jumping in my bed (1/?), a larry stylinson fic
Title: jumping in my bed
Pairing: harry/louis
Rating/Warning: pg13, probably higher in later chapters
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: harry wears his heart on his sleeve like he's paid for it, and louis has always had trouble committing to anything. they need to work on these things.
A/N: LOOSELY-ish based off the song "trouble sleeping" by the perishers.
Harry had never been one to hide how he felt. Gemma always teased him because he would be the one crying at the hurt puppy in the movie, or shouting at the bad guy on the TV screen. When he grew older, one of his girlfriends broke up with him because he was too emotional for her (he didn’t really like her anyway, she had bad teeth).
He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve-it was tattooed to his bicep.
That didn’t really change as he matured; he just learned to control it. He did always wonder why he felt things so strongly while everyone else in his life seemed to be unaffected, but mostly he accepted it as something that made him special, as dumb as it sounded. When he was little, his mother told him that it was because his heart was extra-big, so he had twice as much love to give. Forgoing the anatomical incorrectness, Harry held onto that, and it made him proud.
One evening when he was sixteen he was peeling potatoes in his kitchen with Anne with the TV turned to reruns of X Factor.
“Have you ever thought of it?” She pointed at the screen with her peeler. “Auditioning for X Factor?”
Harry blinked and frowned. “Not… really, no. Why?”
“White Eskimo’s done really well, hasn’t it?” Harry shrugged, and she continued, “And you like singing a lot-”
“I just don’t know, mum, okay? Let’s not talk about it right now. We can talk about it later or something,” he said exasperatedly.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Anne said simply. They continued peeling their potato while Simon Cowell insulted someone in the background.
Two weeks later, his mother brought it up again while she was driving him to buy him some new trainers.
“You know, Harry, I was serious about the X-Factor thing,” she said in as casual a tone as he could muster.
Harry rolled his eyes. “And I was serious about not doing it. Do you know what it takes to actually get on the show? You don’t even get even to see Simon or whoever first, you have to go through a thousand and one different stages before you can even think of getting on TV, and even if I do make it that far, what happens if I don’t make it?”
“But what if you do?” Anne said softly. “You really are a fantastic singer, dear, and do you really want to work in the bakery forever?”
“I like the bakery!” Harry said indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.
“Fine,” she sighed. “It’s your choice, I suppose.”
Harry nodded. “Damn right it is.”
“But I signed you up anyway.”
Harry almost choked. “What?”
She nodded, and it was frankly indecent how big she was smiling. “Yep. I’ll drive you to the audition. You might not want to, but I am not going to let you wonder for the rest of your life what might have been.”
Harry was speechless. “You-how-you didn’t even ask me!”
“No.” She shrugged. “So?”
He tried to come up with something to say, but all he could do was throw his hands up in indignation. “Fine! I’ll audition. But if I don’t get in, you get to deal with me crying.”
Anne nodded, but she didn’t stop smiling. She noticed a smile pull at Harry’s lips too, but said nothing.
He got in; of course he got in. And past the initial auditions, too-he got to boot camp, and over the phone he promised his mother that he’ll never say he can’t do something ever again.
He was sitting on a stool, looking down at his hands and trying to calm himself down. He was nervous to the point of sickness, because he had met some of the kids going in with him, and the majority of them were a lot better than he was.
He had sort of made friends with this Liam Payne kid, but Harry had the suspicion that Liam was the type of person everyone was friends with. He had the tendency to make you feel better about yourself.
Examining his nails, he almost jumped when someone tapped his shoulder. He whipped his head around to find some other boy whose name he hadn’t caught yet. He was kind of insanely good-looking, to the point where Harry felt a little intimidated just by being around him.
“You’re Harry Styles, right?” the boy asked, and Harry knew he had a right to be intimidated-this guy spoke with a confidence and lackadaisical nature that Harry himself had never gotten a handle on.
