Archive of Our Own

"Hi," Niall says, throat going weirdly tight, and Harry opens his arms. 

Christ, it feels good to be held. Harry smells like chlorine and sunshine and cologne and he's so, so warm. Solid. He doesn't let Niall go for a full thirty seconds, squeezing him tight, one big hand rubbing his back. One of those big full-body Harry hugs Niall hasn't had in ages. 

"Hi," he says eventually, into Niall's ear, mouth soft. "Glad you're here, mate." 

Niall has to swallow around the stupid lump in his throat. He buries his face in Harry's sun-warmed neck and only pulls away once he's composed himself. 

"Me too," he says, voice coming out throaty. 

"Lemme show you to your room." Harry slips one of Niall's bags off his shoulder and onto his own. "It's that one on the second floor, y'know, down the hall from mine? God, Niall, when was the last time you were here? Must've been last year, right?" 

"Yeah," Niall says, chewing his lip, following Harry up the sweeping stairs. "Yeah, um. January, right?" 

Harry nods, leading Niall down the hall. He nudges open the door to the guestroom. 

"Just got it cleaned last week," he says. "Sheets are washed and everything. Towels in the first drawer, right there-" he points it out. Niall nods, feeling jetlagged and numb. His throat is sore, like the very beginnings of a cold. He’s been traveling a lot, that always gets him. 

"- toilet's through here." Harry points into the en-suite. "Here, Ni, how about I give you a bit to settle in and then, like- you wanna come down for dinner?" 

"Uh, yeah," Niall says, sniffing in hard. "I'll come down in a bit." 

"Picked up these incredible steaks from this butcher Jeff recommended. We can grill. I've got nothing planned for tonight, we can just sit around. Relax." 

Niall makes himself smile. "Sounds good, mate." 

"I'll leave you." Harry squeezes his shoulder. "You want a drink?" 

"Any beer?" 

"I've got Corona, Heineken, or this really good local IPA-" 

"Yeah, the- the IPA sounds great, Haz. Thank you."  

"Alright." Harry squeezes his shoulder again, gently. "See you in a minute." 

Niall nods, and Harry shuts the door quietly behind him. 

Niall unpacks, methodically unrolling his shirts, folding them into the massive stained wooden dresser. When everything's put away he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls out his phone, knee jiggling, restless. 

He’s got ten thousand likes on his photo of LA from the airplane, and - Deo's texted him. 

Get in alright? 

Coop's wondering if you want him out of the house or what. Don't love being ur go-between tbh mate.. 

Niall swallows hard. Jesus, he didn't even think about that. He pockets his phone, and stands up, straightening his shirt. He'll just- figure that out tomorrow. He'll figure it all out tomorrow, make sure it's sorted, get his things together. He was in such a rush to leave all he could think about was getting on the plane.

The other stuff he'll do later. 

---

Harry's outside at the grill, the patio door all the way open, warm air filtering into the air-conditioned house. It smells like sweet jasmine and steak, and Niall's stomach grumbles restlessly. The last thing he ate was a paltry dinner on the plane, a pale piece of chicken and tasteless rice. 

“Hey,” he says, stepping outside, wiping his palms on his jeans. 

Harry twists around. He’s wearing a gingham apron and his hair’s pulled up, curls popping out of his bun. 

“Hi,” he says, nodding at the open bottle of beer on the table. “That one’s yours, Nialler.” 

“Cheers.” Niall takes a sip. “Whatcha making?” 

Harry turns back to the grill, poking at it. “Steaks. Portobello mushrooms. Bit of courgette.” 

“Sounds good.”

“Hungry?” 

“Bloody starving.” Niall looks out at the pool, gleaming under the late afternoon sun. “Always forget what a nice place you’ve got.” 

Harry shrugs, turning over a mushroom.  

“Thanks for, um. Letting me stay here, seriously, Haz.” 

“Of course, mate.” Harry says it slowly, poking at one of the steaks. “It’ll be fun.” 

“Yeah.” Niall wipes his hands on his jeans, and takes a gulp of beer. “It’ll be great.” 

It sounds hollow. Niall coughs to cover it, and says, “Anything I can do?” 

“Grab plates?” Harry says, coughing into his elbow as smoke rises from the grill. “They’re to the right of the sink. 

Niall nods. For some reason he puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes, like he’s reassuring himself Harry’s still there. “Yeah, I’ll- yeah.” 

Harry smiles over his shoulder, dimple popping out. “Thanks, Nialler.” 

---

Niall eats til he can’t move, sprawls out on Harry’s sofa after dinner when the night cools down outside. He finds golf on the telly, turns the volume down to a comforting hum. He’s too full to react when Harry flops down close next to him and pulls Niall’s legs into his lap. 

“What’re you doin?” Niall laughs. “Don’t tickle me, I’m gonna explode. You fuckin’ killed me.”

Harry just hums and squeezes the arch of his foot. When Niall looks over at him he’s smiling. 

“Oh- shit, that’s-” Niall groans loose, eyelids fluttering. 

"Good?" Harry asks, watching his face as his hands move, thumb kneading up under the pad of Niall's foot. It makes his leg twitch hard, and relax. 

"Yeah, Haz," he mumbles. "Real good." 

"You're stressed," Harry murmurs. "Can feel it." 

Yeah, Niall's stressed, but at the minute he really can't think of why. He blinks dazedly up at the ceiling, flops his other foot into Harry's lap. Harry's thighs are warm and hairy and solid. 

"Mm, alright," Harry says, moving his hands to the other foot, and Niall hums happily. 

"Good at that." 

"I was seeing this girl for a while who was a masseuse." Harry runs his fingers down the length of Niall's foot and Niall shivers. 

"Wait, which girl?" Niall usually keeps track of what Harry's up to. 

"Uhh, Adriana? It was last year. We were just, like, hanging out." 

"Hanging out" means fucking, in Harry-speak. 

"So she, like, taught you how to massage?" 

Harry shrugs, both hands on Niall's foot now, rubbing right below the arch. "Yeah, kind of. Can do your back too if you like." 

"Hell yeah," Niall says, folding his arm behind his head. "I'll take the full package, mate." 

Harry smiles down at Niall's feet. "Can do." 

---

Later, Niall sags back against him, Harry's hands warm and sure on his shoulders. It feels so good Niall's half-hard just from the release of pressure. Well- that, and the solid weight of Harry behind him, the smell of his cologne, his hands all over Niall's body. But mostly the release of pressure.  

"You've been holding like, a lot of tension," Harry says softly in his ear, hands moving slowly. 

"Nice chat-up line," Niall says, drowsy. He huffs a laugh. “Gonna loosen me up?” 

"Really, though. S'not good how tense you are. Do you, like, do breathing stuff?" 

"I breathe, yeah." 

Harry chuckles low. "You know what I mean. Conscious breathing. Like that doctor lady told us about, y’know - ages ago, like. Before our third tour when we had to see that doctor, remember- in that place in East London?" 

"Noo." Niall wriggles back against him. "I probably don't do whatever weird breathing shite you're talking about." 

Harry kneads his thumb into the side of Niall's neck, unlocks something that makes Niall groan out jesus fuck. "Well, you should." 

Niall'll do anything if Harry keeps touching him like that, fuck. He mumbles an assent and Harry shuffles closer to him. 

"That feel good?" he asks, voice low. 

"Yeah." Niall's eyes flutter shut. 

"Good." Harry moves, and then his mouth is against Niall's neck. He presses a kiss there, gentle and close-mouthed. "Don't like to see you stressed, Ni." 

Niall's gone tense, pulse picking up. Harry squeezes his shoulders. 

"Like that," he mumbles. "Exhale. Breathe deep." 

Niall makes himself exhale, shaky. He can feel his pulse beating between his legs, ready for - whatever. Harry smells so fucking good. 

He can hear Coop in his head. You telling me you're not gonna fuck him first chance you get? 

Fuck you, Niall thinks, to the phantom Cooper voice. At least he doesn't think I'm useless. 

Harry kisses his neck again, a brush of lips, and Niall swallows and tips his head back against Harry's shoulder, until he can see Harry's face, his dark eyes and open mouth. 

Harry looks at him quietly for a minute, his hand laid flat on Niall's chest. Niall feels small when Harry watches him that way, with all his attention. Harry's attention is like a fucking laser beam when he uses all of it at once. 

Niall licks his lips, hopefully, and Harry rubs his palm down Niall's chest, eyes dipping down to Niall's mouth. 

Niall can feel his chest rising and falling under Harry's hand. 

"Haz," he says, rough. Fuck, he wants him. He's always always wanted him, underneath everything, and even though he's learned it doesn't mean anything, it's still hard not to ask for it when Harry's real and right there. It’d be so easy. 

Harry looks at his mouth again and then turns away, urging Niall up off his chest. 

"Don't think we should do that," he says, low, regretful maybe. 

Niall sits up, shivering. Jesus. What the fuck is he doing? "Alright." 

"You just- you only just got into town," Harry says, shifting backwards, tucking his hair behind his ears. "Like. You're knackered." 

Niall's not, but he nods anyway, runs a hand through his hair and retreats to the other end of the sofa, pulling a throw blanket over him to hide his hard-on. 

"You want another beer?" Harry says, after a long moment. 

"Yeah, sure," Niall says dully, and Harry rubs his palms on his thighs and stands up. 

---

Harry sets a massive glass of green juice in front of Niall the next morning, like an apology.

“Morning,” he says, squeezing Niall’s shoulder. “You alright?” 

“Good,” Niall mumbles. He takes a gulp of juice, winces at the kick of ginger that sears his nose. “Christ, Haz, this is - horrible.” 

Harry just huffs a low laugh, takes a sip of his own. “Hey, so. We don’t actually have studio time scheduled til next week, cos Julian’s in New York. So I guess, like - you can just. You know.” 

He shrugs. “Chill. We could write a bit if you like.”

 Niall stares down into his juice. He hasn’t written a song in a long time. 

“I’ve also got meetings today and tomorrow,” Harry says, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “For this telly thing, it’s boring. You can take a car, though, do whatever you like.” 

Right now what Niall would like is a fry-up to cure the last vestiges of his hangover and to go the fuck back to bed. He takes a swallow of juice, feels the burn of it all the way down into his chest. 

“Keys are in the mud room,” Harry says, checking his watch. “Take the Mercedes, it could use a drive.” 

“Cheers.” Niall forces a smile. “I will.” 

Harry leans over to kiss his cheek, and Niall stiffens up, reflexively. He has to exhale, and Harry lingers there, one hand on Niall’s back, hovering. 

“I’ll be home around four,” he says. “Ha, it’s like we’re married.” 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Ha.”

“It’s kind of nice to have someone around the house.” Harry shrugs, rubs Niall’s back. “See you later.” 

“Yeah, see you, Haz.” 

Niall’s halfway through his juice when Harry finally gets out the door, shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, searching for his keys. 

“Hey,” he calls, halfway outside. “Jeff’s doing this party thing in Malibu on Friday, you want to come?” 

Niall shrug-nods, and Harry smiles at him and ducks outside. 

“See you!” 

“See ya, Haz,” Niall says, to himself, as the door closes with a solid thunk. The silence is deafening. Niall sits still for a minute, and then raises the juice to his mouth. 

---

By Friday, Niall hasn’t written a single line or played any of the expensive guitars in Harry’s home studio. He has gone through all of Harry’s posh local lager, taken at least two naps a day, and turned down three invitations to dinner with Harry’s friends. The keys to the Mercedes stay where they were before Niall arrived, hanging up in the mud room. Niall hasn’t touched them.

On Thursday he tries to take a walk around Harry’s neighborhood, except halfway down the block there’s a gaggle of girls with cameras and CDs to sign and enough of them recognize Niall for them to stop him. He takes selfies and signs shit for forty minutes, and then he goes back to the house. Inside the gates he exhales, exhausted, and when he looks down his hands are trembling. 

It makes you so screwed-up. It echoes in his head, what Cooper said - pops right into his brain all the fucking time, over and over. It draws up a hot lump in his throat, makes him sick, and when Harry comes home that night Niall’s a bit drunk and standing in the pool with his arms folded over the side, his cheek pressed against his knuckles, water lapping gently against his waist. 

“Niall?” Harry says, coming to stand above him. He’s wearing Chelsea boots, dark brown ones. Niall stares at them dazedly. “Hey. Niall.” 

Niall lifts his head, bleary-eyed. “Hey.” 

“You, um, you alright?” 

Harry sounds hesitant. He bloody knows Niall’s not alright. He has to know. 

“Fine,” Niall mumbles. He lifts his head, feeling slow and stupid from the sun and the gin and tonic he mixed earlier, so strong it made his face screw up. He managed to get it down, though. 

“You, uh- how was your day?” 

“Was fine.” 

Harry’s quiet for a minute. Niall rubs at his temples, trying to soothe the dull throb of his headache. 

“I’m making salmon,” Harry says eventually. “You want salad too? I could do a salad.” 

“Whatever.” Niall feels the back of his neck, hot from the faded sun. Shit, he’s probably burned. “Sounds good.” 

Harry scuffs his foot on the ground. “Alright. See you in a bit.” 

Niall drags himself out of the pool and takes a shower, the scent of chlorine rising off him when the water hits. Halfway through he loses his breath, ends up huddling against the cool tile wall, trying to get it back, trying to keep quiet so Harry won’t hear him. He presses his face against the wall, wheezes into his cupped palms, eyes leaking helplessly. 

It reminds him of early days in Melbourne, when he was sleeping in Deo’s guestroom and doing fuck-all. It was almost every day back then, that crushing feeling, the pressure in his chest - usually in the evening, in the toilet, when Deo was making dinner. Niall would turn the water on to hide the sound of it, but Deo must have known. He must have, his flat was tiny, with thin walls. The shame just made it harder to stop. 

At least Harry won’t hear, not in this big empty house. Niall rolls his cheek flat against the wall, wipes at his stinging eyes. He hates this. He really fucking hates it. And he knows exactly how to stop it. He knows he has to get dressed in the morning and get in the car and bloody go do something, anything. So it feels like he earned the end of the day, the quiet of sleep. He knows that. 

His breath starts to slow as he comes down, jaw and shoulders aching from holding them tight. He reaches over to shut the water off, takes a shaky inhale in the sudden silence.

When he steps out of the toilet, there’s no evidence on his face, dry-eyed and calm. That part comes with practice. He doesn’t remember the first time he panicked, but he remembers the big ones - before the AMAs, years ago, hunched over in a dressing room toilet with a half-empty bottle of water shaking in his hand as he struggled to breathe. When he came out, flushed and shamed like a dog with its tail between its legs, Harry was waiting for him with a cup of tea and a sharp scared look on his face. They had to go on in ten minutes. That was the first time Niall learned to press it down, all the way down to the bottom of him where it couldn’t get out. That was the first time he did a performance on autopilot. 

Harry was there, then, his hand warm on Niall’s back like an anchor. 

Niall could tell Harry about it now, he knows. He could go downstairs and say I had a panic attack just now and let Harry deal with it, figure him out. 

He doesn’t, though. That’s the sick part, is he knows how to fix himself and he doesn’t fucking do it. 

---

They take a car out to Malibu on Friday with Jeff, the three of them in the backseat passing a bottle of scotch around. Niall’s keyed-up, fidgety, and some weird part of him feels like Jeff can tell that he’s been inside all week, doing nothing. He wonders if Harry talks about him. Worries about him. Getting over a breakup, he pictures Harry saying to Jeff, over lunch at some place where people like them go. He’s never really been good at getting over stuff. 

Niall takes another shot and swallows it hard. 

Harry gets pulled away immediately, by a tall girl with blonde hair who grabs his hand and tugs him into the crowd. 

“It’s sick you’re in LA,” Jeff says, patting Niall’s back. “H was so excited. How long’re you in town?” 

