Archive of Our Own

‘Follow him to Dublin,’ he said, Harry thinks bitterly. ‘Propose to him then,’ he said. ‘He literally has to say yes.’

And here he is, not in Dublin like he's supposed to be. Instead, he's wandering around London, holding his phone to his ear with his right hand whilst dragging a suitcase behind him with the other as his camera bag weighs down his right shoulder. He's lost; totally and completely lost. And also incredibly fucked.

The ringing stops, there's a brief silence and then, "Shouldn't you be having celebratory sex right now?"

Harry scoffs. "It's a little difficult to have celebratory sex when my boyfriend is still in a completely different country."

"What are you talking about?" Louis asks.

"I'm stranded in London."

Louis snorts. "What?"

"The fucking weather made it impossible for the pilot to land in Dublin and they didn't have room in Cardiff so now I'm stuck in London with no way to get to Ireland," Harry explains. He sighs deeply, stops walking in the middle of the empty street he's on because his feet hurt, he’s tired and he doesn’t know where he’s trying to go anyway.

"Jesus, H," Louis mutters. And even he sounds disappointed. "Well what about catching a flight from London to Dublin in the morning?"

"There's only one for tomorrow morning and it's completely full. There's another flight tomorrow night but I was sort of hoping to get there before that..."

"You could drive?"

Harry sighs. He let's go of his suitcase and lifts his left hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't have a car, Lou."

"So rent one in the morning!"

"And then when I get there, what am I gonna do with it? I'd have to bring it back and Liam's plane leaves Dublin Sunday night-"

"Mate, I'm sure he wouldn't mind changing his flight so he could fly out with you from London."

Harry sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose. "I wouldn't even know how to get there, Lou."

"You could hitch-hike?" Louis suggests – and Harry knows he's only half kidding. 

"Yeah," Harry mutters. "And get murdered before I get a chance to propose."

Louis remains silent for a moment, like he's thinking hard. "Look, Harold," he starts finally; seriously. "Why don't you just find an Inn somewhere, get some rest and then figure it out in the morning."

"I can't wait that long to figure it out, Louis," Harry snaps, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I-"

"Dublin isn't going anywhere, Harry. And neither is Liam, ok? You have plenty of time to get there and propose and be sickenly in love before coming back home. You'll be fine. You just need to get some sleep first. Maybe get yourself a drink too – I feel like you could use one."

Harry laughs. It sounds pitiful but it's all he can muster in the current state he's in. 

"Look, I have to go – El's having trouble getting James to eat but text me when you have a plan, yeah? And also so I know you're not dead."

"I refuse to die before I get engaged," Harry scoffs. 

Louis chuckles. "I fully believe that, actually."

X

Five minutes later he's stumbling through the front door to a small, hole-in-the-wall style pub. It's called The Clover, according to the hanging, wooden sign outside and, as he'd expected, the inside has a very Irish feel to it.

The pub isn't all that crowded, but it isn't quite empty either. There's a couple sat in a booth in the far left corner and a group of rowdy, football-watching men crowded around a table in the middle. But it's a dark haired man with the top bun sitting alone at the end of the bar closest to him, head down, hand scribbling across something on the bar top, that he approaches.

 
"Hi," Harry greets him carefully, taps him on the shoulder for good measure.

"Nialler!" the man shouts. He doesn't even acknowledge Harry's presence, just carries on sketching something into the sketch pad.

Harry blinks, clutching the handle of his suitcase. "Um, I just-"

"Niall!"

"What?!"

Harry looks over his shoulder, then, as a blond haired man with brown roots, bright blue eyes and pink cheeks works his way through the group of men Harry had just walked right past. The blond is gorgeous, there's no question, and Harry finds him momentarily awestruck.

"You've got a customer," the dark haired man drawls.

"You're sitting right there, Zayn," the blond says – and, oh...he's Irish too.

"'m on break."

The blond – Niall – snorts, rolls his eyes as he shoves gently at Zayn's shoulder and then hops over the counter to stand behind it. "You're fucking lazy is what you are." He grabs a rag, then, and throws it over his shoulder before lifting his gaze to look at Harry. "Hey, mate," he says cheerfully – almost too cheerfully – as a smile splits his face wide open. "What can I get for ya?"

"Um, nothing, I don't – I'm not really a customer, I just-" he pauses, takes a deep breath as Niall raises a questioning eyebrow at him, waits for him to continue. "Could you tell me where the closest Inn is?"

"You a tourist or something?" Niall asks. He grabs the rag off his shoulder and wipes it once over the counter.

"Something like that," Harry mutters.

"There's a bed and breakfast up the street," the blond says, points a finger in the same direction Harry had already been wandering in before. "Can't miss it."

Harry nods, offers a small, polite smile. "Thanks," he murmurs and then turns to leave. 

"They're closed though," Niall calls out to him a moment later, when Harry's nearly halfway to the door. "Check-in closes at 11. You're about three hours too late."

Harry blinks – and then sighs deeply as he drags himself and his bags back towards the counter. "Is there any place else I could-"

"Nialler, another round please, mate!" someone yells from the circle of men behind Harry.

Niall snorts and rolls his eyes before he turns away from Harry to collect six glasses. Harry watches him silently as the blond places them onto a round tray and then fills each glass with a light beer on draft. "Come an' get 'em, Brez – I'm not your damn slave."

A tall, massively built man makes his way towards the counter. He's grinning as Niall holds the tray out for him – and he claps Harry on the back before he grabs it. "Give the American a pint on me tab," the second Irish man says. "Looks like he could use one."

"Fuck off," Niall laughs, shooing the other man away with a wave of his hand. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to Harry. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"Do you have a number for a taxi?" Harry asks. 

"'Course," the blond says. He grabs a napkin, plucks a pen seemingly out of thin air and then writes a number onto the napkin. "Where are you trying to get?"

"Dublin."

Zayn, the dark haired man, snorts. "Good luck with that."

Harry's eyebrows furrow in confusion as he looks between Niall and Zayn – who still hasn't looked up from his sketch pad – and then back at Niall.

"You're not taking a taxi to Dublin, is what he's saying."

"Why not?"

"B'cause it's at least an eight hour drive and that's without pit stops. No taxi in their right mind is driving eight hours and they're definitely not crossing any borders."

"But I need to get to Dublin," Harry stresses. "I was supposed to be in Dublin two hours ago but there's a storm in Ireland so my flight got re-routed and there isn't another flight until tomorrow night but I can't wait that long. I have to be in Dublin as soon as possible."

"What's in Dublin that's so important at two o'clock in the morning?"

"My boyfriend. Who I'm going to propose to."

Niall raises an eyebrow.

Harry sighs as the frustration continues to build. "He flew to Dublin yesterday for a business trip and I want to propose to him before the end of the weekend because Irish tradition says-"

"I know what Irish tradition says."

"Then you understand why I need to get to Dublin."

Niall snorts. "I don't, actually, because I'm not that lame."

Harry scowls, slumps against the back of his stool. "You've been absolutely no help."

"I beg to differ, actually," Niall argues. "I stopped you from wasting time taking a trip to that bed and breakfast and I told you a taxi wouldn't take you to save time calling around. I'd say that's fairly helpful."

"And yet I'm still stuck here in London instead of on my way to Dublin."

"Yeah, well, that's not my problem," Niall says flippantly. 

Harry sighs. He’s beyond frustrated – and what’s this guy’s attitude anyway? "Look, all I need is a ride – that's it. If you could just-"

"Oi!" Niall shouts, gathering the attention of everyone else in the bar. "Who here fancies taking this stranded lad to Dublin?"

The entire room falls silent except for the sound of the TV. It drags on for mere seconds before everyone goes back to doing whatever they were doing.

Niall shrugs, slaps his hands against the counter. "I tried."

"What about you, Niall?" Zayn asks – and, finally, he loses his sketch pad. "You've got the weekend off and you haven't been to Ireland or Dublin in ages. You could probably use the trip."

Niall glares at him for a long time - and Zayn states back at him, hard. 

"I'll pay you," Harry offers and there's a desperate edge to his voice. Niall tears his gaze away Zayn and let's it land on Harry's face. "I'll give you £500 and I'll pay for gas there and for the gas you'll have to use on the way back."

Niall continues to stare at him. 

"Please," Harry whispers and he’s not even ashamed at how desperate he sounds. "I just - please-"

"Alright," Niall mutters, sighing deeply. He drops his head between his arms for a moment and then looks back up at Harry. "Alright. But it'll have to wait until morning."

"O-ok," Harry stutters. His heart is pounding in his chest and his breath catches in his throat with pure anxiousness.

Niall runs a hand through his hair and then digs it into his front left pocket to produce a key, which he slides across the counter. "I live upstairs so you can crash on my couch. Just let me get rid of everyone so I can at least get a few hours’ sleep and we can leave first thing in the morning."

Harry blinks down at the single key on the counter in front of him and then lifts his gaze to meet Niall's. "Thank you," he breathes. 

X

Harry's settled, lying across the length of the sofa in Niall's living room-kitchen-bedroom - both his bag and his suitcase are on the floor next to the couch – and he's staring up at the ceiling when he hears a mixture of movement and voices on the other side of the door. And well, needless to say, he can't help but eavesdrop a little bit. He doesn't really have anything else to do, after all.

"You're not coming in, Brez," Niall's saying firmly, although the amusement in his voice is palpable. 

"Aw, c'mon!" the other Irish man exclaims. Niall shushes him and the man laughs and utters an apology before dropping the level of his voice – but only slightly. "You've never let someone sleeping on your couch stop you before. I know that for a fact."

"Fuck off," Niall snickers – and then there's the sound of the doorknob turning.

"Ohhh, I get it," Brez drawls. "You want the pretty American stranger."

"I want you to go the fuck home, Bressie," Niall snaps. Still, though, there's a fond amusement in his voice. 

"Alright, alright. Just, don't do anything I wouldn't do, yeah?"

There's a scuffling sound – like both men are pushing and shoving each other. And then there's Niall saying, "There's not a whole lot you wouldn't do though, is there?"

"Exactly."

"Go home."

"Yeah, alright," Brez says. "Have a good trip tomorrow. And maybe pop in to see you-know-who tomorrow, yeah?"

"Not bloody likely, but thank you. And lock up on your way out!"

Harry snaps his eyes shut a moment later when the door opens. He hears Niall walk inside and close the door behind him before locking it. And then he hears Niall shuffle across the room, past the couch and into the kitchen. The fridge pops open and then closed and then it's silent and Harry keeps his eyes closed. 

"I know you're awake," Niall says suddenly. "Your breathing's far too uneven for you to actually be asleep."

Harry opens his eyes, then, and pushes himself up to lean back against the arm of the sofa. He looks sheepish as he turns his head to look at Niall.

Niall takes a sip from the water bottle in his left hand and then places the bottle on the counter behind him before he walks towards his bed. There's a blanket folded in half and spread across the end of the bed, which Niall grabs and brings to Harry.

"Thank you."

"Don't mind what Bressie says, he's..." Niall trails off, smirks. "He's a character."

"Is he – I mean, are the two of you like...together?"

"Me an' Bressie?" Niall snorts. "God, no. We tried, like, a long time ago but we're better as friends."

Harry nods, looks down at where his phone is lying dead in his lap.

"You can charge your phone if you need to," Niall says, walking back towards the counter to fetch his water bottle. "There's an outlet by the telly."

