Chapter Text
Accompanying No Direction to their radio and TV tour stops all over the country is without a doubt the most hectic part of the summer; Niall’s always been the stay-in-the-office type, crunching numbers, reading through contracts he gets forwarded by the legal department, and sending out emails while Harry deals with the practicalities and the more social aspects of the job. It’s fascinating to get to work through the whole experience and witness Harry in his element, with his showman-like pep talks, animatedly going through talking points, and making sure the lads’ media training is strong enough so they won’t end up cursing while live on air — which they end up doing anyways. It’s really a tour the force, waking up before the sun is up, and be flown around in large choppers, or driven around in minivans with five rowdy yet well intentioned teenagers that seem to have an endless supply of energy, and Niall’s kind of glad the label is sparing no expenses and giving them a treatment he knows thanks to personal experience that is very unusual for emerging artists.
Curbing the five teenagers when they have to stay in some hotel in the middle of nowhere is probably the most exhausting part of the job, and is a task that has him and Harry both feeling very old yet muttering ‘I’m so not ready to have children’ at least ten times a day. He reasons that this is probably the best way to end their run before Harry is offered that promotion and heads to LA; he will at least have the memories of getting to wake up next to him in countless hotel rooms, sneakily holding hands under the table as they wait for the lads to be done with their interviews. It’s not much, but it’s something, and Niall’s used to almost have things to only have them taken away, anyways. He thinks he’ll survive this, too. Maybe.
“That wasn’t too bad,” he tells Harry as they walk out of a 7AM impromptu meeting with a label rep at a Costa Coffee on the north side of Huddersfield.
Harry gives him a look as he starts walking through the parking lot to get back to their hotel that stands right across from the coffee chain spot.
“I mean, it wasn’t bad news,” Niall continues, trying to keep up with the other man’s brisk pace.
They get into the elevator and reach Harry’s room in silence, Niall’s suitcase neatly packed in a corner; Harry’s still open on the bed.
“They want the entire album out by the end of summer, how’s that not bad news?” Harry finally asks moving his suitcase to the floor and lying down on the king size bed, facing the ceiling. “We’re not ready for that kinda promotion. And most importantly, the boys are already spreading themselves thin as it is. Recording an entire album in a month for it to be ready for mixing in the middle of a press tour is mad, and it’s out of the question, no matter what the label thinks.”
Niall sighs, lying down next to him, his hand coming to rest on his chest.
“You actually care about them, don’t you,” he observes curiously, as Harry turns to face him.
“Of course,” he replies, his hand covering Niall’s.
“I don’t want to sound jaded or anything, but… I mean,” Niall shrugs, unsure of how to put into words what he wants to say. “Like, I know they’re young and that this business can be so fucking demanding, but this is their chance. I… I would have done anything. Would have given up on sleep, food, I wouldn’t have cared if some suit told me it would be better to pace myself.”
He feels Harry’s hand dropping from his, his gaze turning back towards the ceiling.
“They’re kids, Niall,” he says, his tone unreadable. “They don’t know any better.”
“Just because you gave up on your dream and never looked back, it doesn’t mean that everybody can do that as easily,” he says, regretting his words as soon as they leave his mouth.
The expression of hurt and shock painted on Harry’s face is enough for him to want to hide.
“I didn’t mean…” he starts. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
Harry stands up and turns towards him.
“I’d like to be alone,” he says, his tone icy. “I have a few calls to make before they pick us up.”
“Harry,” he tries to reach for his hand, and it’s like a slap in the face when the other man recoils, taking a step back.
Niall spends the rest of the day moping in the backseat of the van, as Harry chats cordially with the driver and successfully avoids making eye contact with him through the rearview mirror for the whole car ride. It’s unnerving reverting to the dynamic he was so accustomed to just mere months before and suddenly no longer being on the receiving end of Harry’s warmth. He feels off, and guilty, and unsure of how to proceed.
Things don’t get any better as they get to the super secret location the boys are being interviewed at to avoid mass gatherings of screaming teenagers waiting for them, a tactic that only partially works, as just as they’re leaving, he spots a rather large group of young girls running after their van.
They head to Manchester then, where he spends what feel like hours sitting in a room with bleach-white walls listening to someone drone on about recording studios and recording equipment and names of musicians and producers he should feel bad for not recognising, evaluating pros and cons and trying to work out a schedule that the label seems to have already fully planned. Deciding between release dates and which promo appearances to attend and which to scratch for hours could turn any person crazy. Talking about each one for an extensive amount of time and double and triple checking each choice might be the most tedious work he’s ever been involved in. By the time each selection is set in stone Niall doesn’t even know if his jaw hurts from talking or from chewing on his tragically bitten down nails, and Harry’s hair has turned into a slight mess from him running his hand through it so often.
He’s hates how Harry is deliberately avoiding making eye contact with him through the whole meeting; he doesn’t think things have ever felt this tense between them, not even when he considered the other man his archenemy.
‘I like the blue colour you chose as theme for all the album photos,’ he writes out on the corner of his planner, pushing it to his left so Harry can see it and tentatively bumping him on the side with his elbow. Harry tenses up when he reads what he’s written, but plays it off as rolling his shoulders; his hand hovers over the paper for a few seconds, his head cocked to the side as he chews on his lower lip ‘A Styles favourite’ he ends up responding, elbowing Niall back. Niall lets out a sigh of relief. He knows they’ll be okay.
The label representative straightens the papers by using the table to line them all up, and the sound of the thick folder hitting the glass pulls their attention back to him. They both sit up straighter, putting a pleasant face on and he lays the folder down on the desk before smiling at both of them in return.
“Thank you so much,” he says, standing up and offering both of them his hand to shake, “I’ll be in contact once we’ve finalised everything with the art department, but don’t hesitate to call if any new offers for promo come up. Oh, and Harry,” he adds with a knowing smirk as Niall walks him to the conference room door, “I don’t know if you can… work that, hmm contact of yours at Graham Norton’s like you did last time, but if you could, that’d be great.”
“It was nice finally meeting you in person,” he then says to Niall. “I’m glad Harry finally has someone after that whole mess with…”
“Now, now, Adam, no need to reminisce that far back,” Harry interrupts the other man. “But I will definitely give my friend a call and see if she can get the boys on the show the week leading up to the single release,” he adds, as Adam nods, satisfied.
“If I may, I’m just curious on how long you’ve been working together?” The woman from the label whose name he thinks might be Leona asks in a questioning voice, walking them to the conference room’s doors.
Niall looks at Harry before responding, and he can see he’s got a barely hidden smile on his face, prompting him to smile himself. “We’ve been at the same firm for quite a while, and we do have our own office together but this is our first joint project,” he then answers in an informative voice.
“Really?” the woman says, and she sounds surprised. “Your working connection is very strong, always on the same page with your ideas. My husband would fight me on every little detail,” she chuckles, hitting the elevator button for them and Adam and holding the door with her arm. Harry raises his eyebrows at him, his eyes wide, as Leona looks between them in confusion.
“Oh,” Niall responds, wondering why the woman’s husband was relevant to the conversation, and why Harry seemed so appalled by it. Maybe they had a company together that didn’t work out. “Well sometimes differing opinions are good too,” he says with a grin and the woman nods her head in agreement, looking relieved as he walks into the elevator, Harry’s hand just brushing his lower back, before he hits the button for ground level with a knuckle.
“Yes, I suppose they are,” Leona says, waving them goodbye as the doors shut in front of them.
It’s only when they’re out the front doors of the building and walking towards Harry’s car in the crisp London air that he decides to voice what had confused him earlier. “What was that face you made when the woman brought up her husband, do you think something happened between them?” Niall asks, turning to see Harry’s holding his suit jacket out for him, and moving to slide his arms into each of the holes. He shrugs it onto his shoulders and turns to face him while he does up the buttons, furrowing his eyebrows at the laughter Harry’s obviously trying to hold back with little success.
“Ni, the guy clearly thought we were a couple,” he laughs, checking his watch for the time and Niall feels his face starting to heat.
“What,” he exclaims, shocked, “Why?!”
“Probably the note passing,” he grins, kicking at a crack in the sidewalk as they walk. “Very middle school of us.”
“Oh—” Niall begins, his mouth dry. “So we—,” he mutters awkwardly, not being able to find the words and choosing to fiddle with his cuffs instead.
“Yep,” Harry says nodding and cutting in so he doesn’t have to finish, “I thought you would’ve said something, but you didn’t, so I didn’t either,” he shrugs and Niall lets out a breath.
He pinches the pressure point on his nose, “Harry lying to people we collaborate with often is bad,” he stresses, “What if they say something to Louis? Or God forbid, to Irwin? Who could very well fire us for that, you know how he’s obsessed with his full honestly policy and, even worse with his no fraternising one” he reminds him, but Harry just rubs a hand on his back reassuringly. He isn’t even that upset about the lying factor if he’s being honest with himself; he just can’t live in this imaginary world where they’re together though.
“Hey, if that happens we can just say it was a misunderstanding, I’ll make something up. But really she looked so happy for us, it’s probably better for business,” Harry shrugs, smiling at him boyishly and Niall has to steady himself and take a deep breath before nodding, at least relieved Harry’s no longer holding a grudge and is now willing to at least speak to him again.
“Okay fine, but honesty from here on out,” he says. He needs it more than anything, because if the lines start to get blurred, he won’t be able to pass off whatever feelings he’s had as nothing anymore. “Hey… about before,” he starts.
Harry shakes his head, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I know you didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I thought about it, and I get it. You know, your point.”
“I still shouldn’t have…” Niall apologises, but the other man interrupts him.
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, waving a hand, walking to open the door on the passenger’s side of the car. “We’re done for the day but do you want to go for ice cream or something,?” he suggests, but Niall shakes his head smiling weakly. He’s glad things have seemingly gone back to normal after their argument, but he can’t let himself get too comfortable again.
“Could you just drop me off at home?” he asks quietly. “Not feeling very well,” he lies, “I’ve been feeling a bit sick since lunch, maybe something I ate,” he adds in awkwardly for good measure. He needs to be alone for a bit so he can sort out every thought running through his head. Harry touches his forehead with the back of his hand, as if to check for fever, his green eyes studying him carefully, which does not help the actual issue. At all.
“Do you want me to take you to the walk-in clinic?” Harry asks nervously, pressing the back of his cupping his cheek, “It’s no fuss, I can take care of you.”
“No,” Niall replies, shaking his head a bit and moving away from the other man’s hand, guilt making him avoid his eyes, “that won’t be any fun Harry, I promise you don’t want to do that, plus I don’t want to put you through that trouble.”
