Chapter Text
"So I'm Liam."
"I'm Louis. We've been best mates since secondary school, innit?"
"Yeah, since we moved to – "
"Uh," the woman trying to interview them interrupts. "I didn't mean that kind of introduction. I meant, like, tell us what it's been like so far, why you think you're gonna win, that sort of thing."
Louis laughs and Liam sighs on his behalf. "He knew that, he was just pulling your leg."
"Oh." She seems half put-off and half amused. That's usually the reaction Louis gets. The truth is, sitting in front of a telly camera and talking about himself brings out the twat in him. He doesn't let his nerves show, though. They're shooting this interview at the Italian Pit Stop, one week into the race; he's gotten used to cameras hovering around him in the most ludicrous situations he's ever found himself in. Plus, Liam has known for years how much of a twat he is under pressure, so he's made Louis rehearse this.
"The race is going quite good," Liam starts, kicking Louis' ankle to get him to play along. "We both, well, have a tendency to take charge, so it was a bit difficult to get along at the beginning, but now we're well-sorted."
"We both have our strengths, you know? Liam's really tough, I'm really funny."
"Oh come on, Tommo," Liam reprimands, like Louis was being self-deprecating and not hilarious. "Louis' smarter than me; whenever we have to figure out a clue he does it like that. Also I can't drive, so ta for that." Louis rolls his eyes and Liam ignores him. "I think we're a good team because we're both thrill-seekers. After uni we both went to South America and did a lot of bungee jumping and that sort of thing. Got a taste for it."
"What he means to say is that we were in Peru for a week and then went to North America and did some surfing."
The interviewer, Caroline he thinks, snorts, and Liam crosses his arms. "That was high-risk, too!"
Louis is about to say something sarcastic, but there's a bit of a ruckus going on behind the production crew, and then Louis completely loses track of the conversation because Harry Styles stumbles into the room with his usual grace (mostly lack-thereof), apologises profusely, and then spots Louis and beams.
"So you're thrill-seekers?" Caroline prompts.
"Yeah, with the bungee challenge in Piemonte..." Louis trails off and has to cover his mouth with his hand so as not to giggle on national telly. "I'm sorry, Harry's pulling funny faces."
When everyone in the room turns to him, Harry looks positively angelic, no trace of the cross-eyed maniac that had been harassing Louis two minutes ago. "I'll just, uh, go," he says, and shuffles off.
Louis sort of wants to call after him, to get him to stay, but he guesses the cameras have enough of their shenanigans as it is. Liam's looking at him strangely, so Louis natters about Liam's overflowing manliness and how he plans to rely on him for the entire race. By the time he's done, Liam's actually blushing and trying to knock Louis off his folding chair. He might still be thinking about Harry.
Harry and his mate Niall are an anomaly. They're the knobheads of the series, managing to be the underdogs and everyone's favourites at the same time. They are positively helpless, or maybe just extremely cunning. Harry is this clumsy woodland animal, Niall can't navigate for shit, neither of them can focus on clues for more than half a minute and neither have a competitive bone in their bodies. They get on through sheer luck and flirting with the locals. They reached the Pit Stop in Vatican City ten minutes after Louis and Liam, who hung back to bask in their second-place glory, and even Zayn (the impartial, supermodel/Perrie-Edwards'-ex-boyfriend host) seemed delighted to see them.
Louis hangs around when Harry and Niall do their little interview. Apparently they've known each other since college, and decided to take a gap year before Niall went to uni and Harry went to become a pop sensation. That was two years ago. Apparently Harry signed them up and Niall went along because Niall doesn't give too many shits about anything. Apparently they think they can win because, "why not?". Apparently Harry is not any more immune to funny faces than Louis is.
No one can say Louis isn't driven. He wants to be the best partner Liam can have, and fuck if his mum couldn't use the million quid. But. He noticed Harry two seconds after reading their first clue and then sort of hasn't stopped (how could he, Harry's a two-metre, tattooed, good-humoured charmer who probably has an arsenal of bad jokes and fifty pets with unimaginative names). So he kept an eye on him, like he would all their competitors. Just to measure him up. Maybe make him laugh a few times, to figure him out.
He really thought he would get away with it, too, until Caroline asks Harry, "Who do you get on with?"
He blinks a few times and then looks straight at the camera and says, "Lou and Liam, for sure."
Niall snorts. "He'd sell me out for Louis any day."
