young man near his age silently release him. He makes no effort to move once they’ve finished, so Luke gestures again and Harry grunts and hisses through his teeth as he’s hauled to a stand on wobbly legs.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Luka says, getting up close to his face, smile gone, “these lovely ladies are going to dry you off, help you into some nice, clean clothes and they’re going to do something about all those unfortunate marks you’ve somehow managed to get all over that pretty little face of yours.” Harry feels his eyebrow twitch in disbelief but schools his expression quickly. Luka still looks at him like he’s won, whether he reacts negatively or not. “Then I’m going to need to take your picture. You should be used to that by now, right?”
Instead of answering and at the risk of speaking out of turn, Harry moves his eyes warily to the only boy in the group. “What about him? What’s he doing here?”
“Well done, that’s a great question and one I’m glad you asked!” Luka continues brightly, condescendingly patting his cheek. He walks towards the other young man, grabs his shoulders and leads him to a stop a few feet directly opposite Harry. He raises the boy’s arms in front of him, shaping his fingers unseen. “It’s his job to hold this.”
He steps away to reveal the scene and the boy looks just as shocked and immediately nervous as Harry, a sleek, black pistol expertly placed in his two hands and aimed right at him. The boy is already shaking, the barrel of the gun wavering as he breathes and Harry can’t help it as a small well of pity springs up in his heart because the boy looks exactly like he feels inside and, he realizes as he stares back, similar on the outside too, with his face cut and faintly bruised like he’s had a head start and time to heal. He wonders how long that will last. He’s dark haired and neat, naturally slender like Zayn, but has clearly been put through the mill and it’s the same for the girls as they diligently work around his frozen form, their gazes hollow and circled purple.
“Couldn’t have a repeat performance of last time, of course.” Luka says casually, taking Harry's gaze away from the girls with a grip on his chin that makes him wince. “And to make sure nothing…untoward happens because of this darling boy we have here, there is back-up.”
Harry tries his best to swallow his fear, nostrils flaring with held breath, as another one of Luka’s meatheads comes striding through the doorway and takes his place next to the boy, two weapons now trained on his forehead. He wishes Luka’s hand hadn’t moved, pressed to his damp chest.
“That’s it,” he chuckles lowly as he feels Harry’s heartbeat kick into double speed. “You should be scared. It’s natural when there’s not one, but two guns pointed at your head, an element of uncertainty as to who will shoot first. Let’s hope it’s neither, eh? Be a good boy, Harry.”
He knew he was wishing uselessly that he’d be afforded a bit of privacy as he’s taken care of for the first time in days and he looks down at his dirty socked feet when Luka stays in the room, barking at him to keep his head raised as the target and the camera shutter noise of his phone sporadically clicks to capture the scene from beginning to end.
It’s the most humiliating experience of his life, stripped bare emotionally, even if his clothes are quickly and efficiently replaced. He hates the swirl of gratitude because, although he’s dressed in the near identical items of a white shirt and black jeans, it’s definitely warmer than the sopping, bloodied mess of his own. Delicate bird-boned fingers lodged into his armpits, the girls ease him down onto the hard floor and give him a further moment of much-needed respite as they set about tending to his wounds. They stare right through him or maybe they’re frightened of what could happen if they react in a way that somehow displeases, so he stops trying to make eye contact as the blood is wiped away and he emerges marginally like a clean member of the human race again.
With a flick of his wrist, Luka summons one of the girls over to him and takes the object she’s holding as the rest stand in an obedient line. Harry blinks rapidly into the flashes as Luka pulls his arm from where it’s protectively curled up to his injured shoulder and snaps a quick succession of photographs, lingering on his face. He hands the camera back to the girl but grabs her bare ankle as she turns to walk away. Harry’s distracted by her visible shudder as Luka crouches over him to unsheathe a small knife from his sock and he hardly feels it as a lock of his hair comes away in his hand.
“Proof.” he says, nodding to the meathead behind them. “You’re the talk of the town right now.”
The meathead comes closer to pocket the hair in a clear plastic bag and cocks the gun at the girl with the camera to make her move. As the meathead walks to the doorway and the line of girls scuttle through, Harry glances between the boy and his tear-streaked, horror-stricken face and watches Luka put his phone away and tug on a pair of leather gloves from his suit jacket.
“Thank you,” he says to the dark haired boy, squeezing his tiny waist as he carefully moves behind to lift the gun from his trembling hands. Harry has no doubt he’d drop to the floor like a rag doll now if Luka wasn’t there to hold him up. “You helped a great deal. Now it’s time to say goodbye.”
“Bye,” he whispers to Harry after an uncertain pause, eyes sad and round.
“Off you pop,” Luka adds gently with a pat to his non-existent rump.
Harry watches from his seat in front of the pillar as the boy goes to follow the girls and Luka switches the gun’s aim from Harry to the unaware boy. Before he can react at all - yell, distract, something - Luka smoothly flicks off the safety and fires once, twice, thrice. The boy crumples after the first with barely a sound, hitting his knees and falling face first into the dusty concrete as the second and third ricochet around the empty, cavernous space to mingle with the anguished, surprised shriek of the girls in the distance. Harry would’ve been one of them, the sharp cracks of noise deafening in his unprotected ears, if he hadn’t bit down hard on his lip instead and tasted more blood. He grits his teeth to stop his chin from wobbling and tears spilling, but one escapes and runs down his cheek as he blinks and struggles to look up at the man responsible
.
He swallows down the rush of bile. “Why? He was just a kid,” he croaks, his arm throbbing from where he raised it to cover his bent head and ears. “You - the - the safety? It was on - me?”
He hopes he’s making sense, shock chilling his bones like he’s still in wet clothes, but Luka is horridly calm. “Congratulations. You’re his replacement. He’d performed his purpose and you’re far more useful. You’re only beginning your journey with me, Harry, but I really can end it any time I want. Tell me, do you like the sun?”
Still feeling sick with disgust, Harry ignores him and stares at the ground as he hears the drag of a body pulled into the corridor whilst Luka’s hands bind him to the pillar and pull up the gag. He almost expects him to snatch the watch still in his grasp, letting out a shallow breath when he doesn’t.
“We’ll be out of here soon, I promise.” he says instead, coming around to briefly cup his cheek.
With his captive secured and nothing more to say, Luka walks out and gives no indication as to whether he hears the sob that Harry can’t quite keep in.
----
Sitting in front of the TV, Louis taps idly through the text messages on his phone and wracks his brain for how to reply to them. From popstars he met ‘that one time’ months ago offering support all the way up the pecking order to Harry’s family wanting to keep in touch since Anne had to return to Cheshire, it’s a minefield for what to say. “Thank you” and “you too” sound so unintentionally hollow. Things are “moving along” in the investigation, the police say, but the delicate nature means they won’t tell Louis or the other boys what that’s meant to mean exactly. Apparently that will come when the time is right. He only hopes for their sakes that Anne, Gemma and Robin know more.
From: Gemma
How are you coping Lou? I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’m trying to be strong for Mum, but...If you ever need to talk...x
From: Stan
Mate I hope you’re still in London. Did Anne kill you??? If so I’m taking that *thing* you promised me ten gazillion years ago! jk jk. Nah mate gimme a call when you feel like it yeah?
Louis sighs heavily and throws his phone onto the empty seat next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest. It’s Sunday, two days after the media circus at the restaurant and they’ve been cooped up ever since. No one blames Paul for reporting what went down; it’s been his job to look out for them since they met, as protector, tour manager, time keeper and father figure all rolled into one unimpressed Irish package, but it does mean that security is tighter than a miserly ruler. Paul has minions now. Ordinarily, Louis would test and stretch them for a laugh, but that spark seems to be missing these days.
