Chapter Text
There were seven shelves, top to bottom, and Harry got to counting forty-two boxes of hair dye on the first shelf with the poke of his index finger before the voice of a chuckling woman made him lose count. He pulls away his finger from L'Oréal Paris Excellence Creme Natural Dark Brown 4 and shoots a worried frown behind him, woefully anticipating a small fan pointing her phone's camera at him with an excited grin. Harry was seen buying hair dye in London! But there, three feet away in the middle of the aisle, stood a tall, stout woman in a fur coat, instead. Two inches of grey hair peeks from the base of her coiffed, cherry brown beehive; ready for the touch up. In her right hand she swings a shopping basket, rolling a single can of beans side to side. The other hand: nothing. No phone. Harry stands up straight and turns himself around to face her.
"You just gonna count them all, love?" she chuckles again. Her voice is small and high in contrast to her sophisticated semblance. Harry wonders if she knows who he is. Maybe. "You writing a report?" Probably not.
Harry doesn't like her mocking tone. He squints his eyes with a frown the way he does when he's rude without meaning to. But that's quickly blinked away and followed by a cute laugh. Because Harry's terribly excited in his core, so he'll push away the hurt feelings on the surface. This is an excellent opportunity, he thinks. Commoner conversation. It's rare; second one of the break. This feels like dress-up. He looks both ways to check for incoming traffic. It's safe to cross, so here comes the first step. "I was just curious, is all," Harry laughs. "There's so many colors, I—" And he glances behind him, pointing to the boxes of hair dye. "I didn't know there were twenty-six shades of brown."
"That's true. So many boxes for the same three colors: brown, black and blonde."
"It's a very competitive business."
The woman doesn't grasp what Harry means, and instead smiles with an awkward nod.
"For the companies that make the dyes," Harry quickly clarifies. "They have to... come up with all these shades the other company doesn't have."
Although invested, she doesn't seem interested, and promptly changes the subject to herself. "I've been dying my hair brown with the same brand for some... well, I'd say at least twelve years. I don't know too much about—" She waves her fingers at the shelves of hair dye behind Harry, "all those colors. I'll bet you know even less!"
"Yeah." Harry chuckles. "I haven't got any experience. Although I do have a friend who's a hairdresser. I know—... actually, maybe I know a thing or tw—"
"I use Nice N' Easy in auburn." The woman pokes her beehive with her fingertips, looking up at the Tesco ceiling lights. "The color is so rich and creamy and lasts months. I'd use— Oh, what am I telling you for!" she laughs. "You're a boy! This is all ladies' business."
"It's fine. I like... learning." The conversation doesn't seem like a right fit— not to Harry's expectations. She keeps taking control of the direction and he's put off.
The woman laughs. "Your girlfriend's got you out running her errands, does she? Buying her hair dye?"
Harry pauses out of habit to draft the perfect answer. Although, she seems harmless enough for put his guard down. Say the truth, maybe. No way, he thinks. "Yeah." And Harry turns around, deciding this is a good time to pick the box and leave. "It's a... highlight kit." His eyes dash to the section with all the blonde girls, and he begins scanning each box for the right brand, the one recommended to him.
"Has she told you what brand?" she asks, watching Harry squat down to bottom shelf.
"L'Oréal," he mumbles quietly, just as he finds the box he thinks he's looking for. L'Oréal Paris Perfect Blonde Creme Highlight Kit. It has to be this one, he thinks. No other highlight kit here... And Lou said it was L'Oréal. Habitually, he looks both ways again to see if anyone is around before picking out the box. And then, a sudden rush of excitement shoots through him, like he's holding a wild adventure in his hand— in this box. He wonders if every essential really is included. But before Harry can get to reading the back, the woman in the fur coat interrupts him.
"That's rubbish."
Harry furrows his brow with a heavy sigh through his nose. He turns his head to look behind his shoulder, eyes narrowed. "What is?"
"L'Oréal is rubbish."
"Hey, I thought you didn't know about brands."
"I don't know about colors but, love, everyone knows L'Oréal is rubbish," she says with an amused smile as she lights her divine wisdom on the young man. This seems just fine to her.
But it's upsetting to Harry. He wants to know why, his green eyes too intense for the trivial topic. "Why?"
