Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Now, see here," Nick's mum says, flipping the page, and Harry crowds in as close as she can, heart clenching. It only took two hours of Christmas at Nick's house to convince Eileen to get the photo albums out. Nick's left the room in protest, but Harry's got priorities, and seeing Nicola Grimshaw's entire childhood through grainy photos is the top one on her list at the minute.

"Oh my god," she says. "Oh my god, that's amazing."

"In't she sweet?" Eileen laughs.

It's all Nick, on this page, photo after photo. As a chubby curly-haired toddler, grinning with a missing tooth in front. Still-chubby and spotty and with a truly awful fringe, dressed in a denim jacket and cargo shorts. In her footy uniform, hair tugged up in a ponytail, looking bored. One sock's slipping down to her ankle.

"That's the day she was born," Eileen says, pointing to the left, and Harry squints at it. Nick's tiny in Eileen's arms, with a puff of dark hair on top of her head, her face bright red and her eyes squished shut.

"God," Harry says, voice thick. "She's so little."

"Didn't feel little coming out, let me tell you-"

"Ew, mum, don't be disgusting," Nick says, wandering into the room with a handful of M&Ms, glasses on, dark hair up in a messy bun. Harry puts her hand out for one, and Nick gives it to her, slides onto the sofa next to her. She's warm, smells nice. Harry leans into her a little, sticks her face against Nick's neck to inhale.

"Are you humiliating me, mum?" Nick asks, breath hot on Harry's cheek, smelling of chocolate and tea. "Oh god, that haircut! That's child abuse."

"You looked sweet," Eileen says. "Like a little doll."

"Chucky, maybe."

Harry snorts. "Who's Chucky?"

"Ugh, you're an infant," Nick says in despair. "Don't tell me you're too old for Chucky-"

"Wait, s'that like the doll that kills people?"

"Yesss, Styles. There we go."

Eileen turns the page. "And here's when she played hockey. Weren't so good at that, were you, Nicky."

"Have I ever been good at any sport?" Nick asks, sighing. "Just fancied a girl on the team. She had the nicest bum. Used to run behind her when we did laps so I could get a-"

"Nick," Eileen says long-sufferingly.

"What?"

"Be appropriate."

"Oh my god!" Nick whines. "I am so appropriate, mum. That was completely PG-rated."

"She's not very appropriate," Harry stage-whispers to Eileen, and Nick pinches the pudge on her hip until Harry yelps, batting her hand away.

"Shut your mouth, Harry Styles. Pot bloody kettle."

Harry laughs, bubbly in her throat, and flips the page over.

---

Eileen goes off to make tea after a while, and Nick falls asleep stretched out on the sofa, legs in Harry's lap. Harry balances the photo album on Nick's knobby ankles, keeps flipping. A lot of it isn't even Nick. There were so many years before Nick came along, so many photos of just her brother and sister and mum and dad, smiling happily on family holidays. And then - bam. A screaming red-faced baby out of nowhere. Weird.

Nick digs her face into the pillow, sighing, and Harry looks over at her. She's quite glad Nick was born. She might've only met Nick three months ago but it already feels a bit like she's known her for ages. Years. Harry sighs, reaches out to gently pluck the glasses from Nick's face.

Nick hums sleepily.

Harry sets the glasses down, strokes Nick's calves with her hand for a while, over prickly unshaven skin and her fleecy soft pyjama bottoms. Nick doesn't wake up.

"Harry?" she hears, and she jerks her eyes away from Nick's face to see Jane in the doorway, smiling kindly.

"Hi!"

"Hi, love, good to see you. Glad you could come up, Nick's been wanging on about it for ages."

"Good to see you too," Harry says, sliding her hand off Nick's ankle.

"Nick. Niiick. Nicola!" Jane calls, loudly, until Nick stirs, mouth pursing. "I'm home, if you care-"

"Don't care," Nick mutters. "Shh."

"Love you too, sis." Jane snorts. "How've you been, Harry?"

"Good, really good," Harry says, softly, because Nick's fallen back asleep.

Jane rolls her eyes fondly at them both. "Think we're eating in a half hour or so. Wake her up at some point, will you?"

Harry nods, and Jane turns away.

