round 4 - team canon - i no longer hear the music
Title: i no longer hear the music
Pairing: louis/harry, zayn/liam, harry/niall
Rating: pg-13/r
Word Count: ~8400
Warning(s): angst, drinking, swearing. i’m sorry, i have no fucking idea what just happened, also beware Man U fans
Summary: based off this prompt:
You simply can't make someone love you if they don't. You must choose someone who already loves you.If you choose someone who does not love you, this is the sort of love you must want.
- Israel Horovitz
A/N: biggest thank you to neverspilt for helping me with this whole thing and answering hundreds of my questions about this. i also have no fucking idea what this is, sorry. title from a song by the Libertines, all mistakes are my own. PLEASE don’t break the fourth wall thanks!
It starts... well, Harry doesn't remember how it starts.
He remembers - back in bootcamp, all those centuries ago when he was a lost little boy, remembers how frightened he was, how singing in front of Simon Cowell seemed like the scariest thing ever.
He remembers going to the toilets and this guy approaching him - brown hair, blue eyes and a wide smile.
“Hi, I'm Louis, what's your name?”
And just like that, Harry met Louis, Louis, who went from the first person ever to ask for Harry's autograph (You'll be huge one day, I swear and I'll tell everyone that I met you before all that!) to being one of the most important people in his life, and wow.
Next thing Harry knows, they're together in a band and he's thrilled. He loves them, already: Liam taking care and fretting, Niall eating everything is sight and Zayn taking too long in the bathroom.
Are you wanking in there mate or what the fuck is taking you so long?
But most of all, he loves Louis, careless funny brilliant Louis, Louis, who brightens up the room and lightens the atmosphere, Louis, who somehow always knows what to say (not just jokes but
also serious stuff).
They're in Judges Houses, it's the night before performing in front of Simon Cowell, the performance that will change his life, and Harry really doesn't want to fuck it up.
He's in his room, because Zayn is on the balcony smoking (Harry thought Zayn was the coolest person ever when he first met him, kind of like the friend of Gemma's that wore leather jackets and used to smoke in front of school - a rebel) and Liam is there, talking to him, trying to make him stop.
Liam has already been this far, Harry remembers, and he's had to come back. He has no idea what that must be like - the idea of failing and returning home feels like the end of the world, and to have already gone through that, and have to repeat it again-
“You in there, Harry?”
Louis somehow appears outside his door, carefully pushing it open and trying not to spill the two cups of tea he was carrying.
“What the hell do you have the tea for? It's boiling!” Harry asks him as he rushes to help him with the mugs as Louis sits down next to him on the bed.
Well, he doesn't sit, he sprawls, drapes his legs all over Harry's and makes sure all parts of their bodies are touching, bumping their knees together. When he decides he's comfortable enough, he looks at Harry softly smiling at him.
“It's alright, you know. we're gonna be alright.”
“Why do you think that? How can you, why would you think-”
“We've got you, Styles.” Louis tells him. He's still grinning, he always is, but somehow he looks more earnest. Harry can tell that this is it, this is the real deal, the real Louis.
He realizes that most people don't get to see this side, as he has been living with Louis for a while now and he's just seen it, think is about how many have actually seen this Louis, this special caring Louis that makes sure you're alright and remembers how Harry takes his tea. This open, honest and caring, the one that is sitting in front of Harry, self consciously playing with his fringe.
“Do you really think so?”
And Louis nods vehemently, doesn't pause to think for a second and Harry, Harry's who has always doubted himself and felt not good enough -
And Harry believes him.
--
they're in, they're -- oh my god, they're in? they're in the final, oh christ, how did this happen? they, wow - and he knows it's tough, but --
Harry kind of hopes that they win, because of course he wants them to win they're so fucking close to it and the fans are amazing (and a bit creepy too but sex is sex, and Harry still remembers being fourteen) and he just wants everyone to be proud of them.
Also - if they win, they can stay together. Forever?
Because he knows they promised that they'll stay together after the xfactor but honestly what are their chances of getting signed and going somewhere when they're just third. Nobody cares about third place.
They're standing on the podium and then suddenly, BAM
they're out.
It's over - all their dreams and hopes are over, gone, from something that was possible if you squinted your eyes to this, something impossible because how would they sell enough records to go by if they can't get people to vote on them and for fuck's sake -
His heart is torn out and he feels like fainting and throwing up and crying and screaming and he hates the world, hates everything because this is ridiculous why, how, what-
Uncle Simon looks sad, which is the proof of how much he cared about them, proof that even the great Simon Cowell has a heart (proof that he hoped they could win, and he'd never hope without believing that they could, but they didn't, they failed him) and he really thought they could do it, and it hurts so much more.
They somehow answer some questions about their time in the show, watch the short video of them from the beginning till now, this is the end, and then get off the stage and collapse against each other, all of them a mess and crying and sobbing holding each other like their lives depend on it and they do, Harry realizes. They're all holding each other, grabbing each other, can't let go,
“I love you guys, no matter what.” Louis muffles into someone's jumper.
Niall throws himself at Louis, I LOVE YOU BABY BOY screamed loud and clear in his Irish accent, knocking him off his feet, making them all fall down on the floor in a messy tangle of limbs and hands and broken dreams
--
Turns out, he was wrong. Someone does care about third place. Turns out, someone is a million of teenage girls, screaming and crying and willing to pay anything to see them. The xfactor is kind of great, and it goes from on there. They release a single, two, three, suddenly! An album, their own uk tour, win a brit, they open big time rushes american tour and all through that, it's them, together. And it's amazing
“it's wow, it's incredible! None of us could've expected this, we are so so grateful to you guys, massive thanks, love you a lot, couldnt've done it without you” rinse and repeat, again and again and again.
But, somehow, Harry feels like maybe there's something wrong, missing.
Somehow, he should've been happier and maybe he knows what the problem is, knows how it looks fast asleep and laughing, the way it's hair looks first thing in the morning. Maybe the problem lives in his flat and eats his chocolate and compliments his cooking, maybe the problem is one of his bandmates. Maybe the problem is his best friend, maybe it likes stripy sailor shirts (“I do not look like a gay sailor, shut up.”) and pants that are honestly too tight, and -
Maybe it's called Louis.
Which, Harry can see why some people (Zayn) could possibly think that's not such a big problem, only it really is, no matter what Zayn says.
“Dude, honestly, how bad is it, seriously. Like, imagine if it were some guy you fucked in the nightclub or something and then he left and you'd be all heart broken about it since you didn't want only a one night stand and it was the best sex of your li-” and that's when Harry throws a pillow at him, because, honestly.
It's one thing for Zayn to come over and eat his popcorn and steal his blanket, because Harry likes Zayn and watching Friends with a friend is always better than watching Friends alone. But to lecture Harry on his personal life and not making a move on Louis is a completely different fucking thing, and it makes Zayn a hypocrite.
Harry tells him that:
“Oh shut the fuck up, you have no idea what the fuck it's like-”
“Really, are you really gonna say that I have no idea what it's like being in love with your best mate? Really?” Zayn jumps in, raising his eyebrows at Harry in disbelief.
“Well, okay, maybe you do,” Harry admits, “But. It's different, between you and Li, and Lou and me.”
“What, because Louis doesn't have a fucking annoying girlfriend that he's in fucking love with? Because Louis lives in your apartment and you have been living together for ages? Because there's a shitload of teenage girls on the internet convinced that you're in love? Which they are actually right about, man.”
Harry sometimes hates Zayn, because he's such a bloody drama queen and also that is not what he meant.
“No. Well, yes, that's not - that's not what I meant Zayn and you very well know it. You know that living together is actually a big fucking problem? Because - say, say i told him. That I-”
“Wanted to fuck the living daylights out of him?” Zayn supplies unhelpfully, not managing to deflect the pillow thrown at him this time.
“Liked him. That's where people usually start, mate, liking. Say if I told him, and he didn't like me back, then what? What the fuck do we do? We live together mate. That's a lot.”
Harry gets up, starts pacing. Zayn is a fucking bastard, for making him do this,
“On top of working together, touring together, we live together. So basically I see him all the time. What do we do? Do we ignore each other? Because, that wouldn't work out. We have to fit together to work, to sound good, and if there'll be anything awkward between us, any vibes, it won't work. Also, the cameras will catch that, and the group of girls that are convinced we're in love, thank you for that by the way, will catch it and then there'll be shit in the papers and stuff. And don't - don't tell me that that's not what it is, because you know how every one of the big bosses cares about that we appear to the public as young, attractive, straight guys who go for thoughtful girls and totally don't care what they look like. So don't you fucking tell me it's okay, it's easy.”
Zayn doesn't say anything for a while, and when he looks back at Harry, it's obvious that not even Zayn can magic up a way to make it okay: it's not.
Simple as that.
“Let's get drunk.” he says simply, and Harry can't do anything but agree.
--
And that's how it goes, really. Becomes a habit, Harry and Zayn getting drunk off their asses, fucking pretty girls and pretty boys, ones who won't tell, ones who don't mind that Harry breathes a different name when he comes, imagining brown hair and blue eyes instead of the pair that's looking at him with pity.
--
They are staying at home that night, have got a night in after god knows how long, too long, Harry thinks.
Harry has missed this, moments like this when they are not Harry and Louis but HarryandLouis, snuggled up on the sofa under a blanket Anne sent them when they first moved together, watching Family Guy reruns and drinking some Yorkshire tea that Louis insists on buying because it reminds him of his mum.
And Harry, Harry is just thinking, how nice this is, being able to sit like this together, cuddled up and warm, away from the fans and the media and their management. Thinks how much this reminds him of movie nights with his girlfriend, back when he was fifteen and the only way to get some action was going through a Mean Girls movie, only how much clearer this feels, how much realer and rawer, how much he really, really loves Louis.
And, wow, okay.
