LA is exhausting. The people are exhausting, the traffic is exhausting, the unfamiliarity and sense of not belonging is exhausting. Louis should have spent enough time in LA in his life as a multimillionaire pop star to become accustomed to the place. To the heavy, hot air that sticks to your skin like a sheet. Yet it still feels otherworldly to him, a million miles away from the grey skies and homeliness of London.
Louis tries to bring a bit of home with him wherever he goes. Whether it be some old friend in need of a holiday like Oli or Calvin, or just something as small as a 6x4 picture of his mum in his wallet. He never used to get homesick, back when the band was first gaining momentum. Back when he was going to places for the first time, too absolutely distracted by the absurdity of the reality he found himself in. Thrown into something he didn't even realise he'd wanted, with four boys he barely even knew.
That's another reason he finds himself out of place in LA, unable to get at an itch that's been bothering him for years. Back in the early days, home hadn't been a place. It'd been a person. He'd etched it permanently into his skin for fucks sake. It was always him and Harry. Stuck to each other like super glue. Pulled together by some magnetic force, existing in their own bubble. Everyone could see it, but that was half the problem, wasn't it?
It's not like Louis can pinpoint the exact moment in time when him and Harry fell out of sync. There wasn't really one at all. It had been a gradual slip, like the tide wearing away at a sandstone cliff. Chipping the solid foundations until there was nothing left to stop the structure falling to the waves below.
It's not like he spends all of his time sitting around moping over a lost friendship, he's good at distractions. But LA only seems to accentuate the distance between them. Two separate planets, not even in the same solar system.
Harry is so at home here, spends every second he can basking in the California heat, networking with music moguls and rubbing shoulders with Kardashians. Harry glows in LA, like the city was built for him. Louis spends most of his time inside luxurious, air conditioned villas, too clean and un-lived in for him to feel comfortable. Sprawled on the sofa Googling his name and seething at the shit that follows it.
The latest stream of articles are depressingly hilarious. Pictures of him falling out of clubs, surrounded by a mob of beautiful, leggy blondes.
'Newly single Louis Tomlinson takes five lucky girls back to a hotel.' One article reads, Louis scoffs. He's always been a clingy drunk, desperate for attention and overwhelmed by the feeling of just wanting to hold somebody close.
He can't help but feel sorry for the girls he latches onto at clubs. Going back to Louis from One Direction's hotel room sounds great in theory. In reality it involves little more than sitting on Louis' bed whilst he rolls sloppy joints and passes them around before calling cabs for the girls and letting them borrow his warm clothes for the ride home.
The most intimate thing he's done in months is grab Liam's dick on stage so he fucked up his high note. Eleanor and him had fallen into nothing more than friends a long time ago. It'd been like a safety net, she was one of the best people Louis had ever met and although their relationship had been little more than platonic for a long while, she meant a lot to him. They'd ended it officially months ago. Even though Louis knew there was nothing there, it'd still hurt like hell to hear it. "I'm seeing somebody else, Lou. I can't keep calling myself your girlfriend, it's not fair on either of us. We need to start a new chapter. "
He's brought back to the present when his phone buzzes noisily against the arm of the sofa. He checks it and groans.
'Cars coming @ half past, be ready to leave. Tight schedule'
It's from his personal chauffeur, Louis has no idea why he has to have a personal chauffeur, he can fucking drive. They're taping James Corden's show today, their first interview as four piece. The last thing Louis wants to deal with. If someone had told little, naive nineteen year old Louis, that in five years Zayn wouldn't be in the band and him and Harry would go weeks at a time without speaking, he'd have laughed in their face.
'alright mate , see you later'
He jabs into his phone, pressing send and locking it. He shrugs himself off the sofa, catching a glance of himself in the mirror and wincing at the heavy bags under his eyes. Something for their make up artist to fix later, he thinks as he makes his way to the shower, stripping his clothes and leaving them in a messy pile on the floor.
*
The CBS studio's dressing rooms are by far some of the nicest Louis has encountered. Minimalistic and refined, black leather and shiny marble flooring. Glass bowls filled with the candy they'd requested. Smoking is allowed, which is definitely a plus. Liam and Louis share a ten pack of some shitty menthol brand between them. Louis cant remember when he picked up smoking, cant actually remember ever having to buy himself a pack. Thats the thing with being famous, people are so willing to give you everything you ask for, even if it comes with a severe health warning on the back of it.
He's sat back in the hair and make up room now, perched on a chair in front of a mirror whilst Lou sprays some sickly smelling product into his hair.
"You need a haircut, Louis." She says, tugging at the long strands at bottom that fall onto his neck. "Want me to chop these bits off quickly?"
"No." Louis snaps, pulling his head away and receiving a bewildered glance from Lou. "I'm growing it a bit..." He explains, avoiding eye contact with her in the mirror.
Lou just raises her eyebrows and squeezes his shoulder, "Fair enough."
Louis has always been fussy with his hair, always fiddling with it and fixing his fringe. Always spending the longest out of all the boys in front of the mirror armed with hairspray and straighteners. It's not like him to let it grow out into the unkempt, un-styled do he's currently sporting. He likes the comfort of it though, likes to twirl it around his fingertips when he can't sleep, running his hands through it and feeling it fall between his fingers.
