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“And with that being said,” Harry calls loudly, finishing his scrawl over the blackboard before clapping his hands to shake off the excess chalk dust. “The fact that Mala Ramchandin does not speak is both a form of protest against her father’s abuse as well as a step toward self-dehumanization in the hopes that it will exclude her from societal pressures.”
Harry turns around and, well, he’d had at least half of the class’s attention up to this point, some of them partially interested in what he’d had to say, but now, they’re all completely gone, captivated by something to his left, their right. So Harry turns and, he’s not exactly surprised.
“Right on, Harold, right on.” It’s Niall, one of the school’s new gym teachers and arguably the hottest new bachelor in the building, usurping Harry’s cushy spot as number four on the list where he was sitting pretty under two other gym teachers, a drama teacher, and one of the vice principals. But all of this is according to the chatty cafeteria ladies; Harry, of course, firmly disagrees.
It’s not that he doesn’t think Niall’s unattractive. It’s quite the opposite actually, because he’s got these bright, coaxing blue eyes, and his tongue’s as fast as a firecracker, and his skin is always blushing this lovely shade of ruddy red when Harry sees him right after class, which he makes a point to do at least once a week.
It’s just that Harry’s got to talk to him all of ten times over the semester, three of which were short quips before faculty meetings but Harry is still counting them, whereas it seems that Niall’s made close friends with the rest of the staff, sharing inside jokes that make them crack up as Harry passes them in the hall.
Niall just seems very well adjusted for a person that’s only been here for three months and Harry’s not jealous, per say, but it makes Niall feel very unattainable and so much higher up on the list. He’s friendly with literally everyone that Harry doesn’t feel he has a chance because, really, why on earth would Niall like someone as average and neurotic as him when he could like someone amazing like Ms. Snyder, the art-yoga teacher.
The fact that Niall’s hanging around in Harry’s door frame like he belongs there is just another thing sent to tease Harry with something he can’t have, more so when Niall strolls in cool as can be now that he’s been acknowledged by the teacher, a casual saunter the few short steps it takes to get to Harry’s desk as he lugs a big red bag in behind him.
“I agree completely with what this man said.” Niall addresses the class to the sound of joyful titters, pointing at Harry with a sharp finger. “He is very smart!” Niall sounds almost indignant at the laughter, like he’s insulted at the mere thought that they might be laughing at Harry. They’re not. They’re probably just laughing at the fact that they have a lovely distraction from Harry’s clearly awful lecture.
“Mr. Horan,” Harry tries for formal, one of them has to keep up levels of propriety here. “I’m not sure if you know this, but there are fifteen minutes left of my class.” Harry takes pleasure in pointing it out because there’s a couple responding groans from the back of the room, like some students didn’t realize that Harry still has ample time to strip Mootoo’s text to its bones, and he very much plans to.
But Niall does what he does best by throwing Harry for a loop, “No, I did,” he chirps, hauling the bag off the floor and onto Harry’s desk, wincing when it knocks over a plastic apple and a jar of pens and Harry sighs before he picks them up. Niall smiles sheepishly when their eyes meet again, but he just continues talking like he’d never been interrupted, “I have a free period right now and I was charged with handing these presents out for the secret santa faculty party.”
And with that, Niall pries open the bag and dives in head first, searching fervently for something, and Harry kind of wants to stop him and make him wait until recess but he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack nor does he trust his hands if he gets them on an inch of Niall, doesn’t trust himself to let go afterwards.
It turns out that Niall is looking for a present in ridiculous reindeer wrapping paper and a tag with Harry’s name on it that Harry can clearly read when he hands it over. “Thank you.” Harry says, and he can’t help the way his fingers press into the small box for a moment, like he’s a child trying to feel out the gift through the wrapping paper, but he’s an adult and he’s still got a class to teach so he just sets it aside on his desk.
