fic | i think you're so awfully nice, is that alright?
pairing: louis/harry, background zayn/perrie, hints at niall/eleanor
rating: pg-15/nc-17
word count: 5k
summary: Harry moves to London to become a musician. Within a week he's fallen in love with a statue and forgot about anything to do with music.
ao3
Harry moves to London to become a musician. Within a week he's fallen in love with a statue and forgot about anything to do with music.
The statue is in Camden, right in the middle of the market. It's not a statue, really. It's one of those street performers who paint themselves all over and sit really still until someone comes along with change which is rewarded with a tip of a hat or a twirl of their skirt.
This statue is a boy painted bronze dressed in leggings and a tunic and a hat with a feather sticking out. Harry can’t take his eyes off him.
The first time Harry sees him he throws in a pound and watches eagerly as the boy lifts his hat and gives a smile. Entranced, Harry scrambles in his pockets for more money, coming up with 20 pence which he drops into the hat at the feet of the statue. This time, the boy uncrosses his arms, holding one out to the side, palm side up. Harry holds up his own hands to show he has no money left. The statue winks.
And there, in the middle of London, Harry falls in love.
--
Harry leaves his tiny flat early every morning. He gets his coffee at a little hipster place at the corner, discussing music with the barista for a few minutes before setting off through the streets.
He likes London. He likes the anonymity everyone has; he can do what he wants here and no one gives a shit. He likes walking down by the Thames, breathing in that stale, sewage smell, and listening to the public moan about the weather. It’s summer and it’s actually warm for a change but of course they still complain about that.
He wanders through the tourist spots the first week: he visits the Queen and checks the time on Big Ben and then does a couple of rounds of the London Eye because it’s so pretty up high with the city beneath him, people scurrying about like ants, always busy never calm. But as the days go on he explores the side streets filled with charity shops and tattoo parlours; he learns the life of a Londoner, determined to fit into the capital.
After he’s satisfied with the new things he’s discovered, one more step to making a home here, Harry wanders over -- sometimes he has to take the tube, they’re the special days when he’s mapped out so much of the city he feels like he belongs -- to Camden to where his statue is.
The statue's in the same place every day. There's a few more surrounding him: a blue fairy with a pretty dress, a green jester, a gold angel. But the Peter Pan is the favourite. It's just past ten o clock and already the hat at the statue's feet has a layer of coins.
Harry tosses in a handful of coppers, gets rewarded with a hop onto the other leg, a tilt of the head, and then settles on the bench across the path.
After an hour of watching the statue entertain the public he gets to his feet with a sigh and trudges down the road. He has a bunch of demo CDs in his bag that he should really do something with so he looks up the map on his phone to find the surrounding places that could do something with them and hands them in, hoping for the best.
Halfway through his list he comes across Syco, Simon Cowell's label. He climbs the steps and gives it to the receptionist, not expecting anything to come from it but trying anyway. He feels slightly productive for the first time since moving to London.
--
He goes back again and again, spending what little money he has on making the statue move.
He's realised that the statue's not the best at staying still. He's wonderful, yes; has charmed half of London with his dancing and silent laughing. But he's not actually that good at being a statue. Harry watches, biting his lip to stop his smile leaking out, as the boy wobbles on one leg for a good five minutes before a business woman drops a pound in, letting him fall gracefully so he's sitting cross-legged, and his elbows resting on his knees.
--
Harry’s been in London for a few weeks when the statue first talks to him.
"You gonna ask me out or what?" the statue asks. Harry nearly falls over. "Just you've been watching me for a while; figured you either fancy me or you're planning on shooting me."
"Still not quite sure," Harry says. "How about I ask you out and we see how it goes?"
"Sounds fair," the statue laughs, barely moving his mouth. He's got a thick Northern accent, Yorkshire. Harry wants to listen to him forever.
"When d'you get off?"
"Not 'till 2," the corners of the boy's mouth turn down. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, Harry following the way the paint slides off his lip, revealing the pink underneath. "Come back then and we'll get coffee, yeah?"
