#{ I'm gonna slide this into my main verse because yes. } | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherrystreet · 7 years

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hey! i was just thinking, that i've been listening to the songs harry requested on radio 1 and they've been stuck in my head for so long omg. and like, i'm not connecting the songs he requested to larry, but with each song a little scenario ab them plays in my head! was wondering if you could write little snippets based on a couple of the songs? sweetest devotion by adele and issues by julia michaels!

I got really carried away with this; I combined both of these songs and very subtly put a few of the lyrics into a mess of 3k. I hope this works for you xx

Louis watches the build up and break over a period of months. Years, even. Harry’s tired. They both are, but Harry’s exceptionally so. He’s been working nonstop on his album, his photography, himself, and now that he’s back in the limelight all day, everyday, it’s taking a serious toll. Louis doesn’t say anything or imply that Harry needs to slow down, but he wants to, just isn’t quite sure how. Harry’s been a little moodier, a little more on edge, and the whole time Louis is trying to figure out a way to approach the subject lightly, it seems that Harry has already given it just as much thought as Louis has, if not more.

“I think I wanna take some time off,” he says one night just before bed. He’s in the middle of changing his pants, tripping into them like he always does. “Like, hide, maybe?” The way he says it makes it sound like he’s asking for permission from Louis, just to make sure they’re currently at the same level.

Louis raises a brow from his position in bed and looks up, relieved, worried. “Yeah? Like go on an extended holiday?”

“Mmm, something like that.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Harry crawls into bed beside him, shirtless and shoulders pink from his sunburn. The weather was mild and about 10 degrees today - typical for January - but they spent the majority of the day outside, anyway, Harry lounging in the backyard, ignoring Louis’ request to venture out. Paps, he said simply, going back to shielding his eyes from the LA sun.

“I rented out a place in Maine,” he says, reaching for his reading glasses on the bedside table. He doesn’t really need them, but no matter how much Louis teases him about it, he continues to wear them, squinting without them. Dramatic. “I’m not even really sure where it is, but I know it’s right on a lake, it’s in the woods, it’s secluded, it’s…” He sighs. “Not here.”

Louis’ stomach tightens. “You trying to get away from me, Styles?”

“No, God no.” Harry shakes his head, curls finally grown back in and bouncing. “I’m trying to take a break from everything, but that doesn’t include you. You can come with me, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to. I know how much you love it here. And that you like writing here best.”

I love it here because you’re here. “I’m comin’ with,” he replies eventually.

“You want to?”

“Yes. You’re a bit strange for wanting to fuck off to the middle of nowhere but. I’m used to your weirdness by this point. No judgement here. I’ll come with.”

Harry smirks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose like Louis always does. Copy cat. “Good.”

“So, when’re we leaving?”

“Thursday morning.”

“Christ, you’re an impulsive lad, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Makes life interesting.”

Harry nods, reaching for the remote for the telly, then setting it back down. “I’m very happy. I really am. I just need a change, yeah?”

“It’s okay to, like, want to step back,” Louis says softly. “You don’t have to be grateful and positive every second of the day. Wanting to escape is probably the most normal thing I can think of.”

He’s quiet for a moment, probably thinking. He purses his lips when he looks at Louis. “Thank you.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re gonna escape with me? Until you’re tired of me?”

Louis smiles, turning off his bedside light. “Absolutely.”

Maine is fucking cold. Painfully cold. Being on the water does nothing to help that, and Louis spends the first week inside, wrapped in blankets and jumpers, the tip of his nose now permanently red. Harry makes him tea, all the while repeatedly saying, “It’s so gorgeous out here. The water seems so still under the ice. Look at all the snow. The trees. There are so many.”

Louis just rolls his eyes, jamming his toes under Harry’s thighs. “Yes, yes, nature is amazing. Would be more appreciative if it wasn’t so bloody freezing.”

The cabin is nothing to brag about. The kitchen is far from gourmet, the appliances old and creaky, and though there are three bedrooms, they’re all small, cramped. The living space offers next to nothing other than an old wood stove (which quickly becomes Louis’ best friend), and the entire space is outdated, in desperate need of some serious love. Louis keeps his mouth shut, though, because Harry is the happiest Louis has seen him since he got back from touring. He’s lounging, he’s playing his guitar, he’s fucking smiling, and Louis can’t stop staring at him, not worried for the first time in ages.

January ticks by quickly, the silence around them both calming and unnerving. It takes a while to get used to not having an agenda, not mapping out their day according to where paparazzi and nosy fans are, but once they figure out how to appreciate the new environment, Louis feels light. He turns off his phone for the majority of the day, the owls hooting and coyotes howling the soundtrack to their nights instead of constant beeping and ringing, and even though he gives Harry shit for essentially writing love songs about all that Maine has to offer, he’s finding himself embracing the change, too. He sleeps better than he has in months, the cold air numbing his lungs, his mind, dead tired by the time he slides under the duvet cover beside Harry each night. And though Louis knew Harry had been tense in months prior, he hadn’t realized how stressed he’d actually been. He has a comparison now, though, can see the way the bags under Harry’s eyes are clearing up, can see the brightness back in his grin, isn’t blind to the way he seems to be a little touchier than usual, fumbling into bed with Louis before it’s dark out, his hands restless and his mouth hot. On Harry’s birthday, they get stuck at the cabin, snowed in, but it doesn’t matter. Louis wakes him up slowly, Harry whining low in his throat the whole time, and when Louis does his best to make breakfast in bed with the limited ingredients they have in the kitchen, Harry acts like it’s the best gift he’s ever received. Louis almost believes him.