Harry expects Niall to leave now that he’s delivered his due, but he doesn’t. Instead, he crosses his arms and his ankles as he props himself up against Harry’s desk, and the way he grins is just so assertive that Harry can’t help warming up to it. “No, open it now!” Niall says, nodding toward the present as if they aren’t standing in front of thirty or so teenagers that Harry would like to be able to look in the eye after this class. He has no idea what’s in that box.
Harry tries to say as much, “My class,” he gestures toward them, but for the first time today, they’re all paying attention to him, but also to Niall, probably at the way that Harry is making an utter fool out of himself. Niall just waves his hands like he could physically dispel the students and make it so that it’s only him and Harry in the room and, jesus. If Harry had had a free period as well and Niall had come to visit him then. Well, they’re on school grounds so not much could’ve happened, but- no. They’re at school. Nothing can happen.
That doesn’t stop Harry’s class from starting to chant, led by a gleeful Niall, “Open it! Open it! Open it!” And it really doesn’t take too much for Harry to get convinced after that. He would probably be a terrible drug counsellor.
“Alright, fine.” Harry snatches the box off his desk top and starts picking out the tape on the bottom, systematically unwrapping the paper so that it doesn’t tear an inch until he can see what it is, and then he can’t help but let out a bark of laughter.
It’s just that only a few people know about his strong dislike for the Harry Potter franchise, nothing against the books nor the name, but it’s the fact that the series has changed the definition of an entire genre that has Harry reeling when other authors like Vonnegut and Plath seem to have had no effect.
Either way, his first gift of the week is a shiny golden snitch mug with one of the wings curved as a handle and the other stretched out wide, the price tag chipped off so Harry doesn’t know how much it cost, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. He has a couple ideas about who would ironically buy this gift for him, all of them willing to chip out the extra buck in the name of a joke.
Harry’s still laughing as he shows first Niall then the rest of the class his newest mug, grinning loosely as he speaks more emphatically, “Thank you.” It’s only when his class starts letting out a loud leer that he remembers the sizable peanut gallery he has and the connotations behind his words, and he rushes to make amends, “Not that you’re the one who gave it to me!”
Niall’s grin is soft and understanding as he heaves his load off Harry’s desk and totes it over his shoulder once again, “I know what you mean, but,” Niall pauses as he starts backing toward the classroom door, pointing a finger toward the box still in Harry’s hands. “That is a nice mug.” Harry smiles wryly and Niall lets out a bark of laughter at his own joke.
Harry watches as Niall disappears through the door and shuts it behind himself to a loud click, and then Harry has to turn and face thirty expectant pairs of eyes. Harry can feel the back of his neck grow hot under his students’ scrutiny but before he can even think about saying anything to cover his ass, the bell is ringing loud overhead and his classroom erupts with the screech of chairs being moved and books being put away. “Ah, crap,” Harry curses before trying to squeeze a five minute wrap up into five seconds. “Do your homework! And start King Lear and get through act two!”
Friday has Harry sitting in the teacher’s lounge across from the number two hottie drama teacher who is, more importantly, also his friend, as they eat lunch together, revelling in the moment of quiet away from students. Aside from the hushed murmur of other teachers and the bubble of the coffee machine, this room feels like an oasis of serenity. Or it would be if Harry wasn’t so freaked out.
“I just feel dumb, Zayn.” Harry groans softly, palming a dry hand down his face before he takes a long drag out of one of the plain white lounge coffee mugs, only because his hogwarts mug has been placed on display in his classroom, at the request of his students. “It’s like, all these presents are things only he would know, you know? Him or you, and you would tell me if you got me so it’s most definitely him, isn’t it?”
Since that Monday, from his secret santa, Harry’s gotten some chocolate for his more stressful work days, another mug but this time in the form of a camera lense, and some truly excellent face wash that does wonders for his sensitive skin, which is something he’s been complaining about since halloween and only a few people know about so Harry is pretty certain in his assumption.
“I absolutely would not tell you if I got you.” Zayn chimes in casually and the way that Harry flips him off is absentminded at best. “As for him, I don’t know.” Zayn shrugs, picking at his lunch with enough carelessness that it makes him look effortlessly cool and Harry thinks he would be jealous if he hadn’t known Zayn as long as he has. “You’re the one that knows him best.”
