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At eight years old, Harry pulls a face and tries to tug Niall closer so that he can better fit their half heart lockets together. He furrows his brow in concentration even though this isn’t the first time he’s tried and it certainly won’t be the last time he tries and yet the pieces still don’t fit right together, catching just off each other to not seal finely.
Harry grimaces a little when Niall bats him off almost unconsciously, continuing to watch the cartoons his mother had put on for them but a sharp tug on the necklace makes Niall turn to blink at Harry. “I thought these were supposed to fit together.” Harry pouts until Niall’s glare softens.
"Silly," Niall plucks both lockets from Harry’s fingers gently before he holds them apart just enough to note the differences between their dips, like how Harry’s breaks off at the third little outset in another sharp line but Niall’s doesn’t, continuing in the pattern of short ups and downs. "They only match when you love someone."
Niall lets Harry’s locket thump against Harry’s chest and the way it bounces is like it’s hard like a rock from a rough pendulum instead of a simple shard of gold. Niall smiles and drops his own against his chest but, before he can even turn back to the TV, Harry tugs at his elbow gently.
"But I do love you.” Harry breathes because the words are earnest and, though he might not have a whole hearted grasp on exactly what they mean, he knows he feels them right down to his toes. Niall ducks his head as a dust of red crosses the bridge of his nose and, though he doesn’t speak as he pulls his arm away, the smile pulling at the corner of his lips is more telling than his words would ever be.
At thirteen years old, Harry presses the print of his thumb into the locket before pulling his finger away to look at all the fine lines drawn across its surface and it’s gotten to the point where it’s so late that a slow smile draws across his lips from this.
Harry drops the locket back to his chest and cranes his head to glance over at Niall across the dark living room but his eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness that he can just about make out Niall’s form on the floor, the way his eyes are barely open wide enough to feign sleep and his eyelashes cast lightly over his cheeks.
They said goodnight hours ago but neither of them has tipped off. Harry hasn’t because he’s waiting for Niall to say exactly what is on his mind that has kept him shy all day and up all night but he hasn’t yet and, though Harry doesn’t want to push him, Niall may just need a bit of prompting. “Just say it, Niall.” Harry whispers after a final moment of deliberation, rolling over onto his side so that he can look at Niall properly.
Niall jumps a little, arching his own head before he sighs and shifts onto his side as well to face Harry, pulling his lips tight in a frown. “I didn’t know you were still awake.” Niall mumbles softly, shuffling gently across the floor until he lies closer. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Harry walks two fingers across the floor until he can stroke them over the back of Niall’s hand, lacing their fingers together with another gentle nudge. “I’m worried about it.” Harry hums, smiling just enough to be friendly without making it look like he’s mocking Niall.
Niall glides his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand in a soft, soothing rhythm, long strokes over Harry’s skin, and he doesn’t speak for a long time but Harry just sits there and waits until he does. “Just, don’t be surprised if my necklace connects to a guy, okay?” Niall eventually blurts out, jerking his hand away from Harry’s so he can cross his arms and he dips his head into his chin into his chest self consciously.
Harry’s hand feels empty where Niall has pulled his away but he doesn’t reach back for it, unsure if that’s the right course of action. He isn’t even quite sure what to say with Niall’s admission. He knows what he wants to say and wants to do but, what with the wound so fresh, he just pulls his hand back into the warmth of his sleeping bag.
"Okay," Harry says after a long moment of silence, pulling his locket out of his shirt so he can thumb over it again almost absentmindedly because, though it is just a little bit, he doesn’t dare quash the spark of hope that erupted in his chest at Niall’s words. Their necklaces might not fit but that doesn’t mean a damn thing to Harry.
For a long moment, Niall doesn’t say a single thing. Well, he does splutter and stammer, broken sentences and cut off words but then he just falls silent and he’s quiet for such a long time that Harry thinks he’s fallen asleep at least until Harry feels a hand worming its way into his sleeping bag to thread their fingers gently and Harry doesn’t have to say it again to know that things will be okay.
At fifteen years old, Niall and Harry find themselves looping their legs around the cold black poles of a fire escape, staring down at the snow covered street below through tightly drawn woollen hats and low pulled scarves. Niall takes a deep breath before letting it out in a long sigh, crossing his eyes to make Harry snort out a laugh because Niall looks like a confused dragon.
