What do you imagine happening in the future for the boys in y&b? Like twenty years from now? Where are they, what are they doing and are they still friends?
THAT IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION.
I’m not sure how much I want to say bc I’m planning on revisiting the fic at some point and telling you what happens and I don’t want to contradict myself or spill beans, ya feel?
But I think what I imagine is that Niall is going to be quite successful and married to a sweet-faced girl with a sharp tongue and plenty of wit (who can drink him under the table any day) with lots of bright-eyed, flush-cheeked little children.He will take over his father’s production company and party with the big boys, getting photographed as he bonds-for-life with every soul that exists in the music industry. But he always goes home at a reasonable time, “home to my missus and my wee ones” and smiles warmly as he makes his farewells.
Zayn and Liam will be the power couple of the century, Zayn having ties to celebrity-dom (working with Niall even on a few projects) and Liam being a stunning entrepreneur. They will, of course, adopt a beautiful child. Or perhaps they will adopt beautiful twins (a girl and a boy) and they will grow up to be the pinnacle of existence bc they have the best parents on the planet. (Liam will be healthy and happy, btb) They always seek out Niall immediately at functions, always have family dinner with him and his fam. The twins refer to him as “Uncle Niall” and Niall’s children refer to them as “The Uncles” and there is so much domestic, happy, slightly-mischievous bliss.
As for Harry and Louis. Le siiiiigh <3 <3 <3
Their future is filled with Louis being a professor of drama at the very same school he once disdained, giving a good ribbing to the pretentious and the privileged, and encouraging a good work ethic and compassion amongst those who are unfamiliar with both. He comes home to his sweet, domesticated husband Harold who has becoming something splendid like an artist or photographer or perhaps just writes songs for popular artists at Niall’s production company (sometimes featuring Zayn on vocals) or maybe ALL OF THE ABOVE. They have a library the size of a ballroom that Harry inhabits frequently, finding new favorite quotes and scribbling them onto bits of paper that he stuffs in the lunches he makes for Louis every day. In the day they lie about, passing a dusty novel back and forth, probably Tennessee Williams or Oscar Wilde, and sipping tea with a bit of rum mixed in, sitting at a grand kitchen table where there’s always fresh lilies. Harry makes Louis tea, knowing he needs it before even Louis himself does, often absently combing his fingers through Louis’ messy morning hair as he reads “A Streetcar Named Desire” over his shoulder in the dusty morning sun. Louis smiles wide, endlessly, as Harry sets his steaming cuppa on the table, puckers his lips for a kiss that Harry happily supplies, lingering for just a moment longer than usual, the lingering taste of spearmint clinging to his lips from when they’d brushed their teeth, side by side,that morning. Harry’s toothbrush is pink and gold, with his name carved delicately onto the handle (Louis never stops giving him shit for it and was near livid the day Harry chose to get that done when he was ACTUALLY supposed to have been grocery shopping by himself for the very first time).
They stroll through the gardens in their yard and Harry buys Louis ridiculous and stylish clothes that Louis only ever wears to indulge Harry and listen to records and sit around watching black and white movies, cuddled up in handwoven blankets, clutching glasses of wine that’s the color of Harry’s lips as he presses them to Louis’ neck, echoing the words Valentino gushes to his leading lady as he finally professes his ardent love during the climax of the movie. Louis always wonders how Harry can memorize so much, how me can remember all those lines, but he doesn’t question too much bc he’s too bewitched as Harry holds him long after the credits roll, and drags his lips over his skin in the barely-lit room.
They have one child, a beautiful little girl with large curls and long eyelashes and sweet, gleaming eyes, and Louis insists she has Harry’s laugh and Harry insists she has Louis’ smile. Harry takes care to dress her in gorgeous florals and laces, buying matching hats for himself and her, taking her on strolls down brick streets and holding her in his arms so that she can see into the shop windows, pressing her small, smooth hands against the glass and bumping her nose against it, creating little cloudy splotches on the surface when she breathes and giggles. Harry takes her home, hand in hand, his smile already threatening to fly off of his face as he she breaks free from him the minute they walk through the door, screeching for “Daddy!” and hearing Louis’ laugh drifting from the kitchen.
They hold her up, the both of them, as she flings her arms around both of their necks, giggling between their chests as they press closer and tease her, pecking kisses to her cheeks and asking what she wants for lunch. “Rose tea and bean sprouts with a sprig of dill? On a bit of toast?” Harry tries to persuade her, while Louis says, louder, “Ice cream, right? Just a great big bowl? Maybe a biscuit or three?” And she giggles and giggles and shakes her head, laughing as she says “Nooo!!” at each of their suggestions.
And, afterwards, as Harry insists on cleaning up to impress Louis, Louis will hand her some play clothes (proper jogging bottoms and a little Vans t-shirt) and some trainers and whisper, “Come on, let’s sneak out before Dad sees us” and she throws off the pretty, delicate frock Harry had bought for her, instead dons clothes suitable for playing in the grass, and together they play football in the yard, her little laughs echoing as she stumbles and falls, dirt smudging her elbows and grass stains peppering the cotton of her shirt. Harry will emerge eventually, pretending to be scandalized (“Where is your dress, my little one? Or should I say my little traitor?!”) but he’s smiling so wide and it only makes her laugh harder as she hides playfully behind Louis who is smirking, brushing the hair out of her eyes and sticking his tongue out at his husband. “This dad wins” he’ll say teasingly and Harry’s jaw will drop comically and she will emerge with dimples and open arms, insisting that “I love both of my papas!” and they’ll scoop her up again because they can, because she’s their baby, and they will laugh as they stare into each other’s eyes, their hands entwined as they hold her up, and the sun will shine down upon the trio, the flowers tilting in their direction to watch.
OHKAY I’M SORRY THAT WAS WAY MORE THAN I EXPECTED TO WRITE OOPS I’M SORRY I JUST REALLY LOVE THESE BOYS.
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