Harry splutters out a laugh at that, shying away when some teachers turn to glare but he’s not going to apologize. Zayn’s completely crazy if he thinks that Harry knows Niall best. “Knows him best?” Harry hisses, repeating his own thoughts before he tears savagely into his sandwich, fury bubbling low in his stomach. “I hardly know anything about him except for the fact that he uses all natural hair dye in his hair because the other stuff gives him headaches.”
But that just makes Zayn snort like Harry’s said something funny, and maybe that sentence was a bit too specific for Zayn’s taste but it was the first thing that came to Harry’s mind and he can’t take it back now. Okay, it was definitely too specific because Zayn points at Harry with the tines of his fork, “I had no idea until you just told me that.”
Harry just groans, pillowing his head on his arms because he’s getting nowhere. Zayn isn’t being helpful. He’s being the opposite of helpful, and it’s not like Harry had expected miracles but he’d always been able to count on Zayn for a fresh point of view. With that in mind, Harry props his head up on his forearms, chin digging in sharply but he persists, “What did you mean ‘knows him best’?”
“I mean, he hardly talks about anything else but you, asks about all the things you did for the school, but also what you like to do for fun, and on the weekends.” Zayn lists them off like he’s memorized it, staring down into his plastic container as he stirs around his lunch when, all of a sudden, he stiffens like he’s just heard some terrible news. “Oh, god, is he a stalker? Have I been enabling him?” Zayn’s fork clatters to the table as he lurches back in horror. “I’m so sorry, Harry!”
There’s a long second wherein Harry actually believes Zayn is genuinely in shock at his actions and Harry has words stumbling on his tongue, but then Zayn barks out a laugh and covers his eyes with his palm as he shoulders shake and he mouths out the words ‘your face’. Harry scowls at Zayn and takes another vicious bite at his sandwich, talking around it because he doesn’t care if it’s rude. “If he is a stalker, I don’t think I’ll mind.” Harry admits when Zayn finally stops laughing, rolling his eyes before he amends his words, “At least, not until he’s peering into my windows.”
Zayn snorts into his lunch but he nods his head solemnly when he meets Harry’s eyes again, like he understands. “He is really fit.” Zayn says, and Harry is, admittedly, a little bit nervous when Zayn’s brow furrows in thought and he’s right to be nervous when Zayn continues, “He’ll probably just climb in a window actually. Like a really attractive Santa Claus.”
Harry absolutely groans at the thought, and not in a good way either, because thinking of jolly old Saint Nick shouldn’t be anywhere in the same sentence as the word attractive, just on premise. “You have a girlfriend!" Harry decides to pick at instead, draining his coffee cup to the dregs just so that he misses the way Zayn winks lewdly.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.” Zayn chirps and his voice sounds so self accomplished that Harry just wants to bury himself in his arms again, more so when Zayn murmurs, “You clearly do.” It’s all so high school that Harry can’t help but laugh, because he doesn’t feel like a teacher but more like a student gossiping at lunch, and it’s a nice feeling. It lacks all the responsibility and propriety of being an adult in a professional environment and leaves him bubbling with hope. Zayn laughs too but, somehow, Harry feels like it’s at his expense.
They’ve barely stopped laughing when someone pulls out one of the extra chairs at their table and plops down into it and Harry turns, only to be faced with the apple of his eye as Niall slides his lunch onto the table and shoots him a tentative smile. “What’s so funny?” Niall asks but he addresses Harry, only nodding toward Zayn when he acknowledges him.
Now that Niall’s here, sitting at Harry’s side, it’s like it’s all too plain. Niall does seem to favour him best. “Zayn’s just been telling me about how,” Harry starts, gesturing toward the man in question until he realizes that Zayn is subtly but frantically shaking his head, obviously knowing the direction Harry is going with this and telling him to abort with no amount of delicacy. Harry’s tongue abruptly does an about-face and he spits out the first thing that comes to mind. “About how they’re making a nut-free peanut butter, isn’t that great?” Harry is an idiot.
