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i.
Being a fireman has its perks. Getting to breathe in then cough out a lungful of smoke is not one of them.
Luckily, when Liam arrives at the site of the latest distress call, the fire and smoke are minimal. Only one window and the carpeting are damaged, but other than that, he overhears a report that there are no serious casualties. He watches the tenants of the apartment building being led through the doors and into the street, feeling the knot of anxiety slowly untangling in his stomach.
Being a fireman with hyperhearing has its perks. Getting to hear the indistinct conversations between family and friends after a close call is both burdening and lightening, a weight that grounds Liam solidly to the earth. He hears the relief in their quiet murmurs, the whisper-light words of comfort, and voices that crack when they admit, I thought you wouldn’t—
Liam always stops listening at that point so as to grant them privacy, but it’s also for himself, because he doesn’t want to hear what their last words would have been if something had gone wrong, if he had failed—
He scans the growing crowd and moves towards the perimeter, making sure no one gets too close. The fire is almost out, but he can’t be too safe.
“You know I didn’t mean to do it, Niall,” he picks up unintentionally. The voice softer than most, accent tinged with guilt, and Liam’s eyes flick over the crowd again.
“I know you didn’t,” comes a second voice, an accent that he pinpoints as Irish, just as soft.
Liam finally spots them. Them is two boys sharing a fire blanket, one a brunet and the other a blond, standing near the edge of the crowd. Liam sees that they are still wearing pajamas, which is…odd, to say the least, considering that it is four in the afternoon. He assumes they’re close friends from the way they stand easily together, shoulders hunched into each other’s.
“But those were new curtains,” he hears. He isolates their voices from the rest of the crowd, until he can hear each enunciation as if he is standing right next to them. The brunet is talking, shoving back a handful of brown curls from his face. From his distance, Liam can see that he is frowning.
“They were our third set of curtains,” the other one says. Niall, Liam remembers. His voice is lighter, in contrast to the concern rooted in the brunet’s tone. “Don’t think Zayn will be too surprised after we’ve come in to buy…what, two new bed frames already?”
“Three,” the brunet grumbles in correction.
Ah. Not just close friends, then.
“Three,” Niall echoes.
Liam widens his scope to the rest of the crowd after that, drowning out the details of dozens of other whisperings.
He does, however, have a job to do. Once the other firemen emerge from the building and declare it safe, Liam starts walking towards the couple.
Louis joins him on the way, clipboard in hand and helmet already off and tucked under his arm. When they reach the couple, Liam wouldn’t have needed any superpowers to tell that they were antsy. “Afternoon,” he greets before Liam can say anything.
“Hello, sir.” Niall is the one who answers, accent thick but voice clear. Liam glimpses him holding the other boy’s hand under the blanket and looks away.
“The landlord says you two live in 2A?” Louis questions, unclicking a pen. “Styles and Horan?”
Niall nods.
“The fire started on your home lot, yes?”
Another nod.
“Would you come with me, please? And Liam, Chief’s looking for you.”
Just like that, Louis leads them away, and Liam has lost his opportunity. He presses his lips together into a thin line, decisive, and almost starts coming after them when he hears Niall’s whisper: “Stop fidgeting, Harry, it wasn’t your fault.”
“How are we supposed to explain why our curtains randomly caught on fire?” Liam hears Harry reply, clearly more distressed.
“Oh, I’ll just tell them that my boyfriend accidentally started shooting flames in the middle of sex—“
“Niall,” Harry groans, and Liam can’t shut off his hyperhearing fast enough.
His face is still red by the time he gets back to the truck. Later, Louis will tell him that the boys told him that they didn’t know how the fire started either, but that it was most likely an accident, that they have insurance to cover the damages, that they will be okay—That last part is what Liam is interested in. He has, after all, never had the opportunity to meet others like himself before.
ii.