Harry thanks him and then climbs to his feet as Niall disappears into the bathroom. He's surrounded by silence and the muffled sound of running water as Niall brushes his teeth whilst Harry spreads out the blanket and then crawls underneath it. 

Niall walks out of the bathroom, a hand in his hair, a few minutes later. "So, it's 3 o'clock now and I was thinking we could get up at 8, leave by 8:30 and be in Dublin by, like, 6-ish."

"Sounds good. Better than waiting all day for a flight."

The blond nods, hovers awkwardly in the open space between the couch and his bed. "Ok, well, g'night." And then he's turning away, reaching his arms up to pull his shirt off over his head – and Harry finds himself snapping his gaze away, forcing himself not to admire the way Niall's muscles move in his back.

X

Harry can't sleep past 7. Actually, he can't sleep past 6:30 but he continues to lie on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, until 7. And it's then that he pushes himself up, stretches his arms and his legs and then gets up and walks around the coffee table to grab his phone off the TV stand and unplug it from the wall. He answers a text from his mom and then one from Louis before texting Liam to call him when he gets the chance.

He goes to the washroom – takes a piss, washes his face and then changes into a fresh pair of boxers and a clean, dark grey jumper – before he goes back out to fold the blanket Niall had lent him and place it neatly over the back of the couch. He sits on the couch, then, and proceeds to look around the living room.

It's spacious, but still quite small; certainly big enough for just one person and just big enough for two. It's also incredibly clean for a bachelor pad, not at all how he'd imagined it the night before when he'd struggled up the stairs with all his luggage. 

His gaze lands on an acoustic guitar propped up in a stand in the corner of the living room – and it's then that his alarm goes off, music blaring, phone vibrating against the coffee table. He rushes to grab it, to silence it before Niall wakes up but if the groaning sound that comes from behind him is anything to go by, it's already too late. 

"What the fuck is that," Niall groans.

"Sorry," Harry says sheepishly as he glances over his shoulder and the back of the couch to where Niall's buried his face in a pillow. "That was my alarm."

Niall sighs, rolls onto his back whilst rubbing his fists into his eyes. He cranes his head, then, to look across the room at Harry. "What time is it?"

"It's 7:30-"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Niall grumbles. "What happened to getting up at eight?"

Harry smiles weakly. "I like to set an alarm a little while before I have to actually get up – just in case."

"I hate you."

"If we both got up now I could help you make breakfast," Harry suggests. He's suddenly incredibly hungry, having not eaten since before getting on the plane the day before. 

Niall scoffs heavily as he pushes himself up to rest back on his elbows. "I was just gonna stop at McDonalds on the way out."

Harry makes a face. "I don't – I don't eat McDonalds.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. "You're American and you don't eat McDonalds?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're not one of those juice cleanser blokes that spends half of his time at the gym and the other half eating kale?" 

Harry scowls. "Kale is good for you."

Niall rolls his eyes. "Kale is disgusting, mate."

"It's not disgusting, it's just an acquired taste."

"Yeah – for rabbits."

Harry rolls his eyes. He's not in the mood to argue about nutrition with someone who's probably never even eaten a salad before. 

"Alright look," Niall mutters, sighing heavily as rolls over so that he's facing the opposite wall and pushes his face into another pillow, "go down to the kitchen and make yourself something to eat if it'll make you feel better while I get ready to go since you're in such a fucking rush to get there. You might even find some kale in the fridge."

The brunette takes the invitation, pushes himself to his feet. "Do you want anything?" he asks, pushing his phone into a back pocket in his jeans. 

"No. Actually, yes, I want you to go."

"And what are you gonna do?"

"Relax, lover boy," Niall scoffs – and Harry knows he's rolling his eyes. "I'll be ready to go by 8:30 like I said. Just – go away before I change my mind." He doesn't have to specify what he'd change his mind about for Harry to understand.

And Harry doesn't think he's ever moved so quickly in his life. 

X

"Are you drinking a fucking smoothie? For breakfast?"

Harry glances over his shoulder to find Niall standing in the doorway between the back kitchen and the rest of the pub, Harry's luggage – along with another bag that doesn't belong to Harry at all – in both hands. He's just poured half of a fruit and protein-packed smoothie into a tall glass he found tucked into a corner of a cupboard on the other side of the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow at Niall's sour expression. "What's wrong with drinking a smoothie for breakfast?"

Niall snorts. "It's a fucking smoothie, bro."

"It's healthy and there's a lot of protein in it-"

"You really are a health nut, aren't ya?"

"I made enough for both of us."

"I told you not to make me anything," Niall reminds him with a roll of his eyes.

Harry shrugs as he pours the remaining half of the smoothie into another tall glass. It was awkward enough rummaging through the pub's kitchen to make himself something for breakfast, knowing he wasn't going to be paying for it, the least he could do was make Niall something at the same time; it doesn't quite feel like he's stealing if Niall has some too.

"I can't believe I agreed to share a car with someone like you for the next, like, nine hours," Niall mutters.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you you're really hostile in the morning?"

"It's 8:30 in the morning and I work in a bar that doesn't close until 2 a.m. – if I'm lucky. Last night I wasn’t lucky. And you're a pain in the arse, so I'm allowed to be hostile."

"The sooner we leave the sooner you'll get rid of me," Harry points out as he runs hot water into the blender in the large sink.

"Yeah, fine, just leave that for Zayn and get in the car," Niall walking past Harry towards the back door on the other side of kitchen, beckoning Harry to follow with a nod of his head. "I've got your luggage."

Harry does as he's told, leaves the blender so soak in the sink and then follows Niall out the door – but not before snatching his camera bag out of Niall's hand. (He pointedly ignores the fact that Niall's car looks like a death trap.)

X

They're halfway to Bristol, according to Niall, when the blond pulls the car over onto the side of the road. They're surrounded by nothing but bush and highway and passing cars – and Harry finds himself looking around, up ahead and over his shoulder for any kind of sign as to why Niall's just stopped driving without a single word.

"What are you doing?" Harry demands a second later, watching as Niall unclasps his seat belt. 

Niall ignores Harry in favour of climbing out of the car and jogging around the front towards the side rail.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Harry asks again, shouts it out the window as Niall trudge through tall grass towards the tree line. 

"Can't a lad take a piss without being questioned about it?" Niall tosses over his shoulder. 

Harry scoffs. "What, you couldn't go before we left?" he yells.

"We left over a fucking hour ago, mate," Niall drawls, his back to Harry as he pulls down his zipper. "And I drank that whole fucking smoothie and a coffee. Can't hold it forever."

Harry rolls his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest and presses his back against the back of his seat. He glares, hard, out the front window as Niall comes back around and hops back into the driver’s seat.

"Relax, princess, it only took me a minute," the blond says as he puts his seat belt back on and then puts the car back into drive. "'s not the end of the world."

X

They get stuck in traffic near Cardiff and it only takes a few minutes for Harry to get restless. He keeps shifting, tapping his fingers on his knees, running his hand through his hair, trying to get a better view of the road ahead – and failing because it’s literally just vehicle after vehicle. 

Niall sighs next to him, grips the steering wheel in one hand and plays with hair with the other, his elbow propped up on the door. "Can you chill out for, like, five minutes, please? You're giving me a headache."

Harry blinks, presses the back of his head against the head rest. "I'm not even talking."

"You don't have to."

"I didn't think there was gonna be traffic."

"It's Friday morning and people are going to work," Niall reminds him. "Of course there's traffic."

Harry frowns, rolls his eyes as he rolls his head to looks out his window. He's supposed to be in Dublin right now. He's supposed to be surprising Liam with room service, breakfast in bed. He's supposed to be making reservations at a nice restaurant and planning the perfect proposal. He's not supposed to be stuck in rush hour traffic in England, six hours away. And he's certainly not supposed to be stuck with a grumpy Irishman who would rather be anywhere else probably guzzling down a beer with his mates. 

"Seriously, Harry, can you stop freaking out every 30 seconds? You're going to get to Dublin either way."

"I'd just like to get there, like, sometime today."

Silence falls between them for what feels like the hundredth time since climbing into the car. It's the awkward kind; the kind that leaves Harry wanting to fill it with his own voice – with anything, really – but not knowing what to say. He continues to stare out the window; focuses on his breathing, on the steady hum of the engine and the low volume of the radio – some British show Harry's never heard of before.

"Alright, let's play a game," Niall says suddenly.

Harry blinks sort of dumbfounded as he turns to look at Niall. "A game?"

"Yeah, like, 20 questions – only we both have to answer each one. And then we're done those we ask 20 more."

Harry quirks an eyebrow, narrows his gaze suspiciously. "Why?"

Niall shrugs, keeps his gaze on the road despite not moving more than a few inches at a time. "Why not? Look we have nothing better to do and we have to be in each other's presence for another 5-ish hours so we might as well get to know each other a little bit."

"Ok, fine," Harry replies with a nod of his head. "You first."

Niall pauses for a moment and then a small, barely-there smile tugs at his lips. "What's your favourite band?"

Harry smirks, rolls his eyes. "That's quite the first question," he says sarcastically.

Niall shrugs. "You can always tell what kind of person someone is by the music they listen to. At least, I can."

"The Rolling Stones."

"Classic," Niall replies – and are Harry's eyes deceiving him or does Niall look a bit impressed by that?

"What's yours?" Harry asks then, looking at Niall out of the corner of his eye. 

Niall smiles softly, sort of fondly. "The Eagles."

"Nice." Harry feels a bit impressed as well. He pauses for a moment because it's his turn and he can't decide whether he wants to go big or small. He chooses the latter because, well, so had Niall. "How old are you?" he asks a moment later.

"Twenty-Three."

"Same. At the beginning of this month, actually."

Niall barely pauses long enough to take a breath before he asks, "Why is proposing to your boyfriend in Dublin so important?"

Harry rolls his eyes – because now it makes sense as to why Niall wanted to play this game. "If you wanted to know you could've just asked. You didn't have to come up with some elaborate scheme."

"'s not really an elaborate scheme," Niall protests. He pauses, glances over his shoulder as he changes lanes to be with the faster-moving vehicles. "It just seems like an obvious question."

"I already told you it's the Irish-"

"Is he Irish?"

Harry blinks. "No-"

"Then that doesn't count. And it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Niall adds as the traffic, once again, comes to a halt. Harry glares at him, which Niall pointedly ignores as he continues. "Why would you even want to propose to someone when they don't really have a choice but to say yes? I mean, if you love each other shouldn't you be able to propose whenever you want to?"

"Well, yes, but..." Harry finds himself stuttering; finds himself struggling to explain it to a stranger. It felt far entirely different talking to Louis about it. "It just seems like the right time."

Niall quirks an eyebrow, glances sideways at Harry. "How so?"

Harry sighs heavily. "I-it just does and it's none of your business why."

"Alright. Fine. Touchy subject."

"It's not a touchy subject – I just don't see why it matters to you," Harry snaps. He folds his arms across his chest as he glares out the front window. He'd rather stare at the license plate of the truck in front of them than look at Niall – even if the blond man does have a pretty face.

"It doesn't," Niall assures him. 

"Ok."

"Ok." 

