Work Text:
Harry knows he shouldn’t be this upset over having to throw out some underwear that he’s never used. Probably never will, in any case. Too many memories.
They’re red, tiny, barely enough fabric to keep his knob in place, most likely. Shitty lace trimming too, because he always had a thing for pretty, feminine things on him. They’re bloody awful, and yet. He’s having a proper strop over them in the floor of the airport terminal, holding them up in front of him and ignoring the looks the people in line for the check-in counters are giving him.
With a whimper, he balls them up and throws them in the bin beside him, and he grabs the rest of the set, all satin-y and colorful, meant to be sensual but looks pretty silly, in hindsight. Might as well get rid of them too.
Throws out the board shorts, swimming trunks, all the tour maps he’s bought for the ruins, but keeps the floral-printed Hawaiian style shirts. Those, those are lovely, and he knows he looks good in them.
He full on cries when it comes to the rainbow bear, though. All decked out in black duct tape and studs and he looks so sick, but he doesn’t know if he can keep it. If he can cope with all the memories that come with it. More than that, though, it’s fucking stupid that his luggage needs to be a certain weight to be allowed onboard. Fucking shit.
Like his whole life for the past five years can be contained within 32 kilograms.
He’s been trying to rearrange his luggage for the past half hour, already having thrown the flowers he sent to apologize (more like sympathy), the clothes he’d borrowed over the years (too small on him now, anyway), and the paint set, which probably cost him more than the plane ticket, in all honesty, but he can’t be too arsed to care anymore. It was never for himself. The personnel had sent him back twice, and his bag was still too heavy.
Harry’s pretty much exhausted all his tears these past few days, but he’s still got quite a bit left in him, and the bear is almost soaked through, disgusting, and it makes him cry even more.
“Excuse me?”
Harry doesn’t look up, hiding his face behind the bear, but the voice is warm, a soft lilt to it, and he really, really doesn’t want anyone else to see him in his moment of weakness. He sees a pair of black leather slip-ons come up in front of him, and the person speaks again, saying quietly, “You could have the extra space in my suitcase. Got a lot of it, I’m a light packer.”
He looks up then at the strange offer, and there’s this angel in front of him. Blonde, blue eyes, warm smile, and he’s gorgeous.
“I’m Niall Horan,” he introduces himself, smile wider, “I’m Irish, from Mullingar, but I live in London. I just started this job as a sound engineer for the BBC, and I live in Unit 1209, Berkeley Apartments over in Tottenham. I’m not a thief, and I’m not crazy, and it’s perfectly understandable if you don’t want to trust me, but I’ve been watching you for the past twenty minutes and it’d be a waste if you had to throw out your stuff. You can have my extra baggage allowance,” he gestures over to his bag, considerably smaller than Harry’s, but it doesn’t look overly stuffed.
Harry eyes him from behind Rainbow, and he doesn’t look threatening, but. “Why’d you want to lend me your bag? Are you trying to rope me into something?”
“I don’t think I have it in me to blackmail or sabotage anyone, let alone the endearing, fit bloke who’s brave enough to cry over a stuffed toy in the middle of an airport,” Niall tells him, smile smaller, but somehow more meaningful. “I just want to help you get home. Seems like you need to.”
Harry blushes, gripping his bear tighter, and when Niall offers out his hand to shake, he takes a moment, and slides in his own to grasp it. Warm with a tight grip, rough at the fingertips but soft everywhere else.
Niall gets down then, laying down his suitcase and zipping it open, and he wasn’t lying when he said he packed light. It barely looks half full, jeans and shirts folded neatly and arranged by color, his shoes in a shoe bag tucked by the side, and toiletries in another.
“This all you brought?” Harry murmurs quietly. Even on a three day trip over to his sister’s place over in Manchester, of all places, he managed to bring enough clothing to need to have asked for the extra closet space in her room because the guest room’s wasn’t big enough.
“Got my laptop and shit over here,” Niall points over to his black leather hand luggage, which Harry instantly recognizes.
“Louis Vuitton? Must be doing well over at the BBC,” he says, and Niall just laughs. He’s loud, unabashedly happy with eyes crinkling, and Harry’s so jealous.
“Not doing badly yourself, are those Gucci?” Niall nods at Harry’s gold chelseas.
“Saint Laurent,” Harry murmurs back, blushing a bit when Niall just grins at him, gesturing for the bear. He hands it over, and Niall places it carefully on top of of his button-ups.
“Come on, go on then.”
With that, Harry transfers his coats and hats over to Niall’s suitcase, missing Niall’s flinches when he stuffs them rather haphazardly, shoving them into the spaces in between the carefully organized stacks of clothing. Making himself fit where Niall will let him, really.
“Well, tell me about yourself,” Niall asks, frowning a little when Harry crams in this emerald green trench beside his shoes. “Seems only fair.”
“I’m Harry Styles, just finished up uni a few months ago, took up English Lit,” he says, focused on making his stuff fit. “I live over in Covent Garden, in St. Martin, Studio 37, though I’m from Cheshire, came out to London to study, maybe work for a bit while I figure things out. I’m not a thief either, and I’m sorry for being an inconvenience.”
“No, it’s alright,” Niall tells him, and it’s that smile. Harry can’t help but feel a bit better.
Niall’s just about to close his suitcase when Harry stops him, “Wait, these too,” and with very little shame, because he’s already cried over a bondaged up teddy bear, there’s very little he can be shy about at this point, hands over the underwear.
They’d cost him about 180 quid. He won’t waste that (the paint set can go fuck off, though).
Niall pauses, staring at the intimate wear, but holds them gingerly after a moment to insert into the bag, no other reaction aside from a small, sly smile and a raised eyebrow.
They walk over to the check-in counters, and Harry's bag feels lighter, and so does his heart, a bit, and when the scale blinks, '31.6', he can't help but giggle a tiny bit. He leans on the counter, following Niall's lead and handing over his passport, and holds his face in his hands, full on grinning because finally. Niall smiles at him, and copying his position as they wait to be checked in.
*
He had a feeling he’d be the type to cry over ‘The Fault In Our Stars.’