“It’s not to me. Not if it’s you,” he says seriously, searching both his eyes.
The breath feels like it rushes out of his lungs, races out of him like water rapids falling over the edge of a cliff.
“I think I just need to lie down,” Niall says weakly, taking a breath and Harry nods slowly, looking at him with concern before starting the car and merging into traffic.
When they get to Niall’s apartment, Harry walks him all the way up to his floor and helps him into bed even though he reassures him multiple times that he’s fine and it’s probably just a stomach bug. Harry also repeatedly tells him that he can stay if he’s needed, and Niall only manages to get him to leave with the promise that he won’t hesitate to call if he needs anything. When Harry does leave it is apprehensively and Niall has to check the hallway to make sure he’s actually gone, listening for the sound of his car leaving the parking lot before he pulls a popsicle from the freezer and eats it miserably at one of the counter stools.
He calls in sick the next day for the first time in years, and in one way it’s admitting defeat, but he can’t find it in himself to paste on a smile for the day, and they don’t have any important meetings set up anyways. He texts Harry to let him know and he replies with a typed out sad face and a “feel better soon!” offering to visit during his lunch break or after work, but Niall tells him that he’d rather be alone for now.
Later that evening, when he’s in sweatpants and an old washed out t-shirt fraying at the hems, watching the cooking channel on low volume alone, he gets a knock on the door for a delivery of sunflowers wrapped in cellophane with an envelope attached. He opens it at the kitchen table to find a bright yellow card with a message that says: “Hope you feel better soon Ni, the office is boring without you,” in Harry’s messy all caps writing, with a funny looking stick figure cartoon with messy hair holding a bouquet of flowers, and a scribbled-in heart.
He places the card upright on one of the bare surfaces that serves as a cabinet for the fine china his flatmate’s grandmother gave to her when she turned eighteen, he seems to remember. He surveys the room and it’s the only thing out of place, sticking up awkwardly on the polished surface like an eyesore, yet he can’t make himself get rid of it.
He tears his eyes away from the card and chops the stems off each flower at a forty five degree angle with shaking hands, puts the store provided powder into the vase full of water and arranges each flower inside carefully. After he’s done, he sweeps the cutoffs into the garbage and wipes the counter down until it’s shining, placing the flowers on the small table between the two couches in the living room, close enough to the window for them to be able to catch the last rays of sun before it sets.
Then he stands in the middle of the apartment, looks at the bright neon card on the pristine cabinet and the just as bright sunflowers in the otherwise sterile and white living room, and hastily wipes away the tears that have streaked down his cheeks with the ball of his hand.
Niall: fresh sunflowers and a handwritten card from the one person that makes it all that much harder.
Harry: Niall’s heart.
When he walks into the office the next morning, he tells Harry he’s “feeling much better, and thank you for the flowers,” and Harry smiles brighter than any star Niall’s ever seen.
Niall invites Harry to lunch one day, and immediately regrets it afterwards. He’s been on edge all day, every clack of the other man’s keyboard like a ringing in his ears. He might just be frustrated; he’s spent the week trying to figure out exactly what’s happening between the two of them and has come up with nothing. He hates how that makes him feel unsettled and off-balance, like he has all these new feelings about him that he can’t control. He can’t even figure out what flipped the switch, except for the other man maybe gaining advantage over him in some way. Harry’s always joked that one day he would be his boss, and the idea has always sat uncomfortably in the pit of Niall’s stomach; he would quit before he let that happen.
He’s left for lunch in the first place because he’s felt so claustrophobic in the office lately with the shades all drawn. If they could keep them open without getting sent to their bosses office for questioning they would, but since that isn’t an option, they stay down. The plan was to get a bit of fresh air but when Harry asked him what his lunch plans were, he had no choice but to tell him.
Harry arrives three minutes late, barely making it through the door before a gust of wind slams it shut behind him. Even the weather seems agitated with him today.
“The stage builders want us to come by a couple of days into construction,” he says in a calculated tone as Harry sits down. He was seven minutes early because even now he has the inescapable need to be places before the other man, and because it’s always been instilled in him that if you’re not early you’re late. “I got an email last night, they like having lots of contact with the management, which is good,” he shrugs, closing the lid of his laptop, sliding it into his backpack, and plucking off a piece of the banana bread he bought.
Harry reaches across the table and breaks off a piece from the corner of the slice, popping it into his mouth and shrugging. Niall blinks once at him, staring at the plate for a beat, and rolls his shoulders back before speaking, barely hiding the annoyance in his voice.
“I was going to buy you something but I wasn’t sure what you wanted, you’re so weird with sweet things, I never know what you’re in the mood for,” he says, breaking off another piece of the banana bread and handing it to him. If he’s going to take his food he may as well just have the rest of it.
“How sweet,” Harry says, smiling at the joke he made and prompting Niall to roll his eyes.
“And I know you’ve been using my computer when I leave the room, stop doing that,” he adds for good measure, flatly, placing an elbow on the table and resting his chin on it.
“I know you don’t send me certain things,” Harry frowns, mirroring him as he rests his chin in his own hand.
“May I remind you of the many times you've tried to sabotage me,” Niall says calmly, and the other man sighs.
He takes a deep breath before responding. “Ni, I’m not going to mess with the tour of the emerging band with enormous potential that we share together, I’m in this as much as you are,” he reminds him and Niall scrunches his nose in response.
“Glad to know you restrain yourself due to the fact that you’d have to deal with the outcome too,” he says then, blue eyes locked onto the green ones.
“When have I ever tried to mess up your work?” Harry asks then, eyebrows furrowing together and Niall raises his hands in the air.
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he replies easily.
“Hey, I thought we were past this stuff,” the curly man says, leaning back in his chair, frowning at the genuine look of distaste that Niall knows is painted all over his face and knows that it’s just the result of all tension he’s been holding in all day and is just now bursting out of him escaping every box he’s tucked it away into.
“Why? Because we’re—” he falters, his words caught in his throat. He swallows and continues, already hating himself for the things that are about to come out of his mouth. “None of that will matter once we’re done with this tour, and you get your big promotion and head to California. I’m sure being nice to me has been a real burden for the past while,” he says and immediately regrets it. He’s felt like this a lot in the past few weeks, but doesn’t know how to stop it. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that it’s impossible the other man doesn’t hear it.
When Harry speaks, it’s with a tone of voice he’s never heard before. He almost looks hurt, like he had just slapped him, “Whatever, Niall,” he mumbles and shakes his head, standing up from the table. “See you at the office.”
Niall sits there in shock for a few seconds before gathering his things and returning the plate to the front, nearly running out the door of the cafe and onto the sidewalk. He looks in both directions before he spots Harry halfway through a crosswalk, the red blinking hand indicating for him to stay off the road. He shifts his weight between his feet for a few seconds before half-walking, half-running down the crosswalk, his heavy backpack hitting his lower back painfully as he chases after him. When he finally catches up, they’re both on the other side of the road, the front door to their building only a few steps away; he knows that If he doesn’t fix it now they’ll be stuck for the rest of the day so he grabs Harry’s hand in hopes that he’ll stop walking so quickly away from him.
“Hey,” he gets out and Harry’s looked at him this way before but seeing such a look of distaste on his face as he turns to face him, almost knocks him sideways after being treated to so many of his smiles.
“I’ve got to get back,” he says, avoiding Niall’s eyes and gesturing to their building, shaking his hand out of his grasp.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he chokes out, looking up at the other man, noticing how his jaw is clenched as he focuses on something in the distance, and he could swear his eyes look a bit glassy. He swallows before speaking again. “I've just had an off day, I didn’t mean it,” he pleads, his voice loud over the noise of the wind and the cars passing by, as Harry looks down at the concrete, scuffing the toe of his shoe into a crack in the sidewalk before finally meeting his eyes.
Niall notices that he doesn’t look angry as much as sad and he can feel a knot form in his throat that prevents him from saying anything else. “Is that— is that what you really think of me?” Harry asks so quietly Niall can barely hear him. “That I’m just some terrible guy who’s tolerating you because now whatever I do comes back on me or because we have a—“ he falters and Niall notices he has the same problem defining whatever’s happening between them that he does, “—a ‘thing’ going on?” he chokes out and he shakes his head hastily in response.
“No, no, I didn’t mean any of that,” he says, his words coming out scratchy, he can feel Harry’s eyes burning and mentally curses himself. He can never get through things like this without choking or becoming overly emotional and then dismissive just as an overcorrection. It’s like he has a switch that goes from nothing to everything all at once. He pulls at his dress shirt’s sleeves, trying to ground himself, his gaze low. “I’m sorry for what I said, I’m just… I don’t know what all this is, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, and work has been stressful enough even without our… ‘thing’” he admits with a sigh, throwing his arms down at his sides his gaze fixed on Harry’s chest, watching as it rises and falls. He counts to ten before finally raising his eyes to the other man’s.
When he does, he finds nothing but understanding there and he has to work to keep his emotions in check.
“I get it Ni, believe me, but you can’t go all defensive on me like that. It’s like we take one step forward and you set us back another two,” Harry says sadly, taking Niall’s hand in his. Niall's eyes flip automatically to their building which is no further than a stone’s throw away from where they are. There would be no way to explain any of this away if anyone saw.
“I’m just… so tired,” Niall settles for, quietly, feeling the familiar weight of Harry’s hand. He wonders how in such a short amount of time his hands have become accustomed to being twined into the other man’s to the point that they feel empty when they aren’t.
“I get it,” Harry says once again, tracing Niall’s line of vision towards the building. “Believe me I know, and if I’m being honest,” he says, “I really don’t care about anyone in there right now,” he admits with the smallest smile on his face. “Can we just agree that if nothing more— that we’re at least still friends when this is all over?” he continues.
“Friends…” Niall repeats, his breath caught in his throat, the word sticky and tasteless in his mouth, and nowhere near what he wants deep down but it’s the best he can hope for, so he nods.
“It would be an honour to be friends with you, Niall James. I’ll take whatever you give me, whatever that may be,” Harry says, searching his eyes and Niall nods, in response letting out a sigh that maybe means more. Maybe it’s why Harry smiles for real, and for the first time in days, the weight on Niall’s chest stops hurting just a tiny bit.
Niall thought it would be awkward between them after that, but it seems as if they jump back into their old routine effortlessly. Harry brings two coffees into their office everyday accompanied by wide eyes from everyone outside and more than one case of someone lingering outside their door.
They smile, say they’ve been trying to put aside their differences for the sake of the project, which only works on half the building. The rest seems to have a running bet for when all their playing nice will end.
