Chapter 33: The Interview
Caroline Stewart and her photographer, Jane Wilkins, moved briskly through the sterile corridors of the hospital, the atmosphere heavy with the faint scent of disinfectant and the muted hum of activity. Caroline clutched her notebook tightly, her thoughts swirling as they approached their destination. The whole setup for this interview had been peculiar from the start.
Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan had reached out to her personally. No management, no publicists, no intermediaries—just the two of them. It was almost unheard of. Usually, interviews like this came with a mountain of stipulations: pre-approved questions, signed agreements, a dozen PR people breathing down her neck. But this? There had been nothing. No briefing, no guidelines, no restrictions. Just a time and a place, arranged only two days ago.
To make matters stranger, Caroline had fully expected a last-minute cancellation—especially after this morning's explosive article in The Sun. The piece had painted a damning picture, claiming Louis had broken one of his attacker's jaws and spinning the narrative into something grotesque. They framed him as the aggressor, suggesting that what had allegedly started as a consensual sexual encounter had turned violent because of him. The implications were vile, dripping with victim-blaming undertones, and the lack of pushback from his management only deepened the mystery.
No statements, no rebuttals, no carefully orchestrated damage control—just complete silence. Over a week had passed since the incident first came to light, and the eerie lack of response from his team felt almost unnatural. It was as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something, or someone, to break the silence.
"Still no rules or restrictions, then?" Jane asked, her camera bag slung over her shoulder, her tone skeptical as they neared the door.
"Nothing," Caroline replied, shaking her head. "No PR rep to meet us, no list of banned topics. It doesn't make sense. After that article this morning, I'd have expected the whole team to be swarming, shutting this down or dictating every word we're allowed to say. Honestly, we'll probably end up not getting an interview at all—just a carefully worded statement read out by his management."
Jane glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Damage control's usually half the job in these situations. And this? Feels like they're walking into a storm without an umbrella."
"Exactly," Caroline muttered, her grip tightening on her pen. "It's strange. Too strange. Either they're completely off the rails, ignoring management entirely, and Louis is going rogue, or…" She trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Something about it all felt wrong.
She lowered her voice slightly, as though speaking the thought too loudly might make it real. "The management might've already dropped him. And if they haven't yet, and this really is a solo act, it wouldn't be surprising if they do after this. It feels like we're watching it happen in real time—or maybe it's already happened."
The two women reached the door at the end of the hall, their footsteps echoing faintly against the linoleum. Caroline took a deep breath, her professional instincts warring with her unease.
"Well," she said, forcing an air of confidence she didn't quite feel. "Let's see what this is about. And let's hope Louis knows what he's doing."
Jane gave her a small nod, adjusting the strap of her camera bag.
Caroline lifted her hand and knocked firmly on the door.
Louis Tomlinson sat propped up against the headboard of the hospital bed, his posture deliberately composed, almost casual, though there was a stiffness in his movements that betrayed his condition. His right arm rested awkwardly on his lap, broken but without a sling, while his left shoulder remained immobile. An IV line snaked into his left arm, carefully taped in place. Yet despite the visible signs of his injuries, Louis had made every effort to conceal the fact that he was a hospital patient. The blanket was smoothed neatly over his lap, hiding the IV tubing as much as possible, and his clothes—a simple hoodie and joggers—looked freshly laundered, as though he were ready to walk out at any moment. It was clear he didn't want to be seen as a patient, as a victim—or as weak.
His polite smile as the women entered didn't quite reach his guarded, sharp blue eyes. There was a determination in his gaze, a readiness to face whatever came next, but also a flicker of fear and uncertainty lurking just beneath the surface.
By the window, Niall Horan stood with his arms crossed, his posture tense. The usual ease that accompanied him was replaced with a quiet intensity. His sharp eyes tracked Caroline and Jane as they entered, his presence protective and watchful. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that neither woman could ignore.
"Come in," Louis said evenly, his tone calm but clipped. "Good to meet you both."
Caroline exchanged a brief glance with Jane before stepping inside, her movements careful. "Thank you for having us," she said, offering a small, professional smile.
Louis inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, though his posture didn't relax. "Thanks for coming," he replied, his voice steady, though there was a faint tremor of vulnerability behind his words.
"Call me Louis," he said immediately, cutting through the formality with a faint wave of his good hand.
Jane extended a hand out of habit, then froze halfway, her face coloring as she realized the mistake. Louis noticed immediately and offered her an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry," he said, his tone gentle, putting her at ease. "Handshakes aren't really an option right now. Broken arm, dislocated shoulder. Not ideal."
Jane withdrew her hand quickly, murmuring, "Of course. I understand." But her discomfort was obvious—she seemed mortified by the unintentional slip, her posture stiff with unease. Caroline saw how out of place Jane felt, how guilty she looked for having so blatantly drawn attention to the injuries Louis was clearly trying to downplay.
Louis, however, was quick to smooth over the moment, his focus shifting entirely to Jane. "Don't worry about it," he said with a small smile, his voice light as he added, "To be fair, this whole setup is a bit awkward, isn't it? I'm the one who decided to turn a hospital room into a meeting space, so really, I've only got myself to blame."
The joke landed softly, drawing a faint, grateful laugh from Jane and easing the tension that had begun to build. Louis made sure to meet her gaze, his smile widening just a fraction. "Honestly, don't think twice about it. We're all good."
It was subtle, but Caroline caught the deliberate way Louis worked to put everyone else at ease, even while clearly managing his own discomfort. She couldn't help but admire the effort, though it also spoke volumes about how much control Louis was trying to maintain over the situation.
Still, the absence of a PR presence in the room remained glaringly odd. No manager, no publicist, no one hovering in the corner to monitor every word or direct the conversation. For someone of Louis's stature, especially after the explosive article that morning, it was baffling.
Caroline hesitated, unsure whether to address it. Should she ask why there was no team present? Was it intentional, or had something fallen apart behind the scenes? She glanced briefly at Niall, who remained by the window, his sharp eyes scanning the room as though ready to step in if needed.
Caroline hesitated briefly but decided to let the moment pass—for now. "Thank you again for inviting us, Louis," she said, her voice warm and professional. "We know how valuable your time is."