---

Harry heads to Holmes Chapel after dinner, gets in at four and immediately gets put on kitchen duty. Gemma gets to nap, cos she stayed up all night to finish her exams, and Harry has to mash potatoes by hand. Truly unfair.

"Nick says sweet potatoes have got more fiber," Harry says, sticking a knife into the boiled chunks of potatoes and putting them into a bowl. "And they're good, I tried 'em now. There's a difference between yams and sweet potatoes, did you know? Nick and I did a comparison last weekend, yams are like a bit bigger and-"

"Nick says this, Nick did that," Anne murmurs. Harry tries not to go red. It's just the steam from the potatoes, not - anything else. Nope.

"I didn't- I'm just saying. It was relevant."

"I know, love," Anne says, sounding like she's smiling. "Glad you've found a good friend down in London. God knows you'll need them, the way everything's going."

"What's that mean? I've got friends. I've got Ed, and the band-"

"I know. But Nick's a good girl. Solid. Really taken you under her wing these past few months, like. It's good to have people like that, keep your head a proper size."

Harry pulls a face, and Anne laughs, reaches over to ruffle her hair.

"You have fun over at hers today, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "Her mum showed me all these, like, baby photos. Was so cute. And Nick's sister came by and we had this really good chicken for lunch, and, yeah." She trails off shyly.

Anne nods slowly, watching her.

"Well, I'm glad you went," she says. "It was very kind of Nick to have you."

Harry bites her lip, shoving the masher into the potatoes. "Yeah."

"Love," Anne says, quietly. "Are you and Nick, uh."

"What?" Harry says sharply. Christ, she's sweating. She shakes her hair back from her face.

"I'm just asking," Anne says. "If you and Nick are - are just friends, or more than that. If you're- seeing her, Harry."

Harry's stomach flops. She can't look at her, because Anne'll see something on her face. Harry's not sure what, exactly. "We're just friends, mum."

"Because you know that'd be alright. And you know you could tell me. Right?"  

"We're just friends," Harry snaps.

"Alright."

"Jesus, mum, you sound like the Daily Mail. Just cos Nick fancies girls doesn't mean that we're- we're. You know. That's such, like, a stereotype or whatever. An assumption."

"I know that, Harriet. I'm not asking just because Nick's - that way."

"I'm just, like. I'm so sick of everyone thinking we're doing that. When we're not."

The potatoes are mashed to a paste by now, and Harry's arm is starting to hurt.

"Alright, I'm sorry."

Harry bites her lip, feeling suddenly like she might cry. She swallows it down, scrubs her wrist over her eyes.

"Harry," Anne says gently.

"Don't," Harry says, sticking the masher into the potatoes until it stands up on its own. "I'll go get Gemma for tea."

"I didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart-"

"You didn't." Harry forces a smile. "I promise."

Anne nods slowly. "Alright, then. Go on and get your sister."

---

"God, don't you look incredible," Nick says warmly, leaning in to kiss Harry's cheek, and Harry tries not to go red. It's only been a few weeks since Christmas, but she's barely seen Nick, and she forgot how much she fancies a compliment off her.

"Thanks," she says, wiping a bit of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "You look nice too."

"Oh shut up, I look stupid. People should really be more specific about dress codes so I don't embarrass myself."

"You look good," Harry repeats, doing some sort of weird poke-squeeze of Nick's forearm to underline her point. Nick gives her a bemused look, but she doesn't take the piss.

Nick's in a short navy dress with a black blazer, all shiny bare legs and dark lipstick and straightened hair like a sexy businesswoman. Harry feels immature and girly in comparison, in her floaty Armani dress, and she definitely goes red when Nick looks her up and down, sipping contemplatively at her drink.

"Cleans up well, doesn't she?" Nick says, looking over at Ben, who's scrolling through his Blackberry and not paying attention.

"She certainly does," Ben says distractedly. He looks up and grins, kisses Nick's cheek. "How are you, Nicola?"

"Very well, Benjamin. How's things?"

"Good, good. Keeping our Haz in line, full-time job, y'know. She also seems to have moved in for a while, so Mer and I have our hands full "

"Ugh, what a task. You've been filming a bit, haven't you? Should I brace myself for a new 1D video? Any spoilers?" 