Niall’s been invited to lunch by coworkers more than he ever was before. The gossip central of the front reception desk all ask him carefully worded questions that all link back to Harry. He answers them in sweet tones, both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee and a perfunctory smile on his lips. Reinforcing the idea that they’re merely adults trying to resolve their differences only to be met with blank smiles in return. Half the time he feels like he’s being interviewed for a column in a magazine. Soon enough they leave him alone and he can spend lunch wherever he pleases without prodding questions.
“Have you started contacting media outside the UK?” he asks once he’s finished devouring a banana Harry brought him with his daily coffee, peering over the top of his monitor at the other man, noticing with a smirk that his eyes are glassy and unfocused as they stare at the screen.
They’re in the networking phase which is the longest chunk of work they have to get through, and the most taxing for him who isn’t a natural when it comes to socialising through superficial small talk and ass kissing. Having at least five short meetings a day, every day with different investors and brands interested in collaborating feels as draining as going on tour itself — or at least he imagines so. Having Harry next to him, working with him through all of it, though, is a huge relief, his presence becoming some sort of calming force.
“What?” Niall asks sitting up straight in his chair and rubbing at his eyes as the last meeting of the day comes to an end and Harry looks at him with an amused face.
“Nothing,” Harry replies standing up and walking around the table to stand right behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders, and pressing on exactly the right spots to relieve the tension he’s accumulated in the past few days.
Niall feels his breath on his neck as he works on a particular stubborn knot, his lips gently brushing his ear, and has to purse his lips not to let a moan escape them.
“I have to review and triple check a few things Irwin sent me,” Harry whispers in his ear, causing shivers to run down Niall’s spine, “but do you want to have dinner at mine when I’m done? I’ll be done in an hour max.” He then leans down to kiss him on the cheek and Niall blushes, biting his lip to hide the smile blooming on his face that mirrors the peace lily sitting on the corner of his desk.
“You’re such a flirt,” he says, laughing, and pushing Harry off him affectionately, “yeah, dinner sounds good, but I want to cook tonight. Go do whatever you need to do and then head to mine?” he smiles.
“You want to cook?” Harry questions raising an eyebrow, walking back towards his desk and leaning over the side of his monitor to look at him.
“Yes, I’ll make dinner tonight,” Niall says. “You cook all the time so I figure it’s my turn,” he adds almost defensively. “It’ll be lovely, I promise. Bring a nice shirt.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to burn down your flatmate’s place…” Harry half jokes as Niall stands up from his chair and stretches his back with a content hum.
“Oh shut up,” Niall replies as he gathers his things quickly and throws them in his backpack. He then heads out, determined to go to the grocery store himself and pick out the right ingredients without his help. He finds a recipe online for “5 Star Gourmet Mushroom Risotto” while on the tube, and figures from all the comments below the article raving about how easy and good it was that he can manage it on his own.
Standing in front of the wall of various types of broth feels daunting but after ten minutes he figures a generic brand is his best bet and adds it to his cart. He spends maybe more time than he ever has in a grocery store and feels oddly proud of himself when he makes it to the register. A cart full of ample amounts of Arborio rice, mushrooms, chicken broth, sea salt, olive oil, chives, fresh Parmesan cheese, and butter, as well as both red and white wine and a case of beer and he’s feeling pretty confident.
His confidence increases while chopping the mushrooms and cooking them in a saucepan on medium high heat in two tablespoons of oil until soft like the recipe said. He even feels confident adding the rice to a skillet and cooking it in oil until lightly golden. Adding half a cup of chicken broth each little while seems laughably easy. He has the ingenious idea to chill the white wine and beer in the fridge so that by the time Harry arrives it’s good and cold so he leaves the risotto to cook on the stove, giving it one last stir before setting the spoon on a paper towel and fitting the drinks into the fridge. He then sets the table with a nice table cloth and his flatmate’s special occasion dishes, and places the silverware on the correct side of the plate with the wine glasses on the left.
When he returns to the risotto, it’s simmering and he happily stirs it only to realise it’s all stuck to the pan, and as hard as he scrapes at it with the spoon, he can’t get it to separate from the bottom.
Niall: -9999999999
Harry: bragging rights for the rest of his life
In a panic, with his bottom lip between his teeth, he calls Harry, sounding slightly hysterical at the state of his risotto and he promises to drive over as fast as he can, suggesting he'd just keep stirring until he can get there.
When Niall opens the door, Harry’s standing with a pressed men’s shirt on a hanger in one hand and wearing a plain black t shirt that hugs every bit of definition in his arms and chest. To his credit, he only pokes fun at him for a bit before moving the rice to another pan and salvaging the amount that’s left before adding the mushrooms, butter, chives and Parmesan. Niall watches it all from behind the counter like he’s afraid it might jump out at him.
When the food has been salvaged and his heartbeat has started to slow back down to a normal rate Harry out-of-the-blue decides it's an appropriate time to take his shirt off right in the middle of the kitchen, because according to whatever logic he’s been following all his life, the kitchen is the best room to get changed in. Niall unashamedly watches him, studying his tattoos, his hands itching to trace them with his fingertips.
“What do your tattoos mean?” he vocalises from his spot on the stool, before he can stop himself, his chin rested on his hands and definitely-not-but-maybe staring at him as he stands shirtless just a few feet in front of him.
Harry looks weirdly at him for a second before moving to retrieve his dress shirt from one of the dining room chairs.
“It’s a bit of everything,” he begins, which already astounds Niall because he honestly didn't think he’d reply. “They’re mostly about my family, and some about quotes I’ve read. This one,” he points at a scribbled one Niall can’t see properly from where he’s sitting, “Ed Sheeran did it,” he grins. “We were quite drunk.”
“Ed Sheeran tattooed you?” Niall asks, his jaw almost hitting the floor. “God we have the same job but we live very different lives,” he chuckles.
Harry just shakes his head, and buttons up his shirt under Niall’s burning gaze.
Soon enough they’re sitting at the dining table eating the risotto that, to Niall’s credit, turned out pretty good for the circumstances, and drinking their alcohol of choice as they stare at each other over the rims of their glasses while the sun sets and lets golden light in through the big windows at the back of the flat.
Somehow one thing leads to another and then they’re on the couch and Niall’s kissing him silly, giggling in between and getting handfuls of curls stuck between his fingers. It might be getting a bit long, he can twine the curls at the nape of his neck into soft loops, but he likes it too much to say anything.
Niall’s hands travel all over Harry’s body and he thinks he might be a geographic masterpiece, the valleys in the hollow of his shoulders and the peaks of his cheekbones. Glacial striations marked by the veins in his forearms and the trenches by his collarbones and clavicle. Niall would map him out if he could, record every elevation and depression on paper. Plug it into the computer and turn it into code, he would make melodies resembling the valley and indentations of his body, the way his hip bones feel against his hands. He supposes he has to make do with just touching him, feeling him and the silk of his skin, always so hot to the touch. Niall blooms with him, a million different colours like a kaleidoscope, stained glass windows breaking above his head, almost making him feel dizzy.
They head to his room, Harry’s presence lighting up spaces he didn’t even know needed light. He moans when Harry peels off his t-shirt and runs his hands hungrily down his body, his mouth following suit, leaving a trail of heated kisses from his collarbone to the elastic of his pants. He doesn’t think he’s ever burned for someone with the same intensity he burns for Harry, his breath catching as the other man dips his hand under his pants and palms his cock and starts stroking it with an intensity that makes him see starts.
“Wait, wait,” he manages to say as Harry settles between his legs and gives him a concerned look. He has to take two deep breaths to steady himself, drunk off the feeling of him.
“I — I want to fuck you, please” he whispers, his hands running through the other man’s wild curls.
“Fuck yes, yes, please Ni,” Harry says, and it sounds almost like a whine. “I want it so much.”
Niall nods and reaches for a bottle of lube and a condom in the top drawer of his bedside table, as Harry lays flat on the bed, his face against the pillows. Niall lets out a shaky breath admiring the man in front of him, filled with a want that makes him lightheaded.
The lube feels cold on his finger when he squeezes it out of the bottle but when his fingertip makes contact with Harry’s hole he can’t think of anything else other than the man splayed on his bed. He inserts a finger slowly and tentatively, encouraged by Harry’s deep moan. He works it in and out a couple of times, until Harry is squirming and begging for more. He adds a second finger, gently opening the other man up, his other hand drawing gentle, soothing patterns on his lower back. Harry’s curse when his fingertips hit the bundle of nerves inside him is muffled by the pillow underneath his face.
“Ni, I’m ready, please,” Harry almost begs, turning his face around to make eye contact with Niall, who just nods, scissoring his fingers inside the other man one last time just to double check he’s actually ready.
When he’s finally buried inside Harry, Niall swears his brain short circuits for a minute, overwhelmed by the warm feeling, the insatiable want and the constant drumming of his heart in his chest that he’s almost positive if he were just a bit louder, the other man could feel too. He holds onto Harry’s hips to steady himself, and when Harry rolls them to encourage him to move, a strangled sound escapes his lips.
Fucking Harry is bliss. It’s both too much yet not enough at the same time. Every molecule of his body feels on fire and even though he feels slightly drunk from the intensity of it all, he’s also hyperaware of every single feel he’s feeling; the tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he pushes inside the other man again and again, the softness on Harry’s skin denting delicately under the pressure of his fingertips, the soft moans filling the quiet of his flat rhythmically like a prayer that is being answered, the heat pooling low and insistent where he’s connected to Harry, the strain to make it all last just for a little longer, and especially the all consuming thought resounding like an alarm blaring inside his skull I love you, I love you, I love you… He thinks if he could say it out loud, just once, maybe he’d feel a little lighter, a little less like he’s constantly on the verge of a precipice, but he doesn’t, even when he’s coming, a myriad of stars exploding behind his pupils and those three words stubborn on his lips, he doesn’t let them escape.
Harry stays over and Niall watches him sleep all pouty lipped and curls messily splayed on the pillow, naively letting himself think, just for one short minute, that he could really get used to this. He sets an alarm for the next morning so that they have time to stop by Harry's place to get a clean shirt for the office and then passes out with one of his bare legs twined around the other man’s.
Niall begins to notice Harry leaves their office for significant enough periods of time often, much too often to not be suspicious.
Sometimes for more than a few hours, each second ticking by on the clock until his return where he enters looking more tired than he was when he left.
He tries to coax it out of him, brings it up over dinner when they’re both at home or on the couch but Harry kisses the words out of his mouth, swipes a hand feather light over his hip bone and he can’t find it in himself to care where he’s leaving to after that.