Not that Niall was judging Harry or anything over his choice in films, but when Harry had brought out his own laptop out if his posh Tom Ford satchel, he was expecting him to play some artsy, overtly smart and strange new wave film, the kind that played in film festivals and had bleaky cinematography.
He wasn't expecting him to start crying when Shailene Woodley waxed poetic about infinity. And not just cry. Wail. Bawl. Howl.
Niall wouldn't have minded it so much if it weren't for the fact that they were 20,000 feet above ground. And that he’s seated right next to him. And that they’re flying in coach.
"'You gave me a forever with the numbered days, and for that I am eternally grateful,’” Harry murmurs as Hazel Grace does on his computer screen, and even though Niall can’t hear what’s going on in the movie, he’s pretty sure that Harry’s even got the gasps and whimpers in between the words exactly as she does them. He’s probably crying even harder than her.
He pulls out one of his earbuds when he pauses the movie, leaning to rest his head on the tiny plane window as he cries, little noises and not so little noises coming out of his mouth.
Niall just stares straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries not to laugh. It’s really not funny, thinks that Harry is probably really hurt in some way. But it really is.
After a particularly loud wail, Niall presses the assistance button, wordlessly gesturing over to Harry when a flight attendant catches his eye. She walks over to them, and reaches across over to Harry to hand him a thick pack of tissues.
“Here, sir.”
“I don’t need tissue, or your judgement, thank you,” Harry says, pouting all the more as he puts the earbud back in and unpauses the film, crying when he sees Gus mouth ‘I love you.’
The flight attendant stands back up, looking a little put out, but before she leaves, Niall holds her wrist and takes the tissue from her with a quiet, “Thank you.”
Twenty minutes later, when the movie ends, Harry’s used up the entire pack.
He breathes slowly to get it back to normal, patting at his cheeks with the last of the tissue, and he looks over to Niall as he shuts his laptop down, saying, “I love that movie. So honest. Shailene is so good, she just showed a different side of herself here.”
Niall just nods, and Harry leans his head on his shoulder, snuggling up to nap a bit before landing.
Alright then.
*
“How did you fit everything in that one bag?” Harry asks him as they’re waiting by the baggage carousel for their luggage. Niall already has his suitcase, lucky tit having his bag be the first one out, and they’re waiting around for Harry’s.
“Well, everything I needed fit in this one bag,” Niall says, and Harry stares at him.
“Well, I brought my entire life along with me, so-”
“Your entire life? In one suitcase?” Niall asks him with a quirked eyebrow, and he’s grabbing at a bag as it passes by him. Harry realizes after a moment that it’s his, and with a start he gets it from Niall, places it on his cart. “Should have expected it to be overweight, then, if everything really is in there.”
“I thought I might have needed everything, back when I first booked the trip. I wasn’t expecting to come back here,” Harry says, sounding small, and it seems like Niall realizes he might have touched a nerve, so he tries to push Harry’s cart for him, but Harry just elbows his side playfully, going ahead.
*
“You can take this one,” Harry tells Niall as they’re in the que for a cab to go home. “I don’t want it.”
Niall just shakes his head, and looks to the couple next to him in line, cuddling and kissing and looking like they’re about to go, right in front of them. He says to them, “Go ahead, looks like you need it.”
The girl squeals, and grabs her boyfriend’s hand to get in the taxi, the boy struggling to get the bags in the car. Harry’s making a face at them, and Niall swallows his laugh.
Another cab comes forward, and that’s when Harry says, “I don’t want to go home yet. Do you?”
Niall smiles a bit, then shakes his head again.
*
They decide to have lunch in this sushi place Niall discovered a little after he moved in to London. It’s eat-all-you-can sashimi today, and Niall would never pass that up.
“Got a lot of tattoos, there,” Niall says as they’re waiting for their first plate of tuna and salmon to arrive. Harry’s got his floral, highlighter yellow button up open down to his stomach, enough for him to see the swallows on his chest, and markings, are those antennae, on the upper part of his abs.
“Oh, yeah, got a moth and some leaves too,” Harry says, and that would have been enough, but he starts undoing the rest of the buttons, inside the restaurant, in broad daylight, and opens up the shirt to reveal the entire span of his torso.
Niall laughs, hoping it would brush off the blush high on his pale skin, but Harry smirks at him a little, and he knows he’s been caught. Harry really is fit, defined and hard everywhere, except his hips, and the thought of squeezing and biting into his love handles. Biting at the laurel leaves there.
“Got more on my arms too,” Harry says as he buttons up again, no shame.
“Like?”
“Just random stuff. A boat, a mermaid. A heart. A rose, and some shit. Got a birdcage on my side too. Got a lot.”
“So no deep, artsy meaning?” Niall asks him, leaning forward to rest on his elbows.
“Got something done for my mum, an ‘A’, and my sister’s name in Hebrew, but everything else is mostly just there. Got an aesthetic,” Harry tells him, and Niall snorts at that. Aesthetic, fucking ridiculous. “So what were you doing in Athens?”
“Vacation,” Niall answers simply. “Saved up for years for that trip, was really worth it. Always wanted to go there, and I wanted to have a little break before I get really busy with work.”
“And when does that start?”
“About three weeks,” Niall replies, smiling. “And you? Why’d you go?”
“A guy,” Harry answers just as simply, if a lot sadder.
Their first plate arrives.
*
Niall doesn’t know how or why, maybe it’s because Harry really seems to like salmon and is on his fifth serving, but he begins to talk.
“He was pretty much everything to me," Harry tells him, staring down at his empty plate. "We met when I was fucking around in my gap year, and he just opened up an entire world for me. I thought he was it. Five years of my life, with the same person, and I thought we would last. We were made to last, people said so. So when he managed to get a scholarship for grad school in Greece,, I was so proud of him. He was making waves in the way he'd always wanted to. Why would I try to make him stay when he could be out there making a name for himself. So I told him to take it, and he left nine months ago.
"It was okay at first. We still talked when we could, Skype dates and all that shit, but then he started pulling away a bit eventually. Wasn't as responsive. Fuck, and I didn't know what I did wrong.”
"Probably nothing," Niall wants to say, but he refrains, waiting for Harry to continue, and he looks like he's a good few moments away from crying.
