the royal family of the music industry

18. the lakes

"I think it's time to actually change the topic." Taylor says loudly. Apparently she heard what they said.
"Who's up for a campfire?"

And there they are, a big weird, not matching group of nineteen people who share nothing but their passion for music.

Taylor and Lorde dance to Mick, Niall and Zayn playing Come together on acoustic guitars.

Liam, Ariana and Billie have a heated conversation about the best nail polish color, Lizzo and Dua Lipa make flower crowns out of the dead flowers that are buried beneath a layer of brown-orange painted leaves.

The campfire is warming them in the chilly autumn breeze and giving them flickering, golden light to see the shadows of the dancing people displayed on the ground.

Harry and Louis sit a few feet away from them, snuggled up into each other, a blanket wrapped around them keeping them together and watching the people that became their friends in such a short time.

Harry turns his head and admires Louis.

The warm light of the fire paints his skin golden and reflexes in his perfect eyes. The small smile that is formed on his lips making his incredible cheekbones even more defined. Harry thinks he could cut his finger if he traced them.

Louis is utterly beautiful.

Harry feels the strong urge to use pick up lines on him, spontaneously forgetting that he is already his boyfriend.

"Where are you from?" He blurts out and Louis smile widens, eyes crinkling as he turns his head to look Harry in the eyes.

"Donny. You know that. Why? Cause my accent's so hot?" He smirks.

(It comes out as "Cuz me accent's so hot?")

Harry shrugs. "No, I just thought you were from paradise."

Louis looks at him and tries to contain his laughter by hiding his face in the crook of Harry's neck adorably.

"But your accent is hot as well." Harry adds smiling and places a kiss into Louis' soft hair, his stomach filled with butterflies because Louis is laughing so cutely into his hoodie.

God, he's whipped.

"If i was the last man on earth, would you marry me?" He tries his second-best pick up line.

"If you were the last man on earth, I wouldn't even exist." Louis mumbles into Harry's neck.

Harry questions all of his life choices at that.

Louis suddenly lifts his head and looks at him seriously.
"You wanna go swimming?" He whispers.

No one would hear them anyway, the others are way too loud playing various classics and singing the lyrics loudly. They're still in the middle of nowhere somewhere in the British highlands, so nobody gives a fuck.

"Swimming?" Harry repeats incredulously and Louis nods.

"Where?"

"There's a lake."

"It's cold."

"Well, you're hot as fuck so I don't care."

Harry bites his bottom lip to prevent the laugh from escaping his lips.

"Come on, Haz. Let's do something fun. Do you remember when we were in Texas on tour and spent the whole night in the pool on the rooftop?"

Of course Harry remembers.

He remembers every single time he had stayed up all night with Louis.

Every one of these nights had been unique. Maybe because these memories were scattered all over the world in different settings, different stages of their fame and different years. Or maybe because everything he did with Louis felt different, in some way. Even things like making breakfast or watching romcoms, it was different every time.