Work Text:
~~~
July 21
The 2020 All-Star Game
National League vs. American League
Angel Stadium of Anaheim (Anaheim, California)
~~~
Major League Baseball’s first mistake was assigning this particular interview to a reporter woefully unfamiliar with the antics of one Niall Horan.
Its second mistake was letting Niall’s favorite partner in crime- Niall’s words, not Louis’- join said interview.
And the third mistake (arguably the most egregious, if only because the three strike model is the pith of most baseball laws) was sending a reporter equipped with his microphone, a list of questions, and pale, grey eyes that linger for far too long on the curve of Louis’ waist.
And. Oh.
Well.
Louis gets it. His dark gold suit hugs his curves. His freshly cut hair accentuates his features, his cheekbones. He looks good. If he were in this interviewers’ shoes, he’d probably be a bit awe-struck too.
Still, with the glint in Niall’s eyes, he knows his favorite Hellion is on the same page.
This has potential to be the most fun they’ve had since touching down in California.
(Well, actually, the most fun Louis’ had this week was sneaking out of the hotel with Harry late last night, the two on the hunt for a local ice cream shop and a nice park to eat it in, but. This interview could come in a close second).
On the opposite end of the red carpet, the bambi-esque pitcher in question prances from group to group in his striking blue suit, nailing every interview and brightening each conversation he joins with his quips, his ebullience. His eyes outshine the Anaheim sun.
Louis ducks his head to hide his smile.
“Well hello!” While the three crew members prop their cameras on tripods and adjust the settings, Grey-eyes steps closer. “It’s so nice to meet you both. I’m Ezra.”
Niall holds out his hand. “Hi! I’m Louis.”
Louis rolls his eyes, anticipating a quick end to his best friend’s charade, but Ezra merely grins and accepts the handshake. “Hi, Louis! I love the name. Is it French?”
“... Oh! Uh… maybe?”
Ezra and Louis stare at him.
Louis needs several seconds to mentally recover from the shock of this interviewer not being briefed on who’s who- and all the chaos it invites- before he breaks the somewhat poignant silence. “And I’m Neil, by the way! Sorry my name isn’t as pretty or as potentially French, but it is what it is. Not everyone can be a Louis.”
Niall steps on his foot. Louis (showing a great deal of maturity and restraint, thank you very much) refrains from elbowing him in the gut.
“Neil? The card said Niall?”
“Ah! Right!” A card? Reporters are given a card with their names on it? And Major League Baseball couldn’t even invest in pictures to add to said nameplates? Louis can’t decide if he’s offended or not. “I usually go by Neil because everyone always mispronounces Niall. It got a bit annoying, to be honest.”
Ezra’s blond eyebrows knit together. “Wait, what? How do they pronounce it?”
Louis kicks at a loose thread on the carpet. He juts out his bottom lip. “They all say Nile. Like the river. When it’s Ni-all, you know?”
“... So, like, Niall?”
“No! Niall!”
“Niall?”
“You’re saying Nile. It’s Niall.”
“Ni...ole?”
“Ni- all.”
“... Niall?”
Niall and Louis burst into a round of applause. “You got it.”
“You’re a man of many talents, I see,” Niall says.
Ezra winks. “Oh, we’ve just barely scraped the surface.”
Louis shifts, eyeing the silver streaks in Ezra’s hair to avoid his searching gaze.
With a small huff, Niall- the absolute best best friend in the universe- stands a little straighter and fixes their interviewer with a pointed look. “Don’t tell me you can sing the alphabet backwards too! That’s my specialty.”
One of the crew members takes a break from setting up her camera to snort.
Ezra holds out his hand for Louis and, when the handshake ends, his right thumb traces the outer edge of Louis’ wrist. “Never tried the alphabet trick, I’m afraid. But can I just say.” His soft midwest accent deepens. The words come slower as he adds, “I’m thrilled that this is the interview I was assigned to.”
He’s still holding Louis’ hand and Louis- always ready to enable a joke and propel it forward, but never willing to cross certain lines and certain boundaries- pulls away with a small, awkward smile, a nod of his head.