“Um,” Niall pauses, his brow furrowing up pensively but still in an irritatingly cute way. “Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of peanut butter if they’re taking out all the nuts? Doesn’t it just turn into butter?” Niall looks from Harry to Zayn and back again like he’s missing something from the script, and he is, to be fair, but Harry isn’t in any rush to fill him in, not after Zayn seemed so keen on keeping him out of it. Then again, if Harry had to hear that other people thought of him as a stalker, well.
“On that philosophical note,” Zayn practically springs out of his chair as he shuts his leftovers away under his arm, smiling at Niall just manic enough for Harry to notice. “I’m gonna go get the auditorium ready for my next class.” And with that, Zayn claps a hand against Niall’s shoulder and nods pointedly at Harry, waving at a couple of other teachers in the room before he starts toward the door.
“You’ve got thirty minutes of lunch left!” Harry calls after him but it’s a lost cause because all he gets are hisses from other teachers to be quiet for the little relaxation time they have left and the clip of the door falling shut. Harry sighs and twists back in his seat, nearly forgetting his lovely table mate until his eyes land back on him.
“Y’alright?” Niall grins at him a little lopsidedly in between bites of lunch, and the way his eyes scan over Harry’s face feel like Niall’s taking him in since the last time he saw him, which wasn’t altogether too long ago. If Harry takes a bit too long to answer because he’s doing the same thing, he only notices because Niall raises an eyebrow in an impassive arch. In Harry’s defense, Niall’s skin looks like it’s glowing right now and Harry might like it a bit too much to focus.
Harry has to clear his throat and duck his head to get back with things, to gather enough wits for a suitable answer, before he nods his head. “I’m fantastic.” He says because he is, sitting here with Niall beside him. He can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. Well, maybe he could do without all the other teachers in the room but, for now, he’ll take what he can get. “How are you?” Harry asks, cocking his head to the side in clear attention.
Except, something low in his stomach lurches when Niall’s shoulders hunch in defeat and he lowers his eyes to the table, tilting head a little away like he’s trying to hide his feelings. “Could be better, actually.” Niall admits in a low voice, as he runs a hand carelessly through his hair. When he shrugs his shoulders, it’s like he’s trying to seem unaffected but he misses the mark by a mile.
It takes everything Harry’s got just to keep from jumping out of his chair and wrapping Niall in his arms as though he could protect him from the world with his touch alone. “What’s wrong?” Harry asks instead, covering Niall’s hand on the table with his own as he leans forward because that’s as much as he’ll allow himself to do, and it takes a bit but he tries to shape his face into something akin to friendly concern and not like how he feels inside, like he’d maim someone if only Niall asked him to.
Niall scratches his free hand at the back of his neck before he smiles sheepishly, almost apologetically like he’s sorry for the way he’s feeling, and all Harry wants to do is let him know that his emotions are valid, but the last thing he wants to do is interrupt Niall. “I just,” Niall lets out a little frustrated huff before staring Harry dead in the eyes. “I feel like I’ve been deprived of all this nut-free peanut butter.”
Harry is already nodding his head sympathetically before the words process in his brain and then he freezes. Niall’s face splits in two in a wide teasing grin and Harry tries to yank his hand away, spitting, “Unbelievable,” but Niall just laughs, throwing his head back before he folds himself on the table top and traps Harry’s hand under his arms. It’s not the worst fate imaginable.
They’re still kind of smiling at each other stupidly when Niall seems to snap out of his haze and frees Harry’s hand, sliding subdued lower in his seat. Harry takes his hand back somewhat reluctantly because he can still feel the imprint of Niall’s body against his fingers, presses his fist against his thigh so it’ll stop throbbing and he won’t reach across the table like he’s desperate for Niall’s touch.
“Um,” Niall pulls Harry out of his thoughts and he snaps to attention, watching as Niall rubs the back of his hand across his chin and cheeks. “Do I have something on my face?” Niall asks, his head twisting around a little like he’s going to look over his shoulder but he must think better of it because he just shakes his head and faces Harry completely.
