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There’s a lot more work required to being a seat filler – or “a dumbass wanting to sit in celebrities empty chair” (as Louis kindly put it) – than Niall thought.
Actually, there’s a whole protocol when attending any award show, Niall was surprised to learn.
Going past loads of security that seemed ready to implement their force at the first chance they got, handing in their tickets to the cheerful employees in their respectable uniforms, and most importantly, their own clothing – it’s all an enormously large amount of information that was hard for Niall’s brain to process that Sunday afternoon in the steaming Los Angeles temperature, which began with one simple question.
“Wanna go to the VMAs?” Liam had asked, on what was supposed to be their vacation away from their textbooks and average, uneventful lives of routines – such a stark contrast from the glamour and glitz of any award show.
So Niall nodded without hesitating, “sure,” in a bright voice. But since they were both college students with very little money, they settled for the more economical path and signed up as seat fillers/seat warmers – with no guarantee of even getting that. Niall knew it’d be a long shot because the VMAs were no joke of an award show, but he was optimistic that they’d see his whole resume (yes, this was actually required), and be impressed by his high marks and that he was a foreigner, because if there’s one thing Niall’s learned, it’s that Americans love accents.
But even with the initial excitement of the possibility of going, Niall forgot about that seemingly far-fetched idea soon after, until opening that fateful, wishful email in between his 800 other unread messages, confirming his ticket.
And what were the chances that Liam got one too? He was after all the one who introduced the idea to Niall, and it would have made for an awkward trip if Niall had been the only one with said ticket.
“Yes, mate!” Liam breathed out through a joyous voice that Niall responded to with a slight smile, trying to downplay how much he was actually looking forward to it. And it was fairly easy to hide once he read one of the first rules, his lips tugged downwards.
“What’s wrong with my flannel shirt?” Niall complained, searching in his luggage for anything other than the same cotton shirts he always wore.
“It doesn’t fit in the requirement,” Liam grinned, because he already had his outfit, a very nice, collared t-shirt with those expensive aqua blue jeans of his. “Just pretend you’re going to a pub,” Liam hummed, mused expression on his face because it was no secret that Niall was a disaster when it came to dressing. Flannel was all he owned.
“I’m fucked then,” Niall groaned, a very pathetic sight with how he laid on the floor as he searched through his piles of clothes.
But being the sensible one, Liam shook his head, telling him, “we’ll just go buy you something.” And after various circles in those high-end Los Angeles stores, Niall finally settled on a very nice but figure-fitting black ironed collared shirt with black jeans. This wasn’t the Oscars after all.
“Not bad,” Liam hummed, nodding in approval.
“Thanks,” Niall muttered because even he couldn’t deny that he looked good. It was as if it was made for him because it fit into every curve of his body, highlighting all the places that need to be, without being too ‘hey, look at me.’
Niall sighed in relief, letting the muscles on his face slacken. One less thing to worry about, he reasoned, but another crucial rule about this whole ordeal that Niall forgot? They’re not even guaranteed seats as seat warmers. They’ll have to wait in a small room and be prepared to sprint at the first chance they see some empty seat, and get up if the celebrity comes back to take that seat. It takes a certain type of person to be willing to do the job but Niall’s a fairly easy-going guy, and so is Liam.
“Hey, isn’t that Wiz Khalifa?” Liam excitedly asks, watching the small television in the room, as the first duo performs.
“Is it?” Niall questions, much more interested in seeing the audience reactions than the actual performance.
“Don’t pretend you don’t fucking notice,” Liam rolls his eyes, a habit he has when talking about any rap artist with Niall. “I’ve shown you pictures of him,” Liam grunts at Niall’s confused face. He has a vague memory of what he’s sure has been a topic of conversation multiple times, but he blames his inability to pay attention on the fact that Liam usually tries talking about these things when Niall’s trying to watch a football game.
Liam sighs but points to the screen. “Him,” Liam signals, as Niall’s eyes follow Liam’s fingers. But, just as Niall does look, the camera zones in on a guy with jungle wild hair, nodding to the beat of the song.
And from the very mused smirks of the girls around him, Niall can tell he’s a very big celebrity.
