Letters to London

Chapter 11

"Hello?"

"Louis? Where the hell are you right now?" Felicite's grumbly voice chants. Louis groans and leans against the stall door. He knew something was going to happen when he answered a call from her. He hated it.

"I'm out in Boston with Harry for dinner," he replies casually, eyebrows raising to meet his hairline. He looks down and starts picking at the fuzzes on his blazer as Felicite grumbles on, but it's only the last paragraph or so that catches onto him.

"You cannot. There are paparazzi and fans swarming the building right now, you need to go home. Get out of the public light. Remember you're in a career now again? And you've been doing so good with Eleanor, don't you dare screw it up again. You need to leave. Harry is not allowed to take you out. Okay? It's ruining everything. We'll take you home early."

"What?" He chokes, his mouth hanging open slightly. Everything she's telling him doesn't add up. How? Why even? "Why?"

Felicite sighs on the other line. "You knew you weren't supposed to, Louis. I told you before you left London you couldn't let people see you with Harry out and about."

"But I love him."

Felicite pauses for a moment, taking in a breath. Louis waits anxiously for a response, the pause turning into the longest silence he's ever endured in his head.

"Louis, I know you do. But you cannot let people know. You know everyone knows that the band broke up a while back and you two admitted it a while ago. But now you're a solo artist and we're trying to help you back up on your feet again, because you're not as strong as you were with others. The fans believe you're with Eleanor now-"

"No they don't," he interrupts, feeling his eyes stinging with some kind of emotion.

"They do, after half a year of no news besides paparazzi spottings we restricted from you and just for Zayn, Liam and Niall, the fans have no idea how you're doing. They expected a twitcam and cute photos of each other and they have nothing now. That's getting to you. They see you with Eleanor now and they either hate us or hate Harry. We need them to hate Harry."

"No we don't!" Louis cries, immediately noticing his tone and calming down to a whisper. He feels a wet tear run down his cheek and he groans. He can't go back out there looking like this. "I don't care about whatever image you're trying to shape me into. Either way I'd be taken. Fans won't get a chance because either way I'll be taken, and why can't it be with Harry?"

A pause.

"Because the world doesn't have a big enough heart to accept a guy in love with a guy, that's why," Louis interrupts, taking the phone away from his ear, ending the call.

He sinks to his knees for a moment and runs two hands down his face, brushing away the tears. He lets out a stifled sob and stands up, unlocking the stall quietly, staring at himself in the mirror for a second. There's not a chance in the world he can look decently happy and act like nothing has gone wrong.

He sighs and walks over to the bathroom door, pushing it open and then finding Harry. He's fiddling with something small placed in his hands, too small for Louis to see. He sighs and begins walking towards him, stopping when he's standing next to Harry.

Harry looks up and is immediately reflecting sadness towards Louis. "What the hell happened?!" he asks, wrapping five fingers around Louis' wrist. Louis shakes his head.

"Can we leave, please?" Louis whimpers. He watches as something- almost panic and disappointment- settles in Harry's eyes. Harry slips the object he was fiddling with earlier into his pocket, nodding.