but forget maybe [two]
Liam should have expected it. Niall did this their first year, dragging their entire hallway along, Liam included of course, huddled in the corner and peeking out from under the fringe he wore straightened and flat over his forehead those first few months. And Niall did it again when his friends from Ireland came to visit in the spring of their sophomore year (by then Liam was long used to Niall, used to being dragged along, and he’d also foregone his straightener, settling for a mass of curls that engulfed his head and made him look like a bit of a madman).
“Nothing is better for bonding than drunken singing,” is Niall’s motto, or something like that, and so Liam should have expected it, the text from Niall he gets in the middle of class.
Niall: karaoke at that place in midtown 2nite, do ur vocal warmups
Niall: shalli put u down for some jt? perchance a little sinatra?
Niall: don’t 4get to byob
Liam: put me down 4 nothing
Liam: u better not tell them the story
Liam would try to make an excuse but the truth is he would hate to miss Niall, sloppy and red-cheeked and drawling along to the latest Bieber hit, so he’ll just have to hope Niall gets drunk enough, early enough that he can’t force Liam up to sing.
When Liam gets back to his room there’s a pile of people in his way, Louis, Harry and Zayn stretched out over his floor in a tangle of limbs. Niall barely looks up from his desk, only long enough to hand him a beer out of his drawer, and it’s not the first time that’s happened but it’s not exactly usual either.
“We only got the room for two hours, so you better start now,” Niall tells him.
“Ah,” Liam says. He picks his way over to his desk, stepping over outstretched hands and ankles, shooting a “Hello, boys,” in the direction of the floor before he sets his things down.
“Hello, Liam,” they respond in unison. Liam peers down at them and he finds Zayn’s face looking up at him with a beatific smile that Liam can’t help but return.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Niall informs him. “I’m afraid we’ve all called dibs on the best songs and you missed out.”
“Shame,” Liam says drily. He opens his closet and tries to decide what to wear, it’s quite cold and a bit of a walk from the train to the karaoke place. Liam is momentarily concerned that he knows the way to the karaoke place so well, but it passes. “Guess I’ll just have to watch then.”
“No way,” Niall says, at the same time Louis pops his head up from the pile of bodies and says, “The hell you will,” sounding personally, mortally offended.
Liam smiles into his closet. He pulls out a fleece shirt and a thick cable sweater. “You guys aren’t the boss of me,” he sniffs, almost approaching convincing, and then he lets himself out of the room and heads to the bathroom to change.
The room at the karaoke place is small and bright and embarrassingly familiar to Liam. He moves to a corner and starts loading beer into a cooler, because nothing is worse than drunk people singing bad pop songs out of tune and warm beer. Meanwhile Niall drags Louis straight for the song book, promising the band a proper American welcome.
“From an Irishman,” Zayn clarifies, and Niall only smiles brightly so everyone goes along with it.
“No American Pie,” Liam calls, and Niall nods sagely, well aware of the rule. An American classic, to be sure, but about four minutes too long for karaoke in a small room.
“You’re not fun,” Louis yells, and throws something at him - a balled up napkin or something, Liam doesn’t want to know - but Liam is sure Louis would be thanking him if he’d sat through the things Liam has sat through.
In the end Niall sings Party in the USA as his welcome song, and he brings the house down of course, such as it is with the five of them. But then, Niall always does. Liam is surprised when Zayn hops up as soon as Niall’s done, calling “My turn,” because he didn’t think - well, he didn’t expect Zayn to be such a karaoke enthusiast.
Zayn doesn’t tell them what he’s singing, but the opening notes come on and Harry and Louis are laughing right away. It takes Liam a bit longer to catch on, maybe when the words start, “See the thing about you that caught my eye, is the same thing that makes me change my mind.”
Zayn has a cup full of whiskey in one hand and mic in the other and then he’s doing an actual body roll, dancing to Usher and laughing and he actually sounds really good. “Jesus,” Liam says. Louis has a hand in the air, swaying along, and he catcalls Zayn, and Liam’s first beer is still almost full and he doesn’t know how this is actually happening.
Louis sings Katy Perry and Harry sings Faith by George Michael - and he does it well, Liam can imagine it, another life where he’s a pop star and he dances instead of playing guitar, somehow can’t imagine a life where he isn’t in the limelight somehow - and then everyone’s looking at him and he’s holding a hand up, shaking his head, even though he already knows how this one ends.
“I don’t sing,” he says, which is the exact wrong thing because then Niall is giving him that look, the one that says, I know your secrets. Louis, unfortunately, picks up on it immediately and holds up a suspicious finger.
“There is a story here and I demand to know it,” he says, looking back and forth between them. Liam keeps his eyes on Niall, making his most threatening eyes, and for a moment it seems like Niall is trying to decide but luckily the decision goes Liam’s way.
“No story,” Niall says easily, “But I’ve heard this guy karaoke before, so that’s a lie. He’ll be up there soon enough,” Niall says, and then he goes to pick out another song for himself - Bieber already, he usually saves that for later.
Zayn slides over to sit next to Liam, handing him a fresh beer while Niall parades around up front. “If I can do it, mate,” he says, and shoulders Liam playfully, “I know you can.”
Liam turns to him, because he hasn’t told him yet, “You were so good, Zayn, I don’t know how you’re in a band and you don’t sing - “
Apparently his voice carries, because Harry’s turning now, from where he was dancing with Louis, and raising an eyebrow at Liam. “Zayn’s band has a singer, thank you,” he says drily, but Liam is pretty sure he’s joking so he laughs before he turns back to Zayn.
Zayn shrugs at him, eyes bright. “There you have it,” he says, and he spreads out, his leg touching Liam’s and throwing an arm over his shoulder. “My band already has a singer.” Louis pulls Harry back in and they turn to Niall, so Liam lets himself relax into Zayn.
“Well,” Liam says, “When you go solo and release an R&B album, I’ll be first in line to buy it.”
Zayn squeezes his neck and laughs into his ear. “Appreciate it,” he says, “But don’t think I’m going to support your not-singing campaign.”
Liam pouts to himself. “I can’t sing in front of professional singers,” he says. “That’s just embarrassing.”
“Harry’s the only professional,” Zayn points out, and then he says, “Niall’s doing all right with it,” and they pause a minute to watch him, shimmying across the room, “Spend a week with your boy I’ll be calling you my girlfriend.”