If Harry has a spring in his step that afternoon then no one needs to know.
--
The boy has last minute plans that come up -- plans that absolutely can't be ignored he pleads to Harry to understand -- and so he scribbles his number on Harry's arm and promises to see him later, they'll make it a real date.
Harry studies the numbers until he has them memorised. Peter Pan's real name is Louis and he has small, messy handwriting that covers half of Harry's forearm. It's the first real sign that Louis is actually a human, a living breathing person and not just Harry being mental.
They arrange to meet at a restaurant near Harry's flat because that’s the only one he knows sells decent food at a decent price and also he doesn’t want to end up lost; you never know in London, so many streets look the same.
He's late anyway because he gets caught up watching some game show and then Liam won't get off the phone, going on and on about the dog he just got with his girlfriend and the cool tricks it can do, but when he gets to the restaurant Louis isn't there yet, either.
He shifts from one foot to the other, looking studiously at his phone. It’s only five past seven, it’s fine.
“Harry.”
Harry looks up and there he is, completely free of paint and completely, well, beautiful. Harry’s only seen him in his costume before, when paint had covered his brown hair and tanned arms; his tunic hiding the curves of his tiny waist and the swell of his arse.
“Hi,” he grins, pocketing his phone. “Shall we?” he gestures to the door, stepping back to let Louis lead the way. His eyes stray to Louis’s bum, hypnotised by the way it moves as Louis walks into the restaurant. His fascination is understandable -- it’s magnificent.
--
Louis is funny and smart and studying to be a drama teacher. He drinks vodka and Coke through a pink straw and asks Harry about his life. He's got another job as a library assistant because being a human statue doesn't actually pay much believe it or not, and he promises to introduce Harry to his mate in producing who knows everyone worth knowing. Harry's smitten.
Louis reaches out and takes Harry’s hand on the walk back to his, swinging them between them. His hand feels tiny in Harry’s.
He leads Harry past a fish and chip shop, chattering on about his sisters back in Doncaster and being a street performer.
“It’s fun, yeah,” he says when Harry asks, hungry for information about the job that lead him to Louis. “The kids’ faces are hilarious. The paint’s a bitch to get off my face, though.”
“Oh, do you not wear it everywhere?” Harry thinks of Louis’s torso, slick with paint, Harry’s hands smearing it across his body, down to his thighs, his muscles taut beneath the colours.
But Louis is shaking his head, shattering Harry’s fantasy. “Nah, I have these gloves and sock things that save a lot of trouble.”
“Oh,” he says again.
They’ve stopped at a block of flats now. A light over their heads casts them in a dim glow, a glow that flickers every few seconds, making Harry blink.
“So,” he rocks back on his heels, his hand still holding Louis’s.
Louis tilts his head to the side, considering him. A smile spreads across his lips, one that makes his eyes sparkle. “Tonight was fun,” he says, and then reaches up to hug Harry, his arms fitting around his neck. Harry’s hands slide down Louis, over the phenomenal curves, until they land on his hips. He pulls him close, tight, Louis’s body moulding into his own.
“I had a good time,” he murmurs directly into Louis’s ear. He smirks when he feels a shiver run through Louis. “We should do this again.”
Louis nods his agreement and then steps back, away from Harry’s hold. He smiles again, blinding, and then leans up and kisses Harry. His lips are soft and taste of the coke he’d been using as a mixer all night. Harry kisses back, keeping it chaste. His hopes of getting invited up are dashed with this kiss.
“I have a new rule I’m trying out,” Louis says almost apologetically when he pulls back. “No sex until the third date.”
“Yeah? Well, I’d love to take you out again,” Harry says, ever the gentleman.
Louis laughs. It’s loud and bright, like sunshine. “I’ll see you around, Harry Styles.”
--
They go out again. Harry pays the first two times and Louis gets the bill for the third. They go back to Louis’s after that one and Louis lets Harry open him up, fuck him into the mattress. He makes these little breathy moans that make Harry dig his fingertips into his hips, bruises forming.