It’s a good enough excuse that Harry takes a minute to unabashedly stare, at the way Niall’s eyelashes are thick and frame his pearly blues, the way his cheeks still have a hint of flush where he’s rubbed at them a little hard, the way his golden hair sticks up in uneven tufts thanks to his hands running through it from before, and the way his pale pink lips spread tentatively. He’s perfect, or as close to it as Harry thinks he’ll ever be. “No, why?” Harry eventually gets out, instead of spewing his thoughts, pure and unfiltered.
Niall laughs but it’s tinged with nerves and, for the first time since Harry has ever met him, he looks skittish and fretful, especially when he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Everyone’s staring at us?” Niall nods his head over his shoulder and, sure enough, when Harry looks, a couple other teachers in the room are staring at them without even the slightest bit of subtlety, but they don’t look malicious or anything like that, just curious.
“Yeah,” Harry drags out the word, letting his eyes slip away from the other teachers so they end up back to where Niall is looking up at him through his eyelashes and Harry doesn’t think twice before he’s pulling his hand out from under the table and sliding it across the table top, knuckles first so it’s not like he’s reaching out his hand, but it’s close enough. “I have no clue.” Harry says, even though he’s got a pretty good idea, but it’s okay because Niall reaches his own hand across the table and nudges their knuckles together and his smile is a million watts. Harry kind of wants to push his thumbs in the corners and make it stay there forever.
Harry feels weird about being at school on a Saturday night, but they’re having the secret santa unveiling party, and it’d be a waste if he wasn’t here to see Mrs. Porter reaction when she realizes that all the gifts were from him. She’ll probably pinch his cheek and then lecture him on the history of the abacus prompted from the one he bought her, but he doesn’t expect less from an economics teacher.
Which, now that he thinks about it, isn’t altogether a great reason but Harry’s also here to see the way Niall’s dressed tonight, would’ve came for that alone because Niall has his thin legs in nice blue slacks and a white striped shirt framing his chest and a skinny tie that Harry has half-baked fantasies about while he’s standing by the punch table.
Harry doesn’t get around to talking to Niall because, by the time he’s cleared half the room, the principal is calling all the teachers in a circle so they can start guessing who’s got who for the presents. They go around the circle slowly, and while most people get their guesses wrong, Harry’s pretty certain with his so he doesn’t hesitate to stand up when it’s his turn.
“I think that Niall got me?” Harry guesses and the light laughs in the room are not unlike the leers in his classroom from the beginning of the week. He doesn’t give anyone a chance to say anything though as he tangles his fingers nervously together and speaks again, “And I was just wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me, sometime?”
It’s kind of rudely putting Niall on the spot but Harry feels like, if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll never get around to doing it when they’re alone, and anyway, Niall doesn’t seem like the type to grit his teeth and bear it. Regardless of the answer, it’s not like the rest of the school wouldn’t find out eventually, and so Harry smiles sheepishly when Niall meets his eyes across the circle, waiting for a response, any response.
Niall just looks shocked, like he’s just had a glass of water thrown in his face, all soft lips spread and blue eyes blown wide. The room is so quiet that his whisper sounds like a yell and Harry feels it deep in his spine. “No, Harry,” Niall says, shaking his head gently, and Harry can’t help but take in a breath, sharp with rejection. “I mean,” Niall stammers in a rush to correct himself, standing up from his seat as he rushes to correct himself. “I mean, it wasn’t me. I’m not your secret santa.”
Despite the words, Harry still feels as though he’s just gotten a sharp punch to the gut, hands sweaty and breath shallow, and the way he drops his head is nothing but shame. “It was me, Harry.” Zayn speaks up what feels like a couple seconds too late, and Harry’s eyes snap over to him but they’re heavy. He only feels minutely better at seeing the way Zayn’s lips are tipped down apologetically. “Telling you would’ve ruined the game.”
