Chapter Text
“Hello nation,” Louis says, speaking clearly into his mic, greeting his listeners at Capital FM Radio. “For everyone who is just tuning in, that was Problem by Ariana Grande and before that we had Sam Smith singing Stay With Me. Good tunes to start off everyone’s Monday morning.”
Louis glances around at his team; Liam is busy typing an email; Zayn is scrolling through twitter; Niall is playing a game, candy crush by the looks of it, but Harry is paying attention, eyes on Louis instead of on his computer screen.
“Eh, how was everyone’s weekends?” Louis asks, attempting to engage the others but only Harry responds the rest continue staring at their computers.
“Good, yeah. Went round to the pub with some of my mates, had a few pints. What about you, Lou?” Harry asks, always polite.
“Me, Harry. What did I do over the weekend? Hmm, funny you should ask,” Louis says. “Let’s see. Friday, nothing. Saturday, I did a bit of cleaning up, some laundry, made sure the flat was tip top, that sort of thing. Then, Saturday night I got a call from our very own Niall Horan.” Hearing his name, Niall tears his eyes away from his screen.
“Huh,” Niall says.
“Niall, Niall, Niall,” Louis chants, looking at Niall with an evil glint in his eye.
“Yes, Lou,” Niall says, already dreading where this is going.
“Niall, why don’t you tell the lovely people of Britain why you called me Saturday night. I’m sure they’d love to hear it,” Louis says, voice mock cheerful but expression promising destruction.
“You mean Saturday when I called to ask you out for pints?” Niall replies, face innocent.
“Ahh, he’s being shy this morning, ladies and gentlemen. Here, why don’t I tell the story. Nation, Saturday night, while I was watching the telly in my pajamas and eating chocolate digestives, my good friend Niall, the very same Niall that works on this show, calls me. I consider not picking up as it’s quite late but I figure Niall is probably pissed and a pissed Niall is an entertaining Niall. So I pick up the phone, and true to form, Niall is pissed but he manages to tell me through his slurred speech that he is drinking with none other than Brazilian football player Neymar. The Neymar. And he wants me to come down to drink with them.”
At this point, Niall can be heard groaning over the radio, Mic picking up the loud thump his head makes on the desk. Louis continues his story nonplussed.
“Now, for those of you who don’t know, I love football; go absolutely nuts about football and Niall knows this. So, immediately when Niall tells me he’s drinking with Neymar I get suspicious. I go ‘No, you’re not. You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?’ But Niall goes ‘No, no, no, Neymar’s right here. I’ll put him on the line’. Niall hands the phone off to someone I can’t see, this guy coming on the phone, speaking Portuguese or what I assume was Portuguese. The thing was, though, he sounded like Neymar, like exactly like the real Neymar. He says ‘Louis! Come drink!’ and then Niall comes back on the line and tells me to meet them at the bar in the London EDITION hotel Neymar is supposedly staying at. Convinced that he was the real Neymar I quickly change out of my pajamas and call a taxi as fast as I can to go meet them.”
Here, Louis pauses, giving Niall his most deadly stare to which Niall looks appropriately cowed.
“Except when I reach the hotel and search the hotel bar, I see neither Niall nor Neymar. I go up to the bartender on duty and ask him if Neymar has been at the bar. He tells me no, adding that he would remember if Neymar had been staying at the hotel. I call Niall back just in case, already knowing the little-.”
“Louis! We’re live,” Liam says, cutting Louis off before Louis can curse on air.
“Already knowing the git has tricked me and sure enough the call goes straight to voicemail,” Louis finishes.
“Mate, it was just a joke. The lads and I were just having a laugh,” Niall pleads, disliking the unholy gleam in Louis’ eyes.
“Of course, Niall. Just having a bit of a laugh with some mates. I completely understand,” Louis says, his tone suggesting that he does not, in fact, understand. Changing directions, Louis says, “Nation, this morning I woke up and thought ‘Today seems like a great day to play Tweeted By’. What do you think, Zayn?”
“Reckon that sounds alright,” Zayn says in lazy agreement, always down to go along with Louis’ schemes.
“You know you’re not allowed to play that game anymore, Lou. Not after last time,” Liam says, sending Louis an unimpressed look.
