“Yes!” Harry punched a fist into the air. He laughed at the confusion that wrinkled the little space between Louis’ brows.
“You’re flirting with me,” Harry smiled, letting his dimples pop.
Louis’ face went blank for two seconds and then he rolled his eyes, one side of his mouth lifting. “Am not.”
“You soooo are,” Harry sang out, poking him in the shoulder. “You like me.”
“I was simply showing you how to actually bring… what did you call it? Your A-game.”
Harry adopted a patronizing expression, sure it would piss him off. “And you did great. Really.”
“Oi, fuck off,” Louis said, but he was actually laughing now. Outright. It was gorgeous and Harry wanted to live in this moment forever. It was the very best one he’d experienced. He wanted to always remember the image of Louis’ crinkled eyes, the sound of his breathy giggles, the smell of citrus that radiated off him as he swayed in his amusement. And Louis didn’t even know his name.
Or ... When everything gets to be a bit too much for A-list actor Louis Tomlinson, he runs back to the town he had never really called home and the boy who was the only one he did.
- Part 1 of Divide
AU. When superstar singer and winner of The Voice Louis Tomlinson tweets “Nothing worse than waking up with no milk for a cuppa !! Gutted” he doesn’t expect someone to bring him some. And he really doesn’t expect that someone to have bright green eyes, long curly hair, and (fucking) dimples.
“The fame thing— it isn’t really real, you know?” Louis’s smile is devastation, like porcelain cracked dead center. “I mean, it’s real in the sense that it has consequences, serious ones, but— but at the end of the day, don’t forget, I’m still…I’m just a guy. Standing in front of this extraordinary man…hoping to be loved by him.”
Or: the Notting Hill AU where Louis is a famous Hollywood actor, and Harry is a bookstore owner who lives in a house with a blue door, and they get a lot wrong before they finally figure out how to get it right.
Harry’s hands tremble, carelessly ripping each of his paintings, one by one, until his studio is littered with not only remnants of his masterpieces, but his despondency. "You don't love me." he accuses, tugging on the roots of his hair. "You never loved me. You pity me! And to make it worse, you told everyone that you pity me! You promised you would never..." his voice fades as soon as his cries intensify.
Louis can't manage to say anything. His eyes wander, gazing over each item that once made Harry happy, and he shakes his head. Harry spent years building the ambiance of his studio and it's been destroyed in mere minutes, thanks to him. "Harry I...no, that isn't true. Whatever you think you heard, I swear to god isn't true. I care about you more than - "
"Get out!" Harry screams, pointing to the door. His chest heaves with sobs. "You said it doesn't matter that I can't walk. You said I'm the most incredible person you've ever laid eyes on. Why did you lie to me?"
Or, Harry is an angry, starving artist isolating himself from the rest of society due to his disability. Louis is a pop-star pretending he doesn't care about anything, but when it comes to Harry, he cares too much.
He almost wishes there were a better story.
"Fucked up pop star ends five day bender by wandering into a dive bar alone and passing out in public."
That would've generated press, he thinks, and if there's one thing that's constantly on his mind (or more accurately, on the mind of everyone else around him) it's that all press is good press, and good press is good press but bad press is great press.
Besides, he's 25 and trying to do the whole transition from boyband to solo pop star. He's pretty sure a press-fueled meltdown is, like, a right of passage.
The truth, alas, is a whole lot more boring.
Louis falls asleep in Harry's bar. Harry takes him home to hang out.