Work Text:
Grey.
Harry makes his way through the doors of JFK international airport and it is grey. The concrete car park and the sliding door and the drizzling sky above all look the same. It’s the end of summer and the world is colourless. The sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar are as out of place as the suncream he chucked in the bin while packing.
Somehow, even with the chill in the air outside, the air con that blasts him as he passes through the doors is even worse. The world is cold and grey today, and even his faded pink suitcase isn’t enough to brighten his spirits.
It’s about to be a long flight across the Atlantic, and Harry is absolutely horrible at sleeping on flights. Hopefully the albums of whale sounds he’s downloaded on Spotify will help him out at least.
—
The sun is high in the sky and for once there’s no hint of rain in the forecast. Harry doesn’t think there’s ever been such nice weather for the Summer’s End Fete, and while he’s counting down the hours until his departure tomorrow morning, he also has a soft spot in his heart for the small town activities that go on here every year; the egg and spoon race, the old men and their morris dancing, dunk the vicar… and of course the cake competition, as his family owns the bakery at the center of town. Harry’s been the one working the booth for the cake competitions since he was old enough to flash his signature crooked smile and let every contestant know that their cake looked good enough to win first place.
He sits at the front of the booth and before noon has collected more than a dozen cakes (and one mistakenly baked pie) for judging, each contested being sure to wish him a good time off at university.
(Except Tom, but Tom’s a prick).
Harry’s just texted his sister to stop bunking off and come take over so he can grab some punch and watch the morris dancers when a boy he doesn’t recognize catches his eye. A boy with the most stunning ocean-blue eyes he’s ever seen.
—
The icy recycled air pumping through the airport at full blast has Harry shivering as he stands in line to get his bags checked. The floor to ceiling rain-spattered windows to his left have a clear shot of that same grey sky he was just stood under.
The sounds of rolling suitcases and chattering voices around Harry washes over him as he shuffles forward through the line. Maybe he should get a coffee after he’s gone through security. Airport food is never particularly good but a Starbucks coffee can’t be messed up too badly.
The woman at the desk greets him with a dull smile as he hands over his information for her to take down, and a moment later his suitcase onto the conveyor. It’s apparently not a day for small talk; she hands his ticket back and points him down the hall toward the escalators.Harry thanks her and keeps moving.
—
“Hello there.”
Harry gulps and tries to remember how to speak. “Hi,” he squeaks. “Are you, um, interested in the cake competition? Or would you like to sample our fairy cakes?”
The boy - the beautiful boy with the blue eyes and the feathery hair and the striped shirt so perfectly form fitting to his torso - the boy laughs.
“Well I was going to purchase one,” he says, leaning his hands on the table. “But if you’re offering free samples…”
Harry feels his face growing warm and a manic smile stretching his cheeks. He cranes his neck to see if he can spot Gemma anywhere nearby and when he can’t, he leans forward and cocks his head toward the display. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he says.
The boy grins. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, reaching forward and plucking a lemon one off of the top tier.
“Oi, Tommo!”
Harry watches with slight dismay as the boy’s neck snaps around to spot whoever was calling to him. “Oi oiii,” he calls back, to a group of three girls. “Pests! Don’t you lot spend all my tickets!”
The three cackle and start yelling things back that gives Harry the distinct impression that they already have.
The boy turns back to Harry - and god, Harry’s never felt the need to just reach out and tap someone’s nose before - he makes eye contact in a way that sends Harry’s heart fluttering and asks, “Will you be here later?”
Harry nods, eyes wide.
“Sweet,” the boy says, grinning wide. “I’ll be back, don’t sell out of fairy cakes!”
He takes off toward his group of friends, and Harry feels no shame about the way his eyes follow that bum, even when his sister comes up behind him and starts mocking his creepy stare.
—
Mum: Going to bed now! See you in the morning when you touch down, Sweet Pea!
Harry sends back a goodnight text and pockets his phone. He’s in the middle of downloading as many Netflix shows as he can to make use of all the data left on his American sim card.
This time tomorrow and he’ll be in his childhood bed, his legs dangling off the end because he’s had quite the growth spurt since the last time he lived with his parents.
—
“I’m back!”
Hairy glances up. He’s waited quite a while, lunch having come and gone and Gemma having already abandoned him for the coconut shy. It’s actually almost time to hand out the prizes for the cake competition, so his parents will be taking over any minute.
Which means he’ll not be needed...
