every good boy does fine - harry/niall - standalone [4/4]
Title: every good boy does fine
Pairings: Harry/Niall
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff
Rating: R
Summary: Harry has a sex addiction, and Niall just complicates things.
Harry opens the door and smiles when he sees Louis standing in front of him, hair shorter than it had been the last time they’d seen each other. He’s wearing a collared shirt with the top buttoned, too tight against his body just like all his other clothes, and form-fitting jeans, the hem ending just above his ankle and ripped at parts, and he looks at Harry with a smile of his own, crinkles forming by his eyes.
“Long time no see,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his fringe and Harry chuckles before turning sideways and motioning for him to go inside. Louis moves past him with his hands in his pockets and Harry closes the door, eyes following Louis as he stands in the middle of the living room.
“You look great,” Harry says, sliding his hand in his back pocket to take out his wallet, and Louis shrugs with a grin and spins around with his hands held out at either side.
“Just went to the gym this morning,” Louis says, eyes falling on Harry’s hands as he pulls out a few bills and folds them between his fingers. “I can still feel my muscles aching.”
“Well, I hope they’re not aching too much for me,” Harry says, holding out the bills, and Louis walks forward and takes them, counting each note before looking back at Harry with a satisfied smile and stuffing them in his pocket. He takes another step forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, and he sucks on the skin just above his collarbone.
“Don’t worry. I like pain,” Louis whispers giddily, and Harry takes this as a signal undo the top button on his shirt and pull it up and over his head, and Louis laughs as he gets on his knees and works on Harry’s belt, excitement flashing in his blue eyes. Harry turns his head up and closes his eyes, feeling his pants and his boxers sliding down his thighs and in a moment, he feels Louis’s hand closing around him, fingers gentle but firm, knowing exactly how he likes to be held, and he can feel his breaths coming out ragged, pulse quickening and skin heating up. Louis tugs at it for a second before taking it in his mouth, and Harry bites back a moan, hands coming over to grip Louis’s head and he tangles his fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper and deeper until he can feel his nose pressed against the patch of hair under his stomach.
Louis comes up for air and Harry looks down at him, watching the indecent look in his eyes and it makes his pulse quicken even more because fuck it feels good, and he smiles at him for a second before pushing it back in his mouth, and when he feels Louis’s tongue working around him, that’s when he lets the moan escape.
Soon, Harry’s lifting him up and flinging him on the bed, and he climbs on top of him and presses kisses on his mouth, hands searching every inch of his body and Louis laughs in his ears, fingers clawing at his back as Harry lifts his legs and positions himself between them, but he realizes with a start that it wasn’t Louis’s voice he heard.
It was Niall’s.
He shrugs off Louis’s hands and stands up, looking at Louis with wide eyes and Louis sits up and returns his expression, confusion creasing his forehead.
“What-what’s wrong?” he asks, getting on his knees and watching Harry carefully.
Harry stands rooted to the spot and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head and balling his hands into fists. It’s not happening, it’s not fucking happening right now of all places and he pushes his palms against his face because this is all fucked up.
“Harry, what is it? Did I-” Louis starts, concern lacing every word, but Harry slides his hands off and shakes his head.
“No-no, it wasn’t-No,” Harry stammers, turning around and making his way back to the living room. He hears Louis’s footsteps pattering behind him and he stops to pick up his pants from the floor.
“Are you alright?” Louis asks, and Harry just nods his head and fishes out his wallet, and after pulling out another set of bills, he turns back to Louis and holds them out. Louis looks at them with puzzled eyes, flicking them from Harry, to the bills, then back to Harry. “What’s this mean?”
“Take it,” Harry says, taking Louis’s hands and pushing the bills in his palm. “I’m sorry. It-it’s not your fault.”
He closes Louis’s hand and sits on the sofa, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. He shakes his head again and closes his eyes with a sigh, mind buzzing with a thousand different thoughts. He feels Louis sit beside him on the sofa and he feels a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tight.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks, and Harry looks at him with an apologetic smile, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over his stomach.
“Thanks, mate, but I’m good,” Harry says, and without another word, Louis gets up from the sofa and collects his clothes on the floor, and taking a moment to put them back on, he gives a small wave at Harry before turning around and making his way out of the door.
-
Harry opens the bottom kitchen drawer and pulls out a garbage bag pushed all the way in the back, and he opens it as he gets to his feet and looks around him, trying to remember where he’s hid everything.
His first stop is his room, and he pulls out the drawers one by one, digging underneath his clothes and flinging them on the floor until he can see the bottom, and in the middle drawer, he finds a stack of magazines hiding beneath his socks. He takes them out and throws them inside the garbage bag without a second look before searching the rest of the drawers, discovering a few sexual paraphernalia he hadn’t used in years and he wonders to himself why he never bothered to throw them away until now. He runs his fingers along one of the rubber dildos, the first one he’d bought with his own money, and he almost thinks twice about tossing it, feels an unspoken attachment to it but then he realizes that he doesn’t really need it anymore, has outlived its use and he’d be doing himself a favor in getting rid of it, so he shoves it inside the bag and pushes the drawer closed before moving on to his bedside table. Inside, he finds two stacks of DVDs, some he doesn’t even remember watching, much less buying, and he takes them all and throws them in the bag along with everything else.
