Chapter Text
Harry loved spring. It always felt like a time for new beginnings. This Friday was no different. He’d woken up in a good mood and was ahead of schedule. The train had been on time, the barista hadn’t upcharged for almond milk, and the sun peeked through the clouds just enough to let him know it was there.
It’s late morning now, and it’s his last day taking this route to work. His last time needing to take a train, his last coffee run at the spot around the block from his studio. He’s taking his remaining things to the new flat this afternoon, and their housewarming party will be tonight.
Harry is focused on relishing his last day of this routine, he is taking it all in.
He’s emerging from the underground, and though he is bundled in a light peacoat, he feels the brisk air hit his face as he comes out onto the street. London at this hour is always the same, isn’t it? The streets are quiet, save for the other young professionals walking determinately towards their offices or their train stations. He knows he looks like one of them, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, looking down at his feet as they take him where he needs to go, but he’s glad he isn’t working some corporate job where he reports to a suit. Nearing his destination now, he digs around in his bag for his keys.
He and Zayn had opened the gallery two years ago and it was doing well. Like, really well. Better than all their projections. Thanks to Zayn’s tireless networking, they were halfway to their year’s profit goal already. They’d held openings attended by the biggest names in London’s art circles, and were on their way to showing some of the artists in said circles. Harry hadn’t minded doing the clerical work so that Zayn could focus on the more social aspects, but he was relieved when they were finally able to hire an intern last fall.
Zayn still did commissions on the side, and Harry still did freelance photography most weekends, but they were no longer dying for their art.
He unlocked the door and let himself in, quickly locking it behind him after he entered. He’d be the only one here for a few hours and had planned to keep himself busy drawing out the plans for their next show. All the pieces had been selected, but it was Harry’s job as curator to decide how they’d be featured.
The gallery itself was on the smaller side and the name, The Little Room, had been born out of the gallery’s appearance. It had been in a major state of disrepair when they rented it. That had been worth it though, because their rent was the cheapest on the block. There are a couple shops on the street, another gallery, and a coffee shop. Harry sees the street as his own stretch of paradise. He might be embarrassed of that if he hadn’t worked so hard for what they had.
It’s essentially a long room with an office and a storage room at the back. A few half walls had been constructed for more room to hang art, and throughout this little maze stood a few pedestals for displaying sculptures. The current show had gone well, Fragments of the Everyday, consisting of pieces that depicted “boring moments.” A photograph of two matchboxes under a restaurant table leg sold for more than any piece they’d ever shown. The greying woman who paid the huge sum explained that it reminded her of the lunches her and her children enjoyed at their local pizza shop during school holidays. Now, when Harry walks past it daily he can’t help the smile that sneaks onto his face. He’s savoring the time he has left to appreciate the photo before the show closes.
Harry entered the office and hung his jacket on a hook, dropping his messenger bag onto his chair. He shared the office with Zayn, who was not the neatest office mate. Harry’s desk was organized: pens sitting just so in their cup, multiple colors of post it notes for different uses, and a filing cabinet whose contents he could conjure in his mind. Zayn’s desk was everything Harry’s wasn’t: he had spray painted an abstract scene atop it and though he’d protected the art with a sheet of glass, he’s now got several notebooks open to various pages, and a few messy stacks of business cards he’d collected over the past 20 months. Harry couldn’t look at it without tutting and shaking his head, so he tried not to.
Instead, he turned to the bookshelf, grabbed a binder labeled Spring #1: Silent Conversations and set it on his desk. He pulled his laptop and headphones from his bag and placed it next to the binder before turning around to hang his bag with his coat. Once his headphones were on and his playlist was playing, he lost himself easily in his work.
Curating came naturally to Harry. Silent Conversations was his idea, an exploration of unspoken dialogue. A glance that tells all or a touch that speaks volumes.
It’d come to him when a man he’d gone on one date with had told him bluntly he didn’t want another because he couldn’t read Harry’s emotions clearly enough. “Too much going on up there,” he’d said, tapping his temple. “Not enough going on here,” he’d circled his face with his pointer finger and frowned, “a shame, because you really are beautiful.” Harry had been shocked, to say the least.
That night he’d gone home and stood in front of the mirror for at least 15 minutes, repeating stories he’d told this man and watching what faces he naturally pulled. He concluded that while he didn’t understand the strangely specific critique, he could turn it into a show. Thus, Silent Conversations .
It would be their first show to feature video art. His main challenge today is finding space to hang two projectors. Thankfully, they didn't need to find a way to create a makeshift theater because the video pieces would be, well, silent.
It took him about an hour of measuring and sketching to be satisfied with the decided placement for the projectors. As he was wrapping up, he heard someone in the front room. He wasn’t expecting Zayn yet, so it must be their lovably raucous intern, Niall. Harry took his headphones off and stood, poking his head out of the office. Sure enough, there was Niall, fighting with a box half his size.
Niall looked up and met Harry’s gaze, shuffling towards him with the box in tow.
“Hey boss. How’s it going?” he asked, a small smirk on his face. Of course, Harry was technically Niall’s boss, but they’d become good friends these past few months. At least, Harry liked to think so.
“Hey, Ni. It’s good! Just finished laying out the next show, actually.”
He nodded, “Good, good. Know where we’re hanging everything then?” He threw his head to the side slightly, attempting to gesture to the street with it, “I’ve got my tools in my car, picked up those hanging kits and that museum putty you requested.”
Harry moved towards Niall, offering his assistance with the large box, “Perfect, thanks. We’ve got to clear everything else out first, but we can put that stuff in storage. What’s this, then?” he asked.
“Oh this massive fucking box? Final piece for the next show. Just came in this morning from New York,” Niall explained.
From New York. Harry knew what this was and he was still shocked they’d managed to acquire it. He took hold of one end of the box, and he and Niall shuffled into the climate controlled storage room across from the office. Once it was carefully placed onto the ground, Harry ran his hand through his hair.
“God. I really really want to open it,” Harry muttered.