"So I thought, why couldn't I visit him?” Harry continues, and his eyes are shiny. “You know, make him realize how much he missed me, like I missed him, make him realize how much he needs me. So I packed everything I had up, everything. I thought then, what was the point of coming back to London when I could stay with him there. Be with him, watch him flourish. Support him. It seemed like a good idea then. I just loved him him so much. Sorry, I might sound stupid, but. I loved him.
“I planned on surprising him, got all sorts of kinky shit. The briefs, handcuffs, the works. I got ready for him, made sure I wore that one see-through shirt he pretends to hate but I know he likes it when he can see the moth, but when I got there,” Harry takes a great heaving breath, gasping as the tears finally fall, “he already had someone else. Had for quite awhile. He said that he and this bird were just friends, had History of Art or someshit like that together, that I was the one he loved, and the words kept coming. I was stupid enough to believe him, because fuck. How could I not? Five years in, and that’s when I start doubting him?”
Niall just stays quiet, but he can’t look down, watches Harry cry and it breaks his heart, a lot. He’s known Harry for all of nine hours, but he feels like he’d go to the ends of the earth for him. Grab the nicest Egyptian cotton sheets and make him use it as a handkerchief. Fuck.
“But in the end, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together. Doesn’t matter how much you love someone,” Harry continues, looking up at the ceiling as if he were willing his tears to go back into his head. “Doesn’t matter, if they don’t love you anymore. ‘I-don’t-love-you-anymore-so-just-leave.’ Five years, down to eight words. He gave up on us, five fucking years of my life and he told me in eight fucking words.”
His trick doesn’t work. The rest of his tears just run down the side of his face, and he whimpers a bit. “Fuck, what did I do? For as long as I’ve loved him, don’t I deserve another chance? At least an explanation?”
“I think he made it pretty clear,” Niall says, and he knows he sounds harsh, but there’s no point in beating around the bush. He makes sure to keep his voice steady, neutral, doesn’t want to make it too soft because he doesn’t want to baby Harry. He has to know how it is. “He doesn’t love you anymore. And would knowing why really make a difference? Would that have changed anything? Full disclosure, he doesn’t love you anymore, that’s it.”
“Fuck, Niall, could have more tact, yeah?” Harry tells him, giving him a look, but aside from a half-hearted kick from under the table, it doesn’t seem like he’s too angry. Just sadder, and Niall doesn’t feel any better about it, but.
“Sorry. It’s how it is, but for what happened to you, I am sorry. I’d kick his grad school arse for you if I could.”
Harry just cries even more, hiding his face in his hands.
“I need alcohol,” he murmurs after a few minutes, after his tears have subsided a bit. “And Cher.”
*
After they’ve gotten a few pints in them (maybe more than a few for Harry, and two Jägerbombs for good measure), Harry’s finally ready, drunk enough to have a go at the microphone, and Niall knows it’s coming, but it doesn’t stop him from grinning a bit when the opening bars of the song begins.
“‘No matter how hard I try, you keep pushing me aside,’” Harry begins to sing, with the works. Actions and an attempt at auto tuning his voice without an actual auto tuner. “‘And I can’t break through, there’s no talking to you.’”
To his credit, he’s good. His voice is low and raspy, would work a lot better on some dad rock belter, but Niall isn’t complaining. His shirt opens by a button or two, most of the butterfly’s (‘moth,’ fucking-) wings now on display, and it’s quite impressive, how into the song he gets. Can’t dance for shit, waving his arms all over the bloody place, legs a hazard to those in the first row, but Niall can’t fault him for it.
Especially when he tears up again as he sings, “‘What am I supposed to do, sit around and wait for you-’”
He chokes on the last word, and he stops moving around, lowering the mic as he tries to stave off the waterworks, and Niall wonders how many times someone can cry within twelve hours.
He sighs, and gets up from where he’s seated in the corner guarding over their suitcases, prying the microphone from Harry’s hands and, “‘...’Cause I’ve had time to think it through, and maybe I’m too good for you...’”
Harry looks up at him, a little shocked, probably because Niall doesn’t really look like the type to know the words to this song, of all songs, but fuck, if you know the words to ‘Believe,’ you don’t fucking hide it. There’s no point, it will come out one way or another.
So Niall tries to dance a bit as well, not as wildly and all over the place, and he’s not good, in any sense, but he’s not moving around like a noodle like Harry, and when Harry moves closer to share the microphone with him to belt out, “‘I don’t need you anymore,’” he thinks that’ a victory in itself. He wishes he’d stop doing the auto tuning shit, though, idiot.
Harry cry/laughs a bit at the end, amidst the light applause in the mostly empty karaoke bar, and he leans against Niall, hugging him tightly as he buries his face in his neck. Niall, in turn, holds him back, let's him soak up his shirt.
"I want to go home," Harry mumbles against his skin.
"I can get you a cab to get you to your flat-"
"Not there. Home."
Niall won't pretend to understand, but he nods, knowing he's going to follow him anyway.
*
Harry wakes up slowly, lifting his head from the glass, and he stares at the vast expanse of green beyond the window, and he glances to his other side, where Niall's watching him with a small smile on his face, earbuds in as he's watching a movie on his laptop.
The train runs smoothly, and he's thankful. Wants to get home in peace.
"A little over an hour to go," Niall tells him, and Harry nods sluggishly, attempting at a smile but he can't really be arsed.
He looks down at Niall's screen, and he knows what he's watching immediately.
"Could you probably not watch that?" he asks him, and he's aware he's being a petulant child, but he'd rather not be reminded of his ex, in any way possible.
"What have you got against Bob Downey Jr.?" Niall asks him, pausing the movie to look at him, confused.
"The third one was always his favorite," Harry says, and it's not Tony Stark's fault, really isn't, but he stares hard at the screen, trying to burn a hole through it, maybe. "First time we watched it, I gave him a blowie in the back row-"
"Christ, Harry, like I needed to know that," Niall groans, hiding his face in his hands. "Fine, I'll watch something else-"
"Run it by me, first!"
*
Harry vetoes most of the films in his laptop, (Begin Again - “He sang ‘Lost Stars’ to me, after my graduation. And Adam Levine, we both would”, Captain America - “Anything with superheroes is off-limits, Niall”, Maleficent - “He kind of looks like her, to be honest. So gorgeous”, Tangled - “He invented the smoulder, Niall, you should see it”), and really, Niall’s patient, he really is, but.
