Chapter Text
Chapter 1- Louis
"The difference between a fanfic and a “real” novel is that a fanfic is honest about its inspiration."
-Mary Robinette Kowal
“What the fuck am I doing?” Louis exasperatedly exhaled as he cleaned out the remainder of the musty boxes from the bottom of his closet.
Though he’s incredibly grateful for time to rest in between promoting albums and touring and interviews, he finds it a bit hard to relax with all this spare time on his hands. You see, Louis is a doer. He wouldn’t quite say that he’s a livewire, but he likes to have something to occupy his time and pour his energy into. This is the first real pause he’s had in well, roughly, twelve years. He could do so much with this time and all the options are a bit overwhelming to say the least. He doesn’t want to travel, he knows that. He’s been around the world and back again. Probably twice, but who’s counting? Traveling sounds exhausting. Traveling is out.
A family visit? Yeah, it would be great to see the girls and catch up with Ernest. He could spend some time with Lottie’s new baby and play uncle for a bit. Ok, but then wouldn’t that negate the whole “traveling is out” thing? Plus, they all have their own lives that don’t really revolve around their big brother anymore. Also, his family is amazing, but they’re also a lot of energy to absorb right now. This time is supposed to be restful, not exhausting. Yeah, so maybe no family visit.
Perhaps a new hobby? Oh, he could redecorate!! He could paint? That was always more Zayn’s thing. Scratch that. Maybe get back into playing footy again? So much physical activity and effort, though. Learn some random and obscure form of basket weaving no one has ever heard of? Is that even a real thing? It sounds positively ridiculous.
Maybe he could read a book? Ok, now that’s something that would check all the boxes. Good for his mind, doesn’t require you to go anywhere or move around, lends itself to whatever wardrobe (or lack thereof) one prefers? Yes, ok. Reading might be it!
For now though, maybe he should just learn to be. Sit still for more than five minutes at a time. Or maybe two minutes. Start small, his brain supplies.
He could practice by actually sitting down and relaxing without feeling like he has to get up and do a million things to keep himself focused. To keep himself going. To not think so much.
He finishes the last of the tasks he’d busied himself with for no good reason and saunters to the kitchen to put the kettle on. As he waits for his tea to steep, his mind drifts to why he’s even taking this break in the first place.
His team had been so concerned about him burning out that they had all but forced him into taking this time for himself. A sabbatical, they called it.
“Lewis, don’t force our hand ‘ere, mate.” Oli sternly stated. “We just want the best for you, yeah? Ya been going non stop since you was eighteen, Lewis. Time for rest- temporary, like. S’not forever.”
“Mate, I don’t need a bloody lecture. You’re not me Dad or me guardian. I really don’t think I need a break. I’ll do it. I won’t like it, but I’ll fucking do it if ya really think I need it.”
“Well, yeah, I think ya need it. You’re stressed and overwhelmed and I know you've been coping with it by doing more shit to keep your mind off it. Fucking hell, mate, take a break.”
“I’ll take one if you will, Oli.”
“Lewis, I hold your fucking life together, mate. I know I’m a bit shit at it, but who’s gonna make sure you’re eating more than pizza and pasta? And who’s gonna get your smokes and your tea.”
“You know, Oli, I am an adult. Think I can manage, yeah? This is the only way I’m saying yes to it, mate. You need a break too.”
“Fine. But don’t expect me to jump up and down and spin my pants ‘round about it.” They laughed at the image it coaxed.
And that was that.
He didn’t quite understand it at first because he’d always been the type to enjoy working. He loves being on stage. He loves writing. Both for himself as well as other artists. Why would he need to slow down? He’s fine, great even. Or is he? Louis shook his head at the notion he was anything less than great.
Maybe they had seen something he hadn’t though? After all, these days his team knows him better than anyone else. Better than the boys even. Ouch. It’s not that he wanted to drift away from them, it just kind of happened. He still checks in with them sometimes, congratulating them on the milestones in their own solo careers. Who could blame Louis though? They were all busy. He didn’t want to bother anyone with his bellyaching or his sad Louis bullshit. He can’t let them know he’s not ok all the time. Besides, they’d never understand why.
Louis takes a sip of his tea, does his best to clear his thoughts and settles into the couch to try and figure out this rest thing, the smell of warm Yorkshire wafting up and into his nostrils. It’s amazing how a familiar thing can set you at ease. It smells like comfort and home and simpler times.
He gently sets his tea down on the table and leans his head back onto the couch and lets out a big sigh. Ok, so maybe there is something to this rest thing. This isn’t half bad. No one on his case about sound checks or meet and greets. No one is breathing down his neck about drinking too much or smoking too much or eating better. Just the sound of his own breathing. In his own space.
“Of fucking course.” he huffs as his phone starts vibrating violently, lighting up mockingly and dancing across the coffee table.
He glances at the name on the screen and makes a puzzled face.
What the fuck is Harry doing calling me right now at….(he glances at his watch) after midnight on a Wednesday? Not that the day really mattered that much, but it sounded more dramatic and Louis always liked a bit of drama.
His thumb hesitantly grazes the green button.
“H, y’alright?” he asks cautiously.
“LOUIS…” Harry chokes out more like a sob than a name. “Louis, I wanted to stay with you– and C– Cliff. But I just c– couldn’t and Fair Isle is so perfect– the lighthouse– well minus the evil p– puffin, but the postcards!! OH GOD, THE POSTCARDS. D– D– Darling D– Dearest?!? It’s like a knife in my g– goddamned chest. HELP!” Harry heaves out, his voice sounding weak and tiny. Almost non-existent.