“You know Zayn would kill you. It’s his friend’s piece.”
“I know, I know. We’ll wait. Lunch? You hungry?” He needed to remove himself from the entire establishment.
“Sure,” Niall agreed, looking relieved, and with that they headed out to get some food.
There was a sandwich shop they liked around the corner, and they picked up their regular orders, including a sandwich for Zayn. When it came time to pay, Niall reached for his wallet. Harry tried politely to stop him, but Niall just held up the plastic company card between his fingers.
“Like I’d pay,” Niall scoffed sarcastically.
“You know, I’ve been looking for that!” Harry said, slightly astonished.
Niall shrugged and said, “Oops. Zayn gave it to me.”
Harry just nodded, making a mental note to get Niall his own copy, and took the bag with their sandwiches and crisps from the shop employee to a table.
+
When Harry and Niall returned to the gallery sated, Zayn was clearly in a state. He was on the phone, pacing around with his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. Niall and Harry exchanged a glance, unsure of what could possibly be wrong. Zayn spoke, his words in direct opposition to his demeanor.
He spoke diplomatically, nodding as though he could make himself believe his words, “Yes, yes I understand. Absolutely. We’re here to make whatever needs to happen happen for you. Great, I will see you then. No problem at all.” He could always keep his cool under pressure.
He and Zayn had become fast friends right out of university. They’d been teaching children’s art classes at the same community center on the weekends, and bonded over their shared distaste for one particularly devilish kid. Well, Zayn had expressed his distaste and had gotten Harry to admit he felt similarly after a few pints one Saturday night. From that night on, they were inseparable, both floundering university graduates working weekday jobs they hated. When Harry had expressed his dream of opening a gallery, Zayn was right behind him. Zayn had a couple contacts from uni and an uncle with deep pockets, so it only took them a year to get everything up and running.
Zayn hung up the phone, dropped his shoulders, and let out a huff. He noticed Harry and Niall, still standing just inside the door of the gallery with confusion painted on their faces.
“Hey mates. That was John,” a small frown lining his mouth, “he’s expecting me to wait up for him here until 9:30, which is just fucking great,” Zayn explained.
John Hawthorne was a major name in the arts, and an early believer in The Little Room. Harry and Zayn had no choice but to fall in line with any of his requests. Harry knew it wasn’t even worth asking Zayn why John needed him, but he also knew instantly why this change of plans was so stressful.
“Shit. Our party starts at 9,” Harry said, chewing on his bottom lip.
“I know, and I was set to help you grab the rest of your stuff too. I’m sorry, mate, I’m gonna have to bail and I suppose I’ll just be late to our party,” he decided. He predicted Harry’s next concern by continuing, “John knows you’ve got to have your things out of your flat by tomorrow so you don’t have to hang back.”
“Harry, I’ve got my car, happy to help you grab your things if they’ll fit,” Niall chimed in.
“Yeah, yeah that works. Perfect,” Harry agreed, turning to Zayn and clapping his hand on his shoulder sympathetically, “Sorry, mate, John can be such a diva. I’ll make sure you don’t miss much.”
“Is there anything else you need us to handle for the party?” Niall asked.
“Actually,” Zayn started hesitantly, “There is one thing I was gonna do but Harry won’t like it.”
Harry studied Zayn, and there were a few ideas racing through his mind about what he might want Harry to do. Unpack some of his boxes? Do some of his laundry? He couldn’t think of any task that would be so horribly annoying. Harry was already planning to order some pizzas and run to the corner store for drinks. The apartment was tidy because they’d unpacked most of their stuff in the past week and hadn’t had the time to make any messes. It wouldn’t be a rager by any means, they kept a small circle of friends.
“And what could that possibly be?” Harry inquired, cocking his head to the side a bit.
Zayn exhaled, “Well. My man’s meant to drop by this evening to sell me a bit of weed for the party.”
Oh , Harry understands. It’s not like Harry is an angel, and he doesn’t mind when people have weed or smoke around him. He’d smoked a couple times, but simply wasn’t a fan of the effects, so this wasn’t a situation he ever found himself in.
But when Harry looked at Zayn and saw the pleading look in his eyes, he knew this was the least he could do for his best friend. It’d be alright, right? Zayn trusted whoever this guy was, Harry knew that much. He knew they were friendly and that Zayn’s been buying from the same source since uni. They’d never crossed paths, but he was pretty sure Zayn and his dealer had even hung out a few times. If anything, Harry was confused why he’d never met this friend of Zayn’s before, but hadn’t spent too much time dwelling on that.
Harry had made up his mind, he could do this. It was for Zayn. He wasn’t excited, but he could do it.
He sighed a bit to express his distaste for the task, but ultimately capitulated, “Sure mate, whatever you need.” Harry watched a relieved grin stretch across Zayn’s face, a bit of the stress from before washing away.
“Thank you, thank you! Seriously, I owe you,” Zayn said, “He’s just gonna drop by the flat so you won’t have to go anywhere.”
“Oh. Is he staying for the party?”
“Nah, he’s not really a social guy. Or maybe he is, but he-” Zayn said the next bit using his hands to make quote marks, “doesn’t like mixing business and pleasure.”
“Speaking of business, we’ve got a box Harry can’t wait to open in the storage room. And I dragged it around for what felt like forever, so I’d quite like to see what we’ve got too,” Niall spoke.
Harry laughed at that, “Ni, didn’t you park right in front? How is that dragging it around forever?”
“Hm. Didn’t say it was forever, did I?” Niall raised an eyebrow, “Said it felt like it.”
“He’s got a point there. Don’t put words in my Nialler’s mouth, Harry,” Zayn said sternly with a hint of a smile on his lips.
The three of them started to walk towards the storage room. Zayn was in the lead, and swung the door to the storage room open, leading the other two men inside. The storage room had a cramped walkway, most of the space inside was taken up by movable wire racks that paintings could hang on while they weren’t on view. Right now, all but one piece of the visual art for Silent Conversations was hanging, ready to be swapped for the pieces that were on view out front.
