we are the crossroads
title: we are the crossroads
pairing: harry styles/liam payne
words: ~18,880
rating: nc17
summary: girl!direction AU, with cisgirl-liam and -louis. liam gets dumped, but it doesn't mean anything's changed. title and cut text from snow and dirty rain.
They’ve got a two week break from tour, and they’ve already been on the road for six months, so it’s not that strange that Harry doesn’t hear from the others very much that first week. He loves his band, he does, and he wants to keep on loving them, and he’s learned that the occasional break is the surest way to keep doing that.
Anyway, later he’ll realize it was a little weird that he didn’t hear from Louis or Liam at all, but at the time he didn’t notice.
Even when Louis does text him - he sees the screen light up out of the corner of his eye, his phone balanced on the arm of Nick’s couch while they watch Nigella - he doesn’t look straight away. Probably she’s just making fun of something a magazine said about him, or asking if he has some article of her clothing.
He’s wrong, though. He picks up the phone once the show ends, once Nick hauls himself off the couch and wanders into the kitchen, muttering something about fried potatoes. Harry unlocks his phone lazily, scrolls through some other messages first, and then he reads Louis’s and freezes. When it sinks in, his stomach drops unhappily.
Danny left Liam
It takes a moment to make sense of the words. He wonders, first, left her where? because the obvious meaning can’t be the right one.
His brain feels fuzzy and he taps his finger anxiously against the keyboard, absently typing a string of nonsensical letters, because he doesn’t know what to say. It’s been more than fifteen minutes since Louis texted though, so -
what? he sends back. when?
Which is - it really doesn’t matter, but it buys him time to think of something else to do or say.
Nick appears in the doorway to the kitchen, brandishing a pan in one hand. “You know when I said I was going to cook something up, I meant I was going to watch you cook something up, right?” he asks.
Harry finds his feet, his phone pressed firmly in his palm, and he follows Nick into the kitchen because he’s still waiting for Louis to reply and, hopefully, tell him what to do. He’s reaching for a knife when his screen lights up again and he grabs for it, utensils forgotten.
got home from tour and he was waiting with bags packed
And that - that almost makes less sense than the first text, because that means Danny left seven days ago and yet Harry’s only known for seven minutes.
Harry turns his back on the food and ignores Nick’s protests as he dials Lou and walks out of the room for some privacy.
“Hello?” Louis answers, talking quietly, like she doesn’t want someone to hear.
“A week ago, Lou?” Harry asks. He rarely gets upset about anything, but he is now, a little. “This happened a week ago and no one told me until now?”
There’s muffled noises from Louis’s end, and then he hears her speaking like she’s covering the mouthpiece. “It’s Harry,” she hears, “I’m gonna - no, don’t pause it, I’ve seen this one. Be right back.” There’s a shuffling sound and then all the background noise fades away and Harry can hear Louis huffing into the phone.
“She didn’t even tell me for three days,” Louis says softly. “And then she asked me not to tell anyone else for a bit.”
“I’m not anyone,” Harry says, and tries not to sound like he’s not pouting, but he’s pouting.
“Harry,” Louis says, in a tone that means, focus.
“Right,” he says. “Right, okay. How is - is she okay?”
Louis’s quiet for a second, then she sighs. “She’s doing better now than she was three days ago,” she offers. “She’s sleeping again. She showered today.”
Harry sags against the wall. Nick pokes his head in, but Harry waves him off and turns away and he gets the hint, apparently. “What should I do?” Harry asks. “Should I come over? Do Niall and Zayn know?”
“They know,” Louis says. “Zayn’s coming over tomorrow. Niall’s in Ireland. He offered to come back, but Liam said no. Said she wouldn’t let him in her house. You know her.”
“Yes,” Harry says, because he does, and of course she’d never let Niall cut his vacation short because of her.
“You could come tomorrow with Zayn,” Louis says. “Or - whatever. You could come now. We’re watching Sex and the City.”
“I do like that show,” Harry says. He chews on his thumbnail. Probably, if they asked her, Liam would tell Harry not to come. “Yeah, maybe I’ll come tomorrow.”
Louis is quiet for a minute. “Okayyy,” she says slowly, like Harry’s said something wrong. “Are you going to call her, though? The others already called her.”
It makes Harry feel like a dick. “They did?” he asks helplessly. “What should I say?”
Louis huffs out an annoyed breath. “I don’t know, Harry, how about, I’m sorry this happened? I hope you’re okay? Can I do anything for you? Also, I’m sorry I’m such a dumbass I don’t know how to talk to my best friend.”
Harry pouts some more, but Louis can’t see him so it’s a wasted effort. “I think I’ll come over now,” he says. He’s better in person, he knows; he can just cuddle Liam instead of thinking of words.
Louis snorts. “Good decision, I think, mate,” she says, and before Harry can think of a comeback the line goes dead.
Something like dread settles in the pit of his stomach, standing on Liam’s stoop, but he knocks anyway, shoving his hair out of his face. It’s Louis who throws the door open.
“Took you long enough,” she says, turning and walking back into the house as he opens his mouth to say hello. “Did you come all the way from Cheshire?”
“No,” he says, closing the door behind him and toeing off his boots. “I came from Nick’s.”
“I was being sarcastic,” she calls behind her. Harry follows her into the kitchen.
Liam’s sitting in one of the bar stools at the counter, hunched over with a mug between her palms. When he comes in she looks up and smiles, but it’s tight and forced.
“Hey, Haz,” she says. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes are swollen and bruised like she’s been doing more crying than sleeping, and in that moment Harry hates Danny with a rage that almost makes him shake.
“Li,” he says, and he goes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and ignoring how the back of the chair digs into his ribs.
She leans into him. He can smell her shampoo, soapy and strawberry flavored. He kisses her temple. She hides her face in his forearm.
“You all right?” he murmurs into the side of her face, and he doesn’t know how he ever thought he wouldn’t know how to talk to her.
She pauses, and takes a shuddery breath that he can feel against his wrist. He tightens his grip like he can hold her together. Maybe it works, because she nods.
“Can I do anything for you?” He knows the question is pointless when he asks it, because Liam is always going to say no - never wants anyone doing anything for her, doesn’t need any help.
She lifts her head so he can see her whole face, albeit from the side. He strokes her ponytail, hanging limp and still half wet, with his free hand, tugging just a little, and the corners of her mouth turn up automatically, even if forced.
“I could go for a fry-up,” she says suddenly, and it takes Harry a minute to respond, because he was waiting for, “No, thank you, I’m fine.”
His eyes flick to Louis in surprise, and she just cocks her head like, well, you heard the lady.
He smiles and untangles his arms from around Liam, kissing the side of her head one more time and pushing his sleeves up. “If my girls want a fry-up,” he says easily, moving into the kitchen to pull out the pots and pan. “Then a fry-up they shall get.”
Harry sleeps on Liam’s couch and when Zayn shows up the next morning he kicks both Harry and Louis out.
“When was the last time you went home?” Zayn asks Louis. He’s in pajamas and his hair is still sleep rumpled. “I’ve got her, don’t worry.”
Louis will worry, Harry knows, but she follows Harry out anyway, and they stand in front of Liam’s house and blink into the morning sun.
“You reckon she’s all right?” Harry asks as they move slowly toward their cars.
Louis’s quiet for a long moment, her face tight with concentration. She finally shrugs. “It’s Liam,” she says. “She’ll talk herself into being fine soon enough.”
Harry looks back at the house but it’s still and quiet, giving nothing away. He just hopes she’s okay.
Liam ends up going home to see her family, so Harry doesn’t see her anymore before they meet up again to get back to the tour. He texts her a lot though, sends her a new and creative emoji every morning when he wakes up, and she always sends one back, a simple reassurance that she’s still there, holding it together.
When he gets to the bus after their break ends, Liam and Louis are already on it. He gets his bags situated, throws a pillow into his bunk and then heads to the back lounge where their voices carry from.
“-when we’re over there, we should definitely hit it up,” Louis is saying when Harry pushes the door all the way open.
“Hit what up?” he asks. Louis’s the closest to the door, sitting on the end of the couch, so Harry hugs her first, kissing the top of her head. She pats his stomach absently.
Harry looks at Liam. She’s half turned away, rooting through her bag for something. Her hair is down and straight, shiny, and when she glances up and smiles at him she looks worlds better than last time, with color in her cheeks and eyes bright like she’s actually slept recently.
Louis never answers him, and he glances over to raise his eyebrows as he makes his way to hug Liam hello. “Hit what up?” he asks again, waiting.
Louis just looks at him and then flicks her eyes to Liam. “He’s so clueless,” she laughs, and when Liam turns her head, grinning back at Louis - a real smile this time, wide and complete with crinkled eyes, Harry sees it.
“Is that -“ he asks, and reaches out for her. Her hair is still long at the top, hanging down to her collarbones and angled sharply, but on one side - the side she’d had half-turned away - it’s shaved underneath.
She grins now, pulls the top layer away so he can see. “You like it?” she asks.
He’s still reaching out, and Liam doesn’t seem to mind, so he runs his fingertips over the shorn hair. It’s impossibly soft to the touch. He runs his fingers all the way back and then down, behind the shell of her ear. Liam shivers a little and them smiles up at him again.
“I love it,” he says honestly. He’s a little in shock about it but he does.
She lets the longer layer of hair fall back over it, and he moves his hand away. “I thought about going completely short,” she says. She pulls a sweater out of her bag finally and then pushes the bag to the ground. Harry sprawls on the couch between them, his head in Louis’s lap so he can look at Liam while she talks. “A pixie cut, like. But I’ve always liked having long hair, and I’m not going to give it up just because some shit-for-brains guy-“
She cuts herself off, impatient, waving a hand in the air, and then reaches up to touch the buzzed hair again. “Anyway, this seemed like a good alternative.”
“It’s fantastic,” he assures her. “You look amazing.”
Louis pinches the shell of his ear. “I knew you’d be into it,” she mutters, and it’s quiet enough that he’s not sure Liam can hear. He frowns up at her.
“Anyway,” Liam says, getting to her feet and struggling into the sweater. Harry thinks idly that it used to be his, or maybe Zayn’s. Either way, it probably looks better on Liam. “I’m so ready to get back on the road, you don’t even know.”
“I do know,” Harry says, because the first week of rest was nice, but after that he just woke up in the morning wanting a mic in his hands and lights in his face, his ears ringing with phantom screams.
Liam looks down at him, and her face freezes for a second, long enough that he can almost read her thoughts - coming home to that house, stacked with boxes, and then spending the next week there, looking at the empty spaces that used to be filled. It must have been awful, he thinks, and his heart hurts for her. Then her face clears; someone else boards the bus and she goes to say hello, always moving forward.
The first time Harry ever saw Liam was probably the first time she was on X Factor - he always watched, every season, so there’s no way he missed her at fourteen, looking mousy and young and crying her eyes out in Simon’s backyard - but he doesn’t remember it. He does remember the first time he saw her during their year, watching her audition on a tiny screen sometime before they started bootcamp. She’d looked so nervous walking out, and then she opened her mouth and that strong, sure voice came out -
That is to say, Harry’s been in awe of her, a little bit in love with her, since that very first moment. And then they got put in a group together and Harry was a little bit in love with all of them, just for being his, but Liam especially made him think, in a tiny little voice at the back of his head that he would never admit to out loud, that maybe they could actually do this. Maybe they could actually do something big.