Liam laughs, bending away from Zayn slightly. “Wait ‘til he closes with “Baby,”” he tells Zayn. “Your life will be changed.”
“I believe it,” Zayn tells him.
When Niall gets close to the end Zayn starts poking him in the shoulder, not saying anything but Liam gets what he’s doing anyway. He heaves a sigh like the tortured man he is and drags himself over to the song book, although he already has one in mind. Niall sees him and gets excited, pointing and forgetting to sing a line of the song. Liam rolls his eyes. Boyfriend finally ends, and Niall makes a big show of announcing him, “And now ladies and gentleman, a real treat for you, New York’s own, Liam Payne!”
Liam hands Zayn his beer, and Zayn holds it up to him along with his own drink in a sort of good luck cheers, and then Liam’s taking the microphone from Niall and waiting for the song to start and they’re all just looking at him - they’re not, actually, Niall’s yelling about the unknown location of his drink and Louis is chiding him, and Zayn’s shifting around in his seat, so really it’s just Harry looking at him, waiting, but it’s still uncomfortable and Liam looks over the tops of their heads to a space on the wall.
Then the first notes of the song start and they are all looking at him, laughing, or in Niall’s case, cheering, “I told him to do this one,” and Liam can’t help but smile too, ducking his head down and waiting for the first line.
“Start spreading the news…”
It’s been a long time since Liam’s been on stage in front of anyone. This isn’t really a stage, it’s just the front of a very small room in a weird building in midtown, but it still feels the same, and honestly, when he was younger, he sang to smaller crowds than this. Anyway, it comes back quickly, all at once, the stagemanship, where to move and where to look and how to hold his hands. Liam doesn’t want this, he doesn’t, but it’s there all the same, the thrum of his heart and the pump of his blood, the ache beneath his skin.
It goes too quickly, like most things. The music crescendos, “King of the hill, these little town blues,” Niall’s yelling along with him and Liam pulls him up, an arm around his shoulder, and then Niall’s doing high kicks along with the music and Liam laughs and joins him, “If we can make it there, we’re gonna make it anywhere, it’s up to you, New York, New York,” and Liam holds the last note until the music cuts out and the other three cheer and he almost manages to contain his blush. Zayn jumps to his feet even, clapping, his eyes crinkled with laughter, and Liam has to look away.
“Well, I’m not going after that,” Louis says, and so it’s Harry who comes up next, taking the microphone from Liam and not saying anything, but patting him on the shoulder and smiling, wide and happy, right in his face.
“Well, well, well,” Zayn says, as Liam returns to him to get his beer. “And you said I should be singing.”
Liam might be blushing and he hopes the room is dark enough Zayn can’t tell. “You should be,” he maintains, and then he turns to watch Harry sing the Jackson 5.
He can feel more than hear Zayn laughing at him, but he ignores it, drinks his beer and waits for the adrenaline to fade away.
They get drunker and singing gets easier, and also sloppier, and also more horrible. Liam sings Senorita by Justin Timberlake, but most of the rest of the songs are a blur. He vaguely remembers Zayn singing “Whatever You Like,” by T.I., his dancing getting progressively dirtier and dirtier until Liam couldn’t even watch anymore, and before their two hours were up he found himself up with all five of them, the Backstreet Boys blasting over the speakers and Harry’s arm draped around his shoulders, laughing across the circle of them at Niall, face bright red as he goes back and forth with Louis.
“You are, my fire.”
“My one, desire.”
And then they’re all singing, together, loudly, no microphone really necessary anymore, although Zayn’s holding it in the middle of them, “Believe, when I say… that I WANT IT THAT WAY!”
Liam turns to Harry, smiles, and Harry’s right there, grinning back. Harry pinches his nipple and he squirms away.
When their two hours are up they stumble into the night, booze-warm and laughing, the lights of Times Square reflecting off their faces, in their eyes.
Niall holds his phone up. “Josh is at a bar two blocks away,” he announces, and he’s still breathless from bouncing and singing. “Who’s coming?”
Louis is smiling, teeth white and perfect and gleaming. “Not me,” he says. “Gotta head back to the hotel and call El.”
“Same,” Zayn says. “Well, not El, but,” and Louis’s hooking his arm around Zayn’s neck, spinning him around, nearly crashing into a group of tourists. Niall’s eyes fall on Liam.
“No,” Liam says before Niall can say anything. “I’m going home, Nialler, no arguments.”
Surprisingly it works, and Liam only gets an eyeroll before Niall turns to Harry, arms outstretched and wheedling. “Styles,” he says, “You’re better than these guys, right?”
Harry’s smiling and he sidesteps Niall, somehow, half-hiding behind Liam. “Afraid not,” he says. “I have to sing tomorrow.”
“I’ll buy you whiskey, it will make you sound great,” Niall says, distracted by his phone, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Harry shrugs at Liam and he shrugs back.
“Well, whatever,” Niall says when he’s done on his phone, tucking it back into his pocket, his voice a mix of boredom and disappointment that Liam is more than used to. “You’re all the worst kind of people and I’m leaving.”
Liam catches his sleeve as he heads down 42nd Street, saying “Text me when you get there,” and Niall pretends to be annoyed but Liam knows he’ll do it, knows Niall would do the same thing if it was Liam leaving. Harry’s watching him when he turns around and the four of them head toward the subway stop, Louis and Zayn still half wrestling and wrapped up in each other.
“So what’s your story?” Harry asks him, hands tucked down into his pockets, reds and greens and blues playing over his face as the ads change above them.
“My story?” Liam asks. It’s crowded in Times Square, easy to get separated; if he was with Niall one of them would hook a finger through the other’s belt loop, easy enough, but it’s Harry and even walking close enough their shoulders touch is a bit much and it takes a lot of concentration not to get separated from him.
“The singing thing,” Harry says, and looks over at him, face surprisingly serious. “You’ve obviously done it before. You in theater or something?”
Liam runs a hand through his hair. A little boy crashes into his legs and he smiles at his harried mother as she collects him. In his pocket his phone buzzes and he pulls it out.
Niall: made it see you l8r x
“Niall made it,” he mutters as he texts back a quick “have fun”. Harry just raises his eyebrows like he’s waiting. In front of them, Louis and Zayn wind their way down into the subway tunnel, and Liam reaches for his Metrocard.
“I’m not in theater, no,” he says, dodging the question a little and hoping Harry lets him get away with it.
He doesn’t. “Then what?” he says.
