#larry stylinson
#lourry
#I Hate You fic
#shibbi
Harry watched with a sort of vindictive pleasure as Louis shuffled around the studio, clearly not very comfortable. He had to work to keep in the grin as Louis lowered himself gingerly into the seat beside him, tucking himself into Harry’s side. The other boys took their places on the couch, giggling and messing around while they waited for the producer to yell for them to start. The bottle blonde woman and her grey haired, man-friend ignored them, chatting amongst themselves as they waited for the interview to start.
Harry inched his arm around Louis’ back, being sure to brush the leftover scratches from the night before. Louis turned slightly, glaring discretely at his not-quite-lover. Harry only smirked back, digging his fingers into the other boy’s side. Louis curled his own fingers around Harry’s hand, making it appear as though he was holding his hand, while pressing his index finger into the web between Harry’s own thumb and forefinger.
Harry winced, dissipating the pressure he had on Louis’ waist. Louis in turn released Harry’s hand, though not completely. To any outsider, it would look as though the boys were just being their normal, loving selves. But Harry knew better. That hand was a warning, letting him know that the second Harry tried anything, Louis would be on it.
The woman and her friend turned to them, wide, fake smiles plastered across their faces, as the producer yelled “rolling”. Louis sat up a little more, turning his battered back into Harry’s side, and laced his fingers in between Harry’s. Harry had to restrain himself from jerking away, from grimacing in disgust. Louis was always so much better at pretending than Harry was.
“Today, we’d like to welcome One Direction,” the woman started, clapping lightly as she introduced them, “They’ve just got back from a tour around the UK, and they’re going to be heading off to America in a few months.”
“They’ve also recently released an album,” the man added, a little too excitedly, “And they’re up for a Brit Award! Congratulations, boys! That must feel good!”
“Yeah, it does,” Liam answered happily, “We’ve all just been working really hard, and it’d be a dream come true to win the Brit.”
“We honestly never thought we’d get this far,” Zayn interjected easily, “We’re so grateful to everyone who has voted for us, and who will vote for us. We owe them a lot.”
“The fans are a huge part of what we do,” Niall continued, “We’d be nowhere without them.”
“We love our fans,” Louis exclaimed, “They’re the best part of this whole experience! They’re who we make the music for, they’re who’ve gotten us as far as we are, and they’re the reason we’re able to do what we love everyday and get payed for it!”
“And that we get to do it with four of our best friends,” Harry said, the lie rolling smoothly off his tongue, having been said so many times that it’d become second nature, almost. It’s not that he didn’t like the other three—no, they got on just fine—it was just him and Louis.
“That’s right! You’re all very close, aren’t you?” the woman’s smile widened. Harry nodded, answering for them.
“Yeah, we’re like brothers,” he told her, “Except me and Louis, of course,” He couldn’t help adding. Louis’ fingers squeezed his, warning him against whatever it was Harry was planning to do. The man looked at them, confused.
