Chapter 37: Holding On, Letting Go

Louis handed his phone to Zayn, the tremor in his fingers betraying the calm facade he was trying to maintain. The draft of theTelegrapharticle glowed on the screen, its headline stark and unmissable:Louis Tomlinson: A Life in the Crossfire of Trauma and hadn't read it yet. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to glance beyond the title. The weight of what it represented bore down on him like a physical presence, suffocating and unrelenting.

His voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of vulnerability. "We have to give the okay for it to go live tomorrow," he said, his eyes darting to Zayn before dropping to the blanket pooled in his lap. "I thought… maybe we could go through it together."

Zayn took the phone, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied Louis. "You haven't read it yet?" he asked, his tone a mix of concern and incredulity.

Louis shook his head, leaning back into the pillows. "Not yet. I've thought about it a dozen times, but…" He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I couldn't. Figured I could use the backup."

"Fair enough," Zayn replied, pulling his chair closer to the bed. He adjusted the phone, angling it so they could both see. "Alright, let's see what we're dealing with."

The silence between them was heavy as Zayn scrolled to the top of the article. Louis's hands rested on the blanket, but every so often, his fingers twitched—a small, nervous gesture that didn't escape Zayn's notice.

"'Louis Tomlinson: A Life in the Crossfire of Trauma and Truth,'" Zayn read aloud, his tone dipping into mock drama. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Louis. "Poetic. They didn't hold back, did they?"

Louis let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Well, at least it's not'Troubled Pop Star Breaks Down.'"

"They wouldn't dare," Zayn said with a wry smirk. "TheTelegraph'sgot standards. More than we can say for some."

The small smile on Louis's lips faded as Zayn began reading the article silently. With each paragraph, Zayn's expression shifted—his jaw tightening here, his brow furrowing there. When he reached the section detailing Louis's injuries, he paused, his grip on the phone tightening slightly.

"They didn't sugarcoat it," Zayn muttered.

"They weren't supposed to," Louis replied, his voice quieter now. "It's not about making it easy to read. It's about telling the truth."

Zayn glanced at him, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "How do you feel about this part? Laying it all out like this?"

Louis hesitated, his gaze dropping to his lap. "It happened," he said after a moment. "People need to know what it was really like—not just the headlines or the cropped photos. The ugliness of it. The truth of it. I don't want to downplay anything, for myself or for anyone else who's been through something like it."

Zayn studied him for a long moment, his brow furrowing deeply. "You're braver than you give yourself credit for, mate."

Louis shrugged, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "It doesn't feel brave. It just feels… necessary."

Zayn continued reading, his expression darkening when he reached the section recountingThe Sun'scoverage. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he let out a low curse under his breath.

"That photo," Zayn said, his voice low and angry. "The way they plastered it everywhere, like it's some kind of spectacle. No humanity. No respect."

Louis exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. "That's all it is to them—something to sell papers. They don't care about the people in the stories they print. Just the clicks. Just the headlines."

"But this," Zayn said, tapping the phone screen lightly, "this is different. You can tell. They're not just telling a story; they're tellingyourstory. And they're doing it right."

Louis nodded faintly. "That's why I agreed to it. It's not how I would've chosen to do this, but… it's the best shot I have at taking back some control."

They continued reading in silence, Zayn occasionally muttering under his breath as he absorbed the details. When they reached the part recounting the February attack, he paused again, his expression unreadable.

"You sure about how this is written? It's pretty detailed."

Louis took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's what happened. I don't want to sanitize it. If I'm doing this, it has to be honest. For the girls who were there, for anyone who's ever been in a situation like that. People need to know what it cost."

Zayn gave him a small nod of respect, scrolling further. When they reached the section where Louis's coming out was mentioned, Zayn slowed down, his expression softening slightly.

"They handled this well," Zayn said after a moment, his tone warm. "It's straightforward, honest. No drama, no spectacle. Just you."

Louis stared at the screen, his eyes scanning the words as though seeing them for the first time. His voice, when he spoke, was tinged with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "That's the part I dreaded most," he admitted. "Seeing it in black and white like that. But it doesn't feel as bad as I thought it would."

Zayn tilted his head, studying him. "Maybe because it's finally yours now. It might not have started on your terms, but you've taken it back. That's something."

Louis's gaze fell to his hands, now still in his lap. "It doesn't feel like it's mine, though. Not really. I didn't want to do it like this. I wanted to celebrate it. With Harry, with everyone. Instead, I'm doing it because I don't have a choice."

"Because ofThe Sun," Zayn said quietly.

Louis nodded, his voice edged with bitterness. "They've already taken so much—my privacy, my dignity. Even this. I didn't want to come out like this, Zayn. But if I don't say it now, they'll twist it. They'll make it dirty, humiliating. Like being gay explains what happened. Like it's my fault for being me."

Zayn reached out, placing a steadying hand on Louis's arm. "It's not fair, Lou. None of this is. You shouldn't have to carry it, let alone explain yourself to the world."

"I know," Louis said, his voice trembling slightly. "But it's not just about me. If I stay quiet, it sends the wrong message. It says I think it's something to be ashamed of. And I don't. Not anymore. I don't want some kid out there thinking they have to hide because I couldn't be honest. If I'm coming out, I want it to mean something."

Zayn squeezed his arm gently. "It already does, mate. More than you know."

Louis offered a faint smile, the tension in his expression easing slightly. "Thanks, Zayn."

They finished reading the article in silence. When they reached the end, Zayn leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.

"What do you think?" Zayn asked, his voice lighter now.

Louis exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest easing for the first time that day. "It's good," he said quietly. "Better than I expected."

"Damn right it is," Zayn replied, smirking. "They've done you justice."

Louis's lips quirked into a small smile, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Let's approve it."

Zayn opened the email app, glancing at Louis. "You want me to type it?"

Louis nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah. You're better at making me sound less miserable."

Zayn chuckled, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Thanks for handling this with care. It wasn't an easy story to tell, but you've done it justice. We appreciate the honesty and thoughtfulness you've shown."

He glanced at Louis, raising an eyebrow. "Work for you?"

Louis nodded, his voice soft but steady. "It's perfect."