Gripping the opening closed, he makes his way to the living room, listening to the items tumbling against each other in the bag. He kneels down in front of his television set and turns his attention to the rows of movies on each side, looking to see if he’s missed any, and picks out a few stragglers disguising themselves in the science fiction section, and he tosses them all in the bag.
After a few more trips around the house, making sure he didn’t miss anything, the bag’s nearly full, the sharp edges of the magazines and movies threatening to poke holes if he decides to pack anything else in, and he ties the end tight and pulls on his jacket before making his way out of the complex and into the night air, walking briskly over to the dumpsters behind the building and throwing the bag into the one closest to the street. He makes his way back to the entrance and sits down on the top of the stone steps leading to the doors, and he hangs his head between his legs and thinks about what he’s doing.
He thinks it might be cathartic, throwing out all of his pornography, almost like a cleansing, like it’ll set everything right but he knows for a fact that it won’t, won’t do anything because it’s just him trying to convince himself that he’s ready for change, convince himself that it’ll make everything better, and he’s not so sure what to think anymore, really, what to feel, and he lifts his head up and watches the cars driving past him, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to drown out the thoughts swimming restlessly in his head.
-
Harry sits on the edge of his bed and grips his mobile, his free hand rubbing along his forehead, thinking hard about what Zayn had said about Niall the day before.
He’s never really given it much thought, really, never considered it anything more than what it was and he thinks he might have been content in thinking it was just fucking and nothing more because that’s all he’s ever enjoyed and that’s what he’s comfortable with, comfortable knowing there’s no strings attached, no commitments, and he’s never really been the sentimental type, to be honest, never really placed much value on most things because he’s convinced himself that everything’s replaceable, even people.
But then there’s Niall and all of a sudden, everything’s changed.
Now, it’s not just fucking, not just drunken escapades that he’s too fucked up to refuse and maybe it’s because he’s told himself a million times before that he’ll never meet that one person who’ll mean something to him but it’s odd, the feeling he gets when he thinks about Niall, like it’s something foreign, something that doesn’t belong, and it confuses and exhilarates him at the same time. He’s never really felt this way about anything before and it’s different from being inside someone he just met from the street corner a few minutes ago, different from getting himself off a raunchy video he found somewhere on the internet, different from releasing himself with the help of a stranger because now he realizes that there’s something more to it than that, and it excites him.
He stands up and takes a breath, his heart already picking up speed, and he tries not to think about what to say, tries not to sound too contrived or rehearsed because he’s never really done this but he’s not quite sure what he wants to say, doesn’t even know when to start. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, huffing softly because he always does this, always psyches himself out and makes the problem ten times more complicated than it needs to be, and he paces a few times around his room before lifting up his mobile and searching for Niall’s number in his contacts.
He presses it against his ear and waits, getting hotter and hotter in his shirt and he stuffs his hand in his pocket, pinching the fabric inside as he listens to the ringing. He’s not sure what to expect, really, not sure if he’ll even answer after how things went the last time, but he keeps his hopes up because there’s something telling him that this is what he’s supposed to do and he wants to hear Niall’s voice, wants to feel it wrapping around his head the way only his voice can.
It rings twice, three times, six times and he’s feeling less and less optimistic with every one, but after the seventh ring, he hears Niall’s voice, and he feels his stomach drop and his heart skip a beat.
“You’ve reached Niall. I’m probably busy at the moment so just leave a message after the tone. Thanks.”
Harry pulls off his mobile and cancels the call, and he looks at it like he’s expecting it to do something and for a moment, he almost thinks that Niall’s going to call back, but when nothing happens, he sits himself back down on his bed with a sigh, heart starting to grow heavy, trying to convince himself that Niall’s probably just sleeping or he’s forgotten his mobile at home, and he picks up the courage and gives it one more try.
The phone rings twice before he hears Niall’s voice again, and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, his heart racing now, and he clicks off his mobile in disappointment when he hears “You’ve reached Niall” and throws it hard onto the living room floor.
-
Harry’s in the middle of typing up a report when he sees Zayn from the corners of his eyes, and he debates for a moment whether to look over and ask him what he wants or continue writing the report until he finishes because he really doesn’t want to stay up late at night again fighting off sleep just to get the damn thing finished. He’s this close to picking the latter because the last thing he needs is distraction when Zayn decides to move closer until their faces are inches from touching, looking at Harry’s report with a smile.
Harry closes his eyes and sighs.
“Can I help you?” he asks, taking his fingers off the keys and turning to face Zayn.
Zayn takes a few steps back and straightens himself up, hands coming up to cross over his chest, looking at Harry with a satisfied smile.
“Just wanted to get your attention,” Zayn replies, and Harry starts to shift his attention back to the screen when Zayn shakes his head and flicks his ear, and Harry nearly jumps out of his seat and covers the afflicted area with his hand as he looks at Zayn with confusion.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry yelps, his ear stinging, and Zayn’s smile broadens into a grin. “I am trying to finish something important, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I’m getting a raise for cleaning up the system,” Zayn says, looking proud of himself, and Harry cranes his neck and raises his brow, wondering what that has to do with anything.
“Congratulations,” Harry says dryly, swiveling his chair back to face his computer and placing his fingers back on the keys. “Maybe you can take me out later.”
“Actually, I’ve already got a date,” Zayn says, and Harry looks at the boyish glee flashing in his eyes.