“ - Now for a missing person’s report that has already garnered much expected and needed media coverage,” the TV murmurs in the background, volume turned low.
Louis glances sluggishly at the screen before his head snaps up at the sight of one of the police officers who had interviewed him about Harry appearing on screen. He listens in a daze and barely blinks as conversation between the police and the presenter continues, detailing Harry’s vital statistics and how long he’s been missing. Louis chews on his lip as he struggles not to throw the remote at the TV because he knows its best that the public don’t know the whole truth yet, he knows in a tricky situation that panic would be bad, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear people talk like Harry’s gone for a stroll and not returned home rather than held against his will by some deranged psychopath.
“ - And this is Harry Styles, correct?” the woman presenter asks in a gentle, calm voice.
“Yes, that is correct.” the police offer nods, “The public will know him as being part of a group on the talent show The X Factor and we, at Scotland Yard, are very much hoping that the high profile nature of his case will make this appeal for information all the more successful. We understand that he was last seen by his friends at Oceana nightclub on West Street in central Brighton, talking to a short female between the ages of 18-22 with dark, bobbed hair.”
At the mention of the girl and with his eyes burning from his stare, Louis blinks blurry eyes to feel a sudden tear roll down his unshaven cheek. He hadn’t even realized that that was happening and nearly jumps a foot in the air when, seemingly out of nowhere, a hand rests warmly on his shoulder from behind. He hadn’t even heard Zayn come in to the room and he looks at him in teary-eyed shock but Zayn’s still focused on the TV, eyes dark and an unlit cigarette between the fingers of his other hand. They listen together as the people in a brightly-lit London studio wear sympathetic expressions and constantly repeat Harry’s name, the clothes he was last seen wearing and the girl’s description until that’s all that’s in Louis’ head again, never mind the rest of the home audience - mystery girl, white shirt, black jeans, Harry Styles, Harry Styles, Harry Styles, HarryHarryHarry -
The room falls deathly silent after Zayn makes a move more graceful than Louis’ ever known him to be, sliding over the sofa to mute the TV and to pull Louis into a cuddle. He resists the arm around his shoulders at first, feeling guilty and embarrassed like he should be stronger, he has to be strong for all of them, but Zayn is quietly determined as always and waits until Louis reluctantly sags into his warm grip.
“You need to believe you did what you could,” he whispers, lips pressed to his hair, “We all did and that’s what matters. Stop torturing yourself, bro, please.”
After a long pause, Louis eventually hums his assent from underneath Zayn’s chin, rubbing his nose into his collarbone and startling a tentative giggle out of both of them at the touch of his snotty nose. He’s saved of replying with anything more substantial by the interrupting rattle of the letterbox opening and Niall’s garbled shout of claiming whatever it is. Very few people know this temporary address, so Louis and Zayn exchange a confused, wary look and wordlessly decide to go and see what the fuss is about.
They find Niall right next to the door, licking his fingers clean of something before he pulls a medium-sized manila envelope from the slot. Liam arrives and throws Louis an eyebrow furrow of concern, but he counters with a weak smile, feeling better already from Zayn’s cuddle, and keeps his attention on Niall as he carefully opens the envelope. Black marker pen covers one corner as they see it’s been forwarded from Brighton unopened and Louis can feel how they’re all holding their breath as Niall pulls out a single piece of photo paper.
They gasp loudly and stumble backwards a step, grabbing for each other’s wrists as Niall drops it, the image no less horrific now that it lies on the floor. Staring up at them is Harry in a way they never wished they had to see, as the picture shows him from the torso up, bruised, cut and bloodied. Even the matted curls hanging limply around his face can’t disguise the blackened eye, swollen lip and the helplessness radiating from every pore, despite his clothes somehow being almost spotlessly clean. The quality is a little fuzzy, as if taken quickly in the spur of the moment from a camera phone and when Louis forces himself to glance again; he can see the shape of a possible small hand in the frame, before realizing that that is for the police to debate. Harry isn’t their bandmate, one of their best friends, the person they feel the strongest need to look after.
“I can just - ” Liam says, bravely crouching down to pick it up and do something with it, to at least get it out of their sight.
However, before he can, Zayn grabs his arm. “Wait, look. There’s something on the back.”
Intrigued despite themselves and desperate for more answers, the four boys gather around the photo as Liam turns it over. Right at the edge in neat, typed font is the words:
With the right motivation, he sang like a bird. Tread carefully.
Louis’ phone vibrates in the pocket of his sweatpants as he struggles to know how to react to any of that. His first instinct is to ignore the call for his attention in favour of the puzzling, chilling warning, but in the next split second he is reminded not to because it could be Important and so, distracted, he thumbs open the newest message.
From: Mum
Hi baby. Haven’t heard from you in a few days. Just checking in. Is everything alright? Xxx
tbc.
Author: imagination55 / theprincessed @ ao3
Pairing: Louis/Harry
Chapter: 9
Rating (by chapter): R
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?
Warnings: Minor character death (OMC), homophobic slurs.
Disclaimer: This is not true, made up and not meant to offend. The beauty of fiction.
A/N: I'm still such a fail, sorry. This is also the only chapter that I know will be this media/Twitter heavy. I just felt like adding a sense of scale to the fic. All fan usernames are 100% fake. Comments are always love. <3
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |
1D RECORD LABEL RELEASE STATEMENT ABOUT HARRY STYLES’ WHEREABOUTS: “THE SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL”
So this morning, we at Sugarscape Towers woke up to some very worrying news. Syco, One Direction’s record label, has released a statement all about where the devil Harry Styles is and the news isn’t great. As we have all been busy speculating, we haven’t heard a peep or seen a curl of ol’ Hazza’s for some time now and it seems Uncle Si and co are keen to finally let us know why. Except...to cut through all the PR mumbo jumbo, the simple answer seems to be: they don’t know.
Worry alert.
But fear not, Scapers! Apperently, the situation is “under control” because the police (!!!) have become involved and hope to put this confusing, sad matter behind us all very soon. Huzzah!
They move on to ask that fans of the boys’ DO NOT under any circumstances whatsoever approach anyone you do not know and to report anything that seems suspicious. Your safety is what they and One Direction care about the most. Stay tuned for more updates on Harry and the rest of the boys as soon as we get them.
To cheer us up (maybe even send a psychic link to Hazza to show how much we miss him) click below for a video of 1D’s funniest X Factor moments.
----
@onedirection Official Syco Statement Released RE: Harry Styles via @SYCO_NEWS syco.ne/22PdkLf
@MailOnline WORLD EXCLUSIVE - X FACTOR STAR MISSING: One Direction’s Harry Styles goes missing as police report the situation is under control’ bit.ly/13rSvOA
@TheSunNewspaper X FACTOR STAR STYLES MISSING bit.ly/78gl2Cm
@heatworld #FINDHARRYSTYLES #COMEHOMEHARRY
@GemmaAnneStyles Love you baby bro @Harry_Styles xxx
@AnneFoxyCoxy Yes, it’s true. Harry is missing BUT it won’t be that way for long I’m sure. Everyone is doing all they can to
bring him back to us. Please respect our right to privacy always, but particularly now. Love you sweetheart @Harry_Styles xxx
@JohannahDarling @AnneFoxyCoxy @Harry_Styles Make that two mummies xx
From: Anne
That was hard but it’s the right thing to do. I hope you and the boys are doing okay x
From: Dad
Your mum and I love you very much. Stay strong x
From: Granddad
Keep your chin up lad. Here for a chat always x
From: Mum
Baby I’m only a text, a call or a car ride away. PLEASE remember that. The girls say hi. I love you lots poppet xxxx
----
They couldn’t keep it from the fans any longer and quite frankly that didn’t want to, now that they knew the police were treating the situation not as a missing person but a kidnapping.
