one direction: no sins as long as there's permission
title: no sins as long as there's permission
fandom: one direction
pairings: ot5
rating/words: PG-15/~9,700
warnings: OC narrator
summary: It’s not so bad, she thinks, not so bad as she’s making it out in her head to be. They just need each other because, when she thinks about it, it’s not like they really have anyone else.
a/n: endless thanks to marissa and naughticals for their endless beta work!
She supposes it starts with Harry, as seemingly everything does.
Harry’s always been sensitive, maybe even a little melodramatic, but Jane’s always chalked that up to him being young and slightly spoiled. Spoiled may not be the right word- doted on, is more like it. The attention doesn’t sour him the way it might to someone less charitable, but he occasionally wallows in it, smirking quietly as he glazes over his mentions on Twitter, or letting a wide grin break through when the fans cheer during his solos. The boys keep him from getting too smug about it, though- they look out for him, for each other.
It’s about halfway through the tour when Harry begins acting strangely. It’s a slow progression of things, little nuances that Jane never noticed at the time, but now, looking back, she’s kicking herself for not seeing anything amiss. It starts with his fingernails- he’s always been a biter (Lou Teasdale is constantly slapping his hands away from his mouth, examing his blunt nails with exasperation and worry and reminders for him to take time to de-stress.) but he begins to go at the cuticles and the skin too, biting the nails so close to the quick that they bleed. He gets quiet, withdrawn- he doesn’t talk much at the shows, not to Louis, not to the rest of the boys and only to the crowd when he absolutely has to. There are bags under his eyes, like he isn’t sleeping enough, which is strange because he spends most of his time in his bunk. He just seems so listless and Jane admits it- she’s at a loss.
Harry’s always been a difficult one- he doesn’t like being told what to do- but he usually acts out in big, public displays- the tattoos and the boozing and the lyric changes during shows (though that’s more Louis’ doing than his own, Jane suspects.) It isn’t like him to mope and get sulky about things but it’s not sulking, exactly, what he’s doing. Just a general numbness that Jane’s not used to in any of them- these five candles that burn so bright that they might blind themselves. He’s become obedient, complacent- words Jane never thought she would use to describe Harry, ever. He goes where he’s told and he doesn’t make a fuss or crack jokes or get sassy with the rest of the handlers, which is sort of a relief, as they can now dedicate more time to getting Louis and Zayn to simmer down, but it’s a flag, a warning sign to Jane, but she can’t figure out exactly what it’s warning her of.
She doesn’t fawn over the boys the way Lou does- that’s not her job. Her priorities are keeping them on time and on topic for interviews and, in theory, the buck stops there. But it’s hard not to get attached to them, like surrogate sons. Loud, spastic, sporadically bratty sons, but kin nonetheless. So if one of them is obviously not doing alright, she finds it well within the bounds of her job description to figure out what it is.
Jane talks to Anne, who gets a little teary but says her son hasn’t mentioned anything to her, nor Gemma. She talks to Lou, who’s noticed exactly what Jane has, but can’t get Harry to open up. She even tries approaching Josh, as a last resort, who looks anxious for a second but replaces it quickly with a lazy shrug and says he’ll talk to Niall and see if he knows anything.
There’s the obvious option- asking one of the other boys, but Jane ruled that out almost right away. Zayn, regardless of what he knows, will see giving any sort of information to Jane as selling out his friend. Niall’s oblivious for the most part- it’s all water off a duck’s back to him and he doesn’t really notice the others’ bad moods. Louis will get defensive and steely, all stiff upper lip and cold blue eyes and quick defenses because if he didn’t know that anything was wrong with Harry, he’s going to pretend he did and if he does know that something’s wrong, he isn’t going to want anyone helping Harry but himself. And Liam is the worst option, because there’s no kidding yourself when you talk to that boy. He’ll either know nothing or everything and Jane will be able to tell right away. Liam’s eyes are too clear to fool anyone and it’d worry Jane even more to have it confirmed that something was wrong with Harry and yet have no one telling her what it was.
She brings it up as casually as she can one day, to the only person in the “inner circle”, so to speak, that she thinks might help her. But Eleanor is just confused, genuinely so, and says she knows nothing. “Harry wouldn’t really come to me with sort of thing. Just cause, you know…of everything” she trails off and they leave it at that.. “I could talk to Louis, if you’d like?” It’s a formality, Jane knows- the last thing Eleanor wants to do is talk to Louis about Harry’s problems (and it’s not like Louis would tell her jack shit.) so Jane declines, thanking her anyway.
The whole exchange leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth, as every conversation with Eleanor does.
++
Things escalate quickly, no thanks in part to the fan blogs, who pick up on Harry’s drastic mood drop in no time flat. Rumors- depression medication! An eating disorder! A failed suicide attempt! - fly across tumblr and twitter and whatever other social media sites starting with T that all the fans are using nowadays. Jane catches Liam, the only one who really follows that sort of thing, stealing glances at Harry, his brow creasing with worry and it lifts a bit of the burden off of Jane’s shoulders to know that she’s not the only one fretting over this.
Not that they have much time to see Harry at all though. He comes out of his bunk to eat and to leave the bus, he sleeps during the short amount of time that they’re at the hotels and stays quiet and withdrawn during the interviews and junkets. The only time he seems to come alive at all is during the shows but even then it’s false and strained. Jane wonders if the other boys can tell. They must, she reasons, they’re his best friends.
She stands in the kitchenette of one of the suites (Zayn and Niall’s, she thinks?), making herself a sandwich while Zayn, Liam and Niall eat Taco Bell and watch some inane show about a cupcake competition behind her. Louis and Harry are nowhere to be found, but Jane doubts they’re together, as Harry is rarely with anyone at all. It’s just weirdish, the whole thing- Jane will catch him lightly goofing with Josh or talking with Sandy and sometimes Harry will even plop himself down next to her and start a conversation, but whenever the other four boys show up, Harry disappears, like he was never there in the first place.
So when Harry appears at the door separating Zayn and Niall’s suite and his and Louis’, Jane can’t help but feel oddly shocked. She can’t remember the last time she saw Harry with the others in a normal, non-work related setting. They must be a tad surprised too, because they all turn their attention away from the telly to him, Niall having to twist in his chair so much that he ends up sitting completely backwards on it. “Hi, Haz.” Liam chirps, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible but failing miserably. For a moment, Harry looks panicked, but manages to give an awkward wave before locking eyes with Jane. “Jane, could you…ah…could you…” He’s staring at her like he’ll burst into flames or something if he looks anywhere else in the room. Out of her peripheral, Jane can see that Niall’s turned his attention back to the cupcake battle, but Liam and Zayn are having a silent conversation via facial expressions that includes a lot of shrugging and head jerks in Harry’s general direction.
Harry’s eyes flicker to them for a moment before glancing back to Jane. “Could you just have someone wake me up in time for the fitting?” he babbles and it’s the quickest Jane has ever heard him speak. He looks miserable and uncomfortable, like being in the same room with the others was physically painful for him. Jane nods, not wanting to watch him suffer any longer but then Louis walks in the front door of the suite, sipping a mug of tea and grinning. He halts when he sees Harry, his mouth falling open in mock, exaggerated surprise. “It is aliiiiiiiiive!” He exclaims, mimicking Dr. Frankenstein, complete with dramatic arm movements and by the time Jane turns back around, Harry’s already gone back into his own room, the adjoining door slamming shut definitively.
Louis stares for a moment and then shrugs, trying to play it off. He joins the others on the couch, sitting next to Zayn, playing oblivious to all of their stares. He pretends to notice them, giving a fake flinch. “What?” he asks, but the guilt coloring the edge of his voice gives him away.
“Why are you always such a fuckin’ twat?” Zayn asks him, only half joking. Louis shrugs and says he doesn’t know what Zayn could possibly be referring to.
“It’s the first time he’s come out of his cave in days and you went and scared him back in there.” Liam snaps. And there’s what Jane was looking for- the others have noticed something.
“He looked pretty well on his way before I showed up.” Louis points out coolly, taking another sip of his drink. ”Not my fault he’s being so weird.”
Niall turns back around in his seat so that he’s facing the kitchenette. “Have you noticed it, Jane?” he calls and Jane freezes, not sure how to play this one off. She doesn’t want them to think she’s been prying and if she admits to worrying, they’ll get all mock-sentimental on her and that’s the last thing she needs right now.
“Noticed what?” she lies.
“Harry. How he’s being all mopey and skittish lately.”
Jane shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Just thought he was going through a patch, that’s all.”
She watches as they all exchange looks, heads swiveling as they all try to make eye contact at once. Zayn finally catches Louis’ eye and gives him some sort of significant look. Louis just shakes his head.
“We’re all quite concerned.” She says, vaguely referring to the other handlers and Paul and Lou. She had ended up speaking to all of them about it and reactions had ranged from solemn agreement to brush offs and “I’m sure he’s just in a mood.” And Jane wants to believe that too, she really does, but she’s just never seen Harry in such a foul state before. There’s part of her that just wants to rant to the rest of the boys, because it seems like she’s the only one who’s concerned about it and if there is something going on, the four of them will be concerned too and it’s petty but she needs that, a little bit, she really needs that solidarity. She knows that the four of them can do more for Harry than any of the rest of them combined and she’s this close to all-out begging them to talk to him about it.
But she’s also knows that the one thing that will get them to cave quicker than anything else is when someone poses a threat to their inner boys’ club. She doesn’t like taking advantage of it- none of the handlers do, because that’s just cruel, really and the whole thing is sweet- that they need each other so much that the danger of being separated gets them nervous. But desperate times call for desperate measures and she takes a bite of her sandwich and chews for a moment before saying “They’ve been talking about maybe taking him to see a doctor.”
Another few seconds of frantic head turning and subtle motioning and Jane allows herself a small smile of triumph. “Not just yet, Jane.” Liam says and there’s some rustling and creaking as the boys scramble off of the couch. “We’ll go talk to him. See if we can knock some sense into him.” Her smile widens and she turns around to thank them, but they’re already gone, crossing into the adjacent room where Harry is, closing the door and locking it behind them.
++
She gives it an hour or so. She wanders back to her own room that she shares with the assistant publicist and goes through tomorrow’s itinerary, checking and double checking departure and arrival times, mapquest-ing the addresses for their morning interview, where they’re going for lunch, the afternoon interview and the venue. She makes note of the quick costume fitting that Louis and Niall have at four thirty (Lydia had written her a note on a bright yellow Post-It - “Lo- torn seam in stage trousers/ N- needs hem on black pants let down. 15-20 min. tops. Also- Z- find a way to secure knot on trainer laces.”- and stuck it in her planner. God bless.)
For the most part, Jane’s main concern is fielding pre-interviews and making sure the boys fulfill all necessary interview obligations, but that eventually bled into keep a vague schedule of where they are supposed to be every second of the day. It’s partially her own fault for being over-thorough, but she knows that Paul appreciates it and he’s the kind of guy that just makes you want to do everything you can to help him out. She types out a quick, condensed schedule of tomorrow’s events and saves it as a draft in her phone, to be sent out tonight to the boys and crew, as well as to be posted on all the bus doors sometime tomorrow morning, before the boys are roused from bed.