Louis inclined his head slightly, his polite smile lingering, though his sharp blue eyes flickered with something guarded. "Thanks for coming," he said simply. "I just want this done right."
He paused, then continued, his tone steady but firm. "I do have conditions, though," he said, his gaze unwavering as he addressed both women. "I want to approve everything before it's published—every word, every photo. No pictures showing my injuries. And no pictures where I look like shit. I trust that won't be a problem?" His voice softened slightly, almost as if to explain himself. "I don't need more pictures out there where it's all so obvious. I just want normal photos again. I don't want to go online and see those same images everywhere. The ones from The Sun are bad enough."
He forced a small, strained laugh as though to brush off the vulnerability, but his expression betrayed him. His voice may have been firm, but his eyes gave away the turmoil beneath the surface—the struggle to maintain control while hiding how deeply the situation had shaken him.
"And just to be clear," Louis added, his tone slipping into something more cautious, "my manager and lawyer will be reviewing everything, too."
Caroline nodded quickly. "Of course, that's fair."
Jane, however, shifted uncomfortably, her brow furrowing. "It's just…" she began, her voice cautious. "With the Sun article this morning, we honestly didn't expect this to go ahead."
Louis stiffened, his brows knitting together. Beside him, Lottie and Niall exchanged a sharp glance, their confusion immediate and evident.
"What article?" Niall asked abruptly, stepping closer to the group. His voice was sharp, tinged with irritation. "I haven't looked at the news today."
"Neither have I," Lottie added, her face pale as she looked between Caroline and Jane.
Caroline hesitated, realizing they genuinely didn't know. She pulled out her phone, unlocking it quickly and navigating to the article. "The Sun published a piece about the incident this morning," she said carefully. "It… mentions some details."
Louis extended his good hand toward her, his movements deliberate and controlled, though there was an unmistakable edge in his voice. "Let me see," he said, his tone calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Caroline handed him the phone, her fingers brushing briefly against his before retreating. The room fell silent as Louis began to read the article aloud.
The Sun Article: "Louis Tomlinson: The Violent Turn of a Pop Star's Private Life"
In a shocking turn of events, former One Direction star Louis Tomlinson finds himself at the center of controversy after new details surfaced about the violent altercation last week involving multiple individuals.
Sources close to the situation reveal that Tomlinson allegedly attacked one of the men, breaking his jaw in what police are investigating as an escalation of a consensual encounter gone wrong.
The man in question, whose identity is being withheld due to legal proceedings, claims that Tomlinson became aggressive without provocation, lashing out physically.
Medical records obtained by The Sun corroborate injuries consistent with an altercation. Witnesses have suggested that alcohol, drugs and heightened emotions may have played a role in the events leading to the incident.
While Tomlinson has not commented publicly, insiders suggest his actions may have been retaliatory. Questions now arise about whether the pressures of fame and Tomlinson's personal struggles have contributed to this shocking behavior.
Fans have rallied to his defense, citing his history of loyalty and kindness, but critics argue that Tomlinson's actions may have crossed a line.
As investigations continue, the incident casts a shadow over the former boyband member's once-pristine image, raising questions about whether fame has taken its toll on the singer.
Louis's voice faltered as he reached the final lines, the weight of the words pressing down on him like a physical blow. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the phone tightly, his breathing uneven. For a moment, he seemed to collapse inward, his shoulders sagging under the invisible weight of the article's accusations. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw working as he fought against the emotions welling up inside him.
"It's not true," he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. "That's not what the police are investigating. It's a lie. Why does The Sun want to destroy me? What have I done to them? Why are the media like this? Why… why do I deserve this?"
The words tumbled out, a mix of disbelief and anguish. He blinked rapidly, his blue eyes shimmering as he tried to hold back tears, the vulnerability he'd worked so hard to hide now painfully apparent.
"Louis," Lottie said softly, stepping forward. She crouched beside him, her voice gentle and steady, though her own face was pale with worry. Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she reached up and dabbed lightly at the corners of his eyes before the tears could fall.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You don't need to do this right now. You don't have to carry this, Lou. Not here, not today."
Louis closed his eyes briefly, exhaling shakily. He nodded faintly but didn't say anything, his grip on the phone loosening slightly as he leaned back against the headboard, trying to pull himself together. Lottie stayed by his side, her hand resting lightly on his uninjured arm, her silent presence a steadying force.
"I'm fine," Louis said hoarsely, though his voice cracked under the weight of the lie. He gave a hollow chuckle, his gaze falling to the blanket on his lap. "I mean, I'm used to it by now. It always gets worse, doesn't it? At least this time, I've officially hit rock bottom." His voice faltered, and he added bitterly, "Can't sink any lower, can I? Now I'm the aggressive one."
Lottie's chest tightened, her heart breaking as she watched him struggle. Louis—the Louis who was always so loving, so gentle, looking out for everybody, the one who went out of his way to avoid hurting anyone—now burdened by the thought that people might fear him. Tears began rolling down his cheeks, unbidden, and Lottie quickly dabbed them away, her movements tender and precise.
"Louis, stop," she said softly, her hand stilling on his arm as her face tightened with emotion. "It's going to get better. It has to. Don't say things like that."
Louis didn't respond immediately, his breathing shallow as he tried to steady himself. He glanced toward Niall, who stood by the window, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his jaw set in a thunderous expression.
"This is bullshit," Niall snapped, his voice sharp with anger. "They're trying to paint you as the bad guy."
"I just…" Louis hesitated, his voice trembling. "I have to tell my side of the story. That's why they're here. I need to at least try to make my perspective heard."
Caroline hesitated, feeling the weight of his words settle over her. "Of course," she said softly, her voice carrying genuine warmth. "Thank you for trusting us with this."
Louis gave a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Just don't make me regret it," he said, his tone carrying a quiet warning. He glanced briefly at Caroline and Jane before lowering his gaze again. "And I'm sorry you had to see this," he added, his voice dipping further. "I'm not exactly holding up well these days. I feel like I can't take much—one jab, and I'm crying. Not exactly the best headspace for an interview, is it? I'm sorry. It might happen again."