He has known that he, y'know, liked him for ages, ever since they first met, he's always known he likes Louis maybe a bit more than you're supposed to like your best friend, especially one that's the same gender as you are. He has had a few dreams that involved Lou's arse and his mouth that resulted with awkward morning wood and dirty sheets, but he's even had a few innocent dreams of hugs and kisses and even one where he can clearly remember them going to an Adventure park as a date, Disney land maybe -
and that's the moment when Louis decides to turn the volume of the telly lower, and turn to Harry, clearing his voice and looking unsure and worried.
“I have, um. I have something- something I'd like to, something you should know? Not that it's a, not that it's a big deal, but, um,” he laughs nervously, raking a hand through his hair. It's so unusual for Louis to be this person, this self conscious guy, that Harry immediately turns to Louis, completely paying attention to him.
Well, to be honest, that was what he was doing before, too, but now he's doesn't have to act like he's watching crappy american TV.
Louis shoots him a shy smile, ducks his head a little and breathes in, breathes out.
“It's - you're the first person I'm telling, I, I haven't even told my mum? And um, I just - I want you to know first,” and something inside Harry soars with hope. He really, really hopes that this is, that this is Louis coming out Louis telling him he likes guys or likes him and this would be the best story to tell their kids, little Darcy and Thomas (so yes, maybe Harry has done some day dreaming too, some day dreaming involving picking out names for their children and decorating their house, their garden) that Daddy Louis told Daddy Harry he loved him (this is progressing fast) while Daddy Harry was thinking of telling Louis-
“I've um, I've got a girlfriend?”
-
Have you ever been on a roller coaster, one of those awful crazy ones that are 16+ only and advise you not to go on them if you've eaten recently, and been in the cart as it stopped on top of the biggest hill, and you already felt sick before the ride, could feel the bile rising down your throat, could feel the disgusting taste in your mouth and then the cart actually moves, and it's so much worse
-
That's how Harry feels about Eleanor, only she doesn't last less than half a minute. She's been around for half a year, which is more than Harry anticipated.
Which is bad enough, the fact that she exists and therefore a) Louis doesn't like him and b) what he actually likes is leggy tanned brunettes that shop in Topshop and like and pop music, and happen to be girls.
And to make it even worse, she's really nice. She does her best to meet the boys and doesn't spread any rumors or leak information, something that is a very necessary girlfriend trait if you're in a band as big as they are.
And Jay likes her, as do Lottie and Fizzy and the twins, and everyone seems to love her, even Danielle, Liam's girlfriend likes her, and Harry really wants her to stop being so fucking perfect, because how is he supposed to compete with that.
-
Some fans don't like her, and okay, what they say is really mean and hurtful and make Louis go crazy, but-
Some of that stuff is hilarious, and the girl that tweeted her the Gold Digger lyrics was totally right.
-
The pressure on them gets bigger, on Harry and Louis and Liam and Niall and Zayn, on One Direction, but also on HarryandLouis and LiamandNiall and LiamandZayn, which is so not cool, and definitely not something the media should be aware of.
There's this interview somewhere in America, Harry has stopped trying to keep track, and they ask about shipping and Larry Stylinson and Harry goes so incredibly tense.
Louis handles the question, like he always does, because Harry has no idea what he would say.
After the interview is over, the whole composed facade Louis has breaks.
He marches towards the dressing rooms first, and they all follow him, not saying a word. Niall shoots Harry a sad look, and Zayn squeezes his shoulder, and Liam looks really, really sorry, but it's Louis that matters most.
And Louis, he's livid.
“What the actual fuck-” he growls the moment they enter the safe haven of their dressing room where no journalist can hear what One Direction really think.
“How dare they? Oh my god, this is awful. Larry Stylinson, I can't believe that got to the press how did it get to the press, the fucking press this was a joke oh my god this was a joke how is this something that we're asked-”
--
Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask
why are you so ashamed
why is the idea of liking me so disgusting
am i disgusting do i disgust you
--
“He's just scared,” Niall tells him later, when it's just the two of them watching football at the hotel.
Liam took care of Louis, shooting them all a look that said wish me luck and i'm sorry as he dragged Louis off to calm him down.
Despite how much Harry wishes that could be him, the person that can make feel Louis like it's all okay, like Louis does for him, he can't.
He just asks questions, why is people thinking we're gay that awful, I mean, it's - it's a joke, why does it matter so much and Louis gets even angrier and angrier, and they've got more press meetings in the afternoon, and they really don't need angry Louis for that.
So Liam has him, and Zayn has gone for some “business” (Harry thinks he just went to buy more cigarettes, to be honest) and so Niall is the one who's stuck with Harry.
“I really appreciate you doing this, mate,” Harry tells him, mouthful of pizza they ordered as they watch Manchester United slaughter Tottenham.
It's proof of how good a friend Niall is, because Harry knows he hates Man U, but since it's Harry's favorite team, he didn't protest to watch it, even though there was a Barca match on too.
“You owe me for killing an hour and a half of my life watching this bunch of pricks you call a team cheat their way into winning, but otherwise we're good, mate.” Niall grins at him, and that gives Harry no choice but to tackle him violently, until he takes back what he said.
Nobody messes with Man U on Harry's watch.
--
And when Zayn holds his hair before as he throws up all he consumed that night, his weight in fancy cocktails and some colorful pills slid into his mouth by a boy in a sailor hat, and for once, he doesn't look condescending, doesn't ask questions, just sits there with him, and Harry is incredibly thankful for him.
-
Management decide that they can't have rumors about their lovely boys being gay, especially not now that they're big in America, so they fly Danielle and Eleanor in, and make Harry meet up with the girl from the Gotta Be You video, Emma, when they go to Australia.
He hates it, hates the fakeness of it, of how there's a paid for photographer stalking their every move, but when he points it out to Emma, she just gets really confused
“Is that not exactly the same thing that you get everyday?”
And it takes Harry a while to realize that actually, yeah, that's exactly what they do everyday.
-
He starts to empathize with Zayn an awful lot more, only now he kind of realizes how long he's had it like this, and well, maybe he was wrong, and he had it easier.
One thing is sure now, at least: Louis isn't interested.
Only that's not how the fans see it - a lot of the Larry Stylinson fans are convinced Eleanor is a beard, a fake, payed by the big bosses to make Louis seem straight.
Harry wishes that they were right (they were right about her getting a shitload of money out of this, that's for sure) and that he and Louis really were angsty, star-crossed lovers, only, well. That's not how it is, really.
It's Harry being in fucking love with Louis for the second year, running, and Louis liking his girlfriend, who now is getting lot's of hate, and poor thing. Danielle and Liam latch onto her immediately, because they're a pair of goody-two shoes, and they do their best they can to make it stop, to help with their fans. Only it's not enough, and Louis goes crazy on twitter, and Harry really hates him being like this. Hates him getting angry at the fans, because Harry remembers even if they don’t, how he pushed them all and wrote down ideas for the next video diaries, just so that they had something to look for too. How disbelieving he was, that people were actually voting for them, and how he felt he had to make up to them for it, with his time and attention. And Louis, Harry thinks he forgot what it felt like being told that they changed someone’s life or made them stop cutting for the first time, back when they believed everyone and felt like they were actually doing to make music, and ugh.
Where did all that time go.
-
Larry Stylinson is bullshit hurts more than Manchester United losing to fucking City, more than his parents sitting him and Gemma down and telling them that mummy and daddy won't be living anymore together, hurts more than what anyone ever said to him during the Xfactor, or after. It's worse than all the fan hate, all the boys telling them that they're faggots, girls telling them that they're ugly and stupid, most of the world telling them that they can't sing for shit, stupid gay ugly fucktards.
Sometimes, Harry wakes up not being able to breathe, suffocating under a mass of something, water and air, and he's gulping for air and he can't breathe, can't utter a single sound and then there's Louis, Louis holding him and telling him that it'll be better, wake up Harry, it's only a dream, Shhhhh and Harry wants to ask him if he doesn't know that he's the reason that he can't eat or sleep or breathe, the reason why Harry wakes up on some days feeling like he's wearing his skin the wrong way round, or maybe it's someone elses skin. The reason why Harry has a constant ache in his chest that can't be cured, can't be solved by booze or drugs or sex, or cigarettes or singing or breathing or living-
the thing is, the moment Louis holds him, Harry is alright.
-
And, okay, so maybe he could be okay with Louis having a girlfriend, (lies his brain supplies) so Harry thinks - he’d be perhaps more okay with Louis having a girlfriend, if he didn’t ditch Harry for her.
Which he does.
All the time.
Gone are the weekends, when they did nothing but have marathons of Friends and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, gone are the days of playing dress up just so they could sneak around London in colorful wigs, laughing at people's expressions and the disgusted looks tween girls shoot at them, because if only they knew.
Louis would always let Harry drag him into various record stores around Camden, making fun of how happy Harry was after finding the vinyl of the Vaccines or “some other weird-ass indie band” and then buying him the record, telling Harry that it's “a gift for being fabulous”.
Now, Louis has no time for Harry.
Which sucks, really, because on top of having lost his crush (whatever, he can't call it his soulmate, and really, what else was it) he’s also lost his best friend.
--
“Do you wanna watch Friends today, Lou? I might even make you a fry-up if you ask nicely.” It’s Tuesday, and they’ve got a few days off before shooting the video for the new single, Live While We’re Young, but all five of them are spending them in London. And so Harry’s leaning against the door of Lou’s bedroom at ten in the morning, a cup of tea for him in his hand.
Louis sits up, stretching like a cat, his hair disheveled and Harry really, really likes it when Lou doesn’t shave.
“What day is it?” he yawns, taking the tea from Harry and smiling gratefully.
“Tuesday, we’ve got the day off.”
Louis flashes Harry an apologetic look, and Harry’s heart sinks before he even starts talking.
“I’m sorry love, but I promised El I’d go see her since you know, we won’t see each other a lot now because her school’s starting again.”
