Stockholm

TWO

There was a schedule, Liam realized, when he was awoken in the morning by several pairs of feet thumping down the stairs. He startled awake, hands fisted in his own shirt. He was covered in a thin layer of chilled sweat, and he wasn't sure if it was sweat at all, when he gripped the cold, wet wall and got to his feet. 

He stared at the door, thought about using his dinner plate to try and break the window and why hadn't he thought of that sooner? The door flew open before he could act on it, though, and the man from last night, with the salt and pepper beard and paternal aura, walked calmly over with a pair of handcuffs ready. 

"Come on, then," he grumbled, in decidedly worse spirits than he had been the previous day. Liam obliged, knowing very well from experience that there was no way he could take on this guy, and even if he could, there was no escape-- especially without the lads. He wasn't sure he could even get himself to leave without them. He turned his back, offering up his wrists to the man, who roughly snapped them into place. 

Liam's curiosity got the best of him and he cleared the sleep from his voice before asking, "What's your name?"

"Jim," the man said, a reluctant edge to his voice, but there was no bite or sarcasm there. Again, Liam noted, it was sympathy.

"I'm Liam," he replied, because it seemed like the right thing to say, even if Jim certainly already knew that. Jim nodded in reply, leading Liam out into the dimly lit hallway-- if it even classified as that. Zayn was already waiting out there, but without handcuffs. He had his arms crossed, leaning against the wall with that moody look of his, complete with a glazed over gaze and two harsh bruises stamped onto his forearms, one the distinct shape of a hand. He looked to Liam with what could only be described as a grimace, mouth twitching like he wanted to say something. 

It was Jim that cut the silence, commanding Liam to keep walking, a rough shove to his shoulders, and they were shuffling along towards a new room straight across from the stairs. He half expected it to be a laundry room or something else domestic like that, but then realized that there was a chance they weren't even in the pastel blue house. In fact, they could very well be in an abandoned warehouse now, for all any of them knew.

Jim shoved him roughly into one of two unoccupied chairs in the room, and then stood back like the other men did, all with their arms crossed defensively. Zayn was led in next, placed into the last chair, and the door was locked behind them.

Liam took a moment to really take in the scene. Apart from the boys, all hunched over with bruises and a lack of sleep, there was nothing the least bit familiar about the room. He didn't even see the men that had driven them originally, which both worried him and confused him; how many men were in on this? There were at least eight crammed into this little room, including one with an ugly goatee setting up a camera, which was facing the boys, slumping against the backs of their chairs. 

Liam noted that Niall's ankle was handcuffed to his chair and Louis' mouth was taped shut, but otherwise, the boys were just as they'd come, if not with fewer accessories, like Liam was. He missed the stability and maturity the watch made him feel, replaced by the cool discomfort of these handcuffs, forcing him to sit leaning forward slightly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably as the men made sure to move out of the shot. The walls were covered in the same sort of foam Liam often saw in recording studios, and the wall the men had chosen as a backdrop was entirely blank; no windows, no doors, nothing. Liam began to mirror Harry's shifting in his seat, suddenly unable to get his body to keep still. Every instinct in his body was shouting for him to make a mad dash for that door, even if there was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't make it.

He realized, after a moment, that Harry was crying softly. Eyes trained on the floor, but there was no shame in his tears. Hearing the quiet whimpers, Liam felt like crying too. Everything just felt wrong. Surely this was all one big sick joke somebody was playing on them. Perhaps it was Louis taking things to an insane level-- he always did know how to truly test the boundaries. But in his heart, Liam knew this wasn't a dream he was going to snap awake from. And despite the sense of comfort there was in being in the same room with his lads, there was an even more overwhelming sense of claustrophobia making him restless and frustrated straight to his core. He could punch a wall-- he could snap a neck! He was scared, he was worried.