She was harder to bond with than the others. Harry knows now she was just nervous, she just wanted it so badly, but he still remembers her stony, serious face as Louis tried to get them all to bond.
“Who do you think the fittest in the house is, Li?” Louis’d asked, on one of the first days, throwing herself into Liam’s lap recklessly.
Liam had leaned back, her eyebrows up. She kept her hands flat against her own knees, carefully not touching Louis. “I haven’t noticed that anyone in the house is fit,” she answered seriously. Harry could see her jaw clenching even across the circle from her.
“You have to choose someone,” Louis demanded, her face close to Liam’s, tugging on the ends of her hair. “Harry, who do you choose?”
Liam’s eyes moved to his but she didn’t smile or give anything away. “You, Louis, of course,” Harry had said easily. Louis had already told him she had a girlfriend back home, and that made her the safe choice. Harry had needed safe then, because he’d never been so terrified in his life.
“You’re sweet,” Louis cooed at him, and then she turned back to Liam, resting her head in the crook of Liam’s neck. “See, Liam, it’s easy. Your turn.”
Liam heaved a sigh and some of the stiffness in her back relaxed. “I don’t think anyone in the house is fit,” she repeated, and before Louis could protest, she went on, “I do think that camera guy on set is rather nice looking.”
Louis sat up straight, giving Liam a little more room and leaving her looking a bit relieved. “Camera guy?” she asked. “Camera five, do you mean? He is hot, Liam, good on you!”
Liam had smiled then, just a little.
The thing was, Harry wanted so badly for all of them to like him. Really, he wanted every person on the entire planet to like him, but at that moment, his four bandmates were a good start. So even though he thought Liam was pretty and that her voice was wonderful, and even though she was the one he looked to when everything seemed to be going to pieces and he thought he could never, never make it through this - he wanted Liam to like him, and Liam liked the guy behind camera five, so when Harry saw him standing alone, fiddling with his camera, he walked right up to him.
“Hey mate,” he said easily. Danny looked up, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t you think Liam’s fit?”
Both of their gazes turned to where Liam was standing, lyrics in hand, mouthing the words to herself in the lights of the stage. In that moment, Harry might have hit Danny if he said no.
He didn’t say no. “Sure,” he said, turning back to Harry and nodding. “She’s lovely.”
“Well, she told me she likes your jacket,” Harry said, moving away, back toward his band. “So maybe do something about it.”
And later that night after their performance - they’d smashed it, Harry thought, and he was starting to think they were going to do this - Liam walked in, flushed with bright eyes, and she was wearing Danny’s jacket.
The first show after the break is in Newcastle, and Harry is so glad to be back he can’t stop smiling all night. He can tell the rest of them feel the same way, especially Liam, who keeps calling for the crowd to scream, who dances at the edge of the stage and throws her head back with laughter, her jewelry glinting in the light. Harry doesn’t even get mad when she lifts up his shirt over his head during the encore, because she looks so pleased with herself and he doesn’t want to ruin it.
She’s still going even after, when they run off stage all tired and sweaty. She’s doing her makeup in the mirror when Harry gets out of the shower, winging her eyeliner out in a way that Harry knows she’s not going to bed anytime soon.
“Harry!” she yells, and her voice is rough - no wonder, she’d been loud tonight, yelling and singing her heart out like she needed it to survive. It makes Harry want to hug her, but he’s only in a towel, so he doesn’t. “We’re going out tonight.”
Harry half smiles at her and rummages through his bag for a change of clothes. He catches Zayn’s eye, and Zayn shrugs back like, what could go wrong?
Liam’s drunk.
Harry has known her for three years now, and he’s seen her drunk a handful of times. After Simon signed them to his label, at a Christmas party once, at Louis’s birthday. Even though it’s only been a couple of times he recognizes the flush of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes, and even if he didn’t, he’s gone shot for shot with her. Even Harry feels the buzz beneath his skin, loose and fuzzy and free.
She’s harmless; mostly she just dances with Louis, spinning around in circles until she says she feels sick. Security pulls her off a table at one point, but she’s wearing shorts, so no harm done.
Harry comes back from the bathroom and he’s looking for his drink at their table when she stumbles over. “Harry!” she says, too loud even over the music. She puts her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes are wide and a touch wild, and he worries about her. “You’re here!”
He smiles at her, hands on her arms. “I’ve been here, pet,” he reminds her. She smiles, moves her own hands to pat his shoulders, like she’s making sure he’s real.
“Have you?” she asks absently. The music changes above them, a Jay Z and Kanye song, and her face lights up like a neon sign.
“Harry!” she yells again, like they’ve not been standing there talking already. “Harry, it’s our song, Haz!” She’s practically jumping up and down, then, and Harry isn’t sure what to do with her like this. He takes both of her hands, trying to be gentle.
“It sure is, babe,” he says. “So why aren’t we dancing?”
They do dance, to that song and several more, but by the end Harry’s practically holding her up and he knows its time to go. He finds Zayn by the bar, chatting up the bartender. “I’m taking Li back,” he calls. “You good here?”
Zayn nods, kisses Liam’s cheeks, and she hugs him excitedly more than once before Harry can pry her away.
“Time to go, princess,” he says, an arm around her waist, leading her to the exit.
“I don’t need you to hold me up,” she snaps, twisting away, but she reaches for his hand and he knows she isn’t angry.
As soon as the door closes behind them, cutting off the music, Liam goes quiet too. Harry watches her while they get in the car, and she looks fine; like she’s thinking, but not like she’s upset. Once they’re buckled and on the road, he tries to get her attention.
“Hey,” he says, but she doesn’t move or respond, staring blankly out her window. He waves a hand in front of her face and she blinks, looking over at him. “Earth to Liam.”
Usually she would laugh. Now the corners of her mouth turn up, but just a little, and it never reaches her eyes. It looks a lot like when Harry went to her house after the breakup, and his stomach sinks. He wonders if she’s going to cry and wishes he’d thought to get Louis to come back with them.
“It was just such a dick move, you know?” Liam bursts out with finally. Her eyes are sparking now, and Harry wasn’t expecting it. He doesn’t quite follow either.
“Li, are you - do you mean making you leave the club?” he asks.
She rolls her eyes impatiently and shoves his hand away where he’s reaching toward her. “Not you,” she says. “Dan.” Harry doesn’t even get a chance to ask what about Dan when she barrels on. “Like, here I am, staying in every night on tour to Skype with him, and he’s? What? Hanging up and going to pack his boxes right after?” Liam turns to him, her cheeks red with anger. “And he never said a goddamn word, you know? Not a fucking hint.”
She falls quiet for a moment and Harry thinks she’s done and maybe he’s supposed to say something. “He’s an idiot, Liam,” he says. “Anyone who would leave you is fucking mad.”
She shakes her head, but Harry doesn’t know if she’s disagreeing with him. Her face is so bitter and Harry hates it, hates that anyone could make her look like that. “He’s a coward,” she says, and she nods to herself like she’s sure. She’s not meeting Harry’s eyes, she’s looking out the window into the night. “He’s a coward, he always was. Probably never would have talked to me if not for you.”
She’s angry, Harry knows, but he can hear the way her voice is getting thick too, like she’s only not crying because she’s stubborn. “I’m sorry,” Harry says, and reaches for her again. Her hands are fisted in her lap, twisting, so he ends up holding on to her elbow. “It’s all my fault, huh?”
He’s cheered when she manages to laugh instead of crying. “Yeah,” she agrees, turning to face him. “This is all your fault, definitely.”
He smiles at her, his widest and most charming, and uses his thumb to rub her arm soothingly. “How can I ever make it up to you?”
The smile freezes on her face but doesn’t fade. She turns back toward the window and it’s silent for a long moment. “This is good for now,” she says finally, quiet.
Somehow in Manchester, the fans find out where they’re staying, and by the time the bus pulls up outside there’s a huge crowd outside. Hotel security is doing their best to hold them back, setting up barricades that get knocked down as fast as they go up, and the band sits on the bus while management decides what they should do.
The five of them are lined up, looking out the window at the crowd.
“Maybe we should just go out there,” Liam says.
Zayn leans over to give her a withering look. “If they’re destroying the metal gates, what do you think they’re going to do to us?”
“Afraid, are you, Malik?” Liam throws back.
Niall gives up on looking out the window, flopping back on the couch and pulling out his phone to text. “Let’s do something soon,” he says. “I’ll go mad sitting on this bus much longer.”
“What do you think, Lou?” Liam asks, and when they glance over she’s fiddling with her hair, using the television reflection as a mirror. She looks over her shoulder at the rest of them.
“What do I think about what?” she asks.
Liam rolls her eyes and looks at Harry. “Haz?” she asks. “Want to take an adventure with me?”
The screaming intensifies as soon as they step off the bus, and Paul, at the bottom of the stairs, immediately shakes his head at them.
“We’re just going to say hi,” Liam tells him, brushing past. No one’s going to stop her when she gets like this, Harry knows it, Paul knows it, they all know it. “Maybe once they get what they want they’ll head home.” It’s exceedingly, naively optimistic, but that’s Liam, and apparently Harry’s along for the ride.
Plenty of security follows them over, but Harry still stays close to Liam. “We’d love to say hi to all of you, if you just stay calm and behind the barriers!” she says, in her most cheerful voice. Harry’s not much for cheerleading, but he does smile widely at the crowd and calls everyone babe, so he feels like he’s doing his part.
He makes his way down the row and it actually does seem to calm people down; at least, it seems the crowd has realized that if they keep going mad then Harry and Liam will leave and that will be that.
One girl is crying when Harry gets to her, and he makes a sad face. “Don’t cry, babe,” he says. “You all right?”
She takes a shuddery breath, and when she finds her voice she asks, “Is Zayn coming out?”
Harry has to hold in a laugh. He glances back toward the bus, but the windows are tinted enough that he can’t see anyone inside. “You know, he’s not one for crowds,” Harry tells the girl, scrawling his name across a glossy picture. “But I’ll tell him you said hello, how’s that?”
Someone else jumps in front of him and he misses her reply.
Liam’s moving along quickly, smiling, laughing, telling girls that she likes their shoes, their lipstick, their earrings. She holds cellphones out for pictures, kisses a toddler on her head, and Harry thinks, if she wasn’t a popstar, she could have been a politician.
Harry hears them before he sees them. Their laughs are loud, and in a crowd made mostly of teenage girls and kids, the deep male laughs carry over the rest. He looks up more out of interest than anything and finds them easily, two guys about his own age, maybe a few years older, but several inches taller. The most striking thing is the way they’re looking at Liam - staring at her, more like, and laughing and muttering. Harry’s eyes narrow, but they’re not really doing anything, so he just keeps moving along.
Harry hears it, too, when Liam reaches them. “Hello, boys,” she says, and he knows her well enough to hear the tired strain in her voice even when she keeps her tone upbeat.
“Hello,” one of them says back, and it’s just one word but he still makes it sound leering and creepy. Harry glances back at Liam’s security and sees him take a step forward, just behind Liam.
One of the guys, the taller of the two, the one who had been laughing earlier, says something to Liam. He drops his voice enough that Harry can’t hear it, but he sees Liam’s head snap up - actually, what he sees is the glint of the sunlight, catching on her earring with the quick movement of her head. He turns his head to watch, not even pretending to listen to the fan in front of him anymore.
