They call us Larry Stylinson (Larry One Shots - book 2)

you and me

From: http://archiveofourown.org/works/844348

~~~~~~

Rating: Mature

Warnings: straight!harry (lol jk), harry/blonde skank, feelings, happy ending, au, teacher!louis, painter!harry, camden, fluff, angst, smut, top!harry, bottom!louis

Word count: 12798

Summary: 

harry is potentially screwed and louis is definitely hopeless, and there’s angst and too much friendship and a blonde bitch from spain, but its ok because as long as they’re in eachother’s lives, everything will somehow probably turn out the way that its supposed to.

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I first found out about her two days before Christmas - the day before my 26th. You and me, me and you, were celebrating two rare, overlapping hours by buying ourselves a proper tree. You were working the graveyard shift at a greasy spoon in Bexley in a desperate, potentially pointless attempt to cover your half of the rent, and I was working overtime in an even more desperate and definitely pointless attempt to transform the lackluster delinquents at King’s Wood into something resembling the cast of something resembling Oliver. For the first time, home meant a flat in Camden and not our childhood beds and “what do you want to be when you grow up” had transformed into “so what are you, then?” and we went grocery shopping and brought back more than just liquor and cigarettes and between the two of us- you and me, me and you- we hardly had time to breathe, let alone decorate our Camden flat with any sort of Yuletide cheer. And yet, there we were- thick scarves and beanies and pink cheeks and six years of friendship, laughing as we ducked in and out of the rows and rows of pines, trying to pretend we knew the first thing about having Christmas away from our mums.

*****

“That one,” Louis Tomlinson jabs a freezing cold finger in the direction of a giant, picturesque, very expensive-looking Christmas tree.

Harry Styles raises one eyebrow at his best mate, “Of 

course

 you go for the Mother of All Trees. What’s wrong with a little, dismembered, cheap one? We can have a Charlie Brown Christmas!”

Louis sighs, “Christmas trees are not and should not and cannot be reflections of our wallets, Hazza.”

Harry groans, a sound muffled slightly by the thick scarf that covers most of his face, leaving only his bright green eyes poking out, “Lou, I am not hauling that thing up four flights of stairs.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. Let’s Get This One Its So Lovely Stairs And Only One Bathroom Aren’t So Bad?” Louis calls over his shoulder as he heads over to the monster tree to inspect it more closely.

“Yours, for losing the bloody coin toss,” Harry grudgingly follows. They stand there for a second, craning their necks to see the top of the tree. It really is quite big- at least 10 feet tall, and huge around the middle. “I can just see our mums flipping to the obituaries now,” Harry says, “‘Tragic death in London: Two strapping young men were rushed to the hospital last Sunday. Doctors unable to repair broken spines and addled brains. Cause of injury: carrying a Yule log up some stairs.’”

Louis waves his hand dismissively, “At least they make us out to be tragic.”

“Yeah, but they also make us out to be dead.”

Louis looks over at Harry. Even though his mate is wearing that bloody scarf, he can tell that Harry is biting his lip. It’s a bad, but incredibly endearing habit, and it’s been driving Louis crazy since Harry first knocked on his dorm room six years ago in Uni, desperately seeking a spare condom and having been turned down by everybody else on their floor. Louis took one look at the tall boy, all limbs and swollen lips and unbuttoned shirt and paint splattered in messy curls, and decided that he could have anything and everything that he possibly wanted.