Her list of things to do is dwindling low and she likes to save a few unfinished tasks for later at night, when the boys are performing and she has to wind down for bed so she packs up her ever-present day planner and travels down the hall to Harry’s room, where, she’s assuming, the boys are still gathered. The door is locked, so she presses her ear to it, searching for any sounds of conflict or distress. There’s nothing really, just a few low murmurs and that’s either really good or really bad. She knocks softly and, when nothing happens, raps on the door a little harder. “Boys.” She calls. The murmuring stops. “Costume fitting soon.” She feels a stab of guilt for interrupting, and for a moment, she panics, wondering if maybe she hadn’t given them enough time to break through to Harry, if they had just needed ten more minutes and she had ruined everything.
But Zayn opens the door and nods at her, smiling and god, it’s like her entire body just deflates with relief, like she had been holding her breath for the past week and she was finally able to inhale. She steps back, allows the rest of them to pile out into the hallway. Her eyes go to Harry immediately- He walks out with Liam’s arm around his shoulders playfully and Jane could just sing when she seems him- he still looks a little nervous, a little ill, but there’s color in his face and his eyes are wide and bright again, almost all traces of his previous despondency wiped clean. Louis comes up on the other side of him and whispers something in his ear and Harry bursts out laughing- he laughs ! It’s more than Jane could ever have hoped for. All of them are smiling and so Jane smiles, too, proud of herself for pushing a resolution on this.
But then her phone buzzes- a mass text from Lydia, saying she’s almost done with the alterations and can someone have to boys come see her ASAP for a quick fitting?- and so Jane is ushering the boys down the hall, ringing up one of the drivers to have a van waiting downstairs. Back to work and back to normal.
++
Jane’s involved in a high stakes game of gin rummy with Paul and a sound technician in the kitchenette in one of the suites when the boys, sans Louis, tromp in, loud and hyper and talking at each other with outside voices. Paul gives a monotone “Settle down, boys.” As he concentrates on his current hand of cards, but it doesn’t do much except get the boys to lower their voices about a half a decibel. Jane half-listens to what they’re saying, something about going out for lunch together, and out of habit, she runs through their schedule for the day in her head. They just came back from their only interview today and she’s almost positive they haven’t been invited to lunch anywhere. The show isn’t for a few hours so she gives a non-committal nod and tells them to bring a handler with them, as always.
Niall and Zayn cheer but Liam leans forward, tapping Paul’s shoulder to get his attention. “But Paul, where’s Louis?” he asks, slightly concerned. Paul looks up from his cards for a moment, thinking.
“He’s out with Eleanor, isn’t he?” he says, looking to Jane for confirmation. Jane nods, glancing up just in time to see their faces fall. It’s like a cloud passes over all of them- the four go silent, looking to each other with a mix of anger and disappointment.
“Well.” Harry starts, chewing at this thumbnail. “We could wait a bit.” The rest of them all nod slowly, still exchanging glances.
“Wouldn’t want to go without him.” Liam reasons as they all move to flop onto the couch in front of the suite’s television. Jane catches Paul’s eye and they laugh to themselves while the sound tech gives an exaggerated eye roll. Jane turns her attention back to her hand of cards, but she can hear the boys behind her, bickering over what to watch.
She had been so overjoyed when they had finally gotten Harry to snap out of whatever funk he was in that she had barely noticed the complete one-eighty that he did in the days following. Where he had been sullen and quiet, he was now perpetually energized and ready to go. Where he had shied away and even avoided the other boys, he was now hanging off of them every chance he got. They had always been a very affectionate group- Jane had known that coming into the job- and it was a very physical friendship between them all, but Jane doesn’t remember things ever being like this. They were now always, always together, except when they were forcibly placed apart for interviews or scheduled appearances (and on those occasions, she could count on them being bratty and petulant the whole time.) The frequent public displays of affection had all melded together into one constant stream of hugs and touching and kissy faces in each other’s directions. And it’s not that they hadn’t been doing that before, but now she catches them doing it when no one’s looking- legs thrown in each other’s laps, heads close together when they whisper, arms perpetually around each other’s waists.
She doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, mostly because she doesn’t know what conclusion she could possibly jump to. She doesn’t even know what she’s implying with her observations, how could she expect anyone else to? At first, she just chalked it up to a general outpouring of love for Harry after his difficult stretch, but it’s been days- longer than the said difficult stretch itself- and the boys looked closer than ever, if that was even possible. And then this- the looks of sadness when Paul said that Louis was out with his girlfriend- she gets a flash of a conclusion, a connection of the dots that makes her gasp a little and push the half-formed thought away immediately. She’s just being absurd.
“Your turn.” Robert, the sound tech, tells her, snapping her back into reality. She laughs nervously, for a moment irrationally panicked that somehow Paul and Rob knew what she had just been thinking about. But Paul’s staring at her expectantly and Robert’s fishing in his pocket for a lighter and god, she’s just being stupid. Stupid and silly and overreacting.
In the background, she hears Zayn urge “Call him, call Lou.” And Niall agreeing enthusiastically. Jane blocks it out and plays her hand- a good one, and Rob curses under his breath as he surveys his cards. She stares at her cards, trying to feign concentration in the game but her mind is elsewhere, still eavesdropping behind her. There’s some rustling and then a dial tone projected over a speaker on one of their phones.
“Eleanor said they’re staying out until quarter to two or so.” Paul calls across the room as he idly moves a card from the back of his fan to the middle. The boys say nothing back and Jane resists the urge to turn around and watch them. Louis picks up on the second ring, his voice sounding tinny over the low-quality speaker.
“What do you need?” he asks, not sounding annoyed or distracted in the slightest, which is a damn miracle, because it usually takes all the concentration he has to stay focused for all of five minutes when Jane’s on the phone with him.
“We want to go to lunch!” Niall says, struggling to keep his voice low. “Come back!” There’s a quiet chorus of “yes, come home!” and “we miss you!” and Louis’s soft laughter on the other end. Jane grips the arm of her chair tightly and screaming at herself to stop over thinking things.
“New game?” Rob says and Jane must have nodded or something because he offers the deck of cards to her to shuffle. Jane grabs the deck and cuts it, tapping the sides of each half onto the table to straighten the cards out. The boys have gone a bit quieter now, thank god, and she lines the two halves up to face each other, bent in her fingers, so that she can shuffle them. She lets the first few cards flip down into the table, interlocking. Harry’s voice drifts from the couch, soft and intimate and not meant to be heard by anyone else except the five of them.
“Come back home to us, Louis.”
Us.
She loses her grip on one half of the deck, breaking the shuffle, and the cards shoot out from between her fingers, flying across the table and falling to the floor.
++
Will, the head publicist and her direct boss, is a slight man, mid-forties, with a dramatic widow’s peak and thick auburn hair and he doesn’t travel with the tour but checks in every day on the telephone. He scares Jane a bit, because she’s just generally non-confrontational (timid, if she’s being honest with herself) and he’s loud and demanding and he shouts when people fuck up. But he admires her for her attention to detail and she does her best not to give him anything to yell at her about, so he often comes to her with special tasks or specific assignments that he needs done.
He calls around one AM the night that they’re in Chicago and Jane’s already getting ready for bed, having just sent out tomorrow’s schedule while she brushes her teeth in the tiny hotel bathroom. It must be at least six in the morning in London, she reasons, but Will calls at all hours of the night with no regard for what time zone his assistants are in, so she’s used to it by now. She presses her phone between her shoulder and her cheek so that she can floss and listen at the same time. Will starts in right away- she’s learned not to even bother to say hello when she knows he’s on the other line.
“Jane, I need you to do me a big favor.” He starts and she’s already cringing- he only says that when he’s about to ask something that he suspects she might not enjoy doing. Will’s never asked her to do anything out rightly unmoral but she’s constantly on the edge of her seat for the day when that might happen. She prays it never does, that he goes to someone with more of a stomach for the seedier aspects of the job, someone who isn’t as shy and apprehensive as she is.
“Of course.” She says, threading a piece of floss between her molars.
“Just check in on the boys; maybe keep a close eye for the next few days.” Jane can hear the sound of a car being unlocked and a door opening. Will must be driving to work. “The theory blogs at large are still chattering about Harry and his slump and of course it’s not causing enough buzz to really be of concern but you know how things go once bullshit like that hits the big stalker twitters.” And then there’s the sound of the door slamming closed and the car engine started. “We just don’t need a repeat of the past few days. And people are pestering Anne again and god knows the women puts up with enough on a daily basis and also, we don’t want her to feel the need to, god forbid, actually reference it so just make sure all the boys are feeling alright and all that. We really just need them to be on their best behaviors for the next few interviews so indulge them, if that’s what it takes.”
There’s a whole list of forbidden behaviors that “indulging them” might allow and Jane attempts to start in and ask exactly where Will wants her drawing the line but he steamrolls over her response, saying something else that’s unintelligible over him laying on the horn and cursing under his breath.
“Driving in London, I swear, nothing worse.” He mumbles and Jane continues to floss, staring at herself in the mirror while she waits for further instruction. “So just be really careful with the pre-interview nonsense and try to keep them all happy. Simon hasn’t been pleased with the fan base response and it’s not just Tumblr, Twitter’s been a mess, more so then it usually is, of course, and, oh Christ, Google the latest Sugarscape article and let it boggle your mind how we continually give those half-wit fucks interview access.” Jane reaches for the mouthwash and laughs. Will’s burning hatred of Sugarscape was eclipsed only by his love of the positive attention the Sugarscape readers gave the boys.
“I’ll be all over it, Will, I promise.” She assures him.
“I know you will be. Thank you, love.” He says and she lets her heart flutter at the praise. He’s a tough boss but a kind word from him is more than enough validation to make it worthwhile. “Now, about tomorrow, there’s been a change-“
“I’ve already noted it.” She says before taking a swig of her mouthwash and holding the phone away from her so she can gargle and spit quickly. When she presses it back to her ear, Will’s in the middle of a sentence.
“- group interview at four, and then the mag wants to pull them off in pairs for individual interviews, so if you can get them all to stop humping each other for four minutes to get that done, then that’d be terrific-“ Will quips, sounding distracted by something on the other end of the line. Jane feels a surprising flash of indignation, of protectiveness, the kind she usually only feels for her siblings.
She wonders if maybe she should say something to defend them, but Will’s already en route to discussing a new, last-minute interview. The opportunity passes.
Perhaps it’s for the better, though. She would’ve made a fool of herself anyways.
++
She chooses not to call it spying, because that word carries the sort of negative connotation that Jane’s not comfortable assigning to what she’s paid to do. She’s just keeping an eye on them and, well, sometimes that means putting herself in a position to overhear conversations that she may not normally be privy to. Being a tour publicist, she’s usually never asked to dig up dirt or to pry into their lives, so luckily, she more or less gets to stay out of it but occasionally, she’ll be told by a higher-up to “check on things” or to “listen in” and it’s implicit that that means finding out more than what the boys present to them at face value.
