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thunderoad · 7 years

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9. things you said when i was crying, narry

a whopping 4.8k of ever-so-slightly future fic where the boys assemble to meet liam’s baby, and harry grapples with how things change

Harry slidesinto the backseat, buckles his seat belt, and pops his earbuds in to listen tothe mix Jeff (Bhasker, not Azoff) emailed him this morning. He waves to hisdriver and offers him a smile, as well as an apologetic little gesture to theglinting pink phone in his hand. He nods at him in the rearview mirror, smilesback, and reverses them out of the pilates studio parking lot.

Sweat sticksHarry’s shirt to the small of his back and his underarms and the inner curve ofhis knees, his back positively singing in relief. He’d been feeling sore andrundown, and he couldn’t tell whether his back aches from the strain of a goodworkout or whether he’s been sleeping curled up in a tight little ball again,his joints locked up by the end of the night. Maybe he’s coming down with acold. He jots down a little note in his notes app to pick up some more cold medicineand herbal tea.

His notes areabsolutely bursting with things he has to do. Really he’d be better off askinghis personal assistant, Eloise, to pick up the tea for him, but last time hesaw her, she was juggling three phones and the fattest appointment book he’sever seen. The circles under her eyes were so dark they didn’t even look real;Harry’d been halfway to asking if they weren’t, if there was a new trend afootin the fashion world?

He thinks aboutmaking a note to ask Kendall and doesn’t even bother, his thumb going still onhis phone screen. Belatedly, he remembers to listen to the latest cut of hisnext single buzzing gently through his Bluetooth headphones. It soundsindistinguishable from the latest mix. Harry emails Jeff (Bhasker, not Azoff), Top, mate. Thanks as always. Harry, andleaves it at that.

He’d hadfantasies, one of those times the mattress fell off the wall during recordingin some hotel in the middle of a never-ending tour, of really taking his timeon a record someday. Maybe even his own record. Letting each song reallypermeate his DNA, or come bubbling out of it, something essential of himmaterialized and set to a good funky bass beat.

One Directionwas his baby and he was its but sometimes Harry thinks they grew up too closelytogether to properlyunderstand each other. This album was supposed to be him, and it is. Atleast, it’s as much of him as he thinks he knows. It sounds like music someonewith his long hair and sketchy accumulation of tattoos and penchant for floraltops would make. That’s who he is, right?

“Where are weoff to?” Harry asks his driver. He pockets his earbuds, mentally cosigning themto death even as he does it. They’re itty bitty wireless things – how’s hemeant not to lose them? He must be on his tenth pair already.

August, hisdriver, answers, “Ehm, something in the Hills. Eloise had me pick up a baby giftfrom the office while you were at the gym. That sound familiar?”

“No,” Harryanswers. He stares out the window. He’s quite good in social situations; he’spretty sure he can fumble his way through those moments of free-fall wheresomeone opens the front door and he can’t remember them for the life of him. Hejust wishes he hadn’t gone and gotten all sweaty first, that’s a bit odd, isn’tit –

Oh. Ah, Harrythinks.

There’s not manypeople Harry wouldn’t mind going to see just after a workout, really. There’snot many people who wouldn’t mind, either, though if memory serves, they alwayspretend to.

Liam’s baby.Liam’s baby. Liam’s real life,squalling, very alive baby. Harry clears his throat. “What did I get her? Thebaby, I mean?”

“A whole basketof stuff, boss. Some very cute onesies in there,” August adds knowledgeably.“My baby girl’s shown me all of the stuff she’s gotten for the new baby, see,so I’d know.”

Harry tries tounstick his throat. “Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Thanks,” Augustbeams into the rearview mirror.

Harry taps outreplies to another half-dozen emails on his phone on the drive to Liam’s house.He loads the calendar app just to see LIAM PAYNE – BRING BABY GIFT on his phonescreen in Eloise’s short, succinct phrasing. His new appointments sync up andHarry watches every other day of the month turn red and green and blue. Red forimportant stuff, green for social networking events, blue for things that fallin between. If he’s being honest with himself, his whole calendar could beblue.

It’s not bad.Just, sometimes he thinks of the life he dreamt for himself when boot camp wasgoing off and he wasn’t getting cut week after week, and he wonders whathappened. They won, Harry supposes. In all the ways that matter.