“Does anything not remind you of him?”
“Five years with the same bloke, Niall!” Harry says, a little shrill, and Niall’s thankful they’re on the last train, a little late, so not many people are around to witness this. Two idiots fighting over what movie to watch, christ. “Why don’t you try me?!”
“Fine!” Niall whisper-shouts, and he says the first word he can think of. “Paris!”
“First place we planned to visit once we were done studying,” Harry says, an air of smugness around him.
“Snails.”
“He hates them. Avoid at any cost.”
“George Clooney.”
“Least favorite Batman. I disagree, thought he did whatever he could do with it-”
“Rainbows.”
“Rainbow was the name of the teddy bear he gave me back in uni. We thought it’d be sick if we dressed him in leather and chains. People thought we were sex-crazed and shit, but it was actually pretty funny. The least sexy thing ever. He’s adorable.”
“‘Thinking Out Loud.’”
“Last song we danced to before he left. Neither of us can dance to save our lives, so it should have been shit, but it actually wasn't-”
“Pepsi.”
“Won’t touch it, Coke all the way.”
“Scarves.”
“Used them as blindfolds, to tie each other up on bedposts, around our di-”
“Caramel.”
“Everywhere,” Harry says, eyebrow quirked up. “Literally everywhere. He spent hours licking it off-”
“Shit, breaking the bed, aren’t we?” Niall has to laugh, blushing a bit, but he’s kind of amused.
“That’s what everyone said,” Harry says, and he’s smiling sadly now. “Everyone’s favorite couple, helping out his parents make these grand dinners for the family whenever there was a reunion, which there were a lot of, visiting the nan, babysitting his sisters and bringing out them out for ice cream, but when the doors are closed, fucking each other into oblivion-”
“He can’t be that good.”
“He was the greatest,” Harry glares at him, lip jutting out in a pout. “The best, most gorgeous, most talented-”
“Okay, keep singing his praises, that won’t get you moving on any quicker,” Niall says, and Harry just frowns even more. “Don’t give me that look, stop defending him.”
“Leave me alone, he’s my ex,” Harry says.
“Yeah, your ex. Who left you here,” Niall says, and he keeps the harshness out of his voice, keeps it soft because he knows not to cross the line more than he already has, but. He really doesn’t need to be wasting time on someone who doesn’t really deserve all these tears, if he left someone like Harry. “Who cheated on you, who said he doesn’t love you anymore.”
“Heyyyy, fuck you,” Harry says, but he doesn’t sound mad, or even much more sad than he already was. An exaggerated pout, but his eyes aren’t shiny, and it looks like he’s making fun of himself. A step in the right direction.
“Fuck me?” Niall says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Why me?”
“Fine, fuck him,” Harry replies, and it’s with something that’s not quite a laugh, but something all the same.
*
The air in Holmes Chapel always seems to be cleaner. Doesn’t know why, just is. And he feels lighter, feels like he’s left everything behind to start over. Actually-
“Shit,” Harry says as they’re getting off the train. “Ni, we left our luggage in London.”
"What," Niall says, and his whole face just collapses when he realizes that all they have on them are their hand-carries. "Fuck, Haz, I'm sorry-"
Harry can't really help it, doesn't know why he's not more upset about this, but he laughs. Feels it down to his stomach.
"Shit, why are you laughing," Niall says, looking a little alarmed and just more worried. "Harry, I'm so, so sorry. I'll get the first train back to London-"
"No."
"I'll get your suitcase, drop it off at your place. Actually, no, I’ll come back here, give it to you personally, you have my word-"
“I don’t need my luggage, Niall!” He says loudly, catching his attention. "Come on, let's go," he goes on to say, smiling at him and grabbing his hand, dragging him off the platform.
“You’re okay with this?!” Niall sounds a little hysterical, and it’s kind of funny.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
"B-but," Niall stammers, "your life. You said your whole life was in that one bag-"
"Not anymore," Harry replies. "This is my life now. Might as well get used to it."
*
They decide to have tea in the little cafe by the station, seated outside even though there were plenty of unoccupied table inside. Harry demanded alfresco seating, “for aesthetic!”, even though he’d be freezing, and Niall doesn’t really know how to disagree with him.
They're seated outside, the weather cold and nippy, clouds overhead and very little sun, generally just grey everywhere. Typically English, and Niall loves it a little bit. Gives himself a pat on the back for having the forethought to keep a jacket in his handbag.
He can't say the same for Harry, who looks like he's dying a bit in his shirt, feeling cold enough that he's buttoned it up to the middle of his chest. Miracle. He's holding his cup of English Breakfast close to his face, curled up with his feet up on his chair. He's adorable. An idiot, but adorable.
"I'm starting to feel better about it all," Harry says quietly as he takes a sip from his tea. "About what happened. Not a great lot, still feel like I'm drowning in hell whenever I remember anything about him, but it's not completely unbearable now. It's. Painful, but not unbearable."
Niall nods, giving him a small smile, and he tilts his head a bit, gesturing for him to continue.
"But we planned so many things, Ni," Harry says, and it doesn't look like he's about to cry, but it's sad all the same. Nostalgic. "There was so much we were supposed to do, he promised me. And all those were reduced to nothing. In eight words, he forgot all about them."
"Well, you know, sometimes, people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them," Niall says softly, and Harry looks at him, a little surprised.
"You quoted Hazel Grace," Harry says, a little awed, and Niall grins back at him.
"She showed a different side of herself there," is all he says, and Harry laughs, and he looks good when he laughs. Niall hopes he’ll do it more often.
"You know, I've got a plan," he says after his chuckles have tapered off a bit. "Every time I mention him, in any way, I'll pay you 50p."
"50p- Haz, you're weak," Niall says, laughing when Harry looks affronted. "You're practically cheating, try a hundred quid."
"No fucking way, that's too much," Harry says with a pout.
"Yeah, that’s the point, idiot. So you'll push yourself not to talk about him. 50 pence isn't enough motivation to get you to shut up about him. Do yourself a favor."
"A pound," Harry says.
"You're bargaining?" Niall says. "Fuck no. 80 quid."
"5."