So when she sees the boys tromp into Harry and Louis’ shared suite one night after a show, still drunk off their post-show adrenaline rushes, and she slowly creeps into the adjoining suite, she can justify it to herself, however lamely. She’s just looking out for them. In fact, she’s not even in there to check in. She’s looking for the glasses that she left in the suite earlier and that’s not even a lie.
She turns the handle as silently as possible; nodding to the security guard posted a little ways down the hall. Slipping into the dark room, she quickly removes her sensible heels, despite the carpeted floor. She can hear the boys in the next room over and at first she thinks they’re either being very, very loud or the walls are incredibly thin and it isn’t until she’s halfway across the room that she looks up and sees the door that connects the two suites is wide open, light from Harry and Louis’ room spilling out onto the dark blue carpet of the adjoining suite in a sharp triangle of yellow light. Jane inhales sharply; acutely aware of how close she was to stepping right into the open doorway and the boys’ view. She flattens herself against the wall, trying to calm her breathing.
She hates acting like this, feeling like this, like she has to hide what she’s doing. She shouldn’t have to creep around to see them, she should be able to just walk right in, chat a little, remind them of tomorrow’s schedule and leave. But that’s in a perfect world, a world where the boys don’t have their own little circle, a world where the boys are honest with them, don’t view Jane and the other handlers like forces to be toppled and vanquished. That’s in a world where the boys weren’t a completely separate entity, cut off from anything that might ever attempt to separate them.
She tried, she really did. She tried so hard to put it out of her mind, the idea that they were a “them”, not just in Jane’s abstract mental image but also as a clearly defined relationship between the five of them. She doesn’t know how to phrase it, doesn’t know if she ever could but there’s something about the way they press against each other in a crowd, the way she sometimes catches Zayn looking at Liam, or Harry looking at Louis or all of them looking at Niall when he’s had a particularly brilliant show. And part of her just wants to know , to know for sure if she’s either a pervert or correct or somewhere in between. She hates not knowing, despises it, and it frustrates her that there’s this thing between all of them that she can’t label and file away, to be brought out and examined when things have calmed down and she has time to think and be rational. Instead, she just has this- pressing against a wall in a hotel room, listening to the sound of one of them opening up the hotel window and the sharp click, click, click of a lighter.
The adjoining door swings into the suite that Jane’s in, so she inches her way closer into the shadow that it casts against the wall, and it’s a silly protection- there’s no way they can see her- but it makes her heart slow to a more manageable pace. It’s then that she’s able to realize that she may as well walk out now, because she can’t see into the boys room at all, hidden behind the door. She can hear a bit, but they aren’t saying much. There’s the faint start-up chime of the iPod speakers and then the opening beat of some Frank Ocean song that Jane can’t be bothered to remember the title of begins to play.
“No, not this one.” She hears Niall say. “It’s the third one. Or maybe the fourth…… eh, fuck it, just let this one play.” There’s springs creaking and the distinct sound of the minibar opening and some bottles clinking together but nothing that could possible clue her in to what’s going on.
She’s about to leave when she glances around the room and sees a long mirror hanging on the far wall, directly opposite the adjoining door. Her stomach clenches as she sees that the placement of it is near perfect- she can see the reflection of half the hotel bed and Harry stretched out on it, the span of empty bed next to him. An unidentified hand (definitely not Liam, probably not Louis, so either Zayn or Niall) appears at his side, offering a thick joint, which Harry grabs and inhales from deeply, closing his eyes, his chest rising with it. He holds it a minute and another hand (could be the same one, Jane’s not sure) deftly grabs the joint from between his fingers. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before blowing it out through his nose.
“Aw, you just wasted a perfectly good mouthful.” Niall protests from somewhere that sounds like the left of the bed. Harry glances up as though he didn’t quite hear him, his eyes already rimmed a bit red.
“….what?” he asks and Niall laughs, suddenly appearing on the bed next to him, on his knees in just a white tank top and boxers.
“Learn to share.” He teasesbefore hopping off the bed again and Harry just nods, his response about two seconds delayed as he pulls off his beanie to reveal the slim elastic hair band that he wears under it to keep his curls out of his face. Someone (Louis, Jane thinks?) near the window laughs and Harry blushes, quickly reaching up to pull the black band off his head and tosses it off the side of the bed.
“You’d make a really cute lesbian.” Zayn offers as he climbs up onto the bed next to him, reaching out to pet at the back of Harry’s hair, scratching at his scalp. Harry sighs, leaning into it, into Zayn, rolling over so that he’s draped onto him and Zayn puts an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder. There’s a flash of white at the corner of the mirror and then Niall’s on the other side of Harry, joint in hand. “Give it here.” Zayn gestures for it and then calls out behind him- “Lou, c’mere.”
Louis bounds up from the left of the room, climbing onto the bed and sitting on Harry’s calves, obscuring Jane’s view of Harry’s face and Niall’s whole body. Harry kicks weakly, groaning in protest but Louis just pats him on the thigh and smiles. Jane sees a hand on Louis’ shoulder from someone behind him (Liam, she has to assume) and then Liam’s chin resting on the top of Louis’ head. Louis reaches up, grabbing Liam’s hand and pulling on it so he can hold it properly against his chest.
Zayn takes a hit off the joint, the lit end burning red in the dim light of the room and Jane can smell the pot, thick and dank in the warm air. He gestures to Louis, who leans forward, parting his lips slowly, and puts his hand on Zayn’s jaw. Their faces are so close that their foreheads are touching and Jane holds her breath. Zayn exhales the smoke in Louis’ mouth and Louis sucks it in, his grip on Zayn’s chin tightening. The rest of them are deathly still, silently watching. Zayn smiles and for a moment, Jane thinks that Louis might kiss him, but Louis breaks away, laughing and rubbing at his forehead. “That’s good, that’s really good.” He says, his voice a bit wrecked.
He bounces a little, almost smacking Liam on the chin with the top of his head. Harry groans again, presumably from the ache in his calves where Louis is still perched. Harry swats at him while taking another hit before passing the joint on to Niall next to him. Louis just cackles again and uses his grip on Liam’s hand to bounce even harder. “Ey.” Niall hits him on the shoulder and passes the joint to Liam, who takes a quick inhale before dangling it in front of Louis’s face. “Stop tormenting my boy.” Louis grabs the joint, nearly done by now, ash hanging precariously off the end of it. He leans forward, his reflection traveling off the edge of the mirror for a moment before he pops back up, the ash taken care of in some way or another. He looks to Niall with his eyebrows raised.
“Oh, your boy?” he questions teasingly.
“Our boy.” Zayn corrects, pulling Harry into him again. They all laugh softly and Louis glances upwards at Liam, who’s still looming above him. He takes Liam’s hand and kisses his palm, slowly, deliberating, before looking back up at him. Liam flushes, biting his lip. Jane’s knees are locked, her hands clammy and she wipes them on her jeans. Her legs are aching and she’s burning hot beneath her wool sweater and she’s already running through excuses in her head, reasons to give when Will asks her why she’d like to work in the central offices in London rather than on tour.
But she doesn’t move, still rooted in her spot, her eyes straining to study the reflection of the mirror opposite her and for a split second, Zayn looks up too, locking eyes with her in the mirror, his brow furrowing and Jane gasps softly, rushing for the door. She prays that he didn’t recognize her and that, if he did, she had appeared only as a vision in the murky darkness, hazy and dreamlike through the smoke.
++
Someone tips one of the stalker twitters off about the location of their mid-morning interview in Florida and they’re absolutely mobbed on their way out the door. Jane clutches her messenger bag tightly to her chest, ducking to avoid the clawing hands reaching out at her from every side. Preston is in front of her, between her and the boys, struggling to fend off the flailing arms holding posters and cameras and cell phones. She looks upward, at the expanse of bright blue sky, attempts to block out the constant and piercing screams of the girls around her and counts her breaths- one, two three- as slow and deep as she can get them. It’s been a while since Jane’s had to deal with a crowd like this- managing the world’s premiere boy band teaches you a thing or two about keeping things like interview locations on the down-low- and she’s momentarily stunned by the overwhelming force of them.
One of the girls throws out an arm or a leg and Jane doesn’t see it, too preoccupied with making sure her bag stays intact and keeping her blood pressure under control, so she trips, losing her footing in the mob. She thinks she may have screamed, but it’s swallowed up immeadiatly by the cacophony of the crowd around her. For a moment, she has a vision of herself hitting the ground, being trampled by the seemingly endless sea of people, but her outstretched hands grab onto Preston’s massive arm and he turns, as much as he can in the limited space and puts an arm around her, drawing her in close to him. She immeadiatly feels safer, clutching her bag against her with one arm and holding onto Preston with the other. She can see Liam directly in front of her and Harry’s curly head poking out above the crowd, but the other three are lost to her.
They make it about three-fourths of the way to the vans waiting on the sidewalks when Jane senses something wrong. Preston half- drags her the rest of the way to the van, where the boys are already waiting inside, all five of them squeezed into the back row of seats. She climbs in, Preston coming in behind her and closing the door. The driver revs the engine, a signal to the mob of girls to back up or else. The sound of pained, labored breathing hits her and her skin prickles, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She turns in her seat to the boys sitting behind her, to find Niall in the middle of them, breathing heavily, his head in his hands.
“Give him some space, give him some space.” Zayn keeps saying, putting a hand on Louis’ chest to make him lean back from Niall’s prone form. Liam’s got a slack arm around him, rubbing circles over his back. Harry looks slightly ill as well, pale and shaking and Louis pulls him into a cuddle the minute he notices.
“Is he alright?” Preston asks and all the boys nod in unison, not taking their eyes off of Niall.
“He’s fine.” Liam mumbles, rubbing at the tensed muscles in Niall’s shoulder. That seems to relax him a little and he manages to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He’s got Zayn and Liam on one side, Harry and Louis on the other, flanking him like they’re his guardian angels. Harry leans in close, whispers something, and Niall nods, swallowing heavily. Zayn grabs Niall’s hand, telling him to count his breaths.
“I’m so sorry.” He wheezes. “I just…no one warned me, I didn’t know they would all be out there, no one told-“ he inhales heavily again, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to regain his breathing. Harry inhales with him, watching him with wide eyes and when Niall gives a particularly rough wheeze, Harry and Liam both flinch. The more Niall calms down, the closer they all move into together, so by the time he’s breathing steadily, they’re pressed up against one another, fitting all up and down the length of their bodies. Harry and Liam both leave some space between themselves and Niall, not wanting to trigger another attack, but Niall ends up leaning into Liam with a sigh and closing his eyes and Harry takes that as his cue to sidle up along side him, resting his chin on Niall’s shoulder.
“Does he need a doctor? Medication or something?” Jane asks, her voice wavering.
