Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

you and me were kings

I absolutely love this one.

Written by:ithacas

Summary:harry plays football in a small town in west texas. louis might be the only person that doesn't give a damn. au.

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It was the lights, Louis thinks.

When he lets himself remember his dad, when he sees him in his mind's eye, a tall, dark-haired man in a baseball cap, too small for his head because he never got one that fit, always borrowed it from Louis, he always thinks about the lights. That must have been what drew him to football; the lights hitting the field, just after the Friday night game, when it still smelt faintly of just on the side of burnt hot dogs and grass and there was still a sense of excitement in the air, even if the game had gone badly. It must have been the lights that kept him going, in the seconds after the field was empty, just before someone behind the bleachers cut the power.

That's his last memory of him, a long shadow extending from his feet making him look like the giant Louis always thought him to be, dressed in red and white, under the lights of the football field. Louis thinks he gets it then; the way he used to get football, the way he doesn't get it anymore. If it was the lights, then it makes sense; if it was the lights, then maybe for a few seconds Louis can forgive him for running away from them.

The lights aren't on now. It's past midnight and it's a Tuesday, late in August, so the field is pitch black, the occasional car on the 95 blinking in the distance. The only ghostly glow comes from the phone in his lap, headphones in the jack as he shuffles through his playlist.

moms asking when your coming home ?

He ignores Lottie's text - same as he has all summer, even when he was in another state and his sister kept emoting at him through sad parentheses - and keeps on staring at the end of the field, the slightly fading yellow of the goal post hanging in the dark. He should call his mom, let her know he's alive and hasn't ran on the highway in the hopes that some stray truck might put him out of his misery.

He's been a right fuck all day, he knows, ever since he got back last night from the airport; after he hugged his kid sisters and marveled at the sign they made him - Louis, Louis, Louis, You're Home, You're Home, You're Home, in the school colors, with little Daisy wearing a cheerleading outfit mom had spend probably too much time fashioning - after he held his mother tight as he could because, try as he might, he missed her, he'd turned into his usual teenage asshole self when they drove away from Odessa.

He couldn't help it - still can't help it. He hates that he's back here, back in Texas, back in this fucking town of barely three thousand, where everyone knows his name and everyone knows his dad and no one cares about anything that doesn't involve throwing a ball around every Friday night. He'd finally felt like he was breathing this summer; properly, filling his lungs with air that wasn't tainted by Coach Tomlinson and Falcon pride, living in a city where no one fucking knew him, doing shit he'd never even let himself dream of until he'd crossed the Interstate and left all of this behind.

He kicks out in frustration, scuffing his high tops on the grass, getting mud on the side and smudging the smiley faces someone drew on with a Sharpie. At least there's an end in sight, he figures; at least this is it, the last year before he fucks off officially, leaving this dead end town to its dead end future. He breathes out shakily and falls back on the lawn, the back of his T-shirt getting wet with dew, hair falling across his face as he gazes up and pretends he can count the stars.

He gets to five plus a UFO or something - it went by too fast to be an airplane and he'd watched a couple episodes of the X-Files on his flight back so he has an excuse - when he realises the coughing in his ears isn't coming from some pretentious indie conceptual art type shit music he'd taken to listening to while he was away. He flutters his eyes open and focuses on the head that's looking over him upside-down, curls framing the familiar face. It's still too dark to make out properly but you don't live in Sterling, TX for three years and not recognise the starting quarterback of the Sterling Falcons; he's had it drilled into him almost since the first day he set foot here that those curls can make miracles happen.