Burn to ash

Chapter 20

"Did you ever think we'd be here?" Niall asks.

Louis looks around the crowded queue-cameras lining the red carpet, glitter and sparkle and the sheen of money and success tinged with the barest hint of desperation laid over everything-and shakes his head.

Of course, Liam speaks up. "I dreamt about it," he confesses in a hushed whisper.

"You mean, you had a wet dream about it," Zayn teases.

Liam looks affronted and then embarrassed.

He probably did have a wet dream about it-and Zayn would know about it, because Louis knows they're sharing a bed most nights and trying to figure out exactly what they are.

Liam isn't out to the public yet, and they aren't nearly ready to come out as a couple, but Liam's parents know and so do Zayn's and Farah has started to calling Liam Poppa. It's disgustingly adorable and Louis tries to pretend he isn't halfway desperate for kids himself.

In any case, Louis isn't sure he can blame Liam for any untoward nighttime excretions. It is the Grammys after all, and they're not just here to decorate the crowd or present an award-they're nominated for an award.

Awards, actually.

"Okay, lads," Louis speaks up, because somehow, after they've all been to hell and back, he's become the leader again. "Anything we're making sure we don't talk about?"

"That Lou and Hazza just fucked in the limo on the way over?" Niall suggests with a sly grin. "The ten children they're probably going to adopt in the next year? Oh, how about the secret love nest Louis just bought Harry in Bali?"

"I thought it was in Martinique," Harry objects with a grin, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks. He looks stunning tonight, Louis thinks, all glittering green eyes and soft curls, longer than he's ever had them. Louis particularly enjoys grabbing onto them while he's deep inside, wrapping his fingers through the strands and forcing Harry's back into a particularly deep arch.

"Personally, I voted for Jamaica," Louis adds in, because there's nothing better than seeing Harry flush pink under the right attention. And only they know there really is a love nest and that it's actually in Jamaica. They haven't even told the other boys yet, mostly to try to escape the merciless ribbing that's become standard in the last year.

But as much as Louis whines and complains about it, deep down he loves it. Teasing is leagues better than the careful truce of only a year ago.

He'll take a million jokes at just how much he loves and worships and spoils Harry over the bleak, desperate depression he'd been suffering from what seems like such a short time ago.

And suddenly, they're moving along the line of reporters, flashes in their faces, and they're facing their very first red carpet since reuniting as a band and since Harry and Louis figured their shit out.

The first reporter is blond, thin and a shade of orange that Louis doesn't think genuinely appears in nature. It's horribly cliché of him, but he already doesn't expect anything. They've done so many of these through the years, and he's betting she either leads with a question about what designer they're wearing or who they're most excited to see perform.

Saint Laurent, Louis thinks, and Harry.

Louis is almost disappointed when she completely eclipses his expectations and instead says, "Boys, I have to say, I'm a huge fan. I always hoped you'd be here someday. I know the going got tough for awhile, but how does it feel to be back together and at the Grammy's, nominated for Album of the Year and Song of the Year?"

"I want to say we're so lucky, but really, I'm so lucky," Harry speaks up. "I never even let myself dream it might happen."

"And Harry, you're with Louis tonight." She gestures to their hands, fingers intertwined. "That must be at least part of why you're feeling so lucky."