“What did you say?” she asks, her voice hard, and that’s enough to get Harry to finish scrawling his name hastily and move toward her.
“I said,” the guy says, smirking, “Those lips would look great wrapped around my -“
Harry’s almost to Liam’s side, but it’s too late by then. Before he knows what’s happening, the guy’s head snaps back, there’s a sickening cracking sound, and then Liam’s stumbling backward, clutching her fist.
“Liam!” Harry calls uselessly. The crowd erupts around them, and out of the corner of his eye he sees the guy hit the ground, but he keeps his gaze on Liam until he gets to her side.
She’s cradling her fist in her other hand. “Bloody wanking motherfuck that hurt,” she hisses, and Harry gets a hand around her wrist, careful to avoid her knuckles, already turning red and swelling. A wall of security forms around them, ushering them back to the bus while hotel security keeps the crowd at bay.
“Liam, Jesus Christ, what were you -“ he starts, and then she opens her fist and winces as the knuckles move. He holds on tighter to her wrist, his other arm around her shoulder.
“Did you hear what he said to me?” she asks, turning her face to him. “I’m sorry, Harry, I know this is going to cause a shitstorm, but if you heard-“
And then Harry’s laughing, stroking her swelling knuckles as gently as he can. “I heard, Liam,” he says. “Don’t apologize, not to me, that was the most fucking awesome thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”
She looks at him blankly for a moment, and then the smile spreads across her own face. “Was pretty good, wasn’t it,” she says, and she starts laughing too, leaning into him until they’re both wheezing for air.
“Did you see him hit the ground?” Harry crows. “Like a sack of potatoes.”
“Like a sack of shit,” Liam mutters darkly, but then she’s laughing again.
Louis meets them at the bottom of the stairs of the bus. “Holy shit, Liam, what did you do?” she demands, grabbing Liam by the shoulders.
“Be careful,” Harry tells her, “her hand is hurt,” and then he pushes past Louis into the bus kitchen to get some ice.
Zayn is standing in the entry and Niall is sitting, and they both look at him with dazed, wide eyes when he enters. He ignores them, looking for a baggie to hold the ice.
“What the hell happened?” Zayn asks finally, his voice low.
Harry can’t find anything, so he just grabs a towel and throws some ice cubes in it. He remembers and can’t help smiling again as he straightens up, turns toward the boys. “Liam,” he says, and a laugh escapes, his shoulders shaking. “Liam happened.”
Liam doesn’t go out with them that night. Her hand hurts, she says, and she just wants to take a pain pill and pass out. Louis stays to Skype with Eleanor, and Zayn stays to do whatever it is that Zayn does when he’s alone, which means Harry and Niall go out, and that always means a sloppy night for Harry.
When he gets back to the hotel - quiet now, no crowds outside - he’s buzzing and wide awake. Liam’s probably been asleep for hours now, but maybe she hasn’t, and Harry tries to be quiet when he knocks on her door but his perception might be a little hazy.
She looks awake when she answers, though. She’s in pajamas and her hand is wrapped in white gauze.
“Hello there,” she says, leaning on the door, and she looks so so beautiful. Harry doesn’t say that, though, just pushes inside.
“Your poor pretty hand,” he says, catching it as she goes to walk by him. “Poor pretty Liam.”
She grins up at him, her eyes crinkling. “You’re drunk,” she says, gently pulling her injured hand away. “My little drunken Haz, I’ve missed you so.”
“’m not drunk,” he pouts, and falls face first on her bed. He is, but he wants her to take him seriously.
“All right,” she says agreeably, and her hand pets the back of his neck for a moment before she pulls it away. He grunts, and hopes she gets that it means she should keep going, but she doesn’t.
“How was your night, babe?” she asks, settling back into bed, her hip near his face, and pulling her laptop into her lap.
He turns his head, blinking slowly into the light. “Niall can drink a lot,” he says finally, his tongue feeling fuzzy and heavy in his mouth.
Liam laughs. “That he can,” she agrees, distracted by something on her screen.
Harry doesn’t want her to be distracted. He wants all her attention on him, now. He gets to his knees, leaning around to try and see her screen. “What are you doing?” he asks. He falls into her lap a little, tries to find his balance. “What are you looking at?”
She gives him a look that he thinks is amused and pushes him off. “I was trying to watch a movie, before a drunken loaf of a boy interrupted,” she says.
He sprawls out next to her, boneless and suddenly exhausted. “What movie?” he asks, but when she’s quiet too long he lifts his head to look at her.
She’s looking resolutely at her screen, pretending to read. She sighs when she feels his eyes on her, looks over. “The Break Up,” she says.
He looks at her for a moment longer, her face blurring in front of his eyes, and then he lets his head fall back. “Are you making yourself sad?” he asks. “Don’t be sad, Liam.”
She closes her laptop carefully and sets it to the side. “I’m a little sad,” she says finally. She cradles her own injured hand, focusing her attention there. “But that’s normal, right?”
Harry reaches out, drags her down so she’s cuddled into his side, his arm wrapped around her. “It’s normal,” he confirms, his lips in her hair. He rubs her arm, up and down, trying to be comforting.
Liam lifts her head to look up at him and she’s smiling. “You’re a good friend, Harry,” she says. She pats his cheek. “You should have a girlfriend to spoil, then you wouldn’t have to kip with me for cuddles.”
Harry gently pushes her head back down to his chest, because he’s very very drunk and very very capable of saying stupid things. “You just want to pawn me off,” he says pathetically, and she laughs into his chest.
“No,” she says. “Just think you’d be a good boyfriend, that’s all.”
He smoothes his hand down her spine to distract himself from his flipping stomach. “I really would,” he muses. “I’m a good cuddler,” and Liam hums her agreement, “A good listener,” Liam nods against his chest, “And I would never, never pack my things and leave while my girlfriend was out of town.”
And Liam goes completely, scarily still. Harry doesn’t get it at first; he can feel her heart beating against his own, and his soppy drunken brain thinks there’s something poetic and beautiful and tragic about it, so he doesn’t even notice the rest of Liam’s body tightening with anger.
He does notice when she jerks away from him, face drawn tight. “Fuck off, Harry,” she says. “That was low.”
He sits up too quickly and his head spins. He reaches for Liam but she’s off the bed and too far away, turned away from him. “Liam?” he asks questioningly, because what he’d meant to say was that she’s perfect, and too good for everyone, and anyone who would leave her is the literal worst, but somehow he’s gone and made her angry instead.
“Think you should leave, Harry,” she says. She does turn back to face him, but her face is closed off, guarded, even as she fakes a smile for him. “You’re so drunk, go sleep it off.”
He sighs unhappily, getting to his feet and only stumbling a little. “Liam,” he says again, pleading, and she’s just standing there watching him hate himself. “Please hug me goodbye,” he says finally, and she looks so annoyed but she steps forward into his space, just for a second, and pats his back before retreating completely.
“Goodnight, Liam,” he says as he shuffles out the door, but she doesn’t wish him the same.
“You daft, drunk idiot,” are the first words to greet him in the morning, as someone yanks opens his blinds and lets the light spill in.
Harry groans, turning his face away, the light igniting a splitting headache right across his forehead. Louis doesn’t let him get away with it, smacking him on the back of the head and then sliding into bed behind him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his neck. Always the contradiction, his Louis.
“What is wrong with you?” she asks into his neck, and Harry wishes he didn’t know what she’s talking about, but he does.
“A lot of things, Louis,” he says, his voice cracking with sleep. “So many things.”
He feels her nod against him. “At least you know it.”
He turns over with his eyes closed to keep the offensive light out, and then Louis’s forehead is against his own, her breath across his cheek. “Is she very upset?” he asks. “It came out different than I meant,” which obviously Louis knows, or she wouldn’t be cuddling him in bed. She’d probably be poisoning his breakfast instead.
“No,” Louis says. She pushes his hair back from his forehead. “You just touched a sore spot, that’s all. Think she feels silly for overreacting about it.”
“She didn’t overreact,” Harry says, screwing his eyes up some more as the light seeps in below his lids. “It was a twat thing to say.”
Louis pets him a little more, and then he feels her lips against his hairline. “That’s why you’re one of the good ones, Haz,” she says quietly.
He can’t get Liam alone until just before the show that night, even though he tries all day and Louis even helps. First she goes for a run and she’s gone for hours, which is never a good sign, and then they have an interview and then sound check, and finally he corners her in the dressing room.
“Jesus, Li, I feel like a stalker,” he says. She’s sitting on the couch and she looks up at him, her brow creased with worry and maybe embarrassment.
“Look, Harry, about last night -“ she starts, but that’s Harry’s line, and he frowns at her.
“Yeah,” he interrupts. “I’m apologizing for it. I’m so sorry, Li, I don’t know why I said that. I meant - I meant something better.” It’s not the most eloquent apology, but he’s never been the most eloquent guy, and Liam knows him.
She’s shaking her head, anyway, like she barely registered it. “I overreacted,” she said. “It was stupid.”
“You’re never stupid,” he says, and he reaches out, pushing the hair back from her face, dragging his fingertips over the shaved part. He leans over to look at it, brushes his thumb against her earring. She smiles up at him.
“So we’re all right then,” she says, as if to confirm.
He makes a face at her, leans forward to kiss her forehead. “’Course we’re all right,” he says, and they are, but Harry isn’t sure all right is good enough. Not anymore.
Harry’s always been the kind of person who goes for what he wants. He’s been that way about everything - his career, certainly, and he knows it’s the reason he has one. With women. He’s never been shy about telling someone he fancies them, that he wants to take them out on a date, all of the other things he wants to do with them later.
It’s different with Liam, of course. Harry’s barely known her without a boyfriend, and after a few months with Danny he came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t going to happen. Even if she’d been single - even if she’d liked him back - probably it wouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t date someone in the band, shouldn’t risk it all going wrong.
Anyway, Harry never thought he’d have a choice.
He’s never been interested in denying himself anything, and that includes the truth. He knows he’s been in love with Liam for years. He’s gotten used to it, living with the feeling, like a balloon in his chest, slowly expanding, until sometimes it doesn’t feel like there’s room for his lungs. It’s only sometimes and he’s learned to live with it. It’s just another fact about him now, something neutral, an entry on a list. His name is Harry Styles, he’s from Holmes Chapel, he has green eyes and four nipples and he’s in love with a girl who can’t love him the way he wants.
People can learn to live with nearly anything, Harry knows. Chronic pain and horrible conditions and - all kinds of things. If people can learn to live without their limbs, well. Harry’s learned to live with this.
He’s always been the kind of person who goes for what he wants, and the thing is that Liam is too. Harry knows that. It’s part of the reason he’d loved her to begin with, and it’s the reason he knows now - has always known - that she doesn’t want him back.
Of course, some days are better than others. That’s obvious. Harry doesn’t think he’s special or anything (knows he isn’t, lucky, yes, but not special). On those days, when he wakes up feeling stretched thin and like his pieces don’t fit together quite right, it can be difficult to be caged into a small space with four others.
On one such morning, somewhere between Liverpool and Glasgow, he stays in his bunk as long as he can until his need for the loo wins out over the tightness in his chest. After he’s out of the bunk he makes himself a cup of tea and sits at the table in their kitchenette and tries to be small and invisible.
It doesn’t work, because it never does with his band. Zayn drags himself in, his eyes bleary like he’s been sleeping too.
“How much longer?” he asks, voice raspy, and slumps across from Harry.
