Chapter Text
Louis Tomlinson was only fifteen when he snapped the picture that would change his life. It wasn't even intentional, not for lucrative reasons. He didn't want to profit from it, he just wanted to be able to go home and tell his family he'd seen famed singer Tasha Romero walking down the street of his hometown. By no means was he trying to capture anything that would spark conversation, it was sheer fate that he would accidentally snap the first picture that revealed Romero's million-dollar baby bump, confirming her massively speculated pregnancy. One of his best mates insisted that he contact a tabloid company and try to sell the picture.
‘They pay top dollar for that shit, Lou’.
Louis didn't want to at first, it wasn’t worth it, and well, his mum thought it was just ridiculous, all this attention put into some fake, glossy Hollywood world, she hated it.
And for good reason, Louis could agree, but when he made the decision to sell off the image to a giant magazine corp and he got his first check, well... Hollywood didn't seem so bad anymore.
So Louis started from there, that one accidental shot kick-starting his entire career. It started off small, a way to get extra cash and help his Mum out. After all, there was only one of her, and five kids to feed and clothe. Louis would linger around, occasionally getting a good picture of somebody who was someone (nothing close to the original Tasha Romero picture, but he'd take what he could get)
Louis was sharp and a quick learner though, and pretty soon he was picking up on the best paparazzi feeding grounds, the ones that not so many people knew about so the opportunities were higher and the competition less. He'd cut classes in school sometimes to rush somewhere where he knew something was happening. A singer arriving for a doctor's appointment. A higher-up actor leaving their hotel for an awards show, things like that, pictures people want.
Louis, being fairly sociable and charming (if he may say so himself) found it pretty easy to make connections, worm out secrets and tricks from hardened paps, tricks that they don't give away for nothing, but Louis prided himself on the fact that he had a boyish sort of charisma about him that he could flip on like a switch and entrap the hearts of others.
And let's be real, Louis thinks his smile is pretty killer too. When he wants it to be.
So all in all, about six months after the Tasha Romero incident, Louis had it good. He was selling off his pictures every other day, making a couple hundred a week, sometimes more, sometimes less depending on how good his shots turned out. He had friends in the paparazzi world (although he preferred to call it freelance photography) and he felt like something had been spurred in him by this whole situation. He liked taking pictures. Never thought himself as the artsy or creative type, but the longer he spent lingering around buildings and fiddling with cameras, the more he realized he enjoyed it. He thought maybe one day he could step up his game a bit. Get off the streets and start doing real genuine work.
Not to diss himself and other paparazzos, but he really was curious about what the honest and creative side of photography would be like, real photography.
So in his (limited) spare time, he'd march down to a couple of different film and media studios in his town and start rooting around, doing what he could to see about becoming an intern or a volunteer or anybody who could help out and learn a thing or two while doing it. Plus having access to top-notch equipment wouldn't be a downside, that's for sure.
And that's how Louis Tomlinson got his toe in the door. That's also when he fell in love with the art of it all. Bumming around on street corners waiting for a B-list celebrity to possibly walk by suddenly didn't seem terribly appealing anymore, not when he could be studying light and shadows and framing and everything that makes a photograph something. Something you look twice at and wonder what was the driving force behind it. Not something you skim past in a tabloid. Louis was more than that.
His mum thought so too. That was half the reason he threw himself into the professional side of photography so much. She always told him that.
'you're better than that street work, Lou. If you have a passion, you should be using it for something impactful.
So you can imagine the kind of pride she had when Louis got a job as a paid photography assistant at a bonafide studio where he didn't have to deal under the table to some shady magazine for a picture he did semi-illegal things to obtain. His life as a questionable paparazzo was a thing of the past. Louis Tomlinson was legit now, and he had it made. Even had a little office to himself - okay, so it was more like a glorified broom closet but still. It was his.
And it was these times in his life, Louis knows, that put him on the right track, artistically, creatively, but morally and philosophically too. Louis was well aware that living low income, with a single mum falling on hard times routinely gave him a high chance at becoming some good-for-nothing bum that lounged around the city pleading for a cigarette and the cash in his wallet, but his job at the studio drew him away from that. Having mentors, and outside influence made all the difference. He thrived under the guidance and learned how to finetune his style and find his footing as his own artist.
He finished up school with his hands full, and many nicknames from his peers pinned to his back. Some of them were distasteful, but most of them he didn't mind. 'art gay' was an unfamiliar concept to him, but once Stan explained the term, Louis actually didn't mind being stuck with the title. Maybe he kind of liked it. The idea of being that sort of indie, edgy, creative kid who always toted a camera around and jotted down their thoughts in the small notebook that was always on them. If that was his aesthetic, Louis could be doing worse.
Besides, everyone at school knew he was gay anyways.