Harry just nods like he understands, yeah of course, tuning out on the rest of the apology, because whatever Louis might say, Harry has already heard it before, and goes back to his room before Louis can apologize again or, god forbid, promise him some other day out, some other day for just them and stuff they can do, because Harry then gets carried away and they never actually happen.
Harry knows it's not on purpose, sees Louis look at him sadly. Apologetically.
He knows Louis feels bad about it, but he can't bring himself to let Louis ditch Eleanor, or his mum for whoever, for the day, because really, he wants Louis happy more than anything, and that fucking sucks.
--
They had a weekend off, before America, and Louis had promised him Saturday together, just the two of them, it’s a date, and Harry spent ages planning out their day: they were to go on a picnic, and Harry had gotten in touch with Lou's favorite bakery in town, making them sure that they would have baguettes and cake ready for them at six in the morning, and he made them guacamole and lots of different fancy sounding french spreads it took him ages to make, and wine he got Grimmy to buy with him, just so it would fit, so everything would be perfect.
And when Harry told Louis to go sleep early the night before, not even bothering to hide his excitement, because they had a big day ahead tomorrow, Louis just looked at him blankly.
“What do you mean? Do we have work tomorrow? They can't do that, can they? I've already organized a picnic for El and myself, it's supposed to be a lovely day tomorrow!”
And so it ended with Harry phoning Niall at ten in the evening discreetly from his room, asking him if he maybe wanted to go on a picnic with him tomorrow?
“Is Louis gonna be there too? Because, you know I love you guys, but I'm not third wheeling, no way in hell.” Niall told him, and Harry tried his best to keep his voice steady as he answered,
“Uh, no, but. He was supposed to? But, he forgot, apparently, or something, it doesn't matter - he has a date with Eleanor planned out,” and he has to stop, breathe in, breathe out, “and, I planned it all out, I don't want it to go to waste-”
“And you know I'm available, huh?” Niall stops him before he can continue, and Harry is so fucking thankful for that, that Niall doesn't say oh, so he ditched you out loud, even though he's obviously thinking it.
“Well, I'll have to look in my diary to check, never can be sure that I don't have anything to do, now that I'm a pop star,” and Harry can hear Niall rustling some paper on the other side of the line, and it's not like he doesn't know that the bloody twat doesn't even have a fucking diary, and he's just so grateful for him.
“I love you, Niall,” he tells him down the line, and Niall laughs,
“That doesn't mean anything mate, love me or not, a hot date's a hot date. Lucky for you, I don't happen to have one scheduled for tomorrow, so pick me up and we can go get drunk on some field, yeah?”
They go and do that, and when Harry returns home the next evening, still a bit tipsy, he does his best to ignore the fact that Louis is still not home, and what that could possibly mean.
--
So instead, he calls Zayn. Liam is with Danielle for the weekend, and he has no idea what Niall is up to. And really, he just needs his wingman tonight.
Zayn picks up just before Harry wants to give up and sounds half dead.
“The fuck do you want.” He says instead of a greeting, and Harry can practically see him squinting in the darkness of his apartment, sitting up on his bed and glaring at Harry down the phone.
“Were you asleep?”
“No shit Sherlock.”
“At half ten?”
“I was tired-”
“On a Saturday night? You're part of the most famous boy band right now, millions of records sold worldwide, thousands in the bank, with the world at our feet, and you go to sleep at half ten on a Saturday night?!” Harry asks Zayn unbelievingly. He means it as a joke, of course he does, but the moment Zayn snarls at him, Harry knows something is wrong.
“I'M TIRED OKAY. No, I am not mad at you. No, you didn't do anything wrong; no, you did not offend me in any way. NO, this does not mean I want to break up with you, for fuck’s sake. When I say that I am tired and went to sleep, that is exactly what I meant. I am not having a panic attack, I am not about to have a breakdown or off myself for fuck’s sake, can you just leave me fucking alone? I'm TIRED!”
See, the thing you probably don't know about Zayn: In all the (two) years that Harry's known him, through all that they went through together, he has never sounded like this. The thing about Zayn is - he doesn't shout. He'd rather tell you, in a level voice, to stop, and then you'd know you're in trouble because Zayn was not fan a confrontation. Honestly, most of the time he just went for a smoke when he was pissed off, which was a sign for everyone else to get their act together.
But now he was shouting and Harry was really, really worried.
And even worse - in all the (two) years they've known each other, the only time Zayn hung up on Harry was that one time Harry called his while he was fucking a girl, but it was his own bloody fault because what kind of a dumbass picks up the phone while getting laid?
Zayn.
So it was completely understandable that it took a moment for Harry to recover from the shock of being hung up on by Zayn, and then he ran out of his flight in lightning speed, only to return back when he realized that he can hardly run around the apartment completely naked. And also, he needed booze.
--
“I'm coming, alright, alright! Calm down for fuck’s sake, I'm coming -” Harry heard Zayn bellow from inside the apartment, and he let go of the buzzer, not without a slight sense of regret. He had never gotten so close to buzzing the main tune of What Makes You Beautiful on a buzzer of an occupied apartment.
“Harry? What do you want?” The door opened a bit, and Harry was met with a sliver of Zayn's face that was glaring at him from the inside.
“Can I come in? I'm sort of -” Harry glanced around and lowered his voice conspiratorially, whispering “Commando” as if it were the biggest secret on earth. He hoped this would melt Zayn's cold whatever it was, mood or PMS or phase, because Harry was worried. He was, however, only met with the cold unimpressed face of one Zayn Malik, and therefore Harry decided that desperate times meant desperate measures, and so he leaned in even closer, bumping his head against the door and looking Zayn in the eye.
It was time for honesty. And some puppy eyes.
“I'm worried mate. Can I, can I come in? I swear to god, I won't even bother you - if you don't wanna talk about it, that's cool, I just wanna be here? With you? Because you're my mate? And I love you?” Harry pouted his lip for the large part and used his extra special puppy eyes, ones that he had always saved for Monday evenings when he tried to persuade his mum into letting him watch Never Mind the Buzzcocks with her and Gemma when he was small.
“Yeah - yeah, alright, come in then. But promise me, no more puppy eyes, and no shenanigans, Styles,” Zayn told Harry from behind the door, and they pinky promised before Zayn opened the door wide and let Harry sneak in.
Zayn's apartment smelt even smokier than usual. The lights in the living room and kitchen were off, and so Harry obediently followed Zayn into his bedroom.
“I brought vodka,” he told him as he sprawled on Zayn's large double bed, only just remembering.
Zayn grinned at Harry, muttering something about 'no shenanigans, look how long that lasted' before he opened the bottle and took a deep sip.
He looked back at Harry, arching his eyebrow, daring Harry to ask. But Harry kept his word - he promised he wouldn't ask, and Harry kept his promises. Zayn finally looked around, and with a sigh, he sat next to Harry on the bed.
“I was looking through twitter. Quite randomly, actually, and I was getting an awful lot of tweets about a 'Payzer breakup'. Not knowing anything about said break up, I searched Sugarscape, which by the way I really regret, they've gotten fucking annoying, have you noticed? Anyway, I found the talking about it, and a couple of other gossip sites, and whole of twitter and tumblr and social media, and so, not knowing what to think, I texted Liam. I thought, there was no way this is true, right? No way that he wouldn't tell us first, no way I would have to learn this from the fans.” Zayn said, and then looked at Harry, his face a portrait of furious betrayal.
“He called me back, about two hours ago, drunk as fuck, from the Funky Buddha where he is with Andy.” Harry personally thought this sounded bad enough, but could only imagine what Zayn was about to tell him, and fuck. “That um yeah, him and Dani are done, she broke up with him at lunch? And sorry mate, he can't call right now, has to go use all the pros that being a single hot male member of a popular boy band brings.” Zayn finished with a disgusted shrug.
“Remember how he used to tell us off? When we went out and got drunk and then came back at three, tripping over our feet, smelling like sex and booze? Remember that?” Zayn sounded absolutely dejected, and Harry hated it.
He sat up and hugged his friend, until he slowly felt the wet of Zayn's tears seep into his shirt, and then he only held him tighter, knowing exactly how he felt like.
---
“I know it's just - fucking stupid, man, you know? I wish he would've told me.” Zayn seems to be calmed down now, thank god. “Wish I didn't have to learn from fucking twitter, ugh.”
They've opened the first bottle - Harry was brought up by Gemma, who was a firm believer that there wasn't much a good raspberry vodka couldn't solve.
Harry is pleasantly tipsy, taking for once the role of the care taker, while Zayn has already drank about seven shots, and is now happily sprawled on his bed, chain smoking Marlboros and finally opening up to Harry.
“I know mate, I wish he had, too. I'm sure - I'm sure it wasn't on purpose, like maybe he met up with Andy first? Or he went home and Andy is staying there now, so...” Harry trails off, but apparently his excuse sounds even more pathetic than it did in his head, as Zayn snickers loudly and looks at Harry, eyebrow raised.
“Don't Harry. I appreciate the gesture, but we both know Andy is his confidant, his best friend. Whatever it is that I am... it's just, it's not enough. It's not the same, is it?”
Zayn muses, and Harry really doesn't know how to answer, because in his head he's switching Liam with Louis and yeah, he knows how Zayn feels.
“I know you do mate.” and oops, that wasn't meant to be said out loud. Perhaps Harry hadn't been as careful with his drinks as he thought.
“That's the problem with the two of us, isn't in it?” Zayn laughs humorlessly and Harry really, really doesn't like where this is going. Zayn seems to be the sad, pessimistic sort of a drunk, something Harry really did not need right now.
