by LiveLaughLoveLarry

31 short(ish) ficlets written for the 31 Days of Larry. Canon-compliant scenes ranging from this year all the way back to the very beginning.

Words: 328, Chapters: 2/31, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Josh Devine, Sandy Beales, Lux Atkin, Lou Teasdale, Jay Tomlinson, Dan Deakin

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Activism, Touring, Food Fight, Domestic Fluff, Fanvids, Fetus Direction, Fetus Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, The X Factor Era, Sleepy Harry, Mile High Club, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Supportive Boyfriend Louis, Supportive Harry, Protective Louis, Touchy-Feely, Judge Louis, Scrabble, Weddings, Skiing, Meditation, Returning Home, Angst, Fluff, Anniversary, idk there's 31 different scenes a lot happens

All 31 of the ficlets written for the #31DaysOfLarry are now on AO3. That’s 31 canon-compliant scenes from the very beginning through to the very present (not the very end, because this isn’t ending -- they’re still together, still going strong).

If you didn’t get a chance to see them when I was posting them, or missed a few, want to reread a favourite or two -- check them out!

Made In The AM

Niall feels comfortably floaty. The lingering effects of a few beers are still working their way through his bloodstream, and the hazy smoke of the joint they’re passing around fills his lungs. He takes one more puff, then hands it off to Louis beside him.

They’re all lying on their backs, heads together as they stare up at the ceiling and talk about nothing. Between the weed and the late hour and the history between them, everything sounds profound, even when it doesn’t mean a thing. Everything feels soft around the edges, and yet so much sharper.

“I know what you mean,” Liam says. and whoops apparently he said that out loud. His brain-to-mouth filter is questionable at the best of times, and when he’s high it disappears altogether. But he’s okay with that. He likes saying everything and nothing and knowing that the others will catch him.

“It’s like by focusing less on the details, the picture as a whole is that much more real,” Harry says. “So you can see the forest instead of the trees.”

“I wanna get lost in a forest,” Niall says. “Just wander off until I disappear. Until everything disappears.”

“We’d miss you though,” Louis says, laughing. “And you’d miss watching Derby.”

“No golf in the forest,” Harry adds.

Niall laughs too. “Okay, not everything, maybe,” he says. “But just like… detox, y’know. Get away from everything for a while. Purify and shit.”

“Realign your chakmas,” Liam says.

“Chakras.” Niall and Harry correct him at the same instant, and Niall can feel his shrug beside him.

“Same difference.”

They lapse back into comfortable silence. Liam hands the blunt back to Niall, and he lifts it to his lips and inhales. The smoke burns his throat, his chest tingling, and then he exhales and watches the cloud of his breath form and fade.

“It’s funny,” Liam says, as Niall passes the joint along. “I think these are my favourite times. I love performing, and writing, and meeting people, all that shit. But I don’t need it, really.”

“And you do need us?” Niall can hear the grin in Louis’ voice. “Careful Liam, you’re getting sappy again.”

“I mean it though,” he says. “I love you guys, you know.”

Chuckles fill the room, but everyone says it back with no hesitation. It’s true. They love each other.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” Louis says after a moment. “Sometimes I can’t tell if we’re on top of the world or on top of a cliff. But I’m not afraid. Not with you guys at my side.”

Niall hums in agreement. Some days are easier. Some days are hard. On the hard days, he has his best friends to pick him up, to have his back. On the better days, he does the same for them. When he struggles with the crowds, the others close ranks around him, making him feel safe and protected. When Harry has a cold, they take turns bringing him tea and blankets and cough drops and making sure he’s resting his voice. When Louis is feeling insecure about his voice, they sit him down and make him watch Best Of videos or read vocal analyses.

They take care of each other. They might rule the world, but they know it’s only because people have decided they’re worth it. It could still crumble. Niall doesn’t think it will, but it could. And if it does, the important things won’t change. They’ll still take care of each other. They’ll still be there for each other whenever they need it, whatever they need.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Wow... I still can’t believe I did it. This has been a heck of a month, and it’s been so fun exploring these little snippets of sort-of-maybe-reality and sharing them with all of you. I know I’ve said it many times, but I really am so dang grateful to every single one of you. Seeing people respond to these stories, care about them, share them, it means the world.