"70."
"10."
"Harry, come on, don’t be a twat. 50. That’s me being nice."
"20, 20 quid, that's it, that's my final offer," Harry says, and he's pouting and he's got those eyes on, and Niall can't say no, as much as he tries to.
He grins, acquiescing, "Okay, 20. I'm gonna get so rich off of you-"
"Heyyyy," Harry mutters into his tea, but it's half hearted, and not without a smile. It’s comforting in a way that Niall can’t really explain.
“What will I do with the money I get from you?” Niall asks himself, leaning back in his seat as he wonders. “Would probably get you a decent coat, Burberry. Or Saint Laurent, because you seem to bloody like them so much, with glitter all over-”
“Gonna need it,” Harry says, looking down on his tea like it mortally offended him. “I lent him all my best coats over the years, and that one with the cheetah print. Probably brought it with him, the fucking piece of shit, as if he needs it in fucking Athens while I’m here freezing my arse off. Fuck him-”
He cuts himself off, realizing, and looks over to Niall, who’s fighting off a smile, and who’s slowly offering out his palm.
“We’re not starting yet,” Harry says, with a ghost of a smile on his face as well.
“Pay up, we already made the deal, witnesses around and everything,” Niall tells him. He looks over to the table in the far corner, near the entrance of the cafe, where an elderly gentleman sits reading his paper and could not be any less interested with what the two of them were arguing about, and asks him, “You heard us, right, sir?!”
“Niiiiiiiiiii-”
“Pay up, Styles, let’s get this coat fund going, yeah?” Niall says, and they’re both laughing as Harry reaches into his pocket to pull out a crumpled note, handing it over reluctantly.
It’s quiet after that, the air still and time paused, and it’s not unpleasant. Harry still looks cold though, hunching in on himself as if to try to concentrate his body heat into one area.
Niall wordlessly shuffles over to him when he shivers the tiniest bit, laying his jacket over his shoulders without any hesitance.
Harry smiles at him warmly, and moves a little so they can share his seat. Like two grown men can fit in one chair, so Niall just shakes his head, chuckling a bit before he drags his own chair right next to Harry's instead. Without preamble, he rubs his hands together, letting the friction heat up his palms, and he places them over Harry’s ears.
He stills, but eventually relaxes into the warmth, closing his eyes. Niall repeats the motion a few more times before he puts his arm around Harry's shoulders, rubbing at his arm to try to warm him up even more.
He pretends not to see Harry blush, smile secretive as he takes a small sip from his teacup. He mirrors the movement, if just to hide the grin that's breaking out on his face.
“Just ask him out already,” the old man suddenly says, still sounding bored, and Niall suspects that he hasn’t even lifted his head from where he’s reading about the oil crisis in the Middle East.
He blushes, arm still wrapped around Harry’s shoulder, not daring to even glance to his side to see how bad Harry’s flush is, and he replies, “We’re, um. We’re not- Not that way, sir.”
“Well, you’re clearly doing something wrong,” is all the man says, and it’s quiet again.
*
His mother was quite surprised to see him, but not unpleased.
“This is Niall, mum,” Harry introduces him, and he smiles, that fucking smile, and presses a swift kiss on her cheek as she holds out her hand to shake his. “Niall, my mum, Anne.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says to her, and Harry can see that she’s already so fond of him. It surprises him a bit. When she had first met him, she had been polite, lovely, but not quite like this.
She had offered him to stay in the guest room for the night, and they had had a quiet dinner in. Quiet, because it was home cooked roasted chicken and it was just the three of them and the first meal he’d had here since last Christmas. Not so quiet, because Niall had kept the conversation flowing effortlessly, jumping from one topic to the next and making Anne and Harry laugh all the fucking time and.
It felt. Nice. Great.
He felt content.
*
After arguing a bit the next morning (“I am not wearing this shirt, Harry, it’s sheer, give me normal clothing, fuck’s sake-”), they set out to the bakery where Harry had worked before he left for university, for some breakfast.
Harry doesn’t admit it out loud, but Niall looks good in his clothes. White shirt, one of his bomber jackets, he’d even conceded and borrowed his brown boots. Sick aesthetic.
As he had expected, Niall absolutely charms everyone there. Had made everyone laugh within minutes of meeting them, and had promised them all a dinner. Such a twat. Harry’s so fond of him.
“I love it here, let’s never leave,” Niall says, grinning as Barbara pats his cheek and gives him another tart, “On the house!”
“As much as they seem to love you, I wouldn't ever let them deplete their stocks on you,” Harry answers coolly, watching him devour the tart.
“Fuck you!” Niall says, no heat in his voice as he laughs, and he apologizes to the ladies for swearing, who just coo and swear right with him. Amazing. He’d been grounded when he whispered the word ‘cunt’ in his friend Matt’s ear just the once, and his mum had caught him with those eagle eyes of hers and, well. “Don’t stop yourself from enjoying things, Haz! Have a bite, they’re amazing.”
“I don’t want one,” Harry shakes his head when Niall holds out the tart, looking at it forlornly.
Niall draws back, looking contemplative, and he asks, “Does this have anything to do with him?”
“He always did love raspberry tarts, they were his favorite, and no,” Harry says, staring him down, “I’m not paying you for this one. You’ve already got over 200 from me, and you’re the one who brought it up!”
“Christ,” he laughs, finishing the pastry with one more bite. “Don’t mean to sound more indelicate than I already have, but you’re going to have to move on, you’re going to miss out too much on life if someone who chooses not to be in your life anymore is holding you back.”
“But how do I move on, though,” Harry asks, more to himself, and it’s hard. So hard. “How do people do it? How do they make it look so easy?”
“It’s never easy when it really matters,” Niall answers him, and suddenly he’s not laughing anymore. He glances at him, and sees that he has a far off look in his face as he stares at the wall across him, a small smile on his face, sad and resigned. “Those that look easy? Well, those weren’t real heartbreak. But it all depends on you, really. I don’t know. I was in pain for a long time, but one day, I woke up, and it was okay again. Not completely, but that being eaten from the inside feeling? Gone.”
“How long did that take you?”
“Does it matter how long it took?” Niall tells him, and he’s looking at Harry now. His eyes are as bright as they’ve ever been. “Thing is, I moved on. You will too, eventually.”