Zayn grinned, adding, "Cheers for having my back," before copying in Louis's lawyer and manager and hitting send.

As the email disappeared from the screen, Zayn leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "And that's that."

Louis let out a long breath, his shoulders finally relaxing. "Thanks," he said quietly, his gaze meeting Zayn's.

"Always," Zayn replied, his tone resolute.

The midday sun cast long shadows through the tall windows as Harry unlocked the door to his London flat, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his thoughts. The key turned with a quiet click, and as the door creaked open, the familiar scent of his home hit him—but it brought no comfort. His mind was consumed, replaying Louis's words from earlier in the hospital, the pain in his voice cutting deeper with every repetition.

"Everyone would be better off without me."

The memory felt like a knife to Harry's chest. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if to block out the echo. How could Louis believe that? After everything they'd been through, after all the love Harry had tried to pour into him, how could he still feel that way?

And then there was the kiss. A kiss so intense, so filled with emotion, it had left Harry breathless. It wasn't just passion—it was desperation, a silent plea. Harry could still feel Louis's fingers gripping his shirt, could still taste the salt of tears on his lips. The memory made his heart ache, a bittersweet reminder of how much Louis meant to him.

But the moment was fleeting. Harry heard voices from the kitchen, and his stomach .He had completely forgotten—Gemma and Anne were visiting today. They had only let him know a few days ago as they also wanted to be there for Louis, and with everything happening, the plan had slipped his mind entirely.

"Harry?" Gemma's voice called from the kitchen, followed by the softer tone of Anne. "Is that you, love?"

He stepped forward into the dimly lit flat, his heart feeling unbearably heavy. "Yeah," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, attempting to sound composed but failing miserably. "I'm home."

Gemma appeared first, leaning casually against the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed. Her sharp eyes scanned his face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and the slump in his shoulders. Concern replaced her usual teasing expression. "You look awful," she said bluntly, though her voice held a note of worry. "What's going on?"

Anne stepped into view behind her, her face softer but no less concerned. "Harry, love," she said gently, moving closer. "What's happened? Is it Louis?"

Harry barely made it into the living room before the weight of the past week crashed over him like a tidal wave. His breaths grew shallow, his chest tightening as he collapsed onto the sofa. He buried his head in his hands, the first tears escaping despite his efforts to hold them back.

Gemma was beside him in an instant, her hand resting on his back as she crouched next to the sofa. "Hey, it's okay," she murmured, her voice low and soothing. Anne sat on his other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Anne said softly, brushing his curls away from his damp forehead. "Just breathe. We're here. Tell us what's wrong."

Harry's chest hitched as he fought to form the words. "It's Louis," he finally choked out, his voice trembling. "He's… he's not okay, Mum. He's…" His voice faltered, breaking into a whisper. "He's broken."

Anne tightened her embrace, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. Her fingers stroked through his hair in a calming rhythm, though her own eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Oh, Harry…"

Gemma shifted closer, her hand moving in slow circles on his back. "What do you mean? What's happened?"

Harry lifted his head slightly, his bloodshot eyes meeting theirs. "At the hospital today," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "he told me… he told me he thought the world would be better off without him." His voice cracked, and he dropped his head again, the words spilling out in a flood of anguish. "How could he think that? How could he believe that, after everything?"

Anne's grip on him tightened, her tears falling silently now. "Oh, love," she whispered, her heart breaking at the pain in her son's voice.

Gemma's hand stilled for a moment before she spoke, her voice laced with disbelief. "He actually said that to you?"

Harry nodded, his shoulders trembling. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely audible. "And the worst part is… I wasn't even there when he needed me. He told me to go, and I listened. I left him." His voice cracked again, the guilt bubbling to the surface. "It should've been me, Gem. I should've been there when he… when he called Zayn. When he realized he was spiraling. Zayn pulled him out of it, but it should've been me."

"Harry," Anne said firmly, pulling back slightly to cup his face in her hands. Her eyes searched his, full of warmth and determination. "Listen to me. You are not to blame for this. Do you hear me? None of this is your fault."

"But it feels like it is," Harry whispered, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. "If I hadn't pushed him… If I hadn't insisted on going public that night… he wouldn't have been there. He wouldn't have been hurt. It's because of me, Mum. All of it."

Anne shook her head, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "No, Harry. What happened to Louis is because of those men and their hatred. It's because of a world that doesn't know how to love and accept people for who they are. Don't you dare carry the blame for their cruelty. Louis wouldn't want you to."

Gemma leaned her forehead against his shoulder, her voice quiet but resolute. "And Louis? He's still here, Haz. He's still fighting. That says everything about how strong he is—and about how strong the two of you are together."

Harry let out a shaky breath, some of the tension in his chest easing as their words sank in. He leaned into their comfort, his head resting against Anne's shoulder as her hand stayed steady on his knee.

"The love you and Louis share," Anne said softly, her voice full of conviction, "it's something most people can only dream of. It's survived so much already. And it will survive this, too."

Harry nodded, his breathing beginning to even out. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, his voice quieter now. "Tomorrow's going to be hard," he admitted. "The Telegraph article comes out. Louis is putting everything out there."

Anne and Gemma exchanged a look, their curiosity clearly piqued. "Have you seen it?" Gemma asked, leaning forward slightly.

Harry shook his head. "No, I haven't," he admitted. "But I know what happened—he's told me everything. I was there when he gave his statement to the police, so I doubt there's anything in it I don't already know."

Anne smiled softly, her pride evident as she reached over to squeeze his hand. "And you'll be there for him, no matter what. Just like always."

Gemma nudged his shoulder gently, her tone turning teasing to cut through the seriousness of the moment. "You might want to brace yourself, though. If this article is as raw as it sounds, tomorrow's going to be… interesting."

Harry let out a weak chuckle, though the sound was rough and caught in his throat. "When isn't it with Louis?" he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Gemma grinned, leaning back but keeping her eyes on her brother. "Fair point. Still, I'd keep your phone charged. You're going to need it."

Anne shook her head fondly, her voice soft but full of conviction. "Whatever comes, Harry, you and Louis will get through it. You always do."

