[1d fic] but forget maybe
title: but forget maybe
pairing: liam payne/harry styles
words: ~45,000
rating: R
summary: basically the concept for this was a "harry styles is jesse lacey" AU. in execution this really just means harry, louis, and zayn have instruments and i stole a lot of brand new lyrics (so if you don't know who jesse lacey or brand new are, sad, but not important for this fic). songs are listed at the end.
It’s raining. It seems to Liam that it’s been raining for days, a slow stubborn drizzle and fog hanging in the air like a thick, damp blanket. It’s dreary and he’s not been out for a run since the weekend, but on the bright side, he’s caught up with his reading.
His roommate Niall doesn’t seem to mind as much. Liam supposes that’s one benefit of being from Ireland. He bursts into the room, a ball of energy like usual, and doesn’t seem to notice his hair dripping in his eyes.
“Y’ready for thirsty Thursday?” Niall asks, hopping up onto his bed. Liam wrinkles his nose; his sheets will be wet, and it’s not like he washes them often.
“It’s Wednesday,” Liam reminds him.
Niall wrinkles in his nose like he’s thinking. “W… wasted Wednesday?” he suggests, and shrugs.
Liam tips his head at Niall and makes his best sad eyes. “It’s raining,” he says, as if he has a chance.
Niall rolls his eyes. “Barely a sprinkle,” he says, brushing Liam off. He leans over and opens a desk drawer, rummaging around until he finds a half-crumpled packet of chips. He pulls it open and pours some directly into his mouth, crunching around his words. “You’re not bailing on me again this week. Won’t have it.”
Liam sighs. He doesn’t really have a good excuse, not when he’s finished all his schoolwork for the week. He peeks through their curtains at the grey abyss outside. “Fine,” he says finally. “Just for a little, though.”
Niall smiles with his mouth full. There are chips stuck in his braces. “That’s what you always say,” he points out, but Liam already knows.
At least Niall’s favorite bar isn’t far from their dorm, Liam thinks as they push in the front door. Immediately someone cries out, “Niall!” from a dark back corner, and that’s normal. Liam never goes anywhere with Niall where he doesn’t have a friend. Sometimes Liam wonders if it’s the novelty of an Irishman in New York or just Niall; he thinks it’s probably both.
Niall’s friends are in a corner booth, hats and coats piled behind their seats. Liam gets Niall a pint and a gin and tonic for himself, with two slices of lime. Then he slides in next to Niall, flush against him and warm.
Liam always thinks of them as Niall’s friends but he supposes by extension - by now - they’re his too. Amy’s in his one of his Friday classes and she leans over to see if he’s done the reading, which turns into a conversation about their professor’s possible toupee and then Niall has a story about hair plugs, and before Liam knows it, it’s almost midnight.
“Should head out,” he says to Niall quietly, and for once his friend doesn’t protest. The streets are quieter than normal on the way home, still chilly and wet. Liam skims his feet over puddles while Niall steps in them hard, sending water up to Liam’s knees.
“Asshole,” he says.
“You love me,” Niall replies.
They turn the corner onto the street where they live. Along the brick walls hang posters and ads, soggy and flapping in the wind. Niall drags his fingers along them, ripping some into pieces, and then he stops and pulls one off.
“Look!” he says, too loud for how close Liam is standing to him. Liam does look, but all he sees is the vague shape of some people and running ink that used to be words.
Niall holds it up to his own face, and it sags over, tearing where his fingers grip it. “It’s One Direction,” he says. “That band I like,” he goes on, at Liam’s blank face. “The British one.”
Liam lifts an eyebrow in feigned interest. He looks more closely at the ad, squinting. “Nice hair,” he says. “Morrissey wants his quiff back.”
“The 90s want their joke back,” Niall shoots back at him absently, and Liam grins.
Niall goes back to looking at the ad, peering at the ones left on the wall to see if they’re readable. Liam hugs his arms around himself. “It’s cold, Nialler,” he says eventually, jerking his shoulder in the direction of their building. Niall hums and follows after him, still holding onto the flyer.
“Show’s tomorrow,” Niall says. He waves the ad in Liam’s face again as Liam fishes in his pocket for their keys. “Think that’s what it says, anyway,” he mumbles. He drops the paper in a trash bin as they go inside.
The rain makes Liam tired. He’s aching for his bed, but he’s damp and smells like smoke, and he knows he should shower before he goes to bed. Quick shower, he thinks. Bed, wake up in time for a run, class. His breathing slows as his schedule comes into focus, and he barely hears Niall chattering away next to him until Niall’s grabbing his elbow, jerking him back just before they reach their door.
“Are you listening?” he demands, and Liam knows better than to pretend. He shakes his head and slides their key into their door.
“I said, you’ll come with me tomorrow right? Don’t fancy going to shows alone.” Niall waltzes into their room and flops right into Liam’s bed, and Liam cringes in dismay at his wet clothes and muddy shoes.
“I don’t know this band, and I went out tonight,” Liam says. He might be whiny when he’s tired but Niall’s used to it. Or he should be.
“You do know this band, since I play them all the time,” Niall tells him. “And two nights in a row is hardly a stretch for a college kid, yeah?” He’s propped up on his elbows, staring at Liam plaintively. Liam stares back. He can out-stubborn Niall if he wants to, he’s almost sure of it.
Niall heaves a sigh. “Go with me, and then I’ll owe you one. Any show you want,” he says. Liam hesitates, but he’s already thinking of Jay Z and Kanye next year. Tickets are expensive, but maybe in the spring -
“Watch the throne,” Liam says, and Niall raises an eyebrow. He sticks his hand out to shake on it. Liam only hesitates a moment longer before he takes it.
Niall rolls off Liam’s bed and ambles to his own side of the room. “Sucker,” he says. “Would’ve gone to that one anyway.”
Liam shakes his head as he grabs his towel. He really is a sucker.
It’s actually a nice day on Thursday, bright blue skies and puffy white clouds, like a postcard, but the effects of the bad weather linger and Liam steps off the curb and into a dirty puddle before 10 a.m. He’s on his third cup of coffee by lunch and buzzing when Niall finds him in the student lounge and slides in across from him, sunglasses over his eyes even though they’re inside.
“Got our tickets,” he says, talking around a sandwich. Liam’s looking at his calc syllabus and figuring how much time he’ll need to finish next week’s assignment.
“What?” he asks, distracted.
“Our tickets,” Niall says. Across the room, someone shouts his name, and he raises a hand in reply. “No idea who that is,” he mumbles. “What time should we go tonight?”
Liam lifts his eyes to Niall. He’d forgotten, in all honesty, spent the morning with his wet jeans rolled up past the ankle and dreaming of his warm bed. “Dunno,” he shrugs. “What time does it start?”
“Think eight?” Niall says.
“So quarter ‘til?” Liam asks, hoping he’ll have time for a quick nap. If he can manage that and they’re home by eleven, it won’t be so bad.
“Let’s say half past,” Niall says, and then looks at the clock and jumps to his feet. “Shit, class in ten. See you home,” he calls as he zooms out of the building.
Liam watches him fondly for a moment before he goes back to his books.
It’s getting dark and cool out when they step out of their building and amble toward the train.
“Can’t believe you’re wearing a flannel to a rock show,” Niall mumbles, pulling his jacket tighter around him.
Liam fingers the soft fabric falling to his knuckles. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, but Niall only laughs.
They have to take the N train up to Gramercy so of course they’re late, and Niall ushers him quickly through the streets, finally dry, and to the door of the venue. A bored looking guy in a thin, faded t-shirt takes their tickets and they hurry in. The band isn’t on yet, but it’s crowded, standing room only, kids pushed in as close to the stage as they can get. Niall starts pushing his way in, dragging Liam along.
Liam’s not a big fan of these standing shows. Everyone’s too close, touching him, and they all smell vaguely damp. He tries to make himself very small.
He's looking around, shoulders hunched, trying to figure out who’s touching him and if there’s anywhere he can go that’s not so cramped, when a cheer goes up all around him. Liam looks up to see someone walking out on stage. He’s dressed in black slacks and a black, short-sleeved button down with black suspenders over them, and he’s clutching two drum sticks that he spins between long fingers when he raises a hand to greet the crowd. He takes a seat behind the drum set, and his hair gleams gold under the lights. His features are sharp. Liam thinks he looks very British.
A moment later he’s followed by another figure, slumping onto the stage and barely out of the shadows, like he’d rather not be seen. More cheers go up. “Zayn!” a high pitched woman’s voice screams somewhere behind Liam, and the guy looks up, smiling slightly and squinting into the lights. They catch his face and Liam jolts a bit, surprised, because this guy - Zayn - he is beautiful. Some part of Liam understands the shrieking woman. He can’t help but stare.
Niall catches him. He’s texting, and when he looks up he nudges Liam in the stomach - easy, since they’re almost completely pressed together. “Like what you see?” he smirks, and Liam flushes.
“It’s hot in here,” he says to deflect. He focuses on rolling his sleeves up. His head’s still down when the loudest cheer of all goes up, and doesn’t stop. Suddenly the lights go down and the mic is on. “Good evening, New York!” Liam hears, and when he finishing rolling and lifts his head there’s another one there, standing at the front with his hand wrapped around the microphone and a guitar wrapped around his body. He has floppy hair, a blazer with a pocket square, and unbelievably skinny jeans. Liam wants to laugh, he looks like such a stereotype.
Instead he looks back at Zayn. His head is down, fiddling with his bass guitar. There’s a streak of blonde in his hair, and when he glances up, looking over the crowd, the hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth, he looks - he looks like everything Liam never lets himself want. Everything he’s ever talked himself out of.
“How are we tonight?” the singer asks, lifting his hands with a grin, and a shout goes up from the crowd. “I’m Harry,” he says, and there is more shrieking at this show than Liam would have anticipated, “This is Zayn, and back there on the drums we have Louis.” Louis taps out a beat and grins at the crowd. “We’re One Direction, and we hope you have a great time tonight.”
The lights on stage go down even more, so only Harry is clear. He drops his head, tuning his guitar one last time, and then steps to the mic, shaking his hair out of his eyes and plucking a simple tune.
“I am heaven sent,” he sings sweetly. “Don’t you dare forget.”
The whole crowd screams. The people around him start jumping, and Liam tries to smile.
It’s not so bad, Liam supposes. He jumps when Niall does, and tries to prevent either of them from getting pushed into a mosh pit, thought he’s not so sure Niall would mind. He’s come home missing shoes and other articles of clothing before. Some of the songs are catchy enough, and when they’re not Liam watches Zayn and the way he closes his eyes and mouths the words along, fingers moving across the strings of his bass. The singer keeps shaking his hair about, fussing with it so often that Liam’s not sure when he has time to play guitar, and the drummer grins, white teeth sharp in the lights. Liam checks his watch, but only once or twice.
At some point Zayn and Louis walk off stage, and Harry wanders up to the front with an acoustic guitar, propping himself on a stool. With nothing left to look at, Liam thinks it’s a good time for a break. “I’m going to get a coke!” he yells in Niall’s ear, and Niall nods back at him, his face flushed red from the heat of the venue and exertion of jumping around. He looks happy, and Liam’s glad they came.
The bar’s out in the lobby and empty. The bartender gives him his coke no charge, and Liam thanks him, wandering around the small area and looking at the merch for sale, the photos on the wall. He can hear the music filtering in from the other room and eventually hears the whole band joining in on the chorus, so he wanders back in, standing in the back and sipping his coke through a straw.
