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Louis couldn’t explain it. He really couldn’t. Sometimes, the world just became too much. The life he lived consisted of crazy schedules, constant moving, and a monumental lack of stability in any form possible. He loved it; yes. He loved who he worked with, he was truly one of the luckiest people in the world, and he acknowledged that almost every day. He was doing what he had wanted to do since he was young; perform, have fun, be himself, be happy, and make people be happy.
But.
Sometimes, he wasn’t happy. Sometimes, he couldn’t be himself because he was nowrequired to make people happy. It seemed forced, it wasn’t always fun anymore. Things were different than he expected them to be sometimes. His carefree attitude and wit was expected now, and he felt like he was being taken advantage of because of his acting abilities and social status. He was expected to always keep his cool in every public situation that involved One Direction, and the name of the band itself followed him everywhere now, even when he didn’t want it to, when he just wanted to be Louis Tomlinson, period. And he couldn’t always keep his cool. The majority of the time, he was in a constant battle with his mind. His brain was always racing at speeds incomprehensible to the young man, and he couldn’t keep up. It seemed like he was drowning in his thoughts, fears, and dueling priorities. He could barely breathe at times, and it was so hard to smile for the cameras and crack jokes and make sure the boys were doing all right, because that was one of the things always at the top of his priority list. But he’d get dizzy, and confused, and sad, and it all just got so difficult. He just wanted to sing, dammit, and he wanted to be happy, without the interviews and constant questions and peering in on his personal life. He was sick of everything. He was sick of hiding his relationship with Harry just because of the image of the band. Who cared about a fucking image? If management weren’t making such a big deal about scandals and everything, most people would embrace the relationship anyway! Some days, Louis could barely will himself to speak with management, even though they were basically his boss. He just needed some stability, he didn’t want to feel like drowning all the time.
And that’s where Harry came in.
Harry had always been Louis’ saving grace. When they got to know each other, Lou knew this happy boy with rosy cheeks, cute dimples, curls and a big smile would be special. When they started dating, both boys were the happiest they’d been in forever. Louis had watched Harry grow up through the years, and he had turned into a beautifully handsome young man. Louis still got butterflies and chills when he heard his lover sing, when they touched, or even when they laughed at the stupidest things late into the night, limbs tangled and hair messy, but who cared? Harry was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Louis wanted the rest of his life with him. He wanted to marry this boy, and have a beautiful family and a perfect life beyond the band that brought them together.
And Louis felt terrible that he couldn’t show this. Being under contract was the worst thing in his life. He had to act like his relationship faded after the “bromance” that they used to share. He had to act like he was in love with his best friend, Eleanor, which was the strangest thing to say, ever. And this was all for a fucking camera and the viewers that fueled it. He hated it. He hated it so much. This was one of the main contributors to the feeling of suffocation he encountered almost every day lately.
But Harry…
Harry centered him. That was all there was to it. Just looking at Harry would bring him back to sanity, telling him look at that boy, yes. This is why you are doing this. Let him keep you alive. Most of the fandom surrounding his relationship with Harry called Louis Harry’s compass, but Louis thought it was the opposite. Harry brought him to where he needed to be. And this was keeping him close to okay.
If they were in an interview, Louis would look after Harry and make sure he was okay and comfortable and he didn’t need anything (if he did, Louis would be first to jump up and get it, of course). And that was the thing about love. It wasn’t actually necessary to be constantly speaking or touching. Looking after each other and communicating with glances and smiles, now that was real love. If Louis didn’t know what to say, he’d look to Harry, his muse, and he’d find his words. In concerts, he’d follow Harry for the choreography. When his brain would just not shut the fuck up, he’d look to Harry, and all was silenced, except for the thoughts of Damn, I love that idiot. Just seeing Harry, seeing that smile, or hearing him talk was enough to keep Lou happy. Harry’s here, no one can hurt me now.
Louis felt the best, the most secure, when he was cuddled up in Harry’s strong arms. Whether they were sharing a seat together a plane, in a small, cozy bed on a tour bus, in a hotel, or safe in their bed at home, they’d make it work so they could sleep together. Harry would pull Louis closer with an arm slung around his waist and a kiss to his feathery hair, and Louis felt home. He had a big mouth, yes, but when he was in these intimate moments with Harry, he was vulnerable and felt small and wanted. He could nuzzle his face into Harry’s neck and inhale the beautiful scent of Harryharryharry, and he could fall asleep as easily as breathing. Louis loved him so much, and this was when his internal level was as centered as possible.
Or when they were having sex, Harry knew just the right way to make him feel good, knew just the right spots to hit, and if it got to be too much, when Louis just could not properly function or sit still at all, Harry would speak softly to him and coax him into a state in which he could handle himself and the world around him.
When the night got to be too much, and Louis would wake up not being able to breathe, caught up in an anxiety attack that not even Harry’s strong arms could protect him from, Harry would stay awake with him, just playing with his hair and stroking his face and telling him that it really would be all right, breathing deeply with him and kissing him and letting Louis cry and rant, no matter how late it was.
Harry would always be with him, through the nightmares and insecurities and thoughts, through the laughter and sorrow and pain and love, all the love that Louis felt for the only person who had ever been able to center him the way Harry did. If it weren’t for Harry, Louis didn’t know where he’d be mentally, now. Harry was his center, and Louis knew it. He was eternally grateful, and filled with immense love for the man who tugged on his heartstrings every single day.