So, they’re dating. Harry still comes by most mornings, sitting on the same bench he watched Louis from before, except he can talk to him now. He can pull faces to make Louis’s mouth twitch into a smile, the one leg he’s balancing on quivering as he struggles to hold in his laughter, and he can stroll over and pull Louis off his platform for a kiss before waltzing off to do absolutely nothing in the rest of the city, bronze paint smeared across his lips.
He discovers that Louis smokes like a chimney, always patting his pockets for his lighter or pulling a fag from behind his ear when he hops down from his platform for a break. He smells like strawberries and aftershave and something else but there's smoke too, smoke covering him everywhere he goes. Harry never thought he was someone who found smoking attractive but then Louis came along and now Harry likes a lot of things he didn't know he did before.
He’s still trying to be a musician, still sending CDs everywhere and Nick, the guy in the coffee shop, gets him gigs at tiny pubs, but it’s not really getting anywhere so he has to face facts and find a “real job” for the time being. Ironically, he ends up inside the glass walls of Syco. He’s not doing anything creative, he’s the receptionist’s assistant, but money’s money and he knows his time’s coming, he just has to be patient.
--
His time comes right out of the blue.
It’s all down to Louis, and Louis’s mate Niall -- the one in producing, and incidentally, the green jester from the square --, and Nick. See, Louis told Niall all about Harry. Niall, who knows Nick, then managed to get hold of another one of Harry’s CDs from Nick and persuaded his boss to give it a listen.
Niall’s boss turns out to be Simon Cowell, head of the very company Harry is making tea and coffee for, and that’s how Harry finds himself getting called up from the reception to the top floor where Simon Cowell himself swivels round in his big black chair and offers Harry a record deal.
“I’m going to record my own songs, Lou,” he says over dinner that night, shovelling spaghetti into his mouth and grinning round the mouthfuls, “In a real studio and people can actually listen to them and --”
“Slow down, Haz, you’re going to choke,” Louis rolls his eyes but he’s beaming, so proud of Harry who’s finally getting to do what he came to London for. “I’m really fucking proud of you, you deserve this.”
Harry’s heart swells at this. “Thanks, babe, and -- thank you for speaking to Niall. I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t for you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Louis waves a hand, taking a gulp of his water. “You’re destined to be a star, I just helped you along a bit.”
Louis calls him his rising star in bed that night, riding him and leaning down to kiss down his neck, marking him up to keep the groupies at bay. Harry feels on top of the world.
--
“Lou?”
“Mm?”
“Why did you become a statue?”
Louis pulls off Harry’s cock with a pop. “You’re asking me this now?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“I am, yeah,” Harry’s fingers card through Louis’s hair, pushing his fringe off his forehead.
Louis licks a stripe down the length of Harry’s dick, and then covers the head with his mouth again, going back to what he was doing before Harry interrupted him. Harry moans, momentarily distracted, his hips bucking slightly into Louis’s mouth which is stretched round him, his lips bright red.
Louis slides his mouth down down down until Harry’s cock hits the back of his throat. He stays there for a moment, Harry’s breathing getting heavier, Louis’s eyes watering at the corners, and then draws back slowly.
“Needed experience for my uni course,” he shrugs, his voice raspy. “Plus, it’s fun.”
Harry goes to reply but, well, Louis is very talented. He watches the way Louis’s cheeks hollow and shifts slightly so his cock bulges at the side of his cheek obscenely. Louis raises a hand to Harry's hip, holding him still.
His face is so pretty with the long eyelashes and the sharp cheekbones. Harry runs a thumb down to Louis's jaw, pushing his duck in further. Louis hums.
"Any chance you can bring your paint over next time?" Harry murmurs, the pad of his thumb pressing at Louis's cheek. "Want to make a mess of you, mark you up."
Louis's eyes go wide, only a sliver of blue surrounding his pupils. He pulls off completely and uses both his hands to stroke Harry to the edge and then right over it. Harry moans, his hips bucking, and he watches as he Louis's face gets streaked with white.
