Chapter Text
******
1.1
THE BEGINNING
Saturday, April 11, 2015
LOUIS
******
“Arrgh.”
Louis cracked one eye open and squinted directly into the bright sunlight. It was rude. Aggressive, actually. Light itself was so unnecessary, especially on a Saturday morning. The sun could fuck right off.
He licked his lips in an attempt to conjure up some semblance of moisture, but his mouth was dry and stale. His tongue felt like sandpaper against the chapped skin. Fuck.
“I am never drinking again,” he groaned.
He knew even as the words left his mouth that they were bullshit.
He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into his pillow. Taking a deep, steadying breath through his nose, his brain vaguely registered that his bed sheets needed a wash. That would need to wait for another day. Today was for sleeping. Maybe throwing up, but mostly sleeping.
“I am never drinking wine again,” he mumbled into his pillow, as if repeating the words would somehow make them true.
He rolled over onto his back and slowly raised his upper body into a seated position, rubbing his palms into his eyes and willing himself not to vomit on his bed. His head throbbed.
He reached over to his bedside table and fumbled through the mess of items until his fingers landed on his glasses. He slid them onto his face, bringing his too-bright bedroom into focus around him. His head throbbed harder.
Fragmented, blurry memories of the night before began slowly surfacing in his mind. Stan’s birthday. Lots of people. Wine. Lots of wine. Making out with someone who may or may not be Stan’s cousin. Regret. Lots of regret.
Louis had intended to take it easy last night and stay mostly sober to keep an eye on things, seeing as the party was taking place at his and Liam’s flat. Just a couple glasses of wine, he had told himself. Two or three, at most, he had told himself.
Well, he had fucked that up.
He should never have agreed to host Stan’s party in the first place but, as he had not-so-gently reminded Louis a month ago, Louis owed him for the many parties Stan had thrown for him over the years. Plus, Louis felt guilty. It felt like they were beginning to grow apart. After decades of friendship, they had only seen each other twice over the past six months. Twice. Not all of that was Louis’ fault, but most of it was.
Between work and footie and Netflix and sleeping, it was just harder to find the time to make the two-hour drive from London to Doncaster than it used to be. Adulthood was a bitch.
“Boxed wine,” Stan had suggested. “It’s cheap. Let’s do that.”
“You want to have a boxed wine birthday party?”
“I went to this party in Uni and we played a game with boxed wine. Like a relay race. It was fun and everyone got hammered,” Stan had mumbled through a mouth full of pizza. He finished chewing and swallowed loudly as he wiped sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Was a lot of fun.”
“A relay race? Drinking wine? Do you have a death wish?” Louis had asked, shooting Stan a skeptical, sideways look as he paused his game of FIFA. “I feel sick just thinking about that, honestly. Sounds horrible.”
“It was really fun when we did it,” Stan had argued. “Plus, it will be way cheaper than doing kegs. And people will get drunk faster. And since it’s a game, no one will get bored. Also I’ll clean your entire flat afterward, top to bottom.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“You said I could pick the theme!”
“Did I?” Louis had asked distractedly as he sipped his beer, pretending not to remember that he had, indeed, said that.
“You owe me,” Stan had whined as he tossed a piece of pizza crust at the side of Louis’ face. The hard bread bounced off his temple and tumbled to the floor. “Remember for your twentieth, when you wanted to have that superhero ‘rave’ at my flat—“
“I do not recall that,” Louis lied.
“—and you convinced me to let you paint my living room walls with that glow-in-the-dark paint that you swore wouldn’t show unless we had the black light on—“
“Not ringing any bells,” Louis had mumbled, taking another sip of his beer.
“—and you painted dicks all over the walls, but then it turned out that you could definitely see the dicks even when the black lights were off and I lost my entire security deposit?”
And thus, Louis had agreed to host the party.
Now, lying in bed the morning after, rubbing his temples and feeling like absolute shit, he tried to recall where exactly it all went wrong. He remembered everything up until about midnight.
He vaguely recalled carrying an entire box of wine around under his arm for what feels like hours. He remembered begging various partygoers to help him engineer a “mega-straw” by linking together a multitude of regular straws in an attempt to drink the wine straight from the box. Genius, truly.
After that, things are fuzzy. Very fuzzy. Fuzzy, like, black.
He tentatively placed both feet on the floor, gripping the edge of the bed and inhaling slowly through his nose. Breathing was hard. To be fair, it would probably be easier if his nostrils were not being assaulted by a myriad of disgusting odors ranging from warm, cheap, spilled wine to old pizza to hard-boiled eggs (why?!?) to what can only be described as “wet dog” with each staggered, painful breath. The last one was a bit concerning, seeing as neither he nor Liam owned a dog.
The flat smelled rancid.
Louis reached over to grab his phone where it buzzed on the bedside table. He swiped to unlock the home screen, which revealed several clues to the events of the previous night – a few sent text messages with horrendously misspelled words, some questionable pictures that would need to be deleted immediately, and something suspiciously sticky caked to the screen that he didn’t want to touch.
He opened the most recent unread text, squinting down at the screen and attempting to focus his bloodshot eyes.
Stan, 10:38am:
had so much fun man LOL, thanks again best birthday ever ill be over later to clean sry again about the couch ☹ .x
“’Sorry again about the couch’,” Louis read the words out loud. “What the fuck does that mean,” he groaned as he typed out his reply.
10:39am:
what the fuck does that mean, whats wrong with my couch? and why is my pillow covered in glitter
Stan, 10:41am:
LOL no worries bro! wild times thanks again man LOL see u later .x
Louis stared at Stan’s response, unsure of whether it made no sense because Louis was hungover as shit or because Stan was an idiot. It hurt too much to figure out at the moment, to be honest.
He tossed his phone onto his pillow and stood up, stretching his arms above his head and feeling his back crack in the process.
Food. He needed food.
He made his way into the dark hallway, seeing that Liam’s door was still closed and the lights still off behind it. He must not be up yet. Louis smiled to himself, vaguely remembering Liam drunkenly dragging his bicycle in from the balcony very late in the night. He had attempted to ride it through the flat screaming ”RELAY RACE!” while high fiving guests as he passed by. Unfortunately for Liam, their already small flat packed with close to fifty people didn’t lend much space for quality cycling and he ended up unceremoniously toppling headfirst into a floor lamp. He had gone to bed shortly thereafter.