Niall claps loudly. “Wow, thank you so much, Ezra! I’ve been told I’m… loquacious-”
“More like a pain in my ass,” Louis mutters. Ezra cackles.
“-And it’s always so nice to hear similar feedback from my admirers. I promise we’ll make this interview fun!”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
Oh???
(Holy shit. They may actually get away with any and all the fuckery they’re planning. He’d pay to be in the room when the crew tries to edit it for release. Bless pre-recorded interviews).
Louis winks at Niall when a crew member steals Ezra’s attention. The glint in his eyes brightens. He nods and cracks his knuckles. Louis mirrors him- throwing in a few shoulder circles for good measure- and then tugs at his suit jacket to straighten any and all wrinkles.
It’s showtime.
Ezra turns back and hands them their microphones. “You ready, boys?”
“Oh, of course.”
The middle crew member holds up three fingers and slowly lowers them one by one. The others follow his lead, pressing record just as a light gust of wind whistles gently down the walkway.
Ezra waits a beat before bringing his microphone to his lips. “Hello baseball fans, young and old! I’m here with Louis Tomlinson-”
“Hello, hello,” Niall says.
“-And the incredible Neil Horan!”
Louis waves. “Yes, it is me. I am Neil. Thank you so much for having us!”
A crowd of fans, gathered behind a velvet rope lining the red carpet, laugh loudly.
“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” Ezra says, “But, I have to be honest, boys, I’m really only here filling in for a very dear, sick coworker-” That makes so, so much sense, Louis thinks. After the great Twitter feud of October 2019, anyone who pays attention to the world of baseball tends to at least know of his friends and him. Most recognize them immediately (a phenomenon Louis is still adjusting to), thus rendering Niall’s name-swap scheme futile. “-I don’t remember the last time I watched a baseball game or if I’ve ever even watched a full game.”
“Booooooo,” Louis says into his microphone.
Ezra grins. “Don’t get me wrong, I think after today I could most definitely be… persuaded to spare a few hours for a game. Or two.”
“You should, Ezra. There’s really nothing better than watching grown men play with balls.” Niall says it so deadpan, so nonchalant. Louis chokes on his own spit.
As his best friend pats him on the back, Ezra buries his face in his hands. “I’m never going to be sent to cover a sports event ever again,” he groans. When he lifts his head- and Niall and Louis have recovered from their laughing fit- he looks at his clipboard. “Let’s get this back on track, shall we? Neil, this is your first All Star game ever? How’re you feeling?”
Niall opens his mouth. Louis stomps on his foot. “It is my first, yes,” Louis says loudly, speaking over Niall’s shriek of pain. “And it’s, um, better than I ever imagined. It means a lot to be chosen to represent our teams. It’s always special. Or, I mean, it will always be special. If I’m so fortunate to make the team in the future, too.”
“Oh you will!” Niall says, “You’re such a natural talent, Neil.”
Louis pinches Niall’s cheeks. “Awe, thank you babe. You’re so sweet.”
Several shutter clicks go off in quick succession. Odd shapes stab at Louis’ vision. He blinks away excess light. A crowd of paparazzi (most of whom have followed Louis and Niall around all afternoon) creep into the fan-designated area. They shove their way to the front, desperately aiming their cameras before security can usher them away. Whenever Louis or Niall so much as breathe, they snap photos in earnest, as if yet another image of Niall touting his tiny essential oil jars will be their next million-dollar shot.
Damn Niall for making himself a genuine celebrity last offseason. He’s a full time baseball player, part time TikTok influencer, at this point. The people love him. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he’s given his own late night talk show soon.
“But of course!” Niall laughs and swats Louis away. “I’m the number one Neil Horan stan.”
Louis is absolutely going to crack soon. Damn Niall for being the most ridiculously funny fucker of them all.
He winds an arm around his center fielder’s shoulders. “It’s true. The man’s obsessed with me. You know, he once forced us to wear matching outfits when we went clubbing!”