The shadows outside from the trees are long, ominous, and beg to be touched. Pine trees, oak trees; they’re all strong and sturdy and bare, the tops of them disappearing against the inky black sky, stars bright and unclouded by smog like in the city. The firewood snaps, the steam from mugs swirl up, their breath comes out like smoke in wisps. Heavy blankets feel like weights, heavy and safe. The yard is white. The lake is frozen. Sometimes, when Harry is finally fast asleep, his breathing even and his mind finally shut off, Louis will sneak out and stand out on the back deck, shaking in the cold, numb, could scream if his lungs would work, but it wouldn’t matter because no one is around to hear him.

It’s rejuvenating, it’s the best therapy he’s ever had, and damn Harry for knowing exactly what they both needed, somehow. Louis hadn’t realized how stuffed up he was, too, was so focused on Harry’s well being that he hadn’t realized he was also under the pressure of it all.

They’re incognito. Anonymous. Louis has never felt so exposed, so secluded. He never wants to go back.

Spring rolls in from out of nowhere; Louis has flown back to LA four times, home to his family twice, and to Miami once for a promise to record with a new group of people. When he’s gone, he misses the cabin, misses Harry, but finds himself feeling refreshed when he’s back to work, back with his people. It’s a nice balance for once.

Harry only leaves Maine twice, though, seemingly happy to stay locked away, exploring the woods, hiking and creating his own paths up and down muddy walkways. Louis invites him to come away with him but Harry just shrugs and says, “I’m good, baby, thank you.”

The ice melts away, the flowers emerge. It’s cooler in the mornings and evenings, afternoon temperatures comfortable with a light jacket on. They make dinner together and eat out on the back deck, watching the waves lap up against the dock, and they talk about their writing, what’s going on in their heads. Harry doesn’t tense up like he has over the course of the past year when Louis asks what he’s worked on today, and instead, lights up when he passes Louis his leather bound notebook across the table. His handwriting is messy but precise as always, and Louis nods along as he reads through the second verse.

“This,” he says. “This part is great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “Phenomenal, really. Jealous I didn’t think of it first.”

Harry smirks, dimple poking out, and Louis wants to stick his finger in it. “Could’ve, if you spent more than ten minutes sitting still.”

“Hey, I do.”

“Sleeping doesn’t count.”

Louis shrugs. “Whatever. As long as you’re feeling good about where you are right now.”

“I am.”

“I’m glad.”

Spring in Maine is different than spring anywhere else Louis has lived. The leaves seem to bloom all at once, the branches grey and bare on Wednesday, green and thick by Thursday. The ground smells like dirt and wildflowers and new. The rain sweeps in every other day out of nowhere. It coats the pavement and grass, beading against the blades, sounds like pop rocks across the lake. It lulls Louis to sleep almost every time.

At the end of May, Harry has 18 songs complete, sings them so often that Louis has them memorized. Louis asks Harry if he’s ready to get back to LA and record, or maybe find some remote location somewhere to set up, like Juneau or the Keys or a tiny island off the coast of Ireland. Harry shakes his head.

“Nope. I’m good. Still want to be here.”

Louis just nods antsy.

June, July, and August are bloody hot, the humidity stifling. Louis wakes up with Harry plastered to his back every morning, stuck together from sweat, and he feels like he can’t breathe, suffocating in more ways than one. There’s no air conditioning, so Louis spends the majority of his time in the water, hissing from the shock of it when he dives into the wake. Harry typically joins him, ducking down to lick the water droplets off his collarbone, his neck. It feels good, being in their bubble, Harry’s hands wandering without consequences.

The lightning bugs come out half nine every night, mirroring the lightning streaking across the sky, and Harry says it’s for them, their own private show. Louis murmurs under his breath, “Well, no one’s here, Harry, who else would it be for?” Harry doesn’t answer that, just pulls Louis in closer, eyelashes sweeping across his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to stay,” he whispers.

“You don’t, either,” Louis counters.

“I’m just not ready to jump back into the speed of what used to be. I feel like I’m being more productive now than I’ve ever been, while I’m unwinding. Simultaneously.”

He gets that, understands completely. But. “It’s been awhile, love.”

“Okay, yeah, I know.”

Louis waits for Harry to say something else, but he doesn’t, just clinks his ice around in his glass, water sloshing over the side. The frogs are croaking, the crickets are chirping, and it’s the first time that Louis wants to shut it all off.