As Louis sank back into the pillows, the weight of the day seemed to settle over him like a heavy blanket. His exhaustion was etched into every line of his face, the tension around his eyes softening as he exhaled deeply. "I think I need a nap," he murmured, his voice trailing off as his eyelids fluttered.

Zayn stood, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he reached to adjust the blanket over Louis. "Best idea you've had all day, mate. You've earned it. Rest up—you'll need your energy for tomorrow. Big day ahead."

Louis's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes closed. "Thanks, Zayn. For everything."

"Always, Lou," Zayn replied, his voice low and steady, but his chest ached slightly at the quiet vulnerability in Louis's tone. He settled back into his chair, crossing his arms and leaning forward slightly as he watched Louis's breathing even out into the soft rhythm of sleep.

For a moment, Zayn let his gaze linger on Louis's face, the boyish features that fame had never quite stolen now softened in rest. But the peaceful veneer couldn't hide the toll the past days had taken—the dark shadows under his eyes, the gauntness in his cheeks, the stiffness in the way he moved. It wasn't just the physical injuries, Zayn knew. Those would heal, given time. It was the invisible weight Louis carried that worried him most.

Zayn leaned back in the chair, his mind turning over the sheer unfairness of it all. Louis had been through so much—more than anyone should ever have to endure. And yet, here he was, still standing, still fighting, even when the world seemed determined to knock him down. But Zayn wondered how much of that fight Louis still had left, and if he ever truly let himself feel the enormity of what he'd been through.

It wasn't just the attack, though that alone would have broken most people. It was everything—the years of pressure, of hiding who he was, of carrying burdens no one should have to bear. And now, being forced to lay it all out for the world, not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. Zayn's jaw tightened at the thought, his frustration bubbling just below the surface.

How could Louis not be angry? How could he not feel violated by the way his story had been ripped from his hands? And yet, he'd faced it with that same quiet determination, insisting on telling the truth, even when it hurt. Zayn admired him for it, but he also ached for him.

Louis didn't deserve this. None of it.

Zayn's eyes drifted to the phone resting on the bedside table, theTelegrapharticle waiting to go live. It was a good piece—thoughtful, honest, respectful. But it didn't change the fact that Louis had been forced into sharing his most private truths. The thought made Zayn's stomach twist with anger, but he forced himself to push it aside. Right now, what mattered was being here. For Louis. For the brother who always tried to carry everything on his own shoulders, even when they were already too heavy.

"You're stronger than you know, Lou," Zayn murmured softly, more to himself than to the sleeping figure in the bed. "But even you can't do this alone. But you have an army ready to fight for you."

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he settled into the quiet watchfulness that had become second nature around Louis. As the minutes passed, the room filled with the steady rhythm of Louis's breathing, and Zayn let his own thoughts quiet. Tomorrow would be a big day, but for now, all that mattered was this moment of stillness.

The hospital room was bathed in the soft glow of early evening when the door creaked open. Daisy stepped inside, her arms laden with neatly folded clothes, a warm blanket draped over her shoulder, and a large tote bag that seemed to hold half a household's worth of essentials. A smaller bag dangled from her wrist, its contents clinking faintly as she moved—a sure sign of toiletries. Her brown ponytail swayed as she maneuvered carefully, balancing her load with the precision of someone who had clearly planned for every possible need. Determination was etched into her expression, but the concern in her eyes gave her away.

She stopped short when her gaze landed on Zayn, lounging casually in the corner. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but his sharp eyes flicked up to meet hers, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Daisy," Zayn greeted smoothly, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. His dark eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. "Well, look at you. Last time I saw you, you were what? Nine? And now you're…" He gestured vaguely toward her, his tone teasing. "A much prettier, far more feminine version of Louis."

Daisy blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his playful comment. Then, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she stepped further into the room. "I'd hope so," she replied lightly, warmth creeping into her voice. "It's been a while. You're… not quite how I remember you."

Zayn leaned slightly on the back of the chair, his smirk widening. "More handsome, right? Definitely nicer, too."

"Modest, too, I see," Daisy shot back, rolling her eyes but smiling as she set the pile of items on the small table by Louis's bed. She began unpacking with methodical efficiency, laying out the snacks, a small stack of books, an iPad, a stainless steel water bottle, and the toiletries. "Some things never change."

"Modesty is overrated," Zayn quipped, his grin unabashed. "But you, Daisy—you've changed. Grown up a bit."

Daisy shrugged as she looked over at Louis, still fast asleep, his features softened in slumber. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she turned back to Zayn. "Has he been asleep long?"

Zayn nodded, his smirk fading into something gentler. "Yeah, he went down right after lunch. Been out cold since. Needed it, though—it's been a tough day."

Daisy glanced at her phone, her lips pressing together as she scanned something briefly. "Harry filled us in on the group chat," she said softly, her voice tinged with worry. "It sounded awful."

Zayn's jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of anger crossing his face before he nodded again. "Yeah. Not one of his best mornings. But he pulled through. He always does." His voice softened. "Tougher than he looks, that one."

Daisy smiled faintly, her gaze returning to her brother. "That he is."

She adjusted the blanket on the bed, her hands lingering briefly over Louis's shoulder as if to offer some silent comfort. Then, straightening up, she glanced at the collection of items she'd brought. "I wasn't sure what he'd need, so I just brought everything," she admitted with a small laugh. "Deodorant, shampoo, books to keep him entertained, even a charging cable for his phone. Oh, and snacks, though I know he's not eating much."

Zayn raised an eyebrow, his gaze moving to the array of items. "You came prepared. You've got enough here to last a week."

"Figured it's better to have too much than not enough," Daisy replied lightly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of worry. She picked up the small toiletry bag, unzipping it to reveal a neatly organized collection of shower gel, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a razor. "And if nothing else, he can finally feel a bit more like himself. A proper shower and some clean clothes go a long way."

Zayn nodded, his expression softening. "You've thought of everything. He'll appreciate it, even if he doesn't say so."

Daisy chuckled softly, her eyes flicking back to Louis. "He doesn't have to say it. I know him." Her smile wavered for a moment, and she took a deep breath. "I just want to help. He's been through so much, and I hate feeling like there's so little I can do."