Louis would quite like to bury himself in the depths of hell. Niall seems to reassure both Harry and Louis when he adds, "It's alright, I'd trade you for Zayn, myself."
"You'd trade me for a pizza," Harry says, more exasperated than accusatory. "You should have seen him in Rome, he needed a bloody leash. He stuffed his pockets with lasagne and pasta and whatever, ignoring all the shortcuts so we could find more food. Did you know one time we went out and you left me at that pub with Paul, went and found a cheap steak house off Camden and then probably forgot to come back? I ran into Taylor Swift that night. Also, we lost the pub quiz. I never lose the pub quiz."
Niall, who probably stopped listening after lasagne, pushes his snapback up and eyes Harry. "I'd trade you for ravioli, definitely."
"Okay then!" Caroline actually claps to get them back on track. "How are you getting ready for the next leg in Spain?"
While Niall brags that he can sing a few Lion King songs in Spanish, Louis has to duck out of the room to reassemble his face into something less hopelessly fond and more ruggedly handsome. Liam's expression tells him he's doing a shit job.
(The thing about the race is that it is reality television, and each team is supposed to draw a certain audience. They need a shtick. Liam and he could either be the driven, athletic guys who are in it to win it. Liam and he could also be the gay-straight best friends who, through the race, get to know and understand each other better. Louis hasn't made a conscious choice, but when the cameras are on him he may lean a bit towards Eleanor and Lindsay more than he would Harry.)
He'll get over it.
España
Louis doesn't actually think Harry Styles depends on him 100% to survive. It's only that he's saved him from getting pummelled by a beam in Seville. And that he helpfully remarked you only have to sift through that to find the clue, not eat your way in, so Harry didn't die of chorizo overdose.
Then there's the task where Louis has to hang off Liam who's hanging off a rafter, for five whole minutes, and he loses his grip and falls three bloody times because Louis has short arms and an arse that won't quit (if he doesn't come back to London with a six-pack, he's fucked).
Harry and Niall manage to hold on for five minutes on the first try, because Harry could moonlight as a sloth-spider-giraffe thing and Niall could eat every disgusting thing on this show and still be a 60-kilo pixie. However, when Louis and Liam finally manage to get the fuck out of there and work out where the next challenge is, they find Niall and Harry still at the car park, trying to solve the clue. Louis is confident enough in their position in the race to lend a helping hand. Also he wants in Harry's pants. (It's week two and it's the first time Harry caught up to Louis and Liam and he's a bit excited because Harry Harry Harry.)
So he waits for Liam to put the bags in the boot and walks up to Harry casually. "Mate, just follow us, yeah?"
Harry blinks at him for a few seconds before beaming like an angel. Louis almost sighs like an old man. "For real?"
Niall isn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. He shoves Harry aside and pulls Louis in for a hug. "Cheers!"
Louis feels exceptionally good about himself as a person. Harry gives him a hug too, and it's a bit different than Niall because he's ridiculously taller and leaner and goofier and clingier and the very best hugger. Louis could melt into it while sighing the sighs of old men.
(The first thing Harry said to him was, "Is this the right time to say I think I'll get lost in five minutes?", and no, it was five minutes before takeoff in London, definitely not the right time to confess this to a competitor. Louis thought, who is this moron? and then he gave him a good look and realised Harry wasn't a helpless idiot, he was a cheeky bastard who could probably get Zayn Malik himself to give him directions straight to the check-in mat. Louis blinked up at him and said, "That'll be one less guy to worry about." Harry smiled easily and replied, "But where's the fun in that?" and Louis really just wanted to give him a hug and tell him he's going to be a star.)
Louis pulls out of their parking spot and it takes Liam five minutes to point out, "Tommo, I think they're following us."
"Who?" Louis asks innocently. Those acting classes are really paying off.
"The Irishman and the pop star."
He frowns. "He's not a pop star."
"That's not a stage name?"
Louis blinks. He still thinks that's a bit of an unfair assumption, considering George and Josh actually are in a boy band. "Lottie would have told me."
"Well, if he's not a pop star he shouldn't do his hair like that."
"Is someone having curl envy?" He risks a car crash to reach over and rub Liam's head, as he had done on a daily basis ever since the buzz cut became a thing. It was really a downward spiral from there. Liam cut his hair, broke up with his long-term girlfriend, got high and dropped a few courses to go travelling with Louis, all in the span of a year. Louis had to sign them up for The Amazing Race just to keep Liam from doing something even more drastic. Like signing them up for Hell's Kitchen or The X Factor.
