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"So I was thinking we should seat your Aunt Mary here." Liam tapped at a circle at the far edge of the paper with the eraser end of a pencil. "As far away as possible from the bar. We don't want a repeat of cousin Dee's wedding."
"Are you kidding me?" Louis lunged across the table and pried the pencil out of Liam's hand. He wrote 'Aunt Mary' in a lopsided scrawl at the circle next to the bar. "Her smashing Uncle Seb’s entire head into the cake was the highlight of the evening. Can you imagine what she'll do after I ply her with tequila all night long? Our wedding will be the event of the year!"
Harry, carrying out his sworn duty as best man to both grooms, and thus the mandatory attendance at all planning sessions, sat between them with his chin resting in his palm. While wedding talk floated on in the air around him, he stretched bored green eyes open and tried not to nod off at his end of the table. He hoped Liam and Louis appreciated the supreme effort he had to put forth for their sakes.
Liam and Louis, however, seemed not to notice Harry’s noble suffering as they grappled desperately for control of the pencil. Liam pinched at Louis’ hands in support of his bid to shunt poor Aunt Mary off to the hinterlands of the ballroom while Louis defended his choice of entertainment with all the weapons at his disposal.
"Louis! You nearly took my finger off. That's cheating! There are teeth marks in my hand. No, really, is that blood? Harry help me!"
Turning to his second in command, Liam shoved his pinky finger under Harry's nose. Indeed, Harry watched a tiny drop of blood well to the surface.
Harry nodded. "First blood goes to Louis. Auntie Mary stays put." To Liam, he gave a pat on the hand. Liam sniffed and pulled out of reach.
Crowing, Louis slid the seating chart closer to his side. He hummed while filling in the supporting acts around his dear aunt, and occasionally let loose a chortle while Liam looked on and whimpered and cradled his pinky close.
Harry leaned back in his chair, took to watching the ceiling for a bit, and then rocked forward when he got tired of that, eyes sweeping across the room and passing over the paper Louis scratched away at. His eyes came back to the paper. Stopped there.
Suddenly, Harry felt a lot more alert. "You, um," Harry coughed once into his shoulder, "didn't mention that they were coming." Even two years later, he didn't have to clarify who they were.
In unison, Louis put down the pencil and Liam sat up straighter. They stared into each other’s eyes, a lid twitching here, an eyeball darting there. Harry, who had known the both of them for forever, looked back and forth between the two and could follow along with their silent conversation easily enough.
Should we tell him?
“Yes,” Harry answered.
I don’t know. Think we’ll have to put up with his pouting if we don’t?
“It’s called manly brooding. And yes, if you don’t tell me right now, this is the face that will haunt every single one of your wedding photos, even the ones I’m not supposed to be in!”
Harry pulled his thin, wide lips down into an exaggerated pout; his dark brows furrowed so deeply that they became one.
The corner of Louis’ lip twitched. Ickle Harrykins is so cute.
Liam’s eyes crinkled. Not as cute as you.
Not as sexy as you. The blue of Louis’ eyes deepened to midnight.
The tip of Liam’s tongue ran across his lip in an invitation that needed no translation.
“Sorry to interrupt your eye-fucking.” Harry didn’t sound sorry in the least bit. “But can we get back on topic here.”
Liam tore his gaze away. “Yes, they replied to our invitation. They’re coming,” he finally answered.
They. That meant that for the first time in years, Harry would be in the same room as Niall again for an extended period of time. And Zayn.
Louis’ screeching cut into Harry’s musings. “You’re to stay away from them, got it? Do you even know how long it’s taken for me and Liam to get back to this point with them? They almost weren’t going to come. You will not fuck this up Harold!”
“Calm down, Louis. I’m sure it will be fine. Harry’s long over his childish feelings for…oh no.”
As Liam spoke, Harry had slowly begun to shake his head, sending longish waves of brown hair bouncing about his face. “Sorry, Louis, Liam. No can do.”
“But it’s been years, Harry,” Liam tried to reason. “You’ve dated plenty. There was that one bloke I’m sure you loved even. Louis, what was his name again?”
“That tosser's name doesn’t matter. All those guys and what I didn’t feel for them only showed me what’s been missing from my life. This is my last chance to get with Zayn and I’m not going to waste it.”
Liam and Louis shared a look again, but this time Harry couldn’t read the lightning quick emotions that flashed over their faces.
“Zayn. Right.” Liam shook his head sharply. Louis sighed. “Alright Harry. Can you at least promise that you’ll be nice to Niall?”
“What? Why? I don’t owe that Irish twat anything.” Harry decisively ignored the niggling of his conscience. He never thought about that day if he could help it.
“Harry!”
Oh. Right. Just because Harry had put that day out of his mind as if it had never happened, didn’t mean that the others didn’t remember. Liam had yelled at him for a straight month following the aftermath. He still occasionally brought it up as his secret weapon when he absolutely had to bend Harry to his will.
Harry waved a hand in surrender. “Fine. I’ll be civil, but that’s all I can promise.”