”Hello,” says Harry. “Are you just back for another fairy cake?”
“I mean I’m not going to lie, I hope there’s another one or two around that you wouldn’t mind going missing,” the boy says. His eyelashes are long, Harry notes, sweeping his cheeks like the tail feathers of a bird. “But I’m more here for the cute boy working the counter. Do you happen to know his name?”
Confused for a moment, Harry glances behind himself to see who he’s talking about. But there’s no one there. Oh. He’s talking about Harry.
“I’m Harry,” says Harry.
“Hello Harry.”
“Hello,” says Harry.”
His name is starting to sound meaningless in his own mind.
“So your name is Tommo?” he asks.
“Louis, actually,” the boy says. “Last name Tomlinson. Are you a baker, Harry?”
“Sometimes,” Harry says, smiling widely. “My parents own the bakery, but I help out! Mostly just with the till, but I’ve been known to bake a bit from time to time.”
“What about these?” Louis asks, pointing to the fairy cakes.
“Didn’t bake them,” Harry says. “But I put the powdered sugar on top!”
“Ah, a master of the craft!” Louis exclaims, causing Harry to erupt into giggles.
“You can have another one,” Harry says coyly. “I won’t tell.”
Louis snatches another from the display. “I mean, only if you insist,” he says. He makes a show of appreciating the taste, closing his eyes and moaning as he takes a bite.
Harry looks around, embarrassed, and spots his parents going through the cakes at the back of the tent. “Would you want to, I dunno, walk around?” he asks Louis, who’s still enjoying his fairy cake. Harry is not normally this brave, but he’s going off to university tomorrow and that means he has nothing to lose.
“There’s nothing I’d like more,” Louis says. “I’m new around here and the large amount of men dancing together with bells on their knees is a bit intimidating if I’m honest.”
“Ah the morris dancers,” Harry says, nodding sagely. “Very frightening men, I can understand.”
He motions to Louis that he’ll be just a moment and runs to tell his parents that he’s going to go enjoy the fete for a bit. Sure, he’ll miss finding out who they’ve chosen for the prize winning cake but this seems like it might be worth it.
—
Security at the airport is always just a little bit stressful because even though Harry exactly what not to bring on a plane, he always worries that somehow he’ll end up with a weapon in his bag anyway… like a gun. Not that he’s ever held one before in his life, but something inside of him is still afraid that somehow he’s ended up with one packed in his bag.
Plus, taking off his boots is always a hassle.
He sets off the sensors the first time walking through because he’s forgotten to take the sunglasses off of his shirt.
When he’s finally through to the other side he has to rush through putting his shoes back on and everything stuffed back in his pack and its just as stressful although he’s glad he didn’t end up with a gun in his bag or anything.
Right. Just enough time for a coffee before the flight.
—
“That’s Falon, she works in the tea rooms and restores vintage furniture,” Harry says, pointing over at the woman in charge of the church boot sale. “And he’s the local dairy farmer, he’ll let you pet his cows if you ask nicely.”
“Which sounds like something you’ve done quite a bit.”
Harry pouts. “I just like cows,” he protests. “They’re cute and very friendly, you know.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Louis says. “I’m just a bit of a city boy, myself. Never lived as far from a city centre as I will be out here.”
Harry glances over at him as they walk. “Do you attend a uni?” he asks. He just can’t imagine someone his age moving out to the village by choice.
“I’m taking a year off.” Louis shrugs. “Mum and all the siblings moving down here, I wanted to be there for them and not halfway across the country.”
“That’s sweet,” Harry says. He selfishly wishes Louis’ mum had moved a year ago.
“It is what it is,” Louis says. “I’m just glad we got here in time to witness this. I’m pretty sure my siblings have all eaten their weight in sugar by now.”
“A good way to end summer,” Harry agrees.
They’re walking away from the fete now. Harry’s subtly guiding him toward his favourite spot. Louis hasn’t asked where they’re going, just keeps smiling at Harry in ways that make his heart flutter.
—
Coffee in hand, Harry walks down the moving sidewalk toward his gate number. He can’t believe he’s finally going back to the U.K. for good, it feels like grad school in America has taken up half his lifetime instead of the meager three years he’s actually spent here.
He’s going home with two degrees and no plan, except to stay in his childhood bedroom until he can find a job and someone who wants to rent out a flat with him. It’s the least plan he’s ever had in his life, and having so little plan… It’s not easy. It’s not easy not knowing what comes next, or if he’s ready for it.