"Whatever," Liam says, eyes glued to the map. "I quite like them, but I will be seeing Zayn first this leg."
"Hoping for another hug, are we?"
Liam's likeability might be his selling point, but Louis couldn't have guessed Zayn would be so instantly fond of him. Then again, he also couldn't have guessed how goofy Zayn Malik really is in real life. So Liam has a serious mancrush. "Lou, he smells so good. If I fancied blokes, he would be the One. Weren't you all over him when we watched last series?"
"You're confusing me with my sisters," Louis shoots off.
"I doubt your fifteen year old sister would say half the things you said about Zayn."
Louis aggressively wishes that were true, but he heard Lottie on the phone with her B-F-F one too many times to believe it. He wishes he were a stereotypical gay character in a teen drama where he and his sister would bond over makeovers, not men they want to do inappropriate things to. This is nothing Louis wants to say on camera, so he hedges. "Yeah, back when he was Perrie Edwards' cool and mysterious boyfriend. Now that I know he's actually kind of ridiculous... I dunno, I just don't feel it."
"Right, 'cause you're not into ridiculous boys with ridiculous hair," Liam mutters so the mics won't catch it.
Louis squints at the rear-view mirror only to spot Liam smirking back at him. He ignores him for the rest of the trip. It might not be the best call, seeing as Liam's navigating, but Louis isn't going to give him the satisfaction.
When they wrap up Buñol (a tomato fight, obviously, where one partner has to look for a clue in a mountain of the fruit while the other partner pelts a rival team with tomatoes. Liam nearly gets buried alive and starts swearing like he hasn't in all his twenty years, and Louis completely fucks up Nick and it is the best day) they find they need to catch a train to Valencia. However, the clue says the last train's already departed so they have to stay at a Spanish hotel overnight.
"Cab or walk?" Louis asks.
Liam glares at him for leaving the choice to him. The sensible thing to do would be just to walk for a bit, but Liam's the one with tomatoes behind his ears. "Cab," Louis decides for him. Liam smiles and throws himself to the road to hail one. (After waiting for one for fifteen minutes in Madrid and almost missing their date with an angry bull, they take shit from no cabbie. Liam waves aggressively, Louis throws cash. It's not like it's his.)
They sum up the day and pray tomorrow's challenges will have something to do with Valencia CF, when their cab slows down at just the right time and Louis spots something outside. "Rápido," he blurts automatically, then quickly says, "Wait, uh, parar, perdón."
"Tommo?" Liam asks, then, "Oh."
Apparently, Harry and Niall have opted for walking to the hotel. So they made good time. "I can actually see them going against us in the final leg," he says to Liam, who is equally unsurprised.
"They won't ever get a clue right, but they will always get solid directions from locals, charm every grumpy cabbie and do the daring tasks for a laugh," Liam sums it up.
Louis' nodding but he's not really listening. It's been getting colder and Harry's cheeks are flushed and a beanie is pushing his curls into his face and he's just so lovely that Louis' brain devises an ill-advised plan in five seconds.
Niall's speaking Spanish excitedly and Harry's being cheeky and surrounded by enamoured Spanish girls. But Louis feels like they could use a cab. "Li, could we, um?"
Liam shrugs, which is good enough. "Josh, would you mind getting out?" he asks. Thank god Josh was the one filming them today. Louis could count on him to do as he asked, even if Josh would get shots of Louis offering to split a cab with a competing team. It's not, like, unethical. Liam and he are in third place right now, that's good enough.
Josh, being a mate, hefts up the camera and gets out of the cab, doesn't even say anything cheeky when Louis opens the window and starts yelling for Harry, "Hola! Cómo estás? Cabina? Amigos? Muchacho? Buenas noche?"
Liam has to pull Louis away from the window and elbow him hard, hissing that their cabbie will throw them out and then what was the bloody point, but Harry's laugh is too big for his body and it's marvellous. Politely disregarding his Spanish fans, Harry stumbles over to the cab and leans over Louis' window casually. It's all a bit attractive. "Well hello there."
Louis can't disagree. "Fancy splitting a cab? It'll really be a shame not to."
Harry smiles down at him. "Cheers."
For some reason, instead of just opening the door and sliding in next to Louis, he seems to make a move toward the driver's seat, which is on the wrong side of the car in Spain, until Niall steers him to the back seat. Harry really needs a compass, or a guide dog, or just a dash of spatial awareness. If Louis could look away from him, he'd probably see Liam mouth "ridiculous".