Louis padded along barefoot into the bathroom, the tiles cold on his feet. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror on his way to the toilet, stopping short to do a double take.
“What the fuck?”
He ran his finger along his cheekbone, taking in the glittery outline of a poorly drawn penis, watching as pink sparkles dropped to the counter. Well, at least the mystery of his glitter-pillow was solved. Falling from his skin alongside the glitter were small, white fragments of unknown origin. He frowned and wrinkled his nose, disgusted at the possibilities of what the mystery substance might be.
“Please be glue,” he mumbled as he turned away from his reflection and continued on toward the toilet.
******
He was feeling slightly more human (only slightly) after his shower and a few bowls of cereal. He slipped into Liam’s room, timing his footsteps across his bedroom floor to the sound of his deep, even snores. Liam snored like a freight train despite being a surprisingly light sleeper.
Louis stood there, watching his best friend sleep, feeling both pleased and proud that Liam had joined in on last night’s fun. It had been far too long since Louis had seen him knackered to that level. He had forgotten what a funny drunk he was. By funny, he meant embarrassing. Well, embarrassing for Liam. Funny for Louis.
Louis drew a deep breath and launched himself into the air directly toward Liam’s sleeping figure.
“Oii oiiiii!” he shouted as he came down hard on top of Liam, the weight of Louis’ entire body slamming into his midriff. “Get up, get up! It’s the police! Looks like they’re here for a—“ Louis pretended to read from an invisible notepad in his hand while Liam protested and squirmed beneath him, “—for a Mr. Liam Payne… going to be charged with destruction of property and public indecency and intoxication… sentencing hearing to be held at a later date…”
Liam groaned under Louis, choking as he attempted to catch his breath from where the wind had been knocked out of him. Louis resumed making police siren noises, the volume reaching an almost unbearably annoying level even to his own ears. It was no wonder their neighbors hated them.
“Louis I swear to God, if you don’t get off me in two fucking seconds I’m going to put all of your video games on the top shelf of the bookcase and hide the fucking stepladder so you can’t reach,” Liam hissed, the words tumbling out of his mouth in rapid succession as he struggled to breathe.
Louis jumped up immediately, horrified by the threat.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Louis narrowed his eyes down at Liam. He was rubbing his ribcage, trying to soothe where Louis’ elbow had made contact, looking and smelling a bit like death warmed over.
“Fine,” Louis responded. “If you need me, I’ll be mixing a Bloody Mary in the kitchen.”
Liam gagged at the mention of alcohol and buried his greasy face into his pillow.
“Nothing like a bit of the hair of the dog that bit you to get over a hangover, ‘s what mum always says. I’ll whip you one up, too.”
“Please don’t,” Liam begged.
“You’ll thank me,” Louis patted Liam’s shoulder blade. “It’ll make you feel better. Then I’d like to sit on the couch and not move for the rest of the day. Maybe kick your ass in FIFA.”
He climbed off of Liam’s bed and turned to leave the room, nearly reaching the doorway before he heard a soft voice behind him.
“Louis?”
“Yeah?”
“… Any chance I dreamt that incident with the lamp?”
Louis laughed, almost feeling sorry for Liam as he recalled the event – Liam wrapped in the cord with his bicycle on top of one leg, the lampshade bent and damaged on the floor beside his chest. Thank God that memory was crystal clear in his mind. He wanted to get the image tattooed on his face.
“Not a chance, mate.”
Louis heard Liam groan as he swung the door shut behind him.
******
1.2
THE BEGINNING
Saturday, April 11, 2015
HARRY
******
“Have a nice Sunday, Barbara!”
Harry smiled and waved to the kind, wrinkled woman as he walked out of the studio into the sunlight. He was sweaty and smelled disgusting, but he felt invigorated and limber.
He looked forward to his Saturday morning yoga all week. It felt like he was washing away everything bad from the past five days, reflecting on everything good, and preparing himself for the week to come. He took a sip from his water bottle as he waited on the sidewalk for a break in the traffic before jogging across the street toward his car.
He climbed in and tossed his gym bag into the backseat, rolling down all four windows while turning up the stereo. Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest Hits poured through his old, shaky speakers. His air conditioning had been acting dodgy for weeks, but the weather outside this morning actually made driving with the windows down enjoyable. The past few days had brought steady rain and, as a result, some very unattractive hairstyles by the time he arrived at work each day.
His old Honda was nothing fancy and definitely lacked some of the creature comforts of newer vehicles, but Harry had been driving it for almost nine years and was not going to let a little thing like no air conditioning end their relationship. Just a bump in the road… no reason to throw in the towel.
He smiled at his own genius. Bump in the road. He’d have to tell Niall that one.
It was really too bad that he had such an emotional attachment to the car. He had always been frugal by nature and didn’t much care for material things, but cars… Harry loved cars. He grew up building model cars as a kid, which had turned into a love for luxury vehicles as an adult. He would probably upgrade substantially after his Honda finally did crap out on him.
Harry felt a slight pang of guilt in his stomach, as though he had betrayed his current car just by thinking about his potential future one. He patted the dashboard soothingly.
He adjusted the sweaty bandana wrapped around his head as he threw the car in drive and turned onto the main road. He reached into the backseat and dug through his gym bag one-handedly, fishing out his phone and dialing the first number from his Favorites list. It rang twice before a voice on the other end answered, grumbling a garbled “whyareyoucallingsodamnearly” in lieu of a proper greeting. Harry ignored it.
“What do you call a chicken coop with no doors?” Harry asked happily.
A long-suffering sigh came across the line, followed by silence.
“…A chicken SEDAN!” Harry cackled, literally slapping his knee with glee at his own joke.
The line promptly went dead. Harry redialed immediately.
“Why’d you hang up?” he said. “That joke was gold! Just came to me during yoga this morning. I always get the greatest joke inspiration during downward dog… I wonder why that is? Do you think it’s something to do with the temperature in the studio and the blood flowing to the brain?”