It was right around the time he graduated that Louis started entering photography competitions. Just little small ones, and gradually working his way higher. He didn't dare shoot too high too fast and ruin his own chances at climbing the fragile and ever-shifting ladder of artistic success. Now and then he'd win second or third place, more often than not, he'd just end up in Honorable Mentions, which was lovely and flattering, but not up to the standards Louis held himself to. It was just twice out of probably forty-five competitions he entered that he took first place, got a cash prize, and his pictures in a magazine - a nice one, too, not some cheap tabloid. Both magazines sent him letters dubbing him "promising young talent" and saying they'd be "sure to keep him in mind as a future collaborator" but Louis was pretty sure that's all just PR hype because he didn't ever hear from them after that.
Doesn't matter though, because he was ever-moving and open to new opportunities. His supervisor at the studio told him that was one of his best qualities. His adaptability and eagerness to absorb information. Louis was pretty sure all of that happened naturally because he doesn't even know how to intentionally be adaptable, whatever that even means in that context. To be fucking frank he just likes taking pictures and that was that.
Was he young and full of potential and good at what he did? Obviously. And well...that definitely didn’t hurt.
---
It’s 7 pm and Louis Tomlinson is well aware he’s running late. He still needs to go grocery shopping, because he doubts his mum will be home early enough on a Wednesday to do it herself, and the girls have to eat something. Maybe they’ll just order pizza, it’s been a while since they did that and Louis is tired-- those who say arts are the soft option clearly haven’t operated a professional-grade camera on a set for 11 hours. It’s simply not for the faint of heart. Louis’ shoulder aches and his fingers are stiff from gripping in the same position for hours on end. And his neck, don’t even ask. He’s too young to feel this sore, but he can’t look into the viewfinder without craning his neck, and this is what it gets him.
The camera tripod is too fucking tall, he’s not even short. He’s not.
Despite his tormented body, Louis is pleased with the footage they shot today. Probably knocked out the main body of the short film that the studio Louis works at is producing. It’s nothing huge, a passion project that his supervisor is developing and wanted Louis on. Something about how ‘short films change your perspective'. It’s a great way to break away from the usual beat you see in movies. He favors photography, but videography has its moments too, so he doesn’t mind being on the crew.
Reaching his car, Louis cracks his neck before sliding into the driver’s seat. After all, he doesn’t want to cramp while he’s driving, that’d just be a safety hazard.
Besides, if he perished in a car crash on the way home, nobody would be able to go get pizza for his little sisters.
Luckily, he gets home without a hitch, doesn’t come close to death even once, which is unusual because he’s a terrible driver. (Look, he’s 90% self-taught, alright? He’s doing his best. Louis is just glad he passed his test at all)
He pulls onto the curb in front of his house, leaving the driveway for his mum when she gets home, and cuts the engine before going inside.
He’s barely even crossed the threshold when a screeching ball of limbs comes flying at him and hits him hard in his middle, making him groan.
“Lou!” the ball of limbs-- his sister-- crushes her arms around his waist, immobilizing him. She looks up with enthusiasm, smiling so bright it’s almost aggressive. “You won’t believe what happened.”
“I won’t do anything ever again if you suffocate me, Fizz,” Louis wheezes, attempting to pry her little arms away, but she holds tight.
“I’m serious, Lou, this is a big thing,” Fizzy tells him, eyes going solemn as she looks up at him.
“Alright, good big or bad big?” Louis asks, giving in, knowing he can’t escape her grip until she’s told him whatever she has to share. He wiggles her arms off of him and scoops her up, taking her into the kitchen with him. Fizzy’s ten, but she’s still small enough that Louis can toss her around.
“You’re going to want to sit down for this one,” Lottie informs him, and she appears from the stairwell, holding her schoolwork and an envelope in the other.
Louis frowns. It’s one thing for Felicite to be in a tizzy, but if Lottie is in on it too, there may actually be some weight to it.
He sets Fizzy down on the kitchen table slowly. “Alright, what are you two on about, then?” he asks suspiciously.
Lottie leans over and passes him the envelope in her hand. “You’ve got a letter.”
“A letter that you opened,” Louis observes distastefully. “It’s addressed to me.”
“Mum says sometimes you have to snoop to make sure your kids are keeping their noses clean,” Lottie tells him defensively. “It’s about being a good parent.”
"You’re not bloody well my parent though, are you?” he presses, only half serious about it.
Lottie rolls her eyes. “Would you just read it instead of picking a fight?”
Beside him, Fizzy starts kicking her legs in excitement. “Yes! Just read it, Lou, out loud so I can hear it again.”
With more curiosity than he cares to admit, Louis shakes the letter out of its sleeve and unfolds it, beginning to read in a steady voice.