The reason they’d waited for Zayn to open the last box was twofold. One, the art inside had been made by one of Zayn’s good friends in New York and he had fought hard to show it. Two, it was always momentous to open the final piece. In two minutes, their show would be complete. In two weeks, it’d be opening night. This moment was the eye of the storm. Everything that leads up to putting a show together is its own kind of chaos, and everything that happens leading up to the showing was another kind. Right now, washing over the three of them, was a quiet calm. They were sharing the calm without acknowledging it as Zayn began to cut the tape with a box cutter he’d produced from his back pocket.
A few moments later, Zayn was elbows deep in the box, digging around packing peanuts to get a firm grasp on the edges of a frame. He strained to pull the painting out, muttering a “ Fuck” and a “Shit” as peanuts flew to the ground around him.
What he produced Harry knew would be a fan favorite.
“Shit, Z, they’re going to love it,” Harry finally spoke as Zayn began hanging the artwork on one of the wire racks.
“Seriously. This is incredible,” Niall agreed, nodding.
Zayn didn’t reply more than letting out a small chuckle and stepping back with his hands on his hips, admiring the work.
Hanging before them was an oil painting of two figures lying in grass. Their bodies spread diagonally across the canvas, head to head. Their faces are shrouded, but the viewer can read discomfort from their barely visible expressions. Despite this discomfort, it depicts a beautiful day. The sun is hitting the grass and bouncing off a small lake in the distance. There are birds flying overhead and cherry blossoms in full bloom. The figure on the right has his hand on the ground, playing with some blades of grass as though he is deep in thought.
It’s a breakup. Not a nasty one, a sad one. A break up of circumstance. A job in a different city or an unrequited want for a family. The figures are still in love, but they know it has to end.
At least, that’s how Harry sees it.
Harry is deeply moved, he wishes he could be the one to take this painting home, though he knows he'll never be able to afford the asking price.
So instead, he turns to the boys and states, "Ni, we better get a move on if we're gonna get everything done before the party. Zayn, I got a sandwich for you." He passed the paper wrapped sub that had been in his bag to Zayn and clapped him on the shoulder once more, exiting the room.
+
Back at Harry’s studio flat, two boxes of odds and ends laid in waiting.
He thinks most people have some belongings like these. Ones you carry from place to place because you can’t exactly part with what’s inside, but don’t want to deal with it either. Things you don’t know how to get rid of, like a footie participation trophy from primary school that had sat proudly on a shelf for years. To throw it out now would be sacrilege. To keep displaying it would be embarrassing.
That’s what was inside. Family photos predating his parents’ divorce, his uni graduation cap, ugly pride shirts gifted to him by well meaning relatives. He knew where these boxes would go in his new place, deep in the back of his wardrobe, maybe even inside his suitcase for maximum invisibility.
Along with these two boxes were a couple things too fragile, sentimental, or important for him to have trusted in the moving van. Some vintage glass cookware, a large wooden mirror that had once belonged to his grandmother, and a little envelope containing his birth certificate and passport.
Niall helped Harry cheerfully, and in no time his little car was loaded up with Harry’s belongings. Harry decided to do one last walk through of the flat.
He traipsed down the stairs and found Niall in his car, radio blasting.
“Heyo, Harry, you done?”
“Yeah, that was the last of it,” Harry said, pulling open the passenger door and getting inside.
The new flat wasn’t too far, just a few neighborhoods over. Niall had perfected the drive last weekend when he’d helped them move the majority of their things. He was helpful like that, the type of guy who was there for anyone if he could be.
When Niall had first been hired, Zayn and Harry tried not to ask him for help with non-work related tasks because they felt it’d be crossing a boundary. But Niall was intent on it, and their relationships with him were firmly on a path from colleagues to real friends. Harry was glad for this and he knew Niall was too. Niall hadn’t been in London very long and didn’t know many people here. Like most 20 somethings in a big city, he was living the life he wanted but suffering homesickness and loneliness for it.
Of course, you’d never know this from looking at the guy. Niall was the image of cool as Harry looked over at him. He was wearing distressed jeans, a merch sweatshirt for a band no one else knew, and black sunglasses. His right hand draped over the steering wheel while his left tapped along to the beat of the song. On normal days when the gallery was open, Niall dressed business casual, but his earrings and adidas always gave away that his typical day wear wasn’t slacks and a button up.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Niall spoke suddenly.
“Huh? What’s weird?”
“Moving.” He replied simply, shrugging and turning to look at Harry for a moment before his eyes darted back to the road.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess it is. I’m really excited about this new place though. I feel like it’s what I need right now, you know?” Harry continued, “Plus I think the housewarming will be great, Zayn’s inviting some friends from uni and I think one of our old coworkers from the art workshops are going to show as well.”
“Oh, yeah, the party will be great. I made a bitching playlist,” Niall informed Harry, “Just some classic party songs. We’ll be dancing all night long”
“Ni, you know that it’s like, ten people coming right?”
“So?” Niall asked incredulously.
“So who is going to be dancing all night at a small gathering?”
“Well, me. And anyone else who can hang.” Niall said, looking over his shoulder as he maneuvered into a parking space near the new building.
Harry chuckled at that. It was true that Niall’s the life of the party, “Fair enough. Depending on how much I drink I might join you.”
Harry unclasped his hands as Niall put the car in park. They had to make two trips to get the stuff from the car, and once they were back in the apartment Niall flung himself onto the couch.
“So, we just gonna sit here and wait for the weed man?” Niall asked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.
Harry watched as Niall made himself at home, finding the remote and flicking through channels until he found a rerun of Friends - The One with the Memorial Service. Niall looked pleased.
“You go ahead and do that, I’m gonna make a little cheese plate and put some wine in the fridge,” Harry said and turned to enter the kitchen.
This flat was big, with a proper kitchen and living area. His and Zayn’s bedrooms were on opposite ends of the unit, and there was a third “extra room” which they planned to share as an office and workspace.