“We fall in love with these utter bastards, who are our best friends. We're fucking stupid, aren't we? We see them everyday, we work with them, live with them, and every once in awhile we hope that this is it, this is the moment we've been waiting for - the moment that they're gonna realize that we're in love with them, and what's more, that they are in love with us.. But that's - fuck, Harry, that's not going to happen, is it? We never, ever - we'll always be their best friends, their best men, but we'll never be anything more than that, never mean to them what they mean to us, will we?”
Fuck you Zayn, fuck you.
“You know what would be so much fucking easier, why couldn't we fall in love with each other? That would solve everything, wouldn't it? But no, we had to go and become infatuated with them, we found our soul mates we thought and FUCK IT we didn't, did we? We. Were. Wrong.”
fuck you fuck you fuck Harry thinks, fuck fuck fuck fuck you and your fucking momentary crisis, because this is not something Harry needed to hear, not now, not ever, not sober.
He grabbed the bottle in his hand, tipping his head back and drinking the liquid as if it were water, letting it burn his throat, feel it running down his body, setting it on fire.
He fucking did not could not jesus fuck fuck fuck why, Harry doesn’t get why he’s bringing this up now
The thing was - Harry knew, deep down, that Zayn was right. That Louis would never, ever feel anything more than friendship towards him.
Zayn, in the background, was babbling about something, calling Harry a fucking asshole when he actually was doing the same thing to Niall, did he not honestly see that, and Harry really, really didn't need this right now.
Because he just realized that Louis, frankly, was straight, no matter what anyone said - he was too squirmy around men, loved pussy and girls too much to give it up.
Now that he had acknowledged that thought, he felt fucking stupid.
He had spent years, years, pining after Louis - he was going to tell him, for gods sake, and, what would Louis do, if he told him? It would ruin their friendship, their living together, this whole thing that they had - Larry Stylinson would be over, because Louis wouldn't be able to trust Harry.
It took Harry a moment to realize that the animal like sound that he heard was made by his, and then there came a row of them: strangled, choked screams, cries, please.
Please please please please no no no no no
crawling up his neck, dislocating his jaw, coming alive, becoming true and spoken aloud because Harry had no control over his body, he couldn't stop them, he needed to stop, needed to get out of there -
When he got out of Zayn's flat, ignoring the voice calling him back, he realized that maybe he over estimated himself, because he couldn't walk, couldn't work his legs and he was going to fall -
only to be caught in the last moment by a pair of muscular hands, which were attached to a friendly, if rather worried looking blonde man.
“Hi Niall!” Harry slurred at him, waving.
“Are you - did you drink anything Harry? Were you -” He looked around at their surroundings, his frown becoming larger and more obvious when he noticed where exactly they were. “Were you with Zayn, by any chance? And, Harry, are you, why are you crying?” Niall's voice went from teasing to really worried when he looked closer to Harry's face and notice the tears that started streaming down his cheeks. “What did he do to you?”
“He, he, oh my god Niall you have to be kidding me, Zayn didn't - he didn't do anything, I promise. He just - never mind, please, Niall.” Harry added, noting that his friend seemed still concerned.
Harry liked it, Niall caring about Harry. No one cared about Harry, but Niall did, he was angry at Zayn for making Harry sad, Niall cared.
Niall was a good friend.
Harry decided to tell him. Niall stopped frowning and grinned at Harry instead, musing his hair.
“Alright then drunky, let's get you home then, shall we?” He pulled Harry up by his hands, but Harry's legs seemed to still not be co-operating, as he ended up falling against Niall with a squeel.
“Ooof, okay, okay then. Slowly, yeah?” Niall held Harry up and they slowly made their way to Harry's apartment.
Harry seemed incapable of opening the door, so Niall had to pat down his trousers for his keys, which ended up with Harry in hysterics and Niall trying to appear stern.
“Now now Harry, calm down, come on, come in - I'm not even touching you now! Stop, oh my god Harry come on, come slowly.” He slowly dragged the still giggling boy to the living room, making him sit on the sofa, and then looking down at him, hands on his hips, doing his best interpretation of Uncle Simon's stern face.
“What have you been thinking, Harrold Styles, getting yourself in this state?”
Harry, who had started laughing again after hearing Niall call him Harrold, grinned at Niall and cheekily sing-sang, “I diiiiiiidn't.”
Niall made of face of mock outrage, and Harry went into hysterics again.
“Now, as glad as I am to see you happy - what happened, Harry, why were you crying? What did Zayn, okay, not do, but say, maybe?” He asked, and Harry immediately sobered up. He appeared to be looking at Niall with a thoughtful expression, and then grabbed Niall by the collar, bringing him up close.
Niall almost stopped breathing, his heart skipping a few beats, eyes going comically wide.
“Why?” Harry whispered, their lips touching. He looked him in the eye with a speculative glance. “Do you care?” He breathed, before crashing their lips together.
It was messy.
It was not something you'd want to be your first time with a person you were in love with.
Harry clawed at Niall’s shirt, pulling it off forcefully and pushing him in the sofa.
This wasn't right - Niall was too willing, for first, Louis would never,
and Harry froze, because he just realized that this isn't Louis, this is not Louis this is Niall, good brilliant lovely Niall who always let Harry eat his chips and play Barca in FIFA and he didn't have blue eyes or brown hair, Harry wasn't in love with him, this was so wrong.
But then Niall made a soft keening sound in the back of his throat, and Harry dived back in, sticking his tongue unapologetically into Niall's mouth, mapping out every inch of his tattoo-less body with his hands, undoing the belt and touching Niall through his trousers.
“OH my god Ha-Harry, please,”
Niall's hands were trying to pull Harry's shirt off, and he quickly took it off, not patient enough for Niall to do it, needing the skin to skin contact.
Because, really:
Harry loved Louis.
Louis would never, ever love Harry like that, like Harry needed him to, like Harry loved him.
The once in a lifetime love, the love of two soul mates, two people destined for each other.
That's how Harry felt about Louis and Louis just didn't feel like that about Harry, and-
Niall did.
Maybe not like that, not that strong, but he loved Harry, he was in love with him.
Harry wasn't stupid, he had noticed the fact that Niall seemed to be staring at Harry when nobody else was looking, noticed how Niall was always up to do anything to Harry, no matter how last minute the call had been, how Niall would do anything to please Harry.
And Harry really, really needed that right now, needed Niall willingly spread on the couch, the couch where Harry and Louis spent so much time being HarryandLouis, watching crappy telly and snuggling up, and now it was the couch where Harry stuck his finger in Niall, watched the way his muscles clenched and unclenched on his stomach when he hit a certain spot.
The couch where Harry's tongue mapped out all of Niall's mouth, where he discovered every corner and hidden crevice, how metal feels when you run over it with tongue. Where he learned how Niall's skin tasted, layered with sweat and the musky air that Niall always seemed to have around him, despite his rather boyish appearance. Found out what noises Niall made when he was about to come, and how he gripped Harry's shoulders and dug his nails into them, and fuck,
Harry is pretty sure that no matter how much he'll try, he'll never forget the look in Niall's eyes when he came (or how he whispered I love you into Harry's shoulders, while it took all of Harry's willpower not to cry out Louis and)
The aftermath was sticky. Harry was still slightly drunk, and so Niall cleaned them up using the kitchen wipes (bought by Louis at a fun trip to Sainsbury's, because 'they were big boys now, grown men if you will, living properly in a proper flat, and you couldn't have one without kitchen wipes, could you? And if Harry didn't agree with him than that clearly showed that Harry was the younger one and it was Louis, in fact, who was mature, and') and then pulled Harry up and tucked him in bed, pressing a kiss on his forehead.
Harry remembers thinking that this is not fair, and telling Niall so.
“I know, mate.” Niall shot him one of his smiles, the cute gentle ones that he used mostly in mornings before the second and third cup of coffee on tour, or when there was a particularly shy fan.
“It's fucked up, isn't it? You'll never - you love Louis.” It wasn't a question.
“And you will, for a long long time, and I-” Niall broke off, still grinning. Harry didn't get him, didn't get how he was so okay with this, when Harry was the one who fucked this up and shouldn't have done this, should've been more responsible, should've been a better friend- and Niall stopped him with a kiss, and okay.
“I knew what I was getting into. I, I used you, really, didn't I? You think that you used me, because I was willing, but I was clearly the sober one, and so..”
“No no no Niall of course you didn't use me, I was the one who kissed you -” Harry started speaking, silenced by Niall's hand this time.
“Let's say it was the fault of both of us, yeah? Or neither, really. Anyway, I knew what I was doing. You're in love with Louis, and I knew sex wouldn't change that. It's just - I was curious, wanted to know, i -”
“Come sleep with me,” Harry said instead. Niall looked at him unbelievingly, but after realizing that Harry meant it seriously (and promises that he wouldn't be molested in the sleep) Niall slid next to Harry in the bed. For about a second, they both lay there absolutely still, neither of them knowing if they could touch the other one, until Harry muttered fuck it and pressed his head into Niall’s shoulder, draping his legs over Niall’s. It took Niall a bit longer, but he eventually put his hand on Harry’s back, pulling him closer.
“Are we okay?” Niall’s voice wobbled a bit, and Harry really hated himself, for being a fucking bastard and for using Niall, who was never nothing but supportive of Harry.
“Of course we are. I’m sorry.” Harry told Niall, trying to convey what he meant in one word : I’m sorry I don’t love you, I’m sorry I love Louis, I’m sorry you’re in love with me, I’m sorry I used you, I’m sorry we had sex, I’m sorry you didn’t get anything more special than an old sofa because you deserve it.
“I know.” Niall whispered, and he sounded almost asleep then, so Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on thinking that right now, he was with a friend, and he was lucky enough to even have that.
Harry fell asleep almost immediately, but not soon enough to miss the I love you that was pressed into his hair one last time.
He doesn’t fall asleep wishing Louis was the person lying next to him for the first time in a year.
(And honestly, when Louis came back and complained about the 'sticky stuff on the sofa', they both got a small kick out of blaming Zayn for spilling milk and not cleaning it up properly.)