It’s funny in a way that Harry can’t explain and he laughs accordingly, however bitter it sounds coming out, but it’s the way no one laughs with him that really makes him want to throw up. “I have to go to the bathroom.” Harry barely manages to get out before he’s spilling from the room, avoiding everyone’s eyes because he doesn’t want to see anything akin to pity in them. He’s thankful for the quiet halls because there’s no one around to watch him sink to the floor and slowly work his way through a panic attack.
Harry eventually finds himself outside because it’s easier to breathe when he can see the sky, stretch his legs out as he sits on the sidewalk and puff out white clouds of sighs. He’s still debating whether he should go back and face the music or just head home and spare himself the embarrassment of heading back inside, even though he knows he won’t stop thinking about it for the entire weekend, when the door clips quietly shut behind him. He wishes it was Zayn, knows it’s not deep in his gut, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing.
“You know, finding you was a bitch.” Niall says in a light voice, but it sounds forced like he’s trying to pretend Harry isn’t wrought with embarrassment. “I feel kind of naughty swearing on school ground.” Niall laughs a little but it sounds like Harry’s did back in the classroom, all rough and sour, and Harry would give anything for Niall not to sound like that.
Harry can hear the sound of Niall’s boot being kicked through the hard pieces of snow behind him, anxious and anticipatory movement, but Harry doesn’t dare turn around when he speaks, “I’m sorry about before.” Harry says carefully, with practiced words he’s spent so many minutes going over. “It was inappropriate behavior. It won’t happen again.” Harry presses his lips tight together when he’s finished, ready for Niall to agree, even chastise Harry a little more for putting him on the spot. Niall doesn’t say anything.
Instead of speaking, Niall steps forward until he’s standing beside Harry, heaves out a great sigh as he sits down like the movement was an effort, but Harry knows Niall can run a mile in under five minutes so sitting down is nothing. Harry glances over at Niall out of the corner of his eye, more habit than anything else, but Niall is staring up at the sky, face light and open like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
“Why are you out here anyway?” Harry doesn’t mean it to come out as harsh as it does and he winces, but another peak over at Niall shows that he doesn’t seem to mind, or at least his face hasn’t fallen yet so Harry takes that as a good sign. “I mean,” Harry backpedals, “Did anyone make you come out here? Because you don’t have to.” Niall finally looks at him and Harry’s words fall short, which he is grateful for because he would’ve probably continued his apologies until he ran out of breath.
“They were all staring at me after you ran out, like I’d kicked their dog or something.” Niall says, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he works it almost nervously, and Harry can’t help but notice the way it comes out all plush pink and plump. He kind of hates himself for it. “You just didn’t give me enough time to answer your question.” It takes a second before the words process somewhere deep in Harry’s mind and he can’t quite quash the spark of hope that lights up in his chest, even though it’s slim, he feels it like a lightning bolt.
“And if you had the time to answer?” Harry practically spews the words out even though they’re caught up in a stammer, hope choking up his throat, and he feels frozen ground against his pants when he shifts toward Niall, knows his eyes are wide open in some infantile sort of optimism. Harry is well aware that, right now, Niall could destroy him in a single word and Harry would be unable to stop him, but he still believes.
“If you had given me the time to answer,” Niall has to be pausing for dramatic tension or something like that and Harry has never been more on edge than this moment, feels his mouth dry out like sand paper, like he’s about to swallow his tongue. “I would’ve said yes, Harry.” And again, Harry feels something akin to a punch in the gut but, this time, it’s only in the absolute best way. “I am saying yes.” Niall continues and whatever doubt Harry had is absolutely gone now.
Harry feels so light he could probably fly away, and he twists his head back toward the sky because he’s probably got a manic smile on his face and he doesn’t want to scare Niall away, not now that he’s got him. But, he doesn’t think that’s very likely when Niall shifts closer until their sides are pressed together and he nudges his knee against Harry’s in something almost like absentminded movement.