“Oh, I think you can do a bit better than that.” Louis had a sly grin on his pointed face to match his tone. “You do know that after what you did, you’ll never get to Zayn without going through Niall first.”
Shit.
“Please.”
“No.”
“Liam, please. I’ll do your laundry for a week.”
“Louis already does my laundry. Besides, you’d just ruin my silk shirts. They need Louis’ gentle touch to be at their best.”
Harry tried to think of all the chores that Liam had hated back when they shared a flat in Uni. “I’ll do all your hoovering for two weeks, no make it a month.”
“I dunno, I reckon Louis might object to that. Actually, knowing him, he might welcome the variety.”
“Sick,” Harry complained and shoved his laughing friend. “Seriously, what do I have to promise for you to arrange a little do?”
Liam’s laughter faded. His usually soft brown eyes turned serious. “Harry, I really want this to work itself out. I’ve missed them. I’ve missed Niall.”
Harry had to swallow down the hard lump in his throat before he could speak. “I know you have, and I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the first time Harry had apologized to his best mates about this particular issue, but it was the first time that Harry had so plainly and sincerely acknowledged the hurt he had inflicted on them all. Harry had lost a potential love, but Liam had lost a real friend.
“I just want a chance to make it all right. I’ll be on my best behaviour, I swear.”
“I don’t know…” Liam chewed on his lip.
Harry sat on his hands and tried not to rush Liam as he deliberated, the cogs turning slow and careful. Though their group had been clearly split in loyalty between Harry, Liam and Louis on one side, and Niall and Zayn on the other from the moment the two groups had been brought together at Uni, Liam and Niall had come the closest to bridging that gap. They likely would have upgraded to best mates by now if it hadn’t been for that day. Liam was Harry’s best chance at getting into Niall’s good graces. And with any luck, Zayn’s pants.
“Ok.”
Harry leapt up and cheered.
Liam wagged a finger. “I have some conditions though.”
“Anything.”
“Admit that Niall is a great guy.”
“No way!”
“How do you expect to win him over if you can’t even say anything nice about him?”
Niall was loud. Niall was obnoxious. He was too damn bright and friendly, and everyone loved him right away without the Irish twat even having to work for it. It never seemed to matter to his horde of admirers that Niall didn’t love anyone else back quite as much. The exception to that being Liam once upon a time, and of course, always, Zayn. Harry’s jaw clenched and he could feel a dull flush creep up into his cheeks while pressure built up behind his temples. “Niall is a great guy,” he said flatly, eye twitching.
“We’ll work on that.”
“Joy.”
“Next, you have to apologize for the Incident.” They all had their little names for it. Louis called it the Fuckup when he was feeling charitable and Harry’s Horrendous Fuckup when he wasn’t.
“I just did!”
“To Niall, you wanker. And you have to tell him that Louis and I had nothing to do with the Incident. Make sure he knows.”
“I will, Liam.” Harry owed everyone at least that much.
“Good. Also, I think it’d be a nice gesture if you brought him a present too.”
“You do know this isn’t a wooing, don’t you? I just want the prat’s forgiveness, not his babies. Besides, I gotta save all my best moves for Zayn.”
Liam crossed his arms over his chest, and damn if his friendly, open face didn’t transform into all menacing business. Clearly, he’d been with Louis for too long. “These are my conditions. Niall gets a present or you can forget about this whole thing.”
Harry held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll get him a pressie.”
“Make it good,” Liam ordered.
“Anything else, your lordship?”
“Just one more thing. I’ll need your schedule for the next two months on when you can come over to scrub the loo. I’m thinking twice a week ought to do it.”
Liam had definitely been with Louis for too long.
The following Friday found Harry standing outside of a bustling pub. Taking one last moment to artfully fluff his hair, he pulled the door open and slipped inside. The warmth of the room rolled over him. He inhaled sharply, the air curling moist and heavy in his chest.
Down the aisles, along the tables, and past the chattering people, Harry’s gaze zeroed on a halo of light reflecting off of a golden head. A boisterous laugh that he would recognize anywhere scraped across his senses. Exhaling, Harry hurried over to the table before he could lose his nerve.
Almost there, Harry tripped over his own feet and stumbled forward. He caught himself on the edge of the table and set the myriad glasses in various states of fullness to rattling.
“Hello everyone,” he called out with a bright, white smile complete with fetching dimples.
“‘lo Harry,” Liam, Louis, and Zayn echoed. Niall remained conspicuously silent.
Harry’s megawatt smile dimmed. He slunk into his seat, knee slamming into the table on his way down. Niall scrambled to catch his tipping pint, the cold liquid sloshing over his hands. Said hands tightened around his glass until the knuckles turned white. He kept his gaze firmly down. Zayn’s long, elegant fingers rose up to scratch gently at the short hairs at the nape of Niall’s neck.
“Still trying to be blonde I see.”
An awkward silence blanketed the table. Niall finally looked up. Harry could practically see the creep of frost that iced over Niall’s blue eyes. Harry felt the cold like a punch in the gut.
“Still a clumsy cunt, yeah?” Niall fired back. He stood up. “Obviously not much has changed. Excuse me. I need another drink.”