“Wrote more postcards than hooks,” Harry sings, his eyes closed, hands moving quickly over his guitar. Zayn and Louis are back in the shadows again, so Liam just watches him. “I read more maps than books. Feel like every chance to leave is another chance I shoulda took.” Harry’s voice wobbles, just slightly, but Liam hears it and suddenly he’s interested.
“My secrets for a buck, watch me as I cut myself wide open, on this stage as I am paid to spill my guts.” His eyes peek open, and Liam thinks, just for a second, that he’s looking right at the back, where Liam is standing alone, thinks Harry can see him. The next moment his eyes are closed again and Liam knows he imagined it. “Won’t see home ‘til spring,” he goes on, voice twisting. “Oh, I would kill for the Atlantic, but I am paid to make girls panic while I sing.” Cheers from the ladies in the crowd go up, and Liam thinks he sees a smile curving over Harry’s face. He feels vaguely disappointed.
The rest of the band comes in, and Harry stands, stepping back and letting his hair fall over his face again. Liam is frowning but he doesn’t know why; he goes to throw his cup away and then shoulders his way back through the crowd, finding Niall.
“All right?” Niall asks him.
Liam nods. “Like this song,” he says finally, and Niall raises an eyebrow.
“Knew you’d have fun if you let yourself, Leemo,” Niall says, and Liam elbows him. A new song starts, heaving on the guitars, and Niall jumps, falling in Liam, pushing him into a stranger nearby.
“So sorry,” Liam says, even though the guy doesn’t even look over. Liam shakes his head and crashes himself into Niall. Payback.
They play one last song, something Liam kind of remembers - there was a night, Niall’s birthday, when Niall had insisted all he wanted was Liam to go out for a pint with him. Of course one pint turned into three, turned into tequila shots and Liam doesn’t remember what else, and the next thing he knew they were jumping around their dorm room, shouting the lyrics to this song, and in the morning Liam woke up to a hammering headache and a noise violation from their RA taped to his forehead.
Niall turns to him when the song starts, looking excited. “Remember this?” Liam can’t help but laugh and he nods and the guitars go up around him. Soon enough they’re jumping and bouncing off the people around them, the entire floor opening up into a mosh pit, but Liam doesn’t mind. He keeps his hand fisted in Niall’s shirt so they won’t get separated, and when the bridge comes he’s looking at Niall rather than Harry, sweating and flushed but still impeccable in his blazer, or even Zayn, still hugging the shadows at the side of the stage, still looking perfect and not the slightest bit tired.
“Is that what you call a getaway?” he yells to Niall, who’s laughing, his teeth flashing under the lights. “Tell me what you got away with, cause you left the frays from the ties you severed, when you said best friends means friends forever.”
Niall’s gone suddenly, ripped away as the crowd goes crazy along with the band on stage. Even Zayn, hunched over his bass, has somehow made his way halfway across the stage, near Harry, screaming, screaming into the microphone, mouth stretched wide, and for a moment, Liam gets it.
He makes it through the song with both his shoes and all his clothes intact, so he counts it as a win and picks through the crowd, searching for Niall. He’s not hard to find, his bright blonde hair sticking out in the crowd of dark clothes. He’s sweaty, they both are. Liam can’t wait for the cool night air.
“That was fun,” he says, and on stage the band is saying goodnight, “Thank you New York, you’re beautiful,” Harry’s voice slow and ragged from the screaming he’s done.
Liam has a hand around Niall’s forearm. “Ready to go?”
Niall gives him a strange look. “Don’t act like you’ve never been to a show before, mate,” he says. “Still got the encore.”
The truth is Liam hadn’t thought it was that kind of show, but he realizes no one else is leaving either, so he must be the one who’s wrong. He’s so tired he can’t imagine there’s anything more, but a moment later and Harry’s ambling back on the stage, his acoustic guitar dangling from his fingers again.
“Hello again, Manhattan,” he says, still so slow and so British. Liam pushes his hair away from his forehead at almost the same moment Harry does.
A moment later he’s picking out a slow tune on his guitar, and a subdued cheer goes up in the crowd as they wind down. Niall leans against Liam, heavy and hot but comfortable. Harry looks up. His eyes are wide open this time.
Liam doesn’t know the words, but it seems like the rest of the crowd does, and Harry sings quietly so they almost overpower him.
“Everybody wake up, wake up, everybody, everybody wake up, it’s time to get down,” Niall sings in Liam’s face, poking his cheeks. He must look as tired as he feels, but he tries to smile for Niall.
“And when I pass the bottle, back to Z, on the overpass tonight, I bet we laugh,” Harry sings, smiling off at the side stage where Liam can just make out Zayn and Louis, leaning on beams and watching Harry do his thing.
“I’m gonna stay 18 forever, so we can stay like this forever, and we’ll never miss a party cause we keep them going constantly. And we’ll never have to listen to anyone about anything, cause it’s all been done and it’s been said. We’re the coolest kids and we take what we can get.” The whole crowd is singing and singing, and Liam slings his arm around Niall and hums like he knows what he’s doing.
Louis and Zayn come back out, waving, and when they join in Harry lets go of his guitar, stands, a fist wrapped around his mic and he’s loud now, louder than the crowd, “You’re just jealous cause we’re young and in love,” he’s singing, once, twice, three times, then he steps back and the crowd keeps it going. Liam, too, he picks it up fast enough, and the drums are loud, and Liam can see Zayn mouthing the words, but Harry’s standing back, watching over them, not playing his guitar, not singing, just watching them, eyes bright under the lights.
He steps back to the mic, lifts his guitar again. The drums and bass fall away, just the acoustic guitar and the crowd singing loudly. Harry lifts his mouth the mic, but he’s so quiet Liam can’t hear him without straining. He does, and he realizes Harry’s changed the words, “I’m just jealous cause you’re young and in love,” he’s singing, with his eyes open and moving swiftly across the room. “I’m just jealous cause you’re young and in love.” he sings, again and again, Liam’s sure he’s hearing it right, and then he steps back, plays the final notes on his guitar, drops it and walks off stage, disappearing into the dark. Liam watches the whole time.
Niall drags him to the merch stand after and buys a shirt. “I’ll buy you one, too, mate, I know you liked it,” he says, but Liam waves him off.
“Don’t waste your money,” he says. “I’ll just steal yours.”
The cool fall air feels good when they finally exit the venue. They walk a block toward their train when Niall stops Liam with a hand on his arm.
“Look,” he says, and points. “Busses.”
Liam is so tired, his head is fuzzy, and he doesn’t get it. “Yeah,” he says. “Busses.”
Niall doesn’t move, just looks at them. “Think it’s the band?” he asks finally, and then it clicks.
“Oh,” he says. “I wouldn’t be sure-“ he’s starting to say, and then he sees a flash of gold hair under a streetlight, above black suspenders, and he does know.
He almost hopes Niall doesn’t recognize the drummer, but of course he does, and he’s dragging Liam down the street before he can say a word. “I want them to sign my shirt!” he says. “Hurry!”
Liam hurries as best he can. He kind of hopes it’s just Louis there; he’s not sure he wants to see Zayn up close. Not that he possibly could have noticed Liam, but still, if he did, he would probably think Liam’s a total creep if he finds Liam standing outside his bus now.
Niall takes off, almost running, and Liam laughs at the way he has to hold his pants up as he does, his hems still dragging along the concrete. Louis must hear him coming because he looks up, face shadowed, street lights catching his hair like he’s wearing a fucking halo, the rest of him shrouded in dark, some sort of wicked fallen angel.
Liam’s been reading too much Dante.
“Hello, lads,” Louis says, and Liam can see his face now that he’s closer, his white teeth flashing in the dark. His eyes are electric blue.
“Sick show, mate,” Niall says, a touch out of breath from his run. “Sign my shirt?”
Louis takes it, but then he pats his pockets and says apologetically, “I’ve not got a marker on me, mate. D’you?”
Niall looks crestfallen, and Louis looks toward Liam, who shrugs helplessly. He doesn’t carry around sharpies normally.
Louis looks around into the dark, and Liam doesn’t see anything, but then Louis looks back at them, smiling confidently, and says, “Just wait here a second, yeah?” He walks a few steps away. His pants are rolled to the ankle, Liam sees, a few inches of tan ankle above his black boat shoes.
“Oi, Zayn!” he calls suddenly, into the dark, and Liam wants to run away. Liam doesn’t know how Louis saw him, but there he is, emerging from the other side of the bus, nearly featureless in the shadows except for that blonde streak at the front of his hair.
Zayn eyes he and Niall warily once he gets closer, but quirks his lip up at them all the same. “Yeah, Lou?” he asks. He’s got his shirt rolled to his elbows, Liam can see black ink snaking across his forearms but he can’t make out the shapes.
“Got a marker?” Louis asks, holding his hand out expectantly. Sure enough, Zayn reaches into his back pocket and emerges with a black Sharpie, handing it over wordlessly.
“Nice,” Niall says, stepping forward toward them. Liam feels awkward and quiet. “You’re a lifesaver, man.”
Zayn moves toward them suddenly, and he finally steps into the lamppost, lighting up his face. He’s looking at Niall, interested. “Irish?” he asks.
“Born and raised,” Niall says proudly, and Liam can’t help but smile fondly. Zayn looks at him, eyes sharp and glittering in the orange light.
“You too?” he asks, raising an arm and half pointing at Liam, as if there’s anyone else he could be asking.
“Me?” Liam says, and it feels like his mouth is full of cotton. “No, I’m not - I’m from New York.”
“Ah,” Zayn says, and his eyes flick between them once or twice before Louis hands him the shirt to sign.
“Nothing for you?” Louis asks Liam, smiling like he already knows the answer.
“Ah, I,” Liam says. He holds out his empty hands like it’s an answer. “I’m going to steal his shirt,” he finishes lamely.
“Ha,” Louis says without laughing.
“Sick, sick show,” Niall interjects, repeating himself, and Liam’s never been happier to have him. “Saw you guys two years ago in Dublin but you’ve only gotten better.”
“Thanks!” Louis says brightly. Zayn hands Niall back his shirt, capping the marker. He smiles, small but sincere, at Liam. “I remember that show. Irish fans are brilliant. We went out after and I didn’t recover for three days.”
Niall laughs, bright. “Wish I’da been there,” he says, but he manages not to sound disappointed at all.
Zayn smiles at him. “Next time, maybe,” he says. He offers a hand for Niall to shake, and then Liam, who takes it cautiously, hoping his palms aren’t sweating. It’s over before he can even think about how Zayn’s hands feel. He should probably be grateful.
“Anyway, thanks for the chat, lads,” Niall says. “Any chance Harry’ll come by soon?”
Louis’s got his phone out already, texting. He lifts his head and squints in the direction of the venue, a few blocks away. “He’ll be ‘round, yes,” he says. “Always takes him a bit longer to get out.”
“I can imagine,” Liam says, just because he’s been standing there, quiet and dumb, for what feels like too long. Louis looks up sharply at his voice, and then he smiles, his eyes crinkling into slits. He looks at Zayn, and Zayn looks back, like they’re having some sort of internal conversation. Liam rocks back on his heels and looks at Niall, but he’s not paying attention, looking at his watch.
“We should get some food, yeah, Li?” he’s saying, and before he’s even finished Louis says, “You wanna come up to the bus for a drink, lads?”