“No.” they all reply at once and then they look to each other, a bit startled at their unison. Liam covers for them quickly.
“He’s fine, he’ll be fine.” He tells her, his arm still around Niall’s shoulder. Niall gives a rasping cough and they all lean in, Louis petting at his hair.
“Are you sure?” Jane tries again. It’s like talking to a brick wall at this point but Niall still looks quite ill. It’s an image she’s seen a million times- the boys braced together against the world. She see it at the end of every concert, in every interview- this idea of them as a united front but it’s different this time, somehow. It’s internalized, that strength, and instead of pushing out against something else, they’re curling in towards each other, like whatever else is out there doesn’t even matter because it couldn’t possibly hurt them, not when they’re like this.
“Yes, we’re sure.” Liam sighs. “Just…just give us a few minutes alone, yeah? He just needs to catch his breath.” Jane nods, turning back around in her seat and staring out the window for the remainder of the ride. It’s not so bad, she thinks, not so bad as she’s making it out in her head to be. They just need each other because, when she thinks about it, it’s not like they really have anyone else.
++
It takes the long break to finally rid herself of her (stupid, silly, unfounded) suspicions. She goes home to her family in Wales, spends the empty weeks relaxing, aside from the occasionally email from Paul regarding the logistics of next few stops on the tour before MSG. She reads a lot and learns to bake but has to avoid the market, for fear of stumbling across one of those teeny bopper magazines with the boys plastered across the front. She frequents Twitter until she catches sight of one of those stalker accounts claiming that the boys all met up in London and went out before all spending the night at Harry and Louis’ new flat. A few hours later, pictures surface and she valiantly ignores them but curiosity gets the best of her eventually (and these are her clients she tells herself- it’d be irresponsible not to check up on their whereabouts.) and she checks out the first link she sees claiming to be the photos.
It’s just one photo- taken with a fan’s camera, of the boys getting into a cab. Niall’s already inside it, but his arm is sticking out, gripping Liam’s shirt sleeve, pulling him into the car. Liam’s smiling, turning to Louis behind him, who has a very obvious arm around Harry’s waist (and Will is going to throw a fit when he sees that, she can already tell). Zayn’s bringing up the pack, clutching a bottle in one hand, holding onto Harry with the other and he’s laughing at something, his head tipped back and Jane can almost hear it in her ears- the sounds of the traffic passing by and Harry’s low whispers and Zayn’s peels and peels of infectious laughter breaking all of them out in giggle fits. She’s heard it so many times before that it seems weird and disjointed now, seeing it in still-motion, just a photograph, a cheap imitation of the real thing.
She’s proud of herself for the way she keeps her head, looking over the photo with a rational mindset, not jumping to any wild conclusions. They’re just being themselves- loud and noisy and drunken teenage boys, having a laugh. She smiles to herself and there’s a flood of relief- it really was all in her head. They’re all just good friends, great friends and they’re lucky to have each other and she’s lucky to witness that kind of bond between such bright boys.
She lets herself click through a few more fan photos, but they’re all basic variations on that same first picture- all of them climbing into the taxi. In some of them, she can see the gathering of screaming girls in the background and she plays her favorite game, trying to find the most deranged-looking fan. She settles on a girl in her late teens with badly dyed red hair and a “One Direction” t-shirt on, who looks close to tears.
It isn’t under the fourth or fifth photo she finds that she notices something. Louis pulling a face, looking directly into the fan’s camera with an exaggerated look of apprehension. She can’t remember if he looked that way in all the photos or only in the one she first notices it in. She zooms in on the picture, trying to see whatever it is that triggered that reaction but finds nothing. She scans Twitter again, her nerves prickling. She lets herself think ridiculous things- someone had a gun pointed at them, someone was throwing bottles, someone they knew had unexpectedly shown up. She finds a link boasting “NEW 1D PHOTOS SHARPENED/LIGHTENED” and pulls the image up, reassuring herself that it’s nothing. She scans the background, checking for any wayward fans and finding nothing. She checks the expressions of the other boys’, but their faces are hidden or too muddled to really make out. Finally, she lets her eyes travel downwards, the tangle of the boys’ limbs standing out more in the edited photo.
They’re all holding hands.
She closes her laptop and tosses it to the other end of the couch, covering it with a throw pillow just for good measure and when Will emails her asking if she noticed anything unusual in the pictures, she deletes his message, lies and says she never received it, lies and says she never saw the pictures in the first place.
++
They say that things come to you when you stop looking for them and the world proves that saying right to her at the most inopportune time, as it always does.
Her day planner is arguably the most important thing she carries with her, even moreso than the iPad, because whereas the information stored on the iPad is all connected to an iCloud and therefore can be accessed at any time from any other Apple product, the details in her day planner are one of a kind. She’s got everything in there- endless amounts of notes on the boys, what they like to eat at restaurants, how they take their tea and coffee, their dress measurements, their family members, their personal contacts in case of emergency. And then she has copies of the contact information for everyone who has ever done an exemplary interview of them, the photographers they get along with, the paps that annoy them the least. If she loses it, she loses more information than she could ever possibly re-gather in this lifetime.
So when she misplaces it, she tends to lose the part of her brain that processes rational thought as well.
She’s settling down to read before going to be the night before the Madison Square Garden show when she absentmindlely grabs at her bedspeard for it, gripped with the fear that they missed an interview today. She gropes for it and, feeling that it isn’t there, tosses her book aside, gets out of bed, and proceeds to tear the room apart. It isn’t in her bag, not in the bathroom, not kicked under her bed in the frenzy of getting ready this morning. Her hands shake a bit as she struggles to remember where she put it, running through her day in her head. Not at breakfast, not at the morning interview, not at lunch- ah!
She laughs to herself for being so stupid and pulls on a sweater before leaving her room, travelling down the hall to where the boys’ adjoined (as always) suites. The door on Liam and Niall’s room is ajar (and that honestly should have been the first tip off but she’s wasn’t thinking .) so she waltzes in, ducking into the kitchenette and, when she doesn’t find her large black planner there, rummages through the tv space. Nothing. She distinctly remembers leaving it in here- or- maybe it was the other room?
She hesitates for a second by the connecting door, considering knocking but figures that the boys aren’t even inside so there’s really no point. And it’s things like that, when she looks back on them later and realizes the difference little actions like that could’ve made- that’s what drives her crazy.
It all happens in a muddled blur. She opens the door, which opens into the bedroom of the other suite, and she’s not even really thinking, not expecting anyone to be in there so when she sees all of them inside, she shrieks a bit in shock, clamping her hand over her mouth. It’s not just that they’re in there, but that they’re all together, Niall and Zayn and Liam lying on the bed, Harry on his knees at the foot of it, his back to her, and Louis standing and they’re all shirtless and flushed. Louis’ the first to hear her, or he’s the first to react because he wheels around, advancing on her immediately.
“What are you doing?!” he asks, his voice cracking and she stutters, her heart pounding and her face growing hot and Jesus Christ, what did she just get herself into? She had walked in on them cuddling together before- for God’s sake, they did in public half the time- and there had never been any problems, it has been nothing, but it’s apparent to her now that she had very much walked on something .She steps backwards, her hands groping for the door frame and all she can do is squeak and shake her head. Liam rushes up behind Louis, puts a hand on his shoulder but Louis brushes him off sharply. “Get the fuck out.” he hisses, his voice strained and for a minute, she stands at the door, paralyzed.
“Get out!” he shouts and she turns and rushes out of the room and down the hall, her blood whooshing in her ears and the knowledge that those blue eyes were watching her making her run all the faster.
++
Since it’s the last show, she allows Lou Teasdale to pull her along with them. She’s seen the show more times than she can count and surprisingly, it gets annoying after the fifteenth replay, but, since it’s the very last show, she figures she can suck it up and support them at the arena. She had called Will the morning before with her request to be transferred to the Modest! Headquarters in London, citing the excuse that she didn’t like being away from her family for so long and he had gone silent for a moment, before saying that he understood and he would put in a good word for her at Human Relations once hiring season started again. It’s her last show as much as it is the boys’ last and there’s a finality to it that she’s not sure she likes. She’ll miss them, miss Paul, miss seeing the cities and the four million hotels and the interviews on the road and she’ll even miss the crowds of screaming girls, for what it’s worth.
It’s twenty minutes to showtime when she comes into the green room to find Harry lying on the couch, a washcloth over his face and his head in Zayn’s lap. “Is he hurt?” she asks, alarmed but Lou Teasdale appears on the other side of her, shaking her head.
“Poor thing just got sick.” She clucks, so full of motherly affection that it makes Jane’s heart ache for her own mum. “Liam’s throwing up in the bathroom and I just send Louis in there to make sure he hadn’t passed out or anything.” At the mention of Louis’ name, Jane tenses up. She hasn’t had to speak to any of them directly since the other night and she was hoping to put it off as long as possible, or at least until she was a bit inebriated. So she kisses Lou on the cheek and spins off to find Paul and see if he needed any help with things.
She finds them again at eight minutes to show, huddled together in the passage way leading onto the stage. She’s not nearly as drunk as she’d like to be but it’s not like she can’t hug them and wish them luck. They’re still her family, dysfunctional as they may be, and she can never deny that they deserve this, all of it. She’s never known boys who have worked harder and wanted it more than they have.
Louis and Zayn both watch her with narrowed eyes as she leans in to hug Niall and she can feel her skin prickle when she notices Zayn’s hand on Niall’s shoulder, keeping him tethered to the rest of them. She hugs Zayn next, and then Harry, who trembles a bit in her arms, already bordering on sick. “You’ll be fantastic, love.” She reassures him, squeezing him tight. ‘You always are.” He smiles against her shoulder and hugs back, his arms tight around her waist. When she lets go, Liam is already there, ready for her but she’s expecting that, to an extent- he’s always the one she got along best with. “Knock ‘em dead, first verse man.” She teases and he laughs, but she can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eye, though that might be from the escalating screams of the fans in the arena. And then there’s Louis. There’s Louis and she isn’t sure what to say. He looks to her for a long moment, eyes blue and icy and unforgiving and for a moment, she’s petrified. But then he smiles, small and tight, but a smile all the same and hugs her. Harry comes up next to Louis and hugs her again, too and then the rest of them pile on as well, till it’s the five of them around her, hugging her but embracing each other even tighter and for those few seconds, she just feels very small, the same way she gets when she stands on the beach and looks out at the sea.
If she learned one thing, it’s that what happens between the boys is the one thing that they manage to keep as theirs and only theirs. Whatever it is, they’ve figured out how to pull it away from the reporters and the tabloids and even the handlers and the staff and the screaming girls on the other side of the stadium walls. And she can’t take that from them, no matter how badly she might want to.