"The bronze will look even better," he says into Louis's shoulder after they've both got cleaned up. He hooks a leg over Louis's waist to pull him closer, Louis's breath hitting his wrist when he laughs.
--
The whole statue thing, it's only a summer job, and so when September comes around Louis wipes off his paint for the last time, Harry biting his lip to hold back his whimper at the bronze disappearing, turning Louis human again, and takes a bow on his final day even though no one but Harry and the three other statues know what's going on.
They all go out for drinks afterwards, them to celebrate and for Harry to mourn. Niall is there, green paint still covering his neck. He buys everyone a pint of Guinness just because he's Irish and then forces everyone to drink every last drop even though he agrees it's disgusting. The gold angel is called Zayn, an English Lit. student, and he brings his girlfriend who is unbelievably Perrie Edwards from Little Mix, the fiercest girl band around. Harry stares, open-mouthed, at her bright pink hair and doll-like face, laughing at all her jokes until Louis stamps on his foot and mouths that he's not getting laid tonight. Harry shuts his mouth. The last of the little group is Eleanor: the blue fairy. She's from Manchester too, like Harry, and she feels the same about London, determined to uncover its secrets. Louis slings an arm round her neck, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and announces that she's the best person he's ever met and he would be lost without her. Eleanor rolls her eyes at Harry and leaves to get another drink.
"I'm gonna miss this job," Harry says, loud in Louis's ear when they're out in the street waiting for a taxi. It's possible he's a little drunk. "You looked so pretty up there with your tights and little feather in your hat."
Louis smirks, his arms coming up to wind around Harry's neck."Peter Pan fetish, Styles?"
"Nope. Just you," Harry bends his head to slot their mouths together, licking into Louis's mouth and dragging a moan from his lips. His fingers skate across Louis's back, nudging his t-shirt up and tracing over the tattoo at Louis's hip.
"Easy, lads," Niall shouts, waltzing past with Eleanor. She throws her head back and laughs prettily. Truthfully, everything she does is pretty. Harry's a bit jealous. "You're gonna get arrested if you carry on like that."
Harry opens his eyes to see Louis giving Niall the finger over his shoulder. He sniggers, pushing his nose into Louis's hair where he smells like the vanilla shampoo Harry bought the other week.
They all squeeze into a taxi and go back to Niall and Zayn's. It's basically just Niall's since Zayn has all but moved in with Perrie but Zayn still shows them around, explaining the posters on the wall like they don't know the Manhattan skyline. Harry feels the room spinning and wraps his arms around Louis to anchor him, hooking his chin over his shoulder and swaying them.
"I like your friends," he mumbles, his eyes drooping.
Louis tips his head back to rest on his shoulder, his hand coming up to pat at Harry's cheek. He sighs, content. "They're pretty great, yeah." The two of them watch as Zayn and Perrie curl up on the couch and fall asleep almost instantly, wrapped around each other in a way that looks like they'll never be able to break apart. Niall is still trying to get Eleanor to dance with him but she's having none of it, batting his hands away to pour a drink of something fruity looking. She downs it in one and then sticks her tongue out at Niall who crosses his arms and pouts, sinking to the floor at her feet.
"Are they shagging or something?" Harry asks, nodding towards the pair, like he could be talking about anyone else.
That makes Louis laugh, the noise loud in the otherwise silent room. Niall appears to be asleep on the floor and Eleanor is stroking his hair, an expression on her face like she can't believe she's doing this but she doesn't really want to stop either. She doesn't look over at Louis and Harry.
"Nah. Niall's been trying for weeks, though, I think it's only a matter of time."
"So you would've been the fifth wheel if I hadn't come along?" Harry says, walking them over the couch. He sits first and then pulls Louis onto his lap. Louis squirms, trying to get comfortable. Harry is very sleepy.
"Good thing you came along then." He hears just before he passes out.
--
“I love you.”
They've been together for five months and maybe it's a little fast but Harry's confident with how he feels, he's always been quick to give his heart away, and, truth be told, he always thought he was going to be the first to say those three little words; it’s been obvious how he feels since day one, but Louis surprises him once again, like always.
