My Larry blog is: Larry_dagger. This is a fan fic idea and I would be so happy if you made it! : AU: Harry on holiday with Gemma decides to send a postcard to a random as a prank. So they look it up and find Louis Tomlinsons addres and they just send a nice postcard about what they love the most about Italy and it becomes a tradition and one time Harry includes his Twitter handle and 1 day he sees Louis is following him and they find out they live in neighboring cities and you can go from there.
(Oh my god, I hope you like this and I also hope this isn’t horrible! It’s late at night and I’m tired but this was really fun to write! Also, no hate to anyone named Rupert lol)
It’s unlawfully hot in France, Gemma and him are lying on their bed with the air conditioner blasting from the corner of the room. God knows, where their parents are, they had finally given up on lecturing them about art and culture and seeing the world, Harry.
Harry can testify that he’s having a much more lovely time in their mini French apartment browsing on the internet than he ever could staring at paintings all day and making a fool of himself every time he tries to order a meal.
“Oi, Harry come here.” Gemma beckons him over to her bed, patting the flowery comforter that Harry had originally wanted, but Gemma had snatched it from him right under his nose, with the phrase you snooze you lose and an expression daring him to say something about it. He ended up grumpily getting the boring navy blue covers.
He jumps onto her bed, Gemma make an unpleasant oomph sound and swats his shoulder once he’s settled down next to her. She points to the screen.
“Have you ever heard of this? Matty just did it on her vacation in Germany, it’s where you send a postcard to a random person in England telling them how nice your trip was and stuff. Sounds like a bit of a laugh, doesn’t it?” She explains, her hands typing up something.
“I guess.” Harry shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t get how it could be such a laugh, but it sounds slightly entertaining and just something to do. Gemma is all about starting new trends, she has to be on top of everything and if Matty had done it, then she bloody well has to too.
“Great. Do you have a left over postcard? You bought like fifty yesterday and I know you don’t have that many friends, so cough them up.” Harry pouts and gets up from the bed, heading to his suitcase, where he does in fact have about fifty postcards, he was hoping to keep them for mementos to hang in his room when he got back.
Harry picks out his least favorite. He flings the postcard across the room at her, it hits her square in the head and she lets out an indignant squawk. “Watch it or else I’ll beat you into next week, Styles.” She scowls, her face scrunching up trying to mimic something even slightly menacing but Harry just chuckles at her.
He plops down next to her. “Now let’s look at names and addresses, pick our victim.” She has a little smirk on her face and Harry can almost hear the inner monologue of a maniacal laugh.
It ends up being between two unwilling British citizens; Louis Tomlinson and Rupert Scrivener, only because it sounds like a made up insane British name. Harry likes Louis Tomlinson, but Gemma thinks Rupert is the best option.
“But Louis Tomlinson sounds like royalty, so you know it’s got to be someone good. I don’t want our amazing postcard to be sent to some old bloke named Rupert who won’t understand the humor in it and ends up calling the cops.” Harry explains, exasperated, throwing his hands up in the air.
“C’mon let’s be smart about this, Louis is the best option.” Harry argues, raising his eyebrows. Gemma thinks about it for a second, the only thing he can hear is the faint thrum from the air conditioner.
“Okay fine, you win.” She says, copy and pasting Louis’ address onto notes, so she doesn’t lose it. Harry fist pumps in victory, while Gemma rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
The letter doesn’t end up being that maniacal as Harry thought it would be. It’s pretty standard, they end up telling this mysterious Louis about their adventures in Paris and Harry makes sure to add some incredibly bad puns.
He’s not ashamed to say that he added now we’ve got to escargot with a winky face at the end. Gemma had smacked him amongst the head when she’d seen it, but Harry had made sure to do it in pen so she’d have no chance to erase it.
“We don’t want him to think we’re a bunch of losers, do we?” Gemma had said, outraged. Harry couldn’t stop laughing about it, escargot, like go, like they’ve got to leave. It was genius, he has no idea what she’s saying.
They send the postcard later that night, Gemma finally cooling down about it and even chuckling a bit at it.
At every country they go to they send Louis a postcard describing their time there, it almost becomes a bit of a tradition.
When they’re about to finish writing the last one of their little series, Harry can’t stop thinking about what this Louis is doing with all of these. Is he just throwing them out? Or is he laughing? And if he’s laughing is he laughing with or at them? Harry doesn’t care either way, but he does have a weird interest in finding out.
“Do you ever feel bad that he can’t ever respond to us?” Harry asks, holding their Icelandic postcard in one hand.