“Not sure,” Niall says back, moving aside as a bloke in a suit pushes past him. “Uhh, should we get a drink?” 

“I’m fucking dead on my feet,” Jeff says against his ear. His breath is hot. “Long fucking week. You up for something stronger?”

Niall swallows again, tasting scotch. “Yeah,” he says, but Jeff’s already slipping away, looking back and mouthing something at him, impossible to hear over the crush of the crowd. 

Niall follows him. Jeff knows everyone, so it takes a good twenty minutes just to get upstairs and to a toilet. One of Jeff’s friends is with them now, some bloke Niall immediately forgot the name of, blonde with sharp cheekbones and a beer in one hand. 

“You get a piece of that new Colombian shipment, man?” the blonde one says, and Jeff laughs in answer, fumbling for something in his back pocket. 

Something stronger turns out to be an eightball, wrapped up in plastic. Jeff cuts it on a credit card, snorts the first line with a hundred dollar bill, passes it over to Blonde Bloke. 

It’s Niall’s turn next. It’s been a long fucking time since he snorted anything. He never needed it, really, never needed a bump to enjoy himself when he was out. Plus he always thought coke made people fucking irritating.

He doesn’t say any of that now, though. He just takes the bill from Jeff’s hand and does the line, scrubbing his hand over his nose after when it itches like mad. 

“Shit,” he says, cos it’s something to say, and Jeff sounds amused when he says, “Been a while, man?” 

Niall nods, rubbing his nose again. “I don’t- usually.” 

“It’s good shit,” Blonde Bloke says. 

Jeff comes up, sniffing, eyes flickering. He rubs the rest into his gums. “Yeah, it is. I knew you were chill, Horan. Harry doesn’t do shit these days. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to smoke a fucking blunt.” 

A blunt sounds pretty damn good right then. Niall peers in the mirror, suddenly paranoid his nose is bleeding, but it’s not. His eyes are clear blue, not red like he worried they were. He looks fine. It’s weird that he can look fine and feel shit. That’s, like. Weird. 

“Here,” Blonde Bloke says, passing over the card, and Niall tears his gaze away from his reflection and drops his head to snort the line. 

---

He feels unsteady at first, but another drink and he’s perfect, flying high, making friends. One girl’s on something stronger than him, her nails digging into his shoulder while she monologues in his ear about her latest audition. When she pulls away her eyes are all pupil and Niall feels the sudden urge to vomit. He spits out his gum into a napkin and mumbles, “Need the toilet.” 

The toilet upstairs is locked, so he wanders down the hall. He’s got no idea whose house this is, where they are, what the party’s for, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s just here, and tomorrow he’ll be somewhere else. 

He tries one doorknob and it doesn’t open. No one says anything from inside, but Niall staggers away anyway, cheeks heating. 

The next door opens under his hand, and he pushes it open and stops dead, swaying. 

Harry's sat at the edge of the bed, a girl Niall doesn't recognize knelt between his legs. She looks up at Niall, lips shiny and wet. The only light in the room is a lamp on the bedside table, dim and golden. 

"Hi, mate," Harry says, low. His dick's out, hard between his legs, his trousers around his ankles. Niall hasn’t seen him since they arrived. 

"Sorry, shit. Sorry. I'm fucked." Niall covers his eyes. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Harry puts his hand over his cock. “Uh, Niall, this is Alexandra- Alexandra, Niall-” 

“Um, hi,” the girl says, her face red. “Nice to… meet you?” 

Niall almost laughs but he still feels nauseous. He steadies himself on the door. 

“D’you want to, um,” Harry says, watching him. He’s breathing hard. “Like, Alexandra, would you mind if he- if he stayed, or-” 

Alexandra looks back at him again, and Niall doesn’t know what the fuck he’s feeling. 

“He can stay,” she says, licking her mouth, and Niall thinks about it around his cock, and then he thinks about Harry’s mouth, and his head spins. 

Harry’s eyes go heavy, and he slides his pink tongue over his bottom lip, like he can read Niall’s mind. Like he knows exactly how much Niall wants him. “Close the door,” he says, low, and Niall shakes his head. 

“I- sorry,” he repeats, hand shaking on the doorknob. “I- um. Sorry.” 

He ducks back out of the door and closes it hard behind him, stands there for a second in the empty hallway. His heart’s pounding hard and he’s angry for some reason. 

Does Harry think he could - do that? Go in there and have sex with a girl he’s never seen before in his life? Have sex with a girl in general? 

Maybe Niall could. Maybe he could go back in there and get his dick hard for Alexandra and Harry, the both of them. 

For a minute it shimmers in his mind, the idea of it. Right beyond that door. Niall could try. Maybe he just didn’t try hard enough before. Maybe the coke would help. 

The toilet door bangs open at the end of the hall, and it’s Jeff, looking up at him as he wipes his nose. A girl comes out behind him, giggling. 

“Hey,” Jeff says. “Alright?” 

Niall nods, numbly. 

“You look kinda-” Jeff peers at him. “Hey, if you wanna take a car home, you can.” 

Niall doesn’t know what he wants. His throat’s dry. He shrugs. 

“Come downstairs,” Jeff says. “You can rally.” 

Niall nods, jerkily. On the way down the stairs Jeff presses another piece of gum into his hand, squeezes his wrist. 

“You’re all good, man,” he says, as Niall fumbles the gum into his mouth and bites down, mint making his eyes water. “Let’s get a fucking drink.” 

---

The next day, in bed at half noon trying to sip water, he finally grabs his phone. 

Ill text him. Sorry been busy, he sends to Deo - ignoring the string of irritated texts from Deo above it - and then he opens a new message to Cooper. 

Hey. Im sorry i’ve been out of touch, just really busy here. You dont have to leave the house. I’m not sure how long I’m gonna be here. You can stay as long as you want and use the car and everything. Whatever you need 

He blows his nose into a tissue and tosses his phone aside, puts his head down. Harry’s already gone, off to his personal trainer, and the house is empty. Niall’s probably steady enough to go downstairs and make himself some breakfast, but he doesn’t move. 

His phone buzzes. 

Wow thanks. 

What do you mean youre not sure how long your gonna be there? You said eight months 

Niall drags himself up until he’s sat with his knees up, back against the wall. He tugs a pillow into his lap. 

Im not sure now. It depends on a lot of diff stuff it’s not just my decision

Cooper texts back immediately. 

You expecting me to sit in ur house and fucking wait for you? Is that what Im supposed to do? 

Niall stares at the screen. His eyes hurt. He wishes Cooper were there right now, and not mad at him. 

No, he sends back. Im not expecting that. Im just saying you can stay if you want to stay 

He reaches for another tissue, scrubs it over his nose and then his eyes. 

Im moving out then 

I think we need to take a break while you’re in LA 

Like im assuming that’s what you want so we might as well make it official 

Niall draws in a shaky breath. Thats not what I want, he wants to type, except then Cooper might ask him what he does want, and Niall has no fucking idea. 

Fine, he sends instead. If u want to take a break we will 

Cooper responds in thirty seconds flat. 

jesus like it was my idea. go fuck yourself Niall 

Don’t put this on me thats bullshit 

lets just not talk for a while. Enjoy LA  

Niall drops his phone on the floor and slides slowly back down into bed. 

---

"Sick night tonight," Julian says, pressing a kiss against Niall's ear. "That track's over half-done." 

Niall smiles up at him, still strumming his guitar. "Yeah, mate, thanks." 

"Thank you, brother. Since when are you deep, man? Spouting off about love and shit, I love it. You're a changed man."  

Niall rolls his eyes, and Julian snorts, claps him on the shoulder and lets the studio door swing shut behind him. 

Niall ends up back at Harry's house, filling a glass of water in his cavernous kitchen. Harry's still out for dinner with Alexandra, the reason he left studio early. Niall's not sure if they're still screwing or not. Probably.

The bedroom Harry's got him in is gorgeous but cold. White crisp sheets, white duvet, white pillowcases. A thin nubbly rug over the hardwood floor. Niall splashes water over his face, brushes his teeth and crawls into bed. 

He turns out the lamp, exhales. 

Christ, that's when it always hits, isn't it. After the long exhaustion of a studio day. When the light's out and he's still. Niall curls up around a pillow, drags in a long breath. 

Cooper always kissed him good night, found his mouth or neck or shoulder in the darkness and pressed his lips to it. Niall used to reach over in the middle of the night if he woke up from some shite dream, fumble for Cooper's heavy arm to reassure himself. Sling it over his chest if Niall needed to be held down a bit, anchored. 

Niall sniffs in hard and reaches for his phone. 

He wants to text him, a bit, but he doesn't want to - fuck with his head, the way Jack said once, right after Niall moved down to Melbourne. Don't fuck with his head. 

He opens up Instagram instead. Jack posted a few hours ago, a photo of Lucy in his lap, her sparse hair done up in two little pigtails. She's wearing a tiny kit for Jack's rugby team, beaming with two white teeth in front. #1 Fan, Jack's written. My baby Girl :)

Under it Cooper's commented, and just seeing his username makes Niall's throat clench up. 

coopwilliams89: Fits just right ! Love u luce x x #babyrebel 

Niall reads it again, and clicks on Coop's profile, because he can't bloody help it. 

Cooper posted a photo of the beach six hours ago, his running shoes in the sand, water beyond. He probably ran to St. Kilda the way he does if he's got time after work.

Niall scrolls back, far, until he sees himself. It's sick, he knows, but he clicks it anyway, careful not to like it. It's Niall tucked against Cooper's side, both of them grinning, cheeks pink. It was some nice Italian restaurant, for Cooper and Jack's birthday, and they all got drunk off red wine and staggered home late. Cooper fucked him over the kitchen counter, after, both of them laughing. 

Niall picked it cos of the caption, really. He hates that he knows it by heart, but, well. 

Best birthday with my baby love you so much @niallhoran #birthday #lucky #28

Fuck. Niall's - fucked. He stares at it so hard his eyes start to water, and then he turns the screen black with a click of his thumb, tosses the phone aside.  

---

Back in studio again, the week after, and Niall can’t focus for shit, can’t get anything done. It’s hours and hours of bloody nothing, until he wants to punch a hole in the wall or gnaw his nails down to stubs, either one. 

“Dude, it happens,” Julian says, when Niall curses to himself and sucks at his finger, bleeding a bit from the guitar callouses he’s starting to grow again. “Let’s just, like, let it sit for a while. You wanna smoke?” 

“Yeah,” Niall says dully, looking at his fingers. He forgot how much it hurts when he takes time off. And he’s taken a long bloody time off, hasn’t he. He didn’t play much in Melbourne, his guitars gathering dust in a spare room. 

Julian lights up, passes Niall a joint, smoldering at the end. He holds out an empty Starbucks cup to ash into, and Niall takes it, holding the guitar in his lap with his elbows. 

“Cheers,” he mumbles. 

“Seriously, bro, don’t get down on yourself. Everyone has those days in studio where nothing sticks. It’s all part of the process. The artistic process.” 

Niall makes a face at him, and Julian laughs. He’s reaching for the joint when his phone buzzes on the table. 

“Yo,” he says, wedging it between his ear and shoulder and taking a hit. Smoke drizzles out of his mouth as he speaks. “Yeah. No, he’s here.” 

Niall looks up. 

“Yeah. I bet he’d be up for it. Long as they’re buying.” He laughs. “Yeah, fuck you too. Alright. Yeah, we’ll leave now.” 

He hangs up, and takes another hit, tapping ash off the joint. 

“Who was that?” 

Julian coughs into his elbow. “Jeff. He wants us to meet some guys from the label at Nobu. They’re usually pretty hands-off but they always want a little face time with the artists, and since Harry’s off doing fuck-knows-what, we’re it.” 

“I look like shit.” Niall scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m wearing a hoodie.” 

“Chill out, bro, they don’t care,” Julian says, grabbing his hat. “It’s all about the talent. We’re the talent.” 

“Twat,” Niall says, laughing, and Julian hands him the joint. 

“Finish that, you’ll relax a little.” 

Niall takes it, smokes it until his fingers get singed, while Julian shuts the studio down. 

“You took a cab here, didn’t you?” Julian asks, as Niall peers at himself in his front-facing camera, trying to make his hair look somewhat passable. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. 

“I’ll drive to dinner, then. You can grab a car back to Harry’s.” 

Niall nods. 

---

Julian pulls out of the lot and turns the radio on, and Niall rolls down the window, takes a deep exhale and feels suddenly really fucking stoned. 

“Fuck,” he says, into the rushing wind. 

“Hmm?” Julian looks over at him. 

“Nothing, just.” Niall slides his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Just hit me.” 

Julian laughs. “You’ll be fine, bro. That’s a euphoric strain we were smoking, should make you super chatty, super happy.” 

“I only feel super high.” 

“Well, that too, man. It’s still weed.” Julian cracks up, and Niall can’t stop himself from laughing too. 

He’s not laughing a half hour later when they get to dinner and he knows no one. He’s sat at the end of a long table and everyone’s wearing suits and looks about twenty years older than him. Julian’s chatting away, making them all laugh, and Niall fiddles with his glass of wine for a minute, taking a tentative sip, before the man across from him says, “Not a fan?” 

Niall looks up, guiltily. “Hmm?” 

“The wine.” The man nods at the glass in his hand. “Someone always orders a bottle at dinners like this and I’d always rather have a glass of scotch.” 

“Christ, that sounds good,” Niall says, before he can stop himself, and the man smiles at him. He’s older, with a head of salt and pepper hair, a pointy nose and warm knowing eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses. 

“It’d be whiskey for you, wouldn’t it? Is that an Irish accent I hear?” 

Niall takes a sip of his wine, wipes his mouth with his thumb, self-consciously. “Yeah, I’m Irish.” 

“Next time the waitress comes round I’ll put in a real drink order. Don’t need to be deprived just because Americans love their wine.” The man grins. 

“Are you not- um. What’s that accent?” Niall can’t place it, but he might just be stoned. God, does the man even have an accent? Is Niall hallucinating? 

“Swedish.” The man runs a hand through his hair. “Originally out of Stockholm, though I’ve been working in LA for quite a few years now. Anders Lundholm, by the way, I don’t think we were introduced. I work at Capital.” 

“Niall Horan.” Niall holds out a hand to shake, and Anders takes it. His hand’s soft, warm. Firm grip. 

“Cool,” Niall says weakly, letting go. “And how’s - that? Working here, I mean? As opposed to, uh, Sweden?” 

Anders’ smile turns up at the corners when Niall fumbles. 

“It’s lovely,” he says. “Very warm.” 

“It is, yeah.” Niall peers down at his menu. “I’ve been living in Australia for a while now, Melbourne, so it gets pretty hot down there too, but. Yeah. It’s nice. Always sunny, that bit’s nice.” 

“Better than Ireland, I suppose.” 

“Oh yeah.” 

“Though that’s nice in its own way,” Anders says detachedly, considering his menu. “Gloomy weather. If you’ve got someone to stay inside with.” 

Niall’s saved from answering by the waitress, appearing over his shoulder. 

“What can I get you, sir?” 

“He’ll have a glass of the Midleton, neat,” Anders says, when Niall stammers, grabbing for his menu. “And so will I.” 

“Absolutely, sir.” 

She takes their drink menus, and moves on down the line. 

“It’s Irish,” Anders says, when Niall looks at him askance. He grins like a shark, and Niall feels a nudge against his foot under the table. “You’ll like it.” 

---

Niall does like it. He likes his first glass, and he likes his second even better, and then the food arrives and Niall’s tipsy already, his stomach empty. Sushi’s got absolutely nothing in it to soak up booze but Niall fills his plate anyway, putting a piece of yellowtail nigiri in his mouth with chopsticks. 

“I was in a band, once,” Anders says, swallowing a bite of sashimi. “Christ, years ago now.” 