Niall doesn’t even look to Liam before he answers. “Love to,” he says, and steps up beside Louis, who turns toward the bus. “You got anything to eat up there? We could order in.” They set off, side by side, and pass by Zayn, who’s looking at Liam.
“’m Zayn, by the way,” he says, and holds out his hand again. Liam laughs as he takes it, nerves burning away in the oddness of the night, in the heat of the streetlamps.
“Liam,” he says. “I’m Liam.”
The bus is - well, it’s a bus. There’s a small kitchen and dining area, a row of bunks, and a room in the back with a couch and a bench and a tv. It smells like sweat and mixed cologne and faint smoke, and there are random clothes tossed about. Liam picks up a discarded sweater with the tips of his fingers, setting it in a corner on the floor before he sinks into a seat.
Louis grabs four beers out of a mini fridge next to the television, not bothering to ask if Liam wants one or not. He takes it gingerly, and when Niall looks at him, he mouths, One, and takes a small sip. It’s good, actually, not the watery light beer they’ve been drinking at dorm parties for two years.
Zayn opens a window in the room and settles on a seat in front of it, bent over his phone and texting furiously. Niall wanders around, seeing what there is to see, and plucks a discarded videogame cover off the floor. “FIFA?” he asks. “Who’s your team?”
“Man U,” Louis says, and Niall stills. Liam watches him curiously, his lip quirking up.
“Fuck Manchester United,” he says finally, dropping the game back to the floor. Liam waits to see how Louis is going to react to that, and even Zayn looks up for a moment, watching them through the fringe drooping over his forehead.
Louis’s face is blank for a moment, looking up at Niall. Liam wonders absently if they have security, someone to escort them off the bus if need be. Then Louis laughs, loudly, and Liam exhales. Zayn quirks a smile at him before he goes back to his phone.
“Who’s your club then, mate?” and Liam tunes them out since he’s heard Niall go on about Derby enough to last him the rest of his life.
Liam listens to the sounds filtering in the window from the street. A man calling plans to a friend, high heels clicking against concrete, the ever present sirens wailing in the distance. From somewhere nearby he hears a woman’s voice shouting, and then a slam and it goes silent. Liam lets his head drop back against the seat.
There’s another slam then, closer, and the bus shakes a bit as someone boards it.
“Lou?” comes a raspy call from the front of the bus, and a moment later Harry appears in the doorway, in nothing but his skinny jeans, hair mussed from obviously just removing his shirt, still clutched in his fingers.
He pushes it out of his face - get a haircut, Liam thinks irritably - and then he smiles, impossibly wide, like maybe finding strangers in his bus is a normal occurrence, something he encourages. “Oh, hello,” he says brightly.
“But Van Persie is a twat,” Niall bursts out with. Liam isn’t sure if he’s not noticed Harry - unlikely - or it’s just more important to him to put this statement out into the world at this very moment.
“A twat who’s going to win us the title,” Louis counters, looking awfully amused.
Harry looks down at them. Being ignored doesn’t seem to annoy him any, he just steps over them, saying, “All right then,” and he holds out his hand for Liam.
“Harry Styles,” he says, and doesn’t seem to notice that he is wearing very little clothing and standing very close to Liam’s person.
“Liam,” he returns warily, taking his hand. “Sorry for… that,” Liam says, nodding in Niall’s direction. “That’s Niall.”
“Quite all right,” Harry says, scratching a hand over his belly. “Van Persie inspires passion in some, I suppose.”
“Van Persie inspires disgust,” Niall puts in unhelpfully, and Louis flicks his ear. Niall always makes friends so fast, Liam doesn’t understand.
Harry is still standing very near to him, but he’s turned toward Zayn, as if waiting for Zayn to acknowledge him. He doesn’t. Harry turns back toward Liam.
“Has Zayn been terribly rude to you?” he asks. “Ignoring you to text his poor neglected girlfriend?”
Zayn does look up then, fixing a steely gaze on his bandmate, whose grin spreads across his face slowly, like a Cheshire cat. Harry jumps away just as Zayn’s arm shoots out to hit him.
“Ignore absolutely everything that Harry says to you,” Zayn tells him. Liam just smiles faintly, glancing at the phone still gripped in his hand.
Liam’s just tired.
“Niall had wondered if you could sign his shirt,” Liam tells Harry, hoping to speed up the rest of the evening.
“’Course I can, mate,” Harry says, and Niall finally pulls his attention away from Louis long enough to give Harry the shirt.
Zayn puts his phone away, sliding it into a front pocket before digging around in his back pocket, hand emerging with a pack of cigarettes clenched tight. He slides one out and between his lips and Liam is tired enough to watch the spark of his lighter and the movement of his arms.
Maybe he's making a face or something, because Zayn quirks an eyebrow at him. "All right, love?" he asks around the cigarette, and there's already smoke curling around his neck. Liam just smiles, small, and turns his face away. He meets Harry's gaze, watching him surprisingly intently, and suddenly Harry's back to looming over him, a hand around Liam's wrist.
"Let's get some fresh air," he says, and Liam doesn't have a chance to respond before he's on his feet being pulled down the hallway, out of the bus. Harry lets go of him to snag a sweater, hanging out of a bunk, and pull it over his head. Liam watches him grab an apple as they pass through the small kitchen area.
Liam's not even off the bus yet before someone's approached Harry, a ticket and a marker outstretched. "Of course, darling," he's saying, slow voice, raspy from singing maybe, or maybe that's just how he sounds. Liam wouldn't know. "You all right?" The girl is looking up at him with wide eyes, adoring, and Liam steps away, leaning against the bus, lets her have her moment alone. He looks away, down the dark street, and he thinks about nothing.
"Night, love," he hears a quick moment later, and the girl is scurrying away, her face tucked into her coat, flushed with cold or happiness or both. Harry turns toward him, smiling a little, tired and happy. Liam doesn't know how to talk to him.
Harry polishes the apple on his sleeve, and then, quirking an eyebrow at Liam, lets the apple roll down his arm, popping his elbow and sending it high in the air before he catches it and bites down quickly, grinning at Liam around it.
Liam laughs in spite of himself. "Fancy," he concedes, and Harry's smile gets even brighter, like he's won something.
It’s quiet again and Liam half-watches him eat and half-tries not to stare. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, leaning against the bus next to him, close enough their elbows touch.
“You don’t smoke, then?” Liam asks just to fill the silence. He scuffs a toe against the sidewalk and notices they’re wearing matching shoes, white Converse.
Harry looks at him, wraps a hand around his throat and makes a face. “Can’t, love,” he says easily. “I’m a singer, you know.” He drops his hand and goes back to his apple.
Liam doesn’t know what to say then, but he’s saved anyway as the bus shakes a little behind them and then Louis hops off the last step and into the night, Niall bounding after him and seconds later, slowly, Zayn.
"We're getting food!" Niall shouts. Liam wonders if he's more excited they were invited or that it's time to eat again. Harry's looks at him and Liam shrugs; Louis and Niall seem to know where they're going and the rest fall into step behind them. Liam starts to try and catch up with Niall, but then he hears Niall shout, "Are you mad?! Ronaldo as good as Messi?" and Liam backs off.
He ends up next to Zayn, who offers him a small smile. He seems smaller up close, swimming in a jacket that's at least a size too big. "This how you thought you'd be spending your night, mate?" he asks Liam.
Liam pulls a face but he's looking at the ground when he does it. "No," he replies honestly. "Thought I'd be asleep by now, if I'm honest."
Zayn laughs a little. "Sorry to keep you up, then." Liam just shrugs. He looks behind them; Harry's got his apple clenched between his teeth and his eyes on his phone, tripping over himself slightly. With his head turned, Liam can smell the smoke on Zayn's clothes.
Definitely not the night Liam had planned.
At the diner, Liam just orders coffee and Niall looks at him like he's crazy. "I have to run in the morning," Liam explains, although he's not sure he'll be able to wake up early enough now.
"Run where?" Harry jumps in, eyes wide on Liam, and Liam hadn't even noticed him listening.
"Um, I usually just run at the River Park? I’m keeping in shape in case I go out for track in the spring," he explains.
"Track, huh," Harry says. He grabs a sugar packet but just slaps it against the table. "Very impressive."
"Liam fancies himself an athlete," Niall jumps in, and Liam wishes he wouldn't.
"You do anything besides run?" Louis asks. It's the first time he's acknowledged Liam since they were on the bus and Liam is startled that all the attention is on him. He rubs his neck and takes a deep breath.
"I run track and sometimes cross country, but not this year," he says. "I like playing basketball, but just pick-up really. Niall's getting me into soccer - football. I bike when it’s nice out. I box a little." He shrugs. It sounds weird, a little braggy saying it out loud, but it's not like he's a pro at any of it. It's just a bit of fun.
"You box?" Harry asks. "I used to box.” He’s looking at Liam intently again, that unnerving gaze.
Liam looks at him, a bit surprised. With the stretched out shirt and the tight pants he looks like a lanky thing at first glance, but taking a minute to actually look at him, Liam can see he actually does have some muscle.
He offers a polite smile. "Nice. If you lived around here I'd offer to go a round with you, but..."
Harry just keeps looking at him, and a smile spreads across his face slowly, slowly, sweet like honey. He looks like he knows something Liam doesn't.
Despite the coffee Liam must be drifting off, leaning perhaps inappropriately into Zayn's side, considering they've just met, but he jerks awake when he hears Louis say, "Yeah, you should come!"
"Come where?" he asks, drowsy, and the rest of them laugh at him.
"Boston," Louis says. "We're going there in - oh, an hour or two," he says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Staying for the weekend."
"Oh," Liam says, and then realizes they must have been inviting Niall. "Oh!" he says again, and looks at his roommate.
"I was saying you guys should come," Louis says. He's watching Liam closely, like he already knows the answer.
Liam's still a bit out of it. "Come?" he repeats. "To Boston?"
Louis nods. Liam still finds it hard to catch up.
"Now?" he asks.
"Not now," Louis says, exceedingly patient. "In an hour or two."
Niall's watching this back and forth closely, looking amused, like he already knows what Liam's response is, because of course he does. "I can't go to Boston," Liam says, incredulous.
"And why not?" Louis counters, neutral, bordering on patronizing.
Liam straightens up and hopes he doesn't have drool on his face. "It's Thursday," he says. "I have class tomorrow. I have to run. How would we get home? We don't have money. We don't have anything packed. Should I keep going?"
Louis widens his eyes at Liam theatrically. "It's Friday," he says, ticking it off on his own fingers, "And nobody goes to Friday classes, if I remember university right. We'll put you on a train home, you don't need money, we have clothes. It's just a weekend. What's the problem?"
Liam blinks at him. It's too late for this conversation and if the clock on the wall is right, he needs to be up in five hours. "Come on," Louis goes on in his silence. "I'll even take you bike riding."
Liam can't really tell if Louis is teasing him or sincerely promising, but it doesn't much matter. "I can't," he says. "Definitely not. Niall can do what he wants, obviously."
"Nah," Niall says, and eats his last french fry. "Not by myself, but thanks for the offer, lads." Louis just shrugs then, and Liam wonders why he gets an argument and Niall doesn't.
"Go if you want," he says to Niall, but he really hopes Niall doesn't. He scrubs a hand over his face. "I really have to go home, guys," he says. He nudges into Zayn, making to slide out of the booth. "Obviously I can't even stay awake anymore." He stands and pulls out his wallet, but Louis waves him off.