Harry shrugs and keeps his eyes on the patterns of the table in front of him. Zayn’s good at being quiet, doesn’t usually push, but he eyes Harry in a vaguely concerned way.
Harry pretends not to notice. They all have days like this, anyway, maybe Zayn more than anyone.
It’s Louis, then, bouncing in. “Good, you’re up,” she says. “FIFA tournament in twenty. Wanna be my partner, Haz?”
“No,” he says into his cup. His head feels heavy; he wants to get into his bunk and stare at the ceiling.
Louis frowns at him. “I’ll be your partner, Louis,” Zayn says, stretching sleepily, and Louis brightens instantly.
“That’s because you’re the best,” she tells him, climbing into his lap. “We’re going to destroy Liam and Ni.”
“We always do, pet,” Zayn says, and follows her into the back of the bus, and then Harry’s alone again.
He stares out the window, watches the world pass in a blur and listens to his friends laugh. They’re only a few rooms away, but it feels very far.
By the time they get to Sheffield a few days later he feels mostly like himself again. His family comes to the show and he sings to them, and for them, and after he goes out to a dorm party with the people he’d be at university with, if that was how things had turned out. He tries to pretend it’s all normal, even though everyone wants a picture with him, or they stand in corners looking at him out of the corners of their eyes and whispering. He smiles and drinks and dances, and at the end of the night he tries to fall asleep on a stranger’s couch, but he tosses and turns at the stillness underneath him.
“Harry, I want to go out,” Liam says when he opens his door. They’re in Nottingham, he thinks. Her makeup’s already done and she’s got a coat on, buttoned up to her neck. She widens her eyes at him dramatically. “Pleeeeease come with me. Please?”
He runs a hand over his face. The truth is that he’s tired, and he had every intention to make it an early night.
“I bet Niall will go with you,” he says, leaning in the doorway. Liam bounces on her toes and makes a sad face.
“I want you to come,” she says. She reaches over and puts her hands on his cheeks, exaggerating a pout. “Please, Harry, please?”
He sighs. He was sunk the minute he opened the door, and probably they both know it. “All right,” he says, “let me find some clothes.”
Liam throws her fists in the air, giving out a little cheer. “You look fine how you are,” she tells him, following him into his room.
“I’m wearing basketball shorts, Liam,” he says. She flops on his bed, and her coat flaps open at the bottom, revealing the hem of a dress.
“I like your little chicken legs,” she says, already distracted by the television. Harry ignores the insult and finds a pair of jeans that don’t smell too bad and goes into the bathroom to change. He doesn’t know why Liam is here really; why Louis can’t go with her, why she didn’t invite them earlier. But they’ve been going out a lot lately, and maybe that’s just what Harry is for her. Louis’s her girlfriend, her confidant, and Zayn in the one she goes to for serious conversation, and Niall is the one who cheers her up, and Harry’s never been sure what he is - but maybe it’s this, now, maybe he’s the one she gets drunk with.
He frowns at himself in the mirror.
The club is hot, suffocating as soon as they walk in, and Liam loses her coat immediately. Her dress is little and tight and black, and she might be trying to kill Harry. If she pulls, that’s definitely it, he’s not doing this anymore.
She doesn’t seem interested in pulling, though. They make their way to the bar, his hand fisted in her dress at the hip so they don’t get separated, and beyond the flash of a few cameras no one pays them very much attention.
“Whiskey sour,” Liam shouts at the bartender, and Harry leans over her shoulder to order a rum and coke, his cheek brushing against the shaved part of her hair, making him swallow thickly.
Once their drinks are in hand, Liam takes the straw in her mouth and quickly sucks down half her drink, letting her head fall back and swaying with the music. Harry drinks more slowly, mostly watching her and wondering what she’s doing, what they’re doing. How much longer he can keep doing it.
“Let’s dance, Haz,” she calls when the song changes. She grabs his hand, holds it over her head as she makes her way to the dance floor in front of him, and Harry can’t dance, she knows this - but he crowds up against her and swings his hips and tries to keep up with her, the way he’s been trying to keep up with her for three years.
Her drink goes fast and it’s hot when they’re dancing, so they find themselves back at the bar soon. “Another whiskey sour,” Liam shouts, and then she eyes Harry sideways. “And two shots of whiskey straight up,” she adds.
Harry narrows his eyes at her, grabs her hip. “What are you up to, Liam?” he asks, lips against her ear and still raising his voice to be heard.
She smiles at him, her eyes narrowing. “We’re having fun, aren’t we?” she asks. The bartender pushes their shot glasses at them and she hands him one. He holds it in front of him but keeps his eyes on hers, looking for a sign, looking for something. She looks back evenly and he can’t read anything.
He sighs. “I always have fun with you, Li,” he says, and the liquor burns all the way down.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there, but his throat is almost as sore as his legs, no matter how many times Liam tells him whiskey will make it better.
“I want to sit down for a little!” he yells, and he doesn’t wait for Liam to answer before he drags her over to the VIP area, where it’s cooler and there’s plenty of room to rest. She doesn’t protest much, just turns to look over the dancing crowd while she wipes sweat away from her collarbone and neck, her hair long since pulled back.
“Is my mascara smeared?” she asks, turning toward him and leaning in. He reaches up and touches two fingers under her left eye, smooth and a little sticky with sweat. This close, he can see the glitter in her eyeshadow.
“No,” he says, letting his hand drop. “All good.”
“Good,” she says. She leans back and smiles lazily, letting her eyes shut. He watches her, and he wants to touch her face again, and her wrists and her neck and her shoulders, but instead he just leans forward until he’s in her space and asks, “Why did you want me to come?”
Her eyes snap open like she’s surprised to hear him so close. She reaches up and pats the hair at the side of his head, smiling fondly. “Because,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.
Her eyes fall shut again, so she doesn’t see Harry frown. “Am I your drunk friend?” he asks.
Her eyes pop open again, wide, her mouth in a serious line. “My drunk friend?”
He nods. “Like, Louis’s your girl friend, and Zayn’s your smart, philosophical friend, and Niall’s your laidback friend. Am I your drunk friend? Your party friend?”
She’s still looking frowny and concerned, and she’s not touching him at all and it makes him anxious. “I don’t think of any of you like that,” she starts to say, and then the DJ comes on the speaker and announces it’s last call. Security swoops in around Liam and Harry, telling them its time to go, and her thought gets lost in the crowd.
They’re still hot, and sticky with sweat, so once they’re in the car they both retreat to their own sides, windows cracked with their heads leaning against the cool glass. The night air is soothing on Harry’s face, and he lets his eyes shut, relaxing into the seats.
It’s quiet for a long time, and Harry imagines Liam across from him, a mirror image, wind blowing the hair around her face. He wonders if the breeze is making her cold yet when she speaks.
“You’re not my drunk friend,” she says, her words soft and slurred, either from exhaustion or alcohol or both. Harry wishes he was looking at her, always wishes he was looking at her, but his eyelids are too heavy to open. “I wanted you to come because you’re my friend that makes me feel like I can do anything, and no one can judge me for it.”
A tightness in Harry’s chest that he didn’t even know was there relaxes and unfurls, and he heaves a sigh. “Oh,” he mumbles, and the wind whips it away. “Okay, then.”
He still doesn’t open his eyes, but he hears her shifting around, and then her hand - cool now, and dry - finds his in between their seats, and he holds on.
A few nights later they’re on the road when Harry jerks awake, gasping for breath, almost hitting his head on the bunk above his. The bus is quiet around him, only the sounds of the road beneath them and the hum of the engine. He crawls out of his bed and pads into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of ice water, and then he’s wide awake so he goes to the lounge and sits by a window, watching the world go by in blurry, too fast snatches.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been there when he’s startled out of his reverie by Liam in the doorway, yawning. It’s still plenty dark and she shouldn’t be awake.
“What are you doing up?” he asks, his voice sleep-gravelly and low because the others are still sleeping.
She yawns again and makes her way over to him, curling into his side, warm from her bed. “You weren’t in there snoring and it woke me up,” she says. It doesn’t really make sense, but it does to Harry; it’s the same way he sometimes can’t sleep when he gets back from tour, because his house is too quiet and still beneath him.
He goes back to looking out the window and feels her chin on his shoulder. “I had a bad dream,” he tells her. He takes another sip of water.
“Tell me about it,” she says, not a demand or a request so much as permission. She pulls her knees up, laying them over his legs, and he drops his arm over them, still looking out the window.
“I dreamed I was recording, but I couldn’t remember any of the words,” he says. “And none of you were there, I kept looking for you, I thought I could hear you, but all the rooms were empty. So I got my phone - I got my phone to call Niall but he wasn’t in my contacts, none of you were.” Liam’s quiet against him and he brushes his fingertips against her ankle. “It was like you didn’t exist at all. Or I just didn’t know you anymore.”
He drinks his water and looks out the window. Liam moves her head so they’re cheek to cheek. “We exist,” she murmurs. “You’ll always know us.”
“You don’t know,” he says stubbornly. He moves his hand to pick at the hem of the ratty boxer shorts she sleeps in. They have the Batman logo on them; Zayn bought them for her when they made it through to live shows. “Things fall apart, people fall apart.”
She pulls back from him, and Harry knows it means she wants him to look at her, but it’s dark anyway so he stays stubbornly still. She doesn’t let him get away with it, pulling his chin until they’re facing each other. “What if I promise you that we’re not going to fall apart?” she asks.
“You can’t promise that,” he tells her.
She’s quiet for a minute, and Harry can feel her thinking. “I can’t promise you we’ll always be a band, or we’ll always spend this much time together,” she says finally. “But I promise - I promise, Harry - that we won’t ever not know each other.”
Harry grunts, and slumps down until he can lay his head on her shoulder. “Zayn didn’t talk to me for a week before Christmas,” he reminds her. “We could fall apart.”
She pokes him in the side. “Yeah, and then when you made up you slept in his bunk for three nights.” It’s true, and Harry wants to laugh, but he can’t, so he just stays silent.
Liam sighs. “Okay, how’s this,” she says a minute later. “How about - no matter what - if we haven’t talked in… let’s say, a month. If we haven’t talked in a month, I promise I’ll find you and make sure you’re okay. Lifetime guarantee.”
He considers this, tapping his fingers against her thigh. “What if you can’t find me?” he asks.
Liam gives him a little shove. “Well I hope you’re not going to be running away from me all that much!” Her voice is raised, and he smiles and pinches her thigh to remind her the others are sleeping.
Eventually he laughs into her shoulder, feeling lighter. “Okay,” he says. “I promise not to disappear and you promise to find me.”
“I promise,” she repeats.
“And then we find the others,” he clarifies.
“Of course,” she says, and she curls back into him. He could fall asleep like this, but his neck would hurt in the morning.
“Wanna go back to bed?” he whispers to her, when her breath starts evening out. It hitches, and she sits up.
“Yes,” she says. “If you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” he says, and gets to his feet, helping her up. “I’m going to snore extra loud for you.”
“You’re a prince,” she says, heading down the hallway, back to their bunks. He just smiles, watching as she climbs in hers and sitting down in his own.
“Hey, Liam,” he whispers. Only her leg is out of her bunk now, but she shifts, pulls the curtain to poke her face out.
“What now, Styles?” she asks, but she’s smiling.
“Sweet dreams,” he says, tucking his legs in.
“Sweet dreams, Styles,” she says. Harry sleeps like a rock.