That's one thing he's always loved about Harry, his ridiculous mop of hair. Found himself idly winding his fingers through it, scratching at the back of Harry's scalp or moving a strand that had fallen in the wrong place.
Harry's hair is the longest it's ever been right now. Loose ringlets falling past his shoulders and pooling in the dip in his collarbones. Every now and then Louis will catch himself staring at it, noticing a strand parted to the wrong side that he would have gently pulled between his fingers and put back right. He wonders if it still feels as soft, if he still has the springy bits right at the back under the heavy outer layers.
Louis remembers a time when they were still so young, Harry mustn't have long turned seventeen. Their styling team had demanded he get a hair cut to tidy it up a bit, keep it neat. Promised they wouldn't take too much off.
Louis had come back to their flat to find Harry sat on the sofa, eyes red and puffy and hair so short it barely covered his ears. Harry had looked up at him, eyelashes wet with tears and his lips pouty. "It looks so bad, Lou."
Louis had sat down next to him, scooping him up into a hug and threading his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't Haz. It looks fine, and it's just hair. It'll grow back in no time." Harry used to be so insecure, so wary and guarded. Nobody on the outside got to see it though, Harry was the face of the band, the cheeky Lothario bedding 30 year old women. "I look so ugly."
Louis remembers Harry saying that like it was yesterday, whispering it wetly into Louis shoulder. He remembers it because it was so baffling to him. So confusing to Louis that Harry could ever think that about himself. Everyone knew Harry was gorgeous, but Harry was gorgeous. Is gorgeous. And he was most gorgeous vulnerable and open in Louis' hold.
Louis hadn't told him that though, instead what had left his lips was "Shut up Harry, your irresistible face was the only reason we got to the X-Factor final."
Harry had let out a choked laugh, nuzzling further into Louis' side as Louis combed his fingers through what was left of his hair.
"All done." Lou's voice comes from behind him, pulling him back to the present. "You like it?"
He looks at himself in the mirror, touching his fringe softly with his fingertips. "Yeah, sick. Thanks."
Lou smiles back at him, "The other boys shouldn't be long, think they're gettin' mics fitted." She says, tapping him on the shoulder before turning on her heel and heading off in the direction of her dressing room.
Louis pulls out his phone, checking the time. Still over a fucking hour until they have to be on. The surprising downside to being a pop star is that there's a lot of waiting around, stuck in holding areas, biding your time.
He's about to put his phone away when he hears someone approaching. He looks up into the mirror and sees that it's Harry. He's dressed like he always is these days, tight jeans and an unbuttoned shirt with ridiculous boots that don't really match.
"Hi." Louis offers, occupying himself with scrolling through his phone.
"Alright?" Harry responds, fiddling with a bag on the floor.
"Yeah, good." Louis replies, fixing his fringe back the way he likes it.
"You seen Ben?" Harry asks him, still crouched out of Louis' sight.
For a split second Louis thinks 'Why? Why do you need Ben? Why do you need anyone? I'm right here.'
"Nah, haven't. Sorry." Is all he gives him.
Harry just makes a small grunting noise, pulling out some magazine from the bag. Louis looks up and watches him make his way over to where Louis is sat, placing himself in the chair next to him. "Are you nervous?" Harry asks, flicking the magazine open.
And thats the thing, it's not like they hate each other. It's not like they cant bear to be in the same room. It's nothing like that. It's just stilted conversation and awkward glances where lifelong promises and soft touches used to be. That's what hurts the most, they used to be so fucking good.
"Little bit, feels so weird without Zayn." Louis replies, picking at the rip in his jeans.
"Innit. At least we've got James interviewing us and not just some random journo though."
Louis flinches at that. Louis introduced Harry to James, Louis has known James for years. Him and Harry used to hang out with James and his wife all the time like some weird double date. It's just another sharp reminder of what used to be.
"Mhm." Is all he says back.
They sit in silence for a while, Harry skimming through his magazine. Louis manages to catch a glimpse of it, Ok! Magazine. Typical tabloid trash.
"Why d'ya read that shit?" He asks, meeting Harry's eye in the mirror.
Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis' remark. "I don't, usually." He shrugs. "It's a special edition though, royal baby and all that. Four page spread."
Louis laughs softly, rolling his eyes. "You're weird."
Louis expects one of Harry's classic drawn out "hey'"'s and a cheeky grin, but Harry just presses his lips together and shrugs, going back to the magazine.
Before long Liam and Niall make their way into the dressing room, loud and boisterous as ever. Harry darts up from his chair, slapping both their hands in a high five and pulling them into a hug.
"Tommo!" Liam shouts, coming up behind him and ruffling his hair.
"Watch it would you?!" Louis snaps, slapping Liam's hand out of his hair. "Only just sorted me fuckin' hair."
"Oh!" Liam sing songs. "Tommo woke up on the wrong side of the bed, better watch it lads."
Louis just sighs, getting out of his seat and placing himself down on the sofa next to Niall. Niall takes pity and drapes an arm over his shoulders. "Don't be a dick, Payno." Niall laughs softly.
He hears Harry giggle from the other side of the room, he's talking on the phone. Already lost interest in the situation involving Louis.
"I'm always stickin' up for you, Louis." Niall giggles, rubbing Louis' arm.
"Thanks." He says, his eyes on Harry.