There was complete silence for a few beats, followed by a rustling noise on the other end of the line.
“Mate, that joke was shit,” Zayn mumbled. Harry frowned, but at least Zayn sounded more amused than irritated. “Also it’s not even eleven o'clock and it’s a Saturday and you’re calling me. Why.”
“I will have you know that plenty of people would kill to be woken up by a Styles Original Joke™. Consider yourself lucky. You were supposed to be awake an hour ago, anyway. We are meeting Niall at noon and you were supposed to have the mock-ups for the t-shirt done by then.”
“Ah, shit,” Zayn grumbled. “Okay, I’m getting up now. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready. Can’t promise the same for the shirt, but I’ll try.”
“How have you still not got a rough-draft, at least?” Harry said, exasperated and a bit stressed. “You’ve known about this for ages, I’ve been reminding you every day for the past week--”
“I said I’ll do my best,” Zayn said lazily, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that they were working around a deadline.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect… just a rough draft to show the printing company. We won’t need the finished product ‘til next week sometime. They just need, like, a couple of days notice to have them ready in time for the gig.”
“I’m not a fucking magician, Harry. I said I’d do what I can. See you in thirty. Also, you better shower if you’re coming from that hot yoga shit. I’m not sitting next to you all afternoon if you reek.”
Zayn hung up.
Harry pulled into a parking spot in front of his flat and tucked his phone into his gym bag. He took the stairs two at a time, rushing to squeeze in a quick shower and to throw together a sorry excuse for a lunch before heading right back out the door. He was only four minutes late when he pulled into Zayn’s driveway.
Zayn was still lying in bed when Harry let himself into the house, of course.
“What the…”
Harry scanned the room incredulously, taking in the motionless, half-clothed figure still curled up in the bed. His phone buzzed.
“It’s Niall. He’s already at the studio. Fuck. Get up and put some clothes on! Did you even try with the shirt? I told you, all we needed right now was a rough draft, have you made any prog-”
Harry stopped short when he saw a white t-shirt carefully laid out front-side up across Zayn’s drafting table in the corner.
“Holy shit.”
Zayn lazily got to his feet, stretching and pulling on an old jumper that had definitely seen better days.
“You like it?” he asked nonchalantly, watching as Harry ran his fingers over the colors and design.
“It’s amazing… really, it is. You absolute shit, how long has it been done for?”
“About a week."
“A week… you should have told me! I’ve been texting you every day to remind you. I thought we would be lucky to have it sketched out by now, but this is like, basically finished!”
Harry beamed at his friend, taking two quick steps with his long legs to get across the room and pull Zayn into a hug.
“It’s really brilliant. Really. Better than I imagined.”
“Okay, okay, thank you,” Zayn laughed. “No need to get emotional. Although I almost cried at one point while working on it--”
Harry pulled back and surveyed Zayn, concern furrowing his brow.
“--after about the eightieth text you sent me reminding me to work on it. You really are a pain in the ass.”
Zayn punched Harry hard in the bicep.
“Oiii!” Harry protested, rubbing the sore spot. “You know I bruise like a peach!”
He watched as Zayn took a quick look in the mirror, rubbing some sort of product in his hair lazily with one hand, spending zero time and energy and still managing somehow to look like a GQ model. Fucking unfair.
Zayn grabbed his wallet and keys from his desk.
“Ready,” he said.
Harry’s phone buzzed again.
Niall, 11:58pm:
where are you???? we are supposed to start at noon, every second counts when you’re on free studio time lets go boys!!!!! don’t make me record this without u HA can u imagine
“Shit, we gotta go. Grab the shirt,” Harry instructed.
He typed out a quick reply to Niall (“on the way, Zayn’s fault”) and dashed out of Zayn’s room toward the front door, jogging down the steps and into the driveway. He turned as he reached his car to see Zayn meandering around still inside the foyer, moving with all the urgency of a giant slug.
“Seriously? Seriously. Could you move any slower?” Harry asked as Zayn climbed into the passenger seat and clicked his seatbelt into place, totally unconcerned.
Harry reversed the car out of the driveway.
“Alright. Let’s go make some dreams come true.”
******
1.3
The Beginning
Sunday, April 12, 2015
LOUIS
******
Louis was surprised to find the flat empty when he woke on Sunday morning. Liam was a creature of habit, and Louis could recite Liam’s Sunday morning ritual backward in his sleep: awake by 7 a.m., out the door for a “fun-run” (not a real thing) by 7:15, shower, drink a smoothie, sit on the couch, watch television until noon. Maybe play some FIFA if he was feeling really wild.
Liam had been going through the exact same set of motions each and every Sunday morning since they signed their lease almost four years ago. Liam was a sure thing, which was why Louis was confused when he emerged from the hallway into the living room to find it empty with the television off.
He arched his back and reached his arms above his head in a stretch, dropping one hand to his stomach where his shirt rode up to expose bare skin, half-heartedly attempting to stifle a yawn.
His back cracked loudly in protest as he twisted his torso to stretch his oblique muscles. Jesus, he was getting old. He should probably take up yoga or something. God, that sounded terrible. Pass. He compromised by drinking a glass of water instead. It was disgusting.
As he stood at the faucet watching his water bottle refill, he noticed Liam’s dirty cup in the bottom of the kitchen sink, the remnants of his smoothie still visible on the glass. Interesting. So Liam had accomplished at least some of his Sunday morning activities. Louis hoped he hadn’t been kidnapped. He took his phone out and shot a text to Liam.
10:32am:
please tell me you were kidnapped & i can have your TV
He made his way over to the couch and resumed the game of FIFA he had abandoned the night before. He shot a forlorn look at the enormous wine stain on the furthest cushion where it sat deep red and, unfortunately, very permanent. Fucking Stan.
Louis had spent an hour yesterday working on the stain with multiple cleaning products in an attempt to remove it, but the mark had showed no signs of improvement. Louis had tossed a pillow on top of it and decided instead to just hope that no one noticed.
