Jumping Into Rivers

“Come on, Louis. Get up!” Harry Styles encouraged, attempting to pull the comfortable duvet off of his band member. It was the morning after their last day of tour and after a long night Louis had finally put down the bottle of Jäger and surrendered to sleep. Waking him up – however – was a whole different matter.

Louis let out an audible groan and threw the covers over his head. His brain was fuzzy and his stomach was churning. Liam was right; Louis couldn’t handle his drink well. Harry chuckled slightly and walked over to his bed. As he hovered over the Louis sized lump he could almost smell the alcohol from the night before and couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the Doncaster lad.

Again, Harry tried to wake the older boy up, this time shaking the figure in the bed with aggression in an attempt to make him move. But as always he resisted.

“Go away” Louis replied groggily, wiggling away from Harry’s cold hands.
“We’re leaving in like, five minutes. John will kill you if you’re not ready”

From under his duvet, Louis could hear Harry walk towards his suitcase and zip it shut. Most people – particularly fans – always assumed Harry was the least organised and always the ‘party animal’, but in fact he was far from this. As Harry was the youngest, he always felt a sense of pressure to behave, much like a school child felt the same pressure from a teacher. However, most children do not have Simon Cowell as their manager. Harry, of course, was often irresponsible. As seen last night when he encouraged Louis to run around in his boxers, but when it came to getting up early and being organised – Harry always seemed to be on top.

Harry sighed when he noticed Louis had still not moved. With a smirk he tugged slightly at the corner of the duvet, warning Louis that if he did not move soon the whole thing would be coming off.

“But I’m so tired!” Louis whined, finally sitting upright. His eyes were squinted due to the harsh London morning that was shining in through the large window. The grey buildings looking somewhat pretty in the dirty London fog. Louis huffed in annoyance once he noticed the alarm clock read 7:00AM but swung himself out of the bed anyway, obeying Harry’s commands.

“You’re not tired, you’re hung over” Harry pointed out, smiling as Louis gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Here, get ready. I’ll pack your case” Harry offered, shoving a pair of chinos and a red hoodie into Louis’s arms.

“Thanks, babe” Louis smiled sleepily, his blue eyes managing to sparkle despite their sleepy haze.

Harry laughed at Louis’s choice of words before beginning to fold and roll Louis’s other clothes, stuffing them somewhat neatly into the suitcase.

In the bathroom Louis didn’t even bother to change his underwear. They were only taking a forty minute drive to their house on the other side of London. It wouldn’t take long. And Louis looked like shit anyway, he decided, so it would not make a difference to his physical appearance or general hygiene at this moment in time.

Looking in the mirror, Louis groaned at his reflection. Bags under his eyes from late nights, his hair sticking up at all sorts of unreasonable angles and his mouth was as dry as a desert. His tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, desperately making him want water. Once he was changed in a typical Tomlinson outfit he brushed his hands through his hair. His tanned fingers catching knots until they ran smoothly through his brown locks.

“Finished” he muttered, reappearing from the bathroom in time to see Harry zip the final case shut.

“Cool,” Harry smiled, giving Louis the once over and laughing at his footwear. Toms, of course. No socks despite the bitter weather outside. ‘Only Louis’ Harry thought, smiling to himself “The boys are already down there. Liam sent me a text a minute ago”

Both boys picked up their suitcases and rolled them towards the elevator. Louis blearily stumbling behind Harry as they passed the reception area. Quickly he plastered on a smile once he noticed a dozen or so fans outside, all of them looking freezing in their hoodies and jogging bottoms.

Once meeting and greeting all the girls individually Harry and Louis entered the van which would be driving them home. And as Harry had said, the other three band members were already inside. Strapped in and ready to go home.

“How are we feeling this morning?” Liam grinned knowingly as he looked at Louis. Examining the dark eyes and pale skin.

“Wonderful, thank you” Louis replied, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder in an exhausted manner. To which the curly-haired boy instantly responded. Resting his own head on his best friend, smiling at the familiar place where Louis’s head fitted in between his neck and shoulder.