People pass him on the moving sidewalk. They also pass him on his other side, on the un- moving sidewalk. He’s a bit of a dawdler with a cup of coffee and things to think about.
Seven years of higher learning and what does he have to show for it? One boyfriend who was much more serious than he was, and a few awkward dates here and there, but besides two degrees and a whole lot of debt, did he really do anything with his life?
He sips his coffee. The barista forgot to add caramel. He didn’t want to mention it.
His gate number appears and he hops off, taking one of the few remaining seats at his terminal and slinging his bag onto the floor with a dull thump and wondering what he’s going to do with his life.
—
The waves wash up along the pebbled shore and between Harry’s toes, glinting and shining in the orange light of the setting sun. It feels like it’s been hours and years and only moments.
Louis sits next to him, both of them having discarded their shoes up in the grass. It’s not a big fancy sandy beach, but it’s the one that Harry’s grown up going to, learning how to read the tides and catch fish in and boat on. Now, with the pink and orange skies above them and the distant sounds of the fete behind them, it feels like a whole new place he’s never been before.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Louis says (Harry doesn’t mind anything), “But I’m sweaty as fuck right now, so-”
And he strips off his shirt, throwing it back in the direction of their shoes.
Oh god, Harry thinks, I am literally going to die.
Louis’ muscled in ways that Harry could tell even through the shirt but now with it off… He tries to keep his mouth from watering. It’s not even the muscles so much as it is when Louis stretches before settling back down and Harry catches a glimpse of hairy armpits that certainly have never been a turn-on before…
“So Harold,” Louis says, looking over at him. “You going to open a string of bakeries and become a famous chef?”
“I think chefs have restaurants,” Harry says. “And I dunno, I’ve never thought about it.”
“You haven’t thought about it?” Louis asks, looking affronted. “Those fairy cakes were delicious. I think it would be a crime not to share them with the world.”
Harry snorts. “Fairy cakes are the first thing we teach little kids to make it our morning classes,” he says. “They’re not exactly top grade treats.”
“Still,” Louis argues. “I have a refined palate, you know.”
Harry laughs, a honking, embarrassing sort of laugh. Louis leans over and rests their shoulders against him, and suddenly his body is a mess of goosebumps. It’s nice.
They talk about nothing. They talk about nothing for hours. Harry feels like he’s floating. It feels like the kind of experience someone in a romcom would have before they fall in permanent forever kinds of love.
The sun sets and they sit and watch the waves and huddle closer together as the temperature starts to drop. Louis shares about his fears for his family and Harry shares about his fears for the future.
It’s under the moonlight with the quiet music of the end of the fete behind them that Louis leans forward, his lips feather-light upon Harry’s, and Harry has his first kiss the night before he leaves for university.
It’s perfect in a way that Harry never thought his life could be.
—
“Now boarding Group C,” calls the woman over the loudspeaker. “Everyone in Group G please approach the gate.”
Harry stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder and joining the group making their way forward. He’s been playing games on his phone for the last twenty minutes, and it’s left his mind a little fuzzy. He grabs his boarding pass and passport and shuffles his way up to the front of the queue, handing over his boarding pass briefly and then being let through and toward the airplane.
Okay, it’s always a little exciting boarding the plane. He feels that little rush as he makes his way down the temporary hallway and to the aircraft itself, a big British Airways plane with rows of nine at a time.
He’s directed to his seat - near the back - and stands to stow his bag in the overhead compartment after grabbing his phone and headphones out of the front pocket. He’s just about to shut it when someone behind him puts a hand on his shoulder.
“I bet you don’t remember me.”
Harry glances over and then freezes, eyes blown wide.
Seven years can change a person a lot, but he looks the same in almost every way, from his soft feathery brown hair to his ocean blue eyes.
“Louis,” he says. “I- could never forget.”
He’s got scruff now, and wrinkles by his eyes. They only serve to make him more handsome. Harry feels the ghost of his lips from all those summers ago.
“Is this your row?” Louis asks. “I’ve got the window seat.”
“Yeah,” Harry says. “Uh, go ahead.”
Louis shuffles by him, sitting down and looking back, gesturing for Harry to sit with that same warm smile and kind eyes that he had on that night all those years ago.
It was just one night, Harry reminds himself. But it was a night he’s dwelled on for seven years. Maybe… eight hours on a plane won’t be so bad anymore.