Truly Madly Deeply

Chapter 3: The Start of Something Big

Two years out of high school, and Louis Tomlinson was on top of the bloody world.

After his X-Factor audition, everything had happened at breakneck speed. One moment, he was just another hopeful on the stage, belting out songs with that trademark Tomlinson attitude, and the next, he was part of a freshly minted boy band. One Direction. It had a nice ring to it, thanks to the curly-haired kid from Holmes Chapel—Harry Styles, who, despite being 16, already had the charm of a proper heartbreaker.

And it wasn't just Harry. He'd been thrown together with four other blokes, each as mad as he was and all vying for the same dream. They were from all over, and yet, in a way, it felt like they'd known each other forever.

Louis liked to think he was still the ringleader, the sassy king among his new bandmates, but he had to admit... they were all bloody brilliant in their own ways.

First, there was Liam Payne, the steady one. From Wolverhampton, Liam was calm, collected, and, annoyingly, always trying to be the responsible adult. "Someone has to keep you lot out of trouble," he'd say, exasperated, as if they were a group of unruly toddlers.

Then there was Zayn Malik, the Bradford mystery man. Zayn didn't say much, but his voice—holy hell, his voice—was unreal. He was quiet, but Louis knew there was more to him. There was an edge, a mystery that he couldn't wait to unravel.

And then there was Harry, the youngest. 16 years old, big hair, bigger charm, and a smile that could melt stone. Harry was all cheeky winks and shameless flirting, and Louis couldn't help but feel a little protective of him. Even if he was already getting more fan letters than the rest of them combined.

Lastly, there was Niall Horan, the Irishman. A total nutcase with a laugh so loud it could raise the dead. Niall had arrived from Mullingar with a guitar, a ridiculous amount of snacks, and the most infectious grin Louis had ever seen. He might have been a little daft at times, but damn if he didn't brighten up any room he walked into.

They'd been thrown together at boot camp after each had been told, separately, that their solo careers weren't enough. Simon Cowell himself had dropped the news, staring them down with that smug look of his as he told them, "Individually, you've got potential. But together, you might actually have something."

Louis had been gobsmacked. A band? Him? With these random blokes he'd just met? But then he looked around, and something about the mix felt right. It wasn't what he'd planned, but Louis had never been much of a planner anyway.

When Simon asked them what they wanted to be called, it was Harry who spoke up first. "How about... One Direction?"

Louis had snorted. "Sounds like a bloody road sign," he'd whispered to Liam, but the others seemed to like it, and in the end, he was outvoted.

And so One Direction was born. A band of five lads from completely different backgrounds, all bound by one insane, impossible dream.

Fast-forward a few months, and they were already headlining arenas. Louis could hardly wrap his head around it. The fans, the lights, the deafening screams—it was everything he'd dreamed of, and yet nothing he could have expected.

He spent most nights goofing off with the lads, treating every hotel room like it was his personal stage, full diva mode in action. And, of course, he never missed an opportunity to remind them that he was the real star of the group.

"Oi, Payne!" he called one night, as they lounged in the back of their tour bus, Liam scrolling through his phone. "Reckon you'd get mobbed if you went out there on your own?"

Liam rolled his eyes, a slight smirk playing on his face. "Pretty sure we all would, mate. In case you haven't noticed, we're One Direction."

"Yeah, but some of us were born for this," Louis replied, striking a dramatic pose. "And some of us, well..." He gave a mock-sympathetic glance at Niall, who was busy demolishing a packet of crisps. "Some of us were born for snacks."

"Oi, watch it, Tomlinson!" Niall protested, spraying crumbs everywhere. "These snacks are the only thing keeping me sane on this bloody bus with you lot!"

Harry piped up, grinning. "Louis, mate, you know I'm the real superstar here. I get all the fan mail, after all."

Louis scoffed. "Fan mail? Styles, they're only writing to you because you look like a lost puppy on stage."

"I'll take it," Harry shrugged, flashing that cheeky grin. "It's all part of the charm, innit?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. But let's get one thing clear: when we sell out Wembley Stadium, it'll be because I've been carrying the lot of you."

"Oh, piss off, Tomlinson," Liam shot back, but he was grinning too.

And as much as they teased each other, Louis felt the bond between them growing stronger. It was strange—he'd always pictured himself going it alone, but with these lads, it was different. It was better, even.

Amidst all the chaos, Louis couldn't help but think of Savannah from time to time. He'd always promised she'd be there to see him sell out arenas, that they'd laugh about his "superstar life" together. But after his audition, they'd somehow lost touch. She'd gone off to uni, and he'd gone off to chase his dreams, and somewhere along the way, the texts and calls had faded.

He wondered if she'd seen him on TV, if she knew that he'd actually made it, just like he'd always promised. Part of him wanted to reach out, to tell her about all the insane things he'd experienced, but another part of him figured he'd just wait. After all, he was Louis Tomlinson now—she'd see him soon enough, whether she wanted to or not.

One night after a particularly wild show, Louis found himself in a hotel room with his bandmates, buzzing with adrenaline. "Alright, lads," he said, standing up and raising an invisible microphone like a talk show host, "this is it. We're living the bloody dream! Headlining arenas, screaming fans... and let's be honest, none of you thought we'd get this far without me."

The lads burst into laughter, Niall nearly choking on his drink. "You're full of it, Tomlinson!"

"True, but you lot wouldn't have it any other way," Louis replied with a wink.

Harry grinned, raising his own imaginary microphone. "And where do you see yourself in five years, Louis?"

Louis didn't miss a beat. "Rich, famous, and still putting up with you lot's nonsense. Because, let's face it, One Direction is stuck with me."

"Can't argue with that," Liam said, clinking his drink with Louis's.

And in that moment, Louis felt it—this was only the beginning. They were on the edge of something huge, something none of them could fully understand yet. The world was watching, and he, Louis Tomlinson, was more than ready for the spotlight.