"Think we can cover your dollar cup of coffee, mate," Louis says. "Even if we did bore you to sleep."
"You didn't -" Liam huffs, but he cuts himself off because Louis is grinning, his eyes crinkled. "Well, thanks," he says then. "Have fun in Boston. And good show tonight."
Niall slides out of the booth too. "Shouldn't let my boy Li walk these means streets alone," he says, and throws ten bucks on the table. "Had a brilliant time with you boys though," he says, and he shakes Zayn and Harry's hands while Louis rises to give him a half hug and thumps him on the back. They start talking to each other and Liam turns to the other two, lifts his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he says to Zayn, who smiles back, big and genuine, and waves.
"Same, Liam."
He looks at Harry, gives him a wave too, and Harry frowns up at him. "Wish you'd think about Boston," he says. "I could show you a thing or two in the ring," he offers, giving Liam what he suspects are tried and true puppy dog eyes.
Liam laughs, more out of politeness than anything. "Sorry," he says, "Just not a good time, man. Maybe someday."
Harry's lip quirks then, eyes bright in the harsh light of the diner, and once again Liam gets the feeling he's missing something. "Maybe," Harry repeats, and then Niall looks at him and they walk out, leaving the band behind them.
When they get outside, Niall sighs. “Strange night, huh Li?” he says, and Liam’s glad he’s not the only one who thinks so.
“Always is with you, bro,” Liam tells him.
Niall takes his shirt from under his arm, holding it out wide in front of them to admire the autographs. Suddenly he makes an odd, offended noise, and Liam peers at the shirt closer to see why.
Niall <3s Van Persie, it says, right across the middle. Harry Styles.
Liam begs out of any big weekend activities, citing his continuing exhaustion from their late night. Niall rolls his eyes but generally leaves Liam be, and Liam notes, not for the first time, that he lucked out in the roommate draw freshman year.
Liam runs on Friday and Saturday, has a study group Saturday afternoon for his poetry class, and he and Niall play pick up basketball on Sunday morning with some guys from the track team and then go out for a huge brunch, which is, in Liam’s estimation, one of the best things about living in New York City.
They're walking back to their place, Liam dribbling the basketball around tourists while Niall munches on some pastry he brought from the restaurant and messes around with his phone.
"Harry says hi," he says when Liam pauses to let him catch up. Liam dribbles the ball in front of him, once, twice, while they wait to cross the street.
"Harry?" Liam asks, distracted by the crowds going by.
Niall tucks his phone back in his pocket and takes another bite, spraying Liam with crumbs when he speaks. "Harry Styles? Lead singer of One Direction whom we very recently shared a meal with?"
Liam wrinkles his nose and uses his sleeve to wipe his face off. The light changes and he starts to dribble again, doing circles around his own body. "You're talking to Harry?" he asks curiously.
"I'm talking to Lou," Niall corrects, and licks his fingers. Liam makes a face. "Harry told Lou to tell me to tell you hi."
Liam spins the ball around on his fingertip and watches it proudly. "That's a bit much for me to think about on Sunday morning, Nialler," he says finally.
Niall looks at him for a long moment. Then he slaps the ball off Liam's hand and grabs it, running down the street, dodging between people and laughing loudly, and Liam chases him all the way home.
And Liam probably wouldn't even remember it, but it happens again. He comes home from class a week and a half later, toes his sneakers off in front of his closet and flops onto his bed for a rest when Niall, seated in front of his computer, interrupts the silence to say, "Harry says hi."
Liam's still busy with his rest, so he just grunts in response, and that's it, it's silent again. But once he's done and ready to use his brain again, he thinks about it.
"Why?" he asks Niall.
Niall looks over, blank.
"Why does Harry say hi to me?" Liam clarifies.
Niall continues to look blank, and then he shrugs. "Just passing it along," he says, "Don't shoot the messenger or whatever."
Liam looks at the ceiling. He tries to remember talking to Harry that night, what they said. He remembers the thing with the apple and that's about it.
He makes a noise to express his confusion but Niall ignores it, so Liam decides to move on. He rolls over onto his side and grabs a menu off the stack on his desk. "Let's order in for dinner, yeah?"
It’s like one day it’s warm-ish and the next day it’s freezing, winter arriving in full force and all at once, and Liam didn’t get the memo, so he spends the day on campus woefully underdressed. He’s shaking by the time he gets home, and he puts on two hoodies and burrows into his comforter, waiting for the feeling to come back to his cheeks and the tip of his nose.
He’s still there, curled in the rapidly warming pile of his bed when he hears the room door open, the thunk of objects against the floor, and then he feels Niall climbing on top of him without saying anything.
Liam moves enough to peek his eyes out of the top of the comforter, but he doesn’t relish the cold air that seeps into his warm nest. “Hi, Niall,” he says, a bit pathetically.
Niall touches his face. “Your cheeks are all red,” he says.
Liam nods. “I didn’t realize it was so cold,” he says, exaggerating the chatter of his teeth. “My eyes almost froze shut.”
Niall half slides off him so their heads are next to each other, but he keeps his legs over Liam’s. Liam doesn’t much mind; it’s just more warmth for him to absorb.
“Guess what,” Niall says. Liam pushes Niall’s hair out of his face, fussing because he wishes someone would fuss over him.
“What?” he asks once he’s less distracted.
“One Direction is coming back,” Niall says, sounding pleased. Liam stills. He pulls his covers tighter across his shoulders, accidentally shifting Niall, who doesn’t seem to notice, turned away to root through Liam’s desk drawers, probably for food.
“There’s nothing in there,” Liam says absently, “Look on the shelves under my bed.”
Niall twists so he’s half hanging off the bed, only visible below the waist. “Why is One Direction coming back already?” Liam asks.
Niall doesn’t answer for a long minute, and when he pops back up his face is red from hanging upside down, but he has a bag of fruit snacks and looks pleased. He pops at least three in his mouth and then says, “Not for a show, they’re gonna be recording here for a bit.”
“I thought they were based in London,” Liam says. He’s starting to get a bit overheated and moves to take off one of the hoodies.
“Well, they are,” Niall says, shrugging. “Doesn’t mean they have to record there.”
“True,” Liam concedes. He finally succeeds in getting the sweater off and then slumps back against his wall. “So when are they coming?”
“Middle of January,” Niall calls, swinging himself off the bed and heading back to his own side of the room. “So ask for some new drinking shoes for Christmas, Payner, things might get a little crazy.”
Liam rolls his eyes and pulls his covers back over his head.
Liam doesn’t think about it much, even less once finals start and he’s spending eight hours a day studying and writing papers for finals. He barely even sees Niall in December and then he’s off to Ireland, and Liam to northern New York for the holidays.
They’ve only been back in the city for four days and back in classes for two when Niall texts him in the middle of his first modern poetry lecture to tell him the band is arriving on Friday and Liam should clear his weekend.
Liam: rly? met them 1ce and they get my whole wknd?
Niall: how often do u hang out w rockstars?
Liam: ofen enuf
In the end it’s not like Liam has that much to clear, but he maintains to Niall that he will not spending the whole weekend with them.
“I’m having dinner with some of the track guys,” he tells Niall Friday morning, “but I’ll meet you out after.”
Niall narrows his eyes in Liam’s direction. “You better,” he says. “Don’t pull any of your texting me to tell me you’re too tired nonsense,” and Liam feigns offense but he has done that, probably one too many times, so he lets it go.
Liam gets to the bar and he’s a little drunk already, too much beer at dinner, and he shoulders past someone and gets an elbow in the stomach for his efforts. “Sorry, man,” he gasps out, a hand on the guy’s shoulder, and the guy just gives him a dirty look. Liam sighs and when he looks up there’s Harry, turning, tossing his hair and looking familiar and flushed. His eyes are bright and he lights up when he sees Liam, enough so that Liam turns to see if there’s someone behind him.
“Liam!” Harry calls. He’s got a glass in one hand but he holds the other out and when Liam gets closer he slides it around Liam’s neck and pulls him in, Liam’s face against his neck.
“Do I smell like bacon?” Harry asks, and it’s such a non-sequitur Liam thinks he misheard.
“What?” he asks.
Harry loops the free arm around Liam’s shoulders to keep him close and steers him toward the back of the club, hopefully to where Niall and the others are. “I got this new cologne last week,” he explains, his lips close to Liam’s ear. “And I liked it in London, but then we got here and I thought it started to smell like bacon? Like, maybe there’s something in the air here that reacts with it or something. A chemical reaction.”
“A chemical reaction between New York City and your cologne?” Liam asks, trying to follow. He can see Niall in a corner booth now, holding up his bottle with a group of other guys, including Louis. Niall spots him and throws a hand in the air, yelling something, probably Liam’s name.
“Yes,” Harry says. “Something like that. So what do you think?”
Liam pulls away from him a bit and smiles, trying to be reassuring. “I don’t smell bacon or any other pork product,” he says. Harry looks contemplative, but then they’re at the table and Niall pulls Liam in close, and Liam sees Zayn too, curled up in the corner under Louis’s arm, and then there’s another drink in Liam’s hand and the night speeds up and blurs out all at once.
Liam doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t know why Niall does most things that he does, but Niall tells the group that he and Liam will walk them back to their hotel, and Liam is too fuzzy to reason out why they shouldn’t.
It’s cold, that’s one reason, but Liam’s had enough that he barely notices - in fact, he’s confused to see his breath puffing out in front of his face, considering the fact he gave his coat to Zayn and is only wearing a flannel. He feels fine, anyway, and he breaths out, long and deep and slow, watching the air turn white and curl around him.
“Having fun?” Harry asks, and Liam hadn’t even noticed him there.
Liam smiles lazily. “It’s cold?” he says, still more a question than a statement.
Harry raises an eyebrow. Maybe he didn’t drink as much as Liam or maybe he just holds it better. “Zayn,” he calls, apropos of nothing, “Give Liam his coat back. He’s going to freeze.”
“No,” Liam protests, and swings to face Zayn. “No, I don’t even feel it, I swear.”
Zayn’s already shrugging the coat off though, and Harry grabs it, helps Liam into it. He’s buttoning the collar, and Liam looks at his face, close and pink in the cold. Harry lifts his eyes to meet Liam’s.
“Can’t run if you catch pneumonia, now can we?” he asks, soft on account of their closeness.
“No,” Liam replies, maybe belatedly. He thinks he’s staring but his eyes are heavy and too hard to move.
Harry’s own eyes flick, and all of a sudden he’s grinning, and Liam notices a bit slowly how his arm moves, and suddenly Liam’s doubled over, more in surprise than in pain, when Harry slaps him right in the balls.
Harry’s laughing now, and he runs a bit away to cower behind Louis, who’s also laughing, along with Niall, the traitor. Zayn’s smiling but holds back his laughter as Liam straightens and furrows his brow at them all.
“You’ll get used to it, mate,” Zayn tells him. He winds an arm around Liam’s back and pushes him forward, and when Liam glances at Harry his smile is fading and he looks at the ground.
When they get to the door of the hotel Liam hugs Zayn and turns to Harry, frowning at him so he’ll know Liam might be drunk but he won’t forget.
Harry gives him a hopeful grin. “Sleep well, eh, Liam?”