“Ah Li, stop being such a spoil sport. Besides it’s not my fault The Wanted boys are so touchy,” Louis huffs in his defense.
“Louis,” Liam says in warning.
“Look, it’ll be fine. I promise not to start a twitter war,” Louis says, dismissing Liam’s concern. “Now Niall, if you would please hand over your phone.”
“Come on, Lou. It was just a joke,” Niall whines, reluctant to hand over his phone to Louis’ devious machinations.
“Think of it this way, Niall. This radio show is like a ship; I’m its rogue yet handsome Captain and you all are my loyal crew. You,” Louis says, pointing his finger at Niall, “have committed treason of the highest order. And, as punishment, you must walk the plank.”
“Niall knows how to swim, though, isn’t it, like, useless to throw him overboard,” Harry interjects, voice thoughtful.
“I think traditionally the sailors would tie canon balls to the traitor’s legs to make them sink,” adds Zayn, master of random trivia.
“Both of you shut it before I make you walk the plank as well,” Louis says, putting a stop to their needless chatter as any worthy Captain would. “Niall, your phone, if you will,” Louis demands, making a ‘hand it over gesture’ at Niall.
“No,” Niall groans but he hands over the phone as requested. Louis fiddles around with Niall’s phone, finding his twitter app and typing out a message, short and sweet.
“And send,” Louis says, pressing the blue tweet button. He hands the phone back to Niall with a self satisfied smirk on his face.
“Oh god, what did you do,” Niall asks, watching in dismay as his notifications blow up.
“Nothing that you didn’t deserve,” Louis answers, not the least bit sorry.
“@Louis_Tomlinson is the King of Radio not to mention the fittest bloke ever," Niall reads aloud for everyone listening in. "And he’s added the crown emoji, the thumbs up emoji and the picture of the guy smiling emoji." Under his breath, Niall mutters, “Yeah, right, more like the vainest bloke I’ve ever met.”
“Not what your tweet says,” Louis says, sing song, way too smug about his own prank.
Over on the other side of the desk, Louis notices Liam pointing something out to Zayn on his computer screen.
“What are you pointing at, Liam,” Louis asks.
“Huh, oh, nothing Lou. Just showing Zayn your tweet. Very clever, that. What time is it? “ Liam asks, trying to change the subject. “Shouldn’t you be doing the waking up song about now?”
“Why are you trying to change the subject. What are you hiding,” Louis asks, eying Liam’s guilty expression.
“Nothing. It’s time for you to do the waking up song.”
“I know you’re hiding something. You look all sweaty and nervous. Zayn, what was he showing you?” Louis says, turning to Zayn to discover what Liam is hiding.
“Nothing, Lou. Just the tweet you sent. It’s already gotten a bunch of replies,” Zayn says, letting slip that little bit of information.
Suspicions aroused, Louis pulls up Niall’s twitter page on his computer. He doesn’t get very far before Liam is nagging him again.
“Louis, what are you doing?” Liam asks, pitch rising at the end. “Remember you’re on the radio, Lou. You’ve got a job to do. It’s time to do the waking up song, ok.”
“Fine, Liam, don’t have a cow. Alright listeners heres 5 Seconds of Summer doing the waking up song,” Louis says, playing the pre-recorded sound bit. “Hope you’re all awake. Next up we have their newest single called Don’t Stop.”
Louis puts on the song to buy himself some time to search Niall’s twitter page. He clicks open the replies to the tweet he sent scrolling quickly down the page looking for something that could have upset Liam.
Most of the replies aren’t even related to the tweet. Instead most of the replies are along the lines of declarations of neverending love and pleas for Niall to ‘please follow back’. He smiles at the few who mention their love for him in their replies. There are a couple of nastier comments, as well, but nothing he hasn’t seen before; mostly childish stuff about his looks. Whatever, Louis thinks, you can’t win ‘em all, and scrolls past those without a second thought. Then he sees it; halfway down the page, there’s a reply from an @grimmers.
@NiallOfficial Always thought @Louis_Tomlinson had a face made for radio.