“Yeah? What sort of music did you play?” Niall watches as Anders signals to the waiter, points at his drink and holds up two fingers. Niall swallows. 

“Mm, god. It was a bit punk, a bit rock. A bit shit, really. We didn’t go anywhere, so I went into the business. Those who can’t make music can produce it, at least.” He laughs softly. 

“You’re a- producer, then?” 

“Mm, technically I’m VP of Development at the label, but yeah, indirectly, yes.” 

“Ah, that’s sick.” Niall flushes when the waitress sets down another glass of whiskey. “Thank you.” 

“So how are you enjoying LA?” Anders takes a sip of his refreshed drink. 

“I’m - it’s- it’s alright. It’s fun. Like, the people are cool. Been weird to be back in studio. Good though. Took quite a few years off.” 

“What have you been doing with yourself, down in - was it Melbourne?” 

“Melbourne, yeah.” Niall takes a deeper sip of his drink. “Not much, if I’m honest.” 

“So it must feel good to get back into it, hm?” 

Niall nods, too many times. It does. It does feel good. Parts of it feel good. 

“You know,” Anders murmurs, leaning in. “I’m dying for a cigarette. You wouldn’t happen to share that awful habit with me, would you?” 

Niall looks at his mouth for a moment, the stubble on his jaw, and then remembers himself. 

“Could go for a smoke,” he says, and Anders smiles, scrapes his chair back from the table. 

Julian waves at him as he goes, arching an eyebrow, and Niall just turns, ducks his head and follows Anders through the restaurant. 

They step out onto an empty back patio, firepits lit around low soft chairs and tables. Anders lights a fag, lights Niall’s off his own, and they puff in companionable silence for a minute. 

“Gets a bit stuffy in there, doesn’t it?” he says into the silence. 

“Yeah,” Niall says gratefully. “Like. Dark. Crowded. I don’t know half those people and I feel like I should.” 

Anders laughs, quiet. “Nah, you shouldn’t. Focus on the music, darling, that’s what you’re here for. To create.” 

Niall looks over at him. Anders is exhaling slowly, fag tucked between his fingers. 

“People like me,” he says. “And the rest of them in there, we run around and make deals and do business but none of us would have a job without you. Without the artists. You know? Money follows talent.” 

Niall can feel the heat crawl down his neck. He taps ash off his fag. “I dunno about talent.” 

“Harry wouldn’t have flown you all the way up to Los Angeles if you weren’t talented.” 

Niall stares at the cigarette, smoldering down between his fingers. “Harry and I, we’re - we’re old friends. And we’ve worked together, before, and. Yeah.” He trails off.  

“More than that?” Anders asks, watching him steadily, and Niall goes even redder. 

“No, just- I mean. No. We’re. I dunno.” 

Anders breathes out a laugh. “Ah, to be young and confused.” 

Niall swallows jerkily, and sucks on his fag, exhaling hard. 

“They say to never mix business with pleasure, but I’ve always found that to be an incredibly boring philosophy,” Anders says, sounding amused. 

“We’re not - doing that. Doing anything. Harry and me, I mean.” Niall looks up when Anders steps closer, dropping his half-smoked cigarette and grinding the toe of his shiny black brogue into it. 

“Oh, good,” Anders says softly, and Niall sways helplessly into him just as Anders leans down to kiss his mouth. It’s gentle at first, careful, and then Niall parts his lips for Anders’ tongue, hot and tasting of smoke and expensive whiskey, making his head spin so bad he nearly falls over. It’s Anders who stops him, a hand sliding down to Niall’s waist, gripping him through his shirt. 

He squeezes hard and lets go, giving Niall’s bottom lip one last soft swipe of his tongue before he pulls back. Niall opens his heavy eyes. 

“I’d like to take you home,” Anders says, voice gravelly. He’s not even breathing hard; meanwhile, Niall’s trying to slow his heart, trying to slow the pulse of arousal between his legs. Anders smells incredible, tastes even better. 

“Yeah,” Niall breathes. 

“Lovely,” Anders says, running his knuckles over Niall’s jaw. “Let’s get a car.” 

---

Anders looks over at him, as they pull away from Nobu in the back of a black car, and Niall feels a flush go down his neck. 

"Oh, let’s not be coy, darling," Anders says, soft. “C’mere.”

Niall looks at him. Anders pats his own thigh, looking at Niall, and-

Fuck it. He's drunk. He undoes his seatbelt, slides closer, and Anders pulls him into his lap and kisses him. Niall shudders at his hot tongue, his stubble rasping against Niall's jaw. He lets it happen, opens his mouth, his legs splaying to either side of Anders' thighs. 

He hasn't done this once in LA. Not even with Harry. He hasn't kissed anyone since Cooper. The thought makes his eyes burn. He kisses harder to hide it, and Anders hums, slides his big hands down Niall's back and gently cups his arse.

Niall moans. He can't help it. 

"What a lovely arse," Anders murmurs against his cheek, breaking off to breathe. His hand doesn't stop, though, squeezing the meat of Niall's bum. 

"Can we- go to yours," Niall mumbles. Harry must be home from dinner by now, and he was going to stay in, so Niall can't go there. 

Anders laughs. "Course we can." 

Niall nods too many times, like he's trying to convince himself, and falls back into a kiss. 

Anders' house is massive, up a winding driveway in Beverly Hills. By the time they pull up in front, Niall's rock-hard and panting from the hand Anders' had on his dick, his whole face feeling scraped raw from stubble. He wants to fuck and he wants to - forget. 

Anders takes him inside, and Niall manages the former.  

---

Niall pads barefoot into the kitchen when they've finished, tries different cupboards til he finally finds glasses. He fills it in the sink and takes a deep gulp, gaze sliding over to the fridge. It's covered in photos held up with magnets, oddly homey, and Niall grins. 

He peers at one - a wedding invitation from someone Niall's never heard of - and then another photo catches his eye. 

It's Anders, grinning on a yacht with his arm around a woman about his age, red lipstick, red hair, a big white smile. There's a kid with them, 15 or 16 maybe, with the same red hair. 

Niall looks at it for a minute or two, breath caught in his throat. His sister, maybe. It's probably just his sister.

There's another photo of the kid, in a footy uniform, eyes crinkled against the sun, and below that - another photo. Niall sets his water glass down and lifts the first one up to see properly. 

His stomach drops. Anders and the red-haired woman, kissing in front of a sunset. Niall can see the glint of her wedding ring. 

He staggers back from the fridge, and hears a creak from the doorway. 

"Niall?" Anders says, voice hoarse and sleepy. "What're you doing?" 

"Who's that?" Niall asks, pointing at the photo on the fridge. He's trying not to let his voice tremble. "Who is that?" 

Anders lets out a long breath. Finally he says, slowly- "That's my wife." 

"Your-" Niall puts a hand over his face. "Fucking hell." 

"Niall-"

"You have a fucking wife," Niall chokes out. "Why would you- what, do you, like, have some kind of arrangement? Where you can shag other people?" 

Anders lets out a sour laugh. "Christ no." 

Niall points at the other photo. "Is that your kid?" 

"Niall, please don't get worked up about-" 

"Is that your fucking son?" Niall snaps. 

Anders sighs. "Yes. It is." 

"Jesus bloody Christ," Niall mutters. He takes another step back. "Jesus." 

"They're in Barbados. Won't be back til Thursday. You don't have to worry, alright?" 

"You're not wearing a ring," Niall says, like he's gonna somehow argue his way out of this.

Anders just looks at him, evenly. "Would you have come home with me if I were wearing a ring?" 

"Oh Jesus, fuck you." 

Niall needs to get the fuck out of there before he panics. Christ- the first bloke since Cooper, and he's married with a kid. Niall's just some - slag. Some stupid slag. 

"It's not a big deal, Niall," Anders says, coming towards him with a hand out. "No one'll find out. It’s not the first time I’ve-" 

"Fuck off," Niall chokes, ducking under Anders' arm, out of the kitchen. He fumbles for his clothes, his wallet. 

"Niall-" 

"I'm leaving." 

"And how are you going to get home? C'mon, now, darling. Sit down. Breathe."

"I'll fucking walk, I don't care," Niall says, voice high, and he's halfway to the door when Anders grabs his arm hard. 

"No you won't," he snaps. "I won't have some half-dressed kid leaving my house looking just-fucked. Sit the fuck down and I'll call a car." 

"Get off me-" 

Anders pulls him by the wrist and shoves Niall back against the wall, so hard it knocks the breath out of him. 

"I'll call a car," Anders says again, eyes bright, cold. "Calm down." 

Niall's scared all of a sudden, a cold pressure in his chest. He's panting. 

"Get your hands off me, mate, or I'll-" 

"You'll what?" Anders curls his hand around Niall's wrist, pins it up against the wall, and Niall's pulse kicks up a notch. "I'm calling a fucking car. Stop being such a drama queen." 

He keeps Niall's wrist pinned with one hand, fumbles for his phone with the other, keeping his eyes on Niall all the while. Niall stays perfectly still. 

"Yes, it's Mr. Lundholm," Anders says into the phone. "I need a car to my home. Just a short ride. Beverly Hills." 

Niall swallows thickly. 

"Yes. That's right - yeah. Thank you." 

He hangs up, and lets go of Niall's wrist. 

"You're going to wait," he says, low and solid. 

Niall nods. His eyes are blurry. Anders reaches out and swipes a thumb under one of them, catching wet. 

"Come on," he says, soft, mean. "Get yourself together. We had fun, it’s nothing more than that." 

Niall nods again, blankly. Anders takes a step back, and Niall waits. 

---

The car drops him off at Harry's, and Niall makes his way inside. The house is dark and quiet, but when Niall goes upstairs he can see light spilling from under Harry's door. 

He knocks, only hears the girl's voice inside as his hand's already at the door. A flush of heat goes down his neck. 

Harry opens the door after a minute, entirely naked, hair loose around his face. "Nialler?" 

"Hey, sorry," Niall says, turning away. "I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt. Thought you were alone." 

"Alex stayed over." Harry looks at him, head tilting. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine." 

"It's late, innit?" 

"Uhh, yeah. Sorry." 

"It's alright. We’re not sleeping. Are you sure you're-" 

"Fine, Haz. I'm fine." Niall forces a laugh. "Have fun, I'll see you tomorrow."

Harry catches his arm as he turns around and Niall shudders hard. Shakes him off. 

"Niall." 

"I'm fine," Niall says. "I have to- bed. Knackered." 

Harry watches him all the way down the hall to his room. Niall can feel his eyes on his back. 

He gets into bed. His chest's hurting like he's going to cry, but he doesn't. It's just. Christ. Married. The fucking prick. 

God, he wants to message Cooper. It's so stupid. He just - Coop's the one he talks to when weird shit happens. And it's weird, that Niall fucked some record exec with a wife and a kid. It's weird. 

He goes onto Cooper's Instagram instead, because that's allowed. Cooper's posted a photo of him and Jack and Liam and a few other teammates, out at the pub they always go to after games. They're grinning, pints in hand, and the caption reads - Post-match with the crew! Killed em! #powerhouse #melbrebels 

Niall keeps scrolling. A photo of Cooper's breakfast, scrambled eggs and a smoothie. A picture of Lucy, giggling in a bathing suit, chubby legs covered in sand. A selfie of Cooper with earbuds in, sun making his eyes scrunch up, the coast spread out behind him. Niall drags in a breath. Fuck, he misses Australia. He misses Australia and he misses Cooper and he- 

There's a knock at the door. 

"Niall?" Harry calls, muffled, and Niall reaches out to turn his lamp off. It's too late, though. The door's creaking open. 

Harry sits on the end of the bed. It's too dark to tell, but Niall's pretty sure he's still at least partially naked. 

"Hey," he whispers. 

"Hey," Niall says into his pillow. "I'm goin' to sleep." 

"Yeah, I just. What'd you do after dinner? Julian said you, um. Left with one of the guys from the label." 

Niall shuts his eyes. "We shared a car." 

"Julian said you left pretty early." 

Julian's a fucking pain in Niall's arse, apparently. 

"We just went out for another drink, Haz," Niall says, trying not to get sharp. "Jesus." 

"I'm just asking." 

"I'm trying to sleep." 

There's a silence. Harry moves closer on the bed. The mattress creaks, and Niall tenses up. 

"Ni," Harry murmurs. 

Niall stays very still. 

"What, did you hook up with him?" Harry says, low. "You can tell me." 

Niall swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn't say anything. 

"Hey." Harry puts a hand on his back. 

"Nothing happened," Niall says. He's got no clue if it sounds like a lie. 

Harry's quiet above him. 

"Haz," Niall says, more sharply. "Can I go to bed?" 

Harry lets out a quiet sigh. "Yeah." 

"G'night." Niall puts his face in his pillow. 

Another sigh. Harry rubs his back gently, a single stroke down between Niall's shoulderblades. 

"Night," he murmurs. 

Niall lies still until the door shuts gently behind Harry. He turns his head to the side so he can breathe, has to squeeze his eyes shut tight so the feeling won't hit him everywhere. It fades eventually, enough for him to fall into an uneasy sleep. 

---

Selena DMs him on Friday morning, just - are you seeeriously in town and didnt even call me? you asshole come over tonight see my new place!!!!! <3 

Niall reads it three times, as he sits at the table with Harry eating poached egg over spinach. Harry’s on his phone too, staring down at the screen with his brow furrowed, so Niall doesn’t feel rude responding right then. 

Hahaha ive been busy !!! but yea i’m free tonight what time and where’s it? Xxx 

He laughs when Selena sends back a string of insulting emojis, and Harry looks up. Niall forks a bite of egg into his mouth. 

“Hey, Glenne and I are going out to the Palisades for this night hike thing tonight, you wanna come? It’s supposed to be amazing. Like pitch black and they guide you through this walk and then there’s an incredible view, and it’s really, like, freeing? Kinda like therapy.” 

“Got plans, sorry.” 

“Yeah?” 

Niall holds up his phone. “Selena invited me for dinner.” 

“Oh, I just saw Selena.” Harry licks yolk off his fork. “Taylor was in town, so we had dinner at Danielle’s, it was nice. Can you believe Alana’s engaged?” 

It irritates him how Harry always expects Niall to know his friends, but he just says, “Yeah, wow, that’s mental,” and Harry turns back to his phone. 

---

“Hi!” Selena squeals, as the heavy front door swings open, and a moment later Niall’s wrapped in a hug. Selena’s warm and smells like flowers and she laughs in Niall’s ear, squeezing him tight. 

“It’s been so long,” she says, pulling back and punching his arm. “Seriously, I thought you were, like, dead.” 

“Not dead,” Niall laughs. “Just in Australia.” 

“Same difference.” She beckons him inside. “Oh my god, so how’s everything, how’s the album going? How’s the boyfriend?” 

“Album’s good.” Niall shrugs off his jacket and Selena takes it from him. “Boyfriend’s - not. A boyfriend.” 

“Ohh,” Selena says, face falling. “I’m sorry.” 

“We’re on a break. I dunno.” Niall shrugs. “But everything else is good.” 

“That sucks,” she says, rubbing his shoulder. “Unless it’s a good thing? You were, like, serious though, right?” 

Niall really doesn’t want to talk about it. But Selena’s like one of those yappy little dogs sometimes, won’t give up on stuff. He always hated it and loved it. It was shit at the beginning but sometimes, after a long drunk chat about every single thing in his life, he actually felt better. Was like therapy, except Selena liked to talk shit and she had an opinion on everything he said. 

He shrugs. “I guess.” 

“We’ll get into it over dinner. I actually cooked, Niall. I can cook stuff now.” 

“Wow.” Niall snorts. “Never thought I’d see the day. Is it edible?” 

“Dick.” She punches him again. “Justin’s out back, you should go say hi!” 

Niall tenses without meaning to. He didn’t think Justin would- 

“God, don’t give me that look,” Selena says, and Niall hastily wipes any kind of look off his face. “We’re friends.” 