Zayn stepped closer, his voice steady. "You're doing more than enough, Daisy. Just being here makes a difference."

The quiet murmur of their voices must have stirred Louis because he let out a soft groan, his eyelids fluttering. His face scrunched up slightly as if he were trying to resist waking, but after a moment, his blue eyes blinked open. He looked groggy and disoriented at first, but when his gaze landed on Daisy, a small, lopsided smile broke across his face.

"Daisy," he rasped, his voice hoarse and tired. "Come here, you."

She moved to his side instantly, setting the blanket and snacks on a chair before perching gently on the edge of his bed. Louis raised his good arm slightly, and Daisy leaned down to hug him. As she wrapped her arms around him, Louis pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, making her laugh softly.

"Hi, Lou," she said warmly, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You look awful."

"Cheers, Daisy," Louis muttered, his grin growing a fraction. "Always know how to lift a bloke's spirits, don't you?"

"I learned from you," Daisy shot back, raising an eyebrow. "And honestly, you should be grateful. I could've brought a camera to document the 'Louis in Recovery' look."

"Sounds riveting," Louis replied dryly, his voice still raspy from sleep. His gaze flicked toward the pile of items she'd brought in. "What's all this, then? Are you moving in, or is this your audition for the next season ofSuper Sibling?"

Daisy smirked, her arms crossed. "Just making sure you're comfortable, you big baby. Don't start."

"I don't need half of that," Louis said, glancing at the pile with exaggerated skepticism. "A blanket? Snacks? What's next, Daisy? You knitting me a scarf?"

"I could," Daisy quipped, her grin widening. "But then you'd complain about the color, wouldn't you?"

"Not if it matched my eyes," Louis said with mock seriousness. "Only the best for me."

"Good to know your diva streak's intact," Daisy retorted, shaking her head. Her tone softened slightly as she added, "And don't you dare complain about the snacks. You're eating something tonight, even if I have to spoon-feed you."

Louis's playful expression faltered slightly, his jaw tightening. "Daisy, don't," he said quietly, his tone losing its teasing edge. "That's not… funny."

Daisy blinked, the shift catching her off guard. "I wasn't joking," she said softly, her brow furrowing. "I just… I want to help."

Zayn, who had been watching the exchange from his spot by the window, cleared his throat gently, stepping in to ease the tension. "She means well, mate," he said, his voice calm. "But Daisy, maybe let him come to it on his own."

Daisy nodded quickly, her expression apologetic. "Sorry, Lou. I just hate seeing you like this."

Louis exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he nodded. "I know. Just… it's hard, alright? Can we leave it at that?"

"Of course," Daisy said softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly before pulling back.

"Bossyandstubborn," Louis muttered, though there was no real heat in his voice. "You're worse than Nan."

"That's because I learned from the best," Daisy shot back with a smirk, crossing her arms.

Zayn chuckled, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked into his pockets. "You two are something else," he said, shaking his head. "Reminds me of me and my sisters. Bossy lot, all of them."

Daisy turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "I bet they put you in your place."

"Regularly," Zayn admitted with a grin. "Keeps me humble."

Louis snorted. "That's the word I'd use for you. Humble."

Zayn grinned, unbothered by the jab. "More than you, mate."

Daisy laughed, the sound lightening the mood in the room. "See, Lou? You're not the only one who gets roasted by their siblings."

Louis rolled his eyes, his smirk faint but defiant. "Yeah, but at least I'm the favorite."

Daisy gasped in mock outrage, her hand flying to her chest as if deeply offended. "Says who? Nan would never pick you over me."

"Oh, she'd pick me," Louis said with feigned confidence, his grin growing. "She'd just never say it out loud. You know, to spare your fragile ego."

Zayn chuckled, shaking his head as he watched their sibling banter unfold. "I don't know who to feel sorrier for—your nan for having to deal with both of you, or the nurses stuck in here."

Daisy smiled, her gaze flicking back to Louis. "For the record, I'm still the favorite sibling. But if you want to live in denial, that's your choice."

Louis gave a lazy shrug, clearly too tired to put up much of a fight. "Delusional, but fine."

"You two bicker like it's a sport," Zayn remarked, leaning back in his chair. "Good to see some things never change."

Louis shot him a tired but pointed look. "Don't you start."

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate," Zayn replied, his grin widening. "Though I've got to say, Daisy, you've got a real talent for putting him in his place. Keep up the good work."

"Gladly," Daisy quipped, shooting Zayn a playful wink before turning back to her brother. "Now, Lou, do you need anything? Water? Tea? The blanket I dragged all the way here for you?"

Louis sighed, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "I'm fine, Dais. Really. Just… stay with me for a bit?"

Her teasing expression softened immediately. "Of course," she said gently, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere."

Daisy reached over to the bedside table and picked up a glass of water. "Here, you've got to drink more," she said, holding it up for him.

Louis grimaced, but he didn't argue, leaning forward slightly to take a sip as Daisy tilted the glass. At first, he drank automatically, the cool water sliding down his throat without much thought. Then, as he swallowed again, his brow furrowed. A strange, unwelcome taste began to coat his tongue, faint but unmistakable. His stomach churned as the familiar, horrifying sensation hit him—like the taste he'd been battling with food had crept into the water too.

He tried to pull back, but Daisy was still holding the glass, and she didn't realize his change in demeanor. "Come on," she said softly. "Just a bit more, Lou. You need it."

Louis forced another sip, his heart beginning to race. The taste seemed stronger now, clinging to the back of his throat. Panic stirred in his chest, the sensation a cruel reminder of everything he was trying so hard to suppress.

"That's enough," he said quickly, his voice a little sharper than intended as he pulled his head back.

Daisy lowered the glass immediately, concern flickering across her face. "Alright, alright," she said lightly, trying to keep the mood casual. "Didn't mean to waterboard you."

Louis gave her a weak smile, his fingers twitching slightly against the blanket. "You sound like Nan," he muttered, forcing his tone into something lighter.

"Good," Daisy replied cheerfully, clearly trying to brush past the moment. "Maybe you'll actually listen to me for once."