"The color washes away, gets dingy. It's much too harsh on your hair, as well."
"Says who..."
"Friends and family. You know how it is, love. You hear stories. Or you take a look at their hair the next day they buy themselves a L'Oréal box of hair dye." She crinkles her nose and shakes her head. "No good. You don't want your girl using that."
Now Harry is worried, turning his head forward again to look down at the box. There isn't another highlight kit. Which one will he buy if not this one? Defensive, Harry mumbles, "Are you sure? Th-This is the brand her friend told her to get."
The woman keeps silent, and walks over to Harry. She stands beside him to his right, facing the shelves as she drops her basket beside her high heels. Her fur coat rubs against Harry's black, felt overcoat. The fuzzy sound makes his skin crawl down his back, and he wiggles away. "Let's see..." she starts, "I know I saw it here..."
Harry checks the aisle for people again. Inevitably, he thinks of what might be said if he's photographed squatting in front of the hair dye shelves in Tesco beside a middle-aged woman in a fur coat. But no one is roaming the aisle; they're all alone. Harry's thighs are beginning to ache from squatting, but he keeps position thinking the woman somehow wants him to stay in place.
"Oops!"
The sound came from the woman's shopping basket, making Harry turn his head to the right.
"Kicked my basket there..."
Harry wonders where his own shopping basket is. A quick look to the ground and there, to his left, his little basket. It bothers him how he forgot when it was so close by. As the woman preoccupies herself in silence, Harry takes a moment to look in his basket. A small, perturbed sigh escapes his lips as he doubts his choices in groceries for the third time this morning. Gluten free spaghetti pasta, sweet potato crisps, fabric softener, a duster, a bath sponge, three kinds of string cheese, a packet of black pens and a gallon of chocolate ice cream. The chocolate ice cream makes the basket too heavy, but Harry won't put it back. It's melting, too. The container sweats profusely, but that's not an issue that occurs to him as he thoughtlessly runs his finger over the wet droplets for sensation's sake.
Back and forth between aisles, from one side of Tesco to the other, feeling lost and unfulfilled— that's how Harry's been shopping for his groceries. Being an amateur means his choice in goods is blind to practicality, and he's faced with a crisis every time he looks at something he wants— or thinks he should want. Money isn't a problem. Harry just wants to be self sufficient; capable of mastering the art of grocery shopping the way he thinks every person his age living on their own is surely capable of. He's terrified of forgetting what it is to be normal— of straying too far from the things he's left behind. Harry's trying hard to figure out the steps he skipped to the get to the place he's been for the past five years. Looking up how to carry out the elementaries of society feels like cheating— an unforgivable offense, he's decided.
Harry sticks out his hand and slides the basket closer to him, and it nearly throws him off balance. He grabs onto the woman's fur coat beside him, ready to apologize until she speaks first.
"Here you are, love." She holds the box in front of Harry, and bossily tells him in a mothering way, "Come on now, on your feet."
So he does, struggling a little on account of his new black leather boots; just a little too high heeled.
"Here."
And Harry takes the boxed hair dye from her hand into his, glancing both ways down the aisle again before mumbling out the title as he reads, "Jerome Russell B Blonde Maximum Highlight Kit." Harry turns the box sideways to look at the before and after pictures. Light brown before, bright blonde after. This won't work. "This is really blonde..."
"They're highlights! That's what she wanted, innit? What color is her hair?"
"Brown. Like mine."
"Oh, it won't go blonde on the first try," she shakes her head. "You hair has to be quite a light shade from the beginning to go blonde." And then she stands closer to Harry, leaning over to poke the box hard with her red, acrylic nail. "Now this is a good product. Jerome Russell. Excellent product. Brown hair with nice highlights? Your girl doesn't want L'Oréal, your girl wants this."
She sounds like a salesman and it makes Harry laugh. And then he nods with a sigh, pursing his lips. There's a moment of reconsideration and reflection in that.
This woman must be in her late forties, early fifties. She's very tall— taller than Harry— with a fur coat, fake nails and a beehive. Old glamour, old beauty; she definitely knows her stuff. Twelve years of box dye experience is different from four years of beauty school. Lou isn't that good of a hair dresser in the end, Harry knows. He turns to the woman, facing up to look into her brown eyes that sit surrounded by a deep blue shadow all around her lids. "Will it look nice?" he mutters, sounding little. "I want to— to my um, my girlfriend to look nice."