He nodded slowly, wondering how he knew his name and what he looked like. Did people talk about him? Was he annoying? He bet he was. He regretted even trying out for this show.
“I watched your audition. Loved it, mate,” the boy said, and Harry wondered how he managed to say everything like it was an inside joke (he suspected it was that smirk that seemed to be plastered to his face). He smiled and thanked him, unsure of what else to say. But that didn’t seem to matter with this boy, all the silences filled. “I’m Louis Tomlinson,” he said as he stuck his hand out.
Harry shook it and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hey,” the boy-Louis-said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “You mind if I get a picture with you?”
Harry frowned. “What-I mean-no, I don’t mind, but why would you want a picture of me?”
Louis laughed. “You’re gonna be fuckin’ famous, babe! Can’t you tell?” Harry shook his head, dumbfounded and only a little offended because he was nobody’s babe. “Well, I can. You’ve got something that the people are gonna love.”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh, but his was incredulous. “And what’s that, then?” he asked.
Shrugging, Louis put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and lifted up his phone to take the picture. “Dunno. Just… something,” he said simply. “Now smile.”
Harry obliged, and tried not to think of how good this boy smelled, or how funny he was, or how honestly they’d just met, why was he thinking about these things?
Louis examined the picture and deemed it worthy. He approached Harry and looked at him seriously. “Hey,” he said, and Harry just stared.
“…Yeah?” he prompted.
“Don’t be worried. You’re gonna do amazing, babe.” And before Harry could really comprehend what was happening, Louis pulled him into a tight hug like they’d known each other all their lives. “You’ll do fine.”
When the hug broke (and it could have been years later, Harry honestly couldn’t tell) Harry cleared his throat and said, “Thanks, mate,” as manly as he could muster.
Louis smiled that bloody cheeky smile and checked the time on his phone. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you around, Harry,” he said, and Harry savored that memory, the sound of his name on Louis Tomlinson’s tongue.
“Yeah, alright. Be seeing you,” he said, trying not to smile at the prospect.
Harry had trouble sleeping that night.
Pairing: harry/louis
Rating/Warning: pg13, probably higher in later chapters
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: harry wears his heart on his sleeve like he's paid for it, and louis has always had trouble committing to anything. they need to work on these things.
A/N: LOOSELY-ish based off the song "trouble sleeping" by the perishers.
Harry had never been one to hide how he felt. Gemma always teased him because he would be the one crying at the hurt puppy in the movie, or shouting at the bad guy on the TV screen. When he grew older, one of his girlfriends broke up with him because he was too emotional for her (he didn’t really like her anyway, she had bad teeth).
He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve-it was tattooed to his bicep.
That didn’t really change as he matured; he just learned to control it. He did always wonder why he felt things so strongly while everyone else in his life seemed to be unaffected, but mostly he accepted it as something that made him special, as dumb as it sounded. When he was little, his mother told him that it was because his heart was extra-big, so he had twice as much love to give. Forgoing the anatomical incorrectness, Harry held onto that, and it made him proud.
One evening when he was sixteen he was peeling potatoes in his kitchen with Anne with the TV turned to reruns of X Factor.
“Have you ever thought of it?” She pointed at the screen with her peeler. “Auditioning for X Factor?”
Harry blinked and frowned. “Not… really, no. Why?”
“White Eskimo’s done really well, hasn’t it?” Harry shrugged, and she continued, “And you like singing a lot-”
“I just don’t know, mum, okay? Let’s not talk about it right now. We can talk about it later or something,” he said exasperatedly.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Anne said simply. They continued peeling their potato while Simon Cowell insulted someone in the background.
Two weeks later, his mother brought it up again while she was driving him to buy him some new trainers.
“You know, Harry, I was serious about the X-Factor thing,” she said in as casual a tone as he could muster.
Harry rolled his eyes. “And I was serious about not doing it. Do you know what it takes to actually get on the show? You don’t even get even to see Simon or whoever first, you have to go through a thousand and one different stages before you can even think of getting on TV, and even if I do make it that far, what happens if I don’t make it?”