Liam’s jaw dropped. His eyes fluttered half open, stuck between unleashing guilt inducing tears or shooting death lasers into Harry’s hapless body. Zayn pointedly studied the grain of the wood and offered nothing more than a drawn out sigh.
“I’m going,” Harry said before Mount Louis could erupt. His giraffe legs wriggled out from under the table. Two identically pointed glares chased after Harry to the bar.
Harry tiptoed the last few steps to Niall’s back. Though the other couldn’t possibly have heard his approach over the din of the room, he watched the smooth ropes of muscle under Niall’s plain gray t-shirt ripple and tense at his close proximity.
“Fuck off,” Niall said without turning around.
Harry decided to pretend that Niall hadn’t spoken. “Hello Niall. It’s been ages. How have you been?” A pause and a breath with no answer forthcoming. “I’ve been well, thank you. Sorry about what I said earlier, though really it was only meant to be an observation. And sorry for what happened that day. Just to be clear, Liam and Louis played no part in it. I like your shirt. Very foggy.” That whole, slow spiel lasted about two minutes; the length of time it took the bartender to return with Niall’s order.
His back still to Harry, Niall snatched at the shot the bartender handed him, tipped it up, and in one fluid motion slammed the empty shot glass down. Harry traced the bead of dark gold liquid that trickled from the corner of Niall’s mouth before a smooth, pink tongue swiped it away. Niall swooped around and straight into Harry’s face.
“You think I don’t know your game?”
Harry blinked green eyes, partially blinded by milk white skin and delicate freckles. “Huh?”
“You think you can prance in here, flip your ridiculous hair, wiggle your bony hips, and say whatever stupid shit that pops into your head and everything’s forgiven and forgot and I’ll just hand over what you want?”
“Ummm…” Yes, Harry kinda had, but metaphoric flashing signs and the sparks that electrified Niall’s eyes told him he best not admit to that at the moment. “No…?”
Niall snorted and jabbed a blunt finger into Harry’s shoulder. “Listen up you lanky fucker.”
“Owww.” And how was that fair? As far as Harry could tell, Niall didn’t have an ounce of spare fat on his lithe body either. He just happened to be a slightly more manageable size, perfect for tucking under a taller someone’s arms and chin.
“You are not forgiven. In fact, if I have to waste any more time around you, I will make it my life’s mission to make you miserable for the rest of yours. And you can forget about Zayn. Don’t even think about him. Your dick will shrivel up into dust before I ever let you lay a single finger on him.”
“So, friends?” Harry tried.
“Fuck. Off.”
Niall turned back to the bar. A shot magically waited for him there, set down by the rather fit bartender, if you liked the handsome and muscular look. Harry watched Niall’s side profile transform into all charm and warmth when faced with stupidly styled hair and overly large, white teeth displayed in an inviting smile.
“Is that for me? Ta, love.”
Harry sidled up next to Niall. “I’ll have one too, thanks, bye.” He stared, glass green eyes unblinking until the vulture stalked away with his feathers ruffled.
“Do you try to be this annoying or does it come naturally?”
“Is that a challenge?”
“To be more annoying? Hate to break it to you Styles, but I don’t think that’s humanly possible.”
“About being friends.”
“Um, no. That was, and I repeat, a fuck off.”
Harry rubbed a finger against the two hairs on his chin that constituted his stubble. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“And die, please,” Niall added helpfully.
Harry shook his head, and it felt like waking from a long, tiring dream. “Challenge accepted.”
The campaign started with coffee. The first one ended up thrown at his feet, and wow, Niall must really still be angry with him if he was turning down free food and drink. Harry knew that in war there would be casualties. He just didn’t think it would be this soon or this dear.
“Godspeed,” he whispered tearfully to the once white sneakers before he chucked them in the bin. The next time he braved Niall’s office with coffee, he made sure to wear black shoes and to dart out of range the moment he set the hot beverage down on Niall’s desk.
“How did you get in here?”
“Not everyone is immune to my curls.” Harry did a slow-motion toss and twirl. Luckily, a desk stood between them. He beat a hasty retreat when Niall’s normally sunny mien darkened threateningly.
After that, Harry kept up a constant volley of drinks and baked goods, at first sneaking them in and timing it just so that they would be waiting there without Niall ever having to lay eyes on Harry. Like gentling a feral dog, Harry gradually added in his presence: a glimpse of his super skinny jean clad arse here, a flash of a dimple from across the office there. He waited a full month before he appeared again fully in the flesh and within strangling distance.
Niall sat at his desk with his arms crossed, the knit of his jumper pulled tight across solid biceps. The gurgling of his stomach interrupted the silence that lay between them.
“I’m starving. Hand it over,” he said. When Niall accepted the latte and croissant and their fingers nearly brushed, it was like Harry’s Waterloo. “Now be gone.”
Harry saluted and left with a bounce in his step.
Phase one, Don’t Bite the Hand that Feeds, complete, it was time to progress to the heavy artillery. For this, Harry needed Liam again and his preternatural ability to nag anyone into submission. Only he could convince Niall, their friendship already almost entirely mended and verging onto brotherhood, to agree to a series of outings that included Harry’s presence, but didn’t involve his murder or maiming. Harry happened to like the current layout of his face and had no wish to rearrange it.