"My daughter uses Jerome Russell and her hair is just the loveliest butterscotch blonde. It's just like a salon! With highlights and lowlights and all that. Do you know what that is? Gorgeous."
"But she doesn't want to be blonde."
"Oh no, trust me, she won't be going blonde with this on the first try. And it's all right here, love, everything you need." She's a very assertive, convincing woman, making Harry nod again. Taking control of the conversation— he seems to appreciate her doing so, now. "Your girlfriend has to follow the instructions. Has she ever dyed her hair before?"
"No. First time."
"New year, new look! That's the spirit. Getting out there and taking risks! I'll bet she's trying to look cute for you!"
She's shouting, too excited to realize she's making a scene— and making Harry check for other shoppers in the aisle again. This time there is. His breath hitches a little, freezing him in place. A woman pushes her shopping cart slowly, eyes fixated on the shelves to her right. But then she gives Harry a glance. A passing glance, she doesn't seem very interested. She might have been looking at the woman in the fur coat. But Harry can't take it. Caught shopping for blonde hair dye— This is could all be too incriminating for Harry Styles. And he panics.
"I've gotta go." he whispers, embarrassment making him snort as he throws the highlight kit in his basket.
"Oh!"
"Thank you!" Harry bends over to grab the handle, the weight of his shopping basket making him wobble as he takes flight.
"Bye-bye!"
So loud. Harry winces and raises his hand, wiggling his fingers in a goodbye as he power walks out of the hair care aisle, his long coat swishing behind him. The woman is left disappointed and alone, shuffling her fur coat with a pout as she begins the search for her own box of hair dye. "Sweet boy."
"Nice lady..." Harry whispers to himself as he walks through the empty Tesco. The box of hair dye must have been heavier than he realized, because the shopping basket feels unbearably heavy now, like it pushed past the weight limit. And that's usually Harry's cue to go to the check-out and go home with his groceries.
This time, Harry made the mistake of wearing too many rings. The weight of the shopping basket is strangling his fingers inside the gold bands. "Ow, ow, ow." He puts down the basket and quickly takes off his rings to place in his coat pocket. "Fuck..." The bases of three of his fingers are red and dented, somehow hurting more now that he took off the rings. He rubs over them, pouting as he feels the skin throb.
"Psst!"
Harry hears it behind him. His eyes go wide. Fuck. And then he remembers the box of hair dye. He can't let whoever it is see that. Not subtly enough, Harry bends over and throws the crisps and cheese over the hair dye to hide it quickly, panicking at the thought of it appearing in a fan picture.
"Psst!""
Oh my God, don't let it be for me. He stands up straight again and keeps his head down, rubbing his aching fingers like he can't hear.
"Psssst!!"
This time Harry feels a hard poke on his shoulder. With dread making his stomach feel heavy, Harry turns around with the most affable expression he can fake. But for the second time this morning, Harry is pleasantly surprised when he turns around. And he grins, letting out a laugh when he sees who it really is. "Hey!"
"Fancy seeing you here!" It's Liam. Shaved head and a big smile. He walks in a light grey hoodie—bulky enough for the cold weather— nice jeans and black sneakers. Harry can't say he expected this at all. Liam merrily pushes a shopping cart right towards him, doing all the work as Harry stays in place. He throws his own watchful glances around him to check for sneaky fans with phones until he catches up to Harry. A big hug comes next, with tight squeezes and too-hard pats to the back.
"Look at us," Harry points to Liam's cart with a dimpled grin before looking down at his shopping basket as he gives it a little kick.
"Yeah. Wow...." Liam laughs, nodding his head. Completely thrilled. Resting his weight on the shopping cart handle, he says, "Uh, how are you... H-Ha-H-Ho-Horton."
Harry giggles before putting a straight face, playing along. "I'm great, Leslie."
"Leslie?!" Liam snorts.
"I haven't seen you since... university!"
"Yeah."
"Do you still work at... the zoo?" Harry can't keep that straight face, getting chubby-cheeked as he holds his laughter.
"Yes! Yeah."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. They promoted me from lemur to gorilla."
