"Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in / I can see you're lonely down there /

Don't you know that I'm right here?"

Harry Styles, "Satellite"

october 2023
somewhere in northern ireland

        Liam looked out across the still waters of the lake. Silver, like glass, reflecting the overcast sky. He spoke softly into the receiver on his phone. "Yes," he said to Kate, "I'm fine. Still set to be back as planned." She told him that she worried for him. She told him that she loved him. She didn't care for the timing of all this--the recent hospital scare, the cancelled tour--and now he was off filming for a travel show. "I love you too," he said softly, to which she expressed another concern, but her words were lost to the impatient hiss of poor reception. 

        After he ended the call, he looked back out across the lake towards the mountains on the opposite shore. It was so peaceful out here. So haunting. So...quiet. He needed quiet. He needed space. He needed peace, to be at one with nature for a little while. Things had been so insane lately. He had been through so much, made so many mistakes, had felt himself slipping away into someone he no longer recognized, figuratively and literally. He missed knowing who he was. He missed his son. He missed when things were...simpler.

        "The last of the crew is ready to leave, Mister Payne," said one of the Production Assistants from behind him. He turned his head, watching one of three remaining vehicles head down the dirt road that led back to the highway, tires kicking up dust as it descended from view. His camper van and his security team's truck were the only ones left. 

        "Can I have ten more minutes?" he said in a tone that conveyed it wasn't really a question.

        "Um." The PA sounded a little nervous. "Sure."

        "I can head back down myself," said Liam, to which the PA needlessly informed him that management would feel more comfortable with him having an escort. "Tell 'em to sod off," he said under his breath. While Liam appreciated all the support as of late, he was starting to feel a little suffocated. That tightness in his chest returned, if only for a moment, as did the ensuing desire to lose himself in a drink, which frightened him. No, he told himself, and grew angry at even having engaged the thought. All of his hard work--the rehab--it would not be for nothing. 

        "Mister Payne..." said the PA. "It's getting dark."

        "Ten more minutes," he repeated, directly but not coldly. He turned his head back to the lake and hugged his knees, the fabric of his orange puffer jacket whispering against itself. He watched the water lap at the shore.

        A drink. 

        Thirsty.

        A chill overtook him. He watched the clouds cascade over the mountains and hillsides for minutes on end. His eyes traced the tree lines, gnarled beeches bleeding into disappearing meadows. The world around him was gray and green and still.

        He thought of the rumors about this place, the hearsay of its hauntings. It was part of the reason why the production crew had been so interested in touring Ireland. So many superstitions. Even the local town--he couldn't remember its name at the moment, something with castle, perhaps? Or maybe Lough something--carried with it legends of lingering spirits. It was a literal sleepy hollow, a literal ghost town. As Liam's caramel eyes navigated the mercury of the mirror-like waters, he heard footsteps approach from behind him again. They were delicate, soft, brushing aside the long strands of grass with their strides.

        "It hasn't been ten minutes," Liam said, without looking over his shoulder. He actually wasn't sure how much time had passed. He realized suddenly that it had gotten a bit darker. It was as if he'd undergone a strange sort of timeslip.

        "Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" said a voice of rich velvet. Smooth. Familiar. An accent that was now strange and multi-faceted, but still rung deep with an evident mix of Manchester.

        Liam knew it wasn't possible. Absolutely not possible. There was no one else out here save for the last few members of his team and himself. But his eyes fell upon a reflection in the liquid glass: a tall, lanky figure with wavy hair, wearing a long peacoat. He was going mad, he thought. Certainly. It was these mountains. This lake. This otherworldly environment. 

        But when he turned around, he saw him. Not a mere reflection or a specter from his past. His old bandmate was standing a few feet away--in the flesh--on the shore, hands in pockets, shoulders back, smirking at him. 

        Liam's jaw dropped, but then he smiled softly. "Harry," he said.

​

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​

        The little pub was called The Mourning Magpie. Nightfall seized the countryside in its grip like an unexpected blow in a fight. Rather than returning to the resort, Harry asked Liam to accompany him to the local village, much to the annoyance of his production team. Despite their reservations, however, it couldn't be denied that Harry Styles was indeed trusted, even if his choice of rendezvous was a bit...out of the way. Still, Liam thought it was better than Strandhill. Even there, he'd found himself quickly recognized and mobbed by fans. The amenities offered by the resort were nice, sure, but his stay hadn't provided him much reprieve from the public eye, hence Harry's proposal to have dinner at the local lakeside pub instead. They'd have the evening to catch up in private, and go, more or less, unrecognized.