There’s afamiliar Range Rover sat in the driveway when August pulls up to the curb. Itsat in his driveway often throughout MITAM writing and recording; Harry easily recognizesNiall’s Rover. It’s amazing how fast, and how thoroughly, relief unravels theball of tension in Harry’s chest. If Niall’s there, Harry will be fine. He’snot entirely sure where the supreme confidence comes from but it feels like alaw of the universe, and he’s felt a little too much like his own drowningcharacter not to cling to a buoy when he washes up against one.

Hm. Maybe that’dmake a nice song. He makes a note to make a note of it, thanks August for theride, and plucks the baby gift out of the boot before making his way up thedriveway.

“Oy!” Harryturns as August spins away. Technically he’s on retainer for Harry, but helikes to play snooker or feed the pigeons in the park while Harry’s off aboutbusiness.

Niall’s sat inthe driver’s seat of his Rover, his sunnies pushed up into his hairline and abit of floss wound around his fingers. “Hey, Haz.”

“Don’t tell meyou’re already leaving?” Harry asks. “I’m not that late.”

“No, you wanker,I was waiting for you. You know how Liam can be all,” he wiggles in his seatlike a bit of jello in an earthquake.

A long,frightening moment second passes where Harry truly does not get it, and then hedoes, and his shoulders sag in relief. “I do,” he admits.

“Hop in if yalike,” Niall says, so Harry clambers into his passenger seat. Niall’s wearingan unwrinkled pair of jeans, boots, and a collared shirt. Of course he is. “I’malmost done here. Is that what you got the baby? Prat. You could’ve paid a termof her tuition with all that stuff.”

Defensively,Harry says, “Well, I’ll pay that too.” Niall laughs and shakes his head andpushes his face toward the mirror in his visor to see what he’s flossing at,and Harry lapses into silence. He forgot what it was like to see Niall. Theearth beneath his feet feels a little unsteady, not unfamiliar, justhalf-forgotten.

“If I ever havekids,” Niall starts, then, “when I have kids, you’re not to spend more than thecost of a lolly on ‘em. Mark my words, now, Styles.” He shoots Harry a lookthat’s only meant to seem serious; Harry can see the way the corners of hislips are twitching.

“You’ll beraising a bunch of monks, then,” Harry remarks.

“Aye, a bunch oflittle Irish monks running around a farm in the highlands.”

“That’s howyou’re gonna do it?” Harry asks. Then, “You’ve thought of it?”

Niall folds upthe visor, tucks the spent bit of floss away in an empty Starbucks cup, andfolds his sunnies off the top of his head. “‘Course,” Niall answers. Harryreckons that’s fair.

“Ready?” Niallasks. He puts his hand on the door. Harry thinks of saying no, and askingplease can they just stay in this inconsequential little moment for a littlelonger, but he can’t. He says yes. Niall leads their way up the walk andpresses the buzzer. Harry spots the gift in his hands and he’s just whining,“Niall, how many terms of uni could that pay,”when the door swings open, and Liam’s standing there, crinkly-eyed and smiling.

He scoops themboth into a hug and they stand there on the stoop for a moment, three lads tiedtogether by Liam’s ropey arms, the bony nub of Niall’s elbow digging intoHarry’s side, Harry’s arm trapped against Liam’s ribs. Harry closes his eyes.

“You stink,”Liam says, pulling back. He wrinkles his nose.

“Pilates,” Harrysays by way of explanation.

Niall and Liamboth smile and roll their eyes. It annoys Harry, briefly, like they’reexasperated and annoyed with him and why should they be? He’s here, isn’t he?And then it passes, and he trips over the doorway following them in.

Liam’s andCheryl’s house looks like a catalogue for wealthy living despite the new babyliving in it. Harry and Niall are seated in a living room with overstuffed pinkcouches and a coffee table laden with cuts of cheese and sugared almonds andpear slices and a still-steaming pot of tea.

“The girls willbe along in a bit, I think Cheryl’s feeding the baby,” Liam says. “What’s on,lads?”