He played FIFA for about an hour before tossing the controller to the side and picking up his phone to browse Twitter. No response from Liam yet, which was definitely strange. Liam always had his phone on him.
Louis wondered if he should start legitimately worrying. He walked across the room and peered out the window down onto the road, scanning the vacant parking spaces for Liam’s car. He saw it sitting there, parked in Liam’s normal spot in front of Louis’. His heart rate picked up. The car was there, but Liam was not. He had clearly already gone for his run since his smoothie cup was in the sink, so he had no reason to leave again on foot.
Louis began panicking as different possibilities of what could have happened rushed through his head – men in ski masks breaking in, interrupting Liam relaxing on the couch, dragging him out of the flat and stuffing him into a windowless van. Oh God, he should probably call the police.
Louis looked back out the window, making absolute certain that it was Liam’s car in the space. Definitely his car. Definitely kidnapped. Definitely shouldn’t have sent that text to Liam about hoping that he was kidnapped since he actually had been kidnapped now.
Should he call the police? Would he be a suspect? He wasn’t cut out for jail.
“….Lou?”
Louis’ head snapped around to see Liam standing in the doorway to the living room, car keys in hand.
“Oh my God! Thank Christ. Where were you?” Louis yelled across the flat to a very pale, confused looking Liam. “I thought that you had been kidnapped at gunpoint, or knifepoint--”
Liam was staring at Louis, his expression blank.
“--I had this whole scene in my head… there were ski masks... anyway, not important. Why the fuck didn’t you respond to my text?”
Louis crossed his arms over his chest.
“Was at my parents’," Liam said. "Just got back.”
Liam spoke slowly, clearly distracted as he moved toward the couch behind where Louis stood in front of the window. Louis’ concern shifted from Liam’s safety to his general state of being as he watched him. Something was obviously wrong. Liam’s usually cheery, upbeat demeanor was gone. Liam seemed… not fully present. Detached.
Louis followed him to the couch and sat beside him, his concern growing as he watched Liam stare blankly ahead. The only other time that he could remember seeing Liam like this was when his family dog had passed away two years ago. Louis braced himself for the worst.
“Li…” he started, speaking softly and unsure of what to do with his hands. Reach out and rub Liam’s back maybe? Hug him? He decided to pick at his cuticles instead. “… Everything alright?”
“Mum and dad called this morning, asked me to come over,” he spoke slowly, still staring at the wall in front of him. “Said they needed to talk to me.”
“Are they alright?” Louis asked, panic rising in his chest. He thought of Liam’s family as his own.
“Oh, yeah, they’re fine…” Liam answered distantly. “You know how my sister’s in town for her friend’s wedding?”
“Yes,” Louis answered tentatively. Liam had mentioned that Ruth would be visiting this week. "And?"
“Apparently at the reception last night, her friend’s mom – who also happens to be one of my parents’ friends from back in the day but they kind of had a falling out a few years ago because—well, whatever, doesn’t matter – anyway, this woman drank way too much champagne and made a comment to Ruth--”
“And…” Louis prompted again, confused about where this could be headed.
“--and apparently she asked my sister if she and I have ever considered looking into finding our brother.”
Louis stared at Liam. He was more confused now than before.
“Uh… not trying to be insensitive mate, really, but I feel like I’m missing something here,” Louis said as he cracked his knuckles in an attempt to loosen up. He was on edge. “What brother?”
“My sister came home drunk from the reception and confronted my parents about it,” Liam pursed his lips and shook his head slightly as he spoke. “They called me over there this morning to tell me. Wanted me to hear it from all of them. Apparently, we have a brother.”
Liam looked at Louis for the first time since sitting on the couch. Louis looked back at him like he had three heads.
“An older brother. Mum and dad had him three years before they had me, but they placed him for adoption.”
Louis stared at Liam, totally at a loss for words, his brain scrambling. What is the proper behavioral protocol for your best friend finding out after twenty-three years that he has a brother he never knew about? What does one do? What does one say?
“I have no fucking clue what to say,” Louis had always felt honesty was the best policy, anyway. “I am… are you alright? What did you say? Do you need, like, a hug? Or a joint, maybe?”
Liam seemed to consider his question for a moment before looking away from Louis to stare ahead again.
“I’m… fine?”
The words came out as more of a question than a statement.
“I mean, I know that is weird, right? I should be angry? But I’m just… not? I’m actually kind of… I’m kind of excited, to be honest.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Liam’s mouth as he dropped his gaze to the floor in front of him.
“I mean, I am pissed at my parents, like, really pissed," Liam said, "they should have fucking told us a long time ago, but I have a brother. Growing up, I had always wished I’d had an older brother. I mean, it’s a little late, but better late than never right?”
Liam shot a quick sideways glance at Louis before directing his smile toward the floor.
“I mean… a proper brother. Crazy, huh?”
Louis was feeling at least seven hundred different emotions all at once, so it took him a couple of seconds for him to register that Liam was happy about this and that he should react accordingly.
He arranged his face into a grin and obnoxiously jumped on Liam’s back from his side of the couch, tackling him to the floor. Liam shrieked and laughed, surprised by the attack. Louis forced the small pangs of jealousy creeping up from his stomach and into his chest back down to where they came from. He could process that later. For now, he just needed to support his friend.
“Crazy is an understatement,” Louis laughed. “That is seriously some of the craziest shit I have ever heard. I am so happy for you, man.”
Louis genuinely meant that, despite the unhappy feeling he was struggling to stifle at the moment. He loved Liam more than anything, knew Liam better than anyone. He could see how excited Liam was. Louis just wanted to see his friend happy.
“I am so, so happy for you. Are you going to look for him?”
He climbed off of Liam, allowing him to catch his breath and sit back on the couch.
“Yeah, I think I am. Apparently my parents have the names of his adoptive parents and his name, so hopefully I will be able to find him that way. Said they always planned on telling my sister and I – they were just waiting for the right time – but it never ‘felt right,’” Liam mimed air quotes along with the words, “whatever that means.”
“Ah, yes, and then the right time came along organically when a miserable old gossip got wasted and told your sister. How lucky. I’m sure that’s exactly as they’d envisioned it happening,” Louis said.