“Ah, babe, you were so hesitant about the matching outfits!”
He was. That part of their bit isn’t even close to being a joke. He squeezes Niall’s shoulders again and then pulls back. “I still can’t believe you talked me into that.”
“Please. Who could risk my puppy eyes?”
Ezra laughs. “This is getting off track again,” he says, stepping closer. “But I have to say, this whole sports gig is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I was given a bunch of papers filled with stats I didn’t understand and thought I was fucked. So, thank you. This has been great. You both are great.”
“We live to serve,” Louis says.
“Your service is very appreciated.”
A thousand different oh fuck’s shoot through Louis’ mind- his smile freezes in place- when Ezra reaches out and squeezes Louis’ bicep. His hand hovers over his suit jacket, brushing back and forth against the fabric, for several seconds. The gentle touch feels so, so heavy. Louis can’ fight his flinch. It’s a small movement, imperceptible to anyone else, and he silently wills Niall to find a way to move their conversation forward because his own mind seems stuck on oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck like a record on repeat.
Luckily, his best friend saves the day with an awkward cough. “I’m ready for more baseball questions, Ezra!”
Their interviewer drops his hand. “Yes! Ha, um. Now that you mention it, Louis, I have to ask, according to this handy clipboard here, this is your fifth time making the All Star team-”
“Show off,” Louis mutters. He takes a small step back, landing slightly behind Niall.
“-How does that feel? Has being here lost any of its prestige and glamor?”
As Niall fumbles through an answer that only sounds a little ridiculous, Louis realizes their current actions may actually have consequences.
Daniel Crouton will have a field day denouncing this interview. Their old enemy has been quiet lately. They should be generous and give him just a little bit of fuel to feed the flames of his utterly atrocious journalism skills and his fledgling career.
“-So, no, this never gets old,” Niall is telling Ezra, “I would even go so far as to say this year’s All Star celebrations are my favorite yet! This season in general, too!”
"This is your favorite season? Even after everything that happened last year? I’m not the most well versed guy in the world of baseball, but last October was a wild ride for you guys! Everyone in the world was talking about Cleveland. How’s it feel moving forward after everything that happened?”
Last year. The absolute messiest and most difficult and most wonderful of Louis’ life. There was so much pain and so many uncertainties. An impossible amount of joy, too. At the thought, he glances again to the right, his eyes finding that same- incredible, wonderful- suit, the same head of curls. (They’re shorter, now, than they were when Louis first met him; reaching above his jawline rather than splaying across his shoulders. It’s made braiding much more difficult. Still, the curls- and he- are so, so beautiful).
His boy has moved closer. He’s wrapped in a conversation with two of his teammates.
“-A lot happened last year, definitely,” Niall is telling Ezra when Louis tunes back in. “We’ve taken all of it forward with us. We learned a lot as baseball players and as people. There were great moments and really devastating moments, obviously. And at the same time, we know that this is a brand new season. There are new players on my team and some players who are no longer with the Spiders. It’s a different group and a different year. We’re not trying to create an exact replica of our 2019 season.”
“I, personally, would like to have a lot more fun and a lot less stress than I did in 2019,” Louis says with a grin.
Niall laughs. “Hey, at least no mascots have been arrested this year.”
“Yet. There’s still half a season to be played. We’ve got time.”
Just as Niall and Louis burst into another fit of giggles (they should never be allowed to do these things together, ever), someone calls their interviewer’s name. “Hey, Ezra!” A woman with long, curly blonde hair yells, frantically waving a pair of sunglasses. “Do you still want these?”
“Oh my god, yes please,” he calls back, the microphone carrying well enough that seemingly every gaze finds him. “Toss ‘em!”
She launches the glasses over the heads of several players and reporters and MLB personnel (including a group of Dodgers who blink in confusion). Ezra catches the glasses in his left hand. Everyone- including the slowly blinking Dodgers- bursts into a round of applause.
Ezra bows and sets the glasses on his head.
