Louis
Louis stands on 1 of the 4 balconies of Simon's penthouse.
Slash torture chamber.
Simon is renting Penthouse #1 at the Grand Plaza hotel. It's a giant 3 bedroom with their own balconies and then another one that wraps around the main area. 1 bedroom is Simon's, 1 bedroom is for Brendon and Angus, and 1 bedroom is used for Louis' "therapy"/writing room.
Louis has never seen the inside of Brendon and Angus' room. He wonders if there are two beds. He wonders if they are gay.
That'd be fucking ironic.
It's 2:47pm. He is 47 minutes into his "writing hour" and 13 minutes away from another round of therapy. That's how it goes.
One hour therapy.
One hour writing.
Rinse and repeat.
The past couple of sessions have been less physically intense. Well kinda. The broken ribs dont really allow for the ipecac and with the resurgence of papped pics, they have to leave less marks. Louis is completely fine never tasting that syrup again in his life.
It's turned a little more psychological. Today...today has been tough.
Louis had found himself strapped to a chair. Normal.
Angus flipped through different pictures projected on a wall. Normal.
Most of the pictures were explicit images of men. Normal.
Brendon would press down on his broken ribs when they appeared. Normal.
Brendon would place a small ice pack on Louis' ribs and softly stroke away his sweaty fringe from his eye when women would appear. Normal.
When Louis would make any sort of pained noise he would be met with a ruler hit against his knuckles (that's where the black eye came from, rogue ruler had some recoil).
Today...today they went low.
As Angus flipped through the familiar pictures they paused on one he knew all too well. He would recognise that body, face away from the camera, lowering himself into a small pond anywhere. He had read that stupid magazine interview, with wonderfully weird and moutherwateringly sexy pictures, and the pretentious (not pretentious, Louis had been so proud of him) answer of being really open to his friends and family in regards to his sexuality so many times he had to buy another copy of the magazine.
Brendon shocked him.
No.
Not like surprised him.
Literally fucking shocked him.
They had not done that before.
Louis would take broken ribs, ipecac, lashings, punches, rulers, burns, ANYTHING 100 times more before he would take the pain of the stun gun pressed into his hip.
He could not supress the scream even if he tried.
And that's how it went.
37 minutes of them showing pictures of Harry.
Harry with long hair in that black collar thing.
Harry at the met gala.
Harry running with a pride flag at his concert.
Harry in a brown leather jacket.
Harry wet in some sort of shimmery blue suit.
Shock. Shock. Shock. Shock. Shock.
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So Much (for) Us
FanfictionIt's 2022, The former boys of One Direction are not friends. Realistically, they all hate each other. None of them are okay. Now, they have an album to make. They should probably talk about it.
