Chapter Text
It’s not exactly a panic attack.
Harry’s had about a million exactly panic attacks just waiting for Niall to decide it wasn’t too early to answer his calls, and this, right now, is different. He feels--god, he almost feels like a kid again, like he’s gone back into that state he was perpetually stuck in all throughout elementary school--constantly nervous and jumpy and on edge. Except it’s worse now, infinitely worse, because his vocabulary is bigger so he knows more words with which to drive himself crazy, and he’s never understood why it is he speaks so slowly when his head is so used to nonstop reeling. He’s all shaky and useless and self-destructive and shaky, he’s so, so shaky, his ability to stay upright at the moment is nothing short of a fucking miracle. It’s not a panic attack, it’s more like--
“You really need to sit down, dude.”
“I’m losing it, Niall. Like--” Harry, pausing mid-pace, attempts to finish his sentence with a gesture. Niall isn’t looking. Harry resumes pacing. “I think I’ve finally gone crazy.”
“If you’re crazy, you’ve been crazy for a lot long--”
“Oh fuck off,” Harry spits without really thinking.
Niall frowns up at him. “--ger than a couple hours,” he finishes slowly. He takes a breath, frown still firmly set. “Is this about, uh. This thing?”
“What thing?” He turns around and Niall’s holding that comic book in his hand, and Harry firmly shakes his head. “No.” He bites at his knuckle. “Kind of. No.”
Niall huffs out a laugh. “Which is it, dude?”
“No, it’s. Yes. It’s--complicated.”
“Sounds a lot like your comic book, to be honest.”
“Fuck off,” Harry repeats, though not quite as biting as before.
“Bit harsh for someone who’s sitting here putting up with your shit at eleven in the morning,” Niall says nonchalantly, flipping the book open to a random page. “But yeah, speaking of complicated, what’s with all the flying sharks?”
Harry’s caught off-guard. “I’m--the what?”
“The flying sharks,” Niall says again, pointing down to the book. “Like, don’t get me wrong, I can put up with the whole mutant-shark-laser-vision thing. But wings? Sharks with actual wings?”
“Uh, I’m not--wait, what?” Harry stammers, before giving in and abruptly quitting his pacing to take a look over Niall’s shoulder, and. Oh. Those are definitely flying sharks. “I...don’t remember putting in flying sharks.”
Niall cocks his head at the page. “You know what, no. I get the wings, put wings on whatever you want. But how are they breathing?”
Harry shakes his head, refocusing his attention. “Niall, please, I really--”
“Y’know, it’s not even, like, that hard to imagine a universe in which both superheroes and flying sharks exist,” Niall continues, waving Harry off and ignoring his subsequent frustrated little noise. “That’s not the issue.”
“Niall,” Harry tries, his best attempt at firm, but his voice is unsteady and he’s back to pacing again.
“The issue, is that this universe’s laws of physics are totally inconsistent.”
“Niall.”
“In one scene, right, this ‘Radioactive Man’ is going from seventy-ninth street to twenty-third street in one giant leap. But a couple pages later he’s taking a cab to Newark? I thought he was poor, as well.”
And fuck, if Harry wasn’t losing it before, he’s definitely losing it now. “Niall, I swear to god--”
“Does jumping long distances tire him out, or something? Does he even know how expensive cabs are in New York City? How the fuck are sharks breathing in air?”
“Niall!” Harry all but yells, because he’s on the verge of panicking, he really is, like he’s ninety-five percent sure if Niall doesn’t indulge him right now he’ll die. Niall can probably see it too, can see Harry for the impending implosion he is, but he’s just looking at him like nothing’s wrong, like Harry isn’t falling apart. Like Harry’s entire world isn’t falling the fuck apart. “Can we please stop analyzing something I made when I was fucking eight years old?”
Niall blinks at him a couple times, before pointing right back down to the book. “You know Radioactive Man is originally from The Simpsons, right?”
Harry groans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.
“Like, that’s just straight up plagiarism.”
“I was eight.”
“Surely you’d seen The Simpsons when you were eight, though.”
Harry lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, now you’re responding to me?”
“When you’re talking about things that actually matter, yeah,” Niall says, shrugging as if he’s making any fucking sense.
“The practicality of flying sharks, that’s what matters to you right now,” Harry bites.
“Well. Artistic integrity, more like, but the sharks are an offshoot of that, so.”
“Niall--” And Harry meant to yell it, really meant for it to sound more urgent than it did, but his voice has gone small. “Niall, please. I’m freaking out.”
“It’s Louis, right?”
Harry has to close his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, it’s--yeah.”
“You freak out about Louis, like, ninety percent of the time.”