Louis leaned back, his jaw tight as he tried to steady his breathing. He swallowed hard, desperate to push the taste away, to bury the panic rising in his chest. He couldn't tell Daisy—not now. Not when she was trying so hard to help.

"You okay?" Zayn asked suddenly, his sharp gaze flicking to Louis.

"Yeah," Louis said quickly, his voice tighter than he'd intended. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, just… tired."

Daisy didn't miss the slight edge in his tone, but she let it slide, reaching for the small bottle of cola she'd brought. "Want to try this? Don't say no—it's your favorite."

Louis hesitated, his stomach flipping at the idea, but he nodded slightly. "Alright," he said, his voice quieter. "Just a sip."

Daisy uncapped the bottle and tilted it carefully, holding it steady as Louis took a small drink. The carbonation fizzed on his tongue, and for a fleeting moment, the sweetness distracted him. But then the same awful taste began to seep through, ruining even the small comfort the cola should have brought.

"Thanks," he murmured, pulling back quickly. His voice was almost a whisper now, his fingers gripping the blanket as he fought to keep the panic from showing.

Zayn watched the interaction with a soft smile, his arms crossed. "You've got this whole nurse thing down, Daisy. Thought about making it a career?"

"Hard pass," Daisy said with a grin, setting the cola bottle aside. "You lot are more than enough patients for me."

Zayn chuckled, his gaze shifting back to Louis. "You know, you're lucky to have her, mate. Most siblings would've bailed by now."

Daisy smirked, her hands resting on her hips. "That's because he knows better than to cross me."

Louis managed a faint laugh, though his fingers still gripped the blanket tightly. He could feel the lingering taste at the back of his throat, a cruel reminder that even the simplest things—drinking water, taking comfort from his sister—weren't free from the shadows of what had happened.

Daisy reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over Louis's hair. "Alright, no dodging this time, Lou. Are you really okay? You look… wiped."

Louis forced a small smile, his voice low but firm. "I'm fine, Dais. Just tired. Long day."

Her concern didn't waver, but she nodded, deciding not to push. "Alright. But you know you can tell me, yeah?"

"I know," Louis said softly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to reassure her.

As the room settled into a quieter rhythm, Zayn leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking between the siblings. Louis closed his eyes for a moment, willing the panic and the lingering taste to fade. He wasn't ready to talk about it—not with Daisy, not with Zayn—but having them there, grounding him, made the battle feel just a little less lonely.

Louis shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his eyes flicking between Daisy and Zayn, the weight of his request pressing heavily on his chest. Daisy was sitting nearby, meticulously arranging the snacks and toiletries she'd brought, completely oblivious to Louis's growing unease. His expression turned sheepish, a mix of embarrassment and hesitation clouding his face.

"Zayn," he began hesitantly, his voice barely above a murmur. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket as he avoided direct eye contact. "I, uh… need some help."

Zayn looked up from his phone, raising a brow as he studied Louis's anxious expression. "What kind of help?" he asked casually, though the slight tilt of his head showed he was already piecing it together.

Louis cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing as he darted a glance at Daisy. "To the bathroom," he admitted in a rush, the words tumbling out as if saying them quickly might make them less awkward. "I'd ask Daisy, but… no. That's not happening. And I'm not letting the nurses near me with a bloody catheter."

Daisy immediately straightened, her brows furrowing in concern. "Lou, I can—"

"No," Louis interrupted firmly, his tone sharper than intended. He softened it immediately with a faint, apologetic smile. "You're not holding me up, Dais. That's… just wrong."

Daisy hesitated, clearly wanting to protest, but she caught the unease in his expression and nodded. "Alright," she said softly, her voice steady but warm. "If you're sure."

"Yeah," Louis muttered, his gaze dropping. "I'm sure."

Zayn stretched as he stood, brushing off his jeans. "Alright, mate," he said with an easy smile, his tone light to ease the tension. "Let's get you sorted. Just tell me what to do."

Louis hesitated, his fingers twisting in the blanket as a dozen doubts and fears ran through his mind. He hated this—hated needing help, hated the vulnerability of it all. But he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Just… don't touch my left shoulder or my right arm. They're useless. And be careful with my ribs—they're still a mess. Just… steady me so I don't fall. That's all."

Zayn nodded, his expression serious now. "Got it. Slow and steady. You're in charge."

Louis swallowed hard and nodded back, though his stomach churned with unease. Zayn wasn't one ofthem. He reminded himself of that again and again. Zayn was his friend—someone he trusted. This wasn't going to be like before.

Still, the first contact made his skin prickle with tension. Zayn slid an arm carefully around Louis's waist, avoiding his injuries with practiced precision. "Alright, up we go," Zayn said calmly, easing Louis upright.

Louis clenched his jaw as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his breaths shallow and deliberate. "Slow," he murmured, more to himself than Zayn.

"Got you," Zayn replied, his tone steady and reassuring. He kept a firm grip on Louis's side, ensuring he didn't waver as his legs took his weight.

Each step toward the bathroom was deliberate, Louis leaning heavily on Zayn for support. His legs trembled with effort, the strain evident in the tightness of his jaw and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Zayn moved carefully, his movements slow and measured, but he didn't fully understand how much precision Louis's fragile state required.

They were nearly halfway there when Zayn shifted his grip, his hand brushing lower on Louis's back to adjust his support. The reaction was immediate and visceral—Louis stiffened, his entire body freezing as his breath hitched audibly.

His vision narrowed as panic surged, sharp and unrelenting. In a flash, he wasn't in the hospital anymore. He was cornered, trapped by the crushing weight of someone's hands on him. His chest tightened, his heart racing wildly as the memory overtook him.

"Zayn," he said sharply, his voice trembling with fear. "Not there. Let go."

Zayn froze, alarm flashing across his face. "Alright, alright," he said quickly, his voice calm but tinged with worry. "Just hold on—let me get you to the wall."

Zayn adjusted his stance, guiding Louis toward the nearest surface where he could brace himself. Louis clung to the cool, solid wall, his fingers digging into it as he fought to ground himself. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, the lingering sensation of the touch still burning against his skin.