Niall frowns but his face softens as he squints because he’s pretty sure he’s also seen this guy somewhere. That wild curly hair that goes past the guy’s ears seems to be a signature look, and his eccentric buttoned down shirt that show off his chest is certainly intentional. A hipster, Niall would say if he had to guess, as his eyes trace the guy’s body – all the way from the rings on the guy’s index finger to the sparrows marked on his collarbones.
He looks very familiar, Niall thinks, racking his brain to try to find a name to that face he’s seen before. But then again, he’s pretty sure that would qualify for half the people on the screen, as the camera goes back to the man who Niall presumes is Wiz Khalifa.
“Wasn’t that Harry Styles?” Liam asks, voice sharp against Niall’s ears.
“Is that who he was?” Niall questions, shaking his head, because now that his mind has a name, he’s connecting it to that enormous billboard he saw on their way to Staples Center, almost groaning because he sees enough of those in London, or whenever he visits his aunt and sees the walls of his cousin, Katie’s, room.
“You don’t like him?” Liam asks, curiosity etched in his voice.
“Not really,” Niall shrugs in his typical ‘I-don’t care’ attitude, that elicits Liam’s eyes to widen and his brows to furrow close together.
“But he’s the most successful artist at the moment!” Liam squawks, eyes shinning with disbelief.
“That doesn’t mean he’s talented,” Niall answers calmly despite Liam’s wide eyes on him. “Success doesn’t equal talent, Liam.”
“Aren’t you being a bit harsh? He’s actually really good,” Liam says, as a couple of girls move closer to them to catch a good glimpse of the screen.
“His music blows,” Niall says, a bit harsh and unfounded, but he’s never been a fan of Harry, regardless of the fact that his music isn’t as bad as Niall claims.
“Who cares? He’s, like, hot,” says a girl in a very stereotypical American accent, taking a second glance at them as she tries to shift closer to them, in the hopes to start a conversation.
“Oh,” Niall politely mutters but averts his gaze as the girl frowns (with a very hurt ego), sliding off so that her back is now facing them. This was another reason why Niall hated the room being so small – no boundaries.
“Sometimes I don’t get you,” Liam sighs, tired and exasperated, but with a faint smile on his face, adding, “you’re a prick when you want to be,” chuckling as he runs his hand through Niall’s combed hair.
“You’re not far behind either,” Niall tells him, swatting Liam’s hand away from his hair that only took him an hour to fix.
Liam only chuckles at that as they watch the rest of the first performance, clapping louder when it’s over, and that’s when the fun begins.
As soon as the first award is given (Lady Gaga wins), they know that it’s about to get interesting, positioning themselves near the exit of the door with legs that are ready to sprint off at the first go.
“Break,” says the man, signaling that it’s the first commercial break, but it’s like he’s telling an empty room because people are already pushing and twisting their bodies to get past the small door.
“Come on,” Liam says practically sprinting, as they scramble outside and search for the first empty seat possible.
It’s clear to Niall and Liam that their chances will be better if they break apart, so they do, as Niall walks hurriedly, a little awestruck when he spots Will Smith, his favorite actor. He’s tempted to stop and ask for a picture but he needs to find a seat first, he reasons, willing his eyes to search for an orange chair.
Niall’s pulse is faster than the shake in his hands when he finally manages to find an empty chair, but he simmers down those chaotic movements by taking a deep breath, exhaling even louder once he manages to secure his spot, which has a very nice view, if he must say.
He’s surrounded by television people that he doesn’t really know (it’s his fault because he mostly flips through channels until settling on rugby or football), mind finally beginning to comprehend what’s happening. He’s really here.
Niall cranes his neck in search of Liam and nods he sees Liam waving widely at him with a huge, excited grin on his face. It’s not exactly the ideal situation because he’s at the opposite side of the room, but Niall’s glad to know that at least he’s got a seat, waving back to him but turns to inspect the stage and audience.
It’s interesting because Niall notices that most of the celebrities look incredibly stony, taking the occasional selfies with each other, but it’s more like they’re examining the competition with those cold eyes of theirs. Niall can practically feel the jealously spreading in the room, shaking his head but pausing when he catches Harry Styles taking pictures with a couple of fans.