Once they're all inside Niall apologises to the cabbie and they drive off again. It's a tight squeeze in the back seat, with Liam's bulk and Harry's legs, but Louis frequents gay clubs (and gay people) that are tighter, so he's used to it.
"Who got fucked?" he asks over Liam's head. Harry turns wide eyes to him and Louis quickly tacks on, "In the tomatina thing. Who got pelted?"
Harry's little "oh" is magic. "I have shit aim, so I let Niall do the pelting." Louis is not imagining Harry's voice going even deeper than normal when he says, "I got fucked." There's a glint in his eyes.
Liam should just say "oh my god" and squirm in his seat, probably regret ending up between Harry and Louis. However, as he's a bad boy now, he doesn't even blink before saying, "For a lad that looks like a Disney princess you're a bit shameless."
Louis pinches him hard, but thankfully Harry just bursts out laughing. "The curls and dimples are a disguise, really," he confesses to Liam. "We're actually very competent and will win this race."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Liam sighs.
Louis sling an arm around Liam's shoulder, maybe perhaps by mistake knocking into Harry's bicep. It's quite defined. "We'll kick your arses, don't worry."
"Cabrón", Niall mutters from the front seat, and whatever that means, the cabbie seems to agree.
When they reach the hotel a few other teams are at the check-in, which means cameras, which means Louis keeps his distance from Harry. He's not sure why getting out of the cab together feels like a walk of shame. After a really weird foursome. He distracts himself by chatting with Calum and Luke, casually letting Liam get their bags. It backfires when Liam leaves the biggest one for Louis to carry up. Fine, Louis' the one that packed his entire flat, but Liam should be more considerate; he's twice Louis' size.
Once everything's inside their room, Louis debates what he wants to do. They're too knackered to find a pub but not tired enough to fall asleep. So Louis turns to tea. He packed about three hundred Yorkshire packages, along with his entire flat.
"Can't find any tea," he tells Liam, and gracefully ducks out of the room before Liam can call his bullshit.
The hotel is small and finding Harry's room is no trouble. The problem is avoiding the cameras. It's been two weeks and Louis' still putting on awkward shows and being a twat, in hopes that he's not giving off too much of a "I haven't had a good wank in two weeks" vibe.
He peeks out, waits for Sandy and Dan to film Nick Grimshaw being bloody hilarious, and then jumps up a few flights of stairs to room number 418. He knocks a bit nervously once he's actually there, but the feeling dissipates when it's Niall that opens the door. Jesus, the smell of weed hits Louis like a brick to the face. If there's one thing in England he hasn't packed, it's that. He really should have thought ahead.
Niall blinks at him a few times, then pokes his head out the door and waves at Josh. Louis curses and shoves Niall into his room. He hasn't read all – or any – of the rules, but he's pretty sure lighting up is frowned upon here. In front of the cameras, at least.
"Uh, hi," Niall says, hand already buried in crisps, which apparently they sell in cans in Spain, what the fuck. "Patatas fritas?" Niall asks, handing over the crisps without actually removing his own hand and letting Louis take one.
"Nah," Louis says. All the tomatoes have left him queasy.
Niall shrugs. "Harry isn't here."
"Oh." Louis hopes he doesn't look as pathetic as he's just sounded. "Did he pull or something?"
Niall frowns into his can. "No, he said he went to – oh, wait, he said he went looking for your room to get some milk or summat? Did you bring it here for him? How neighboury."
What. This is supposed to be a reality show, not a comedy sketch. "No, I – I wanted some tea."
"Oh, well, there's some Earl Grey somewhere."
"I said tea."
Niall barks a surprised laugh. "Christ, he always goes for the sassy ones."
Louis delightedly files that away. A thought occurs to him. "D'you think he got lost?"
"Probably. He's taking this no-phone thing really hard. Sometimes we're in the middle of a task and he just stops and I can tell he's Instagramming in his mind. Mindstagramming."
Louis laughs, unsure if Niall's always like this or if it's just the blunt. It's probably Niall. After hearing him drop one-liners like "What if I do secretly have a vagina?", "I told my da I won't go back to prison" and "I'm not ready for another polygamous relationship", Louis will believe anything.
"We should hang out sometime," he offers. It sounds a bit final, but he guesses it is, since now he has to go look for Harry who's looking for him.
