FIC; a live (not radio) spoon
title: a live (not radio) spoon
pairing: nick grimshaw/harry styles
word count: 1.5k
rating: g
warnings: like, fluff. and swearing maybe.
summary: the night before nick's very first breakfast show.
notes: because i am a hopeless #teamgrimmy fan and adore the man far too much.
"but i'm going to fuck something up, i can already feel it. like i'm going to be there, in the studio and then there'll be like and now for grimmy's first song! and i'll just fall over in a heap of like, self-pity and sadness and they'll panic and play the first song that they can think of and fucking one direction will be the first band ever played on my show-"
"oi!"
"i mean no disrespect dear," nick pats harry on the head awkwardly from where he's curled over his knee caps. harry's knee caps are very bony. he doesn't like them much. "it's a great song, lovely, i'm properly obsessed and all that."
"you're a proper twat is what you are," harry sighs, but then his long fingers keep pulling at the hair at the back of nick's neck so nick figures he's not too offended. "everything is going to be fine."
"easy for you to say," all of nick's words are slightly muffled because he's slowly been edging his face into the warm wool of harry's old grandmum sweater for the past ten minutes. "when've you ever had to perform in front of thousands of people that will hate you if you fuck up?"
"oh never."
"exactly."
harry laughs and there must be something desperately wrong with nick because since day one that kid's laugh has made him smile, no matter how mad and/or drunk and/or stoned he's been. and he can barely muster a lip twitch at it now. all he can feel is the nerves in his stomach, slowly ebbing away at his soul.
"i'm going to fuck everything up."
"it's going to be fine."
"those team moyles people are going to throw eggs at me when i walk into the studio," nick nods into harry's lap, curling his legs up a bit more. he feels like a cat. a bloody cat. where was ed sheeran when he needed him.
"fuck those team moyles people," harry says in his mean-voice, which sounds a lot like nick's nice-voice. the boy doesn't have a cruel bone in his body. "they're just a bunch of twats anyways."
"isn't niall a moyles fan?" nick holds onto the distraction. distractions are good. distractions make the world go round.
"exactly, see, twats," harry chuckles a bit at the end, and nick has to smile at that one. niall seems to be one of the only members of one direction that even pretends to like him at the moment, so he can't insult him too much.
nick sighs.
nick squirms a bit in harry's lap.
"i'm going to fuck everything up-"
"you are not," harry finally sounds exasperated, fingers clenching in nick's hair for a second. he only finds it slightly arousing. really. "you're going to be fine. and me and aimee are going to wake you up and then listen to it and maybe call alexa and possibly henry and we'll have a big morning of it, and you won't fuck up and everything will be perfect and life will move on."
"jesus, have you been to some seminars with zayn or something?"
"is that all you took from that?"
"very roller coaster of life of you, is all," nick chides, picking at the little hole in harry's tight jeans.
"do you want some more tea?" harry asks a little while later, while they both try and make out what the actors are saying on the muted, rerun of coronation street that's playing. "i can re-heat some if you want."
"i'm alright, but thank you."
"on the television some blond woman is standing in a mostly empty room, crying at some old man while he walks slowly. nick tries for about five seconds to get the gist of what's happening before he gives up and turns over in harry's lap, so he can see his face again.
well, chin. but face too.
"you've got a really gross spot on your chin you know," nick states, squiggling about to a more comfortable position. "it's really awful."
"thanks for that," harry doesn't even look down at him, eyes on the program. his nostrils look positively huge from this angle.
"you're like adrian mole," this is a good analogy. if he and louis were on speaking terms he'd text it to him and they'd have a great laugh. but they're not. which is awkward. but also very kind of funny. "except a tad more annoying."
"oi!" harry's eyes finally flick down to meet his, and he has three chins for a second. "i came back from germany to spend time with you, the least you can do is be grateful."
"you just did it for the free food," nick waves his hand vaguely over to his side table, where a package of expired fig newtons are sitting, minding their own business. "can't find cuisine like this anywhere else in london."
"that must be it," harry smiles a bit.
"or maybe it's the company."
"could be," a smile turns to a grin and then gangly teenage hands come up to nick's face for harry to hold him still, like he always does. it's awkward, the angle, but harry manages to give nick a big old kiss on the lips for half a second, tongue swiping across his.
"mm," nick tries pulling him in with his ugly jumper, "come back."
"i am not snogging you like this, jesus," harry's such a complainer. "my back's killing me."
"spoil sport."
"twat."
"hm," he plays with harry's wrist for a minute, all dark lines of tattoo and soft bits of skin and bone and muscle. "i'm going to fuck everything up tomorrow morning."
"uuuggggghhhh" harry moans but nick continues because, well, what can you expect with teenagers.
"i mean, chris moyles, you know? chris fucking moyles. how can i compete with him? he's a fucking legend. and i'm a hipster. in no version of this equation do i come out on top."
