A silence hung tensely in the air as they stayed, frozen, in place. It wasn’t exactly an easy situation to explain, especially not to Liam. Louis’ hand had slipped down Harry’s neck when Harry had moved to look toward the door, but it still rested lightly on his chest, the younger boy’s hands continuing to grip his waist.
Louis moved first, pushing himself back and ignoring the twinge in his chest at the loss of contact with Harry’s warm body. He just barely remembered their lack of clothes in time to keep the covers over him as he sat up slightly and turned toward Liam, the boy’s eyebrows nearly disappearing under his hairline.
"I was just checking his face," Louis said with and absent wave of his hand, feigning innocence.
"With your mouth?" Liam asked, crossing his arms.
"And thanking him for yesterday— god, Liam, what do you care?" He tried not to scowl as he huffed, keeping his arms so one propped him up, palm flat against the warm sheets, and the other held the duvet to his chest.
"I care because last time I checked you hated each other and this is not normal." Liam said, arms relaxing slightly and eyebrows lowering into less of a surprised expression, and more similar to one of worry.
"What were you saying about the pap?" Harry cut in, turning the other boys’ attention to him.
"Yeah," Liam said, unfolding the newspaper and taking a tentitive step forward before stopping, eyes shifting slightly, and throwing the paper the rest of the way where it landed with a rustle on top of the duvet in to heap. Louis made to grab it, but Harry was faster, eyes scanning the photos quickly. Unthinking, Louis leaned over — so their sides were touching — to look at the same time.
There were five photos, each with a caption, along with a short column along the left side of the page, text too small for Louis to read from his spot. The first picture was small, in the left hand corner of the page, just the five of them leaving the restaurant, Zayn’s arm halfway in his jacket and the other boys walking normally ahead. The second showed the other group of boys approaching, before any punches had been thrown, but one had his mouth open, releasing those terrible slurs that had settled so grimily on Louis’ skin.
His eyes continued along the page, taking in the next picture, large and central, where Harry’s face was red, eyes wild and fist midway to the other boy’s face. It was different for Louis, seeing it from this angle. He had been behind Harry at the time; he hadn’t seen the intense anger in his green eyes, and the way his mouth snarled. It scared him, but there was something else there as well… Harry had never looked at him like that; never in all their months and months of living together and fighting, his eyes had never held that angry colour, his nose never wrinkling in such an animalistic growl.
The next picture was smaller, but not as close up to the fight. He could see him and the other boys in the background. His hands were covering his mouth, the collar of Harry’s jumper slipping over his shoulder and making him look small and helpless, just how he had felt. The last photo was of him and Harry, his hand on Harry’s cheek and his eyebrows furrowed. The photographer must have had a powerful camera, because the picture was so close, and so clear, he could see into his own eyes. It was kind of surreal, looking in on himself like this, this outside perspective. He could see each line and wrinkle, each speck in his eyes. He could see— There was an emotion there, so painfully evident that Louis had to suck in a breath for fear of losing all of the air in the room. How could he see it so clearly now, in a grainy newspaper photograph, but he couldn’t see it when it was happening to him? Was it so obvious to everyone else, the apparent… concern? Devotion? For lack of a better word.
He startled out of his trance as Harry’s voice began to rumble beside him, reading the column accompanying the photographs.
"The world famous boyband, One Direction, was spotted alone yesterday after apparently having dinner at the five star restarant on Hammersford & Smith," he began, voice dull and void of emotion. "The group, notorious for their adoring — and sometimes manic — fans and need of large security men where ever they go, seemed to have desired an escape from their fame for a quiet night on the town with the boys. Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, and Harry Styles exited the restaurant alone from the back entrance where they were met, not by adoring fans, but a rough group of hoodlums that quickly began throwing derogatory slurs at the group’s oldest member, Louis Tomlinson."