[two]
pairing: harry styles/liam payne
words: ~18,880
rating: nc17
summary: girl!direction AU, with cisgirl-liam and -louis. liam gets dumped, but it doesn't mean anything's changed. title and cut text from snow and dirty rain.
They’ve got a two week break from tour, and they’ve already been on the road for six months, so it’s not that strange that Harry doesn’t hear from the others very much that first week. He loves his band, he does, and he wants to keep on loving them, and he’s learned that the occasional break is the surest way to keep doing that.
Anyway, later he’ll realize it was a little weird that he didn’t hear from Louis or Liam at all, but at the time he didn’t notice.
Even when Louis does text him - he sees the screen light up out of the corner of his eye, his phone balanced on the arm of Nick’s couch while they watch Nigella - he doesn’t look straight away. Probably she’s just making fun of something a magazine said about him, or asking if he has some article of her clothing.
He’s wrong, though. He picks up the phone once the show ends, once Nick hauls himself off the couch and wanders into the kitchen, muttering something about fried potatoes. Harry unlocks his phone lazily, scrolls through some other messages first, and then he reads Louis’s and freezes. When it sinks in, his stomach drops unhappily.
Danny left Liam
It takes a moment to make sense of the words. He wonders, first, left her where? because the obvious meaning can’t be the right one.
His brain feels fuzzy and he taps his finger anxiously against the keyboard, absently typing a string of nonsensical letters, because he doesn’t know what to say. It’s been more than fifteen minutes since Louis texted though, so -
what? he sends back. when?
Which is - it really doesn’t matter, but it buys him time to think of something else to do or say.
Nick appears in the doorway to the kitchen, brandishing a pan in one hand. “You know when I said I was going to cook something up, I meant I was going to watch you cook something up, right?” he asks.
Harry finds his feet, his phone pressed firmly in his palm, and he follows Nick into the kitchen because he’s still waiting for Louis to reply and, hopefully, tell him what to do. He’s reaching for a knife when his screen lights up again and he grabs for it, utensils forgotten.
got home from tour and he was waiting with bags packed
And that - that almost makes less sense than the first text, because that means Danny left seven days ago and yet Harry’s only known for seven minutes.
Harry turns his back on the food and ignores Nick’s protests as he dials Lou and walks out of the room for some privacy.
“Hello?” Louis answers, talking quietly, like she doesn’t want someone to hear.
“A week ago, Lou?” Harry asks. He rarely gets upset about anything, but he is now, a little. “This happened a week ago and no one told me until now?”
There’s muffled noises from Louis’s end, and then he hears her speaking like she’s covering the mouthpiece. “It’s Harry,” she hears, “I’m gonna - no, don’t pause it, I’ve seen this one. Be right back.” There’s a shuffling sound and then all the background noise fades away and Harry can hear Louis huffing into the phone.
“She didn’t even tell me for three days,” Louis says softly. “And then she asked me not to tell anyone else for a bit.”
“I’m not anyone,” Harry says, and tries not to sound like he’s not pouting, but he’s pouting.
“Harry,” Louis says, in a tone that means, focus.
“Right,” he says. “Right, okay. How is - is she okay?”
Louis’s quiet for a second, then she sighs. “She’s doing better now than she was three days ago,” she offers. “She’s sleeping again. She showered today.”
Harry sags against the wall. Nick pokes his head in, but Harry waves him off and turns away and he gets the hint, apparently. “What should I do?” Harry asks. “Should I come over? Do Niall and Zayn know?”
“They know,” Louis says. “Zayn’s coming over tomorrow. Niall’s in Ireland. He offered to come back, but Liam said no. Said she wouldn’t let him in her house. You know her.”
“Yes,” Harry says, because he does, and of course she’d never let Niall cut his vacation short because of her.
“You could come tomorrow with Zayn,” Louis says. “Or - whatever. You could come now. We’re watching Sex and the City.”
“I do like that show,” Harry says. He chews on his thumbnail. Probably, if they asked her, Liam would tell Harry not to come. “Yeah, maybe I’ll come tomorrow.”
Louis is quiet for a minute. “Okayyy,” she says slowly, like Harry’s said something wrong. “Are you going to call her, though? The others already called her.”
It makes Harry feel like a dick. “They did?” he asks helplessly. “What should I say?”
Louis huffs out an annoyed breath. “I don’t know, Harry, how about, I’m sorry this happened? I hope you’re okay? Can I do anything for you? Also, I’m sorry I’m such a dumbass I don’t know how to talk to my best friend.”
Harry pouts some more, but Louis can’t see him so it’s a wasted effort. “I think I’ll come over now,” he says. He’s better in person, he knows; he can just cuddle Liam instead of thinking of words.
Louis snorts. “Good decision, I think, mate,” she says, and before Harry can think of a comeback the line goes dead.
Something like dread settles in the pit of his stomach, standing on Liam’s stoop, but he knocks anyway, shoving his hair out of his face. It’s Louis who throws the door open.
“Took you long enough,” she says, turning and walking back into the house as he opens his mouth to say hello. “Did you come all the way from Cheshire?”
“No,” he says, closing the door behind him and toeing off his boots. “I came from Nick’s.”
“I was being sarcastic,” she calls behind her. Harry follows her into the kitchen.
Liam’s sitting in one of the bar stools at the counter, hunched over with a mug between her palms. When he comes in she looks up and smiles, but it’s tight and forced.
“Hey, Haz,” she says. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes are swollen and bruised like she’s been doing more crying than sleeping, and in that moment Harry hates Danny with a rage that almost makes him shake.
“Li,” he says, and he goes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and ignoring how the back of the chair digs into his ribs.
She leans into him. He can smell her shampoo, soapy and strawberry flavored. He kisses her temple. She hides her face in his forearm.
“You all right?” he murmurs into the side of her face, and he doesn’t know how he ever thought he wouldn’t know how to talk to her.
She pauses, and takes a shuddery breath that he can feel against his wrist. He tightens his grip like he can hold her together. Maybe it works, because she nods.
“Can I do anything for you?” He knows the question is pointless when he asks it, because Liam is always going to say no - never wants anyone doing anything for her, doesn’t need any help.
She lifts her head so he can see her whole face, albeit from the side. He strokes her ponytail, hanging limp and still half wet, with his free hand, tugging just a little, and the corners of her mouth turn up automatically, even if forced.
“I could go for a fry-up,” she says suddenly, and it takes Harry a minute to respond, because he was waiting for, “No, thank you, I’m fine.”
His eyes flick to Louis in surprise, and she just cocks her head like, well, you heard the lady.
He smiles and untangles his arms from around Liam, kissing the side of her head one more time and pushing his sleeves up. “If my girls want a fry-up,” he says easily, moving into the kitchen to pull out the pots and pan. “Then a fry-up they shall get.”
Harry sleeps on Liam’s couch and when Zayn shows up the next morning he kicks both Harry and Louis out.
“When was the last time you went home?” Zayn asks Louis. He’s in pajamas and his hair is still sleep rumpled. “I’ve got her, don’t worry.”
Louis will worry, Harry knows, but she follows Harry out anyway, and they stand in front of Liam’s house and blink into the morning sun.
“You reckon she’s all right?” Harry asks as they move slowly toward their cars.
Louis’s quiet for a long moment, her face tight with concentration. She finally shrugs. “It’s Liam,” she says. “She’ll talk herself into being fine soon enough.”
Harry looks back at the house but it’s still and quiet, giving nothing away. He just hopes she’s okay.
Liam ends up going home to see her family, so Harry doesn’t see her anymore before they meet up again to get back to the tour. He texts her a lot though, sends her a new and creative emoji every morning when he wakes up, and she always sends one back, a simple reassurance that she’s still there, holding it together.
When he gets to the bus after their break ends, Liam and Louis are already on it. He gets his bags situated, throws a pillow into his bunk and then heads to the back lounge where their voices carry from.
“-when we’re over there, we should definitely hit it up,” Louis is saying when Harry pushes the door all the way open.
“Hit what up?” he asks. Louis’s the closest to the door, sitting on the end of the couch, so Harry hugs her first, kissing the top of her head. She pats his stomach absently.
Harry looks at Liam. She’s half turned away, rooting through her bag for something. Her hair is down and straight, shiny, and when she glances up and smiles at him she looks worlds better than last time, with color in her cheeks and eyes bright like she’s actually slept recently.
Louis never answers him, and he glances over to raise his eyebrows as he makes his way to hug Liam hello. “Hit what up?” he asks again, waiting.
Louis just looks at him and then flicks her eyes to Liam. “He’s so clueless,” she laughs, and when Liam turns her head, grinning back at Louis - a real smile this time, wide and complete with crinkled eyes, Harry sees it.
“Is that -“ he asks, and reaches out for her. Her hair is still long at the top, hanging down to her collarbones and angled sharply, but on one side - the side she’d had half-turned away - it’s shaved underneath.
She grins now, pulls the top layer away so he can see. “You like it?” she asks.
He’s still reaching out, and Liam doesn’t seem to mind, so he runs his fingertips over the shorn hair. It’s impossibly soft to the touch. He runs his fingers all the way back and then down, behind the shell of her ear. Liam shivers a little and them smiles up at him again.
“I love it,” he says honestly. He’s a little in shock about it but he does.
She lets the longer layer of hair fall back over it, and he moves his hand away. “I thought about going completely short,” she says. She pulls a sweater out of her bag finally and then pushes the bag to the ground. Harry sprawls on the couch between them, his head in Louis’s lap so he can look at Liam while she talks. “A pixie cut, like. But I’ve always liked having long hair, and I’m not going to give it up just because some shit-for-brains guy-“
She cuts herself off, impatient, waving a hand in the air, and then reaches up to touch the buzzed hair again. “Anyway, this seemed like a good alternative.”
“It’s fantastic,” he assures her. “You look amazing.”
Louis pinches the shell of his ear. “I knew you’d be into it,” she mutters, and it’s quiet enough that he’s not sure Liam can hear. He frowns up at her.
“Anyway,” Liam says, getting to her feet and struggling into the sweater. Harry thinks idly that it used to be his, or maybe Zayn’s. Either way, it probably looks better on Liam. “I’m so ready to get back on the road, you don’t even know.”
“I do know,” Harry says, because the first week of rest was nice, but after that he just woke up in the morning wanting a mic in his hands and lights in his face, his ears ringing with phantom screams.
Liam looks down at him, and her face freezes for a second, long enough that he can almost read her thoughts - coming home to that house, stacked with boxes, and then spending the next week there, looking at the empty spaces that used to be filled. It must have been awful, he thinks, and his heart hurts for her. Then her face clears; someone else boards the bus and she goes to say hello, always moving forward.
The first time Harry ever saw Liam was probably the first time she was on X Factor - he always watched, every season, so there’s no way he missed her at fourteen, looking mousy and young and crying her eyes out in Simon’s backyard - but he doesn’t remember it. He does remember the first time he saw her during their year, watching her audition on a tiny screen sometime before they started bootcamp. She’d looked so nervous walking out, and then she opened her mouth and that strong, sure voice came out -
That is to say, Harry’s been in awe of her, a little bit in love with her, since that very first moment. And then they got put in a group together and Harry was a little bit in love with all of them, just for being his, but Liam especially made him think, in a tiny little voice at the back of his head that he would never admit to out loud, that maybe they could actually do this. Maybe they could actually do something big.