Kidnapping.
It was still a foreign word to Louis, as he’s sure it is to the other boys too, but the fans deserved to know what they did even if it wasn’t much. Progress was slow but until they had more to go on it was supposedly to be expected.
Meanwhile, the boys had been told to lay low but also carry on as normal as much as they could. Louis had looked at them aghast at the time, despite his rational brain telling him over and over that there was nothing else for the police to really say. Things had officially turned into a professional waiting game until certain parameters had been set and he didn’t like it one bit. He was a doer, the type to grab life by the throat and live every opportunity to the last second. He was not comfortable twiddling his thumbs, especially with Harry being out there somewhere in probable real danger, so when they got the go ahead from Paul and the bigwigs that they could go out to dinner for a change of scenery and to try the whole ‘normal’ thing a couple of nights after Syco had told the rest of the world about Harry and their phones had beeped incessantly with reminder texts from their families, the foursome had jumped at the chance. So what if Louis had a slight ulterior motive, if he thought that maybe it’d stop the maddening rush of his thoughts taking up his every waking minute.
“ - so I told him about that ramp we wanted to build out back for skateboarding and he said - oi Louis, are you listening?”
Evidently, distracting himself with the outside world wasn’t working too well yet.
“Hm? What?” he blinks at Zayn sat to his left, shakes his head quickly, “Sorry, tell me again, mate - what did you say to Ant?”
Zayn’s expression melts from patience into something a little more pained and Louis has to look away because it’s edged with concern and considering his recent catalogue of meltdowns he can’t take that tonight. “Danny, Lou. I told Danny - ah, don’t matter.” he sighs after a beat.
“Louis?” Liam chimes in. He’d forgotten the other lads were there, everyone is...except Harry. “You alright?”
It’s the million pound question these days. They’re all undoubtedly a bit off kilter because the balance isn’t right, just like at Judges’ Houses when - he’s been told since - the group didn’t feel or sound as good in his absence. The memory raises the ghost of a smile, enough to reassure Liam as he’s still a little antsy from being in public again.
They’d tried to get a reservation for one of the restaurants in the city that was less frequented by big “celebrities” to keep up with the low profile shtick. Despite The X Factor being over, One Direction had already garnered a huge following and with everything that was going on with Harry it meant a continued professional presence around them as they swapped show handlers for a proper security team. The restaurant itself had the requisite ambient, dim lighting, softly playing top 40 acoustic background music and seemed fond of a dark wood look. With the little tables and overstuffed sofas for comfort by the windows, it kinda reminds Louis of the cosy feel to a coffee shop. There are of course the usual dining formations, dressed in cream tablecloths and a single flower, but they knew when they walked in that they would go straight for the sofas. However, reflecting on the last couple of days on a personal level, Louis’ not entirely sure that a window seat with all its people-watching opportunities is the best spot for him as conversation cautiously strikes up around him again in quiet murmurs and he’s glad that the boys are determined to make the most of this evening out when there’s not much else for them to do in this state of limbo. The thing is, he’s been doing a lot of that - getting lost in his head as he looks people over - since he came back from Doncaster. He’s not stupid, he understands the reason why, but the implications are difficult. Stan and his ‘wondering’, Stan poking at his friendship with Harry, Stan trying to connect the dots to a picture that’s still far from clear. It’d be easy to hate him for planting such a seed, but Louis knows that’s unfair. He wouldn’t be the first person to question his relationship with Harry and probably won’t be the last.
Reminded, Louis takes his phone from his pocket before the menu gets around to him and looks at his phone with the same helpless kernel of hope he’s increasingly got used to already blooming in his chest. It dies immediately as he sees the screen with nothing new in the last few hours to him personally and ventures onto Twitter instead, scrolling through his timeline.
@purplecarrotswag101 OMFGGGGGG OMFGGGGGG IS IT TRUE??? HARRY??? :’((((( @Harry_Styles @Louis_Tomlinson @Real_Liam_Payne @zaynmalik @NiallOfficial RT @onedirection
Official Syco Statement Released via @SYCO_NEWS syco.ne/22PdkLf
@benwinston He’s a smart one, that @Harry_Styles. I’ve got faith that he’ll come home soon!!
@piper12345 have a look at this LOOOOOOOL!! pic.twitter.com/GKDJ9lweg
@edsheeran @Harry_Styles there’s a sofa waiting with your name on it, old chum
@BeLlYbUtToNz FOLLOWWWWW MEEEE PLEEEEEEEASEEEEEEE??!!1!!11!!!!
@izecreamshize ur so gay
@izecreamshize GAAAAAAY
@izecreamshize gaaaaay hair say sumink gaaaay haaaaair
@MattEdmondson Just heard the news about @Harry_Styles...I’m not sure how you lose a potential popstar, but it’s worrying all the same. Get home safe x
@tumbleweedsqueeze947 limp wristd motherfucka fuckin die
@starlite44 hi louis how r u 2day? :) ilysm xx
Niall’s voice pulls him away from the eclectic mix of tweets, asking him what he wants to eat once he meets his gaze.
“I dunno,” he shrugs, clutching tighter to his phone, “’M’not that hungry.”
He blinks rapidly and almost flinches as, in time with Liam’s furrowed brow; Zayn takes the menu from Niall’s hands and shoves it at Louis, covering the screen. “You’re not listening, but you’re eating, yeah?”
Despite being a little more forceful than the other two, he instantly counteracts it, touching Louis’ wrist with gentle fingertips. His heart and stomach pass each other like a rollercoaster daily, but Zayn’s caress to his arm calms him and before he’s aware of it, he’s agreeing to eat and points blindly at something on the laminate. As he’s sat closest to Louis, Zayn looks at him like he’s being a bit stupid in the head.
“Lou,” he says slowly, “you don’t even like mushrooms when they’re cooked. ‘Slimy, weird bastards’, remember?”
He has indeed pointed at something very heavily featuring mushrooms and was being a bit stupid in the head after all. He inhales a shuddery breath as Zayn murmurs to Liam beside him then turns to Louis again, wrapping his arm around his shoulder like a quick squeeze of a cuddle. “You’re okay,” he smiles, “enjoy the night. I’ve heard alright things about this place. Not bad company either.”
Louis finds his answering smile naturally as Zayn bumps their shoulders together and Liam and Niall across from the three of them get into a competition of how many beer mats they can flip with the back of their hands and catch off the end of their low table. It gives Louis a chance to have another look at them.
With Stan’s words fresh in his mind in the hours following his return from Doncaster, there was a small part of Louis who was at least curious about what he said. Having never really given it much thought, as he was back in the little flat, questions started popping up everywhere. What made someone attractive to someone else? What made one gender attractive for one person and not the other gender? What made all genders attractive to one person? What made friends attracted to friends, faults and all?
In the middle of trying to picture a nameless person with everything he physically has instead of boobs and a vagina, the door to the cramped bathroom opened and Louis froze. Sat on the carpet and blocking the way out, his eyes travelled up the bare, slightly hairy legs, long green towel wrapped around a narrow waist and the smooth plains of a flat chest to stop at Zayn’s damp face and hair.