“But what if you do?” Anne said softly. “You really are a fantastic singer, dear, and do you really want to work in the bakery forever?”
“I like the bakery!” Harry said indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.
“Fine,” she sighed. “It’s your choice, I suppose.”
Harry nodded. “Damn right it is.”
“But I signed you up anyway.”
Harry almost choked. “What?”
She nodded, and it was frankly indecent how big she was smiling. “Yep. I’ll drive you to the audition. You might not want to, but I am not going to let you wonder for the rest of your life what might have been.”
Harry was speechless. “You-how-you didn’t even ask me!”
“No.” She shrugged. “So?”
He tried to come up with something to say, but all he could do was throw his hands up in indignation. “Fine! I’ll audition. But if I don’t get in, you get to deal with me crying.”
Anne nodded, but she didn’t stop smiling. She noticed a smile pull at Harry’s lips too, but said nothing.
He got in; of course he got in. And past the initial auditions, too-he got to boot camp, and over the phone he promised his mother that he’ll never say he can’t do something ever again.
He was sitting on a stool, looking down at his hands and trying to calm himself down. He was nervous to the point of sickness, because he had met some of the kids going in with him, and the majority of them were a lot better than he was.
He had sort of made friends with this Liam Payne kid, but Harry had the suspicion that Liam was the type of person everyone was friends with. He had the tendency to make you feel better about yourself.
Examining his nails, he almost jumped when someone tapped his shoulder. He whipped his head around to find some other boy whose name he hadn’t caught yet. He was kind of insanely good-looking, to the point where Harry felt a little intimidated just by being around him.
“You’re Harry Styles, right?” the boy asked, and Harry knew he had a right to be intimidated-this guy spoke with a confidence and lackadaisical nature that Harry himself had never gotten a handle on.
He nodded slowly, wondering how he knew his name and what he looked like. Did people talk about him? Was he annoying? He bet he was. He regretted even trying out for this show.
“I watched your audition. Loved it, mate,” the boy said, and Harry wondered how he managed to say everything like it was an inside joke (he suspected it was that smirk that seemed to be plastered to his face). He smiled and thanked him, unsure of what else to say. But that didn’t seem to matter with this boy, all the silences filled. “I’m Louis Tomlinson,” he said as he stuck his hand out.
Harry shook it and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hey,” the boy-Louis-said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “You mind if I get a picture with you?”
Harry frowned. “What-I mean-no, I don’t mind, but why would you want a picture of me?”
Louis laughed. “You’re gonna be fuckin’ famous, babe! Can’t you tell?” Harry shook his head, dumbfounded and only a little offended because he was nobody’s babe. “Well, I can. You’ve got something that the people are gonna love.”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh, but his was incredulous. “And what’s that, then?” he asked.
Shrugging, Louis put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and lifted up his phone to take the picture. “Dunno. Just… something,” he said simply. “Now smile.”
Harry obliged, and tried not to think of how good this boy smelled, or how funny he was, or how honestly they’d just met, why was he thinking about these things?
Louis examined the picture and deemed it worthy. He approached Harry and looked at him seriously. “Hey,” he said, and Harry just stared.
“…Yeah?” he prompted.
“Don’t be worried. You’re gonna do amazing, babe.” And before Harry could really comprehend what was happening, Louis pulled him into a tight hug like they’d known each other all their lives. “You’ll do fine.”
When the hug broke (and it could have been years later, Harry honestly couldn’t tell) Harry cleared his throat and said, “Thanks, mate,” as manly as he could muster.
Louis smiled that bloody cheeky smile and checked the time on his phone. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you around, Harry,” he said, and Harry savored that memory, the sound of his name on Louis Tomlinson’s tongue.
“Yeah, alright. Be seeing you,” he said, trying not to smile at the prospect.
Harry had trouble sleeping that night.