“Really?” Harry asks, interest finally piqued like Zayn had hoped, and Zayn leans back on the cubicle wall.
“Yeah, I’m taking Perrie out tonight at this Italian restaurant off Ledbury Road. Heard it was very good.”
Harry feels his heart skip a beat, flashes of Niall’s face in the restaurant popping up in the back of his mind. He shakes his head, not willing to get himself all worked up about it, and looks at Zayn with a raised brow instead because this is not about him, not this time. “Who the hell is Perrie?”
Zayn laughs. “The intern.”
Harry chuckles, remembering her shock of purple hair. Zayn and his odd things. “Oh, her. I didn’t think you were serious about that.”
“Me neither, really,” Zayn says with a shrug, and he picks himself up and stretches his arms in the air. “But I thought, why the hell not? Only got one life, might as well live it, you know?”
“Well, have fun,” Harry says, going back to his report and picking up where he left off. “The food’s really good there. Niall ate nearly half the menu when we went.”
“I know. He’s the one that told me.”
Harry’s stomach drops and he turns back to Zayn, heart beginning to race.
“You-you talked to him?”
Zayn nods. “Yeah, saw him at the bar last night. Talked for a few minutes and all that. The boy really loves his chicken wings.”
Harry swallows dryly and pretends to ignore the pounding in the back of his head.
“Did he say anything about me?” Harry asks, hope curling up inside his chest, trying his best to show he’s not as affected as he is, and Zayn just shrugs and sticks his hands in his pocket, looking at Harry with a mellow expression.
“Asked him about the situation between you two. He just told me he was tired of waiting.”
Harry feels like a sledgehammer hit him square in the chest and he opens his mouth to say something, but Zayn’s already starting to turn around.
“Well, I’ll just leave you to your report, then,” he says, and before Harry can call him back, he’s already disappeared around the corner, and Harry sinks back in his seat and stares at the wall where Zayn was standing a moment ago, a heavy feeling pressing against his chest, and all of a sudden, he doesn’t feel like finishing his report anymore.
-
Harry taps his foot on the floor, eyes intently watching the clock on the wall, anxiety filling his lungs like ice water and he’s starting to get jittery, feeling like he’s about to crawl out of his skin because he’s not sure how this is all going to pan out.
After waiting a few minutes, he finally gets up from his bed and snatches his mobile sitting on the table, and he makes his way to the living room where he picks up the jacket hanging over the backrest of the sofa and slips it on, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It’s stupid, he thinks, getting worked up like this but he can’t help it, can’t help but feel anxious and scared because Niall hasn’t returned any of his calls or answered his texts.
He sighs and looks at the time on his mobile screen. It’s a quarter past eight and his inbox is still as empty as ever, no notifications, no missed calls, nothing, and he’s feeling less and less optimistic about it but what did he expect, really, because Niall offered no guarantee that he’ll even go, and he starts to wonder if Niall had already changed his number and he’s actually bothering someone else. He shakes his head, tries not to think about it, and goes on his contact list, scrolling down to Niall’s name and, taking a deep breath, he presses the call button.
After one ring, it goes to voice mail, and he feels his heart getting heavier but he holds himself up and tries to ignore it, tries to focus on Niall’s voice saying “leave a message after the tone,” and when he hears the tone, he clears his throat and presses his mobile closer to his ear.
“Hey, it’s Harry. Again. I know I’ve already left you about ten messages saying the same thing but I just want to ask you out one more time, if that’s okay. I’m-er-I’m gonna be at the restaurant in a few minutes and if you get this message, I hope you’ll join me there. I’ll be waiting outside. Bye.”
He clicks his mobile off and sticks it in his pocket before pinching the area between his eyes and heaving a deep sigh, feeling more and more awkward about the situation with every message but he doesn’t have a choice, really, can’t think of anything else to do. If it doesn’t work out then it doesn’t work out, he keeps telling himself, it’s just not meant to be, and he wishes it was that easy, that black and white but the reality is much more complicated than he cares to admit, and at this point, he’s just trying not to let this boy slip from his fingertips.
He tightens his jacket around him and grabs the scarf hanging on the coat rack next to the door. He wraps it around his neck and takes his keys from the wall, and he closes his eyes before turning the knob and walking out into the cold night air.
-
It takes Harry longer than he thought to get there, the seconds stretching into minutes and he tries to keep his mind in check, tries to occupy himself with the bright lights lining the streets as the cab speeds past them but every time he tries to push Niall out of his head, he comes flooding back in, filling his ears with his laughter and feeling his lips against his cheek and it’s hard not to blame himself for all this, brought this on himself, really, because he has a natural talent for fucking things up.
He tears his eyes away from the window and looks straight ahead, trying to read the street names to distract himself and it feels like an eternity, like he’s just looping the same place over and over again and he’s starting to wonder if this is a bad idea, if he should just hightail it back to his flat and pretend nothing ever happened because it seems easier that way, seems like the most practical approach but he knows that’s not the case, that will never be the case if he just turned around now, and he closes his eyes and counts the seconds before the cab driver calls him to let him know they’ve arrived.
Harry pays him with a small smile before walking out the door, and he pulls his jacket closer to his body as he steps on the sidewalk.