“Then nothing,” Liam says, holds it close to his chest. Not a secret, not exactly, but his. They swipe their cards and make their way to the platform, both too late and too early to be crowded. Louis and Zayn finally break apart and wander toward them and then Harry seals his lips but looks at Liam like the conversation isn’t over.
And it isn’t. When they get to Liam’s stop Harry follows him off, calling to Louis and Zayn that he’ll be back at the hotel soon, and they barely blink an eye at him, unfortunately for Liam. Harry doesn’t even say anything, just walks next to him and glances over and Liam sighs, rubs his hands together, opens his mouth.
“It’s not anything,” he repeats, and the more he says it the more it feels like something, “I used to sing, like, perform, when I was younger, and now I don’t, and it’s not a thing, okay?”
Harry seems to ignore the obvious fact that Liam would like to talk about, literally, anything else; Liam would even like it if Harry would be distracted by hitting him in the balls or pinching his nipples or his sides. Although this is something like metaphorically being punched in the balls, Liam thinks.
Anyway, Harry goes on and Liam hates his life. “Why did you stop, though?”
Maybe if he just comes out with it then the universe will reward him by letting this night come to an end, or perhaps running him over with a taxi cab. Liam groans and covers his face with his hands, which probably doesn’t do much to downplay the drama of the situation to Harry, and then he says quickly, rummaging through his pockets for his building keys as they turn onto his street - the same street where Niall had found the flyer for One Direction just a few months ago, that wretched, cursed night - he says, “When I was 16 I tried out for American Idol and I made it through the producers and the judges and got sent to the second round but it was in LA and my parents couldn’t get the time off work and I didn’t go and I realized it was a pipe dream and I haven’t sang for an audience since then, well, unless you count karaoke, which I don’t but Niall does but what does Niall know about anything, anyway?”
They get to Liam’s door and his face is burning so he focuses on getting the key in, and when he does, he pushes it open a few inches before he hazards a glance up at Harry.
He can’t read Harry’s face, is the problem, but he isn’t laughing so it’s better than the usual reaction.
“Oh,” Harry says finally. He nods slowly and shrugs. “All right then. Well, goodnight Liam.”
Liam gapes at him. He doesn’t really want to talk about this anymore, but really? Really?
“Really?” he asks. Harry just looks at him, politely curious. “I’ve gotten a lot of reactions to that story, but never ‘Okay, goodbye.’”
“Hmm,” Harry says, and shrugs. “I’m full of surprises, Liam Payne,” he says, and then he slaps Liam lightly on the cheek and walks away, backwards and laughing, and Liam deflates.
Liam falls into it quickly. It’s surprisingly easy how he and Niall’s little pairing of two expands to five just like that. Suddenly instead of just Niall bugging him to go out a few times a week, it’s Zayn texting him about coffee and Harry making sure he’s coming to dinner and Niall leaving him notes to meet them all at the hotel after track practice. It’s never Louis, not at first, and then one day Liam has a text from an unfamiliar foreign number and it just says “It’s Lou. Bike ride? X.”
He’s wary, for some reason, when he turns up to riverfront where they rent out bikes, like maybe Louis just won’t show up, or he will but it will be something awful, some kind of trick. Liam just hopes he won’t end up in the river.
But Louis’s there alone, leaning against the rails and looking over the water when Liam walks up and hesitates behind him.
“Are you quite finished staring, Liam?” he asks when he finally turns around, and Liam hopes the sun is bright enough to hide the flush on his cheeks.
In the end Louis is better company, easier company than Liam expected. Once they get their bikes, Liam asks, “North or south?” and Louis just shrugs, says Liam would know best.
“I usually go south,” Liam says, and they bike in circles around each other, planets orbiting an invisible sun. The pedestrians trying to walk the path glare but they ignore them. “You end up at Battery Park, and you can see the Statue of Liberty.”
Louis brakes then, smiling over at Liam. “Lead the way, then,” he says, so Liam does.
They’re quiet mostly, Liam points out some of the things they pass, the dog park, the pier where there’s a golf range, Jersey City in the distance.
“That’s New Jersey?” Louis asks, and sounds terribly disappointed. “It doesn’t look like the television show,” he says, and looks even more let down when Liam tells him they’re not near the shore.
Battery Park is only a few miles away, and with the sun being out it’s crowded, so they hop off their bikes and walk to the edge, where there’s a clear view of the statue and Ellis Island.
“So you’re really into biking?” Liam asks when they’re leaning over the water and it’s quiet for awhile.
Louis shrugs. “I try to stay active,” he says. “With touring… we’re on the bus a lot, we eat a lot of crap. Gotta watch the waist,” he goes on, and pats his stomach, as if there’s something there to lose.
“Oh,” Liam says. “Yeah. I get that.” He realizes what it sounds like and hurries on, “I mean, not that I’ve ever been on tour, but like, freshman year I gained like ten pounds even though I was doing track, just from like, campus food and beer I guess.”
Louis’s just nodding though, like he understands and they have something in common. “You ever surf?” he asks, kicking his toes against the metal rails.
Liam perks immediately. “I love surfing!” he says, and he knows his voice is going all high pitched like Niall always tells him it does when he gets excited. “None of my friends are into, are you?”
Louis looks up at him then, and he’s smiling but not like he’s laughing at Liam and his excitement, just like he’s a bit in awe of it. “I want to get into it, yeah,” he says. “We might go to Australia next year, and, I hear it’s wicked down there, like.”
“I would love to go to Australia,” Liam says wistfully. He twists his hands around the railings, cold under his palms, and looks out over the river until Louis knocks shoulders with him.
“We’ll go someday, yeah?” he says. “Me and you and a couple of surfboards.”
Liam finds himself smiling then, even if he knows how unlikely it is. “Yeah, okay,” he says.
Louis keeps looking at him while they’re walking back through the park, but Liam doesn’t know why. He doesn’t have to wait that long, though, before Louis comes out with it.
“I didn’t get you at first,” he says like a confession.
It catches Liam off guard. “And now you do?” he asks.
Louis looks at him like he’s still thinking on it, and then says slowly, “Well, you just are what you seem, hm?”
Liam walks his bike around an old couple walking down the middle of the path, arms linked. Once he’s next to Louis again, he says, “And what do I seem?”
Louis hums a noncommittal noise. “Just, like, I don’t know, really earnest. And sincere. Like so sincere it comes off as fake, and like, haughty, kind of?” Liam’s taken aback at his words, feels himself folding in, and Louis must see because he reaches out, a touch of panic coloring his features. “Fuck, no, I’m sorry. I’m trying to say I can tell you’re not those things now, like, the opposite.”