Liam’s frown just deepens. “You know what?” he says, and he works very hard to make sure his words don’t come out slurred. Harry’s eyebrows go up in curiosity. “You do smell like bacon,” Liam says, and hides his smile until he’s turned to stomp away.
two
pairing: liam payne/harry styles
words: ~45,000
rating: R
summary: basically the concept for this was a "harry styles is jesse lacey" AU. in execution this really just means harry, louis, and zayn have instruments and i stole a lot of brand new lyrics (so if you don't know who jesse lacey or brand new are, sad, but not important for this fic). songs are listed at the end.
It’s raining. It seems to Liam that it’s been raining for days, a slow stubborn drizzle and fog hanging in the air like a thick, damp blanket. It’s dreary and he’s not been out for a run since the weekend, but on the bright side, he’s caught up with his reading.
His roommate Niall doesn’t seem to mind as much. Liam supposes that’s one benefit of being from Ireland. He bursts into the room, a ball of energy like usual, and doesn’t seem to notice his hair dripping in his eyes.
“Y’ready for thirsty Thursday?” Niall asks, hopping up onto his bed. Liam wrinkles his nose; his sheets will be wet, and it’s not like he washes them often.
“It’s Wednesday,” Liam reminds him.
Niall wrinkles in his nose like he’s thinking. “W… wasted Wednesday?” he suggests, and shrugs.
Liam tips his head at Niall and makes his best sad eyes. “It’s raining,” he says, as if he has a chance.
Niall rolls his eyes. “Barely a sprinkle,” he says, brushing Liam off. He leans over and opens a desk drawer, rummaging around until he finds a half-crumpled packet of chips. He pulls it open and pours some directly into his mouth, crunching around his words. “You’re not bailing on me again this week. Won’t have it.”
Liam sighs. He doesn’t really have a good excuse, not when he’s finished all his schoolwork for the week. He peeks through their curtains at the grey abyss outside. “Fine,” he says finally. “Just for a little, though.”
Niall smiles with his mouth full. There are chips stuck in his braces. “That’s what you always say,” he points out, but Liam already knows.
At least Niall’s favorite bar isn’t far from their dorm, Liam thinks as they push in the front door. Immediately someone cries out, “Niall!” from a dark back corner, and that’s normal. Liam never goes anywhere with Niall where he doesn’t have a friend. Sometimes Liam wonders if it’s the novelty of an Irishman in New York or just Niall; he thinks it’s probably both.
Niall’s friends are in a corner booth, hats and coats piled behind their seats. Liam gets Niall a pint and a gin and tonic for himself, with two slices of lime. Then he slides in next to Niall, flush against him and warm.
Liam always thinks of them as Niall’s friends but he supposes by extension - by now - they’re his too. Amy’s in his one of his Friday classes and she leans over to see if he’s done the reading, which turns into a conversation about their professor’s possible toupee and then Niall has a story about hair plugs, and before Liam knows it, it’s almost midnight.
“Should head out,” he says to Niall quietly, and for once his friend doesn’t protest. The streets are quieter than normal on the way home, still chilly and wet. Liam skims his feet over puddles while Niall steps in them hard, sending water up to Liam’s knees.
“Asshole,” he says.
“You love me,” Niall replies.
They turn the corner onto the street where they live. Along the brick walls hang posters and ads, soggy and flapping in the wind. Niall drags his fingers along them, ripping some into pieces, and then he stops and pulls one off.
“Look!” he says, too loud for how close Liam is standing to him. Liam does look, but all he sees is the vague shape of some people and running ink that used to be words.
Niall holds it up to his own face, and it sags over, tearing where his fingers grip it. “It’s One Direction,” he says. “That band I like,” he goes on, at Liam’s blank face. “The British one.”
Liam lifts an eyebrow in feigned interest. He looks more closely at the ad, squinting. “Nice hair,” he says. “Morrissey wants his quiff back.”
“The 90s want their joke back,” Niall shoots back at him absently, and Liam grins.
Niall goes back to looking at the ad, peering at the ones left on the wall to see if they’re readable. Liam hugs his arms around himself. “It’s cold, Nialler,” he says eventually, jerking his shoulder in the direction of their building. Niall hums and follows after him, still holding onto the flyer.
“Show’s tomorrow,” Niall says. He waves the ad in Liam’s face again as Liam fishes in his pocket for their keys. “Think that’s what it says, anyway,” he mumbles. He drops the paper in a trash bin as they go inside.
The rain makes Liam tired. He’s aching for his bed, but he’s damp and smells like smoke, and he knows he should shower before he goes to bed. Quick shower, he thinks. Bed, wake up in time for a run, class. His breathing slows as his schedule comes into focus, and he barely hears Niall chattering away next to him until Niall’s grabbing his elbow, jerking him back just before they reach their door.
“Are you listening?” he demands, and Liam knows better than to pretend. He shakes his head and slides their key into their door.
“I said, you’ll come with me tomorrow right? Don’t fancy going to shows alone.” Niall waltzes into their room and flops right into Liam’s bed, and Liam cringes in dismay at his wet clothes and muddy shoes.
“I don’t know this band, and I went out tonight,” Liam says. He might be whiny when he’s tired but Niall’s used to it. Or he should be.
“You do know this band, since I play them all the time,” Niall tells him. “And two nights in a row is hardly a stretch for a college kid, yeah?” He’s propped up on his elbows, staring at Liam plaintively. Liam stares back. He can out-stubborn Niall if he wants to, he’s almost sure of it.
Niall heaves a sigh. “Go with me, and then I’ll owe you one. Any show you want,” he says. Liam hesitates, but he’s already thinking of Jay Z and Kanye next year. Tickets are expensive, but maybe in the spring -
“Watch the throne,” Liam says, and Niall raises an eyebrow. He sticks his hand out to shake on it. Liam only hesitates a moment longer before he takes it.
Niall rolls off Liam’s bed and ambles to his own side of the room. “Sucker,” he says. “Would’ve gone to that one anyway.”
Liam shakes his head as he grabs his towel. He really is a sucker.
It’s actually a nice day on Thursday, bright blue skies and puffy white clouds, like a postcard, but the effects of the bad weather linger and Liam steps off the curb and into a dirty puddle before 10 a.m. He’s on his third cup of coffee by lunch and buzzing when Niall finds him in the student lounge and slides in across from him, sunglasses over his eyes even though they’re inside.
“Got our tickets,” he says, talking around a sandwich. Liam’s looking at his calc syllabus and figuring how much time he’ll need to finish next week’s assignment.
“What?” he asks, distracted.
“Our tickets,” Niall says. Across the room, someone shouts his name, and he raises a hand in reply. “No idea who that is,” he mumbles. “What time should we go tonight?”
Liam lifts his eyes to Niall. He’d forgotten, in all honesty, spent the morning with his wet jeans rolled up past the ankle and dreaming of his warm bed. “Dunno,” he shrugs. “What time does it start?”
“Think eight?” Niall says.
“So quarter ‘til?” Liam asks, hoping he’ll have time for a quick nap. If he can manage that and they’re home by eleven, it won’t be so bad.
“Let’s say half past,” Niall says, and then looks at the clock and jumps to his feet. “Shit, class in ten. See you home,” he calls as he zooms out of the building.
Liam watches him fondly for a moment before he goes back to his books.
It’s getting dark and cool out when they step out of their building and amble toward the train.
“Can’t believe you’re wearing a flannel to a rock show,” Niall mumbles, pulling his jacket tighter around him.
Liam fingers the soft fabric falling to his knuckles. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, but Niall only laughs.
They have to take the N train up to Gramercy so of course they’re late, and Niall ushers him quickly through the streets, finally dry, and to the door of the venue. A bored looking guy in a thin, faded t-shirt takes their tickets and they hurry in. The band isn’t on yet, but it’s crowded, standing room only, kids pushed in as close to the stage as they can get. Niall starts pushing his way in, dragging Liam along.
Liam’s not a big fan of these standing shows. Everyone’s too close, touching him, and they all smell vaguely damp. He tries to make himself very small.
He's looking around, shoulders hunched, trying to figure out who’s touching him and if there’s anywhere he can go that’s not so cramped, when a cheer goes up all around him. Liam looks up to see someone walking out on stage. He’s dressed in black slacks and a black, short-sleeved button down with black suspenders over them, and he’s clutching two drum sticks that he spins between long fingers when he raises a hand to greet the crowd. He takes a seat behind the drum set, and his hair gleams gold under the lights. His features are sharp. Liam thinks he looks very British.
A moment later he’s followed by another figure, slumping onto the stage and barely out of the shadows, like he’d rather not be seen. More cheers go up. “Zayn!” a high pitched woman’s voice screams somewhere behind Liam, and the guy looks up, smiling slightly and squinting into the lights. They catch his face and Liam jolts a bit, surprised, because this guy - Zayn - he is beautiful. Some part of Liam understands the shrieking woman. He can’t help but stare.
Niall catches him. He’s texting, and when he looks up he nudges Liam in the stomach - easy, since they’re almost completely pressed together. “Like what you see?” he smirks, and Liam flushes.
“It’s hot in here,” he says to deflect. He focuses on rolling his sleeves up. His head’s still down when the loudest cheer of all goes up, and doesn’t stop. Suddenly the lights go down and the mic is on. “Good evening, New York!” Liam hears, and when he finishing rolling and lifts his head there’s another one there, standing at the front with his hand wrapped around the microphone and a guitar wrapped around his body. He has floppy hair, a blazer with a pocket square, and unbelievably skinny jeans. Liam wants to laugh, he looks like such a stereotype.
Instead he looks back at Zayn. His head is down, fiddling with his bass guitar. There’s a streak of blonde in his hair, and when he glances up, looking over the crowd, the hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth, he looks - he looks like everything Liam never lets himself want. Everything he’s ever talked himself out of.
“How are we tonight?” the singer asks, lifting his hands with a grin, and a shout goes up from the crowd. “I’m Harry,” he says, and there is more shrieking at this show than Liam would have anticipated, “This is Zayn, and back there on the drums we have Louis.” Louis taps out a beat and grins at the crowd. “We’re One Direction, and we hope you have a great time tonight.”
The lights on stage go down even more, so only Harry is clear. He drops his head, tuning his guitar one last time, and then steps to the mic, shaking his hair out of his eyes and plucking a simple tune.
“I am heaven sent,” he sings sweetly. “Don’t you dare forget.”
The whole crowd screams. The people around him start jumping, and Liam tries to smile.
It’s not so bad, Liam supposes. He jumps when Niall does, and tries to prevent either of them from getting pushed into a mosh pit, thought he’s not so sure Niall would mind. He’s come home missing shoes and other articles of clothing before. Some of the songs are catchy enough, and when they’re not Liam watches Zayn and the way he closes his eyes and mouths the words along, fingers moving across the strings of his bass. The singer keeps shaking his hair about, fussing with it so often that Liam’s not sure when he has time to play guitar, and the drummer grins, white teeth sharp in the lights. Liam checks his watch, but only once or twice.
At some point Zayn and Louis walk off stage, and Harry wanders up to the front with an acoustic guitar, propping himself on a stool. With nothing left to look at, Liam thinks it’s a good time for a break. “I’m going to get a coke!” he yells in Niall’s ear, and Niall nods back at him, his face flushed red from the heat of the venue and exertion of jumping around. He looks happy, and Liam’s glad they came.
The bar’s out in the lobby and empty. The bartender gives him his coke no charge, and Liam thanks him, wandering around the small area and looking at the merch for sale, the photos on the wall. He can hear the music filtering in from the other room and eventually hears the whole band joining in on the chorus, so he wanders back in, standing in the back and sipping his coke through a straw.