"Who is it you're avoiding in Dublin?" the brunette finds himself asking. Not that he cares. It's just curious, given the comment Bressie had made the night before about a you-know-who. He also finds himself watching Niall's face for some kind of a reaction-

Which he gets in the form of muscles tensing in Niall's jaw. "I'm not answering that," he mutters.

"Why not? You asked me about Liam-"

Niall grips the steering wheel hard in both hands as he turns to glare Harry, hard and angry. "There's a difference between your situation and mine and it's that your situation is the whole reason you're here – it's the whole reason I'm here and I think I've earned the right to know why I'm driving you to another country. My situation has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Harry blinks, watches Niall turn away and press himself back against his seat. He sinks back into his own seat, then, and once again finds himself staring out the window.

And, with that, there's an unspoken agreement that the game is over. 

X

The car breaks down in Neath, on an otherwise deserted road in the middle of nowhere with no cellphone reception.

Niall tries to fix it himself; pops the hood, rummages around the engine to see if he can figure out what's wrong. 

Harry, meanwhile, feels like he's about to have a fucking panic attack because why isn't anything going his way? He paces beside the car, leans against the car and watches Niall, sits on the side of the road and stares at his phone like that, alone, will give him reception. He feels anxious, sick to his stomach and all around miserable.

He's sitting on the ground, flipping his phone over and over again in his hand when Niall bursts out a groan – which makes Harry nearly jump out of his skin.

Niall bangs the hood closed before he pushes both hands through his hair. He spins around, then, to lean back against the car.

"What now?" Harry mutters.

"We find the closest service station," Niall mutters, walks around to the back of the car to pop the trunk. He grabs his bag, swings it over his shoulder and then looks pointedly at Harry.

Harry finds himself gaping like a fish. "Find? How are we gonna find-"

"If we start walking now, there's one about an hour and half away."

"We have to walk?"

"How else are we gonna get there?" Niall asks sarcastically. 

Harry blinks, taken aback. Niall sounds incredibly unamused - more so that Harry feels, probably. "I just, I thought we could wait for someone to find us-"

"That could take all day – and even if it doesn't we still need to get to a service station because they probably won't have the part we need. And if someone happens to drive by on our way there then I'm sure we could ask for a drive. Do you want your stuff or not?"

"Why do I need my stuff if we're getting the car back?"

Niall shrugs, leaves the trunk open as he starts walking away. "Suit yourself, then. Maybe if someone does drive by they won't ransack the car for valuables. Or maybe they would."

Harry hesitates. "They wouldn't, would they?"

"Who knows, mate?" Niall calls back to him from several feet ahead. "'m not taking any chances though."

Harry curses under his breath as he springs into action; he grabs both his camera bag off the floor of the front seat and his suitcase out of the trunk before he slams the trunk closed. 

X

Niall's right. Walking to a service station takes them almost exactly an hour and a half. They drive back to pick up the car with Joe, the supervisor, and by the time they all get back to the station and Joe order's the part he needs it's going on lunchtime and Harry can hear Niall's stomach growl from across the waiting room – which is where he's sat trying to be patient and out-of-the-way whilst Niall talks to another guy behind the counter.

The part has to come from a warehouse of some sort from another town Harry's never heard of and, seeing as it could take an hour – “or five", according to the man that has told Niall – Harry agrees to get something to eat while they wait. 

He's pushing his salad around on his plate in the small, family-owned pub they'd seen on the way to the service station, when Niall's voice breaks apart the otherwise quiet dining room. They've been avoiding any kind of real conversation since trying to play 20 questions earlier, only speaking when they need to communicate. Now, however, not only is it incredibly awkward eating – or trying to – in complete silence but Harry's quickly getting the feeling that Niall doesn't like awkward silences any more than Harry does.

"Have you even told your boyfriend you're here?" Niall asks suddenly before biting a huge chunk out of a greasy hamburger. 

Harry shrugs. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I texted him this morning and asked him to call me when he has a chance," Harry replies. He looks at his phone, then, more instinctively than anything. At least he has service now.

Niall raises an eyebrow. "Has he not called you?" And that's a stupid question because obviously Niall already knows the answer.

"He's busy." The brunette shrugs again. He pushes his plate away from him, then. He wasn't hungry when they ordered and he's even less hungry now.

"So busy he can't take a few minutes to call you?" Niall scoffs, rolls his eyes.

Harry glares at the man across from him. "He's not just here on vacation or something, he's working," he says defensively. Because it's true. Liam's working. And he's busy.

Niall shakes his head but keeps his mouth shut. 

Harry quirks an eyebrow as he crosses both arms over his chest. "What?"

"I'm just having trouble understanding you."

"You don't even know me," Harry reminds him. 

As if on cue, Harry's phone rings and he fumbles to get it back out of his pocket. He excuses himself, ignores Niall when he rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his burger, but doesn't get very far before answering it. "Hi," he breathes into the phone as he hovers near the pub's entrance, back facing the rest of the dining room. 

"Hey, babe!" Liam exclaims enthusiastically. Hearing Liam's voice does wonders for the anxiousness that's been bubbling throughout Harry's body all morning; it relaxes him, makes him feel at ease. Liam goes on to explain that he got Harry's message earlier but was already out and about – and that this is the first moment he's gotten to get away.

Harry explains, then, that he's somewhere in England on route to Dublin.

"You're on your way here?" Liam asks, sounds like he's caught off guard. "Why?"

Harry blinks; that certainly wasn't the exact reaction he was looking for. "I just – I miss you and I wanted to see you," he murmurs. 

"It's been, like, two days, babe," Liam says, laughing fondly.

"I know, but-"

"Listen, I have to go, Harry," Liam says suddenly, hurriedly. "But I miss you too and I'll see you when you get here."

Harry barely has time to register what Liam's just said when Liam hangs up. He hangs his head as he pockets his phone and then swiftly holds it high as he walks back to the table. 

Niall's looking at him like he knows all of Harry's secrets and it’s incredibly unsettling. "If the bloke can't even find time to talk more than two minutes on the phone, how's he gonna find time to spend with you in person?"

"It'll be different; he'll make time," Harry finds himself insisting. Whether it's for Niall or himself, however, goes undecided.

X

The part comes in two hours later – but it's the wrong part. So the service station has to reorder it which means Harry and Niall are still very much stuck where they are.

Harry wants to protest - a part of him wants to shout and holler and demand for someone (anyone!) else to get him to Dublin in a reasonable amount of time. He wants to throw a fit because this isn't how this trip was supposed to go at all. He's tired (Niall says it’s jet lag) and he's frustrated with the fact that absolutely nothing is going his way and he needs to be in Dublin sooner rather than later so he can plan a decent proposal and not have to get down on one knee in front of hundreds of people in the middle of the airport – which is where this trip is heading if someone (anyone!) doesn't get him to Dublin.

He doesn't, though. He doesn't protest or shout or throw a hissy fit. Instead, he fumes silently and inwardly and he agrees to walk around the small town – “may as well see the sights while you're here, tourist", Niall had told him – if for no other reason than to bide their time until the second and actual part Niall's car needs comes in. In short: he behaves himself.

By the time the service station does call back Niall, more so than Harry because Harry just isn't in the mood, has made a few friends in the local pub, there's a dinner rush and there's a blizzard outside. Of course there's a blizzard outside.

Regardless, Harry grabs all three of his bags and pushes Niall's bag into the blond's chest because the sooner they pick up the car then the sooner they can leave and the sooner they leave then the sooner they'll get to Dublin – and the sooner he can see Liam and forget that any of this even happened.

One bar patron protests, however, tells them it's too dangerous for them to continue driving across countries – especially having to take a ferry (which will more than likely be shut down, he thinks, in light of blizzard.) 

Niall agrees. 

"What? No," Harry argues harshly. His eyes are wide, panicked and his heart is racing in his chest. "No, I was supposed to be in Dublin in, like, two hours, I'm not waiting another day! What if the ferry doesn't get shut down?"

The blond shrugs, slides back into the booth they'd been occupying before he'd gotten up to answer his phone. "Then drive yourself-"

Harry sputters, hovers over Niall's shoulder next to the table. "I don't even know where I'm going!"

"Then I guess you're shit out of luck."

"Niall-"

Niall glares up at Harry, arms folded across the table with a hand cupped around the half full glass of beer he'd been nursing for about a half an hour before the call. "I'm not risking my life for you just because you couldn't propose to your boyfriend in America!" he snaps. And then he's getting up, glass in hand. He brushes past Harry and walks towards the bar counter on the other side of the pub.

Harry blinks, sighs heavily as he slides back into what was his side of the booth. At least the bar patrons are polite enough not to stare.

X

Harry's already texted Liam to tell him there will be a delay, Louis to tell him there's been a major change of plans and his mom just to check in by the time they decide to get a room in an Inn up the road from the service station. The blizzard has died down but it’s late, they’re both tired, Niall doesn’t want to have to drive through the night and it’s not like Harry knows where he’s going anyway.

The Inn itself is fairly large with a sitting room, a dining room, a kitchen and a bathroom all on the ground level – but the rooms (six in total, including the one used by the owners, a couple in their mid-60s) are all quite small. The room they get only has one bed and they flipped a coin for it under Niall's rule that, "Heads, I get the bed. Tails, you get the floor." 

It's while Harry's in the shower, having gotten heads, that he realizes what Niall's done and he rushes to get out of it. His hair is still wet, sticking to the tops of his shoulders and he forgets to take the time to wipe the beads of water from his chest before he throws open the curtain that separates the bedroom from the shower (it’s a strange setup, with the shower directly on the other side of the curtain and the sink and toilet on the other side), a towel wrapped around his waist. Niall's eyes are closed where he's lying sprawled across the bed. 

"You!" he shouts, slapping at Niall's legs. "You are a cheat!"

"Ow! Alright – alright. No need to get violent," Niall says, sitting up. He swats back at Harry's hands to bat them away from his legs. "What are you even going on about?"

"Your stupid coin toss rule – ‘Heads, I get the bed. Tails, you get the floor.'" Harry says, mimicking Niall with his best – and all around not that horrible – Irish accent.

Niall snorts, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Finally. I thought you'd be quicker than that, if I'm honest."

Harry scoffs. "Well screw you, I get the bed then."

"Or we could share. 's not like I've never shared a bed with a stranger before."

Harry hesitates for a moment – because does he really want to share a bed with a complete stranger under such circumstances? And then he remembers his back and how sore it was the last time he fell asleep on the floor – which happens way too often, admittedly – and he decides that yes, he wants to share the bed. Because not even Niall deserves to have a sore back, especially if he’s going to spend almost half the day driving tomorrow. "Fine," he grumbles.

"Fine," Niall echoes.

Harry rolls his eyes as he turns away to find his suitcase, which is lying discarded on the floor next to the door. He picks it up with the hand that isn't holding the towel around his waist and plops it onto the bed, narrowly missing Niall's feet by only a few inches. "You should take a shower," he says as he unzips the suitcase.

"Not sure I want to, mate. The curtain's quite see-through."

Harry blinks and then narrows his gaze at the blond still sitting on the bed. "It is not."

Niall smirks, looks Harry up and down suggestively.

Harry blanches. "Is it?" And then he, too, finds his gaze wandering down Niall's body. His mouth runs dry as a lump forms in his throat as he forces himself then, to look away and busies himself with rummaging through his suit case.