So, for the last time this month, please do share, comment, message me, etc. If you’d like to read more of my work, you can find my other fics as well as the rest of this month’s drabbles here. Part of the purpose of this month’s event is to raise money for Louis’ and Harry’s birthday charity drives, so if you’re able, please do donate! Finally, be sure to check out the giveaway!

Four

Liam takes another bite of his pizza as he looks around their little circle. Zayn is sprawled on his left, reclining on a pile of cushions. Niall is beside him, wrapped in a blanket, a slice of pizza in each hand. He alternates between them, a bite of the Meat Lover’s, then a bite of the Hawaiian. Harry is next, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, rings flashing in the light as he picks the pineapple chunks off his pizza to eat first. Louis’ head rests on his thigh, resulting in the occasional dropped piece of fruit on his face, which Harry usually licks off.

Liam smiles as he looks at them. They’re all so different from each other – and so different from who they were the first time they gathered here in Harry’s bungalow, a group of nervous teenagers, strangers thrown together by fate but determined to make the best of it. They had almost nothing in common besides a dream, and yet – they fit.

Four years later, they still fit. They’ve done so much together, travelled the world, performed on the grandest stages, met people that they never would have dreamed of (Liam’s still half convinced that meeting Justin Timberlake was a dream), they’ve grown and they’ve learned and they’ve stood side by side through it all. There have been days where it was the best job in the world, and days where it was the worst. But they were never alone.

Yesterday had marked four years since they were put together, their fates forever changed, for worse or for better. They’d been wined and dined at a fancy restaurant to mark the occasion, rubbing shoulders with the fancy suits who had put them here, or who wanted to be a part of where they went next. It had been nice, but almost uncomfortably fake – which he supposed was apt, in a way.

But tonight – tonight was just for them. No suits, no caviar, no champagne, just greasy pizza on paper plates and plastic cups of Coke, exactly as they had on that night in the bungalow when everything fell together for the first time. It’s not fancy, it’s not expensive, it’s just normal. It’s just them.

Liam sets down his slice of pizza and wipes his fingers on a paper napkin. Zayn glances over at him, curious, and Liam smiles. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, picking up his cup.

The others stop what they’re doing to look at him, leaving Harry with a half-drawn tomato sauce penis on his cheek. Liam has to look away to keep from laughing.

“I’m not much of one for speeches-”

“Yes you are,” they chorus, and Liam laughs.

“All right, maybe I am,” he admits, his ears pink. “But I think this occasion merits a little speech.”

He glances around to make sure, but no one says a word, waiting expectantly. He lifts his cup.

“I still can’t believe it’s been four years,” he says. “It seems like just last month we were on the X Factor together, and now… everything has changed. In ways I never would have imagined, never could have imagined.”

He smiles, meeting each of their eyes, and they smile back.

“I don’t know what’s next,” he continues after a moment, “but I just want you to know that I’m so grateful for everything we’ve had together. I’m so grateful to have found four of the best friends in the world to do this with. I can’t imagine what this would have been like alone, how much harder it would have been. But I don’t have to. Because I was never alone. I always knew you guys had my back, no matter what.”

“And you had ours,” Louis says softly.

There’s a murmured sound of agreement, and then Niall lifts his cup. “To us,” he says. “To teamwork. To sticking together against all odds. To the best friends a guy could have.”

“To four amazing years,” Harry adds, lifting his own cup.

Zayn follows suit. “And to many more.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

So basically I’m so fucking proud of everything they’ve done together and I’m so excited for everything they’re going to do because I know them and I know it will be amazing (though if Louis doesn’t release Always You soon I might die)(I mean I’ll die when he releases it too but YOU GET MY POINT anyways). They’ve been through so much together, and they could have let it break them, but they didn’t. We’ve been through so much with them, and sometimes it’s stung like a bitch but I refuse to let it break me. I’ll be here til the bitter end -- or the happy ending, really. They’re stuck with me. For life.

Anyways, thank you for sticking with me through this story and/or this month, and for every like, share, comment, message, etc. I’m so grateful for all your support and your love. If you’d like to see more of my work, you can find the rest of this month’s drabbles and my other fics here. Or if you’re able, I highly encourage you to donate to Louis’ birthday drive or Harry’s birthday drive. And be sure to check out the giveaway!  

Midnight Memories

Zayn loves nights out with Louis. He loves to lose himself in the music of clubs he can’t name, loves running down darkened streets in search of adventure, loves the wild things Louis dreams up once they get going, things he’d never have thought of – like climbing up the outside of a kid’s playground or somersault racing through parks.

He loves nights in with Louis, watching corny movies or shit television with massive bowls of popcorn. Sometimes Harry will join them, though Zayn has threatened to dump his bowl on them more than once when they got a little too distracted.

He loves seeing them together, loves how soft and supportive and strong they are with each other, but sometimes he just wants to drag Louis away. He’s not sure if it’s envy

He hates nights like tonight. Nights where Harry calls him and just says, “He needs you, Z.” And Zayn will always come, because as much as he hates seeing Louis like this, he’d do anything for him.

Louis is curled up in the corner of the living room when Zayn arrives, letting himself in. His back is pressed to the wall, his knees pressed tight to his chest, his cheeks red and streaked with tears. Harry sits at his side, rubbing his leg gently. Zayn crouches on his other side, reaching in to hug Louis.

“Hey, man,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Louis’ body is stiff for a moment, almost frozen, and then his arms wrap around Zayn, holding him so tightly Zayn is momentarily concerned for his ribs.

“Nothing is okay,” Louis chokes. “God, Zayn, I just hate it. I hate it all.”

“I know,” Zayn says simply. “It’ll be okay.”

Harry catches his eye, his hands twisting nervously around each other. Zayn nods. Go, he mouths. I’ve got him.

Harry nods gratefully and obeys, pausing only for a moment in the doorway to look back at them. Then he’s gone, probably headed for the kitchen to stress-bake or -clean or something. He’ll be fine. Zayn has bigger concerns.

He carefully sits down beside Louis, who hasn’t loosened his grip an inch. Zayn runs his hand along Louis’ back, murmuring comforting words as Louis shakes beside him.

Normally, when Louis is feeling low, he turns to Harry. They’ve been through so much together, they understand each other like no one else can. But sometimes, the comfort Harry provides is twisted together with the pain until it hurts almost as much to have him as to miss him.

Those are the nights when Harry calls Zayn.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers after what feels like an eternity. “I know you have your own stuff, and this all probably seems-”

“Don’t apologize,” Zayn says, his voice slightly sharper than he means it to be. He softens it as he continues. “You have every right to be angry, to be hurt. Anyone would be. It’s not a competition. You’re so strong, Lou, but the stuff you’ve had to deal with… it would fuck with anybody.”

“I just…” Louis bites his lip. “I hate that I can’t protect him. I hate that no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Zayn wants to tell him it is enough, wants to tell him Harry wouldn’t ask for anything more. He knows that’s what Harry would say. He also knows that’s why Louis doesn’t want to tell Harry, doesn’t want to burden him further. It’s not about whether it’s enough for Harry. It’s not enough for Louis.

“I can never decide what hurts worse,” Louis continues. “Lying, or watching Harry lie. Going on stunts, or watching Harry go on stunts. And I know it hurts him too, either way. And there’s just – nothing I can do. I’m helpless.” He chokes on a sob, and Zayn rubs tiny circles into his back.

Louis has always needed to protect people. He comes off as immature and irresponsible, but as much as he loves running wild, causing chaos and making mischief, he’s always the first one to notice when someone is feeling down or uncomfortable or afraid. He’s always the first one to volunteer for the hard jobs, or to pitch in for a charity event. Helping is in his blood, so being helpless… he almost doesn’t know who he is without it.

Harry always wants to fix it when Louis gets like this. Zayn wishes that were possible. But these nights are the nights when Louis is most honest with himself, and that honesty aches, but it’s also healing. He has to break himself open in order to be able to breathe again. Zayn can’t fix that. No one can. All he can do is sit with him, and bear witness – tell him, I’m here, I see you, you’re real.

Harry reappears in the doorway with a pair of steaming tea mugs, which Zayn takes gratefully. He presses one into Louis’ hands, wrapping his icy fingers around it and lifting it to Louis’ lips. Louis sips obediently, shivering as the burning liquid courses down his throat.

“You’ve got this,” Zayn murmurs. “You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you think. You’re a survivor, Lou. A fighter.”

Louis takes another sip and says nothing. His eyes are still damp, his face still drawn, but his breathing is easier. Zayn gives it five minutes before he starts to droop. After a good night’s sleep, he’ll be okay – exhausted, and not as lively as usual, but okay.

Four minutes and twenty-six seconds later, Louis’ head tips onto Zayn’s shoulder. He pulls himself upright, blinking hard, but Zayn knows it’s time. He pulls the half-empty mug from Louis’ limp grasp and sets it aside, then scoops Louis up. He feels almost feather light in Zayn’s arms, and fits perfectly. His head rests against Zayn’s collarbone, his breathing slow and deep.

Zayn carries him upstairs, and Harry finds him as he lays Louis on the bed. They tuck the blankets carefully around him, and Harry presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to say goodnight to Zayn, okay babe?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll be right back.”

Louis’ head moves slightly in what might be a nod, and Harry and Zayn step into the hallway, pulling the door almost closed behind them.

“How was he?” Harry asks quietly, waiting for Zayn’s signal – whether he heads for the door, or for the guest room that’s been designated as Zayn’s. It’s almost a barometer of its own; he doesn’t stay over every time, but sometimes Louis wakes up again in the night. And tonight was…

“Not good,” Zayn says honestly. He heads down the hall to the guest room, and Harry follows him with a worried sigh. Louis sometimes asks him not to tell Harry what he says, and Zayn lies and says he won’t, and Louis pretends to believe him. It doesn’t feel dishonest. There’s nothing Louis and Harry don’t share, but there are some things Louis just can’t say. “He feels guilty that he can’t protect you. That no matter what he does, what he takes on or what you do, it still hurts you both.”

Harry nods. “I do too,” he admits. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t,” Zayn says simply. “You just be there for him. Just like he will be for you. Just like I am for both of you, and Niall, and Liam. We’re a team. We’re a family.”

“Thank you,” Harry says as they reach the door. He reaches out, tugging Zayn into a hug that’s half gratitude and half a desperate need for comfort.

Zayn hugs him back. He feels both too. He’s grateful that Louis trusts him enough to open up to him. He’s grateful that Harry trusts him enough to call him. He’s grateful to know that they both have his back on the nights when he needs them. But he so desperately wishes that none of them needed it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

....sorry? I didn’t realize this was going to be an angsty one from the prompt, but as soon as I started forming the scene, it was. I think a part of me just wants to rebel against expectations, against what’s obvious or easy. Or maybe I just have too many emotions and want to give them all away. Like Oprah. You get an emotion! You get an emotion! Everybody gets an emotion!

Anyways, if you’ve forgiven me for this, please consider reblogging or commenting. Honestly, I’m okay with messages accusing me of cruelty too (I probably deserve that...). If you liked what you read (masochist) and want more, you can find more of my work here (I swear it’s not all angsty!!!). If you’re able, please consider donating to Louis’ birthday drive or Harry’s birthday drive. And be sure to check out the giveaway!

Take Me Home

Harry loves touring. He really does. He loves the thrill of being onstage, loves feeling the energy of the crowd in his bones, loves that he gets to do what he loves most for a career. He loves travelling to new places, loves meeting fans, loves spending time with four of his favourite people in the world. He loves his job.

But sometimes, he misses home. Sometimes he just wants to curl up in his own bed, no matter how nice the hotel sheets smell. Sometimes he just wants tea in his favourite mug, or to cook in his own kitchen where he knows where everything is. He wants to walk down familiar streets to find the familiar faces of his friends and family.

He loves his job, but he loves coming home even more. Louis drives – they could order a car, but it’s not the same. The feeling of watching the darkened streets turn into their streets, the ones they’ve walked down and bought groceries on and had dinners on, it’s not the same from the backseat. So even though they’re both exhausted from the flight, they’re smiling as they watch the memories roll past the windows.

“I still can’t believe it’s over,” Harry muses, smiling at a park where he and Louis had picnicked the previous summer. “It felt like it would last forever, but then it was just… gone.”

“It’ll start up again before you know it,” Louis says, chuckling. “Not even two weeks, and then we’re off to Mexico.”

“Mexico,” Harry repeats, half-awed. A few years ago – hell, even last year – he’d never have imagined that his life would ever take him to Mexico. He’s excited, obviously. But a part of him wishes they didn’t have to go, wishes they could just stay in England, at least for a little while longer.

A minute later, Louis turns onto their street, and then they’re pulling into the garage and they’re home, and the word has never tasted sweeter. Harry twists to grab his bag from the back seat, and when he turns back Louis has walked around the car to open his door for him. Harry’s heart flips and he smiles, the gesture small but meaning the world. It’s the little things, sometimes, the things that remind him that he’s still just in love as Louis as he was at the beginning, and that Louis is the same.

He steps out of the car, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Welcome home,” he murmurs.

Louis smiles, and then to Harry’s surprise, he bends down and scoops him up in a bridal carry. Harry yelps in shock, then dissolves into giggles as Louis stumbles slightly. His arms are locked around Louis’ neck, his head tucked against his shoulder as Louis carries him to the door. It’s locked of course, because they’re both idiots who forgot that they hadn’t been idiots three months ago when they left, and Louis refuses to set Harry down so Harry has to scramble for his keys while Louis struggles with his shifting weight. At last, the lock clicks and they push the door open.

“Honey, I’m home,” Louis says as they step inside.

Harry giggles. “You always love to say that.”

Louis sets Harry’s feet gently on the ground and straightens. “I do,” he says. “I love having a place like this to call home, and I love having you to come home to.”

He kisses Harry, soft and sweet and sleepy, and Harry kisses him back. It’s familiar and it’s fresh and it’s home. Louis tastes like exactly where Harry belongs.

He has to pull back a moment later to yawn, and Louis bursts into laughter. “Past your bedtime, little one,” he teases, and Harry shoves him gently.

“Shut up,” he says, not meaning it.

“Make me,” Louis says, meaning it.

Harry kisses him again, quick and dirty, nipping at Louis’ bottom lip before pulling away. “If I pass out down here you’ll have to carry me up to bed,” he says, stretching. “And given how much trouble you had just getting me in the door, I don’t think you’d fare well on the stairs.”

Louis laughs but doesn’t disagree. They head upstairs in companionable silence, and Harry really shouldn’t be this happy about brushing their teeth together in their own bathroom, but he is. As they crawl into bed, the mattress and linens not quite as luxurious as the hotels they stay in but theirs, Harry lets out a sigh of happiness. Louis lets out a similarly satisfied noise as he wraps his arms around Harry, pulling him close to his chest.

Harry doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thank you as always for your support, for everyone who has read or reblogged or commented or followed or anything. You all mean the world to me; I love doing this but that connection with people is what really makes it feel real. If you liked what you saw enough to want more, check here for the rest of this month’s drabbles, as well as my other fics. I also highly encourage anyone who’s able to donate to Louis’ birthday drive or Harry’s birthday drive. And be sure to check out the giveaway!

Up All Night

It’s almost three in the morning, Louis’ eyes are sticky with lack of sleep, but he doesn’t want to go to home. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of the magic that seems to surround him at every turn. He still can’t believe this is his life now, surrounded by the rich and famous in their fanciest suits and dresses, expensive drinks and snacks – sorry, hors d’oeuvres – being offered by smartly dressed waiters, and the knowledge that a tiny silver statuette now belongs to them as the “Best New Artist” of the year.

What is his life.

He spots Harry talking with a couple of people he vaguely recognizes – he thinks they’re probably actors or something, maybe presenters during the show. As he watches, Harry looks up, meeting his eyes and giving him a smile that makes Louis feel like he’s the only other person in the room. He half-wishes they were, wishes there was nobody watching and no cameras and no rumour mills and no need for modesty and nothing to think about but them. He wishes he could take Harry’s hand and slow dance with him in the middle of the room. But it’s too crowded and too loud and the music too fast and too exposed and they’re not allowed.

So instead, he makes his way through the crowd and presses himself to Harry’s side. “Hi,” he says, smiling at the others of the group. “I’m Louis, Harry’s bandmate.”

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” says one, reaching out for a handshake. “Andy. Really enjoyed your performance tonight.”

“Congrats on the win,” adds another, offering another handshake. “Well deserved. I’m James, by the way.”

Louis has never struggled to make friends, regardless of circumstance – he didn’t always like the friends he had, but he could always have them. But now… it feels unreal. Like the whole world wants to be his friend. Or, weirder still, like the whole world already thinks they are, already feels like they know him. Sometimes it makes his head spin, wondering where the line is between who he is and who people think he is.

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Right now, he wants to talk with these lovely people for a few more minutes, and then find an excuse to pull his even lovelier boyfriend off to a quiet corner somewhere.

They step out into the hallway, the sound of their footsteps loud on the stone floors and echoing around them. Louis takes Harry’s hand, feeling the way their fingers slot together like they were made for each other. It feels like coming home.

They don’t go far, only around the next corner into an empty hallway lined with photographs and benches, but it’s enough to feel private. A tension Louis didn’t realize had settled in his chest eases and he breathes deeply.

“We can go if you want to,” Harry says softly.

Louis shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s just… a bit overwhelming sometimes. Everything happening so fast.”

“It’s a lot,” Harry agrees. “It still feels like it’s happening to someone else sometimes. Like… this can’t be my life.”

“But it is.” Louis shakes his head. “It’s crazy.”

They stand there for a moment, and then Louis steps closer, tucking himself into Harry’s arms. Harry holds him close, chin tucked into his neck, and Louis clings to him just as tightly. He wants to be this close always.

“I love you,” he murmurs to Harry. “I love you so much. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Likewise,” Harry says. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I still can’t believe I’m this lucky.”

“To get to call you mine,” Louis agrees, or finishes, he’s not sure which.

“I am yours,” Harry says softly. “Always.”

“And I’m yours.”

Harry’s lips are soft on Louis’, slow and gentle, like everything Harry does. His hands trace down Louis’ back and he shivers, wanting more. He always wants more, craves more, needs more. But for now, in this moment, as he kisses Harry back with fire and feathers, everything he has is perfect.

They return to the party a few minutes later, secret smiles tucked away in shirt pockets, and Louis will gladly stay until sunrise if Harry is beaming at his side.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For the last five days of October, I’m planning to use the albums as prompts. Hopefully I can find a bit of variety in the stories, since the titles themselves are a bit themed XD Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and always please feel free to reblog, comment, message, etc. I’d love to hear anything you have to say, about my writing or about Larry or about your life or literally anything -- I’m lonely lol. If you enjoyed this and want more, you can find the rest of the month’s drabbles and all my other fics here. I also highly encourage anyone who’s able to donate to Louis’ birthday drive or Harry’s birthday drive. And be sure to check out the giveaway!

Z is for... Zen

“If you’re going to make fun of meditation you should at least know what you’re talking about.”

Louis gives Harry a blank stare. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Harry leans forward from his crosslegged position and pats the floor in front of him. “Sit,” he says. “You’re going to meditate too.”

“Like hell I am!”

“You are.”

He probably is, is the thing. He’s never been able to deny Harry a thing. And as much as he teases him, he’s fascinated by the effect it seems to have on him, leaving him almost glowing. So as much as Louis complains as he drags himself to the spot Harry indicated, he’s curious – intrigued, even.

“Sit tailor-style,” Harry instructs. Louis gives him another blank look, and Harry lets out a breath that’s more laugh than sigh. “Criss-cross applesauce,” he says in a singsong voice. Louis rolls his eyes, but says nothing. He deserved that.