The strangest day was the one their boss’s assistant came into the room asking only for Harry. Naturally Niall had figured they were being called into a progress meeting, they’re common at this point, nothing too new. He had been halfway out of his seat when he’d realised his name hadn’t been called. He’d shot Harry a confused glance and he had winked at him reassuringly in. Return before making his way out the door. He had spent the hour he was gone worrying a pen between his pointer finger and thumb, biting his already shirt nails and tearing his cuticles to shreds, making a list on a pad of paper of what he could be in there for. In the end Niall had gone for an inquiring but casual look as Harry walked back into their office with two mugs and circles under his eyes.
He’d stopped any of his questions in their tracks with a kiss on the top of his head as he deposited the mug in front of him. Said it was just a review of his information because the computers had been acting up lately. Niall’d stayed silent at the time, kept working on spreadsheets with deadlines, but if he’s learned one thing from spending years sitting across from the cult haired man it’s being able to recognise when he’s lying.
Niall stands with his arms crossed beside him, looking at the massive stage for the very first time. There’s the name “Charlotte” spelled in capital letters in different fonts all over the backdrop, her being the headliner and all, but when all the equipment for No Direction is loaded onto the stage, their vision starts take form, the shape emerging out of steel reinforcements with blue accents and the initials of each of the boys and beams flashing their logos in different hues of blue lights, and big screen behind the band’s instruments displaying heartwarming behind-the-scenes clips of the boys him, Harry and a bunch of unlucky interns picked out between hours and hours of footage they were sent. He loves this part of the job, loves slowly watching concepts translate into a real tangible thing. Loves watching the boys’ eyes lit up looking at all of this, feeling one step closer to everything they ever dreamed of.
It’s bittersweet in a way, and he sees Harry can sense how a knot is slowly forming in his throat when the boys finally take the places of their stand-ins on the stage and start marking and lip-syncing to their set. He never got quite this far, and it’s only as of recent that he’s really coming to terms with it, and with the fact that he quite enjoys where he’s now, and —he guesses maybe it’s part of the whole maturing thing, he realises that if his wildest dreams had come true back then, he would have missed out on a lot of growing up and experiences that made him the person he’s become, and if he’s quite honest with himself, he kind of likes who he is and everything he’s built for himself.
His train of thought is interrupted my Harry casually wrapping an arm around his shoulders giving him and look that he’s not so subtly asking if he’s okay to which he responds with a nod and a small but genuine smile.
“You look like a dork,” Harry whispers in his ear, flicking his bright yellow construction helmet and grinning at him.
“You’re wearing the exact same thing,” he fires back, poking him in the chest and sticking his tongue out at him.
“Well that’s embarrassing, I can’t believe we showed up wearing the same outfit.” Harry grins, gesturing at his orange and yellow vest and then pointing to Niall’s. He rolls his eyes affectionately in response, as he pushes the bulky safety glasses higher on his nose.
As much as Niall likes his eyes being intact — this still being a construction area after all, he hates the safety glasses with a passion. They leave an indent on the bridge of his nose, are always covered in scrapes, and for some reason they make him feel inexplicably claustrophobic. He’s wearing the vest though, and the hat, and the impossibly heavy steel-toed boots that make his knees uncomfortable — something Harry had shown concern over, making Niall’s heart skip a beat, not that he’d ever admit that.
He stares blankly at the curly haired man for a minute and he stares right back, “Harry, it’s a safety thing, they’re not outfits,” he deadpans, flicking a piece of dirt off his neon vest and he sighs, resigned.
“You’re no fun, do you have any joy in your life?” he questions, pushing up his glasses that have fallen down again. He feels like he probably needs a smaller size, or a piece of elastic around the back to keep them up.
“You ruined that for me many years ago,” he replies easily and Harry chuckles before turning back to the stage where Paul is teaching the boys some sort of basic choreography they’re having a great time butchering. Some part of Niall is proud every time he makes Harry laugh, a warmth spreading all throughout his body and settling in his cheeks and chest. He could live off that warmth, he thinks, it could keep him satisfied in the winter, when the tour will be over, and Harry will most likely be long gone to LA.
“When I’ll start my own label, I’ll get only the most high quality safety gear, fashion-friendly vests and work boots with red bottoms, real luxury,” Harry tells him with a grin, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. Niall never thought he was really that into owning his own business; it’s never been something they’d seriously talked about. Not like they used to talk in a civil way to each other anyway.
He laughs awkwardly, squinting up at him through the bright sunlight, “I didn’t know you were serious about that, I thought all the label stuff was just wine talk. I thought you wanted that LA job with Irwin…”
Harry’s eyes brighten a bit when he begins to explain, “Well, I mean it’s the dream,” he laughs, toeing the ground, “having your own business, shaping things your way, being all about the music, scouting new artists and giving them a chance to put their art out there… It would be hard but I’d be up for the challenge. I think — I know Irwin is aware it would be just temporary job for me anyways. The one in LA.” He shrugs.
Niall considers his words for a moment. He’s never imagined owning his own place, the security of their table has always been so comforting after he had to pick up the pieces of what he thought his life was going to be and settle for something different, maybe safer, the routine and the order something he easily adapted to. Sitting in a different office where Harry’s not across from him with a sour look on his face seems foreign, too strange to even dream of. He tries to imagine sitting in that office alone and a weird feeling overtakes his body. None of his sarcastic comments or mouse clicks or even blinding smiles. He can feel something heavy rising in the pit of his stomach and settling in his throat, just thinking about any of it makes him uneasy. Maybe he was naive to think he’d climbed the ladder as far as he’d wanted. Maybe the thought of everything changing so drastically is just that frightening to him, he doesn’t want his life to change. Again.
When he speaks again his words come out strained, even though he meant to sound teasing. “You’d leave me all alone?” he chokes out, forcing a smile to his face and he watches as the brightness in Harry’s eyes dims a little. It’s a switch going from ten to two.
“You’d be getting a promotion too, you know?” he reasons, and Niall could swear he sounds a bit sad too. “And if you ever felt like taking a risk, you’d always have a job at my label,” he says with a small grin. “I wouldn’t want you to get dragged into a mess if it didn’t work out, though” he adds quietly, brushing the back of his hand with his own in a way Niall guesses he must assume is comforting. He grabs his hand tightly instead, links their fingers together a little bit behind them so their blatant connection isn’t so obvious.
“It would be weird without you,” Niall blurts out, his cheeks warming; he can feel his palms begin to get sweaty. Harry’s brought up the very concrete possibility of him leaving and Niall is now regretting hoping he’d book a one way flight to the other side of the world for at least the past four years.
“You’d have the entire office to yourself, you could take down all the posters I’ve put up that I know you hate, you’d be okay, trust me,” Harry says, squeezing his hand. It might be because Niall feels lightheaded, but Harry’s voice almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself too. He feels his mouth becoming dry and tasteless. Harry’s not getting it. He doesn’t understand.
“I’d miss you,” he croaks then, fuck whatever upper hand he’s ever gained with Harry, staring down at the dusty ground beneath his shoes. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, he’s supposed to hate him, he does hate him. Harry rubs his thumb against the side of his hand soothingly and Niall feels like that 18 year old boy packing up all of his stuff from his tiny London room to head back to Ireland, tails between his legs, all over again. “It wouldn’t be the same without you,” he whispers, barely audible over the noise of construction coming from the side of the stage.
“I mean—” Harry begins a bit awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck, “—I mean it when I say there’s always a spot for you if you want it, I was serious about Horan&Styles,” he says gently, smiling down hopefully at him “we’d deliver commitment, care, and strong networking as well as some riveting office drama. Maybe we could get TMZ to cover it, give us our own show and everything,” he chuckles. “My pal has a contact with those assholes, they owe him big time.”
“My name first?” Niall asks cautiously, and Harry looks a bit embarrassed, running a hand down the back of his neck and shrugging.
“I mean—” he starts, looking at the sky, “it just sounds better— Horan&Styles’s versus Styles&Horan’s you know?” He smiles shyly at him as if he’s actually thought seriously about it, and Niall feels his breath catch in his throat.
“You fought for an entire week to have your name above mine on the door,” Niall says, laughing, poking him in the side, and Harry grins bashfully.
“That was before,” he reminds him pointedly, craning his neck to see something going on on stage.
“Before?”
“Before I knew you could stand me for more than five minutes,” Harry replies easily, looking down at him through glasses specked with scratches and spots. Niall thinks that might be the problem, that he can more than stand him.
“Do you—” Harry begins, stumbling a bit over his words, “—hypothetically, do you think starting something like that together would be something you would want?” he asks, staring straight at the ground.
“Maybe,” Niall breathes, his chest feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton balls.
“Yeah?” he asks, sounding a bit hopeful.
“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, a bit frazzled. “I think we work well together, but what about LA?” he says softly, looking up at him.
Harry smiles at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, “LA’s not important,” he says. “But hey, you do? Think we work well together?” he asks quietly,
Niall mumbles something incoherent and only realises then that their hands are still linked. Harry seems to realise at the same time and squeezes his hand once before dropping it and turning to greet Helene, the vocal coach, walking towards them with a clipboard in hand.
“Hey,” Niall says, watching Harry walk through their door an hour late one morning, his hair obviously swept and tousled by the wind.
“Hey back,” he replies, placing his bag on the top of his desk and pulling out a stack of papers and pamphlets only to grab a manila folder from his desk drawer, tuck them in, and put them into the bottom drawer of his desk that he keeps always locked.
“Where were you?” Niall asks casually, hitting a key on his keyboard every once in a while in an attempt to look bored.
“The dentist,” he replies without missing a beat.
“Your dentist provides some pretty heavy reading material.”
Harry avoids his eyes as he fiddles with a strap on his bag, “He knows I’m up for the challenge.” It’s odd because both of them know there’s nothing truthful happening at all and somehow Niall feels more alienated from him than he’s ever felt.
Harry makes a gentle oh sound like he’s just remembered something and opens the front pocket of his bag only to produce a chocolate chip cookie from the bakery across the street which Niall gladly accepts.
“I’m going to figure this out,” he says though a mouthful of cookie, eating carefully to avoid staining his crisp white dress shirt with chocolate.
“If you want to know about my dental health so bad I’ll tell you.”
In lieu of breaking into his locked desk drawer, Niall decides to drop the issue for the time being.
He’s woken up by the jarring sound of his phone ringing, and is half convinced he’s not completely awake when he holds it up to see the familiar set of the ugliest looking emojis he could find at the time.
He squints against the light of the screen and presses the answer button. “H?” he questions, still half asleep. He can’t for the life of him figure out why the other man would be calling at two in the morning.
“Hey,” he greets, excitement in his voice.
“Do you um—” he yawns, “—do you need something?”
“I’m outside your apartment,” Niall hears him say through the phone, his giddiness evident.