And Harry slaps his hand over his mouth, breaking into a laughing fit he desperately tries to keep contained. He wears it out for a moment, glancing around him before putting down his hand. "They gave you your own cage," he chuckles, hushed and with eyes crinkled.
"It's great. Now it's only my shit I smell."
Harry cackles again, covering his whole face this time. He feels Liam's hand on his shoulder, shaking him so he'll shut up. "God..." Giggling, Harry pulls his sunglasses out of his hair, running his fingers back through his long, brown curls to fix the shape before slipping the glasses back on like a headband. They speak quietly, muttering and mumbling their exchange. "This is nice. This is pleasant."
"It. is. great, is it not?" Liam hunches over and shakes his shopping cart by the handle in a celebratory uproar until the whole thing rattles. But he's quiet about it, whispering a short-lived, "Yeeeeeeah—"
"Hey, I took your advice."
Liam straightens his back. "Hey, you did. Did you come at eight in the morning?"
"I came at seven."
Liam doesn't bring up how, in two hours' worth of walking, Harry only managed to gather a small shopping basket of groceries. He doesn't want to poke fun at him. So, "I came at eight," he says. "You didn't see me?"
"No. It's really empty, but... I don't know, I didn't see you."
Liam looks well-rested, fresh-faced. Harry notices the absence of his favorite cologne, the one that smells rich and sexy. That tells him Liam plans on going home after this. Maybe back to bed. No dates, shopping or songwriting for him today. The cologne will be saved for another time. The cigarette smoke, however, didn't take the day off. But Harry notices, the smell is fainter than he ever remembers it being before. Even for the early morning. There was a point in 2014 when the second Liam cracked open his eyes he had to step outside for a cigarette or two. Big, deep breaths; leaving nothing but a bud of orange with the tiniest ring of white. The smell wrapped around his bare skin as obsessively as Liam let it, and once he put on clothes it was another round, another cloud, another layer of tobacco smoke to stick to him. Again and again, every day. But not today. Hardly at all, Harry thinks happily. Maybe one cigarette in the Tesco parking lot, and maybe just smoked half way. And Harry thinks to mention this all with a congratulation, but he figures Liam will proudly boast his achievements once he feels like he's met them all the way. So Harry stays quiet, hoping maybe Liam might share some good news later on so he can jump in to celebrate.
Liam looks around, nodding to acknowledge Tesco's empty corridors. "Yeah, it is empty. My mum told me this is the time where everyone's gone to work and school. So it's just completely deserted everywhere, not just Tesco."
"It's nice. I like it."
"What did you get?" Liam points to Harry's shopping basket, curious of that tiny grocery he managed in two hours.
"Um." Harry turns his head and kicks his shopping basket over until it's in front of his feet. "I've done quite a shit job, to be honest. I don't wanna to bend over so... I've got um... some crisps, some cheese, some.... um, pasta, a duster, a bath sponge, chocolate ice cream. I got pens as well. I think that's all I have for today. I've finished, though. I was on my way to pay up just now. It's not very essential. But... I bought a few other things on my last trips."
"Here? At Tesco."
"I try to switch up the stores. I don't wanna have a set routine of places I frequent. You know how it is." Stalkers, he means. "But I only went to Whole Foods once. The rest was Tesco. This store, specifically: first time today."
"How many times have you done groceries?"
"Um... this is the fourth time, I think. This week. In general, I think, seven times."
"This is just my second time since the break," Liam says proudly, tapping his cart's handle. "You get one of these big carts and you dump all your shit in. It's better than with the little baskets. Especially when you haven't got like, anything in your cabinets at home. It's good to make big groceries to start off. Like for us since we just got here and stuff. But yeah, big carts work better. Just in my experience. Better than back and forth running around."
Harry would lie and say that he likes the running around, that it gives him something to do, but he really hates it. At least when it comes to grocery shopping. It feels like the test he keeps failing. "Yeah. I guess I'll try it that way." Harry hadn't thought about it the way Liam put it, if he's put any thought into grocery shopping at all. That must be why he fails. Grocery shopping can't help but be a spontaneous event for him, occurring to his mind with a fickle, insistent little spring. And Harry can never remember what things he has and doesn't have at home. "I need to make lists."
"Yeah, lists as super helpful."
"You make lists?" Harry asks as he looks inside Liam's cart.