“Friends.” 

“Yeah, friends.” She chews her lip, looks away from Niall’s gaze and opens the oven, peeking inside. “Just don’t be a dick.” 

“I’m not the one you have to worry about.” 

“C’mon.” She sighs. “Don’t, please, alright? It’s ancient fucking history, just go, like, talk about boy stuff, okay?” 

Niall eats a cashew out of the bowl of nuts on the kitchen counter. God, Selena keeps nuts in a little bowl on her counter, like she really is a proper adult. 

“C’mon, go say hi.” She nudges at his hip. “This’ll be done in like two seconds.” 

“Fine.” Niall steals another cashew and slides the door open, steps out onto a massive back porch. There’s a hot tub set into the ground, and a pool down the steps. Justin’s sat with his feet in the tub, smoking what looks and smells like a blunt. 

“Hey,” Niall says cautiously, and Justin twists around to look at him. His hair’s cut short in back, a piece hanging over his eyes. He’s gone back to brunette since Niall last saw him. 

“Horan, what’s up, man!” Justin says, grinning. He has a new tattoo on his neck, black calligraphy. When Niall gets closer he can see it reads Ultimate. Ah, the title of Justin’s last album. No one ever accused him of being humble. 

“Hey,” Niall says, kicking off his shoes. “How are you?”

“I’m awesome, brother. I’m great. How are you? You working on Harry’s album?” 

“Yeah, just. Doing guitar and stuff.” Niall sits down next to him, sticking his feet in the bubbling water, and Justin offers him the blunt. “Nah, I’m alright, thanks.” 

Justin shrugs and takes a hit. 

“So,” he says, exhaling. “You’re back in LA, man. That’s great.” 

“And you’re back with Selena, huh?” Niall asks. He doesn’t mean for it to come out sharp. 

“No way, bro. We’re friends.” 

Niall huffs a laugh. “Yeah, sure.” 

Justin’s mouth tugs up at the corner. “Fine, so we’re friends with benefits. Man, it’s just like… the neverending story, you know?” 

Niall pulls at a thread on his shorts. “Mm.” 

“Can’t believe I used to think you two were fucking.” Justin laughs. “Damn, I got jealous over nothing. Maybe she should’ve been the one who was jealous, huh?” 

Niall shifts away from him, lets out a weak laugh. “Funny.” 

“How is, like - that?” Justin sucks at the blunt. 

“How’s what?” Niall stares down at his knees. 

“Like, you know, you got like a partner or anything? Partner? Is that what you say?” 

Niall chokes a weird laugh. “God, shut the fuck up, man.” 

Justin laughs, takes another hit and keeps laughing, his eyes scrunching into slits. “What?” 

Niall shakes his head, chuckling. “Fucking idiot.” 

They’re still laughing when the door slides open and Selena comes out with a platter of salmon steaks. 

“Come eat!” she calls, before she turns back inside. 

“There’s the missus,” Justin sighs, and Niall elbows him in the side. 

“Friends with benefits my fucking arse,” he says, shaking his head, and Justin wrinkles his nose and says, “Stop talking about fucking asses, dude.” 

Niall snorts and shoves him so hard he nearly falls into the tub. 

“C’mon, you fucker,” he says, feeling oddly fond, as Justin pouts and adjusts his hair. Can be nice sometimes, when things don’t change. “Let’s eat.” 

---

"Yes, Niall!" Julian calls through the intercom. "That's sick!" 

Niall looks up, grinning, fingers still held in the last chord. "You want me to run it again?" 

"No, bro. That was it. That was perfect. Hey, we got a few guests in the studio, you wanna come out and say hi? We can start on that bridge after." 

“Alright.”

He props the guitar up against a chair and makes his way out of the studio, yawning. Fuck, he needs a shower, and a good night’s sleep. He’s thrown himself into work, been in the studio since the night before with Julian, ordering in food whenever they need it and chugging coffee. 

“Niall, man,” Julian says, sounding like he’s laughing, and Niall looks up, rubbing his eyes. Julian’s at the desk, and there are a couple guys behind him. Jeff, one other exec Niall’s met but can’t remember the name of, one blonde bloke he’s never seen before, and then - 

Niall freezes, for a split second, before he coughs and composes himself. Anders is smiling at him from the back, looking amused. Niall looks away. 

“It’s really coming along,” the blonde guy says. 

“Sounds great, Niall,” Jeff says, stretching out a hand to shake, thumping Niall on the back. “How are you, man?” 

“I’m good, I’m good.” Niall catches Anders’ eye over Jeff’s shoulder, and it feels obvious. He coughs again, into his elbow. “Been a long couple days, though.” 

“Looks like it, it’s a fucking pit in here,” Jeff says good-naturedly. 

“Hey, it’s all about the creative process,” Julian laughs. “You wouldn’t get it, suit.” 

Jeff just snorts, and nods back at the people behind him. “You met everyone here, Niall?” 

“Think so,” Niall lies. He really doesn’t feel like doing intros. “Uhh, thanks for coming in. Sorry for the mess. I, uh, think I’m gonna head home. Can we finish it tomorrow, mate?” 

“Yeah, go on, man, get some rest.” Julian stands up to pull him into a hug, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll text you tomorrow if we need to re-record any of the stuff we covered.” 

“Cheers.” He forces one last smile at the room, grabs for his bag. “Nice to see you all.” 

“See you later,” Jeff calls, as Niall lets the heavy door swing shut behind him. The hallway is cool and empty, and he exhales slow. Alright. It’s fine. No one knows what he did, and no one has to know, and it’s just - it was just a mistake. Just a freak fucking accident. 

The studio door opens behind him, and Niall doesn’t turn around, skin prickling, nervous. He checks his pocket for his phone. 

“Niall!” 

He stops. 

It’s Anders, of course it’s Anders. He’s walking down the hall, running a hand through his graying hair. Niall can see the ring glinting on his finger. Least he’s wearing it this time. 

“What’s up?” he asks tightly, fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. 

“Hey,” Anders says. “You sounded great in there.” 

“Thanks.” 

Anders smiles at him. 

“D’you want to grab a drink?” 

Niall hoists his bag up over one shoulder. “Sorry, mate, I’m wiped.” 

“Or I could just make you a drink,” Anders says, mouth curving up. “At my place.” 

He tilts his head, voice lowering. “My wife’s out of town.” 

“Jesus- no,” Niall says, sharply. He feels unsteady from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. “Are you fucking joking, mate?” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Anders murmurs, reaching out to tug at the strap of Niall’s bag, pulling him closer. Niall can’t breathe all of a sudden. “C’mon, darling, bet you haven’t been fucked properly since last time you were over. Let me sort you out.”  

Niall hates the knowing tone in his voice, but it makes something in his stomach turn over, hot and interested. Christ, he does need to be sorted. Some parts of him need to be sorted. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” he says lamely.

“Come home with me.” 

“Seriously, stop,” Niall chokes, finally taking a step back. “I’m not interested.”

Anders touches him again, fingers sliding around his wrist, and Niall shakes him off. 

“Fuck off,” he says, sounding more bold than he feels, and he leaves Anders right there, standing in the hallway. He shoulders the door open and clatters down the steps until he’s outside and he can bloody breathe again. 

In the car on the way home, he turns the radio on loud and tries not to think about it. 

But it’s hard. Part of him wanted it. Part of him wanted to just - do it, get fucked by some married bloke in his big posh house and sod the consequences. Niall doesn’t get that part of him, that likes to do bad things just cos he can. He thinks he’s better than that, but he’s not sure. 

Anders wasn’t even nice to him. Shoved him up against the wall and said control yourself, God, he was an arsehole. 

Still. Fucking still. 

Later that night he jerks off, and at first it’s the thought of Anders that gets him off - the thought of what they could’ve done, if Niall had just said given in and said yes. Anders was a good fuck the first time - a nice-sized dick, big hands, just the right amount of dirty talk in his delicate accent. He knew what he was doing, and he made Niall come when he shoved two fingers in Niall’s mouth and told him to keep quiet while he was being fucked. Niall liked that so much, shit. 

He turns over onto his side, panting, working his hand faster, the sound of it slick and dirty in the quiet room. Cooper used to do that too, put something in Niall’s mouth to keep him quiet, talk about how obvious he was, how loud he got when he had a cock in him. Cooper knew exactly what he wanted, all the time, and he never balked when Niall asked for more. Niall squeezes his eyes shut, furious at himself, cos it’s fucking pathetic to wank to the memory of your ex. He’s too far gone, though, and when he comes it’s from the thought of Cooper, behind him, whispering in his ear and rubbing his dick against Niall’s arse. You’re so good, baby. Niall shudders and spills hot into his hand, over his belly, biting his lip to keep quiet.

The room goes very quiet once Niall’s come and the blood’s stopped rushing in his ears. He can hear his own breath, his pounding heartbeat, starting to slow. 

He opens his eyes, fumbles on the nightstand for a tissue. He checks his phone once his hands are wiped clean. There’s a message from Harry. 

Staying over at Alex’s tonight then leaving for Palm Springs tomorrow. Will i see you? I left chicken in the fridge please cook it before it goes off. I’ll be back Sunday night. Drive down there if you feel like it ben would love to see you Xxx

Niall sends back - Sounds good. Maybe I will, have fun ! Xx 

He tosses his phone aside and tries to sleep. 

---

By 1 AM he’s still up, lying on his side feeling low, a weight on his chest. He wishes Harry were there, even though Harry can’t know how Niall’s feeling. He still wishes it. 

His phone vibrates on the bed, but when Niall grabs for it it’s just an automated message from his mobile provider. Niall reads it and then scrolls down in his texts, a long way, until he sees Cooper. 

lets just not talk for a while. Enjoy LA 

Niall stares at it, something thick and heavy in his throat, and then he hits Call. The phone rings and rings, Niall’s pulse racing as he waits. He's about to hang up when he hears a click, and then, cautious and quiet-

"Hello?" 

"Coop?" Niall says, sticking a fingernail into his mouth. “Hey. It’s me.” 

"Hi," Cooper says, measured and flat. "I'm at work, what's up? Everything alright?" 

"Everything's fine, I- uh. It's like eight there, why're you still at work?" 

Cooper lets out a long breath. "Just a lot of shit to get done. Which I should probably, uh, get back to. If there's nothing wrong." 

They're both quiet for a minute. 

"Niall-" 

"I miss you," Niall blurts out. "I- I really miss you." 

Cooper inhales. Lets it out. 

"Why're you - doing this now?" he mumbles. "Like. Why?" 

Niall curls his knees up to his chest. His eyes are gritty from exhaustion. 

"I dunno."

"I'm at work, Niall." 

"I just. Things aren't- what I thought. I dunno." Niall's voice cracks. And why should Cooper care, honestly, if things aren't the way Niall thought they'd be? Niall fucking left. He's not Cooper's problem anymore. Cooper doesn't have to worry about Niall's anxiety or all his fucking issues. 

"What d'you mean?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Niall swipes a hand over his nose. "I gotta go." 

"Niall, just-" Cooper sighs, crackly down the line. "Christ. What d'you mean, things aren't what you thought."

Niall sniffs in hard. "I'm, like. It’s just LA, I dunno. I'm lonely.” 

His voice goes small when he admits it. 

"Lonely," Cooper says, carefully. "Thought you had Harry to take care of that." 

"Harry's not- he's with other people. Girls." 

"What a tragedy," Cooper mutters. 

"That's not what I meant, I just. Harry's got this whole life here. And I thought it was gonna- like, fit better-" 

"Is that all I was to you?" Cooper says, low, talking over him. "Just something to make you less lonely? Just - just sex?" His voice lowers to a whisper, and Niall remembers he's at work. A hot flush crawls down his neck. 

"We don't have to talk about this now," he says quickly, picturing Cooper in his cubicle, hunched over his phone. 

Cooper lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "There's my answer, then. Awesome."

"That's not what I- of course you weren't-" Niall stops. "You're at work, Coop, I don't- I don't wanna make you talk about this when you're at work." 

"Aw, you're so selfless," Cooper says, sounding bitter. 

"Coop." Niall shuts his eyes.

"Just - just - Christ, Niall. You can't just- call and say you miss me when you're the one who left." 

Niall nods, over and over. "I know. I know I can't." 

"Are you okay? Like- are things okay?" He sounds like he hates himself for asking. 

"I'm fine," Niall lies. 

"Have you, like. Have you had a panic attack?" 

"No," Niall snaps. It’s a lie, but hearing that out of Cooper's mouth is like someone pressing a bruise. He can’t - hear that. 

"Niall." 

"I'm fine. I should go, it's late." 

"I miss you too," Cooper says, voice small. "Just so you know." 

Niall needs to get off the phone. His head's throbbing. "Al- alright." 

"Niall-" 

"I gotta go." 

Niall hangs up, tosses his phone away from him on the bed. 

He crawls under the covers. Cooper's texted him twice, cos of course he has. 

Go to bed

Listen you can talk to me later if your anxious ok? Just go to sleep Xx 

Niall stares at the screen and then sets his phone down. Cooper's too bloody good for all this. Niall's just an - idiot. Doing fuck-all in this screwed-up fucking town. 

He puts his face into a pillow, but he still can't sleep, and before he can stop himself he's grabbing his phone again, typing out a new text. 

Do you think im a bad person?  

It's off, sent, before Niall can rethink it. 

Cooper responds after ten excruciating minutes. 

Course you're not dont be silly. Pls just try & sleep promise youll feel better in the morning x

Niall puts his phone down, tries as hard as he can.   

---

He's barely awake when his phone buzzes. 

It's Jack. Niall scrubs at his bleary eyes and swipes it open. 

Cooper's seeing someone now. I know he wont tell you so I will. I'm not gonna tell you to stop talking to him but just let him be happy Horan alright? 

Niall's breathing's gone funny, all strained. He types out shakily- 

Im not trying to do anything. I swear

It takes Jack thirty seconds to respond. 

I know you fucking called him yesterday. Dont do this mate. Just back off. Let him get over you cmon just don’t be a dick 

Niall swallows hard, throat dry. 

Fine, he sends back. 

And then- Im sorry. 

Jack doesn't respond, not when Niall finishes his shower and not when he takes the Mercedes to studio. Niall's throat tastes sour all bloody day, he can't focus for shit, and he begs off work early. Julian looks relieved to get him out of there.

Harry must’ve already left for Palm Springs, cos there's no one home when Niall lets himself in. He grabs two beers from the fridge, takes them to the back patio, overlooking the gleaming blue pool. 

Seeing someone now. Niall gulps viciously at his first beer. It could be a lie, he knows that. Jack's tried it before. And why wouldn't Coop say something on the phone, if he was seeing someone? 

Niall swipes open his phone. 

is coop dating someone, he sends to Deo. 

And dont tell him i asked 

Deo doesn't say anything. Niall only waits ten minutes, but it makes him feel wobbly, no one texting him back, and Harry out of town. Lonely. LA's too bloody big. 

He strips off his shirt and jeans and does a few laps in Harry's pool. The water's perfectly warm, clear aqua blue, and the sun's low in the sky but still warm. He stops for a minute, backs up against the side of the pool, breathing hard. 

He thinks about that first time. Both of them in a hotel pool in Australia, years ago, and Cooper's hands on his hips, his skin wet and smelling of chlorine when he leaned forward to kiss him. Niall was bloody terrified, and so turned-on he couldn't see straight. 

His phone pings with a text, and he shakes himself out of the memory, goes to grab it. 

Deo. Niall's heart jumps, and then keeps pulsing fast when he reads it. 

Yeah sort of. They're just hooking up. His names ira they work together 

Want me to rough him up in your honour lol 

Niall's hand shakes. He puts the phone down, swipes off a drop of water with his discarded t-shirt. Shit. He's not sure if it's worse, that it's true. 

