Chapter Text
Louis is weaving through the bus area, cheap rubber flip flops he always buys for tour smacking against the pavement, when he hits someone. Hard.
“Oops.” Louis looks up to see a long-limbed boy, legs clad in black skinny jeans despite the bright Pomona sun, staring at him with wide green eyes.
“Hi,” Louis replies, reaching up to adjust his aviators from where they’ve slipped down his nose. The stranger doesn’t reply, but is now looking at him with a slightly awestruck expression, mouth agape.
Fuck. Louis likes meeting fans, but the tour literally started a day ago. It’s a little early in the season for them to be slipping past security into the tour buses.
“Do you want something, kid?” He asks, taking in the boy’s messy curls tucked under a green beanie the color of pea soup and the pimples dotting his cheeks and chin. He can’t be older than eighteen, if Louis had to guess. He still doesn’t reply, and Louis’ already thin patience is coming to an end.
“Look kid, are you even supposed to be here?” Louis snaps. The awkward fans are the worst for him, because he can respect honesty and big talkers but the fans who just stare make him uncomfortable. He was on his way to his bus for a break between his band, The Rogue’s, signing and their set, and waiting for a shy kid to muster up his courage his cutting his precious moments with an air conditioner short.
“No,” the boy blurts, causing Louis’ eyebrows to raise in surprise. You don’t normally admit when you’re trespassing, after all.
He shakes his head, curls cutting across his cheekbones, and sighs. “I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rambles, licking his lips. Louis waits for him to explain, a bored expression plastered on his face.
“Yes, I’m supposed to be here, but no, I didn’t want anything,” the boy continues. “I’m performing actually! My buddy Niall and I just got added to the tour,” he finishes, looking a little proud of himself for getting it all out.
Louis slides his aviators to the top of his backwards snapback and squints his blue eyes, taking in the person across from him. “People don’t just get added to Warped Tour, mate. It’s normally a pretty planned-out thing, you know,” he remarks snidely.
He knows he’s being a bit rude, but ever since he caught a fan hiding in the back of the bus collecting the hair out of his brush, his tolerance for stalkers has gone down significantly. Being added to Warped Tour last minute doesn’t really just happen, especially for a kid who Louis is quite certain he’s never seen before, and this is his third turn on Warped Tour.
“Yeah, it was a kind of random stroke of good fortune,” the boy says slowly, playing with his hands and shifting his weight uncomfortably. “We were volunteering to work in catering in exchange for being allowed to hand out CD’s and promote our band, but then Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties crashed their tour bus and cancelled the tour so Kevin asked if we wanted to play the Acoustic Basement first each day because we’re the only volunteering band that’s just guitars and singers, so we have all our equipment ready,” he finishes with a long exhale.
Louis nods, enjoying the blush creeping across the kid’s cheeks. He’s clearly a little out of his element, something Louis remembers well from his first year on Warped. He and his bandmates, Liam and Stan, were seventeen when they were first invited to play and it was so awkward to walk around like the naïve kids from England they were around the bands they had idolized for years. But Louis has made some of his best friends from playing the tour, and he knows it just takes time for the new blood to get accustomed.
“Here, I have proof!” The boy reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a laminated tour ID with the name Harry Styles printed underneath his photo in black block letters.
“Styles, huh?” Louis asks. “Proper rockstar name.”
“Hardly,” Harry snorts, turning his ID over so Louis can see the other side, which is covered in glittery Hello Kitty stickers.
“Hello Kitty? Really?” Louis asks, trying to hide the grin poking at the corner of his mouth. Who is this kid?
“Um…my goddaughter gave me the stickers and I couldn’t say no?” Harry gets out in a high-pitched voice.
“You sure about that?” Louis asks, giving him a knowing grin.
Harry just blushes, shoving the laminate back into his pocket. He offers a shy smile, pulling off his beanie and running a hand through his chocolate curls.
“I’m Louis, by the way,” Louis says, offering his hand to Harry.
“Oh, I know,” He blurts, before covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh my God, I cannot believe I just said that.”