She was harder to bond with than the others. Harry knows now she was just nervous, she just wanted it so badly, but he still remembers her stony, serious face as Louis tried to get them all to bond.
“Who do you think the fittest in the house is, Li?” Louis’d asked, on one of the first days, throwing herself into Liam’s lap recklessly.
Liam had leaned back, her eyebrows up. She kept her hands flat against her own knees, carefully not touching Louis. “I haven’t noticed that anyone in the house is fit,” she answered seriously. Harry could see her jaw clenching even across the circle from her.
“You have to choose someone,” Louis demanded, her face close to Liam’s, tugging on the ends of her hair. “Harry, who do you choose?”
Liam’s eyes moved to his but she didn’t smile or give anything away. “You, Louis, of course,” Harry had said easily. Louis had already told him she had a girlfriend back home, and that made her the safe choice. Harry had needed safe then, because he’d never been so terrified in his life.
“You’re sweet,” Louis cooed at him, and then she turned back to Liam, resting her head in the crook of Liam’s neck. “See, Liam, it’s easy. Your turn.”
Liam heaved a sigh and some of the stiffness in her back relaxed. “I don’t think anyone in the house is fit,” she repeated, and before Louis could protest, she went on, “I do think that camera guy on set is rather nice looking.”
Louis sat up straight, giving Liam a little more room and leaving her looking a bit relieved. “Camera guy?” she asked. “Camera five, do you mean? He is hot, Liam, good on you!”
Liam had smiled then, just a little.
The thing was, Harry wanted so badly for all of them to like him. Really, he wanted every person on the entire planet to like him, but at that moment, his four bandmates were a good start. So even though he thought Liam was pretty and that her voice was wonderful, and even though she was the one he looked to when everything seemed to be going to pieces and he thought he could never, never make it through this - he wanted Liam to like him, and Liam liked the guy behind camera five, so when Harry saw him standing alone, fiddling with his camera, he walked right up to him.
“Hey mate,” he said easily. Danny looked up, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t you think Liam’s fit?”
Both of their gazes turned to where Liam was standing, lyrics in hand, mouthing the words to herself in the lights of the stage. In that moment, Harry might have hit Danny if he said no.
He didn’t say no. “Sure,” he said, turning back to Harry and nodding. “She’s lovely.”
“Well, she told me she likes your jacket,” Harry said, moving away, back toward his band. “So maybe do something about it.”
And later that night after their performance - they’d smashed it, Harry thought, and he was starting to think they were going to do this - Liam walked in, flushed with bright eyes, and she was wearing Danny’s jacket.
The first show after the break is in Newcastle, and Harry is so glad to be back he can’t stop smiling all night. He can tell the rest of them feel the same way, especially Liam, who keeps calling for the crowd to scream, who dances at the edge of the stage and throws her head back with laughter, her jewelry glinting in the light. Harry doesn’t even get mad when she lifts up his shirt over his head during the encore, because she looks so pleased with herself and he doesn’t want to ruin it.
She’s still going even after, when they run off stage all tired and sweaty. She’s doing her makeup in the mirror when Harry gets out of the shower, winging her eyeliner out in a way that Harry knows she’s not going to bed anytime soon.
“Harry!” she yells, and her voice is rough - no wonder, she’d been loud tonight, yelling and singing her heart out like she needed it to survive. It makes Harry want to hug her, but he’s only in a towel, so he doesn’t. “We’re going out tonight.”
Harry half smiles at her and rummages through his bag for a change of clothes. He catches Zayn’s eye, and Zayn shrugs back like, what could go wrong?
Liam’s drunk.
Harry has known her for three years now, and he’s seen her drunk a handful of times. After Simon signed them to his label, at a Christmas party once, at Louis’s birthday. Even though it’s only been a couple of times he recognizes the flush of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes, and even if he didn’t, he’s gone shot for shot with her. Even Harry feels the buzz beneath his skin, loose and fuzzy and free.
She’s harmless; mostly she just dances with Louis, spinning around in circles until she says she feels sick. Security pulls her off a table at one point, but she’s wearing shorts, so no harm done.
Harry comes back from the bathroom and he’s looking for his drink at their table when she stumbles over. “Harry!” she says, too loud even over the music. She puts her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes are wide and a touch wild, and he worries about her. “You’re here!”
He smiles at her, hands on her arms. “I’ve been here, pet,” he reminds her. She smiles, moves her own hands to pat his shoulders, like she’s making sure he’s real.
“Have you?” she asks absently. The music changes above them, a Jay Z and Kanye song, and her face lights up like a neon sign.
“Harry!” she yells again, like they’ve not been standing there talking already. “Harry, it’s our song, Haz!” She’s practically jumping up and down, then, and Harry isn’t sure what to do with her like this. He takes both of her hands, trying to be gentle.
“It sure is, babe,” he says. “So why aren’t we dancing?”
They do dance, to that song and several more, but by the end Harry’s practically holding her up and he knows its time to go. He finds Zayn by the bar, chatting up the bartender. “I’m taking Li back,” he calls. “You good here?”
Zayn nods, kisses Liam’s cheeks, and she hugs him excitedly more than once before Harry can pry her away.
“Time to go, princess,” he says, an arm around her waist, leading her to the exit.
“I don’t need you to hold me up,” she snaps, twisting away, but she reaches for his hand and he knows she isn’t angry.
As soon as the door closes behind them, cutting off the music, Liam goes quiet too. Harry watches her while they get in the car, and she looks fine; like she’s thinking, but not like she’s upset. Once they’re buckled and on the road, he tries to get her attention.
“Hey,” he says, but she doesn’t move or respond, staring blankly out her window. He waves a hand in front of her face and she blinks, looking over at him. “Earth to Liam.”
Usually she would laugh. Now the corners of her mouth turn up, but just a little, and it never reaches her eyes. It looks a lot like when Harry went to her house after the breakup, and his stomach sinks. He wonders if she’s going to cry and wishes he’d thought to get Louis to come back with them.
“It was just such a dick move, you know?” Liam bursts out with finally. Her eyes are sparking now, and Harry wasn’t expecting it. He doesn’t quite follow either.
“Li, are you - do you mean making you leave the club?” he asks.
She rolls her eyes impatiently and shoves his hand away where he’s reaching toward her. “Not you,” she says. “Dan.” Harry doesn’t even get a chance to ask what about Dan when she barrels on. “Like, here I am, staying in every night on tour to Skype with him, and he’s? What? Hanging up and going to pack his boxes right after?” Liam turns to him, her cheeks red with anger. “And he never said a goddamn word, you know? Not a fucking hint.”
She falls quiet for a moment and Harry thinks she’s done and maybe he’s supposed to say something. “He’s an idiot, Liam,” he says. “Anyone who would leave you is fucking mad.”
She shakes her head, but Harry doesn’t know if she’s disagreeing with him. Her face is so bitter and Harry hates it, hates that anyone could make her look like that. “He’s a coward,” she says, and she nods to herself like she’s sure. She’s not meeting Harry’s eyes, she’s looking out the window into the night. “He’s a coward, he always was. Probably never would have talked to me if not for you.”
She’s angry, Harry knows, but he can hear the way her voice is getting thick too, like she’s only not crying because she’s stubborn. “I’m sorry,” Harry says, and reaches for her again. Her hands are fisted in her lap, twisting, so he ends up holding on to her elbow. “It’s all my fault, huh?”
He’s cheered when she manages to laugh instead of crying. “Yeah,” she agrees, turning to face him. “This is all your fault, definitely.”
He smiles at her, his widest and most charming, and uses his thumb to rub her arm soothingly. “How can I ever make it up to you?”
The smile freezes on her face but doesn’t fade. She turns back toward the window and it’s silent for a long moment. “This is good for now,” she says finally, quiet.
Somehow in Manchester, the fans find out where they’re staying, and by the time the bus pulls up outside there’s a huge crowd outside. Hotel security is doing their best to hold them back, setting up barricades that get knocked down as fast as they go up, and the band sits on the bus while management decides what they should do.
The five of them are lined up, looking out the window at the crowd.
“Maybe we should just go out there,” Liam says.
Zayn leans over to give her a withering look. “If they’re destroying the metal gates, what do you think they’re going to do to us?”
“Afraid, are you, Malik?” Liam throws back.
Niall gives up on looking out the window, flopping back on the couch and pulling out his phone to text. “Let’s do something soon,” he says. “I’ll go mad sitting on this bus much longer.”
“What do you think, Lou?” Liam asks, and when they glance over she’s fiddling with her hair, using the television reflection as a mirror. She looks over her shoulder at the rest of them.
“What do I think about what?” she asks.
Liam rolls her eyes and looks at Harry. “Haz?” she asks. “Want to take an adventure with me?”
The screaming intensifies as soon as they step off the bus, and Paul, at the bottom of the stairs, immediately shakes his head at them.
“We’re just going to say hi,” Liam tells him, brushing past. No one’s going to stop her when she gets like this, Harry knows it, Paul knows it, they all know it. “Maybe once they get what they want they’ll head home.” It’s exceedingly, naively optimistic, but that’s Liam, and apparently Harry’s along for the ride.
Plenty of security follows them over, but Harry still stays close to Liam. “We’d love to say hi to all of you, if you just stay calm and behind the barriers!” she says, in her most cheerful voice. Harry’s not much for cheerleading, but he does smile widely at the crowd and calls everyone babe, so he feels like he’s doing his part.
He makes his way down the row and it actually does seem to calm people down; at least, it seems the crowd has realized that if they keep going mad then Harry and Liam will leave and that will be that.
One girl is crying when Harry gets to her, and he makes a sad face. “Don’t cry, babe,” he says. “You all right?”
She takes a shuddery breath, and when she finds her voice she asks, “Is Zayn coming out?”
Harry has to hold in a laugh. He glances back toward the bus, but the windows are tinted enough that he can’t see anyone inside. “You know, he’s not one for crowds,” Harry tells the girl, scrawling his name across a glossy picture. “But I’ll tell him you said hello, how’s that?”
Someone else jumps in front of him and he misses her reply.
Liam’s moving along quickly, smiling, laughing, telling girls that she likes their shoes, their lipstick, their earrings. She holds cellphones out for pictures, kisses a toddler on her head, and Harry thinks, if she wasn’t a popstar, she could have been a politician.
Harry hears them before he sees them. Their laughs are loud, and in a crowd made mostly of teenage girls and kids, the deep male laughs carry over the rest. He looks up more out of interest than anything and finds them easily, two guys about his own age, maybe a few years older, but several inches taller. The most striking thing is the way they’re looking at Liam - staring at her, more like, and laughing and muttering. Harry’s eyes narrow, but they’re not really doing anything, so he just keeps moving along.
Harry hears it, too, when Liam reaches them. “Hello, boys,” she says, and he knows her well enough to hear the tired strain in her voice even when she keeps her tone upbeat.
“Hello,” one of them says back, and it’s just one word but he still makes it sound leering and creepy. Harry glances back at Liam’s security and sees him take a step forward, just behind Liam.
One of the guys, the taller of the two, the one who had been laughing earlier, says something to Liam. He drops his voice enough that Harry can’t hear it, but he sees Liam’s head snap up - actually, what he sees is the glint of the sunlight, catching on her earring with the quick movement of her head. He turns his head to watch, not even pretending to listen to the fan in front of him anymore.
“What did you say?” she asks, her voice hard, and that’s enough to get Harry to finish scrawling his name hastily and move toward her.