"Sure thing, over a pint. Hey, if you find my boy do send him back in one piece."
Louis smiles, and knicks a handful of crisps. "Sorted."
He winds down the floors, considers going back to his room in case Harry's there, but he's too afraid to face Liam right now. He ends up just wandering around for a bit, looks out for Spanish teenagers more than cameramen. It's a bit of a surprise when he does bump into Harry, somewhere between the dining room and the check-in desk. He's wearing no shirt and joggers that slip past his sharp hipbones and if Louis were sleepy before, he's Alert now.
There are at least twelve things he's meant to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is: "Why do you have a flannel sleeve wrapped around your head?"
"Why are you barefoot?"
Louis nods. "Fair enough."
Harry drifts closer to him, not-so-subtly eyeing his tattoos. Louis didn't intentionally go and look for him in a slaggy tank top and swim shorts, but he can still enjoy the check-out he gets. If he could focus for more than two seconds on anything other than Harry's shirtless situation. It's just. Since day one, Harry's been getting more tan and his hair has been getting taller for some reason. Louis has genuine concerns that by the time they get to the final challenge he'll leave The Amazing Race to win Britain's Next Top Model. Or Survivor, going by the ridiculous flannel.
When Louis realises they've been staring, he hurries to fill the silence. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Harry shrugs. "I was looking for you, actually."
Totally news. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, wondered if you had HobNobs. Niall wanted a cuppa."
"Really?" Louis asks, crossing his arms.
"Um, yeah." Harry actually looks nervous. He might be the worst liar on the planet. Yesterday they were in Cordova and there was a Spanish Inquisition Roadblock. Louis was the first to make the Monty Python reference, so he had to complete the task, which was sifting through jars full of disgusting things in hopes of finding a clue. Of course, he didn't know what the clue was, and he didn't know what was in the jars, so they wasted fifteen minutes on psyching him up to stick his hand in them. By that time more teams showed up at the freaky cellar place, including Harry and Niall, who was the one that did the Roadblock. Louis could hear Harry stumbling over encouragements like, "I bet it's puppies" and, "It can't be the worst thing you've put your hands in" and, "Honest, I saw Nick do it already and he came out fine", until Niall lost his temper for the first time since Louis' known him and snapped, "Nick and Greg took the second train from Madrid, he couldn't have made it here already, just shut up already Hazza," and proceeded to nearly hurl eighteen million chorizos. Louis glared at Liam for not making more of an effort to encourage him. Thank fuck Liam's a better liar than Harry. He got Louis to fondle some bugs and mice, and pull out the scrap of paper with their next clue.
Anyway, if Harry couldn't convince his best mate to go through an inquisition, he sure as hell won't convince Louis he was looking for biscuits. "I might have some in my room," he lies.
Harry's eyes light up, a bit in contrast with the dark smirk curling his lips. "Do you now?"
He wants to ask Harry back to his room, he really, really does, but they're on camera all the fucking time and he doesn't think Liam would appreciate it, anyway. Bros before blows and all that. "I could get them for you."
"Oh," Harry says, sounding every bit as disappointed as Louis felt. "At least stay for a cuppa."
That perks Louis up. "Yeah. There's a balcony up on the fourth floor, you bring the kettle and I'll bring the tea."
Harry smiles and does as he's told. He doesn't comment when Louis brandishes eight tea bags rather than two.
(Harry has an older sister and a cat with an unimaginative name and fifty thousand tattoos and a sweet earnestness to him even when he's being cheeky and this is the first time he's left England and he just wishes he could post some pictures on Instagram. Harry is a bit of a flop. Louis is uncontrollably fond of him. He's getting over it.)
They stay up way too late, and the weather's on the chilly side, but Harry sits very closely and laughs very loudly, and for the first time since leaving England, Louis doesn't want to rush.
Praha
Louis realises he's got it bad for Harry when he realises Harry is the devil. Or a golem, since this happens in Prague. He might also be a yeti, but that's undecided. He's a bit of a catastrophe.
Louis' Catastrophe happens on a perfect, sun-kissed afternoon at the Old Town Square, where a gaggle of Brits are sweating like horses, cursing like sailors and completely demolishing the chill spirit of Prague. Shit gets real in the race.
They have to guide a carriage tour around the Old Town without knowing jack shit about the Old Town. The first step is to lure people into their carriage. They manage to get five people, thanks to Liam's assertive charm and Louis' garbled Czech (he's taken to learning every language to at least communicate with cabbies, after pissing away two hours in Budapest due to miscommunication and Liam's illiteracy).