Operation Soothe the Savage Beast commenced on a Wednesday evening at the cinema. Calling in a few banked favours and greasing a few more palms, Niall and Harry and three buffers in the form of Louis, Liam, and Zayn took their seats in the semi-dark room. On cue, the poppy, rocking tunes of the Script came on through the speakers.
Reaching over Louis and Liam, Harry placed a bucket of popcorn in Niall’s right hand, an extra-large drink in his cup holder, and his pièce de résistance, a fully loaded, large pizza in his lap to be consumed at his leisure. Niall hardly even bared his teeth at him, and Harry told himself that it might simply have been a toothsome response to the bounty of food he had provided. His heart warmed in the face of such progress.
“That smells amazing,” said a voice from the opposite end of the fivesome.
A hand reached out in the dark for Niall’s lap. Without thinking, Harry lunged over Louis and Liam. A resounding slap reverberated through the air even over the music. Stung, the foraging hard recoiled.
“Uhh…s-sorry Zayn,” Harry stuttered once he realized what he had done and exactly who he had done it to.
Ignoring the commotion, Niall munched happily away, the pizza box tugged a little bit closer under protective arms. Every few bites, he let out a small moan of appreciation, his head bobbing in time with the beat, and Harry couldn’t find it within himself to regret a thing.
The five lads spent the following Saturday afternoon on the high street, strolling in the sunshine and in and out of the shops. If any of them found it highly suspicious that the strains of Bon Jovi and the Eagles followed them wherever they went, other than some serious side-eye no one said a word.
Niall’s stride languid and his face set in a mellow half-smile, he didn’t even flinch when Harry fell into step beside him. Eyes fixed firmly forward, Harry slid a white paper bag with a piping hot pasty in it into the other lad’s hand. An absentminded “Cheers,” escaped from Niall’s mouth before he stuffed it full of beef and crust. Harry confined his response to a simple shrug, eternally grateful that no one else could see how his insides flipped.
The other four shopped with no particular destination in mind, which made everything easier on Harry. Long-legged strides carrying him to the front of the pack, Harry steered them down a particular lane and over to a certain store.
“Are you kidding me?” Louis asked.
“Why would there even…” Zayn trailed off in awe.
“…” Niall said, but really his round, shiny eyes said it all.
Liam beamed at Harry, threw two completely unsubtle thumbs up in the air, and ushered them into the floor to ceiling shop of snapbacks and only snapbacks. A tinkling bell over the door announced their entrance and the unmistakable first notes of Coldplay’s Viva La Vida blasted their ears.
Harry made a beeline between hat racks and straight for the till. “I see you do custom work,” he said loudly to the salesperson standing behind the desk. The other four wandered up much more slowly behind Harry.
“That we do, sir,” she replied with a huge smile. “Let me show you an example.” She pulled out an emerald green snapback from under the desk that brought forth a smirk from Zayn, a giggle from Liam, and a loud snort from Louis. Harry paid them no mind; he couldn’t. Niall’s face, lit up like Christmas morning, left no room in his vision for anything else.
Later, Zayn caught Harry alone after he had finished placing a sandwich order, a plastic bag with a brand new, custom embroidered and monogrammed cap swinging from his wrist while Niall stopped off at the toilets.
“Hi,” Zayn said into Harry’s startled face.
“Hi,” Harry squeaked back.
“So, we haven’t really had a chance to catch up, you and I.”
Harry shook his head dumbly and couldn’t stop staring. It had somehow slipped his mind how dark and silky Zayn’s impeccably groomed hair was. And had there always been that ring of gold around warm brown irises?
“I was thinking you should come round to mine tomorrow night. We can hang out and watch a bit of telly. Do you know where Niall and I live?”
Harry shook his head again, his lips pressed tightly together. Poisonous bile rose up in his throat at the thought of Niall getting to map out the sharp planes of Zayn’s face practically every day of their shared lives.
“I’ll text you the address. Around seven, yeah?”
Harry’s chin switched to nodding up and down. His tongue, clumsy and heavy in his mouth, seemed to have lost the power of speech. When Zayn clapped a solid, lingering hand on his shoulder, he practically swallowed the muscle whole. Only the arrival of the rest of the lads saved him from further red-faced, choking embarrassment.
Unfortunately, Louis and Liam were no longer there to distract from Harry’s supreme awkwardness when he arrived at Zayn’s door promptly at 6:45pm. Shifting bags of takeaway from hand to hand, Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and debated whether to knock at once and prove his eager lameness, or wait the fifteen minutes and at least leave it a little longer in doubt.
Harry was still deciding and in the midst of another fidget when he got tangled up in his own limbs and toppled over. Bags, elbows, and forehead banged against the door and rendered the decision moot. Muffled shuffling and the sound of a lock being undone followed. The door swung open and Zayn and his ridiculously pretty face appeared.
He caught Harry’s flailing body with ease. “Harry, you’re early.” He nudged the taller boy back onto his feet.