Liam scrunches his face up and decides he’s not offended. “I didn’t know what to think of you either,” he says, to take the attention off himself. He pauses. “I’m still not sure I do.”
Louis laughs, loud and bright. He throws an arm across Liam’s shoulder then, pulling him in close. “You’ll learn, pet,” he says, soothing. “You’ll learn.” He shifts even closer, and then his fingers find Liam’s nipple and he pinches. Liam yelps and jumps away, covering his chest and acting more offended than he is.
Louis is laughing and jumps back on his bike. Liam moves slower but joins him eventually. “Did you learn that from Harry or did he learn it from you?” he asks, because he’s never been assaulted so much as the past few weeks.
“Hard to say, Liam, my boy,” Louis ponders, biking slowly, hair blown against his face. “We have a rather perfect symbiotic and mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Beneficial to who?” Liam wonders out loud, trailing behind Louis, but it’s lost in the wind.
They duck into a deli somewhere between the river park and Liam’s dorm and split a pastrami sandwich and a bowl of soup, squeezed into two close seats at the counter. Sitting there in their coats with their legs swinging, Liam feels very young.
“So how’d you meet Niall?” Louis asks, and slurps up a spoonful of chicken noodle.
Liam pulls off a piece of bread and chews it absently. “Was paired with him randomly freshman year,” he says. “He never got rid of me.”
Louis makes a noise of acknowledgement and sips his water and Liam supposes it’s his turn. “And you? How’d you meet Zayn and Harry?”
Louis doesn’t look at him but Liam can tell he’s got a far off look in his eye. “I met Harry in a bathroom,” he says.
Liam coughs a little. “Most stories that start that way have a scandalous ending,” he says, but Louis raises an eyebrow at him and he smirks and takes a bite of sandwich, silently willing Louis to go on.
“It was all very proper, I assure you,” he sniffs, and then breaks into a smile. “We were both trying out for this talent show at school, and I didn’t know him but I saw his tryout - he was amazing, of course - and then I pop into the loo and he’s in there absolutely freaking out, just white as a sheet and staring at himself in the mirror.”
Liam almost laughs, because he can’t picture it at all, not after seeing Harry on stage, not after spending any amount of time with him. He waits for the rest but Louis doesn’t go on until prodded. “Well?” Liam asks. “Then what?”
Louis shrugs. “I just told him he was amazing and he was too good for a school talent show and we should be in a proper band together, and that was it,” he says. “Five minutes and I knew we were forever.”
“Hmm,” Liam says, and pops the rest of their sandwich in his mouth. “And Zayn?”
“One of Harry’s cousins knew we were looking for a bassist and introduced us,” Louis says. They both reach for their wallets and pull out a couple of bills, stacking them and leaving a plate on top before they stumble back out into the crisp winter air. “Since he could stand being around us alone together for more than half an hour, we figured he was perfect,” Louis says, winding a scarf around his throat. He flashes a grin at Liam, blinding and bright. “And he is.”
“It must be cool,” Liam says slowly, thinking about the three of them and their lives. “Like, being with your best friends all the time, living with them and everything.”
“Yes,” Louis says, and then he throws Liam an odd side glance. “That’s a bit what university is like, though, isn’t?”
Liam thinks about it for a moment and then he smiles because Louis is right. “Suppose so,” he says, and Louis laughs likes it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
Louis walks him all the way to his dorm door, even though it’s 2 blocks past the subway station, and when they get they Louis hugs him and it feels easy. He keeps his arm on Liam’s and smiles as he pulls back, says, “Liam Payne, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” and when Liam catches his hand as he moves to pinch Liam’s nipple, he smirks.
“What is with you guys?” Liam wonders out loud.
“Just fucking with you, Liam, my boy,” Louis says, and Liam doesn’t let his hands go. Louis’s smirk turns into a full forced grin, bright as the sun. “See? You’re catching on already.”
Not long after One Direction arrives it’s Harry’s birthday, which Liam only learns when Niall calls out to tell him as he’s rushing out the door one Friday morning, late for class because he couldn’t find his student ID, finally located at the bottom of his clothes hamper.
“I’ll text you what we’re doing,” Niall says, and Liam doesn’t have to time to discuss it so he just waves and then he runs, getting a dirty look from his professor as he slinks in late.
His day doesn’t improve a lot. He realizes somewhere around 11 a.m. that he has a paper he’s forgotten due at 3, so he spends all of lunch hunched over his laptop pounding it out, and then he goes straight to class and drops it off. After that he has a meeting with a professor for his seminar, to discuss the theme of his term paper, which he’d planned to research and write out a proposal for during lunch, which obviously didn’t happen. Sometime early in the afternoon his phone battery drains, so he doesn’t see Niall’s texts until he drags himself home, feeling wrung dry, starving and cranky.
Niall: ppizzas @johns then over to the east side
Niall: what time r u done?
Niall: why aren’t u answerin ur phooooooone
Liam sighs, already tucked into his sweatpants and curled up in bed.
Liam: phone died. awful day. also i am dead inside. won’t make it out 2nite. don’t be mad!!! tell H happy bday :)
His phone rings a few minutes later and of course Niall’s face pops up, a close-up of him that he took himself sometime last spring and is frankly gross. Liam hardly feels bad when he hits ignore and puts his phone on silent; he’s earned a rest.
"He doesn't care that I missed his birthday thing," Liam says the next afternoon when Niall finally wanders home. He's laying in bed, books strewn around him, and he's still feeling tired and lazy, letting his eyes close.
Niall is quiet for a split second too long, enough that Liam opens his eyes to look.
"I think he does," Niall says after another moment of hesitation. “I mean - I don’t know, I think he did.” Liam wonders what he's missing.
He sits up, groans. "I-" he says, a bit at a loss. Niall shrugs and looks uncomfortable and Liam doesn't know, doesn't know.
"I'll call him and apologize, then?" he says, more a question than anything.
"It's a start," Niall says, so he does.
The phone rings three times and Liam thinks he’s going to get off with a voicemail, lucky boy that he is, when the ringing stops and moments later, Harry’s voice, slow like syrup, comes over the line. “’Lo?”
“Hi,” Liam says, caught off-guard. “Hello, hi - It’s. It’s Liam.”