Harry was working on the cheese plate when he heard the buzzer ring. He leaned out of the kitchen so he was in view of Niall, who was already looking at him.
“Guess we know who that is,” Harry said, stepping fully out of the kitchen and wiping his hands on the front of his jeans.
“I believe in you, Harry. You can do this,” Niall teased, “Aw, baby’s first drug deal. I should take a photo.”
“Hey now,” Harry reprimanded as he buzzed the stranger up, “Careful with that. I could fire you.”
“Don’t be silly. You’d miss me too much”
“You know we would mate”
Niall cooed, and just then came a knock at the door. Harry opened it immediately, which he instantly admonished himself for. Did that look too eager? He’d never done this before. Fuck, it definitely did.
Harry looked up at the person on the other side of the door, who hadn’t met his eye yet. The man he saw was lean and tan, dressed in simple black jeans and a zip up jumper. He was reaching into his rucksack and digging for something, and Harry could make out a tattoo on his wrist peeking out of his sleeve. Harry hadn’t seen his face yet when the man spoke.
“Hey Z, I got the-” he’d found what he was looking for in his bag and looked up, cutting his speech short when he saw Harry. When they made eye contact, he stuffed what he was holding back in his bag and zipped it quickly.
And, oh , there was his face. It was a striking balance of boyish and rugged, sharp cheekbones softened with a slight stubble. A look of confusion played on his features, his dark brows scrunched together slightly at the middle as they framed soft blue eyes. His lips quirked to the side slightly as he took in Harry standing before him, and he started to take a step back when he realized Harry wasn’t who he’d been expecting.
“Oh, I must have the wrong flat. So sorry, I’ll just,” he started to turn on his heel when Harry found the words to stop him.
“No, no wait,” Harry started, motioning with his hands for the man to come back. “I’m Harry.” he held his hand out for the man to shake.
The man took a tentative step forward, eyes darting around the hallway. He looked down at Harry’s outstretched arm. Under his judgemental gaze Harry withdrew his hand, nervously running it through his hair instead. He felt his cheeks flush.
“Right, I guess that isn’t how you make this transaction is it?” Harry broke the awkward silence then let out a small chuckle.
“Mmm, don’t know what you’re talking about, mate,” the man said.
Now Harry was confused. Isn’t this the weed delivery? Who else could it be? Harry was certain he’d never met this man at any party before. He’d remember that face.
“Aren’t you - I mean, you’re Zayn’s..friend, right? You’re here with the,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “weed?”
The expression the man pulled told Harry he’d definitely entered verboten territory. God, he was screwing this up.
“The what? Like I said, don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to head out,” He was backing away again, and Harry had the feeling it’d be for good this time.
As he lost hope, he heard footsteps coming from inside the flat, approaching the door.
“Haz, Christ. What’s taking so long?” Niall asked him as he appeared next to Harry.
Harry turned his head to Niall and watched a look of surprise take over his features.
“Tommo? Is that you?” Niall asked the man in the hallway. Harry realized then that the man looked surprised too, but his lips upturned into a smile when he recognized Niall.
“Nialler?” The man cocked his head before pointing towards Harry, “You know this knob?”
Niall looked between Harry and the man, clearly a little shocked at his bluntness. Harry wasn’t too surprised or offended, he felt like he had committed a significant faux pas by announcing their drug deal to anyone who could have been walking past.
“Louis, this is my boss, and friend, Harry,” Niall said tentatively, “Harry, erm, this is Louis. We play on a footie team together every Tuesday night.”
“Oh, nice to meet you Louis,” Harry resigned to politeness, thinking maybe they could wipe the slate clean. “I live here with Zayn, by the way.”
“You could have opened with that,” Louis said, staring Harry down. Guess there’d be no slate wiping.
“Yeah, probably should’ve,” he agreed.
Niall chimed in again, “So what’s the deal? What’s taking so long?”
“I made an arse of myself,” Harry explained.
“Sure did,” said Louis, who had started rummaging around in his bag again, “I was ready to leave. But even so, Niall here deserves a good night.”
Louis flashed a smile, and passed Niall a bag. Harry watched Niall, hoping to pick up clues as to how this interaction was meant to go down. Niall took the bag and turned slightly so it’d be hidden behind Harry’s body as he inspected the delivery.
“Cheers, looks good to me,” Niall said after a moment, “How much does the arse owe you?”
“Nothing. I already got it from Zayn,” Louis turned towards Harry once more, shaking his head. “By the way, tell him to let me know if he’s ever going to send someone else to meet me. I don’t much like surprises.”
With that he was leaving, heading back down the hallway towards the stairs.
“See ya, Lou!” Niall hollered.
Louis simply raised a hand in a wave and disappeared down the steps. Harry closed the door and Niall clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Fuck was that, Harry?” he asked.
“I don’t know! I panicked,” Harry mustered, crossing his arms indignantly. “You saw him, right? I’m not the only one who saw him, am I?"
Niall shook his head and let out a loud laugh as he walked back into the living room. He turned back around to face Harry, a disbelieving look on his face.
“Louis. Louis Tomlinson? Louis Tomlinson is your type?” Niall looked like he’d remembered something. “I’ve seen the guys you’ve gone on dates with. Louis is not your type. He can’t be!”
Harry flushed again, feeling the heat of Niall’s third degree. Sure, Niall had seen the guys Harry dated, and sure, Louis wasn’t his typical type. It wasn’t like he was going to pursue anything, or even see the guy ever again. Besides, Harry surely didn’t have a chance after the interaction he had fumbled through.
Harry couldn’t help being defensive, “So what? Maybe I don’t have a type, maybe I just…” He faltered for half a second before pushing on, “I’m not even interested, okay? It was one stupid interaction, I’m not sitting here planning a bloody wedding. He was just hot and I panicked.”
Niall raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by Harry’s small outburst. He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. Don’t bite my head off, just caught me off guard is all.”