“Yeah, the food was ready faster than I thought,” Harry lied.
“You didn’t have to bring anything. Though Niall will certainly appreciate it.”
So Niall was home. Luckily, he had picked up the feast for six. Harry peered down the hallway in search and completely missed the pointed emphasis to Zayn’s words.
“I’ll grab some plates. Meet you in the living room.”
Harry followed the direction of Zayn’s finger into a cozy little lounge. There, he found Niall sprawled out across a couch with remote in hand. In contrast to Zayn’s stylish polish, Niall looked soft and sleepy in old trackies and a too large t-shirt. Eyes glued to the telly, he hadn’t noticed Harry standing there yet or maybe he simply didn’t care. Harry’s chest ached at the thought of the latter.
Zayn came up behind Harry and swapped the plates for the takeaway. He nosed inside a bag. “Nando’s eh? You’re really going for it.” Zayn walked away before Harry could stutter out a request for clarification. Reaching the small coffee table, Zayn set the food out.
Niall perked up at this and finally noticed Harry standing there with plates and cutlery stacked in his hands. Blue eyes widened and then narrowed. The hard knot in Harry’s chest loosened. “What’s he doing—”
“Look Niall, Harry brought Nando’s,” Zayn interrupted.
“Nando’s!” Niall cried forgetting all else and dove off the couch. Snatching a plate from Harry, he bounded over to the food and began to shovel small mountains onto it.
“Good call on the jumbo platter,” Zayn said and took a plate. Patiently, he waited for Niall to finish loading up and motioned for Harry to do the same. “Trust me. Don’t want to lose a finger in the fray.”
Plates filled (in Niall’s case overflowing), the three took their respective seats. Well Niall settled in, Zayn sat, and Harry perched precariously on the very edge of his cushion. Zayn had claimed the single recliner, leaving Niall and Harry to a tentative detente on the couch.
“Have you got it queued up, Niall?” Zayn asked
“Yeah.” Niall had a fork full of chicken in one hand and the remote in the other. “You sure about this?”
“It was my idea,” Zayn reminded him.
“Yeah, but. I’m not holding back,” Niall warned.
“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.”
“Alright then, lads. Let’s get some walker guts all up in this place!” Niall banged a fist against the arm of the couch before hitting play.
In an aside to Harry, Zayn told him, “You’re in for an experience.”
That was the last time that they experienced any sort of silence for the next three hours.
“You idjits! Stop your bloody screaming.”
“Why is no one standing guard? There are only hordes of man eating zombies surrounding you.”
“C’mon Grimey. Haul your fucking arse.”
“Less yapping, more slashing!”
“Never wear sleeves, Daryl. Never.”
The Walking Dead also seemed to make Niall incredibly restless. He frequently jumped to his feet to better hurl his abuse at the television or vibrated in place during particularly tense scenes. Each rebound brought him minutely closer to the middle of the couch. Harry allowed himself to be bounced along until they were sitting side by side.
“How could they not hear that walker coming,” Harry tried before Niall could say it.
Niall sized him up before getting distracted by another completely avoidable undead encounter if people would just use their brains.
“I know right!”
“Thank god for Glenn.”
“Why does that little brat keep wandering off?”
“Fuck off and die already!”
“Damn, crossbows are sexy.”
The more quips and complaints they traded back and forth, the more animated Niall and Harry became, and the higher Zayn’s hand crept up to cover his face. At the end of the night, when Niall lay passed out on the couch with his feet in Harry’s lap, and Harry had the goofiest of smiles on his face, Zayn couldn’t look at the pair of them without snickering.
“I almost can’t believe it, but you’re as mad as he is.” Zayn smiled a small, fond smile. “Help me bring all this into the kitchen when you’re done?" A flick of Zayn’s hand indicated the containers and plates littering the table.
“Of course,” Harry said and settled the blanket closer under Niall’s chin.
“You know, I didn’t know what to think when Louis told me about your plan.”
“W-what plan?” Harry played dumb and started scraping chicken bones into the bin so that he didn’t have to look at the other. Fuck Louis and his ginormous, flapping mouth.
“Don’t be too upset with him. I wouldn’t have let you within a mile radius of Niall if both Louis and Liam hadn’t vouched for you.”
“I’ll never hurt Niall again.” Harry, too busy imagining the many ways he could disembowel Louis, had no idea how resolute and uncharacteristically-Harry he sounded.
“I know that now. Yeah you’ve been sweet to him these last few weeks, but tonight you’ve really convinced me that you’ve grown up and learned how to treat him with the care that he needs and deserves.”
Harry’s head nodded before his brain caught up to the fact that this conversation no longer made any sense to him. And it had nothing do with Zayn’s mind-numbing sparkliness since Harry was currently staring down into a mess of congealing rubbish.
“I still don’t really understand why you did that thing two years ago, but that’s something you’ll have to hash out with him I imagine if you’re to move forward. I won't get in the middle of that mess.”
“Would you believe it was because of another guy?” Harry ventured and listened for any sign of understanding in Zayn’s voice that Harry had only wanted to get between them. Ask and Harry received, but the answer was far different from what he expected to hear.