Pairing: louis/harry, zayn/liam, harry/niall
Rating: pg-13/r
Word Count: ~8400
Warning(s): angst, drinking, swearing. i’m sorry, i have no fucking idea what just happened, also beware Man U fans
Summary: based off this prompt:
You simply can't make someone love you if they don't. You must choose someone who already loves you.If you choose someone who does not love you, this is the sort of love you must want.
- Israel Horovitz
A/N: biggest thank you to neverspilt for helping me with this whole thing and answering hundreds of my questions about this. i also have no fucking idea what this is, sorry. title from a song by the Libertines, all mistakes are my own. PLEASE don’t break the fourth wall thanks!
It starts... well, Harry doesn't remember how it starts.
He remembers - back in bootcamp, all those centuries ago when he was a lost little boy, remembers how frightened he was, how singing in front of Simon Cowell seemed like the scariest thing ever.
He remembers going to the toilets and this guy approaching him - brown hair, blue eyes and a wide smile.
“Hi, I'm Louis, what's your name?”
And just like that, Harry met Louis, Louis, who went from the first person ever to ask for Harry's autograph (You'll be huge one day, I swear and I'll tell everyone that I met you before all that!) to being one of the most important people in his life, and wow.
Next thing Harry knows, they're together in a band and he's thrilled. He loves them, already: Liam taking care and fretting, Niall eating everything is sight and Zayn taking too long in the bathroom.
Are you wanking in there mate or what the fuck is taking you so long?
But most of all, he loves Louis, careless funny brilliant Louis, Louis, who brightens up the room and lightens the atmosphere, Louis, who somehow always knows what to say (not just jokes but
also serious stuff).
They're in Judges Houses, it's the night before performing in front of Simon Cowell, the performance that will change his life, and Harry really doesn't want to fuck it up.
He's in his room, because Zayn is on the balcony smoking (Harry thought Zayn was the coolest person ever when he first met him, kind of like the friend of Gemma's that wore leather jackets and used to smoke in front of school - a rebel) and Liam is there, talking to him, trying to make him stop.
Liam has already been this far, Harry remembers, and he's had to come back. He has no idea what that must be like - the idea of failing and returning home feels like the end of the world, and to have already gone through that, and have to repeat it again-
“You in there, Harry?”
Louis somehow appears outside his door, carefully pushing it open and trying not to spill the two cups of tea he was carrying.
“What the hell do you have the tea for? It's boiling!” Harry asks him as he rushes to help him with the mugs as Louis sits down next to him on the bed.
Well, he doesn't sit, he sprawls, drapes his legs all over Harry's and makes sure all parts of their bodies are touching, bumping their knees together. When he decides he's comfortable enough, he looks at Harry softly smiling at him.
“It's alright, you know. we're gonna be alright.”
“Why do you think that? How can you, why would you think-”
“We've got you, Styles.” Louis tells him. He's still grinning, he always is, but somehow he looks more earnest. Harry can tell that this is it, this is the real deal, the real Louis.
He realizes that most people don't get to see this side, as he has been living with Louis for a while now and he's just seen it, think is about how many have actually seen this Louis, this special caring Louis that makes sure you're alright and remembers how Harry takes his tea. This open, honest and caring, the one that is sitting in front of Harry, self consciously playing with his fringe.
“Do you really think so?”
And Louis nods vehemently, doesn't pause to think for a second and Harry, Harry's who has always doubted himself and felt not good enough -
And Harry believes him.
--
they're in, they're -- oh my god, they're in? they're in the final, oh christ, how did this happen? they, wow - and he knows it's tough, but --
Harry kind of hopes that they win, because of course he wants them to win they're so fucking close to it and the fans are amazing (and a bit creepy too but sex is sex, and Harry still remembers being fourteen) and he just wants everyone to be proud of them.
Also - if they win, they can stay together. Forever?
Because he knows they promised that they'll stay together after the xfactor but honestly what are their chances of getting signed and going somewhere when they're just third. Nobody cares about third place.
They're standing on the podium and then suddenly, BAM
they're out.
It's over - all their dreams and hopes are over, gone, from something that was possible if you squinted your eyes to this, something impossible because how would they sell enough records to go by if they can't get people to vote on them and for fuck's sake -
His heart is torn out and he feels like fainting and throwing up and crying and screaming and he hates the world, hates everything because this is ridiculous why, how, what-
Uncle Simon looks sad, which is the proof of how much he cared about them, proof that even the great Simon Cowell has a heart (proof that he hoped they could win, and he'd never hope without believing that they could, but they didn't, they failed him) and he really thought they could do it, and it hurts so much more.
They somehow answer some questions about their time in the show, watch the short video of them from the beginning till now, this is the end, and then get off the stage and collapse against each other, all of them a mess and crying and sobbing holding each other like their lives depend on it and they do, Harry realizes. They're all holding each other, grabbing each other, can't let go,
“I love you guys, no matter what.” Louis muffles into someone's jumper.
Niall throws himself at Louis, I LOVE YOU BABY BOY screamed loud and clear in his Irish accent, knocking him off his feet, making them all fall down on the floor in a messy tangle of limbs and hands and broken dreams
--
Turns out, he was wrong. Someone does care about third place. Turns out, someone is a million of teenage girls, screaming and crying and willing to pay anything to see them. The xfactor is kind of great, and it goes from on there. They release a single, two, three, suddenly! An album, their own uk tour, win a brit, they open big time rushes american tour and all through that, it's them, together. And it's amazing
“it's wow, it's incredible! None of us could've expected this, we are so so grateful to you guys, massive thanks, love you a lot, couldnt've done it without you” rinse and repeat, again and again and again.
But, somehow, Harry feels like maybe there's something wrong, missing.
Somehow, he should've been happier and maybe he knows what the problem is, knows how it looks fast asleep and laughing, the way it's hair looks first thing in the morning. Maybe the problem lives in his flat and eats his chocolate and compliments his cooking, maybe the problem is one of his bandmates. Maybe the problem is his best friend, maybe it likes stripy sailor shirts (“I do not look like a gay sailor, shut up.”) and pants that are honestly too tight, and -
Maybe it's called Louis.
Which, Harry can see why some people (Zayn) could possibly think that's not such a big problem, only it really is, no matter what Zayn says.
“Dude, honestly, how bad is it, seriously. Like, imagine if it were some guy you fucked in the nightclub or something and then he left and you'd be all heart broken about it since you didn't want only a one night stand and it was the best sex of your li-” and that's when Harry throws a pillow at him, because, honestly.
It's one thing for Zayn to come over and eat his popcorn and steal his blanket, because Harry likes Zayn and watching Friends with a friend is always better than watching Friends alone. But to lecture Harry on his personal life and not making a move on Louis is a completely different fucking thing, and it makes Zayn a hypocrite.
Harry tells him that:
“Oh shut the fuck up, you have no idea what the fuck it's like-”
“Really, are you really gonna say that I have no idea what it's like being in love with your best mate? Really?” Zayn jumps in, raising his eyebrows at Harry in disbelief.
“Well, okay, maybe you do,” Harry admits, “But. It's different, between you and Li, and Lou and me.”
“What, because Louis doesn't have a fucking annoying girlfriend that he's in fucking love with? Because Louis lives in your apartment and you have been living together for ages? Because there's a shitload of teenage girls on the internet convinced that you're in love? Which they are actually right about, man.”
Harry sometimes hates Zayn, because he's such a bloody drama queen and also that is not what he meant.
“No. Well, yes, that's not - that's not what I meant Zayn and you very well know it. You know that living together is actually a big fucking problem? Because - say, say i told him. That I-”
“Wanted to fuck the living daylights out of him?” Zayn supplies unhelpfully, not managing to deflect the pillow thrown at him this time.
“Liked him. That's where people usually start, mate, liking. Say if I told him, and he didn't like me back, then what? What the fuck do we do? We live together mate. That's a lot.”
Harry gets up, starts pacing. Zayn is a fucking bastard, for making him do this,
“On top of working together, touring together, we live together. So basically I see him all the time. What do we do? Do we ignore each other? Because, that wouldn't work out. We have to fit together to work, to sound good, and if there'll be anything awkward between us, any vibes, it won't work. Also, the cameras will catch that, and the group of girls that are convinced we're in love, thank you for that by the way, will catch it and then there'll be shit in the papers and stuff. And don't - don't tell me that that's not what it is, because you know how every one of the big bosses cares about that we appear to the public as young, attractive, straight guys who go for thoughtful girls and totally don't care what they look like. So don't you fucking tell me it's okay, it's easy.”
Zayn doesn't say anything for a while, and when he looks back at Harry, it's obvious that not even Zayn can magic up a way to make it okay: it's not.
Simple as that.
“Let's get drunk.” he says simply, and Harry can't do anything but agree.
--
And that's how it goes, really. Becomes a habit, Harry and Zayn getting drunk off their asses, fucking pretty girls and pretty boys, ones who won't tell, ones who don't mind that Harry breathes a different name when he comes, imagining brown hair and blue eyes instead of the pair that's looking at him with pity.
--
They are staying at home that night, have got a night in after god knows how long, too long, Harry thinks.
Harry has missed this, moments like this when they are not Harry and Louis but HarryandLouis, snuggled up on the sofa under a blanket Anne sent them when they first moved together, watching Family Guy reruns and drinking some Yorkshire tea that Louis insists on buying because it reminds him of his mum.
And Harry, Harry is just thinking, how nice this is, being able to sit like this together, cuddled up and warm, away from the fans and the media and their management. Thinks how much this reminds him of movie nights with his girlfriend, back when he was fifteen and the only way to get some action was going through a Mean Girls movie, only how much clearer this feels, how much realer and rawer, how much he really, really loves Louis.
And, wow, okay.