The second time he meets Niall and Harry, it is thankfully not due to another fire. He is sitting in a local café, waiting for Sophia, when a chime of a bell signals the familiar couple’s arrival.
“Okay, I’ve gotta use the bathroom,” he picks up from Niall.
Liam can’t not listen, he finds, which is odd because he has never had trouble controlling his ability before. He is briefly guilty for invading their privacy and tries to take comfort in the fact that their conversation is mundane anyway. It’s no different from the everyday noise that Liam is constantly surrounded with.
“Wait.” Harry catches him around the waist, tugging him back a step. “You want your usual?”
Liam hears the soft hum of assent from Niall and watches as they finally break away, Harry’s hand lingering a little longer on Niall’s side before the blond rushes off to the restrooms. Harry steps in line, digging out his wallet.
Liam’s phone buzzes at that moment. He tears his eyes away from the couple in order to reply to Sophia’s text, but Harry’s voice unwillingly rings in his ears, the slow but confident recitation of Niall’s coffee order, like he’s got it memorized by heart.
iii.
Liam is surprised to hear their voices again the very next night, when he’s in his apartment, ready to turn in for the night. He doesn’t stop hearing at night and prefers it that way, so that he can hear emergencies coming before they culminate into disasters, but what he hears is not the beginnings of a fire.
Harry’s voice hits him with a wave of warmth, and Liam is suddenly, distantly worried that he’s developing emotional sensory powers too. “If we’re late for the meeting tomorrow, I’m framing you.” Liam places a hand on his own chest. No, he’s not developing new powers; it’s just the affection from Harry’s voice. It’s another odd thing, though, because Liam only ever feels it during weddings. (This is why he keeps a close eye on the wedding announcements in the paper, so he knows when to momentarily stop listening. Hearing other people’s vows almost always came with a near-overwhelming surge of love.)
“Y’know, if you’re framing me, you’re the one who really did it,” comes Niall’s voice, teasing.
“Oh, this is just like the accident all over again,” Harry bemoans, and Liam assumes he means the fire because Niall proceeds to remind him about how the flames suddenly erupted when Niall moved his mouth just right— Yeah, Liam blocks that part out.
He hears only their footsteps after some time, and he has a feeling that if he were to raise his blinds and look into the twilight-dipped streets, he would see the couple just passing the street.
Their footsteps are almost too close to decipher, but Liam can separate the distinct sound of boots and the more solid thump of sneakers. They’re walking close, he interprets, maybe leaning into each other, taking their time.
“My hot chocolate’s gone cold.” This is Niall’s voice, slightly disappointed.
“And I wonder why that is, Mr. I Forgot to Grab a Lid?” Harry chides.
There is a pause.
“Why do I know what you’re thinking?” Harry says.
“Please?” Niall’s voice is saccharine. “No one’s watching.”
And Liam wants to change that, wants to slip a finger through his blinds and peek through, because he has a feeling he knows what Harry’s about to do too, but— No. He can’t, he won’t.
Their footsteps cease.
“Are you sure you don’t actually have super manipulation powers?” Harry’s voice is amused.
“Just an angelic pair of eyes, so I’ve been told,” Niall returns, and Liam hears the grin in his voice. “And the best boyfriend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry’s mock grumble comes through.
Liam concentrates a little harder and hears the scratch of a Styrofoam cup being passed between hands. A little bit harder, and he detects the Styrofoam threads crinkle slightly, the bubbling of liquid, then—
“Harry!” Niall’s voice is suddenly loud, and Liam winces, adjusting his hearing. He doesn’t have to concentrate very hard to hear Niall’s laugh; it seems to float up from the streets. “I wanted you to warm it up, not boil it, you arse.”
“At least it’s not on fire?” Harry offers.
Another laugh, followed by a soft impact, then rustling.
“Ow,” Harry complains. “I need this arm to taste test all those cakes.”
