song FOUR this chapter:
Stockholm Syndrome One Direction
Louis' POV
I sat up straight in my bus seat, woken from sleep by a sudden jolt. I sighed and stretched lightly, disappointed by another failed attempt of sleep. I plugged in my headphones and smiled instantly when I heard Harry's voice. I'm a really huge fan of One Direction. It would be phenomenal to meet them one day. The bus rolled along a few extended moments longer. By then, I'd been through 2 1/2 albums. I finally reached the bus stop near my flat, the last song on my phone ending. I climbed out, taking off towards my flat. I closed my eyes and ran harder, having memorized the route. I always tried to shorten the distance because I'm deathly afraid of the dark. I bumped into somebody, running at full speed and nearly fell onto the concrete. Luckily, the stranger that I bumped into caught me right me right as my head kissed the ground. "Sorry," I whispered, looking down and away. "'S OK." the stranger said, and I could hear his smile. My heart stopped a moment, I knew that voice. But from where?
"It was my fault really." he said, his words slurring. "Thanks for saving me anyway." I whispered, trying to step around him. "No, wait." he sighed. "Can I come with you? I'm kinda having problems with ... with my parents." he asked. "Um, sure. I- I guess so." I stuttered. What would El think, me bringing home a random guy that I found on the street? I sighed and walked towards my flat. He giggled the whole way, occasionally mumbling. "Then he walked, because it didn't want to be a banana. And I made sure that it snowed, that way that he could breathe." he explained, not really clearing anything up, just confusing me further. Then I realized : this guy was drunk. Like, wasted drunk. I held back laughs as he went on "explaining" his story. I got to the flat, trying to get in as quietly as possible. But my guest made it nearly impossible to stay even remotely quiet. He started giggling uncontrollably, stumbling. Even though the lights were off, I could hear him. Eleanor's superior hearing picked up the noise that even the deaf could have heard, showing up immediately and turning the light on. The stranger squealed and immediately turned them off, mumbling something about hide and seek. Eleanor sighed, and turned back around to turn the lights on again. I nearly keeled over when I saw who it was, roaming my kitchen, making a ruckus. Harry Styels.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod El, OHMYGOD!" I screamed. Harry stopped moving and looked at me, confused. "What? Are you OK? Do I need to call the police? The ambulance? Louis?! Say something!" she worried. I just stood there, hyperventilating at him. "El, Eleanor, Eleanor Calder, ohmygod, he's here. In my house!" I said, close to sobbing. "WHO?!" she yelled, bewildered. "It's Harry! Harry Styels! Harry Edward Styels is standing right here, right now, in our kitchen, El!" I explained. Harry coughed, uncomfortable. He seemed to suddenly be sobering up. "Oh! It's the good kind of panic! Louis William Tomlinson, don't ever scare me like that again," she said. He moved slightly, and Eleanor made her way around the island and up to him. She felt his face, her fingers flying. Harry made a face, looking at me like, What is she doing? "Oh, if you're going to remember any of this, this is Eleanor, my best friend and flat mate. She's blind, so she's just feeling your face to get a feel of how you look." I told him. She smiled. "Louis was right, you've gotten hotter over the years. And your hair has grown longer, like, really really longer. At least since I've seen you. But I lost my sight in 2012, so I'm a bit outdated." she commented. I flushed. He smirked at me.
"So why is this world renown pop standing in our kitchen?" she asked. "Well, he was kinda buzzed, and he asked me if he could come home with me since he was having some problems with his parents. But that was before I knew who he was." I told her. She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, but I thought they lived in Cheshire, no?" she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. She was easy to become suspicious. I looked at Harry, waiting for an answer. He twisted the ring on his finger, a nervous habit of his. Then it went off in my head. "He's had some problems with management." I realized. He looked away, unknowingly confirming my theory. "Why didn't you just say so?" I asked. "Because for all I knew, you could've been a journalist." he accused. Ouch. That hurt. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody." I said. There was an awkward silence. "Well, you seem OK now, so if you want, I can drive you over to your flat or hotel." I suggested. His eyes flashed with anger. "No. Um, is it OK if I possibly stayed here? With you?" he asked, eyes hopeful. I was about to say no, but then he pouted. And you don't say no to a pouting Styels. "Well, I guess, if it's OK with management and such." I said. He laughed bitterly. "I don't think they really care. Right now, they just want me as far away as possible." he grumbled, his eyes dark. "OK then, I'll sleep on the couch, and you can sleep in my bedroom." I showed him my bedroom, and he turned towards me.