“Haz, slow down! What on earth are you on about?!” Louis asks almost demandingly, his nervous system flooded with worry for his best mate. Not really best anymore though, is he?
Louis shakes off the negative thoughts.“Deep breath for me, H, come on. I can’t help you if I can’t understand you.”
The sobs finally quiet for a moment. Louis waits silently, allowing Harry to calm himself enough to form coherent sentences.
“Ok, I don’t know how it happened, Lou, but I don’t want you to be mad at me for it. I was just checking up on the fans on tumblr and I clicked a link and before I knew it I was reading it. It all happened so fast. But please don’t be angry. Don’t hate me.” Harry pleads. Louis can’t ever imagine a universe in which he would hate Harry.
Who in their right mind could ever hate the human strawberry cupcake that is Harry Styles? Honestly, the notion is ridiculous.
“Haz, what? I could never hate you. Be absolutely serious,” he mocks in his sassiest tone.
That earns him a small chuckle from Harry. Louis grins. One of the most lovely sounds he’s ever been allowed to enjoy is Harry’s laugh. Harry has a couple of brands of laughs and they’re both equally fucking adorable, of course. His small deep husky chuckle just so happens to be Louis’ favorite but that’s between him and Jesus. Louis catches himself smiling into space just listening to it.
“I’ve somehow stumbled upon some of our– our fanfiction.” Harry reluctantly mumbles out.
Wait, what? Did he just– Did Louis hear him correctly? Surely not. There’s no way.
They had agreed LONG ago never to go there. The idea being too weird and uncomfortable for the two of them. It was difficult enough just to know these bloody fantasies existed, let alone to actually dive into all the different worlds that are Larry Stylinson’s existence. Louis didn’t even want to dip a toe in that water.
Ok, so he needs a moment.
*
*
“Oh my God, Hazza, you are never gonna believe what I found.” Louis chirped.
“What is it, Lou?” Harry asked, not bothering to look up from his phone.
“Our fans have written stories about us!!” Louis responded. Harry curiously turned his head to where Louis was sitting at the computer.
“What kind of stories?” he asked, tilting his head like a puppy at the sound of its favorite squeaky toy.
“Fanfiction!” Louis excitedly beamed.
“NO WAY!” Harry jumped up from the chair where he was lounging and came over to the computer desk where Louis was perched.
“Should we read it?” Louis asked, turning to Harry to gauge his reaction.
“I don’t know, Lou. What if it's like- too weird or something?” Harry supplied nervously.
“Well, maybe I’ll just skim it a bit.” Louis responds.
Louis started to skim through the warnings on something called Archive of Our Own and his eyes began to widen the further he got. “ANAL SEX, WHAT?!?!?!” Louis squawked. Harry nearly broke his neck at the sound.
“You’re not seri– oh my God YOU ARE.” Harry reluctantly said as his eyes met Louis’ horrified face. Louis looked at Harry as he abruptly turned off the computer monitor.
“We cannot read that, Haz. Why would they even– Jesus Christ!! I don’t even know what to say. Do they– do you think they actually think we…?” Louis’ stomach is in knots as he glances back to Harry to see how he’s processing the influx of information they just received. He’s surprised to see that Harry’s face has fallen a bit. He looks disappointed. Oh. He’s embarrassed that fans have linked him to Louis in that way, and of course he is. Oh no, Louis has to fix this, and quickly. Say something, you idiot. His gut swirls with worry. “Let’s promise never ever to read any of this weird fanfiction stuff. Agreed, Haz?” Louis submits.
“Y– yeah, I wasn’t gonna read it anyway, Lou. That’s fine.” Harry returns. He doesn’t look relieved though, Louis thinks to himself.
“Well, we both know it’s absolute bullshit. So that settles that.” Louis feigns confidence though he’s startled at Harry’s reaction.
“Bullshit. Right.” Harry responds.
*
*
“Haz, why would you–” Harry cuts him off with another round of tears and sniffles and snort cries.
“I knew– I knew you wouldn’t u– understand. God, Lou, I’m so f- f- fucking sorry. I know we s- said we’d n– never but I was just c– curious after all these years and f– fucking bored. Nothing good ever c– comes of me b– being bored. UGH. Please don’t hate me.” he breathes out almost desperately.
And there was that fear again. Where was this coming from? Why did Harry think Louis would hate him for reading their fanfiction? And why is he so emotional about it? It’s just a story after all. It’s been over a decade since they promised never to read it or look at it or even acknowledge that a large faction of their fans still believe that they were and are secret lovers. For Christ’s sake, they’re past all that now, aren’t they? Louis brings his feet up to the coffee table, crossing his ankles on top of it. His head resting back on one of his arms, sinking into the couch cushion behind him.
“H.” More crying noises. “Harry?” Still Crying. “Love?” Sniffling and nasal honking sounds. “Hazza?” Almost hyperventilating. “Suuuuunnn?”
And silence.
He can almost hear it as Harry’s breathing starts to even out at the sound of his most treasured and intimate of nicknames that Louis gave him. Only Louis calls him Sun and Louis knows it’s always been the equivalent of a calming hand on his back stroking him soothingly. It’s Harry’s familiar thing that reminds him of comfort and simpler times. It’s almost not fair for Louis to use it. It feels like a secret or a code word. Louis takes a sip of his tea, willing it to give him peace so he can pass it along to Harry through the phone somehow. “Sun, I’m not mad. I don’t hate you. I just– well, help me understand, yeah? What exactly are you reading?” Louis’ whole body flinches all of sudden, spilling his tea, jaw clenching nervously without him realizing it.
Oh God, did Louis really just ask that? Honestly, what the fuck is he doing?