“Harry— what? It’s almost two in the morning,” he says. He’s confused and tired, but then he’s pushing his covers away and getting up from the bed. He drags his feet to the window and sees him standing on the sidewalk fully dressed, his eyes brightening when he spots him. The streetlight is shining yellow gold light all over him, and his car is parked on the side of the road and for a second Niall still thinks he’s dreaming. He opens the window and sticks his upper half out, raising his eyebrows.
“Please come down, I was going to throw stones so it would be like in the movies but your apartment building is way too tall,” he admits boyishly, a smile in his voice and Niall sighs knowing there’s nothing he can do to go back to sleep now.
“Five minutes and I’ll be down,” he says, not believing that this is something that’s happening to him and Harry grins up at him from the ground.
“Don’t dress too warm, it hasn’t really cooled down,” he smiles, sliding a hand into his left pocket and he ducks out of the window, locking it before throwing on a t-shirt and jeans and worn but comfortable sneakers. On the ride down the elevator he checks the time on his phone once again, sees that it’s still two in the morning and decides that this is really the moment he knows he’s gone crazy.
“What are you doing here?” he questions, rubbing at one eye. Harry gracefully avoids answering his question by grabbing ahold of his hand and leading him to his car.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, grinning as he opens the door for him and closes it softly once he’s in before jogging to the opposite side of the car.
“Oh great.” he sighs, attempting to seem disinterested to hide his curiosity, buckling himself in as the car starts and turning the radio on low.
Harry drives and the streetlights all blur together, a mix of red and green and yellow and swirling lights from neon signs. People walking and laughing on the streets even in the late hour, new lovers’ teeth glinting in the light as they cling to each other. Niall’s seen pictures of the city from above and it’s always looked to him like a chain of glowing veins, like a living person breathing with the sway of the trees and the dancers in the streets. He misses home though sometimes, where the streets are nearly bare after twelve and he could sit by the oak tree in the park behind his dad’s house and be in near total silence. Sometimes the noise here is deafening though, car speakers with the bass nearly blown out running red lights like it’s a game. He’s never liked driving in the city.
Time passes but he doesn’t really notice until he realises he’s just been staring at Harry’s face in the glow of the dashboard for too long to be normal. He pulls into a parking space by a park and thumbs a few dollars into the meter before grabbing Niall’s hand and leading him down one of the trails. They pass a playground with worn wood benches and springy dark red flooring and walk over a small bridge bordered by flowers with the sound of running water flowing beneath them. Eventually they come to a clearing with a few spare trees dotted like the freckles on the back of his arms and he pulls a blanket out of the tote he hadn’t registered he’d been carrying.
“What are we doing?” he asks, confused when he lays it on the grass and fiddles with it until it rests flat.
Harry lays down on the blanket and pats the space beside him. “Humour me,” is all he gives up and Niall sighs as he lowers himself down beside him.
Stars twinkle above them and they’re so deep into the trees that the only light from the city is fleeting. He can feel the moisture in the summer air from the nearby ponds. He would have an entire garden if he could, If every live plant he bought didn’t die, but he thinks if he can keep the one he currently has alive then maybe anything is possible.
“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks, turning to look at him. He keeps his eyes trained on the sky.
“How you thought I wouldn’t be able to keep the lily alive but it’s currently very alive on my desk as we speak,” he says confidently. He feels awfully smug about it, like he's finally bested him after all these years.
Niall: declared the winner
Harry: 2nd place for all eternity
“Ni,” he says calmly.
“What?”
“I’ve been watering that plant for weeks, how did you think it managed to stay alive?”
“You’re kidding!” he exclaims, sitting up, staring at him with wide eyes and he laughs a bit from his place on the ground.
“Plants need water, Nialler,” he explains giggling, and he puts his head into his hands and moans.
“I thought I was doing so well,” he groans, dropping his hands into his lap.
Harry sits up suddenly to pull Niall’s hands into his own. They feel like security, like holding matching paperweights in his palms.
“From the way I caught you talking to it the other day I’m sure it felt very loved,” he says seriously, the twitching of his lips betraying his consoling facade.
“You saw that!” Niall exclaims, feeling his cheeks warm and the next thing he knows he’s laughing, watching Harry as he laughs back, his eyes brighter than every star in the sky. He laughs a bit too hard, maybe because Harry’s funny and maybe because he might love him. It would explain the fluttering feeling in his chest and the way he’s almost blinding, hard to look at like the sun on a hot day.
He stops laughing and Niall sees his eyes flick upwards before he looks up completely, tilting his chin with one of his fingers to where his eyes have drifted. He catches the tail end of something streaking through the sky and gasps softly.
He turns to face Harry and he looks at him shyly. “You brought me to see a meteor shower?” he breathes.
“I saw one last year by accident, I heard on the news that tonight is supposedly the night of shooting stars and I thought you’d like it,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and Niall leans forwards to kiss him lightly. Soft as the ground beneath them, and so tender he almost doesn’t believe it’s him.
Another drop of light races through the sky and Niall smiles, meets him halfway as he leans foward, falls with him into the blanket with both hands on his cheeks. Harry kisses him slow like molasses, like the clock in their office and the gel in his pens. Like the elevator they ride and the way he reads every document twice. Niall kisses him until his lips feel technicolour, until he could map out the contours of his face based on pure memory.
Then he lays wrapped in his arms as ribbons of light chase each other across the dark expanse above them. Until he feels so comfortable and warm that he has to tell him to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep lest the bears both get them and he laughs saying there’s no bears in Hampstead Heat, and promises him he’ll get them both home safely. He explains constellations to him and when Niall tells him he doesn’t recognise any of what he’s saying he says that he’s made all of it up and he doesn’t know one thing about the stars other than the fact that they're all made of the same stuff. The stars and them. Carbon, nitrogen and oxygen all packaged up perfectly with bows and name tags. He says he’s so grateful that the stars decided to make him.
Afterwards, Harry begins to drive him home but neither of them really want to be apart anyways so they both end up at Harry’s place because it’s closer, and Niall brushes his teeth again because he can’t sleep without tasting mint in his mouth. With the clock flashing 4 a.m., tucked under the covers with Harry’s thumb resting in his clavicle and his lips a hair away from touching his temple Niall thinks he might really love him.
No.
He knows he loves him, maybe because he always has.
If he could whisper it into the darkness and have it escape into the open window above the bed he would, if only to get it off the tip of his tongue. His mouth has felt heavy for weeks and he’d had no idea why. It makes sense that he’s the reason.
Breakfast the next morning feels almost intolerable. Sitting on the kitchen counter as Harry cooks pancakes with a towel thrown over one shoulder nearly sends him over the edge multiple times. It truly is a testament to his ability to remain composed that he doesn’t burst into flames on the spot.
He feels suffocating, and Niall swears he can feel pressure pushing down on I’m from every angle, but he thinks it might just be in his head. Even his heart feels like it’s beating louder than normal, reverberating and bouncing off the walls of the other man’s apartment. Maybe the music playing tinny and soft from his phone speaker is loud enough. He suspects he put it on just to make the thumping sound coming from his chest less obvious. Maybe that’s all in his head too.
Harry turns around to face him and it’s a summer's day. Like happiness and security and paradise all in one. Clean sheets that smell like citrus and the sun hitting his skin with rays of golden light. He’d taken a shower in his bathroom that morning and used his expensive soap. The earthly scent sticking to his body so reminiscing of all the most intimate moments he’s spent with the other man, intoxicating.
Harry’s speaking in dulcet tones to him, like candy drops that dissolve on the tongue and leave something sweet there to be remembered. Placing a plate in front of him with his sunshine smile and tousled curls. Niall braces both his hands on the sun warmed granite of the kitchen counter and pushes himself off the chair to catch his lips in a kiss. Gentle and soft and controlled and unstable all at once.
Niall’s always thought it’s better to hate something or someone you can’t have than dare to love them. Love is imperfect and dangerous. You give up a piece of yourself to love. He would almost rather still hate him because hate doesn’t waver or stray. It’s constant, a reaction you feel in the pit of your stomach, a hummingbird's wings moving at rapid speed. These days he thinks they’re not that different, love and hate, that maybe they’re the exact same thing. He’s been emotionally attached to Harry for years, maybe his heart has always beat this loudly around him.
“Are they good?” Harry asks, stabbing a piece of dough with his fork.
Niall shakes himself out of his head, attempting for words only to have his breath caught in his throat. If he speaks it will spill out of him, fill every open space in the room until neither of them can breathe. He keeps his mouth shut at nods giving Harry a thumbs up and a smile.
“Good,” he says, pleased, catching his eyes with his. Hard green meeting soft blues. He reaches over to wipe a bit of syrup from the corner or his lip, his rough thumb grazing over his skin as he focuses his attention to the corner of his mouth. There’s a misfit part of Niall hiding in the back of his head that wants him to lick it off his thumb, watch his throat as he swallows, but he wipes it off on the dishcloth beside him and turns his attention back to his own plate. He considers doing it himself, swiping syrup with the pad of his finger and holding it out, but neither of them would leave Harry’s place after that and he knows Harry’s promised his sister he would drop by.
He comes to the conclusion that it might be the worst thing Harry’s ever done to him; make him fall in love with him because he’s trapped him, torn down anything he’s ever had over him. He’s made him do the one thing he was not supposed to do because now he’s stuck. He thinks about how hard he’s worked to get where he is. His (their) treetop office with glass walls. The neatly kept awards on his shelves and the three-piece sticky note set on his desk. He loves him, maybe more than he has anyone else in a long time, maybe more than he’s ever hated him.
The only problem is the simple fact that he can’t.
And it’s not just the workplace rule that seems to be a neon sign flashing over his head, blinding, coating his eyes with spots of distorted colour. It’s the fact that Harry’s bigger than life, and he might be off to LA, or Sydney, or Rome or wherever else in the world at the drop of a hat, without as much as a second thought, while he belongs here, in this life and career he’s carefully crafted for himself. In spite of himself he imagines all the places they could have met instead, in a coffee shop, on a train, at the bar he’d spent too many unsuccessful nights at, at some random talent scouting auditions where they’d be put together in an unlikely band… He can’t love him and maybe he’s getting ahead of himself because he doesn’t even know if Harry loves him back. He hopes he does though, even if it’s wrong because maybe hearing he does and then not being able to have him would be worse than not being loved back in the first place. It’s all so complicated and he’s never been one for simple but he thinks he would take simple with him any day.
So he makes a simple decision in his head right there, with his morning smile and faded t shirt and gentle voice less than an arm's reach away.