"Louis," Daisy's voice was soft but urgent from behind them. She stood frozen, her hands clasped together as her wide eyes darted between him and Zayn. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Louis didn't answer, his focus locked entirely on trying to push the panic back. He pressed his forehead against the wall, his breaths loud and shaky as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Just give him a minute," Zayn said, his voice steady but low as he stepped back to give Louis space. "He's got this."

For what felt like an eternity, Louis stayed there, his chest heaving as he fought to bring himself back to the present. He forced his mind to latch onto the physical sensations around him—the coolness of the wall beneath his hands, the faint hum of the hospital's air conditioning, the distant sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slowly, the grip of the memory began to loosen.

"Sorry," Louis muttered after a moment, his voice raw and barely audible. He didn't turn around, keeping his forehead pressed against the wall. "I just… needed a second."

"You don't have to apologize," Zayn said firmly, his tone calm but insistent. "Take all the time you need."

Daisy stepped closer, her hands hovering uncertainly. "Lou, do you need—"

"No," Louis said quickly, though his voice was softer now. "I'm fine, Dais. Just… stay there."

She nodded, her worry evident, but she stayed back as Louis slowly pushed himself upright. His breathing had evened out slightly, though his face was pale, and a faint tremor still ran through his frame.

"You ready?" Zayn asked quietly, his expression carefully neutral.

Louis nodded, though his grip on the wall tightened briefly before he let go. "Yeah," he said, his voice steadier. "I'm ready."

Zayn moved back into position, his movements slower and more deliberate this time. He kept his hand higher, avoiding Louis's back entirely as he offered support. Louis leaned on him again, his steps hesitant but more controlled as they finally reached the bathroom door.

Zayn stopped just outside, leaning casually against the wall. "Call if you need me," he said lightly, though his eyes remained sharp and focused on Louis.

Louis managed a faint nod before disappearing inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Daisy crossed her arms, her gaze still fixed on the door. "What happened?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with concern. "That wasn't just pain, Zayn. He looked terrified."

Zayn rubbed the back of his neck, unease flickering across his face as he processed what had just happened. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice low and edged with frustration. "But whatever it was, it hit hard." He glanced at Daisy, his tone softening as his concern for her brother became evident. "He's been through hell, Daisy. It's not just the physical stuff—it's all of it. It's gonna take time."

Daisy nodded, her lips pressing together tightly as she crossed her arms. Her gaze lingered on the bathroom door, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I know. I just… hate seeing him like this. It feels like everything's been taken from him."

Before Zayn could respond, the door to the hospital room opened, and Maggie and Priya stepped inside, their soft chatter trailing off as they took in the scene. Maggie's brows lifted when she noticed Zayn stationed near the bathroom door, his posture both alert and nonchalant.

"Where's our patient?" Maggie asked, her tone half-joking as her sharp eyes scanned the room.

Zayn smirked, jerking his thumb toward the bathroom. "Entertaining himself in the loo."

Maggie let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "Well, I'll be. Didn't think he'd manage that. Thought for sure we'd be wheeling in the catheter again."

From behind the bathroom door, Louis's voice echoed, weak but unmistakably firm. "Not happening!"

Maggie chuckled, exchanging a glance with Priya, who smiled softly. "Still as stubborn as ever," Maggie said, her voice warm with a touch of admiration. "That's the Louis we know."

The bathroom door creaked open a few moments later, and Louis emerged slowly, leaning heavily on the doorframe for support. His face was pale, his movements deliberate and shaky, but his blue eyes held a flicker of determination. Zayn was at his side in an instant, slipping an arm around Louis's waist with practiced care.

"Alright, mate," Zayn said, his voice steady and encouraging. "Let's get you back."

Louis nodded faintly, the effort of standing taking its toll. "Sink first," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Zayn guided him carefully to the sink, keeping his grip secure but mindful of Louis's injuries. Daisy hovered nearby, her hands clenched tightly as she watched, ready to step in if needed. Louis managed to wash his hands with slow, methodical movements, his breathing heavy with exertion.

"Nearly there," Zayn said as they began the short but grueling walk back to the bed. Louis leaned on him more heavily with each step, his legs trembling under his weight. By the time they reached the bed, his face was drawn and exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Louis sank into the mattress with a relieved sigh, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. His gaze flicked to Maggie as he spoke, his voice quieter but resolute. "No catheter," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Maggie raised her hands in mock surrender, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Alright, alright," she said warmly. "But if you keep pushing yourself like this, you're going to burn yourself out, lad."

Louis managed a tired smirk, though his eyes were already half-closed. "I'm fine," he muttered, his voice laced with exhaustion but tinged with a faint trace of humor. "Zayn's got me."

Zayn settled back into the chair by Louis's bed, his arms crossed as he shot him a quick wink. "Always, mate. Always."

Daisy moved closer, adjusting the blanket over Louis and smoothing a hand lightly over his hair. "Just rest now, Lou," she murmured softly, her voice a mixture of affection and worry. "We've got you too."

Louis's lips quirked into a faint smile as his eyelids drooped further, and within moments, the tension in his face eased as he drifted into a much-needed sleep.

Maggie's sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the tray of untouched snacks she had left earlier. Her lips pressed into a firm line as she turned her gaze to Louis, who was lying back against the pillows, looking noticeably pale. "Looks like you haven't touched a thing I left for you," she said, her voice a blend of exasperation and concern.

Louis shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, avoiding her gaze. "Wasn't hungry," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

Maggie arched an unimpressed eyebrow, her hands settling firmly on her hips. "Well, you'd best find some appetite now," she said, her no-nonsense tone brooking no argument. "You're not going to get better on stubbornness and air alone, Louis."

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I'll try," he conceded reluctantly, though even the thought of eating made his stomach churn.

Priya, who had been standing quietly nearby, stepped forward with a container of mashed potatoes. She pulled up a chair next to his bed, carefully peeling off the lid. "It doesn't have to be much," she said gently, her voice soft and encouraging. "Just a few bites to get started."

Louis hesitated, his eyes darting toward the container as if it were some kind of trap. Moments earlier, even water had betrayed him, carrying with it that awful, invasive taste he couldn't escape. Eating felt like stepping into another nightmare. A faint tremor ran through him as he nodded, unable to find the words to protest.