“No worse than Niall” Zayn pointed out. The Irish boy was looking much paler than normal and was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His eyes were bloodshot and he was resting his head on the window, allowing the cool glass to calm his thumping headache.

“Never again” was all Louis could make out from Niall’s grumbles. Everyone knew it was a lie. By next week he would be downing pint after pint like a champ - before most probably throwing up like he usually did.

-

The car journey was uneventful. Despite the amazing gig they had played and the hilarious night that followed all boys were exhausted. They had come down from their highs; the adrenaline lost in their hang over’s, particularly poor Niall who spent half the car ride with his head out of the window. Desperately trying to get some fresh air and some colour to his cheeks.

“Nearly home” the driver had said, which caused Zayn to sigh in relief. He was eager to get home. To just flop on a beanbag and play his Xbox. To drink Liam’s perfect tea and sleep in his own bed with the knowledge that he didn’t have to wake up at five o’clock in the morning just to do a shitty ten minute interview on television.

They were to go on a two week break, according to Simon. Before being thrown back into work. The first album was over. Three singles had been released – all three going to number one, of course. Although nothing had beaten the sales of their debut which had remained in the top spot for almost two months before being pushed out by another generic dance record whose genre still seemed to be dominating the charts. However this time they were doing something a lot more exciting. A charity single. ‘Children in Need’ was a big deal in Britain, its biggest aspect being the single and TV show which aired towards the end of the year.

The boys had been astounded when they had been picked to represent such an important charity. And had obviously accepted when first approached about the idea. And the thought of it all had been floating around in Zayn’s head for quite some time. He was nervous – that’s for sure. Knowing that the pressure would be on them to raise money through their music. But Zayn also had faith. Their fans would never let them down. Zayn smiled slightly as he watched houses flash past his vision through the window, still bewildered at the amount of success and fame the boys and himself had achieved in just over a year.

They couldn’t go anywhere anymore without the paparazzi following them or a fan asking for pictures. Of course it bothered them on occasions. Liam and Harry had found it particularly frustrating when they had only gone to Oxford street to buy gifts for Mother’s day and had been mobbed by cameramen who demanded to know who the red roses were for which were clutched tightly in Harry’s hand as he tried to push past the grown men.

“They're for Louis” Harry had replied jokingly, confused as to why the photographers would be asking such an obvious question so close to Mother’s day (as who else would they be for?). But yet the newspapers had snapped the story up. While only offered as a light-hearted article the management had still gone mental at Harry for answering the question in the first place, joke or not. (“You’re in a boy band. You cannot make homosexual jokes like that when rumours are already flying!”)

But Harry was secretly pleased with himself when he caught Louis blushing at one particular soppy article in ‘Heat’ magazine one morning. Oh yes, the women loved the bromance. Which Harry found rather odd. He’d seen countless arguments between fans who were convinced that Harry and Louis had at least kissed (they hadn’t – yet) and fans who refused to believe that any member of the band would even look at another male in such a way.

Harry always found this confusing. He wasn’t angry or embarrassed. In fact he found it hilarious and would always overact such bromance’s, but he couldn’t help but read and re-read blogs dedicated to his and Louis’s relationship. Pictures over analysed where Harry was caught looking at Louis or vice-versa (“Omg! They’re totally having eyesex!”) Multiple videos edited together with footage of the boys from their X Factor video diaries to recent interviews all displaying the subconscious body language between the pair. And even pictures of them kissing which Harry always had to look at twice before realising they were photoshopped.

Yes – they had a very confusing relationship. Harry simply passed it off as them being best friends. Sure, he didn’t know any other males that acted in such a way (asides from the rest of the band – of course) but that did not mean there was anything to it. The fans loved it, the fans over analysed it, but there was nothing to it. That is what Harry was sure of anyway. However, what Louis thought was a whole different matter.

“Here we go, boys”

Both Harry and Zayn snapped out of their thoughts and looked out of the window. Sure enough they were pulling into their driveway. The iron gates behind them were closing slowly, the high walls offering high protection and reduced visibility. While the boys loved their fans, it just wouldn’t do to have them know where they lived. They needed at least a little privacy after all.