“It hurts,” Harry has to murmur, and it really does.
“Of course it hurts, you loved him,” Niall says, and it’s so soft. It takes Harry by surprise, a little bit. “Despite him hurting you in the end, he gave you five years of happiness. If he could keep someone like you for five years, then he can’t be all that bad, right?”
Harry doesn’t know how to react to that, but Niall goes on to say, “I’d still punch him if ever I did meet him though.”
“I appreciate that, I guess,” Harry finally says, and he smiles at Niall. “Not in the face though, he’s too pretty for that-”
“Alright, avoid the smoulder, noted,” Niall says, and he’s laughing again. Harry prefers him this way. “But honestly? It’s really up to you on how you want to deal with this. Crying as much as you need to, drinking every now and then, but know your limit, karaoke nights with your friends, though I hope they know what they’re dealing with when you get up there and belt out your Cher, fucking every available bloke out there that you won’t ever see again, maybe finding a new love. That’s all on you.”
Harry tries not to tear up again. It all sounds so strange, so foreign to him. He’d never he’d have to find ways on how to move on, let alone finding someone new, and it’s scary. “I don’t know if I can find that kind of love again.”
“You won’t, because there isn’t,” is what Niall says. “You know, there are so many different types of love in the world. But never the same love twice.”
It hits him in a way he didn’t expect it to. Not really a punch in the throat, but it makes his eyes water, all the same.
“Quoting Fitzgerald,” he chokes through, trying to sound calm, but it’s a moot point. “He’s not in my wheelhouse, but good try.”
Niall smiles at him softly, and offers him his hand, much like the first time. Harry doesn’t hesitate to slide his own into his palm.
“You know,” he starts to say, looking down at their linked hands, “when I broke up with my boy, I went to Beachy Head-”
“Niall, no-”
“Wasn’t like that, Haz,” Niall says, covering their hands with his other one and trying to reassure him. “Not like that, not the way you’re thinking. I just, dunno, went there. Felt right. And when I got there, I just let everything out. Let the seas have at it. Everything I couldn’t say to him, to anyone else, I said it to them.”
“Did it help?” Harry asks him quietly.
“The shitty feelings didn’t disappear, mind, but. It lessened the pain a bit, just because. At least the earth knew. Someone, something knew what I felt, and it felt freeing, you know?”
Harry pauses for a bit, focusing on the soothing motion of Niall stroking his thumb across Harry’s skin. Across the cross tattooed on the juncture between his thumb and index finger.
“Could you maybe take me there?” he asks finally, holding on to Niall’s hand.
Niall looks at him, and nods without any hesitancy.
“Just want you to be happy, Harry,” Niall tells him honestly, and it feels so genuine, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been told this with such conviction. It makes him so overwhelmed. “That’s all I want for you. Whether or not you move on, in the end, if you’re happy, then everything will be okay. Promise me that. Promise me you’ll leave behind the overweight baggage, the bloke who cried over his ex-boyfriend’s stuff in his bag in Greece. That’s not you anymore. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he says, and he means it.
*
They borrow a car from one of Anne’s friends, and they leave a little before midnight, wanting to reach Eastborne before sunrise. They agreed to take shifts, switch every other hour for the other to take naps and rest,
Two and a half hours into the drive, Harry realizes that he’d spent the last forty-four hours with Niall, the kind stranger who’d allowed him to put his stuff in his suitcase, which they’d eventually lose. And those forty-four hours are the best he’d had in such a long, long time.
They’ve stopped for a bit, parked by a petrol station to stretch their legs a little, get some caffeine in their systems.
“Got you a coffee,” Harry hands him a warm cup, and Niall thanks him softly before he takes a careful sip.
It’s quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable, and Harry savours everything as it comes.
“You know, I thought that once I left uni, he’d propose to me,” Harry launches right into it, all the while handing over a twenty pound note to him. “I mean, I know now that I was reading the signs in the wrong way, but I was honestly waiting for it. And you know what, I would have said yes. Would have given up everything for him, if he would ask me. But the question never came. I’m such an idiot. So fucking stupid.”
Niall doesn’t say anything, just looks at him as he keeps the cup close to his face, expression blank.
He pulls out a few more notes from his wallet, pushes them into Niall’s hands, and he tells him, “This should cover me for the next few hours.”
NIall looks down at his hand, then at Harry, then back at his hand. And he smirks, shaking his head a bit, and he places his coffee on the hood of the car for moment to reach into his back pocket, and gives Harry all the Coat Fund money.
Harry doesn’t even have the time to react properly to the wad of cash in his hands before Niall says, “Liam and I were together since we were in high school. Went to uni together, I went to all his football matches, he went to every concert I’d have, every gig I’d do in the small cafes and bars around the area we’d lived in. We were best friends and the greatest couple. People thought we were perfect for each other.
“He wanted to get married when we graduated,” Niall says, taking a few more sips from his cup in between sentences. “We’d talked about it a few times in the course of our relationship, but. I wasn’t expecting a deadline. I wasn’t expecting for him to expect. And I didn’t want to. Not at that moment, anyway. Eventually, yes. I did see my future with him, but it was supposed to be a distant thing. But after we graduated? I thought it was too soon, and I told him that, but he took it the wrong way. So he broke up with me.
“After a while, I tried to go after him, because he might have been it, you know? I thought for the longest time that he was the one, so I tried, but. He didn’t want it anymore.
“But you know,” Niall continues, and Harry wonders how long it must have taken him to admit all of this without bursting into tears. Wonders how long it will take for him to do the same. “It was also on me. I loved him, yeah? I really, really did. But I didn’t try hard enough. I didn’t try to talk to him again after that one time I decided to be ballsy and ask for another shot. Maybe I wouldn’t have asked and tried to the point that it would be obsession, but I should have made myself ask for another chance, maybe one more time. But I got tired right away. I gave up too quickly.”
“Why don’t you try now?” Harry asks him quietly.
“He’s happy now,” Niall answers him with a sad smile. “He met this great guy. They’re happy. I’m happy now. We’re both okay. There’s no point.”
Harry looks at him, and he wants to cry. Cry because Niall looks resigned rather than really happy. Cry because he wants Niall to be genuinely so full of joy, in every way possible.