“And what, that means it doesn’t matter?” Harry says, and it feels really fucking weird defending his feelings to one of his best friends.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Niall sighs, putting down the book and finally meeting Harry’s gaze. “I just feel like whatever problem you’re having with Louis--I just feel like I’m going to keep saying the same thing.”
“It’s different this time,” Harry mumbles.
“It’s different every time, though, isn’t it,” Niall counters, and Harry shoots him a hurt glare. “Sorry, no, it’s--” He groans, then takes a slow breath. “Just--tell Louis. Talk to him.”
“I can’t do that this time.”
“Then just--fuck, Harry, tell him you’ve been in love with him since the moment he spilled orange juice all over your N64 and just work from there.”
Harry snorts a laugh despite himself. “Yeah.”
“I’m serious, mate,” Niall insists. “Every time something happens, you act like you and Louis--like you two haven’t basically been an item for ten fucking years. It’s always been like this Harry, you’ve just.” Niall glances at the ceiling and shakes his head, trying his best to soften his tone. “You’re too much of a fucking idiot to notice.”
* * *
It’s his dad’s. Or was his dad’s, before he bought a better one at a stoop sale down the block and gave his old one to Niall, who is absolutely out of his mind with happiness.
Harry and Louis are in their usual spots out on Harry’s fire escape landing, routinely munching away on their respective granola bars when a familiar ball of pure, pajama-clad energy catapults itself out of the house across the street, yelling nonsense and waving something around in its hands.
It skids to a stop right below them and Harry can finally make out Niall’s face (but who else has the ability to turn into a literal human blur?) and he’s positively manic. “GUUUUUYS!” he yells up, hopping from one bare foot to the other, like he physically can’t keep still.
“Hey Niall,” Louis says calmly, smirking through his mouthful of food.
“GUYS YOU GOTTA GET DOWN HERE COME ON COME ON COME ON I HAVE TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING,” he continues yelling, rushed and breathing heavy and somehow still beaming through it all.
“What is it?” Harry asks, already beginning to stand up. Louis’ still seated on the steps.
“JUST GET DOWN HERE!” he says with a frantic shake of his head, flapping his arms once more before bringing the object up to his face and squinting through it. Louis identifies the object half a second before Harry, who’s leaning over the edge of the railing when Louis suddenly screams, “OH MY GOD IS THAT A VIDEO CAMERA?”
“YES IT’S A BLOODY VIDEO CAMERA, COME OOOONNNN!”
Somehow Louis beats him down there, even though he has to scramble back up to his own floor to get dressed, but then again Harry has always moved a bit slower than everyone else. When he finally bursts through the front door, Louis is busy darting around Niall, trying to claim the camera’s focus.
“Lou--get--Louis, get off!” Niall says through a fit of giggles, trying to keep the camera pointed at the sky as Louis grabs a hold of his arm and pulls down with all his might. Still holding on, Louis goes up on his tiptoes, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes as he desperately tries to get a look into the lens. He’s giggling madly as he does it, and when Niall finally wrenches the thing away and falls flat on his ass, Louis erupts into a kind of laughter that expands and fills the quiet morning to the brim, the kind of laughter that Harry can feel swell in the pit of his chest.
Harry’s standing at the top of his stoop with a dopey, lopsided grin on his face as he watches the scene unfold. Louis’ rolling around on the ground like a maniac, paying absolutely no mind to the passersby he’s inconveniencing. Niall is in a similar state of hysterics, but he’s managed to sit up and position himself a bit to the side. He looks up then, and Harry didn’t think his smile could get any wider.
“Hi, Niall.”
Instead of responding, Niall looks down to search the buttons on the camera’s little control panel, pointer finger hovering until he finds what he’s looking for. He flips the screen out, presses something, and brings it up to his face to point at Harry.
And, uh. Right. Harry’s never been filmed before. Like, his mom’s taken pictures of him and stuff, but this feels very different. He’s excited but more overwhelmed, like it’s essential that he play up to the performance Louis just gave, the one that had both of the boys writhing around on the floor with laughter.
Harry manages to wave at the camera before he kind of completely freezes up, too hyperaware of his movements to do anything else. Niall takes that as the cue to jump up and take initiative. “S’Harry,” he says loudly as he approaches, probably louder than he needs, considering the camera is right next to his face. He drags the camera briefly over the front of Harry’s building. “This is the house that Harry lives in.”
Oh. Harry can do that. “I’m up--I live on the fourth floor,” he prompts, pointing. “The second one from the top.”
“Hey, I live there too!” Louis yells from his place on the concrete. He stumbles over next to Harry, edging in front of him and smiling big into the camera. “I live in the very top floor, right above Harry. But my fire escape’s not as big.”
