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There's a door at the end of the hall that, when Niall first moved in, Harry declared as "his study and should therefore remain untouched lest he want bloodshed to occur." So Niall leaves it alone. It's not that he doesn't want bloodshed, it's because if there ever is bloodshed, he knows he's probably going to be the one scrubbing the stains out of the carpet. Harry's a lazy bastard.
The door is always locked, too, and the only key is always with Harry; even if he wanted to, Niall couldn't break in there if he tried. He's also ninety-nine percent sure that Harry shines a UV light regularly on the doorknob to make sure there are no handprints on his precious little study.
The days are easy. Niall wakes up around eight in the morning to make breakfast, eats his share, and falls back asleep on the couch. He'll wake up about two hours later to the sound of Harry clamoring and cursing in the kitchen. With those gangly limbs, Niall's not surprised that he has trouble moving silently.
"Sorry," Harry will say unapologetically when Niall stumbles into the kitchen.
And Niall will say, "You're fine," and resign himself to mopping up the latest liquid spilled on the floor. Harry will try to help and probably spill something else, and Niall will sort of laugh at him until Harry scowls and has to be kissed on the cheek to be assured that Niall's just kidding.
When the mess is cleaned up, Harry will probably slink off to his study and stay locked in there until late afternoon, or until he decides he's hungry again.
Niall has always been a shit cook, but he likes to think he's improved considerably since he moved in with Harry. Otherwise, they would have all starved to death; Harry once vaguely hinted that he set fire to a kitchen trying to pour some cereal which is...well, very worrying. If Harry has any complaints about his cooking, then he never voices it. (But it's not like Niall would listen if he did, because if it's so bad, then maybe he should try making food himself.)
Then, if Niall's lucky, he can convince Harry to stay and watch movies with him until they're both tired. After that, Harry will drag him to their room - well, technically Niall's room - and they'll perform the nightly miracle of managing to fit on the bed.
If there's one thing that makes this living situation worth it, it's the way Harry sleeps: he throws his arm unabashedly around Niall and pulls him close. The blankets are paper thin, but there are merits to sleeping next to a human heater.
So yeah, things aren't that bad. It's better than being broke and living in the streets.
It also probably helps that Harry's, like, ridiculously attractive. (Even during that one time he decided he liked snakes and subsequently decided to buy seventeen exotic kinds. In fact, maybe Harry had never looked better with all those reptiles curled around his limbs - despite the fact that, you know, Niall almost had an aneurysm.)
_
Surprisingly, it's silence that wakes him on that Saturday afternoon. Niall drags himself up to a sitting position on the couch, the last bits of sleepiness slowly fading away. He reaches over and switches the TV off, dousing the apartment into an official state of...nothingness.
He looks over the side of the couch and spies no visible head in the kitchen. The clock reads half past ten, and for a moment, he rubs his eyes to make sure he didn't misread. But no, it's really half past ten. And Harry really isn't there.
Muttering something about snakes, Niall drags himself to his feet and shuffles into the kitchen. Harry's breakfast - scrambled eggs with a side of bacon - remains untouched.
Niall slips it into the microwave and sets the timer for a minute, then goes off in search of his curly-haired flatmate. It's not the first time Harry's missed breakfast and it probably won't be the last and he really shouldn't be surprised that it happens, but he gets worried.
Harry's a genius or something. He keeps most of his "work" under wraps, and Niall only knows what he lets slip, but he doesn't need to the whole story to figure out that Harry's pretty damn smart.
"Harry," he calls. The walls are relatively thick and Harry probably can't hear him, but Niall does it anyway. He turns around the corner and comes face to face with the door to the study.
And it's ajar.
The worry increases tenfold, because Niall likes to joke that Harry will leave his study unattended on the same day that Hell freezes over. But here it is.
"Harry?" he repeats, and he's definitely more uncertain now. He pokes the door with a finger very, very carefully and is actually surprised when there's no mechanism that comes out and stabs him in the gut or something. The door creaks open, would you look at that?, and Niall takes the liberty of stepping inside.
It's surprisingly neat. Actually, he doesn't know what he was expecting to see: cobwebs? The curtains drawn? Jars of brains? Vials of mysterious liquid?
There are two shelves standing against the wall, crammed with books that have worn-out spines, like they've been reread over and over again. A desk sits near the window, and the curtains are partially open and letting sunlight into the room. There are boxes randomly around the room, some labelled, some not. Two arm chairs sit against the wall and there's a bed in one corner with sheets that look untouched, probably because Harry's always sleeping in his room. (That makes him smile a little.) The snake cages are suspiciously out of sight, and Niall can only hope that Harry's gotten rid of them.
The thing that captures most of his attention is the giant web that takes up an entire wall. It's a map of the world, but you could hardly tell past the red lines of thread criss-crossing here and there, pinpointing multiple locations. There are pictures of people and places tacked next to them and Sharpie scribbles on the margins.
"Oh," Niall says to the empty room.
He sits down in one of the arm chairs and can't bring himself to care about how he's probably leaving a hundred little finger prints. This is a lot to handle.
"Oh," someone suddenly says underneath him. "Is that all you have to say?"
Then there are arms looping around his waist and, yeah, that effectively scares the shit out of him. Niall gives an indignant yelp and tries to squirm out of his arms, even if they're the only thing stopping him from faceplanting onto the floor.
"Harry?" he asks incredulously. Damn it, he should have realized that the chair was too soft. He cranes his neck to look back and Harry's staring at him. He's also wearing this ridiculous morph suit that's been patterned to match the ugly floral wallpaper.
"What the hell?" Niall blurts without thinking, and Harry pinches his side for the expletive.
"My disguise worked," the brunet's saying smugly.
"You're stupid," Niall tells him.
"If I were an assassin, I could have killed you." Harry reaches up and drags his finger over where Niall's heart would be, like an imaginary stab wound. "Right here."
"Except you're not." Niall twists around and it takes a whole lot of effort and limb untangling, but he manages. He settles into Harry's lap and stares down at the other boy, unamused. He flicks him in the chest. "You're a guy in a leotard."
"I'm your boyfriend," Harry drawls, "in a morph suit."
"And I'm wondering why," Niall sighs, and Harry squawks, "About which part?" and Niall pokes his nose and kisses him.
"You have your own bed," he says when he pulls away, "so stop invading mine."
Harry leans back, looking very satisfied with himself. "You don't mind."
Niall snorts. "You sound awfully sure."
"I am. I'm a genius, remember?"
"Right. Silly me."
Harry tugs him back in and Niall may or may not be unable to pull his legs out, so he has nowhere to lean but in, comfortably against Harry. "Ni," his boyfriend says a while later, "I have to tell you something."
This is nice. Maybe Harry should let him into the study more often. Niall hums in acknowledgment and burrows tighter against him.
"I think I lost the snakes."