The happiness is a little short lived though because laughter trills out from the apartment and Harry hunches over with a small frown. ”Another new years’ without a kiss,” Harry mumbles off handedly, shrugging a shoulder before Niall can even ask him what that was about.
Still, though Harry turns away a little to glance down the street in the other direction, Niall tugs at his jacket until he spins back around. “When did you start noticing that?” Niall asks but Harry just shrugs his shoulder again before pulling his arm gently out of Niall’s hold.
He would’ve been hard pressed to miss all the couples standing around in the school hallways, sharing sticky kisses through strawberry lip gloss but he doesn’t know exactly when he started wanting that. The feeling hasn’t stung this hard in a long time but he knows it’s because of all the adults making a buzz about the new years’ kiss, the sound of them counting down from a minute until the ball drops.
His lips pull tight in a rough grimace as they get down to ten and he tries to make himself as small as possible when, again, he feels a sharp tug at his jacket. ”Harry?” Niall blinks at him with wide, clear eyes as they count nine and Harry gapes at him a little when Niall shuffles closer to the sound of eight. At seven, Niall tugs down Harry’s scarf and, now, Harry has a pretty good idea what Niall is going to do but he is frozen at the mere thought of it.
Niall pulls his gloves off at six, tugs his own scarf down at five before cupping cold fingers around Harry’s cheeks at four. The gasp Harry lets out at three casts a breathy flume around the both of them but Niall still leans in. He says, ”Happy new year,” at two, leans in at one, and then all Harry can feel is the glide of Niall’s mouth against his own, the chapped catch of nipped lips against his own frost bitten ones.
Harry stiffens with a gasp caught in the back of his throat but, after a moment, he lets his eyes flutter shut before he leans into the kiss, reaching out to knot his hand into Niall’s jacket lightly. Niall starts to pull away as the music in the apartment gets turned up again, now that the countdown has come and gone, but Harry leans in to catch his lips again, just two more pecks before he pulls back and twists away in shame. It was embarrassing; he had been so wanting.
It’s only when Niall presses a soft kiss into his cheek and giggles into his skin that Harry feels a little less self conscious because Niall sounds as giggly as Harry feels buried deep inside. “You’re blushing.” Niall says softly and Harry nods because he can feel his own cheeks aflame but there isn’t really anything he can do about that. There isn’t anything he really wants to do about that.
At seventeen years old, Harry stirs his cereal around his bowl again and again, watching the spiral with bored eyes before he shovels another spoonful into his mouth. The best part about having a snow day off school is that there’s no classes and you get to stay home all day. The worst part about having a snow day off school is that there’s nothing to do and you have to stay home all day. On top of that, Harry doesn’t get to see Niall and that just takes the cake.
His parents have long since gone to work and his sister to school, because university doesn’t get snow days, so Harry is racking his brain, trying to figure out what to do when the doorbell rings and he freezes. Harry glances toward the front door before he heads over to it, tugging it open to see the last person he expected on the other side.
"Oh, my god, Harry," Niall barrels into the house without any other preamble and he kicks off his boots and jacket before he jumps onto the living room couch, fanning at his face feverishly. "You’ll never guess what just happened. I still can’t believe it myself. I’m in shock. I can’t breathe. I’m just," Niall’s chest heaves heavily but the grin on his face is still strong and, for a moment, Harry just stares wide eyed before he takes a seat across the living room and he sits there expectantly.
Niall takes this as assent to speak so he throws himself into this grand story of how his mother sent him to the groceries, seeing as he didn’t have school, only for Niall to be so clumsy as to bump his cart into someone as he was walking down an aisle. “And I was just apologizing so much but then he asked me what I was doing here and shouldn’t I be in school and I said, no Riverview is cancelled for the day and then he says, oh, that’s my school too, with this big smile on his face.”
Niall flails around, kicking his feet against the ground over excitedly and, though Harry tries to force a smile on his face, he can still feel his heart breaking. He tries to convince himself this might mean nothing, might amount to nothing, but the way Niall is raving on about how attractive this guy - “he’s a senior too, oh my god!” - makes Harry want to walk away.
"And then he was like, give me your number, and I was like, why, because what on earth would a guy like him ever want with a guy like me, but he just says, so I can call you and tell you when you’re taking me out for coffee to pay for the bruises on my ankles." Niall lets out a long groan and throws himself back against the couch, planting his palms into his eyes with another groan. "God, Harry, he is just- I can’t even describe him! He is perfect!”