It’s murmured into Harry’s neck late one night when they’re lying in bed, legs tangled and Louis half on top of Harry. It’s muffled, like it’s the biggest secret Louis has; it makes Harry feel special, trusted.
After it’s out, it hangs in the air between them, circling Harry’s head like one of those cartoons after a blow to the head. Louis lifts his head from Harry’s shoulder to look up at him, his expression carefully guarded after the big confession.
Harry lifts a side of his mouth into a lazy smile, keeping it casual even though Louis can definitely feel the way his heart is beating so much faster under his cheek. “I love you too, Louis.”
Louis’s face clears immediately, his hand coming up to brush Harry’s sweaty curls off his forehead. He kisses him gently. “Brilliant.”
--
He meets Louis’s family completely by accident. He lets himself into Louis’s flat -- they do that now; they have keys -- and there they are, surrounding Louis the way everyone else does: like he’s the sun; the most important thing in everyone’s world. They’re not all painted different colours like Harry had secretly thought, and are instead decidedly normal. There’s four blonde sisters and a mum who all turn and give Harry scarily similar looks before smiling and beckoning him over, everyone asking all at once about how he met Louis and if Louis loves him and it’s overwhelming in the best way.
Louis dotes on his sisters and shares looks with his mum that tells Harry everything about the way Louis grew up as the man of the house, so close to his family. Harry charms them all, making them blush and giggle and tell him stories that make Louis pout and stamp his feet for embarrassing him.
They go out to dinner. Louis leads them to the place where he and Harry had their first date; that’s their place now, they have a table and everything, and everyone squeezes round the table: Harry and then Louis and then his mum and his four sisters curving round so Harry ends up beside Lottie, the oldest of Louis’s younger sisters.
“You’re good for him,” she says, halfway through the main course.
Harry nearly chokes on his chicken. He swallows, takes a few gulps of his drink, and then smiles at Lottie. “I’m glad you think so. He’s good for me too.”
Lottie nods, her face solemn. “Good. You better take care of him, okay? He’s my big brother and if you hurt him I’ll need to hurt you.”
Harry folds his lips into his mouth, pinching his leg under the table to stop himself from smiling because this is very very serious. “I promise, Lottie, that I will never hurt him. But if I do you have full permission to kill me.”
She narrows her eyes, and then breaks into a smile. “You have a nice voice, Louis let me listen to your CD. He plays it in his car all the time.”
Harry twists in his seat to pull at Louis’s elbow. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Play my CD in your car,” Harry says, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, just nice to hear from a fan,” Harry sticks his tongue out. Louis pushes three chips into his mouth.
“Louis,” his mum exclaims, “Harry could have choked on that. What if he had died?” She winks at Harry when Louis’s face is turned; Harry’s an ally in the Tomlinson family already. This is acceptance, right?
“Sorry, mum,” Louis says sheepishly, simultaneously kicking Harry under the table. “I know what a real shame that would have been.”
“Only my music to keep my memory alive,” Harry says, smiling sweetly.
“Fuck you.”
“Language, Louis!”
Fizz giggles.
Yeah, Harry likes Louis’s family a lot.
--
Harry's first single drops ten months after he moves to London. Eight months after he starts dating Louis.
They’ve been playing it on Radio One for a few weeks before the big release, pumping Harry up to be the hot new talent of the year -- he’s officially The One To Watch. Everyone knows it’s going to do well.
Still, he's nervous the week before it; pacing around his flat, chewing the skin around his thumb until it bleeds and Louis pulls it gently away from his mouth, holding his hand between both of his own. He tells him he’s going to smash it, that he’s got nothing to worry about, and if Louis thinks that then what can Harry do but believe him.
The song goes straight to number one, of course it does. Harry is on cloud nine. This is it, this is his dream. He's done it.
