Work Text:
CHRISTMAS 2025
“Papa, Papa.”
James is tugging on Harry's shirt, looking up at him with big blue eyes. Harry smiles down at him. “What is it, buddy?”
“Can we take Lola to the mud pit? I wanna show her!”
“Oh, gosh.” Harry blows out a breath and glares at Louis. “I don't know about that. Lola just got here. And look how nice she's dressed. She doesn't want to get that pretty coat all muddy.”
Lola smooths a hand down the coat, a plum-colored plaid. “I do love this coat. And I really should send out a draft of my article to my editor before dinner; I was working on it in the car here but it still needs a few last touches... But, what's the mud pit?”
“It's so awesome!” James exclaims. “It's right out front of Papa's shop.”
“Okay, well, why is there a mud pit?” Lola asks.
James shrugs, as if it's never occurred to him to question this.
Harry sighs. “Simon decided to turn the village green into an ice skating rink.”
“All right...” Lola says slowly, seating herself near where Ada is playing with some toy trucks. “I mean, I don't know how skating rinks are made, but I know people do it all the time. You install some kind of cooling system and then put water on it, I suppose?”
“Yeah, so Simon just started hosing everything down a couple times a day,” Louis says dryly.
Lola cocks her head to the side. “Uh, what?”
“Well, he'd been talking about it since September, that the winter was predicted to be unusually cold. So when we got that cold snap last week, he announced that it was going to stay below freezing for the next month and then he started dumping water all over the place,” Louis explains.
“There was ice everywhere!” James interjects, flinging his arms wide. “Susie fell down!”
“Yeah, we all started complaining when the streets in front of our shops were all iced over,” Harry says.
“Why they didn't start complaining before that...” Louis rolls his eyes.
Harry wrinkles his nose at Louis. “Oh, leave it. Yeah, and then it warmed back up again, so... And then someone thought it would be a great idea to walk the kids right by a field of mud.”
“Oh, Dad,” Lola sighs.
“Worth it.” Louis smirks.
“It took you an hour to clean all the mud off the floor,” Harry says.
“Yeah! Worth it!” James giggles and runs over to fist-bump Louis, before turning to Lola. “We should go! We can play together!”
“Oh, gosh.” Lola looks genuinely torn. “But I really don't want to get my clothes muddy.”
“That's okay. You can borrow some of Ada's,” James says earnestly.
Lola looks skeptically down at her tiny two-year-old sister. “I don't think those will fit me. Why not yours? You're bigger.”
“Yeah, but Ada's a girl,” James answers.
Lola opens her mouth, then closes it, struggling to formulate a response.
“We don't have time anyway,” Harry says to Louis. “We're supposed to be at your mum's in three hours.”
An hour later, everyone is covered in mud.
Well, not everyone. Lola's boyfriend is on the street, snapping photos, just a few flecks of mud on his shoes.
“I'm not sure about this guy,” Louis whispers to her. “Seems prissy.”
“Dad, he didn't bring a change of clothes. He just wants to make a good impression on everyone.”
“I'd lend him clothes,” Louis says. “What, my clothes aren't good enough?”
“Aaron's like a foot taller than you.”
“He is not!” Louis rubs a muddy hand on her shoulder.
“Ew, Dad, stop!”
“Daddy, cold,” Ada whines.
“Oh, munchkin,” Louis laughs, scooping her up and holding her against him even though it gets mud all over his shirt. “That's what you get for playing in mud when it's barely 10 degrees out.”
Ada pouts, spreading her fingers and frowning at the mud on her hands.
Louis calls out, “We should probably get them cleaned up—oh my god.”
He breaks down laughing when he looks over, because Harry is completely covered in mud. “Oh my god,” he repeats, “What did you do?”
Harry looks up guiltily. His face is covered in mud, and he's sitting on the ground while James is piling mud on top of Harry's head.
“I'm making Papa pretty,” James says proudly. “Like what Auntie Lottie puts on her face!”
“He's worse than you,” Lola observes to Louis. She's grinning from ear to ear.
“Aren't you cold, James?” Louis asks through his laughter.
“Noooo,” James sings, scooping up more mud and plopping it on the back of Harry's head so it drips down his neck. “Oopsie.”
“I'm cold,” Harry says. He shivers dramatically and sends more mud oozing down his head.
“Papa! You're messing it up!” James scolds.
“Okay, we've got to divide and conquer on this mess,” Louis declares. “Haz, I'm gonna take Ada and clean her off in the flat behind the bakery, she's really cold.”
Harry turns and stands. “Yeah, I'll take James back to the house and we'll get cleaned off. Lola, why don't you come with us since the flat only has the one bathroom.”
“Okay, sounds good.” She gives Louis and Ada a quick hug. “See you in a few.”
“So the mud pit might have been a bad idea,” Harry says, dropping heavily onto the sofa next to Louis. “I'm exhausted. Why aren't the kids exhausted? How are they still running and screaming?”
Louis reaches up and picks a flake of mud off of Harry's ear. “All the sweets and hot cocoa might have something to do with. I told you we should've gone to your family's for the holidays for once.”