"okay fine," harry rests his head on the back of nick's shitty couch so all nick can see is the bloody pimple on his chin again. "so he's funnier than you. and knows more people. and is better liked. and has better hair-"
"wanker."
harry laughs but continues, "but he's a complete arse if you ask me."
nick's eyes go wide, "you did not just insult someone harry styles."
"i did yes."
"i didn't know you could do that."
harry laughs again, and one of his fingers traces along nick's collarbone. "i can and i did."
"amazing," nick can't help a smile spread across his face. this kid would be the death of him. "but okay, i'll bite. why is chris moyles an arse?"
"because the first time he met us, he wrote me off as a posh twat, and the second time he called me a slut." harry sighs a bit. "and i think he's funny and stuff but sometimes he takes it too far. louis can't stand him, always making gay jokes and shit."
"still a legend though," nick half heartedly says, fingers sliding through harry's.
"twat legend," harry tilts his head back down and smiles at nick. "at least you don't have to take the mick out of everyone to tell a joke."
"hm, well-" nick stops himself and shakes his head. he smiles. he plays with the bracelets on harry's arm. "no. never mind."
"what is it?"
"nothing." he grins a bit. "thank you for being here. you really did not have to be here."
"i wanted to be."
he looks up and then harry looks down and everything's- well it's really nice. it's nice to be here, on his shitty couch with his not so shitty, well, friend, who's young and a bit obnoxious and far too pretty for his own good, but also really kind and loyal and awesome.
everything is really good.
"tired yet?" harry asks in a soft voice when they've been staring in each other's eyes for half a second too long to be proper cool hipster people.
"not yet, no," nick says back, bringing a hand up to scratch at his eyebrow. "i think another episode of whatever the fuck this is might make me though - wait, what are you doing?"
harry is like, cradling his head and shifting around, pushing nick farther up with one hand while he shimmies and squirms about. he places nick's head on his ratty sofa cushion and nick barely has time to open his mouth before he's moved about and twisted and turned and then-
oh.
harry's front is pressed to his back, and he's almost falling off the couch but there are wiry arms around him that are stopping him from that and.
wow.
okay, sap alert.
"are you-" nick nearly gets whiplash when he spins his head around to see harry's face, "are you spooning me?"
"shut up," harry at least has the decency to blush. his long, thin arms come around nick's torse and pull him back onto male teenage body a little more. "this is what lou does whenever i feel like shit."
"i'm sure he does," he can't help his eye roll. harry ignores him. he snuggles his big nose into nick's neck and it's too cold for half a second before it just becomes endearing.
"you're going to be so completely fine, nick. i promise, everything is going to be fine."
"yeah."
but for the first time that night he actually believes it.
pairing: nick grimshaw/harry styles
word count: 1.5k
rating: g
warnings: like, fluff. and swearing maybe.
summary: the night before nick's very first breakfast show.
notes: because i am a hopeless #teamgrimmy fan and adore the man far too much.
"but i'm going to fuck something up, i can already feel it. like i'm going to be there, in the studio and then there'll be like and now for grimmy's first song! and i'll just fall over in a heap of like, self-pity and sadness and they'll panic and play the first song that they can think of and fucking one direction will be the first band ever played on my show-"
"oi!"
"i mean no disrespect dear," nick pats harry on the head awkwardly from where he's curled over his knee caps. harry's knee caps are very bony. he doesn't like them much. "it's a great song, lovely, i'm properly obsessed and all that."
"you're a proper twat is what you are," harry sighs, but then his long fingers keep pulling at the hair at the back of nick's neck so nick figures he's not too offended. "everything is going to be fine."
"easy for you to say," all of nick's words are slightly muffled because he's slowly been edging his face into the warm wool of harry's old grandmum sweater for the past ten minutes. "when've you ever had to perform in front of thousands of people that will hate you if you fuck up?"
"oh never."
"exactly."
harry laughs and there must be something desperately wrong with nick because since day one that kid's laugh has made him smile, no matter how mad and/or drunk and/or stoned he's been. and he can barely muster a lip twitch at it now. all he can feel is the nerves in his stomach, slowly ebbing away at his soul.
"i'm going to fuck everything up."
"it's going to be fine."
"those team moyles people are going to throw eggs at me when i walk into the studio," nick nods into harry's lap, curling his legs up a bit more. he feels like a cat. a bloody cat. where was ed sheeran when he needed him.
"fuck those team moyles people," harry says in his mean-voice, which sounds a lot like nick's nice-voice. the boy doesn't have a cruel bone in his body. "they're just a bunch of twats anyways."
"isn't niall a moyles fan?" nick holds onto the distraction. distractions are good. distractions make the world go round.
"exactly, see, twats," harry chuckles a bit at the end, and nick has to smile at that one. niall seems to be one of the only members of one direction that even pretends to like him at the moment, so he can't insult him too much.
nick sighs.
nick squirms a bit in harry's lap.
"i'm going to fuck everything up-"
"you are not," harry finally sounds exasperated, fingers clenching in nick's hair for a second. he only finds it slightly arousing. really. "you're going to be fine. and me and aimee are going to wake you up and then listen to it and maybe call alexa and possibly henry and we'll have a big morning of it, and you won't fuck up and everything will be perfect and life will move on."