He looks at the entrance to the restaurant and huffs silently, his breath coming out as wisps of smoke curling around his face, but he doesn’t go inside. He moves off to the side and leans his back against the wall next to the board with tonight’s specials carefully written with blue and pink chalk, and he pockets his hands and looks around him.
The street’s busy for this time of the night, couples huddled close to each other to battle the cold, small groups of friends laughing and singing songs he’d heard a few times on the radio. He tightens his jacket around him and moves his eyes across the street.
There’s a man bending over a car, arms resting on the window frame, talking to the driver, and it takes a moment for his face to register but Harry realizes with a start that it’s Louis, with his copper hair and his too-tight shirt completely inappropriate for the weather. He watches on as Louis straightens his back with a smile and opens the door, looking around him for a moment before getting inside. The car jolts into action and Harry watches it disappear around the bend, and he sighs and pulls out his mobile to look at the time.
It’s twenty past nine and he’s getting nervous, his pulse starting to quicken, and he looks around him, trying to see if he can spot his blond hair anywhere. He holds on to the hope that Niall’s probably just held back by traffic or had to go back to his place after forgetting his wallet or his keys or anything that can convince him that he’s going to come any moment now, going to see him walking down the sidewalk with that smile on his face, but after waiting for an hour, he finally accepts the fact that he’s fucked up his chances and Niall’s not coming, and he hangs his head and makes his way down the street, looking for a cab to take him back home.
-
There’s an empty feeling spreading across Harry’s chest, like his ribs are being ripped out piece by piece, leaving gaps in between the muscles and hollowing out his heart, and he drops his shoulders and leans his head against the elevator wall, watching the floor number above the doors change as he ascends.
He feels tired, physically and mentally, the cold finally taking its toll on his body, and he wishes he’s snuggled up in his bed with a cup of hot chocolate between his fingers because if there’s one thing he can’t fuck up, it’s a cup of hot fucking chocolate, and he sighs and holds on to the bar next to his hip, gripping it tight until his knuckles turn white.
He knows there’s no sense in thinking about it, no use in dwelling on it because what’s done is done and he can’t control fate’s hands, never could, and he tries to convince himself that he’ll be better off for it, sturdier for it and maybe he’ll finally learn his lesson about falling too hard and too fast without a safety net to catch him when he does. Niall just complicates things, he tells himself, tells himself because he needs a reason not to feel this way, and he’s better off by himself, really, always has been and he doesn’t need someone else to fill a hole that’s not there, can pay someone to do just the same with the satisfaction of knowing that he’ll never feel this way with someone who loves him by how much money he has in his pocket.
But he sighs because he knows different, feels different no matter how much he tries to tell himself otherwise and it’s like there’s a projector in the back of his head and he can’t bring himself to turn away, playing the same images over and over again and he’s fucking tired of how it makes him feel, makes him feel like he’s getting smaller and smaller as the seconds tick past and he doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.
He straightens himself up when the doors open and he watches as a couple step in, the man leading the woman by the small of her back and they stand on the other side of the elevator, pushing a button and closing the doors. Harry studies them from the corners of his eyes, seeing the way the woman’s nuzzling her head against his shoulder, how the man wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, and Harry shakes his head and pockets his hands, trying not to think of the freckles dotting Niall’s skin, the dark roots in his hair, his blue, blue eyes.
His stop comes and he walks out without a word, fingers closing around his keys, ready to pull them out, and, taking a few steps into the hallway, he lifts his head up and searches for his door, and he knits his brows together when he sees the silhouette of someone standing right beside it.
He doesn’t work it out at first but he can tell it’s a man, a rather thin man, hidden behind a jacket pulled tight around his body, and Harry closes his hands tighter around his keys, wondering what he’s doing there standing next to his flat.
But he doesn’t wonder for long because when the man turns around at the sound of his footsteps, he feels his breath catch in his throat, and he stops in mid-step when he sees the smile stretching Niall’s face.
Harry doesn’t believe it at first, just puts it off as his mind playing tricks on him again and maybe he should get his head checked out, take some pills for it at least because whatever it is, it’s not going away anytime soon, but when he jolts himself back into motion, he can see Niall’s face clearly, his pale skin, his red collared shirt buttoned all the way at the top, and all of a sudden, he feels something spreading in his chest, like the air in his lungs are pushing against his ribcage and he feels his heart racing, his skin lighting up, and Niall walks forward until they’re a few inches apart and Harry can feel his head going numb.
“Hello,” Niall says simply, smile bright as ever, and Harry just looks at him like an idiot, mind buzzing around with a million thoughts and he has so many things to say, questions to ask but he can’t form the words, disappearing the moment he sees them flash across his eyes.
“Hi,” he replies instead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and he feels like a fool standing there, still trying to work out if Niall’s really standing in front of him.
“I-er-I got your messages by the way,” Niall says, shifting his eyes to the floor and tapping it with the tip of his shoe. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”
Harry laughs and Niall brings his attention back to him, his smile broadening.
“Why-Why’d you come here?” Harry asks, looking at Niall in the eyes and the next moment, he feels Niall’s hand sliding around his wrist, pulling his hand out and linking their fingers together, and Harry’s grinning now because his hand feels soft and warm, and before he can open his mouth to say something else, Niall presses a kiss on the corner of his lips, and he’s glad Niall’s holding on to him to keep him from floating away.
“I just thought it was my turn to make you wait.”
