wouldn't it be nice
Title: wouldn’t it be nice
Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended.
Word count: 1412
Summary: “And maybe they get a little bit carried away, but it doesn’t matter because they’re just Harry from Holmes Chapel and Louis from Doncaster.” Harry and Louis have a day off and they spend it being utterly and refreshingly normal.
Notes: inspired by peterpantommo’s tags on this picture.
Harry wakes up to arms wrapped around his waist, a warm body pressed into his back, and the wonderful realisation that he doesn’t have a single obligation to attend to today. He brings his hand down to Louis’ where it’s resting low on his stomach and curls their fingers together. Louis squeezes his hand in turn and Harry rolls over to face him.
“Hi,” Harry breathes out, ducking down to kiss him, slow and lazy.
When he pulls back, Louis just smiles that soft, subdued smile that only comes out when he’s just woken up from a refreshing sleep - and occasionally when he’s completely fucked out, but Harry tries not to think about that right now because he does actually want to be productive today. Either way, it’s a smile that’s only Harry’s to see, and the knowledge makes him feel warm, because every part of Louis that he can hold on to and call solely his is precious.
Sometimes it feels like his relationship isn’t even his own, by the way he’s told to tone down the touching and don’t look at Louis like that, and the way some people seem to feel entitled to know exactly what his relationship with Louis is, as if it’s any of their business, as if they aren’t keeping this secret for a reason. But seeing Louis like this, happy and content and just inherently Louis - not the Louis that the public too often perceives him as, the Louis that he is sometimes forced to be to keep up appearances - reminds him of what he’s fighting for.
Usually, on their days off, Harry and Louis will bum around their flat watching movies and taking turns sucking each other off, and Harry will whip up something that Louis saw on the Food Network because Louis has just been dying to try it and “It’s not as if I can cook it myself, Haz.” And when they’re done eating they’ll put on another movie and end up missing almost the entirety of it, because Louis will catch Harry staring at his lips out of the corner of his eye or vice versa, and they’ll end up melding their bodies together on the soft leather of the sofa, kissing each other breathless until the movie fades into the background. And that’s lovely, Harry’s favourite days, really, but he’s a little restless today and, also, he really, really misses his mum.
“Lou, babe, d’you wanna go to Holmes Chapel today?”
Louis kisses him again, his tongue darting out briefly to tease against the crease of Harry’s lips before he’s pulling back and tucking into Harry’s neck.
“Mm, okay,” he hums against Harry’s pulse point.
Harry’s grin is wide and beaming as he calls his mum to tell her that he and Louis will be by later, and Harry can hear the excitement evident in her voice which only serves to incite his own; it really has been too long since he’s been home.
They don’t hit the road until over an hour later, despite Louis’ insistence that him joining Harry in the shower would only save time.
(‘Haz, it’s only common sense, yeah? You wash my back, I wash yours and all that shit.’
‘I don’t think that’s actually how that saying goes, Lou.’
Harry’s protests had died on his lips when Louis got his hand around Harry’s already half-hard cock.)
Harry drives first, because Louis has a tendency to see how far he can push the needle on the speedometer, and getting pulled over isn’t exactly the start to the day that Harry envisions. Louis will take over when they get to the quieter stretch of highway closer to Chesire where there are never enough cars to warrant the need for policing. Harry likes to tease Louis that this is the prime reason he likes going to Holmes Chapel so much, and Louis will pout and say, with the appropriate dramatic flair, “It’s because I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Harold.” And it’s a joke except that it isn’t.
One would think that due to the sheer amount of time that Harry spends on the road, that any other added time would be near unbearable, but it’s secretly one of his favourite things. It’s something about being completely in control - he could take off at the next exit and get completely turned around and who would stop him? And it’s having Louis next to him and knowing that nothing can touch them out here; for the time being they’re just Harry and Louis and that’s all Harry needs. (And maybe there’s some clichéd line about the open road and feeling free, but if there is, Harry would never say it out loud.)
Harry is peering out the passenger side of the window and he almost misses it and “Geez, Louis, this is a residential street.”
Louis turns around at Harry’s request and puts the car into park at the side of the road. His eyebrows rise slightly but he follows Harry out of the car without question and across the street to a house that sits back from the road a little bit. It’s small and quaint and looks more like a cottage than anything, and Harry loves it, imagines that, in a different life, it’s exactly the kind of house that he and Louis would buy together.
An older woman with grey hair and grey eyes and glasses pushed to the tip of her nose greets Harry and Louis with a friendly smile and not the barest hint of recognition. And Harry knows that she isn’t exactly their target demographic, but it still feels a little strange, a little too much like a distant memory, to go somewhere, anywhere, now and just get to be Harry from Holmes Chapel. The woman tells them to have a look around and then sits back on the porch next to a man that Harry assumes is her husband.
Harry knows Louis is confused as to why Harry wanted to stop here, a garage sale on the outskirts of Holmes Chapel of all places, and Harry can’t quite pin it down himself, it just feels right and maybe like something that he would have done before X Factor. Louis is humouring him, though, or maybe he’s craving the same sense of boring, inane normalcy. He picks up a patterned shirt that is ridiculous even by Louis standards and holds it up and says, “It’s very me, wouldn’t you say, Hazza?”
And Harry laughs a little louder than he probably should, considering the shirt most likely belongs to the man sitting not very far away on the porch, and Louis smiles proudly like he always does when he makes Harry let loose with his most embarrassing roar of a laugh. They walk from table to table, picking up random items and Louis spots a toy that used to be a childhood favourite and he makes a show of pushing every button exaggeratedly.
It’s stupid and mundane and they should really be in Holmes Chapel by now, but Harry loves it. And when Louis grabs his hand to pull him over to the bins of records, he doesn’t let go and their fingers twine together and Harry’s smile threatens to split his face.
Harry takes a quick glance around before he pushes Louis up against a table with baby clothes laid out on it and presses his lips to Louis’ in a soft, closed-mouthed kiss. Louis’ hands card through Harry’s curls and maybe they get a little bit carried away, but it doesn’t matter because they’re just Harry from Holmes Chapel and Louis from Doncaster and they’re just two boys in love.
“Cheeky,” Louis says with a grin, tapping Harry’s nose.
Harry trails his fingers over the display of jewelry, because he’s always had a fascination with it, necklaces and bracelets in particular. Louis plucks one up, closes his fist around it and declares that he’s going to buy it for Harry. He won’t let Harry see what it is until he’s paid the seventy-five cents. He opens his hand and presents the necklace to Harry with a flourish; it’s a simple chain necklace with a silver pendant and the words ‘my love’ painted on. Harry smiles and does up the clasp and says, “This is definitely the best gift I’ve ever received; I will never take it off.” And it’s a joke except that it isn’t.