Harry’s smile is still stiff when Niall glances over at him but Niall evidently doesn’t realize it because he grins and flails his hands, dancing giddily on the couch. “I’m happy for you.” Harry pushes off the couch before he has to put on any more emotions and, if he speeds out of the room, Niall definitely notices.
"Harry," Niall follows Harry to the kitchen where he’s stood over his bowl of cereal with his fists clenched against the counter, reaching out a cautious hand before he thinks better of it and dips his hand into his pocket. "Are you okay?"
Harry rushes to cup his hands around his bowl and spins on Niall with a weak smile. “Yeah, fine,” Harry dips his head when the words crack on his tongue and he forces food into his mouth before he can even say anything else in that pain stricken voice. He’s kicking himself over it now because he should’ve said something a long time ago. He should’ve said something about how he feels and now it’s like his only chance is slipping away right between his fingers and he can’t breathe as Niall starts to speak again, more ravings about this fucking guy.
There’s a low buzz and Niall’s words trail away softly but, when Harry turns to look at him, he sees that Niall is staring down at his phone with wide eyes. ”Oh, my god, he’s texting me!” Niall nearly screeches and Harry has had enough. He tosses his bowl into the sink and excuses himself, saying he’s going to take a shower, but Niall barely hears him anyway because he’s far too engrossed in what this Zayn guy has to say.
Harry sits in the tub for what feels like an hour but Niall never once comes to look for him. During that time, Harry scrapes the pad of his thumb against his half heart pendant until he bleeds, as if that will change the pattern cut into the side and link his locket to Niall’s like his heart is already.
At eighteen years old, Harry is feeling like shit. Sure, he has friends, he has at least five other friends he could count on in the event of a crisis but none he trusts as much as Niall which is exactly why he feels like shit whenever Niall cancels on him because “Zayn invited me to eat with him and his friends in the art studios” and “Zayn is taking me to his family’s cottage for the weekend”.
Honest to God, it’s an awful feeling when his best friend just opts out on spending time together. It makes Harry feel less than but he knows that Zayn doesn’t know Niall was well as he does, that Zayn will never know Niall as well as he does and, if Niall isn’t going to give his all in this friendship, Harry will just have to give twice as much. He refuses to give up on their friendship which is exactly how he finds himself winding through the halls, a chocolate éclair in tow as he heads straight for the art room.
He’s going to make things right with Niall. He’s going to tell him how he feels about being second to Zayn after everything they’ve been through and he’s going to think about telling Niall about how he feels but he probably isn’t going to tell him outright because that is far too much of a big step to take in one day and-
Harry freezes in the art room doorway. He drops the éclair to the ground but he barely hears the sound of the bag splatting against the floor because Niall and Zayn are standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by a semi circle of friends who stare on just like Harry is. Niall and Zayn each hold their lockets between thumb and forefinger and they’re just pressing them close when a bright white light shines and blinds the crowd.
When Harry can look back without being blinded, he feels his throat close as his eyes land where the two halves seal together like two long lost puzzle pieces. Niall gapes up at Zayn with wide blue eyes but Zayn just cups Niall’s throat and leans in for a kiss like he’s been waiting forever to do it. They fall into each other like two puzzle pieces and Harry takes off, sprinting away down the hall. It’s a blur as he runs out the school and he doesn’t care if he has two more classes for the day because he doesn’t care about a single thing.
Harry winds up at home, sweat soaked and feverish and he stumbles past the front door to the backyard gate. He is done with this soul mate and true love and half heart bullshit. He pushes open the door to his dad’s shed and grabs a sharp edged saw from the rack, taking it to the chain of his locket with choked sobs and rough grunts.
Harry drags the saw back and forth and back and forth until the chain buckles under the blade and the locket pops off into his palm. It pops and sizzles and burns into his skin, smoking black as he drops it to the floor and stumbles back, wiping his scratched up hand against his shirt like a bloody afterthought. Harry knows that somewhere else in the world, someone’s half heart locket is doing the same thing, burning hot against their chest to leave a lasting mark against their skin like the one Harry has.
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care who they are or what they’re doing or how they’re feeling now that they know they will never find their other half. He doesn’t care because Harry knows he can never have Niall and, if he can’t, he doesn’t want anyone else. Harry walks out of the shed but he doesn’t make it anywhere near his house before he drops to his knees, howling like a wounded animal. His heart feels as broken as the half heart locket, still on the floor back when he dropped it, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to pick up the pieces.