“Believe it?” Zayn let out a short bark of laughter. “That’s the only thing I would believe. You used to go spare anytime someone would come sniffing around Niall. The looks you used to give me when I would dare to touch him in front of you, and I’m his best mate! The looks you still give me.”
Harry found that his hands had fisted at the reminder of annoyances long past. Forcing his body to unclench, the snarl on his face morphed into an expression that was equal parts confused realization and 100 percent dopey looking as Zayn’s words sank into his brain.
That fog of befuddled understanding followed Harry all the way into the next week when the five of them met up again at a club. Pushing through the dancing, sweating bodies, Harry located his two friends at, where else, the bar.
“Alright there, mate?” Louis jumped up to sling an arm around Harry’s neck, forcing him low, and rapped his knuckles against his temples.
Harry pushed Louis off into Liam’s waiting arms. “’M fine.” But he couldn’t seem to stop and look at them, eyes darting every which way. His bones itched and his skin felt tight and too small to contain this thing that built up ever larger inside of him.
Liam snuggled Louis in close. “You sure? You’re looking a little peaky there.”
“Need a drink,” Harry said low and slow. He wanted the sweetly bitter burn of alcohol to raze everything in his head to ash and return him to a state of ignorance being bliss. He craved it so much that his hands shook, but then Niall appeared and Harry forgot about thirst, forgot about Louis and Liam and Zayn, and forgot that there had ever been a single doubt. He saw Niall.
“Warn a man when you’re going to stop feeding him. My stomach just about rebelled and ate me instead when you stopped showing up with brekky,” Niall grumbled to Harry after greeting the single entity that was LiamLouis with a hug. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but Harry noted a distinct lack of animosity in Niall’s tone regarding the disappearing act he had pulled the past week.
“I will buy you scones for the rest of your life.”
Niall’s kissably pink lips pursed at Harry’s fervency. “Need a little more variety than that.” He moved up to the bar.
Harry followed closely at his heels. “Muffins, toast, pancakes, anything you want, it yours.”
“Distance from you and a drink will do me now.”
“I’ll get it,” Harry said and pushed Niall’s wallet back in his pocket, fingers lingering at the jut of his hip until Niall frowned and pulled away. Before Niall could object, Harry stepped in front of him and ordered for the both of them.
“How about you get lost, Styles?”
“Eyes up here,” Harry growled at the bartender who looked curiously over his shoulder at the flashes of blond trying to wriggle around him. He threw his money down, snatched up the drinks, turned, and presented one to Niall.
Niall chewed on his plump lower lip, indecision writ clearly on his features, but Harry was counting on his learned conditioning from the past few months and the Irishman’s stereotypical and abiding love of alcohol. Neither disappointed. Nose scrunching adorably, Niall swiped the drink and flounced away. Harry’s stomach clenched with a familiar ache, which he only now recognized as primal satisfaction in watching Niall take what he had to give.
For the rest of the night, Harry kept Niall plied with drink while he resumed his long neglected post as Niall’s cockblock. It felt like slipping his feet into a pair of old shoes: comfortable and right. He intercepted giggling floozies and sent drunken dicks packing. His fierce scowls and strategically placed jabs kept the lecherous wolves at bay.
“What the fuck, Styles? Even you’re not that clumsy,” Niall said when Harry tipped his drink on a stocky redhead who had made the grave error of attempting to dance up on his little lamb.
“Oh what does it matter anyway? He’s a ginger.”
The offhand remark startled a horrified laugh out of Niall. “Not the point,” he tried to say sternly. Harry grinned in response, treasuring the mirth that lurked in blue eyes.
Turning, Niall gyrated back to their three friends who had front row seats to the Harry and Niall Show. From the way that they drew steadily from the straws in their drinks and stared with rapt attention, they hadn’t missed a moment of Harry’s antics.
“Come dance with me, Zayn. I don’t know what the fuck's going on tonight, but this club is seriously lame. Other than that ginger, no one else has even tried to come up to me.”
Peals of laughter greeted Niall’s perplexed tone. Rolling his eyes and obviously clueless, Niall dragged Zayn onto the dance floor by the wrist. Harry let them go with a pointed stare that burned into the back of Zayn’s skull. Zayn only pulled Niall in closer and dropped a kiss on his head, as good as a middle finger stuck straight up in the air.
Harry grit his teeth at how good the two looked together, light and dark intertwined and smooth, hard muscles that flowed together. Well Niall flowed. Zayn kinda just stood there swaying and let Niall flit around him and work up a sweat. The point was, they looked so happy and comfortable that Harry had to stop from leaping between them.
“Since you’ve transformed into a dragon guarding Niall’s virtue, I take it you’ve had your big revelation? Or do we have to keep pretending that you’re not a moron?”
Harry tore his attention away and focused on Louis. “You all knew?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” Liam answered.
No, Harry was the one who was sorry, sorry for being so blind and stupid and wasting so much time chasing after the wrong thing. Most of all, he was sorry for all the hurt that he could never take back. “I don’t know what to do now,” he admitted.
