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Harry’s reading the third article (in as many magazines) about his and Kendall’s trip to Mammoth when Niall finally starts to wake up. He flings US Weekly back onto the uncomfortable chair he was just sitting on to stand by his friend’s side. Tending to Niall is a nice way to distract him from the inconsistencies he’s read and the bullshit sources that seem to know more about him than himself.
“Hey, bud,” Harry says, running his hand over Niall’s hair. It’s grown long now and sticks to his forehead. All of their hair tends to go a bit south when Lou isn’t there to do it 24/7.
“I’m tired. Ten more minutes,” he mumbles.
“Nope, nope. It’s time for Niall to wake up,”
Niall’s eyes shoot open, all glossy and watery from being closed for however long the procedure took, “Is that my name? Niall?”
Well, Harry was expecting a lot of things when he agreed to stay longer in LA to help Niall recover from his knee surgery in the posh-as-fuck rehab center downtown. Mostly complaints, moans, and foulmouthed, four-letter words. Wasn’t quite expecting this.
“Give him time, honey,” a nurse says, turning around on her spinny chair in the corner where she had been doing some paper work, “The anesthesia’s gone to his brain a bit. He’ll be good soon enough. Try to get him to eat some crackers while you’re waiting,”
“Ok, yeah,”
Harry takes the pack of saltines from her hand and turns his attention back to Niall. He’s looking between the two of them like they’re the ones that’re insane.
“I’ll be outside doing some paperwork. All of Mr. Horan’s vital signs look good so his waking up should be pretty normal. If you need anything just holler!”
She walks back through the door and Niall’s eyes follow her. Once she’s gone, he looks back to Harry and starts giggling like a child.
“Horan,” he says softly, his laugh turning more boisterous - closer to the cackle that Niall usually has.
“What is it? What’s so funny?”
“Horan,” he repeats, “Hore. An. Hoooooooooran,”
“Yeah, yeah. Eat your cracker,”
Harry hands him one of the saltines, Niall grabbing it and taking a small bite between fits of laughter.
“Had that name for twenty bloody years and you choose now to find humor in it,” he murmurs.
“Wha’ say?” Niall asks with a mouthful of mush.
“Nothing. How you feeling, bud?”
“Like… a million bucks,”
Harry laughs and looks around Niall’s ‘recovery suite’, betting that’s how much Syco shelled out for his week-long stay.
“You’re not in pain, then?”
Niall swallows and his face stills in concentration. After a few moments he breaks it.
“Fuck, why did you have to say that? Fuck, my knee! Why does it hurt?”
“You got it worked on, remember? So that it’ll stop it from hurting,”
“Well they did a shitty job of it!” Niall yells, gesturing down towards his legs. Harry grabs one of his arms so that it won’t hit his knee and make it worse, “Hurts like hell now!”
“Yeah, yeah. Finish eating your cracker,” It’s never taken this long for Niall to eat something in his life.
He listens and takes a bite, but he sends Harry a glare that shows him he’s not happy about it. Whatever “it” is.
Harry picks up Niall’s hand and starts to rub his thumb over his knuckles. Niall’s always been one for a little bit of personal contact whenever he’s feeling down. A hug when he’s homesick, a back scratch when his knee’s hurting, a belly rub when he’s nauseous.
“Do you not remember anything then?”
Niall doesn’t answer, chooses to stare down at his hand in Harry’s. He makes a face then says, “Who are you?”
“Harry, ya numbnut. Harry Styles,”
He starts laughing again, apparently every name is funny to him, but he sobers up impressively fast and stares at their hands.
“Come on, Ni. Just finish your goddamn crack-”
“Are we?” Niall yells, his eyebrows rising up to the ceiling, “Are we together?”
“Wait, Niall, wait-”
“Oh my God!” he yells again, and his face splits into the biggest fucking smile Harry’s ever seen, “Are you my boyfriend?”
Harry drops his hand, stuttering around the words he wants to say but the flip in his stomach won’t let them out. Niall doesn’t seem to care, just runs his hands through his hair like he hasn’t a care in the world.
“I’ve hit the jackpot! Oh God… look at you! Just… gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, Harry,”
He knows it’s a really bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Harry knows it’s the worst idea of all nineteen years and eleven months of his life. Still.
“Thanks,” he says with the goofiest grin his face will allow.
“You just, oh my God! I seriously… got you?”
“Just… eat your cracker,”
Niall grabs one obediently, but it doesn’t shut him up.
“How long have we been together?”