        "Good to see you back on your feet," said Harry from across the table in the little, darkened establishment. Almost every other table was empty.

        "Thanks, mate," Liam said. He eyed the dry food on his plate. "You out here just for the weekend?"

        "Aye." Harry nodded. He took a swig of his mineral water--a courtesy to Liam.

        Liam shook his head. "I can't believe you tracked me down. All the way out here."

        Harry set his glass down and ran a hand through his hair. "I've always been good at that. Got my connections, you know?"

        Liam smirked. "I do."

        "How's the trip going?"

        Liam shrugged. "It's been...nice. I've needed it, Haz. Life's been"--he closed his eyes and swallowed a knot in his throat--"rough lately."

        Harry's expression darkened. "I know. I've been...keeping up to speed."

        Liam locked eyes with him. "How much do you know? About what's been going on?"

        Harry shrugged. "Almost everything, I guess."

        "Oh." Liam rubbed at his jaw. "I'm...sorry."

        "For what?"

        "Well, for...everything. Things I've said. About us. About Lou."

        Harry's mouth twisted to the side. "It's okay, mate."

        "No, it's not. I was-- I've been in a...bad place. And I was angry, Haz. Angry and confused and...god, I don't know."

        "Nah." Harry waved away his comment. "Water under the bridge." He took another drink from his glass and looked through the dark window beside them out onto the quiet street. "Look, we've all done things we're not proud of. And it's not like there wasn't some truth to what you said. Things weren't perfect between us. The band. It was just time for us to...forge our own paths."

        "I know, but I could've had more tact. I was struggling with some stuff--my health, the changes in my life, Bear and... Fuck, people always take the stuff you say and somehow make them worse, you know?"

        "Eh." Harry grinned. "Part of being people like us, innit?" He raised his glass as if to toast. "Celebrities and all that."

        Liam sighed. That was precisely the problem. How different, he wondered, would things have been if he had never been catapulted into superstardom at such a young age?

        "Important thing is, we still love you, Li," said Harry. "Always will. We're brothers."

        Liam thought a moment. Harry was certainly being a bit idealistic, sure, but at the end of the day, he had to admit that Niall, Louis, Zayn, and Harry--despite how distant they'd grown--would always be, in some form or another, family. And no family was perfect; there was dysfunction in every one, good times and bad. He smiled, thinking about his past, remembering how, at one point in time, he'd been so desperate to hold onto the dynamic they'd had. 

        "Cheers, mate," Liam said, and he clinked his glass against Harry's. They each returned to their meal. The soft lights hummed above them. The silence of the pub was only interrupted by the clatter of silverware on porcelain plates. After another mouthful, Liam said, "How have things been with you? Tour wrap up well?"

        "Yeah." Harry smiled. "Been good." 

        "How's Lou?"

        Harry cleared his throat. "He's...good."

        "I'd heard somewhere that you were dating someone...new? Is that true, or are you and-- I mean, are you still--?"

        Harry chuckled. "I'd rather not talk about that."

        "Fair enough." Liam nodded and they spent another moment working away at their food. He decided to switch topics again: "I know I've told you a few times, but I'm really proud of you, mate. The Grammys, the BRIT."

        "Oh." Harry's expression softened. "Thanks, mate." Something strange flickered in his eyes. "If I'm honest with ya, I sometimes feel like I didn't deserve 'em."

        "What?" Liam frowned.

        "I just-- Beating out someone like Beyoncé, Lizzo..." Harry sighed. "And then there was all that backlash from what I said in my speech." He chuckled. "Something I said that was blown up." He gestured to Liam, referencing his comment from before. "And I felt bad. I know that sometimes we don't acknowledge our own privilege. I get that. I just--"

        "Oi." Liam didn't like where this was going. "You deserved it. You're bloody talented, all right?"

        Harry sat on his words. In a low voice, he said, "It's not that I don't believe in myself or anything like that. It's just... I, uh... Well, I've also been in some weird spots before, you know? Some weird places. And right before the wins, for instance, I was struggling a bit. And I... I did some--" His voice cut out. "I got involved with..." He tried again, but it was like he couldn't bring himself to continue. Finally, he said, "Ah, never mind."