Caroline and Jane exchanged a quick glance, both surprised by his words. They'd expected the article to completely derail him, to make him too overwhelmed to continue. Instead, after a brief moment of vulnerability—quickly swept away by his sister—Louis was speaking again, his tone measured and steady.
They were impressed, though they didn't show it. He wasn't what they'd expected.
With a deep breath, Louis straightened himself, tucking his emotions away with practiced care. His expression shifted, resolve hardening in his features as he glanced between Lottie and Niall. "Let's get this over with," he said firmly, though the tension in his posture betrayed the battle he was still fighting beneath the surface.
He handed Caroline's phone back to her, his movements deliberate, his fingers steady despite the storm he was clearly weathering inside.
Louis exhaled deeply, his blue eyes clouded with a mix of determination and trepidation. "I guess the best place to start," he began, his voice steady but soft, "is with what's already out Sun ran a couple of stories, as you probably know. About what brought me here, what people are probably dying to know. I can't share too much, but…" He hesitated briefly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "Some of it was true. Some… well, wasn't."
Caroline nodded slowly, her pen poised over her notebook. "I'm familiar with the pieces," she said carefully. "They reported a series of events leading up to the attack. You're saying some of those details were accurate?"
Louis inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained guarded. "Yeah," he admitted after a moment. "There are parts of the story that line up with what happened, but other bits…" He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Let's just say they've spun it into something it wasn't."
Lottie, seated beside him, subtly placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Louis glanced at her briefly, drawing a steadying breath before continuing. "I've talked to my lawyer, and I have to be careful about what I say. But I wanted to do this because… well, people deserve to hear my side. Not just the headlines."
He shifted slightly, his discomfort evident, but his voice remained steady. "So, yeah," he admitted, meeting Caroline's gaze briefly before dropping his eyes again. "I had been drinking. Vodka, mostly. It wasn't exactly my proudest moment, but I wasn't wasted. Just… trying to take the edge off."
He paused, his hand brushing briefly against the bedsheets, the action small but telling. "And, yeah, I went out to buy some weed."
Caroline's face stayed neutral, her focus sharpening as she jotted down notes. She didn't press or interrupt, her silence giving him space to continue.
"I smoked a joint on my way back," Louis said, his gaze falling to the blanket draped across his lap. After a moment, he looked up, meeting Caroline's eyes again. "And that's when I saw them—these two girls, teenagers, really—being cornered by four blokes. It was obvious they were in trouble. I couldn't just walk away."
Caroline's grip on her pen tightened slightly, but she stayed silent, letting him speak at his own pace.
"I stepped in," Louis said, his voice quieter now. "Tried to get them to back off. I didn't think… I didn't expect it to go the way it did. But those men, they turned on me."
The room seemed to hold its breath as Louis paused, his shoulders stiffening under the weight of his own words. His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard, the silence amplifying the tension.
"They beat me," he said quietly, the stark simplicity of his tone making the words land with even greater force. "I tried to get away, but there were four of them, and I was alone. They were brutal. I was terrified—especially when both my arms were injured. I couldn't do anything after that."
His voice wavered briefly before hardening again, as though sheer willpower was the only thing keeping him steady. "It wasn't just fists. They… they made sure I wouldn't get up. Kicks, standing on me—whatever they could manage. I couldn't get away."
He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to his lap, where his hands rested loosely on the blanket. "I can't go into detail about my injuries—my lawyer's orders. I don't want to jeopardize the investigation. But as you can probably guess…" He gestured vaguely toward his immobile arms, his voice tightening. "I've been better."
The attempt at humor was thin, almost brittle, but it carried a hint of defiance, as if Louis was determined not to let himself crumble completely. He exhaled deeply, his voice dipping lower. "From the moment they had me on the ground, I knew it wasn't going to end well. That I wouldn't be able to stop them, no matter what came next."
It was clear from his expression that the version of events he was narrating wasn't the full, raw truth he was reliving in his mind. His face tensed, his blue eyes flickering with the struggle to keep the unfiltered memories from breaking through.
Lottie's hand twitched instinctively, driven by her protective instinct. She placed her hand lightly over his, her touch steadying, though her pale face and tightly pressed lips betrayed the depth of her concern.
Louis drew in a deep breath, his voice steadying as he pushed forward. "And yeah," he said, lifting his gaze to meet Caroline's directly. "I landed a damn good punch. Right at the beginning, when they came at me. Apparently, I broke one of their jaws." His lips twitched faintly in something resembling grim satisfaction before his face hardened again. "But it wasn't because I started anything. That wasn't me picking a fight."
His voice grew firmer, a quiet resolve creeping into his tone. "That was a reaction. I was trying to get away. I defended myself. I fought back. It was the only thing I could do."
Niall let out a low curse under his breath, shaking his head. "And that's what they print," he muttered, his voice thick with anger. "Like you're some kind of monster. You're the furthest thing from a thug."
Louis didn't acknowledge Niall's comment, his focus fixed firmly on Caroline. "The fight," he said, his voice tightening but remaining cool and detached. "That's all they talk about. But it wasn't just that." His throat worked as he swallowed again, his next words spoken with quiet, raw honesty. "They raped me."
The room seemed to freeze, the weight of his words crashing down like a thunderclap.
"I didn't agree to have sex with them," Louis continued, his voice steady but stripped of emotion. "I didn't want them to do it. Even though The Sun frames it differently. But with my arms useless, and with all of them against me… I didn't stand a chance." His voice wavered briefly, and he added, "I can't go into detail about what they did, not just because I don't want to—but because I can't risk jeopardizing the investigation."
Louis's body tensed, his hands gripping the blanket as though holding onto it would keep him grounded. It was clear that the scenes were replaying in his mind, each word dredging up the vivid memories of what he'd endured. He fought hard not to let it show, his jaw clenching as he wrestled for control.
Jane's camera, which she'd been fidgeting with moments earlier, stilled completely in her hands. Caroline's pen hovered mid-word over her notebook, suspended as though she couldn't bring herself to continue writing. Both women had come prepared, knowing the gravity of the story they were about to hear—but the calm, almost clinical way Louis delivered it sent a chill through the air.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of hospital machinery.