Their footsteps are picking up again, and Liam finally loosens his senses, allowing their voices to become fainter. “We aren’t tasting cakes yet, are we?” He catches the hope in Niall’s voice. “I thought we were looking over invitations.”
“Maybe we can convince him to test cakes instead,” Harry says.
“Oh, I’ll just turn my eyes on him and convince him to bring out their samples,” Niall says breezily, and Liam has to stop himself from listening further. He is fairly certain that they are just joking. It’s taken him so long to find others like him; surely one can’t be a silvertongue.
iv.
If Liam needed any more assurance, he receives it two days later, as he’s sitting on a park bench and waiting for Louis to show up.
“I can’t believe you actually got him to do it.” Harry’s voice pierces his thoughts without warning, and Liam’s head shoots up. For a moment, he thinks the park is empty and he’s picking up the voice from somewhere else, but then he spots a tree a good distance behind him. He distinguishes an outline—or, two. He flushes a little when he realizes that one of them is leaning against the trunk while the other is straddling their legs.
“My angel eyes, I’m telling you,” Niall crows. “Another strawberry, please.”
Liam turns back around, fiddling with his phone busily.
“As you command.” Harry’s voice shifts to an unsubtle robot impersonation, and Niall’s laugh rings clear in Liam’s head.
There is a few second’s pause, then Harry’s voice, back to normal: “Which one did you like?”
“The red velvet was amazing.”
“Oh, good. I was ready to fight you if you said chocolate.”
“Yeah? Fight me? Bring it on, punk.”
“ S’no fun if we do it in the grass, we have to go somewhere more rugged, like— Like an empty parking lot, or—“
“Harry Styles, is this your way of telling me you don’t like my choice setting of dates?”
Liam hears a pretend gasp. “Never, darling.”
Niall giggles. “Darling?”
“Darling.” Harry’s voice turns overtly sweet, but Liam detects something genuine underneath it all. “Sweetheart, pumpkin, light of my life—“
“Ah, Harry—“ Niall gets out in between laughs. “That tickles—“
“I’m gonna call you that,” Harry promises, and he must not be relenting because Liam can still hear Niall’s laughter, “pumpkin, right in front of the altar and the entire ceremony.”
“You are the worst,” Niall gets out, and then he’s gone.
Liam startles, glancing back before he can help himself. There’s just one outline now, standing next to the tree.
“Oh my God,” he hears Harry, and his own heart drops. “Babe? Are you okay?”
Liam starts to see him looking around, so he turns his back on them again. Moments later, Niall’s voice returns: “You suck.”
It is then that Harry bursts into laughter, joined shortly by Niall, and if Liam was worried, that’s all the reassurance he needs.
“Was that because I tickled you?”
“No—“ He can imagine the indignation across Niall’s face.
“Niall, you went through the entire tree.”
“Was anyone watching?”
“No, no one’s around… Wait.”
Liam freezes, even though he can’t see them anymore.
“Did he see?” Niall’s voice is suddenly a whisper, like they’re afraid of being overheard from half a stadium’s distance away.
A pause.
“No, I don’t think so.”
A longer pause. Liam strains to hear footfalls on grass, but nothing comes. Eventually, Niall’s voice rings again.
“No more tickling in public,” he announces, but there is still laughter in the edge of his words.
“In public,” Harry repeats like a vow. “Strawberry feeding?”
Niall hums. “I will permit strawberry feeding.”
“Aren’t I lucky.”
“Hey, Liam!”
Liam jolts upright at the closer sound of Louis’s voice, wondering when his friend arrived.
“You okay? You’ve been staring at a blank screen for ages now,” Louis jabs. He stops when he seems to spot something in the distance, and when Liam stands, he finally allows himself to look back again. He’s just in time to see the two figures leaning close into each other, one of them pressed against the tree. “Ugh. Couples,” Louis harrumphs.
Liam agrees. He blocks out any further sounds from Niall and Harry and follows Louis somewhere else.
v.