        Liam studied him, his brow furrowing. "You sure?"

        Harry smiled. "Yeah. Like I said, we've all done things, haven't we?"

        "I suppose we have..."

        The next bout of silence between them gave Liam an opportunity to study their environment again, reflect on his time out at the shoreline. The grayness. The silence. The natural beauty. "It's a little eerie how empty it is out here," he said after a few seconds. "I know we're off season, but this is a beautiful area. I'm surprised it's not crawling with tourists. Carrick-a-Rede was absolutely packed. So was Strandhill."

        Harry chuckled. "Well, that's exactly why. All the tourists go to the tourist spots. This place isn't really on the map."

        "Better for us, I suppose." Liam smiled.

        "Indeed," said Harry. "It's nice to go somewhere and not be recognized from time to time."

        Liam couldn't agree more. "Where are you staying then?"

        Harry shook his head after taking another swig of his drink. "I'm at the inn just up the road. It's quite nice. Got myself a private room right off the shore. Just for the night."

        "How'd you swing that?"

        Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know who I am?" He winked.

        Liam smirked. "I mean, you traveled out here alone?"

        Harry crossed his arms. " 'Course," he said. "Why not?"

        Liam considered this. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out in the world, completely alone, completely unrecognized, a stranger, a specter. Untethered. Invisible. He suddenly found himself envying his old bandmate. "Does...anybody know that you're here?" he asked.

        Harry chuckled. "Fuck, Li, I didn't go off grid. Just a weekend trip to see an old friend. Jeff knows. So does the family." He ran a few fingers through his hair and stretched. "Anyways, you didn't answer my question."

        "What question?"

        "Do you want to stay the night?"

        Liam scoffed. "Unlike you, I'm a bit...supervised. I don't think the crew'll go for it."

        "They let you come to dinner with me, didn't they?" asked Harry.

        "I suppose."

        "C'mon. Get your manager on the phone. We can continue our chat back at the room." Harry was already on his feet before Liam could protest further.  

​

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​ 

        The moon was a pearl on the water. Bright, nearly full. The lakeside hummed with the energy of the stirring night.

        "You weren't kidding," Liam said, looking out in the direction of the opposite shoreline where he had been sitting only a few hours before. The landscape had receded into darkness, transformed into a mosaic of pitching silhouettes, their outlines made visible by the burning stars spinning above the wayward world around them. "You're literally right on the water."

        "Yeah, it's nice," said Harry, toeing off his shoes. "Innkeep was saying that during the rainy season, some of the rooms'll even flood."

        "Is that why it smells kinda...damp in here?" Liam inhaled, catching the hint of musk beneath the birch emanating from the wooden walls around them.

        "Well, this place is old, mate."

        "I guess." Liam stepped away from the backdoor and turned to face the room into which his bandmate had invited him. The space itself was...cozy. Small. Harry flicked on a few lamps, accenting the earth tones around them with spots of gold. "One bed, huh?" he said, nodding towards the single mattress in the center of the room.

        "That a problem?" asked Harry with a smirk.

        "'Course not." Liam shook his head. The boys had slept together many a night during their days in One Direction, but he'd be lying if he said that he could remember what it was like having another man in his bed.

        "Good. Make yourself comfortable then. I'll put on some music for us. Ambience and all that." Harry pulled up Spotify on his phone and selected a song. Liam heard a familiar pulsing beat followed by the sound of his own voice:

​

You know I've been taking some time, and I've been keeping to myself...

​

        "Oh, you arsehole." Liam chuckled.

        "What?" Harry snapped his fingers a few times to the beat. "Just trying to set the mood." He winked, then stepped into the small restroom just off the entryway and closed the door.

        In his moment alone, Liam turned the song down low, removed his boots and unzipped his puffer jacket. The cold air sent chills throughout his body. He listened to his song continue softly:

​

...your love, it hit me hard, girl / Yeah, you're bad for my health...

​

The back door, still ajar, shivered alongside him in the soft wind, creaking as it danced on its old hinges. From his sitting position on the bed, Liam glanced through the crack in the door towards the black waters again, watching as they beat against the shoreline. The rhythmic sounds of the splish-splash against soft mud fell in sync with the song at first:

​

...I just wanna have fun and get rowdy / One Coke and Bacardi, sippin' lightly...

​

        Sippin' lightly. He was thirsty, he realized. He'd refrained from drinking anything at the pub.

