if it all goes crashing into the sea (harry/louis, pg)
if it all goes crashing into the sea, one direction, harry/louis, pg, 1325 words, "I went house hunting. Flat shopping. Place poking."
author's note: Harry was spotted potentially shopping for houses in London. And then he went to Tinie Tempah’s launch of his Disturbing London Blazer Shoe later with Nick Grimshaw. So I just wrote this because in my heart of hearts, these kids can't not live together. this is not very good at all, I'm sorry! WOW I actually went reread it for errors and I am so ashamed at this quality. BUT WHATEVER. I AM TOO LAZY TO REWRITE THINGS. There are lots of things I could've addressed in the fic too, but i'm too lazy. ugh. none of this belongs to me! this is fiction! title from "ships in the night" by mat kearney.
"Harold," Louis says as a greeting, his voice loud and easy and somehow soothing and god, he forgot how much he misses him until now. Louis starts a conversation like he's never left it, with his bursting energy and bright smiles (he can't see Louis' smile through the phone, but he can imagine it being bright. It usually is.)
"Louis!" Harry whispers, or thinks he whispers, he can't really be sure right now, except if he looked around at the startled looks around him, it's obvious he did not whisper at all. He might be a little drunk right now. Thank god he's back in London. America was beautiful and all that, but even for him, a 'moderate' drinker, being unable to drink anything in public was almost too much to bear. "How's --" Harry has to stop to think because Louis is out of the country, but he can't remember whe -- "Nice! How's Nice!" This energy is fueled partly by the alcohol, but mostly because when he talks to Louis, that's just how he is.
Louis laughs, low and soft, and Harry can just picture him rolling his eyes out of amusement (and fondness, Harry will insist), before answering with a cheeky, "It's nice," pronouncing it like the city, giggling before Harry can tell him that it's a terrible joke and why did he think that was funny and I'm not going to laugh okay (but he will laugh because that's what he does, even when Louis Tomlinson tells the worst jokes in the world).
Harry switches the phone to his other ear, walking past a group of unfamiliar people and Nick, who shouts, "Harry! Who're you talkin' to?" He tells him it's Louis, and Nick lights up, shouting more at him to tell Louis he says hi and how is he and how's Nice, is it nice and Harry does not know why he is his friend, he honestly doesn't.
"Hi Nick!" comes Louis' voice through the phone, one that Nick can't hear because it's not on speakerphone, but Harry winces at the noise by his ear and has to hold the phone a bit aways from him. "Where are you, Haz? Havin' fun without me?"
Harry murmurs something, slower than usual, the words slippery ("Tinie's shoe thing, yeah, 's'cool.) and he imagines Louis nodding on the other end of the line. That makes him smile. He's not sure why, but it does. They talk about Nice or shopping -- Harry can't be sure (which is the theme of the night) because the buzz is settling around him nicely and he's cuddled up on an unoccupied couch in the corner of the room while people mill about him and it's so fucking comfortable and easy to sit here, talking to Louis. "Oh!" he suddenly says, bolting upright, losing his balance in the process and falling back against the arm of the chair. ("Oof.")
"I went house hunting. Flat shopping. Place poking. With Lou," referencing his earlier excursion around Primrose Hill in hopes of finding a place to live.
The amusement is still evident in Louis' voice. "Yeah? You know you have to find one that fits both of us and all your golf clubs, right?" All of them have recently started to mock Harry and his golf habit but guess what, he'll have the last laugh when he beats them all in a game.
(Not that any of them would actually golf with him, apart from Niall. Bless Niall. Niall is a good man.)
"Ha ha ha, so funny, Lou, we should be worrying more about your Toms and whatever shite else you bought every time you and El went shopping." Louis affects a dramatic gasp, and Harry rolls his eyes. Louis was the one who attacked his golfing first. This was only fair. He takes off his beanie and runs a hand through his hair, sighing contentedly. It's better when another person pets him, but Louis is in Nice, and Niall is in Spain, and Liam and Zayn aren't here, and Nick is all the way far away from him.
"D'you find anything?"
"Hm?" Harry asks, distracted. "Oh. Yeah, some. S'hard to actually decide when you're not actually here giving your input. Seems wrong to pick it by myself."