“It’s alright,” Louis laughs. “It’s not the first time that’s happened.” It’s not. Louis’ face has graced the cover of Alternative Press, Rock Sound and Kerrang! multiple times, with and without the rest of the Rogue, who are set to play the main stage every night this summer. They were handpicked to open for The Foo Fighters last year and sold-out a co-headlining tour with All Time Low, all by the age of 22. To say he’s met his fair share of fans/co-workers is an understatement. It comes with the territory when you’re considered the “darlings of pop punk” (thank you, Billboard).
“Yeah, I kind of, um…we kind of even got offered a spot on Warped Tour because of our cover of ‘No Control’?” Harry squeaks. “It got us a lot of, um, attention on YouTube and Facebook so our numbers looked really good when we emailed the tour about possibly playing this summer. I kind of wanted to say thank you, actually.”
Louis grins, a real smile overtaking his face. “No Control” was his favorite song he’d ever written and he was as upset as the fans that it was never a single.
“Sick, mate,” Louis enthuses. “What’s your band called? I’ll look it up on the bus later.”
“Oh, don’t do that, please,” Harry stumbles. “It’s nowhere near as good as the original, honestly. I’d be so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, kid, every band on this tour has done a cover,” Louis says, brushing his insecurities right off. “What’s your band called?”
Harry mumbles something so quietly Louis can’t hear him. “What was that?”
“Irish Breakfast,” Harry says clearly, staring at the painted lines of the parking spot below his Converse-clad feet with his hands clasped behind his back. Louis lifts a single brow in response.
“Go on,” he prods.
“My mate is Irish and I’m from England originally, so he thought it would be funny to do a pun on English Breakfast tea and I couldn’t come up with anything better,” Harry explains. “It kind of stuck.”
“I knew I heard a hint of an accent in there,” Louis says. “But I’m a Yorkshire man, myself.”
“I lived in Cheshire until I was seven, and then my stepdad got a job here so we moved to America,” Harry says.
“Cool, mate!” Louis replies honestly. “Our bassist Stan and I are from Donny and our drummer Liam is from Wolverhampton. It’ll be nice to have another Brit around.”
Harry’s entire face brightens, shoulders relaxing as he gets his first proper look at Louis’ face. He knows who he is, obviously, has even seen The Rogue in concert a few times, but it’s different to look at in person, less than a foot across from him. Louis doesn’t need to know Harry knew where he grew up and bought two copies of Alternative Press the first time The Rogue was on the cover, one to tape on his wall and another to save. Niall is going to be so jealous when Harry tells him about this.
“Anyway,” Louis continues, waving at Derek from Mayday Parade over Harry’s shoulder. Harry follows his gaze and tries but fails to not look awestruck again, wide green eyes shining. “I should probably get going, have to get ready to go on stage soon.”
“Right,” Harry says, dimples poking into his cheeks. “You’re headlining main stage, which is so amazing.”
There. He spoke an entire sentence while maintaining his composure. A success for Harry, at least today.
“Yeah, man, it’s cool,” Louis says, looking amused. He opens his mouth to speak again but is cut off by a shout from behind him.
“Oi, Tommo! Let’s go, mate!” Harry and Louis turn to see Liam standing with his impressive arms crossed over his bare chest, drumsticks peeking out of the waistband of his gym shorts. Liam is one of the best drummers in music, according to Rolling Stone’s 50 Greatest Drummers lists, and he has the physique to prove it. Harry is both in admiration of and terrified of him.
“See you around, kid,” Louis says to Harry. “Come by the bus sometime if you want, bring Niall with you! We’ll tell you all you have to know about the ‘punk rock summer camp,’” he says drily, rolling his eyes at that last bit.
“Sick,” Harry smiles as Louis begins to walk towards Liam. He is just about to maintain his cool when his words start to leave his mouth with reckless abandon. “You should come check us out tomorrow!” He calls to Louis’ back. “We’re playing the Acoustic Basement tent at 11:30.”
Louis’ eyes sparkle when he turns around, amusement clear in his features. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, walking backwards but keeping his eyes on Harry. “Later, kid.”
“Bye!” Harry waves, smile wide on his long face. Louis turns back to Liam and Harry tries not to swoon.
“Shit,” he mutters, shoving his beanie back on his head. The first day of tour and he’s already in over his head.