"Yeah."
He can see plastic bags, cans, bottles and boxes. It all looks balanced and organized perfectly, ready for a professional photographer to snap a photo and put it in a food and lifestyle magazine.
"Feast your eyes, Styles. Excellent groceries."
"Nice."
"Take note."
"Already am." And then, something catches Harry's eye. He turns his head, looking over his shoulders again before he reaches into Liam's shopping cart and pulls out something with a grin. Boxed hair dye; Clairol Nice 'N Easy Natural Palest Blonde. "Are you planning on going blonde, Liam?" No doubt this isn't for Liam, but it's the funniest coincidence. Harry wonders if he should tell Liam about his own box, his chest now burning with the urge to reveal his risky secret. "You'll look like Amber Rose." And he quotes the woman in the fur coat, "New year, new look. That's the spirit!"
"It's for my mum, you twat!" Liam exclaims as hushed as he can as he yanks the box back. "I always thought she went to the salon, but she uses this box. She wanted me to go get it for her. I didn't know they had these, actually." He turns the box around in his hand, inspecting it. Grocery shopping. Boxed hair dye. Exciting, new topics. Exciting, new worlds. They meet and discuss the findings of their wild safari trip like the clueless adventurers they are. "I mean, I know these boxes existed but I never actually, I don't know, like, knew they were so common and were just around in stores everywhere. Girls do it all the time. Change their hair color like that on their own in their bathrooms. Learn something new every day, I suppose."
"Mhm." Harry looks around, taking good looks and analyzing every customer with caution.
"A lot of that this year."
"Yeah."
At the second uninterested mumble, Liam turns his head up with eyes narrowed. "What? Saw someone?"
Harry's still looking. "No."
"What is it?"
Harry turns back around with an anxious wiggle and quickly bends down into his basket for the box of hair dye. He digs it up from under the crisps, the cheese, and in one slick move he pulls the box out and smuggles it against his belly before walking up to Liam real close. Like a dealer with illegal goods, not to be seen by anyone. Harry taps the cardboard a few times to get Liam to look down.
"What is that, for your mum, too?" He seems excited just by that. "She's going blonde?"
"Me." Harry whispers.
"What?" Liam whispers back.
"Me. It's for me."
"What?!"
"Yes, me." Harry is giggling, still holding the box close to his chest.
Liam stays quiet, brown eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "You are mad." he laughs suddenly. "What?! Have you gone mad?!" Somehow that pleases Harry. He always takes that shock as a compliment— at least from Liam. After throwing his mother's box of Nice N' Easy hair dye back in his cart, Liam yanks Harry's box from his hand. "Let me see that!"
Harry steps closer until his shoulder touches Liam's to form a wall. Private business, he thinks. Out of sight from any supermarket bystanders. "Be careful. Don't flail it around."
Liam turns his head to the side to look at Harry. "Private business?"
Harry turns his head to Liam and blinks, train of thought vanishing as he asks, "What?" Their gazes lock.
"Hm?"
And then the topic disappears from them both. There isn't a real thought at all.
Harry pouts, and shoves his shoulder into Liam. And Liam wiggles his shoulder to rub on Harry's. Their faces are inches apart, their gazes feeling stronger to each other. Harry to Liam; a very wide, magical emerald green. Liam to Harry; a very dark, warm coffee brown to Harry. It takes some time for them speak. But they snap back; the topic comes back. Somehow, to both of them at the same time. And they just laugh.
Harry furrowing his brow to say,
It's fucking embarrassing, isn't it?
Liam rubbing his palm over his fuzzy head to say,
Sure is.
Nothing new. They're both smart enough to expect glitches living in the real world. These new environments— knocks them into a daze, sometimes. Like talking about hair dye in Tesco at 9am without a schedule for the whole day is some kind of limbo for Harry Styles and Liam Payne; floating in some surreal circumstance that demands proper reflection for them to feel normal. The alien factor of their new day-by-day status feels like a burden they all prefer to keep away, and just pretend they really are normal people; that they can assimilate like nothing's changed. And that disregard beckons blackouts, darkness. Like the ground disappears beneath them when they're not dealing with the culture shock properly. When it's so peaceful, so big, so empty— that's a strange place to be. Like orphaned lion cubs going back to the wild as adults for the first time. It really is a limbo without that routine; that caretaker coming with the milk bottle three times a day, and the butcher's meat to hang from a rope on a tree to make it seem like prey. Documentary cameras with them, sometimes. Strange for sure— the real world. They're strangers to it, as stubbornly as they choose to deny it.