Dear Mr. Tomlinson
Greetings from the Hol-Tech team, we hope this letter finds you well. Your keen interest and promising talent have come to our attention as we search for young photographers and collaborators to join our new project, due to begin production in Los Angeles next month. Upon reviewing your work and resume at the recommendation of one of our partnering magazines, we have made the decision to extend a job offer to you as a Content Assistant and personal photographer to Mr. Harry Styles as we tape a comprehensive documentary about his life as Hollywood’s newest darling, as well as several exclusive photoshoots, and behind the scenes footage. We look forward to hearing from you by the end of the week, at which point we will further discuss the position.
Best wishes
Raymond Thomas, Head of Production at Hol-Tech studios.
Louis looks up, shocked, taking in his sister’s pleased faces. Well, Lottie is pleased, Fizzy is damn near ecstatic.
"Is this real?” he demands. “You guys didn’t write this to prank me?”
“Swear on my life,” Lottie promises. “I’ve looked up the studio and the email and number attached and everything, just to be sure, Lou, I promise. They’re legit, got loads of film credits and awards and things. And you’ve just gotten a job with them.”
“I don’t believe it,” Louis says faintly, running his hands through his hair. “A job-- a job with a major American studio, it’s--”
“Harry Styles!” Fizzy screeches suddenly, the words bursting from her as if she can’t physically contain them anymore. “You got a job with Harry Styles” By the end, her voice drops to an awed whisper.
“Yeah, who the hell is Harry Styles anyway?” Louis asks, glancing back down at the name on the paper.
Felicite looks so taken aback, he might have slapped her.
“Wow, Lou, you don’t spend enough time at home anymore.” Lottie shakes her head. “Harry Styles is only Fizzy’s one true love.”
“Your what?” He whips his head around to look at his little sister; Fizzy is far too young to be in love with anybody.
The little girl shakes her head, sending dark hair flying about her shoulders. “He’s on the show I love, Louis, the one about the boy who writes songs with his best friend and stuff, and he plays guitar and he’s so so dreamy and good looking,” Fizzy squinches up her face as if thinking of this Harry kid and all his merits is causing her physical pain.
Louis raises his eyebrows. “Is it that shit one you’re always watching before school where they’re constantly lip-syncing to peppy tween ballads?”
Lottie nods her head, looking pained, and Fizzy wrinkles her nose. "He can really sing, I bet you, Lou."
Louis shakes his head. "Nobody in Hollywood can sing, Fizz, it's all a lie."
The younger girl slides off the counter. "But you're going to go find out, aren't you?" She wraps her arms around his waist again, looking up at Louis with pleading eyes. Louis sighs, smoothing her hair back. He wants to say yes, of course, with enthusiasm and make her dreams come true - make his own dreams come true - in a second but he just...he can't.
"I don't know, Fizz," Louis sighs. "Los Angeles, that's so far away. Who would help Mum out? Am I just supposed to leave all my responsibilities here? Wouldn't you miss me?"
"I honestly don't care, if you're going to be texting us pictures of Harry Styles," Fizzy says frankly and Louis frowns, wounded.
"Okay, I'd miss you," she amends. "But I know you'll be friends with Harry, best friends probably, you won't even have time to miss us."
Louis snorts at the image of him and some shaggy haired glitzy little preteen high-fiving and having a laugh together. "I doubt it, he's probably like, twelve."
"He's sixteen," Fizzy defends, folding her arms crossly. "And a half."
"A child," Louis shrugs. "I'm too old for little Disney kids."
"But I'm only ten and you love me most of all, right Lou?" Fizzy asks pouting, hugging him against her crushingly tight again.
"Course, you and Lots and the twins are my best girls forever, but it's different with friends than it is siblings, love."
"Fine, it's okay if you're not friends, just send me pictures of his house," Fizzy decides.
Lottie makes a face, looking ashamed. "Felicite, that is so weird."
"Don't lie, Dot Dot, you want it too. I want Louis to film a house tour."
Louis covers his little sister's mouth, making her giggle. "Okay, that's enough from you, kiddo, you've reached your word limit for today."
"You can't stop me!" She shouts through Louis's fingers, muffled. "I know what I want and I'll always be here!"
At that moment, the kitchen door opens and Louis' mum steps in, holding a bag of groceries in one hand and both the twin's wrists in the other. Louis quickly removes his hand from Fizzy's mouth and wipes it on his jeans, hoping his mother doesn't question the situation. "Mum! You're home early. And you went grocery shopping!"
Jay smiles, looking vaguely confused and maybe a little concerned (which is justified). "Hi poppets, I've just brought the girls from Dad's house, what's going on?"
"Louis got a job! A fancy one!" Fizzy announces to the room, eyes alight as she breaks away from Louis finally.
Louis' mum raises her brow, glancing at him. "Lou? What's happened with that?"
Louis combs his fingers through his hair, wishing Fizzy had held her tongue on announcing that just now. He would have preferred to talk about this with just his Mum, and not right this moment.