“Hi Lou, what you doing down there?” he chirped, before his face fell dramatically, “Something wrong?”
“I - ” he swallowed, “I - no. Nothing’s - I’m fine.”
He got to his feet and took the stairs quickly, his face set in a grimace. He couldn’t exactly deny that Zayn was attractive but did that acknowledgment mean anything? Wouldn’t everyone with a brain think the same? Only it didn’t stop there. As if determined to confuse him until he could find a definite answer, he found himself staring at the quick blur of Niall’s fingers as he played against Louis at FIFA and really, really thrashed him for the first time in their friendship and aware of just how plush Liam’s mouth could look as he talked until it was all too much and too weird to test a theory like this.
It still is, he realises with a shiver, as he feels his mind rush back in to the present like he’s just done a lap around their corner of the restaurant in an out-of-body experience. Pushing the boys aside, his feelings to the world at large seem stubbornly silent on the matter now. Maybe Stan’s wrong. Maybe he’s got nothing to think about, maybe there is no reason why. Maybe he and Harry are just Louis and Harry and that’s it, no questions needed.
@PistolsAtDawn ur the gayest boybanders eva omg lol stop lyin to urself @Harry_Styles @Louis_Tomlinson
----
With a meal sans mushrooms, dinner is going well and Louis feels his tense shoulders relax in increments with every passing second in the presence of his boys. It almost makes him shake his head, the thought that he went to Doncaster to find his strength when it was right in front of him all along - in the way Niall laughs at something or someone he finds funny, even if it’s at an inopportune moment like through a mouthful of food, in the way Zayn reminds him that he’s never alone in this mess with just a simple touch, in the way Liam unwinds and lights up once he believes Louis feels better. Of course the strong sense of home from his mum and sisters and even Stan is welcome, but this is where he’s meant to be right now. Once he’s found, Harry will be brought back to them as a group after all and Louis’ll be damned if he’s not there with bells on to see it happen. He’s in the middle of sticking straws up his nose with his cutlery haphazardly arranged and the next morsel of food already speared when he picks up his glass before realising that it’s empty.
“Another round, lads?” he grins as he springs up, not really giving the others a chance to refuse as he shuffles past Zayn and Liam, maybe wiggling his bum in their face just because. A good meal and good company and the outside world not crashing down around them, he feels lighter than he has in days. “Maybe something a little stronger?”
“I dunno, Lou,” Liam grimaces, “we don’t want to go overboard,”
“Come on, grandda!” Niall cackles, bumping his fist onto Louis’ in agreement, “Have a drink, let loose,”
“I’ll even buy it for you legally,” Louis winks, “Oldest perk.”
In minutes, he’s stood by the bar to wait for the bartender to serve a chattering party of women dressed in bright reds and pinks. It looks like the beginning of a hen night and he catches the eye of the one nearest to him, a tiny redhead, with a small smile. However, his gaze is pulled from her as he sees another person behind the bar comes towards him. He opens his mouth to start talking when a friendly voice decidedly not his own jumps in.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” a male voice exclaims as quick, only a couple of words in, and Louis looks to his other side, to his left. A man several inches taller than him but casually leaning onto the bar stares back at him with a little apologetic ‘o’ for his luscious mouth, his eyes round and shiny like the darkest marbles. “I didn’t mean to interrupt - I really - it’s a long order,”
He smiles, impish and blinding, scratching at his closely cropped hair and blinking with long eyelashes that could rival Zayn’s, skin smooth except for a small bumpy scar on his right cheek. In short, he’s beautiful. Louis straightens as if a broom’s been shoved up the back of his shirt, realising he’s been looking dumbstruck all too late.
He clears his throat, clasping his hands tightly together in front of himself in a fidget, “Its fine. Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?” he asks and Louis nods, still a bit useless and confused as to when he started thinking of guys as beautiful. He wants to tell the guy to stop smiling so brightly, like Louis’ done him such a great favour. Louis’ eyes continue to helplessly fix on him as he turns to the girl about to serve him. “Okay, can I have a -”
It really is a long list, Louis agrees distantly after a few seconds of watching the guy’s lips shape around the names of different drinks.
“ - and a double vodka and coke, please.”
Louis’ not quick enough to look away as he finishes his order, but he does so anyway when he’s caught red-handed to notice that the right side of the bar is quiet again, the hen party vanished, smiling redhead included. Damn.
“So, I guess that’s your good karma sorted for the night.” the guy’s deep voice says, bringing Louis’ attention back to him through the low noise of music and chatter, “Thanks, again. My friends can get really impatient if they don’t get their refills in seconds.”
“Sounds like me.” He says it before he thinks and it must show on his face because the guy laughs, a rumbling sound that seems to come direct from his belly. His incredibly flat belly from the way his navy polo shirt is clinging to his body.
“Yeah?” he raises a dark eyebrow but keeps his infectious, white grin, “You should’ve warned me about that before I rudely muscled in on your moment.”
He has muscles too, but seems to be trim instead of overly pumped. Like he could carry someone without being out of puff but his handshake wouldn’t break your fingers. Fit.
Louis licks his suddenly dry lips, inferiority crashing over him similar to the lack of confidence he felt only a few short months ago. The guy takes his awkward, squirming quiet in his stride, offering a hand before Louis can think to himself.
“I’m going to be here a while waiting for that lot,” he jokes, palm extended and the other forearm propping up the bar, gaze attentively on Louis, “I’m Christian.”
“I’m...agnostic?”
Luckily, Christian finds the funny side in Louis’ unfunny jitteriness, “Well, at least there’s room for you to be persuaded. Although,” he adds, as his multiple drinks start piling up on the bar, ice cubes aplenty, “I’d still like to know your actual name before I leave. I can’t carry on calling you Gorgeous in my head for the rest of the night now, can I?”
Louis’ mind is a tug-of-war of please do and oh no he’s flirting, long enough that another low wave of soft amusement from Christian passes through the short gap between their bodies, a space increasingly smaller than Louis first remembers. This time, as Louis bites his lips together shyly and his head is blank of adequate responses, Christian loses some of his playful intensity and falls back into a wide, friendly grin.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers, scrubbing a hand over his shorn head again, “I just know an attractive guy when I see one.”
“No, no,” Louis grimaces, hurriedly fumbling for his money in his jeans pocket as the barman gets round to serving him, “I mean, I’m not - it’s - thanks. Thank you. For saying that.”
“No problem, babe.” He says it amiably enough, but also seems like he senses he won’t be continuing their little conversation, not with impatient friends to deal with and how skittish Louis can feel himself being anyway. Usually he’s not too shabby at this game, but it’s never been this intense with a bloke. A supremely attractive bloke apparently into the sharp features of an emotionally confused and lost nineteen year old. Louis watches him slowly slide one of the trays onto his large hand. “I better get these back to the rabble. It was nice meeting you...?”
Louis blinks, delayed, as Christian waits. “Louis. My name’s Louis.”
A parting grin lights up Christian’s face, clean shaven, his dark, dark eyes sparkling in the glow of atmospheric, intimate lighting, “Louis! Nice meeting you, Gorgeous Louis. See you around.”
Louis’ gone by the time Christian returns for his second tray of drinks, having scuttled back to the boys with the vague hope that his face isn’t aflame. Thankfully embarrassment never shows too easily on his face in a rosy blush, except after he’s set the pints down on the table for the lads, he can’t help answer the pull to look back over his shoulder, to somehow validate that he’s enough for a second glance.