He has known that he, y'know, liked him for ages, ever since they first met, he's always known he likes Louis maybe a bit more than you're supposed to like your best friend, especially one that's the same gender as you are. He has had a few dreams that involved Lou's arse and his mouth that resulted with awkward morning wood and dirty sheets, but he's even had a few innocent dreams of hugs and kisses and even one where he can clearly remember them going to an Adventure park as a date, Disney land maybe -
and that's the moment when Louis decides to turn the volume of the telly lower, and turn to Harry, clearing his voice and looking unsure and worried.
“I have, um. I have something- something I'd like to, something you should know? Not that it's a, not that it's a big deal, but, um,” he laughs nervously, raking a hand through his hair. It's so unusual for Louis to be this person, this self conscious guy, that Harry immediately turns to Louis, completely paying attention to him.
Well, to be honest, that was what he was doing before, too, but now he's doesn't have to act like he's watching crappy american TV.
Louis shoots him a shy smile, ducks his head a little and breathes in, breathes out.
“It's - you're the first person I'm telling, I, I haven't even told my mum? And um, I just - I want you to know first,” and something inside Harry soars with hope. He really, really hopes that this is, that this is Louis coming out Louis telling him he likes guys or likes him and this would be the best story to tell their kids, little Darcy and Thomas (so yes, maybe Harry has done some day dreaming too, some day dreaming involving picking out names for their children and decorating their house, their garden) that Daddy Louis told Daddy Harry he loved him (this is progressing fast) while Daddy Harry was thinking of telling Louis-
“I've um, I've got a girlfriend?”
-
Have you ever been on a roller coaster, one of those awful crazy ones that are 16+ only and advise you not to go on them if you've eaten recently, and been in the cart as it stopped on top of the biggest hill, and you already felt sick before the ride, could feel the bile rising down your throat, could feel the disgusting taste in your mouth and then the cart actually moves, and it's so much worse
-
That's how Harry feels about Eleanor, only she doesn't last less than half a minute. She's been around for half a year, which is more than Harry anticipated.
Which is bad enough, the fact that she exists and therefore a) Louis doesn't like him and b) what he actually likes is leggy tanned brunettes that shop in Topshop and like and pop music, and happen to be girls.
And to make it even worse, she's really nice. She does her best to meet the boys and doesn't spread any rumors or leak information, something that is a very necessary girlfriend trait if you're in a band as big as they are.
And Jay likes her, as do Lottie and Fizzy and the twins, and everyone seems to love her, even Danielle, Liam's girlfriend likes her, and Harry really wants her to stop being so fucking perfect, because how is he supposed to compete with that.
-
Some fans don't like her, and okay, what they say is really mean and hurtful and make Louis go crazy, but-
Some of that stuff is hilarious, and the girl that tweeted her the Gold Digger lyrics was totally right.
-
The pressure on them gets bigger, on Harry and Louis and Liam and Niall and Zayn, on One Direction, but also on HarryandLouis and LiamandNiall and LiamandZayn, which is so not cool, and definitely not something the media should be aware of.
There's this interview somewhere in America, Harry has stopped trying to keep track, and they ask about shipping and Larry Stylinson and Harry goes so incredibly tense.
Louis handles the question, like he always does, because Harry has no idea what he would say.
After the interview is over, the whole composed facade Louis has breaks.
He marches towards the dressing rooms first, and they all follow him, not saying a word. Niall shoots Harry a sad look, and Zayn squeezes his shoulder, and Liam looks really, really sorry, but it's Louis that matters most.
And Louis, he's livid.
“What the actual fuck-” he growls the moment they enter the safe haven of their dressing room where no journalist can hear what One Direction really think.
“How dare they? Oh my god, this is awful. Larry Stylinson, I can't believe that got to the press how did it get to the press, the fucking press this was a joke oh my god this was a joke how is this something that we're asked-”
--
Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask
why are you so ashamed
why is the idea of liking me so disgusting
am i disgusting do i disgust you
--
“He's just scared,” Niall tells him later, when it's just the two of them watching football at the hotel.
Liam took care of Louis, shooting them all a look that said wish me luck and i'm sorry as he dragged Louis off to calm him down.
Despite how much Harry wishes that could be him, the person that can make feel Louis like it's all okay, like Louis does for him, he can't.
He just asks questions, why is people thinking we're gay that awful, I mean, it's - it's a joke, why does it matter so much and Louis gets even angrier and angrier, and they've got more press meetings in the afternoon, and they really don't need angry Louis for that.
So Liam has him, and Zayn has gone for some “business” (Harry thinks he just went to buy more cigarettes, to be honest) and so Niall is the one who's stuck with Harry.
“I really appreciate you doing this, mate,” Harry tells him, mouthful of pizza they ordered as they watch Manchester United slaughter Tottenham.
It's proof of how good a friend Niall is, because Harry knows he hates Man U, but since it's Harry's favorite team, he didn't protest to watch it, even though there was a Barca match on too.
“You owe me for killing an hour and a half of my life watching this bunch of pricks you call a team cheat their way into winning, but otherwise we're good, mate.” Niall grins at him, and that gives Harry no choice but to tackle him violently, until he takes back what he said.
Nobody messes with Man U on Harry's watch.
--
And when Zayn holds his hair before as he throws up all he consumed that night, his weight in fancy cocktails and some colorful pills slid into his mouth by a boy in a sailor hat, and for once, he doesn't look condescending, doesn't ask questions, just sits there with him, and Harry is incredibly thankful for him.
-
Management decide that they can't have rumors about their lovely boys being gay, especially not now that they're big in America, so they fly Danielle and Eleanor in, and make Harry meet up with the girl from the Gotta Be You video, Emma, when they go to Australia.
He hates it, hates the fakeness of it, of how there's a paid for photographer stalking their every move, but when he points it out to Emma, she just gets really confused
“Is that not exactly the same thing that you get everyday?”
And it takes Harry a while to realize that actually, yeah, that's exactly what they do everyday.
-
He starts to empathize with Zayn an awful lot more, only now he kind of realizes how long he's had it like this, and well, maybe he was wrong, and he had it easier.
One thing is sure now, at least: Louis isn't interested.
Only that's not how the fans see it - a lot of the Larry Stylinson fans are convinced Eleanor is a beard, a fake, payed by the big bosses to make Louis seem straight.
Harry wishes that they were right (they were right about her getting a shitload of money out of this, that's for sure) and that he and Louis really were angsty, star-crossed lovers, only, well. That's not how it is, really.
It's Harry being in fucking love with Louis for the second year, running, and Louis liking his girlfriend, who now is getting lot's of hate, and poor thing. Danielle and Liam latch onto her immediately, because they're a pair of goody-two shoes, and they do their best they can to make it stop, to help with their fans. Only it's not enough, and Louis goes crazy on twitter, and Harry really hates him being like this. Hates him getting angry at the fans, because Harry remembers even if they don’t, how he pushed them all and wrote down ideas for the next video diaries, just so that they had something to look for too. How disbelieving he was, that people were actually voting for them, and how he felt he had to make up to them for it, with his time and attention. And Louis, Harry thinks he forgot what it felt like being told that they changed someone’s life or made them stop cutting for the first time, back when they believed everyone and felt like they were actually doing to make music, and ugh.
Where did all that time go.
-
Larry Stylinson is bullshit hurts more than Manchester United losing to fucking City, more than his parents sitting him and Gemma down and telling them that mummy and daddy won't be living anymore together, hurts more than what anyone ever said to him during the Xfactor, or after. It's worse than all the fan hate, all the boys telling them that they're faggots, girls telling them that they're ugly and stupid, most of the world telling them that they can't sing for shit, stupid gay ugly fucktards.
Sometimes, Harry wakes up not being able to breathe, suffocating under a mass of something, water and air, and he's gulping for air and he can't breathe, can't utter a single sound and then there's Louis, Louis holding him and telling him that it'll be better, wake up Harry, it's only a dream, Shhhhh and Harry wants to ask him if he doesn't know that he's the reason that he can't eat or sleep or breathe, the reason why Harry wakes up on some days feeling like he's wearing his skin the wrong way round, or maybe it's someone elses skin. The reason why Harry has a constant ache in his chest that can't be cured, can't be solved by booze or drugs or sex, or cigarettes or singing or breathing or living-
the thing is, the moment Louis holds him, Harry is alright.
-
And, okay, so maybe he could be okay with Louis having a girlfriend, (lies his brain supplies) so Harry thinks - he’d be perhaps more okay with Louis having a girlfriend, if he didn’t ditch Harry for her.
Which he does.
All the time.
Gone are the weekends, when they did nothing but have marathons of Friends and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, gone are the days of playing dress up just so they could sneak around London in colorful wigs, laughing at people's expressions and the disgusted looks tween girls shoot at them, because if only they knew.
Louis would always let Harry drag him into various record stores around Camden, making fun of how happy Harry was after finding the vinyl of the Vaccines or “some other weird-ass indie band” and then buying him the record, telling Harry that it's “a gift for being fabulous”.
Now, Louis has no time for Harry.
Which sucks, really, because on top of having lost his crush (whatever, he can't call it his soulmate, and really, what else was it) he’s also lost his best friend.
--
“Do you wanna watch Friends today, Lou? I might even make you a fry-up if you ask nicely.” It’s Tuesday, and they’ve got a few days off before shooting the video for the new single, Live While We’re Young, but all five of them are spending them in London. And so Harry’s leaning against the door of Lou’s bedroom at ten in the morning, a cup of tea for him in his hand.
Louis sits up, stretching like a cat, his hair disheveled and Harry really, really likes it when Lou doesn’t shave.
“What day is it?” he yawns, taking the tea from Harry and smiling gratefully.
“Tuesday, we’ve got the day off.”
Louis flashes Harry an apologetic look, and Harry’s heart sinks before he even starts talking.
“I’m sorry love, but I promised El I’d go see her since you know, we won’t see each other a lot now because her school’s starting again.”