“Yeah, caught me off guard too. Not my image of a drug dealer,” Harry relented, letting out a defeated sigh.
“Which is?” Niall prodded.
“You know, like, grungy, dirty, high…” he trailed off, “I don’t know, I just expected worse.”
Niall nodded, clearly picturing the kind of person Harry had described. He looked down, like he was picking his next words carefully.
“Louis’ not like that. He’s a good guy. Doesn’t sell anything but weed. Doesn’t really party. Keeps to himself. Mysterious, you know?”
“Huh. Sounds like this is an interesting life path for him, then,” Harry thought aloud.
“Yeah, he doesn’t speak much about it, but it doesn’t sound like it was his first choice. He’s incredible at footie, and I think he plays music too? We got drinks once at this bar by the park we play at.”
This didn’t surprise Harry one bit. Niall always said yes to a pint. His circle was still small but it was growing, and he was a very social guy. Still, Harry was intrigued.
“And is that all you learned about him?”
Niall shrugged, “Pretty much. He’s fun to talk to but it’s never about himself.”
Harry never understood the point of living like that. People thought Harry was mysterious, but he figured that mostly came down to the way he dressed and the fact he didn’t speak much in social situations. In truth, once you spoke to him he was a complete open book. He’d tell you about anything from his childhood dreams to what broke up his last relationship. It was just more fun that way.
His friends knew of his disdain for mysterious behavior, so Niall wasn’t surprised when Harry pulled a face of slight distaste, crinkling his nose and turning his lips downward.
“Yeah well, I like him. Maybe you’ll get to know him better eventually,” Niall sat back down on the couch, tuning back into his show wordlessly.
Harry took that as a cue to leave, and worked his way back to the kitchen. He began putting the finishing touches on his cheese board and stepped back to admire it. Little crackers were arranged just so around small pots of jam, there were blocks of brie and gouda and a few small blocks of rarer cheeses he’d found at the cheese counter in the grocery store. He carefully wrapped it and put it in the fridge so it’d be ready for the arrival of their guests.
Harry loved to host, and he was ecstatic to be in a place big enough for it now. Usually prepping for something like this cleared his mind, he’d just watch his hands move as if they were outside of his control. Today, however, his interaction with Louis and subsequent conversation with Niall was a nagging, constant thought in the back of his mind.
He knew in the grand scheme of his night, and for that matter his life, it was wholly unimportant. But everything about Louis had caught him off guard. He was entranced. Harry was trying to put the pieces together in his head of all the things he knew about Louis.
Full name, Louis Tomlinson. Met Zayn at some point when Zayn was in uni. Knows Niall from footie. Plays footie. Plays footie well? Potentially makes music. Kind of a rude boy. Deals drugs. Just weed though. Tattooed. Carries a cute little rucksack that he loses things in. Not very social. Maybe displeased with the business he’s found himself in. Those blue eyes. And now Harry really needs to stop himself.
He opens the fridge and pulls out one of the bottles of pinot grigio he left to chill. He finds a glass from the cupboard and the wine key from the drawer, quickly opening it and pouring himself a glass.
But he doesn’t want to be rude, so he also hollers, “Niall! Do you want a glass of wine?”
“Why? You don’t have beer?”
“There’s beer. I’ll bring you one.”
Harry puts a stopper in the wine and puts it back in the fridge. He grabs Niall’s beer and shuts the fridge with his foot. As he strolls back into the living room, he finds that Niall has switched to watching a movie. It seems to be a documentary about rainforest wildlife.
All it takes is Niall looking at him in genuine astonishment as he says, “Haz, you have got to see these clear frogs they have in South America. Let me back it up” to convince Harry to pass Niall his beer and settle in next to him. There they wait and watch until friends slowly begin to turn up.
The small gathering is underway when Zayn finally gets home. Harry watches him arrive, kick his shoes off and hang his jacket. Zayn looks around for a moment, taking in the party. Niall is attempting to get their other friends on their feet and into the living room, where he’d cleared space for dancing. His playlist is in fact ‘bitching,’ but he might have missed the vibe a little. A few friends are seated on the couch anyway, and the rest are milling about catching up with one another. Harry excuses himself from a conversation with his former coworker, Josh, and meets Zayn near the table where some pizzas and drinks have been set out.
“Hey, looks like everyone made it,” Zayn says, glancing around the room, “How’s the rest of your day been?”
“Yeah, it was good I guess,” Harry mutters. He gestures towards the table. “You need a drink?” he half offers, half assumes.
“Badly,” Zayn sighs dramatically, a playful glint in his eyes “Make me a tequila soda?”
As Harry prepares the drink, Zayn pulls out his phone and waves it in front of Harry’s face.
“So explain this text I got from my boy Louis earlier.”
In all of his thought about Louis, he’d failed to consider that Louis might actually relay what happened to Zayn before Harry would have the chance.
Once he feels sufficiently ready, he glances towards the phone and reads:
Z, you didn’t tell me you lived with a snitch
Harry’s jaw clenches. “Now, that’s a gross over-exaggeration,” he mutters, suddenly feeling the wine in his system a little too strongly. The annoyance is thick in his voice.
“I figured, bit dramatic Louis is,” Zayn put his phone back in his pocket, already accepting the drink from Harry.
Harry, however, isn’t finished. He knows Zayn could let the conversation drop here, but the alcohol makes him bold, and there's that nagging feeling about Louis he can't shake.
“You know I have a bone to pick with you about the Louis thing as well,” Harry gritted his teeth, trying to convey the seriousness of his displeasure to Zayn.
Zayn looked intrigued by Harry’s statement, and nodded his head, urging him to continue.
“Why didn’t you, you know-” Harry paused for a moment, grounding himself. “You didn’t warn me.”
Zayn looked confused, “Warn you what, mate?”
“He’s hot! I didn’t know he might be hot!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his free hand in the air incredulously. A small part of him knows how ridiculous he sounds.
Zayn blinks, a slow smile forming on his lips as he processes the absurdity of the statement. “What? Louis? Hot? Do you need to get laid mate?”