"On second thought yeah, why not?" Niall asks rhetorically before walking around Harry and into the shower. He closes the curtain behind him and Harry finds himself letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. And if he has to forcibly tear his gaze away from the silhouette of Niall pulling his shirt off over his head, then nobody else has to know. 

X

They're both lying awake, staring at the ceiling, when Harry breaks the silence. It’s the awkward kind again and they’re literally only a few centimeters apart and they’re supposed to be asleep because it’s late but Harry can’t seem to settle down enough to sleep. If Niall’s restlessness is anything to go by, neither can he.

"It's not that I couldn't propose to Liam in America," he finds himself saying. It's not that it's any of Niall's business – it's just, well, he doesn't want Niall (stranger or not) to think he was afraid or weak or...a coward. He glances sideways briefly to see that Niall's still staring at the ceiling. "Like, I'm not doing this because I think it's the only way he'll say yes."

"Then why are you doing it?"

Harry sighs. He shifts uncomfortably, plays with the blanket for a moment, folds his hands together over his chest. "I was...under the impression, thanks to my best friend that he was going to propose," he admits – and this is the first time he's admitting it out loud apart from telling Louis it didn't happen. "We were having dinner before his flight left and earlier in the day my best friend came to the studio, where I work, to tell me that he saw Liam leaving a jewelry store with a small bag. Turns out he didn't propose – at all – and I just...I want to get married, you know?"

"You want to get married or you want to marry him?"

"Both," Harry murmurs. But even he notices the uncertainty in his own voice – which he then ignores, because of course he wants to marry Liam. "We've been together for four years. It just...it feels right. You know?"

Niall hums in response.

Silence falls between them and where it was awkward before, it's sort of...comfortable now. It's an easy sort of silence. Niall still hasn't looked away from the ceiling and Harry looks back up at it and, somehow, for the first time all day, he doesn't feel like a basket case.

"So what was in the bag, then – if not a ring?" Niall asks curiously.

"A watch."

Niall snorts. "A watch. He bought you a watch."

Harry laughs softly and then brings his hands up to rub them over his face as he lets out a groan. "I haven't even been able to wear it because I was so sure it was going to be a ring and it wasn't," he admits. "It's, like, really nice and everything – probably more expensive than a ring – but-"

"But it's a fucking watch?" Niall chuckles.

"Yeah," Harry breathes.

"What was his excuse?"

"That it'll keep my wrist warm while he's in Dublin."

Niall cackles, then. It's this full-on, obnoxious thing that bursts out of him, makes him curl upwards and over and Harry finds himself smiling in response. "I'm sorry, but – what a loser. You're marrying a bloody loser."

"He's not – he's sweet," Harry insists, rolling his eyes. "His heart's in the right place, he just-"

Niall scoffs, turns his head to look at Harry so Harry looks back. His eyebrows are raised skeptically and he's got this unconvinced look all over his face. "Is it, though? In the right place, I mean? I mean, clearly yours is somewhere else entirely."

Harry pauses. He'd be lying if he tried to say he's never wondered that as well. It would explain the damn watch, for one thing. "What about you?" he asks, rather than answering the question. "All we've talked about is my love life, so what about yours?"

The blond rolls his eyes as he turns his head back to look up at the ceiling once more. "I don't have one." 

"That's bullshit," Harry scoffs. "You're gorgeous, there's no way you don't have boys and girls groveling at your feet." He blinks, then, as his own words sink in - you're gorgeous - and he's never been more thankful for a lack of light in the room. Niall shouldn’t have to see how red Harry’s cheeks can get when he embarrasses himself.

Niall smirks, shrugs his shoulders. "I mean, I see people from time to time but I haven't had a serious relationship – or anything even remotely close – since the thing I had with Bressie. And not even that was all that serious."

"So you have commitment issues."

"Something like that."

Harry frowns. "Who hurt you?"

Niall lets out a sigh, glances briefly in Harry's direction and then looks away again. "Who hasn't?"

Harry blinks, stares at Niall even though Niall won't look at him. He frowns. And then he drops it.

X

They spend the whole of the following morning bickering as they clamber back into the car to get back on the road. First, Niall wants to stay for breakfast but Harry wants to get on the road as soon as possible. (Harry wins, but only because he promises to pay for Niall's breakfast-to-go which means Niall doesn't have to drink a "fucking smoothie".) Then, Niall wants Harry to pay for half of the repairs on his car because "if it wasn't for you I wouldn't even be here" but Harry protests vigorously, tells him that it would've needed to be fixed at some point and that Niall should be thanking him for the timing of it all. (Niall admits a few minutes later that he's already paid the station for their service and that he was just arguing with Harry because "it's fun". And Harry may or may not hit have him, albeit playfully, for that.)

There's only about 6 hours of driving left and, once again, Harry's antsy and impatient. 

He's somehow less antsy, though, once they're on the ferry. Perhaps it's the water – dark blue and incredibly clear, perhaps it's the view – all lightly snow-covered trees and far away hills, perhaps it's just the fact that it means he's that much closer to being in Ireland rather than in England. Either way he feels better, feels more at ease.

"Should've taken a boat the whole way there," Niall says, stepping up beside Harry, where he's standing at the side of the ferry with his elbows leaning on the rail. "You're a hell of a lot calmer."

Harry rolls his eyes, despite the smile that grows on his lips. "The view is beautiful." It doesn’t even look like it stormed the night before, if he’s honest. And if he hadn’t seen it for himself, the snow blowing violently in the wind, he wouldn’t even believe there was one.

Niall looks sideways at him. "Yeah."

Harry sees the smirk tug at Niall's lips as he turns to follow Harry's gaze towards the horizon out of the corner of his eye. He feels his cheeks heat up as he clears his throat. "So, um, we should play that game again – the 20 questions one."

Niall arches an eyebrow, side-eyes Harry. "That didn't end very well the last time, remember?"

Harry shrugs. "I'd like to think we're a little bit more comfortable with each other now though, you know?"

The blond looks thoughtful for a moment. "Alright. You first."

"What do you really want to do?" Harry asks without a beat. 

"What makes you think I don't want to be a bartender? Some people do, y'know."

"Some people, sure," Harry murmurs with a shrug of his shoulders. He smiles. "But not you – I saw the guitar in your living room."

"Ahh, my baby," Niall murmurs fondly. A small, weak smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah... I got it when I was 12 and straight away it was like...playing guitar and singing was all I ever wanted to do. I just practiced and practiced and practiced and my mum would sit with me on the street sometimes so I could play and I'd get money – not a lot, in the grand scheme of things, but I was 15 and I didn't care how much I was making, just that I was making it.

“When I was 18 I started playing in pubs all around Dublin and I saved everything I made from those performances so I could go to London and make a career out of it. One night my dad asked me what the fuck I was doing with my life – he was kind of a drunk, even for an Irishman – and we got into this huge fight. He wanted me to study business and he hated the fact that I couldn't stand the thought of being a business man. I already had plans to move to London in the near future so I decided, after that, to just leave sooner – so I got a one-way ticket and never looked back."

Harry remains silent; knows there's more to it than that – knows it's about more than just his dad – but he doesn't push.

"Obviously that didn't work though. I couldn't get a record deal – like, they kept saying I was really good but I just...couldn't find my sound so they wouldn't sign me. So I started applying to all kinds of places and it just so happened that I’d played a few times at The Clover so the owner gave me a job. And now I'm just a bartender trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life."

"Well, I mean, you're only 22; you have plenty of time to figure it out," Harry points out. 

Niall shrugs. He looks down at where his hands have come together in front of him and then glances sideways at Harry. "What about you? What do you do, what do you want to do?"

"I'm a photographer."

"Oh, so you're not just a hipster with a camera – you actually know how to use it!" Niall teases.

"I do!" Harry laughs. "I mean, I'm not like a professional or anything yet but I'm alright."

"And do you want to be a photographer?"

"I do, actually," Harry replies honestly. Not that he would ever not be honest about it. "I work at this studio in LA – family photos, baby photos, stuff like that. But I want my own studio and I want to shoot weddings and events and stuff."

Niall cocks his head to the side curiously. "Why?"

Harry shrugs, feels the colour rise in his cheeks. "I like to capture happiness and beauty and I want to share it with people."

The blond blinks – and then smiles and something about his smile makes Harry feel a little bit proud of himself. "That's...actually really cool, Harry."

Harry smiles back. "Thank you."

"So, I know I already asked a music question," Niall starts, pushing himself up to drum his hands against the rail, "but what's your favourite song? Right now?"

Harry blinks thoughtfully and the calm, steady beat of the song he's been playing over and over lately plays in his head. "Thinking Out Loud," he replies.

Niall quirks an eyebrow. "You're an Ed Sheeran fan."

"Is that – gonna be a problem?" Harry asks hesitantly, glancing wearily at the blond beside him.

"Not at all, mate," Niall laughs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the rail once more. "Thinking Out Loud is actually my favourite song right now too."

Harry grins. "Really? You, the one who can't stand the idea of marriage – the one who's so afraid of commitment he won't even let himself get close to someone, thinks of an ultimate love song as his favourite song."

"What can I say, I'm complicated."

Harry snorts. "I'll say. I always did have a thing for the complicated ones."

Niall smirks. "I thought so. Your turn."

Harry rolls his eyes as he turns away, looks thoughtful for a moment. "What do you like to do in your spare time? Aside from play guitar, of course."

Niall blinks. "That's a boring question."

"Only if you have a boring answer."

It's the blond's turn to roll his eyes and then shake his head. He licks his lips. "I drink pints with me mates-"

"In typical Irish fashion, I'm sure," Harry teases.

"Of course," Niall scoffs. "And I play footie- That's soccer, in America, if you didn't know."

"Ass."

"And...I dunno, I guess that's it. I literally just...work and chill out."

"You're right, that's boring."

Niall glares at him – but Harry can see the amusement shining in his bright blue eyes. "Alright then, twat, what do you do?"

Harry shrugs. "I play golf sometimes-"

"Golf! I play golf too."

"Yeah? Liam hates golf. I invite him all the time and he always makes something up so he doesn't have to tag along."

Niall snorts. "Have I told you yet that your boyfriend's a tool?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Not in so many words."

"Go on then, what else do you do?" Niall asks, more to keep the conversation going than anything. 

"Nothing, really. When I'm not working in the studio or with Liam I just – I see my friends, go out for drinks. I also babysit sometimes; I have a few friends that have kids and whenever they need some alone time I step in. In fact, those kids are even more fun than my own friends sometimes."

"Talk about boring," Niall quips.

"I wasn't the one that complained about the question."

Niall nods like he thinks Harry has a point. And then he pushes himself up again and turns around to lean back against the rail; the rail digs slightly into the small of his back. He folds his arms over his chest. "Is that why you want to get married so badly? To have kids?"

"Not – it's not like that," Harry says. He pushes himself up then too, rests his hip against the rail as he turns his body to face the Irishman next to him. "I mean, Liam wants kids and everything too, he's just...not ready yet because of his job. And I-"

"You're hoping that if you get engaged and then get married it'll make him want to have kids sooner."

Harry blinks and remains silent because, admittedly, it's not exactly something he can truthfully deny.

"What does he do?" Niall asks a moment later – and Harry thinks it has more to do with changing the subject than it does with the game. Especially considering it's not exactly a question Niall can answer anyway.

"He's a doctor. He's here for some kind of convention or something."