        The pub.

        Drinking.

        Rehab.

        Liam thought of Kate, then he thought of his son. He thought of the mistakes he made as the lyrics teased him:

​

...When I walk inside the party, girls on me...Girl, I love it when your body grinds on me, baby...

​

        Outside, the lake waters continued to beat upon the shoreline, their rhythm shifting off tempo, but still steady, just like the sonic drawl of the EKG that he was suddenly hearing in his head now too. He remembered lying in a hospital bed only a few weeks ago, wondering if he'd ever recover from his kidney infection. He'd felt so defeated in that moment. So scared. And now...

        Splish. Splash.

        Heartbeat.

        Splish--

        Splash...

        Pulse. 

        He closed his eyes, but he could still see the water. So dark. So cold. So quenching. He was...so thirsty. Over his lyrics now (come on, strip that down for me, baby), he could hear Harry say, "We've all done things."  

        God, Liam was tired of doing "things." He wanted to just be free. To start over. He would not give in though, no matter how crisp and refreshing the lake waters looked. 

        But...his thirst.

​

Sippin' lightly.

​

        He wouldn't be sipping Bacardi, he reasoned with himself. Water wouldn't hurt. It was just...water.

        "Liam?" He heard Harry's voice, but his bandmate suddenly sounded far away. And his song? Even further, as if it had stopped playing completely. In fact, everything seemed so...muffled. It was almost as if he were hearing things from a place that was sunken, veiled, submerged.

        "Liam." Still muffled. Distant. Liam ignored the voice coming from so far away. The chill in his body grew sharper, as if it were biting into his very bones. He felt something strike the soles of his feet. Like ice. Then, it rose to his ankles. 

        Liam closed his eyes and, suddenly, it was as if he'd been plunged into a strange vision. He'd been stripped down, just as his song had instructed. Donning only his white underwear, he was sitting in the shallows of black, inky water. His knees were bent above the surface of the icy glass, and the liquid around him--cold, perhaps the source of his sudden shivering--was gnawing at his ankles and bottom. He hugged his legs and placed his trembling, shivering head against his thighs. The thoughts crashed against his restless mind:

        The mistakes.

        The words he'd said.

        The women he'd loved and left.

         The son for whom he needed to set an example. What kind of example was he?

         The drinks he'd abused.

         The things he'd done.

        "We've all done things."

        He realized that the waters were slowly becoming deeper despite his staying still, sitting in silence. Alone. The biting, consuming coldness rose up to his knees, clutching at his waist and then his chest.

        Was he sinking, or were the waters rising? He looked up to assess what was happening, and saw that the tattoos on his arms were bleeding into the black waters around him. The skull, the eye--crying ink--the rose blossoming into blackness, the shield melting away. And on his right arm, he watched as the chevron shapes slipped away, one by one.

        That thirst inside was still consuming him. He needed a drink. Just water. And it was all around him. He was submerged beneath his chest now. And a few moments later, his shoulders. Would he drown here? Drown in this dream? 

        He'd gone almost completely numb. Consumed by the cold. He prepared to go under. And then--

        "Liam!" Harry shouted, his voice finally breaking through the barrier, breaking through the surface. A hand came down hard on his shoulder.

        Liam gasped. He opened his eyes and he opened his mouth, surprised by the swelling of air in his lungs. 

        "Li!" Harry shouted again, and Liam realized that the waters he'd seen in his vision were not the mere product of some strange hallucination. No. He was standing in the waters of the lake. The very lake just outside their room at the inn. And he had, indeed, stripped down to his underwear and stepped into the water, which was still lapping at his chest. It was like ice. His toes curled, sinking into the mud beneath him. He stood rigid for a moment, unsure of what to do. He felt lost, disoriented. 

        "W-what?" he muttered.

        "Liam," said Harry again. 

        Liam turned around to face him. He had stepped into the lake too, still fully clothed. The waters were up to his knees. He looked back in the direction of the inn. His clothes formed a trail--a thick shirt, his trousers, his wool socks--strewn about the wet grass, leading back to the distant bedside, where his boots and puffer jacket remained motionless. "What happened?" he said, still sounding disoriented.

        Harry gave him an exasperated look. The fear was still evident in his eyes. "You tell me!" he said sharply. "One moment I'm using the bloody loo, the next I'm finding you nearly naked and walking out into the lake like a fucking lunatic!"