Even Niall, whose anger had been bubbling just beneath the surface, seemed momentarily stunned into silence. His hands tightened into fists as he stared at the floor, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion.
Louis's gaze dropped to the blanket on his lap, his voice softening. "I've spoken to my lawyer," he said quietly. "Unfortunately, I can't say more about the attack. I know that's disappointing, but it's all I can give right now."
Caroline's voice, when she finally found it, was soft. "Thank you for sharing that," she said, her professionalism giving way to genuine compassion. "I know how hard this must be."
Louis offered a faint, almost hollow smile. "Thank you," he murmured. "But I want the truth out there. I just… I don't want the headlines to twist it. I want people to know what really happened. And with these headlines, I don't get to decide whether to share my story or not. So, I have to live with it."
His voice wavered slightly, the strain beginning to show. Lottie noticed immediately. She leaned forward, pulling a tissue from her pocket and gently dabbing at his eyes before the tears could fall.
"It's okay, Lou," she whispered, her voice soothing and warm. "You've done enough. You don't have to explain everything."
Louis shook his head faintly, his voice hoarse but resolute. "I do," he said firmly. "I have something else to explain… if you're willing to listen."
He paused, glancing briefly at Caroline and Jane. "I can put the attack in context for you. Give you the bigger picture. If you're willing to print it… it's important to me. But if it doesn't fit, I'll understand."
Caroline's posture shifted, her pen poised once again, her instincts kicking in. She could feel the gravity of what was coming, the weight of a deeper truth about to be shared. She nodded quickly, her voice steady. "We're listening, Louis. Please—take your time."
The room fell silent again, all attention focused on him as he gathered himself to continue.
Caroline leaned forward, her notebook balanced on her knee, while Jane's camera hung silently around her neck, no longer clicking. The air in the room was dense, weighed down by the raw emotion that seemed to ripple through every breath.
Louis exhaled deeply, his gaze fixed on the blanket draped over his lap as he began to speak. His voice was soft but steady, each word seeming to take immense effort to form. "The real question—and the real story," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself, "is why I was even out there that night. Why I was drinking, why I couldn't just… handle things differently. Instead of going out to buy weed."
Caroline didn't say a word, her pen poised above the page but still. She gave him the time he needed, her gaze unwavering, fully attuned to the weight of his words.
Jane occasionally lifted her camera, taking quiet, deliberate photos. The lens captured Louis lost in thought, his blue eyes clouded with a mix of vulnerability and determination as he carefully chose his words. It was clear he was treading carefully—trying to give enough without giving too much, to be honest without exposing himself entirely.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Louis searched for the right way to explain, the weight of what he was about to say pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Louis's voice broke through the silence again, a little firmer this time. "The truth is… I was running from something. Or maybe someone. From something definite, something that scared me." He hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line as he wrestled with the next words. "I'd had a fight. With someone who means more to me than I can put into words. And I'd messed up. Badly."
Lottie's free hand squeezed his gently, a silent gesture of support and encouragement. Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, as though willing him to continue.
"I was unfair," Louis admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "I was holding back things they had every right to know. Things I should've told them." His words slowed, each one weighted with the effort it took to speak. "I couldn't explain why I couldn't do what mattered to them. Why I couldn't fulfill something that was so important to them."
Caroline's pen moved across her notebook, her strokes slower now, deliberate as she captured his words. But something about the way he spoke caught her attention—Louis had avoided didn't mention the gender of this person who was clearly so significant to him.
She paused for a moment, her pen hovering just above the page as a flicker of curiosity passed through her that mean something? she wondered. But she didn't interrupt; the gravity in Louis's voice set the rhythm of her notes, and she let him dictate the pace of the moment.
"I left them standing there," Louis continued, his voice tinged with regret, "not understanding why I was running away. Again. And I went home, thinking I could just… shut it all out. Pretend it didn't matter. But it did."
His fingers twitched beneath the blanket, the tension in his body evident even in the smallest of movements. When he spoke again, his voice dropped further, laced with raw honesty. "Because the only person who really understood why I was acting like that—why I couldn't do it—was Liam."
At the mention of Liam, Louis's voice cracked completely, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled over. Lottie immediately leaned closer, brushing them away gently with the tissue, though her own eyes glistened as she whispered, "It's okay, Lou. Take your time."
Niall's shoulders shifted noticeably, the subtle movements betraying the grief that mirrored Louis's. He didn't speak, but his silence was heavy, filled with shared mourning.
Louis didn't respond immediately, his breathing uneven as he fought to regain control. When he finally spoke, his words were trembling and raw. "I miss him," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I miss him so much, every day. He just… he got it. He got me in a way no one else ever did. And without him, it feels like there's this… piece missing. Like I'm not whole anymore. I told him things I never told anyone else before. He understood why I made the weird decisions I made. He always understood."
His voice broke further, and the tears came harder now, his body shaking with the force of his grief. Lottie gripped his hand tighter, her own tears falling silently as she tried to hold him together. Niall, no longer turned away, wept openly, his face streaked with tears as he shared the pain Louis couldn't hide.
Caroline set her pen down, unable to keep writing through the overwhelming, unfiltered grief unfolding in front of her. The rawness of it, the unspoken depths of love and loss, filled the room like a heavy, suffocating weight.
"I couldn't stop thinking about him that night," Louis said through the tears, his words broken and uneven. "About how much I needed him. About how lost I felt without him. And that's when I went out—because I didn't know what else to do. How else was I supposed to calm down? Who else could have helped me?"
His voice wavered, and his gaze dropped to the blanket draped over his lap. "And the fight that made me need Liam so badly... it was with the person who has been there for me since Liam's funeral. The person who's helped me through so much."
Lottie's hand tightened over his, her own tears glistening in her eyes as she watched her brother wrestle with his emotions.
Louis's voice cracked as he forced out the next words. "That night, I felt like I had nobody left who cared enough. And that was my fault. Because I pushed away the one person who did."
The room was utterly silent except for the sound of Louis's uneven breaths. Even Jane, who had quietly been capturing moments before, had stopped entirely, her hands frozen around the lens. No one moved, no one spoke. The weight of Louis's grief was palpable, and for a moment, it seemed to envelop everyone present, binding them to the shared, devastating loss.
