"i have a ten minute break so i’ll just start reading this 26k fic and when class starts i’ll totally stop and pay attention to the teacher" me pretending to be someone i’m not
my professor had us reading this paper and we are supposed to agree w the author but i dont think i do
why can’t liam and louis chill. why won’t they let me live.
A heart attack wasn’t particularly the first thing Nick had in mind upon his return home from work this afternoon.
Regardless, he supposes, it’s his body’s natural reaction when he sees his five year old son barreling down the drive atop a rogue skateboard (thank fuck Louis remembered the helmet and protective pads), wobbly-kneed in a mix of terror and bravery while a cackling Louis runs after him chanting encouragements as the wheels of the board roll over the grass lawn, their boy tumbling over the grass and sprawling out in delighted giggles.
Louis whoops, sliding across the grass on his knees to wrestle around with their son, tickle-fits sending squealy happy giggles to the sky. Nick stares wide-eyed for a moment until their boy wiggles from beneath Louis’ tickling fingers, darting over to Nick with bright blue eyes and the happiest smile Nick has ever seen, excitement practically buzzing off of his little body.
“Did’ja see me, dad! Papa’s teachin’ me to skateboard!” The boy grins, tossing tiny arms around Nick’s hips and squeezing hard.
Heart attack be damned, Nick can’t be mad at the sheepish, sly smile his husband sends from his place still sprawled out on the grass. He couldn’t ten years ago. He still can’t, today.
ASDFGHJKJHGFDSDFGHJKJHGFDSDFGHJKHGFD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDD, Louis as an aimless and unmotivated teen who everyone agrees is going nowhere, getting older and being an aimless and unmotivated twenty year old who everyone agrees is going nowhere, and then one day he gets fired up about some TINY LOCAL ISSUE, like wanting to get a stop sign put in on the street where his mum and sisters live because he’s had one too many heart attacks watching Phoebe and Daisy play near the road and finally he decides to look into doing something about it, and it involves a lot of going to meetings and steamrolling people who try to tell him it’s not going to happen and persuading the right people to take his side, and he gets his way and the stop sign gets put in. And it’s this TINY, SIMPLE thing, but he thrived off the process of making it happen in a way he’s never even come close to in any of the shitty jobs he’s had, and he’s good at it in a way he’s never been good at anything before, and there were some dismissive uncooperative assholes but there were also people who backed him and respected him and treated him like he was worthy of their attention and consideration, and he’s standing outside his mum’s house watching Phoebe and Daisy play and the mother of the little boy next door comes up and tells him how he thinks, yeah. This is something I want to keep doing.
I have spent the last 9846557 hours thinking about them, I’m not going to lie about it. Here, have a bit of an interview in the Evening Standard which Nick gives at some point after he and Louis come out, where the interviewer clearly doesn’t think that much of Louis (or Nick, come to mention it) and Nick doesn’t like it one bit.
Considering Grimshaw likes to carry out so much of his life in the public eye—his radio show is full of stories about his famous friends and what he ate for dinner, and his Twitter is crammed full of celebrity friend mentions—it’s ironic that his relationship is being kept so private. I ask if it’s Nick or if it’s Louis Tomlinson that made that particular decision, and Nick is uncharacteristically quiet on the subject.
"It’s private, innit?" he says, fiddling with his cup of coffee. I point out that Nick’s whole life is being played out for his Twitter followers and his radio listeners, but he won’t budge. One can’t help but wonder how this relationship came about in the first place, since Louis Tomlinson is not a familiar face on London’s party scene. I wonder how their relationship lasts when they’re apart so often, and I ask if Nick worries, knowing that as well as thousands of screaming girls trying to beat down Tomlinson’s door when he’s away on tour, there’s now a legion of gay men knowing they have a chance too. It’s enough to make the most stable of men wince, and Nick Grimshaw has been characteristically vocal on the subject of his whimsy and flights of fancy in the past.
"No, no," he reassures me, offering me the sugar. I’m already half way down my cup of coffee, but Grimshaw is like that, offering to get more milk and wondering if I’ll share a cookie or a croissant. He deflects with practiced ease. "Cos, like, I don’t give a shit who else loves him. I care that he comes home to me.”
But surely it bothers him. Do I believe him when he tells me no again? I don’t know. The last time I interviewed Nick Grimshaw, we’d talked about obsessive love, and Nick told me that ‘I can’t love just a little bit. It’s proper obsessive, think about it all the time, love it more than anything, or it’s nothing. I don’t do half-arsed. I’m lazy. I can’t be bothered. I just love things so much it’s stupid, or I can’t be bothered’. I remind him of this today, and he ducks his head. I ask which one best describes him and Louis.
"That’s easy," he tells me. "I’m proper, properly obsessed. Have been for ages." Ages is a relative term. He and Louis Tomlinson have never been exactly clear how long they’ve been seeing each other. I remind him of this, too. He doesn’t give me a clear answer, which might be because Nick was seeing someone else last autumn, a city financier who was Nick’s date to the GQ awards last September. Was that obsession too? "No," Nick says, and he’s clearly uncomfortable. "That was nice, but it didn’t work out."
"Because of Louis?"
He doesn’t want to be drawn on the subject of cheating. I point out that for someone who lives so much of his life in the spotlight, his love life is strangely private.
Nick Grimshaw is quiet when he answers me this time. “We’re both flawed,” he says. “We’re both f***ed up. But, like, we fit. He just fits. We’re both protective of that, maybe more than we should be.”
"You don’t trust each other," I suggest.
"No," he says. "We trust each other. We just don’t trust the world with us yet."
I don’t point out that’s a risky stance for two celebrities in a relationship in the digital age. I suspect he knows.
- The first episode of the new series of Sweat The Small Stuff airs on Tuesday on BBC3 Online.