Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER22.

"Now you're gonna be a real fucking problem," Harry blurts out, underlining my attempt to quell his anger with a touch of heroism. At least that worked.

His words freeze me in place. I struggle to breathe, my exhausted limbs seem to give way, completely drained of strength.

"Please," I manage to whisper, my head still spinning. I'm not sure if I'm pleading with Harry or with myself.

I wish I could disappear.

"What a goddamn plot twist," Michael comments, spitting out blood here and there. I curse myself for putting a stop to that violent scene when Michael's gaze returns to me. "Good thing you didn't know where she was, Styles. I'm guessing she's on it too, then, given that—"

"Shut the fuck up," Harry snaps, delivering a forceful headbutt that knocks Michael out cold. "Or my fucking bad luck will do the job. Seriously, this time."

On it too? Bad luck?

I can't grasp what he's talking about, not even if I were sober, let alone in the unfamiliar state of intoxication I'm experiencing now.

Harry clenches his jaw, his eyes darting between me on the floor, Michael's bloodied face, and his two friends, who seem even more shocked than he is. He's visibly stressed, almost on the brink of panic.

Before he can say anything, though, we hear insistent knocking on the door.

"It's me. Let me in," a voice says, but I can't tell who it is. No one dares to move.
The knocks intensify, followed by, "Do you guys need a bloody password?"

Niall, who has shaken off the general trance that has taken hold of all of us, like a deep slumber, tells Liam and Harry, "It's Louis."

"Shit. What do we do now?" Liam blurts out, passing Michael's friend, whom he had held with a grip worthy of an MMA fighter, to Niall, while the blond places a hand over the man's mouth to silence any potential noise.

"I'll open the door. You guys deal with these two idiots and that nosy little fucker. Alright?" Harry instructs, visibly stressed by Louis's incessant knocking.

"Open the door! I'm pounding my knuckles raw here, you bastards!"

Liam tackles Michael before Harry can let go, flipping him over and pressing his chest against the bloodstained sink counter. Michael doesn't utter a word or make a sound. Harry's recent blow seems to have finally intimidated him, as he falls silent and assumes a more submissive stance.

At that moment, Harry walks toward the door, almost mechanically, his steps dragging. Before opening it, he runs a bloodied hand through his hair, and the crimson droplets cling to his curls, leaving behind incriminating evidence of his violent actions.

As if nothing is out of the ordinary, Harry swings the door open, and an agitated Louis peers into the room. This time, he seems more authentic, less bound by his usual formalities: he looks loosened, perhaps even a bit disheveled. It's as if the strong adhesive holding together the pieces of his polished and professional appearance has loosened under the influence of alcohol, allowing him to finally relax. Louis is a whirlwind, starting to speak even before entering.

"God, why'd it take so long?"

"Louis," Harry says through gritted teeth, signaling him to hush. But Louis seems oblivious and keeps sharing his thoughts.

"The fuck's going on now? Just hurry the fuck up, mate. Ian's waiting, and I think I've spotted two potential candidates for the contract. Then you can take your pick—"

Louis abruptly falls silent as he takes in the gruesome scene. He stands there, mouth hanging open, staring at the bloodied and unconscious Michael, cornered by Liam. Meanwhile, I'm on the floor, struggling to stay upright, using my left arm as support.