“Wrote more postcards than hooks,” Harry sings, his eyes closed, hands moving quickly over his guitar. Zayn and Louis are back in the shadows again, so Liam just watches him. “I read more maps than books. Feel like every chance to leave is another chance I shoulda took.” Harry’s voice wobbles, just slightly, but Liam hears it and suddenly he’s interested.
“My secrets for a buck, watch me as I cut myself wide open, on this stage as I am paid to spill my guts.” His eyes peek open, and Liam thinks, just for a second, that he’s looking right at the back, where Liam is standing alone, thinks Harry can see him. The next moment his eyes are closed again and Liam knows he imagined it. “Won’t see home ‘til spring,” he goes on, voice twisting. “Oh, I would kill for the Atlantic, but I am paid to make girls panic while I sing.” Cheers from the ladies in the crowd go up, and Liam thinks he sees a smile curving over Harry’s face. He feels vaguely disappointed.
The rest of the band comes in, and Harry stands, stepping back and letting his hair fall over his face again. Liam is frowning but he doesn’t know why; he goes to throw his cup away and then shoulders his way back through the crowd, finding Niall.
“All right?” Niall asks him.
Liam nods. “Like this song,” he says finally, and Niall raises an eyebrow.
“Knew you’d have fun if you let yourself, Leemo,” Niall says, and Liam elbows him. A new song starts, heaving on the guitars, and Niall jumps, falling in Liam, pushing him into a stranger nearby.
“So sorry,” Liam says, even though the guy doesn’t even look over. Liam shakes his head and crashes himself into Niall. Payback.
They play one last song, something Liam kind of remembers - there was a night, Niall’s birthday, when Niall had insisted all he wanted was Liam to go out for a pint with him. Of course one pint turned into three, turned into tequila shots and Liam doesn’t remember what else, and the next thing he knew they were jumping around their dorm room, shouting the lyrics to this song, and in the morning Liam woke up to a hammering headache and a noise violation from their RA taped to his forehead.
Niall turns to him when the song starts, looking excited. “Remember this?” Liam can’t help but laugh and he nods and the guitars go up around him. Soon enough they’re jumping and bouncing off the people around them, the entire floor opening up into a mosh pit, but Liam doesn’t mind. He keeps his hand fisted in Niall’s shirt so they won’t get separated, and when the bridge comes he’s looking at Niall rather than Harry, sweating and flushed but still impeccable in his blazer, or even Zayn, still hugging the shadows at the side of the stage, still looking perfect and not the slightest bit tired.
“Is that what you call a getaway?” he yells to Niall, who’s laughing, his teeth flashing under the lights. “Tell me what you got away with, cause you left the frays from the ties you severed, when you said best friends means friends forever.”
Niall’s gone suddenly, ripped away as the crowd goes crazy along with the band on stage. Even Zayn, hunched over his bass, has somehow made his way halfway across the stage, near Harry, screaming, screaming into the microphone, mouth stretched wide, and for a moment, Liam gets it.
He makes it through the song with both his shoes and all his clothes intact, so he counts it as a win and picks through the crowd, searching for Niall. He’s not hard to find, his bright blonde hair sticking out in the crowd of dark clothes. He’s sweaty, they both are. Liam can’t wait for the cool night air.
“That was fun,” he says, and on stage the band is saying goodnight, “Thank you New York, you’re beautiful,” Harry’s voice slow and ragged from the screaming he’s done.
Liam has a hand around Niall’s forearm. “Ready to go?”
Niall gives him a strange look. “Don’t act like you’ve never been to a show before, mate,” he says. “Still got the encore.”
The truth is Liam hadn’t thought it was that kind of show, but he realizes no one else is leaving either, so he must be the one who’s wrong. He’s so tired he can’t imagine there’s anything more, but a moment later and Harry’s ambling back on the stage, his acoustic guitar dangling from his fingers again.
“Hello again, Manhattan,” he says, still so slow and so British. Liam pushes his hair away from his forehead at almost the same moment Harry does.
A moment later he’s picking out a slow tune on his guitar, and a subdued cheer goes up in the crowd as they wind down. Niall leans against Liam, heavy and hot but comfortable. Harry looks up. His eyes are wide open this time.
Liam doesn’t know the words, but it seems like the rest of the crowd does, and Harry sings quietly so they almost overpower him.
“Everybody wake up, wake up, everybody, everybody wake up, it’s time to get down,” Niall sings in Liam’s face, poking his cheeks. He must look as tired as he feels, but he tries to smile for Niall.
“And when I pass the bottle, back to Z, on the overpass tonight, I bet we laugh,” Harry sings, smiling off at the side stage where Liam can just make out Zayn and Louis, leaning on beams and watching Harry do his thing.
“I’m gonna stay 18 forever, so we can stay like this forever, and we’ll never miss a party cause we keep them going constantly. And we’ll never have to listen to anyone about anything, cause it’s all been done and it’s been said. We’re the coolest kids and we take what we can get.” The whole crowd is singing and singing, and Liam slings his arm around Niall and hums like he knows what he’s doing.
Louis and Zayn come back out, waving, and when they join in Harry lets go of his guitar, stands, a fist wrapped around his mic and he’s loud now, louder than the crowd, “You’re just jealous cause we’re young and in love,” he’s singing, once, twice, three times, then he steps back and the crowd keeps it going. Liam, too, he picks it up fast enough, and the drums are loud, and Liam can see Zayn mouthing the words, but Harry’s standing back, watching over them, not playing his guitar, not singing, just watching them, eyes bright under the lights.
He steps back to the mic, lifts his guitar again. The drums and bass fall away, just the acoustic guitar and the crowd singing loudly. Harry lifts his mouth the mic, but he’s so quiet Liam can’t hear him without straining. He does, and he realizes Harry’s changed the words, “I’m just jealous cause you’re young and in love,” he’s singing, with his eyes open and moving swiftly across the room. “I’m just jealous cause you’re young and in love.” he sings, again and again, Liam’s sure he’s hearing it right, and then he steps back, plays the final notes on his guitar, drops it and walks off stage, disappearing into the dark. Liam watches the whole time.
Niall drags him to the merch stand after and buys a shirt. “I’ll buy you one, too, mate, I know you liked it,” he says, but Liam waves him off.
“Don’t waste your money,” he says. “I’ll just steal yours.”
The cool fall air feels good when they finally exit the venue. They walk a block toward their train when Niall stops Liam with a hand on his arm.
“Look,” he says, and points. “Busses.”
Liam is so tired, his head is fuzzy, and he doesn’t get it. “Yeah,” he says. “Busses.”
Niall doesn’t move, just looks at them. “Think it’s the band?” he asks finally, and then it clicks.
“Oh,” he says. “I wouldn’t be sure-“ he’s starting to say, and then he sees a flash of gold hair under a streetlight, above black suspenders, and he does know.
He almost hopes Niall doesn’t recognize the drummer, but of course he does, and he’s dragging Liam down the street before he can say a word. “I want them to sign my shirt!” he says. “Hurry!”
Liam hurries as best he can. He kind of hopes it’s just Louis there; he’s not sure he wants to see Zayn up close. Not that he possibly could have noticed Liam, but still, if he did, he would probably think Liam’s a total creep if he finds Liam standing outside his bus now.
Niall takes off, almost running, and Liam laughs at the way he has to hold his pants up as he does, his hems still dragging along the concrete. Louis must hear him coming because he looks up, face shadowed, street lights catching his hair like he’s wearing a fucking halo, the rest of him shrouded in dark, some sort of wicked fallen angel.
Liam’s been reading too much Dante.
“Hello, lads,” Louis says, and Liam can see his face now that he’s closer, his white teeth flashing in the dark. His eyes are electric blue.
“Sick show, mate,” Niall says, a touch out of breath from his run. “Sign my shirt?”
Louis takes it, but then he pats his pockets and says apologetically, “I’ve not got a marker on me, mate. D’you?”
Niall looks crestfallen, and Louis looks toward Liam, who shrugs helplessly. He doesn’t carry around sharpies normally.
Louis looks around into the dark, and Liam doesn’t see anything, but then Louis looks back at them, smiling confidently, and says, “Just wait here a second, yeah?” He walks a few steps away. His pants are rolled to the ankle, Liam sees, a few inches of tan ankle above his black boat shoes.
“Oi, Zayn!” he calls suddenly, into the dark, and Liam wants to run away. Liam doesn’t know how Louis saw him, but there he is, emerging from the other side of the bus, nearly featureless in the shadows except for that blonde streak at the front of his hair.
Zayn eyes he and Niall warily once he gets closer, but quirks his lip up at them all the same. “Yeah, Lou?” he asks. He’s got his shirt rolled to his elbows, Liam can see black ink snaking across his forearms but he can’t make out the shapes.
“Got a marker?” Louis asks, holding his hand out expectantly. Sure enough, Zayn reaches into his back pocket and emerges with a black Sharpie, handing it over wordlessly.
“Nice,” Niall says, stepping forward toward them. Liam feels awkward and quiet. “You’re a lifesaver, man.”
Zayn moves toward them suddenly, and he finally steps into the lamppost, lighting up his face. He’s looking at Niall, interested. “Irish?” he asks.
“Born and raised,” Niall says proudly, and Liam can’t help but smile fondly. Zayn looks at him, eyes sharp and glittering in the orange light.
“You too?” he asks, raising an arm and half pointing at Liam, as if there’s anyone else he could be asking.
“Me?” Liam says, and it feels like his mouth is full of cotton. “No, I’m not - I’m from New York.”
“Ah,” Zayn says, and his eyes flick between them once or twice before Louis hands him the shirt to sign.
“Nothing for you?” Louis asks Liam, smiling like he already knows the answer.
“Ah, I,” Liam says. He holds out his empty hands like it’s an answer. “I’m going to steal his shirt,” he finishes lamely.
“Ha,” Louis says without laughing.
“Sick, sick show,” Niall interjects, repeating himself, and Liam’s never been happier to have him. “Saw you guys two years ago in Dublin but you’ve only gotten better.”
“Thanks!” Louis says brightly. Zayn hands Niall back his shirt, capping the marker. He smiles, small but sincere, at Liam. “I remember that show. Irish fans are brilliant. We went out after and I didn’t recover for three days.”
Niall laughs, bright. “Wish I’da been there,” he says, but he manages not to sound disappointed at all.
Zayn smiles at him. “Next time, maybe,” he says. He offers a hand for Niall to shake, and then Liam, who takes it cautiously, hoping his palms aren’t sweating. It’s over before he can even think about how Zayn’s hands feel. He should probably be grateful.
“Anyway, thanks for the chat, lads,” Niall says. “Any chance Harry’ll come by soon?”
Louis’s got his phone out already, texting. He lifts his head and squints in the direction of the venue, a few blocks away. “He’ll be ‘round, yes,” he says. “Always takes him a bit longer to get out.”
“I can imagine,” Liam says, just because he’s been standing there, quiet and dumb, for what feels like too long. Louis looks up sharply at his voice, and then he smiles, his eyes crinkling into slits. He looks at Zayn, and Zayn looks back, like they’re having some sort of internal conversation. Liam rocks back on his heels and looks at Niall, but he’s not paying attention, looking at his watch.
“We should get some food, yeah, Li?” he’s saying, and before he’s even finished Louis says, “You wanna come up to the bus for a drink, lads?”