They catch up.Liam dropped his first single, something dancey and a little raunchy, the dayhis baby was born, and he’s almost done with the rest of his album. Niall’sdown two singles and already picking up promo gigs here and there for his albumlaunch. He has a list of radio DJs he promised to come back to when he wasdoing “This Town” promo and cities he wants to visit on tour just so he canhang out with his friends. Harry’s stomach starts feeling very hollow.

Liam’s andNiall’s chat drifts into unfamiliar territory, something about tennis and amatch they both watched with bated breath and a bet Niall lost grudgingly.Harry sifts through his memories of their email thread, and he has norecollection of this. They’ve – they’ve been keeping in touch, he realizes.More than he has. He’d thought they were all so busy, and the email chain wasso dormant, he wasn’t the only one who’d lost touch, but – maybe that’s not thecase.

It hits himthen, like a melody callback from the beginning of a record to the end, howstrange everything is. Harry feels distanced from his body and unmoored fromhis life, like he can see it from a distance, and he doesn’t know what to makeof it. Like he’s an alien dropped into the memory of an old life. Maybe noteven his old life. It’s so strange to see the lads again, and meet one of theirchildren, in his sweaty gym clotheswith an overstuffed gift basket at his feet, and his back sore and aching.Harry feels like he’s been doused in a wave of vertigo.

So he pipes upthat his first single’s doing well, too, that Rolling Stone called it “an impressiveshot across the bows for one of the year’s predicted highest-selling records.”Really, they said that.

It pulls Liamand Niall up short, a bit. “We know, lad,” Liam says quellingly.

“You wouldn’t believehow hard it is to find time to meditate, let alone catch a math on telly,”Harry says. Let alone chat shit with his old bandmates, or his mum, or anyone.

Liam and Niallexchange a look. Finally, Liam says, “It’s a good song. Reckon we’re a goodbunch of musicians, lads. Who’d have thought it?” and laughs. “Mind, I knowyou’re not here to see me – let me check on the girls.” And he bustles off toround up his lady and his baby.

The room goespainfully quiet before Niall comments, “Feel like I’m meeting the queen.” Hestacks a cracker with a load of cheese and fruit and stuffs it into his mouthin one giant bite. Harry envies him that he can eat whatever he want withoutever showing it, and he wants to pat his knee soothingly, but he stops himself.He’s not sure why.

“Eat a biscuit,”says Niall. “You look a bit off, mate.”

“I’m fine,”Harry says. Niall fidgets with his scraggly fingernails.

Harry realizesNiall won’t look at him. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing, mate.Just, like,” he laughs. “I dunno, chill out a bit. The man’s just had his firstbaby. Let him have the moment, won’t you?”

Harry bridles,stung, but before he can say anything else Liam’s swooping back in with Cheryl intow, and the tiniest baby Harry’s ever seen cradled in the crook of his arms.“My love,” he coos to the baby, “these are your uncles, Harry and Niall.”

Liam passes thebaby very, very carefully to Niall, who wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans andhandles her with as much care as he would a really fancy vintage guitar.Probably more, even. Harry sits down slowly opposite him, his breath all caughtin his chest, terrible for singing with.

“Holy shit,”Niall breathes.

“Language,”Cheryl teases, her voice riding on a laugh. “Isn’t she beautiful?” The doorbellgoes, and Liam breaks in, “I’ll get it,” his socks rasping on the woodenfloorboards.

“She looks likeLiam,” Niall says. “That nose – the eyes.” He very carefully touches the tip ofher nose with his fingertip and the baby wrinkles her face and lets out a verysoft sigh.

Harry can’treally hear or speak past the deafening rush of blood in his head. His heart isbeating like a trampoline, yo-yoing around his chest cavity like he’s done toomany shots of espresso in quick succession. His long litany of problems fallsaway and all he can think is, amazing.

He reaches ahand out – carefully – and very lightly touches the baby’s soft cheek. She’s sofresh, and new, and perfect. Harry glances up to Niall out of force of habit,like, Are you getting this, too? Hefinds Niall’s eyes red-rimmed and watery, though Niall clears his throat andtries to speak around it. “Beautiful, she is,” he agrees. The urge strikesHarry to reach out and stroke Niall’s cheek, too, almost like he’s just donewith the baby. It’s such an awfully vulnerable thing to do, he thinks, and knowshe’s not allowed.

