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There’s a moment of silence where Harry considers just passing out right there, head hanging off the bed, because the alcohol’s finally catching up to him in the most unpleasant way. “When we’re thirty?”
“When we’re thirty.” Harry repeats. His eyelids are slowly drooping closed, fingers going slack around the beer he’s clutching. He’s just slipping over the edge when there’s the rustle of material and he squints open one eye to look at Niall.
"We’ve done stupider things.” Niall shrugs.
Niall and Harry make a marriage pact.