Fizzy punches him in the arm.
Louis yelps. “Ow! Jesus, that was really hard!”
“I can't believe you'd think of ditching me this Christmas!” She punches him again.
“God, you're pissy,” Louis mutters, rubbing at his arm.
“Are you still all itchy?” Harry asks sympathetically.
“Ugh, yeah.” Fizzy presses a hand to her seven-month-pregnant belly and groans. “The doctor said it could last until I deliver. Your baby's a jerk. This didn't happen when I was pregnant with Julia.”
Harry chuckles quietly and leans across Louis to place his hand on the swell of Fizzy's stomach. “Don't listen to her, you're not a jerk,” he coos while Fizzy laughs.
“Seriously, though, this rash is the worst. Anyway, you realise you can never get out of family Christmas now?”
“Yeah, I know,” Louis laughs. “Honestly, sorry, Fiz. You know we're forever grateful and all that.”
“Yeah, well, you've been getting Lottie great Christmas presents ever since she had those kids for you, and I figured I'd better get in on that before Pheebs or Daisy got wise. I'm deeply regretting my choices now, though. You'd better have gotten me something amazing this year.”
Louis and Harry grin at each other. “You'll see,” Harry says smugly.
Louis hears stomping, and looks up to see Doris storming in to the room, looking thunderous. “Fiz! Julie just bit me!” she exclaims, holding out her arm indignantly.
“Oh, jeez,” Fizzy groans.
“You need to control your kid,” Doris snaps.
“Look, don't yell at me, this is a stage some toddlers go through. I'll go talk to her.” Fizzy heaves herself out of the sofa with a small grunt and walks off, muttering, “I don't know why you couldn't have just gotten Chris to deal with this...”
Doris flops down on the freshly vacated seat. “God, I'm never having kids. No offense. They're cute and all, but then they, like, bite you or barf on you or something. Or, like, Brian tried to steal some of my hair earlier. Like he came at with me scissors!”
“It really doesn't make sense that Lottie's kid is so fascinated with your hair,” Harry muses. “If he wants some red hair, he should just wait. Lottie's hair will probably end up that color at some point.”
“No, I told Lots she can't have her hair the same color as mine,” Doris informs him. “This is my thing.”
Louis sort of loves seeing his baby siblings as teenagers. Doris had been such a mellow little girl, but she developed a fierce attitude sometime around age 14 and seems to get sharper by the day. Her latest form of rebellion is being the vocally “child-free” one in her baby-crazy family. Privately, Louis thinks it'll be a tragedy if she doesn't pass on her gorgeous ginger hair, but he's sort of rooting for her to stick to her guns anyway. It's good to have a little diversity. (As long as she's still willing to babysit, at least.)
Of course, he's not sure what Phoebe and Daisy will do, either. They're both still unattached at 25, and neither one has expressed any anxiety about that, at least not where Louis could hear. Phoebe is more worried about finishing her PhD, while Daisy seems more preoccupied with simply enjoying her twenties.
“Cake time!” Jay yells from the other room, banging a spoon against a pot for good measure.
“Oh, finally!” Doris jumps up excitedly. “Hurry up, Louis!”
“Oh, to be a teenager,” Louis laughs, left behind on the sofa.
“I know, I'm still full from dinner,” Harry commiserates. “I guess I shouldn't have had thirds.”
“Dumbass.” Louis grins and leans over to kiss him. “You still taste like the roast.”
Harry laughs and kisses him back. “Let's go get some cake.”
They move from the small sitting room to the large lounge. It's glowing with Christmas lights that glint off the baubles on the tree in the corner of the room, the walls swathed with red garlands and wreaths. His mother had taken great offense to him calling it an “orgy of Christmas cheer,” but Louis honestly didn't know how else to describe it. He'd thought she had gone hard on Christmas when he was a boy, but those days can't hold a handle to level of holiday cheer that she pulls out now that there are six grandkids and another on the way.
Louis thinks it's insane, but what can he do? His children love it.
The house has been rearranged for the holidays, the dining table as well as two smaller tables dragged in to the lounge, which has always been the largest room in the house. They stopped fitting into the formal dining room a few years ago. This year, there's an even twenty of them: his mother and her husband; all of his siblings; Lola and her boyfriend; Harry and their two little ones; Lottie's husband and their twin boys; Fizzy's daughter and husband. For some reason, Ernie's girlfriend of all of three weeks is there, too.
“Happy birthday, darling,” Jay greets Louis as he walks into the room. She hugs him and kisses him on the cheek, then ushers him over to sit in front of a large, colourful cake.
“Oh, no,” he laughs. “Why'd you put my age on it?”
Phoebe grins. “I brought those. Aren't they great?”
There are only two candles, but they're big, glittery and red, a bold “45” staring him in the face. Everyone sings him happy birthday, so loud and off-key that it hurts his ears, the toddlers just shouting sounds more than actually singing words. It's the single worst rendition of “happy birthday” that he's ever heard, and it's perfect.