Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

i know you have a heavy heart (i can feel it when we kiss)

My absolute favorite.

Written by:itjustkindahappened

Summary:In which Louis is spending New Year's alone in France but he's definitely not running away, and Harry is a french florist with an ever present smile who cares a lot. They meet a cold night in the outskirts of Paris.

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It's December 30th in Paris. It's dark and cold and the sky is covered in tiny little stars, and Louis is sitting on a park bench lit up by the dim light of a street lamp with his knitted scarf pulled up over his nose, and he is definitely not running away.

He isn't. He swears. He just needs some variation, some time for himself, and he really felt like spending New Year's in France, is all. Besides, he has read somewhere that you should never make a special tradition out of New Year's Eve, because every year is different, and so should the end be, or something like that.

It had made sense at the time.

But, yeah. Louis isn't running away.

Another icing wind sweeps past, causing him to shudder and he mentally scolds himself. He really didn't think this through, did he?

Louis still has the memory fresh in mind, can still recall it perfectly. He has the picture burned into the inside of his eyelids. That awful picture of Ryan and that other guy, half naked, moaning and laughing into each other's mouths, tongues grossly swirling and disgustingly obvious tents in their pants rubbing together.

In their bed. In his bed.

"Oh," was all Louis had been able to get out, and Ryan's eyes had widened and he had stumbled out of the bed, trying to apologize and coming with some half-assed "Lou, I can explain".

His lips had been bruised and wet.

Louis had closed the door again before Ryan was even halfway across the room, rushing out of their flat.

So then there was the deep breathing, and the pushing back tears, and then there was the sudden, booked last-minute plane to France and the single text to Zayn, without any thoughts of possible consequences.

And here he is now. Without even a hotel room to return to. Louis thanks God for remembering to change some money at the airport. At least he's not broke.

Soon, he realizes that if he doesn't start walking soon, his bum will freeze to the bench, and he'd actually like to keep it (it is quite the boy magnet), so he raises from his seat and starts walking with shaky legs.

He passes a few shops and a café while walking. All of them seems closed, though. He'd guess he is somewhere in the outskirts of Paris, because everything is very quiet and dark and still. He kicks away a few pebbles on the pavement as he aimlessly keeps walking.

He almost misses the little flower shop as he walks with his head down, but stops just in time. It is bright in there, the shop window is filled with colorful flowers of all kinds.

Louis walks up to the door and opens it very carefully, bell jingling nicely over his head as he steps inside. And yes. It really is very, very lovely in here.

The wooden floor creaks under his feet as he walks around the high shelves filled with flowers. He breathes in the scent of them, sweet meeting bitter, soft meeting strong. The lighting is a bit dim at places, maybe, but it's just adding to the comfortableness.

Then a deep voice is heard behind him, and Louis yelps and jumps about two shelves high.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur, le magasin est fermé..."