“Lou?” Niall asks, licking beer off his upper lip, “Hey Louis!”
“Yeah?”
“What’re you always looking at lately?” he laughs, not unkindly.
Christian isn’t looking.
Then again, he does have to concentrate on grabbing the last of his circle’s drinks, a big, happy bunch Louis spots now down the far end of the restaurant. He lets his peripheral vision linger, so maybe he imagines the wink thrown his way as Christian’s path towards his friends gets the nearest to Louis (which isn’t very near at all).
“Nothing,” he answers, distracted, “I’m not - it’s nothing,”
“Which means it’s something,”
“Piss off, I said it’s nothing.” He shuffles into his seat and sits with a sigh, immediately contrite over the surprised blink from Niall at his firm tone, “I’m just...people-watching, I guess,” he picks up his glass and knocks it against the blonde’s in apology, tries a smile on for size. “Who knows, I might’ve a book in me. There’s that thing that says everyone has at least one book in them, yeah?”
“Sounds painful if you ask me.”
“You’ve only read half a book,” Zayn chips in from Niall’s sniggers, looking delighted at teasing Louis for a change. “And that was about football!”
“Yeah, well, trust him to make it dirty. That wasn’t me!” he giggles, waving a pointing finger at Niall as the four of them start laughing, probably harder than the situation deserves, because it’s nice to do.
At least before all hell breaks loose.
It starts innocently enough, through a family of four - two parents, two little girls - with their children recognising the boys. They’ve had an easy enough time of it that evening, the clientele too adult or too cool to bother them on their downtime, but the girls are adorably excitable and don’t ask prying questions about Harry, so they see no harm in signing a napkin and snapping a picture, until it seems to open the floodgates.
Quickly, they have people from all over shuffling up to them who, whilst largely polite, are a bit overwhelming to deal with without anybody to act as a buffer between them. It’s the last time they try and go out as a group without protection and Louis rattles off an SOS text to Paul who told them he wouldn’t be too far away if they needed him. They have to leave their meals half finished and Liam jokingly picks Niall up by his middle as he tries to down the last of his pint on the run.
If only they were able to run.
It seems that as they were dealing with the curiosity inside, word got around outside and the four of them stumble into the night to be faced with a wall of sound. Camera phones flashing in their faces from eager fans as much as the paparazzi clamouring for their attention, screams and shouts echoing down the street as they wordlessly decide to group together as a way to get into some space, Liam in front, Zayn bringing up the rear and Louis plastered to Niall’s back to shield and keep him calm. He can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly against the anchor of his fingers and makes soothing noises in his ear to counteract the panic welling up truthfully in both of them. Louis knows his head isn’t in quite in the right place, his eyes looking for Harry before he can catch himself, so as long as he concentrates on taking care of Niall he knows he’ll come through this.
@JLSOfficial Ohhhh no! I pray we find @Harry_Styles so so soonnnn! Stay strong lads! @onedirection Much love Ori and the boys xx
@tommcfly Horrible news about @Harry_Styles. I don’t understand. He seems like such a nice guy. Me and the lads hope they find him soon. Now’s the time for some of that fan power!
@iNarryuNarryme NO NO NO THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING NO NO I JUST NO #directionerspray4harry
Liam looks over his shoulder at them as they get a few metres along the pavement, the crush following like an undulating school of fish, and his eyes are wide with his hands flexing by his sides. His focus elsewhere, the call that Louis wants to make as he sees someone try to box Liam in dies in his throat as his friend is shoved backwards and they all feel it as they struggle to stay upright. The screams intensify to a note of shock and defence and Zayn barges Louis’ shoulder as he squeezes past him and Niall instinctively to check Liam’s alright. Louis hears Liam’s shout of “I’m fine!” and squashes Niall into their backs as they try and move forward some more.
@FrankieTheSats omg gutted about Harry! We need to find him every1!!! Sending so much love and kisses to you @onedirection! Xxxxxxxx
@peachtweet I’m crying so much I don’t know what to do :’(((((
He glances up from Niall’s shoulder when their feet appear to be finding some space, but nearly trips over a stranger as Liam and Zayn jostle harder than he expects. He’s a photographer because Louis has to avoid his camera as it flies out of his grasp and bounces to the ground. Enraged at the damage, he and his competitors are clearly intent on retaliating when Louis spots a familiar shape pulling in just ahead.
“Look, boys!” he yells, pointing frantically and pushing at Niall’s back. “Car! Now! Go!”
He grabs tightly onto Niall’s hand for better purchase and so he doesn’t get lost in the ensuing chaos, approaching police sirens wailing, then after what feels like the length of a marathon, they finally reach Paul to be bundled in.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Louis offers with a shaky smile, to diffuse the tension.
Paul is focused on one thing only. “Just get in, Louis.”
@coolbeansmove FUCK.
----
“Oi Harry! Heads up, mate!”
Harry turns towards the sound of Niall’s laughing yell and makes it a full two seconds before a bright yellow object hits him full in the face. The sudden force of it tips him backwards onto the concrete path running next to where Niall and Louis had been having a kickabout in the midday sunshine with some of the other Groups but, as he blinks dark spots out of his eyes and shakes back his curls, he sees his bandmates race towards him with their hands outstretched, placating.
“Oh fuck, are you okay?” Niall exclaims, grabbing one of Harry’s arms to lift him to his feet. Louis takes the other side with his mouth set in a thin line and Harry’s already learnt that the few times he’s seen that expression on his face it’s meant that he’s holding back upset, but right now his eyes are sparkling and a tremble runs through him like he’s keeping in conflicting laughter whilst still trying to help.
Harry sighs. “Go on.”
A small part of him expects to have to push more, but Louis’ powerless to resist as he squeezes Harry’s bicep. “I’m sorry!” he blurts out, giggling, “I just - oh god - he said heads up and it went - and you - you - ”
“What was I meant to do?” he frowns, but his lips are already twitching traitorously. “He called my name.”
“Step out of the way, maybe,” Niall cackles, poking his shoulder, “like a normal person,”
“Oh no, mate,” Louis chirps breathlessly, hand clutched to his own chest. “I thought we discussed this at Harry’s - he ain’t normal,”
“Hey!” Harry pouts, “You’re one to talk,”
His mouth drops then morphs into a grin. “Ooh, getting feisty now? I like it.” Before either of them can say anything else, Harry's left faintly blushing as one of the older guys from F.Y.D comes wandering over to ask where the ball went. “Dunno, over there somewhere,” Louis flaps a hand dismissively and Harry can only stare at his profile in disbelief because he already knows how much football means to him and he’s basically not caring. “Y’know, actually, I think me and Niall are gonna take Harry back up to the house and get him checked out.”
“No, no,” he starts to protest, “look, I’m fine,”
“Listen, you might have concussion.” Louis is as adamant as ever, but it’s only when the three of them are slowly walking away that he leans into Harry’s ear to whisper, “I was bored anyway. What d’you say to a trip to the beach? And pizza for after?”
Whilst they’re not in Italy for the authentic stuff, Marbella in Spain is close enough and might even help settle his nerves. They’re at the Judges’ Houses stage of the competition and tomorrow is the day when newly-formed One Direction has a shot at making it to the live finals. Everyone is simply trying to make the most of the opportunity and have fun at the same time and what better way than playing games in the garden of this massive villa, sunbathing on the nearby beach and scoffing plenty of food.