He spoke the words sarcastically, hoping to keep Liam’s mood lifted. He hated seeing him distressed and his behavior earlier truly scared him. No more of that, thanks. Liam smiled.
“Yeah, definitely not the way my parents had planned on us finding out, I don’t think. But, fuck, it’s out now, I guess.”
“So, what’s your first move?” Louis settled back into the couch. “How are you planning on finding this person? Does Mystery Brother have a name?”
As Louis spoke, the feelings that he was attempting to ignore became harder to push aside. He was feeling jealous. Worse than that, he was feeling jealous toward a person he’d never even met. Worse even than that, he was feeling jealous over something that Liam was really happy about.
The reality of the situation began to sink in. A real brother for Liam.
Louis had always thought of Liam as his brother. He’d always assumed Liam felt the same. The only boy in a house full of girls growing up, Louis’ friendship with Liam had been his salvation. They had known each other since primary school, when Liam’s family moved onto Louis’ street. They had become fast friends despite the two year age difference. Liam had always been mature for his age, anyway.
They had a shared lifetime of memories together like actual, real, proper brothers. Playing in the creek behind the neighborhood, building forts, playing on footie teams together, discovering girls together, undiscovering girls together, discovering boys together, living together at Uni, graduating and entering the real world together.
Louis loved Liam like an actual, real brother. He tried not to think about an actual actual, real real brother coming into the picture and replacing him. Selfish thoughts, he scolded himself, as he watched Liam’s face break into another smile.
“I’m thinking I’ll try to find him on Facebook?” Liam said. “Everyone in their twenties has a Facebook, right? And then maybe… message him? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to find him. I need to lower my expectations.”
“It does seem a bit too easy,” Louis said gently, “but I don’t see the harm in taking a quick peek on Facebook just in case. Maybe we can just find him that way… any idea where he lives? What’s his name?”
Louis kind of hated him already.
“No clue where he lives. Could be anywhere. All I know is that his parents lived in London when they adopted him, but that was a long time ago. They might’ve moved since then.”
Louis pulled out his phone and loaded the Facebook app, immediately heading for the Search tool.
“Name?” he asked.
Louis forced himself to appear equally as excited as Liam as he searched for the man who was going to swoop in and steal his best friend from him, effectively ruining his life forever. He plastered a smile on his face.
Liam’s face broke into a wide grin as he answered.
“Harry Styles.”
******
1.4
THE BEGINNING
Sunday, April 12, 2015
HARRY
******
“I think that one was the best yet!” Harry called out as he gently placed his guitar on the floor beside him. “It sounded pretty good, right? Zayn, that final note… you nailed it mate, sounded amazing. Not gonna lie, I was a little worried when you mentioned changing it up, but it sounded… it sounded like, professional.”
“Thanks, man. Think we’ll be ready by next Saturday,” Zayn said.
Harry watched as he walked across the room and plopped down heavily into an overstuffed armchair in the corner, a puff of dust exploding into the air around him. Harry stood from his seat on the floor and stretched his aching back. He had sat cross-legged for over an hour as they had run straight through their set list. He heard his spine crack twice. He needed to make an appointment to get adjusted. Maybe tomorrow.
“Hopefully. Kind of nervous, if I’m being honest,” Harry said.
He picked up Zayn’s drumsticks from the stool beside him and tossed them into his lap as he walked past. Zayn lay sprawled out lazily in the chair, looking like he could fall asleep already despite having only sat down five seconds ago. He had a real gift for that.
“Oh, hey, I came up with a great new joke today!”
Zayn groaned and launched one of the drumsticks directly toward Harry’s face. He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid taking it to the eye and likely being blinded for life. He cleared his throat.
“How can you tell if a drummer is at your door?”
Total silence enveloped the room. Neither Niall nor Zayn seemed to be particularly eager to hear the answer.
“Come on! It’s good, I swear. How do you know a drummer’s at your door?”
Niall laughed loudly as he leaned down to unplug his amp despite not even having heard the punch line yet.
“Dunno, how?”
“The knocking speeds up!”
Harry barked out a laugh and clapped his hand over his mouth. Zayn’s face remained totally unchanged and unimpressed. Niall laughed loudly but his brow was furrowed, clearly confused.
“Bro, do you even get it?” Zayn asked.
“Yeah!” Niall said as he rearranged his face into a confident smile. “Good one, Harry. I’ll have to remember that one.”
“You have absolutely no idea, do you?” Harry asked, a warm smile spreading over his face.
Niall always laughed at Harry’s jokes no matter how corny and despite not understanding at least half of them.
“Not a clue,” he answered.
Harry laughed as he gently laid his guitar into its case as Niall did the same with his own on the other side of the room. He leaned down to pick up the drumstick that Zayn had thrown at him, placing it gently back in Zayn’s lap next to its sister.
Zayn never helped clean up the already messy, dingy attic after a band practice, but then again, it was his house. Harry figured if he wanted it messy, that was his right. Still, for how much time they had been spending in here recently, he felt like sprucing the place up a bit wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. A few flowers never hurt anyone. Maybe paint some of the old, wood paneling on the walls, throw some curtains up around the small window.
Harry had been watching a lot of interior design shows, lately. He could probably do it for less than a hundred pounds.
He leaned down to pick his jacket up from where it lay crumpled on the rug, eyeing a suspicious ball of what appeared to be pet hair on the floor beside it. Zayn owned no animals. He gave his jacket a quick dusting off for good measure.
Niall and Zayn were talking excitedly about yesterday’s studio session as Harry rummaged around in the pocket of his jacket for his phone. They were all still buzzing from scoring a few hours of free studio time yesterday to finally record a demo, all thanks to their friend Ed. Ed owned a pub up the road and had a handful of friends in the industry. He had been able to call in a favor for them with someone he had met through work, and they had made the most of the short session to record their two best originals and one cover.
Harry unlocked his phone screen to discover two text messages from his mom and sister Gemma, along with a private Facebook message from a name he didn’t recognize.
“Liam Payne,” he muttered.
