Work Text:
1.
Harry Styles hated Fourth of July. Not because he was British, or because of his politics (despite what the girlies and their parasocial relationships believed, Harry Styles was a very rich, white man who had incredibly centrist politics and didn’t even know what “theory” meant). In all honesty, Harry barely knew what the Fourth of July was. I mean, he didn’t even graduate high school. He didn’t really know his own country’s history, let alone America’s. But he knew enough to know it was America’s birthday— and that it was LiberTea’s, too. LiberTea’s birthday, and her death day. And the day his relationship with former president of the United States, Barack Obama, had died as well.
It’s not like Barack had broken up with him in the hospital. I mean, talk about cruel? He had just lost their baby. No, Barack did everything right, said all the right things, rubbed Harry’s back, held his hand. It’s no wonder the people had chosen him to lead their country. He put on a great show. But America didn’t know Barack like Harry did. Harry saw it in his eyes. They were never coming back from this. It wasn’t fair, but without LiberTea there was no Justice. Harry knew that Fourth of July was the end. And so, this Fourth of July, Harry stayed under the covers, listening to Hamilton.
2.
Barack didn’t have the luxury of hiding under the covers on Fourth of July. He couldn’t ignore the day, as much as he wanted to. People expected to see him. He had to be around, smiling, eating hot dogs, and taking pictures with other people’s babies. That last one really hurt. But honestly, it didn’t hurt as much as the fireworks. Every one that went off made his heart pang. Bright, shiny, loud… and then gone forever. Fading away in the sky. Just like his Harry. And yes, he would always be his Harry. Barack knew in a different life he had been one of those girlies in a Shein outfit and cowboy hat, shaving her pussy before a Harry Styles show. In every universe, he would love Harry. In every universe, the pop of blinding fireworks would remind him of Harry. He just had the misfortune to be in this life. This year he was at Pete Buttigieg’s Fourth of July party. Harry had called him Pete Butt. Ugh, he was so funny. Michelle had come in the beginning so they would be seen together. Pete was wearing the Live Laugh Lesbian target shirt. He loved rainbow capitalism. So had Harry. Barack ate a hotdog, and thought about Harry’s cock, which had been roughly the size of this dog, and just as yummy. Michelle gagged and left. He watched the fireworks. He was alone.
3.
“LOUIS!” Michelle yelled, letting herself into his home without knocking. She swung a bottle of wine as she walked toward the couch. Louis was sitting there, eyes glassy, watching Larry crack videos. He turned his head slowly and Michelle frowned.
“Turn that off!” she scolded. “We get it, you made him chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham with a side of homemade mash ONE TIME.”
Louis attempted a laugh, but it was weak. “Hi, Michelle.” He got up and kissed her on the cheek.
“Hi Lou,” she smiled softly. She pulled him in for a hug. She waved the wine in front of his face. “Look what I got!”
Louis narrowed his eyes. “You can afford better wine than this.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Yeah, but I stole it from Pete Butt’s house.”
Louis scoffed, going into the kitchen to get a bottle opener. “Did he get drunk and start ranting about how Pride month should refer to gay pride and American pride?”
Michelle rolled her eyes, “Yep, and then he said U S A were actually kind of sexy neopronouns. Barack would’ve agreed I’m sure, but he was too busy deepthroating a hot dog.”
Louis closed his eyes, a whisper of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, probably thinking about Harry’s cock.”
Michelle was quiet, letting Louis reminisce. She went into his cabinet to grab them glasses. Louis opened the bottle and she poured.
“How’s your photoshopped baby?”
“Good. Harry post anything on his close friends story today?”
“I can’t believe he actually believes my fake account is really Alexander Hamilton who time traveled here and only follows him on Instagram.”
“I didn’t love him for his brains…” Louis laughed. “Do you still send him flirty DM as Alexander Hamilton?”
“You know it,” Michelle giggled. “And as a matter of fact, he posted It’s Quiet Uptown, but only after asking Alex’s permission.”
Louis shook his head. That boy was really stupid. But at least polite. Well, polite to “Alexander Hamilton” and Barack Obama. Maybe you had to be a US president to earn Harry’s kindness.
“Sooo…” Michelle started. “You ready?”
Louis nodded somberly. “Play it.”
And so, as was Fourth of July tradition, Louis and Michelle listened to their favorite playlist: Michelle and Louis girlplaining. They cried to When We Were Young by Adele. Screamed, “YOU NEED ME MAN I DON’T NEED YOU” along with Ed. By the time Champagne Problems came on, they were done with their wine, and drank champagne straight from the bottle. They danced to Beautiful Soul, paused during Pieces of Me to google what Ashlee Simpson was up to now. As was custom, they kissed on the lips during Kiss Me, knowing they were both imagining they were kissing somebody else. By Set Fire to The Rain, Louis was such a wreck he actually tried to set the house on fire. Michelle managed to tackle him and they swayed together during What a Girl Wants. Michelle’s voice was hoarse after screaming along to Yellow. And, finally, Live and Let Die carried them home. Makin them give in and cry. They laid on the floor together, holding hands.
Live and let die. Their hobama motto.
“See ya next year?” Michelle said in the doorway.
“For amber waves of grain,” Louis nodded. Which meant yes. He thought he was saying something deep. He really wasn’t much smarter than Harry.
He looked at his phone. It was July 5th now. Which meant it was time to do what he did every July 5th… call Shrek.