Louis couldn't be prouder of his bake, but there's something—there's something. Something about Harry Styles and the earnest way he measures, pours, mixes, scrapes. Something about the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he knocks the air out of his batter.
or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.
.....
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Somerset is awful.
That might not be strictly true, were one to look at it from an unbiased perspective. Louis, however, is extremely fucking biased, and he's decided that Somerset blows.
He's not even sure where they are, exactly, can't see anything but the endless greenery, juicy green grass, flowers and trees stretching all the way to the horizon. The air carries a distinct salty tang, reminiscent of the sea, and the humidity makes Louis feel like he's constantly underwater. He's already sweated through three vests while he's been waiting in the holding room, and the harried assistant keeps bringing him more every time she notices a patch of sweat under his pits.
It's so fucking picturesque out here; Louis hadn't been expecting to feel quite so much like he's in Disneyland. He'd always thought those gratuitous shots of the tiny little bridge and peacefully chewing sheep are cut out of random documentaries and pasted in to make the viewer feel like they're not watching a ruthless competition, but no – it seems that there is an actual sheep pen a little ways away from the marquee, full of actual live animals. They make the most horrific kind of noise Louis has ever heard.
He hates it here already, and it almost hurts to think that there are eight whole weeks separating him from the prize. He wants, more than anything, to cut through the bullshit and get to the competition. He's been here since six in the morning. The sun has since started to blare down with a terrifying kind of intensity, warming up the holding room even as a light breeze sneaks past the walls of the marquee. The other contestants, at least, seem to be in a state of mind similar to Louis's, keeping out of others' personal space and staring into the ground. Louis hopes it stays that way. He's not here to make friends.
When they're finally called inside for the first shot, Louis reminds himself to hold his head up high and straighten his back. Fidgeting will do him no good; will make him look weak in front of the camera and to other people in the room.
"Welcome," a woman says, standing front and centre, flanked by two large camera men. "My name is Jen."
She doesn't divulge any further details about her role on set, and instead walks around the room to make sure they're all standing on their marks. Louis's gaffer tape T is red, and he frowns at it while he makes sure his feet are in position.
"Alright," Jen says eventually, after Louis has started sweating from standing still for so long. "We'll need some opening shots, so I'd like all of you to stay where you are for the next few minutes."