"No, no. It's your bedroom, I'm the guest. You can sleep in your bedroom, I'll sleep on the couch."he said. We debated about it for a moment more, deciding that he would sleep on the bed, and I'd sleep on the floor next to the bed. I carefully removed my shirt as quick as possible, switching it out for another long-sleeved one. I got caught up in the shirt, not able to put it on. I started laughing, and Harry started laughing with me. Soon enough, we were both rolling on the floor laughing, literally. I still was entangled in my shirt. Our laughter finally died down, and we were facing each other. He leaned in closer, his breathing fanning my face. His hand rested on my waist lightly, pulling me in closer. My heart and thoughts went into overdrive, and he closed the distance so that we were mere millimeters apart. At the last moment, he pulled back, our lips brushing only slightly. I opened my eyes, and his brows were furrowed. Of course he pulled away, I thought. He's straight, why would he like you? He tensed, his grip on my waist tightening, almost painfully. "Louis?" he whispered. "Yeah?" I responded, still not looking up. He used his free hand to lift my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
"What's this?" he asks softly, pointing to my still exposed arm. I fix my shirt and don't answer. "Just- It's OK, it's nothing." I reply, not meeting his eyes. "Louis, this isn't OK. You- you shouldn't do this to yourself." he says, voice cracking. I look up at him, and his eyes are swimming with tears and worry. I cough uncomfortably, turning away again. "It's not your fault, it's mine. I- It's all my fault." I tell him, silent tears running down my face. The pad of his thumb wipes them away, and I close my eyes until they stop. I take a shaky deep breath. "So what was your problem with management?" I ask, changing the topic from my problems to his. He tenses again, his grip on my waist becoming painful. I whimper, and he draws back completely. "I'm so sorry." he apologizes. "No, it's just you were holding on a little too tight." I say. His hand snakes around my waist again. "Care to explain?" I ask. "I'm just getting so angry, because ... because ..." he trails off. He holds me by my shoulders, squeezing hard and shaking me as hard as he can, considering we're still on the floor.
"You can not tell anyone what I'm telling you right now, OK?" he said me, dead serious. "Eleanor?" I ask. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes, fine, Eleanor. But no one else. OK?" he asked. "Yes, just tell me." I say, impatient. "OK, I'm having problems with management because they're not letting me be who I want to be." he said. I look at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "They won't let me- I'm- They won't let me um, come out." he states, not looking me in the eye. "You- You're gay?" I stutter. "Yes." he says, burying his face in my shoulder, sobbing. I stroke his hair, mentally musing over how soft his hair is. "Oh Hazza, that's nothing to be ashamed of." I assure him. "But it hurts t-to have to hide wh-who I am. And people might n-not like me b-because of it. And we might l-lose some f-fans. A-and I don't want to put the b-boys through that." he whimpers. Who are the boys? Oh, right. The rest of One Direction. "Do the boys even know?" I ask. "Y-yeah." he says. "And they're OK with it, right?" I question. He looks at me as if I have three heads. "Of course they are. Zayn and Liam are in a relationship, so they won't judge me. And Niall is accepting by nature." he says. "Well then they won't judge you, and the real fans won't either." I conclude. "But I'm just scared, what if- what if everyone hates me. You don't know what it's like to be scared of people judging you, or making fun of you, or even being scared of you." he said. "Well, yeah, I actually kinda do. 'Cause I had to come out once too. It's not so bad. It actually helps you a lot in friendships, you can tell who your real and fake friends are." I confessed. "But it was hard because I hid it for nearly five years. But, you shouldn't have a problem. I mean, half of the fandom ships you with like, everyone in the band. And everyone's already going crazy over the rumors that you might be bisexual. So you've got nothing to be afraid of." I said. "You promise?" he asked. "I can't promise anything. But I'm pretty damn sure." I told him.
He smiled shakily, hugging me to him. "Thanks for the pep talk, Lou." he said, yawning. "Good night, Hazz." I whispered. "Good night, Lou." he mumbled, nuzzling his face into my neck, sending sparks up my body. It was only right before I closed my eyes to sleep when I realized that we'd both ended up sleeping on the floor.