larry oneshots

we could leave the christmas lights up 'til january

a/n: shade shade SHADE. i love you. here's some fluffy larry stylinson to feed ur soul.

everyone else: u see this person ^. they're The Only Person ever. they are my favourite person in the world.

anyways. this fic. this fic is my pride and soul, my Only fic ever. they are in LOVE.

**

Louis has always known that Harry loved snow.

It's quite obvious, whether it be from the glitter that sparkled in his eyes when he looked at the winter trees that were draped in bright white, peering through icicles that hang from above the window, or the sheer glow he has when he's around snowflakes, flailing about and making an absolute fool of himself, often spontaneously plopping on the ground to just randomly stare at the flurries of white.

He often asks begs Louis to join him, to lie down in the freezing snow with him and hold hands as they both contemplate life together, watching the snow flutter around them and get into their eyes, leaving behind wet droplets of water and skin, as they stare at each other, in their sopping scarves, breaths fanning in front of them in wispy fog and faces flushed.

Louis is too in love with him to say no.

And maybe he loves Harry a little too much, at times. Sometimes it's a little good to hold back, and shut down some of the less amusing and more oh-my-god-Harry-what-is-wrong-with-you ideas that he has. But Louis is not a saint, nor does he claim to be, so that's how he finds himself, on a Sunday morning, practically half dragged out into the snow.

"Harry," Louis slurs, still half delirious from sleep, lightly dozing on his feet as Harry attempts to pull him along, "Lea'e me alone. Lemme sleep."

"Lou!" Harry pouts, voice on the verge of whiny, as he stomps his foot childishly, "C'mon, c'mon! It's snowing outside, we can build snowmen." It's spoken in soft reverie, not unlike a child seeing snow for the first time. Harry's acting like he doesn't see snow every year, and right now, Louis' too tired for this shit.

"Harry," Louis tries again, voice softer as he dips into the waters of dreamland, trying to stay awake for his very petulant husband who's currently standing in front of him, puppy-dog eyes ready to be unleashed, "please, darling. We can go outside tomorrow? This afternoon? Please, for the love of god, let me sleep in just a bit longer."

"But I wanna go now," a grumble slips out of Harry's lips before Louis even has a chance to process he's talking, "The snow will melt tomorrow."

"This afternoon?"

"No, it'll still melt!"

"Noon?"

"No."

"In an hour?"

"Lou!"

"For fuck's sake, Curly. I haven't even had a chance to drink some tea first, or get changed!"

"I'll make it for you while you get changed. Yorkshire with a dash of milk, no sugar, hot but not boiling. C'mon, you know I can make your tea well, can you just please come with me?"

Louis tries to ignore the onslaught of puppy-dog eyes that get unleashed onto him, trying to turn away as quickly as possible, but he can already feel his resolve crumbling, weakening, until it's nothing but a pitiful pile of dust that does nothing to contain the slowly trickling feeling of acceptance and resignation that's already seeping through the cracks, "Fine."

"You're the best," Harry sighs, coming in to hug him tightly, as Louis tries to shrug him off and grumble, but to no avail, as he feels himself press closer to him, trying to drink in all the warmth Harry provided, "I love you."