Niall hums. "Fancy."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry replies – and it's pointless, he knows, because Niall doesn't really care about what Liam does but he doesn't want silence to take over either.

"I'll let you have the next question since I just asked you, like, three in a row," Niall tells him, then.

"Who hurt you?" Harry finds himself asking because the question even registers in his own head. They've been playing long enough and they've asked each other their fair share of other quite personal questions, after all. And, well, it's been nagging the back of Harry's mind all morning.

As if on cue and to Niall's appreciation, if his not-so-subtle sigh of relief is anything to go by, the ferry captain's voice booms out of two speakers, one at each end of the ferry, to inform everyone that they'll be getting to shore in about five minutes. Everyone around them begins making their way back to their respective cars – including Niall, who purposely avoids Harry's gaze. And, once more, the subject falls away from Harry.

X

Harry stares, wide-eyed at the 20-25 cows simultaneously gathered and scattered across the width road in front of them. "What do we do?"

They haven't even been off the ferry – haven't even been on Irish soil – for 10 minutes and here they are, alone for miles on an empty road having come across a herd of cattle. Although, having gotten held up by is far more accurate than "come across".

Niall sighs, flips the key in the ignition to turn the engine off and then leans back heavily against his seat. "Nothing."

"W-what do you mean nothing?"

"Exactly that, Harry," Niall snaps. "There's nothing we can do but wait for them to move."
Harry scoffs, reaches over to bang his hand against the middle of the steering wheel. 

"Stop – stop!" Niall shouts, slaps Harry's hand away from the horn before he can even get it to make a sound. "That's – do you know how many times cattle encounter cars in this country? They're not intimidated by car horns."

"Move!" Harry shouts, directs it towards the cows whilst ignoring Niall's glare.

Niall rolls his eyes. "They're not intimidated by lanky Americans either."

Harry sighs, exasperated and whirls his head back around to face Niall. "Is there literally nothing we can do?"

"I mean, unless you want to walk five or six hours to Dublin, then no."

Harry sulks loudly, falls back against his own seat. "I can't believe I'm literally 2 hours away from Dublin and I'm being held up by a bunch of fucking cows."

Niall snorts at that, as he rests the back of his head against his headrest. "Welcome to Ireland," he quips. 

X

They've been sitting in the car, stranded for exactly one hour – and Harry hates it. Literally. The cattle haven't even moved, Niall hasn't spoken to him in at least a half an hour, it's freezing despite the fact that Niall started the car back up to turn the heat back on and Harry's not even sure if the reason he wants to see Liam so badly is so he can just see Liam or if it's so he can stop thinking about all the things he actually likes – shockingly – about Niall. Niall's hair (so soft and fluffy,) Niall's eyes (so bright with the most beautiful shades of blue,) Niall's mouth (pretty lips and beautiful teeth,) Niall's laugh (loud and obnoxious and oh-so contagious,) – just, there are so many things that keep floating around Harry's head that it's actually beginning to make his head hurt.

And on top of all of that, he's also incredibly bored. He'd contemplated pulling out his camera earlier, so he could at least have some pictures to take home and show his friends and family when he has to rehash this story over and over again – but they're literally just surrounded by trees and fields and cows. So, instead, he gets another idea.

"Have you ever been in love?" he murmurs, rolling his head on the back of his seat to glance sideways at Niall. It's not quite the same as his previous one but it could provide him with an answer for both. 

Niall quirks an eyebrow. "That's not a very fair question, is it? I already know your answer."

Harry continues to stare at him sort of expectantly.

The blond sighs heavily. "Once. And then I thought I was - with Bressie. But I don't think I was in love with him, y'know?"

"Did you want to be in love with him?"

"At first I did. But after we broke things off I realized it was a good thing I wasn't because it would've hurt a hell of a lot more." He sounds experienced – as though he knows how much it hurts to get your heartbroken when you are in love, which only makes Harry more curious. It only makes him wonder, even more, who he was once in love with and how badly they must have hurt Niall in order for Niall to hardly even care to acknowledge it.

Harry's phone starts to ring, then, before he even has time to fully process what Niall's just said to him and, more importantly, why he cares so much. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Niall glance down at Liam's face as a picture of him lights up the screen on Harry's phone. 

"Sorry," Harry murmurs.

"I'll just-" Niall cuts himself off as he climbs out of the car. The driver's side door closes behind him with a small creak and a bang. 

Harry watches as Niall walks around to the front of the car and then leans back against the hood before he answers. "Hey," he says softly, albeit mildly distractedly.

"Harry!" Liam shouts on the other end. He sounds even further away than he should and Harry recognizes it as the way a call sounds when the reception is terrible. "Babe, where are you? I thought you'd be here by now."

Harry groans. "So did I. We, um – we're sort of stranded at the moment."

"What? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, we're fine," he insists. He watches through the front window as Niall shivers and wraps his arms around himself. "There's just this herd of cattle on the road in front of us and Niall says we have to wait for them to move."

"You can't go around?"

"Nah. With our luck and Niall's car we'd get stuck in a ditch and then we'd really be stranded."

"Oh," Liam mutters, sounding disappointment. "Well, I miss you."

Harry smiles weakly. "Yeah, I miss you too."

"Listen, I have a surprise for you. So hurry up and get here, ok?"

Harry murmurs a quick "I love you" a moment later and then hangs up the phone and pushes it into the front pocket of his jacket before he, too, climbs out of the car and joins Niall against the hood. "It's warmer in the car," he says.

"It's not that bad out here either though," Niall points out, despite having shivered just a few minutes ago. "Sort of refreshing."

Harry hums. And he'd agree, if it weren't for the fact that it literally smells like cow manure.
"He has a surprise for me."

"Yeah?" Niall breathes.

Harry nods. "Wants me to hurry."

Niall snorts. "Makes the two of you."

Silence falls between them. It's the awkward kind this time and Harry can't tell if it's because they're both incredibly frustrated or if it's just, well, awkward. He can't help but think (to himself – and only himself) that Liam ruined the moment.

"What do you think it is?" Niall asks a little while later, glancing at Harry for the first time since the brunet joined him.

Harry can't help but smirk. "At this point, I have no idea."

"Maybe it's a pocket watch to match your wrist watch."

Harry laughs, shoves hard enough at Niall's shoulder that the blond sways to the side before he collects himself. "Shut up."

It's when the cows begin to migrate away from the road a few minutes later, that Harry and Niall spring back into action. Niall pushes himself off the bumper and then Harry leaps off the hood – and it's the force of Harry pushing himself away that does it.

The car starts rolling backwards. 

Harry gasps, eyes wide as he shoots Niall a glance but then Niall's already running after it. Niall's fast, Harry realizes, but there's a little bit of a hill so the car is faster. The blond curses and shouts, feet pounding against the pavement as the car rolls further and further away from him. And Harry can do nothing but watch in shock, like his feet are glued to the ground. 

The car swerves, then, and Harry's stomach drops as it rolls backwards into a ditch and then tips over onto it’s side.

Niall skids to a stop, throws his hands into his hair. "Shit! Fuck!"

Guilt washes over Harry as he jogs down the hill. "I – I'm really sorry," Harry squeaks when as steps up, albeit hesitantly, next to Niall.

Niall looks lost, almost totally heartbroken as he stares ahead of them at his beloved car.

"Should – we should call someone," Harry says, digging into his pocket for his phone.

"Me phone's dead."

"Then use-" he cuts himself of because, as luck would have it, his phone is completely out of service. "What – I literally just had service not that long ago."

"The service comes and goes out here."

Harry frowns. That must be why Liam sounded so far away on the phone. "Well, where's the closest service station?"

"Wexford."

"How far is it?"

"If we start walking now we might be able to make it there in about two hours, probably," Niall mutters. 

Harry lets out a deep breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "Alright."

X

It takes them nearly two and a half hours to get Wexford and then several more minutes, with a little help from the locals, to the only service station in town. The locals forgot to mention, however, that the station is closed for the evening – as well as for the rest of the weekend. Which means, once again, Harry's stranded somewhere he isn't supposed to be. (And yet, somehow, he's not as anxious and impatient as he once was.)

"Fuck," Niall mutter, running a hand through his hair as he turns away from the Closed and Hours Open signs. "Ok-"

"Is that even possible?" Harry asks, a curious look on his face. "What if someone's car breaks down in the middle of the night?"

"Then, like us, they're shit out of luck."

Harry hums. 

"There's a train station nearby," Niall remembers, then. "We could check when the next train leaves."

Harry nods. "Yeah. Ok."

Nearby is equivalent to a 15 minute walk, in which Harry and Niall are both silent. It's not awkward – and Niall isn't as mad as he was before, despite pretending he wasn't, but they're both tired and probably, Harry reckons, a bit cranky. 

The train station, like the service station, is closed when they get there and there isn't another train until 10 a.m. the following morning.

Harry, admittedly, still feels incredibly less antsy and impatient than he did this morning. And he refuses to acknowledge why. 

Niall quirks an eyebrow at him. "Why are you not freaking out? You should be demanding that I use some kind of non-existent super power I have to get you to Dublin."

Harry shrugs. "Not a single one of my freak-outs has actually gotten us to Dublin yet, so," he murmurs. It’s not totally a lie.

Niall blinks, taken aback. "So...what do you want to do?"

"Well I'm not walking, if that's what you were expecting."

"I was, actually – a little bit," Niall teases.

Harry smirks, rolls his eyes. "I know you were. And I actually might have considered it if we didn't just walk two hours to get here. My feet are sore, I'm hungry and I'm tired. Besides," he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shrugs his shoulders, "what's one more day in the grand scheme of things?"

Niall raises an eyebrow. "You think we should get a room somewhere?"

"I think we'll need one of we have to wait until morning."

"If I remember correctly there's an Inn not far from here. And it’s on top of a pub."

Harry's smile widens. "That's perfect, then, because I could use a drink."

"Pint, mate," Niall snickers, rolling his eyes. "You could use a pint, when you're in the UK. And so could I."

Harry rolls his eyes right back at him, adjusts the strap of his camera bag and fixes his grip on his suitcase and then follows Niall further down the road, past empty shops and more friendly locals. 

"Did you want to call Liam?" Niall asks a moment later, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. 

Harry shrugs. "I'll text him later."

X

Harry's drunk. He's not drunk drunk, but he's getting there. 

Niall, however, being Irish and all, is still fairly sober, chatting up the local Irishmen, swapping stories. His eyes are bright, his cheeks are red, his smile is beautiful – and Harry finds that he can't look away. 

Sure, Niall's loud and he's brash and sometimes he's just plain rude and annoying and more often than not, over the last two days, Harry's wanted to shut him up with a hand over his mouth – or, more recently, his own lips. (That’s something he would never admit if he were sober.) Niall's grown on Harry, is the thing. And Harry knows, can see, that beyond Niall's brash and sort of cool exterior and past the walls he's built tall and steady to keep everyone out, there's a kind and generous soul in him. He just really doesn't want anyone to know it exists. Not to mention the fact that he's actually quite funny and his laugh makes Harry's heart flutter a bit.

They're sitting side by side in a booth amongst two girls and four boys, Niall's arm thrown casually around the back of the bench behind Harry's back. And for the first time in, well, what feels like a long time, Harry feels comfortable; completely at ease. And he's too drunk to care if it's due to the fuzzy feeling of the alcohol or if it's because of Niall.