As it turns out, it isn’t Harry that needs medical attention that day. Escaped from any football injury other than a red bruise on his forehead that’s easily hidden by his floppy curls, he and the other boys convene outside Simon’s place to head down to the beach together. Liam arrives with guilt all over his face as two crew members from the show armed with a camera and boom microphone trail behind him and Zayn.
It’s all fun and games until Louis starts swearing a blue streak. He thinks he’s stepped on something and there’s a commotion as Niall comes barrelling over late, having been distracted into conversation with a pair of pretty Spanish girls in shorts and flip flops, amid Louis’ whining protests that it’s “probably nowt,” and that he’s actually “fucking fine, Jesus, don’t be so dramatic”. Harry blinks evenly at him to convey his thought of irony after his loudly yelling display, but Louis catches Zayn’s disbelieving raised eyebrow instead and soon quietly relents to being dragged out of the water so they can all survey the damage. They find a growing smear of blood underneath his foot but can only watch with dumbfounded expressions as Louis stands on his good leg and uses his balled up t-shirt to wipe away the evidence.
“There,” he says, visibly biting down on his grimace, “All gone, all better.” His shoulders slump on a sigh when he sees their unconvinced faces. “Ugh, alright. I s’pose you’ll want to go back now.”
Except it takes a further trip to the swimming pool inside the confines of the villa with the girl groups, where Harry sees Louis proudly showing off his injury like he’s not bleeding on the grass, and a near-disaster of an almost fainting spell as they meet for dinner in the house for Louis to finally admit defeat. Harry immediately puts himself forward to go with him and one of the team because he feels like he ought to do something to help, but has to settle for a one armed hug and a lame croak of “you’re in charge” as Louis hops his pale-faced self to the local hospital.
It feels like an eternity until Louis’ return and even though the crew film it in some attempt to create drama for the show, the way that Harry throws his arms around him and briefly tucks his face into the warmth of his neck is entirely real as in that moment he realised that the burgeoning friendship between the five of them was a huge factor in enjoying this opportunity that they’d been given. He’s so relieved for Louis’ health and yes, that the group can perform as planned the following afternoon, but he still ends up monopolising Louis’ time once he’s been suitably fawned over by everyone.
That was earlier and now, at early evening, their plans have changed.
Harry’s suggestion of pizza at the local restaurant went out the window when he’d spotted the way Louis was still limping awkwardly on a wound he’s not supposed to cover as he valiantly tried to look presentable.
“Hey,” he cleared his throat when his voice came out surprisingly gentle. “We could stay here? Wait a while, order a pizza and eat by the pool?”
Louis frowned, clutching a baby blue polo shirt in his hands that might’ve matched his eyes. “But I thought you wanted to go out?”
“Not when you’re like this,” he half-laughed, nodding at the swollen edge of Louis’ bare foot. “Honestly, it’s fine. I just want to hang out with you.” he added hesitantly, as if he shouldn’t make such an admission.
They waited until the older members of the show category trickled back into the villa to probably get drunk before casually taking their place by the pool. They’d invited the other boys, of course, because even if Harry wanted some quality time with the boy who was quickly becoming his best friend, he was still polite, but they’d all begged off with reasons like an early night before tomorrow’s big day or X-Box marathons with a few of the twenty-somethings.
They sit next to each other with the pizza box in between them, creating a space that somehow feels wrong since they’ve slept sandwiched together on the floor of Harry’s stepdad’s bungalow, but he says nothing in case he sounds strange. In fact, as the day calms into an evening with a sky of golds and purples, they’re uncharacteristically quiet as they vaguely pick at the food but mostly find their eyes drawn to the horizon and the slice of the blue, blue sea in the distance.
“By the way, how is it?” Harry says eventually, over the buzz of crickets. Louis glances at him curiously, so he nods down to where Louis’ knee and bad foot is pulled up to his chest whilst his other calf and both of Harry’s lazily swipe through the pool water. “Your foot. Does it still hurt?”
Louis grins so wide his eyes nearly disappear. “I’m high on painkillers if that answers your question.” Harry nods as Louis’ shoulders relax into a contented little sigh. “I feel pretty good actually. Here I am, on a free holiday with my new best mates, waiting for my future to be decided in less than 24 hours. Better than what I was doing anyway, whatever happens.”
“Yeah.” Harry mutters, picking up his next slice of pizza.
During their early bonding, he’d heard Louis freely admit to the group that he’d just wanted to see if he could get a Yes from the judges at his first audition, especially as he’d tried and failed in a previous year to get anywhere at all against a backdrop of currently holding onto his A Level prospects by his fingertips and jumping from weekend job to weekend job. He’d said it in a dismissive rush complete with blasé hand gestures, as if filling his side of the conversation by being self-deprecating would stop anybody else asking questions. If it was out there like he had nothing to hide, including his bad habits and weaknesses, there’d be nothing left for anyone else to say.
Harry suddenly feels a burst of confidence surge up within him big enough for the both of them and he leans forward abruptly to grip Louis’ wrist flat against his thigh. “We’re gonna do it, Lou.” He whispers, brow lowered in fierce determination. “Tomorrow. We’re gonna do our best and it’ll be great.”
Louis meets his eyes before a giggle makes him cover his mouth with the back of his hand and Harry blinks, self-consciously wiping at his chin just in case he’s smeared in cheese grease, but Louis shakes his head. “It’s just - you look like an angry kitten, it’s so funny. No, no, hey! It’s okay,” he adds, reaching out, as Harry fights his blush, biting his lip. “Of course you’re right, love. Me, you and the lads, we’ll smash it I’m sure. Got this far, innit?”
He clenches a fist in Harry’s checked shirt to yank him into his side and Harry pushes the pizza box out of the way to narrowly avoid sitting in it as Louis’ arm settles around his shoulders. He sinks into the embrace immediately, already used to the frequency with which Louis doles out his affection and absolutely preening under it. Truth be told, he’s been trying to convince himself just as much that they can get through to the live finals and the validation that he’s not crazy for wanting it so bad is lovely, almost calming. If Louis agrees then it must be possible.
“You’re so cute when you’re determined,” he hears him from where his chin is resting on top of Harry’s ducked head.
But he’s cheeky too. “Only then?”
He squeezes Louis’ waist once, to show that he's just answering back for the fun of it, and nuzzles his sun-warmed nose up under the hinge of his jaw. He feels contentment wash over him as the evening slowly ebbs away to leave them locked together and unwilling to let go. When they haven’t parted a full minute later, Harry’s stomach fizzes and he unthinkingly searches for Louis’ hand, stroking his forearm on the way down. He hears a quiet hitch of breath above and the scent of tomatoes, sea and something spicy but fresh close by making his heart thud harder inside his chest. He drops their hug at the next moment in the hope that his body won’t give him away if he puts space between them again, but his gaze flicks to Louis anyway.
His face is a bronzed statue and eyes bright amber in the melting rays of the faraway sunset and Harry is at first paralysed then magnetised as he sways forward. He shuts his eyes before he’s even made a move, his body yo-yoing giddily when he doesn’t quite catch Louis’ mouth like he wants and Louis helps him, his bottom lip dragging in-between both of Harry’s to slot home. Electrified, Harry clutches at Louis’ hip, tracing the bone and lean muscle everywhere as they tilt their heads and deepen the kiss.