It’s true. The landing of Harry’s fire escape spans the length of three whole windows, while Louis’ only spans two. Suddenly, Louis’ eyes light up, like he’s remembered something. “Oh! MY NAME’S LOUIS!” he screams into the camera. After both boys and the couple passing them flinch in surprise, Niall just laughs and keeps the camera trained on him. Louis beams at it. “Uh, uh, uh, I moved in about two months ago and I’m ten years old and, and my birthday’s on Christmas Eve and I love soccer and I’ve got a mom and a sister. A really dumb sister, my sister’s really dumb.”
“I’ve got a mom and a dumb sister too!”
“Harry’s got a really pretty sister,” Niall blurts out, turning the camera to Louis.
Louis gasps dramatically and covers his mouth with his hands. He turns to Harry, who’s promptly turning pink.
“Ew, I do not!”
“What’s her name?” Louis asks Niall in a hushed voice. Harry goes to kick at Niall’s shins.
Niall dodges him easily. “Gemma.”
“Shut up!” Harry yells as Louis laughs, shoving him to the side. Niall starts giggling again. “My sister isn’t pretty, she’s really really ugly!”
“Niall says Gemma’s pretty though,” Louis says, easily retaliating against Harry’s attacks. “I bet he even wants to kiss her.”
Niall just continues giggling. “Shut up, Louis!” Harry’s beyond embarrassed, but it’s still Louis, so he’s still smiling. “Niall, tell him you don’t want to kiss Gemma!”
“I never said anything about kissing her,” Niall agrees, but it’s half-hearted. He seems to be enjoying Harry’s reactions far too much to properly deny it. “I just think she’s the prettiest girl in the whole world.”
“That means he wants to kiss her!” Louis shrieks and Harry tackles him, toppling them both to the ground. Harry would like to think he has Louis pinned, but really he’s just accidentally landed on top of him with his knees conveniently pressed against his shoulder blades. Harry fights to grab at his arms as Louis tries to squirm away. “He wants to kiss her every minute of every--ouch!--of every day, with their tongues, like this!” And then Louis sticks his tongue out and makes obscene windmill patterns with it, straining his neck to get right in Harry’s face. Harry flinches back and shoves his head away, and finally he’s laughing too hard and Louis is able to escape.
Louis doesn’t get far, needing to spend another minute or so practically bent in half, laughing alongside Harry who is now helplessly splayed out on the concrete. He has no idea how Niall is able to keep it together enough to actually hold the camera, he’s usually the giddiest out of all three of them.
When Harry finally sits up, still somehow with laughs bubbling up out of him despite his lightheadedness and strained cheeks, Niall takes notice. He turns to Louis to get his attention back on the camera. “Harry’s just jealous he’s not pretty like Gemma,” Niall says matter-of-factly, trying to get a rise out of Harry.
Before Harry has a chance to vehemently deny Niall’s claims, however, Louis immediately turns to him with a grin and says, “I think Harry’s pretty!”
And...okay, Louis’ never misunderstood one of Niall’s jokes before. Not like this. He considers that maybe Louis’ still joking, but his smile seems too sincere for that. So Harry frowns at him. He thinks Niall does too, but it’s a bit hard to tell with his face all scrunched up against the camera’s eyepiece. “That’s not--I don’t want to be pretty, Louis,” Harry says slowly.
“But you are,” Louis says, now frowning as well. “Your--like, your smile and stuff.”
Harry glances at Niall, who’s still holding the camera. “No, I--I can’t be pretty. Boys aren’t pretty,” and Harry feels something pull in his stomach.
There’s a second of tense silence. “Does that mean you want to...kiss him?” Niall asks Louis, more serious maybe than Harry’s ever heard him.
“I--ew, no!” Louis cringes and takes a step back from Harry. “Boys don’t kiss boys,” he adds with a degree of finality.
Niall smirks. “So you do want to kiss girls, then?”
“No!” Louis says again, his voice getting more and more shrill. “I--I don’t want to kiss anyone, kissing is gross!”
And wow, Louis is getting flustered. Harry can sympathize, he’s feeling a little bit weird himself. He doesn’t really understand why he said those things before, just that he got scared and started blabbing. And besides, it seemed to be what most other people thought. It...felt a lot like lying, but he knows he’s not lying, he knows he’s telling the truth. If the TV and the kids at school and his family say boys can’t be pretty, then boys can’t be pretty.
Except that there’s this tight, coiling feeling in his stomach that keeps getting tighter and tighter the more he repeats it in his head.
At least Louis is as confused as he is.
At least Louis thinks Harry is pretty.