The owner of the above twitter account was Nick Grimshaw, a rival radio show host. He hosted The Late Night Show at BBC Radio 1 and was a complete wanker, constantly insulting Louis and his show with rude tweets and nasty comments on his radio show. Louis hated him with a passion. Some of that hate must show on his face because Liam becomes frantic, redoubling his efforts to keep Louis in line.
“Please, Lou. I know you don’t like him and he’s a wanker for tweeting what he did but don’t say anything about it on the radio.”
“That guy is such a git,” Louis says, jaw clenched.
“30 seconds,” warns Zayn.
Louis takes a deep breath, managing to reign in his anger and his urge to mention @grimmers tweet on the air.
“Hope you liked that one,” Louis says, coming in as the song fades out. “New single from 5SOS. What’d you think, Harry, pretty good jam, innit,” Forcing himself to stay on the topic of music but inwardly thinking of ways to enact his revenge on the pretentious twat.
~*~
Later that night Louis stands at his stove making dinner, heating up water for pasta while listening to the radio. He’s alone in his flat, declining an invitation to go out to dinner with the team, preferring to stay in for the night. Earlier that afternoon he had responded to Grimshaw’s tweet with a tweet of his own: @grimmers at least people listen to my show #moyles>grimshaw.
Not his best work, for sure, but Louis had been angry, was still angry. Liam had texted him soon after he had sent the text with a single frowny face obviously not pleased with Louis’ tweet. Louis knew Nick would retaliate, unable to resist the desire to have the last word.
That was why Louis was sitting at his kitchen counter, radio station turned to BBC Radio 1, listening to Nick’s show. His ears were primed for any mention of his name or Capital FM.
With both Louis and Nick sending each other nasty comments via twitter and thinly veiled insults on their respective radio shows, tuning into Nick’s show had become a common occurrence. Their feud had reached such a heated state that Louis had been told off more than once by the big bosses upstairs to cut it out, Liam lecturing him tirelessly to ignore Grimshaw’s taunts. But Louis couldn’t help it; there was something about Nick bloody Grimshaw that rubbed him the wrong way.
Louis hadn’t even met the man in real life, only interacting with him through social media. He hadn’t even known who Nick was before receiving his promotion to Breakfast Show Host at Capital FM. He only became aware of Nick’s existence when Nick mentioned Louis in an interview. The interviewer had asked about the BBC’s radio rival, Capital FM, and if Nick ever checked out the competition. Nick answered that he didn’t listen often, preferring rock to pop music, but confessed that he had tuned in to the early show one day and had found the host’s voice annoying, high and reedy, almost as if a squirrel were talking.
Louis had been incensed when he had read that article. Never one to take a slight laying down, he called Nick out for his remarks on the show the next day, calling him a hipster wannabe who wouldn’t know good music if it bit him in the ass. It had been downhill from there.
Hearing his name, Louis is pulled from his thoughts, focusing more closely on his kitchen radio.
“Does he really think he’s a better host than me?” Nick says, voice filling out through the radio’s speakers. “I mean, he might have more listeners, I’ll grant him that, but that’s because they’re a mainstream radio station. We’re a small, relatively unknown, independent radio station so of course they’re going to have more listeners. Doesn’t mean he’s a better host.”
“Listeners is how we measure the ratings, though, love,” Fiona replies. “He’s got more of those for sure.”
“No, hang on a minute,” Ian says, butting in. “Nick makes a fair point. They’ve got more funding, more advertisers, they can afford more exposure in the media so it makes sense that they would have more listeners. The ratings don’t account for that.”
“Yes, ok but if not for polling the amount of listeners, how would you rate who’s the better host?” Matt asks, a reasonable enough question.
After a momentary silence, Nick says, “We should have a host off.”
In the background, Louis can hear Matt groan.
“No, Nick. I don’t know what that is but you are not challenging Louis Tomlinson to a host off,” Matt insists.
“Actually that sounds like an interesting idea,” Ian says, sounding curious. “What exactly is a host off?”
“How should I know,” Nick says, dumbfounded. “Just made it up, didn’t I.”
“Of course you did, love,” Fiona says, laughing fondly.
“Ok, but what do you think a host off would entail?” Ian asks again.
“Do not encourage him, “ Matt chides.
“No, wait, hang on a second. I quite like this idea. We could have some sort of radio quiz. Whoever wins is named best host ever,” Nick says, triumphantly.