Somehow, the sight is baffling to Niall. Perhaps even unprecedented when looking at the other celebrities and their unwelcoming body language, but Harry’s a bit different. He’s smiling widely with each picture without looking forced in the slightest. Niall would go as far as to say he’s impressed with such behavior, but then the camera goes to Harry’s face and it’s shown on the big screen, as the girls scream loudly, and Niall’s brain works the dots together. This is just Harry being tactical about the whole thing. He must know that he’s being watched. He’s just trying to maintain an image to not lose fans, wisely so, if Niall had to say.
“Places,” comes a voice from the loud speakers and Niall brightens at that. This is even more exciting in person, he reasons, but then Niall gets a tap on his shoulder, and fuck. He knows what that means.
“They need this seat,” the security guard says, as Niall reluctantly obliges and sees who he thinks is Kesha (when did she dye her hair again?), but she doesn’t even look in his direction. Niall doesn’t take it personal, though. He doesn’t even have the time to because he sees Harry getting up, and before he can have the time to think about what he’s doing, he’s already sprinting over to his seat.
He slams himself in the seat as the lights begin dimming. He feels a small amount of guilt in his gut when he sees a couple of other seat fillers disappointed, but he has to remind himself that this is how it works, shifting his attention to the stage, clapping loudly when he hears that it’s Pink who’s performing.
But as his luck would have it, he gets another tap on his shoulder.
“We need the seat,” comes a security, as Niall tries to not show his disappointment.
“Okay,” he says slowly, but obliges, posture a bit defeated at missing out on Pink perform live.
“Sorry, mate,” calls a deep voice, and although Niall’s sure that he shouldn’t be looking, he does, meeting green eyes and a friendly face that falls a bit once they lock eyes because what do you know? It’s Harry Styles in front of him.
Niall keeps his face blank, swallowing the small lump that's built up from his annoyance that’s at the tip of his lips and forces a small smile. He doesn’t say anything, though. That’d be breaking a rule and he can’t do that.
“Next time,” Harry says, grinning softly. Niall nods at that, but keeps his mouth shut, face tense from having more than a pair of eyes on him because this is Harry Styles. Everything he does is monitored extra carefully, especially by girls.
Harry watches him with his signature quizzical expression, but before he can say more, Niall moves his tense body to the side, walking away like a prisoner, with a large amount of irritation catapulting in his veins. But for some reason, he glances back, noticing the way Harry’s eyes are lingering on him, face wistful and deep in thought, like he’s intrigued by the situation. He’s scanning Niall and it isn’t fair that although Niall’s pretty sure that he hates him, he also doesn’t exactly.
Liam’s already back when Niall’s enters the small room, rushing over to Niall hurriedly.
“He was looking at you,” Liam says, voice hushed and airy, filled with excitement.
“Who was?” Niall asks, brows scrunching together in his confusion.
“Harry Styles. I saw him,” Liam grins happily. “Do you think it’s true that he’s gay?”
“He didn’t seem like it,” Niall remarks, lulling at the thought. “He was probably just being nice.”
“Bisexual?” Liam presses, not wanting to let the subject drop.
“He is what he is,” Niall maintains, and that sounds about right to his ears. “We don’t know him,” he finishes, because even if he doesn’t particularly like Harry, he’s not going to massacre his reputation like so many others have done before him.
“But he’d like you to,” Liam muses, and even if the idea is so stupid and ridiculous to Niall’s ears, he doesn’t mind it as much as before.
“Shut up,” Niall grumbles, as Liam lets out a loud laugh, nudging Niall with his shoulder, knowing smirk on his face.
*
Niall quickly learns that commercial breaks are apparently the best way to find seats.
He’s smarter about things each time, too – managing to use his slight athleticism as an advantage to run through the exit and find good seats.
It’s never in the same spot either and he’s never with Liam, but he always manages to be in Harry’s eyesight, who Niall notices craning his neck as if in search for someone each time, until landing his vibrant eyes on him.