Harry just nods like he understands, yeah of course, tuning out on the rest of the apology, because whatever Louis might say, Harry has already heard it before, and goes back to his room before Louis can apologize again or, god forbid, promise him some other day out, some other day for just them and stuff they can do, because Harry then gets carried away and they never actually happen.
Harry knows it's not on purpose, sees Louis look at him sadly. Apologetically.
He knows Louis feels bad about it, but he can't bring himself to let Louis ditch Eleanor, or his mum for whoever, for the day, because really, he wants Louis happy more than anything, and that fucking sucks.
--
They had a weekend off, before America, and Louis had promised him Saturday together, just the two of them, it’s a date, and Harry spent ages planning out their day: they were to go on a picnic, and Harry had gotten in touch with Lou's favorite bakery in town, making them sure that they would have baguettes and cake ready for them at six in the morning, and he made them guacamole and lots of different fancy sounding french spreads it took him ages to make, and wine he got Grimmy to buy with him, just so it would fit, so everything would be perfect.
And when Harry told Louis to go sleep early the night before, not even bothering to hide his excitement, because they had a big day ahead tomorrow, Louis just looked at him blankly.
“What do you mean? Do we have work tomorrow? They can't do that, can they? I've already organized a picnic for El and myself, it's supposed to be a lovely day tomorrow!”
And so it ended with Harry phoning Niall at ten in the evening discreetly from his room, asking him if he maybe wanted to go on a picnic with him tomorrow?
“Is Louis gonna be there too? Because, you know I love you guys, but I'm not third wheeling, no way in hell.” Niall told him, and Harry tried his best to keep his voice steady as he answered,
“Uh, no, but. He was supposed to? But, he forgot, apparently, or something, it doesn't matter - he has a date with Eleanor planned out,” and he has to stop, breathe in, breathe out, “and, I planned it all out, I don't want it to go to waste-”
“And you know I'm available, huh?” Niall stops him before he can continue, and Harry is so fucking thankful for that, that Niall doesn't say oh, so he ditched you out loud, even though he's obviously thinking it.
“Well, I'll have to look in my diary to check, never can be sure that I don't have anything to do, now that I'm a pop star,” and Harry can hear Niall rustling some paper on the other side of the line, and it's not like he doesn't know that the bloody twat doesn't even have a fucking diary, and he's just so grateful for him.
“I love you, Niall,” he tells him down the line, and Niall laughs,
“That doesn't mean anything mate, love me or not, a hot date's a hot date. Lucky for you, I don't happen to have one scheduled for tomorrow, so pick me up and we can go get drunk on some field, yeah?”
They go and do that, and when Harry returns home the next evening, still a bit tipsy, he does his best to ignore the fact that Louis is still not home, and what that could possibly mean.
--
So instead, he calls Zayn. Liam is with Danielle for the weekend, and he has no idea what Niall is up to. And really, he just needs his wingman tonight.
Zayn picks up just before Harry wants to give up and sounds half dead.
“The fuck do you want.” He says instead of a greeting, and Harry can practically see him squinting in the darkness of his apartment, sitting up on his bed and glaring at Harry down the phone.
“Were you asleep?”
“No shit Sherlock.”
“At half ten?”
“I was tired-”
“On a Saturday night? You're part of the most famous boy band right now, millions of records sold worldwide, thousands in the bank, with the world at our feet, and you go to sleep at half ten on a Saturday night?!” Harry asks Zayn unbelievingly. He means it as a joke, of course he does, but the moment Zayn snarls at him, Harry knows something is wrong.
“I'M TIRED OKAY. No, I am not mad at you. No, you didn't do anything wrong; no, you did not offend me in any way. NO, this does not mean I want to break up with you, for fuck’s sake. When I say that I am tired and went to sleep, that is exactly what I meant. I am not having a panic attack, I am not about to have a breakdown or off myself for fuck’s sake, can you just leave me fucking alone? I'm TIRED!”
See, the thing you probably don't know about Zayn: In all the (two) years that Harry's known him, through all that they went through together, he has never sounded like this. The thing about Zayn is - he doesn't shout. He'd rather tell you, in a level voice, to stop, and then you'd know you're in trouble because Zayn was not fan a confrontation. Honestly, most of the time he just went for a smoke when he was pissed off, which was a sign for everyone else to get their act together.
But now he was shouting and Harry was really, really worried.
And even worse - in all the (two) years they've known each other, the only time Zayn hung up on Harry was that one time Harry called his while he was fucking a girl, but it was his own bloody fault because what kind of a dumbass picks up the phone while getting laid?
Zayn.
So it was completely understandable that it took a moment for Harry to recover from the shock of being hung up on by Zayn, and then he ran out of his flight in lightning speed, only to return back when he realized that he can hardly run around the apartment completely naked. And also, he needed booze.
--
“I'm coming, alright, alright! Calm down for fuck’s sake, I'm coming -” Harry heard Zayn bellow from inside the apartment, and he let go of the buzzer, not without a slight sense of regret. He had never gotten so close to buzzing the main tune of What Makes You Beautiful on a buzzer of an occupied apartment.
“Harry? What do you want?” The door opened a bit, and Harry was met with a sliver of Zayn's face that was glaring at him from the inside.
“Can I come in? I'm sort of -” Harry glanced around and lowered his voice conspiratorially, whispering “Commando” as if it were the biggest secret on earth. He hoped this would melt Zayn's cold whatever it was, mood or PMS or phase, because Harry was worried. He was, however, only met with the cold unimpressed face of one Zayn Malik, and therefore Harry decided that desperate times meant desperate measures, and so he leaned in even closer, bumping his head against the door and looking Zayn in the eye.
It was time for honesty. And some puppy eyes.
“I'm worried mate. Can I, can I come in? I swear to god, I won't even bother you - if you don't wanna talk about it, that's cool, I just wanna be here? With you? Because you're my mate? And I love you?” Harry pouted his lip for the large part and used his extra special puppy eyes, ones that he had always saved for Monday evenings when he tried to persuade his mum into letting him watch Never Mind the Buzzcocks with her and Gemma when he was small.
“Yeah - yeah, alright, come in then. But promise me, no more puppy eyes, and no shenanigans, Styles,” Zayn told Harry from behind the door, and they pinky promised before Zayn opened the door wide and let Harry sneak in.
Zayn's apartment smelt even smokier than usual. The lights in the living room and kitchen were off, and so Harry obediently followed Zayn into his bedroom.
“I brought vodka,” he told him as he sprawled on Zayn's large double bed, only just remembering.
Zayn grinned at Harry, muttering something about 'no shenanigans, look how long that lasted' before he opened the bottle and took a deep sip.
He looked back at Harry, arching his eyebrow, daring Harry to ask. But Harry kept his word - he promised he wouldn't ask, and Harry kept his promises. Zayn finally looked around, and with a sigh, he sat next to Harry on the bed.
“I was looking through twitter. Quite randomly, actually, and I was getting an awful lot of tweets about a 'Payzer breakup'. Not knowing anything about said break up, I searched Sugarscape, which by the way I really regret, they've gotten fucking annoying, have you noticed? Anyway, I found the talking about it, and a couple of other gossip sites, and whole of twitter and tumblr and social media, and so, not knowing what to think, I texted Liam. I thought, there was no way this is true, right? No way that he wouldn't tell us first, no way I would have to learn this from the fans.” Zayn said, and then looked at Harry, his face a portrait of furious betrayal.
“He called me back, about two hours ago, drunk as fuck, from the Funky Buddha where he is with Andy.” Harry personally thought this sounded bad enough, but could only imagine what Zayn was about to tell him, and fuck. “That um yeah, him and Dani are done, she broke up with him at lunch? And sorry mate, he can't call right now, has to go use all the pros that being a single hot male member of a popular boy band brings.” Zayn finished with a disgusted shrug.
“Remember how he used to tell us off? When we went out and got drunk and then came back at three, tripping over our feet, smelling like sex and booze? Remember that?” Zayn sounded absolutely dejected, and Harry hated it.
He sat up and hugged his friend, until he slowly felt the wet of Zayn's tears seep into his shirt, and then he only held him tighter, knowing exactly how he felt like.
---
“I know it's just - fucking stupid, man, you know? I wish he would've told me.” Zayn seems to be calmed down now, thank god. “Wish I didn't have to learn from fucking twitter, ugh.”
They've opened the first bottle - Harry was brought up by Gemma, who was a firm believer that there wasn't much a good raspberry vodka couldn't solve.
Harry is pleasantly tipsy, taking for once the role of the care taker, while Zayn has already drank about seven shots, and is now happily sprawled on his bed, chain smoking Marlboros and finally opening up to Harry.
“I know mate, I wish he had, too. I'm sure - I'm sure it wasn't on purpose, like maybe he met up with Andy first? Or he went home and Andy is staying there now, so...” Harry trails off, but apparently his excuse sounds even more pathetic than it did in his head, as Zayn snickers loudly and looks at Harry, eyebrow raised.
“Don't Harry. I appreciate the gesture, but we both know Andy is his confidant, his best friend. Whatever it is that I am... it's just, it's not enough. It's not the same, is it?”
Zayn muses, and Harry really doesn't know how to answer, because in his head he's switching Liam with Louis and yeah, he knows how Zayn feels.
“I know you do mate.” and oops, that wasn't meant to be said out loud. Perhaps Harry hadn't been as careful with his drinks as he thought.
“That's the problem with the two of us, isn't in it?” Zayn laughs humorlessly and Harry really, really doesn't like where this is going. Zayn seems to be the sad, pessimistic sort of a drunk, something Harry really did not need right now.
“We fall in love with these utter bastards, who are our best friends. We're fucking stupid, aren't we? We see them everyday, we work with them, live with them, and every once in awhile we hope that this is it, this is the moment we've been waiting for - the moment that they're gonna realize that we're in love with them, and what's more, that they are in love with us.. But that's - fuck, Harry, that's not going to happen, is it? We never, ever - we'll always be their best friends, their best men, but we'll never be anything more than that, never mean to them what they mean to us, will we?”