"How long have you guys been together?" One of the blokes – James, Harry thinks his name is – asks, moving an index finger back and forth in front of them in a silent gesture.

Harry blinks, taken back. He glances sideways at Niall, who chokes and sputters as he struggles to swallow the sip he's just taken of his pint. He looks back at the people around them, shifts in his seat as he clears his throat. "We're, um – we're not together."

One of the other boys, Kyle, snorts. "Yeah, right."

"Mate, we don't care."

"Yeah – love is love, y'know?" The girl with blond curls says, her side pressed up against her boyfriend's.

"B-but we're not-" Harry stutters before being cut off by the other girl with short black hair. 

"We're not against PDA either," she slurs. "Like, you can be open about it."

Niall snorts, eyebrow raised. He looks amused, rather than appalled – which is what Harry had been expecting. "PDA?"

"Well, you keep looking at each other like you're five seconds away from snogging each other's faces off," James, the first boy, says before raises his pint to take a sip.

Harry's gaze snaps back to gaze at Niall – and finds Niall gazing back at him. Niall's eyes are a bit darker now and there's a smirk pulling at his lips and Harry wishes he didn't feel exactly the way James just said they look. He wishes he was never made to acknowledge just how much he's been wanting to kiss Niall for the better part of the evening.

"Just do it!"

"Yeah, snog him!"

Niall lifts an eyebrow, tilts his head as if to challenge Harry. He leans forward, then and lifts his arm over Harry's head to fold it across the table in front of him – and, all the while, his gaze is steady on Harry's. "Kiss me."

Harry blinks, licks his lips – and he doesn't miss the fact that Niall's gaze drops, watches his tongue and then lingers for a few seconds before he looks back up at Harry's eyes. "W-what?" he gulps.

"Kiss me."

Harry's mouth feels like sandpaper, his heart feels like it’s trying to beat out of his chest and the butterflies in his stomach come to life. "Niall-"

It's Niall that closes the gap. Niall, that surges forward. Niall, that grips the back of Harry's head and presses their lips together, firm and hot. 

Harry melts into it, moans as he kisses back and grips Niall's forearm. Niall licks into his mouth, deepens the kiss as Harry brings his free hand up to grip the front of Niall's sweater. Harry leans in closer, all but crawls into Niall's lap; swallows Niall's groan.

It's hard and it's desperate and it's passionate and Harry wants to kiss Niall forever. He wants to know every one of Niall's kisses; wants to know the inside of his mouth better than he knows his own; wants to know what Niall tastes like in the morning before he’s even brushed his teeth.

Niall pulls away panting, breathless. His eyes are wide, wild as his gaze meets Harry's once more. He stares for a moment, cheeks glowing pink under the dim light hanging above them. He turns his attention back to the others in the booth a moment later – and Harry's vaguely aware of the laughter and catcalls that follow whilst Niall curls his arm back around Harry's shoulders. 

(Harry's far too busy trying to ignore the fact that he can still feel Niall's lips against his own to care about anything else.)

X

There's a singer in the bar with a great voice and a guitar. The locals love him, call him an Irish superstar, performs songs like Wonderwall and I'm Yours. 

And then – and Harry doesn't even know how – Niall winds up on the tiny, half-moon stage with the guitar strap over his shoulder. His cheeks are flushed, he keeps running a hand through his hair like he's nervous and everyone in the bar keeps yelling out song titles for him to sing. Harry knows some of them, doesn’t know others. Niall doesn't sing any of them, though.

Instead he starts singing Thinking Out Loud and Harry's breath catches in his throat on the very first line – and not just because it's the song.

It's that Niall's voice is perfect. It's raspy and it's low and velvety smooth at the same time. It's like his voice was made for this – for performing, for singing, to accompany a guitar. It's, quite literally, breathtaking. Harry can picture it; a large stage in a stadium on the other side of the world, just him and a guitar, making people like Harry swoon with his voice and his talent and his charm.

And, once again, Harry can't bring himself to look away – especially when Niall's gaze finds his and doesn't even waver.

Harry regrets, more than anything in this moment, that he doesn't have his camera on him. Imagine the beauty he could capture with just one photo of Niall in his element.

X

"Let's get out of here," Niall murmurs in Harry's ear just as the brunet's making his way back to the booth.

Harry staggers, a bit unsteady on his feet. "Where are we gonna go? Our room's upstairs."

Niall shrugs. "Not far. There's a hill out back and I just bought this," he pauses briefly, raises a half full bottle of whiskey in his right hand, "off the bartender." His other hand finds Harry's, fingers curling Harry’s, palm warm; Harry’s all too aware of just how natural it feels and how their hands just seem to fit. "C'mon."

Harry grins, doesn't even think twice before following Niall out the back door.

Niall drops Harry's hand the moment they reach the top of the hill before dropping to his knees in the grass and then falling back. He gazes up at Harry – and Harry gazes back, eyes glassy – for just a moment before he pushes himself up, in part to sit up straight and in part to reach for the bottom of Harry's shirt to pull him down towards the ground.

They wind up sitting up on the hill, looking up at the stars and drinking right from the bottle. And Harry can't even remember the last time he felt this...relaxed. Even Niall looks incredibly relaxed amongst the grass and the stars – and the look on his face is vastly similar to that of the look he'd donned when he was playing the guitar earlier.

"You know what you should do?" Harry asks rhetorically. His voice is a bit rough, his speech is a bit slurred. "Make a video of yourself singing and put it on YouTube. And then market the shit out of it. 's how Justin Bieber got famous."

Niall looks thoughtful for a moment. "That would require someone to think I'm good enough."

"You are good enough," Harry says almost incredulously, brows furrowed. He pulls his legs up, bends them in front of him and folds his arms across the space between his thighs, his elbows resting on top of his knees. "You're better than good enough – you're amazing, Niall."

"Yeah?" Niall murmurs, a shy smile tugging at his lips as he scratches his fingers against the back of his neck.

"I think you might've even gotten your sound back."

X

They're stumbling – or, rather, Harry's stumbling whilst Niall struggles to hold him upright – into their room. Harry trips over his own feet and falls into the door as it opens, pinning Niall's hand between Harry's hipbone and the wooden panel of the door.

"Ow – Jesus, Harry," Niall hisses, dragging the brunet towards the bed.

Harry sits on the edge, where Niall deposits him so he can go back and close the door. He watches Niall – watches him lock the door and then kick his shoes off to the side, watches him walk towards the window on the other side of the room and close the curtain, watches him come back towards the bed and bend down to help Harry take off his boots. He thrusts a hand through Niall's soft, fluffy hair, then, and smiles softly at the way the blond shivers.

Niall refuses to look at him though; avoids Harry's gaze and takes Harry's boots towards the door to place them neatly next to his own.

"I know you," Harry finds himself announcing as Niall comes back, again, towards the bed.

Finally, Niall looks at him. "Do ya?"

Harry nods. "You like t' pretend you don't care about anybody – that you don't need anyone. You act like you're perfectly fine being alone. You pretend like you don't want what everyone else wants."

Niall quirks an eyebrow, folds both arms across his chest. "And what's that?"

"Someone to love," Harry slurs. "Someone to love you back."

Niall says nothing – just stares at Harry with a narrow, contemplative gaze. 

"But you do," Harry continues. "You're just as vulnerable to that as everyone else."

Niall rolls his eyes. "You got me, Haz. I'm human."

"Kiss me."

Niall freezes. "No."

Harry pushes himself to his feet, sways a bit unsteadily and then takes two step to where Niall's standing, curls his fingers in the fabric of Niall's jumper. "Kiss me," he whispers again, leaning down slightly to do so.

Niall turns his head, pulls back slightly and pushes Harry's shoulders back gently. "Harry-"

"C'mon, please," Harry murmurs, breathes against Niall's cheek. "Just – I want you to." He doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more, if he's honest; doesn't remember anybody kissing him the way Niall had earlier. He wants Niall's lips and Niall's tongue and Niall's scent and he wants Niall's hands in his hair, tugging at his curls. He craves it. "Niall-"

The blond kisses him, hands pulling at Harry's hips to bring him closer. His kiss is hard and firm, soft and tender, lustful and passionate – and Harry loses himself in it, finds heaven in the feel of Niall's lips and a home in the taste of Niall's mouth. Harry pulls Niall forward and they stumble towards the bed. The backs of Harry's knees hit the edge and they tumble over on top of it, crawl up the mattress until Harry's hair is splayed across the pillow and Niall's hand it pushing it back out of his face.

 
Niall hovers above him, straddling one of Harry's legs, holding himself up with a hand on either side of Harry's head. Harry cards one hand through Niall's hair, pants against Niall's parted lips, dips the other past the waistband of Niall's boxers-

"Fuck," Niall mutters. He balances on his right hand and reaches down to stop Harry's with his left. "Stop." He pulls back, turns his head when Harry chases his lips with a protesting whine. 

Harry wraps both hands around the back of Niall's neck, tries to draw him back down – but Niall pushes himself up, shrugs out of Harry's grasp. He blinks up at Niall in confusion, pushes himself up to lean on his elbows. "W-what's wrong?" he breathes.

Niall scrambles to get off of Harry until he's sat on the opposite end of the bed. "I'm not gonna sleep with you – I'm not gonna let you cheat on your fucking boyfriend, Harry," he snaps.

Harry winces, closes his eyes. He'd forgotten all about Liam, if he's honest. He reaches out for Niall, tries to grab his hand – but then Niall snatches it back and it stings in a way that rejection hasn't stung in a long while for Harry. "N-Niall-"

"No! Fuck – I don't – I'm not gonna let you make this mistake," Niall says – and although his words are firm and final, his voice still quivers. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, avoids Harry’s gaze as he fixes his gaze on the window. "You're either gonna do it and then regret it because of Liam or you won't regret it and spend the rest of your life wishing you did – and I won't be the person who makes you feel like that. I can't be the person who makes you feel like that."

Harry blinks, looks away as Niall crawls to sit on the opposite edge of the bed. His chest feels impossibly tight and his stomach churns at the thought of it. "I... You're right. I'm – God, I'm a terrible person-"

"Hey – you're not a terrible person," Niall murmurs. He reaches out, then, and squeezes his hand around Harry's shoulder. His gaze is soft and his smile is weak as he finally looks back at Harry. "You're just... You're drunk. And it was just a kiss."

Harry frowns – and not just because he still feels like a terrible person.

"Just, go to sleep, yeah?" Niall whispers. And then he's walking around the foot of the bed and crawling in under the covers next to Harry and if he puts more than a few necessary inches between them, then Harry can't bring himself to acknowledge it out loud.

X

Harry wakes up alone – that's the first thing he's aware of. The second thing he's aware of is that he's sort of really upset about that. Too upset. As in, like, his heart feels heavy and there's a lump in his throat.

Just as Harry's sitting up – and closing his eyes because the room is spinning – Niall walks into the room carrying a plastic, lidded cup in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. Harry smiles at him sort of sheepishly, and thanks him as he hands Harry the cup and then pulls a straw out of his back pocket. Niall doesn't have to know just how relieved he feels to know that the blond didn't actually ditch him – not even after practically throwing himself at Niall the night before, despite his boyfriend.

"Is it a smoothie?" Harry asks, tapping the straw against his thigh to rip the paper wrapper open.

Niall smirks. "Believe it or not there's a bakery next door that sells smoothies for breakfast. Who knew?"