"Yeah, ehm, I've been offered a job with a big studio, called Hol-Tech. It's...big," he finishes lamely.
"It's huge, Mummy," Fizzy bubbles, pushing past Lottie.
Louis shakes his head. There's no such thing as privacy with four sisters, it's not like he's surprised at this point.
"It's with Harry Styles, Mum!" Fizzy tells her, pushing on without a care.
Jay really pauses at this, setting the grocery bag down on the counter. "Harry Styles? The boy on TV that you like, Fizz?"
"See?" Fizzy demands, spinning on her heel to look at Louis accusingly. "Mum knows who he is!"
Louis shrugs. It's not as if he's got all this spare time to lounge around and memorize all the child stars of the world.
"You've gotten a job with him?" Louis's mum presses. "Really?"
"Personal photographer," Louis sinks onto one of the barstools at the kitchen table. He might as well spill everything now before Fizzy steals the rest of his moment. "They're filming some documentary special about him or something, I dunno. I guess I'm just supposed to follow him around and capture photos of his whole glorious life."
"Lou!" Jay exclaims. "That's amazing, Poppet, you must be so pleased, darling, aren't you?"
Louis nods, because he is, he'd be stupid not to be, but part of him can't wrap itself around the Los Angeles factor and come to terms with it. It's just so so far away. He's never been that far away from his family in his entire life, doesn't even really like overnights if he's being honest.
"It's in Los Angeles, Mum," Louis says softly. "I'd have to relocate there."
Daisy pops her head up from under the table where she's sitting and eating the snack Jay gave her. She and Phoebe always sit under the table, Louis has no idea why.
"Los Angeles?" Daisy demands. "The big sunny one? That's far away, Lou, you can't."
And, yeah. This is exactly why Louis wanted to have this conversation with his mum in private. The guilt is already bad enough without his baby sister's doe eyes staring at him like he's stolen her favorite plushie and tossed it out.
For a second, Jay looks surprised, but then her expression smoothes out. "I suppose you'll need new luggage then, my love?"
Louis frowns, his heart sinking. Somehow, it would be easier if his mum tried to put up a fight and convince him not to go. Her understanding nature and quiet support only make him feel even more guilty. Guilty for leaving her. "Mum, I...I don't have to, you know? I can stay and help with the girls and the money and-"
"Don't be silly," Jay cuts over him, gentle but insistent. "You're not letting a big chance like this slip away because of me, Lou, darling. This could make all the difference in your career, you have to take these opportunities when you get them, my love."
"But you, and the girls," Louis protests weakly. "I've never been so far away from you."
"You have to," Fizzy whines, clinging to Louis once more. "I'll never forgive you if you don't."
"Lou," Lottie raises her eyebrows. "Are you trying to convince us that this is a good idea, or yourself?"
Louis prickles at this. Of course, he wants to go, this is everything he's ever wanted. It's just that...he never thought it would happen, and now that it's here, so unexpectedly, maybe it's a little daunting. Maybe it's more than a little daunting, maybe Louis is petrified and he doesn't know how to say that he's afraid of being lonely in a strange country and not having his family to fall back on. Maybe Louis just wants his mum to say no, and that's final and he'll have a reason to decline the offer.
Jay sets down the empty grocery bag and comes over to her only son, cupping his face in her gentle hands. Louis wishes she wouldn't because it's just another reminder of all that he'd be leaving behind.
"Lou, my sweet boy, I am in no way shape, or form going to encourage you not to go, or ask you to stay here for me. I can manage just fine, but, that being said...if it's too much, poppet, I understand that too. When I was your age I wouldn't have been nearly brave enough to do such a thing. I'll let you have the final decision, alright?"
Louis nods, putting his hands on top of hers. His mother's hands are always so much warmer than his perpetually chilled ones. "Okay," he whispers.
"I'm so proud of you either way, so proud, you'll never know."
"Thanks, Mum," he replies, voice feeling a bit thick. He doesn't need to cry, there's no reason for it. He blinks back any moisture in his eyes and takes a deep breath. He has a week before anything needs to be decided, that's long enough. That's enough time to just sit tonight and appreciate the warm glow of his family around him. Curse his mum for giving him such a happy childhood, it's impossible to leave now. He can't imagine not waking up and coming home to them. They're all he has.
But you can have more, a soft, insistent voice in the back of his head chimes in. You can have them and more, you can try your hand in Los Angeles without relocating there. You can come home if it's too much. But what you can't do is live out your entire life in the same small town raising your sisters.
Yes, there's more to be had than that, Louis thinks. More he wants to see and do. Maybe not quite so far as LA though.
But he won't decide tonight. No, he isn't thinking about leaving tonight. Louis shakes his head, shoving aside all thoughts of life-changing decisions and flights out of the country. He smiles brightly at his mother.
"Forget about making dinner, what do you say to pizza and movies tonight, Mum?"