"Tsk tsk, young Harry," Louis berates, and Harry closes his eyes at the sound of his voice. "I'll be back before you know it, don't fret your pretty curly head. And then we can frolic around London and find a house and settle down and everyone can speculate on our relationship even more." There's no resentment or bitterness laced in his words. They are sincere and an undercurrent of humour runs through them because for the most part, Harry and Louis both enjoy the fan madness (a tame, perhaps inaccurate, descriptor) around 'Larry Stylinson' because well, they may not have finished school, but they are smart enough to know it is a prime factor behind at least part of their popularity. Besides, the fans don't come close to understanding their relationship.
(They are everything to each other. And even when the speculation becomes too much, when homophobic slurs are thrown around like endearments, when Eleanor gets dragged for a fantasy that's been built up in the fans' heads, when rumours circulate them every second of the day, they know they still have each other.
The public gets a simplified version of HarryandLouis because the deeper version is theirs and theirs alone.)
"You better," comes his reply, slow and murmured, and he realises he needs to get up from the couch before he falls asleep on it (and it's only 11 PM and he's at a party, there's no way he's going to live up to the grandpa role he's recently been assigned.) "'m gonna fall asleep."
"Wow, go and mingle, I understand it's hard to be apart from me, but Haz, this is unbecoming." Louis is all teasing and affection and still manages to hit unsaid truths. His words are poking at Harry, but he means, Love you, miss you, so much. He can't have spent every day with this boy for two years and not hear that.
"Fingers crossed for a Daily Mail cover story," he says, finally lifting himself up and sitting upright. His posture's still awful, but at least he's up.
"Always. El says hi."
"Hi El, bye El," Harry says, while stretching his legs. "Talk to you tomorrow? When d'you come home?"
"Few days," Louis answers, almost with a sigh, as if he wishes it was earlier, but only a little, because Nice, you know.
"Marking my calendar."
"Wouldn't expect anything less, Haz. Go." Harry hangs up after that, pushing 'end call' and then pocketing his phone. A few days wasn't too bad. (Except it sort of was, but it was doable.)
There is no Daily Mail cover story, but there is a little blurb about him shopping for a house, complete with pictures, and Harry takes a picture of the newspaper and sends it to Louis:
Not a cover story. disappointed? .xx
Louis' response is: For shame, Harold. I expectedd more x
I'm a failure. xx
no arguments here, mate x
Harry sends a picture of him flipping his middle finger and Louis calls him laughing.
Their townhouse is spacious and beautiful and has enough room for Harry's precious golf clubs and Louis' vast collection of clothes.
author's note: Harry was spotted potentially shopping for houses in London. And then he went to Tinie Tempah’s launch of his Disturbing London Blazer Shoe later with Nick Grimshaw. So I just wrote this because in my heart of hearts, these kids can't not live together. this is not very good at all, I'm sorry! WOW I actually went reread it for errors and I am so ashamed at this quality. BUT WHATEVER. I AM TOO LAZY TO REWRITE THINGS. There are lots of things I could've addressed in the fic too, but i'm too lazy. ugh. none of this belongs to me! this is fiction! title from "ships in the night" by mat kearney.
"Harold," Louis says as a greeting, his voice loud and easy and somehow soothing and god, he forgot how much he misses him until now. Louis starts a conversation like he's never left it, with his bursting energy and bright smiles (he can't see Louis' smile through the phone, but he can imagine it being bright. It usually is.)
"Louis!" Harry whispers, or thinks he whispers, he can't really be sure right now, except if he looked around at the startled looks around him, it's obvious he did not whisper at all. He might be a little drunk right now. Thank god he's back in London. America was beautiful and all that, but even for him, a 'moderate' drinker, being unable to drink anything in public was almost too much to bear. "How's --" Harry has to stop to think because Louis is out of the country, but he can't remember whe -- "Nice! How's Nice!" This energy is fueled partly by the alcohol, but mostly because when he talks to Louis, that's just how he is.
Louis laughs, low and soft, and Harry can just picture him rolling his eyes out of amusement (and fondness, Harry will insist), before answering with a cheeky, "It's nice," pronouncing it like the city, giggling before Harry can tell him that it's a terrible joke and why did he think that was funny and I'm not going to laugh okay (but he will laugh because that's what he does, even when Louis Tomlinson tells the worst jokes in the world).
Harry switches the phone to his other ear, walking past a group of unfamiliar people and Nick, who shouts, "Harry! Who're you talkin' to?" He tells him it's Louis, and Nick lights up, shouting more at him to tell Louis he says hi and how is he and how's Nice, is it nice and Harry does not know why he is his friend, he honestly doesn't.