He heads back to LA for good just before the leaves start to transform into golds, reds, oranges, yellows, browns. Harry sends him pictures every morning, telling Louis he’s missing the views, followed by, I’m missing the views, too, if you know what I mean. Louis rolls his eyes at that and replies with, Come to LA and you can get a full show. Harry doesn’t come back, though, and Louis doesn’t expect him to.

It’s hard, missing Harry this much for the first time in ages, especially when he knows Harry still isn’t quite right. He can’t halt his life, though, can’t hole up in the woods forever, touching and kissing and listening to Harry’s pen scrawl across paper at three in the morning. It’s not realistic to continue to hide away, not when they both have so much waiting for them.

“We both clearly have some issues,” Louis says through the phone late one night in October. LA was hot today, but Harry told him he’s comfortable in a jumper and trackies, a little chilly, even. It feels like they’re worlds away, and not just on opposite ends of the country. “But you can’t keep yourself off the grid. Not forever.”

“I didn’t say it was forever,” Harry argues. “It’s not like I’ve been glued to this house. I’ve been home to see my mum and Gemma. I went to Sydney last month. I’ve been back to LA with you.”

“Yeah, once.”

“Lou, I need to do this for me. I did it for us, really, but now you’re gone and you’ve figured out how to settle but I haven’t. Not quite yet. You’re always one step ahead and I’m just trying to catch up.”

Louis swallows, picking at a scab on his knee. He has no idea where it came from. “See, that’s funny, because I always feel like we’re on exactly the same page.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.” He pauses to clench and unclench his jaw. “I love you. And I hope you’re feeling the way you want to feel. I’m trying to be supportive but I also want to slap you and, like, I haven’t seen you in six weeks and it’s just. Come home.”

“Baby, when I come home, I’m heading straight for you. First thing.” Harry breathes through the phone for a beat. “I miss you. So much. Stepping away from the public was exactly what I needed. I know you can tell how much better I sound. How much healthier.”

Louis nods, because it’s true. “Yeah.”

“The next step would have been stepping away from. Everything.” He doesn’t have to explain further for Louis to know he’s implying breakup. “I had to. And guess what.”

He pauses to exhale. “What.”

“I’ve written another album. Like, 53 songs that I’m trying to sort though. I’ve never felt more at peace with myself. With you. I haven’t missed you like this in ages. I forgot what it felt like to love this hard. And, like, I don’t want us to be tired of one another. Tell me if you are.” His voice wavers, just slightly. “Because I feel like now I’m on my way to being fixed, and in turn, that fixed everything else. Even things that didn’t need major repairs. Like us.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. “Never gonna be tired of you.”

“Thank God,” Harry whispers. “Hey, Lou.”

“Harry.”

“I had to use the heated blanket last night.”

“Was it really that cold?”

“No, but usually I have someone in bed with me and he’s pretty warm. Felt lonely.”

Louis smiles, shaking his head. “Put on wool socks next time.”

“Good advice.”

Over the course of the next month, Louis isn’t sure where they stand. They’re together, but Harry isn’t as communicative, and nothing feels reassuring anymore. Louis has to resist the urge to call and fight with him, just to put his negative energy somewhere, unsure of where else to put it, and he can’t believe he’s jealous of a Goddamn cabin. Louis has never been as devoted to anything in his entire life, nothing more than Harry, but he doesn’t know how to figure it all out on his own.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to.

He comes home to his boy lounging on their couch on a Tuesday night in November. He looks like he never left, bag of crisps on his lap, fucking wool socks covering his feet. He tips his head back and looks over the back of the couch when he hears Louis walk in.

“Hi, baby,” he says, the look on his face evident that he’s pleased with himself, sneaking through LAX without being seen, without Louis knowing. “‘m back.”

“I can see that.” Louis saunters over, not thinking about it as he carefully climbs astride Harry’s hips. He looks so good, smiling in that Harry way of his. “Decided to show up with no warning?”

Harry drops the bag onto the coffee table in favor of sliding his hands up and down Louis’ back. “Wanted to be a surprise.”

“I’ll say.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“Still thinking about it.”

He smirks, hands still moving. “You look gorgeous.”

“Obviously.”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “Wish you’d seen some of autumn. Best season, by far. I swear, the lake looks orange from the reflection of the leaves. You’d love it. Gonna have to go back with you there someday.” He backtracks when he sees the look on Louis’ face. “For, like, a long weekend.”

He laughs, pressing his forehead to Harry’s. “Don’t think I’d love it as much as I love having you back here.”

“You and my manager.”

Louis needs to make sure: “You didn’t come back here for him, though, right.”

“No. I didn’t. Being away… It didn’t feel like home anymore. I needed time to refocus and recenter. I missed.” Harry looks up. He looks young, like the Harry Louis fell in love with so many moons ago. “A lot of things. But mostly you. Can’t wait to get you in the studio with me and show you what I have so far. And just can’t wait to start living again, yeah? You know what I mean? I’m ready to do this.”

Louis doesn’t have to ask what ‘this’ is. He knows. He feels it.

And maybe they are on the same page.

#my drabble #drabble #answered #anon

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