As soon as the car had stopped Niall was out like a shot. Flinging the boot open and thumping case after case onto the ground. Each member took their relevant suitcase and rushed quickly towards the double doors. All eyes were on the key in Liam’s hand. They felt like they had not been home for years. They were dying to get inside and raid the fridge, or to collect the mugs in their rooms which no doubt were beginning to grow mould.

Louis heart almost jumped when the key clicked in the lock, and finally the door was opened. Liam cheered as he entered the house and ran straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Niall ran up to his room, no doubt to look for some aspirin and hover by the toilet just in case his breakfast decided to make an appearance. Louis stood in the hallway and took a deep breath. Taking in as much as the familiar scent as he could. Aftershave, slight smell of dirty laundry, coffee, vanilla from the candles scattered across the house and cigarettes coming from Zayn’s jacket which was hanging on its usual hook beside him. Home – it’s where the heart is.

Eventually after much struggle Louis had managed to bring his suitcase upstairs where it was now spilling its contents on his bed. Toms and Espadrilles littered his floor while stripy T-shirts were tucked under pillows and for some particular reason hanging off of a bedside lamp. Louis smiled, he was pleased to see his unmade bed, the familiar shape moulded into the mattress was extremely welcoming and he wanted nothing more than to fall fast asleep in it. But first he knew he must take a shower.

Elsewhere Liam was already pouring hot tea into five mugs. Stirring milk and sugar into the ones which needed it. As he threw a spoon into the already overflowing sink he began writing in his head. Three months before tour had started Liam had created a blog, and now that he could sense his laptop just metres away he was desperate to update the fans on the stories and the small anecdotes which would make them chuckle. Instead Liam picked a mug up and plonked himself onto a bar stool, iPhone in hand as he skimmed through the different photos he had taken over the last month or so, pausing to sip his steaming cup and yell to the others that their tea was sat on the counter.

-

Louis savoured the last of the hot water before exiting the shower, hissing at the cold temperature that hit him. After turning the shower off he quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and used another to ruffle his hair. He collected his clothes from the floor and began walking towards the door so that he could chuck them into the laundry basket. But due to his wet feet and slippery floor he only managed to walk three steps before crash landing on the hard tiles. His clothes shattering around him. Louis would usually laugh at himself in these situations, and started to do just that before he noticed his left wrist stinging painfully. Lifting it up to inspect the damage, he saw a cut carved into his wrist, blood streaming out of it thickly.

Louis winced – noticing the sharp corner of his belt buckle had a small rip of pink flesh on it. He’d obviously caught his wrist on it on his tumble. Noticing that blood was still greatly leaking from his wound Louis rushed towards his mirror, this time a lot more carefully. He did not need another accident. He grumbled to himself. How could a belt buckle be so sharp? How could it be positioned so slightly that when he fell it scratched his skin so badly?

Regardless of his questions he turned the tap and sighed when the cold water made contact with his burning skin. He watched as red blood gurgled down the plughole until the cut was down to a dull weep. He lifted his wrist higher to his blue eyes. This didn’t look good – he concluded. A great slit on the inside of his wrist? If the fans saw this they would pick up on it instantly – and most would not believe it was an accident. He could see the stories now. “Louis Tomlinson – depressed and suicidal”

Louis groaned and raised his head towards the foggy mirror above the sink – condensation still present from his hot shower. Louis went to wipe the marks away, however stopped when he saw a blurry figure standing behind his own. His heartbeat quickened. Leaning forward slightly he managed to catch blond hair. Spinning around he expected to see Niall standing behind him. But instead he saw no one. Not even a trace of a person. Turning back towards the mirror Louis convinced himself he was imagining things. Yes – that was it. It was nothing. It couldn’t have been. Don’t be stupid, Louis.

Gripping his wrist Louis exited the bathroom – trying not to think of the strange thing he had just seen. It was a trick, Louis. He told himself as he wrapped a bandage around his cut. Thinking nothing more of it as he pulled a pair of jeans on and slipped a hoodie over his head. Finally convincing himself he wasn’t seeing things as he bounded down the stairs, his hair dripping wet ready to drink his tea, which was probably cold by now.