Priya offered him a small spoonful, and after a moment's hesitation, he opened his mouth. He chewed slowly, his jaw tightening with each mechanical movement. The texture was wrong—cloying and heavy—and the taste was worse. The mashed potatoes should have been neutral, maybe even comforting, but instead, there was that sickeningly familiar undertone. The association slammed into him like a freight train.

Semen. The word echoed in his mind, unbidden and relentless. His chest tightened, a low burn of shame spreading through him as the bitter memory crept in with every bite. He wanted to gag, wanted to push the container away and forget this moment entirely, but he forced himself to take another bite, and then another. By the fourth, he couldn't continue.

Louis weakly gestured toward Priya, his voice breaking. "That's enough," he said hoarsely, his throat raw and constricted. "I can't."

Priya paused, her gentle eyes studying him with quiet understanding. "Alright," she said softly, setting the container aside without hesitation. "You did well. That's a good start, Louis."

He exhaled shakily, leaning back against the pillows. Relief flickered briefly at the lack of pressure, but the nausea churned heavily in his stomach, lingering like an unwelcome guest. For a moment, he considered speaking—explaining why eating had become so impossible—but the words tangled in his throat.

He thought of Dr. Ana Lopes, the doctor who had become his main support since the attack. Maybe this was something he could talk to her about. Or perhaps even Maggie. The idea of saying it aloud, of voicing the intrusive associations, made his stomach lurch again. Still, he knew he couldn't avoid the truth forever.

Zayn's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. "Alright, mate," he said, his tone light but tinged with concern. "I think it's time I head out."

Louis turned his head toward Zayn, a faint, tired smirk tugging at his lips despite the deep exhaustion etched into his features. "About time," he said quietly, his voice tinged with dry humor. "Thanks for everything, though. And… sorry your shift ran so long."

Zayn let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he leaned casually against the chair. "No need to apologize. You're worth the overtime," he quipped, shooting Louis a wink. The humor in his tone softened as his gaze lingered on Louis, a flicker of worry passing across his face. "But seriously, take it easy, yeah? We've got you, Lou. Always."

Straightening up, Zayn stretched his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders. "Now, get some rest, alright? And for the love of God, don't let Maggie bully you into doing anything you don't want to."

From across the room, Maggie's voice cut in, sharp but playful. "I heard that!" Her tone softened with a smile as she added, "And it's not bullying—it's persuasion."

Louis's lips twitched in faint amusement, though the weight of exhaustion was evident in his expression. "Don't worry. No catheters today," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zayn chuckled, stepping closer to clap a reassuring hand on Louis's shoulder. The touch was steady but brief, mindful of Louis's injuries. "See you tomorrow, mate. And seriously—try to eat something. You've got to start getting your strength back."

"Yeah, yeah," Louis murmured, waving him off weakly as his eyelids fluttered closed, the pull of sleep already overtaking him.

As Zayn slipped out of the room, Maggie and Priya moved quietly, tidying up the scattered items on the bedside table and organizing the snacks Daisy had brought. Daisy, meanwhile, scooted closer to Louis, settling into the chair beside his bed. Her fingers lightly smoothed the blanket over him in small, soothing motions.

"You're doing alright, Lou," she said softly, her voice steady and full of affection. "I'm proud of you."

Louis stirred at the sound of her voice, opening his eyes just enough to meet hers. His gaze, though heavy with fatigue, held warmth and gratitude. "Thanks, Daisy," he murmured, his voice low but sincere. "Means a lot."

He knew he would have to say something eventually. Whether to Maggie, or to Dr. Ana Lopes, he couldn't keep pretending forever. But not tonight. Tonight, he let the quiet lull of Daisy's presence and the promise of Zayn's steady support ease him into uneasy rest.

The hospital room was quiet, save for the faint hum of machines and the occasional rustle of Daisy sorting through the pile of clothes and essentials she'd brought earlier. Louis sat upright in his bed, his phone resting loosely in his lap. His fingers traced the edge of the case absently, his face calm but unable to mask the undercurrent of tension in his features.

Daisy glanced at him from across the room, her brow furrowing slightly. Even in his stillness, she could sense the storm brewing beneath the surface. She paused in her task, folding a blanket more carefully than necessary as she waited for him to speak.

Finally, Louis broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. "Daisy, I need a favor."

She straightened immediately, setting the blanket aside and moving closer to the bed. "Of course. What do you need?"

Louis hesitated, his gaze falling to the phone in his lap. His fingers tightened slightly around it. "I need help writing a post. For Instagram. To go out tomorrow morning."

Daisy's eyes narrowed slightly, and she perched on the edge of the chair beside his bed. "Tomorrow? This about the Telegraph article?"

He nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the decision pressed harder now that he'd voiced it. "Yeah. I worked on it with them. It's my words, my story. But I want people to know it's mine—not something the press twisted or a headline designed to sell papers. After The Sun…" His voice trailed off, his jaw tightening briefly before he continued. "I need this to come from me."

Daisy leaned in, her voice soft but firm. "Are you sure about this, Lou? You don't have to rush anything. No one's expecting you to—"

"It's not rushing," Louis cut in, his tone sharper than he intended. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer but no less resolute. "It's about control. The Sun already made sure I don't have the luxury of waiting. If I don't say something now, someone else will. And they'll turn it into something it's not. This way… at least it's on my terms. As much as it can be."

Daisy's heart clenched at the bitterness in his voice, but she nodded, picking up his phone. "Alright," she said gently. "Let's make sure it's your words. Exactly how you want it."

Louis gestured toward the gallery app on his phone. "There's a photo I want to use. Zayn made this little rainbow flag before the interview. Stuck it on a tiny wooden stick—like the ones my fans have at my concerts." His lips twitched briefly, almost a smile. "Lottie took the photo. It's me holding the flag. Thought it'd be fitting."

Daisy swiped through the photos until she found it. The image stopped her short. Louis was sitting upright in his hospital bed, holding the small rainbow flag in one hand. His expression was calm, almost resolute, his posture exuding a quiet strength. The makeup and carefully chosen clothes had softened the more visible signs of his injuries, presenting an almost familiar version of himself. But his eyes gave away the truth. There was vulnerability there, a rawness that was unmistakable.