He opened the message and began reading as Niall launched into an animated and, frankly, horribly performed impression of the Russian man who owned the studio. Their laughter faded into the back of his mind as Harry read the words, his heart rate picking up and a strange feeling settling in his stomach as he reached the end of the message.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since Niall and Zayn had stopped talking, but after his third time rereading it, he looked up to find both men staring at him curiously. He looked back down at the phone in his hand, then back up to the two of them helplessly.
“I…” Harry started, speaking even slower than usual. “I just got a Facebook message.”
Niall’s confused face morphed into an easy smile.
“Oh, that’s great man! Congratulations.”
Zayn shot his eyes sideways at Niall, conveying a look that clearly said “idiot” without actually needing words. Niall must have missed it as he continued to smile genuinely at Harry.
“I love getting messages from people. Always brightens my day.”
Zayn shook his head slowly and disappointedly in Niall’s direction before looking back to Harry.
“From who?”
Harry looked back down at his phone and cleared his throat. Yes, from who, exactly? A crazy person, maybe? A practical joker? A prankster? Or maybe someone who is just very unlucky, looking for someone and finding Harry instead?
Or, maybe…
Harry allowed himself to consider the last option, the implications of what it would mean settling heavily in his chest. Surely not, but maybe…
“He says he is my brother.”
The two men stared at him, Niall finally catching up to speed on the situation.
“What?”
“Yeah, the message is from someone named Liam,” Harry explained. “He says he thinks he might be my brother. Apparently he just found out that he has a brother a few years older than him that his parents placed for adoption twenty-seven years ago. They gave him a name and birthday to use to start looking and he just… just plopped them into the Facebook search bar… and I popped up…”
Harry looked back down at his phone, trying to process the emotions running through him all at the same time. Shock, excitement, fear, hope.
He had always known that there was a possibility that this day would come. He had wondered about his birth family often over the years. That was a pretty normal thing for any adopted child. He had even considered trying to track them down himself a handful of times, but in the end he had always decided against it. He had a great life with his mum and Gemma and had always felt that it would be a bit selfish to them by going down that path. He never wanted his mum or his sister to feel like he was unhappy with their life together.
He hadn’t wanted to put his birth parents in that position either. It was entirely possible that they did not want a relationship with him. He had even considered this exact scenario – the possibility that his birth parents could have had other children who are unaware of Harry’s existence, and reaching out would put them in the uncomfortable or unfair position of feeling as though they needed to tell their kids before they intended to or were ready to.
Harry had considered all of this. He had considered it quite a lot, actually. He had just never followed through. He didn’t want to complicate anyone’s life.
But now, right this very moment, his potential brother was reaching out to him.
It could be nothing. It could be a misunderstanding, and this Liam person could have contacted the wrong Harry Styles. The wrong Harry Styles who, coincidentally, just happened to be adopted in London twenty-seven years earlier and who, also coincidentally, happened to share a birthday with the right Harry Styles. It was possible. He also felt like it was very unlikely.
Excitement.
“Holy shit, Harry, that’s… that’s amazing!” Niall said as he ran across the room, jumping onto Harry and pulling him into a bear hug. Harry busted out laughing. “That is amazing, mate! They found you! Holy shit!”
Niall tightened his arm around Harry’s neck, using his other hand to completely dishevel Harry’s hair. Harry felt a surge of gratitude for his friend; always there to support him with the most over-the-top show of affection. He heard Zayn get up from his chair and move across the room toward where they stood, still entwined.
“That’s so great, man,” Zayn said, clasping his hand onto Harry’s shoulder and squeezing.
Zayn wasn’t nearly as tactile as either Niall or Harry, but was an amazing and supportive friend nonetheless. Where Niall provided physical comfort with his presence, Zayn provided steady support to Harry in other ways. He was a rock; perceptive to Harry’s feelings and always willing to listen when he needed to talk. He had a real talent for knowing when to give advice and when to simply sit and provide quiet support as a sounding board for Harry’s problems or ideas.
Harry had gotten so, so lucky in the Best Friend Draft.
He laughed and pulled away from Niall’s hug, reminding himself to never take either of these people for granted.
“Thank you both, really. I… I am in shock, I think,” Harry laughed. “I think I need a beer. Where can I get a beer at noon on a Sunday?”
He wiped at a spot of wetness at the corner of his eye. He definitely was not crying. (He definitely was.)
“I’m definitely not crying, by the way. Just got stabbed in the eye with one of Niall’s bangs.”
He grinned at his two friends, letting himself fill to the brim with every emotion coursing through his body. Excitement. Fear. Hope.
“We could go to Ed’s," Niall suggested. "He might not be there, but you know whoever is working the bar will comp our drinks as soon as they hear the good news."
Harry smiled and nodded as he half-heartedly gathered up the rest of his shit, not really caring if he got everything or not. Zayn headed for the door, grabbing his wallet and keys on his way out.
“Alright then. Time to celebrate,” Zayn said. “Grab your stuff and let’s get a move on. And don’t leave my attic in a mess like you lot did after the last practice.”
Harry had to make a truly focused effort not to roll his eyes. Literally the entire mess was Zayn’s own things, but he was too happy to argue that point at the moment. Mental note: remind Zayn about it at their next practice.
“So what are you gonna do? You gonna respond?” Niall asked as they walked down the attic stairs and out the front door toward Zayn’s car. “What are you gonna say?”
Harry had read the message over ten times by now, yet realized he had not given any thought to what he would say back. His response would change Liam’s life forever – hopefully for the better – but still, a change nonetheless. He needed to take that seriously when writing back.
“Honestly,” Harry said as he piled into the passenger side of Zayn’s Range Rover, “I have no idea.”
*******
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
*******
Harry read the message from Liam at least a dozen times over the course of the next two days. With nothing to distract him at work other than the ever-growing, very boring pile of cases needing his review, his mind wandered to what he should say back when he responded.
When he responded. He was going to respond. He had definitely decided that much, at least.
Harry had spent a few too many hours and had a few too many beers at Ed’s pub on Sunday after receiving Liam’s message. Niall and Zayn had insisted on round after round and before he knew it, it was after eight o’clock. He had left and headed straight to his mum’s house. He was buzzed and needed to talk.