So she stands in the wings, her heart swelling with this proxy sort of joy as she watches her boys. Because in the end, despite everything, that’s what they are: her boys
(And this thing between the five of them, whatever it is- the world couldn’t understand, not if they begged it to. And as she watches them take their bows, clutching each other’s hands like they might drown, she wonders if perhaps they already have.)
fandom: one direction
pairings: ot5
rating/words: PG-15/~9,700
warnings: OC narrator
summary: It’s not so bad, she thinks, not so bad as she’s making it out in her head to be. They just need each other because, when she thinks about it, it’s not like they really have anyone else.
a/n: endless thanks to marissa and naughticals for their endless beta work!
She supposes it starts with Harry, as seemingly everything does.
Harry’s always been sensitive, maybe even a little melodramatic, but Jane’s always chalked that up to him being young and slightly spoiled. Spoiled may not be the right word- doted on, is more like it. The attention doesn’t sour him the way it might to someone less charitable, but he occasionally wallows in it, smirking quietly as he glazes over his mentions on Twitter, or letting a wide grin break through when the fans cheer during his solos. The boys keep him from getting too smug about it, though- they look out for him, for each other.
It’s about halfway through the tour when Harry begins acting strangely. It’s a slow progression of things, little nuances that Jane never noticed at the time, but now, looking back, she’s kicking herself for not seeing anything amiss. It starts with his fingernails- he’s always been a biter (Lou Teasdale is constantly slapping his hands away from his mouth, examing his blunt nails with exasperation and worry and reminders for him to take time to de-stress.) but he begins to go at the cuticles and the skin too, biting the nails so close to the quick that they bleed. He gets quiet, withdrawn- he doesn’t talk much at the shows, not to Louis, not to the rest of the boys and only to the crowd when he absolutely has to. There are bags under his eyes, like he isn’t sleeping enough, which is strange because he spends most of his time in his bunk. He just seems so listless and Jane admits it- she’s at a loss.
Harry’s always been a difficult one- he doesn’t like being told what to do- but he usually acts out in big, public displays- the tattoos and the boozing and the lyric changes during shows (though that’s more Louis’ doing than his own, Jane suspects.) It isn’t like him to mope and get sulky about things but it’s not sulking, exactly, what he’s doing. Just a general numbness that Jane’s not used to in any of them- these five candles that burn so bright that they might blind themselves. He’s become obedient, complacent- words Jane never thought she would use to describe Harry, ever. He goes where he’s told and he doesn’t make a fuss or crack jokes or get sassy with the rest of the handlers, which is sort of a relief, as they can now dedicate more time to getting Louis and Zayn to simmer down, but it’s a flag, a warning sign to Jane, but she can’t figure out exactly what it’s warning her of.
She doesn’t fawn over the boys the way Lou does- that’s not her job. Her priorities are keeping them on time and on topic for interviews and, in theory, the buck stops there. But it’s hard not to get attached to them, like surrogate sons. Loud, spastic, sporadically bratty sons, but kin nonetheless. So if one of them is obviously not doing alright, she finds it well within the bounds of her job description to figure out what it is.
Jane talks to Anne, who gets a little teary but says her son hasn’t mentioned anything to her, nor Gemma. She talks to Lou, who’s noticed exactly what Jane has, but can’t get Harry to open up. She even tries approaching Josh, as a last resort, who looks anxious for a second but replaces it quickly with a lazy shrug and says he’ll talk to Niall and see if he knows anything.
There’s the obvious option- asking one of the other boys, but Jane ruled that out almost right away. Zayn, regardless of what he knows, will see giving any sort of information to Jane as selling out his friend. Niall’s oblivious for the most part- it’s all water off a duck’s back to him and he doesn’t really notice the others’ bad moods. Louis will get defensive and steely, all stiff upper lip and cold blue eyes and quick defenses because if he didn’t know that anything was wrong with Harry, he’s going to pretend he did and if he does know that something’s wrong, he isn’t going to want anyone helping Harry but himself. And Liam is the worst option, because there’s no kidding yourself when you talk to that boy. He’ll either know nothing or everything and Jane will be able to tell right away. Liam’s eyes are too clear to fool anyone and it’d worry Jane even more to have it confirmed that something was wrong with Harry and yet have no one telling her what it was.
She brings it up as casually as she can one day, to the only person in the “inner circle”, so to speak, that she thinks might help her. But Eleanor is just confused, genuinely so, and says she knows nothing. “Harry wouldn’t really come to me with sort of thing. Just cause, you know…of everything” she trails off and they leave it at that.. “I could talk to Louis, if you’d like?” It’s a formality, Jane knows- the last thing Eleanor wants to do is talk to Louis about Harry’s problems (and it’s not like Louis would tell her jack shit.) so Jane declines, thanking her anyway.
The whole exchange leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth, as every conversation with Eleanor does.
++
Things escalate quickly, no thanks in part to the fan blogs, who pick up on Harry’s drastic mood drop in no time flat. Rumors- depression medication! An eating disorder! A failed suicide attempt! - fly across tumblr and twitter and whatever other social media sites starting with T that all the fans are using nowadays. Jane catches Liam, the only one who really follows that sort of thing, stealing glances at Harry, his brow creasing with worry and it lifts a bit of the burden off of Jane’s shoulders to know that she’s not the only one fretting over this.
Not that they have much time to see Harry at all though. He comes out of his bunk to eat and to leave the bus, he sleeps during the short amount of time that they’re at the hotels and stays quiet and withdrawn during the interviews and junkets. The only time he seems to come alive at all is during the shows but even then it’s false and strained. Jane wonders if the other boys can tell. They must, she reasons, they’re his best friends.
She stands in the kitchenette of one of the suites (Zayn and Niall’s, she thinks?), making herself a sandwich while Zayn, Liam and Niall eat Taco Bell and watch some inane show about a cupcake competition behind her. Louis and Harry are nowhere to be found, but Jane doubts they’re together, as Harry is rarely with anyone at all. It’s just weirdish, the whole thing- Jane will catch him lightly goofing with Josh or talking with Sandy and sometimes Harry will even plop himself down next to her and start a conversation, but whenever the other four boys show up, Harry disappears, like he was never there in the first place.
So when Harry appears at the door separating Zayn and Niall’s suite and his and Louis’, Jane can’t help but feel oddly shocked. She can’t remember the last time she saw Harry with the others in a normal, non-work related setting. They must be a tad surprised too, because they all turn their attention away from the telly to him, Niall having to twist in his chair so much that he ends up sitting completely backwards on it. “Hi, Haz.” Liam chirps, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible but failing miserably. For a moment, Harry looks panicked, but manages to give an awkward wave before locking eyes with Jane. “Jane, could you…ah…could you…” He’s staring at her like he’ll burst into flames or something if he looks anywhere else in the room. Out of her peripheral, Jane can see that Niall’s turned his attention back to the cupcake battle, but Liam and Zayn are having a silent conversation via facial expressions that includes a lot of shrugging and head jerks in Harry’s general direction.
Harry’s eyes flicker to them for a moment before glancing back to Jane. “Could you just have someone wake me up in time for the fitting?” he babbles and it’s the quickest Jane has ever heard him speak. He looks miserable and uncomfortable, like being in the same room with the others was physically painful for him. Jane nods, not wanting to watch him suffer any longer but then Louis walks in the front door of the suite, sipping a mug of tea and grinning. He halts when he sees Harry, his mouth falling open in mock, exaggerated surprise. “It is aliiiiiiiiive!” He exclaims, mimicking Dr. Frankenstein, complete with dramatic arm movements and by the time Jane turns back around, Harry’s already gone back into his own room, the adjoining door slamming shut definitively.
Louis stares for a moment and then shrugs, trying to play it off. He joins the others on the couch, sitting next to Zayn, playing oblivious to all of their stares. He pretends to notice them, giving a fake flinch. “What?” he asks, but the guilt coloring the edge of his voice gives him away.
“Why are you always such a fuckin’ twat?” Zayn asks him, only half joking. Louis shrugs and says he doesn’t know what Zayn could possibly be referring to.
“It’s the first time he’s come out of his cave in days and you went and scared him back in there.” Liam snaps. And there’s what Jane was looking for- the others have noticed something.
“He looked pretty well on his way before I showed up.” Louis points out coolly, taking another sip of his drink. ”Not my fault he’s being so weird.”
Niall turns back around in his seat so that he’s facing the kitchenette. “Have you noticed it, Jane?” he calls and Jane freezes, not sure how to play this one off. She doesn’t want them to think she’s been prying and if she admits to worrying, they’ll get all mock-sentimental on her and that’s the last thing she needs right now.
“Noticed what?” she lies.
“Harry. How he’s being all mopey and skittish lately.”
Jane shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Just thought he was going through a patch, that’s all.”
She watches as they all exchange looks, heads swiveling as they all try to make eye contact at once. Zayn finally catches Louis’ eye and gives him some sort of significant look. Louis just shakes his head.
“We’re all quite concerned.” She says, vaguely referring to the other handlers and Paul and Lou. She had ended up speaking to all of them about it and reactions had ranged from solemn agreement to brush offs and “I’m sure he’s just in a mood.” And Jane wants to believe that too, she really does, but she’s just never seen Harry in such a foul state before. There’s part of her that just wants to rant to the rest of the boys, because it seems like she’s the only one who’s concerned about it and if there is something going on, the four of them will be concerned too and it’s petty but she needs that, a little bit, she really needs that solidarity. She knows that the four of them can do more for Harry than any of the rest of them combined and she’s this close to all-out begging them to talk to him about it.
But she’s also knows that the one thing that will get them to cave quicker than anything else is when someone poses a threat to their inner boys’ club. She doesn’t like taking advantage of it- none of the handlers do, because that’s just cruel, really and the whole thing is sweet- that they need each other so much that the danger of being separated gets them nervous. But desperate times call for desperate measures and she takes a bite of her sandwich and chews for a moment before saying “They’ve been talking about maybe taking him to see a doctor.”
Another few seconds of frantic head turning and subtle motioning and Jane allows herself a small smile of triumph. “Not just yet, Jane.” Liam says and there’s some rustling and creaking as the boys scramble off of the couch. “We’ll go talk to him. See if we can knock some sense into him.” Her smile widens and she turns around to thank them, but they’re already gone, crossing into the adjacent room where Harry is, closing the door and locking it behind them.
++
She gives it an hour or so. She wanders back to her own room that she shares with the assistant publicist and goes through tomorrow’s itinerary, checking and double checking departure and arrival times, mapquest-ing the addresses for their morning interview, where they’re going for lunch, the afternoon interview and the venue. She makes note of the quick costume fitting that Louis and Niall have at four thirty (Lydia had written her a note on a bright yellow Post-It - “Lo- torn seam in stage trousers/ N- needs hem on black pants let down. 15-20 min. tops. Also- Z- find a way to secure knot on trainer laces.”- and stuck it in her planner. God bless.)
For the most part, Jane’s main concern is fielding pre-interviews and making sure the boys fulfill all necessary interview obligations, but that eventually bled into keep a vague schedule of where they are supposed to be every second of the day. It’s partially her own fault for being over-thorough, but she knows that Paul appreciates it and he’s the kind of guy that just makes you want to do everything you can to help him out. She types out a quick, condensed schedule of tomorrow’s events and saves it as a draft in her phone, to be sent out tonight to the boys and crew, as well as to be posted on all the bus doors sometime tomorrow morning, before the boys are roused from bed.
