fic: oh, these times are hard.
title: oh, these times are hard
pairing: louis tomlinson/harry styles
rating: pg-13
warning: er, character death? also probably the worst/strangest thing I've ever written.
summary: their lives aren't fair; banana!au
blame: lucy. always lucy.
Their lives aren't fair.
It's not supposed to be like this. Their lives should be easier. They shouldn't have to wait, counting the days until their inevitable demise. It shouldn't be easy to imagine the hundreds of thousands of ways their time together could be cut short. Eaten for a snack, baked into a loaf of bread, sliced into a bowl of cheerios. It's a morbid line of thought, and Harry follows it all too often, despite how much knows Louis frets when he gets into one of his moods.
He can always see it in his peel, Louis says, when he's thinking thoughts like that. He's intuitive like that, can always tell when Harry's close to wilting, when this world they've been born into becomes too much for him to handle. When that happens, Louis is always there by his side, brushing slightly against his peel, a constant security that Harry feels entitled to, even though he knows how easily it could be taken away from him.
They're lucky, he supposes, that the heat has killed off most of their kind in these past few months. This summer has been the worst in a long while, or so he hears from the news station playing in the other room every morning. He listens to that rather than worrying about whether today will be his last day. The population of bananas has decreased dramatically, so people are being careful about using them, about eating them. They're living pampered, carefully treated and chilled, at least until one of the hungry bastards in the house decides their desires are more important than love.
Harry dreams of old age, of watching his peel turning brown and mushy with Louis by his side, of being able to turn as sweet and ripe as they could possibly be, their stems connected and their ends touching. It's ideal, even if it is bitter. He wants Louis by his side until their last moments, and maybe he's selfish for it, but most times he can't bring himself to care. Harry knows it won't happen, knows that their death, and lives, were always meant to be something tragic, something that should have dramas and plays and heart wrenching songs written about, even if no one will. Louis will be gone, or he'll be gone, or they'll both go together, and then there will be absolutely nothing left.
They have each other for now, at least. In the night, by the light of the microwave clock, they sit, silent as anything, Harry takes comfort in the fact that they have each other for at least another night.
pairing: louis tomlinson/harry styles
rating: pg-13
warning: er, character death? also probably the worst/strangest thing I've ever written.
summary: their lives aren't fair; banana!au
blame: lucy. always lucy.
Their lives aren't fair.
It's not supposed to be like this. Their lives should be easier. They shouldn't have to wait, counting the days until their inevitable demise. It shouldn't be easy to imagine the hundreds of thousands of ways their time together could be cut short. Eaten for a snack, baked into a loaf of bread, sliced into a bowl of cheerios. It's a morbid line of thought, and Harry follows it all too often, despite how much knows Louis frets when he gets into one of his moods.
He can always see it in his peel, Louis says, when he's thinking thoughts like that. He's intuitive like that, can always tell when Harry's close to wilting, when this world they've been born into becomes too much for him to handle. When that happens, Louis is always there by his side, brushing slightly against his peel, a constant security that Harry feels entitled to, even though he knows how easily it could be taken away from him.
They're lucky, he supposes, that the heat has killed off most of their kind in these past few months. This summer has been the worst in a long while, or so he hears from the news station playing in the other room every morning. He listens to that rather than worrying about whether today will be his last day. The population of bananas has decreased dramatically, so people are being careful about using them, about eating them. They're living pampered, carefully treated and chilled, at least until one of the hungry bastards in the house decides their desires are more important than love.
Harry dreams of old age, of watching his peel turning brown and mushy with Louis by his side, of being able to turn as sweet and ripe as they could possibly be, their stems connected and their ends touching. It's ideal, even if it is bitter. He wants Louis by his side until their last moments, and maybe he's selfish for it, but most times he can't bring himself to care. Harry knows it won't happen, knows that their death, and lives, were always meant to be something tragic, something that should have dramas and plays and heart wrenching songs written about, even if no one will. Louis will be gone, or he'll be gone, or they'll both go together, and then there will be absolutely nothing left.
They have each other for now, at least. In the night, by the light of the microwave clock, they sit, silent as anything, Harry takes comfort in the fact that they have each other for at least another night.