“Yes,” Harry says. “British phones have caller ID too if you can believe it.”
Liam huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes. “Shocking, really,” he says, and then it’s silent and he can’t think of what to say next.
“Right,” Harry says after awhile. He probably has things to do, rock star things, and here’s Liam breathing down the phone at him like a creep.
“Oh, I just,” Liam says. He rubs a hand over his forehead, he’s usually better at this, better at filling up the silence. “I wanted to apologize for missing last night. I mean you probably didn’t notice, but I still - sorry,” he finishes lamely. Niall huffs a sigh and turns to roll his eyes, exaggerated, so Liam turns to face the wall so he can’t see him.
Harry is quiet for awhile, and when he does speak again it’s even slower than normal. “Oh, that’s -“ he starts. “That’s alright. I’m sure you had a good reason.”
Silence again, and it’s heavy with expectation, like Harry is waiting for Liam to tell him what, exactly, that good reason is. Liam’s never been good at it, making excuses, lying, so he deflects instead.
“Right,” he says. “Right. So did you have fun anyway?” he asks.
Harry makes a low humming noise and Liam doesn’t know what it means. “Always nice to see everyone,” Harry says, and Liam doesn’t know if it’s meant to make him feel guilty but it does.
“Sure,” Liam says. And then, because it’s polite and Liam’s nothing if not polite, he says, “Well maybe I can make it up to you some other time. Buy you a drink, or lunch.”
And Harry says, “Yeah,” he says, “Of course,” he says, “Today?”
Liam pauses, because it was just - he just meant, next time they’re out together, all of them, he’d pick something up for Harry, but how can he say no now?
“You’re not busy?” he asks instead. Gives Harry an out.
Harry ignores it, because that’s Liam’s life. “No,” he says simply. “Wanna meet in an hour?”
Liam turns to glare at Niall, for making him do this, for existing, maybe, but Niall’s turned to his computer, headphones on, so Liam just stares lasers at the back of his head. “Yeah, okay,” he tells Harry, and tries to sound pleased.
Niall is a terrible friend and human, so he won’t come to lunch with Liam.
“Why,” Liam asks, toeing the edge of whining.
“I’m not going on your lunch date,” Niall says like it’s obvious.
Liam makes an exasperated sound. “It’s not a date, for god’s sake,” he says.
“You asked him to go, right?” Niall asks. Liam nods miserably. “And you’re going to pay?”
“Because it’s his birthday,” Liam clarifies.
“Sounds like a date to me,” Niall says, shrugging.
It’s not a date, Liam knows that. And he’s sure Harry knows it, sure Harry would never think date and Liam in the same sentence, ever, and Niall’s just teasing him, it’s just -
“But he’s like -“ Liam says, and throws his hands in the air.
“What?” Niall asks. “He’s nice.”
“You think everyone is nice,” Liam says contemptuously. “Also, he hits me in the balls, like, surprisingly often.”
“Well, that’s because you’re fun to wind up, mate,” Niall says like it’s obvious.
Liam sighs, but he moves on quickly because he has more pressing thing to address. “It’s not that he’s not nice,” Liam says, “It’s just that he’s like this singer rock star guy and I’m -“
“You’re you,” Niall supplies helpfully, like he gets it now.
“Exactly.”
“I don’t get it,” Niall says. He rummages in his drawer and comes up with half a sandwich, and Liam doesn’t want to ask. “You just hung out with Louis for like, hours.”
“That was different,” Liam says, but he can’t explain why, so he just tells Niall how much he hates him and then gets ready to meet Harry.
Harry’s already leaning against a tree outside when Liam steps out. Liam hesitates, thinks, here we go, and steps toward him.
“Hi,” Harry says, simple and guileless, and smiles a little. Liam finds himself a bit charmed, has to shake it off. He reminds himself this is why Harry’s famous, kind of, this is what rock stars are like.
“Hi,” he says. He slides his hands into his pockets, it’s sharply chilly and overcast outside and the tip of his nose is already going numb. “I sort of feel like soup, if that’s okay with you,” Liam says, nodding upward, like Harry will get that he means because of the weather.
Maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t, but he nods amiably either way and falls into step beside Liam. It’s quiet but more comfortable than Liam expected, and he sneaks a look at Harry sideways. He’s looking at the ground, hair falling over his eyes.
“You don’t look like someone who was out partying for his birthday last night,” Liam tells him, voice light, and when Harry looks up he’s smiling but only a little.
“I didn’t stay out so late,” he says. “Didn’t drink so much, either. We were recording all morning, so.”
Liam nods like he understands, but of course he doesn’t. “It’s nice that you, like,” he says, unsure where he’s even going with it. “Like, that you take it so seriously?” he finishes, glancing away from Harry and looking at the sidewalk himself, because what is he even saying?
Harry is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “There is nothing that I want more than this,” and he’s usually so languid, slow words, raspy, laughing and laid back, but now his voice is firm, and sure, and steady. “I take it very seriously.”
Liam swallows. “I didn’t mean to imply -“ but Harry cuts him off, looking up sharply, eyes wide, and grabbing Liam’s wrist in his hand.
“No!” Harry says quickly. “I didn’t think you were.” He lowers his voice, drops Liam’s arm but they stay close, arms still touching while they walk. “I just mean - I’m glad that you can see I do take it seriously.”
Liam smiles, maybe to break his own tension. “Wish I loved something that much,” he says. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him, staring, looking closely, too closely, and finally Liam has to look over, if only to get him to stop. He doesn’t, though, he keeps looking, and his dimple deepens as he smiles slowly.
Luckily they get to the café and Liam pulls the door open for him, so he has to walk past the moment is broken.
Harry gets vegetable soup and a cookie -“Because it’s my birthday,” he tells the cashier with an impish grin, and Liam fights the urge to roll his eyes when she blushes bright red - and Liam gets tomato soup and half a grilled cheese, because it’s what his mom made him when he was little and the weather was dreary.
“So why English?” Harry asks practically as soon as they’ve sat down, hidden away in a corner booth under a heating vent.
Liam takes a bite of his sandwich to give himself a moment. “As a language?” he asks.
Harry rolls his eyes of course, slurping up a bit of soup. “As your concentration,” he clarifies needlessly.
“Mmm,” Liam hums, trying to decide how much to tell Harry here. “I guess - when I was little, like when we first learned spelling and grammar in elementary school, I was super, super terrible at it,” he says. He dunks his sandwich in his soup and takes another bite, but Harry doesn’t say anything, just watches him while he chews and waits for him to go on. “Like, I had tutors, and I had to go in after school, and it was just so hard for me. And reading, too, it just took me so long and I didn’t like doing it.”