Her list of things to do is dwindling low and she likes to save a few unfinished tasks for later at night, when the boys are performing and she has to wind down for bed so she packs up her ever-present day planner and travels down the hall to Harry’s room, where, she’s assuming, the boys are still gathered. The door is locked, so she presses her ear to it, searching for any sounds of conflict or distress. There’s nothing really, just a few low murmurs and that’s either really good or really bad. She knocks softly and, when nothing happens, raps on the door a little harder. “Boys.” She calls. The murmuring stops. “Costume fitting soon.” She feels a stab of guilt for interrupting, and for a moment, she panics, wondering if maybe she hadn’t given them enough time to break through to Harry, if they had just needed ten more minutes and she had ruined everything.
But Zayn opens the door and nods at her, smiling and god, it’s like her entire body just deflates with relief, like she had been holding her breath for the past week and she was finally able to inhale. She steps back, allows the rest of them to pile out into the hallway. Her eyes go to Harry immediately- He walks out with Liam’s arm around his shoulders playfully and Jane could just sing when she seems him- he still looks a little nervous, a little ill, but there’s color in his face and his eyes are wide and bright again, almost all traces of his previous despondency wiped clean. Louis comes up on the other side of him and whispers something in his ear and Harry bursts out laughing- he laughs ! It’s more than Jane could ever have hoped for. All of them are smiling and so Jane smiles, too, proud of herself for pushing a resolution on this.
But then her phone buzzes- a mass text from Lydia, saying she’s almost done with the alterations and can someone have to boys come see her ASAP for a quick fitting?- and so Jane is ushering the boys down the hall, ringing up one of the drivers to have a van waiting downstairs. Back to work and back to normal.
++
Jane’s involved in a high stakes game of gin rummy with Paul and a sound technician in the kitchenette in one of the suites when the boys, sans Louis, tromp in, loud and hyper and talking at each other with outside voices. Paul gives a monotone “Settle down, boys.” As he concentrates on his current hand of cards, but it doesn’t do much except get the boys to lower their voices about a half a decibel. Jane half-listens to what they’re saying, something about going out for lunch together, and out of habit, she runs through their schedule for the day in her head. They just came back from their only interview today and she’s almost positive they haven’t been invited to lunch anywhere. The show isn’t for a few hours so she gives a non-committal nod and tells them to bring a handler with them, as always.
Niall and Zayn cheer but Liam leans forward, tapping Paul’s shoulder to get his attention. “But Paul, where’s Louis?” he asks, slightly concerned. Paul looks up from his cards for a moment, thinking.
“He’s out with Eleanor, isn’t he?” he says, looking to Jane for confirmation. Jane nods, glancing up just in time to see their faces fall. It’s like a cloud passes over all of them- the four go silent, looking to each other with a mix of anger and disappointment.
“Well.” Harry starts, chewing at this thumbnail. “We could wait a bit.” The rest of them all nod slowly, still exchanging glances.
“Wouldn’t want to go without him.” Liam reasons as they all move to flop onto the couch in front of the suite’s television. Jane catches Paul’s eye and they laugh to themselves while the sound tech gives an exaggerated eye roll. Jane turns her attention back to her hand of cards, but she can hear the boys behind her, bickering over what to watch.
She had been so overjoyed when they had finally gotten Harry to snap out of whatever funk he was in that she had barely noticed the complete one-eighty that he did in the days following. Where he had been sullen and quiet, he was now perpetually energized and ready to go. Where he had shied away and even avoided the other boys, he was now hanging off of them every chance he got. They had always been a very affectionate group- Jane had known that coming into the job- and it was a very physical friendship between them all, but Jane doesn’t remember things ever being like this. They were now always, always together, except when they were forcibly placed apart for interviews or scheduled appearances (and on those occasions, she could count on them being bratty and petulant the whole time.) The frequent public displays of affection had all melded together into one constant stream of hugs and touching and kissy faces in each other’s directions. And it’s not that they hadn’t been doing that before, but now she catches them doing it when no one’s looking- legs thrown in each other’s laps, heads close together when they whisper, arms perpetually around each other’s waists.
She doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, mostly because she doesn’t know what conclusion she could possibly jump to. She doesn’t even know what she’s implying with her observations, how could she expect anyone else to? At first, she just chalked it up to a general outpouring of love for Harry after his difficult stretch, but it’s been days- longer than the said difficult stretch itself- and the boys looked closer than ever, if that was even possible. And then this- the looks of sadness when Paul said that Louis was out with his girlfriend- she gets a flash of a conclusion, a connection of the dots that makes her gasp a little and push the half-formed thought away immediately. She’s just being absurd.
“Your turn.” Robert, the sound tech, tells her, snapping her back into reality. She laughs nervously, for a moment irrationally panicked that somehow Paul and Rob knew what she had just been thinking about. But Paul’s staring at her expectantly and Robert’s fishing in his pocket for a lighter and god, she’s just being stupid. Stupid and silly and overreacting.
In the background, she hears Zayn urge “Call him, call Lou.” And Niall agreeing enthusiastically. Jane blocks it out and plays her hand- a good one, and Rob curses under his breath as he surveys his cards. She stares at her cards, trying to feign concentration in the game but her mind is elsewhere, still eavesdropping behind her. There’s some rustling and then a dial tone projected over a speaker on one of their phones.
“Eleanor said they’re staying out until quarter to two or so.” Paul calls across the room as he idly moves a card from the back of his fan to the middle. The boys say nothing back and Jane resists the urge to turn around and watch them. Louis picks up on the second ring, his voice sounding tinny over the low-quality speaker.
“What do you need?” he asks, not sounding annoyed or distracted in the slightest, which is a damn miracle, because it usually takes all the concentration he has to stay focused for all of five minutes when Jane’s on the phone with him.
“We want to go to lunch!” Niall says, struggling to keep his voice low. “Come back!” There’s a quiet chorus of “yes, come home!” and “we miss you!” and Louis’s soft laughter on the other end. Jane grips the arm of her chair tightly and screaming at herself to stop over thinking things.
“New game?” Rob says and Jane must have nodded or something because he offers the deck of cards to her to shuffle. Jane grabs the deck and cuts it, tapping the sides of each half onto the table to straighten the cards out. The boys have gone a bit quieter now, thank god, and she lines the two halves up to face each other, bent in her fingers, so that she can shuffle them. She lets the first few cards flip down into the table, interlocking. Harry’s voice drifts from the couch, soft and intimate and not meant to be heard by anyone else except the five of them.
“Come back home to us, Louis.”
Us.
She loses her grip on one half of the deck, breaking the shuffle, and the cards shoot out from between her fingers, flying across the table and falling to the floor.
++
Will, the head publicist and her direct boss, is a slight man, mid-forties, with a dramatic widow’s peak and thick auburn hair and he doesn’t travel with the tour but checks in every day on the telephone. He scares Jane a bit, because she’s just generally non-confrontational (timid, if she’s being honest with herself) and he’s loud and demanding and he shouts when people fuck up. But he admires her for her attention to detail and she does her best not to give him anything to yell at her about, so he often comes to her with special tasks or specific assignments that he needs done.
He calls around one AM the night that they’re in Chicago and Jane’s already getting ready for bed, having just sent out tomorrow’s schedule while she brushes her teeth in the tiny hotel bathroom. It must be at least six in the morning in London, she reasons, but Will calls at all hours of the night with no regard for what time zone his assistants are in, so she’s used to it by now. She presses her phone between her shoulder and her cheek so that she can floss and listen at the same time. Will starts in right away- she’s learned not to even bother to say hello when she knows he’s on the other line.
“Jane, I need you to do me a big favor.” He starts and she’s already cringing- he only says that when he’s about to ask something that he suspects she might not enjoy doing. Will’s never asked her to do anything out rightly unmoral but she’s constantly on the edge of her seat for the day when that might happen. She prays it never does, that he goes to someone with more of a stomach for the seedier aspects of the job, someone who isn’t as shy and apprehensive as she is.
“Of course.” She says, threading a piece of floss between her molars.
“Just check in on the boys; maybe keep a close eye for the next few days.” Jane can hear the sound of a car being unlocked and a door opening. Will must be driving to work. “The theory blogs at large are still chattering about Harry and his slump and of course it’s not causing enough buzz to really be of concern but you know how things go once bullshit like that hits the big stalker twitters.” And then there’s the sound of the door slamming closed and the car engine started. “We just don’t need a repeat of the past few days. And people are pestering Anne again and god knows the women puts up with enough on a daily basis and also, we don’t want her to feel the need to, god forbid, actually reference it so just make sure all the boys are feeling alright and all that. We really just need them to be on their best behaviors for the next few interviews so indulge them, if that’s what it takes.”
There’s a whole list of forbidden behaviors that “indulging them” might allow and Jane attempts to start in and ask exactly where Will wants her drawing the line but he steamrolls over her response, saying something else that’s unintelligible over him laying on the horn and cursing under his breath.
“Driving in London, I swear, nothing worse.” He mumbles and Jane continues to floss, staring at herself in the mirror while she waits for further instruction. “So just be really careful with the pre-interview nonsense and try to keep them all happy. Simon hasn’t been pleased with the fan base response and it’s not just Tumblr, Twitter’s been a mess, more so then it usually is, of course, and, oh Christ, Google the latest Sugarscape article and let it boggle your mind how we continually give those half-wit fucks interview access.” Jane reaches for the mouthwash and laughs. Will’s burning hatred of Sugarscape was eclipsed only by his love of the positive attention the Sugarscape readers gave the boys.
“I’ll be all over it, Will, I promise.” She assures him.
“I know you will be. Thank you, love.” He says and she lets her heart flutter at the praise. He’s a tough boss but a kind word from him is more than enough validation to make it worthwhile. “Now, about tomorrow, there’s been a change-“
“I’ve already noted it.” She says before taking a swig of her mouthwash and holding the phone away from her so she can gargle and spit quickly. When she presses it back to her ear, Will’s in the middle of a sentence.
“- group interview at four, and then the mag wants to pull them off in pairs for individual interviews, so if you can get them all to stop humping each other for four minutes to get that done, then that’d be terrific-“ Will quips, sounding distracted by something on the other end of the line. Jane feels a surprising flash of indignation, of protectiveness, the kind she usually only feels for her siblings.
She wonders if maybe she should say something to defend them, but Will’s already en route to discussing a new, last-minute interview. The opportunity passes.
Perhaps it’s for the better, though. She would’ve made a fool of herself anyways.
++
She chooses not to call it spying, because that word carries the sort of negative connotation that Jane’s not comfortable assigning to what she’s paid to do. She’s just keeping an eye on them and, well, sometimes that means putting herself in a position to overhear conversations that she may not normally be privy to. Being a tour publicist, she’s usually never asked to dig up dirt or to pry into their lives, so luckily, she more or less gets to stay out of it but occasionally, she’ll be told by a higher-up to “check on things” or to “listen in” and it’s implicit that that means finding out more than what the boys present to them at face value.