“I–” Harry starts to protest, but then feels the heat rise in his cheeks. “I wasn’t prepared for that, alright? I made a total idiot of myself, and now he thinks I’m some snitch and the only reason we got it is because Niall knows him and–-”
Zayn cut him off, “Chill, Harry, chill. I didn’t even think about it.” He stares at the ceiling wistfully for a moment, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “But yeah, I guess he is pretty fit now that you mention it. Wait, he knows Niall?”
“Apparently they play footie together,” Harry relayed with a slight eye roll.
“Niall and Louis? Footie mates?” He grins widely. “That’s adorable. We’ve gotta see that sometime”
“No. No, we don’t. I’m not…no I’m not having this conversation. I’m all flustered again. I’m going to find someone else to talk to,” Harry attempted to give Zayn an angry look, but Zayn was still smiling.
“Whatever you say, mate, but we’re definitely going to a game. You can't hide from this forever”
Harry disagrees internally, and finds his way over to Niall, who is still trying helplessly to turn this kickback into a rager. He’d switched to beer a few minutes before Zayn’s arrival, and he takes a glance at it in his hand, thinks to himself, Fuck it , and downs what’s left in the bottle. He prides himself on being a good host, and he’ll be damned if Niall has to dance alone.
+
The following morning, Harry wakes up with a slight hangover. He goes through the motions of his morning routine: checking his phone, rolling out of bed, washing his face, and brushing his teeth before finally exiting his room to make some breakfast.
As he approaches the kitchen, he sees Niall perched on one of the bar stools at the island, leaning forward in conversation with Zayn who is at the sink doing the dishes. Harry’s footsteps grab his attention, and he clips off his sentence and spins around to face him.
“Finally. I hope you’re here to make us some breakfast,” Niall says. It’s mostly playful, but Harry knows he’s serious too.
“Good morning to you too,” Harry replied flatly, rubbing his forehead in attempts to relieve the dull headache beneath. “What’ll it be then?”
“Oh, aren’t you the image of Saturday morning bliss, dear,” Niall jokes, humming slightly as he thinks about his breakfast request. He comes to a conclusion and slaps his hands down on the counter resolutely, “I think some simple eggs, bacon, and pancakes should do it.”
“Easy enough,” Harry sighs, though he doesn’t mean it. He moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, grabbing the ingredients he’ll need. Zayn finishes washing the last dish and gets out of Harry’s way, sitting down next to Niall at the island.
Harry is through with cooking the bacon and moving onto preparing pancake batter when he realizes something. He looks up at his friends, “Hey, why’d you spend the night anyway?”
Niall leans forward, in an attempt to grab a piece of the bacon. Harry playfully swats his hand away, and Niall looks up at him like a kicked puppy. He relents and Niall cheerfully grabs one of the cooler pieces from the bottom of the stack, taking a bite out of it before he explains, “Oh I planned to, you guys are closer to my game today. I can walk from here. Plus, didn’t want to drive in my condition.”
Harry accepts Niall’s explanation with a shrug as he pours the batter for the first pancake onto the skillet, “Big game today, then?”
“Eh, not really, some blokes we played a while back, should be fun.”
“Actually Haz, Niall was just telling me before you came in that it’d be a good game to come watch,” Zayn says, raising an eyebrow and smirking knowingly. He reaches for his own piece of bacon, and Harry slaps the back of his hand earnestly, causing Zayn to drop it. “Ow, fuck was that for?” he exclaims.
Harry points a finger between the two greedy men, “Patience is a virtue, my friends. Give me ten minutes and your breakfast will be ready.”
He’s deflecting from the football invitation. He does want to see Niall play, but he’s worried he’d made an enemy on the team already. Zayn sees right through Harry, like always, and isn’t having any of it.
“Whatever. So, you’ll be ready to go around noon, then?”
Harry stares Zayn down, and glances at the clock on the stove. It’s just past eleven. He opens his mouth to begin to make an excuse but Niall’s ready to speak, his hands clasped together, pleading quite dramatically.
“Please Harry, please come. Don’t make Zayn sit there all alone in the cold. I want you to see me play. Don’t you want to cheer for me?” He’s batting his eyelashes now, and Harry would be a right dick to reject out of fear of seeing someone he met once for less than five minutes.
So, he puts his hands on the counter and lets out a dissatisfied huff of air.
“Fine, I’ll join. But pints after, I need a little hair of the dog.”
“That’a boy, Harry,” Zayn says, smiling widely.
Niall nods, “Pints after for sure.”
After breakfast is finished, Harry enters his room and lets out a huff standing in front of his closet. Trying not to think too hard about what he wears. Trying not to think about why he's thinking so hard about what he wears. Something simple, he resolutes, running his hand through his hair. Jeans, a pink hoodie, and his blue beanie. As he passes his dresser, he eyes his dish of rings. Couldn't hurt, right?
He meets Niall and Zayn in the hallway, and sees Niall is wearing his footie kit, red head to toe. He looks every bit ten years old, and Harry feels like he and Zayn are chaperoning their child to his game as he throws a windbreaker on and they leave the flat.
It is a short walk to the park, and Niall leaves Zayn and Harry to their own devices when they arrive, quickly finding his teammates and joining them for warm ups on the pitch. Harry is trying not to look for Louis, so he focuses on looking for a spot to sit instead.
He and Zayn get settled at a spot where they’ll have a nice view of the game. Harry pulls out his phone, hoping to distract himself until the match begins, but Zayn grabs his hand and begins to examine it.
“And what’s this mate?” Zayn holds his hand up, smirking.
“My hand?” Harry states, unsure what Zayn is getting at.
“Right, your hand,” Zayn dropped it, and gestured at Harry’s figure. “So you spent all that time picking out the perfect carefree outfit and randomly decided to wear your rings?”
Harry said nothing, and looked back down at his phone. It clicked for him what Zayn was getting at, and he didn’t want to entertain it. But Zayn wasn’t ready to give it up.