After the short UK tour of No Direction ends, right at the end of fall, he needs to let him go, needs to separate every bit of him he’s latched onto, every bit of light he’s stolen from the pockets of his jeans in the past weeks. It’s his only saving grace, his only solution because he can’t love him, maybe he was never meant to.
He slides off the stool, making his way to his side of the counter, shivering as Harry’s hands come to hold his waist.
“Are you cold?” he frowns, searching his eyes with concern. Niall shakes his head, keeping his green locked into his blues.
“No,” he breathes, taking a deep breath before pressing his lips to his, feeling his thumbs dig into his skin and breathing in through his mouth sharply when he lifts him swiftly onto the counter, their lips never parting.
He figures he might as well make good use of the little time he has left.
Laura surprises him with sandwiches from Nando’s and a six pack of Guinness, thankfully on the afternoon he had decided to spend alone at home, going through the last few details before tour starts.
She makes her way back into her apartment in a whirlwind as she always does, throwing her heavy bag onto the chairs by the counter, leaving her massive suitcase by the front door and immediately sweeping Niall into a crushing hug that’s met with equal enthusiasm. The fact that it takes her nearly 10 minutes to spot the card on the top of the cabinet is a marvel in itself as she’s had always been too observant for her own good.
“Harry?” she questions, holding up the card with one hand as Niall gets two clean plates from the dishwasher so they can share the chips and halloumi fries. “Isn’t he the guy who works with you? The one who’s terrible to you? Why is he sending you a card?”
Niall looks up confused before seeing what Laura has in her hand. “Oh yeah, I was sick,” he says casually, avoiding his. flatmate’s eyes.
“And he sent you a card? What is the drawing of, I thought you guys were artsy dudes? Aren’t you supposed to be good at drawing?” she says, squinting and bringing the card closer to her face.
“That’s him holding flowers,” Niall says weakly, feeling a bit dizzy as he places the sandwiches on the plates and discards the boxes they came in.
“He brought you flowers?” Laura asks, shocked.
“I was sick,” he repeats.
“But you told me he’s such a jerk to you? I don’t get this,” his flatmate admits, turning over the card in her hands a few times and raising her eyebrows.
Niall stumbles with words for a second before sighing. “It’s complicated,” he says at last, rubbing the back of his neck and counting every speck in the granite countertop.
“Okay,”Laura says, shooting him a knowing look and Niall blushes. He tries to look as unbothered as possible but somehow he knows he isn’t being the slightest bit convincing. Luckily Laura drops the issue.
“My nana was wondering if you’d like to come up to the lakes for her birthday next weekend,” Laura says out of the blue after a few seconds of silence. Niall takes one deep breath, turning away and wondering how the conversation had turned on its head so quickly; he thought the worst was over.
“I’m really busy, I’m sorry. It’s just not a good time to take off,” he explains sadly, wiping phantom dust off the top of the fridge and rubbing two fingers together.
“I know but it’s been a while, and you know… She thinks of you as family. We all do. And… Well, sometimes I can’t help but wonder if you’re happy here. I know you’re successful and all but you just seem so lonely sometimes,” she says, putting the card back down and walking to the seats by her counter.
“I’m okay really, and please tell your nana that I’ll come up to visit as soon as tour is wrapped. And.. I like it here,” he says, turning around to see a concerned look on Laura’s face. It’s not like he’s lying, he does love the city and really, he isn’t so alone anymore. Not since Harry.
“I’m just looking out for you,” his flatmate says calmly, ending the conversation gracefully like she can always be trusted to. It’s one of the things he loves most about her, how she always knows when something needs to be over.
It’s a bit of awkward silence and the room feels colder than usual until Laura grabs the plates Niall’s prepared and brings them over to the couch where they watch cheesy reality TV.
By the end of the day Niall’s cheeks hurt from smiling and he has to admit that having Laura back at the flat is one more piece of the puzzle he guesses he was missing. He’s scrolling through his phone looking for an old picture he’d found in the box of things he brought to London that he’d meant to show her weeks ago when his phone vibrates and Harry’s name pops up on his screen.
Laura’s distracted by a bowl of popcorn and her ever growing to watch list on Netflix, so Niall taps her lightly on the thigh, mimicking picking up a phone with one hand and Laura shoots him a thumbs up before going back to her movie list.
He nearly runs to his room, shutting the door quietly before pressing the accept call button.
“Hey,” he breathes, cradling the phone in his hand as he sits on the edge of the bed.
“Hey.”
“Why’d you call?”
“I texted you earlier and you didn’t reply and I was just wondering what you were doing,” Harry says casually over the phone.
“Laura came back from China,” he says, which is met by an understanding noise from him. “It was quite a surprise.”
“Does she by any chance hate me?” Harry asks curiously and Niall can’t help but let out a breathy laugh.
“You’re known as that guy I work with and hate to her,” he says, laughing. “I’ve spent many hours complaining over the phone about you, so I don’t think you’re on her list of favourite people” he admits, expecting a laugh or even something mocking in return but he’s only silent on the other end.
“Hey? Harry?” he says, calling out for him when the line is dead for a few seconds too long which is met by a generic noise on his part to confirm his presence. “She was impressed you got me flowers if that helps,” he offers, which is only rewarded with a sigh on his end.
“Anyway,” Harry says pausing and the silence is a bit too loud for Niall’s liking. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure everything was good,” he says a bit dejectedly.
“Okay,” he says nervously, chewing on his lip, wondering what went wrong so fast.
“Bye,” he says quietly before hanging up the phone.
Niall: ?
Harry: ?
He sits on the feet of his bed for a few minutes, staring at his contact and arguing with himself over whether or not he should call him back. Ultimately he decides that today is about Laura and that he’s already been away long enough. He throws his phone by the pillows so that he won’t check it every minute for a text from Harry and leaves his room to see Laura in a strange pose with one leg in the air on the carpet.
“Laura, what are you doing?” he asks confused, tilting his head to try to see what his flatmate has gotten herself into.
“A yoga pose I learned last week, it’s supposed to release tension in your back,” she informs from upside down turning to look at Niall and smiling.
He laughs and all of a sudden things seem a bit better.
Niall: 1
He’s just finished giving a pep talk to the boys before they get changed and take the stage in the already unusually packed arena when Harry walks into the small room adjacent to the boys’ wardrobe. He shuts the door carefully behind him, looking tired and a little preoccupied.
Niall raises his eyebrows at him and Harry raises both hands in the air to show he has no suspicious papers in either one of them, sits on the arm of the small leather couch chair with his arms still up until Niall rolls his eyes and he drops them with a sigh.
“When is your birthday?” He asks out of the blue.
“September 13, why?” he says to him curtly, a bit annoyed with him for leaving without explanation again but curious to what the question is about.
“Let it be known that I knew that but was merely asking for dramatic effect,” he says informatively, “so you can think of this as an early birthday present,” he adds quietly, handing him a white envelope.
He takes it from him, his annoyed feelings fading immediately, and uses his pointer to tear open the top.
He feels two hard pieces of stiff paper and pulls them out to see that they're tickets. “Harry, what are—” he begins to say, turning them so they’re not upside down, breath catching in his throat when he sees what they’re for. “You got VIP tickets for the Eagles concert tomorrow,” he breathes, so soft his lips barely touch. “Harry I really can’t accept this— how did you manage? That show’s been sold out for ages,” he asks looking up at him and there’s a soft smile on his face.
“Well I mean they’re for both of us, so you only have to accept one of them and really don’t worry, I… won them.”
“You won them?” he asks, confused.
“Well technically Irwin owes me… well that’s not important,” he says, “But yeah, you know how we always get fancy tickets to events to bring clients and prospective clients and stuff… Well, I got two of these.” He grins, boyish and shy as he scans his eyes.
“I’ve seen the collection of Eagles t-shirts in your drawer. If you’re looking for suggestions I really like the black one, with the rolled up sleeves—” he pauses, tracing lines with his finger over his bicep.
“How do you even remember that” Niall laughs, finally finding his voice and Harry shrigs, smiling at him. “Thank you,” he then says, so soft he barely feels the words leaving his mouth but Harry understands, in some ways he always has.
They stand by the sound booth as No Direction takes the stage. It’s their first arena concert, and they’re buzzing with restless energy and adrenaline, their smiles surely concealing their nerves. Harry steals glances at him as their set progresses without a hitch, as they jump around on stage as if they were born to be on it, and as the crowd chants for more even when the lights are low and Charlotte’s pre show playlists starts playing through the arena sound system.
“I think they’re gonna be fine,” Harry says, a huge grin on his face. “Who knows, they might even turn out to be the band of the decade…”
Niall smiles in return. Yeah, he think they’ll be fine.
Harry picks him up at 4:30 PM sharp, wearing a worn out white t-shirt and a mint green cardigan that makes him look so… soft. He smiles when Niall gets in his car and hands him a chocolate bar and a bottle of water. “It’s gonna get pretty hot on the pitch at Wembley, you should stay hydrated and keep your blood sugar up” he says somewhat casually.
“Thanks,” he says, opening the bottle and taking a sip of water as Harry starts his car and heads north.
“Have you ever seen them live before,” he asks as he waits for the traffic light to turn green.
“No,” Niall says shaking his head. My dad loves them, they’re his favourite band since he was young. He always wanted to take me to see them, but…” he sighs. “Now that he struggles with standing for long periods of time and isn’t fully mobile he isn’t really up to be in crowded places like stadiums. Which sucks, because football and live music are two of his favourite things in the world.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, his hand finding Niall’s knee to give a comforting squeeze.
“He was very excited I was gonna see them though,” he smiles. “Asked me to send him some videos, but not too many. He despise people spending whole shows filming and taking photos.”
“A wise man,” Harry grins.
When they arrive to the stadium, he’s positively buzzing. He’s always enjoyed live music, but seeing his favourite band in the world playing Wembley is a dream come true. They’re given a welcome drink and a bag full of merch and various gadgets that make his eyes light up like a little kid under Harry’s affectionately amused gaze. He doesn’t get a chance to go to concerts all that often, not to ones that he doesn’t consider work and where he can simply be a fan and fully enjoy the experience.
“Hey, come here,” Harry says grabbing his hand and pulling him towards a gate that leads to what looks like a very busy tunnel.
“Where are we going? I am pretty sure we can not go this way…” Niall shrieks. “Harry, you’re gonna get us kicked out,” he continues as the other man keeps walking through the tunnel, smiling at people they pass by.
“Put this around your neck,” he finally says getting two badges attached to lanyards from his jeans pockets.
“What the—” the words die in Niall’s mouth as he examines the badge, reading the words ALL ACCESS in capital letters on it. “HARRY” he yells, but the other man doesn’t stop to listen to what he has to say, knocking instead on one of the doors with a mischievous grin playing his face.