+ -
Harry and Niall are smack in the middle of a massive crowd of sweaty, sunburned teenagers, waiting for The Rogue to take the stage. Once Louis had walked out of sight, Harry had grabbed Niall and pulled him out to watch the last band of the night. The audience began to cheer as Liam walked onstage, starting a slow but heavy beat before Stan joined him, bass in hand. The screaming intensified as Louis ran onstage, barefoot, hopping up to the microphone set front and center.
“Hello,” he says, taking in the crowd as he sways on the spot, eyes cool and neutral but a smile playing on his thin lips. “We’re The Rogue and this is a song about us,” he finishes, slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder. “It’s called ‘Clouds.’”
Niall is thrashing with the audience as the band plays song after song, but Harry is standing still, his eyes affixed to Louis as he swaggers around stage, guitar resting in his hands like it was made to be there. His hair his swept messily over his head and his chest piece peeks out from underneath a black tank top with Skate Tough emblazoned on the front, black skinny jeans clinging to his strong thighs.
“We have one song left,” Louis tells the audience, wiping sweat off his brow. “We decided to do a cover by some Warped Tour veterans, because you’re never too good for a cover,” he laughs, eyes sweeping over where Harry is standing, squeezed in between two girls in hot pink crop tops that read “Fuck Hipsters.” Nice. The band launches into a cover of New Found Glory’s “Hit Or Miss” and Harry can’t help but be caught up in it, repeating the lines back when Louis instructs them to. By the time the song ends, his curls are matted to his face and his jeans feel suctioned to his legs.
“That was fucking incredible!” Niall shouts as they walk back to the area reserved for the bands and their vehicles. “Do you think we can get them to do a song with us to put online? You and Louis are friends now, aren’t ya?” He rambles on as Harry grabs two cans of “tour water,” or water put into empty cans of Monster energy drink, who sponsor the tour.
“Maybe by the end of the tour, dude, but I literally met him less than three hours ago,” Harry says as he passes Niall a can. “And I kind of came off as a crazy fan, so I don’t know how much he’s going to want to do a song with us.”
Niall hums, lips turned downwards. “Well, it’s only the first day,” he reconciles, already looking more cheerful. “We still have a whole summer to become best friends and convince them to have us open for them on their next tour!” Harry laughs, always surprised by Niall’s optimism.
“Keep dreaming, Ni.”
Harry and Niall head over to their van, not having enough money to afford a bus yet. They don’t need much anyway, it’s just the two of them and their guitars, some t-shirts and CD’s shoved in a milk crate behind the seats. They really weren’t prepared to actually play the tour, but they recognized a once in a lifetime opportunity when they saw it. It won’t be hard for the two to live in each other’s pockets anyway. They quickly became best friends when Niall moved to Colorado from Mullingar their sophomore year of high school, bonding over the fact that they both had strange accents and a mutual love for Stevie Nicks. Four years later and they’re still as close, playing small bars and making YouTube covers together, with the occasional original song thrown in.
The “No Control” cover had been enough to get them some spots in larger clubs and venues, opening up for the occasional touring band passing through but mostly sharing the bill with more popular local bands. With the increased money they were able to record the One Thing EP, which they’re selling for $5 all tour. It’s not much, but it’s progress, and Harry and Niall are happy with what they’ve done so far.
The downside to their once in a lifetime opportunity is a complete lack of preparation. Without being able to invite any friends to help them out, it’s up to the two of them to do everything from driving their van to tuning their instruments to performing and selling their merch. There’s a big difference from being hired to serve food in exchange for handing out their stuff for free and actually performing. But they’ll make it work. They won’t settle for anything less.
Niall drives the six hours from Pomona to Mountain View while Harry snores in the passenger seat. He wants to be awake to watch the scenery change, has never really been anywhere but Colorado and England before, but the excitement has taken its toll and his eyes are closed before he can even tell Niall that Louis had invited them to hang out with him and the band.
+ -
“Thank you, we’ve been Irish Breakfast and we’ll be selling copies of our CD by the Fearless Records tent all day,” Harry tells the small group gathered under the tent him and Niall are playing the next morning. “This song is called ‘Happily.’”
He’s a little disappointed Louis didn’t show up to watch them play, but he’s not surprised. He’s sure Louis is busy, and he has his own friends and better things to do than watch two twenty-year-old’s play their beat up guitars under the California sun. He probably forgot, in all honesty.
