Larry Stylinson One Shot Collection.

Picture In A Frame.

Author: ListenToTheInk on A03

I actually love this One Shot and had to post it here. Such a talented writer and OMFG this is just so perfect. 

There’s a picture of him, framed on his desk. Next to his book on diction in the theatre. The frame isn’t all that special, though. Just a polished oak wood with a black velvet backing to hold the picture. The frame isn’t all that important to him. It’s simple like he is. But the photograph. The photograph is where the true importance lies. Sure, it’s not the best picture of him. And it’s not quite focused in the way where it’s so high quality it looks fake, but it’s there. He can see himself. Can see who he’s with, and that’s what should count, if he’s honest with himself.

When he looks at it, he’s grateful he has a single room. Grateful that he’s only got one mate at university who actually enjoys his company, while the others simply choose to study with him until the wee hours of the morning, slurping back redbull and crunching on doritos and biscuits until they’ve got that one last word on their papers done. It’s okay, though. He’s never needed a lot of people to be okay. He has himself. He has his theatre. He has his acting which is his shield. And he likes putting on his facade of Louis Tomlinson every morning, when in all actuality, he prefers being Just Louis, but only with people he feels safe around.

And tonight, he’s being Just Louis, wrapped in a jumper that’s two sizes too big for him, knees tucked up under him on his futon he has pressed against the wall opposite his bed. And he’s reading some book about comic duos and wondering if his life could possibly make a good play, if he were to write it down. But writing had never really been his strong suit, and he was going to university to be a teacher, not a playwright. So, that was that.

He taps his pen on his notebook and scribbles “Timon and Pumbaa v. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern” on the top line, flipping the pages of his book so he can get started on a paper due in two days. He really needs to get better at this whole procrastination thing, but honestly. The paper is about the Lion King and it’s similarities to Hamlet. How hard can it be? You’ve got the protagonist (Simbaa, Hamlet) the antagonist (Scar, Claudius) and the outside driving force (Mufasa and Hamlet Sr), and the plot is strikingly similar, as are the characters. He could write a four-page-double-spaced-times-new-roman-font-size-twelve essay about it in his sleep. And sleep is sounding really fucking good right now, seeing as it’s three in the morning and he has a class in six hours.

But he’s staying awake for ulterior motives tonight, if he’s honest. He’s waiting for a phone call from the boy in the picture on his desk. He’s in America right now, New York City, actually. And that puts them about five hours behind, but Louis would stay awake as long as it took to get a call from him.

Celebrities always say, (well they dont always say, but it feels like it's common knowledge among fans) that if you ask for a picture with them, there is instantly no chance for you to ever be a friend to them, because they're aware of the idol worship. For Louis that wasn't true. And he thanks God every fucking day that it wasn't, because if it had been, he never would have gotten Harry Styles' number. Not in a million years.

He was a fan, yeah. And when he says he was a fan, he means a super fan. Like. One of the ones with posters all over the walls, five different versions of each song on his phone, lyric tattoo on his wrist, tumblr dedicated to pretty pictures of the boy, and (he would only admit this when he was drunk) a cardboard standee in his room at his home in Doncaster. Harry Styles was his role model, someone that he constantly looked up to. Someone who proved that amazing things do happen to boys in small towns. Someone who taught him to work hard and he would excel in whatever he wanted to do.