Chapter 1
If he recalled his biology lessons correctly, people started to feel it around 18. They were right, in a way. But he’s felt it a lot longer than 18. He thinks he’s always known. Maybe it was the way he couldn’t help his emotions, screaming when he was angry, laughing maniacally when he was happy, bouncing off the walls until he was sternly told to stop. It could be the way he looked to others for guidance, never quite sure that he could get it exactly right without the help of others. So, no. 18 didn’t change much. It brought it to the forefront of his mind; it became a part of him, stitched into his being. It was no longer something that he could look at as simply a part of himself, just one small part of his being. It was who he was. It was all he was.
If he chose a different career he may have been able to hide it better, and maybe, he wouldn’t have to hide it at all. He could live his life in peace, cared for in the way that he needed to be. But that’s not the way his life worked, was it? He was constantly in the spotlight, constantly being looked at by other people. Scrutinized in the way that only celebrities were, judged on what he said, what he wore, what he did, how he acted. It’s funny, that. His bandmates always brought up how crazy they found it that people could observe them in such a way, almost looking into their soul, seeing things that they didn’t even see about themselves.
Louis couldn’t relate, no, because even the most observant of fans didn’t have an edge on him. They couldn’t, because he had a secret to hide, and he had to do it well. Otherwise, he could lose everything. It would be over for him and for his boys. Every word that came out of his mouth was carefully crafted, every emotion he portrayed was robotic, something that perfectly embodied the person that he created of himself. Someone that he wasn’t.
“Hey Lou, are you coming?” Niall asked, shaking him from his thoughts. It had been a long day of interviews, the band remaining sedentary on a crammed couch while interviewer after interviewer switched places. He had shut himself in the green room, needing a moment to just breathe after being surrounded by countless people for the past eight hours.
“Where? Sorry, it’s been a day. Can’t seem to even remember what I had for breakfast,” Louis laughs, albeit halfheartedly.
“All good mate, you look like you need a good lie in. Going to 1 OAK, Z’s idea.”
“Nah, I’ll pass. Have a shot for me, eh?” Louis replied, smiling as best as he could. Niall let out a noise of assent, walking out with a wave.
Louis let out an exhale, closing his eyes. He was so tired. He knew he would only continue to get more and more tired until he got the care that he knew he needed. But couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
A rap on the green room door signaled that his car was ready, Alberto grabbing his bag. He didn’t know what he’d do without the man, he truly didn’t. He had to put his game face on, knowing that his bodyguard could sense that he was getting worse and worse as the days went on. He could put it off on the grueling schedule that their management had them on, but only for so long. Alberto had been with him since he was 16 now; he knew the man knew him better than that.
He let himself truly relax when he was laying in the plush hotel bed. He called down to the hotel restaurant for a glass of milk, mac and cheese, and some chicken nuggets, the most comforting of meals that he would allow himself. He rarely allowed himself the luxury of eating such childlike food, absolutely paranoid that he would give himself away. If he were anyone else, he wouldn’t be analyzing the food that he ordered. He would eat what he wanted when he wanted, but he didn’t have that luxury. He wasn’t a normal person.
Like he said, if he was anyone else, he would be normal. Classifications are normal. They’re a part of everyone’s lives, everyone’s biology. Classifications make sense, they allow for people to live the lives that they want to live without the embarrassment or hesitance to do so. They were not something to cage or trap you, that was engrained in Louis’ brain from his first biology class. The government didn’t tell you who to marry, they told you who you were, what you wanted, what you needed. That had always scared Louis, provoking him to shout questions out in class, wondering how the government knew who he was. They couldn’t know who he was just from taking his blood and giving him a test at age 18. There was no possible way. His teachers would always let it slide, giving him a sympathetic smile and telling him that he’d understand when the time came.
And they were right. He did understand. He understood the itch under his skin, the way that his mind was always racing, always hoping that someone would call him out on what he was. That someone lovely and caring would come up to him and call him out on it. Tell them they knew he was an l-sub. It would be mortifying, sure, but it would be a relief. No longer having to hide, no longer having to plan out every single move that he made. He was yearning for someone to be there for him, someone to notice that he couldn’t live like this any longer, couldn’t stand to make all of his decisions for himself. He needed someone, but he couldn’t ask for it, no, he couldn’t.
L-subs were something of an anomaly. With the way that classifications worked, there were three main groups: dominants, submissives, and generals. Colloquially known as doms, subs, and gads. Generals were those without a personality that veered either strongly to submitting or having the need to be submitted to. They lived their lives without a pressing need to be anything but themselves. To Louis, they were the lucky ones.
Doms and subs were divided into subsets depending on the needs that one had, if any. A majority of doms and subs were simply that, no sub group. They craved the presence of the other group, sure, but there was nothing that made them tick, nothing that they needed outside of the other person.