Niall lets out a low whistle. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Like I said.” Ezra says. He sends another wink Louis’ way. “I’m a man of many talents. I’d love for you to see them all.”
And Louis’ about to answer, about to find a way to (politely) shut down this and him down for good, when his very favorite voice speaks from behind them.
~~~
Harry loves, loves, loves his job.
He loves baseball. He loves pitching.
He relishes being named an all-star for the third year in a row.
Even with the head-ache inducing, blinding flashes of the camera, the borderline invasive questions from journalists, the fake laughter when someone who thinks they're hilarious tells a mediocre (at best) joke, Harry is so, so happy this is his life. He’s spent most of the night with Micah and James and it’s amazing. It’s great. It’s perfect. He loves his fellow pitchers. He loves his job and he loves baseball and he loves being an all-star.
He fucking loves that the fucking Chris Hemsworth wannabee interviewing Louis on the opposite side of the red carpet won’t fucking stop hovering too close to him. It’s wonderful that he kept his hand locked in Louis’ for ten whole seconds (not that Harry was counting or anything) and that he laughs at abso-fucking-lutely everything Louis says. It’s fucking great.
Louis’ hilarious, Harry knows. The brightest and the most endearing. The most beautiful.
He gets it.
But surely he’s not this funny. Louis just said, what, five words? And the interviewer laughed as if it was the first joke he’s ever heard in his life. How is that necessary?
(Yes, Harry reacts in the very same way to Louis’ jokes. No, that is absolutely not the point).
The baseball gods- a collective group of supernatural beings Louis swears exist- are testing him before he’s even made it to the wine portion of the night and Harry is failing.
“Jesus H, are you trying to kill that poor man?” Harry blinks and looks (just as the fucking fucker laughs again) to see Zayn surveying him with an amused tilt of his head. “If looks could kill, you’d be facing first degree murder charges like, right now, babe.”
Harry sighs and steps to the side for the Red Sox players walking by, the group hurrying away from the reporters calling their names. “I hate him.”
“What?” Zayn laughs. “Harry, it’s an interview. The guy’s just doing his job and I know Niall and Louis are very probably making that job impossible for him. Imagine dealing with those two together without advance notice or warning. Really, you should feel sorry for him.”
Perhaps Zayn has a point. After all, the first time Harry witnessed the Louis and Niall dream team in action, he walked away from the experience feeling distinctly overwhelmed (and incredibly disappointed).
He’s just about to admit that maybe he’s overreacting when a new voice yells, “Harry! Zayn! Can we get a quick picture?”
Immediately, Harry and Zayn step in front of the black backdrop embroidered with tiny white halos to represent the hosting team (the Angels), along with the words All-Star Red Carpet Show printed atop the MLB logo. The sun shining directly overhead makes it impossible to see more than a hazy silhouette of their photographer, but they soon hear a “thank you!” that confirms the photo’s successful execution. Their smiles slip. They pull apart, both blinking. Zayn rubs at his eyes (and looks a bit too much like a regal cat in the process). Harry pokes his cheek.
“Awe, man, I missed the photo-op?” Micah falls back at Harry’s side. “Damn.”
“I can call the camera guy back over, if you’d like.”
The pitcher’s dark brown eyes widen. “I am literally begging you to not do that,” Micah says, “I have sat through three fucking interviews and was asked the same questions. Every. Single. Time. I’ve taken approximately fifty photos and counting. Why does the world need this many pictures of me?”
“Because you’re hot,” Zayn says, “Duh.”
“That’s rich, coming from you, you fucking Disney prince.”
Harry snorts. “You’re both hot,” he says, nodding at Zayn (because obviously. The rest of the world pales in comparison to Zayn Malik, especially in the pale pink suit he’s adorned for the evening) and Micah. Even with the sweat glistening on his dark skin, the sheer exhaustion in his eyes- social scenes have never been Micah’s thing- his bright purple, loosely fitting suit will surely be the talk of every fashion article tomorrow morning. “Seriously. And speaking of hot people, has anyone seen Liam?”