Harry’s sure he heard once that a lack of breathing space during kissing can cause dizziness and he can feel how light-headed he is getting now. He thinks he could easily get addicted to it if that meant more lovely kisses from Louis, even as the edges of his vision start to crackle and the rush of his blood fills his ears. It’s so loud that it soon makes him vaguely queasy, like a concentrated shot of stage fright, and he twists away a fraction to bodily tell Louis to stop a minute, but he seems oblivious, nipping at his lip hard and sharp. Harry squeezes his hand more urgently because that actually rather hurt and not in a sexy way, but his bones suddenly seem like they’re made of air, air that Harry can’t steal for himself as one by one his senses are falling and fading until -
Harry comes to gasping for the lost breath, expression frozen open, and taking another second to register the hand coming towards his cheek before flinching away just in time. That explains the pain then.
Always teetering between that and exhaustion, he’s not sure if a heady mix of surprise and confusion pulled him back into reality and the true present (was that snatches of a real memory or a dream? Or both?), a sixth sense of what was about to happen, or the physical feel of the previous slap to his cheek, but finds he doesn’t much care when his tied hands close into fists to touch the metal links of his watch with an inward sigh of relief. Good. Still there.
Luka’s polished shoe gives his thigh a pointed nudge. “Hey, listen, it’s your lucky day,” he says to the top of his bowed head as he pulls the gag from between his teeth and then takes a step back, Harry mentally stamping on the swoop of joy in his chest before it can even take hold because he knows any sort of kindness from this man hasn’t yet meant anything good in the long run. “Come on now. Don’t you want to know why?”
Looking at a spot of mud that’s started to dry out, Harry tilts his pinkie down to brush the uneven ground and where he’d began to scratch until all that his body had been put through had got the better of him and he’d let his eyelids fall closed. He knows he can’t do more with Luka here, but the reminder that finally he knows something that his captor doesn’t buoys his mood enough that he meets the gaze with a careful, gentle shrug.
“I’m sure you going to tell me anyway,” he pauses, torn how he might take it before licking his chapped lips and muttering a quiet, begrudging, “sir.”
“Oh!” Luka gasps, eyes gleaming, “I like that. I like that very much, Harry. I knew you’d catch on quick. There’s a good boy you are.” His palm moves towards his cheek and Harry clenches his whole body tight to stop the automatic flinch, his posture almost sagging as Luka gives a light squeeze to his undamaged shoulder and nothing more. Harry watches him motion towards the door. “I might even say you’ve earned this.”
The sound of several sets of footsteps quietly but briskly approach and Harry’s head snaps up in alarm as he feels hands start to untie him. He knows not to hope for too much from the last time that happened, so lets the small group of four females and one young man near his age silently release him. He makes no effort to move once they’ve finished, so Luke gestures again and Harry grunts and hisses through his teeth as he’s hauled to a stand on wobbly legs.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Luka says, getting up close to his face, smile gone, “these lovely ladies are going to dry you off, help you into some nice, clean clothes and they’re going to do something about all those unfortunate marks you’ve somehow managed to get all over that pretty little face of yours.” Harry feels his eyebrow twitch in disbelief but schools his expression quickly. Luka still looks at him like he’s won, whether he reacts negatively or not. “Then I’m going to need to take your picture. You should be used to that by now, right?”
Instead of answering and at the risk of speaking out of turn, Harry moves his eyes warily to the only boy in the group. “What about him? What’s he doing here?”
“Well done, that’s a great question and one I’m glad you asked!” Luka continues brightly, condescendingly patting his cheek. He walks towards the other young man, grabs his shoulders and leads him to a stop a few feet directly opposite Harry. He raises the boy’s arms in front of him, shaping his fingers unseen. “It’s his job to hold this.”
He steps away to reveal the scene and the boy looks just as shocked and immediately nervous as Harry, a sleek, black pistol expertly placed in his two hands and aimed right at him. The boy is already shaking, the barrel of the gun wavering as he breathes and Harry can’t help it as a small well of pity springs up in his heart because the boy looks exactly like he feels inside and, he realizes as he stares back, similar on the outside too, with his face cut and faintly bruised like he’s had a head start and time to heal. He wonders how long that will last. He’s dark haired and neat, naturally slender like Zayn, but has clearly been put through the mill and it’s the same for the girls as they diligently work around his frozen form, their gazes hollow and circled purple.
“Couldn’t have a repeat performance of last time, of course.” Luka says casually, taking Harry's gaze away from the girls with a grip on his chin that makes him wince. “And to make sure nothing…untoward happens because of this darling boy we have here, there is back-up.”
Harry tries his best to swallow his fear, nostrils flaring with held breath, as another one of Luka’s meatheads comes striding through the doorway and takes his place next to the boy, two weapons now trained on his forehead. He wishes Luka’s hand hadn’t moved, pressed to his damp chest.
“That’s it,” he chuckles lowly as he feels Harry’s heartbeat kick into double speed. “You should be scared. It’s natural when there’s not one, but two guns pointed at your head, an element of uncertainty as to who will shoot first. Let’s hope it’s neither, eh? Be a good boy, Harry.”
He knew he was wishing uselessly that he’d be afforded a bit of privacy as he’s taken care of for the first time in days and he looks down at his dirty socked feet when Luka stays in the room, barking at him to keep his head raised as the target and the camera shutter noise of his phone sporadically clicks to capture the scene from beginning to end.
It’s the most humiliating experience of his life, stripped bare emotionally, even if his clothes are quickly and efficiently replaced. He hates the swirl of gratitude because, although he’s dressed in the near identical items of a white shirt and black jeans, it’s definitely warmer than the sopping, bloodied mess of his own. Delicate bird-boned fingers lodged into his armpits, the girls ease him down onto the hard floor and give him a further moment of much-needed respite as they set about tending to his wounds. They stare right through him or maybe they’re frightened of what could happen if they react in a way that somehow displeases, so he stops trying to make eye contact as the blood is wiped away and he emerges marginally like a clean member of the human race again.
With a flick of his wrist, Luka summons one of the girls over to him and takes the object she’s holding as the rest stand in an obedient line. Harry blinks rapidly into the flashes as Luka pulls his arm from where it’s protectively curled up to his injured shoulder and snaps a quick succession of photographs, lingering on his face. He hands the camera back to the girl but grabs her bare ankle as she turns to walk away. Harry’s distracted by her visible shudder as Luka crouches over him to unsheathe a small knife from his sock and he hardly feels it as a lock of his hair comes away in his hand.
“Proof.” he says, nodding to the meathead behind them. “You’re the talk of the town right now.”
The meathead comes closer to pocket the hair in a clear plastic bag and cocks the gun at the girl with the camera to make her move. As the meathead walks to the doorway and the line of girls scuttle through, Harry glances between the boy and his tear-streaked, horror-stricken face and watches Luka put his phone away and tug on a pair of leather gloves from his suit jacket.
“Thank you,” he says to the dark haired boy, squeezing his tiny waist as he carefully moves behind to lift the gun from his trembling hands. Harry has no doubt he’d drop to the floor like a rag doll now if Luka wasn’t there to hold him up. “You helped a great deal. Now it’s time to say goodbye.”
“Bye,” he whispers to Harry after an uncertain pause, eyes sad and round.
“Off you pop,” Luka adds gently with a pat to his non-existent rump.