Harry scoffs, rolls his eyes playfully.

"Got meself an egg sandwich," Niall says, holding up the paper bag. "And, oh, here." He reaches into his other back pocket and produces what looks like two tickets stubs. Harry blinks up at him. "The train leaves in about an hour. So we should be in Dublin in about three hours."

Harry blinks. "Oh, that's... Thank you."

Niall nods. "And then you'll be rid o' me, riding off into the sunset with that boyfriend of yours."

Harry scoffs. "Oh my – you're the one who's wanted to get rid of me from the moment I met you."

"That's not totally true,” Niall protests. “If I'd wanted to get rid of you from the moment we met I would've let you wander off to that Inn up the street."

Harry laughs, tosses the rolled up straw wrapper at him. And ignores the slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

X

Niall's watching Harry, looking at him expectantly from a few feet away where he's sat on a bench as Harry turns around. He's silent but the look on his face says it all; he knows what Harry hasn’t yet told him and he disapproves.

They're in the lobby of The Croke Park Hotel, which is where Liam told him to go when he eventually did make it to Dublin. It’s a lavish hotel, beautiful in design and décor.

Harry hesitates, his back to the woman who's gone back to work behind the front desk. He flips his phone over (and over) in his hands, bites the inside of his cheek and runs a hand through his long, unruly curls.

"He's out," Harry says, answers Niall's unasked question. "Some colleague brunch thing or something. He didn't tell the front desk when he'd be back so I told them to call me."

"He's out," Niall mutters, cocking one eyebrow distastefully. "Did he not know that you were definitely coming today?"

"Well, yeah he did, but-"

"He went out anyway," Niall finishes.

It's not exactly how Harry would have worded it but, well, Niall isn't wrong.

"I guess I should pay you now," Harry says a moment later, more to get rid of the silence than anything. It's awkward now that they're here – perhaps even more awkward than it ever was before. And Niall looks just as hesitant and uncertain as Harry feels.

Niall nods stonily. "Yeah, I guess."

"Alright then, Irish, point me in the direction of an ATM and-"

"I don't want your money."

Harry blinks, stares at Niall strangely. He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again when nothing comes out. His eyebrows come together and he narrows his gaze slightly in confusion. 

"The deal was that I would get you to Dublin two days ago and I didn't," Niall replies. He shoves both hands into the pockets of his jacket. "The least I could do is not take your money."

Harry shakes his head. "Niall-"

"I don't want it, Harry. I won't take it." His voice is firm and his tone is final and Harry doesn't want to start a fight with so little time left so he bites his tongue.

"Fine," the brunet says, rolling his eyes. "Then the least I could do is buy you lunch – you know, for all your dedication and hard work."

"You don't-"

"I want to," Harry insists softly. "Besides, I've got nothing better to do until Liam gets back and there are still a few questions left to ask."

Niall smirks, rolls his eyes right back. "Right. Let's go then – there's a great pub not far from here."

"Of course there is,” Harry says, grinning as he follows Niall – this time empty-handed because the hotel has agreed to hold his luggage. “It's Ireland."

X

As it turns out, Niall isn't lying about the pub either. It's literally right around the corner and it's great. The food is delicious, the service is exceptional and the prices are relatively cheap. It also turns out that Niall knows the owner – an older gentleman named Paul who tells Harry all sorts of embarrassing stories about Niall over a pint and a burger. And while Harry listens and laughs, he finds himself admiring the way Niall's cheeks flush, the way the tips of his ears glow until they're almost purple, the way he rolls his eyes but tips his head back when he laughs like he can't contain himself.

They leave the pub shortly after Paul instructs Niall to show Harry around. Niall insists that it won't matter, that Harry won't be around much longer to enjoy what Dublin has to offer anyway because he's getting on a plane the next morning – but then Harry insists. He borderline demands, actually, that Niall show him around a bit whilst simultaneously ignoring the fact that it has a little bit less to do with seeing Dublin and more to do with, well, Niall.

They're standing on the arch of a small, cobblestone footbridge a few blocks away from the hotel when Harry finds himself staring and not at the wonderful view of the river and the rocks and the trees shadowing them in – not the way Niall is, like he's breathing everything in for the first time in ages. Niall's beautiful, is the thing. He's soft hair and bright blue eyes, the kind you can get lost in, and pink cheeks with freckles across the bridge of his nose and a few crawling up neck and he's pretty pink lips and a smile Harry would do anything for. Niall's beautiful – and Harry can't bring himself to look away.

The other thing is that, well, Harry actually likes him. His first impression – apart from admiring Niall's structure – was a little bit less than kind and if Harry hadn't been so desperate to get here he would've taken just about any other means of transportation and now here he is, admiring a little bit more than just Niall's beauty.

"So there's this girl."

Harry blinks, continues to stare at him even as Niall glances sideways and he just knows. "The one who hurt you."

Niall nods as he looks back out over the river. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the top of the stone ledge. 

Harry's breath catches in his throat. "She's here, isn't she? In Dublin."

Niall nods again.

"You don't have to tell me if you-"

"Shut up and let me talk, yeah?" Niall scoffs. 

Harry nods, swallows the lump in his throat. He knows that Niall knows how badly he's wanted to know. And now that he’s about to – now that Niall’s about to tell him – he’s nervous.

"Her name's Amy and we were high school sweethearts," Niall murmurs. He squints when a ray of sunshine shines upon his face through branches blowing in the wind. "She came to all my performances, supported me even when Bobby kept pushing me to go into business – she was even gonna come to London with me. I was so ready to marry her."

Harry blinks – because marry? Niall had almost made it sound like he was totally against marriage this entire time. At the very least Niall certainly had some reservations. And this, he thinks, is definitely the reason why.

"After the fight with Bobby I went to see her and she was in bed with someone else – this bloke we knew from school. 's why I moved to London sooner than I'd originally planned – just...packed everything I could manage and left." Niall finishes with a weak smile aimed in Harry's direction.

"Why does Bressie want you to see her?"

Niall sighs loudly as he pushes himself to stand up straight, though he keeps his hands braces on the ledge. "I gave her me mum's claddagh ring our last year of school and I never got it back."

Harry gaps at him. "You should! You should have it back, it's yours. And she clearly doesn't deserve it."

Niall shrugs. "I dunno, I just-"

"Let me rephrase that, then. You need to get it back. It's like your heart, Niall. You can't let her keep your heart – especially not if you really want to move on."

Niall gazes at him, looks thoughtful for a moment before he rolls his eyes and nods. He agrees. His gaze flickers, then, from Harry's gaze falls to his lips. Harry forgets how to breathe, his heart hammers against his ribs and his mouth runs dry. He thinks Niall is going to kiss him and Niall is staring at him, leaning in like he's going to and Harry knows he should step away, knows he should stop it before it starts this time and then-

Harry's phone rings. 

X

"So this is it."

They're back at the hotel, standing in front of each other in the middle of the lobby a short while later. There are a few other people in the room – one man is on his laptop, a young girl is on her phone, an older woman is reading a magazine she'd plucked out of a magazine rack – and yet it somehow still feels like they're alone. It's quiet, a little bit too quiet and the silence between them has gone back to being awkward instead of comfortable and there's this awful, dreadful feeling sitting in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"This is it," Niall confirms. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, stares directly at Harry's face. He wants to say something else, anything else, but it’s like he can’t find the words.

Harry blinks, smiles weakly with both hands fiddling with handle of his suitcase in front of him. "So, thank you – for, well, everything. Even if it did take two days longer than I expected."

"You're welcome."

"It – it was nice to meet you." Harry sticks his hand out, feels awkward as he does it – like it's too...formal. Too abnormal. 

Niall blinks, swallows hard as he pulls his right hand out of his pocket and slips it into Harry's. He shakes it once, firmly, and then pulls his hand away to stuff it back into his pocket. "You too," he murmurs. "I hope you get everything you've ever wanted, Harry." The corners of his lips stretch into a small, tight smile as he turns to walk away.

And before Harry can stop himself, he's calling out for Niall to wait. "You – he should be here soon if you wanted to meet him."

Niall snorts.

"You don't have to, I just-"

"Harry, baby!"

Harry turns, eyes wide, away from Niall to face a tall, broad-shouldered brunet with a neatly trimmed beard and a perfectly tailored suit. Liam pulls him in, hugs Harry tight when he reaches him. His body is warm and familiar and Harry hugs him back, his arms curling around Liam's back – but it feels off somehow. Not quite right. "H-hey, babe," he murmurs.

"Finally!" Liam laughs enthusiastically, pulls back to look at Harry properly. His hands find Harry's and he intertwines their fingers. "What took you so long anyway?"

"Oh, just-" he cuts himself off as he glances back at Niall. Niall, who looks just as uncomfortable now as Harry sort of feels. "It's a long story-"

"Oh well, you're here now," Liam says flippantly. He follows Harry's gaze, looks the blond man over once. "Who's this?"

"This is Niall," Harry replies. "He's the one I told you about; he offered to help me-"

"Oh, right! Thanks, man," Liam says kindly. He lets go of both of Harry's hands and then holds out his right hand for Niall to shake. "For getting him here safe and sound. I appreciate it, man."

"Yeah, no problem," Niall replies shortly as he reaches for Liam's hand – and Harry can tell that he's biting his tongue.

"Oh – before I forget," Liam says, promptly dropping Niall's hand as he turns his attention back to Harry. "I have that surprise I was telling you about."

"Ok, well how about we-" Harry cuts himself off just as Liam drops to one knee. His breath catches in his throat as he realizes what Liam's doing – that he's holding a box in one hand and Harry's hand in the other. His mouth runs dry and he feels a bit sick to his stomach. "L-Liam," he sputters – and he wants so badly for Liam to stand up, to not do this here. Not now. Not in front of Niall.

"Marry me, Harry."

Harry blinks down at the man before him, speechless. He expects to hear a snicker (or a scowl) and maybe some sort of rude comment about proposals or about Liam's proposal – and he'd probably laugh, because Niall tends to make him do that in the most awkward of ways. But when he looks sideways to see if what Niall's thinking is what's written all over his face it's to find that Niall has disappeared. He's more than a little bit disappointed, if the sinking feeling in his chest is anything to go by.

 
"Harry," Liam says softly, pulling Harry's attention back. "You sort of – you have to give me an answer." He laughs nervously, but grins up at Harry nonetheless. "And I'd really like for you to say yes because people are staring."

Sure enough, every person in the lobby, including the staff behind the front desk, is staring at them (him) expectantly.

"Yes," Harry finds himself whispering. "Yes, I'll marry you."

Liam's back on his feet within seconds and enveloping Harry in his arms – and Harry should be ecstatic, should be beyond happy; his heart should be racing and the butterflies in his stomach should be alive. Should be are the keywords.

It is, after all, everything he's ever wanted.

And yet, even as Liam takes Harry’s  suitcase in one hand and his hand in the other to lead him out of the lobby and towards the elevators, Harry can't seem to tear his gaze away from those large glass doors. 

X

X

X

Epilogue

There are people everywhere, wall-to-wall. Family, friends, co-workers, complete strangers. The catering is fabulous, the open-bar is phenomenal. Everything is exactly as Harry had imagined it. It's a real LA-style party – formal and elegant and Harry's wearing his very best suit, to top it off.

It's his and Liam's engagement party.