Caroline broke the silence, her voice soft and measured. "You don't have to share more if it's too much, Louis. This is already… incredibly brave."
Louis let out a bitter laugh, his voice hoarse from emotion. "Brave," he echoed, shaking his head. "I don't know about that. I've spent my life running from things, drowning them out. If I were brave, I wouldn't be here. I'd have my life together, wouldn't I? I wouldn't be out buying weed in the middle of the night. That night wasn't brave—it was stupid. And it cost me more than I could've ever imagined."
His voice faltered as his thoughts turned inward. In his mind, he pictured an alternate version of himself—sitting on the sofa with Harry, their small family around them, ten, maybe twelve years of happiness and marriage behind them. His mom would have been at their wedding. If he'd been brave, that life could've been his. Instead, he had broken it, not just for himself, but for Harry too.
Caroline leaned forward slightly, her voice steady but kind. "You still saved those girls, Louis," she said firmly. "Even if the decisions leading up to that moment weren't brave, the one that mattered—the one that saved them—was. If you don't see yourself as brave for yourself, fine. But you were brave for them. And that takes strength too."
Louis blinked, her words settling over him, their weight shifting something inside. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice soft, thoughtful. "That could be true." He hesitated, exhaling shakily before continuing. "Maybe now it's time to stop running. Maybe it's time to be brave for myself too."
Caroline nodded, her respect for him evident in her expression. "It's not an easy road," she said gently, "but you're already taking the hardest step—being honest about it. And that's no small thing."
Louis tilted his head slightly, a faint, fleeting smile flickering across his lips. "Honesty's not my strong suit," he admitted with a dry chuckle. "But I'm trying. I think that's all I can do for now."
"The question I've been avoiding—the thing I hid from everyone except Liam," Louis began, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as though he couldn't bring himself to meet anyone's gaze, "is why I acted the way I did that night. Why I couldn't open up. Why I pushed away the people who matter most."
Caroline's pen hovered over her notebook, motionless. Beside her, Jane shifted awkwardly, her camera hanging unused around her neck. Both women seemed unsure whether to document this moment or let it unfold in silence.
Louis's hands tightened on the blanket, his knuckles white as he struggled to force the words out. "What I couldn't say then, what I didn't tell anyone—not even the people closest to me—is that… this wasn't the first time. This wasn't the first time I was raped."
Lottie froze, her hand halting mid-motion as her face paled. Niall's head snapped up, his eyes widening in shock. "What do you mean, Lou?" he asked, his voice unsteady, his usual calm shattered.
Louis swallowed hard, the silence in the room suffocating. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, as though avoiding their stares was the only way to keep speaking. "When I was a teenager," he said quietly, "someone I trusted—someone who had power over me—took advantage of that. Of me."
The words came out flat, almost devoid of emotion, but the trembling in his voice betrayed the depth of his pain. Lottie's hand drifted toward his instinctively, gripping his uninjured arm tightly as though to ground him. Her own eyes brimmed with tears.
Niall's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Who?" he demanded, his voice sharp with anger and anguish. "Who did this to you, Lou?"
Louis's gaze finally dropped from the ceiling, landing on Niall with a quiet, broken intensity. "It doesn't matter," he said softly. "They're untouchable now. I can't prove anything, and it's too late to do anything about it. I've already spoken to my lawyer."
"It does matter!" Niall snapped, his voice rising, his grief and fury barely contained. "It matters because—" He stopped abruptly, running a hand through his hair as his breathing grew uneven. "God, Lou… why didn't you tell us?"
"Because I was ashamed," Louis admitted, his voice cracking. "I thought it was my fault. For years, I believed them when they said it was because of who I was. Because I was… wrong."
Tears streamed down Lottie's face now, silent but steady, as she dabbed at her brother's cheeks with a tissue. "It wasn't your fault," she whispered fiercely. "It was never your fault."
Louis closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "I know that now," he said quietly. "Or at least, I'm trying to. But back then… back then, I let it bury itself inside me. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want to be seen as… broken. Weak."
"You're not broken," Niall said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're one of the strongest people I know. But you shouldn't have had to carry this alone."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Louis's confession settling over everyone. Caroline set her pen down gently, her respect for Louis evident in her expression. Jane's camera remained idle in her lap, her hands resting protectively over it.
Louis exhaled shakily, his voice soft but resolute as he finally broke the silence. "I didn't tell you this for pity," he said, glancing between his friends and the media. "I told you because… if I'm going to put my story out there, I need it to be the truth. All of it. No more hiding."
Caroline nodded slowly, her gaze steady as she met Louis's. "Thank you for trusting us with this," she said gently. "Your story deserves to be told—on your terms."
Louis gave a faint, fleeting smile, though his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "It's time," he said softly. "It's time to stop running."
Louis took another shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the blanket as though it were the only thing anchoring him. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was quieter, filled with hesitation but laced with a raw determination.
"It wasn't just what he did to me," he said slowly, his words deliberate. "It was the things he said. The doubts he put in my head—about who I am, about what I should be ashamed of. He made me believe that I had to hide, that if I didn't, it would destroy everything. For me, for the people around me."
His voice wavered, his grip on the blanket tightening as he pushed through the words. "And because I believed him… I've been hiding ever since. I've spent years trying to change myself, to cover it up. I don't even know who I really am anymore. What's me and what's just… a mask to stop people from seeing something I was taught to believe was weak."
Lottie's hand tightened on his, her silent support grounding him as tears began to well in her eyes.
Louis's jaw tensed, his voice growing hoarse as he continued. "The worst part—the thing that's haunted me—is that I thought if people knew, they'd see me as weak. That I'd be violated again, that people would think it's just… acceptable. That it's what I deserve. That it's what I want."
He paused, his chest heaving as he fought against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. The words he'd been holding back for so long began to tremble on his lips. "Because what I've been hiding all these years, what I couldn't admit to anyone—not even myself sometimes—is that I'm gay."
The silence that followed was deafening. Lottie's breath caught, and her grip on Louis's hand tightened even more. Niall's face, already streaked with tears, softened with a mix of pride and sorrow.