“Talk to him,” Liam urged. “Niall really is the best kind of person. He’ll listen if you explain why you’re such an idiot. I mean, he knows that part already. He’ll believe that you were too dumb and immature to put it all together. Then promise him you’ll do better.”
Louis slapped his hands over Liam’s mouth. “Enough with the talking. It’s time for action. Niall needs a grand, romantic gesture that will sweep him off his little feet and up into your orangutan arms. Something completely wild to make him forget all about your Fuckup.”
“What if he never forgives me?”
Too early, the sweet crooning of Michael Bublé filled the club. The dancing crowd ground to a halt, the confusion palpable. Harry searched out the only spot of colour in a sea of dull irrelevance. He didn’t find it and he felt that loss all the way to his toes. “Where did he go?”
”Relax. I think Zayn went for a smoke and took Niall with him. He’ll look after him. He’s only been doing it for years.”
Without another word, Harry plunged into the mass of people and waded over to the exits. “There you are,” he breathed, finding Niall’s face by the glow of moonlight and the ember at the end of Zayn’s cigarette.
Zayn looked between the two and then stubbed the cigarette out on the brick. Passing Harry on his way inside, he gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. The door swung shut behind him.
“Harry listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”
Hope, fragile, joyous hope, bloomed inside of Harry.
“These last few months have been…weird.”
Weird…was okay. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. Harry could work with weird.
“I mean, you’ve been nice to me and I get what you’re trying to prove. You’re actually a decent bloke. I believe it now.”
“Thank you! You’re great too.” Harry beamed. He wondered if it was too soon to commence with the kissing part of the making up process.
“The problem was always me and you together.”
“Wait, what?”
“We just don’t get along, which is fine, but that doesn’t mean we should make everyone else suffer for it. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I’ll step back and out of your way. I won’t try and keep you from being with Zayn anymore.”
“Niall, that isn’t fine—“
“We’ll make it fine,” Niall cut him off. “Too much has happened for us to ever pretend like we’re mates. God, I would have murdered you if I had seen you in the days after you humiliated me in front of everyone.” He visibly took a deep breath. “But that’s the past. I don't want to talk about it and I can’t ever forget it, but we can stay away from each other. That way everyone is happy.”
“Please, no. I’m sorry. You don’t understand.” Harry tried to grab for Niall’s retreating hand.
“I guess I’ll see you at the wedding, yeah?”
Without even another glance, Niall walked away. Harry stood in the alley and watched him go, all of his hopes and dreams for happiness moving further and further away with him, his heart crushed beneath his heels.
Keeping his promise, Harry didn’t see Niall again until the day of Louis and Liam’s wedding. There had been no time during the ceremony for a word, what with his two best mates pronouncing their love and commitment to each before the world, and the bitchy bride’s demand that their best man wait on them hand and foot throughout the entire spectacle.
“Where’s your brain under all that hair? The ring, Harry!” Louis hissed.
Harry fumbled about with the pockets of his tuxedo and handed the wedding bands over with an absent huff, too busy staring at a particular spot in the pews to pay much attention to the goings on. Liam smiled softly and held Harry’s hand in both of his own, palming the rings at the same time as he steadied his friend. “It’ll work itself out.”
Liam’s faith in them bolstered his spirits and gave Harry the courage he needed to carry him through the ceremony and into the reception. The hall was beautiful and the food delicious, but a strange air hung over the head table while the guests laughed and drank and the Master of Ceremonies made the requisite lame jokes over on the makeshift stage. Harry looked positively gormless, his head up beyond the stratosphere, and Louis poked glumly at his beef while Liam looked exasperated between the two. Turns out, Auntie Mary hadn’t mixed so well with tequila, at least not in the way that Louis had hoped for.
Before long, the worst part of the night arrived. While the parents waxed poetic about how lovely their sons were and how they were so, so proud, Harry crept out of the hall to prepare for his own speech.
“That was lovely. Even the cake is in tiers.” The MC cleared his throat into the complete silence that followed. “Fine. Can we have Harry Styles, the best man, up to say a few words?”
They finally noticed the empty seat at the head table. Louis stood up and bellowed. “Harry, get your non-existent arse in here. Don’t make this take any longer than it has to!”
Fluffy brown hair and a sheepish smile poked through the double doors behind the stage. He motioned for the microphone, only the one hand and his head visible to the wedding guests.
“Hello I’m Harry. I’m the best man and it’s time for my speech. What can I say about Louis and Liam that hasn’t already been said? They are both the kindest, most generous, and most loving of people, which is why I know they’ll forgive me for this next part.” Harry opened the door all the way and stepped into the room.
“Harry, no,” Liam groaned.
“Oh my god. Yes, Harry!” Louis screamed.
Harry wore only a dressing gown and carried a guitar with him. Walking to the front of the stage, he set the mic in its stand.
“Recently, someone that I care deeply about told me that we were a problem. He said that too much had happened between us for anything else but hate to work. I know that he can’t forget the past, and I know I can’t go back and change what I did, but I want him to know that I will do anything to make it up to him. Hopefully, if I embarrass myself enough, he’ll meet me halfway on finding a solution.”