Just because he’s never met anyone like him doesn’t mean that he hasn’t met others who tried to be.
Exhibit A: The lunatic who once led the police on a wild goose chase of broken cars and damaged streetlights as he claimed to have metallokinesis. Needless to say, when he was finally in handcuffs, he could not bend the metal off of his wrists.
This time, though, as he’s watching a man throw an entire dumpster at an officer, he’s not sure if the guy is just trying. Maybe it’s just the hour – it’s nearing nine and the sky has darkened considerably. Liam heard the report from his neighbor’s radio and rushed to the scene as fast as he can.
His abilities don’t really guarantee him any role as a superhero, but what he can do is track criminals and help the police catch them.
This particular situation is puzzling because there is only one officer, the apparent culprit just lobbed a dumpster at said officer, and Liam sees the man turn to a car next and pick that up too. Easily.
Liam doesn’t need to focus very hard to hear the “Wait, stop!” from the officer, and he’s ready to step in there himself, lack of physical powers be damned, when a few things happen.
He hears the familiar sound of igniting fire, this breathy whoosh as a glob of flames suddenly shoots out from the alley behind the man and hit him square in the back. Liam hears crackling, then screaming as the man’s shirt catches well on fire, but he’s still holding onto the car.
Another figure emerges from the shadows behind the officer and grab him, and it looks like an inopportune time for a hug until the burning man tosses the car like he’s passing a basketball, and Liam’s breath catches on the No! lodged somewhere in his throat, and then all he hears is a familiar voice murmur, “Hold on,” and then he’s watching the car crash through the two figures—literally. The sound of the car crumpling against pavement is deafening.
“Niall!” he hears then, amidst the panicked screaming, followed by another set of even more panicked footsteps as a third figure emerges from the alley, rushing towards the wreckage. He knows that voice.
The man on fire has disappeared somewhere down the street, and Liam knows he should be doing something but his legs are heavy lead held firmly by gravity. The scene unfolds before him.
He makes out two bodies on the road, a safe distance from the wrecked car, and his stomach starts to twist until one of them sits up, accepting Harry’s outflung arms. This time, Harry does not pass through him.
“Niall,” he’s saying, and Liam’s got another ball of panic unfurling inside him even as he tries to tell himself it’s just Harry’s tone affecting him. “Niall, Niall.”
“We’re here,” a second voice finally says. It’s almost weary. “I think he passed out from shock, but we’re both okay.”
For some moments, it’s just Harry holding Niall and Niall holding Harry, their bent forms illuminated only by the dim streetlight. Liam sees that the edges of Harry’s sleeves are blackened, singed.
“I’m okay, Harry,” he hears Niall. “I’m still here.”
“You’re safe, you’re safe.” Harry repeats these words over and over, and Liam hears the sheer relief in each syllable as Harry buries his head in Niall’s neck. Slowly, Niall’s arms run up his shoulders, holding him, anchoring him.
“Always wanted to get into the superhero business, huh?” he hears Niall murmur lightly.
“Not two days before the wedding,” Harry grouses, and Niall laughs, soft and affectionate. In the distance, Liam hears police sirens and ducks back into the alcove he had been hiding in. He can hear what’s happening two blocks over, hears the sound of flames being put out, hears the catch of handcuffs.
He begins to walk away.
“I love you,” he catches the urgent whisper from Harry, and it’s muffled, like his lips are pressed against Niall’s.
Liam is ducking into the shadows when he hears Niall’s “I love you too,” and he has never felt more like an intruder.
vi.
Fire alarms do not play well with the tune of the wedding march, Liam finds.
Years of practice means he pulls on his gear efficiently, even as he listens to the ceremony taking place four avenues down.
He’s in the firetruck when he hears Niall’s voice, a quiet, meaningful, “I do.” His tone brims with love. Not long after, Liam can hear Harry’s response, a mirroring “I do” that is just as earnest, just as reverent.
Liam smiles at the passing buildings.