“Um… six months?” Bad fucking idea.
“Six months!” Niall shouts, laughing with soggy cracker shoved in his mouth, “You stayed with me for that long?”
Harry laughs, “Eat your cracker, babe,”
“Babe, is that what you call me?”
“I…I…” shit, “Sometimes,”
“What a good name!”
He runs his hand over Niall’s forehead and scratches at his scalp. Niall whines a bit, shifting his head to get to the perfect spot. He’s always been a sucker for a good head scratch.
“Have we kissed?” Niall asks, like it’s normal.
And, well, shit. This isn’t really a lie. “Yeah,”
“Fucking, ace, man. I’m so lucky. Who wouldn’t want to kiss you?”
“Well…”
“Look at your eyes, just, oh my God! What did I even do to deserve you?”
Really fucking bad idea. “Don’t sell yourself short. This is a two-way street,”
“No! Your… your eyes. And, fuck, do you have dimples? Dimples, yeah. You’re perfect, d’you know that? Just… turn around,”
Niall tries to reach his arm out to goad Harry into moving, but anesthesia and all puts a real damper on that. It’s alright.
“Trust me, you’ve seen it enough,”
He places his hand on the railing of the bed, Niall staring at it. Again. Really must fucking love hands.
“Are you a model?” he asks, all wide-eyed and in awe. Not dissimilar to a child.
“No,” Harry answers. And when Niall looks disappointed, “But I am a singer!”
“You can sing too? Well, fuck, this shouldn’t surprise me. Bet you’re an angel. An honest-to-God angel. Up there in heaven with your fucking green eyes. Singing and shit,”
“I’m not an angel,” he responds, and blushes. Harry doesn’t blush. Not usually, anyways. Not because Niall compliments him, for sure, “We’re in a band together. Don’t you remember?”
Niall’s eyes bug out, “Are we? Fucking… hell. There isn’t a man alive luckier than me,” He picks at Harry’s fingers hanging over the side of his bed until Harry moves them, holding his hand again.
“Maybe me?” What the fuck does that even mean?
Niall laughs and shakes his head. He picks up their intertwined hands and brings them to his mouth, kissing across Harry’s fingers and looking up at him like the florescent lights behind him are the rays of Heaven.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he leans forward and presses a kiss to Niall’s cheek. Doesn’t know why he lets Niall turn his head, and kisses him again. And again. And again. And again. It’s fucked up, really. In plenty of ways. There’s one train of thought barreling through his mind that tells him this is horrible because Niall’s out of his mind and there’s no way he’d do this if he wasn’t still being affected by the anesthesia. Probably. And there’s another train, going the same speed towards the other on the same track, that says that this is harmless. It’s flirting, it’s kissing, it’s half of what they do together on a day-to-day basis. Niall would have no problem with this. Probably.
And there’s another train chugging along, a hundred miles away, trying to catch up, saying that maybe it’s a long time coming. Because, Christ, this isn’t the first time they’ve held hands and this isn’t the first time they’ve kissed and this isn’t the first time Niall has gone on a long-winded rant about how much he loves him. Still, Harry pushes the brakes on that train. Isn’t really the best time. Probably.
Harry moves up, pressing comforting kisses into Niall’s hair. He imagines his knee really does hurt quite a bit. Aside from its standard fuckery, it’s just been sliced into. If this is making Niall feel better, and dammit it probably is, there’s no reason he should mess it all up.
“You gonna stay with me?” Niall asks. Harry doesn’t know if he means until he gets out of the center or until God knows when. Doesn’t matter, really.
“Course, Ni. Always,”
When Harry pulls away again Niall’s eyes are closed.
**
Harry falls asleep, too. Lying on the nice sofa on the other side of the too-posh-for-a-medical-center suite. It’s Niall and his pathetic moans that wake him up.
“Harrrrrrrrrrrry,” he whines, sounding utterly like a five year-old.
“Why the fuck does it hurt so much?”
“Well, you’ve just had surge-”
His eyes are closed, a grimace spread across his face as he clutches the sheets bunched around his waist, “Yes, I know that. But… make it hurt less,”
He pushes a button and a nurse walks in, a different one from before. Niall whines out his issue and she promises to return with pain medicine in a few minutes.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Niall asks, lolling his head about on the pillow. Trying to relieve some cramp or another.
He cocks an eyebrow, “Do you not remember then?”
“Remember what? Fuck, did I do something weird?”
Harry laughs and throws the packet of saltines onto Niall’s lap.
“Eat your crackers, Niall,”