        "I..." Liam blinked a few times. "I...walked out here?"

        "Come on, man," said Harry sternly. "Come out from there." He kept his hand on Liam's shoulder, but as he tugged to get him to step out from the icy waters, he felt resistance. 

        "I don't... I don't remember," Liam muttered.

        "It's okay, mate." Harry sounded breathless. "C'mon."

        Liam kept hearing:

        Splish. Splash.

        Tick. Tock.

        Beep. Beep.

        Heartbeat. Heartbeat.

        He could feel something humming beneath the soles of his feet, something deep and rich and primal. It was the same energy he'd felt stirring in the pub, stirring in the very night air itself. He looked up and saw the stars spinning. 

        He was truly going mad, he thought. This time, it was real.

        "Li," said Harry softly. It was like a slumbering song. Soothing. Calm. Liam turned and looked his friend in the eyes, and Harry instructed him again, "Come back inside."

        He stood a moment, feeling resistant to the cold. He listened to the whisper of the wind around him. He listened to the drunken sloshing of the lake water. And then he focused on Harry's hand, firm on his shoulder.

        "Right," he muttered, and he let Harry guide him back up onto the shore. As he broke free from the lake's pull, he could hear it beckon:

        Splish.

        Splash.

​

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​

        "Feeling better?" Harry asked, joining Liam at the bed.

        Liam shrugged. "I guess." The hot shower had done him some good.        

        "Tell me what happened." Harry sat at Liam's feet, which were still bare, though now toweled dry, just like the rest of him. He was otherwise only clothed in the pair of red briefs that Harry had let him borrow. His own clothes, still soaked from his strange venture out onto the wet lakeside, were hanging over the restroom door.

        "I'm telling you, Haz, I don't know."

        "Are you trying to scare me? Because it's working."  

        "Of course not."

        "So then...what? You think this is some funny joke or somethin'?"

        "Haz," muttered Liam. "I'm not fucking with you. I don't know what happened." His tone sounded desperate.

        Harry frowned. "How can you not know?"

        "I just don't!" Liam snapped. "How many times do I have to say it? I don't remember walking out there. I don't remember going into the lake. I just..." He closed his eyes and let his words fall away. "I was listening to that damn song you put on, and I started to think about--"

        "The song?"

        Liam hesitated before nodding.

        "You mean your song?" Harry frowned.

        "Yes, my song."

        "You're saying that the song made you walk out into a lake?" Harry's brow furrowed.

        Liam scoffed. "No. What I'm saying is, the song started to make me think about things, and--"

        "What types of things?"

        "Just...everything, I guess. You know?"      

        Harry stared at him for a long time, and Liam shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. "Li, can I ask you something?" he said, and his former bandmate's lack of a response confirmed for him that he could continue. "Do you think you're a bad person?"

        The question caught Liam off guard. He froze up for a moment, then turned onto his side. This move, however, only served to bring his attention to the window, and he immediately sensed the strange beckon of the lake beyond. He closed his eyes, and that's when he saw it again--a flash of black, inky water. And with it, he heard the familiar splish splash of bad memories trickling into the forefront of hos conscious.

        "Hey." Harry's voice cut through the veil and Liam felt his friend's hands on his feet. Soft. Warm. "Hey. Liam."

        This comment made Liam open his eyes. "What?"

        "Do you think you're a bad person?" Harry repeated his question, and when Liam continued to stay quiet, he stood and circled the bed, eventually planting himself on the mattress beside him.

        "I've..." Liam's words failed him.

        "Because you're not." Harry kept looking at him. "We've been over this. You've made mistakes, man, sure. So have I. We all have."

        "Yeah, we've 'all done things,'" said Liam miserably, repeating the line again. "I know, I know."

        Harry's eyes kept on lingering. "I don't think you do."

        Liam sighed. "Look, Haz. It's probably just the exhaustion. I'm tired. It's been a long few days. Maybe we just get some sleep?"

        Harry was clearly not content with this response, but after another long delay, he nodded. "Okay," he said softly, and he agreed to get ready for bed.

​

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​

        The lake called to Liam again just after midnight. This time, the rhythm of its waves beat in time with a completely different song--not his own, but someone else's. It was a song he didn't recognize. Not at first.

        First came the whispering of the wind, followed by the soft chatter of the shallows on the shoreline, and finally, an ethereal voice: