Chapter Text
“Hey,” Louis hears a low voice say from behind him at the exact moment his snapback gets flipped off his head.
“Hey yourself, Curly,” Louis replies as he turns, already knowing who it is that sidled up behind him in line for the barbecue.
“How are you?” Harry asks, pulling Louis’ hat on backwards over his shaggy curls, dimples popping out in his cheeks as he smiles.
“Alright, yourself?” Louis is happy to see Harry, whose presence is the best distraction from the long line for barbecue he’s currently standing in at the end of another day.
“I’m awesome!” Harry tells him, keyed up and bouncing on his toes a little before he stumbles on himself and relaxes back down.
Louis smiles, running his eyes over Harry from top to bottom, taking in his tan and tattooed arms, visible under the white tank top that barely counts as a top he’s sporting.
“Ask me why!” Harry demands, pouting his bottom lip.
“Why what?” Louis teases.
“Louuuuu,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out a bit more. Louis caves.
“What has gotten you so excited, Harry?” Louis asks.
“Just talked to Kevin,” Harry tells him, Cheshire cat smile taking over his entire face.
“Well, that’s nice,” Louis quips. “He’s pretty cool. Likes when you compliment his fisherman’s hat, I’ve learned.”
“I wasn’t finished, smartass,” Harry retorts, poking Louis in the ribs. Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry takes a deep breath, gearing himself up.
“I talked to Kevin and he said he’s going to start moving us up in rotation with the other bands!” Harry finishes, spreading his arms wide in a grand flourish.
“Seriously? That’s amazing, Harry!” Louis exclaims, raising both of his hands for a double high-five. What he doesn’t expect is an armful of boy, squeezing him tight and burying his face in Louis’ hair.
“Oof,” Louis mutters as Harry pummels into him, closing his eyes as his chin hooks over Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s nose buried in his hair.
“More than amazing,” Harry mutters into his hair. And it should be disgusting, really. Louis finished a show roughly forty-five minutes ago and his hair is undoubtedly smelly and dirty from where it was stuffed under his snapback in the Texas sun. But he can’t stop himself from winding his arms around Harry’s upper back, holding him in place as Harry sighs contentedly.
It is amazing, really. Warped Tour operates under a principal of fairness, alternating the time slots of each band every day so it’s fair. However, that comes with limits. A band as big as The Rogue will never be found playing before three or four in the afternoon. A hometown band always gets a later slot, which can be a challenge in states with big alternative scenes, like California and New Jersey. And for Irish Breakfast, who has become known as “the luckiest band on Warped Tour,” their set time is always first, because it wouldn’t be fair to another band that earned their slot on Warped to open for a band with an audience of ten kids and some bored parents. Unless, of course, the luckiest band on Warped Tour has managed to befriend Warped Tour’s biggest act.
“He said our audience has been getting a lot bigger and he’s heard people checking us out, so he’s going to start mixing us in the other artists,” Harry babbles once he pulls away, arms slipping slowly from their spot on Louis’ waist, wide eyes shining with an excitement that makes Louis nostalgic for his first tour.
“Um, you boys might want to move on,” Jess Bowen, drummer of The Summer Set, points out, gesturing to the amount of people moving around Louis to get their food.
“Oops,” Harry murmurs, blush spreading over his cheeks.
“Come on, Curly, I’ll be livid if I have to wait for the next round of burgers,” Louis says, tugging on Harry’s arm to follow him.
“So,” Harry begins once their sitting in lawn chairs, paper plates of burgers and potato salad balanced on their laps. “I really want to take you out, as, like, a thank you?” His voice rises at the end of the sentence, turning it into a question.
“There’s honestly no reason to thank me, kid. You and Niall are the ones playing every morning and driving around in a cramped up van every night. All I did was make a tweet,” Louis replies.
“That’s not true,” Harry mutters quietly. “You did more than that and you know it,” Harry continues, voice growing louder with confidence. “You dressed up and took the time to watch us play, you befriended Niall and I and showed us around when we didn’t know anyone here and you knew what tweeting about us would do. So let me take you out, please.”
Louis, for once, does not have a reply resting on the tip of his tongue. “Well, can’t argue with that, I guess.”
“Yeah, so I was thinking maybe Niall could sleep on your bus and I could take you out as a thank you?” Harry asks, cheeks turning pink. “Not that Niall isn’t thankful too, because he is, but there’s only two of us and one of us has to drive the van so I thought that you could ride with me to San Antonio and I could take you out for a proper dinner tomorrow night. We would get to the venue a little bit later than the rest of the buses but you could go on yours once we get there. Unless you don’t want to, which-“
“Harry,” Louis interrupts, stopping Harry in his babble. “Slow down. I would love to get dinner and ride in the van with you. I’m not that spoiled, you know. I can drive in a van for a night.”
“Right,” Harry answers. “Right. So, tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Louis replies. “Tomorrow.”
+ -
“Hey, so Niall’s going to sleep on the bus tonight,” Louis says casually as he walks with Stan and Liam to the merch booth where they’ll be doing their signing.
“How come?” Stan asks, taking a swig from the bottle of water that’s sweating condensation down his arms.