Harry had walked through the door to find Anne and Gemma sat on the couch, waiting for him to arrive. At least he’d had the decency to send a warning text on his way over so that they would be expecting him. He had, however, failed to mention his current state of mild intoxication. Minor details.
He had plopped down between them on the cushions and immediately blurted everything out as one long, flowing string of consciousness. They had both been great about it, of course. Not that he expected anything else. Harry had gotten so lucky with them.
“Sweetheart, that’s wonderful,” Anne had said tearfully, pulling Harry into a hug. “Really love, you must be so excited. Have you responded yet?”
Harry had hugged her tight, his heart swelling with thankfulness and love toward this woman who had always been his rock – the only mother he’d ever known. He smiled into her hair, taking a deep breath and smelling the comforting and familiar fragrance of her shampoo.
“Not yet,” he had responded, speaking slowly. “Still thinking of what to say. It’s kind of a big deal so I feel like it kind of deserves a big response.”
“Don’t you think you might be over thinking it a bit?” Gemma had asked from beside him on the couch. “I mean, obviously it’s a big deal and all, but he reached out to you. He must want to know you. Seems like it would be kind of hard to fuck that up, no matter how you respond.”
She had lightly punched Harry in the arm before tucking herself tight into his side.
“Happy for you, though, brother.”
Harry had wrapped one arm around his sister and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze while planting a kiss on her forehead.
“Thanks, both of you. Really. Means a lot to me that you’re cool with this.”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Anne had asked. “You’re twenty-seven years old, more than old enough to decide that you’re ready to do this. We will support you whatever you decide. And Gemma, no need to use such foul language.”
Gemma had rolled her eyes and fallen back into her seat.
“I agree with her, though,” Anne had said softly. “Don’t worry too much about how you respond. I’m sure he will just be thrilled to hear from you.”
Harry had left that night with a weight lifted from his shoulders. The one thing – well, maybe not the one thing, but the main thing – that had always deterred him from venturing down this path in the past was the idea that maybe it would cause pain to the people he loved most. Having their blessing made him feel light; excited for whatever was going to come and knowing that they would be beside him, supporting him, whatever happened.
So Harry had read Liam’s message again and again over the next forty-eight hours, typing out responses only to get frustrated and delete them. Tuesday afternoon, Harry came entirely too close to accidentally sending one unfinished message when his boss had walked by in the middle of him typing a particularly terrible knock-knock joke about adoption.
Harry had actually typed “adoption jokes” into the Google search bar in a last-ditch effort to lighten the mood of his latest draft. He wanted his response to Liam to somehow convey how excited Harry was to get Liam’s message, while also playing it cool enough to not seem over-eager about the situation, while also showing Liam how absolutely hilarious he is. Simple enough.
He was just about to type the (horrible) punch line when his boss had surprised him, seemingly emerging out of nowhere. He had a real knack for that.
“Been on that phone a bit too much today for my liking, Styles,” Simon joked. “What am I even paying you for?”
Harry had startled and jumped, very nearly accidentally pressing Send. Simon had laughed as he walked past Harry’s desk and into his office. His heart rate was through the roof and his face was flushed. He heard a low chuckle from the cube next to him.
“Shut the fuck up, Grimmy,” Harry had mumbled, deleting the message and stuffing the phone back into his pocket.
He had loosened the knot of his tie and inhaled deeply a few times. He hated being startled. Harry also hated being reprimanded by Simon, even if he was joking.
Grimmy continued to laugh under his breath, just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of typing from the surrounding cubes. Harry had picked up a pen and thrown it at his head.
Thankfully it was five o’clock now and he finally had a message to Liam typed out that he felt reasonably good about. He walked to his car and climbed into the passenger seat, tossing his briefcase onto the seat beside him and immediately rolling down the windows.
He pulled his tie off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, cracking his neck to either side. Jesus, it was hot. He should probably get his air conditioning fixed at some point.
He pulled his phone out and reread the message, checking it for spelling or grammatical errors for the thirtieth time before pressing Send. He slowly let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.
Harry backed the car out of the parking space as Stevie Nicks’ voice poured through the speakers. Well, it’s done now. Sent. Whatever happens, it’s done. He felt good – light, bright, breezy.
He turned the volume up and pulled onto the main road, heading toward his flat.
******
1.5
THE BEGINNING
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
LOUIS
******
“Seriously, again?”
Louis heard Liam’s voice before he actually saw his body emerge into the living room. He must have recognized the music as soon as he had opened the front door.
“How many times can one person watch the same bloody movie before it legitimately drives them mad? Or, worse, drives their completely innocent housemate mad?” Liam asked as he tossed his keys onto the table in the entryway.
Louis scowled at him from his spot on the couch, sprawled out and taking up all three seats. Liam sat down heavily in the armchair to his left.
“Well, aren’t we cranky,” Louis snapped.
He pressed Pause on the remote. There was no way he was going to miss his favorite scene just because Liam could not appreciate the cinematic masterpiece that is Grease. Some people, honestly. No taste. No taste at all.
“Ugh, sorry. I need a beer. Long day,” Liam groaned, rising from the chair and walking toward the refrigerator. “One of the kids puked all over the front of Rapunzel’s tower. We just spent an entire week painting that. An entire fucking week. Want one?”
He held a beer up questioningly in Louis’ direction.
“Nah, got one already. Been… er, hydrating… since about 3:00, m’self,” Louis teased. “Perks of a flexible work schedule and all. It’s what happens when you climb the corporate ladder and become as important and influential as I am.”
Liam laughed as he closed the refrigerator door and walked back into the living room.
“No worries, Payno,” Louis said sarcastically. “You’ll get there someday, I’m sure. We can’t all be superstars. Some of us are destined for greatness, others have to work at it. Your time will come.”
Liam shot Louis a long-suffering look as he sunk back down into the chair and pressed Play. Louis hummed along as Danny and Sandy sang You’re The One That I Want. Classic scene. Great movie.