Niall doesn’t even look to Liam before he answers. “Love to,” he says, and steps up beside Louis, who turns toward the bus. “You got anything to eat up there? We could order in.” They set off, side by side, and pass by Zayn, who’s looking at Liam.
“’m Zayn, by the way,” he says, and holds out his hand again. Liam laughs as he takes it, nerves burning away in the oddness of the night, in the heat of the streetlamps.
“Liam,” he says. “I’m Liam.”
The bus is - well, it’s a bus. There’s a small kitchen and dining area, a row of bunks, and a room in the back with a couch and a bench and a tv. It smells like sweat and mixed cologne and faint smoke, and there are random clothes tossed about. Liam picks up a discarded sweater with the tips of his fingers, setting it in a corner on the floor before he sinks into a seat.
Louis grabs four beers out of a mini fridge next to the television, not bothering to ask if Liam wants one or not. He takes it gingerly, and when Niall looks at him, he mouths, One, and takes a small sip. It’s good, actually, not the watery light beer they’ve been drinking at dorm parties for two years.
Zayn opens a window in the room and settles on a seat in front of it, bent over his phone and texting furiously. Niall wanders around, seeing what there is to see, and plucks a discarded videogame cover off the floor. “FIFA?” he asks. “Who’s your team?”
“Man U,” Louis says, and Niall stills. Liam watches him curiously, his lip quirking up.
“Fuck Manchester United,” he says finally, dropping the game back to the floor. Liam waits to see how Louis is going to react to that, and even Zayn looks up for a moment, watching them through the fringe drooping over his forehead.
Louis’s face is blank for a moment, looking up at Niall. Liam wonders absently if they have security, someone to escort them off the bus if need be. Then Louis laughs, loudly, and Liam exhales. Zayn quirks a smile at him before he goes back to his phone.
“Who’s your club then, mate?” and Liam tunes them out since he’s heard Niall go on about Derby enough to last him the rest of his life.
Liam listens to the sounds filtering in the window from the street. A man calling plans to a friend, high heels clicking against concrete, the ever present sirens wailing in the distance. From somewhere nearby he hears a woman’s voice shouting, and then a slam and it goes silent. Liam lets his head drop back against the seat.
There’s another slam then, closer, and the bus shakes a bit as someone boards it.
“Lou?” comes a raspy call from the front of the bus, and a moment later Harry appears in the doorway, in nothing but his skinny jeans, hair mussed from obviously just removing his shirt, still clutched in his fingers.
He pushes it out of his face - get a haircut, Liam thinks irritably - and then he smiles, impossibly wide, like maybe finding strangers in his bus is a normal occurrence, something he encourages. “Oh, hello,” he says brightly.
“But Van Persie is a twat,” Niall bursts out with. Liam isn’t sure if he’s not noticed Harry - unlikely - or it’s just more important to him to put this statement out into the world at this very moment.
“A twat who’s going to win us the title,” Louis counters, looking awfully amused.
Harry looks down at them. Being ignored doesn’t seem to annoy him any, he just steps over them, saying, “All right then,” and he holds out his hand for Liam.
“Harry Styles,” he says, and doesn’t seem to notice that he is wearing very little clothing and standing very close to Liam’s person.
“Liam,” he returns warily, taking his hand. “Sorry for… that,” Liam says, nodding in Niall’s direction. “That’s Niall.”
“Quite all right,” Harry says, scratching a hand over his belly. “Van Persie inspires passion in some, I suppose.”
“Van Persie inspires disgust,” Niall puts in unhelpfully, and Louis flicks his ear. Niall always makes friends so fast, Liam doesn’t understand.
Harry is still standing very near to him, but he’s turned toward Zayn, as if waiting for Zayn to acknowledge him. He doesn’t. Harry turns back toward Liam.
“Has Zayn been terribly rude to you?” he asks. “Ignoring you to text his poor neglected girlfriend?”
Zayn does look up then, fixing a steely gaze on his bandmate, whose grin spreads across his face slowly, like a Cheshire cat. Harry jumps away just as Zayn’s arm shoots out to hit him.
“Ignore absolutely everything that Harry says to you,” Zayn tells him. Liam just smiles faintly, glancing at the phone still gripped in his hand.
Liam’s just tired.
“Niall had wondered if you could sign his shirt,” Liam tells Harry, hoping to speed up the rest of the evening.
“’Course I can, mate,” Harry says, and Niall finally pulls his attention away from Louis long enough to give Harry the shirt.
Zayn puts his phone away, sliding it into a front pocket before digging around in his back pocket, hand emerging with a pack of cigarettes clenched tight. He slides one out and between his lips and Liam is tired enough to watch the spark of his lighter and the movement of his arms.
Maybe he's making a face or something, because Zayn quirks an eyebrow at him. "All right, love?" he asks around the cigarette, and there's already smoke curling around his neck. Liam just smiles, small, and turns his face away. He meets Harry's gaze, watching him surprisingly intently, and suddenly Harry's back to looming over him, a hand around Liam's wrist.
"Let's get some fresh air," he says, and Liam doesn't have a chance to respond before he's on his feet being pulled down the hallway, out of the bus. Harry lets go of him to snag a sweater, hanging out of a bunk, and pull it over his head. Liam watches him grab an apple as they pass through the small kitchen area.
Liam's not even off the bus yet before someone's approached Harry, a ticket and a marker outstretched. "Of course, darling," he's saying, slow voice, raspy from singing maybe, or maybe that's just how he sounds. Liam wouldn't know. "You all right?" The girl is looking up at him with wide eyes, adoring, and Liam steps away, leaning against the bus, lets her have her moment alone. He looks away, down the dark street, and he thinks about nothing.
"Night, love," he hears a quick moment later, and the girl is scurrying away, her face tucked into her coat, flushed with cold or happiness or both. Harry turns toward him, smiling a little, tired and happy. Liam doesn't know how to talk to him.
Harry polishes the apple on his sleeve, and then, quirking an eyebrow at Liam, lets the apple roll down his arm, popping his elbow and sending it high in the air before he catches it and bites down quickly, grinning at Liam around it.
Liam laughs in spite of himself. "Fancy," he concedes, and Harry's smile gets even brighter, like he's won something.
It’s quiet again and Liam half-watches him eat and half-tries not to stare. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, leaning against the bus next to him, close enough their elbows touch.
“You don’t smoke, then?” Liam asks just to fill the silence. He scuffs a toe against the sidewalk and notices they’re wearing matching shoes, white Converse.
Harry looks at him, wraps a hand around his throat and makes a face. “Can’t, love,” he says easily. “I’m a singer, you know.” He drops his hand and goes back to his apple.
Liam doesn’t know what to say then, but he’s saved anyway as the bus shakes a little behind them and then Louis hops off the last step and into the night, Niall bounding after him and seconds later, slowly, Zayn.
"We're getting food!" Niall shouts. Liam wonders if he's more excited they were invited or that it's time to eat again. Harry's looks at him and Liam shrugs; Louis and Niall seem to know where they're going and the rest fall into step behind them. Liam starts to try and catch up with Niall, but then he hears Niall shout, "Are you mad?! Ronaldo as good as Messi?" and Liam backs off.
He ends up next to Zayn, who offers him a small smile. He seems smaller up close, swimming in a jacket that's at least a size too big. "This how you thought you'd be spending your night, mate?" he asks Liam.
Liam pulls a face but he's looking at the ground when he does it. "No," he replies honestly. "Thought I'd be asleep by now, if I'm honest."
Zayn laughs a little. "Sorry to keep you up, then." Liam just shrugs. He looks behind them; Harry's got his apple clenched between his teeth and his eyes on his phone, tripping over himself slightly. With his head turned, Liam can smell the smoke on Zayn's clothes.
Definitely not the night Liam had planned.
At the diner, Liam just orders coffee and Niall looks at him like he's crazy. "I have to run in the morning," Liam explains, although he's not sure he'll be able to wake up early enough now.
"Run where?" Harry jumps in, eyes wide on Liam, and Liam hadn't even noticed him listening.
"Um, I usually just run at the River Park? I’m keeping in shape in case I go out for track in the spring," he explains.
"Track, huh," Harry says. He grabs a sugar packet but just slaps it against the table. "Very impressive."
"Liam fancies himself an athlete," Niall jumps in, and Liam wishes he wouldn't.
"You do anything besides run?" Louis asks. It's the first time he's acknowledged Liam since they were on the bus and Liam is startled that all the attention is on him. He rubs his neck and takes a deep breath.
"I run track and sometimes cross country, but not this year," he says. "I like playing basketball, but just pick-up really. Niall's getting me into soccer - football. I bike when it’s nice out. I box a little." He shrugs. It sounds weird, a little braggy saying it out loud, but it's not like he's a pro at any of it. It's just a bit of fun.
"You box?" Harry asks. "I used to box.” He’s looking at Liam intently again, that unnerving gaze.
Liam looks at him, a bit surprised. With the stretched out shirt and the tight pants he looks like a lanky thing at first glance, but taking a minute to actually look at him, Liam can see he actually does have some muscle.
He offers a polite smile. "Nice. If you lived around here I'd offer to go a round with you, but..."
Harry just keeps looking at him, and a smile spreads across his face slowly, slowly, sweet like honey. He looks like he knows something Liam doesn't.
Despite the coffee Liam must be drifting off, leaning perhaps inappropriately into Zayn's side, considering they've just met, but he jerks awake when he hears Louis say, "Yeah, you should come!"
"Come where?" he asks, drowsy, and the rest of them laugh at him.
"Boston," Louis says. "We're going there in - oh, an hour or two," he says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Staying for the weekend."
"Oh," Liam says, and then realizes they must have been inviting Niall. "Oh!" he says again, and looks at his roommate.
"I was saying you guys should come," Louis says. He's watching Liam closely, like he already knows the answer.
Liam's still a bit out of it. "Come?" he repeats. "To Boston?"
Louis nods. Liam still finds it hard to catch up.
"Now?" he asks.
"Not now," Louis says, exceedingly patient. "In an hour or two."
Niall's watching this back and forth closely, looking amused, like he already knows what Liam's response is, because of course he does. "I can't go to Boston," Liam says, incredulous.
"And why not?" Louis counters, neutral, bordering on patronizing.
Liam straightens up and hopes he doesn't have drool on his face. "It's Thursday," he says. "I have class tomorrow. I have to run. How would we get home? We don't have money. We don't have anything packed. Should I keep going?"
Louis widens his eyes at Liam theatrically. "It's Friday," he says, ticking it off on his own fingers, "And nobody goes to Friday classes, if I remember university right. We'll put you on a train home, you don't need money, we have clothes. It's just a weekend. What's the problem?"
Liam blinks at him. It's too late for this conversation and if the clock on the wall is right, he needs to be up in five hours. "Come on," Louis goes on in his silence. "I'll even take you bike riding."
Liam can't really tell if Louis is teasing him or sincerely promising, but it doesn't much matter. "I can't," he says. "Definitely not. Niall can do what he wants, obviously."
"Nah," Niall says, and eats his last french fry. "Not by myself, but thanks for the offer, lads." Louis just shrugs then, and Liam wonders why he gets an argument and Niall doesn't.
"Go if you want," he says to Niall, but he really hopes Niall doesn't. He scrubs a hand over his face. "I really have to go home, guys," he says. He nudges into Zayn, making to slide out of the booth. "Obviously I can't even stay awake anymore." He stands and pulls out his wallet, but Louis waves him off.