Harry nods but still doesn’t say anything, so Liam surges forward, looking at his food and at the tabletop and not at Harry, because he knows it’s a dumb story and boring, but it’s a way to fill up the time, and Harry asked, so. “So I struggled with it through all those years, and I finally got the hang of it enough to skate by, you know, get Cs and not have to have tutoring and stuff.” Harry nods again, he breaks off a piece of his cookie and offers it to Liam, who takes it mindlessly.
“But that wasn’t good enough, you know?” he meets Harry’s eye then, as if he’s really asking if Harry does know, but Harry doesn’t respond although he meets his eye steadily. “I decided I didn’t want to be average at it, if I spent all that time working at it I was going to be good at it, even good enough to enjoy it.”
He shrugs then, looks down at the cookie he’s broken into tiny little pieces. He pops one into his mouth before he looks up at Harry, shrugs again.
“So did you?” Harry finally asks. “Get good at it?”
Liam laughs a little then, mostly at himself. “Good enough, I suppose,” he says. In truth he’d gotten a 5 on his AP English exam senior year, was one of the top students in the English program in his grade, but he’s not going to tell Harry that. He’s not a bragger.
“And do you like it?” Harry asks.
That’s a harder question, of course. He likes being good at it, something that was so difficult for him, but he does still have to force himself to concentrate, when he’s got a 400 page books with paragraphs that go on for pages and all he wants to do is go out with Niall and then hit the sack but he’s still got a fifteen page paper due in the morning. Still, sometimes he finds something that clicks with him, something that makes sense, sometimes he finds something that might change the way he thinks, just the slightest bit, but enough, and maybe that makes it worth it.
“I like it well enough,” he says, and scoops the rest of the cookie pieces into his mouth all at once.
“So what’s next?” Harry asks as they walk home, arms swinging between them.
Liam glances over at him but he’s looking straight ahead. “What’s next… today?” he asks. “I have class later.”
Harry laughs then, does glance over for a moment. “I meant in a bigger sense,” he says. “What are you doing after you graduate?”
“Oh,” Liam says, and shoves his hands in his pockets. The question every college kid dreads. “Well I’m sure I’ll be in high demand, what with my rare and incredibly diverse English degree,” he says drily, “So I expect I’ll have my pick of the jobs.”
Harry laughs, his eyebrows up like he’s surprised. “Okay, forget that question,” he says. “What are you doing this summer?”
Liam rubs his neck. “Probably just go home,” he says. “Too expensive to stay in the city all summer. My dad can probably get me a job at his work.”
Harry nods. “You know what you should do?” he asks a moment later. “You should come to London.”
“London?” Liam asks.
“Yeah, like, to visit? It’s awesome in the summer. You ever been?”
“No,” Liam tells him. “I’ve never even left the east coast.”
Harry grins at him, his eyes sparkling. “See? It’d be brilliant, you could work a little to get some money and then come over, and you could stay with one of us of course so it wouldn’t be so expensive.”
Liam laughs, because that’s not the kind of thing he does, not really something he would even think of, but Harry makes it sound so easy, like something he actually could do. “Well, maybe,” he says. “We’ll see.” He nudges Harry with his shoulder, because it was a nice thing to suggest, regardless. Harry teeters away like Liam's shoved him, his long arms flailing, and he pretends to fall into the wall. Liam laughs, because it's stupid, because Harry obviously wants him and because Liam doesn't know why.
Harry recovers himself, a small smile curving his lips, and he falls back into step with Liam. “We should do this again, too,” he says. He stops near the entrance to the subway and Liam’s confused, until he gestures toward it and says, “I’m heading uptown to the studio.”
“Right,” Liam says. “Okay.”
Harry’s looking at him like he’s waiting for him to say something else. “Really,” he says, when Liam doesn’t, “We should do it again. Like, if you ever need a study buddy… I mean I don’t have to study, but I am still writing for the album, so if you wanted to go to a coffee shop or something…”
He’s rambling but he doesn’t look embarrassed about it, which is a strange concept to Liam. “Uh, okay,” Liam says, mostly because there’s nothing else he can say. “I have a paper due on Tuesday so I’ll probably be out working on it somewhere Monday afternoon.”
Harry smiles easily. “Monday,” he says.
He sees Harry over the weekend, they all grab dinner Saturday night before Liam begs off to go watch a movie for one of his classes, but Harry doesn’t mention seeing him on Monday so Liam figures he didn’t mean it, or he just forgot. He’s all settled in at the Starbucks 2 blocks from school on Monday afternoon when his phone buzzes.
Harry: where u at?
Liam sends him the cross-streets but it breaks his concentration and he finds himself staring into space and tapping his fingers against the table more than working until Harry walks in twenty minutes later. He’s wearing a bomber jacket with sheepskin at the collar and looking warm and comfortable, and he raises a hand to wave at Liam before he goes to the counter and order. Liam doesn’t mean to do it but he watches, watches Harry lean over the counter and talk in a low voice to the girl at the register, watches him smile slowly, dimple carved in his cheek deep enough that Liam can see it from here, and Liam can also see the flush across the girl’s cheeks and the way she looks up at Harry from under her eyelashes and makes sure their hands touch when she hands him his drink.
Harry ambles over and pulls out the chair across from Liam and Liam can’t help but think all the eyes on the room are on him. It’s not that they know who Harry is, they probably don’t, but he does look like somebody, too much of a somebody to be hanging out with Liam, but there he is, smiling at Liam around his cardboard cup.
“How’s the paper going?” Harry asks, setting his notebook on the table and pulling a pen out of some hidden pocket in his jacket.
“It’s…” Liam starts, and then trails off and shrugs. He’s been here for almost an hour and he’s only got two paragraphs, so the truth is it isn’t going so well.
“What is it on?” Harry asks, and before Liam can answer he grabs the book laid out on the table, open to the page Liam had last been reading.
“Ah,” he says. “Kipling.”
He pages through the book quickly, but Liam can see that he’s marking Liam’s page with his finger and he appreciates that. Harry sets the book down, the page still marked, and picks up his own pen, leaning over his notebook. Liam tries to go back to his paper, succeeds in knocking out another sentence or two before he’s sneaking glances at Harry again.