How long have they been dating, he types, and he has to resist the urge to ask other shit. Stupid stupid shit, like does he really fancy him and does he talk about me and- 

His phone buzzes. 

Not dating exactly mate. But idk he brought him out with us like three weeks ago maybe? 

Three weeks? Niall stares at the screen. Three fucking weeks. 

Deo texts again. You been seeing anyone in la? 

Niall chokes a shaky laugh and puts his phone down. 

He drains his second beer, picks up the phone again. Cooper's Instagram. Coop posts all the fucking time, he must've posted something of this bloke, if they've been fucking for three weeks. 

There's a group dinner from a week ago that Niall skipped over, but he looks at it now. Taps the photo til he can see everyone in it. The guy next to Cooper is tall, laughing, with coffee-colored skin and dark hair, dark eyes. Niall taps the photo once. Irajones, it says. It's him.  

Niall really bloody shouldn't. He shouldn't. But Christ, of course he's going to. 

He's fit, Niall thinks helplessly, scrolling through Ira's photos. He's really fit. He looks older, Cooper's age maybe, and three photos down there's a picture of him shirtless at Bondi Beach, grinning with a football in his hands, all abs and biceps. Proper muscly, not skinny like Niall is.

Five photos down there's one of Cooper, and Niall drags in a harsh breath. Cooper's in his tennis gear, racquet in hand, eyes crinkled as he laughs. 

Dunno why he's laughing when i kicked his ass.. #threesetsinarow @coopwilliams89

The next photo is of a wooden table, a plate of pasta, someone holding a beer in the background. Niall recognizes the tattoo on the wrist - Cooper's mum's birthday. He and Jack both have it. 

Niall scrolls for a long time, in a daze, careful not to like any of them. Ira seems - nice. Fit and nice. He has cute baby cousins and he likes hiking. He’s boring, Niall thinks nastily, but then Niall’s boring too, isn’t he? His Insta’s all food and sports matches and selfies. And bloody sunsets. He’s boring too.

He sniffs in hard, closes out of Instagram when he realizes he’s 83 weeks back, and tosses his phone aside. 

---

“Sure you don’t want to come?” Harry says the weekend after, pausing at the door. He’s all decked out in designer shite, tight jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, off to some party in Brentwood that Cara invited him to. Niall feels tired just looking at him. It’s been a long week of trying to grind stuff out in studio and mostly failing. Harry says it’s alright, that albums take time, but Niall still feels bloody useless. 

“Nah, mate. I’ll probably pass out in a bit.” 

“You’ve been working really hard.” Harry chews his lip. “Alright. Have fun. Just call a car if you want to come later, seriously. I’ll text you the address.” 

“Yeah, alright, Haz. Thanks.” 

The door swings shut, and Niall exhales slow, relieved. It’s not that he doesn’t love Harry, cos of course he does. But lately it’s taken effort to even think of things to say. Harry’s really happy, here, and Niall’s - well. Not. 

It feels too big to admit that to himself, though. It only comes in little flashes of realization, split seconds, and then he shoves it down so he won’t panic. 

He locks the door behind Harry and pads back into the kitchen. Dinner’s hodge-podge, a bit of leftover yakisoba from the night before, an apple from the fruit bowl on Harry’s counter. He eats outside, looking over the pool, sipping the rest of a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. Well. He’s got the entire night ahead. Maybe he’ll write music, or practice the bridge that always trips him up on that one track off the album. Maybe he’ll do something productive for bloody once. 

He takes a gulp of wine, and goes inside. 

---

He ends up in his room with the door locked, jerking off, because productive’s something other people are and no one’s there to tell him not to. He curls over in Harry’s fancy ergonomic desk chair, hunching his back, staring so hard at his laptop screen his eyes start watering, and no one’s fucking there to make him stop, or to hear the sounds of the porn he’s watching, an old video he hasn’t gotten off to in ages. A video on his hard drive he doesn’t open unless he’s drunk and he needs it like an itch under his skin. 

He forgot how awful it was. The way he used to get off before he and Cooper started up and Cooper fucked him often enough that Niall didn’t need this anymore. Fuck, it’s awful, and it’s so so good. One boy sprawled on his back, propped up on his elbows, laughing down at another bloke sucking him off with his hips pressed to the bed. A third one behind the second, holding him fast by the hips and hitting him over and over, on his bum and the back of his thighs, spanking him while he sucks dick. 

The second bloke can’t stop crying now, his eyes watering, arse bright red and raw, spit sliding down his chin. The boy behind him traces his fingers over the curve of his arse and then smacks him again, hard and sudden, and Niall gasps out a breath, hand moving faster on his dick. God. It must fucking hurt, and it must feel so amazing, his arse so raw, spanked pink and sore, and no letting up. Niall wants that, and he wants to be held down, face in the sheets, and he wants someone to- to-

“Fuck,” the boy chokes, voice garbled, arse shoving up as the other one laughs low and hits him once and then again, so hard Niall twitches just watching. “Fuck, gnhh, please, fuck fuck fuck stop god please stop-” 

Niall’s so close. He can hear the slick sound of his wet hand, rabbit-fast and frantic. He hunches down further in his chair, arm aching. 

“Stop, stop, please,” the boy gasps out, rutting his hips into the bed, mouthing sloppy around the first guy’s cock, greedy and wet. Like part of him wants it so bad, still, even when it burns. “Oh god, god-” 

He gets another smack on the softest part of his bum, blood-flushed and jiggling, and he moans so loud in pain that Niall can practically fucking feel it. Fuck, Niall wants to feel it. He wants it to hurt so bloody bad, and it’s disgusting but it’d- it’d feel so good, he wants to feel so good- 

He comes with a whimper, spurting up to his chest, breath shuddering out of his lungs so fast it feels panicky. He comes down slow, twitching, stroking himself until it starts to hurt, and then he fumbles quickly for a tissue. 

Once he’s got off, the porn seems loud and ridiculous, embarrassing, and he snaps his laptop shut and slides it away from him, swallowing hard, wiping sweat off his forehead. 

He checks his phone. It’s only nine-thirty. He could probably go downstairs, maybe take a swim, do the laundry that’s been sat in the hamper by the door for a week. But he feels shaky and a little sick, so he crawls into bed instead, taking his laptop and his phone with him. He reaches over to turn out the light, exhales, and swipes open his phone. 

Cooper posted on Instagram earlier that day, and Niall’s heart sinks when he sees what it is. A selfie of him and Ira, blurry in dim light, pulling faces at the camera. Niall can see the tops of their bare shoulders, the tiny bird Cooper has inked on his collarbone. He wonders if they’re naked, and then he hates himself for wondering. 

Hungover squad, it says, with three pint emojis. Ira’s grinning. He has dimples like Harry, carved into his cheeks, and there’s a comment from him under the photo. 

Why am I not in bed right nowww 

Niall stares at it for a long time, letting the hurt of it sink into him, marinating in it. He hates that he does that, but it feels good somehow, giving the same charge that the porn did. He’s sick that way. He wonders if Ira’s like that, or if they’re good and normal and don’t hurt each other in bed. 

He hopes normal. Cooper deserves someone like that. 

Niall doesn’t want to think about what he deserves. He turns the screen black with a click of his thumb, rolls over onto his belly and opens his laptop. The porn’s still up on the screen, blurry and grotesque, and Niall closes out of it as fast as he can. 

He idles for a second, swallowing, and then opens up a new window. 

Gay sex club los angeles, he picks out, slowly, and he shuffles forward on his elbows, hits Enter. 

---

Niall shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, his face boiling hot as he ducks through the crowd. He's only got on a t-shirt under, a tight one, and skinny jeans. It's a normal outfit, but something about putting it on for this felt - dirty. Good. He’s been thinking about it since last weekend, since the idea first popped into his head, and now he’s here. 

He bellies up to the bar, tapping his fingers nervously on the woodtop. He'd had a couple drinks before he left, but they feel burned away by now, his head too clear. He popped a Klonopin in the car, though, so that’ll kick in in a bit, slow everything down. Niall hopes it’s soon. His heart’s already pounding and he hasn’t even done anything. 

"Hi, honey," the bartender says to him, her voice warm. Niall looks up at her. She has her hair pulled up in a tight bun, dark eyeliner on. 

"Hey," he says, throat tightening. Let her not recognize him. Let her not recognize him. Let her not- 

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" she asks, eyes sweeping over him. She smiles, blank. 

"Vodka," Niall says. "Tonic. Make it a double if you don’t mind." 

"You got it." 

"Thanks," Niall says, sheepishly, and he turns around to face the room, fumbling through his wallet for a ten. The dance floor's dark and crowded. 

He turns back around just as the bartender slides his drink in front of him. 

"Ah, thanks," he says, handing her the bill, but she doesn't take it. 

"Paid for, sweetheart. That guy down there, the brown-haired one." 

Niall looks down the bar. A dark-haired man with a sharp jaw lifts his hand, mouth curving up in a smile. 

"Oh," Niall says, going red. "Cheers." 

"Don't thank me." She winks at him, and Niall takes an awkward sip of his drink, and then a gulp to fortify himself.

The man's waiting for him, sipping an amber-colored drink, watching Niall as Niall shoulders his way through the crowd and back up to the bar. 

"Thanks," Niall says. Shouts, really, cos the noise is obscene. 

"Yeah, no worries," the man says, leaning in so Niall can hear him. He looks thirty maybe, or in his late twenties. Friendly enough, wearing a gray t-shirt and jeans. Normal. Niall didn't expect normal people at a place like this. 

"So," the guy says, putting his hand on Niall's arm and his mouth against Niall's ear. It feels strangely intimate. "First time here?" 

Niall forces out a laugh. "That obvious?" 

The man shrugs, teasingly. "Look kinda nervous. Cute, but nervous." 

Something tenses in Niall's stomach, and he steps closer, pulse buzzing. 

"No," he says, close against the man's ear. His heart's pounding. "Just looking for someone who can give me what I want." 

It feels impossibly bold. Niall's expecting to be left alone with his stupid chat-up line and his stupid, horrible fantasy, but instead the guy huffs a soft laugh and moves his hand from Niall's arm to his waist. 

"And what do you want?" he murmurs. “What’d you come here for?” 

Niall shivers. He can feel fingers slipping under his t-shirt, resting hot like brands against his quivering belly. 

"You got a friend?" he says, shakily. 

The man laughs again, and Niall's fists clench. 

He leans forward, fingers pressing into Niall's skin. 

"Might have a friend," he says, instead of Jesus, no, you fucking pervert. "Depends on what you're looking for." 

"T'go somewhere private," Niall says, through a clenched jaw. He can feel the heat going down his neck. "With- with both of you." 

"Somewhere private," the guy repeats. He's grinning. "That's cute. Looking for a gangbang?" 

Niall huffs a breath. He shrugs, swallows. Finally croaks out, “Yeah, something like that.” 

The guy takes his hands off Niall, leaving him cold. “Think we could figure something out. Finish your drink.” 

Niall steels himself and knocks it back. 

---

Everything happens the way he planned it. The friend - bigger than the first guy with mean eyes and a smile that went sharp and knowing when the first guy whispered in his ear. A private room like the ones Niall read about online, in the back of the club, small and dim with a suspiciously-stained sofa. Neither of them ask his name, which suits Niall just fine. Better that way, isn’t it. 

“Knees,” one of them says from behind him, and Niall sways dizzily, the first hit of arousal socking him in the back of the neck and crawling down his spine. He goes to his knees, shivers. He has the weird urge to check and see if his wallet's still in his back pocket. His hand twitches at his side, and then there's a hand threading through his hair and the dark-haired bloke with the sharp jawline is stepping forward, nudging his hard dick at the side of Niall's mouth. 

Niall shuts his eyes, and opens for it, mouth watering. It feels so good to finally open around a cock that he moans a little, his dick giving a heavy twitch in his pants. It's shameful, that it always makes him feel that way. He can't help it. You just fucking love cock, Cooper liked to say, when they were having sex and Niall wanted him to talk, wanted Coop to mumble mean dirty shit in Niall’s ear. You're fucking desperate for it. 

He feels someone else step up behind him, slide fingers into his hair. Niall whimpers, and sinks his mouth down lower, like if he's full enough he can forget they're watching. Like that's not exactly what he wants. 

"Share 'im?" the guy says from behind Niall, barely audible over the wet sounds of Niall's mouth, the soft way Jawline's panting. 

"Gimme a minute, man," Jawline mutters, pushing Niall's face down on his cock. Niall breathes through his nose, tries not to gag. "He's good at this." 

"Just a whore," the second man says, sounding warm and knowing. "Came here looking for dick. Needs to get filled." 

Niall tries not to make a sound at that, but his eyes prickle with good, grateful tears. Cooper was right, when he said all that mean shit about Niall in bed. Niall is desperate for it. He'll take it from whoever, wherever. 

Cooper's not the same as him, and that's exactly why Niall's in a club, on his knees. These people are the same as him. He belongs here. 

He pulls off to breathe, lungs tight, and the guy behind him comes into view, his dick out of his jeans, hard in his fist. 

"Wanna come on his face," Jawline says tightly, keeping his dick in front of Niall's mouth. 

"Later, man. Don't you wanna come in that tight little ass?" 

Niall lets out a pained breath, dick throbbing even as his throat tightens up, scared. It hits him that this is real. Not just a fantasy out of Cooper's mouth, or something to obsess over while he wanks. It's real. 

If one of them pushed him down and held his arms and did- whatever. They- they could do whatever to him. Niall doesn't want to think about how dry his throat gets at the idea. 

Jawline murmurs something appreciative back to the other guy, and he laughs, steps in front of Niall and pushes his dick into Niall's mouth. Niall has to remember how to open for it, jaw clenching for a second until he sinks back into it and relaxes. There are hands in his hair, stroking, and Niall's eyes flutter shut. 

"Fuck, yeah, that's nice," Other Guy says, rough. Niall can feel a thumb running over his cheekbone, the bulge of it in his cheek. "God. Real fucking nice, look at you, baby boy. Pretty baby. Big fat dick in your mouth, huh? That's all you wanted." 

Niall shuffles closer, moaning. That's not exactly the thing he likes - baby boy, pretty baby- but for some reason that turns him on more, that he's sucking off some random stranger who doesn't give a shit what Niall likes. Niall's part of his fantasy, and it feels so good to not be the one responsible that his eyes go wet again. He squeezes them shut, wraps his hand around the base of the man's dick. 

"Alright," Other Guy murmurs, laughing, pulling at Niall's hand. "Hands off, baby boy." 

Niall looks up at him, jaw aching, a steady thump that echoes the one between his legs. He doesn't say anything. He wants to sway forward and suck the man's dick again, but he can't move. 

"Up," Other Guy says, rubbing his knuckles over Niall's jaw. "Over the couch, ass up. Let's go." 

Jawline laughs, and Niall glances at him, cheeks burning. Jawline's stroking himself slow, like he's staying ready, waiting. Waiting his turn in Niall's mouth or his ass. 

Niall staggers up to his feet, flushes anew when he realizes how much he's leaked through his pants. He can't act surprised, though, because he imagined it happening, even down to that detail - his dick wet and excited in his pants, how everyone'll know how much he wants it. He wore gray briefs on purpose, cos black or white would hide it too much, and he stifles a pleased little sigh when Other Guy catches on straightaway, reaches down to grope Niall's dick, rubbing at the slick spot until it spreads and Niall shudders. 

"Fucking leaking," he says, while Niall hisses, tries not to push up against the gentle touch. "Jesus. Just from giving head. Shit, you're a slut." 

"How's he gonna feel with a dick up his ass?" Jawline says behind them, sounding hungry as he passes a condom to Other Guy. A part of Niall relaxes at the sight. He was dreading having to ask. 

"Mm, bet he'll cream himself," Other Guy murmurs. 