“I said,” the guy says, smirking, “Those lips would look great wrapped around my -“
Harry’s almost to Liam’s side, but it’s too late by then. Before he knows what’s happening, the guy’s head snaps back, there’s a sickening cracking sound, and then Liam’s stumbling backward, clutching her fist.
“Liam!” Harry calls uselessly. The crowd erupts around them, and out of the corner of his eye he sees the guy hit the ground, but he keeps his gaze on Liam until he gets to her side.
She’s cradling her fist in her other hand. “Bloody wanking motherfuck that hurt,” she hisses, and Harry gets a hand around her wrist, careful to avoid her knuckles, already turning red and swelling. A wall of security forms around them, ushering them back to the bus while hotel security keeps the crowd at bay.
“Liam, Jesus Christ, what were you -“ he starts, and then she opens her fist and winces as the knuckles move. He holds on tighter to her wrist, his other arm around her shoulder.
“Did you hear what he said to me?” she asks, turning her face to him. “I’m sorry, Harry, I know this is going to cause a shitstorm, but if you heard-“
And then Harry’s laughing, stroking her swelling knuckles as gently as he can. “I heard, Liam,” he says. “Don’t apologize, not to me, that was the most fucking awesome thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”
She looks at him blankly for a moment, and then the smile spreads across her own face. “Was pretty good, wasn’t it,” she says, and she starts laughing too, leaning into him until they’re both wheezing for air.
“Did you see him hit the ground?” Harry crows. “Like a sack of potatoes.”
“Like a sack of shit,” Liam mutters darkly, but then she’s laughing again.
Louis meets them at the bottom of the stairs of the bus. “Holy shit, Liam, what did you do?” she demands, grabbing Liam by the shoulders.
“Be careful,” Harry tells her, “her hand is hurt,” and then he pushes past Louis into the bus kitchen to get some ice.
Zayn is standing in the entry and Niall is sitting, and they both look at him with dazed, wide eyes when he enters. He ignores them, looking for a baggie to hold the ice.
“What the hell happened?” Zayn asks finally, his voice low.
Harry can’t find anything, so he just grabs a towel and throws some ice cubes in it. He remembers and can’t help smiling again as he straightens up, turns toward the boys. “Liam,” he says, and a laugh escapes, his shoulders shaking. “Liam happened.”
Liam doesn’t go out with them that night. Her hand hurts, she says, and she just wants to take a pain pill and pass out. Louis stays to Skype with Eleanor, and Zayn stays to do whatever it is that Zayn does when he’s alone, which means Harry and Niall go out, and that always means a sloppy night for Harry.
When he gets back to the hotel - quiet now, no crowds outside - he’s buzzing and wide awake. Liam’s probably been asleep for hours now, but maybe she hasn’t, and Harry tries to be quiet when he knocks on her door but his perception might be a little hazy.
She looks awake when she answers, though. She’s in pajamas and her hand is wrapped in white gauze.
“Hello there,” she says, leaning on the door, and she looks so so beautiful. Harry doesn’t say that, though, just pushes inside.
“Your poor pretty hand,” he says, catching it as she goes to walk by him. “Poor pretty Liam.”
She grins up at him, her eyes crinkling. “You’re drunk,” she says, gently pulling her injured hand away. “My little drunken Haz, I’ve missed you so.”
“’m not drunk,” he pouts, and falls face first on her bed. He is, but he wants her to take him seriously.
“All right,” she says agreeably, and her hand pets the back of his neck for a moment before she pulls it away. He grunts, and hopes she gets that it means she should keep going, but she doesn’t.
“How was your night, babe?” she asks, settling back into bed, her hip near his face, and pulling her laptop into her lap.
He turns his head, blinking slowly into the light. “Niall can drink a lot,” he says finally, his tongue feeling fuzzy and heavy in his mouth.
Liam laughs. “That he can,” she agrees, distracted by something on her screen.
Harry doesn’t want her to be distracted. He wants all her attention on him, now. He gets to his knees, leaning around to try and see her screen. “What are you doing?” he asks. He falls into her lap a little, tries to find his balance. “What are you looking at?”
She gives him a look that he thinks is amused and pushes him off. “I was trying to watch a movie, before a drunken loaf of a boy interrupted,” she says.
He sprawls out next to her, boneless and suddenly exhausted. “What movie?” he asks, but when she’s quiet too long he lifts his head to look at her.
She’s looking resolutely at her screen, pretending to read. She sighs when she feels his eyes on her, looks over. “The Break Up,” she says.
He looks at her for a moment longer, her face blurring in front of his eyes, and then he lets his head fall back. “Are you making yourself sad?” he asks. “Don’t be sad, Liam.”
She closes her laptop carefully and sets it to the side. “I’m a little sad,” she says finally. She cradles her own injured hand, focusing her attention there. “But that’s normal, right?”
Harry reaches out, drags her down so she’s cuddled into his side, his arm wrapped around her. “It’s normal,” he confirms, his lips in her hair. He rubs her arm, up and down, trying to be comforting.
Liam lifts her head to look up at him and she’s smiling. “You’re a good friend, Harry,” she says. She pats his cheek. “You should have a girlfriend to spoil, then you wouldn’t have to kip with me for cuddles.”
Harry gently pushes her head back down to his chest, because he’s very very drunk and very very capable of saying stupid things. “You just want to pawn me off,” he says pathetically, and she laughs into his chest.
“No,” she says. “Just think you’d be a good boyfriend, that’s all.”
He smoothes his hand down her spine to distract himself from his flipping stomach. “I really would,” he muses. “I’m a good cuddler,” and Liam hums her agreement, “A good listener,” Liam nods against his chest, “And I would never, never pack my things and leave while my girlfriend was out of town.”
And Liam goes completely, scarily still. Harry doesn’t get it at first; he can feel her heart beating against his own, and his soppy drunken brain thinks there’s something poetic and beautiful and tragic about it, so he doesn’t even notice the rest of Liam’s body tightening with anger.
He does notice when she jerks away from him, face drawn tight. “Fuck off, Harry,” she says. “That was low.”
He sits up too quickly and his head spins. He reaches for Liam but she’s off the bed and too far away, turned away from him. “Liam?” he asks questioningly, because what he’d meant to say was that she’s perfect, and too good for everyone, and anyone who would leave her is the literal worst, but somehow he’s gone and made her angry instead.
“Think you should leave, Harry,” she says. She does turn back to face him, but her face is closed off, guarded, even as she fakes a smile for him. “You’re so drunk, go sleep it off.”
He sighs unhappily, getting to his feet and only stumbling a little. “Liam,” he says again, pleading, and she’s just standing there watching him hate himself. “Please hug me goodbye,” he says finally, and she looks so annoyed but she steps forward into his space, just for a second, and pats his back before retreating completely.
“Goodnight, Liam,” he says as he shuffles out the door, but she doesn’t wish him the same.
“You daft, drunk idiot,” are the first words to greet him in the morning, as someone yanks opens his blinds and lets the light spill in.
Harry groans, turning his face away, the light igniting a splitting headache right across his forehead. Louis doesn’t let him get away with it, smacking him on the back of the head and then sliding into bed behind him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his neck. Always the contradiction, his Louis.
“What is wrong with you?” she asks into his neck, and Harry wishes he didn’t know what she’s talking about, but he does.
“A lot of things, Louis,” he says, his voice cracking with sleep. “So many things.”
He feels her nod against him. “At least you know it.”
He turns over with his eyes closed to keep the offensive light out, and then Louis’s forehead is against his own, her breath across his cheek. “Is she very upset?” he asks. “It came out different than I meant,” which obviously Louis knows, or she wouldn’t be cuddling him in bed. She’d probably be poisoning his breakfast instead.
“No,” Louis says. She pushes his hair back from his forehead. “You just touched a sore spot, that’s all. Think she feels silly for overreacting about it.”
“She didn’t overreact,” Harry says, screwing his eyes up some more as the light seeps in below his lids. “It was a twat thing to say.”
Louis pets him a little more, and then he feels her lips against his hairline. “That’s why you’re one of the good ones, Haz,” she says quietly.
He can’t get Liam alone until just before the show that night, even though he tries all day and Louis even helps. First she goes for a run and she’s gone for hours, which is never a good sign, and then they have an interview and then sound check, and finally he corners her in the dressing room.
“Jesus, Li, I feel like a stalker,” he says. She’s sitting on the couch and she looks up at him, her brow creased with worry and maybe embarrassment.
“Look, Harry, about last night -“ she starts, but that’s Harry’s line, and he frowns at her.
“Yeah,” he interrupts. “I’m apologizing for it. I’m so sorry, Li, I don’t know why I said that. I meant - I meant something better.” It’s not the most eloquent apology, but he’s never been the most eloquent guy, and Liam knows him.
She’s shaking her head, anyway, like she barely registered it. “I overreacted,” she said. “It was stupid.”
“You’re never stupid,” he says, and he reaches out, pushing the hair back from her face, dragging his fingertips over the shaved part. He leans over to look at it, brushes his thumb against her earring. She smiles up at him.
“So we’re all right then,” she says, as if to confirm.
He makes a face at her, leans forward to kiss her forehead. “’Course we’re all right,” he says, and they are, but Harry isn’t sure all right is good enough. Not anymore.
Harry’s always been the kind of person who goes for what he wants. He’s been that way about everything - his career, certainly, and he knows it’s the reason he has one. With women. He’s never been shy about telling someone he fancies them, that he wants to take them out on a date, all of the other things he wants to do with them later.
It’s different with Liam, of course. Harry’s barely known her without a boyfriend, and after a few months with Danny he came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t going to happen. Even if she’d been single - even if she’d liked him back - probably it wouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t date someone in the band, shouldn’t risk it all going wrong.
Anyway, Harry never thought he’d have a choice.
He’s never been interested in denying himself anything, and that includes the truth. He knows he’s been in love with Liam for years. He’s gotten used to it, living with the feeling, like a balloon in his chest, slowly expanding, until sometimes it doesn’t feel like there’s room for his lungs. It’s only sometimes and he’s learned to live with it. It’s just another fact about him now, something neutral, an entry on a list. His name is Harry Styles, he’s from Holmes Chapel, he has green eyes and four nipples and he’s in love with a girl who can’t love him the way he wants.
People can learn to live with nearly anything, Harry knows. Chronic pain and horrible conditions and - all kinds of things. If people can learn to live without their limbs, well. Harry’s learned to live with this.
He’s always been the kind of person who goes for what he wants, and the thing is that Liam is too. Harry knows that. It’s part of the reason he’d loved her to begin with, and it’s the reason he knows now - has always known - that she doesn’t want him back.
Of course, some days are better than others. That’s obvious. Harry doesn’t think he’s special or anything (knows he isn’t, lucky, yes, but not special). On those days, when he wakes up feeling stretched thin and like his pieces don’t fit together quite right, it can be difficult to be caged into a small space with four others.
On one such morning, somewhere between Liverpool and Glasgow, he stays in his bunk as long as he can until his need for the loo wins out over the tightness in his chest. After he’s out of the bunk he makes himself a cup of tea and sits at the table in their kitchenette and tries to be small and invisible.
It doesn’t work, because it never does with his band. Zayn drags himself in, his eyes bleary like he’s been sleeping too.
“How much longer?” he asks, voice raspy, and slumps across from Harry.