“I’m not toolate, am I?” Louis’s loud voice reaches them before he even enters the room.“She’s not walking and talking yet, is she?”

“No,” Liamanswers, amused. The familiar sound of their banter quickly moves to fill allthe empty spaces in the room, the bond between them like brothers, and Harrysits back and runs the back of his hand over his itchy eyes.

“Alri’?” Niallwhispers.

Harry shrugs andnods, his throat too clogged to speak. He still wants touch Niall’s face. Hewants a lot of things, he realizes. Not to feel like he’s drowning – like he’snot too busy keeping his head above water that he misses the important things –that he has time to breathe, and enjoy breathing – to make something thisbeautiful. For a moment, it feels like maybe he could.

“Want to holdher?” Niall asks. Harry nods, and they transfer the baby from Niall’s arms toHarry’s. She’s so soft and warm, and light – she can’t weigh more than tenpounds. That’s less than a watermelon. And there’s a whole person to grow outof this tiny little baby. “Wow,” Harry just says.

Freddie toddlesinto Harry’s legs for a closer look. He and the itty baby regard each otherfrankly. Harry looks up.

Niall’sgrinning. “Well done, you two,” he tells Cheryl and Liam, who look every bitthe proud parents.

Louis leans infor a better look. “Good news,” he says. “She’s got Liam’s eyebrows.”

“What’s thatsupposed to mean?” Liam laughs, and Louis pretends that he wasn’t poking fun,and Liam tries to dig his fingers into Louis’s sides.

Harry doesn’twant to leave.

He only blockedthree hours for this, though. Or Eloise did. It’s the same thing, really.Louis’s already gone and Liam and Cheryl go to put the baby down for a nap, soit’s only Niall that accompanies Harry to the door, where August is back fromhis latest adventure, the car idling on the curb.

“Come with me,”Harry blurts, only somewhat desperately. “Please.”

“Why?” Niallasks.

Harry chews onhis bottom lip. “Because,” he starts, stops. Now that he’s got him back, he can’tbear the thought of letting him go again. “I miss you,” he says.

“I’ve gotrecording time booked,” Niall says. “I can’t just run off.”

Harry wants sobad to stamp his foot like a toddler. “But you have time to watch tennis withLiam?”

Niall scowls.“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry says nothing. “I tried to stay in touchwith you, too, Harry,” Niall says. He steps away from the echoing foyer anddown the walk a little, so Harry follows after. A cool breeze cuts straightthrough his gym shorts and leggings and he shivers, though it’s summer inCalifornia, warm and balmy.

“I was making amovie,” Harry snaps. He sounds petulant to his own ears. Hurt. “Those are longdays, Niall, eighteen-hour days, and on the whole other side of the world. Notto mention you keep pulling your disappearing act, you’re not so easy to stayin touch with –”

Niall holds hishand up. “Disappearing from most people,” he says. “Not everyone.”

But Harry’s notreally listening. “And then going into the studio and making an album. You’ve no idea what it’s like, Niall, all thesepeople watching you, and the expectations, and it feels like half of them wantyou to fail just so they can watch you mess everything up, and the other halfthink you’re so great, and –”

Harry’s own what if I’m not draws him up short.

“You’re right,”Niall says acidly. “I have no idea what that’s like. Can’t even relate.”

“Don’t get madat me!” Harry says. His eyes start stinging and aching again. He wipes,roughly, at his face. “Don’t get angry with me, please. I’m just – you’ve doneall these songs that sound like your baby, Niall, it’s – it’s not the same.”

Some of the familiarcolor drops out of Niall’s face, and the anger is replaced with somethingsympathetic, and Harry blurts, “I don’t – why are we arguing?” He laughs. Itsounds a little wet. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“We’re not.Hey,” he touches Harry’s arm. “We’re not. Okay?”

“I have to go,”Harry says miserably. “I have to go to a party tonight.”

Niall gives Harryhalf a smile. “Well,” he says, “have fun.”

“Come with me,”Harry repeats. He hopes it sounds less petulant this time. Less desperate. Hedoesn’t feel any less desperate.

“Stay in touch,Styles,” is all Niall says. He bids Harry farewell with a kiss to his cheek,and Harry goes because he’s been sent, and climbs into the backseat of August’scar.