"jesus, have you been to some seminars with zayn or something?"
"is that all you took from that?"
"very roller coaster of life of you, is all," nick chides, picking at the little hole in harry's tight jeans.
"do you want some more tea?" harry asks a little while later, while they both try and make out what the actors are saying on the muted, rerun of coronation street that's playing. "i can re-heat some if you want."
"i'm alright, but thank you."
"on the television some blond woman is standing in a mostly empty room, crying at some old man while he walks slowly. nick tries for about five seconds to get the gist of what's happening before he gives up and turns over in harry's lap, so he can see his face again.
well, chin. but face too.
"you've got a really gross spot on your chin you know," nick states, squiggling about to a more comfortable position. "it's really awful."
"thanks for that," harry doesn't even look down at him, eyes on the program. his nostrils look positively huge from this angle.
"you're like adrian mole," this is a good analogy. if he and louis were on speaking terms he'd text it to him and they'd have a great laugh. but they're not. which is awkward. but also very kind of funny. "except a tad more annoying."
"oi!" harry's eyes finally flick down to meet his, and he has three chins for a second. "i came back from germany to spend time with you, the least you can do is be grateful."
"you just did it for the free food," nick waves his hand vaguely over to his side table, where a package of expired fig newtons are sitting, minding their own business. "can't find cuisine like this anywhere else in london."
"that must be it," harry smiles a bit.
"or maybe it's the company."
"could be," a smile turns to a grin and then gangly teenage hands come up to nick's face for harry to hold him still, like he always does. it's awkward, the angle, but harry manages to give nick a big old kiss on the lips for half a second, tongue swiping across his.
"mm," nick tries pulling him in with his ugly jumper, "come back."
"i am not snogging you like this, jesus," harry's such a complainer. "my back's killing me."
"spoil sport."
"twat."
"hm," he plays with harry's wrist for a minute, all dark lines of tattoo and soft bits of skin and bone and muscle. "i'm going to fuck everything up tomorrow morning."
"uuuggggghhhh" harry moans but nick continues because, well, what can you expect with teenagers.
"i mean, chris moyles, you know? chris fucking moyles. how can i compete with him? he's a fucking legend. and i'm a hipster. in no version of this equation do i come out on top."
"okay fine," harry rests his head on the back of nick's shitty couch so all nick can see is the bloody pimple on his chin again. "so he's funnier than you. and knows more people. and is better liked. and has better hair-"
"wanker."
harry laughs but continues, "but he's a complete arse if you ask me."
nick's eyes go wide, "you did not just insult someone harry styles."
"i did yes."
"i didn't know you could do that."
harry laughs again, and one of his fingers traces along nick's collarbone. "i can and i did."
"amazing," nick can't help a smile spread across his face. this kid would be the death of him. "but okay, i'll bite. why is chris moyles an arse?"
"because the first time he met us, he wrote me off as a posh twat, and the second time he called me a slut." harry sighs a bit. "and i think he's funny and stuff but sometimes he takes it too far. louis can't stand him, always making gay jokes and shit."
"still a legend though," nick half heartedly says, fingers sliding through harry's.
"twat legend," harry tilts his head back down and smiles at nick. "at least you don't have to take the mick out of everyone to tell a joke."
"hm, well-" nick stops himself and shakes his head. he smiles. he plays with the bracelets on harry's arm. "no. never mind."
"what is it?"
"nothing." he grins a bit. "thank you for being here. you really did not have to be here."
"i wanted to be."
he looks up and then harry looks down and everything's- well it's really nice. it's nice to be here, on his shitty couch with his not so shitty, well, friend, who's young and a bit obnoxious and far too pretty for his own good, but also really kind and loyal and awesome.
everything is really good.
"tired yet?" harry asks in a soft voice when they've been staring in each other's eyes for half a second too long to be proper cool hipster people.
"not yet, no," nick says back, bringing a hand up to scratch at his eyebrow. "i think another episode of whatever the fuck this is might make me though - wait, what are you doing?"
harry is like, cradling his head and shifting around, pushing nick farther up with one hand while he shimmies and squirms about. he places nick's head on his ratty sofa cushion and nick barely has time to open his mouth before he's moved about and twisted and turned and then-
oh.
harry's front is pressed to his back, and he's almost falling off the couch but there are wiry arms around him that are stopping him from that and.
wow.
okay, sap alert.
"are you-" nick nearly gets whiplash when he spins his head around to see harry's face, "are you spooning me?"
"shut up," harry at least has the decency to blush. his long, thin arms come around nick's torse and pull him back onto male teenage body a little more. "this is what lou does whenever i feel like shit."
"i'm sure he does," he can't help his eye roll. harry ignores him. he snuggles his big nose into nick's neck and it's too cold for half a second before it just becomes endearing.
"you're going to be so completely fine, nick. i promise, everything is going to be fine."
"yeah."
but for the first time that night he actually believes it.