“No,” Matt replies in a flat voice. “Play the next record.”
“You never let me have any fun,” Nick says, and Louis can hear the pout through his radio.
They move on after that, no more mention of Louis or a host off.
Louis thought the whole discussion was ridiculous. Even if there was such a thing as a host off, Nick would never beat him at being the best radio show host. Besides, polling the amount of listeners a show had was a perfectly good way to rate a host; popularity proving who was the better host. Nick was obviously jealous that Louis’ show had more listeners than his.
Nick’s argument that Louis’ show only had the bigger audience because they had more funding was nonsense. It was true that Capital FM was the larger station with paid billboards on buses and ads on the telly but that had nothing to do with it. BBC had fewer listeners because nobody wanted to hear the boring, indie crap that the station played all day long. It was nothing but sad, depressing love songs with angsty lyrics. Louis couldn’t stand that kind of music; hearing it made him want to pour cement in his ears to never have to hear it again.
Nick’s assumption that Louis ‘paid’ for his listeners, so to speak, made Louis angry. Louis was a good host. He had worked hard to earn this job, starting at the bottom of the rung as an unpaid intern when he was still in uni. Slowly, he had worked his way up the ladder until he’d been offered his current position hosting Capital FM’s Breakfast Show.
When he had been offered the promotion, he had been taken completely by surprise figuring that his age disqualified him for such a coveted position. He knew he was young to be promoted so soon in his career but that only motivated him to work harder to prove himself worthy of the task. His team of producers was also very young, around the same age as Louis. Like Louis, everyone on his production team was good at what they did, and had as much experience working in radio as Louis did.
Out of the four of his producers, Louis had known Zayn the best, having worked with him before. Zayn had been one of his producers on the previous show he had hosted and they had formed a fast, lasting friendship, bonding over tattoos and comic books. After receiving his promotion, Louis had personally requested that Zayn be put on his team as one of his producers for The Breakfast Show.
The other three producers on his team he had not known as well and were chosen by the executive producers of the show. He knew Harry second best, after Zayn, having worked with him a few times on segments for his previous show but nothing consistent. However, he had got on well with Harry the few times they had worked together and had been excited to have him on the team knowing he would bring a fresh and innovative style to the show.
Niall, their resident Irish ambassador, Louis had seen around the office, usually in a group smiling or laughing at something. Louis had run into him a couple of times in the break room but that was it. When they started working together on the show they had immediately clicked.
Liam was another story. Louis had always gotten the impression Liam was the serious sort from the occasional glimpses he saw of him around the office. Talking with his coworkers, Louis heard similar stories confirming Liam as a boring but hard worker.
From the get go, they had clashed, butting heads between song breaks multiple times during those first few weeks working together on the show. Liam was constantly nagging Louis about watching what he said on air and making sure that what he said was appropriate for all ages; this, of course, had the opposite effect, goading Louis into making as many sexual innuendos as possible during the show, turning anything even remotely suggestive into a penis joke, Liam blushing crimson everytime.
As the weeks went by Louis had worn Liam down until Liam just giggled at Louis’ sexual innuendos. He would still tell Louis off for being inappropriate but without any heat behind his remonstrations. Louis like to brag about how he had corrupted sweet, innocent Liam, bringing it up at every possible opportunity.
Louis could hardly believe that they had only been working together for less than a year; it seemed longer for how well Louis knew the other lads and vice versa. Their working relationship had blossomed into a comfortable friendship, as well, with them oftentimes going out for dinner or drinks after work and on the weekends. He was convinced the real reason for the show’s popularity was due to how well his team worked together and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. The show’s success had nothing to do with how many advertisers Capital FM had, like some people insinuated, Louis thought darkly.
Getting up from the kitchen stool, Louis walks over to his radio switching the off button with a little more force than necessary. Louis’ going to prove to Nick bloody Grimshaw who’s the better host.
~*~
The next morning on the show Louis decides to bring up the idea of a host off with the team.
“Lads, guess what I did last night,” Louis asks once the last record fades out.
“Went to bed early,” Liam says, coming up with the most boring guess imaginable.
“Stole a car,” Zayn drones, disinterested.
