Sing When You're Winning (Larry Stylinson FanFiction).

Chapter One.

Harry is fifteen minutes late to the office on the day Louis Tomlinson comes out as gay.

He's idly waiting in line in Costa – since Starbucks was too busy to even attempt queuing for, and he doesn't like to drink the caffeine-laced Nero sludge unless he's had no sleep the night before – and checking his Twitter feed when everything starts to blow up. TOMMO'S GAY is SunSport's eloquent contribution, first in line: then BBC Sport with BREAKING NEWS: England and Liverpool winger Louis Tomlinson comes out as gay, and a steady stream as the rest of the broadsheets, tabloids, and news outlets catch up. He's so engrossed that the barista has to loudly shake him out of his reverie, glaring at him as she says, "Can I help you?"

"Oh, um. Right." He hurriedly sets Twitter aside and orders the office's normal round: black-like-my-soul double espresso for Nick; chai latte for Aiden; frothy cinnamon latte for Perrie; and flat white for him. He pays and somehow manages to hold the cupholder in the contorted grip of one hand and his phone in the other, as he weaves his way out of the shop and onto the street, bustling with Manchester's rush-hour commuters.

The office is only five minutes away, so Harry thinks he can wait to check his phone until he's inside the building, even though the desire to just crawl into a corner and absorb everything about the Biggest Thing in Football This Week or Possibly Ever is quite alarmingly high.  He's lost in thought – what does this mean for the sport, how is the rest of the world going to react, damn, is he hot? – as he porter buzzes him in, and he feels a weird sense of belonging that the porter now recognises him and doesn't ask for his ID anymore: he gets the lift up to the fifth floor with a pair of skinny blonde PR executives from Tapir PR and Marketing, who share the floor with Xpose magazine. They both smile at him, and he nods back before hurriedly looking away at the wall. Which turns out to be a mirror. They're still staring. Harry resolutely stares at his feet instead, and the rest of the journey seems to pass agonisingly slowly.

When the lift doors ping open, he slips out as the blondes start muttering behind him, barrelling through the doors to the office and to the sight of Nick dramatically swivelling round in his chair to face him.

"Oh-so-usually-reliable intern, what took you so long?" he demands, as Harry hurries to his desk to deposit the coffee. He wrinkles his nose up when he takes the cup, inspecting the insignia. "Costa? Costa? Did a bomb hit Starbucks? Did you get temporary amnesia and forget that I am aone coffee shop man?"

"Brand loyalty only makes you weak and highly susceptible to marketing," Harry opines, while quickly dealing out the rest of the drinks. Perrie is lovingly re-touching a spread of Will Young for next month's issue, and gives him a dreamy smile as he hands over the coffee. Aiden's on the phone and doesn't even acknowledge him.

"Well," Nick says, as Harry dumps the cupholder in the recycling and finally takes a sip of his own drink, eyes glued to his phone again, "it iscoffee, at least, which is better than nothing. Excuse me? Harry?" He clicks his fingers, and Harry stands somewhat guiltily to attention. In the three months he's been working – 'working', he thinks, adding the quotation marks in his head and thinking of his non-existent salary – at Xpose he's become so familiar with his boss-slash-editor it's occasionally easy to forget he's just that. Boss-slash-editor.

"Yes, boss?" Harry says, regretfully stuffing the phone in his pocket.

"Young love, is it? Last night's conquest? Or just Mum wishing you a lovely day?"

"Um, none of the above." He sips on his drink again, sidling up to Nick's desk. "A footballer came out today."

"Came out of what? Retirement? Rehab? A brothel?"