“Rest your hands on your knees, or in your lap, wherever’s comfortable,” Harry says next. “And close your eyes.”

Louis obeys reluctantly – he’d rather watch Harry, but Harry is watching him back and he can’t get away with it this time. “Now what?” he asks.

“Just listen to my voice,” Harry says. “Let everything else fade away.”

That’s easy, Louis thinks. Thinking about Harry is always easy.

“We spend so much of our lives thinking about so many different things,” Harry continues, his voice low and soothing. “We think about the past and the future, mistakes and worries and plans and memories. Our minds are so busy, so cluttered. We’re constantly distracted, constantly seeking new things to catch our attention. Meditation is about letting all that go. Being present in the moment. Letting your mind go quiet.”

Louis has never been much of one for quiet. He lives for the constant thrum of activity and motion in his veins, trying this and that and hopping from idea to idea. The idea of trying to turn that off is foreign to him. Still, he tries. He focuses on Harry’s voice, focuses on his breathing as Harry counts, tries not to tap his fingers or think about how stiff his legs already feel.

Eventually, Harry goes silent, settling deeper into his own meditation. And Louis tries to the same, he really does. But his mind keeps wondering and his foot itches and there’s a crick in his neck and finally he gives up.

He opens his eyes, stretches, leans back against the couch. He tries to be quiet, to not disturb Harry, who doesn’t move an inch. His eyes remain closed, his breathing steady and slow, his hands held in perfect circles on his knees.

Louis watches him – studies him. He looks relaxed in a way Louis almost never sees him, like the world around him has dropped away – and in a way it has, he supposes. If only for a moment, the entire universe has ceased to matter, to even register. Harry’s face is smooth and peaceful, almost radiant; his breathing is rhythmic as ocean waves against the beach. He seems smaller than he is, folded together in a way that Louis can’t quite believe he finds comfortable, and yet he seems larger than life, all long limbs and long fingers and long hair and a presence that fills any room he enters.

He’s beautiful. He’s fascinating. He’s captivating.

Louis could watch him forever.

At last, Harry opens his eyes. He looks up at Louis, slouching against the couch and most definitely not communing with his third eye or whatever, and he smiles.

“Not your thing?” he says.

“Not really,” Louis says, shrugging. “You knew that.”

“I figured,” Harry agrees. “But I still wanted you to try it. How was it?”

“Weird,” Louis says. “I just – stillness and quiet aren’t really words that anyone has associated with me, well, ever.”

Harry laughs. “There is that,” he says. “Different strokes for different folks.”

“Are you propositioning me again?” Louis asks, mostly to change the subject. “Is that what your chakras have told you?”

“That’s not how chakras work,” Harry says, laughing as he rolls his eyes. “But really, when am I not propositioning you?”

The serenity of the moment dissolves, and they fall back into their comfortable bickering and teasing. Normalcy.

But the next time Harry settles down to meditate, Louis doesn’t tease him. Instead, he waits until Harry’s breathing has slowed, and then sits down to watch.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I don’t really like meditation in the strictest sense, because I cannot shut off my brain. There’s always something going on. Likewise, when it comes to falling asleep, I can’t think of nothing. Instead, for me, that kind of tranquility comes from settling into thinking less -- focusing on one train of thought, or focusing on the moment. I can’t really do structured meditations, they stress me out and make me feel wrong-footed. But just taking a moment to sit with myself, with my own thoughts and my own body and my own breathing and my own moments... that’s peaceful. That’s calming.

Anyways, I can’t believe that’s the entire alphabet. When I started this, I assumed I’d miss a few days here and there and it would balance out, but here I am, 26 days and 26 drabbles later, with no clue what to do for the next five days. Suggestions, please! I really want to finish the month; it’s been super fun writing these and I’ve loved seeing people’s responses. I’m so grateful for every like, reblog, comment, message, etc. If you enjoyed reading this enough that you want more, check out the rest of these drabbles as well as my other fics here. I also highly encourage anyone who’s able to donate to Louis’ birthday drive or Harry’s birthday drive. And be sure to check out the giveaway!