2:08 a.m. The house is dark, the silence loud. And he’s in the kitchen again, running away from me with every quiet breath he takes.

⸻

I hear the cupboard slam.

That’s the third one tonight.

I don’t move right away. I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, hands clenching and unclenching. The house is too still. Too quiet. Except for him. And even then—he moves like a ghost now. A version of Louis that disappears every time I reach for him.

My chest burns.

I get up.

The hallway light’s off, but the soft yellow glow of the kitchen is enough to paint his silhouette. He’s got his back to me, one hand braced on the counter, the other gripping a chipped mug like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He’s wearing one of my old black shirts, sleeves rolled sloppily, and those stupid boxers that he insists fit him better than they fit me.

I wish I could look at him without feeling like I’m doing something wrong. But I can’t. Not after today. Not after the way Simon pulled him aside and ripped him apart like he wasn’t even human.

“You’re the problem, Louis.” “You look at him like he’s yours. It’s obvious.” “One more slip, and we’ll separate you two for good.”

I watched him nod. I watched him break. And now he won’t even look at me.

I step into the kitchen. His shoulders tense. Good.

“Are we gonna talk about it, or are you just gonna keep pretending I’m not here?” I ask, voice low, sharp.

He doesn’t turn around. Just mutters, “Not now, Haz.”

“No. Now. You’ve been avoiding me all day like I did something wrong.” I step closer. “I didn’t. They did.”

He finally turns, jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot but dry. He looks at me like he’s trying not to feel anything at all.

“You think I want to ignore you?” he snaps. “You think I enjoy sitting next to you like a stranger while the entire world watches us pretend we’re not in love?”

His voice cracks on that last word and it kills me.

“You think I don’t see how scared you are?” I say, stepping in until we’re almost chest to chest. “You can barely look me in the eye without flinching.”

“Because if I look at you too long, I’ll do something stupid,” he spits. “Like kiss you in front of a fucking camera or— or say something I can’t take back.”

“Good,” I say, voice hard. “Let them see. Let them know.”

“Don’t be naïve,” he growls, shoving me back a little—not hard, but enough to make my heart stop for a second. “You think they’ll just let us carry on like this? You think they won’t punish us? You think you’re untouchable ‘cause you’re the favorite?”

I stare at him, stunned. Hurt blooming fast and hot in my chest.

“You really think that?” I whisper. “That I don’t know what it’s costing you to love me?”

He looks away, lips trembling.

“I don’t love you,” he lies. “Not like that. Not anymore.”

And there it is.

The lie.

The wound.

I laugh—dark and bitter.

“You say that in my shirt? In my fucking boxers? At two in the morning while you make tea because you can’t sleep without me?”

“Don’t do this, Harry.”

“No, you don’t do this,” I snap. “Don’t push me away just because you’re scared. Don’t make me the villain just because they made you feel dirty for loving me.”

His breath hitches, eyes wide.

“You don’t get it,” he says, quieter now. “They made me feel like loving you is going to destroy everything I worked for.”

“Then let it,” I breathe. “Let it burn, Lou. Because if we’re not real, if we’re not this, then what the fuck is the point?”

Silence.

He breaks first, stepping back, fists clenched.

“I can’t lose the band.”

“And I can’t lose you,” I whisper.

We’re both shaking.

We’re both drowning.

And no one’s coming to save us.