← part three ♕ part four •
Pairings: Harry/Niall
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff
Rating: R
Summary: Harry has a sex addiction, and Niall just complicates things.
Harry opens the door and smiles when he sees Louis standing in front of him, hair shorter than it had been the last time they’d seen each other. He’s wearing a collared shirt with the top buttoned, too tight against his body just like all his other clothes, and form-fitting jeans, the hem ending just above his ankle and ripped at parts, and he looks at Harry with a smile of his own, crinkles forming by his eyes.
“Long time no see,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his fringe and Harry chuckles before turning sideways and motioning for him to go inside. Louis moves past him with his hands in his pockets and Harry closes the door, eyes following Louis as he stands in the middle of the living room.
“You look great,” Harry says, sliding his hand in his back pocket to take out his wallet, and Louis shrugs with a grin and spins around with his hands held out at either side.
“Just went to the gym this morning,” Louis says, eyes falling on Harry’s hands as he pulls out a few bills and folds them between his fingers. “I can still feel my muscles aching.”
“Well, I hope they’re not aching too much for me,” Harry says, holding out the bills, and Louis walks forward and takes them, counting each note before looking back at Harry with a satisfied smile and stuffing them in his pocket. He takes another step forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, and he sucks on the skin just above his collarbone.
“Don’t worry. I like pain,” Louis whispers giddily, and Harry takes this as a signal undo the top button on his shirt and pull it up and over his head, and Louis laughs as he gets on his knees and works on Harry’s belt, excitement flashing in his blue eyes. Harry turns his head up and closes his eyes, feeling his pants and his boxers sliding down his thighs and in a moment, he feels Louis’s hand closing around him, fingers gentle but firm, knowing exactly how he likes to be held, and he can feel his breaths coming out ragged, pulse quickening and skin heating up. Louis tugs at it for a second before taking it in his mouth, and Harry bites back a moan, hands coming over to grip Louis’s head and he tangles his fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper and deeper until he can feel his nose pressed against the patch of hair under his stomach.
Louis comes up for air and Harry looks down at him, watching the indecent look in his eyes and it makes his pulse quicken even more because fuck it feels good, and he smiles at him for a second before pushing it back in his mouth, and when he feels Louis’s tongue working around him, that’s when he lets the moan escape.
Soon, Harry’s lifting him up and flinging him on the bed, and he climbs on top of him and presses kisses on his mouth, hands searching every inch of his body and Louis laughs in his ears, fingers clawing at his back as Harry lifts his legs and positions himself between them, but he realizes with a start that it wasn’t Louis’s voice he heard.
It was Niall’s.
He shrugs off Louis’s hands and stands up, looking at Louis with wide eyes and Louis sits up and returns his expression, confusion creasing his forehead.
“What-what’s wrong?” he asks, getting on his knees and watching Harry carefully.
Harry stands rooted to the spot and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head and balling his hands into fists. It’s not happening, it’s not fucking happening right now of all places and he pushes his palms against his face because this is all fucked up.
“Harry, what is it? Did I-” Louis starts, concern lacing every word, but Harry slides his hands off and shakes his head.
“No-no, it wasn’t-No,” Harry stammers, turning around and making his way back to the living room. He hears Louis’s footsteps pattering behind him and he stops to pick up his pants from the floor.
“Are you alright?” Louis asks, and Harry just nods his head and fishes out his wallet, and after pulling out another set of bills, he turns back to Louis and holds them out. Louis looks at them with puzzled eyes, flicking them from Harry, to the bills, then back to Harry. “What’s this mean?”
“Take it,” Harry says, taking Louis’s hands and pushing the bills in his palm. “I’m sorry. It-it’s not your fault.”
He closes Louis’s hand and sits on the sofa, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. He shakes his head again and closes his eyes with a sigh, mind buzzing with a thousand different thoughts. He feels Louis sit beside him on the sofa and he feels a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tight.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks, and Harry looks at him with an apologetic smile, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over his stomach.
“Thanks, mate, but I’m good,” Harry says, and without another word, Louis gets up from the sofa and collects his clothes on the floor, and taking a moment to put them back on, he gives a small wave at Harry before turning around and making his way out of the door.
-
Harry opens the bottom kitchen drawer and pulls out a garbage bag pushed all the way in the back, and he opens it as he gets to his feet and looks around him, trying to remember where he’s hid everything.
His first stop is his room, and he pulls out the drawers one by one, digging underneath his clothes and flinging them on the floor until he can see the bottom, and in the middle drawer, he finds a stack of magazines hiding beneath his socks. He takes them out and throws them inside the garbage bag without a second look before searching the rest of the drawers, discovering a few sexual paraphernalia he hadn’t used in years and he wonders to himself why he never bothered to throw them away until now. He runs his fingers along one of the rubber dildos, the first one he’d bought with his own money, and he almost thinks twice about tossing it, feels an unspoken attachment to it but then he realizes that he doesn’t really need it anymore, has outlived its use and he’d be doing himself a favor in getting rid of it, so he shoves it inside the bag and pushes the drawer closed before moving on to his bedside table. Inside, he finds two stacks of DVDs, some he doesn’t even remember watching, much less buying, and he takes them all and throws them in the bag along with everything else.