Liam laughs kind of helplessly, looking around to see if anyone saw. And he nods his head before looking back at the box of hair dye. He clears his throat and Harry chuckles. "Uh... alright. Maximum Highlighting Kit," Liam reads, taking that in with a pause before whispering again, "Harry this is gonna make you a proper blonde..." He'll finish his delayed train of thought in a moment. "You're gonna go fucking... blonde?"
Harry gets back to his own thoughts, too. "It's just highlights."
"Yeah, well this says blonde. Maximum blonde.
Armed with the wisdom of the woman in the fur coat, Harry defends himself. "It doesn't go blonde on dark hair. And it's highlights. Read the box. It's not gonna be super blonde. Or blonde at all, really. It's gonna be light brown."
"This says blonde," he states firmly, throwing an alert and watchful glance over his shoulder. "Harry I'm like, 99% certain that this isn't what you want."
"What do you know? You're bald."
Offended, Liam passes a hand over the top of his shaved head. "Not bald! And I know plenty about hair, actually. Because I'm like, actually in the room for when it's time for Lou to do our hair. And you don't need to know about hair when the pictures," Liam pokes his fingers over the before and after pictures of hair, "show you what the hair dye does."
"Well, I'm certain that that box," Harry pokes the Jerome Russell box of hair dye in Liam's hand, "is, in fact, exactly what I need."
"Says who?"
"First of all, says Lou," Harry says with a small, smug, squinty eyed smile. "I asked."
The first taste of London winter was making Harry miss Los Angeles, and in melancholy he got to thinking of beaches and the cool surfer guys taming the waves. Harry never could learn to surf. But something about the surfer boy look was calling to him. The promise of a new year's reign of change being just days away was working its influence on him.
Im thinking I want some highlights, Harry texted Lou some time in late December. Lou was excited, and promptly texted back him she would do it herself. But that terrified Harry. From the way she greases his hair at events, to the wiry blonde hair on Niall's head— he didn't want Lou near his precious hair. So Harry lied and said he wanted to do it himself for the experience, not from fear of her. She got to telling him complicated procedures to scare him into letting her do it, but Harry called her out on that. And she was forced to offer him a practical way: a L'Oréal boxed highlight kit.
In reality, Lou told Harry to get a box of supermarket hair dye to spite him, offended he refused her services. Boxed hair dyes run a high risk of failure for the inexperienced first-time buyer. But Harry didn't catch on to that at all. Obviously. Unfortunately.
"She wanted me to buy powder and um.... like, activator or some shit and a bunch of other shit but I said no," Harry tells Liam in a whisper. "So... she told me to get a highlight kit from Tesco. But, they're going to be less," Harry circles his hand around his head, "intense highlights," and then wiggles his fingers coming down like streaks of highlights. "Not exactly like the box. It's gonna very, very subtle. Like beach highlights when you're in the sun for long periods of time. Surfers get it!" His face lights up, little smile across his lips. That's the look he wants. "It'll be very, very subtle."
"Then... why get this box? Why not get a box with the actual color you want? For your subtle California beach highlights," Liam says in a mocking American accent. "And why dye your hair if you can't tell the difference..."
Harry gives Liam a deadpan frown, taking the Jerome Russell highlight kit from Liam's grasp as he grumbles,
"Because it's my choice, Liam."
"Your choices can be questionable."
"If I want barely noticeable highlights that's my prerogative."
"That's my prerogative~" Liam sings softly.
"I knew that was coming..."
"That... definitely seems like it would be your motto." Liam gives a goofy giggle as he amuses himself. And then he places a hand on his cart like a farmer would on his prized cow; possessive and proud. "I mean, do what you want, you know. But... you sure you can do it yourself? All on your own?"
Harry huffs, eyes wide in a tired kind of exasperation. "Jesus Christ, will you get off my ass?" he mumbles. "And yes, I do plan on doing it myself. Everyone does."
"What are you gonna do if you fuck up, though? Like, what if you end up with white hair like Lou?"