In reality, Louis’ “flexible” work schedule was less due to his “very important” role at the office and more due to the fact that, for the most part, no one really noticed whether Louis was there or not. He had thought that landing a job within the music industry at one of the most well known labels in London would be his big break, even if that job had been as an Administrative Assistant. Who cared? Just a way to get his foot in the door and work his way up.
That being said, at the time he was hired, if you had asked him to describe his vision for his career trajectory, Louis definitely would not have said he would still be going for coffee runs and filing papers and making copies a full two years later. But, alas, here he was.
At least he could slip out early unnoticed a couple of days a week. There’s a perk. Yay.
Louis took a sip of his beer as Liam rolled his head from side to side and stretched his muscles. Louis could tell he was stressed. It had been two days since Liam had sent the message to Harry Styles from Facebook, and no response as of yet.
Louis had truly thought that they had found the right guy, too. Their search results had been surprisingly slim once they had added birthday into the mix. Louis was about to ask Liam if he’d heard anything today (even though he already knew the answer – Liam would have contacted him immediately if he’d received a response) when he saw Liam’s phone light up and buzz on the coffee table in front of him.
“Uh, Li?” Louis said. “I think you’ve got yourself a message there.”
Liam’s head snapped up from where it was resting on the back of the chair. He dove toward his phone and swiped to unlock the screen.
“It’s from Harry,” he said, not elaborating further.
Louis felt his heart rate quicken. He wasn’t sure why he felt nervous; it wasn’t like he was the one receiving a message from his possibly long-lost secret brother. But it kind of felt like it was. Liam was his family. He was nervous for him.
Louis knew how much Liam wanted this to be the right Harry Styles, and for this Harry Styles to be equally as enthusiastic about connecting with Liam as Liam was enthusiastic about connecting with Harry. Unfortunately, Louis’ perception of the general population was much more jaded than Liam’s. Many people – possibly most people, even – were shitty. Liam was one of the good ones. Louis didn’t want to see him disappointed if Harry wanted nothing to do with him.
He watched silently as Liam’s eyes scanned the message. His face broke into a huge grin, and Louis felt a sense of relief tentatively begin to creep its way in. Smiling. Definitely a good sign.
“Well?” Louis asked as he threw a pillow at Liam’s head. “What does it say? Out with it.”
“Oh my God, it’s him,” Liam responded. His smile was so big it looked painful. “Want me to read it to you?”
“No shit."
Liam cleared his throat and began reading.
Liam,
Wow. I’m not sure what to say that would be appropriate here, so I’m just going to stick with ‘wow’ for now. I think, and I’m sure there are better, more science-y ways to confirm this, but based on the evidence I’ve collected and what you’re saying, I think you’ve got the right guy. I am Harry Styles. I am twenty-seven years old. I was born on February 1 in London. And, probably the most important detail, I am adopted.
I actually got the last name of my birth parents a few years ago, and you’re a match there, too. Payne.
So, now that we’ve got that out of the way… where do we go from here? (Maybe to get a DNA test done just to be sure? Ha-ha, just kidding. Kind of.)
Do you have a phone number? Maybe we could talk, not over Facebook messenger? Honestly, I only get on here every few weeks to check for new pictures of my baby cousins. I’d prefer to text, if you’re ok with that?
Let me know. I am really, really glad you found me. Thank you.
All the love,
Harry
Liam looked up, still smiling as he flipped the phone around toward Louis for him to see.
“It’s really him,” Louis repeated, allowing the words to sink in as he spoke. “Like, really really him, like you have an actual, really real brother.”
Liam smiled even bigger at the words. Louis reciprocated, standing and walking over to his friend, pulling him into a hug.
“A real, actual human, living, breathing brother. Who, from the sounds of that message, is a total dweeb and almost as weird as you are.”
Liam laughed.
“Sounds like it,” he responded.
Louis released him from the hug, reaching a hand up to fidget with his fringe. Again, Louis registered that very subtle, very annoying pang of jealousy creeping into his stomach.
So, Harry was real. There was going to be a Harry in Liam’s life where a Louis had previously been. What if that Harry was better than Louis? Louis and Liam were similar in enough ways that their friendship had worked, but they were also very different people.
What if Harry and Liam really hit it off and there was no room for Louis anymore? What if Harry was willing to get up on Sunday mornings and go for terrible, horrible, hot, pointless jogs with Liam? What if they liked the same movies and went to the cinema while leaving Louis at home? What if—
“Lou?” Liam asked, looking questioningly up at him. “…you there?”
Louis shook his head slightly. Get your shit together. Happy for your friend. Happy. Big smile. Happy days.
“Of course, sorry, happy days, Li,” Louis recovered. “Just a lot to take in, is all. You’ve got like, a real brother now. A proper brother, I mean.”
Louis hoped that his insecurity wasn’t showing through his over-confident words. He didn’t want Liam to feel guilty about such an amazing thing. Louis felt guilty for feeling jealous, and that was not Liam’s fault.
Liam must have sensed something was off, though, because he stood up and pulled Louis into a tight hug.
“You know you’ve always been a brother to me,” he said, squeezing Louis tightly.
Louis squirmed a bit, but stayed put in the hug. He had never been great at sharing feelings – was genuinely awful at taking compliments – and he usually felt a bit uncomfortable when Liam got sentimental. He powered through.
“Thanks, Li. You’ve always been like a brother to me, too,” Louis answered quietly.
“No, not like a brother, Louis,” Liam patted him on the back. “You have always been a brother to me. Period. I’m not getting a ‘real’ brother, I’m getting another brother. You’re my family. Nothing will change that.”
He released Louis and dropped his eyes to the floor. Louis cleared his throat and distractedly fixed his fringe, looking for something to do with his hands.
“Thanks, Liam. Means a lot. Ditto, by the way.”
Louis took a sip of his beer and sat back down, feeling much better despite the embarrassment still evident in the flush on his cheeks. Liam smiled and picked his phone back up, fingers moving across the screen.
“You responding?”
“Yeah, gonna send him my number. I’d rather text, too,” Liam said. "There. Sent."
Liam sat his phone back on the table, grinning as he picked his own beer up and took a drink.
“So, are you going to restart Grease for me or what?”