Harry watches from his seat in front of the pillar as the boy goes to follow the girls and Luka switches the gun’s aim from Harry to the unaware boy. Before he can react at all - yell, distract, something - Luka smoothly flicks off the safety and fires once, twice, thrice. The boy crumples after the first with barely a sound, hitting his knees and falling face first into the dusty concrete as the second and third ricochet around the empty, cavernous space to mingle with the anguished, surprised shriek of the girls in the distance. Harry would’ve been one of them, the sharp cracks of noise deafening in his unprotected ears, if he hadn’t bit down hard on his lip instead and tasted more blood. He grits his teeth to stop his chin from wobbling and tears spilling, but one escapes and runs down his cheek as he blinks and struggles to look up at the man responsible
.
He swallows down the rush of bile. “Why? He was just a kid,” he croaks, his arm throbbing from where he raised it to cover his bent head and ears. “You - the - the safety? It was on - me?”
He hopes he’s making sense, shock chilling his bones like he’s still in wet clothes, but Luka is horridly calm. “Congratulations. You’re his replacement. He’d performed his purpose and you’re far more useful. You’re only beginning your journey with me, Harry, but I really can end it any time I want. Tell me, do you like the sun?”
Still feeling sick with disgust, Harry ignores him and stares at the ground as he hears the drag of a body pulled into the corridor whilst Luka’s hands bind him to the pillar and pull up the gag. He almost expects him to snatch the watch still in his grasp, letting out a shallow breath when he doesn’t.
“We’ll be out of here soon, I promise.” he says instead, coming around to briefly cup his cheek.
With his captive secured and nothing more to say, Luka walks out and gives no indication as to whether he hears the sob that Harry can’t quite keep in.
----
Sitting in front of the TV, Louis taps idly through the text messages on his phone and wracks his brain for how to reply to them. From popstars he met ‘that one time’ months ago offering support all the way up the pecking order to Harry’s family wanting to keep in touch since Anne had to return to Cheshire, it’s a minefield for what to say. “Thank you” and “you too” sound so unintentionally hollow. Things are “moving along” in the investigation, the police say, but the delicate nature means they won’t tell Louis or the other boys what that’s meant to mean exactly. Apparently that will come when the time is right. He only hopes for their sakes that Anne, Gemma and Robin know more.
From: Gemma
How are you coping Lou? I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’m trying to be strong for Mum, but...If you ever need to talk...x
From: Stan
Mate I hope you’re still in London. Did Anne kill you??? If so I’m taking that *thing* you promised me ten gazillion years ago! jk jk. Nah mate gimme a call when you feel like it yeah?
Louis sighs heavily and throws his phone onto the empty seat next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest. It’s Sunday, two days after the media circus at the restaurant and they’ve been cooped up ever since. No one blames Paul for reporting what went down; it’s been his job to look out for them since they met, as protector, tour manager, time keeper and father figure all rolled into one unimpressed Irish package, but it does mean that security is tighter than a miserly ruler. Paul has minions now. Ordinarily, Louis would test and stretch them for a laugh, but that spark seems to be missing these days.
“ - Now for a missing person’s report that has already garnered much expected and needed media coverage,” the TV murmurs in the background, volume turned low.
Louis glances sluggishly at the screen before his head snaps up at the sight of one of the police officers who had interviewed him about Harry appearing on screen. He listens in a daze and barely blinks as conversation between the police and the presenter continues, detailing Harry’s vital statistics and how long he’s been missing. Louis chews on his lip as he struggles not to throw the remote at the TV because he knows its best that the public don’t know the whole truth yet, he knows in a tricky situation that panic would be bad, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear people talk like Harry’s gone for a stroll and not returned home rather than held against his will by some deranged psychopath.
“ - And this is Harry Styles, correct?” the woman presenter asks in a gentle, calm voice.
“Yes, that is correct.” the police offer nods, “The public will know him as being part of a group on the talent show The X Factor and we, at Scotland Yard, are very much hoping that the high profile nature of his case will make this appeal for information all the more successful. We understand that he was last seen by his friends at Oceana nightclub on West Street in central Brighton, talking to a short female between the ages of 18-22 with dark, bobbed hair.”
At the mention of the girl and with his eyes burning from his stare, Louis blinks blurry eyes to feel a sudden tear roll down his unshaven cheek. He hadn’t even realized that that was happening and nearly jumps a foot in the air when, seemingly out of nowhere, a hand rests warmly on his shoulder from behind. He hadn’t even heard Zayn come in to the room and he looks at him in teary-eyed shock but Zayn’s still focused on the TV, eyes dark and an unlit cigarette between the fingers of his other hand. They listen together as the people in a brightly-lit London studio wear sympathetic expressions and constantly repeat Harry’s name, the clothes he was last seen wearing and the girl’s description until that’s all that’s in Louis’ head again, never mind the rest of the home audience - mystery girl, white shirt, black jeans, Harry Styles, Harry Styles, Harry Styles, HarryHarryHarry -
The room falls deathly silent after Zayn makes a move more graceful than Louis’ ever known him to be, sliding over the sofa to mute the TV and to pull Louis into a cuddle. He resists the arm around his shoulders at first, feeling guilty and embarrassed like he should be stronger, he has to be strong for all of them, but Zayn is quietly determined as always and waits until Louis reluctantly sags into his warm grip.
“You need to believe you did what you could,” he whispers, lips pressed to his hair, “We all did and that’s what matters. Stop torturing yourself, bro, please.”
After a long pause, Louis eventually hums his assent from underneath Zayn’s chin, rubbing his nose into his collarbone and startling a tentative giggle out of both of them at the touch of his snotty nose. He’s saved of replying with anything more substantial by the interrupting rattle of the letterbox opening and Niall’s garbled shout of claiming whatever it is. Very few people know this temporary address, so Louis and Zayn exchange a confused, wary look and wordlessly decide to go and see what the fuss is about.
They find Niall right next to the door, licking his fingers clean of something before he pulls a medium-sized manila envelope from the slot. Liam arrives and throws Louis an eyebrow furrow of concern, but he counters with a weak smile, feeling better already from Zayn’s cuddle, and keeps his attention on Niall as he carefully opens the envelope. Black marker pen covers one corner as they see it’s been forwarded from Brighton unopened and Louis can feel how they’re all holding their breath as Niall pulls out a single piece of photo paper.
They gasp loudly and stumble backwards a step, grabbing for each other’s wrists as Niall drops it, the image no less horrific now that it lies on the floor. Staring up at them is Harry in a way they never wished they had to see, as the picture shows him from the torso up, bruised, cut and bloodied. Even the matted curls hanging limply around his face can’t disguise the blackened eye, swollen lip and the helplessness radiating from every pore, despite his clothes somehow being almost spotlessly clean. The quality is a little fuzzy, as if taken quickly in the spur of the moment from a camera phone and when Louis forces himself to glance again; he can see the shape of a possible small hand in the frame, before realizing that that is for the police to debate. Harry isn’t their bandmate, one of their best friends, the person they feel the strongest need to look after.
“I can just - ” Liam says, bravely crouching down to pick it up and do something with it, to at least get it out of their sight.
However, before he can, Zayn grabs his arm. “Wait, look. There’s something on the back.”
Intrigued despite themselves and desperate for more answers, the four boys gather around the photo as Liam turns it over. Right at the edge in neat, typed font is the words:
With the right motivation, he sang like a bird. Tread carefully.
Louis’ phone vibrates in the pocket of his sweatpants as he struggles to know how to react to any of that. His first instinct is to ignore the call for his attention in favour of the puzzling, chilling warning, but in the next split second he is reminded not to because it could be Important and so, distracted, he thumbs open the newest message.
From: Mum
Hi baby. Haven’t heard from you in a few days. Just checking in. Is everything alright? Xxx
tbc.