--
Things explode after that. Within two months Harry has a number one album under his belt and his single hits one million sales. There's talk of a tour and the talking makes Harry bounce on the balls of his feet, a fire building in him, taking over him. He's going to perform in front of his fans, people who have listened to his music and liked it, and even, in some cases, related to it. He did a Frank Ocean style stunt, see, and wrote a song about Louis, one that's littered with lyrics like the stubble on your cheek and you make me feel alive and his his his. It's against what his manager advised -- he has a fucking manager now, he's made the big time -- but it's what Harry wants because it helps people; having someone up and coming and out. They're the stories Harry likes best -- you've really helped me, Harry and I like getting up in the morning now and I like boys too and I can admit that to myself now thanks to you.
There's Louis, too. Harry hasn't mentioned him explicitly in interviews yet but he tweets him things like breakfast is ready, sweetums and i miss you and there's pictures of them kissing in the street so it's official as it's ever going to be. The papers gush over Louis's model looks and the fact that he's going to be a drama teacher, isn't that amazing. Harry gets after question after question about him in interviews and most of the time he doesn't answer because it's his music that's important, not his private life, but some days, when his lips are still tingling from the goodbye kiss that morning or Louis has sent him a text saying he loves him, Harry opens up. He tells heat magazine how they met, giggling through the whole story, and he shows them the tattoos he got for Louis: the hi Louis wrote himself and the lyrics to Sweet Disposition which they see as their song. Their whole relationship is very cute to the world.
Harry gets even more famous. He sells out an arena tour in minutes and the year after that it's a world tour and the VMAs and the fucking Olympics and it can get a bit hard to breathe, it's so different to two years ago when he could wander the streets of London and no one would look at him twice, but Louis is here, Louis is always here, strong beside him and always believing in him.
But Louis can’t be with him every single second; he has a life too, he has uni and his family and his new job at the coffee shop with Nick. The distance is hard but they make it work, and they have the world backing them. Louis giggles all the way through their first attempt at Skype sex which makes Harry miss him all the more. He loves being the one to make Louis laugh, to take him by surprise, because not a lot of people do.
He's somewhere in America at the moment. It's dark outside the tour bus but he thinks it might be Chicago. He's still running on the adrenaline from the show he just did, still stunned that enough people know his songs to shout the lyrics back at him, and now he has Louis in front of him, well, on his laptop.
Louis is drunk and sleepy, mumbling things about Harry's curls and reaching out to tap at the screen like that will give him the power to touch Harry. Harry should tell him to go to bed, it must be about four in the morning there, but selfishly he holds on, telling Louis excitedly all about the show and how nice everyone is here. Louis smiles and nods, but his eyes are glazed.
"Go to sleep, Lou," he says, touching the screen with his palm and smiling softly when Louis does the same. "I'll text you tomorrow."
"Night, Haz. Love you, you know," and that's him out for the count. Harry considers watching him for a bit longer but that’s crossing some lines so he shuts down his laptop and climbs into his bunk, the beanie he stole from Louis held tight in his fist.
--
Three months later he’s fumbling for the key that’s been hanging round his neck ever since he left. He lets himself in, dumping his bags by the door and then running through the flat to the bedroom at the back.
He jumps on the bed making Louis wake up with a squawk and struggle to sit up but Harry pushes him back down, covering his body with his own. Louis still looks confused, like he can’t believe Harry is actually there, well, he was supposed to be back tomorrow, but then he grins, the grin slowly growing until his eyes crinkle at the sides and he looks like he’s shining.
“Is that really you? Are you... back?” he narrows his eyes at Harry like he’s playing a trick on him.
“Yes, you idiot. I finished a day earlier than I told you. Surprise!” he holds his hands up, still on top of Louis, who gives a shout of laughter and then kisses Harry, morning breath and all.
“I missed you.” He whispers between their mouths like it’s some big secret.
“I missed you too.” Harry wraps his arms around Louis, tight.
Louis had come out and visited for a couple of weeks but it wasn’t the same. Here they’re surrounded by their clothes jumbled together on the floor, the signed Little Mix mug Louis had bought Harry for his birthday last year on the bedside table beside a picture of the whole gang.
Here, in the middle of London, Harry is home.