Chapter Text
***Louis***
Louis tensed as he heard the garage door open, signaling that his boyfriend was home. Quickly, he turned off the TV and began to run the vacuum in the living room, even though he’d already done so twice earlier. His boyfriend, radio DJ and morning show host Rich Montgomery, had left in a bad mood that morning, complaining about the state of the house, and so Louis, wanting to make him happy, had deep cleaned every room, not even stopping for lunch, which he was reminded of when he became slightly dizzy upon standing from the couch too fast. His hands were shaking, so Louis decided to blame that on the lack of food in his system as well.
Rich entered the house, and Louis shot him a smile. Rich nodded, his expression emotionless, before going into the kitchen. Practicing his deep breathing exercises, Louis continued sweeping until the vacuum cleaner suddenly turned off. Thinking he’d gone too far and pulled the plug from the wall, Louis turned around but was startled to see Rich standing there with the end of the cord in his hand.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Louis asked in the sweetest voice he could muster. Dropping the plug, Rich stated,
“You look a mess.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been cleaning all day, but I’ll get a shower as soon as I finish running the vacuum in here,” Louis promised.
“There’s no time, just go get a fucking shower! We have to go,” Rich said, his voice rising dangerously close to a yell, and Louis flinched.
“Go? Where are we going?” he asked, his voice small. Rich rolled his eyes.
“To Harry Styles’s album release party. It’s only been written on the calendar in the kitchen for three months, you fucking idiot.”
“I didn’t know I was invited,” Louis said, and was surprised Rich could even hear him at that point.
“Well, technically, you’re not, but I’m allowed a plus one so go make yourself look as presentable as possible in the next fifteen minutes.”
Louis still had many questions, but he simply nodded and hurried upstairs. Usually when Rich went out, he left Louis at home. It made it much more difficult for Rich to find someone to have a one-night stand with when his boyfriend was around, of course.
Louis took a four-minute shower, brushed his teeth, and quickly styled his hair in a way that wouldn’t look too terrible once it had dried. After throwing on some clothes and slipping into his shoes, Louis made it downstairs in thirteen minutes. Rich was standing by the garage door, having changed out of his jeans and T-shirt to put on a short-sleeved button-up, tight enough in the arms to extenuate his muscles, and chinos. His chestnut hair was slicked back, and he had just a hint of eyeliner in the corners of each eye, turning their gray color steely.
“You look handsome,” Louis told his boyfriend.
“Let’s go,” Rich said.
“Were you sent a copy of Harry Styles’s new album early?” Louis asked as Rich drove the pair to the Club Royale Chelsea, where the party was being held.
“Yeah,” Rich said simply, looking lazily over his shoulder to switch lanes.
“Is it good?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t listen to it.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
Even from the side, Louis could tell that Rich rolled his eyes at him and so shut his lips tightly and sat back in his seat, deciding it would be pointless, and maybe even detrimental, to continue to try to make conversation.
Once at the club, Rich’s entire demeanor changed. Smiling, he held Louis’s hand on the way in and kept his arm around his shoulders while introducing him to friends and colleagues that Louis had yet to meet. The pair eventually settled at a table with the owner of the radio station where Rich worked. There was a bucket on the table holding a bottle of champagne, so Rich poured Louis a glass before getting some for himself.
“How have you been, Louis?” Damien, Rich’s co-worker, asked, and, straightening his posture, Louis put on his brightest smile.
“Oh, I’ve been really well, thank you!” he replied. “How about yourself?”
“Fantastic,” Damien said, and then fell into conversation with Louis’s boyfriend.
Louis was on his second glass of champagne when Harry Styles began to make his way around the tables to thank his guests. When Louis saw Harry approaching their table, he quickly looked down and busied himself with a cocktail menu. Damien had gone to the bathroom and Rich was at the bar, so the last thing Louis needed was for his boyfriend to come back and find him talking to the tall, dark-haired, and handsome Harry Styles alone.
Since Louis doubted Harry knew who he was, he figured that Harry would glide right on by him to talk to those at the next table instead, but his hands grew clammy when the singer stopped in front of him.
“You look lonely,” Harry said, his voice deep but friendly. Louis glanced up, then quickly looked around for any signs of Rich before he shrugged and said,
“I’m with Rich Montgomery. He just went to the bar. Sorry you missed him.”
“That’s okay,” Harry said. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”
“Oh, um, you’re welcome. Thanks.”
Suddenly, Louis felt overheated, though figured he had a good excuse, considering it was June, and he was sitting at the crowded club wearing a wool turtleneck.
To Louis’s confusion, Harry still didn’t leave. Tilting his head, Harry said, “I’m sorry, this is so rude, but have we met before?”