“Him and Jamsie were roped into another interview. I bolted,” Micah says, “And speaking of hot people and interviews, have y’all noticed that fucker shamelessly flirting with Louis? I think he’s getting more and more desperate as the interview goes on.”
“Oh god…” Zayn mutters, eyes drifting to the same section of the carpet Harry’s been staring down for the past twenty minutes.
Harry turns just in time to see Louis’ interviewer- the fucking Chris Hemsworth fucking wannabe with his fucking grey highlights and basic black suit and an incredible knack for annoying Harry every time he opens his mouth- place his stupid, overbearing, miserable hand on Louis’ left arm. Harry counts one beat, two, three and the hand stays there, on Louis, and every nerve in Harry’s body, every cell, every atom screams MINE and HANDS OFF and BACK THE FUCK AWAY and then MINE again.
Louis flinches and Harry sees red.
The interviewer lets go when Niall says something.
(Harry will absolutely be buying his star center fielder a fruit basket in the coming days. Or maybe his own cheese fountain. The kid loves cheese. He will also be killing a journalist very, very soon).
((It’s always nice to have fun evening plans)).
Zayn’s eyes are also on the trio when he says, “You’re going over there, aren’t you Harry?”
“Oh, yeah, for sure, but I don’t want to cause a scene.”
No matter his endless attempts to hide it, the thought of creating controversy on a day like today- with the eyes of the baseball community upon them- still terrifies Louis. Harry would rather never listen to ‘Harry’s Yeehaw Adventures’ again than knowingly put Louis in an uncomfortable, headline-worthy and attention-grabbing situation.
“We’ll go with you,” Micah says, “This seems like one interview worth crashing.”
Harry snorts.
Niall’s going off on a tangent, though he seems more serious talking through this question, his trademark grin smaller, his gestures more purposeful, more steady. Louis shifts to give Niall his full attention. His fond, proud smile softens his eyes and, despite still being too far away to see, Harry knows they’re crinkling in the way they always do. In the way Harry loves.
The planet orbits around Louis. No one ever stood a chance against his smile. His radiance.
Niall and Louis burst into giggles. Harry’s heart clenches.
He turns to Zayn and Micah. “Alright, we know the objectives of our mission?”
“We’re here to cause problems.”
“Precisely.” Harry and Micah exchange a fist bump.
Together, they set off down the red carpet, stepping over microphone cords and ducking to avoid being in the background of ongoing pictures. Various reporters attempt to lure them in for yet another interview (and Zayn is the master of the polite decline), while friends from different teams wave or usher them over. Harry sends them all a thumbs up, but shakes his head. They’re on a mission and it’s important.
A woman on the opposite side of Louis and Niall calls out to their reporter just as Harry, Zayn, and Micah step within earshot. “Hey, Ezra!” (Ezra? Harry shows a great deal of maturity by not rolling his eyes). “Do you want these?”
It’s a pair of sunglasses. Ezra speaks (needlessly) loud into the microphone. “Oh my god, yes please. Toss ‘em!”
Toss ‘em.
This time, Harry does roll his eyes.
Ezra catches the glasses and- to a round of undeserved applause- bows deeply. He sets them on his hair.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” Niall says, whistling. Zayn snorts.
“Like I said.” Ezra has a horribly annoying laugh. An even more annoying habit of winking at Louis. “I’m a man of many talents. I’d love for you to see them all.”
And yeah, yeah, yeah, abso-fucking-lutely not.
“Oh dear god,” Micah mutters when Harry takes one last step forward.
“Many talents, you say?” He calls, catching Ezra’s attention. Niall turns. When he sees Harry, he grins in a way that screams this is truly the best possible course of events that could have unfolded in this exact situation and I am so ready for an absolute disaster and, holy fuck, Harry adores him. “Kinda like a Jack of all Trades? Do elaborate.”