“I’m not telling you that you should do what I didn’t do, to your boy,” Niall tells him. “I’m not telling you to keep on chasing him. I’m not telling you to move one, right at this moment, either, despite what I told you in the bakery yesterday. I don’t have any right to be telling you what to do. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I did. I would never want to force you into something you don’t know how to deal with. But I did mean it when I said I wanted you to be happy, I really do.
“So what I’m saying is, my situation was different from yours. No two relationships are ever truly alike. So you’ve got to deal with this in the way you feel is right, and no matter what, I’d support you. But at the end of the day, no matter how long it takes, no matter how it comes to you, you will be happy, really. You will, whether you get back together with him or not. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but you should just know. It might not be reciprocated by the person for whom it was intended for, but that love of yours. It’s the rare kind, the one that’s just so unconditional and overwhelming, and it will be returned to you in the same capacity. It’s impossible for you not to be loved, not with the way you seem to give it unconditionally, so. It will come back to you-”
Harry hugs him then. Wraps his limbs around Niall and hugs him tight and warm and everything. Transfers all his affection and warmth and gratitude into this one hug, and it feels right. This feels right.
*
“Question. And don’t laugh. Am I ugly?”
“What the fuck, Haz,” NIall says, his eyes on the road as he drives.
“Really. Honest question, am I ugly?”
“I called you fit the first time I met you, and would I have went with you if I didn’t think you were attractive?”
“Soooooo,” Harry drawls out, moving his face closer to Niall’s and poking at his cheek, which he swats away as he tries to keep on driving. “The reason you’ve come along with me. It’s my devilishly good looks and general fuckability.”
“General fu- Harry, shut up, I’m driving so we can get you to this bloody cliff-”
“Why’d you come with me, then?”
“Because you’re fun to be with,” Niall answers him with a quick look. “It’s never boring, conversations are always interesting. The occasional scenes you make are a bit of a setback, not gonna lie, but even then, I don’t regret witnessing those. And. You cried over that teddy bear. Rainbow, was it? Like I wasn’t going to not help out someone like that. You’re, well, you’re you. Why wouldn’t I have come?”
Harry’s a little dumbstruck by the end of it. Stares at Niall from across the console, and. He doesn’t know anymore. He really doesn’t.
“Not regretting lending me the extra space in your suitcase, then?”
Niall stops then, at a red light, and he takes the opportunity to really look at him, and replies, “Was worth it. Even when you did fuck up my packing system.”
*
Light’s barely beginning to show when they get there, barely peeking across the horizon. It casts a warm, comforting pink glow over everything, and it’s probably the warmest the sky will look throughout the day. The water is vast, stretching for what seems like forever, and it’s calm below, the soft sounds of the waves gently rolling apropos to the scene it accompanies.
It’s quiet, and it’s a little perfect.
Harry steps as close to the edge of the cliff as he dares, Niall following right behind, and he feels like he’s toe to toe with the clouds. Like heaven. Like if he were to shout loud enough, he’d think God would actually shout back and tell him to shut up and chill out.
He can feel Niall lingering behind him,, and. Everything he wants to say. Just comes out.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore!” He yells out to the seas, pretending that they’d hear him. Like they would understand him. “I can’t take much more of this! I don’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”
Niall stays quiet, hanging back as Harry unload everything, and he’s so thankful that he’s here.
“Five years, you piece of shit!” Harry shouts, feeling his throat scratch and tear, but he doesn’t stop. “Five years and you treat it like nothing in the end! Fuck you, fuck you! Fuck you, why can’t I hate you? Fuck you! I’m so tired, fuck you!”
He starts to cry, starts to heave and gasp as the tears fall down his cheeks, and he keeps bellowing out to the wind. The waves get a little stronger, sound a little more rough, and he’d like to think they were egging him on.
“Fuck you! I loved you! Didn’t I mean anything to you?” Harry screams as he cries, pressing his hand to his chest as he tries to control his breathing. “I would have given up everything for you! Why’d you hurt me? Why’d you give up? Why?
“All I did was love you! I gave you everything I had to give, and it didn’t even matter in the end!
“I can’t do this anymore! I won’t do this anymore! Fuck you! Fuck her! Fuck you! I’m done! I’m so done!”
His knees almost give out, and he doubles over, crying and crying. He can feel Niall press his hand on his back, rubbing circles over and over to comfort him, and he can’t. Harry engulfs him in a hug, almost toppling them over with the force of it, but Niall holds him steady, his arms around his middle, holding him close. Harry cries, burying his face in Niall’s neck, and he’s so tired.
Niall still doesn’t say anything, just runs his fingers through the curls at the back of Harry’s head, and it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment, to now.
He still feels like he’s dying, a bit. But. He feels like his chest has expanded a hundredfold, the weight and pressure dissipated and leaving him with a freeing sensation. It overwhelms him, in all the best ways.
He smiles into Niall’s skin, because he has to, and hugs him even tighter.
*
The drive back to Holmes Chapel is quiet.
It’s not bad. Niall even lets him hold his hand over the console for most of it.
It’s good. Really good.
*
They bring the car back to the rather young couple living a few houses over from where Anne's house was, where they had not so subtly winked and fawned over the both of them, and sent them on their way back with jars of homemade marmalade.
"Marmalade, fuck's sake-"
"Heyyyyyy, I've happened to have tried it, it's good," Harry frowns at Niall, who's eyeing at one of the hand-labeled jars in his hands as they walk back to his childhood home. "Brought five jars back with me to London. My mate Louis stole two of them, I think. Actually, he was more of my ex 's mate, but I always did have a loads of fun with him-"
"What is it with you Brits and your fruit preserves, christ," he laughs as they come up to Harry's door.
Just as they're about to knock, Anne comes out, bundled up in a cloak, and she looks at them in surprise as she says, "Oh, you're back. Was expecting you to come in later."
"Marmalade from the Winston's," Niall smiles at her, holding up the bag with the jars before leaning over to press a quick kiss to her cheek in greeting, Harry following right after.
"Ooohhh, I've been craving, amazing," she says, eyeing the bag in his hand. “Bring it inside, yeah? How were the cliffs?”