“Harry asked if he could take me out tonight as, like, a thank you for showing him the ropes and tweeting about him and stuff,” Louis replies as nonchalantly as possible, trying to avoid what he knows is coming.
“Sounds like a date,” Liam comments.
“It’s not a date,” Louis says quickly. Not that it matters. Stan’s already crowing next to him, and once he starts it’s hard to shut him up.
“Our Tommo’s got a daaaaaate,” he teases, ruffling Louis’ hair as he skips forward.
“It’s not a date!” Louis insists.
“It’s a date,” Liam says.
“Et tu, Brutus?”
“Sorry, dude, but it’s a date,” Liam defends, raising his palms. “Harry’s been into you since you guys met and you’ve been into him for nearly as long. Plus, I tweeted too, and Niall is in Harry’s
band, yet neither of us are being taken out. It’s a date.”
“Shut up,” Louis mumbles.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Tommo!” Stan teases. “It’s about time! You never date. Besides, everyone’s been waiting for you to hook up. We’ve had a bet going, actually.”
“We’re not hooking up!” Louis cries. And then what Stan says hits him and his eyes narrow. “Wait. What bet?”
“The bet to see when you and Harry finally shag,” Liam supplies. Louis whacks him.
“Hey!” Liam cries, rubbing at his bicep.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Louis hisses. He goes to storm off but stops before he can get too far.
‘Wait. When do you two have bets placed?”
“I have my money on tomorrow and Liam has next Wednesday,” Stan offers helpfully.
“Excellent.” Louis says primly. “Thank you.”
As he walks ahead of them, Liam slaps Stan on the arm.
“What was that for?” Stan yelps. Liam has a lot of muscle from drumming. He can pack a punch.
“He’s going to hook up with Harry,” Liam tells him. “And now he’s going to wait until a day we don’t have bets placed. Stubborn prick.”
It’s not like Louis hasn’t thought about it.
+ -
“Welcome to our home,” Harry says as he tosses the door to the van open with a flourish.
“It’s…a van,” Louis comments as he takes a seat on the passenger seat, wiping off leftover crumbs, a pair of sunglasses and about seven empty bottles.
“That it is,” Harry agrees cheerfully as he slides behind the steering wheel. “But it’s all we’ve got.”
“it’s a rite of passage,” Louis says. “Every band tours in a shitty van at first.”
“Don’t gloat,” Harry warns. “We can’t all lounge about on air-conditioned buses.”
“I wasn’t gloating,” Louis says. “If I’m being honest, I miss the van days sometimes. Not that I don’t love the bus, but there was something about the van tours.”
“Nothing like waking up with someone else’s foot in your face?” Harry offers, laughing a bit.
“It was just fun,” Louis answers, shrugging his shoulders. “Time goes by fast and while I certainly never want to subject myself to Stan’s driving again, it was nice just driving sometimes with only Stan and Liam and whatever friend we coerced into selling our stuff. All that bonding and shit, you know?”
“Bonding and shit,” Harry replies. “How eloquent.”
Louis hums in acknowledgement and they drive for a while in an uneasy silence before Harry speaks up again.
“I guess I know what you mean, though. Niall’s my best mate. I can’t really imagine doing this without talking to him and being with him all the time.”
“Enjoy it, curly,” Louis says. “You only do it for the first time once.”
“I am,” Harry tells him. “I’m really enjoying it.”
“I’m glad,” Louis answers softly, turning to look at Harry’s profile. He has his hair long and loose, wisps flying around his face from the air coming through the half-open window. Sunglasses are perched on his regal-looking nose and he chews on his bottom lip a bit as he drives, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel along with the country music playing through the radio. It’s endearing as all get out if Louis’s being honest with himself.
“So,” Louis continues, snapping himself out of his fond gaze. “Why on earth are we listening to a song about pickup trucks and fishing poles right now?”
“Niall and I decided to only listen to local radio stations during the tour,” Harry answers. Louis smiles involuntarily because that is so cute and so Harry that he can’t help it.
“To each his own,” Louis says in response. “But personally, I would rather not listen to songs about beer and Alabama.”
“You can change it if you want,” Harry offers. “We don’t get the best radio signal all the time and we don’t have anything to play an iPod, but you can put on a CD if you want,” he gestures to the scratched-up discs scattered among the other debris in the van, some clearly organized and in cases and other strewn about in abandon.
Louis is fishing through the CD’s, surprised at the variety (The Spice Girls, really?) but pauses when he comes to one.
“Hey…this is mine,” Louis says, holding up the case to The Rogue’s very first album.
“So it is,” Harry replies, grinning. “It’s, y’know, it’s ok,” he teases. “Not great or anything.”
“I’ll have you know I poured my heart and soul into that album, Harold. It was and is fine art. Art!” Louis emphasizes, case flying as he moves his arms dramatically.
“Whoops,” He mutters, watching the case fly into the back of the van.
Harry laughs and glances at Louis in the rearview mirror. “You can go grab it if you want,” he suggests, but Louis blows it off.
“Nah, I was only kidding,” he says. “Wasn’t really my favorite record anyway.”
