Larry Smut

two and two make five

It all starts when they're discussing their plans for their precious week off for the Christmas holidays. They're killing time at Louis and Harry's place during one of those few hours of downtime that are not substantial enough to do anything significant, but provide an opportunity to squeeze in a few games of FIFA or idle chit-chat about something unrelated to work.

"I might fly my family to Rome. Mum said she wants to go somewhere warm," Zayn says.

"Nah, man, you can't have Christmas without snow," Harry objects. "I might go skiing. Hey Lou, remember our ski trip last year? That was a blast."

Louis, who is sprawled in Zayn's lap and absorbed in composing a pithy and insightful tweet, replies without looking up. "You mean that time you and Stan let me fall asleep in the hot tub until my whole body was one giant prune? How could I forget. You'll have to go without me though. I have to spend a few days with El —" he pulls a face, "— you know, keep up appearances."

Liam makes a sympathetic noise, then brightens. "But it's gonna be your birthday, eh? You have to keep Christmas Eve free, because we'll throw you the birthday bash to put all birthday bashes to shame."

Louis's face darkens even further. "Yeah. Sure. Great," he says, before heaving himself off the couch and slouching out of the living room. They hear the slam of his bedroom door.

"What's crawled up his arse and died?" Zayn gapes, glancing around at the other lads.

Harry frowns thoughtfully. "You know how he feels about getting older. He hates being reminded."

Niall looks up from where he has been focused on restringing his guitar and cracks a wry smile. "My mum's been celebrating her thirtieth birthday for the last ten years. Reckon we should do the same for Lou?"

Harry wonders if it's going to be one of those nights where he has to lure Louis out from his room with the promise and scent of freshly baked scones, when there is a screech from Louis's bedroom. He flies back into the living room, bare feet skidding on the hardwood floor, and sticks his face so close to Liam's that Liam flinches back a little.

"I'm getting wrinkles, Liam! Wrinkles! Look!" Louis pulls at the corners of his eyes and looks Asian for a moment. Privately, Harry quite likes the crinkles by his eyes, but he wisely chooses not to voice that thought.

"They're laugh lines," Liam states flatly.

"See? You admit I've got lines," Louis spits out the word like it personally offends him. "D'you think I'll age like Leonardo DiCaprio? I knew there was a drawback to looking like him."

They're used to his histrionics and only Niall is soft-hearted enough at this point to indulge him. "You're turning twenty-one, Louis, not forty-one."

"Same difference. Once you're in your twenties, it's all downhill from here." Louis kicks Harry's foot. "Do we have any rocky road ice cream? I'm in the mood for something sugary and unhealthy."

"Nope," says Harry, "but there's a bottle of 1998 Veuve Clicquot in the cupboard that Dan brought over last time."

"I hate wine, especially if growing up means you gotta remember pretentious wine labels."

"At least you can legally drink in America, wine or not," Liam shrugs.

"I hate the States, it's too big and too hot and the girls scare me" Louis sulks, just to be contrary.

"Dear God, is he just going to get worse every year?" Zayn asks no one in particular. Louis slaps him (not too hard, because Zayn would never forgive him if he left a mark on his precious face), and Zayn tickles him (as hard as he can, because that's Louis's sole weakness). Harry joins in, going for a stealth attack via the backs of Louis's knees. Liam does his part by pinning Louis's arms behind his back. It doesn't take much to subdue the older boy because he's smaller than all of his younger bandmates.