"Lou," Lottie whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so proud of you."
Niall wiped his face with his sleeve, his voice thick with emotion. "We both are. You're… you're incredible for really saying it."
Caroline and Jane exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of shock and uncertainty. Caroline's pen hovered over her notebook, unsure whether to continue writing. Jane's camera remained still, the weight of the moment too profound to capture.
Louis noticed their hesitation and lifted his gaze, his blue eyes glistening but resolute. "You can write it," he said firmly. "All of it. I'm going to make it public myself. The media will find out anyway—through the trial, through something else. I'd rather it come from me now, in my own words. It's not mine anymore, sooner or later. I have to live with it."
His voice cracked, the strain showing, but he pressed on. "It's not about whether this is the right time for me or whether I'm ready. That doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that whatever I don't say now will get twisted by The Sun. They'll take everything I've kept to myself and make it into something it's not. So, I might as well say it."
Caroline and Jane exchanged another glance, this one filled with unease. They could see how deeply this was breaking Louis—the way his autonomy had been stripped from him, forcing him to share things he might not have otherwise chosen to reveal.
Louis exhaled shakily, his voice softening but steady. "And from today," he continued, "I'm going to start figuring out who I really am. Who I should've been all along—without all the restrictions, without all the shame. Without trying to make myself smaller."
His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of years of repression and pain. Lottie's tears fell freely now, but she didn't let go of his hand. Niall stepped closer, his presence solid and comforting, his pride in Louis radiating despite his own grief.
Caroline and Jane remained silent, their pens and cameras momentarily forgotten as they took in the sheer enormity of what Louis had just shared. It was a moment they knew they'd never forget—a moment of raw, unfiltered bravery from someone who'd been stripped of so much but was fighting to take back control, piece by piece.
The door clicked shut softly as Caroline and Jane left the room, their quiet goodbyes still hanging in the air. They had promised to have the article written by midday tomorrow so Louis could review it in the afternoon. If all went well, it would be published in The Telegraph the day after.
Lottie busied herself tidying the space, adjusting Louis's blanket and the pillows behind his back as he lay exhausted but resolute. She lowered the head of the bed, allowing him to recline more comfortably. His body sagged into the mattress, his exhaustion evident as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
Niall, leaning against the wall, stared at Louis, his jaw tight, emotions swirling just beneath the surface. His arms were crossed, but his knuckles whitened as his hands clenched into fists, his mind clearly racing.
After a long moment, Niall broke the silence, his voice low but trembling with barely contained anger. "Lou… the thing you said earlier. About the first time." He paused, his throat working as he forced himself to continue. "Was it Simon?"
Louis's eyes flickered up to meet Niall's, and he didn't need to say a word. The answer was there, written in the lines of his face, the heaviness in his gaze. After a moment, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Niall's reaction was immediate. He pushed off the wall, his hands balling into fists as he swore loudly, his voice reverberating through the small hospital room. "That bastard!" he shouted, his voice thick with fury. "That fucking bastard! How could he—how dare he—" He stopped short, his voice cracking as the fury in his words turned to anguish. He turned back to Louis, his blue eyes brimming with emotion. "Why didn't you tell us, Lou?"
Louis's gaze dropped back to the blanket, his fingers twitching as he pulled at its edge. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, almost defeated. "Because he made it clear… if I said anything, I'd destroy the band. Everything we'd worked for. Everything we'd dreamed of."
He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he continued. "I couldn't be the reason that all of you lost it. You didn't deserve that, just because I was too weak. Too…" He hesitated, the shame in his expression unmistakable. "Because I was gay. Because I was the problem."
Niall froze, his fists dropping to his sides. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to process Louis's words. "Lou," he said, his voice thick with grief. "That's not weakness. That's not your fault. None of it is. Do you hear me?" His voice cracked, and he turned away briefly, wiping at his face before turning back to Louis. "You should never have carried that alone."
Lottie, silent until now, knelt by Louis's side, her own tears spilling freely as she reached for his hand. "You were never the problem, Louis," she whispered fiercely. "And you are not weak. You are so far from weak."
Louis's face crumpled, the weight of years of silence, shame, and guilt crashing down on him all at once. Tears slid down his cheeks, but he didn't bother to brush them away. "I didn't want to ruin it for you all," he choked out. "I didn't want to be the reason you lost everything."
Niall's voice softened, though his anger still simmered just beneath the surface. "You wouldn't have ruined anything, Lou. That bastard—he was the one who ruined everything. And he's the one who should pay for it. Not you."
Louis shook his head faintly, his voice barely audible. "It's too late now. He's untouchable. And I've already lived with it for so long. I just… I didn't want to break everything you'd built. I didn't want to break us."
Lottie's grip on his hand tightened, and her voice broke as she whispered, "But you broke yourself, Lou. You've been breaking yourself for years because of him. And it wasn't fair. It wasn't right."
The room fell silent, save for the sound of Louis's uneven breaths as he struggled to keep himself together. Niall turned back toward the wall, his fists clenching again, the weight of helplessness pressing down on him.
Lottie stayed by Louis's side, her tears falling freely as she rested her head lightly against his arm. "We're here now, Lou," she said softly. "And we're not going anywhere. Not ever."
Niall shook his head, swiping at his face as he struggled to compose himself. After a moment, he moved to his bag, pulling something out and holding it up. It was a small rainbow flag, carefully crafted with vibrant fabric and affixed to a smooth wooden stick.
"Zayn made this for you," Niall said, his voice trembling as he stepped closer. "You wanted a rainbow flag. And he said… he said you'd need it. But you needed a unique rainbow flag, because you're unique. Something to hold onto. Something that's just for you."
Louis's lips parted in surprise, his tired eyes welling with fresh tears. "Zayn made this? Just for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Niall nodded, stepping closer but not too near. He handed the flag to Louis carefully, watching as Louis's fingers trembled while taking it. Louis looked at it for a long moment, his gaze soft and filled with something close to awe. Then, despite his exhaustion, a small, grateful smile broke through.
"Thank you," Louis murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He turned the flag in his hands, his thumb brushing over the smooth wooden stick and vibrant fabric as though grounding himself in the gesture.