So when she sees the boys tromp into Harry and Louis’ shared suite one night after a show, still drunk off their post-show adrenaline rushes, and she slowly creeps into the adjoining suite, she can justify it to herself, however lamely. She’s just looking out for them. In fact, she’s not even in there to check in. She’s looking for the glasses that she left in the suite earlier and that’s not even a lie.
She turns the handle as silently as possible; nodding to the security guard posted a little ways down the hall. Slipping into the dark room, she quickly removes her sensible heels, despite the carpeted floor. She can hear the boys in the next room over and at first she thinks they’re either being very, very loud or the walls are incredibly thin and it isn’t until she’s halfway across the room that she looks up and sees the door that connects the two suites is wide open, light from Harry and Louis’ room spilling out onto the dark blue carpet of the adjoining suite in a sharp triangle of yellow light. Jane inhales sharply; acutely aware of how close she was to stepping right into the open doorway and the boys’ view. She flattens herself against the wall, trying to calm her breathing.
She hates acting like this, feeling like this, like she has to hide what she’s doing. She shouldn’t have to creep around to see them, she should be able to just walk right in, chat a little, remind them of tomorrow’s schedule and leave. But that’s in a perfect world, a world where the boys don’t have their own little circle, a world where the boys are honest with them, don’t view Jane and the other handlers like forces to be toppled and vanquished. That’s in a world where the boys weren’t a completely separate entity, cut off from anything that might ever attempt to separate them.
She tried, she really did. She tried so hard to put it out of her mind, the idea that they were a “them”, not just in Jane’s abstract mental image but also as a clearly defined relationship between the five of them. She doesn’t know how to phrase it, doesn’t know if she ever could but there’s something about the way they press against each other in a crowd, the way she sometimes catches Zayn looking at Liam, or Harry looking at Louis or all of them looking at Niall when he’s had a particularly brilliant show. And part of her just wants to know , to know for sure if she’s either a pervert or correct or somewhere in between. She hates not knowing, despises it, and it frustrates her that there’s this thing between all of them that she can’t label and file away, to be brought out and examined when things have calmed down and she has time to think and be rational. Instead, she just has this- pressing against a wall in a hotel room, listening to the sound of one of them opening up the hotel window and the sharp click, click, click of a lighter.
The adjoining door swings into the suite that Jane’s in, so she inches her way closer into the shadow that it casts against the wall, and it’s a silly protection- there’s no way they can see her- but it makes her heart slow to a more manageable pace. It’s then that she’s able to realize that she may as well walk out now, because she can’t see into the boys room at all, hidden behind the door. She can hear a bit, but they aren’t saying much. There’s the faint start-up chime of the iPod speakers and then the opening beat of some Frank Ocean song that Jane can’t be bothered to remember the title of begins to play.
“No, not this one.” She hears Niall say. “It’s the third one. Or maybe the fourth…… eh, fuck it, just let this one play.” There’s springs creaking and the distinct sound of the minibar opening and some bottles clinking together but nothing that could possible clue her in to what’s going on.
She’s about to leave when she glances around the room and sees a long mirror hanging on the far wall, directly opposite the adjoining door. Her stomach clenches as she sees that the placement of it is near perfect- she can see the reflection of half the hotel bed and Harry stretched out on it, the span of empty bed next to him. An unidentified hand (definitely not Liam, probably not Louis, so either Zayn or Niall) appears at his side, offering a thick joint, which Harry grabs and inhales from deeply, closing his eyes, his chest rising with it. He holds it a minute and another hand (could be the same one, Jane’s not sure) deftly grabs the joint from between his fingers. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before blowing it out through his nose.
“Aw, you just wasted a perfectly good mouthful.” Niall protests from somewhere that sounds like the left of the bed. Harry glances up as though he didn’t quite hear him, his eyes already rimmed a bit red.
“….what?” he asks and Niall laughs, suddenly appearing on the bed next to him, on his knees in just a white tank top and boxers.
“Learn to share.” He teasesbefore hopping off the bed again and Harry just nods, his response about two seconds delayed as he pulls off his beanie to reveal the slim elastic hair band that he wears under it to keep his curls out of his face. Someone (Louis, Jane thinks?) near the window laughs and Harry blushes, quickly reaching up to pull the black band off his head and tosses it off the side of the bed.
“You’d make a really cute lesbian.” Zayn offers as he climbs up onto the bed next to him, reaching out to pet at the back of Harry’s hair, scratching at his scalp. Harry sighs, leaning into it, into Zayn, rolling over so that he’s draped onto him and Zayn puts an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder. There’s a flash of white at the corner of the mirror and then Niall’s on the other side of Harry, joint in hand. “Give it here.” Zayn gestures for it and then calls out behind him- “Lou, c’mere.”
Louis bounds up from the left of the room, climbing onto the bed and sitting on Harry’s calves, obscuring Jane’s view of Harry’s face and Niall’s whole body. Harry kicks weakly, groaning in protest but Louis just pats him on the thigh and smiles. Jane sees a hand on Louis’ shoulder from someone behind him (Liam, she has to assume) and then Liam’s chin resting on the top of Louis’ head. Louis reaches up, grabbing Liam’s hand and pulling on it so he can hold it properly against his chest.
Zayn takes a hit off the joint, the lit end burning red in the dim light of the room and Jane can smell the pot, thick and dank in the warm air. He gestures to Louis, who leans forward, parting his lips slowly, and puts his hand on Zayn’s jaw. Their faces are so close that their foreheads are touching and Jane holds her breath. Zayn exhales the smoke in Louis’ mouth and Louis sucks it in, his grip on Zayn’s chin tightening. The rest of them are deathly still, silently watching. Zayn smiles and for a moment, Jane thinks that Louis might kiss him, but Louis breaks away, laughing and rubbing at his forehead. “That’s good, that’s really good.” He says, his voice a bit wrecked.
He bounces a little, almost smacking Liam on the chin with the top of his head. Harry groans again, presumably from the ache in his calves where Louis is still perched. Harry swats at him while taking another hit before passing the joint on to Niall next to him. Louis just cackles again and uses his grip on Liam’s hand to bounce even harder. “Ey.” Niall hits him on the shoulder and passes the joint to Liam, who takes a quick inhale before dangling it in front of Louis’s face. “Stop tormenting my boy.” Louis grabs the joint, nearly done by now, ash hanging precariously off the end of it. He leans forward, his reflection traveling off the edge of the mirror for a moment before he pops back up, the ash taken care of in some way or another. He looks to Niall with his eyebrows raised.
“Oh, your boy?” he questions teasingly.
“Our boy.” Zayn corrects, pulling Harry into him again. They all laugh softly and Louis glances upwards at Liam, who’s still looming above him. He takes Liam’s hand and kisses his palm, slowly, deliberating, before looking back up at him. Liam flushes, biting his lip. Jane’s knees are locked, her hands clammy and she wipes them on her jeans. Her legs are aching and she’s burning hot beneath her wool sweater and she’s already running through excuses in her head, reasons to give when Will asks her why she’d like to work in the central offices in London rather than on tour.
But she doesn’t move, still rooted in her spot, her eyes straining to study the reflection of the mirror opposite her and for a split second, Zayn looks up too, locking eyes with her in the mirror, his brow furrowing and Jane gasps softly, rushing for the door. She prays that he didn’t recognize her and that, if he did, she had appeared only as a vision in the murky darkness, hazy and dreamlike through the smoke.
++
Someone tips one of the stalker twitters off about the location of their mid-morning interview in Florida and they’re absolutely mobbed on their way out the door. Jane clutches her messenger bag tightly to her chest, ducking to avoid the clawing hands reaching out at her from every side. Preston is in front of her, between her and the boys, struggling to fend off the flailing arms holding posters and cameras and cell phones. She looks upward, at the expanse of bright blue sky, attempts to block out the constant and piercing screams of the girls around her and counts her breaths- one, two three- as slow and deep as she can get them. It’s been a while since Jane’s had to deal with a crowd like this- managing the world’s premiere boy band teaches you a thing or two about keeping things like interview locations on the down-low- and she’s momentarily stunned by the overwhelming force of them.
One of the girls throws out an arm or a leg and Jane doesn’t see it, too preoccupied with making sure her bag stays intact and keeping her blood pressure under control, so she trips, losing her footing in the mob. She thinks she may have screamed, but it’s swallowed up immeadiatly by the cacophony of the crowd around her. For a moment, she has a vision of herself hitting the ground, being trampled by the seemingly endless sea of people, but her outstretched hands grab onto Preston’s massive arm and he turns, as much as he can in the limited space and puts an arm around her, drawing her in close to him. She immeadiatly feels safer, clutching her bag against her with one arm and holding onto Preston with the other. She can see Liam directly in front of her and Harry’s curly head poking out above the crowd, but the other three are lost to her.
They make it about three-fourths of the way to the vans waiting on the sidewalks when Jane senses something wrong. Preston half- drags her the rest of the way to the van, where the boys are already waiting inside, all five of them squeezed into the back row of seats. She climbs in, Preston coming in behind her and closing the door. The driver revs the engine, a signal to the mob of girls to back up or else. The sound of pained, labored breathing hits her and her skin prickles, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She turns in her seat to the boys sitting behind her, to find Niall in the middle of them, breathing heavily, his head in his hands.
“Give him some space, give him some space.” Zayn keeps saying, putting a hand on Louis’ chest to make him lean back from Niall’s prone form. Liam’s got a slack arm around him, rubbing circles over his back. Harry looks slightly ill as well, pale and shaking and Louis pulls him into a cuddle the minute he notices.
“Is he alright?” Preston asks and all the boys nod in unison, not taking their eyes off of Niall.
“He’s fine.” Liam mumbles, rubbing at the tensed muscles in Niall’s shoulder. That seems to relax him a little and he manages to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He’s got Zayn and Liam on one side, Harry and Louis on the other, flanking him like they’re his guardian angels. Harry leans in close, whispers something, and Niall nods, swallowing heavily. Zayn grabs Niall’s hand, telling him to count his breaths.
“I’m so sorry.” He wheezes. “I just…no one warned me, I didn’t know they would all be out there, no one told-“ he inhales heavily again, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to regain his breathing. Harry inhales with him, watching him with wide eyes and when Niall gives a particularly rough wheeze, Harry and Liam both flinch. The more Niall calms down, the closer they all move into together, so by the time he’s breathing steadily, they’re pressed up against one another, fitting all up and down the length of their bodies. Harry and Liam both leave some space between themselves and Niall, not wanting to trigger another attack, but Niall ends up leaning into Liam with a sigh and closing his eyes and Harry takes that as his cue to sidle up along side him, resting his chin on Niall’s shoulder.
“Does he need a doctor? Medication or something?” Jane asks, her voice wavering.