After a few minutes Harry sighs and it’s startling; he sounds annoyed, but when he looks up he’s smiling so Liam smiles back, confused. “Can I look at your book again?” Harry asks, and Liam hands it over wordlessly and watches him flip through it, pausing here and there, never long enough to read more than a line or two.
Liam’s not even pretending to work on his paper anymore. Harry has his book, anyway, and it’s an excuse enough. Suddenly Harry picks up his pen, holding the book open, and he’s scribbling away, looking from the poem to his notebook and back again. He studies what he’s written for a moment and, satisfied, hands Liam’s book back, still marked at the spot Liam stopped, and Harry doesn’t look up before he’s scribbling again, suddenly fast and unstoppable.
His hair is over his face and Liam can’t see anything but the tip of his nose, his hands around a pen, scratching over paper, but it’s enough. Suddenly his hands curl around his cup and he’s looking up, catching Liam staring. He only quirks a smile.
Liam clears his throat. “Do I get to see what you wrote?” he asks.
“Do I get to see what you’re writing?” Harry asks in return.
“If you want to read my dumb paper on Kipling you’re more than welcome,” Liam tells him, and holds out his hand. Harry shrugs and hands over his notebook.
I am on the mend
At least now I can say that I am trying
Hope you can forgive
Things I still lack
Is it in you now
To bear to hear the truth that you have spoken
Twisted up by knaves to make a trap for fools
Is it in you now
To watch the things you gave your life to broken?
And stoop and build them up
With worn out tools
Liam reads it three times, he recognizes the lines from Kipling but still, it’s a song now, he can almost hear Harry singing it and he just wrote it right there, in front of Liam.
He glares at Harry over the top of the notebook. “You didn’t just do this now,” he says, and Harry laughs, blowing into his coffee.
“You saw me,” he points out.
“It’s so good, though,” Liam says, almost complaining, and he hands the notebook back to Harry, who closes it like he’s done now.
“It’s almost entirely lifted from Kipling, so that helps,” Harry jokes, and Liam considers this.
“True,” he says. “Are you allowed to do that?”
Harry shrugs. “We’ll throw a note in the credits,” he says, “Should be fine.”
“Well,” Liam says. He looks back at his book but he can’t focus on it, and he makes a face. He can feel Harry watching him. “I’m annoyed.”
Harry smirks. “Why?”
“Because you’re finished and I’m not,” Liam says.
“It’s not always like that,” Harry says, “Some days I could sit here for hours and not write a single word.”
Liam closes his book, he’s not getting anything done now. Harry raises an eyebrow. “Finished?” he asks.
Liam shakes his head. “I’ll do it tonight,” he says, and tucks his computer away into his bag. “I’m sure you have things to do anyway, right?”
But Harry shakes his head. “Was planning to be here longer,” he says. “You wanna do something else?”
Liam shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, “Do you?”
Harry just smiles. “Yes.”
It’s chilly, but sunny, and there are a good number of people in Central Park considering it’s a Tuesday in the middle of the day. Liam sort of wishes he’d stopped at home to leave his backpack, but it’s a small annoyance, and it is better being out here than stuck in a noisy Starbucks writing a paper.
“What’s your favorite place in Central Park?” Harry asks him, and Liam had never really thought about it so he takes a moment.
“Guess I like taking the little paddle boats into the lake,” he says. He’s only done it once, but he did like it, so. “Only nice when it’s warm, I guess. You?”
“The Imagine mosaic,” Harry answers immediately. Liam should have known. They follow a path on the west side of the park that will take them by it, and when they get there a man’s playing guitar and they settle on a bench to listen for a moment.
“What’s your favorite Beatles’ song?” Harry asks after a moment, quiet. The man’s playing Let It Be, just his guitar, not singing.
“This is a good one,” Liam says as he listens.
“Your favorite?” Harry presses.
Liam thinks. “Maybe not,” he says. “My mom always played I’ve Just Seen a Face while she cooked so I’ve always loved that one.”
Harry smiles. “That’s a good choice.”
“What’s your favorite?” Liam asks.
Harry does pause this time, but finally says, “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away.”
Liam leans back into the bench, relaxing and rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Good one,” he says.
They circle around the park idly, stopping to watch a group of high schoolers playing soccer in Sheep Meadow, and reluctantly Liam says he should get home and finish his paper. Harry doesn’t protest, just turns easily back toward the subway station at Christopher Circle, and when they say goodbye at 4th Street he squeezes Liam’s arm in goodbye.
Liam goes home and looks at the paper he started, looks at his book. He’s been reading and analyzing Kipling all day but he’s thinking, I am on the mend, at least now I can say that I am trying, and he doesn’t know what it means.
The text from Niall on Thursday just says "pub quiz night" and Liam figures by now Niall knows Liam doesn't need to be convinced for this one. "gunna crush em" he sends back on the way to his poetry lecture.
Their team, The Avengers, is unbeaten this semester, although they're in fifth place on the leader board because of the months they'd missed during the summer. Liam does not intend to let them slip any lower. He buys a Times at the stand down the street from their building and scans the headlines for potential Current Events topics.
Niall and Josh usually get to the pub early to save them a table and sign them in, but when Liam arrives he can tell right away the head next to Niall's isn't Josh's and he's worried. Josh is their entertainment question guru.
Liam walks round to the front of the table and Louis is grinning up at him, looking pleased as punch, but Liam only grunts a hello before he spins on Niall. “Where is Josh?!” he asks, dramatic.
Niall looks disappointed, but also like he’s trying to calm Liam down. “He couldn’t come,” Niall says, “O Chem exam next week.”
“Damnit,” Liam says. “Where are his priorities?” He’s only half joking, and he slides into the booth on the other side of Niall.
Louis leans over to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “What, I’m not good enough for you?” he asks demurely. Of course both of them have drinks in front of them, but Liam needs to stay sharp. He’ll save the drinking for celebrating when they win.
Liam eyes him. “Are you a connoisseur of celebrity knowledge and gossip?” he asks.
Louis draws his eyebrows down. “What is connoisseur?” he asks, and Liam is groaning before Louis’s face breaks into a grin. “I’m kidding, Liam. I think you might be surprised at how quick I can be. Also we have reinforcements coming.”
Liam goes to get himself a coke when he gets back their “reinforcement” is there the form of Harry Styles, slouched over next to Louis with a beanie shoved over his hair.
“Where’s Zayn?” Liam asks, perhaps sharply because Louis arches an eyebrow at him.