Lottie wiped at her eyes quickly and gave him a faint smile. "Lou, do you mind if I fix you up a little? Just for a moment."
Louis nodded, giving her permission. Lottie moved quickly, smoothing his hair and touching up his makeup, her movements gentle but efficient. She wanted him to look like himself—not the version the world had seen in the photos splashed across the tabloids.
She grabbed his new phone from the bedside table, turning back to him. "Let's get a picture, Lou," she said softly. "For the post, when you're ready."
Louis hesitated for a moment before nodding faintly. "Alright," he said, his voice quiet but steady.
Lottie helped him sit up carefully, taking great care not to lean on him too much or cause him any discomfort. Niall stayed back, watching from a distance, his expression still tinged with emotion. He didn't want to cross Louis's boundaries or make him uncomfortable by stepping in uninvited.
Once Louis was seated upright, Lottie adjusted him slightly, turning him so the hospital curtain served as the background. It looked surprisingly neutral, almost like the setting of a hotel room rather than a hospital. Louis sat without leaning back, holding the flag carefully in his hands.
Lottie stepped back, holding the phone up. "Ready?" she asked.
Louis gave a faint smile, lifting the flag higher. The bright colors stood out starkly against the muted tones of the room, a quiet symbol of strength and resilience.
She snapped a few photos, each one capturing the quiet determination in his expression. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, there was a flicker of pride in his eyes, a glimpse of the fight that had carried him through everything.
When she was done, Lottie set the phone down gently and leaned over to kiss the top of Louis's head. "That was perfect, Lou," she whispered.
Louis nodded, his gaze falling back to the flag in his hands. "It's a start," he said softly, almost to himself. "Just a start."
After a few moments, he exhaled deeply, his exhaustion evident. "I'm knackered," he admitted, his voice low. "But… I need to go to the loo first."
Lottie blinked in surprise. "You want me to help?" she offered instinctively, though a flicker of doubt crossed her face. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold him if he faltered. But with her, Louis felt safer—comfortable, even if physically it wasn't the most practical option.
Louis hesitated, his internal conflict written plainly across his face. Two days ago, Niall had tried to hug him, and he hadn't been able to let it happen. But now, as weak and drained as he felt, he knew he didn't have much of a choice. He'd insisted on having the catheter removed—this was the consequence. If he wanted to get back to normal, he had to start somewhere.
His jaw tightened briefly, his voice quiet but resolute as he finally said, "Niall, I need you. Can you help?"
Niall froze for a moment, clearly taken aback by the request, but he quickly recovered, nodding. "Of course, Lou," he said softly, stepping closer.
Louis forced himself to meet Niall's gaze, the vulnerability in his own eyes clear. "Thanks," he murmured, bracing himself for the contact he knew was coming.
Niall didn't comment on the significance of the moment, though the emotion in his eyes was unmistakable. He stepped forward carefully, slipping his arm around Louis to support him as he helped him to his feet. Louis flinched slightly at the touch, the instinct to recoil rising immediately, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to accept it.
Panic bubbled just beneath the surface as Niall guided him forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. Louis's breathing was shallow, his muscles tense, but he kept moving, his jaw tight with determination. He told himself this was necessary, that he needed to push through it. He wanted to get better—hewouldget better.
When they reached the bathroom door, Niall brought him right up to the edge, his support unwavering. Louis paused, his voice soft but firm as he said, "Wait out there, yeah?"
Niall nodded, stepping back immediately to give him space. "Call me when you're ready," he said simply, his tone steady but kind.
Louis gave Niall a faint nod of thanks before stepping into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a shaky hand. Inside, he leaned heavily against the sink, taking a moment to steady himself. His breaths came in shallow gasps as he fought through the exhaustion and discomfort.
He used the toilet, each movement a test of his determination. When he was done, he summoned what little strength he had left and moved to the sink to wash his hands. The simple task felt monumental, his trembling fingers fumbling with the soap. As he looked up into the mirror, his pale and tired reflection stared back at him. His eyes betrayed the strain, but they also held a glimmer of resolve.
When he finished, he called out softly, "Ni?"
The door opened almost instantly, and Niall stepped in, his concern evident. He moved quickly to support Louis, slipping his arm around him. Louis leaned against him heavily now, his strength nearly gone, and Niall half-carried him back to the bed.
As soon as he lay down, Louis's head dropped back against the pillows, his entire body sagging with exhaustion. "Thanks, Ni," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Niall didn't respond aloud, but in his heart, he thanked Louis—for letting him in, for letting him help. For fighting so hard to make things normal again between them, to let Niall be someone he could rely on. It meant everything to him.
Lottie moved to sit beside Louis, gently pulling the blanket over him. She reached for his phone. "Let's pick the photo for your post," she said softly, her voice careful not to disturb him too much.
Niall stepped over immediately, standing beside Lottie as they scrolled through the pictures she had taken earlier. The two of them debated quietly, pointing out different options and discussing which one would capture Louis's quiet strength the best.
After a few moments, they turned back to Louis, ready to ask for his opinion. But when they looked at him, they saw his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. He was already asleep, the rainbow flag still lying beside him. Niall took the flag and put it into his nightstand.
Niall and Lottie exchanged a look, both their eyes misting as they took in the scene. Niall broke the silence with a quiet question, his voice thick with emotion. "Did you know about Simon?"
Lottie shook her head, her tears spilling over. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's the first time I've heard it. Just like you."
The weight of Louis's revelation hung heavily in the room. Without another word, Niall and Lottie moved to the recliner in the corner. Niall wrapped his arms around her, and she clung to him tightly. They sat there in the quiet hospital room, holding each other as the tears came, their grief and love for Louis binding them together in a silent, unshakable vow to always be there for him.
The door to the hospital room creaked open softly around 6 PM, and Harry stepped inside, his shoulders slumped and his face etched with exhaustion. Whatever he'd faced that afternoon weighed heavily on him; his curls were disheveled, and his hands were buried deep in his coat pockets. His gaze immediately found Louis, who was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily.