They stay put on Niall’s face more than he can understand why, but he always looks down at his phone soon after with a confused Niall frowning and unable to fully enjoy each performance because Harry's not very discrete in the way he turns back to take small glances at Niall. In the back of his mind, Niall knows that it’s possibly him just being ridiculous about the situation. That perhaps Harry is just being Harry (from what Niall’s heard anyway), and that he can’t be interested in him. At least not in that way, he thinks. But regardless, he doesn’t dwell on the thought too much because he’s more preoccupied with finding a seat than anything else.
It’s like a game of musical chairs with the spot always being different than the first, but like a 360 degree circle that makes a full turn, it’s in the second half that Niall actually makes it in the same area as the first time – he’s behind Harry. Directly behind him that if he wanted to, he could lean forward and catch a whiff of his scent, or press his nose against the crook of Harry’s neck, but that would just be strange, wouldn’t it? Especially since Harry saw him take the seat behind.
So what Niall does instead is sit still, waiting patiently for the next performance to begin.
However, that plan is thrown out of his head once Harry turns, locking their eyes immediately.
“Want some?” He asks in that typical awkward Harry Styles’ manner, and it takes Niall a moment to see the gum in his hands.
He shakes his head quickly, attempts to appear calm and collected fruitless, as Harry shrugs and turns back.
Confused, Niall sighs, but it turns into a quick breath when Harry turns back to look at him shortly.
“How do you like the show?” Harry asks, and fuck. He knew what he was doing because there’s no way Niall can nod without getting called out for such strange behavior.
“It’s good,” Niall says, the awkwardness drowned out by the music.
“Who’s your favorite so far?” Harry asks, eyes watching Niall as if he’s the only one there, and Niall supposes this is why he’s such a good popstar. He has that ability to make people feel wanted, even with people like Niall, who feels some indifference towards him.
“I liked Drake,” Niall admits, clearing his throat a bit. “He was good,” Niall finishes lamely.
“He was, wasn’t he?” Harry nods in agreement, pausing as he studies Niall’s face once more. “What’s your name?”
“Zayn,” Niall says without thinking, dumbfounded with the actions of his own tongue. Why did he even say that?
Wouldn’t it have been easier to just say your name? Niall angrily thinks, forcing away the frown that is begging to taint his face.
Harry studies him hard. “Zayn?” he questions with a quirked brow. Niall nods, because even to him, that sounds so unconvincing. He was obviously not a Zayn.
“Are you Irish?” Harry ponders, like he’s working and connecting these dots together at a fast pace.
“I – ” Just as Niall’s about to respond, he gets a tap on his shoulder again.
“Seat,” says the guard, and that’s all Niall needs to be told to get up once more.
Harry frowns at that, looking at him with his lips pursing together into a small pout, but Niall waves it off. He’s actually really grateful, walking with flushed cheeks and sweaty palms back to the small room, blaming it on sprinting through the whole venue.
*
Niall’s standing with another group of people as he watches the show on the small television. He’s bored because Liam isn’t back and most people seem more interested with their phones than starting a conversation, he notices, taking out his too, but pauses when he hears another loud voice call him.
“You,” says the voice and Niall looks up. “We have a spot open. Do you want it?”
“Sure,” Niall says casually, as various people grunt in disbelief. Niall can’t believe it either, but he’s not about to question his luck because at least he won’t have to move around anymore (regardless of the seat).
He grins at the thought as they walk, but his lips tug downwards once the guard stops in front of Harry.
“Thanks,” Harry tells the guard, shifting his attention to Niall’s flushed face.
“You got me seat?” Niall asks, forgetting about the no-talking-to-celebrities rule.
“Of course I did,” Harry smiles, eyes bright and alive.
“Why?” Niall questions, coming out distorted through his cough, but Harry doesn’t even notice, smiling back at Niall all the more widely.
“So you can see the show,” Harry says, adding lightly, “and so we can talk.”
Niall lifts a brow as he fixes the collar of his shirt, hating how there's apparently no air conditioner in the room, as he struggles to control the way his heart is pounding loudly.
“We’re not supposed to talk,” Niall says, trying to find excuses against this.
Harry nods in understanding. “You’re not supposed to talk to me. Who says I can’t talk to you?” Harry smirks, that stupid smirk that Niall’s seen in interviews whenever Harry finds one of his own dumb jokes amusing. But since he’s a bit thankful to Harry for finally getting him a seat, he’s in no position to complain.