“This game really brings out a new side of you, doesn’t it?” he asks.
“Don’t call it a game, he’ll bite your head off,” Niall jokes, and really, Liam doesn’t think he’s that bad.
“It’s okay to call it a game,” he interjects, “As in, get your damn head in the game, Niall.” He slides Niall’s beer away with one finger but when he sees his friend’s glare he pulls his hand back quickly.
Aiden and Matt and Ed wander in right before the game starts and Liam feels better about their odds, even without Josh. Harry and Louis just huddle together, heads bent and talking mostly to each other.
The game starts and the pub goes hushed and tense the way it only can for Thursday night pub quiz. Aiden’s in charge of writing their answers; usually Liam would insist he do it, so he can be sure the right thing is getting written, but he gave in the first week they did this when his spelling almost lost them points.
The first question is art. “What is the better known name of the painting La Gioconda?” Liam looks at Niall.
“You took Art History, right?” Liam hisses, his voice down. Aiden looks at Ed and shrugs.
“Five years ago,” Niall says, and scratches his head.
“Are you guys serious?” Louis asks. “It’s the Mona Lisa.”
“Keep your voice down!” Liam tells him, and then processes what he said. “Are you sure?”
Louis gives him an incredulous look. “I’m sure, Liam.”
Aiden scribbles.
The next question is literature and everyone looks at Liam. He lives for this but the pressure still makes him tense. “What is the last name of the brothers Dmitri, Ivan, Alyosha, and Smerdyakov?” And Liam relaxes because it’s an easy one. He motions Aiden to hand him the pencil and writes carefully, “Karamazov.”
“Are you sure you spelled it correctly?” Matt asks, and Liam thinks he’s only half joking.
“I was careful,” he complains.
The game goes on and Liam thinks they’re doing well, they have at least fair guesses for every question, and even the entertainment one goes all right when Harry turns out to know Elvis Presley’s middle name is Aaron.
“All right lads, the last question is worth triple points. Get your game faces on,” Liam says, mostly for Louis’s and Harry’s benefit. They announce the category and it’s sports, and Liam gets excited because he knows sports, and Louis echoes him out loud. He’s sure they’ve got this in the bag.
“What do you play if you are a toxophilite?” comes the question, and Liam draws a blank.
Liam looks blankly at Niall, who just shrugs. “Tennis?” he guesses.
Liam stares at him. “I watch tennis and I have never heard that word.”
“It could be tennis,” Niall argues pointlessly, and then Harry looks up and says, “It’s archery.”
Liam studies him, skeptical. “Archery?”
Harry nods, hard enough that his curls fall over his forehead. “It is. I’m sure of it.”
Aiden’s already scribbling, but Liam keeps looking at Harry, and Harry looks back. “Is that even considered a sport?” Liam asks, and Louis leans over to glare at him.
“If Harry says he’s sure than he’s sure,” Louis says. He pauses, and then goes on, “Anyway, do you have a better guess?” And Liam doesn’t, so Aiden takes their sheet up to the front and Liam pulls out his phone.
“How do you even spell that word?” he asks, and Harry gives him an offended look.
“You’re googling it?” he asks. “You don’t trust me?”
Liam pointedly ignores him because of course he doesn’t trust him, he doesn’t even know him and three points are riding on it. In the end he googles “Archery player,” and what do you know, toxo-something or other comes up.
“You were right!” Liam shouts. Harry gives him an exasperated look, but Liam’s just happy, and he reaches over, holding his hand out for a high five. Harry’s look turns to one of amusement, and he hits Liam’s hand half-heartedly.
“You’re officially on the championship side,” Liam tells him. “Our new little genius.”
Harry opens his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he just laughs incredulously, shakes his head so his hair falls over his face, and Liam offers to buy him a congratulatory drink.
“It’s the least you can do,” Harry says, and so Liam does.
Liam isn’t sure how it happens but he’s pretty sure it’s Louis’s fault. A celebratory drink turns into celebratory shots, and then Louis’s asking whose turn it is to buy the next round and with six of them there, rounds go a long way and it’s Thursday and Liam has class in the morning.
Somewhere around the fourth time Louis proposes a toast to kill off some of their massive excesses of brain cells, Liam excuses himself to go to the men’s room. He finds himself a bit unsteady, dragging his fingers along the wall so he doesn’t tip over, and on his way back he figures it’s probably a good idea to stop for a glass of water.
He makes his way to the bar, each step careful, relieved when he makes it and can lean his elbows on the smooth top. He looks for the bartender but first his eyes find Harry, a few feet down the bar, and he’s turned toward the woman sitting next to him, who’s grinning up at him and Harry’s turned away but just from the slice of cheek Liam can see, Liam knows he’s grinning back.
Okay, Liam thinks. For some reason he has the urge to move away, doesn’t want Harry to see him, doesn’t want to interrupt him and his friend, but then the bartender is in front of him and he says, “Just a glass of water, please.” He doesn’t think he’s being loud but Harry is looking up and then he’s moving toward Liam.
“All right, Li?” he asks, a hand settling low on Liam’s back.
Liam gives what he hopes is a bright and steady smile. “Just fine,” he says. The bartender returns with his drink and Harry raises an eyebrow.
“Water already?” he asks. “So early in the night?”
“Some of us have class tomorrow,” Liam tells him, and take a long drink. He eyes Harry then, his empty hands, and says, “I don’t see you drinking, either.”
“Some of us have to sing tomorrow,” Harry shoots back, sarcastic. Liam hums in response and looks away from him, looks for Niall, but he gets dizzy and leans over onto the bar.
The smile drops off Harry’s face. “Maybe we should get you home,” he says, his hand still on Liam’s back and pressing in now.
“No,” Liam says, “No. I mean, yes, I’m going to go home, but you -“ He glances at the woman at the bar then, and she’s looking over at them, offers him a smile. Liam looks at Harry, he drops his voice to a whisper. “She’s pretty, Harry,” he says quietly. “That’s who you go home with.”
Harry looks momentarily confused, and then he glances over his shoulder. The woman’s smile widens and Harry steps away from Liam, almost inadvertently, it seems, and that’s good. That’s what Liam wanted.
“Liam,” Harry says, his voice and face equally neutral, and Liam drains his water and steps back, carefully steady.
“Have a good night, okay, Harry?” He winks and he knows he looks stupid, but Harry doesn’t react. “Catch up with you later.”
three