Niall lets out a wobbly noise, protest and assent mixed, and then he's being bent over the sofa, legs kicked apart and pants dragged down his arse, fingers opening him up in hot rough stretches and then the solid press of a cock. It all happens so fast he keeps almost-coming, a hand fumbling down to his prick as he twitches in little aborted bursts of pleasure. He can hear, vaguely, the slap of wet latex into his arse, Other Guy grunting and Jawline panting as he wanks off watching them. His brain's shuddering with each thrust, though, sparking, so he tunes them out mostly, just thinks more, more. 

He gets more, because Other Guy pulls out and Jawline steps up, slides his palms around Niall's hips and pushes inside him. He's bigger than Other Guy, and Niall chokes a frantic breath, clenches his hands in the sofa cushions, trying to fit him in. 

"Fucking Christ, he loves it," Other Guy mumbles. "Bet your sweet little cock's all wet from this, ready to come, huh? That pretty little dick of yours." 

Niall's so turned-on it fucking hurts. He wishes he weren't, fervently, but his dick doesn't go down. Jawline tugs one of Niall's legs back and rocks inside at a new angle, and Niall moans loud, trying to rub off against the back of the sofa. He can't get close enough for the pressure he needs, and he makes another sound, desperate. 

"God, fuck, yeah," Jawline's muttering, hips working fast. "Jesus. Tight little hole, fuck."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Other Guy says, breathless. 

"Yeah, so fucking tight." 

"Look at him take your dick, man." 

Niall wishes he could see, suddenly. The stretch of his arse around a dick, the muscles all quivering in his back. He and Coop made this video, once, like - Cooper filmed Niall on his phone as Niall rode him with his back to the camera, balancing himself on the bed and working back against Cooper's prick. He filmed Niall getting fucked and then he showed it to him later, and Niall went red and got hard, just watching himself sink onto Cooper's dick. Coop crawled down between his legs while the video played, started sucking him off with two fingers teasing at Niall’s arsehole, until Niall shuddered and came, silently, while the version of him on the video whined and carried on and begged for it harder. 

He twitches hard at the memory, eyes opening again. The dark room blurs in his vision and then goes solid and sharp-edged as his eyes adjust, and he blinks, heavily. On second thought he doesn't want to see this. No one can ever know about this. It feels satisfying, a little clench of guilty arousal at that old familiar feeling of having to keep it quiet, having to keep his mouth shut. Keeping a secret was tiring, but Christ, it was hot sometimes. 

"C'mon, yeah, fuck," Other Guy is mumbling, when Niall tunes back in. "Pull out and come on his back." 

"Shit," Jawline gasps, thrusting short and hard now, each one pushing a pained breath from Niall's throat. "So tight, fuck-" 

"Mark him up, man," Other Guy says hungrily. Niall can see him tugging his dick out of the corner of his eye. "Cover that bitch in come." 

"Yeah, fuck," Jawline mutters, still rocking into him. "Fuck, m'gonna-"

He pulls out so fast Niall wheezes and clutches the sofa, and then there's come splashing on his back, wet and warm. Niall can hear them murmuring appreciatively like he's done a trick. He reaches a hand down to tug at himself, but something feels - off, like he's tipped over an edge and gotten more than he asked for. 

Jawline drags a hand over his lower back, smearing the jizz on his skin, and Niall feels so abruptly embarrassed he wants to throw up. Shit. Shit, he didn't need this, he didn't need to do this, he could've just kept wanking to awful porn and getting off on memories. Why'd he do this? 

"Not done yet, slut," Other Guy murmurs. "C'mere, wanna come on your face. Get your briefs off, I wanna see that pretty little dick." 

Niall takes down his pants and goes. He feels frozen, nothing registering, as Other Guy sits on the sofa and sprawls his thighs open and Niall goes to his knees between them. Before it was too exciting, too close, every little thing making him more turned-on, and now it feels so far away. Weird, he thinks dazedly, before Other Guy holds his head in place and fucks into his mouth. Niall shuts his eyes but he can feel himself tear up anyway, trying not to choke. 

"Jesus," Other Guy mumbles, moving his hips in slow thrusts. "Look at you. You fucking love taking it." 

"Cockslut," Jawline mutters from somewhere behind them. Niall’s knee is starting to ache. 

"He sure fucking is." Other Guy's gone breathless. "God, fuck. You ever had someone come on your face before, baby boy?" 

Niall feels a little pulse of heat through his numb haze, and he nods around the dick in his mouth, keeping his eyes down. Other Guy laughs, digs fingers into Niall's hair. 

"Course you have," he says, low and hoarse. "Course you fucking have. Jerk yourself off while you suck me, I wanna see it." 

Niall's not sure if he can, except- when he reaches down to touch himself he's stiff and slick with precome, like his mind and his dick aren't connected. He starts to wank himself, an easy familiar motion, and it jolts a helpless moan out of him. 

"Yeah, good." Other Guy tugs his head forward so Niall can barely breathe. "Made to take dick, fuck." 

Niall is. He is. Cooper knew it and these people know it. It's so hot and so awful at the same time, knowing that. He wanks himself faster, tighter, choking around the dick in his mouth. 

"Oh, fuck, shit, yeah," Other Guy groans. "God, I'm gonna come. Gonna nut all over your face." 

Niall puts all of himself into it, sucks him loud and swallows around the head until Other Guy hisses and jerks his prick out of Niall's mouth, unloads a stripe of come over his jaw. Niall's still reeling from it when he feels the crack of the guy's hand on his cheek, a hard solid smack, and the pain brings everything back, every sensation crashing down onto him again, the world suddenly very close and loud. 

The guy slaps him again and it tips Niall right over the edge, his dick pulsing in his hand as he finally comes, hot and sticky between his fingers. Even as it's happening he wishes he could take it back. He wishes it were Cooper who made him come like that, not this random bloke who's breathing hard and thumbing over Niall's bottom lip as Niall shivers through his orgasm.

Niall staggers back, hands and face sticky and burning hot. His mouth feels swollen. 

"Jesus, yeah," Other Guy says slowly, still idly touching himself. Jawline's half-hard again, watching them, his hand on his dick. 

Niall coughs into his elbow, and wipes at his mouth. He feels small and ashamed, the way he always gets after he does this kind of thing, except usually Cooper's there to make him feel better. This is the part where Cooper gets quiet and soft with him, fetches him water, wraps him up in a cuddle. Niall likes that part so much. 

Jawline tosses him a damp paper towel, and Other Guy says, "Clean yourself up." 

Niall dabs at his face, wincing when he feels the tender heat of his injured cheek, and then reaches around to get his back. 

"You're hot," Other Guy says, watching him, and Niall tries not to go red. "You should come here more often." 

Niall thinks no fucking way, and immediately his brain whispers but what if you need it again? 

He doesn't say anything, just pretends he's focusing on scrubbing jizz off his hands. 

"I got a friend who would love you," Other Guy says, reaching out to ruffle Niall's hair. "He's gonna be pissed he didn't come out tonight. Jon, isn't Chris gonna be pissed he missed this?"

Jawline laughs. "Yeah, man."  

Other Guy chuckles, starts pushing himself up from the sofa, stomach muscles flexing.

"We usually come on Fridays," he says. "Stop by next week if you want. Can show you a good time." 

"Thanks," Niall mumbles. His voice is shot. A minute later he's alone in the small room, the door swinging shut behind them. Niall pushes himself up with shaky arms, grabs for his pants. 

He's tugging his shirt over his head when the door opens. 

"You using this room?" a grey-haired bloke asks, peering in at him. There's another guy under his arm, younger, clutching a beer bottle and grinning, out of it.

"No," Niall says, tugging his shirt down. "Sorry." 

He shoves past them, fumbles his way to the exit, checking his pockets for his wallet and keys and phone. It's only when he's stumbling over a curb and nearly braining himself on the pavement that he realizes he's too trashed to drive. He stops outside his car, swaying. There's a burst of raucous laughter from the front of the club, and Niall shudders and gets in the car, locking the door behind him, exhaling slow in the sudden silence. 

He sits there for a long minute, eyes glazing over. What he should do is get a cab, except what if the cab driver knows him, and there's a story tomorrow about Niall leaving some sex club? He can't have that. Harry can't have that. 

His eyes go wet, and he drags in a long breath, scrubs at them furiously until he doesn’t feel like crying anymore. Something settles like cold steel inside him, and he picks up his phone. 

---

Harry pulls up a half hour later, sunglasses on despite the time, a hood over his head. Niall slips into the passenger seat, barely shutting the door before Harry's peeling off. 

"Hey," Harry says, voice hoarse and tired. 

Niall's face is burning. He looks out the window. "Hi." 

Harry coughs into the crook of his elbow. "You alright?" 

"I'm fine." It's a massive fucking lie, but oh well. "Sorry, I. I dunno. Sorry for ringing you. Thanks for coming." 

"Course." Harry coughs again, and takes off his sunglasses, dropping them in the center console. 

"I should've just rung a cab, I just." 

"Glad you didn't." Harry rubs a hand over his face. "Not to be a dick, but it's probably a good idea to not let anyone know, like- y'know. Where you were." 

Acid rises hot in Niall's throat, and he swallows it down. He knew that already. "Yeah." 

Harry's quiet for a minute. Niall's eyes are wet, but he doesn't make a sound. 

"You sure you're alright, Ni?" Harry says, very softly. 

Niall can't speak. Anything he wants to say is tucked firmly behind the lump in his throat. He shrugs. 

"Niall." 

Niall coughs hard. "Fine," he rasps out. 

"You- like, I wanna be, like. I want you to do what you like here, y'know? Not telling you not to do anything. It's not like before. You don't have to- you know, keep it a secret. You can hook up with guys. Date them. Anything you want."  

His voice is careful. Gentle. Niall can't handle gentle. He'd rather Harry screamed at him for waking him up, for making him drive forty minutes out to some grotty club in the middle of the night because Niall's too fucked to get home. Harry knows, deep down. Harry knows Niall's a fucking mess. 

"But I just-" Harry sighs. "I feel like you're not, uh. In a great headspace right now." 

Niall's eyes spill over. He stares out the window, hand clenching and unclenching on his thigh. Harry’s too close, bumbling around too fucking close to the truth. 

"And, like. Like. God, I feel like your dad or summat. Just want you to be okay. You get that, right, Ni?" 

Niall nods. Reaches up to swipe at his cheeks with one hand. 

"Was it fun at least?" Harry asks, laughing a little. “I mean, seems like it could be fun.” 

Niall chokes. He squeezes his thigh hard. 

"Niall?" Harry looks over at him, and then they're pulling off the road, the car bumping on the shoulder. They come to a stop. "Niall. Look at me." 

"No," Niall says, so thick it's barely audible. He doesn't turn his head. "No. Wasn't fun." 

"Fuck," Harry mutters. "Fuck. What happened? Jesus, shh, god, alright." 

He fumbles around until he's pushing a pack of tissues into Niall's lap. Niall pulls one out, hands shaking. 

"Niall-" 

"I can't do this," Niall chokes out. 

"Can't do what?" Harry sounds baffled. 

"This. LA." He can't look at Harry. "I can't do it." 

Harry breathes out slow. 

"What happened?" 

"I'm so fucked up, Haz." His voice won't stop wobbling. "I'm so fucked up, like. You don't want me here. I'm a mess." 

"You're bloody not." Harry reaches over for him, puts his hand over the hand Niall has on his thigh. "Just talk to me. It's just me, mate." 

"I miss Coop," Niall says, and it makes him sob. So stupid. He presses the tissue against his face.

Harry grips his leg tight. "Yeah?" 

Niall nods miserably. 

"You miss him, like- you want to go back to Australia?" 

"I dunno." Niall can't get his mind together. He keeps thinking about what happened, back there. How he just kept going. Shit, he needs a shower. 

Harry goes quiet, and Niall grabs another tissue, blows his nose.  

"He's seeing someone else, anyway," he says, and Harry clucks softly in his throat. 

"That what this is about?" 

Niall shrugs. Wipes his nose with the crumpled tissue. 

"I'm fucked up." 

"You're not. Don't - don't say that." 

"I did, like. Gross shit." He looks away, out the window. "Like gross shit, Harry." 

"It's just sex," Harry murmurs. "It's just one night, it's over, you’re alright-" 

"It's not just sex." Niall knocks his forehead against the window, hard. His jaw clenches. "I let them, like, hit me." 

Harry's silent. 

"It was just, like. Rough," Niall says, hoarsely. "It was, I dunno."

He stops. Shakes his head. 

"Niall-" 

"You don't get it, alright?" 

"What don't I get?" 

"You're so fucking - like. It's just easy for you. It's so bloody easy. You just do whatever you want and it's okay. Everyone just fucking wants for you to be however you want." 

Harry sniffs in hard and doesn't say anything. 

"I let these blokes fuck me and, like. Come on me." Niall forces his voice steady. "And one of them, like. I was sucking him off and he hit me when he came on me. On my face." 

He laughs, all wobbly. Doesn't look at Harry. 

"I didn't wanna stop," he says roughly. "I wanted him to fucking hit me again. Wanted him to knock me out so I didn't have to know what I did with him." 

Harry sniffles again. "Fucking hell, Niall." 

"I told you I'm fucked up." 

"You're not. You're not." 

"Come the fuck on, Harry," Niall says, forcing another laugh, sour. "Yes I am." 

"You're only messed up if you feel like you're messed up." 

"I do, god," Niall snaps, and Harry goes very quiet. Watches him. 

It scares the shit out of him. His chest feels tight all of a sudden, panic coming in fast. He is. He's messed up. He's messed up. It’s the thing he’s been trying not to think about since he touched down in LA, and now it’s there and it fucking hurts. 

Harry's brows are furrowed, his hand still on Niall's thigh. 

"Then - then we can work on it," he says, low. "You can talk to someone. You just have to talk to people, Niall, no one can- can, like, help unless they know what’s going on." 

Niall wriggles his hand out from under Harry's. He's holding his breath. It feels like something's coming, looming over him, worse than it's ever been. He could die from a panic attack. He's read stories before, in one of his Web MD spirals. People who couldn't stop choking, couldn't get air, and their hearts just stopped beating- 

He puts his hand over his chest, feels his racing heart. 

"Niall," Harry says, very calm. "Niall, breathe. Just breathe." 

Niall shakes his head, scrambles for the door handle. It's locked for a dizzying second until he finds the latch and he shoves it open, staggers outside. There's no curb, just gravel that turns into grass. He holds himself up against the car, breathes hard, clasping his hands together against the passenger window. 

He hears Harry's footsteps in the gravel, and then there's a hand on his back. 

"Breathe," Harry says, voice sounding watery and far away. "It's alright. Everything's alright." 

Niall's wheezing too hard to tell him - no, it's absolutely not alright, not at all. 

Harry cups a hand over the back of his neck, warm and grounding. Holds it there. 

"Shh, sh," he's murmuring. "Shh. Breathe." 

Niall's bloody trying. He swallows over and over, throat dry. Chokes on it once, and then manages to say- "Water?" 

"I- in my gym bag," Harry says, hand falling off Niall's neck. "Wait. Just wait." 

He opens the back door, presses a half-empty water bottle into Niall's hand a minute later. 

Niall unscrews the top. The first sip goes down the front of his shirt, but he manages the second one. He's sweating, and he scrubs at his forehead with the back of his hand. 

Harry's hovering anxiously over him. 

"Alright?" 

Niall takes another gulp of water. 

"We should get home," Harry says, patting Niall's back carefully. "You're knackered." 

Niall huffs a pitiful laugh. Knackered, yeah, that's his main problem. 

"Let’s go." Harry's hand slides down Niall's spine, and then he steps away. Niall hears his car door open and shut, and he takes a last sip of water, does the same. 

He tips his head back against the seat. 

"Sorry." 

"You don't have to say you're sorry." 