"Think we can cover your dollar cup of coffee, mate," Louis says. "Even if we did bore you to sleep."
"You didn't -" Liam huffs, but he cuts himself off because Louis is grinning, his eyes crinkled. "Well, thanks," he says then. "Have fun in Boston. And good show tonight."
Niall slides out of the booth too. "Shouldn't let my boy Li walk these means streets alone," he says, and throws ten bucks on the table. "Had a brilliant time with you boys though," he says, and he shakes Zayn and Harry's hands while Louis rises to give him a half hug and thumps him on the back. They start talking to each other and Liam turns to the other two, lifts his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he says to Zayn, who smiles back, big and genuine, and waves.
"Same, Liam."
He looks at Harry, gives him a wave too, and Harry frowns up at him. "Wish you'd think about Boston," he says. "I could show you a thing or two in the ring," he offers, giving Liam what he suspects are tried and true puppy dog eyes.
Liam laughs, more out of politeness than anything. "Sorry," he says, "Just not a good time, man. Maybe someday."
Harry's lip quirks then, eyes bright in the harsh light of the diner, and once again Liam gets the feeling he's missing something. "Maybe," Harry repeats, and then Niall looks at him and they walk out, leaving the band behind them.
When they get outside, Niall sighs. “Strange night, huh Li?” he says, and Liam’s glad he’s not the only one who thinks so.
“Always is with you, bro,” Liam tells him.
Niall takes his shirt from under his arm, holding it out wide in front of them to admire the autographs. Suddenly he makes an odd, offended noise, and Liam peers at the shirt closer to see why.
Niall <3s Van Persie, it says, right across the middle. Harry Styles.
Liam begs out of any big weekend activities, citing his continuing exhaustion from their late night. Niall rolls his eyes but generally leaves Liam be, and Liam notes, not for the first time, that he lucked out in the roommate draw freshman year.
Liam runs on Friday and Saturday, has a study group Saturday afternoon for his poetry class, and he and Niall play pick up basketball on Sunday morning with some guys from the track team and then go out for a huge brunch, which is, in Liam’s estimation, one of the best things about living in New York City.
They're walking back to their place, Liam dribbling the basketball around tourists while Niall munches on some pastry he brought from the restaurant and messes around with his phone.
"Harry says hi," he says when Liam pauses to let him catch up. Liam dribbles the ball in front of him, once, twice, while they wait to cross the street.
"Harry?" Liam asks, distracted by the crowds going by.
Niall tucks his phone back in his pocket and takes another bite, spraying Liam with crumbs when he speaks. "Harry Styles? Lead singer of One Direction whom we very recently shared a meal with?"
Liam wrinkles his nose and uses his sleeve to wipe his face off. The light changes and he starts to dribble again, doing circles around his own body. "You're talking to Harry?" he asks curiously.
"I'm talking to Lou," Niall corrects, and licks his fingers. Liam makes a face. "Harry told Lou to tell me to tell you hi."
Liam spins the ball around on his fingertip and watches it proudly. "That's a bit much for me to think about on Sunday morning, Nialler," he says finally.
Niall looks at him for a long moment. Then he slaps the ball off Liam's hand and grabs it, running down the street, dodging between people and laughing loudly, and Liam chases him all the way home.
And Liam probably wouldn't even remember it, but it happens again. He comes home from class a week and a half later, toes his sneakers off in front of his closet and flops onto his bed for a rest when Niall, seated in front of his computer, interrupts the silence to say, "Harry says hi."
Liam's still busy with his rest, so he just grunts in response, and that's it, it's silent again. But once he's done and ready to use his brain again, he thinks about it.
"Why?" he asks Niall.
Niall looks over, blank.
"Why does Harry say hi to me?" Liam clarifies.
Niall continues to look blank, and then he shrugs. "Just passing it along," he says, "Don't shoot the messenger or whatever."
Liam looks at the ceiling. He tries to remember talking to Harry that night, what they said. He remembers the thing with the apple and that's about it.
He makes a noise to express his confusion but Niall ignores it, so Liam decides to move on. He rolls over onto his side and grabs a menu off the stack on his desk. "Let's order in for dinner, yeah?"
It’s like one day it’s warm-ish and the next day it’s freezing, winter arriving in full force and all at once, and Liam didn’t get the memo, so he spends the day on campus woefully underdressed. He’s shaking by the time he gets home, and he puts on two hoodies and burrows into his comforter, waiting for the feeling to come back to his cheeks and the tip of his nose.
He’s still there, curled in the rapidly warming pile of his bed when he hears the room door open, the thunk of objects against the floor, and then he feels Niall climbing on top of him without saying anything.
Liam moves enough to peek his eyes out of the top of the comforter, but he doesn’t relish the cold air that seeps into his warm nest. “Hi, Niall,” he says, a bit pathetically.
Niall touches his face. “Your cheeks are all red,” he says.
Liam nods. “I didn’t realize it was so cold,” he says, exaggerating the chatter of his teeth. “My eyes almost froze shut.”
Niall half slides off him so their heads are next to each other, but he keeps his legs over Liam’s. Liam doesn’t much mind; it’s just more warmth for him to absorb.
“Guess what,” Niall says. Liam pushes Niall’s hair out of his face, fussing because he wishes someone would fuss over him.
“What?” he asks once he’s less distracted.
“One Direction is coming back,” Niall says, sounding pleased. Liam stills. He pulls his covers tighter across his shoulders, accidentally shifting Niall, who doesn’t seem to notice, turned away to root through Liam’s desk drawers, probably for food.
“There’s nothing in there,” Liam says absently, “Look on the shelves under my bed.”
Niall twists so he’s half hanging off the bed, only visible below the waist. “Why is One Direction coming back already?” Liam asks.
Niall doesn’t answer for a long minute, and when he pops back up his face is red from hanging upside down, but he has a bag of fruit snacks and looks pleased. He pops at least three in his mouth and then says, “Not for a show, they’re gonna be recording here for a bit.”
“I thought they were based in London,” Liam says. He’s starting to get a bit overheated and moves to take off one of the hoodies.
“Well, they are,” Niall says, shrugging. “Doesn’t mean they have to record there.”
“True,” Liam concedes. He finally succeeds in getting the sweater off and then slumps back against his wall. “So when are they coming?”
“Middle of January,” Niall calls, swinging himself off the bed and heading back to his own side of the room. “So ask for some new drinking shoes for Christmas, Payner, things might get a little crazy.”
Liam rolls his eyes and pulls his covers back over his head.
Liam doesn’t think about it much, even less once finals start and he’s spending eight hours a day studying and writing papers for finals. He barely even sees Niall in December and then he’s off to Ireland, and Liam to northern New York for the holidays.
They’ve only been back in the city for four days and back in classes for two when Niall texts him in the middle of his first modern poetry lecture to tell him the band is arriving on Friday and Liam should clear his weekend.
Liam: rly? met them 1ce and they get my whole wknd?
Niall: how often do u hang out w rockstars?
Liam: ofen enuf
In the end it’s not like Liam has that much to clear, but he maintains to Niall that he will not spending the whole weekend with them.
“I’m having dinner with some of the track guys,” he tells Niall Friday morning, “but I’ll meet you out after.”
Niall narrows his eyes in Liam’s direction. “You better,” he says. “Don’t pull any of your texting me to tell me you’re too tired nonsense,” and Liam feigns offense but he has done that, probably one too many times, so he lets it go.
Liam gets to the bar and he’s a little drunk already, too much beer at dinner, and he shoulders past someone and gets an elbow in the stomach for his efforts. “Sorry, man,” he gasps out, a hand on the guy’s shoulder, and the guy just gives him a dirty look. Liam sighs and when he looks up there’s Harry, turning, tossing his hair and looking familiar and flushed. His eyes are bright and he lights up when he sees Liam, enough so that Liam turns to see if there’s someone behind him.
“Liam!” Harry calls. He’s got a glass in one hand but he holds the other out and when Liam gets closer he slides it around Liam’s neck and pulls him in, Liam’s face against his neck.
“Do I smell like bacon?” Harry asks, and it’s such a non-sequitur Liam thinks he misheard.
“What?” he asks.
Harry loops the free arm around Liam’s shoulders to keep him close and steers him toward the back of the club, hopefully to where Niall and the others are. “I got this new cologne last week,” he explains, his lips close to Liam’s ear. “And I liked it in London, but then we got here and I thought it started to smell like bacon? Like, maybe there’s something in the air here that reacts with it or something. A chemical reaction.”
“A chemical reaction between New York City and your cologne?” Liam asks, trying to follow. He can see Niall in a corner booth now, holding up his bottle with a group of other guys, including Louis. Niall spots him and throws a hand in the air, yelling something, probably Liam’s name.
“Yes,” Harry says. “Something like that. So what do you think?”
Liam pulls away from him a bit and smiles, trying to be reassuring. “I don’t smell bacon or any other pork product,” he says. Harry looks contemplative, but then they’re at the table and Niall pulls Liam in close, and Liam sees Zayn too, curled up in the corner under Louis’s arm, and then there’s another drink in Liam’s hand and the night speeds up and blurs out all at once.
Liam doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t know why Niall does most things that he does, but Niall tells the group that he and Liam will walk them back to their hotel, and Liam is too fuzzy to reason out why they shouldn’t.
It’s cold, that’s one reason, but Liam’s had enough that he barely notices - in fact, he’s confused to see his breath puffing out in front of his face, considering the fact he gave his coat to Zayn and is only wearing a flannel. He feels fine, anyway, and he breaths out, long and deep and slow, watching the air turn white and curl around him.
“Having fun?” Harry asks, and Liam hadn’t even noticed him there.
Liam smiles lazily. “It’s cold?” he says, still more a question than a statement.
Harry raises an eyebrow. Maybe he didn’t drink as much as Liam or maybe he just holds it better. “Zayn,” he calls, apropos of nothing, “Give Liam his coat back. He’s going to freeze.”
“No,” Liam protests, and swings to face Zayn. “No, I don’t even feel it, I swear.”
Zayn’s already shrugging the coat off though, and Harry grabs it, helps Liam into it. He’s buttoning the collar, and Liam looks at his face, close and pink in the cold. Harry lifts his eyes to meet Liam’s.
“Can’t run if you catch pneumonia, now can we?” he asks, soft on account of their closeness.
“No,” Liam replies, maybe belatedly. He thinks he’s staring but his eyes are heavy and too hard to move.
Harry’s own eyes flick, and all of a sudden he’s grinning, and Liam notices a bit slowly how his arm moves, and suddenly Liam’s doubled over, more in surprise than in pain, when Harry slaps him right in the balls.
Harry’s laughing now, and he runs a bit away to cower behind Louis, who’s also laughing, along with Niall, the traitor. Zayn’s smiling but holds back his laughter as Liam straightens and furrows his brow at them all.
“You’ll get used to it, mate,” Zayn tells him. He winds an arm around Liam’s back and pushes him forward, and when Liam glances at Harry his smile is fading and he looks at the ground.
When they get to the door of the hotel Liam hugs Zayn and turns to Harry, frowning at him so he’ll know Liam might be drunk but he won’t forget.
Harry gives him a hopeful grin. “Sleep well, eh, Liam?”
Liam’s frown just deepens. “You know what?” he says, and he works very hard to make sure his words don’t come out slurred. Harry’s eyebrows go up in curiosity. “You do smell like bacon,” Liam says, and hides his smile until he’s turned to stomp away.
two