“Felt like freedom,” Harry answers, and she looks so happy, the smile reaching her eyes and Niall can tell that this is where Harry gets it.
“So happy for you, love,” Anne tells him, and her smile just gets bigger and her eyes start getting glassier. “Um, I’m-I’ll be out for a while. Run some errands and all.”
“Do you need any company?” Niall asks her, and she shakes her head, still smiling, but the quality’s dropped, somehow.
“No, think it would better if I weren’t here right now,” she says, and before any of them can really understand what that means, she’s giving them both a short hug. “Take care, loves. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
She walks off then before either of them can ask her what she means, and they’re alone in front of the door to his house.
“Is she okay?” he asks Harry, who’s still staring after her.
“I. Um. I’m not quite sure,” he replies quietly, and Niall looks at him. The corners of his mouth are slightly down, and Niall doesn’t like it. After a minute Harry opens the door and enters the house, and all Niall can do is follow him inside.
They drop off the marmalade in the kitchen, and Harry goes on ahead to the living room to get a movie on. When Niall comes in a minute later, though, Harry’s standing by the doorway, frozen still.
“Haz?” Niall comes to stand beside him, and Harry’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly open as he stares straight ahead. Niall follows his line of sight, and there seated on the couch is this ethereal looking boy. Dark hair, dark eyes, incredibly handsome, sharp angles and deep gaze.
Harry doesn’t say anything, just stares at the person as he stands up from where he’s seated, walking slowly over to them. He doesn’t say anything either, just looks at Harry with those eyes, so earnest, and his stance is shy, almost unsure as he contemplates on whether or not he should come closer.
Niall immediately knows he shouldn’t be here.
He looks between the two, all of them silent, and he swallows every biting remark he’s had for this person building up since Harry had told him about everything, and holds out his hand to this stranger, introducing himself quietly. “Niall, mate.”
The guy doesn’t look at him for a few seconds, his gaze still lingering on a stockstill Harry, but eventually he takes Niall’s hand in a firm grip, glancing at him and replying in an equally quiet tone, “Zayn, good to meet you.”
He nods as he draws back his hand, Zayn back to staring at Harry, and Niall knows he can’t stay here. Knows him being around won’t help.
“Haz,” he murmurs, looking between the two of them. “Haz,” he tries again when Harry stays still, and again and again until he gets a reaction. Harry turns to look at him, expression blank but his eyes with a sheen of tears.
“I’ll take the next train back to London,” he says, and he can see the slight wobble in Harry’s lip, but he still doesn’t speak. “Thank you. Remember what I told you. You’ll be okay,” he says, placing his hand at the small of Harry’s back and sweeping his thumb in a smoothing motion a few times, and it’s his goodbye.
Harry whimpers, but doesn’t make any move to stop him, so he nods at Zayn, who nods back, and he leaves. Takes his jacket from where it hangs by the front door, his hand carry, and forces himself out the door and starts walking over to the train station.
Tells himself not to go back and run back in, too many times to count.
*
He decides to report for work a few days earlier than he’d originally scheduled.
His boss is surprised, because at this point there’s still not much to work on, but Niall hangs around, doing whatever he could to get his mind off of things. Off of the bloke who’d crammed himself into the cracks of his life, so effortlessly.
He didn’t think it would feel like this, in the end. Doesn’t regret it, by any means, but he’d been so used to carrying a bit of someone else’s heart, shouldering his pain until it felt like it was his own. Until something that originally felt like extra baggage eventually made his own heart lighter, somehow.
Now it feels like he’s missing something essential. And he’s trying not to let himself notice how the cracks and spaces had made themselves visible again.
He’s sat by his desk, fucking around on the desktop since he finished mixing and editing the voiceovers for the new drama ages ago, when Rochelle, the department secretary, pops in, her head peeking out from behind his cubicle wall as she greets him. “Hey, Ni.”
“Mummy Roch,” he grins at her, grateful that they had gotten close back when he was still doing his internship here, the one that eventually had lead to his job now.
“Front desk just called,” she tells him. “There’s someone waiting in the lobby for you.”
“Nandooooo’s,” he grins, getting up from his seat and pocketing his wallet. "That was bloody quick. Want some?"
"There's only so much peri-peri I can tolerate, Niall," she says with a smirk, and he laughs as he walks to the elevator, jabbing at the 'G' to get down to the ground floor.
*
It sort of shocks him when he sees Harry down in the lobby instead of a delivery boy.
"Hi, Ni," he greets him softly, a gentle smile in his face.
"Hi, Haz," he replies after several moments, after his throat gets unstuck. "What are you, um. What are you doing here?"
"Um. Uh, that is," Harry starts out, and he looks so nervous, shifting on his feet. "I tried to do what you told me. Tried to do whatever felt right, tried to be happy, but whatever I did. Everything I did, nothing felt right."
"So Zayn," Niall begins, and Harry shakes his head immediately.
"I knew, we both did, that it wasn't okay," Harry says. "It wouldn't be, not anymore. I still love him, but it's not the same. And it took a few days before we both accepted it. It's fine, though.
"You told me that my happiness would come," he continues. "One way or another, it would find its way to me. It already did, you know. It just took me an overweight suitcase to find it. And a trip to Holmes Chapel to realize it. And a proper yell at the seas to-"
"Think I've got it, Haz," Niall cuts in, and he feels his heart beat a thousand times faster. He stares at Harry, who stares right back.
“Well, on the ride here, I told the cabbie about it,” of course you did, “and he said something that really stuck with me. He said that sometimes we lose love, because something better was on its way. I don’t think I’d always agree with that, but in this case.”
His words are stuck in his throat again. He doesn’t know how to respond.
"So this is me," Harry comes forward, step by step, until he's right in front of him, toe to toe, "trying to do the right thing. I know this is the right thing, I know it's right. This is what I should do. So I'm asking now if I could maybe have my chance. If you'll have me. Please, take my Cher-loving, slightly beaten heart and maybe. I'd like to learn to love you, properly, if you'd let me."
He’s holding out his hand, looking so earnest and sweet and adorable and he remembers that boy in the airport sobbing over a stuffed toy and how this is so similar and so different at the same time and.
“Yeah, yeah, alright.”
He takes his hand, and the cracks start filling up again.