Gripping the opening closed, he makes his way to the living room, listening to the items tumbling against each other in the bag. He kneels down in front of his television set and turns his attention to the rows of movies on each side, looking to see if he’s missed any, and picks out a few stragglers disguising themselves in the science fiction section, and he tosses them all in the bag.
After a few more trips around the house, making sure he didn’t miss anything, the bag’s nearly full, the sharp edges of the magazines and movies threatening to poke holes if he decides to pack anything else in, and he ties the end tight and pulls on his jacket before making his way out of the complex and into the night air, walking briskly over to the dumpsters behind the building and throwing the bag into the one closest to the street. He makes his way back to the entrance and sits down on the top of the stone steps leading to the doors, and he hangs his head between his legs and thinks about what he’s doing.
He thinks it might be cathartic, throwing out all of his pornography, almost like a cleansing, like it’ll set everything right but he knows for a fact that it won’t, won’t do anything because it’s just him trying to convince himself that he’s ready for change, convince himself that it’ll make everything better, and he’s not so sure what to think anymore, really, what to feel, and he lifts his head up and watches the cars driving past him, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to drown out the thoughts swimming restlessly in his head.
-
Harry sits on the edge of his bed and grips his mobile, his free hand rubbing along his forehead, thinking hard about what Zayn had said about Niall the day before.
He’s never really given it much thought, really, never considered it anything more than what it was and he thinks he might have been content in thinking it was just fucking and nothing more because that’s all he’s ever enjoyed and that’s what he’s comfortable with, comfortable knowing there’s no strings attached, no commitments, and he’s never really been the sentimental type, to be honest, never really placed much value on most things because he’s convinced himself that everything’s replaceable, even people.
But then there’s Niall and all of a sudden, everything’s changed.
Now, it’s not just fucking, not just drunken escapades that he’s too fucked up to refuse and maybe it’s because he’s told himself a million times before that he’ll never meet that one person who’ll mean something to him but it’s odd, the feeling he gets when he thinks about Niall, like it’s something foreign, something that doesn’t belong, and it confuses and exhilarates him at the same time. He’s never really felt this way about anything before and it’s different from being inside someone he just met from the street corner a few minutes ago, different from getting himself off a raunchy video he found somewhere on the internet, different from releasing himself with the help of a stranger because now he realizes that there’s something more to it than that, and it excites him.
He stands up and takes a breath, his heart already picking up speed, and he tries not to think about what to say, tries not to sound too contrived or rehearsed because he’s never really done this but he’s not quite sure what he wants to say, doesn’t even know when to start. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, huffing softly because he always does this, always psyches himself out and makes the problem ten times more complicated than it needs to be, and he paces a few times around his room before lifting up his mobile and searching for Niall’s number in his contacts.
He presses it against his ear and waits, getting hotter and hotter in his shirt and he stuffs his hand in his pocket, pinching the fabric inside as he listens to the ringing. He’s not sure what to expect, really, not sure if he’ll even answer after how things went the last time, but he keeps his hopes up because there’s something telling him that this is what he’s supposed to do and he wants to hear Niall’s voice, wants to feel it wrapping around his head the way only his voice can.
It rings twice, three times, six times and he’s feeling less and less optimistic with every one, but after the seventh ring, he hears Niall’s voice, and he feels his stomach drop and his heart skip a beat.
“You’ve reached Niall. I’m probably busy at the moment so just leave a message after the tone. Thanks.”
Harry pulls off his mobile and cancels the call, and he looks at it like he’s expecting it to do something and for a moment, he almost thinks that Niall’s going to call back, but when nothing happens, he sits himself back down on his bed with a sigh, heart starting to grow heavy, trying to convince himself that Niall’s probably just sleeping or he’s forgotten his mobile at home, and he picks up the courage and gives it one more try.
The phone rings twice before he hears Niall’s voice again, and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, his heart racing now, and he clicks off his mobile in disappointment when he hears “You’ve reached Niall” and throws it hard onto the living room floor.
-
Harry’s in the middle of typing up a report when he sees Zayn from the corners of his eyes, and he debates for a moment whether to look over and ask him what he wants or continue writing the report until he finishes because he really doesn’t want to stay up late at night again fighting off sleep just to get the damn thing finished. He’s this close to picking the latter because the last thing he needs is distraction when Zayn decides to move closer until their faces are inches from touching, looking at Harry’s report with a smile.
Harry closes his eyes and sighs.
“Can I help you?” he asks, taking his fingers off the keys and turning to face Zayn.
Zayn takes a few steps back and straightens himself up, hands coming up to cross over his chest, looking at Harry with a satisfied smile.
“Just wanted to get your attention,” Zayn replies, and Harry starts to shift his attention back to the screen when Zayn shakes his head and flicks his ear, and Harry nearly jumps out of his seat and covers the afflicted area with his hand as he looks at Zayn with confusion.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry yelps, his ear stinging, and Zayn’s smile broadens into a grin. “I am trying to finish something important, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I’m getting a raise for cleaning up the system,” Zayn says, looking proud of himself, and Harry cranes his neck and raises his brow, wondering what that has to do with anything.
“Congratulations,” Harry says dryly, swiveling his chair back to face his computer and placing his fingers back on the keys. “Maybe you can take me out later.”
“Actually, I’ve already got a date,” Zayn says, and Harry looks at the boyish glee flashing in his eyes.