The dressing gown dropped and Harry was left wearing only his tattoos and the guitar. A loud gasp rippled through the room. “Thank you, thank you,” Harry said solemnly. “This song is called ‘I Think You’re Beautiful.’” He started off strumming three chords, and never got any further than that.
“You’re so sure, don’t know what for.” Harry’s low, rough voice was surprisingly and irritatingly good. “I guess you turn heads when you walk through the door.”
“That annoying laugh.” Niall scowled. “Your hair is daft.” The scowl deepened. “Everything you are is too much.”
Harry sought out and held blue eyes. “Everyone else in the room could see it. Everyone else but me.”
At that point, Harry went absolutely mental on the guitar, strumming with no rhyme or rhythm at the strings and whipping his head around. “Baby you light up my world like nobody else. Your arse in those jeans gets me overwhelmed. But since I’m a fool it ain't hard to tell. I didn't know, oh, oh, that I think you're beautiful.”
Louis jumped to his feet at the head table. Whooping and hollering, he pulled a dazed Liam up beside him. He made certain to cheer enough support for the both of them, while Liam stood there looking stunned enough for three.
“If only I knew then that you’re all I can see. I didn’t understand that I want you so desperately. Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe, I didn’t know, oh, oh, that I think you're beautiful. Oh, oh, I think you’re beautiful.”
Beside a red-faced Niall, Zayn howled with laughter and looked far more animated than Harry had ever seen him. Harry gave them his best dimples and continued singing.
“So come on. I got it wrong. To make it right, I put it in a song. I know why you're being shy, and turn away when I look into your eye-eye-eyes. Everyone else in the room could see it, everyone else but me.”
Harry turned slowly and exposed his back to the crowd.
“I’m dying here. He’s killing me. I’m dying.” Zayn draped his arms over Niall and buried his gasping mouth in a tensed neck.
Harry flexed his bum, making the impressively neat, cursive ‘N’ and ‘H’ written on each buttock dance. He shimmied his way back around. “Baby you set me on fire like nobody else. Want to give it to you so bad I get overwhelmed. When I’m standing here starkers it ain't hard to tell. You know, oh, oh, that I think you're beautiful.”
The last strum echoed through the absolutely silent hall. Nobody moved until finally a screech of chair legs dragging against parquet floor broke the spell that had been cast over all the guests. Everyone turned to watch as Niall stood up and stalked out of the room. Harry turned to his friends.
“Go get your man,” Louis ordered him.
“You can do it, Harry,” Liam encouraged.
“Good luck, mate,” Zayn hollered from halfway across the room.
Picking up his dressing gown, Harry ran out the door to thunderous applause. He caught up to Niall outside the building and only then did he shrug on the dressing gown. The night air had quite the chill to it.
“So what’d you think?” Harry asked Niall’s pacing back.
Niall whirled around. “What the fuck was that?”
“I know. I’m shit at the guitar.”
“Stop fucking around!”
“Excuse you,” Harry protested. “I know I was shit, but to be fair, I only had a few weeks to learn how to play an instrument.”
“You were pretty shit,” Niall conceded. He fell silent after that. Cheeks flushed, eyes glistening, he looked heart-breakingly beautiful in his gray suit.
“So what d’ya say?” Harry wiggled his fingers at Niall, jazz style.
“I don’t know what to say! You can’t just keep doing this shit to me out of the blue and changing everything about how I feel about you and embarrassing the both of us—”
“You promised.”
“What?”
“You promised to make me miserable for the rest of my life, and to do that you have to be with me. I want that. Because I suspect miserable with you is better than happiness could ever be with anybody else.”
“Harry, I...” Niall stared at him with eyes made bluer by pain and confusion.
“I got you something,” Harry blurted out.
Niall’s mouth opened and closed, no words issuing forth.
“Liam told me I should get you a present. No matter what happens, I think you deserve one, after everything.” Harry dipped his hand into the pocket of his dressing gown. “So I got you these.” He thrust the envelope into Niall’s chest.
Slowly, the paper trembling the slightest bit in his grip, Niall opened his present. “You got me…” Niall couldn’t believe it.
“Season tickets to Derby. They’re your favourite,” Harry informed him.
In the next moment, Harry had a handful of Niall. The air left him in a rush, his hands locking automatically around the precious weight. Harry was gratified to know that he had been right all along. Niall was perfect tucked up in his arms.
The envelope fluttered to the ground. Niall found his words. “You are the craziest, most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Pressing up on his toes, Niall’s mouth met Harry’s in a dizzying slide of smooth, wet heat. He pulled back after a long moment of utter bliss, Harry’s lips chasing after him.
Niall reached down under the flimsy dressing gown. “Guess it’d be a shame for this to get all dusty. And since Zayn was never on the table, and Liam and Louis are now permanently off the market, someone else has got to step up. Not just anyone can make you miserable for an eternity, I’ll have you know.”
Harry sucked in a breath and touched his nose to Niall’s. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“I really must be as mad as you are, because challenge accepted.”