Niall fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt, fidgeting once he raises his gaze and sees Harry watching him.
“Tell me about yourself,” Harry says, calm and collected, in complete control of the situation.
“I’m trying to watch this,” Niall mumbles, trying to ignore the way Harry’s eyes are carving into his skin.
Harry lets out a small chuckle. “Funny, because this is much more entertaining to me,” Harry grins, satisfied at the way Niall’s face blossoms into a small blush. Niall shakes his head, face beginning to smear in red because of his anger.
What did he just get himself into?
*
Being around a celebrity is strange.
Niall’s seen Harry several times, but it was usually in front of his tv, magazines, or some type of billboard, and he could usually just walk away or flip the channel if he wanted to, but this is different. He can’t even go away because Harry’s still a person, and…there’s an aura about him that draws Niall in for some reason.
There’s just something surreal about Harry because even if Niall swears that he hates him, there’s that part of him that wants to not come off as a creep or too desperate, or too much of anything, actually. It’s hard to explain and Niall himself can’t comprehend why or how; it just makes him uneasy.
“Irish,” Harry calls, just as another performer (Niall’s lost at this point because Harry’s always interrupting him) begins.
“That’s not my name,” Niall rolls his eyes, keeping his face stony, but it’s hard because Harry’s a charming individual.
Harry laughs loudly, face softening and expressing so much fondness. “Zayn isn’t either,” he chuckles. At this, Niall turns, catching the smugness that’s radiating off of Harry’s face.
“How did you…?” Niall questions, dumbstruck.
“You don’t seem like a Zayn,” he says, catching Niall’s lie. “So tell me, then. What’s your real name?” Harry presses, in a teasing tone that’s making it hard for Niall to not fall back in his embarrassment.
“Niall,” Niall reluctantly admits, forcing out the words through his constricted throat.
“Niall,” Harry says, smiling widely at Niall, and despite Niall’s embarrassment, he smiles back.
However, it falls once he sees the big screen, catching himself and Harry there, looking very cozy to say the least.
“Harry,” Niall’s voice comes out panicked as he continues watching themselves on the screen, as Harry hovers over Niall, hands close to Niall’s knee.
“Yes?“ he muses, so close that his breath hits Niall’s face, as Niall nudges him again. Harder.
“Hey!” Harry groans, massaging his leg. “What was that for?”
“They’re gonna think we’re here together,” Niall mumbles, letting out a small breath now that Harry’s stopped invading his personal space.
“What’s wrong with that?” Harry asks, offended, as Niall’s lips part open.
“It’ll look suspicious!” Niall croaks, voice heavy with disbelief.
“I’ll just say you’re my guest,” Harry smiles, crinkles near his eyes.
“But I’m not,” Niall argues, a bit defeated. He’s finding it hard to even argue with Harry because Harry seems very keen on getting things to get his way, and Niall’s not sure that might be a bad thing anymore.
“That doesn’t matter,” Harry says, running a hand through his mop of curls. “Besides, I’m sure no one would mind.”
“Why would – ”
“Can we get a picture?” comes a loud and energetic group of high-pitched voices, as they both turn to see three girls standing in front of them.
Niall quirks a brow at their forwardness. After all, rule number one was against asking celebrities for pictures, but Harry smiles politely.
“Of course,” he says, good-naturedly.
They squeal and Niall tries suppressing the way he wants to roll his eyes. They’re practically falling at his feet, he thinks, face tensing when one of the girl pauses and looks at him.
“Are you a Youtuber?” she awkwardly asks, and Niall almost wants to laugh but just shakes his head instead.
"I’m not,” he says in a monotonous voice, as the girl backs away and mumbles a “sorry.” Harry’s smirking now, dimples completely visible, but remains quiet as he finishes taking the last picture.
“He’s my guest,” Harry winks, handing the girl the phone, and before Niall can complain, the girls let out small sighs, very disappointed.
“Oh,” they say in unison as they walk away.
“I told you he was!” Niall manages to hear one of them say in an insistent voice. He’s sure that Harry’s heard it too, but he doesn’t appear fazed in the slightest, smiling back at Niall.