Harry shrugs and keeps his eyes on the patterns of the table in front of him. Zayn’s good at being quiet, doesn’t usually push, but he eyes Harry in a vaguely concerned way.
Harry pretends not to notice. They all have days like this, anyway, maybe Zayn more than anyone.
It’s Louis, then, bouncing in. “Good, you’re up,” she says. “FIFA tournament in twenty. Wanna be my partner, Haz?”
“No,” he says into his cup. His head feels heavy; he wants to get into his bunk and stare at the ceiling.
Louis frowns at him. “I’ll be your partner, Louis,” Zayn says, stretching sleepily, and Louis brightens instantly.
“That’s because you’re the best,” she tells him, climbing into his lap. “We’re going to destroy Liam and Ni.”
“We always do, pet,” Zayn says, and follows her into the back of the bus, and then Harry’s alone again.
He stares out the window, watches the world pass in a blur and listens to his friends laugh. They’re only a few rooms away, but it feels very far.
By the time they get to Sheffield a few days later he feels mostly like himself again. His family comes to the show and he sings to them, and for them, and after he goes out to a dorm party with the people he’d be at university with, if that was how things had turned out. He tries to pretend it’s all normal, even though everyone wants a picture with him, or they stand in corners looking at him out of the corners of their eyes and whispering. He smiles and drinks and dances, and at the end of the night he tries to fall asleep on a stranger’s couch, but he tosses and turns at the stillness underneath him.
“Harry, I want to go out,” Liam says when he opens his door. They’re in Nottingham, he thinks. Her makeup’s already done and she’s got a coat on, buttoned up to her neck. She widens her eyes at him dramatically. “Pleeeeease come with me. Please?”
He runs a hand over his face. The truth is that he’s tired, and he had every intention to make it an early night.
“I bet Niall will go with you,” he says, leaning in the doorway. Liam bounces on her toes and makes a sad face.
“I want you to come,” she says. She reaches over and puts her hands on his cheeks, exaggerating a pout. “Please, Harry, please?”
He sighs. He was sunk the minute he opened the door, and probably they both know it. “All right,” he says, “let me find some clothes.”
Liam throws her fists in the air, giving out a little cheer. “You look fine how you are,” she tells him, following him into his room.
“I’m wearing basketball shorts, Liam,” he says. She flops on his bed, and her coat flaps open at the bottom, revealing the hem of a dress.
“I like your little chicken legs,” she says, already distracted by the television. Harry ignores the insult and finds a pair of jeans that don’t smell too bad and goes into the bathroom to change. He doesn’t know why Liam is here really; why Louis can’t go with her, why she didn’t invite them earlier. But they’ve been going out a lot lately, and maybe that’s just what Harry is for her. Louis’s her girlfriend, her confidant, and Zayn in the one she goes to for serious conversation, and Niall is the one who cheers her up, and Harry’s never been sure what he is - but maybe it’s this, now, maybe he’s the one she gets drunk with.
He frowns at himself in the mirror.
The club is hot, suffocating as soon as they walk in, and Liam loses her coat immediately. Her dress is little and tight and black, and she might be trying to kill Harry. If she pulls, that’s definitely it, he’s not doing this anymore.
She doesn’t seem interested in pulling, though. They make their way to the bar, his hand fisted in her dress at the hip so they don’t get separated, and beyond the flash of a few cameras no one pays them very much attention.
“Whiskey sour,” Liam shouts at the bartender, and Harry leans over her shoulder to order a rum and coke, his cheek brushing against the shaved part of her hair, making him swallow thickly.
Once their drinks are in hand, Liam takes the straw in her mouth and quickly sucks down half her drink, letting her head fall back and swaying with the music. Harry drinks more slowly, mostly watching her and wondering what she’s doing, what they’re doing. How much longer he can keep doing it.
“Let’s dance, Haz,” she calls when the song changes. She grabs his hand, holds it over her head as she makes her way to the dance floor in front of him, and Harry can’t dance, she knows this - but he crowds up against her and swings his hips and tries to keep up with her, the way he’s been trying to keep up with her for three years.
Her drink goes fast and it’s hot when they’re dancing, so they find themselves back at the bar soon. “Another whiskey sour,” Liam shouts, and then she eyes Harry sideways. “And two shots of whiskey straight up,” she adds.
Harry narrows his eyes at her, grabs her hip. “What are you up to, Liam?” he asks, lips against her ear and still raising his voice to be heard.
She smiles at him, her eyes narrowing. “We’re having fun, aren’t we?” she asks. The bartender pushes their shot glasses at them and she hands him one. He holds it in front of him but keeps his eyes on hers, looking for a sign, looking for something. She looks back evenly and he can’t read anything.
He sighs. “I always have fun with you, Li,” he says, and the liquor burns all the way down.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there, but his throat is almost as sore as his legs, no matter how many times Liam tells him whiskey will make it better.
“I want to sit down for a little!” he yells, and he doesn’t wait for Liam to answer before he drags her over to the VIP area, where it’s cooler and there’s plenty of room to rest. She doesn’t protest much, just turns to look over the dancing crowd while she wipes sweat away from her collarbone and neck, her hair long since pulled back.
“Is my mascara smeared?” she asks, turning toward him and leaning in. He reaches up and touches two fingers under her left eye, smooth and a little sticky with sweat. This close, he can see the glitter in her eyeshadow.
“No,” he says, letting his hand drop. “All good.”
“Good,” she says. She leans back and smiles lazily, letting her eyes shut. He watches her, and he wants to touch her face again, and her wrists and her neck and her shoulders, but instead he just leans forward until he’s in her space and asks, “Why did you want me to come?”
Her eyes snap open like she’s surprised to hear him so close. She reaches up and pats the hair at the side of his head, smiling fondly. “Because,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.
Her eyes fall shut again, so she doesn’t see Harry frown. “Am I your drunk friend?” he asks.
Her eyes pop open again, wide, her mouth in a serious line. “My drunk friend?”
He nods. “Like, Louis’s your girl friend, and Zayn’s your smart, philosophical friend, and Niall’s your laidback friend. Am I your drunk friend? Your party friend?”
She’s still looking frowny and concerned, and she’s not touching him at all and it makes him anxious. “I don’t think of any of you like that,” she starts to say, and then the DJ comes on the speaker and announces it’s last call. Security swoops in around Liam and Harry, telling them its time to go, and her thought gets lost in the crowd.
They’re still hot, and sticky with sweat, so once they’re in the car they both retreat to their own sides, windows cracked with their heads leaning against the cool glass. The night air is soothing on Harry’s face, and he lets his eyes shut, relaxing into the seats.
It’s quiet for a long time, and Harry imagines Liam across from him, a mirror image, wind blowing the hair around her face. He wonders if the breeze is making her cold yet when she speaks.
“You’re not my drunk friend,” she says, her words soft and slurred, either from exhaustion or alcohol or both. Harry wishes he was looking at her, always wishes he was looking at her, but his eyelids are too heavy to open. “I wanted you to come because you’re my friend that makes me feel like I can do anything, and no one can judge me for it.”
A tightness in Harry’s chest that he didn’t even know was there relaxes and unfurls, and he heaves a sigh. “Oh,” he mumbles, and the wind whips it away. “Okay, then.”
He still doesn’t open his eyes, but he hears her shifting around, and then her hand - cool now, and dry - finds his in between their seats, and he holds on.
A few nights later they’re on the road when Harry jerks awake, gasping for breath, almost hitting his head on the bunk above his. The bus is quiet around him, only the sounds of the road beneath them and the hum of the engine. He crawls out of his bed and pads into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of ice water, and then he’s wide awake so he goes to the lounge and sits by a window, watching the world go by in blurry, too fast snatches.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been there when he’s startled out of his reverie by Liam in the doorway, yawning. It’s still plenty dark and she shouldn’t be awake.
“What are you doing up?” he asks, his voice sleep-gravelly and low because the others are still sleeping.
She yawns again and makes her way over to him, curling into his side, warm from her bed. “You weren’t in there snoring and it woke me up,” she says. It doesn’t really make sense, but it does to Harry; it’s the same way he sometimes can’t sleep when he gets back from tour, because his house is too quiet and still beneath him.
He goes back to looking out the window and feels her chin on his shoulder. “I had a bad dream,” he tells her. He takes another sip of water.
“Tell me about it,” she says, not a demand or a request so much as permission. She pulls her knees up, laying them over his legs, and he drops his arm over them, still looking out the window.
“I dreamed I was recording, but I couldn’t remember any of the words,” he says. “And none of you were there, I kept looking for you, I thought I could hear you, but all the rooms were empty. So I got my phone - I got my phone to call Niall but he wasn’t in my contacts, none of you were.” Liam’s quiet against him and he brushes his fingertips against her ankle. “It was like you didn’t exist at all. Or I just didn’t know you anymore.”
He drinks his water and looks out the window. Liam moves her head so they’re cheek to cheek. “We exist,” she murmurs. “You’ll always know us.”
“You don’t know,” he says stubbornly. He moves his hand to pick at the hem of the ratty boxer shorts she sleeps in. They have the Batman logo on them; Zayn bought them for her when they made it through to live shows. “Things fall apart, people fall apart.”
She pulls back from him, and Harry knows it means she wants him to look at her, but it’s dark anyway so he stays stubbornly still. She doesn’t let him get away with it, pulling his chin until they’re facing each other. “What if I promise you that we’re not going to fall apart?” she asks.
“You can’t promise that,” he tells her.
She’s quiet for a minute, and Harry can feel her thinking. “I can’t promise you we’ll always be a band, or we’ll always spend this much time together,” she says finally. “But I promise - I promise, Harry - that we won’t ever not know each other.”
Harry grunts, and slumps down until he can lay his head on her shoulder. “Zayn didn’t talk to me for a week before Christmas,” he reminds her. “We could fall apart.”
She pokes him in the side. “Yeah, and then when you made up you slept in his bunk for three nights.” It’s true, and Harry wants to laugh, but he can’t, so he just stays silent.
Liam sighs. “Okay, how’s this,” she says a minute later. “How about - no matter what - if we haven’t talked in… let’s say, a month. If we haven’t talked in a month, I promise I’ll find you and make sure you’re okay. Lifetime guarantee.”
He considers this, tapping his fingers against her thigh. “What if you can’t find me?” he asks.
Liam gives him a little shove. “Well I hope you’re not going to be running away from me all that much!” Her voice is raised, and he smiles and pinches her thigh to remind her the others are sleeping.
Eventually he laughs into her shoulder, feeling lighter. “Okay,” he says. “I promise not to disappear and you promise to find me.”
“I promise,” she repeats.
“And then we find the others,” he clarifies.
“Of course,” she says, and she curls back into him. He could fall asleep like this, but his neck would hurt in the morning.
“Wanna go back to bed?” he whispers to her, when her breath starts evening out. It hitches, and she sits up.
“Yes,” she says. “If you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” he says, and gets to his feet, helping her up. “I’m going to snore extra loud for you.”
“You’re a prince,” she says, heading down the hallway, back to their bunks. He just smiles, watching as she climbs in hers and sitting down in his own.
“Hey, Liam,” he whispers. Only her leg is out of her bunk now, but she shifts, pulls the curtain to poke her face out.
“What now, Styles?” she asks, but she’s smiling.
“Sweet dreams,” he says, tucking his legs in.
“Sweet dreams, Styles,” she says. Harry sleeps like a rock.
[two]