Niall and Lottie, seated together in the recliner, their eyes red from quiet tears, looked up as Harry entered. Lottie's brows furrowed as she took in his weary expression. "You alright, Haz?" she asked softly, her voice low so as not to disturb Louis.
Harry returned the question instinctively. "Are you?"
The two exchanged a glance before Niall answered, his voice thick. "Not really. We found out about… Simon."
Harry's jaw tightened, and his shoulders slumped even more. "Yeah," he murmured. "It's horrible."
Niall hesitated, studying Harry closely. "How about you?" he asked again, his tone more pointed this time.
Harry shrugged, leaning against the wall near the door. His eyes remained fixed on Louis, his expression softening despite the heaviness in his voice. "Doesn't matter," he said quietly. "I couldn't stop thinking about him. Tried to switch off, but… it didn't work. I don't care about anything else. I was just worried sick about him. It was a bad afternoon."
His words carried a finality that discouraged further probing, and both Niall and Lottie noticed his avoidance. They exchanged another look but chose not to press him.
Niall sighed, breaking the silence. "Harry," he said gently, "you've got to use those afternoons for yourself. We're here for him during that time, yeah? But you've got to rest. If you keep running yourself into the ground, you'll burn out. Then what?"
Lottie nodded firmly. "Exactly, Haz. You can't light a fire when there's no spark left. He needs you, but he needs you strong. You've got to take care of yourself too."
Harry gave them a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I hear you," he said softly, but his gaze lingered on Louis. He didn't mention Oli, the confrontation still raw and heavy in his mind. It wasn't something he could share with them—not yet.
"How is he?" Harry asked after a moment, his voice low, almost hesitant.
"Exhausted," Lottie replied gently. "He's been out cold since just after five. The interview took it out of him—it ran right up until then. And after that…" She glanced at Niall, passing the explanation to him.
Niall nodded. "He wanted to go to the loo," he said, his tone a mix of pride and concern. "Asked me to help. First time he's let me that close in days. It took everything out of him, though. Once he was back in bed, he fell asleep straight away."
Harry's jaw tightened briefly, his eyes returning to Louis. "He's trying so hard," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Lottie reached out, placing a comforting hand on Harry's arm. "And he'll keep going, Haz. But so will we. Together."
Harry nodded, his chest tightening at the thought of Louis pushing himself so hard. He moved closer to the bed, his movements quiet and careful. Louis looked peaceful in his sleep, but the faint bruises and the slight crease in his brow even in rest betrayed the toll the day had taken.
"He's been through so much," Harry murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Lottie stood and gently touched Harry's arm. "He has," she agreed softly. "And he's lucky to have you. But you've got to be here for the long haul, Haz. That means taking care of yourself too."
Harry swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving Louis. "I know," he said after a long pause. "I'll try."
Lottie gave him a small smile and squeezed his arm before stepping back to her seat. Niall stayed quiet, watching Harry with a mixture of understanding and concern. For a while, the room remained silent, save for the quiet hum of the hospital machinery and the steady rhythm of Louis's breathing.
Niall leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he began to recount the events of the afternoon. "The interview was brutal for him, Harry," he said, his voice low but intense. "He held it together, but you could see it cost him. Every word, every memory—it was like it was draining the life out of him."
Lottie nodded, brushing at her eyes with a tissue. "He wanted to do it, though," she added. "He kept saying it was important, that people needed to hear his side. But you could tell how much it hurt him to relive it all. And by the end…" She paused, her voice faltering before she continued. "By the end, he was completely wiped out."
As if on cue, the soft rustle of movement and hushed voices stirred Louis from his sleep. His eyelids fluttered open, his gaze unfocused for a moment before it landed on Harry standing near the bed. A sleepy smile spread across his face, warm and unguarded.
"Hey, babe," he murmured, his voice raspy with sleep. "Come here. Can I get a kiss?"
Harry's chest tightened at the words, the tenderness in Louis's expression pulling at every part of him. He stepped closer, brushing the hair back from Louis's forehead. But before Harry could respond or kiss him, Louis spoke again, his voice filled with quiet resolve, as though he'd come to a decision in his dreams.
"The interview's done," Louis said, his tone soft but steady. "The Sun had their last word, painted me as the bad guy… but they can't hurt me anymore. Nothing else can knock me down now. From here on out, it's only up, Harry. Everything's getting better. Only up from now."
Niall let out a quiet cheer from his seat by the window, a grin spreading across his face. "That's the spirit, Lou!" he said, his voice carrying a spark of pride.
Lottie nodded, her smile soft but genuine. "That's what we want to hear," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You're right, Lou. It's all uphill from here."
As Louis's words settled over the room, his thoughts turned more hiding, he told Harry wants to stand by me, he can do it openly. I won't hide anymore—not for anyone.
But Harry stood frozen, his hand still brushing Louis's hair, his heart aching. The optimism on Louis's face, the flicker of hope in his tired eyes—it all made the weight of what Harry was holding back even heavier. Because he knew the truth that was still waiting, the conversation with Oli that Louis hadn't heard yet. And it tore him apart.
Louis's eyes sharpened slightly as he looked up at Harry, the grogginess giving way to quiet concern. "Harry," he said softly, his voice tinged with worry. "What is it? Tell me it's all going to get better. I need to hear it."
Harry's throat constricted, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his tongue. He couldn't lie—not to Louis—but how could he shatter the fragile hope in his voice? The truth was a storm waiting to break, and Harry wasn't ready to unleash it.
Instead, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Louis's lips. The kiss was warm and gentle, but Harry couldn't silence the dread gnawing at his chest, the thoughts of Oli crowding his mind.
When he pulled back, Louis searched his face, his brows knitting together in quiet confusion. "Harry," he whispered, his voice hesitant, "you're not… thinking of leaving me, are you?"
Harry's response was immediate, his voice firm and filled with love. "Never, Lou. Don't ever think that. I love you. I'm not going anywhere."
Louis's shoulders relaxed slightly, but his gaze lingered on Harry's, still searching for something unspoken. Harry smiled faintly, stroking his thumb across Louis's cheek, but the ache in his chest remained. As Louis's breathing evened out again, slipping back toward sleep, Harry stayed by his side, the unspoken weight of what was to come pressing down on him like a vice.