“Ready?” Augustasks, after a pause. Harry keeps his eyes trained on Niall in the yard, hisarms crossed loosely over his chest, his face unreadable. And he misses him.

“Yeah,” Harrysays hoarsely. The car trundles him away.

***

“I don’t know,”Nick draws the words out. “Eileen’s still pretty chaffed you didn’t show up forher Sunday roast, Harold dearest.”

Harry twirls atoo-short strand of hair around his finger and worries over his bottom lip. Heknows Nick doesn’t really mean Eileen’s bothered. He means he is. “Nick,” hestarts uncertainly. Harry’s been a lousy friend to him, he knows. But here heis, always asking for forgiveness, for more kindness, for Nick to give himsomething he can’t give himself.

Nick heaves aheavy sigh. “Well,” he says. “I suppose perhaps I could fit you into my schedule.But I expect chocolates. And maybe flowers. Perhaps a cookie bouquet.”

“Done,” Harrybreathes, relieved. “I’ve already ordered them, several, enough for the wholestation.”

“You’re going togive me diabetes,” Nick whines. Harry thinks he can hear a smile in his voice.

A week later,Harry makes good on his promise of a cookie bouquet. He presses his finger tothe buzzer to be let up to Nick’s flat, shifting his weight from foot to foot.He brought along an armload of YSL’s samples for Nick to pick through, too,figuring that would earn him a few extra Brownie points for the next time hedrops the ball. Harry sighs. Maybe someday he’ll stop planning ahead for hisnext misstep.

“Harold,” Grimmysweeps the door open. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Harry steps overthe threshold and takes a deep breath. “I love it here,” he says, same as he’ddone when he was sixteen and had hardly been to anyone’s flat before, let alone a famous radio DJ. The whole placesmells like pomegranate and vanilla candles, and Nick’s got beautiful art hungup on every wall. Some of it’s his, some others’; it’s been so long, Harry can’tquite tell them apart anymore.

“I’d love tocatch up and all,” Nick says, eyeballing him. “But we can do that after you letme hear this album. Gimme,” he says, and makes grabby hands at Harry. Harrylaughs and ducks away and then steps back in so Nick can soothingly run hisbig, comforting hands over Harry’s chest and stomach. They never quite madegood on the way they were in love when they were younger, so it lingersimprobably like this. Harry thinks he’ll always carry a candle for Nick. It’snot the worst thing.

Nick’s made up alittle space for them to listen in, dear that he is. He’s unearthed a CD playerand set it up in front of a couple of easy chairs with a nice soft rug in frontHarry can stretch out on like a cat. Grimmy knows him so well.

Harry foldshimself to the floor and folds his hands behind his head, staring up at Nick’sceiling as an hour passes between them, and Harry’s first album plays out intoinfinity. The notes feel like radio signals he’s broadcasting to space, like anotherVoyager mission, the whole and enormity of being human bundled up and mailed outto the universe as a brief introduction.

He can see Nick fromthe corner of his eye. Nick sits with his feet tucked up next to him, his legslong and hairy. He doesn’t say very much. He doesn’t really move very much,either. At one point he leans down and swats at Harry’s shoulder, his facetight and open, like a satellite on another planet picking up Harry’s message.

“So?” Harryfinally asks.

“It’s very good,”Nick says reassuringly. “I’m looking forward to playing it all the livelongday, H.”

Harry takes hisphone out in the car on the way back to his house, the cursor blinkinginnocently at the end of the line. Ithink it’s finished. I’m ready. Jeff (Azoff, not Bhasker) would beoverjoyed, but Harry can’t bring himself to send it. He says, “August, if youhad a friend, a very old, very good friend, and you’ve fallen out of touch,what would you –”

“Call,” Augustsays immediately. He glances up into the rearview mirror. “I’d call him, boss.”

“Never said itwas a him,” Harry mutters, and dials Niall anyway.

He picks up onthe second ring. “Hullo?”

“Can I comeover?” Harry asks. “Are you in London?”

“I – who isthis? What?”

“Niall,” Harrysays patiently. “It’s me. Are you home? Can I come over?”

“I don’t haveany milk,” Niall says. He sounds dead sleepy. “For tea.”

“Shall I picksome up?”