“Oh, um, no,” Louis replied. “I’m just here with Rich Montgomery.”
“So I’ve heard,” Harry said with a small smile.
“Right. Sorry,” Louis replied, feeling a blush form on his cheeks. He was glad it was dark in the club but feared that Rich would still be able to see the pink tint his face took on, so he took a long drink of water in the hopes that it would extinguish it.
“Well, anyway, thanks again for coming! I hope you have a great time, and I might see you around later.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Louis said and, after giving him one more dimpled smile, Harry flitted off to the next table. Luckily, when Rich returned about five minutes later, he didn’t seem to have witnessed Louis’s brief conversation with Harry.
The next time Louis saw Harry, the singer had noticeably consumed a couple drinks too many. Rich had drunk even more than that, and in his intoxicated state, was letting his charm slip.
“Go get us another drink, Louis,” he demanded, his words already slurred. “Damien and me, I mean. You’re not drinking anymore because you’re going to drive me home.”
“Okay,” Louis said, beginning to stand because even though Rich didn’t need any more to drink, Louis knew better than to tell him that.
“Please and thank you,” Damien added with a small smile to Louis, but Rich just snorted.
“What would you both like?” Louis asked, and after they’d given Louis their orders, he made his way quickly to the bar.
The bar was packed with customers while only two bartenders were on shift, working their hardest to take everyone’s order and get their requests out in a timely manner. Louis was a patient man, but Rich wasn’t, so Louis’s anxiety increased with every minute that passed by. When, finally, he had a drink in both hands, he turned around quickly, nearly running into another patron.
“Oh, sorry!” Louis apologized. “I’m really sorry.”
“No worries, mate,” the man said with a polite smile, then clapped Louis gently on the shoulder before approaching the bar. Louis walked back to his table as fast as he could without spilling the drinks.
“Finally,” Rich said, taking his drink from Louis’s hands before he even sat down.
“Sorry, they’re busy,” Louis said honestly.
“Uh-huh,” Rich replied, although he could see with his own eyes that Louis wasn’t lying. “Who was that man you were talking to at the bar?”
“What?” Louis asked, distressed. “I wasn’t talking to anyone at the bar.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Louis; I saw you!”
Louis wracked his brain before realizing what his boyfriend had probably witnessed.
“Oh! That guy. We weren’t really talking, I just almost bumped into him, so I was apologizing.”
Rich snorted, setting his glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary. Damien was staring at Rich like he didn’t know who he was, and Louis knew he probably actually didn’t. Rich didn’t show this side to many people.
“Come to the toilet with me, Lou,” Rich demanded, and Louis of course couldn’t say no.
As soon as they were in the toilets, Rich smacked Louis, who gave a grunt of surprise even though he shouldn’t have been shocked at all.
“Why’d you fucking lie to me?” the drunker man demanded, pushing Louis hard enough so that his back hit the wall.
“What do you mean?” Louis asked, lost again.
“You said you weren’t talking to anyone at the bar, but as soon as I called you out on your bullshit, you admitted that you were!”
“No, I wasn’t talking to him! I told you; I only apologized for nearly bumping into him.”
Louis received another smack, though he’d seen that one coming and barely made a noise.
“You watch your tone with me, you minging piece of shit.”
The next thing Louis knew, Rich’s hands were around his throat, squeezing enough to constrict his airway despite the turtleneck. Louis kicked his legs toward Rich’s but missed each time. He tried to pull his boyfriend’s hands off him, to no avail. Spots forming in front of his eyes, Louis was just starting to think that maybe Rich really was going to kill him this time when Rich released him. Louis slid down the wall, gasping for air and rubbing his throat.
“Get up, drama queen,” Rich sneered, but didn’t give Louis a chance before he yanked the other to his feet himself. Still weak, Louis lost his balance and slid to the floor again.
“I said get up!” the drunker man demanded, pulling Louis to his feet yet again before shoving him into the wall. Luckily, Louis managed to stay grounded that time, but his breath left him again when someone from the doorway spoke up, and they sounded angry too.
“Um, excuse me?!”
“Sorry,” Louis said automatically, trying to shrink closer to the wall as he focused his gaze on Harry Styles, who was standing in front of the bathroom door, his eyes wide and his forehead creased.
“Wha- the fuck do you think you’re doing, man?” Harry slurred, and Louis was about to apologize again, but then realized the singer was talking to Rich. That made him more anxious though, because he couldn’t fathom anyone getting away with talking to Rich like that.
“Mind your own damn business,” Rich replied, glaring at Louis before shoving by Harry and seeing himself out of the bathroom, continuing to mumble something like, “Don’ think you’ll ever be invited on my show, you autotuned whore.”