“You don’t like your own music?” Harry asks.
“I like it enough,” Louis answers, shrugging again. “I normally really like them when we finish and then I hate them as I listen back later. I only like what’s shiny and new, I guess. And then I
get bored. Pretty typical for me.”
“I hope not,” Harry mumbles under his breath, but something tells him Louis heard him anyway.
+ -
Harry stops at some hole in the wall barbecue joint with what is hands down the best ribs Louis has ever eaten. They gorge themselves on ribs and pulled pork, mac and cheese and glasses of iced tea as Harry tells Louis all about his family and friends and interests.
“That was the best thing I have ever eaten,” Harry sighs, wondering if he could subtly unbutton his jeans underneath the table without Louis noticing.
“You gotta love Texas,” Louis groans, looking a bit green as he pushes his plate away.
“I think I have a new favorite state,” Harry agrees, moaning as he forces himself to stand up.
Louis whines as Harry motions for him to stand, holding up his hand for Harry to help him up. He pretends he doesn’t feel anything when Harry twines their fingers together, leading them out
the restaurant to the truck.
“Look, Lou, a band!” Harry says excitedly, gesturing to a bar across the street where a country band is playing on a stage underneath trees strung up with twinkle lights.
They stroll over to where people are dancing, cowboy boots kicking up dirt under their boots as they twirl to the music.
“Dance with me,” Harry demands, pulling Louis towards the middle of the throng of people, swaying his hips rhythmically as he does.
“Please no,” Louis argues, covering his face with his hand as Harry begins to dance on his own, arms up in the air.
“Come on, Lou, please,” Harry pouts, sticking out his lower lip. “We’re only going to be in Texas together once and I want to dance with you!”
“Alright,” Louis gives in, grabbing Harry’s hand and lifting it to twirl him under. “Just for you, kid.”
Louis can hear the snaps of cell phone cameras from the people around them and he only hopes they’re not taking pictures of him as he and Harry pretend to square dance and tip imaginary hats at each other. They dance for an hour before they call it quits, buying bottles of water before getting back in the van and heading onto the road.
“You’re a good dancer,” Louis mumbles drowsily from the passenger seat. He’s so comfortable folded on the bucket seat, just Harry and an open road, radio playing quietly as they make their way to the next stop. He always was comfortable on the road.
“Just kind of an idiot, really,” Harry says in response, giving Louis an ample opportunity to make one of his cutting remarks, as he so usually does.
“Wouldn’t agree with that myself,” Louis whispers, much more gentle and honest than his typical show-off veneer.
Harry blushes, running a hand through his hair as he attempts to think up a way to answer that. Minutes pass before his nervous voice creeps out into the dark.
“Louis?”
“Yeah, kid?” Louis answers.
“Was this a date?” Harry’s voice is timid, afraid of the answer.
“Do you want it to be?” Louis asks in return.
“Yes, please.” Louis laughs quietly in his seat, but it’s an adoring sort of laugh, the one you make when you’re so fond of someone or something that you can’t help it.
“Then it’s a date.”
+ -
At some point in the night, Louis must wake up from where he conked out in the passenger seat and makes his way to the back of the van, crawling up next to Harry and falling back asleep with a stack of Irish Breakfast t-shirts as his pillow.
Harry wakes up to the van door being thrown open and a loud cackle of Irish laughter.
“Look at you two! Curled up like puppies and all!” Niall laughs, snapping a picture on his iPhone. "So damn cute!"
“Niall, I am actually going to murder you,” Louis deadpans from where he’s lying curled up on his side, shoving his face into his makeshift pillow.
“No you wouldn’t!” Niall sings as he starts rummaging through the van for his stuff. “You like Harry too much to hurt me!”
“The little bastard has a point,” Louis mumbles, making Harry laugh too.
“Come on Harry, get up, we have a show to play!” Niall calls, grabbing his guitar and tossing a tank top of questionable cleanliness on Harry’s face.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Harry groans, scrubbing his hand over his face as he moves into a sitting position.
“Lou? Do you want to go to your bus?” Harry asks gently, running a hand over Louis’ back. They arrived at the venue late last night and only slept for a few hours.
Louis whines before he sits up, hair sticking up in a million directions and baring a strong resemblance to a disgruntled kitten.
“Come on,” Harry says, beckoning him out of the van. He walks Louis over to his bus and hesitates outside, unsure of what to do. Is it too soon for him to kiss Louis? Would Louis even want to? He’s cute and caring but intimidating as hell and Harry isn’t quite sure what the precedent is for kissing someone you spent the night in a dirty van with while he’s wearing messy clothes and can’t quite remember his last shower.
“Louis! We have to do that interview with Fuse this morning! Did you forget?” Liam reminds him as he tosses open the door to the bus. “Hurry up and shower dude, we have to go in ten minutes!”
“Shit,” Louis mumbles. He looks at Harry apologetically before smiling softly.
“We better go,” he reminds Harry, gently pushing him to where an impatient-looking Niall is waiting across the parking lot. “Sing pretty, kid.”
Harry smiles too wide for his face, white teeth on display, as he starts backing up. “I always do, babe.”