There’s quiet,then the ruffled sound of covers moving, on Niall’s end. “Okay,” he says. “Mightas well be a love and pick up some biscuits, too.”

“I will,” Harryvows.

Niall makes asoft sound of agreement and rings off. Harry gets one of each flavor ofbiscuits from the shop by Niall’s house, and then he and August pull up to thegate. Harry climbs into the front seat and leans over August’s lap to hit thebell and shout at the buzzer, “It’s a load of biscuits and Harry!”

“Christ, I know,”Niall mumbles. “Give poor August some space, mate.”

Harry pulls backinto his own seat. He isn’t nervous until August stops the car and it’s timefor Harry to climb out, and then he unbuckles his seat belt with shaking handsand watches his feet to mind the stairs.

Niall’s waitingin the open doorway. He’s wearing a soft gray hoodie and a pair of blackjoggers. His socks are patterned with stars today. His face is still a littlemuted and soft with sleep, and Harry has that urge again, stronger than he’sever known it, to touch Niall’s face. Stroke his cheek, press his forehead toNiall’s, trace the contours of his tired smile with his lips. None of that isnew. It just feels more pressing than before. It’s finally dawned on Harry thathe may not have forever.

Harry couldapologize for waking him up, and for snapping at him at Liam’s, and for a wholehost of other things, but if he starts apologizing now he’ll never stop. So hejust says, “Can I come in and play you my album?”

And Niall says, “No.”

Harry draws upshort. “What?”

“Let me have it,”Niall holds out his hand. “I’ll listen to it and tell you what I think.”

“I…what?” Niall’snever told Harry no before. It’s one of those things, like gravity or motion,that Harry’s hung his whole world on.

Niall lets out alittle breath. “It’s late,” he answers. “And I’ve got interviews all daytomorrow – I’ve got to sleep, Haz, love.”

“But I…” Heshakes his head.

“I love you,”Niall reminds Harry gently. “But I’ve got my own life, too.”

Harry sagsagainst the doorway. “I know.” He shakes his head. “Sorry. I know.”

The truth of ithits him like an arrow to the heart. They each have their own lives, and theirlives don’t revolve around each other anymore. Louis and Liam have their babiesand their girlfriends and Niall has his career and his friends and Harry –Harry was so busy thinking about himself that he hadn’t realized he’d alreadylost them.

Love is to hold,but not to keep; relationships can’t last for changing; people are never assimple as they seem. Harry knows these things – he’d already written an album’sworth of songs about them before he ever even considered a solo record – but helet himself forget.

Maybe forget’snot the right word. Maybe he’d just loved them so much he thought he had to letthem go.

Maybe he doesn’thave to.

“Don’t let melose you,” he tells Niall, suddenly. The desperation in his voice is almostpalpable. “Please.”

Niall says, “You’llbe fine, Haz. I promise.” And Harry believes him.

He leaves Niallwith milk and biscuits for his tea, and his album, and climbs back into August’sidling car. “Well?” asks August.

“Yeah,” saysHarry. “We’ll be fine.”

***

Harry leaves hislast pre-release meeting with a skip in his step, his heart buoyant. He hadn’trealized what a heavy weight the album had been, how much he’d been worryingover it. It still doesn’t feel perfect, but he gave it the best he has. It’stime he let it out.

“Augie!” Harrycrows, sliding into the backseat. He means to ask for a smoothie, or a coffee,or maybe a combination of both – the next big beverage trend? – when herealizes there’s someone sat beside him.

Niall looks notleast amused. Harry doesn’t bother fighting the urge to touch his face. Hisskin is soft, and a little dry, and the stubble on his cheeks is prickly anddarker than Harry always expects it to be. “This is a bit stalker-ish, isn’tit?” Harry asks.

Niall shrugs. “Iprefer Bond,” he says, doing the accent and everything. “James Bond.” He waitsfor a moment, watching Harry’s face. “How’d it go?”

“It’s done,”Harry sighs. He can’t help touching Niall’s face again, just because he can. “I’mdone.”

Niall nods, hiseyes half-lidded, at ease. “Till you have to sing them every night for the next,like, forever.”

“Oh,” saysHarry, stiffening in surprise. Next to him, Niall bursts into laughter.

#fic #narry #ALMOST 5K WHYYY #anon

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