“Harry! So glad you could make it,” a slender woman greets them opening the door with a smile and letting them through. “You’re just in time,” she then says shaking Niall’s hand even though he hasn’t said a single word yet, let alone introduced himself.
“Don,” Harry says as soon as he grabs the attention of the older man sitting on a green velvet armchair that clashes with the rest of the Ikea looking furniture decorating the room. “How are you?”
Niall’s jaw almost hits the floor, because right in front of him there’s Don Henley, hugging Harry and then walking towards him, patting his shoulder with a big grin, and offering a hand for him to shake. “I’m Niall, it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he hears himself say with a slightly robotic voice.
“Nialler here is a huge fan,” Harry explains. “He’s a proper musician himself, not like the rest of us suits.” Niall gives him a look, imperceptibly shaking his head.
“Are you now?” Don asks, and Niall has the feeling it’s really a rhetorical question, because next thing he knows, Don fucking Henley is handing him a guitar and inviting him to play with him. “Guitar is not really my forte,” says the older man, “but my drum set got already loaded on stage. Just play, I’ll follow.”
Niall is a little out of practice, his fingers tender on the strings without the protection of the callouses he’s lost after he stopped playing every single day. He tentatively plays a few chords in succession, just to get a feel of the guitar, and then plays the opening chords and arpeggios to Desperado, under the admiring gaze of Harry, and the encouraging one of Don.
“Do you also sing,” Don asks picking a few notes and following Niall’s lead.
Niall nods in response, and that’s how he finds himself singing one of his favourite songs ever with one of his idols, on a random Thursday afternoon, while Harry takes a sneaky video his dad will then get teary eyed over. He feels dizzy, so happy he doesn’t think he could ever put it into words.
As soon as they leave Don’s dressing room, his arms are around Harry’s neck, and his kissing him like his life depends on it. Harry smiles through the kiss, and cups his face in his hands.
“You are amazing,” he says, his eyes full of pride and something else Niall can’t quite name. “Your voice… Ni, you should… I mean— you should be on stage, I really wish everybody could see you like this.”
“Thank you, Harry” Niall whispers in his ear a smile threatening to split his face in two. “Thank you,” he repeats. And it sounds a lot like I love you.
Once they’re both back in the car, Wembley Stadium still visible in the rearview mirror, Niall closes his eyes humming the melody to Hotel California.
“Tired?” Harry asks, pushing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes.
Niall breathes in once, the adrenaline of first playing and singing with Don in his dressing room and then getting to see his favourite band of all time playing one of the most amazing venues in the world slowly leaving his body. “No way, just getting ahead on sleep for later. I’m going to be so well-rested,” he says slowly, yawning.
“Wanna stay at mine?” Harry asks, and Niall nods and gives a mumbled sound of approval.
Before he knows it, they’re walking through Harry’s front door and wiping their shoes off on the front mat, heading straight towards Harry’s bedroom to both change into soft cotton, t-shirts and sweats.
Maybe it really clicks in for the first time in that moment, when he reaches into the part of Harry’s closet that’s somehow become his without even asking. When he dips his finger into his tub of moisturiser like he has a hundred times before, his toothbrush sitting in the holder next to his. It nearly knocks him off his feet and he finds himself holding onto the edge of the counter for stability, his head spinning a bit as he looks at the image of both of them standing in Harry’s bathroom, stealing glances at each other in the polished mirror.
He can almost feel a tightening around his heart, a pain in his chest that feels so very real and he must make a face because Harry pauses to look at him, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he searches his eyes.
“You okay?” he asks, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone.
‘I love you’ he wants to say but it comes out as a pathetic “yea” as he gazes up at him.
Harry looks like he wants to say something else, opens his mouth once before closing it and swallowing, kissing him softly on his brow bone instead. Niall wants him to tell him off like he had so many times before, without a care, tell him not to be so impetuous, so careless but he only looks at him with such tenderness in his eyes that he feels like he might break, averting his eyes and screwing the lid back on his. moisturiser to keep him from spilling all his secrets.
They end up sprawled on two couches, crackers and cheese spread on a wooden cutting board on Harry’s glass table and two glasses of red resting next to it on plastic coasters.
Niall laughs too hard at a few of the other man’s jokes, his cheeks red partly because of the wine and the hot summer weather, but mostly because of the warmth he feels whenever he’s with Harry. He turns on the television and they watch The Chase reruns, playing along with the contestants, keeping track of points in their heads at the beginning but that quickly fades as he becomes less focused on winning and switches to admiring the colour in Harry’s cheeks and the brightness of his eyes. He tells him somewhere through the third episode when his eyelids begin to droop that he thinks he’s beautiful. Harry flushes pink all over, chews on his lip with a barely concealed smile and loses five rounds in a row.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Niall mumbles when neither of them have spoken for some time and the television is on so low it may as well be muted. He’s barely audible with the way his face is slumped against one of throw throw pillows. “I can’t carry you to the bed.”
He can just hear him laugh from the other couch, soft and tired “Why? Not as strong as me?” he jokes.
“In your dreams, Styles,” he manages to sound out, “I’m just choosing not to have that strength right now, any other day I’d take you down,” he informs him seriously. He thinks she might be a bit delirious with tiredness.
He giggles from across the room, muffled by the sound of cushions. “You’re right, I would never challenge you to a brawl because I would surely lose.”
“Got that right,” he mumbles.
He hears the sound of cushions shifting and the TV shutting off and next thing he knows Harry’s arms are supporting him and his head is leaning against his shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his neck. He feels so cared for he’s almost overwhelmed.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Harry asks once they’re both side by side in bed, his words jumbling together in Niall's ear, giggling a bit with his breath warm on the side of his neck. “I used to take the tube everyday just to be near you longer, I like you so much,” he mumbles, his words almost indistinct.
“Really?” he says sluggishly.
“Yeah,” he breathes.
“That’s silly,” he says drowsily, “you have such a nice car, why would you take the subway for me?” he questions, rubbing at his eyes.
He sighs, turning to face the ceiling. “I don’t know” he says quietly, all of their words so much more meaningful in the dark for reasons Niall can’t quite place. “I just like being near you.”
“This might be a bit of a shocker,” he slurs, “but you’re near me all day.” He dissolves into a fit of giggles, which prompts him to do the same.
His cheeks hurt a bit from laughing and he might be so tired that his eyes burn a bit every time he blinks.
“I like to be near you always,” Harry pieces together slowly once they’ve both calmed down, his breathing beginning to go even and slow against the nape of Niall’s neck. “All the time, as much as I can,” he trails off.
“I like being near you too, I think you’re lovely.” Niall says, and he can feel his smile against him, feels his arms securely holding him.
“Lovely,” he repeats into his skin like he’s testing the way it feels on his tongue, the tickle of his voice against the back of his neck makes Niall squirm a bit in his arms, even in his tired state.
“Can you tell me one more secret?” he whispers suddenly, feeling bold, playing with one of his hands as his eyelids begin to droop.
“What do you want to hear?” Harry asks, snuggling further against him.
“Where do you keep going?” he mumbles. “You leave the office all the time and come back looking tired. I get worried,” he admits, tracing one of his life lines.
He’s quiet for so long that Niall thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep and resigns to the fact that he may never get the answer to that question.
“I can’t tell you right now,” he says softly, “soon, but I promise I’m okay, you don’t have to worry.”
“I do though.”
“I know,” he says, a bit sadly.
He feels so bare and open talking to him like this, maybe because he can’t see his face and the moonlight coming from the open window is so pure and calm when it’s washed over them.
“There’s only nine shows left in the tour,” he says quietly, the only other sound being the white noise of cars passing by on the street below.
“Are you scared?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Niall admits, pulling his hand towards himself so that it’s tucked under his chin.
“Me too,” Harry confides, pressing the softest of kisses to his bare arm. Niall lets out a shaky breath, swallows twice before speaking again. He has to say something, neither of them have the time to stall any longer.
“I—” he begins nervously, mouth feeling dry. He doesn’t know how to make him understand, doesn’t know how to say it without spelling out exactly how he feels. He isn’t ready to drop all his cards just yet. “—I, well…..I um,” he stutters, voice going hoarse even though he’s barely spoken any words at all.
“I know,” is all Harry says, his voice just as rough as his, the room suddenly feeling deafeningly quiet. “We’re going to be okay,” is what he gets out after some time, after he breathes in and out until the sharp pain at the back of his throat begins to lessen.
“Promise?” he croaks out with his last bit of air.
“Promise,” he repeats back in an even tone of voice that he can’t help but hold on to. He tucks that promise into the space between their joint hands and his clavicle, protects it there for safekeeping until daylight where it’s easier to believe in those types of things. Presses kisses to each of his knuckles to lock it all in, secure like fortresses and old castles and all the hyperboles all their favourite musicians love to sing about.
He falls asleep with that promise, lets it persuade his eyelids to close, coax his breathing to slow, his heartbeat to fall steady like the metronome in his father’s old studio.
Tour passes them by in a whirlwind, the shows, songs, cities all over the country that they visit all blending together.
The boys are more confident, slowly becoming used to the hectic rhythm of life on the road. They smile for photos, and they give interviews, they study their talking points without rolling their eyes, and they lean on them for reassurance that they’re doing okay, or even when they’re feeling a little homesick, unsure of how to be silly 19 year olds and serious musicians at the same time.
Niall watches in awe as Harry takes them under his wing, making sure they keep their head in the game and their feet on the ground. He talks to them like they’re his peers, and Niall can see that there is mutual care and respect between them. He wonders if they know their time working so closely with Harry is borrowed as much as his is.
He tries to ignore it for the most part though, their ticking clock and fleeting hours passing them by.
They spend the day before the last show in bed, letting Jeff and Louis and their assistants take care of the after party they’ll hold at some swanky hotel, possibly something that just opened, maybe that one right next to the power station with the infinity pool and the view of the Thames.
Harry holds onto him tight that night like he’s scared he’ll disappear, and maybe it’s why he finds himself almost telling him again. Though, he’s never been one for public speaking and in those moments articulating his thoughts feels like a Herculean task. Twenty four hours go by, and he can’t quite piece together the three words that have been on the tip of his tongue for months now.
“Are you okay?” Harry’d whispered into his hair as the boys took the stage opening for Charlotte for the last time.
“Yes,” he’d breathed, his voice a whisper in a sea of screams.