Louis spins around, too. As he so often does, Harry finds himself wishing he could capture the way Louis’ blue eyes crinkle, the way they’re instantly brightened by joy and admiration and yearning. His beautiful, beautiful, beautiful smile widens at the mere sight of Harry. He stares as if everything he’s ever wanted is wrapped in the boy in front of him (a feeling Harry knows all too well) and he melts with a fondness, a reverence, that always makes Harry feel a bit breathless. A bit unworthy. So, so, so lucky.
Harry didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much. He never imagined being loved just as fiercely in return.
The microphone slips from Louis’ hand.
Harry is barely able to watch Niall jump forward to grab it (a catch that is quite deserving of thunderous applause, thank you) before he’s tackled in a hug by his favorite person.
Baby powder and vanilla and hints of lavender cloud Harry’s mind, his senses. It welcomes him back home. He folds his arms around the small of Louis’ back and holds him close.
(It’s so dramatic, too dramatic for a greeting on a red carpet after they’ve been apart for maybe forty minutes, but. There were so many times last year when Harry genuinely believed ever sharing a moment like this with Louis was entirely out of the question; a fantasy and a dream far removed from any sort of reality. So, now that he knows he can, he always will).
Louis lets out a content sigh, tufts of air hitting the point between Harry’s neck and shoulder.
“Hey, you,” Harry whispers.
“Hi! I missed you. If anybody asks, my name is Neil. And Niall’s is Louis.”
Fucking Hell. “... Do I want to know?”
Louis pulls away and sends a wink, accompanied by his trademark grin that’s always made Harry weak at the knees. He joins both their hands and squeezes. “I’ll explain when we’re getting absolutely shitfaced later?”
“Deal, Neil.”
“Wow. That was pure poetry babe.”
“I’ve been told I have a knack for-”
“Yes, these are some of my lovely teammates,” Niall says (very, very loudly) into his microphone. Harry pulls his gaze away from the sunlight in Louis’ eyes to find their entire group staring. “You’ll have to excuse my dear Neil. Those two always do that. You’d think they’re both returning home from war, like, every time they reunite.”
“Neil?” Micah mutters.
Zayn snorts, taking Louis’ spot beside Niall. “Yes, those two really are the most ridiculous human beings we’ve ever met, but we love them, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Louis turns to Zayn with a quirked brow. “Bro…”
“Sorry, bro. You know I love you.”
Harry and Louis drop hands. Louis settles on Niall’s left. When Harry takes his place beside him, Micah joins the semi circle on his right. “So!” Harry claps his hands. A soft touch comes to rest on the small of his back. “You were saying… Ezra, was it?”
“Yes!” Niall enthuses before Ezra can answer. “This is our friend Ezra.”
Harry grins. “I’m Zayn. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“I’m Micah,” Zayn says.
“Harold!” Micah exclaims.
Louis muffles his laughter against Harry’s shoulder.
(And? Niall is finally getting away with the name-swapping scheme of his dreams? Harry never thought it would actually happen, not after last season’s constant, colossal messes. They’re far too recognizable at this point).
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Micah and Harold and…” Ezra says, “I’m sorry I don’t have any stats prepared or real questions to ask you, but… um. Are you enjoying the evening?”
Micah huffs. “I’m living the dream.”
“The camera flashes are very, very bright.”
“I, personally, am having a fantastic time,” Harry says, “I would love to hear more about all the talents you mentioned wanting to show Neil! That sounded very fun. Very cool.”
“Dear god,” Micah whispers. Louis chuckles, tracing light circles on the back of Harry’s jacket.
Confusion etches itself in the deep grey of Ezra’s irises. “Oh, um. No that was just a… we should really stick to baseball.”
“Ugh. Baseball,” Louis and Harry say together. They dissolve into a fit of giggles. Micah and Zayn groan.
Niall says, “When will y’all stop being so… the way you are?”
“It’s freaky,” Micah mutters, “Literal twin flames.”
“Instead of baseball, we should talk fashion!” Zayn says into the microphone that previously belonged to Louis. “Wait until you hear the inspiration behind… Zayn’s suit! It’s so cute.”
“It is a very nice shade of blue,” Ezra comments, "Was it custom made?”
