Summary:
Harry's got a heart, a soul, and a band. And with that, obviously, comes a future paved in great success, right? So all he has to do is win the Battle of the Bands, right? Simple.
What's not so simple is the fact that Louis Tomlinson is his biggest competition. And also happens to be made of everything that Harry's ever wanted.
No... That's not simple at all.
Notes:For .
Hiiii!
Written for the prompt:
"AU where teenage!H/L have their own bands, and they are constantly competing with each other to get gigs. It's a small town, so there aren't many. They don't exactly hate each other, there's just no way they could be friends. Until they both find themselves in a music camp and they're thrown in the same group with the other boys, and they reluctantly realise they're good together."
Obviously, I took some liberties. A lot of liberties? I apologize if those liberties were shit.
BIG NOTE: The song in here is NOT MINE! Not even a little bit!! It's by Fitz & The Tantrums and it's called "Out of My League" and I switched the pronouns in the song to apply!
Smaller note: You should probably listen to that song while you're reading this. And "No Control" as well because why not??
Thank you to Ainsley and Becks for saving my life and editing/brit-picking my haphazard words. I love you both and you make strong. <3
(See the end of the work for .)
Work Text:
"Oh, Jesus fuckin' Christ. Tell me that's not who I fuckin' think it is."
Harry blinks, pulling his gaze up from Julex—his marvellous and fetching guitar he'd gotten in France for his seventeenth birthday because dreams really do come true—before settling it on Niall, brow furrowed. The boy looks poutish and churly, his blond hair drooping at the points because it expresses all of his major emotions. He folds his arms across his chest, shooting a pursed-lip frown to Liam, who is currently nibbling on his nails peacefully, though his eyes are alert.
Which, great. They've only been here thirteen minutes and Niall is already throwing a fit. This does not bode well for the successful, record-label-inducing evening Harry had planned.
He sighs, taking care to toss his hair in artful frustration, the same way he'd practiced in front of Gemma's full length mirror during his youth. (Life is art, you know.) "Who're you...?" he drifts questioningly, feeling mildly irritated as he stands and surveys the crowded coffee house. It's stuffed to the gills with beanies and frothed up mugs and jeggings. Really bad jeggings, to be exact.
But that's okay. Who's Harry to judge? Jeggings are comfy. And very affordable.
It's currently open mic night—a prime time for Harry's band to play. Well, it's technically not Harry's band (as Liam likes to remind him oh-so-often) but it's definitely somewhat Harry's band since he puts all of the drive into them, cleverly peddling them down the road to success.
Well, maybe more like peddling them down a road that will eventually connect to another road that leads to the road of success. But, like, regardless, it's definitely a route.
They're called Trio Pets—Harry, Liam, and Niall. Harry came up with the name, insisting it was memorable and cute. Liam paled a little bit when he realised he was being serious, but Niall laughed so hard he couldn't speak and nearly coughed up all of the cake and beer he'd devoured for breakfast so, essentially, he'd agreed to the proposal immediately.