Harry glared after Rich, somehow looking even scarier than Rich had when he’d been looking at Louis the same way, but quickly, the singer’s face softened and turning back to Louis, he hurried forward, stumbling over his feet only slightly.
“Are you okay?” he asked, taking Louis’s wrist and appearing to check for a pulse despite the fact that he was clearly alive and conscious. Louis wondered just how much of the altercation Harry had seen.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Louis assured the other, his eyes tearing up at the burning in his throat and the ache of humiliation in his chest.
“Mind if I give some unsol-ticit-tit advice?” Harry asked, then frowned. “Did I say that right?”
Louis gave a slight nod, even though Harry hadn’t, but Harry took that as an approval for him to give his unsolicited advice.
“You should leave ‘im,” Harry advised. “If he’s okay with doing shit like tha’ in public, jus’ think of what he could do in private.”
Louis already knew how ugly things could get between the two in the privacy of their own home, but of course, he wasn’t going to tell Harry that underneath his long-sleeved turtleneck were bruises from the last time Rich got too drunk three nights ago.
“Thanks, Harry. Um, Mr. Styles,” Louis said quietly.
“Mr. Styles?” Harry snorted, then became serious again, “You can jus’ call me Harry.”
“Okay. Thanks, Harry.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, do you need somewhere to go tonight?”
Louis fidgeted with the sleeves of his sweater nervously, hoping Harry wasn’t about to invite him back around to his place. The singer had a bit of a reputation for sleeping with, well, anyone, and he was quite attractive, but Louis was in a relationship and knew deep down that he wasn’t going to take Harry’s advice to leave his boyfriend.
“My driver can take you somewhere,” Harry clarified, and Louis relaxed just a bit.
“Oh, um, that’s okay. Thank you. I should be getting Rich home.”
“I don’ think you should go home with ‘im. You should leave ‘im,” Harry said again.
“Okay,” Louis said, starting to feel light-headed again.
“Let me take a piss real quick and then I’ll take you to my driver, kay?” Harry said.
“Okay,” Louis agreed again, because he didn’t know what else to do.
Harry hummed while he was in the stall taking care of business while Louis sat on his heels, resting his head on his knees until he heard the toilet flush. He stood clumsily as Harry exited the stall, and the singer gave him a look of concern.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” Louis replied, and worked on his deep breathing exercises as Harry washed his hands.
Once he was done at the sink, Harry asked Louis to follow him. Louis did, his eyes skirting around the crowded club for any sign of Rich as Harry and his security team led him to the back, where Harry’s driver was waiting. It was difficult for Louis to see over the burly security guys’ shoulders, but he hoped that also meant that it would be hard for Rich to see him being escorted out.
“‘Ey, Brady,” Harry said as the man who was patiently waiting in the black Escalade for him rolled down the window. “My friend ‘ere needs a ride.”
“Okay,” the driver, Brady, said, giving a curt nod in Louis’s direction. “Where are we going?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know,” Louis admitted, wanting to just disappear. He should go to Zayn’s house, he knew. His best friend would welcome him in with open arms no matter what, but Louis had told Zayn that Rich didn’t do things like this anymore and didn’t want the other to know he’d lied.
“Take ‘im to The Raddison,” Harry asked, pulling a credit card from his wallet and handing it to the driver while Louis’s face burned with shame. “I’ll call ahead to let ‘em know he’s coming.”
Looking to Louis, he said, “I’m sorry, what’d you say your name is again? I’m a little drunk.”
“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis replied, “but that’s okay. You really don’t have to pay for me to stay in a hotel. I’ll go to a friend’s house.”
“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah,” Louis told him. “Thank you, though. For everything.”
“‘Course.”
Brady exited the car to open the door for Louis. Like a gentleman, Harry held onto Louis’s arm to help him into the vehicle, though Harry was so unsteady himself that both men nearly toppled to the ground.
“What’s the address?” Brady asked pleasantly, and Louis recited the address to his own home. As Brady pulled away, Harry waved and Louis returned the gesture, even though he thought the windows were probably too tinted for the singer to see him.
During the drive, Brady asked Louis if he’d like the radio on and to what station but Louis, who was awful at making decisions, repeated that he was ‘fine with whatever’ until Brady turned on a soft rock station and put the volume low.
“Is there anyone home?” Brady asked once he’d parked in front of Louis and Rich’s dark house.
“Oh, I’m not sure, but I have a key,” Louis said, hastily unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. “Thank you so much for the ride. I’m sorry to have been a bother.”
“It was no bother at all, Mr. Tomlinson,” Brady said politely, so Louis thanked him again before hurrying up the drive and into the home, where he thumbed out a text to his boyfriend.
‘I’m home but let me know when you’re about ready and I’ll come back and get you. Sorry about earlier. I love you-xxx