Niall and Zayn snort.
“You could say that,” Micah mutters.
“He hounded his stylist friend who lives in Chicago to make it,” Zayn explains easily, “He insisted that he needed a suit just like this one and it had to be that exact shade of blue.”
“Oh-”
“He calls it Neil blue,” Niall finishes, a fake sniffle crackling through the microphone. The crowd behind the velvet rope laughs. “Because it’s the exact shade of Neil’s eyes.”
“The number of times he held the patterns up to my face to make sure it was just right,” Louis says with a fond roll of his eyes. He moves the hand on Harry's back to the curve of his hip.
Even with the playful bite in Louis’ voice, the glint lightening Harry’s favorite shade of blue- Louis is his favorite everything, really- he knows the gesture meant the entire world to his boyfriend. It’s all Louis talked about when the idea came to fruition in late January. The number of times he called his mom or his sister, Kaylee, to gush about the suit’s progress? Or that Sunday dinner when he enthusiastically looked over the sketch designs with Noah, while his brother shared his insights and potential ideas and enthused over the fabrics? Those moments were everything to Harry, too.
(And if Louis’ parents watched the two of them obsess over the suit with matching, knowing smirks on their faces, well… it made the painstaking design process all the more worth it).
((“I’m Harry’s muse!” Louis joked once to Zayn and it’s not like Harry would ever deny it)).
Ezra finds his voice after several beats of silence. “That’s such a nice gesture. Neil blue is… very lovely. It’s so sweet that you two are such good friends."
In the time it takes their interviewer’s words to resonate, Harry manages a grand total of three thoughts:
Um…?
Oh?
What?
He’s just recovered enough to think in complete sentences (he can’t be fucking serious and what the actual fuck? the most pressing and the most prominent) when his group of friends- and Louis- unfreeze.
Louis, with his arm still wrapped around Harry’s waist, openly gapes.
Micah lets out a cackle that makes the group standing closest to them turn with wide, terrified eyes.
… No because he really, really, really can’t be fucking serious. What the actual fuck?!??
To Louis' left, Zayn and Niall sound distinctly like a pair of hyenas.
“Oh, right,” Niall chokes out between laughs. “Yes. They’re really the definition of laddy-dude-bro-pals. Absolutely. The broiest bros I’ve ever met. A couple of lads being dudes. Elite homies.”
“A couple of besties,” Zayn insists.
“I heard sometimes they even share a bed or something. To keep each other warm. It’s so sweet. Their broship is so pure.”
They all see the very moment the oh shit realization dawns in Ezra’s eyes.
In the midst of his giggling (and Harry would very readily die for that sound, for his smile), Louis adds, “We’re really your classic ‘enemies to besties’ story.”
“Truly. We hated each other at this time last year,” Harry says, which isn’t actually true, but it’s close enough.
“... Oh? How did you guys go from hatred to… Neil Blue?” Ezra asks.
Niall snorts. “Believe me, we don’t have time to get into all that.”
“It’s such a long story.”
“Really dramatic, too. You’d probably cry once or twice.”
“Neil cried so many times.”
“That’s true,” Zayn laughs.
“I did. All the time. It was so embarrassing.”
God. Harry loves him. He reaches over and squeezes his waist.
“We shouldn’t get into all of it now, though. It’d probably take, like, three years to tell the whole story properly.” Harry grins. “No one’s got time for that.”
Ezra claps. “Right! Well, boys. This interview certainly wasn’t boring! But it may be better to end it there. There’s only two microphones and there’s five of you and… you know, I have other people to interview, too.”
Niall hums. “Ah, a shame. This was definitely fun, though. Thank you so much for having us!”
The five of them say their goodbyes, waving to the cameras in earnest, and then the interview ends. Ezra collects the microphones from Zayn and Niall. He takes his time setting them back down in their bags, scratching Niall and Louis’ names off the to-interview list. He scribbles something and tears it off the top sheet.
“They want a few interviews with those Yankees, now,” Ezra tells his camera crew, nodding to the right.