Fuck you Zayn, fuck you.
“You know what would be so much fucking easier, why couldn't we fall in love with each other? That would solve everything, wouldn't it? But no, we had to go and become infatuated with them, we found our soul mates we thought and FUCK IT we didn't, did we? We. Were. Wrong.”
fuck you fuck you fuck Harry thinks, fuck fuck fuck fuck you and your fucking momentary crisis, because this is not something Harry needed to hear, not now, not ever, not sober.
He grabbed the bottle in his hand, tipping his head back and drinking the liquid as if it were water, letting it burn his throat, feel it running down his body, setting it on fire.
He fucking did not could not jesus fuck fuck fuck why, Harry doesn’t get why he’s bringing this up now
The thing was - Harry knew, deep down, that Zayn was right. That Louis would never, ever feel anything more than friendship towards him.
Zayn, in the background, was babbling about something, calling Harry a fucking asshole when he actually was doing the same thing to Niall, did he not honestly see that, and Harry really, really didn't need this right now.
Because he just realized that Louis, frankly, was straight, no matter what anyone said - he was too squirmy around men, loved pussy and girls too much to give it up.
Now that he had acknowledged that thought, he felt fucking stupid.
He had spent years, years, pining after Louis - he was going to tell him, for gods sake, and, what would Louis do, if he told him? It would ruin their friendship, their living together, this whole thing that they had - Larry Stylinson would be over, because Louis wouldn't be able to trust Harry.
It took Harry a moment to realize that the animal like sound that he heard was made by his, and then there came a row of them: strangled, choked screams, cries, please.
Please please please please no no no no no
crawling up his neck, dislocating his jaw, coming alive, becoming true and spoken aloud because Harry had no control over his body, he couldn't stop them, he needed to stop, needed to get out of there -
When he got out of Zayn's flat, ignoring the voice calling him back, he realized that maybe he over estimated himself, because he couldn't walk, couldn't work his legs and he was going to fall -
only to be caught in the last moment by a pair of muscular hands, which were attached to a friendly, if rather worried looking blonde man.
“Hi Niall!” Harry slurred at him, waving.
“Are you - did you drink anything Harry? Were you -” He looked around at their surroundings, his frown becoming larger and more obvious when he noticed where exactly they were. “Were you with Zayn, by any chance? And, Harry, are you, why are you crying?” Niall's voice went from teasing to really worried when he looked closer to Harry's face and notice the tears that started streaming down his cheeks. “What did he do to you?”
“He, he, oh my god Niall you have to be kidding me, Zayn didn't - he didn't do anything, I promise. He just - never mind, please, Niall.” Harry added, noting that his friend seemed still concerned.
Harry liked it, Niall caring about Harry. No one cared about Harry, but Niall did, he was angry at Zayn for making Harry sad, Niall cared.
Niall was a good friend.
Harry decided to tell him. Niall stopped frowning and grinned at Harry instead, musing his hair.
“Alright then drunky, let's get you home then, shall we?” He pulled Harry up by his hands, but Harry's legs seemed to still not be co-operating, as he ended up falling against Niall with a squeel.
“Ooof, okay, okay then. Slowly, yeah?” Niall held Harry up and they slowly made their way to Harry's apartment.
Harry seemed incapable of opening the door, so Niall had to pat down his trousers for his keys, which ended up with Harry in hysterics and Niall trying to appear stern.
“Now now Harry, calm down, come on, come in - I'm not even touching you now! Stop, oh my god Harry come on, come slowly.” He slowly dragged the still giggling boy to the living room, making him sit on the sofa, and then looking down at him, hands on his hips, doing his best interpretation of Uncle Simon's stern face.
“What have you been thinking, Harrold Styles, getting yourself in this state?”
Harry, who had started laughing again after hearing Niall call him Harrold, grinned at Niall and cheekily sing-sang, “I diiiiiiidn't.”
Niall made of face of mock outrage, and Harry went into hysterics again.
“Now, as glad as I am to see you happy - what happened, Harry, why were you crying? What did Zayn, okay, not do, but say, maybe?” He asked, and Harry immediately sobered up. He appeared to be looking at Niall with a thoughtful expression, and then grabbed Niall by the collar, bringing him up close.
Niall almost stopped breathing, his heart skipping a few beats, eyes going comically wide.
“Why?” Harry whispered, their lips touching. He looked him in the eye with a speculative glance. “Do you care?” He breathed, before crashing their lips together.
It was messy.
It was not something you'd want to be your first time with a person you were in love with.
Harry clawed at Niall’s shirt, pulling it off forcefully and pushing him in the sofa.
This wasn't right - Niall was too willing, for first, Louis would never,
and Harry froze, because he just realized that this isn't Louis, this is not Louis this is Niall, good brilliant lovely Niall who always let Harry eat his chips and play Barca in FIFA and he didn't have blue eyes or brown hair, Harry wasn't in love with him, this was so wrong.
But then Niall made a soft keening sound in the back of his throat, and Harry dived back in, sticking his tongue unapologetically into Niall's mouth, mapping out every inch of his tattoo-less body with his hands, undoing the belt and touching Niall through his trousers.
“OH my god Ha-Harry, please,”
Niall's hands were trying to pull Harry's shirt off, and he quickly took it off, not patient enough for Niall to do it, needing the skin to skin contact.
Because, really:
Harry loved Louis.
Louis would never, ever love Harry like that, like Harry needed him to, like Harry loved him.
The once in a lifetime love, the love of two soul mates, two people destined for each other.
That's how Harry felt about Louis and Louis just didn't feel like that about Harry, and-
Niall did.
Maybe not like that, not that strong, but he loved Harry, he was in love with him.
Harry wasn't stupid, he had noticed the fact that Niall seemed to be staring at Harry when nobody else was looking, noticed how Niall was always up to do anything to Harry, no matter how last minute the call had been, how Niall would do anything to please Harry.
And Harry really, really needed that right now, needed Niall willingly spread on the couch, the couch where Harry and Louis spent so much time being HarryandLouis, watching crappy telly and snuggling up, and now it was the couch where Harry stuck his finger in Niall, watched the way his muscles clenched and unclenched on his stomach when he hit a certain spot.
The couch where Harry's tongue mapped out all of Niall's mouth, where he discovered every corner and hidden crevice, how metal feels when you run over it with tongue. Where he learned how Niall's skin tasted, layered with sweat and the musky air that Niall always seemed to have around him, despite his rather boyish appearance. Found out what noises Niall made when he was about to come, and how he gripped Harry's shoulders and dug his nails into them, and fuck,
Harry is pretty sure that no matter how much he'll try, he'll never forget the look in Niall's eyes when he came (or how he whispered I love you into Harry's shoulders, while it took all of Harry's willpower not to cry out Louis and)
The aftermath was sticky. Harry was still slightly drunk, and so Niall cleaned them up using the kitchen wipes (bought by Louis at a fun trip to Sainsbury's, because 'they were big boys now, grown men if you will, living properly in a proper flat, and you couldn't have one without kitchen wipes, could you? And if Harry didn't agree with him than that clearly showed that Harry was the younger one and it was Louis, in fact, who was mature, and') and then pulled Harry up and tucked him in bed, pressing a kiss on his forehead.
Harry remembers thinking that this is not fair, and telling Niall so.
“I know, mate.” Niall shot him one of his smiles, the cute gentle ones that he used mostly in mornings before the second and third cup of coffee on tour, or when there was a particularly shy fan.
“It's fucked up, isn't it? You'll never - you love Louis.” It wasn't a question.
“And you will, for a long long time, and I-” Niall broke off, still grinning. Harry didn't get him, didn't get how he was so okay with this, when Harry was the one who fucked this up and shouldn't have done this, should've been more responsible, should've been a better friend- and Niall stopped him with a kiss, and okay.
“I knew what I was getting into. I, I used you, really, didn't I? You think that you used me, because I was willing, but I was clearly the sober one, and so..”
“No no no Niall of course you didn't use me, I was the one who kissed you -” Harry started speaking, silenced by Niall's hand this time.
“Let's say it was the fault of both of us, yeah? Or neither, really. Anyway, I knew what I was doing. You're in love with Louis, and I knew sex wouldn't change that. It's just - I was curious, wanted to know, i -”
“Come sleep with me,” Harry said instead. Niall looked at him unbelievingly, but after realizing that Harry meant it seriously (and promises that he wouldn't be molested in the sleep) Niall slid next to Harry in the bed. For about a second, they both lay there absolutely still, neither of them knowing if they could touch the other one, until Harry muttered fuck it and pressed his head into Niall’s shoulder, draping his legs over Niall’s. It took Niall a bit longer, but he eventually put his hand on Harry’s back, pulling him closer.
“Are we okay?” Niall’s voice wobbled a bit, and Harry really hated himself, for being a fucking bastard and for using Niall, who was never nothing but supportive of Harry.
“Of course we are. I’m sorry.” Harry told Niall, trying to convey what he meant in one word : I’m sorry I don’t love you, I’m sorry I love Louis, I’m sorry you’re in love with me, I’m sorry I used you, I’m sorry we had sex, I’m sorry you didn’t get anything more special than an old sofa because you deserve it.
“I know.” Niall whispered, and he sounded almost asleep then, so Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on thinking that right now, he was with a friend, and he was lucky enough to even have that.
Harry fell asleep almost immediately, but not soon enough to miss the I love you that was pressed into his hair one last time.
He doesn’t fall asleep wishing Louis was the person lying next to him for the first time in a year.
(And honestly, when Louis came back and complained about the 'sticky stuff on the sofa', they both got a small kick out of blaming Zayn for spilling milk and not cleaning it up properly.)