"Yeah. Well." Niall sticks the water bottle into one of the cupholders between them. "I am."  

Harry just sticks his key in the ignition and pulls off the shoulder, his brows furrowed. It makes Niall tired to look at him, so he turns away. 

 ---

"Oh - fucking hell!" Louis yelps, slapping Niall's knee hard. Niall snorts and rubs his knee, elbowing Louis in the side. "That was a bloody foul!"

"Shut up," Briana hisses, shoving Louis' thigh. "Oh my god, you're humiliating." 

Louis just shakes his head darkly. He looks entirely too invested in the football match in front of them, considering every player is five years old. Niall's already watched one tiny girl wander off the field to chase a butterfly and there are two kids just sitting and chatting in the grass around midfield. 

"Seriously, this is ridiculous!" Louis snaps. "Elbows, ref, elbows-" 

"They're not calling fouls, Louis, they're five," Briana says, snorting. 

"Children are vicious," Louis says darkly. "Yes, Alex! Yes, you got this-" 

Alex looks up at the sound of his dad's voice and promptly misses the shot and falls over. A girl with dark braids steals the ball and starts sprinting down the pitch in the opposite direction. 

Niall winces. 

Louis curses under his breath and then starts clapping. "That was a good try, Al! Good effort!" 

Briana rolls her eyes at Niall, and Niall laughs into his hand. Alex is picking himself up, dusting off his kit and looking red in the face. 

He looks up at the stands, and Louis gives him a thumbs-up. Alex returns it and runs off. Niall snorts into his elbow, yelps when Louis steps on his foot. 

"Shut up." 

"Dad of the year-" 

"Fuck off," Louis says, but he's laughing, and he wraps an arm around Niall's shoulders, flicks at the brim of his baseball cap. "Twat." 

Next to them, Briana sighs long-sufferingly. She probably does that a lot, when Louis’ in town. He got in last week, but Niall hasn’t seen him until today, when Louis messaged him mid-morning and invited him to Alex’s footy match. 

It’s been a long time since he saw Louis. He forgets, sometimes, that Louis’ actually a dad now. Five years on and it still feels weird sometimes. 

The whistle blows, but it takes a couple more minutes for the ref to get them to stop playing. Louis stands up with a sigh, grins when Alex comes tumbling up the steps of the bleachers. 

“Dad!” he shouts, as Louis crouches down to meet him. “Dad, did you see when I kicked that ball?” 

“Yeah, love, I saw it,” Louis laughs, hoisting Alex into his arms. “That was so awesome.” 

“Good job, mate,” Niall says, holding out a hand for a high-five, and Alex looks at him sideways.

“Who’re you?” 

“You remember Uncle Niall, c’mon, Al,” Louis says, adjusting him on his hip. “He’s the one who sent you that really cool tricycle for your birthday last year, remember?” 

Niall huffs a laugh. “God, I forgot about that. Got that off Sky Mall. Think I was a bit drunk when I ordered it.” 

“He loved it,” Briana says, smiling at him, sliding her sunglasses down onto her eyes. “Like, obsessed.” 

“Ahh, good.” 

Alex offers his hand for a high-five, still looking suspicious, and after Niall gives it to him Louis sets him down, ruffling his shaggy hair. 

“Go find Jack, alright?” Briana says, squeezing his shoulders. “We’re giving him a ride home today.” 

“Kay,” Alex chirps, taking off down the steps. 

“He’s going to a birthday party at Alice’s house tonight,” Briana says, as they get their things together. “So you don’t need to stick around.” 

Louis nods, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “Sounds good. Sure you don’t need me to give him a ride, or anything-” 

“No, it’s fine.” She pats Louis’ shoulder. “I got it. Take the night off.” 

Louis chews his lip for a minute, and then turns to Niall. 

“Could grab a takeaway, go back to my place,” he says. “Unless you’re busy with popstar shit.” 

“Nah, not busy.” 

Louis slings an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go, then.” 

---

Louis’ flat has a big balcony in the back, with a sofa and a view of the smoggy city. They sit out there for a while after dinner, passing a bowl back and forth. 

“Is it like, hard to be a dad?” Niall asks, poking at Louis’ feet in his lap. 

Louis lets out a long breath. “I dunno. I mean, a bit. It’s hard cos you’re supposed to know everything, you know?” 

Niall hums. 

“And that’s insane. Like, I could tell Alex the sun goes down cos, like, there are ghosts in the sky or something, and he’d believe me.” 

He laughs, heel digging into Niall’s thigh. “But, mate, I dunno. It’s not hard. It’s just - you know, it’s just your life then. Can’t even think what it’d be like if I didn’t have him.” 

He shrugs. 

Niall nods, slowly. 

“You think there are some people who just, like.” He stops, swallows. “Who aren’t meant to have kids?” 

Louis lifts his head, peering at him. “You talking about you?” 

Niall shrugs, not making eye contact. He looks at Louis’ feet instead. “Dunno.” 

“You’re talking rubbish,” Louis says, thunking his head back down. “You’d be a great dad.” 

Niall breathes out a sour laugh. “Sure.” 

Louis kicks his leg. “Don’t be so close-minded, Niall, gay blokes can totally have kids now-” 

“Fuck off,” Niall laughs. “That’s not why I- that’s not.” 

He chews his lip. 

“It’s sort of why we- why I split with my, um. With Cooper.” He sniffs in hard. Oh, Christ, he is not crying in front of fucking Louis like he’s bloody sixteen again. “Like, he really wants kids.” 

Louis’ watching him from hooded eyes. “Didn’t know you’d split up with him.” 

Niall nods, slow. “When I left Melbourne. Well, it’s like a break. Or whatever. I dunno.” 

“Hmm.” Louis shifts his feet in Niall’s lap. “That’s shit.” 

“Yeah. Hey.” Niall pokes Louis’ big toe. “Remember like, when people thought you and Harry were a thing?” 

He can see Louis tense up. 

“Yeah.”

Niall didn’t really have a follow-up. He swallows. 

“You didn’t ever actually - I mean. You and him.” 

He doesn’t know he’s going to say it until it’s out of his mouth, and his face goes red. Course he’s wondered it for ages, but he never thought he’d actually ask. 

Louis lets out a sharp laugh. “Are you serious?” 

Niall just shrugs. 

“I’m not gay,” Louis says.

“Neither’s Harry.” 

“Oh- come off it, you know what I mean. I’m not into blokes.” 

“I’m just asking.” Niall aims for neutral, calm, even though he knows that’s what’ll piss Louis off the most. It’s been a long time, but he still knows how to get to him. 

“Jesus, you’re ridiculous,” Louis says, pulling his feet off Niall’s lap. “Why d’you care, anyway?” 

“I’m just wondering.” 

Louis sits up straight, muttering to himself. He fumbles for a fag out of the pack on the table. 

“What, did you?” Niall asks, watching him. “It’s not like I give a shit.” 

Louis laughs and it sounds mean. “Pretty sure you give a shit about anything Harry does. Still hung up on him, are you?” 

“No.” Niall brings his knees up on the sofa, wraps an arm around them, suddenly cold. He and Harry have barely talked, this past week. “I’m not.” 

Louis lights the fag and takes a long suck. 

“He tried,” he says suddenly. “A few times. When we were kids. Nothing ever really happened.” 

Niall sticks a nail into his mouth. 

“The thing that drove me mad,” Louis says slowly. “Is that he never, like, said we weren’t fucking. He never said shit. Drove me mental, cos we weren’t, but of course no one believed me.” 

He taps ash onto the ground, bitter smile curling his mouth. 

“One time I told him it was because he was in love with me,” he says, staring at the fag in his hand. “Like that’s why he never said anything, because he wished it were all true. I said I wasn’t gonna fuck him no matter how many people thought we were.” 

He laughs again. “He didn’t talk to me for two weeks. Stubborn bastard.” 

Niall stays quiet. 

Louis shrugs, the fag held between his lips. He looks old all of a sudden, old and tired, his brow furrowed and smoke drizzling out of his mouth. Niall wonders if he thinks about it a lot - not Harry, but the past in general. The way things were. Niall’s been thinking about it a bit lately. His da always said he was too young to be nostalgic, but it’s never stopped him. 

“I had a bit of a thing for you, to be honest,” Niall says, suddenly. “Back in the day.” 

Louis’ face curves up in a smile, eyes crinkling. “Course you fucking did.”

Niall laughs, relieved. “Only til I found out what a twat you were.” 

Louis scrunches his nose at him, raising his middle finger. 

“It’s weird, innit?” Niall says. 

“That you fancied me? Nah, that’s to be expected-” 

“Shut up.” Niall snorts. “No, like. Just that we- we did that. You know? Five years. It’s just. I dunno, it’s weird.” 

“I’m cutting you off, you sound like Harry now,” Louis says bossily. 

Niall goes quiet. 

“It is weird,” Louis says softly, after a long minute. “But, like. It’s over. I think about it like uni. Like this part of your life that’s just bloody weird, and then you start everything for real.” 

“So it wasn’t for real?” Niall asks. He chews at his thumbnail, idly, waiting for Louis’ response. 

“It was real, but. I dunno. Didn’t feel as real as it does to have Alex. Or to - to have a proper job, like a business job. It was just like- it was fucking insane, mate, I dunno.” 

He shrugs. 

“Harry’s still in it.” Niall beckons for the cigarette and Louis hands it over. “He’s still doing the same thing.” 

“Harry’ll do it forever,” Louis says. He sounds fond and tired at the same time. “Like we always said. Born for it.” 

Niall nods slowly. 

“But for most of us, mate, it’s not like that. It’s not real life.” Louis takes the fag back and sucks on it. “And that’s alright, you know? Remember how fucking tired of it we got?” 

Niall’s next breath is wobbly. He nods. 

“Real life’s a bit boring sometimes but it’s bloody worth it.” Louis shrugs. “Oh Christ, I sound like a nan. That shit should be embroidered on a pillow.” 

Niall chokes a laugh, and Louis chuckles too, leans against Niall’s shoulder, warm and steady. 

---

The three of them meet at Harry’s the next night. Louis makes dinner, upending half of Harry’s kitchen and muttering about how Harry doesn’t even have onions, how the hell does he not have onions? 

“You know they give me heartburn,” Harry says, pulling a kombucha out of the fridge. “I’ve told you that.” 

“Raw onions, you idiot.” Louis sighs, tips some jarred garlic into a pan. Niall can hear the sizzle. “Not if they’re cooked.” 

“Even cooked, they do.” 

“They do not. That’s not a thing.”

Harry unscrews his kombucha and takes a sip, staring into the pan as Louis stirs. 

“Hand me a beer, Haz?” Niall asks, and Harry pulls one out of the fridge. Niall uncracks it on the counter, and Harry gives him a baleful look. He hates when Niall does that. 

Niall just grins, and Harry sighs, offers Niall his kombucha. 

“No thanks, mate.” 

“It’s good for you.” 

“At what cost, lad. It’s probably good to eat, like, twigs and grass and shite, but I don’t, do I.” 

“Did you just say it’s good to eat twigs?” Louis laughs. 

“Shut up.” 

Louis takes the kombucha out of Harry’s hand and takes a tentative sip. Niall pulls a face just watching him. 

“Ooh,” he says, taking another sip. “This is horrible, Hazza.” 

“It’s good for you!”

“Tastes like piss. Like pissy vinegar.” 

“That reminds me, Glenne gave me this stuff last Christmas, like, it’s like a shot? You take a shot of it? But it’s, um, apple cider and vinegar and cayenne and horseradish, I think.”

“That sounds awful.” 

“Oh, it is.” Harry laughs and gulps his kombucha. “Burns like hell. It makes you feel amazing though. Really clears me out.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Niall mutters. 

“Masochist,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Gimme another sip, go on.” 

Harry looks pleased as he hands it over. 

“They make a version with chia,” he says. “Chia seeds, y’know? They’re like this little seed and they turn into jelly when you put ‘em in liquid. They’re from South America, or Mexico maybe, I can’t remember, but they’re like crazy good for you, like a superfood. Oh, Remi made this pudding with them once, like coconut milk, chia - I think it had agave? American pudding, I mean, like custard. Ooh, I think she put orange zest in too.” 

“What are you talkin’ about,” Louis says fondly. “Read the room, Harold, no one gives a shit about your weird American pudding.” 

Harry pulls a face. “Niall, you care, don’t you?” 

“Keep me out of it, mate.” 

“Bastard,” Harry says, but he’s laughing. 

--- 

After dinner they go up to Harry’s room so he can pack. He’s off to New York for a week, for the Met Gala and a couple other promo events. Niall sits against Harry’s headboard while Louis drapes himself over Harry’s desk chair, muttering about how uncomfortable it is. 

“Christ, you’ve got a lot of clothes,” Niall calls, as Harry disappears into his walk-in closet. He comes back out a moment later with two pairs of boots, holds them up for approval. 

“Which one should I bring?” 

Louis groans. “Oh my god. Who cares.” 

“The black ones,” Niall interjects. 

“Thank you, Niall,” Harry says pointedly, setting the black boots in his case. He goes back into the walk-in closet, and Louis looks over at Niall, eyebrow raising. 

“Psst.” 

“What?” 

Louis pulls a little silver pen out of his pocket, grinning. “You want?” 

Niall huffs a laugh. “You’re a bloody pothead.” 

“It’s California, mate, I’ve got to take advantage.” Louis tosses him the vape, and Niall immediately shoves it under his thigh when Harry comes back into the room, humming to himself, carrying four hangers full of floral-patterned designer button-downs. He rolls and tucks them all into his suitcase, and looks up at them suspiciously. 

“You’re being quiet,” he says, frowning. 

“Sorry we’re not fascinated by you packing way too much ridiculous shite for a week-long holiday,” Louis laughs. “Can I put some music on?” 

“Yeah, go ‘head.” Harry turns back into the closet, and Louis raises his eyebrows at Niall until Niall sighs and pulls the vape out, presses down and takes a hit. He exhales towards the open bedroom door, in a vain attempt to not be completely obvious. 

“My turn,” Louis whispers demandingly, and Niall passes it over. Louis takes a deep hit just as Harry comes back into the room with a suitjacket, bends down to carefully lay it in his case. 

Niall muffles a snort at Louis exhaling in tiny puffs so Harry won’t catch him. He’s about to reach over and grab the vape again when Harry straightens up and sniffs the air. 

“What’s that-” he turns, and narrows his eyes. “Louis, Jesus Christ.” 

Louis puts his empty hands up. “What?” 

Harry just glares at him. “Don’t smoke in my bloody room, you prick.” 

“It’s just a vape, nana, it won’t stink up the place, calm down.” Louis pulls it out and takes another hit, tosses it at Niall. Niall catches it guiltily, as Harry turns his betrayed look onto him. 

“He started it,” he says, and Louis gives him the finger. 

Harry sighs, and sinks down onto the edge of the bed. “Give it here, then.” 

“Yesss, Harold,” Louis says with satisfaction, practically bouncing in his chair. Niall passes it over, and Harry takes a hit, blows it out slow. Niall doesn’t mean to watch his mouth, but he can’t help it. It’s right there, and really pink. 

Harry catches eyes with him as he hands it back. 

“Bad influence,” he says, hoarsely, and Niall tries not to flush as he takes another hit. 

Harry gets high and giggly and doesn’t finish packing, ends up on his back in bed next to Niall, laughing up at the ceiling. He really is such a fucking lightweight. Niall tells him so, several times, and Harry just keeps bloody laughing. 

Louis stays in his chair, smokes more than both of them combined, gets quiet and puts Frank Ocean on and hums along as he scrolls through his phone. He always went all detached when they got high, wanted to keep to himself and just be still. 

Niall, on the other hand, always wanted to touch. He wants it now, if he’s honest, lying there next to Harry, feeling his warmth. 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles at some point. “I need a wee.” 