“Let’s get it.”
He shakes each of their hands- eyes averting Harry’s when he reaches him- and then they take off, tracking down their next victims.
He’s gone for five whole seconds before Louis lets out a loud snort.
“What?” Harry grins
Louis holds open his palm to reveal a small slip of paper. Harry takes it from him.
XXX-XXX-XXXX
In case you wanna try something new. ;)
The words were clearly written quickly, the scrawl loopy and sloppy and uneven against the computer paper.
“Woah!” Harry exclaims. “You scored the interviewers’ number! Congrats, bro.”
“Thanks, bestie.” Louis’ eyes crinkle. He leans forward and kisses Harry’s cheek. The brush of Louis’ lips is quick, light, the pressure almost non-existent, but his heart still flutters.
Zayn, Niall, and Micah laugh.
“Ezra’s persistent, I’ll give him that,” Niall says.
Harry ropes an arm around his boy’s waist and pulls him flush against his stomach. He hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder. “He also has great taste. If I saw Lou for the first time again, I’d also risk it all to flirt with him.”
“What?” Louis snorts. He snuggles into Harry. “It took you, like, months to hit on me, Harold.”
“Baby, I was flirting with you from the very start of our very first conversation. You were just oblivious. We’ve been over this.”
“Oh my god, he was so oblivious,” Niall says.
Zayn hums in agreement, the sound almost painful. Micah laughs. Louis huffs.
Harry cackles and kisses his temple. “So, Neil and Louis, shall we sneak into the hall? That may be our only chance to protect Neil from his many suitors.”
“Do y’all think MLB’s gonna be able to use any of that interview?”
“Please, Louis, we are hilarious. They’re lucky we gave them that content.”
“You’re so right, Neil.”
Harry pulls away from Louis and instead entwines their fingers. The group heads for the large, white French doors promising respite from reporters and cameras (and, just as importantly, they promise a plethora of alcohol and various cheese platters). Glancing to the left, Harry spots James and Liam still stuck in their interview. Harry smirks and waves. Liam sticks out his tongue.
“We should have alcohol at the ready for James and Liam,” Harry tells Louis, “Those poor souls are trapped out there.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes, our ridiculously privileged lives are so immensely difficult. We must pamper our poor soldiers immediately upon their return,” he says, smiling. “And you know what else we gotta do? If you’re brave enough to help me?”
“Hmmm, what?”
“We need to find the funniest possible person here to slip Ezra’s number to. That’s my new mission for this fine evening.”
“You evil fucking genius,” Harry laughs, “Obviously it has be a Cub.”
“… You evil fucking genius. Fuck this is gonna be fun.”
The two are just about to step over the threshold- Harry already anticipating the gaudiness and the excess with dread pooling in his stomach- when Niall spins around. He elbows Zayn accidently (who squawks) and then has to take a step back when Harry nearly topples into him.
“Oi!”
“Louis !” Niall says urgently, eyes wide and panicked.
Harry’s almost terrified Niall’s going to say something truly disastrous has happened- if he left his oil kit at the airport, Harry will not be going back to help him retrieve it this time- and he grips Louis’ hand tighter.
“... Yes, Ni?”
"Is your name French?”
Harry’s eyebrows furrow, matching the confusion on Zayn and Micah’s faces, but then Louis bursts into a fit of laughter. It sounds like sunshine. He shoves Niall’s shoulder, makes some offhand quip about him being an absolute fucking idiot, and the group smiles, too, despite not quite understanding the punchline.
Louis squeezes Harry’s hand. They step over the threshold together and everything is as it’s meant to be.
“Hey, Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“Down the line.”
The chandeliers paint Louis’ expression- his smile, his fond- in a white light. Different hues glitter across the features Harry has memorized, the ones he loves so, so much, and he’s very much awe-struck; still as breathless as he was the day he saw this boy for the very first time.
“Down the line, baby.”
~~~
Cleveland Spiders @Spiders
Cleveeeeeeeland, it’s game time. Are you ready?!?