The silence between them stretches on and it’s nice, peaceful, like Harry doesn’t feel the need to fill it with words, but he doesn’t exactly mind when Niall breaks it with another knee nudge and a smile. “I don’t know about you, but this feels like an appropriate moment for a kiss.” It’s so beyond anything Harry could’ve ever imagined that he doesn’t know how to react except with silence and Niall must take that in the wrong way because, for the first time, his smile falls. Niall tilts his knee away. “Or not.”
“No!” Harry presses close, hand pressing down on wet, squishy snow as he follows Niall’s slow recoil. As much as Harry’s brain was working too slow, now it’s going too fast, whipping through thoughts like wildfire, until it lands on just one. “Now is good.”
Niall’s smile is shy again but he doesn’t pull away from where they’re pressed together, shoulder to knee, hip against hip. There isn’t really any need to rush so Harry doesn’t mind that Niall takes a minute just to look at him before finally reaching out a hand to cup Harry’s jaw and hold him steady, laughing a little nervously, like he even has anything to be nervous about.
And then it’s like, one minute they’re not kissing, and the next they are, winter chapped lips pressing together as they lean their heads in and their noses brush so gently it’s like a fluttering caress. The kiss is sweet and chaste, and Niall lets out this long breath the second they pull apart. It’s something that sounds like relief.
Harry isn’t sure how long they stay outside sharing cold kisses until he can’t feel his toes, but it’s definitely long enough that Niall thinks they should head back inside, just so that no one comes looking for them. They walk down the hallway in silence, hands brushing with every step, and Harry can’t stop the smile that spreads across his lips because he’d never dreamed that he could have this and now he does and it feels like heaven.
They’ve barely stepped into the room, where everyone is spread out now in casual conversation, when there’s a shout across the hall and, of course, it’s Zayn. “They’re back! It’s a Christmas miracle!” Zayn rockets off the desk he was sitting on and his words bring all the attention to where Harry and Niall were trying to sneak their way in, now unsuccessful thanks to everyone watching them.
For a second, Harry thinks he might’ve been better off just heading home, but then Niall snorts out a laugh beside him and tries to bury himself in Harry’s shoulder and, no, he wouldn’t’ve wanted to miss this. That doesn’t stop Harry from palming a tired hand down his face, “Really, Zayn?” Harry says, and he’s glad because, this time, everyone laughs.
Zayn just shrugs and then he must remember something because he twists around wildly, holding out his hand to Mr. Burns, the science teacher, as he says, “Pay up, I had five to one odds!” Which, honestly, Harry expected nothing less from his friend, but it takes him by surprise when, not only does Mr. Burns hand over money, but several other teachers wander over reluctantly to pay their dues.
Niall seems as shocked as Harry because his eyes are wide when Harry looks over, some sort of pure unadulterated shock in his face. “They didn’t,” Niall starts in a disbelieving voice but he soon falls short because, despite his short time here, he can clearly tell that the staff here is completely evil, all Harry’s opinion, of course. “Did they really?” Harry takes a deep, grounding breath and nods his head in confirmation, a lazy smile spreading across his lips when Niall stifles a laugh just a second too late.
“Well,” Harry shrugs, leading the way over to the food table under the pretense of keeping things normal because this will all be old news by Monday and Harry just has to get used to the stares for now. “I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.” Harry offers, smiling sheepishly at Niall as he feels his neck grow hot.
“You?” Harry freezes at the sound of the principal’s voice behind him, praying to every God he knows that he isn’t about to be murdered for unprofessionalism. Harry turns around and smiles hesitantly at Mrs. Murphy, and it grows a bit stronger when Harry feels Niall step up beside him, sliding their hands gently together. “I wondered how long it would take him after he asked me about the dating policy. I never anticipated you, Harry.” Mrs. Murphy smiles wryly but Harry is the one who can feel Niall try to slide away, reels him back in with a careful tug and grins when Niall looks up at him.
Niall must take that as a sign that everything is all okay, and Harry kind of wonders when things weren’t, but he doesn’t much care when Niall leans up for a short kiss, staying close enough that their lips still brush together when he speaks, “Neither did I.”