And Harry's never felt more out of place. 

He feels weird, off. He feels like he's missing something. Or someone. It's been two weeks since he and Liam boarded a plane to leave Dublin; two weeks of announcing their engagement to various people in their lives and planning this extravagant party – and Harry still hasn't managed to shake that awful, dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach. He's tried to ignore it, tried to keep it from bubbling up and over the edge but it hasn't gone away.

It's when the party has been in full-swing for nearly three hours that Harry finds himself hiding out in the bedroom. Hiding from his very own engagement party. He can still hear the music playing and the low hum of the guests wafting from the rest of the penthouse and down the hallways. The air feels sort of thick, like he can't breathe and he stalks across the room, past the king-size bed and the door for the walk-in closet to the window on the other side; he throws the window open breathes in the cool, fresh air and the smell of salt water. It's refreshing, calming – and he feels better for it. Sort of. 

Now that he's alone, though, he has time to think – and now that he has time to think, he has time to think about Niall. About how Niall would fit in here – or, rather, not quite. Sure, Niall can talk to anyone, can strike up a conversation with a brick wall if he really wanted to, it just isn't quite his...scene so to speak. 

Niall would never stand for this, is the thing. Niall would never even throw such a big party in the first place. He'd sooner just invite everyone to a pub for a few pints while watching football (soccer) and having a laugh, than have to pretend to enjoy the...pretentiousness of a party like this. He'd rather sneak Harry out the back door and make fun of everyone else back inside, than force Harry to make conversation with people he doesn't even know – or like – and pretend that he cares. In fact, Niall would probably just rather skip the engagement party-thing altogether, grab a bottle of wine and drink it out of the bottle out back.

Harry's beginning to realize, now, that there's a certain comfort in that. And perhaps it's exactly what he needs.

He takes a deep breath, collects himself before venturing back out through the throngs of people, weaving through the crowded living and dining room. His gaze searches for one face in particular. He catches a glimpse of his fiancé as the brunet slips into the kitchen and then he finds himself following.

His mum catches him on his way by though; she hugs him close and kisses the crown of his head. It's like she knows that his head is a mess, that his heart isn't really in it. 

Harry approaches Liam whilst the doctor is topping up his own wine glass. He takes the bottle from Liam's hand, finishes pouring it into the glass and then hooks his chin over Liam's shoulder as he sets the bottle on the counter. Liam cranes his neck, looks at him with thick, furrowed eyebrows and curious brown eyes. "Let's get out of here," Harry whispers.

"What?"

"You and me, let's just..." He trails of, slinks away from where he's pressed against Liam's back as he rests a hip against the counter so he can look at Liam properly. "Take this," he says, holding up the bottle in in his left hand, jiggles it once, "and go out on the balcony. Nobody has to know."

Liam frowns. "Harry, we're hosting a party."

"So?"

"So we can't just disappear," he scoffs. He looks incredulous, like it's absolutely the worst idea Harry's ever had.

"Sure we can!" Harry insists. He brushes his right hand down the length of Liam's arm, stops at Liam's wrist to fiddle with his cuff link. "We're the-"

"Payne!" Someone yells from the other room. "Get back in here, man!"

Liam hesitates. His gaze shifts between Harry's face and the exit behind Harry.

Harry stares at Liam sort of challengingly; willing him to stay and challenging him to go. He wants his heart to be in it. More importantly, though, he wants Liam to give him a reason for why his heart should be in it. He wants Liam to make a snap decision, to be mischievous and spontaneous again. He wants Liam to choose him.

 
Three weeks ago, Harry was certain that his relationship with Liam was perfect – even if it was a little bit boring and monotonous. Three weeks ago, he was perfectly happy and content and perfectly safe in his relationship with Liam. And now he's just, well, not.

"Sorry, Harry," Liam whispers. He presses a kiss to Harry's cheek – and then he goes.

Harry blinks. He turns his head, watches Liam knock his fist against Louis' before disappearing with the rest of the crowd in the other room. His gaze lands on Louis, then, and there's a frown tugging at Louis' lips. There's also a look of understanding in his eyes and Harry knows that he knows too.

And he can't even find it in himself to cry.

X

"Nialler!" Zayn shouts from somewhere at the other end of the crowded pub. "There's a customer here who says your lighting is all wrong."

Niall scoffs because what the fuck does one his customers know about lighting? "Wrong? 'm not shooting an official music video, bloody hell."

"Perhaps you should be," another, familiar voice says behind him.

Niall freezes momentarily where he's tacking the second corner of an Irish flag to the wall behind the stage he's spent the last week putting together. His breath catches in his throat as he cranes his neck to turn his head. He blinks but keeps his face a blank slate. "What are you doing here?”

Harry grins that smile that puts a dimple in each cheek – the one that sent shivers rushing down Niall's spine for a whole two days every time the brunet smiled. The same one he’s spent the last three weeks trying (and failing, despite his very best efforts) to forget. "I heard you have a couch available."

The blond rolls his eyes. He jumps down from the step latter before dragging it out of the way. "Not a chance."

Harry watches as Niall reaches up to adjust one of the lights, hovers behind the camera Niall has set up in front of the stage for a moment before he steps around it. "Here, let me help-"

"I've got it, Harry."

"I just-"

"What do you want?!" Niall demands, whirling around to face the bloke behind him. The bloke who hasn't stopped running tracks around Niall's mind since the first fucking day they met. The bloke whom, with all his demands and his abnormally big heart and his weird sense of humour and his stupidly gorgeous face and beautiful hair, had chiseled his way through the walls around Niall’s heart.

He ignores the glances from his patrons in favour of narrowing his gaze at the bloke in question. "Why are you even here? Did you bring your boyfriend – sorry, fiancé here? Are you on a honeymoon or something?"

"No-"

"Then what? Because I fail to see-"

"I called off the engagement!" Harry blurts. 

Niall blinks. "W-what?"

Harry shrugs slightly as a smaller, shy smile tugs at his lips. "I'm not engaged to him anymore. I'm not living with him anymore – actually I'm not really living anywhere at the moment."

"That lasted long," Niall finds himself saying rather sarcastically. "Still doesn't explain what you're doing here, though."

Harry cocks an eyebrow. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"I think you're confused, quite frankly,” Niall replies – because why else would Harry come back? “Or you're not thinking clearly."

Harry smirks, shoves both hands into the front pockets of his tight skinny jeans. "I actually don't think I've ever thought more clearly."

Niall continues to stare at him, gaze hard. Face blank.

"Liam threw us an engagement party."

"Ok..."

"It was really fancy, everyone was there, the catering was fantastic – everything was supposed to be perfect," Harry starts. And Niall just knows he's in for a long story so he crosses his arms over his chest. "But I just...I felt lost, almost, you know? Everything just felt wrong. It was like it wasn't even my life or my body – like an out-of-body experience type-thing, you know?"

"Ok, Harry, I get."

Harry nods. "Right, so I just – I was standing there and there were all these people talking and laughing and half of them I didn't even know because they work with Liam and I don't really know anyone who works with Liam, so there was that too. And, anyway, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Niall sighs, closes his eyes and licks his lips. "Haz-"

"No, listen, I just – I couldn't," Harry explains. "I kept thinking about you and I kept missing you and I kept going over and over in my head 'what would Niall do', 'Niall would hate this', 'Niall would never make me stand here on my own'... I just wanted you to be there, you know?"

Niall scoffs. "You just said I would've hated it. Why would you want me there?"

Harry shrugs sheepishly. "I'm selfish, I guess. Can I finish?"

"We're gonna be here all damn day if you don't hurry up," Niall snaps.

Harry rolls his eyes. He takes a step closer to Niall and the blond can't bring himself to step back. "My point, Niall, is that out of everyone I know – including my own fiancé – the only person I really wanted to see that night was you. I wanted you to make fun of me, I wanted you tease all my friends, I wanted you to tell me I was making a mistake and then I wanted you to sneak out with me so we didn't have to deal with everyone else."

Niall remains silent, refuses to speak because he doesn't trust his voice. Harry’s so close now that Niall can feel the heat radiating off Harry’s body.

"I'm in love with you."

"Don't," Niall mutters, then. He shakes his head and this time he actually does take a step back. There's a lump in his throat and that fluttery feeling in his chest – and Niall hates it. "Don't say that-"

"But it's true."

"It's not-"

"It is."

"You're in love with Liam," Niall tells him, eyes wide and encouraging. "I'm just – I'm the tease, Harry. I'm the temptation-"

"Well whatever you are, I'm in love with you." Harry's voice is firm. Passionate. It makes the butterflies in Niall's stomach come to life. "And Liam – Liam wouldn't even go outside to spend a few minutes alone with me during our own engagement party. Liam stood by and watched me pack my bags and didn't even bother asking me to stay."

Niall wants to scoff, wants to tell Harry "well of course he did, it's Liam" like he knows Liam. He wants to remind Harry that Liam took off for brunch on the morning he knew Harry would be arriving to see him.

"And Liam's going to make someone really, very happy one day – it's just not going to be me," Harry continues softly. "It hasn't been me in...for a while, to be honest. Neither of us has been, we just didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to feel like I'd failed. And it just – it took me falling in love again to realize that falling out of love isn't a failure. It took falling in love with you to make me brave enough to admit that I haven't really been happy.

"You were basically right. The main reason I wanted to get married wasn't because of Liam; I wanted to get married to secure my future and I was rushing into it because I thought if I didn't take the opportunity now then I would never get to again. And I don't want to just take an opportunity – I want to take a risk. With you.

"So what do you say, Niall? Wanna marry me?"

Niall continues to stare at him, head tilted slightly to the side. His mind is still reeling, Harry's voice echoing in his ears. He shakes his head. "No."

Harry frowns, looks taken aback and hurt. His eyebrows come together in confusion because surely he isn't wrong. Surely Niall wants him too. Surely he didn't just buy a one-way ticket to Ireland for a man who doesn't even want him.

Niall laughs, shakes his head as he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, are you mad? You want to marry someone you just met three weeks ago and spent all of two and a half days with? That's an even crazier idea than the first time you flew to a completely different country just to propose to someone. You know how I feel about that.”

Harry blinks, wills back the tears collecting in his eyes. 

"God, Harry, you're such an idiot," Niall murmurs. There's a smile tugging at his lips though. "Obviously I'm not gonna marry you right this fucking minute. But I'll take a risk with you."

Harry squeaks – and then both of his hands fly up to cover his mouth as he stares back at Niall with wet, wide eyes.

Niall shrugs ever-so-casually, tilts his head to the side. For all he knows, he could literally be taking the biggest risk of his life – and, yet, there’s nobody he’d rather do it for. "And then, y'know, if I think I can tolerate you for the rest of my life we can talk about marriage. Until then though, yeah, I do have a couch you could borrow. Or a bed, if you’re up for that. Been there, done that already, haven’t we?"

Harry leaps, throws himself at Niall, buries himself in Niall's whole entire frame and kisses him. The pub erupts around them,pts  shouts and hollers amongst bar patrons Harry’s never met before. Niall kisses him back, pulls him closer with his arms around Harry’s back. He kisses Harry again and again, for what feels like hours, and Harry thinks he could do this for the rest of his life.

It’s a new beginning. A brand new future. And yet, for the first time in ages it’s not the future (or marriage or children or even a family) he’s looking forward too. It’s the present.