Larry Stylinson Oneshots

All My Dreams And All The Lights Mean

Summary: orphan_account

Summary :they say that the world was built for two, only worth living if somebody is loving you.

___

In one universe, Louis is the Welsh pop star, and Harry is the American wallflower. They meet at a party and play the roles they were born to. Louis wears a locket in the shape of a heart that peaks gold underneath the buttons of his shirt and catches Harry's eye. Harry wears a beanie and a t-shirt with a picture of The Kills on it. Their conversation is loaded, heated, and Louis's hand where it comes to rest on Harry's hip after only ten minutes sets his skin on fire. Louis talks about Paris, the smells and the smoke, and Harry melts into his accent like putty, already coming undone.

Have you been, Harry?

Harry shakes his head, no. He hasn't been to Wales either. He's been asleep his whole life, dreaming of white rooms and Indiana sunshine. Louis takes his hand and leads him into another room, subtle touches, quiet and intense in a way that draws all attention to him and makes Harry's head spin. This loud Welsh boy, this primadonna pop star. Presses marks into Harry's skin with his fingertips and licks along the line of Harry's mid western tan.

In all of these universes, Louis is there. But only in one does Harry get to keep him.

~

Louis holds up the locket, all eighteen carats of it, with his eyes narrowed in an attempt to be discerning. Maybe he sees something. Harry can't see anything. It's nice, though. He says as much, but Louis shoots him a look that says he's unimpressed. Harry keeps his opinion to himself after that.

"Do you think she'll like it?"

Harry bites his lip, nods.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Rhetorical. Whatever he's looking for, it isn't an answer. "It's pretty. Not a golden lab, but mum's already vetoed that plan. It'll slobber less on the carpet, anyway."

"Next birthday, then," Harry says.

"Daisy will just have to learn she can't get everything." He shrugs as he says it, but there's no conviction in his voice, and when he turns his gaze back to Harry there's a mischievousness that makes his eyes sparkle.

"Clearly she's not learning that from her big brother," Harry chides.

Louis gasps dramatically. "I'm the best big brother."

"Yeah, you spoil those girls. They're lucky to have you, Louis."

Louis makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "They miss their uncle Harry, are you coming to visit over the holidays?"

"Of course," Harry replies instantly. Something soft flashes across Louis's eyes and he smiles, genuine and warm. He turns to the saleswoman, who's watching them with a desperate cheerfulness of too-long hours underpinned by a backlog of bills and the pressure of keeping the customer's attention. In this universe, Harry understands bills, and long hours, and indecisive customers, and a real Christmas with someone else's family. Louis hands the locket back and reaches for his wallet.

~

Harry's eighteen and in love with a boy. Harry's sixteen and in love with world. He's twenty-eight and lonely. Harry's a singer in an indie band and he's a grade school gym teacher with too much hair and extra padding and he's a Tigerbeat pop star and he's walking down the runway in Milan and he's happy, in all of these universes he's happy.