The subsets matched up, always a dom subset matching the sub’s. There were the p-subs, pets. The o-doms, owners. The s-subs, slaves. The m-doms, owners. These were normal. This was the world that they lived in, and there was nothing that anyone on earth could compare it to. This was the way that the world had been for as long as they knew it.
Reading a history book, one could see the way that the world used to be, full of gad relationships. But that wasn’t what all people needed; dom and sub relationships had been stigmatized in a negative way, and that no longer occurred.
The only stigma that existed was that towards l-subs. Louis knew this, this is why he had to hide. He had heard it his entire life, his mom sneering at him whenever he would cry as a child. Looking back on it, he knew that she always knew. How couldn’t she? he thought bitterly. He had everything that an l-sub would. His small stature, his emotions that changed at the flick of a switch, and his unending need for guidance from another.
His teachers would insist that everyone was the same, all classifications were equal. His mom laughed in the face of this, asking how anyone could see a little as equal to them.
And that’s what he was; a little. He never completely grew out of his adolescent mindset, not completely understanding the ins and outs of the world. Being the eldest in his band of five, he could tell that when Simon put them together he wanted Louis to be the leader. He tried, he really did. But he couldn’t. That’s not who he weas, and no matter how good he was at playing pretend, that was too far out of his reach. He didn’t think that the world’s best actor could play a character so outside of who they innately were.
P-doms were the counterpart of l-subs, aptly nicknamed m-doms for women, and d-doms for men. Parent doms existed as a protector, someone to take their little through the trials and tribulations that life presented them with.
The older one got, the more that their classification set in. It was something primal, something so engrained into one’s being that they existed as their classification. It was who they were, and something that cannot exist to be ignored.
But he had to ignore it. He was stronger than his needs… he had to be. He had to do it for his bandmates, the people who trusted him with their career. They all needed each other to be exactly who they were. Niall was the fun one, a gad. Zayn the quiet one, a dom. Liam the leader, another dom. Harry the protector, the d-dom. Harry was the only other member of the band with a subset, one that matched his subset perfectly. Louis was the innocent and sweet one, also a gad to the minds of his bandmates and the world.
His mom was the only one who knew what he really was, keeping it from everyone who they’d ever met. He did it for her, he did it for everyone he knew, from his bandmates, to Simon, to Hannah, the girl who does their laundry when they’re on tour. They were all counting on him to be a gad, to be someone normal.
There was a knock at his door, and he slowly picked himself up off of his bed. It was a waiter with his room service, and he thanked them with a tip, waving off their efforts to set up an elaborate spread on the large table the hotel provided. As soon as the door shut he picked up the food, moving it to his bed. He put his glass of milk on the small table next to his bed, hands shaking. It was something that happened more often than not as of late, something he accounted for as a symptom of his anxiety. He took the lid off of the food, breathing in the comforting scent of melted cheese and breaded chicken.
He picked up a spoon and dug into his macaroni. He concentrated on his movements, keeping an eye on the spoon as he brought it up to his mouth. All of the side effects of an l-sub without a caregiver were slowly presenting themselves in his day-to-day life.
It was in his biology, his textbook would say. He had to give into who he truly was, all people did. He thought it was bullshit. He was just fine by himself, he’d made it 21 years without having anyone take care of him in that way, why did he need someone now?
The question was rhetorical, of course, but it was one that could be answered in a ridiculously confusing way and Louis just didn’t need the answer to it.
Three years since presenting and his nature was starting to take a crippling toll on him. He scoured the Internet, looking for cases of people who hadn’t given into their classification, trying to find success stories. He hadn’t had any luck. He found horror stories of people who ended up in mental hospitals, so shaken up and out of their minds because of the way they rejected their true selves. But he was stronger than that.
At least he tried to be. There wasn’t much information of l-subs who attempted to reject their classification, most littles so desperate for affection and guidance that they almost immediately found a match or went to a matching agency. The stories that he could find consisted of people regressing slowly, motor skills no longer being what they used to, emotions flaring in the worst of situations. The worst of it all was a thread that wove through some of the l-sub stories he read. The loss of bladder control, something that forced a little to reach out to someone for help.
Of course, all littles were of different ages, there was no set way that a little would act. Louis has only seen a little twice in his life, they were nonexistent back in Yorkshire. Sometimes, when he’s especially indulgent, he allows himself to think of how young he’d regress back to. With all of the stresses of his life, he thinks he’d like to be quite little. Young enough to make no decisions, have someone decide what he eats and what he wears. Yeah. That’d be nice.
He’s snapped out of his reverie by a burning on his left forearm, looking down to see the macaroni he was attempting to feed himself had fallen off of the fork.
“Ouch,” he exclaims, eyes welling up with tears. He grabbed a napkin, carefully picking up the macaroni off his pained skin. He lets out another sob as he does so, the sticky residue of the cheese setting fire to his skin. He rarely lets himself cry, not wanting to let out the wall of tears he knows will inevitably come.
