Louis watched Harry disappear behind the closed door of Simon’s office, the sound of the door latching echoing in the quiet room. He settled onto the couch beside Liam, swinging his legs restlessly.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Louis said, crossing his arms tightly.
Liam reached up and massaged his temples, a familiar gesture of patience. “Louis, we’ve discussed this. It’s what’s best for the band.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Louis’s voice was laced with resentment. “I don’t like it, and this is going to end badly.”
“How do you know?” Liam asked gently.
“I just know.” Louis stood abruptly and headed toward the water fountain in the corner, seeking distance. He returned to find Zayn and Niall now occupying the two chairs facing the couch.
“So, what are they talking about in there?” Niall gestured toward Simon’s office with a questioning glance.
“You know what they’re talking about,” Louis replied, his tone sharp. He turned and strode toward the hallway across the room.
“Did he say something?” Niall asked, watching Louis’s retreat.
“No, he’s just doesn’t like the whole idea, the thing with Harry,” Liam explained, glancing at Louis, who now stood with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.
“I don’t like it much either, but I trust Simon knows what he’s doing,” Zayn said softly, his voice laced with a quiet resignation.
Louis stared at the floor, a simmering anger building within him. How could Simon manipulate things this way? Why did Simon have the power to push Harry into situations he clearly resisted? He knew someone was going to get hurt, and a cold dread gripped him, the sickening certainty that it would be Harry. He clenched his fist and punched the cushion beside him, a frustrated burst of energy.
A single tear escaped and tracked down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, determined to conceal his fear. The weight of unspoken anxieties pressed down on him, a suffocating burden of dread.