The first stop is the Prague Astronomical Clock, and Liam delightfully lets Louis take the reins on this one. Louis stares at the clue. He has five basic facts to go on: executions, King John of Luxembourg, 1338, Word War II and gold. What the fuck.
Louis rants for the first minute about their generations' complete reliance on Google to know anything about anything, and then comes up with the story of how King John found 1338 gold bars in the clock, gave all of them away in this very town square after it was bombed in the war, and then was executed by the Czech king for having an illicit affair with his son, the heir apparent. It's a good thing he's a natural entertainer (or a confident bullshitter, at least). His audience is more captivated than captive, Liam can't stop rolling his eyes, and he likes to think the people who'll be watching this at home will believe him.
The next stop is Prague Castle, and all Louis has is Bohemia, Thirty Years' War, Shakespeare, fire and the Guinness Book of Records.
The Catastrophe:
While Louis comes up with how Shakespeare won the Thirty Years' War by burning the Guinness Book of Records, he hears it. He hears singing. He hears a familiar voice singing. When he looks around, he spots Harry standing in a carriage close by and singing Bohemian Rhapsody. That's insane on its own, both because it's eight minutes long and because what the fuck.
It's also insane because Harry is fucking good. Like a proper singer or performer or anyone who shouldn't be busking around Prague for a million pounds. Louis' pretty sure this isn't just the Harry obsession talking, either. He used to be in a band himself, and worked at a karaoke pub during uni. Plus, Liam is listening to Harry too. Louis knows this because Liam isn't yelling at Louis for not finishing the tour and moving on.
Harry has a ridiculous fedora on and Niall is drumming along on the side of the carriage. His voice is low and raspy and steady and satanic. He's putting all he has into this performance – dancing awkwardly and hitting all the notes. He looks so happy, too, probably how Louis looked when he played footie at the Santiago Bernabéu stadium in Madrid. This must be Harry's favourite challenge. This might be Louis' favourite challenge, as of now.
"Did you know he could sing like that?" Liam asks quietly, like he's afraid he'll interrupt Harry during the ballad. Louis shakes his head. "D'you think he'll do the opera part too?" Louis shakes his head again.
Then he processes what Liam's just said, and his heart stops just when Harry sings, "I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never be born at all". He thinks anyone on the planet can hear the guitar solo in their heads, and Harry looks around at his unexpected audience for thirty seconds, but he doesn't drop the mic.
"Oh god, he's gonna do it," Liam whispers.
"Shit," Louis agrees.
"But he needs the multi – "
"I see a little silhouetto of a man."
Before Louis knows what's happening, he's raising his own mic and singing, "Scaramouch, scaramouch, will you do the fandango?"
Harry stops short for two seconds, apparently just noticing Louis and Liam are there, and then he beams. "Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening me."
It's sort of hysterical when they do the Galileo bit and everyone's eyes flit from Louis to Harry, like it's a tennis match. Louis hops on the seats of the carriage and waves his arms theatrically, to really get into it while singing, "Bismillah, we will not let you go!"
When Liam shouts the "Let him go!" parts, it's simply beautiful.
All three of them do "Beelzebab has a devil put aside for me," but by the third repetition only Liam can hold the high note, since Louis and Harry have broken character and can't stop laughing. Thank fuck, the opera part ends, but it turns out Niall has been lying in wait.
He plants a leg on the side of his carriage and solos the fuck out of an air guitar. The stunned people around both carriages drop their phones to sing a guitar riff, and then Harry just fucking goes for the hard rock part. Like, his dad dance-flail thing becomes an inappropriately sexy crouch, and he closes his eyes and pours his heart out into the mic. By the finale Louis' heart breaks, and he can't help chiming in for the last, "Anyway the wind blows."
They clap. The people on Harry's carriage clap. The people on Louis' carriage clap. The people who have gathered around the square and filmed all of this on their phones clap. Louis does an exaggerated bow when Harry tips his hat to him. They're both smiling like knobs when Niall taps on Harry's shoulder, making him say, "Right, so basically, then there was a fire Shakespeare wrote a play about and, uh, it all went on the Guinness Book of Records."
"Legit," Niall adds unnecessarily.
They don't see each other for the next couple of days, but Louis keeps hearing Harry's singing voice in his head. He realises he's basically fucked.