"It's perfect," Daisy said softly, tilting the phone to show him. "You look… ready."

Louis let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound tinged with something bitter. "Ready? Sure," he said, his tone edged with self-deprecation. "Let's go with that."

Daisy didn't press, sensing his fragile mood. She opened the notes app, ready to type. "Alright, Lou. Where do you want to start?"

He sat back against the pillows, staring at the blank screen for a moment. Then he said firmly, "Start with:Yes, I'm … get it out there. No preamble."

Daisy nodded, her fingers moving swiftly. "Got it. What's next?"

Louis's brow furrowed as he thought. "Say…This isn't the way I wanted to share this part of my life. I always thought, someday, I'd do this differently. That I'd be proud, that I'd celebrate it. That I'd do it with him by my side."

His voice caught on the last phrase, and he quickly cleared his throat. Daisy looked at him, her expression soft but steady. "Lou…"

"It's fine," he said, brushing her concern aside. "Just write it. Say…But now, I don't have that choice anymore. After the attack, I had to tell the police. I had to tell my lawyers. And when the court case happens, the truth will be out of my hands. I can't wait any longer—not because I want to, but because I have to."

Daisy's heart clenched at the weight of his words, but she kept typing. "You're taking back control," she said quietly. "That matters."

Louis huffed softly, his gaze fixed on the window. "Doesn't feel like control. Feels like damage control." He went on, his voice lower now. "Say this:For years, I've been told to hide who I am. People told me it would make me look weak. That it would change the way people see me. And maybe that got to me. Maybe, sometimes, I believed them. But hiding didn't make me stronger. It just made me feel… lost. Like I've built so many walls, I don't even know what's real anymore."

Daisy paused, her fingers hovering over the screen. "Lou… are you sure?"

Louis gave her a faint smile, his blue eyes glinting with a mix of pain and determination. "Yeah. It's the truth, isn't it?"

She nodded and continued typing. "What else do you want to say?"

Louis tilted his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes briefly. "I want to talk about what being gay really means. Say…Being gay doesn't mean I want every man I meet. It doesn't mean I enjoy risky encounters, or that I deserve to be hurt or humiliated. And it sure as hell doesn't mean I want to be attacked, like the Sun tried to imply. Being gay means I want to love and be loved by one person. And I've found him."

He opened his eyes, meeting Daisy's gaze. "But don't name him," he added softly. "That's his choice to share, not mine."

Daisy's throat tightened, but she nodded, typing the words carefully. "Anything else?"

Louis's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Say…This isn't easy. It's terrifying. But being yourself isn't weakness—it's strength. It's… only for the brave."

Daisy's fingers stilled for a moment before she looked up at him, her smile small but full of pride. "That's beautiful, Lou."

He gave a faint shrug, his expression weary but resolute. "It's the truth. And people deserve that much."

Daisy typed the final lines, reading them aloud as she went. "To those who've stood by me, who've loved me even when I couldn't love myself: thank you. Your support means more than I can ever else?"

Louis shook his head. "That's it. Schedule it for tomorrow morning, right after theTelegrapharticle goes live."

When Daisy finished scheduling the post, she leaned back with a satisfied smile, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the phone. "So, do you think Instagram has enough server space for this?" she quipped, her voice laced with teasing. "Or should we give them a heads-up? 'Hi, just a warning, Louis Tomlinson is about to break the internet.'"

Louis chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're giving me too much credit. I'm not that important."

Daisy raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Not important? Lou, your fans lost their minds when you posted a picture of your socks. This? This is going to blow up."

Louis smirked, though a faint blush tinged his cheeks. "It's not like I'm Harry Styles. He's the one who can post a picture of a banana and start a global conversation about potassium."

Daisy let out a loud laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle it. "Fair enough," she said, her eyes sparkling. Then her expression turned slightly mischievous. "Speaking of which, does Harry know you're doing this?"

Louis's smirk faltered slightly, and he shook his head, leaning back against the pillows. "Nope. Haven't told him."

Daisy's jaw dropped. "Louis! Are you serious? You're droppingthistomorrow, and Harry doesn't even know?"

Louis shrugged, though there was a flicker of guilt in his expression. "What would I say? 'Hey, Haz, just so you know, tomorrow the world finds out I'm gay. Cheers.'"

Daisy looked like she was about to burst, barely containing her laughter. "Oh my God, you're unreal. He's going to wake up to a million texts and have a heart attack. You're lucky he loves you."

Louis grinned, his voice light but affectionate. "He'll survive. Besides, it'll keep him on his toes."

Daisy shook her head, trying and failing to suppress a giggle. "You're unbelievable. But honestly, are you sure you don't want to give him a heads-up? Maybe let him prepare a post or something?"

Louis's grin widened into a cheeky smirk. "Nah. Let him scramble a bit. I want to see what he comes up with under pressure. He always makes everything look so bloody perfect—let's see him wing it for once."

Daisy dissolved into laughter, leaning forward with her hands on her knees. "You're evil. Truly."

Louis laughed along with her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "He'll manage. He's Harry bloody Styles. He can charm his way out of anything."

They continued to joke and banter, Daisy throwing out increasingly ridiculous scenarios of how Harry might react—everything from posting an all-caps rant to sharing a completely unrelated selfie with the caption,Proud boyfriend 's laughter filled the room, but as the moments passed, his eyelids grew heavier.

Mid-sentence, as Daisy was mimicking Harry's hypothetical panic, Louis's laughter trailed off. His head tilted slightly to the side, his body sinking deeper into the pillows. His breathing evened out, soft and steady. He was fast asleep.

Daisy stopped, her grin fading into a tender smile as she looked at her brother. She reached out to adjust the blanket over him, her movements gentle. "You're doing alright, Lou," she whispered, more to herself than him.

Quietly, she sat back, pulling out her own phone to keep an eye on the scheduled post. But as she watched Louis sleep, her heart swelled with pride—and a quiet hope that, come tomorrow, the world would see the Louis she knew: strong, resilient, and brave.