“You’re torturing them,” Niall says.
“It’s best that they get the message,” Harry grins, hand going to Niall’s knee, brushing his fingers on the material from Niall’s jeans, eyes a bit more hesitant when they meet Niall’s, but doesn’t stop.
Niall rolls his eyes in response but doesn’t push him away.
*
“Who do you want to meet?” Harry grins, “I’ll introduce you to anyone in this room.”
“Is this you trying to bribe me?” Niall quirks a brow. He’s a lot more comfortable with Harry, almost forgetting that he’s a celebrity when he answers back in a harsh tone, but Harry seems to like that. A lot, too.
“I just think you need to meet more people,” Harry smirks, but Niall shakes his head.
“You’re an idiot,” he says, as Harry lets out a small grin, ignoring Niall’s words.
“How about him?” Harry leans forward to whisper in Niall’s ear. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Nope,” Niall says, smiling softly.
“Her?” Harry asks, signaling to a girl wearing a very short skirt with long black hair.
“Nah,” Niall says, laughing when Harry looks at him with a quirked brow.
“Then who?” Harry asks, like he can’t believe this.
“No one really. You’re more than enough to handle,” Niall says, as the color from his face drains because oh. What did he just imply?
Harry, however, doesn’t appear to mind. He actually perks up and smiles more brightly, dipping himself closer to Niall’s space and presses his knees with Niall’s.
“You have no idea,” he says, voice hoarse, as Niall laughs out bitterly, hating Harry’s forwardness. He should have known that Mr. Villain of the Year Harry Styles was like this, but regardless, he lets their knees touch for the rest of the show.
*
“Here,” Harry says, handing Niall a small paper, cautious and a lot more guarded than how they first started. “Please don’t make me regret giving this to you,” he says, voice small and soft, like memories are haunting him.
“Can’t you just go and get another girl out there?” Niall asks, but his voice is soft and gentle too. He doesn’t even need to look at the paper to know what’s inside it, and his stomach’s fluttering at the thought – channeling the emotion to anything that won’t let him show just how strange he’s feeling with Harry’s eyes on him.
Harry visibly relaxes at that, shaking his head lightly.
“What’s the fun in that?” he grins, sweet and kind, not quite helping the pressure in Niall’s chest.
Niall opens his mouth but Harry beats him to the punch, leaning forward to place a small kiss on Niall’s cheek, full with intent and lingering on the spot before backing away. He smiles in satisfaction, enjoying the way Niall’s eyes are watching him with absolute confusion, but walks away before he can attract more attention, only turning back once to smile at Niall.
Niall stands like a fool, the paper grasped in his hands, as he feels a pat on his back.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” asks Liam, laughter in his voice.
“It was,” Niall says, committed to the memory of Harry’s lips on his cheek. It actually was, he thinks, face glowing. He’ll always cherish the memory, dazed on their way out of the arena.
*
Niall’s waiting inside a small room, bored, when he feels a strong hand pull him in, tugging at his waist, as they place a gentle kiss on his neck.
“You’re done?” Niall asks, laughing lightly at the way Harry presses kisses on his nape.
“Completely,” Harry says, nuzzling his lips deeper into his neck as Niall tries to get away from his grasp.
“You don’t want to stay?” Niall asks, pushing Harry gently away, as Harry pouts a bit.
“It’s the same thing every year. You know that by now, don’t you?”
“Well. Last year was better,” Niall grins, hands circling their way around Harry’s neck, lips brushing together.
“Only because you got me out of it,” Harry laughs, his breath hitting Niall’s face.
“Prick,” Niall mutters but connects their lips, smiling into the kiss. It’s crazy to him that after a year, it's always different. Each touch, each kiss, each one of Harry’s sweet gestures...everything. And, that with each kiss he discovers something new. That it never fails to leave him breathless, cheeks reddening even if they’ve done it multiple times by now, as Harry breaks the kiss to run his thumb over Niall’s face.
“Let’s go,” he says, smiling gently, and Niall obliges, because as he’s come to learn, Harry always gets his way. And that might not be such a bad thing – that much Niall can say with certainty.
*