The crowd is slowly leaving the O2 arena, confetti and discarded plastic cups covering the floor. They stand in. The maze of tunnels rounding the arena, people coming and going, loud voices reverberating on the sterile walls, celebratory screams and laughters coming from the doors left wide open to invite people in. Harry’s just congratulated Charlotte with a hug, and Niall feels an unusual fit of jealousy as she not so subtly asks him for his phone and punches her own phone number in it with a wink.
When things die down a little, Harry tells him to follow him, and he half reluctantly does. They find themselves on the now empty stage. The crew hasn’t started the daunting task of taking it down yet, and Niall takes a few tentative steps until he’s smack in the middle of it, looking out to the empty arena.
“Hey,” Harry says, boyishly, tilting his head just so before disappearing behind a huge speaker to grab something.
“What are you doing,” Niall asks anxiously, looking around afraid of getting caught playing on stage like a dumb kid.
“Here,” Harry reappears holding a guitar out for Niall. “Play me something.”
“Harry, no,” he says shaking his head and refusing to hold the instrument.
“C’mon!” he insists strumming a few chords of a song Niall knows but can’t quite remember the name of.
“You play,” he says shrugging.
“I’m rubbish,” Harry sighs. “Never quite learned properly.”
“I could teach you,” Niall suggests.
He strums a few more chords, and then smiles. “I’d love that.”
“Those notebooks you keep in your desk drawer… They’re full of songs you’ve written, aren’t they?” Niall asks. “There’s this quote written on one of them. I looked it up, and it’s not song nor a poem. So it’s something you have written, isn’t it?”
Harry nods, a shy smile playing his lips. “I like writing. It’s something I’ve always done, even just to get my thoughts in order,” he explains. “I’m working on some stuff for Zayn, but most things… I feel like there’s too much of me for them to be sung by someone else. Maybe I’m just selfish.”
“Can you just— just play me a verse, something, please,” Niall begs.
Harry swallows audibly, his hands searching for the right chords on the guitar, his cheeks pink and his eyes low. He clears his throat twice and takes a deep breath. He plays the first chord, and then he starts singing, and Niall holds his breath.
Counted all my mistakes and there’s only one
Standing out from the list of the things I’ve down
All the rest of my crimes don’t come close
To the look on your face when I let you go
So I built you a house from a broken home
Then I wrote you a song with the words you spoke
Yeah it took me some time but I figured out
How to fix up a heart that I let down
Niall would be mad if he wasn’t also so incredibly transfixed by the man singing right in front of him. His voice is so beautiful, so raspy and kind of rock and roll in a way that no vocal coach can teach. He can’t believe he’s never heard him sing before.
“What?” Harry stops, confused, and a little self conscious under Niall’s incredulous gaze.
“You can actually sing,” he says, and feels a bit silly for stating the obvious, but he really didn’t expect Harry to actually sound good.
The other man shrugs. “It’s not like I’m a proper musician like you,” he says. “Like playing the guitar and the piano, actually writing melodies and stuff.”
“God you’re infuriating,” Niall chuckles, but his smile dies on his lips as soon as his catches Harry’s serious face.
“What?” is all he manages to get out, looking up at at the other man cautiously.
“You have to know…” is what Harry says when he looks at him again, some look in his eyes that he can’t quite place, “...how I feel…” he trails off.
Niall shakes his head silently, his eyes wide as he watches his face switch to confusion.
Harry shakes his head slightly again, grabs ahold of one of his hands. “I want to show you something,” is what he says as he’s leading him behind the main stage, back where all of the No Direction equipment lays in open containers.
“Harry, what?” he asks, confused, but he only hums, looking for something in the electrical panels behind the stage. He makes a quick work of a couple of switches and then brings him back on the stage, shoulders facing the empty stands.
Niall is so used to look towards the stage at the boys boisterously jumping and singing on it, that is surprised to she sees how the blue and white lights cast beautiful shadows and glowing spots around them, lights twinkling over their heads like shooting stars in the night. He holds Harry’s hand a bit tighter in his, squeezes it once and smiles warmly at him.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long,” Harry murmurs into his ear, “but I knew it had to happen like this or you wouldn’t see it all,” he says. Niall turns to face him but he holds him in place, pointing at the lights playing on top of the empty seats following each other like falling snowflakes.
“What colour is that?” he asks.
“Blue,” Niall replies easily, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he tries to figure out where he’s going with it all.
“How about all the accents, all of the stage props?” he says evenly, turning his attention to them instead.
“Blue,” he says again, a bit slower than the last time.
“The cobalt on my desk?” he says, turning him around and looking right at him.
“Blue,” he says once again, heart beating so loudly in his chest he thinks he must hear it.
“Your eyes?” he asks hoarsely, looking at him with something like desperation.
His voice feels caught in his throat, stuck there, and he feels like she needs to pinch himself to check if he’s breathing. “Blue,” he says breathlessly one last time, his voice catching in the middle.
Harry nods, searching his eyes, and in that moment he thinks he may even be admiring them.
“Do you see now?” he asks quietly. “For so long, your eyes were the only thing I had, you would look at me across a room and my heart would stop. Every time I caught your eye, it felt like a victory. I may have moved our desks closer just so I could see them more,” he jokes, sliding his hands down from his shoulders to his hands. “You’re in everything I do. You are everything I think of.”
Niall can feel his eyes start to burn as water collects there, opens his mouth a few times to find that he has no way to say exactly how he feels in that moment. How to explain an emotion he’d never thought he would feel this strongly in such an all encompassing way, is something out of his ability.
“You’ve had that rock on your desk since forever,” he gets out, voice soft, still tentative.
Harry smile at him gently. “Yes.”
“That means you’ve—” he pauses, not sure how to say it, “—since forever,” he continues cautiously.
“I’ve loved you since before you knew my name,” he says all at once, no fear or hesitation in his voice, clean words that turn Niall’s thoughts into a mess.
“Then why all the years of—” he pauses, looking down at his feet. “Why did you hate me so much?” he finishes looking up at him to see sadness in his eyes.
“Ni, I think the first time you met me, you glared at me and rolled your eyes. You hated me from the beginning, and I could never figure out why,” he explains sadly.
He avoids his eyes, looking anywhere but his face. “You were good, and I wanted to be better, plus everybody liked you, and you flirted with every girl in a five mile radius,” he mumbles only to hear him let out a small laugh.
“I was a real catch back then, what can I say?” he jokes quietly. Niall looks back up to see him smiling, fondness is his eyes that feels so overwhelming when directed at him.
That fondness changes in a second, his face falling as he looks at him “But really, I am sorry, for everything, I just didn’t know what to do with the fact that you couldn’t stand being near me, I think I’d just accepted by that point that it was the only way I could get you to acknowledge me at all. Not that it was right in the slightest.”
He trails off, taking a moment to pause before continuing. “Seriously though, I am sorry, I want you to know how much I regret doing anything that ever made you upset. None of it was okay,” he finishes, looking ashamed as he waits for his response.
“I’m sorry too, for everything I said or did, and I’m sorry for treating you like that at the beginning, I don’t want that to be us ever again,” he finishes, looking at him remorsefully.
Harry’s smile slowly grows, turning into something that looks relieved as he nods.
“I say we start over,” he says calmly, “forget all that and try again.”
“Me too,” Niall says hopefully, moving forwards to wrap his arms around the other man holding him close until he feels him start to pull back.
“Since we’re starting new though,” he starts, looking a bit nervous, “I want to be completely honest with you,” he says. Niall nods, biting his lip and preparing for the worst.
He looks around him like he’s checking to see if anyone’s listening. “You’re now the sole owner of our office,” he announces seriously, “and the top junior level artist manager slash booking agent at the firm,” he finishes all in one breath, looking at Niall nervously as he waits for a reaction.
Niall shakes his head, disbelieving as he starts to speak again. “As of today I am no longer employed at Full Stop Management,” Harry says seriously.
“What? Why?” he nearly shouts, worry taking over. A million thoughts begin to race through his head.
“I don’t want a job in LA as well paying as it could be, nor I want to work beside you and not being able to give this a proper shot, I just couldn’t handle it,” he begins. “And yes, Irwin was very unhappy when I handed in my resignation, but he respects me enough to know that I want more.” Niall starts to speak, to protest, to argue, but Harry interrupts him before he even manages to put together a sentence. “However, I do have something set up for me and one other person if he chooses,” he says nervously.
In that moment, Niall can’t speak, can’t say anything he wants to. “It’s where I keep disappearing to when I leave. I set up a new independent label, just got the legal department to sign off on all of the permits and docs, and I got office space in those new developments in Islington. It’s not quite as fancy as Full Stop, and things will be hard at the beginning, but it’s a chance at changing things in the music industry, or at least shake them up a little. Give a chance to people who don’t quite fit the mould of the classic pop stars and rock stars, people who want to do what they love but still staying true to themselves and their art. Zayn, my friend, is gonna be my first client, and… Listen, I know you say it’s not your dream anymore, but I see you still have that fire burning in you. And you wouldn’t have to choose one thing or the other right away, you could dip your toes into being a performing artist and self-manage, make the calls, do it at your own pace. I don’t know… You don’t have to give me an answer now, I don’t expect that, nor I want you to make a rush decision you don’t mean, I just want you to know that there’s a spot for you, that there will always be one if you want,” Harry finishes, slightly out of breath, looking hopefully at him.
“Harry I—” he begins, not knowing how to even respond. Harry’s got a place and he wants to start again with him. He’s got a place and he wants him to be a part of it. He thinks about where he works though, how the pay is good, how safe it all seems, and how Irwin and Jeff took a chance on him after everything in his life went belly up.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to Ni, I understand it’s a huge risk and I’m not putting any pressure on you, I just want you to know I think about you, all the time” he explains. “Really though, all I want you to do is to choose what you want,” he says honestly, letting him make the final choice.
Niall thinks about how he’s spent so many days out to make this possible. How all the times he got called into their boss’ office alone must have been to negotiate the situation. He thinks about his bed and his kisses and the coffees he brings him. He thinks about sitting across from him and crying over him and laughing with him on his couch. He thinks about the hues of blue in everything he does, the shooting stars, and the pancakes, and the songs sung with his favourite artists. He thinks about everything that has changed, how he’s gotten used to waking up with him, working with him, creating new memories with him.
He thinks about their names on a sign, of themselves against the world. Horan and Styles sounding out over loudspeakers. He thinks about it all and he chooses him.
“Yes,” he says, nodding.
“Yeah?” Harry questions, looking shocked, his hands hovering over his.
He nods again, laughs as Harry holds onto him tighter than he ever has before.
“I love you,” Niall says against his neck. finding the last bit of courage he needed to finally get these words out of his chest, for everybody to hear. He chooses him. The choose each other.
Niall: Harry
Harry: Niall
Fin