“Really?” Harry asks, interest finally piqued like Zayn had hoped, and Zayn leans back on the cubicle wall.
“Yeah, I’m taking Perrie out tonight at this Italian restaurant off Ledbury Road. Heard it was very good.”
Harry feels his heart skip a beat, flashes of Niall’s face in the restaurant popping up in the back of his mind. He shakes his head, not willing to get himself all worked up about it, and looks at Zayn with a raised brow instead because this is not about him, not this time. “Who the hell is Perrie?”
Zayn laughs. “The intern.”
Harry chuckles, remembering her shock of purple hair. Zayn and his odd things. “Oh, her. I didn’t think you were serious about that.”
“Me neither, really,” Zayn says with a shrug, and he picks himself up and stretches his arms in the air. “But I thought, why the hell not? Only got one life, might as well live it, you know?”
“Well, have fun,” Harry says, going back to his report and picking up where he left off. “The food’s really good there. Niall ate nearly half the menu when we went.”
“I know. He’s the one that told me.”
Harry’s stomach drops and he turns back to Zayn, heart beginning to race.
“You-you talked to him?”
Zayn nods. “Yeah, saw him at the bar last night. Talked for a few minutes and all that. The boy really loves his chicken wings.”
Harry swallows dryly and pretends to ignore the pounding in the back of his head.
“Did he say anything about me?” Harry asks, hope curling up inside his chest, trying his best to show he’s not as affected as he is, and Zayn just shrugs and sticks his hands in his pocket, looking at Harry with a mellow expression.
“Asked him about the situation between you two. He just told me he was tired of waiting.”
Harry feels like a sledgehammer hit him square in the chest and he opens his mouth to say something, but Zayn’s already starting to turn around.
“Well, I’ll just leave you to your report, then,” he says, and before Harry can call him back, he’s already disappeared around the corner, and Harry sinks back in his seat and stares at the wall where Zayn was standing a moment ago, a heavy feeling pressing against his chest, and all of a sudden, he doesn’t feel like finishing his report anymore.
-
Harry taps his foot on the floor, eyes intently watching the clock on the wall, anxiety filling his lungs like ice water and he’s starting to get jittery, feeling like he’s about to crawl out of his skin because he’s not sure how this is all going to pan out.
After waiting a few minutes, he finally gets up from his bed and snatches his mobile sitting on the table, and he makes his way to the living room where he picks up the jacket hanging over the backrest of the sofa and slips it on, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It’s stupid, he thinks, getting worked up like this but he can’t help it, can’t help but feel anxious and scared because Niall hasn’t returned any of his calls or answered his texts.
He sighs and looks at the time on his mobile screen. It’s a quarter past eight and his inbox is still as empty as ever, no notifications, no missed calls, nothing, and he’s feeling less and less optimistic about it but what did he expect, really, because Niall offered no guarantee that he’ll even go, and he starts to wonder if Niall had already changed his number and he’s actually bothering someone else. He shakes his head, tries not to think about it, and goes on his contact list, scrolling down to Niall’s name and, taking a deep breath, he presses the call button.
After one ring, it goes to voice mail, and he feels his heart getting heavier but he holds himself up and tries to ignore it, tries to focus on Niall’s voice saying “leave a message after the tone,” and when he hears the tone, he clears his throat and presses his mobile closer to his ear.
“Hey, it’s Harry. Again. I know I’ve already left you about ten messages saying the same thing but I just want to ask you out one more time, if that’s okay. I’m-er-I’m gonna be at the restaurant in a few minutes and if you get this message, I hope you’ll join me there. I’ll be waiting outside. Bye.”
He clicks his mobile off and sticks it in his pocket before pinching the area between his eyes and heaving a deep sigh, feeling more and more awkward about the situation with every message but he doesn’t have a choice, really, can’t think of anything else to do. If it doesn’t work out then it doesn’t work out, he keeps telling himself, it’s just not meant to be, and he wishes it was that easy, that black and white but the reality is much more complicated than he cares to admit, and at this point, he’s just trying not to let this boy slip from his fingertips.
He tightens his jacket around him and grabs the scarf hanging on the coat rack next to the door. He wraps it around his neck and takes his keys from the wall, and he closes his eyes before turning the knob and walking out into the cold night air.
-
It takes Harry longer than he thought to get there, the seconds stretching into minutes and he tries to keep his mind in check, tries to occupy himself with the bright lights lining the streets as the cab speeds past them but every time he tries to push Niall out of his head, he comes flooding back in, filling his ears with his laughter and feeling his lips against his cheek and it’s hard not to blame himself for all this, brought this on himself, really, because he has a natural talent for fucking things up.
He tears his eyes away from the window and looks straight ahead, trying to read the street names to distract himself and it feels like an eternity, like he’s just looping the same place over and over again and he’s starting to wonder if this is a bad idea, if he should just hightail it back to his flat and pretend nothing ever happened because it seems easier that way, seems like the most practical approach but he knows that’s not the case, that will never be the case if he just turned around now, and he closes his eyes and counts the seconds before the cab driver calls him to let him know they’ve arrived.
Harry pays him with a small smile before walking out the door, and he pulls his jacket closer to his body as he steps on the sidewalk.
