After they've finished lunch, and after Louis's stopped coughing and they've got the redness down in his eyes, Harry redoubles his efforts to get Niall's attention. He probably crosses the line between 'playful seduction' to 'all out annoyance', but it's not his fault Niall is thick.
Over the next hour he cuddles, grabs, squeezes, kisses, all but sticks his hand down the front of Niall's trousers, and all with the same maddening result - Niall's laughter, increasingly strained as the shoot wears on, and his gentle attempts to redirect Harry's hands (and knees, and mouth) to safer territory. At one point Harry tries to brush a kiss over his neck, and Niall ducks so fast that Harry topples over and ends up smacking his face right into Liam's in a decidedly unsexy and very painful way. He groans and rolls to the floor, hands over his smarting jaw, bruised and defeated.
It's obvious by now, so obvious Harry can't lie to himself anymore: Niall isn't oblivious. Niall just isn't interested.
*
Harry mopes through the rest of the photo shoot. He mopes in the dressing room, tugging his own shirt back on and rubbing a lackluster hand over his curls. He doesn't even care what his hair looks like right now. He says it aloud and Zayn looks so confused and upset that it makes Harry laugh, and then he's even more cross because he doesn't want to laugh, he wants to be left alone to wallow.
"Have at it then," Louis tells him, lifting and dropping his hands in a gesture of 'well-if-you're-going-to-be-like-that'. "We're going out. Text me if you decide to stop being a 12 year old girl and want to come out."
"I saved your life!" Harry shouts after Louis's retreating back, and then the boys are gone. Harry gets himself comfortable on the bed with the telly on some mindless movie and settles in for a good, long sulk.
He's alone for less than five minutes when the door opens again and Niall comes in, rubbing the back of his hand around his mouth and looking sheepish. "Forgot me wallet," he explains, gesturing to the dresser, which is piled high with junk.
"Oh," Harry says, spirits deflating, because for a moment there he thought, maybe… "I think it's under Zayn's shoe."
Niall pokes at the detritus spread across the desk, lifting one of Zayn's trainers by the laces and snagging his wallet from beneath it. "Cheers," he says weakly, waving the wallet vaguely in the air before tucking it in his pocket, and then he just stands there, staring at Harry.
"…Was there something else you needed help finding?" Harry asks.
"No," Niall shakes his head. "No, I just… Harry, are you alright?"
Harry shrugs, sticking his clasped hands between his knees and trying not to look quite as pathetic under Niall's steady gaze as he feels. "I'm alright," he assures. "I mean, I'll be alright. You don't have to worry, or feel bad, or anything."
"Why should I feel bad?" Niall asks, brow creasing.
"You shouldn't," Harry tells him. "That's what I mean. You shouldn't feel bad, it's not your fault. You feel how you feel, and I feel how I feel, and it's no one's fault, it just sucks a bit. Well, a lot, really, but I'll get over it."
"…Get over what?" Niall asks, turning his body fully toward Harry now, the intensity of his gaze heavy and focused. "Harry, how do you feel?"
"Don't," Harry implores. "Don't make me tell you again, it's embarrassing. I know you don't feel the same way, and it's… it's okay."
"Harry," Niall says slowly, gaze shifting rapidly across Harry's face, like he's taking in every detail and only just beginning to put them all together, "the other day, when you said… were you actually being serious?"
Over the next hour he cuddles, grabs, squeezes, kisses, all but sticks his hand down the front of Niall's trousers, and all with the same maddening result - Niall's laughter, increasingly strained as the shoot wears on, and his gentle attempts to redirect Harry's hands (and knees, and mouth) to safer territory. At one point Harry tries to brush a kiss over his neck, and Niall ducks so fast that Harry topples over and ends up smacking his face right into Liam's in a decidedly unsexy and very painful way. He groans and rolls to the floor, hands over his smarting jaw, bruised and defeated.
It's obvious by now, so obvious Harry can't lie to himself anymore: Niall isn't oblivious. Niall just isn't interested.
*
Harry mopes through the rest of the photo shoot. He mopes in the dressing room, tugging his own shirt back on and rubbing a lackluster hand over his curls. He doesn't even care what his hair looks like right now. He says it aloud and Zayn looks so confused and upset that it makes Harry laugh, and then he's even more cross because he doesn't want to laugh, he wants to be left alone to wallow.
"Have at it then," Louis tells him, lifting and dropping his hands in a gesture of 'well-if-you're-going-to-be-like-that'. "We're going out. Text me if you decide to stop being a 12 year old girl and want to come out."
"I saved your life!" Harry shouts after Louis's retreating back, and then the boys are gone. Harry gets himself comfortable on the bed with the telly on some mindless movie and settles in for a good, long sulk.
He's alone for less than five minutes when the door opens again and Niall comes in, rubbing the back of his hand around his mouth and looking sheepish. "Forgot me wallet," he explains, gesturing to the dresser, which is piled high with junk.
"Oh," Harry says, spirits deflating, because for a moment there he thought, maybe… "I think it's under Zayn's shoe."
Niall pokes at the detritus spread across the desk, lifting one of Zayn's trainers by the laces and snagging his wallet from beneath it. "Cheers," he says weakly, waving the wallet vaguely in the air before tucking it in his pocket, and then he just stands there, staring at Harry.
"…Was there something else you needed help finding?" Harry asks.
"No," Niall shakes his head. "No, I just… Harry, are you alright?"
Harry shrugs, sticking his clasped hands between his knees and trying not to look quite as pathetic under Niall's steady gaze as he feels. "I'm alright," he assures. "I mean, I'll be alright. You don't have to worry, or feel bad, or anything."
"Why should I feel bad?" Niall asks, brow creasing.
"You shouldn't," Harry tells him. "That's what I mean. You shouldn't feel bad, it's not your fault. You feel how you feel, and I feel how I feel, and it's no one's fault, it just sucks a bit. Well, a lot, really, but I'll get over it."
"…Get over what?" Niall asks, turning his body fully toward Harry now, the intensity of his gaze heavy and focused. "Harry, how do you feel?"
"Don't," Harry implores. "Don't make me tell you again, it's embarrassing. I know you don't feel the same way, and it's… it's okay."
"Harry," Niall says slowly, gaze shifting rapidly across Harry's face, like he's taking in every detail and only just beginning to put them all together, "the other day, when you said… were you actually being serious?"
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