“Well then go, idiot,” Niall says, flopping his hand so his pinky brushes Harry’s wrist on the bed. Just that makes his breath catch. 

“M’not an idiot.” 

“Yeah you are,” Louis says absently.

Harry makes a squawky offended sound, and then starts giggling again. It sets Niall off, laughing so hard his eyes squeeze shut, and he doesn’t even notice Harry’s getting up until he hears his footsteps.  

“Weeee,” Harry’s muttering to himself, running a hand through his hair. He stumbles over a discarded shoe and nearly falls on his face. “Whoops. We’re almost there.” 

“Who’re you talking to, Harry?” Louis asks, amused. 

“Shoe,” Harry says back. 

“Oh, shoe, alright. Makes sense.”

“Shut up, Lou. Okay, I- ooh, wait. Niall. I meant to tell you.” Harry peeks his head out from the en-suite. “Next week? Like. Julian’s got this new, um. Track he wants you to listen to.” 

“Alright.” 

“He thinks it’d really suit your voice.” 

“I’m not doin’ vocals, Harry.” 

“I know, I know, but. Just hear him out. I dunno. He said he’s working on it and we can go in next week and listen once I’m back from New York.” 

Niall stares up at the ceiling. He swallows. “Yeah, alright, Haz.” 

“Sick.” Harry disappears into the toilet. 

Niall’s just shutting his eyes when he hears Louis say, “Niall.” 

He looks over. “Hm?” 

Louis’ watching him, eyes sharp. 

“You’re not gonna be here when he gets back,” he says, very quietly. “Are you?” 

Something twists hot in Niall’s gut, guilty and caught-out. He shrugs. 

Louis tilts his head. 

“You going back to Melbourne?” 

“I don’t fucking know, Lou,” Niall says, sharper than he means to. 

Louis opens his mouth to say something else when they both hear the toilet flush, and a moment later Harry staggers out, shaking his damp hands. 

“Hiii,” he says, crawling back into bed, closer to Niall this time. He puts his face against Niall’s shoulder. “Mm. I’m knackered.” 

Louis looks at Niall again, for a long, considering moment. 

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says, voice utterly blank even as he searches Niall’s face. “Have fun in New York, Haz.” 

“Mm,” Harry mumbles. “Thank you. Take that wine I got for Jess. S’Malbec, that’s her favorite, right?” 

“Why do you know my bloody girlfriend better than I do,” Louis says, not looking mad about it. “Yeah, I’ll take it.” 

“Good.” Harry kicks at Louis’ leg as Louis stands up. “See you soon, Lou.” 

“Yeah, see you soon.” Louis pats Harry’s ankle, and looks over at Niall. “You too, Niall.” 

Niall nods. 

The door shuts behind Louis, and Niall lets out a long breath. His next inhale’s sharp, because Harry reaches down and threads their fingers together. It makes Niall’s eyes go blurry, just from the warmth of it. He squeezes Harry’s hand. 

“Glad you’re here,” Harry says, slow and sincere, and Niall squeezes Harry’s hand tighter, Harry’s rings cool under his palm. He can’t honestly say it back. He bloody can’t. He makes a vague little sound to fill the silence. 

“Just- like having you here.” Harry rolls over until he’s half on top of him, tucking an elbow under himself to prop himself up. He’s got a good view of Niall’s face like that, and Niall has to school it back to neutral so Harry won’t suss out what he’s feeling. 

“Yeah?” he asks, hand rising to play with the lock of hair that’s fallen over Harry’s forehead. So fucking soft, god. He tucks it behind Harry’s ear, and then gives in to the urge to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. 

Harry hums low and squirms closer, mouth half-open. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking dazed. “Just. Isn’t it weird, like. How, like, long we’ve known each other.” 

“Ages,” Niall mumbles. 

Harry nods slowly, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. 

I was in love with you once, Niall almost says, but there’s no point, is there? He’s not now. Not in the same way. He still loves Harry - he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving Harry- but it’s not the same. 

“Haz,” he says instead, weak, and it’s not a surprise when Harry leans down to kiss him, so gently it feels like a dream, like Niall’ll wake up alone in his bed. He closes his eyes and opens them again, and Harry’s still there, his mouth moving soft against Niall’s, his hand sliding over Niall’s belly, warm and wide, pushing his shirt up. Niall shudders. 

Christ, it’d be easy to do this. Harry’s always been easy, with his generous mouth and his big hands. He’s good at sex and he likes it and he doesn’t tell anyone. 

Harry sighs against his lips and that’s what does it in, weirdly. Niall moves his mouth away, carefully, taking his hand out of the tangled silk of Harry’s hair. It takes a moment for Harry to catch on, and then he blinks a few times, nonplussed, and swallows hard. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, I- don’t, don’t be sorry.” Niall lets out a slow breath, and Harry turns over onto his back, gingerly, until they’re not touching at all. 

They don’t talk for a while. Niall’s still tempted to roll over and kiss him again, grind against him until they’re both panting. His hands clench and he exhales. 

“Is it cos of him?” Harry asks, voice rough. 

“I dunno.” Niall sniffs in hard. “Yeah. I guess so.” 

Harry nods a few times, lets out a long sigh. 

“I think maybe I fucked up,” Niall says, voice coming out choked. 

Harry goes quiet. His hand slides over to rest against Niall’s again. “Can you fix it, d’you think?” 

Niall shrugs, his throat too tight to speak. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Niall shakes his head. “Not for a while. He- I just- he’s, like. He thinks I’m trying to fuck with him. And I did, I think. I hurt him. Or whatever.” 

His next inhale shudders perilously, and Harry squeezes his hand like he can tell. 

“It’s shit,” he says. “When you love someone but you- you keep hurting them, and it’s not even on purpose, exactly.” 

Niall turns his head. Harry’s looking up at the ceiling, worrying his lip between his teeth. 

“Yeah.” 

“And it’s just- y’know. I dunno.” Harry draws in a rough breath. “It’s like, do you love them more than your life? Can you- can you, like, give stuff up to be with them, or is it just-”

He stops, swallowing. “Fuck. Never mind. We’re not talking about me.” 

Niall doesn’t say anything, and after a minute Harry’s breathing goes slow and even, his fingers going slack against Niall’s hand. 

Niall sucks in a shaky breath and sits up. He folds Harry’s duvet over him, tugs a pillow under Harry’s heavy head. Harry mumbles in his sleep, lips parting, and Niall lets himself brush Harry’s hair out of his face, fingers skimming over Harry’s brow. 

“Night,” Niall whispers, so low Harry doesn’t respond. Niall leaves him there and goes to bed. 

---

He’s at the stove scrambling eggs when Harry leaves the next morning. He puts his arms around Niall from behind, rocks him back and forth for a long moment, and Niall puts his hands over Harry’s wrists. 

“Careful, Hazza.” He huffs a laugh as Harry lets go of him. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Harry says against his neck. He kisses at the bend of Niall’s shoulder. “Be back on- Sunday, I think.” 

“Alright.” Niall stares at his eggs. “See you.” 

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” 

Niall’s not sure. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” 

“If there’s anything you need, Niall. Seriously. Just ring me, or ring Jeff-”

“I know.” Niall tries not to sound ungrateful. “Thank you.” 

Harry kisses his temple, squeezes his waist and pulls away. Niall hears the door shut gently behind him, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Bye, Haz,” he says to himself, voice quiet. He shakes his head, and turns the stove off. 

----

Niall hears something downstairs, and he stiffens, checking the clock on his phone. 8:30 PM. He’s been alone in the house all day, he’s just being paranoid. If there were anyone in the house, the alarm would've gone. Harry's house seems all laid-back and open and zen, but the security is bloody intense. 

He sticks his head out of the bathroom. "Hello?" 

Nothing.

He pops his head back in, catches eyes with himself in the mirror. Fuck, he looks trashed. It's Louis' fault - he pushed a half-empty bag of edibles at Niall before they went over to Harry’s the day before, said, "I can't take this shit on the plane, here, here." 

Niall ate two little gummies with dinner and drank a couple beers and it's hitting hard, now. He looks away from his reflection, fumbles in the CVS bag for the first box of bleach and rips off the boxtop. It's funny, innit, that he dyed his hair for years and he can barely remember how to do it himself. The last time he dyed his hair himself was - shit, probably ten years ago. Probably the week before he auditioned for X-Factor. Before everything. 

He gnaws his lip while he reads the instructions, sets the bottle down decisively with a thunk. Strips off his shirt and jeans, tosses them into a heap in the corner, until he's in just his pants. It seems, like - cleaner. 

He faces himself in the mirror, swallows. His reflection blinks back at him, red-eyed, freckled face, dark hair. He's gotten used to how it looks, and sometimes when he sees a photo of himself blonde he barely recognizes himself. 

He liked it, though. Always liked being blonde, the idea of it. That's why he started, isn't it, when he was thirteen and bored and he picked up his first pack of bleach in the ladies' aisle of his dad's Tesco. He didn't tell anyone then either, just did it himself in the cramped toilet late one night while Greg shagged his girlfriend just down the hall. His dad worked nights back then, so Niall heard Greg have a fucking shitload of sex. 

His dad nearly spilled his tea the next morning when Niall came down for breakfast. 

"Jesus," he'd said, staring at him. "What've you done that for?" 

"Y'look like a poof," Greg added, laughing around a mouthful of Weetabix, and Bobby smacked the back of his head. 

Niall just shrugged at his dad and gave Greg the finger when Bobby turned around. 

There's another sound downstairs, and Niall drops the cap of the bleach, fumbling for it as it bounces into the sink. Fuck. 

"Hello?" he yells again, even though he knows there's nothing. 

Silence. Niall takes a sip of his beer and gets to work. 

---

Two hours later he's washing the last of it out of his hair, scalp still burning with the familiar itch of bleach, and he rubs a towel over his head before he looks in the mirror again. 

His first thought is - doesn't look like when Lou does it. Which makes him laugh out loud. He's definitely still fucked-up. 

It's not awful, though. Not great, but not awful. Niall sinks down to sit on the closed toilet, grabs for his phone. Harry's texted him a photo of the New York skyline, along with - Sick view. How's the house? Xx 

Niall doesn't respond. He takes a few selfies, runs a hand through his damp hair, takes a few more. 

He hunches over to flick through them, still in just his pants, thighs shivering against the cold of the toilet lid. He looks really fucking high, but his hair doesn't look that bad. 

He sends a Snapchat to Zayn, a selfie with his tongue out and the caption - new hair :O. His t-shirt's all crumpled on the ground but Niall shrugs it on anyway, pads downstairs and opens the fridge. There's a container of leftovers from dinner the night before, and he sticks it in the microwave to heat up before he walks over to the back door and slides it open. 

The night's warm, like every other night in LA. It's just gone dark, and Niall pulls the sizzling pasta out of the microwave and takes it outside. 

His phone buzzes on the counter, and he drags himself upright to grab it. His body feels heavy, slow. It's a welcome change. 

Zayn's sent him a snap back. It's a selfie of him and Farah, both with their tongues out. 

You look fit babe :P, he's written. Niall replays it, and opens his camera. He takes another few selfies right there in Harry's kitchen, and opens up Instagram. 

His eyes still look a bit fucked, but Niall doesn't want to wait any longer. He posts the best one, taps out - Throwback ! and the little blonde haircut emoji. 

There. He turns his phone over on the counter and goes upstairs to bed. 

---

He must've been more fucked than he thought, cos he wakes up at five AM sprawled on top of the duvet, all the lights on. He lifts his head slowly, mouth dry and sore. Fucking - hell. 

His reflection in the bathroom mirror scares the shit out of him for a second, and he startles with his hands halfway to the waistband of his pants. 

"Shit," he mumbles, peering at himself. "Jesus Christ." 

There's no answer, from the bleach-blonde slit-eyed kid in the mirror, so Niall shuffles over to the toilet for a wee, washes his hands, and crawls back into bed, flicking the light out this time. 

He wakes up properly at half-nine, head feeling a bit less cloudy. His phone screen is full of missed messages, and Niall swipes it open while the coffee brews. 

Harry: Im getting back in Thurs 6:15pm want to meet at studio? 

Laura: YESSS BACK TO THE WINNING TEAM HORAN #blondeshavemorefun 

Lou: WHAT have you done to yourself???? Need u to come see me immediately salt i'm insulted by that home bleach job Xxxxxxxx miss yewww

And finally Deo- 

Hahahahahah nice hair mate! Hows la ? Are you comin back to Aus soon? 

Niall puts his phone back down and pours his coffee. His mind's crawling its way to a conclusion, slow but steady. Eventually he reaches for his phone again and only texts one person back. 

I'll actually be in town in a few days. pencil me in ??? See you soon x 

He sets the phone down as steadily as he can and takes his coffee outside, squinting against the hot sun, Harry's pool shimmering in the light. 

When he goes back inside he has a text back from Lou. A haircut emoji and a kiss, plus - Text me when you're in LDN babe i'll get ya sorted. Xx. 

Niall swallows hard, and goes upstairs to pack. 

That's that, then. He’ll go to London. Not LA and not Melbourne. Home, Niall wants to say, cos it'd be nice if at least one place felt that way. But who bloody knows anymore. 

---

“Haz, I have to go, we’re boarding.” Niall shifts his phone to the other ear, pulls his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” 

Harry makes a small unhappy sound. He’s been unhappy ever since Niall told him he was leaving, the day before. Now Niall’s at LAX and Harry’s still in New York, still across the country. It’s easier that way, Niall thinks. 

“It’s not cos of me, is it?” Harry asks quietly. 

“What?” 

“You leaving, it’s not cos- I mean, I just- I didn’t mean to drive you away. Or, I dunno. I know LA is a lot. It’s a lot, and I didn’t mean to-” 

“Oh- god, Harry, you bloody didn’t, shut up.” Niall’s mad and he doesn’t know why. “I just- I can’t, right now. I can’t. Do this whole thing.”

“I just- I just want you to be happy, you know? That’s all I care about. The album, and everything, nothing’s as important as - you being happy.”

“Haz.” Niall sniffs in hard, glancing up at the boarding screen. “Harry, I gotta go-” 

“It’s not gonna make you happy,” Harry says, soft but steady. “Running away. Nothing’s gonna get fixed til you actually talk to him-” 

Niall’s jaw tightens. “Sod off, Harry.” 

Harry sighs. “Promise you’ll ring when you get in.” 

“You’re such a fucking prick sometimes.” Niall’s eyes are hot. “I’ll miss you, idiot.” 

“Gonna miss you too,” Harry says thickly. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?” 

Niall draws in a wobbly breath. “No, m’not mad.” 

Harry sniffles audibly. “Alright.” 

“I’m not, Haz.” 

“I know.” Harry sighs. “Love you, Niall.” 

It hangs in the air for a minute. Niall can’t speak. He has to swallow as hard as he can before any words come out. It’s just- Harry. Fuck. For a second he wants to ask Harry if he thinks everything’ll be alright, but he doesn’t. Harry’ll just say yes, and Niall doesn’t want to be lied to. 

“You too,” he says, shaky. “I’ll - I’ll ring when I get in. Thank you, for- y’know. Everything. Letting me stay.” 

“Be safe,” Harry mumbles. 

“I will.” 

Harry hangs up, and Niall drops his hand to his side, looks up as another announcement starts, echoey and indistinct. For a moment the words don’t take shape in his head and then he hears All zones on Flight 716 to Heathrow, now boarding and he starts toward the gate. 

His hand’s sweaty around his phone and the Ativan he took is just starting to hit him, but he feels alright, weirdly settled. Lighter. Harry always said he felt happier just smelling the air in Los Angeles, that the sun made him feel good, every single day. It fits Harry like a glove, the sun and the heat and- all of it. Being on display. Niall thought he could do that too, could slip right back into how it was before. But it didn’t work that way. He doesn’t know why. He’s just so, so bloody glad to be going.