He looks at the entrance to the restaurant and huffs silently, his breath coming out as wisps of smoke curling around his face, but he doesn’t go inside. He moves off to the side and leans his back against the wall next to the board with tonight’s specials carefully written with blue and pink chalk, and he pockets his hands and looks around him.
The street’s busy for this time of the night, couples huddled close to each other to battle the cold, small groups of friends laughing and singing songs he’d heard a few times on the radio. He tightens his jacket around him and moves his eyes across the street.
There’s a man bending over a car, arms resting on the window frame, talking to the driver, and it takes a moment for his face to register but Harry realizes with a start that it’s Louis, with his copper hair and his too-tight shirt completely inappropriate for the weather. He watches on as Louis straightens his back with a smile and opens the door, looking around him for a moment before getting inside. The car jolts into action and Harry watches it disappear around the bend, and he sighs and pulls out his mobile to look at the time.
It’s twenty past nine and he’s getting nervous, his pulse starting to quicken, and he looks around him, trying to see if he can spot his blond hair anywhere. He holds on to the hope that Niall’s probably just held back by traffic or had to go back to his place after forgetting his wallet or his keys or anything that can convince him that he’s going to come any moment now, going to see him walking down the sidewalk with that smile on his face, but after waiting for an hour, he finally accepts the fact that he’s fucked up his chances and Niall’s not coming, and he hangs his head and makes his way down the street, looking for a cab to take him back home.
-
There’s an empty feeling spreading across Harry’s chest, like his ribs are being ripped out piece by piece, leaving gaps in between the muscles and hollowing out his heart, and he drops his shoulders and leans his head against the elevator wall, watching the floor number above the doors change as he ascends.
He feels tired, physically and mentally, the cold finally taking its toll on his body, and he wishes he’s snuggled up in his bed with a cup of hot chocolate between his fingers because if there’s one thing he can’t fuck up, it’s a cup of hot fucking chocolate, and he sighs and holds on to the bar next to his hip, gripping it tight until his knuckles turn white.
He knows there’s no sense in thinking about it, no use in dwelling on it because what’s done is done and he can’t control fate’s hands, never could, and he tries to convince himself that he’ll be better off for it, sturdier for it and maybe he’ll finally learn his lesson about falling too hard and too fast without a safety net to catch him when he does. Niall just complicates things, he tells himself, tells himself because he needs a reason not to feel this way, and he’s better off by himself, really, always has been and he doesn’t need someone else to fill a hole that’s not there, can pay someone to do just the same with the satisfaction of knowing that he’ll never feel this way with someone who loves him by how much money he has in his pocket.
But he sighs because he knows different, feels different no matter how much he tries to tell himself otherwise and it’s like there’s a projector in the back of his head and he can’t bring himself to turn away, playing the same images over and over again and he’s fucking tired of how it makes him feel, makes him feel like he’s getting smaller and smaller as the seconds tick past and he doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.
He straightens himself up when the doors open and he watches as a couple step in, the man leading the woman by the small of her back and they stand on the other side of the elevator, pushing a button and closing the doors. Harry studies them from the corners of his eyes, seeing the way the woman’s nuzzling her head against his shoulder, how the man wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, and Harry shakes his head and pockets his hands, trying not to think of the freckles dotting Niall’s skin, the dark roots in his hair, his blue, blue eyes.
His stop comes and he walks out without a word, fingers closing around his keys, ready to pull them out, and, taking a few steps into the hallway, he lifts his head up and searches for his door, and he knits his brows together when he sees the silhouette of someone standing right beside it.
He doesn’t work it out at first but he can tell it’s a man, a rather thin man, hidden behind a jacket pulled tight around his body, and Harry closes his hands tighter around his keys, wondering what he’s doing there standing next to his flat.
But he doesn’t wonder for long because when the man turns around at the sound of his footsteps, he feels his breath catch in his throat, and he stops in mid-step when he sees the smile stretching Niall’s face.
Harry doesn’t believe it at first, just puts it off as his mind playing tricks on him again and maybe he should get his head checked out, take some pills for it at least because whatever it is, it’s not going away anytime soon, but when he jolts himself back into motion, he can see Niall’s face clearly, his pale skin, his red collared shirt buttoned all the way at the top, and all of a sudden, he feels something spreading in his chest, like the air in his lungs are pushing against his ribcage and he feels his heart racing, his skin lighting up, and Niall walks forward until they’re a few inches apart and Harry can feel his head going numb.
“Hello,” Niall says simply, smile bright as ever, and Harry just looks at him like an idiot, mind buzzing around with a million thoughts and he has so many things to say, questions to ask but he can’t form the words, disappearing the moment he sees them flash across his eyes.
“Hi,” he replies instead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and he feels like a fool standing there, still trying to work out if Niall’s really standing in front of him.
“I-er-I got your messages by the way,” Niall says, shifting his eyes to the floor and tapping it with the tip of his shoe. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”
Harry laughs and Niall brings his attention back to him, his smile broadening.
“Why-Why’d you come here?” Harry asks, looking at Niall in the eyes and the next moment, he feels Niall’s hand sliding around his wrist, pulling his hand out and linking their fingers together, and Harry’s grinning now because his hand feels soft and warm, and before he can open his mouth to say something else, Niall presses a kiss on the corner of his lips, and he’s glad Niall’s holding on to him to keep him from floating away.
“I just thought it was my turn to make you wait.”
← part three ♕ part four •