“Figures…” Zayn trailed off before leaning towards Harry and taking in a deep breath, “And is that fucking Tom Ford? You put on cologne for a footie match?”
“Sure I did,” Harry replied defensively, “So what if I want to smell nice and look nice? What’s it to you Z?” He raised an eyebrow towards his best friend, challenging him.
“Nothing, mate, just find it interesting is all.” Zayn said smugly, leaning back in his chair and turning his attention back towards the pitch. “Oh look, there’s your boy!”
Harry followed Zayn’s pointed finger, and spotted a player who was turned away from them. He saw a red footie kit that matched Niall’s, number 28 emblazoned on the back. His eyes made their way down the player’s body as he took in a shag of brown hair, strong, tattooed arms, and a backside he truly had no right to be admiring, but couldn’t help himself.
The player turned around, and sure enough, it was Louis.
Harry scoffed, “He’s not my boy Zayn. Don’t even joke like that—hey, what are you doing?”
Zayn had risen to his feet, and was waving his hands above his head, trying to get the attention of the players below. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Niall, Louis, hey!”
“Zayn. Stop it. What are you doing?” Harry asked again, but Zayn didn’t respond.
“Nialler, Lou! Up here! We’re up here!” Zayn was excitedly jumping now, and waving his arms again, taking up as much space as possible.
Harry’s cheeks felt hot as Niall and Louis looked up at them, and he quickly averted his gaze to stare into his lap instead. In that moment, he felt Zayn reach down for his hand, as he pulled Harry to his feet. Zayn raised their clasped hands in the air and shouted again, “We’re here! Play well for us!” In a normal tone, he turned to Harry, “Harry, come on, say something encouraging.”
Harry rolled his eyes and half heartedly pumped a fist in the air, shouting a weak, “Woo…go boys!”
Down on the pitch, Niall and Louis looked as lost as Harry was. The boys looked at each other, and then back up to Harry and Zayn in the stands. Niall offered a tentative “Okay!” and Louis gave them a tight lipped smile and thumbs up.
Zayn looked absolutely chuffed as he beamed from ear to ear. Harry sat back down and pulled Zayn into his seat by the arm. “Christ Zayn. You’re so embarrassing sometimes,” Harry exhaled, crossing his arms, “Can we just sit here and wait for the match?”
Zayn laughed, nodding, “Course mate, but they needed to know we were here didn’t they?”
“We literally came here with Niall,” Harry pointed out, “He invited us.”
“So? We know Louis too, don’t we?” Zayn teased, poking Harry in his side.
Harry jerks away at his touch, shooting a small side eye Zayn’s way. “I do not know Louis. And I doubt Louis wants to know me.” He pointed towards the field where players were beginning to take their positions. “Now shut up. My game’s on.”
The match went well, and Harry did a decent job keeping his focus on Niall throughout it. Niall was fun to watch, he was a very expressive player. When one of his teammates was tackled, he dramatically groaned and ran his hands through his hair before checking on him. When Louis scored a goal, Niall was immediately all over him, jumping and shouting.
And this is what made not thinking about Louis difficult, he was clearly the star player. He moved up and down the pitch with an ease typically reserved for professionals, expertly evading the opposing team at every turn. He scored both goals for his team, and at the end red won 2-1. This league was just for fun, but Louis made it look like he was Messi dropping in on a secondary school match. It’d be hot if Louis didn’t know how good he was, but several times throughout the game Harry had seen a smug smirk flash across Louis’ face. Asshole.
Niall broke away from the post-game throng of mingling players to find Harry and Zayn shuffling out of the stands. He was sweaty, his face tinted pink and his hair slightly matted to his forehead as he spoke.
“Did you two enjoy the game?” He asked, a hopeful glimmer in his eye as he looked between Harry and Zayn.
“Yeah, you were a beast out there Nialler! Would have come to one of these much sooner if you’d said how good you guys are,” Zayn said excitedly.
Niall sheepishly shook his head, though a small smile was forming on his lips. “That’s sweet, Z, but I know the spectators come for Louis.”
Harry didn’t like hearing Niall talk about himself that way, even if he was just implying his inferiority. Plus, he didn’t like Niall putting himself down to compliment Louis either.
“That can’t be true, Ni,” Harry said encouragingly, “You were my favorite player on that field.”
Niall gave Harry a small but fond eye roll, “Thanks, Mum,” he said in a dutiful tone.
“That’s more like it,” Harry delivered in an approving tone before continuing, “So, what’s the plan then?”
For a moment, Niall looked like he had forgotten their post game plans, but this was quickly overshadowed by his excitement. “Oh, yes! Pints! Okay well, I have to hop in the showers,” he pointed over his shoulder towards a small grey building that players were already milling in and out of. “How about I meet you there? It’s just around the corner. Buchanan’s Pub.”
With that Niall began bounding towards the locker rooms, and in no time he’d disappeared into the building.
“Sounds good, mate, we’ll see you there,” Zayn said under his breath sarcastically, letting out a small chuckle before he turned to Harry. He held out his hand for Harry to take and said at a full tone, “Shall we, love?”
Harry laughed as he took Zayn’s hand, and joined in on the joke flirtation, “Of course baby, let’s hit it.”
Zayn’s face fell, and he dropped Harry’s hand as he faked a shudder. “Ugh, ‘baby’ is too far,” he reprimanded as he continued walking towards the street.
“Aww,” Harry cooed, hot on Zayn’s heels, “Sorry, baby .”
+
Buchanan’s was a classic London pub, it looked like nothing had changed since the 50s. From the doorway, the room seemed to stretch forever: a long wooden bar on one side and small tables ringed with vinyl cushioned chairs on the other.
The walls were covered in various framed photos and newspaper clippings, and the wallpaper below was faded. A faint smell of stale beer lingered in the air.
It was quiet, being a Saturday early afternoon, and there were just a handful of customers scattered throughout the place.
Harry and Zayn made their way to the bar, quickly grabbing the attention of the woman behind it.
