The Heart Rate of a Mouse (Larry)

Chapter 2: In them and not in Me

I overhear that Harry spent some of his break with Perrie and Bowie. I haven't really given consideration to what he did during that time, but I certainly didn't imagine him in similar parties I went to. Of course David would migrate towards San Francisco. He came out as bi in an interview last year, didn't he? I remember the uproar that caused, how it's still not over and how righteous American parents are telling their children not to listen to his music. David's got balls. It could have destroyed his career if he wasn't so talented.

It'd ruin The Followers if any one of us was gay and the word got out. Suddenly, all the lyrics would no longer be just lyrics, but the listeners would look at them to find all the gay undertones, parents would forbid their kids from coming to our shows, Christians would be outside boycotting us with hate-filled slogans for corrupting America's youth. Everything we do would be connected to that one band member liking cock.

Luckily, none of us are gay.

Considering Harry's sudden mingling with international rock stars, you'd think he'd be back flaunting it in my face. But he's not. I don't know what to do with his snappy but sad "Someone close to me died". How do I say I'm sorry when I don't even know who it is? And he certainly wouldn't even tell me if I asked.

I can't sleep, so I end up listening to the hum of the bus and staring at the ceiling. I can hear voices, so not everyone's in bed. Charles is driving us to New Orleans, and Harry disappeared to his bunk before we took off, so I know he is just on the other side of the door. Someone died. That's why he was late. That's why he was upset. Not me. Not what happened between us.

Maybe it's an ex-boyfriend. He's never talked about any relationships he's had, but he must have had a few, unless it's all casual sex. I wonder if David fucked him. I hope not. David's wife flew over last that I heard, so he's probably trying to play the whole husband thing right now, anyway. Maybe it was Harry's grandmother, but everyone expects old people to die. Harry looked anything but at peace with it.

Just then, I hear the sound of a bunk curtain opening, followed by the soft thud of feet landing on the floor. The steps lead the other way, but I am pretty sure that was Harry's bunk. I haphazardly reach for the wristwatch I left on top of my pile of clothes; the bus is so damn hot that sleeping in the nude is the only way to go. I can't see what time it is in the dark, but it must be the middle of the night. Harry can't sleep either.

I pull the covers off, locating jeans on the floor and pulling them on. Murmured voices and laughter are floating through my door, sounds like Liam and Ed catching up. I hear an excited voice. Cal. My three bandmates hanging out without me. I have no desire to join them.

Instead, I card my hair and wait for the telltale increase of volume when the bunk area door is reopened and their voices are louder, followed by quiet steps all the way to my door where they stop.

I stare at the door, palms sweating.

Harry's not climbing into his bunk. He is standing just on the other side.

I picture him with his knuckles raised, tentatively hovering over the wooden surface of the door. My eyes dart to the side, to the innocent patch of wall that he slammed me against before getting down on his knees.

I forgot the way he makes the room feel hotter than it is. He isn't even in the room.

This is why I didn't want to come back on tour.

My fingers curl around the doorknob, ready to open it when he knocks. I am listening so intently that I could hear a pin drop. No one would notice him coming back here. We could be discreet.

A sound, and I flinch, my breath hitching.

I hear a curtain drawing closed. Harry has climbed back into his bunk.