“No, that’s the whole point of it, you wuss. He’ll never know who we are, so it makes it even better, we can write whatever we want without any consequences.” She tilts her head and thinks about it for a second. “Actually, that’s probably a bad thing. I wouldn’t trust myself with that much power and definitely not you.” She shrugs her shoulders and continues flipping through an Icelandic magazine that she probably can’t even read.
“Since this is our last one, do you think we should leave something for him? I feel bad for leaving him in the dark after our slew of letters to him.” Harry scrunches his nose up in contemplation.
“Do whatever your little heart desires.” She says, clearly fed up with all his bothersome questions. She flips through the magazine slowly, taking in every aspect of it. Harry huffs and rolls his eyes.
He looks down at the postcard in his hands, there’s a little empty spot at the bottom that would be great for writing a message. He decides to act on impulse, scrawling down his twitter handle with a smiley face next to it.
He immediately regrets the decision. What if Louis ends up being a total creep? He now has his full name and can look him up on twitter, which links to his Instagram, which links to basically his whole life. He puts the postcard down, his pulse skyrocketing and his palms sweaty, he decides not to think about it and just deal with it in the morning, crawling into bed and closing his eyes.
He wakes up with his eyes crusty and a yawn caught in the middle of his throat. He scratches his hair lazily and gazes over to the little hotel desk he had left the postcard on. Which is now gone, nowhere to be seen on the desk.
Harry’s breath gets caught in his throat. He scrambles out of bed and searches high and low for the stupid thing. He’s on his hands and knees under the desk when Gemma walks in, he lifts his head up and bumps it on the bottom of the desk.
“Ow,” the top of his head throbs with pain, he rubs his head and looks up at Gemma, “Do you know where the postcard is?” He asks scooting out from under the desk, watching out for his head this time.
“Oh yeah, I just put it in the mail,” Harry makes a squeaking noise of utter terror. Gemma chooses to ignore his outburst. “Very bold of you by the way, putting your twitter handle on the thing.” Her hand is on her hip and she looks like she’s holding in a laugh. Harry’s whole body fills with dread.
He doesn’t hear anything from Louis for two weeks; he’s back at home and he’s finally almost forgotten about the whole debacle. Until he’s scrolling through Instagram late at night and a twitter notification pops up on the top of his screen Louis Tomlinson followed you. His heart stops and his eyes widen in fear, Jesus fucking Christ he can’t believe Louis followed him.
His hands get clammy and he drops his phone onto his stomach not daring to look at it out of mortification.
Gemma walks in with a bag of crisps in her hands and a raised eyebrow. “What’s put that look on your face?” She plops down next to Harry and smacks her lips, wiping her fingers on her shorts.
Harry’s hands are covering his face and he groans, closing his eyes. “Louis from the postcards followed me on twitter.” He can feel humiliation brimming in his stomach.
“No way, are you joking?” She asks, purely shocked. “Have you checked out his profile yet?” Harry can hear the crunch of the crisp’s bag as she puts it down on the table.
“No.” Harry says, his voice almost a whisper.
“What the bloody hell are you waiting for, let’s do it right now.” Gemma grabs his phone from his stomach and starts typing around until she lets out a breathy laugh.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
“Oh no, what is it?” Harry secretly hopes Louis’ not some weird person. Hoping he didn’t spend all summer sending a creepy guy postcards and then gave him his twitter username.
“Louis’ a total hunk!” She squeals and tugs Harry’s hands from over his eyes and thrusts his phone in his face. “Oh, look he sent you a DM too!” She pulls the phone back and Harry reaches up trying to get his phone from her grasp, but she pushes his head down and keeps him there while she reads the DM.
“Are you the bloke who’s been sending me all those postcards this summer?” She reads in a mocking low voice. “Just wanted to say thanks for keeping me entertained this summer and also you’re super cute. Oh my god, he sent you a winky face, he wants you so bad. Get it, Curly.” Gemma jokes. Harry thinks his face is probably as bright as a tomato, his cheeks burning. He still hasn’t seen what Louis looks like, not that it would matter all that much, but still. Gemma said he was a hunk.
She flings his phone onto the couch and cackles as Harry makes a dive for it. He catches it and looks over Louis’ profile quickly. He’s a total hunk, a total cute, small hunk and Harry’s heart is thumping so loud, he’s worried Gemma might hear it.
He scampers to his room with his phone clutched firmly in his hand, he can hear Gemma wolf-whistling from the living room. He precedes to talk to Louis all night and then gives him his number early the next morning, so they can talk even more. He finds out Louis only lives a couple towns over so they to meet up the next time they’re both free. It’s definitely nothing he ever expected to happen when he first sent that postcard.