He’s walking between the buses later, looking for some water and a spot of shade, when someone calls him over.
“Hey! Hello Kitty!” Harry turns at the familiar reedy accent, where Louis is smirking from a lawn chair, surrounded by people Harry has definitely pasted pictures of on his bedroom wall.
“Hi,” he drawls nervously as he ambles over, looking awkwardly over the group.
“You want a beer, kid?” Louis asks, gesturing to the cooler by his feet.
“Ok,” he replies hesitantly, taking in the group of people he’s looking over. Louis literally has his feet resting in the lap of Lynn Gunn, the lead singer of PVRIS.
“Everyone, this is Harry,” Louis announces loudly, waving his hand in Harry’s direction. “Harry, this is everyone.”
“Hi,” he says again, shyly, as several heads turn his way. “Have a seat, mate,” Louis invites, slapping Stan’s bicep for him to stand and let Harry take his seat. Stan grumbles but goes to get another fold-out chair, leaving his empty for Harry.
"You alright?” A kind voice on his other side asks. He turns to see Liam looking at him with warm brown eyes and a friendly expression. From far away, his impressive muscle mass, tattoos and shaved head make him look intimidating, but from up close he looks more like a puppy. “It can be a little scary the first time,” Liam assures him. “Our first tour, we didn’t talk to anyone for a week, until Louis accidentally walked onto Less Than Jake’s tour bus.”
“A beautiful mistake,” Louis adds, startling Harry. He didn’t realize Louis had been listening. “They have excellent, um, hospitality.”
“He means weed,” Lynn comments drily. “They have excellent weed.”
“Hey!” Louis squawks, pulling his feet off Lynn’s lap and sitting up straight. “We don’t want to scare young Harold with tales of my debauchery just yet.”
“It’s just Harry, actually,” Harry jumps in. “And a little weed doesn’t scare me. I’m not two.”
“Oh, I like you,” Louis smiles. “I think we’re going to be great friends. Aren’t we, Harold?” Harry nods, taking a sip of the beer Louis handed him, condensation running down the sides. He thinks it’s probably smarter to let Louis call him whatever he wants for now. He’s known him for less than a day and can already Louis’s trouble.
“So, how did your first set go?” Louis asks, giving Harry his full attention. So he didn’t forget.
“It was really nice,” Harry answers. “There were only like ten kids there at the start, but the crowd grew as we played and we sold two CD’s. Can’t ask for much more, really.”
“That’s great, Harry,” Louis says encouragingly. “Seriously. Ten kids is great for an unknown band early in the morning.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Harry mumbles, blushing again. Will he ever not be pink in front of Louis?
“I mean it,” Louis says. “A lot of really big bands started as unknowns on Warped Tour. And you’re going to be one of them, I can feel it!” Harry snorts, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Lou.” And, oops. The nickname just slipped out but Louis just brightens more.
“I’ll bet you,” Louis says. “Actually, even better. I’m going to ask for your autograph, so I can say I knew you back you were a little hipster playing to ten kids on Warped Tour.”
“I’m so not signing an autograph,” Harry insists, shaking his head as Louis procures a piece of paper from the notebook he has tucked into the pocket of his shorts.
“Oh, you so are,” Louis mimics, thrusting the paper and a pen at him. “Come on. In five years I can sell it on EBay and get rich!”
“I think you’re already kind of rich,” Harry points out.
“Kind of isn’t good enough, Harold,” Louis retorts. “I want my own plane and a swimming pool filled with Nutella. So, come on! Sign the paper.”
Harry ducks his head and scribbles his name hastily, feeling like a massive idiot. “Perfect!” Louis exclaims, looking it over and tucking it carefully back into his notebook.
“So,” he says casually, stretching his arms out in front of him. His wrist is decorated with the symbols of playing cards, the logo for The Rogue. “Did you fuck hipsters yesterday, Harry?” Harry chokes on his beer, trying not to snort it out of his nose.
“You saw me in the audience?”
“Of course,” Louis answers, like it was obvious. “You’re hard to miss.” Harry blushes again, staring down at his feet. He was definitely right yesterday.
He is in way, way over his head.