"That's what brown hair dye is for."
"Oh, your hair is gonna be super friiied, mate. It's gonna feel like a hay stack like Niall's and it's going to fall off."
"...What the hell, Leslie..." This is such heavy pessimism, very unlike Liam. Harry stays quiet, frowning deep and hard with squinted eyes. Liam succeeded in making a point, good enough to break through Harry's obstinance. Harry's mind shifts its gears, of course. He directs his gaze to look at Liam for a very long time before quietly saying, "Well now you've made me insecure, Liam," And he tosses the box of Jerome Russell hair dye back into his shopping basket. It's an attack; Missile #1 loaded with guilt, targeted to Liam and launched from below.
"Nooo," Liam whispers, laughing helplessly. Direct hit. His face goes soft, eyebrows curving just a little as he comes to Harry's rescue. "I'm sorry, I was harsh. No, no. Don't listen to me. Go for it, mate. I mean it."
"Yeah go for it and fry your hair and burn it off and ruin it because you're inexperienced." Harry nods, speaking calmly. Missile #2 launched. "Yeah, do you, Harry. Make a statement. Be your fucking self. That's brilliant, Liam. I love it."
But Liam chuckles, rolling his eyes this time. "You know, you're so sensitive. You always do what people tell you not to like, 'I'll do whatever I want I don't care', but then with me you're like, always getting offended and crying. You do it on purpose."
Target missed. Liam dodged Harry's attack in one swift swerve. Practice does make perfect. Not the first time he's figured out Harry's war tactics. "You have that effect on me," Harry mumbles innocently, turning his head away with a shrug as he scratches the back of his neck.
"I'm your bloody target is what I am. Now I suppose I'll gonna... feel guilty and help you dye your hair because I don't want you not dying it on account of me, yeah? Because I want you to have your fun, and I don't want you messing up your hair. Because I'm worried. So I'll do it. That's what I'm gonna do for you. That's the 'Liam effect', innit?"
This dismantles the very art of war. Not for the first time. Not in five years. Harry's missiles to Liam are more styrofoam dart than they are a deadly weapon. Liam falling to his knees is more likened to an adult playing along to a child's game of pretend than it is a wounded soldier. Harry tries to keep a straight face, looking Liam in the eyes in the wake of his blunt call out. It's as funny as it is embarrassing.
"Am I right? Huh? Or am I right?" Liam sounds like a parent catching their kid in a lie, now. Except he isn't half as serious and a little sexy. "Smug little brat." That one was more serious, and a lot more sexy. Until Liam cracks up, sealing his lips with a grin to keep from laughing. "Hm?"
The embarrassment is too much for Harry and he snorts, "Shit."
"Yeah." Liam nods with a satisfied grin as he takes a few steps back to stand behind his shopping cart again, ready to push. And he does, a little.
"So you'll come over?"
Liam raises his eyebrow, not expecting what he said to be taken as an offer. "Your house?"
"For... my highlights," Harry whispers before laughing; cheeks all dimpled, all red.
"Yeah, yeah. But listen, I'm... I've got some more shopping to do. You can head home, if you want and like, just wait for me there."
Harry doesn't say anything as he bends over to pick up his shopping basket. He just flips his hair a little, touching it with his fingers so it fluffs up the curls at the bottom. And he cocks his head at his best angle before pouting just a little. "Lee..." And he waits for Liam's cautious, and narrow-eyed,
"...What?" He's waiting for it. The favor.
But not before Harry looks around Tesco for fans nearby. No one seems to be paying attention to them. "Can I put this in your cart?" Harry whispers as he gently rocks his shopping basket in his head. "It's heavy."
"...I'm paying for it?"
Harry dodges the question as he pouts a little again, keeping his theatrics subtle but shameless enough for it to be fun, flirty. "I'll wait in the parking lot. We can drive home together. You might not know the way after such a long time..."
Liam makes a face, brow furrowed tightly together. He shakes his head at Harry's absurd and shameless seduction. And for such a measly, cheap thing. "Piss off, millionaire sugarbaby," he scoffs.
Harry keeps pouting, lowering his head now to sell a more sincere and pitiful expression. Crushed dreams, brokenhearted.
"....Oh, go ahead. Throw it in."