“Went on a hot date,” Niall says, winking at Louis.
“Adopted a litter of kittens,” Harry chirps, eyes hopeful.
“No to all of you. And stop guessing you’re all terrible at this,” Louis says, unimpressed with his teams half-assed guessing. “No, last night I listened to Grimshaw’s late night show.” Hoping to draw gasps of outrage, Louis is disappointed when all he gets are four blank stares.
“Me, too,” Harry says after a beat. “I try to listen whenever I can.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Louis says, giving Harry a betrayed look.
“He’s funny. And I like the music he plays,” Harry says, ignoring how purple Louis’ face is turning, a large vein throbbing down the center of his forehead .
“I can’t believe this,” Louis says, throwing his hands up. “My whole team is a bunch of dirty traitors.”
“Hey, I don’t like indie music. Pop music is where it’s at,” Niall says, coming to Louis’ defense, trying to squirrel his way back into Louis’ good graces.
“Quiet you,” Louis says, pointing an angry finger at Niall. “I haven’t forgotten your prank call that easily.” Niall sits back, head hanging in disgrace.
“Lou, was there a point to this or can we get on with the show,” Liam cuts in, stopping the conversation before it can derail off course too much.
“Yes, Liam, I did have a point. Last night while listening to Grimshaw’s show, I heard him challenge me to a host off to see who was the better host,” Louis says, lifting his brows haughtily in Liam’s direction.
“No, he didn’t,” Harry corrects him. “He just suggested that a host off would be a better way to judge who was a better host than the current rating system of polling how many listeners a show has. It’s an interesting idea but I don’t know how it would work, like, would there be a judge who picked the winner or something; the concept needs a bit more work, I think.”
The rest of the team give each other baffled looks. Niall shrugs his shoulders when Liam looks to him for understanding, then turns to look at Zayn to see if he’s understood what’s going on but sees Zayn has a similar expression of confusion on his face.
“Great, Harry. Thanks for your input,” Louis says, moving on, twisting to address Liam. “Nick Grimshaw challenged me to a host off on his show last night and I accept. Grimshaw, if you’re listening I’m picking up the gauntlet. Prepare to duel.”
“Louis,” Liam groans, dropping his face into his hands. “This is the 18th century, you’re not dueling anyone, especially not Nick Grimshaw.”
“It was a metaphor. Do you guys not know what a metaphor is?” Louis asks, glancing around at his team, only somewhat kidding.
“Louis,” Zayn says, expression calm and voice firm. “It’s time to put on another record.”
“Alright. Heres Ed Sheeran with Sing,” Louis says, obeying Zayn’s command, having learnt not to mess with Zayn when he uses that tone of voice.
“How many times are we going to have this conversation?” Liam asks him, shutting off the mics, in order to yell at Louis in private. “You need to stop this childish fighting with Nick.”
“I’m serious,” Louis tells Liam. “I want to have a host off with him. Show him who’s the better host once and for all.”
“That’s not even a real thing,” Liam says, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“I don’t care. I want to do it and I’m going to win; show that posh wannabe who he’s messing with,” Louis says, a cold gleam in his eye.
“But,” Liam starts, cutting off when Zayn puts his hand on his arm.
“If we were to do this,” Zayn says, tightening his hold on Liam’s arm to quiet his squawk of protest. “If we did this you’d have to promise not to say or do anything unprofessional.” At this, Louis makes an indignant snort through his nose; Zayn talks over him.
“That means no cursing, no insults, nothing inappropriate. Can you promise not to do any of those things?” Zayn asks, fixing Louis with an intense look.
“Yes,” Louis sighs, breath leaving him visibly deflated. “I promise to be a perfect little angel, alright?”
“Good,” Zayn says, nodding. “Now what exactly did you have in mind for this host off?”
“I don’t want to burst anyone’s bubbles,” Harry chimes in, “but are you sure Nick would even agree to it? He was only joking when he mentioned having a host off on his show last night.”
“Uh, guys,” Niall says, looking up from his computer screen, interrupting their argument. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Grimshaw’s just sent you a tweet, Lou.”
Hurrying to open a new tab, Louis clicks open twitter and types in Nick's name pulling up his most recent tweet. @Louis_Tomlinson YOU’RE ON.