“Hi boys,” she said, looking them over before she clapped her hands together, “what’ll it be?”
“Two pints of Amstel please,” Zayn spoke for them, glancing at Harry for confirmation. When Harry nodded he continued, “Could we also get some chips?”
The woman made quick work of their order, and was passing them their beers and chips in no time. Harry and Zayn were sitting down at a table just as they heard the door chime. Must be Niall , Harry thought, glancing up. He felt his whole body tense. Niall had brought Louis.
Louis. Fuck.
Harry quickly turned his attention down at the table before him. Zayn reached over and clasped his hand over Harry’s for a moment, “You’ll be fine, mate. He’s cool, you can start fresh.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Harry grumbled moodily. He doubted it. But he steeled himself and raised his head anyway, plastering on his most convincing friendly face.
Zayn had turned around in his seat, beckoning Niall and Louis over from the bar, where they’d just received their drinks. Niall grinned widely when he saw them, and Louis gave a small smile and a wave to Zayn. Harry didn’t know how he could tell, but he knew the wave was just for Zayn.
“Hey, mates,” Niall greeted them. “I suppose you both know Louis,” He said, gesturing to his friend as he pulled out stool and sat down.
“I suppose,” Harry said at the same time Zayn nodded and excitedly informed the group, “Me and Lou go way back. Way back.”
“Yeah,” Louis agreed as he set his beer on the table and settled in. Harry noticed he was freshly showered and had changed into black trackies and a plain t-shirt, a light jacket over top, and well-worn white trainers on his feet. His hair was damp and swooped across his forehead, a hint of a smile played on his face. “Zayn and I have known each other since we were 18.”
“Really?” Niall asked, genuinely surprised, probably by the coincidence of it all. It was then that Harry noticed both Niall and Louis had a tinge of red around their eyes. Perhaps they’d indulged in a bit of Louis' product on the walk over. Niall continued, “How’d you meet, then?”
“You know, just around.” Louis answered, as Zayn said “Uni.”
The two of them shared a look, Louis appeared as though he’d been caught in a lie. Which Harry guessed, he might have been. Harry didn’t know why meeting at uni would have been a secret, but Louis continued quickly, trying to ease the awkwardness.
“Yeah, I mean, uni. Yeah. I didn’t finish though like Zayn here,” a look of small defeat flashed across his face, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared, replaced by a devilish grin as he turned his attention towards Harry, “So, Harry was it? And how did you and Zayn meet?”
“Erm, yeah it was. I mean it is,” Harry stumbled, “I’m Harry.” He’d already forgotten the second question Louis had asked.
“And do you care to say how you met, then?” Louis prodded.
“Lou, cool it a bit, yeah?” Zayn said jokingly, “You know how we met, anyway. Those kids art classes we taught.”
Louis looked like he was putting two and two together in his head. “ This is that Harry?” he said to Zayn.
“Yeah,” Zayn chuckled, “What other Harry’s are there?”
“I dunno, lots of other Harry’s. Prince Harry, Harry Potter…” he rattled off, turning his attention back towards Harry. “It’s just not a very unique name, you know,” He gestured at Harry now, “This isn’t what I’d expected from Art Gallery Harry. I thought maybe you just had a roommate with the same name.”
Harry wasn’t sure if he should laugh this off or be a little offended. He couldn’t tell why Louis hated him so much when they didn’t know a thing about each other. What he did know was that he didn’t want to be in this situation much longer. He realized that Zayn and Niall were vouching for his coolness, but couldn’t find the words to speak up for himself. Instead, he picked at his chips. Once he finished them he’d find an excuse to leave, he decided.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d zoned out when he reached the bottom of the basket. Niall and Zayn had been very gracious by not making him join the conversation. They knew of Harry’s anxieties, and probably figured it’d be best for everyone if they let him sit it out.
He tuned back into the conversation, and found it had moved on to a heated debate about which Monopoly property was the worst to land on. Niall was arguing that it was Railroads, while Zayn and Louis maintained it was Brown. Seemed the three of them were quite chummy already.
“But Brown is so profitable! You guys clearly don’t have the brainpower I do,” Niall was saying passionately.
“No, mate. You’re all wrong. Brown is, like, the worst board position,” Louis said. He seemed to be bordering on genuine anger. Harry wondered if he had anger management issues.
Zayn must have been worrying the same as he played peacemaker, “Boys, boys, relax. I know how we can solve this.” He said.
Both Louis and Niall stopped talking and turned towards Zayn. Niall raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“Game night,” Zayn smiled.
Game night? Was Zayn seriously suggesting the four of them hang out again? Maybe he had missed Harry’s discomfort. Or worse, maybe he didn’t care. Harry had to leave.
Before he could excuse himself, Niall was speaking, “Yes, Game night! That’s perfect. Friday?”
Zayn looked at Harry, finally. “Well, we’ll have to talk. But I don’t see why not. I’ll start a group chat soon and we can work it out.”
It was taking everything in Harry not to roll his eyes and let out a groan. He realized, though, that he’d been somewhat invited to the conversation, and took this as a moment to excuse himself.
“Alright. We’ll talk about it.” He glanced down at his watch, “I’ve got to head out now though.”
“Aw, man, what? I feel like we just got here.” Niall frowned.
“Sorry. Got a small party to photograph tonight.” It wasn’t really a lie. He did have some freelance work this evening, he just didn’t need to leave for it right now.
“Okay,” Zayn said. “Do you mind grabbing us another round before you leave?” He handed Harry a wad of bills, leaving him no choice.
Harry took it. “Sure, be right back.”
Before he could leave the table, Louis addressed him once more, “Look at that, good boy .” He smirked, turning his attention back to Niall and Zayn, as if he hadn’t just fucking said that.
What the fuck? Good boy? What did he mean by that? Harry tried to shake it off as he raced to the bar, quickly getting three more pints and dropping them at the table, not meeting any of their eyes as he mumbled his goodbyes. He was off before he could think about Louis’ words any more.