“No.” they all reply at once and then they look to each other, a bit startled at their unison. Liam covers for them quickly.
“He’s fine, he’ll be fine.” He tells her, his arm still around Niall’s shoulder. Niall gives a rasping cough and they all lean in, Louis petting at his hair.
“Are you sure?” Jane tries again. It’s like talking to a brick wall at this point but Niall still looks quite ill. It’s an image she’s seen a million times- the boys braced together against the world. She see it at the end of every concert, in every interview- this idea of them as a united front but it’s different this time, somehow. It’s internalized, that strength, and instead of pushing out against something else, they’re curling in towards each other, like whatever else is out there doesn’t even matter because it couldn’t possibly hurt them, not when they’re like this.
“Yes, we’re sure.” Liam sighs. “Just…just give us a few minutes alone, yeah? He just needs to catch his breath.” Jane nods, turning back around in her seat and staring out the window for the remainder of the ride. It’s not so bad, she thinks, not so bad as she’s making it out in her head to be. They just need each other because, when she thinks about it, it’s not like they really have anyone else.
++
It takes the long break to finally rid herself of her (stupid, silly, unfounded) suspicions. She goes home to her family in Wales, spends the empty weeks relaxing, aside from the occasionally email from Paul regarding the logistics of next few stops on the tour before MSG. She reads a lot and learns to bake but has to avoid the market, for fear of stumbling across one of those teeny bopper magazines with the boys plastered across the front. She frequents Twitter until she catches sight of one of those stalker accounts claiming that the boys all met up in London and went out before all spending the night at Harry and Louis’ new flat. A few hours later, pictures surface and she valiantly ignores them but curiosity gets the best of her eventually (and these are her clients she tells herself- it’d be irresponsible not to check up on their whereabouts.) and she checks out the first link she sees claiming to be the photos.
It’s just one photo- taken with a fan’s camera, of the boys getting into a cab. Niall’s already inside it, but his arm is sticking out, gripping Liam’s shirt sleeve, pulling him into the car. Liam’s smiling, turning to Louis behind him, who has a very obvious arm around Harry’s waist (and Will is going to throw a fit when he sees that, she can already tell). Zayn’s bringing up the pack, clutching a bottle in one hand, holding onto Harry with the other and he’s laughing at something, his head tipped back and Jane can almost hear it in her ears- the sounds of the traffic passing by and Harry’s low whispers and Zayn’s peels and peels of infectious laughter breaking all of them out in giggle fits. She’s heard it so many times before that it seems weird and disjointed now, seeing it in still-motion, just a photograph, a cheap imitation of the real thing.
She’s proud of herself for the way she keeps her head, looking over the photo with a rational mindset, not jumping to any wild conclusions. They’re just being themselves- loud and noisy and drunken teenage boys, having a laugh. She smiles to herself and there’s a flood of relief- it really was all in her head. They’re all just good friends, great friends and they’re lucky to have each other and she’s lucky to witness that kind of bond between such bright boys.
She lets herself click through a few more fan photos, but they’re all basic variations on that same first picture- all of them climbing into the taxi. In some of them, she can see the gathering of screaming girls in the background and she plays her favorite game, trying to find the most deranged-looking fan. She settles on a girl in her late teens with badly dyed red hair and a “One Direction” t-shirt on, who looks close to tears.
It isn’t under the fourth or fifth photo she finds that she notices something. Louis pulling a face, looking directly into the fan’s camera with an exaggerated look of apprehension. She can’t remember if he looked that way in all the photos or only in the one she first notices it in. She zooms in on the picture, trying to see whatever it is that triggered that reaction but finds nothing. She scans Twitter again, her nerves prickling. She lets herself think ridiculous things- someone had a gun pointed at them, someone was throwing bottles, someone they knew had unexpectedly shown up. She finds a link boasting “NEW 1D PHOTOS SHARPENED/LIGHTENED” and pulls the image up, reassuring herself that it’s nothing. She scans the background, checking for any wayward fans and finding nothing. She checks the expressions of the other boys’, but their faces are hidden or too muddled to really make out. Finally, she lets her eyes travel downwards, the tangle of the boys’ limbs standing out more in the edited photo.
They’re all holding hands.
She closes her laptop and tosses it to the other end of the couch, covering it with a throw pillow just for good measure and when Will emails her asking if she noticed anything unusual in the pictures, she deletes his message, lies and says she never received it, lies and says she never saw the pictures in the first place.
++
They say that things come to you when you stop looking for them and the world proves that saying right to her at the most inopportune time, as it always does.
Her day planner is arguably the most important thing she carries with her, even moreso than the iPad, because whereas the information stored on the iPad is all connected to an iCloud and therefore can be accessed at any time from any other Apple product, the details in her day planner are one of a kind. She’s got everything in there- endless amounts of notes on the boys, what they like to eat at restaurants, how they take their tea and coffee, their dress measurements, their family members, their personal contacts in case of emergency. And then she has copies of the contact information for everyone who has ever done an exemplary interview of them, the photographers they get along with, the paps that annoy them the least. If she loses it, she loses more information than she could ever possibly re-gather in this lifetime.
So when she misplaces it, she tends to lose the part of her brain that processes rational thought as well.
She’s settling down to read before going to be the night before the Madison Square Garden show when she absentmindlely grabs at her bedspeard for it, gripped with the fear that they missed an interview today. She gropes for it and, feeling that it isn’t there, tosses her book aside, gets out of bed, and proceeds to tear the room apart. It isn’t in her bag, not in the bathroom, not kicked under her bed in the frenzy of getting ready this morning. Her hands shake a bit as she struggles to remember where she put it, running through her day in her head. Not at breakfast, not at the morning interview, not at lunch- ah!
She laughs to herself for being so stupid and pulls on a sweater before leaving her room, travelling down the hall to where the boys’ adjoined (as always) suites. The door on Liam and Niall’s room is ajar (and that honestly should have been the first tip off but she’s wasn’t thinking .) so she waltzes in, ducking into the kitchenette and, when she doesn’t find her large black planner there, rummages through the tv space. Nothing. She distinctly remembers leaving it in here- or- maybe it was the other room?
She hesitates for a second by the connecting door, considering knocking but figures that the boys aren’t even inside so there’s really no point. And it’s things like that, when she looks back on them later and realizes the difference little actions like that could’ve made- that’s what drives her crazy.
It all happens in a muddled blur. She opens the door, which opens into the bedroom of the other suite, and she’s not even really thinking, not expecting anyone to be in there so when she sees all of them inside, she shrieks a bit in shock, clamping her hand over her mouth. It’s not just that they’re in there, but that they’re all together, Niall and Zayn and Liam lying on the bed, Harry on his knees at the foot of it, his back to her, and Louis standing and they’re all shirtless and flushed. Louis’ the first to hear her, or he’s the first to react because he wheels around, advancing on her immediately.
“What are you doing?!” he asks, his voice cracking and she stutters, her heart pounding and her face growing hot and Jesus Christ, what did she just get herself into? She had walked in on them cuddling together before- for God’s sake, they did in public half the time- and there had never been any problems, it has been nothing, but it’s apparent to her now that she had very much walked on something .She steps backwards, her hands groping for the door frame and all she can do is squeak and shake her head. Liam rushes up behind Louis, puts a hand on his shoulder but Louis brushes him off sharply. “Get the fuck out.” he hisses, his voice strained and for a minute, she stands at the door, paralyzed.
“Get out!” he shouts and she turns and rushes out of the room and down the hall, her blood whooshing in her ears and the knowledge that those blue eyes were watching her making her run all the faster.
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Since it’s the last show, she allows Lou Teasdale to pull her along with them. She’s seen the show more times than she can count and surprisingly, it gets annoying after the fifteenth replay, but, since it’s the very last show, she figures she can suck it up and support them at the arena. She had called Will the morning before with her request to be transferred to the Modest! Headquarters in London, citing the excuse that she didn’t like being away from her family for so long and he had gone silent for a moment, before saying that he understood and he would put in a good word for her at Human Relations once hiring season started again. It’s her last show as much as it is the boys’ last and there’s a finality to it that she’s not sure she likes. She’ll miss them, miss Paul, miss seeing the cities and the four million hotels and the interviews on the road and she’ll even miss the crowds of screaming girls, for what it’s worth.
It’s twenty minutes to showtime when she comes into the green room to find Harry lying on the couch, a washcloth over his face and his head in Zayn’s lap. “Is he hurt?” she asks, alarmed but Lou Teasdale appears on the other side of her, shaking her head.
“Poor thing just got sick.” She clucks, so full of motherly affection that it makes Jane’s heart ache for her own mum. “Liam’s throwing up in the bathroom and I just send Louis in there to make sure he hadn’t passed out or anything.” At the mention of Louis’ name, Jane tenses up. She hasn’t had to speak to any of them directly since the other night and she was hoping to put it off as long as possible, or at least until she was a bit inebriated. So she kisses Lou on the cheek and spins off to find Paul and see if he needed any help with things.
She finds them again at eight minutes to show, huddled together in the passage way leading onto the stage. She’s not nearly as drunk as she’d like to be but it’s not like she can’t hug them and wish them luck. They’re still her family, dysfunctional as they may be, and she can never deny that they deserve this, all of it. She’s never known boys who have worked harder and wanted it more than they have.
Louis and Zayn both watch her with narrowed eyes as she leans in to hug Niall and she can feel her skin prickle when she notices Zayn’s hand on Niall’s shoulder, keeping him tethered to the rest of them. She hugs Zayn next, and then Harry, who trembles a bit in her arms, already bordering on sick. “You’ll be fantastic, love.” She reassures him, squeezing him tight. ‘You always are.” He smiles against her shoulder and hugs back, his arms tight around her waist. When she lets go, Liam is already there, ready for her but she’s expecting that, to an extent- he’s always the one she got along best with. “Knock ‘em dead, first verse man.” She teases and he laughs, but she can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eye, though that might be from the escalating screams of the fans in the arena. And then there’s Louis. There’s Louis and she isn’t sure what to say. He looks to her for a long moment, eyes blue and icy and unforgiving and for a moment, she’s petrified. But then he smiles, small and tight, but a smile all the same and hugs her. Harry comes up next to Louis and hugs her again, too and then the rest of them pile on as well, till it’s the five of them around her, hugging her but embracing each other even tighter and for those few seconds, she just feels very small, the same way she gets when she stands on the beach and looks out at the sea.
If she learned one thing, it’s that what happens between the boys is the one thing that they manage to keep as theirs and only theirs. Whatever it is, they’ve figured out how to pull it away from the reporters and the tabloids and even the handlers and the staff and the screaming girls on the other side of the stadium walls. And she can’t take that from them, no matter how badly she might want to.
So she stands in the wings, her heart swelling with this proxy sort of joy as she watches her boys. Because in the end, despite everything, that’s what they are: her boys
(And this thing between the five of them, whatever it is- the world couldn’t understand, not if they begged it to. And as she watches them take their bows, clutching each other’s hands like they might drown, she wonders if perhaps they already have.)