He gets up from his bed on wobbly feet, bracing himself to walk over to the sink to run his arm under cold water. He hears a knock on the door and tries to silence himself. He lets out pathetic whimpers, unable to completely calm his breathing.
“Lou? Is everything okay?” asks a concerned voice, muffled from the other side of the hotel room door. Harry. Of course he wouldn’t go out tonight, Louis thinks bitterly.
He breathed as slowly as he could, trying to steady his voice before answering. He failed. “I-I’m okay, just-t burnt myself.” He sounded weak to his own ears, clearly not okay. He can only imagine what Harry was thinking.
“Let me in so I can see it?” Harry asked simply, his worry showing in his voice.
Louis shook his head, forgetting momentarily that Harry couldn’t see him.
“Thanks H, I’m good, mate. J-just a little burn,” the laugh he let out seemed fake even to
“I have your key, Lou, I’m coming in.”
There was a beep before the door opened, signaling that the keycard worked. Harry opened the door slowly; making sure Louis was no longer standing in front of it. He let out a sympathetic noise when he saw Louis standing outside of the bathroom, holding his arm with tears running down his face. Pathetic, Louis thought to himself, you look like a baby.
As a p-dom, it was engrained in Harry’s being to care for others, to make sure that they were okay. Louis could always tell when Harry was slipping into that mode, and this was one of those times. He walked towards Louis slowly, looking down at his arm. He grabbed his right arm gently, slowly pulling him into the bathroom. He put the lid down on the toilet before slowly pushing Louis’ shoulders down so that he was sitting. He knelt down so he was eye level with Louis.
Harry looked into Louis’ eyes, tears still running down his face in a constant stream. “Can I look at your arm please, Lou?” he asked in a soft tone.
Louis nodded. He was screaming at himself internally, knowing that this was not okay. This shouldn’t be happening; he couldn’t show weakness like this. This was how people got figured out. He couldn’t blow his cover over something so stupid and menial. But he couldn’t help it, not when Harry was so comforting and willing to assist him.
“Sorry,” Louis stuttered out, “I don’t know why I’m being such a fuckin’ baby. You can go back to your room, I’ve got it.” He tried not to flinch as he swore. He’d always hated cuss words, especially when they’re coming out of his mouth. They sound so harsh, so foreign coming from him.
“I’m not leaving you, Lou, not when you’re this upset. And you’re not being a baby, it’s a nasty burn, I’d be crying too,” Harry said, winking at Louis.
Louis’ always been in awe of Harry, of the way that he can always put him at ease, bring him down from the most awful of moods. He guesses that maybe all p-doms are like that, but he knows he’s wrong. Nick Grimshaw does not have the same calming effect as Harry, no; instead he works to boil Louis’ blood every time he’s in the same vicinity as him.
Harry’s phone rings, the man letting out a noise of apology before reaching into the back pocket of his skin tight jeans and answering the call.
“Hey babe, yeah. Give me a second,” Harry presses the phone between his shoulder and his ear, keeping concentration on the cold washcloth that he was pressing to Louis’ burn.
Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear. Harry’s boyfriend was the one and only Nick Grimshaw, Louis’ self-proclaimed nemesis. Not that Nick knew Louis hated him, Louis was far too shy for anyone to ever even realize that he harbored ill will for them. It just begged the question of whether or not Louis actually hated Nick. The answer was no. Was Louis scared of Nick? Maybe. Was he uncomfortable around him? Definitely.
It was common for p-doms to date, waiting for a little to come into their lives. From what little Louis knew, as he never wanted to ask, that’s what Harry and Nick were doing. They made him sick, the way that they stared at each other with literal hearts in their eyes, gravitating around each other like they were the only two people on earth.
Everyone talked about how lucky they were to be so in love, to have found the one. Louis couldn’t say that he agreed. He didn’t need love, didn’t even want it. All he wanted was someone to care for him, someone to tell him that they were always there for him. It seemed so simple when put into words, but he was impossible, he knew it was.
“Harry, I’m fine. Just go talk to Nick,” Louis finally let out. He already blew his cover enough, he could handle his wound himself. And maybe he didn’t want to listen to Nick’s muffled voice through the phone any longer.
Harry looked at him with uncertainty in his eyes, Louis used his good arm to shoo him off, rolling his eyes as playfully as he could. He hesitantly stood up, giving Louis a quick kiss on the forehead as he bid him goodnight.
Louis blushed beet red, feeling his heart flutter quickly. The love that he craved was there and gone in a second, leaving him alone in his hotel room.
He dragged himself over to the bed, lifting the tray of food off of the duvet and dumping it on the floor. He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to shut off his mind.
He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but there was one thing that he knew for sure. He was going to make it through this, and he was going to do it alone. Because that’s how it had to be.