"Hi Nick!" comes Louis' voice through the phone, one that Nick can't hear because it's not on speakerphone, but Harry winces at the noise by his ear and has to hold the phone a bit aways from him. "Where are you, Haz? Havin' fun without me?"
Harry murmurs something, slower than usual, the words slippery ("Tinie's shoe thing, yeah, 's'cool.) and he imagines Louis nodding on the other end of the line. That makes him smile. He's not sure why, but it does. They talk about Nice or shopping -- Harry can't be sure (which is the theme of the night) because the buzz is settling around him nicely and he's cuddled up on an unoccupied couch in the corner of the room while people mill about him and it's so fucking comfortable and easy to sit here, talking to Louis. "Oh!" he suddenly says, bolting upright, losing his balance in the process and falling back against the arm of the chair. ("Oof.")
"I went house hunting. Flat shopping. Place poking. With Lou," referencing his earlier excursion around Primrose Hill in hopes of finding a place to live.
The amusement is still evident in Louis' voice. "Yeah? You know you have to find one that fits both of us and all your golf clubs, right?" All of them have recently started to mock Harry and his golf habit but guess what, he'll have the last laugh when he beats them all in a game.
(Not that any of them would actually golf with him, apart from Niall. Bless Niall. Niall is a good man.)
"Ha ha ha, so funny, Lou, we should be worrying more about your Toms and whatever shite else you bought every time you and El went shopping." Louis affects a dramatic gasp, and Harry rolls his eyes. Louis was the one who attacked his golfing first. This was only fair. He takes off his beanie and runs a hand through his hair, sighing contentedly. It's better when another person pets him, but Louis is in Nice, and Niall is in Spain, and Liam and Zayn aren't here, and Nick is all the way far away from him.
"D'you find anything?"
"Hm?" Harry asks, distracted. "Oh. Yeah, some. S'hard to actually decide when you're not actually here giving your input. Seems wrong to pick it by myself."
"Tsk tsk, young Harry," Louis berates, and Harry closes his eyes at the sound of his voice. "I'll be back before you know it, don't fret your pretty curly head. And then we can frolic around London and find a house and settle down and everyone can speculate on our relationship even more." There's no resentment or bitterness laced in his words. They are sincere and an undercurrent of humour runs through them because for the most part, Harry and Louis both enjoy the fan madness (a tame, perhaps inaccurate, descriptor) around 'Larry Stylinson' because well, they may not have finished school, but they are smart enough to know it is a prime factor behind at least part of their popularity. Besides, the fans don't come close to understanding their relationship.
(They are everything to each other. And even when the speculation becomes too much, when homophobic slurs are thrown around like endearments, when Eleanor gets dragged for a fantasy that's been built up in the fans' heads, when rumours circulate them every second of the day, they know they still have each other.
The public gets a simplified version of HarryandLouis because the deeper version is theirs and theirs alone.)
"You better," comes his reply, slow and murmured, and he realises he needs to get up from the couch before he falls asleep on it (and it's only 11 PM and he's at a party, there's no way he's going to live up to the grandpa role he's recently been assigned.) "'m gonna fall asleep."
"Wow, go and mingle, I understand it's hard to be apart from me, but Haz, this is unbecoming." Louis is all teasing and affection and still manages to hit unsaid truths. His words are poking at Harry, but he means, Love you, miss you, so much. He can't have spent every day with this boy for two years and not hear that.
"Fingers crossed for a Daily Mail cover story," he says, finally lifting himself up and sitting upright. His posture's still awful, but at least he's up.
"Always. El says hi."
"Hi El, bye El," Harry says, while stretching his legs. "Talk to you tomorrow? When d'you come home?"
"Few days," Louis answers, almost with a sigh, as if he wishes it was earlier, but only a little, because Nice, you know.
"Marking my calendar."
"Wouldn't expect anything less, Haz. Go." Harry hangs up after that, pushing 'end call' and then pocketing his phone. A few days wasn't too bad. (Except it sort of was, but it was doable.)
There is no Daily Mail cover story, but there is a little blurb about him shopping for a house, complete with pictures, and Harry takes a picture of the newspaper and sends it to Louis:
Not a cover story. disappointed? .xx
Louis' response is: For shame, Harold. I expectedd more x
I'm a failure. xx
no arguments here, mate x
Harry sends a picture of him flipping his middle finger and Louis calls him laughing.
Their townhouse is spacious and beautiful and has enough room for Harry's precious golf clubs and Louis' vast collection of clothes.