"Not telling you, radio harpy, it'll be all over London in a half second."

Nick flicks him off, laughing.

"The video's gonna be sick," Harry says, scratching at her gelled updo until Nick pulls her hand away, laughing.

"You'll ruin Lou's handiwork, Haz, stop it. You need to look gorgeous and stay very still."

Harry sighs. "Can we fetch a drink or what?"

"Go do photos or whatever, Haz. Ben and I would, but we're not very famous, are we, Winston. No one wants to see our old wrinkly mugs."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Ben says, laughing. Nick rolls her eyes and grabs his arm.

"Let's get a drink. Maybe I'll fetch you one too, Harriet. If you're lucky. Only seventeen for a few more weeks, aren't you."

"Vodka-soda, please!" Harry calls, just as Caroline starts beckoning to her, with that I’m-not-paid-enough-to-babysit look in her eyes. She gets that look a lot around Harry.  

"Harry!" she calls. "Rest of the band's out on the red carpet already, please come join them, love!"

Harry teeters her way over to Caroline, giggles when Caroline immediately sticks her hands down Harry's dress to adjust her tits in the top.

"Harry," Caroline says, sighing long-sufferingly. "Don't squirm around, my darling."

"Tickles!"

"I know. There you go. Wait, shit, your nipples."

Harry looks down and pushes them down ineffectively with her palms. "You tickled me, Watson, it's not my fault."

"I thank God every day you're not a boy," Caroline says, snorting. "Be trying to figure out how to fit your hard-on in your jeans every bloody time-"

"Heyy," Harry says. "You basically gave my nipples a handjob, you can't blame them for getting hard."

"You're disgusting," Caroline laughs. "Go out there, love. Wait, lemme see you. Ah. Gorgeous. Smile big."

Harry smiles dutifully, and Caroline sighs, fondly this time.

"Go on, then. Have fun."

Harry does have a bit of fun. Red carpets are weird, and surreal, but she knows she looks good in her dress, and the rest of the band's there to make her laugh. Louise keeps murmuring stupid things in her ear, and Liam accidentally falls over once, and when Niall leans down to help him up her dress nearly slips off her nearly-flat chest. All pretty much standard, for them. At least people seem to like it.

Harry smiles and pouts and smiles again, and then someone says she can go and she staggers off gratefully, finds Nick at the bar, chatting with Henry.

"You look gorgeous, Styles," Henry says, kissing both her cheeks. "That Armani?"

"Uhh, yeah, yes, it is." Harry flushes, pulls at the top of it, stiff lace under her fingers. She's still never quite sure where she stands with Henry. He’s one of Nick’s best mates, and so is Harry, she hopes, but sometimes he looks at Harry like she’s not to be trusted. "Thank you.”

"Fantastic. Stunning. So anyway, Grims. Lily's thinking of doing the eyewear campaign, and I was hoping you'd-"

"No," Nick says, laughing. "Dunno what you're gonna ask, but-"

"Just t-shirts, Nicola! You love t-shirts! Model a few. It'd be fun, we've got Cara on board, I know you two are mates-"

"I won't fill 'em out!" Nick says. "Ask Harry here, she's got the goods."

Harry goes hot, gulps her drink when Nick smirks at her.

"Harry's very famous and important," Henry says. "Best tits in the biz, but unfortunately probably not in my budget-"

"Heyy," Harry says, covering her chest with one arm.

"What about Daisy?"

"Busy that weekend. Palm Springs or summat. C'mon, you're always in town. It'd be like three hours, tops."

"I'm so shit at it though, Hens. No one'll buy 'em. The first HoH line that literally no one purchases, all cos of Nicola Grimshaw's flat-arse chest and weird stomach."

Henry groans. "Darling."

"You haven't got a- a flat chest," Harry says defensively. "You've got a nice chest. And your stomach's not weird."

"Ignore her, Harriet, she somehow has the biggest goddamn ego and the worst self-esteem simultaneously," Henry says, draining his wine. "You're doing it, Nick. Whinge all you like but you're doing it, and you will look amazing. Put you in some denim shorts, show off those legs."

"I do have nice legs," Nick says with a sigh.  

"Yeah, you do," Harry agrees, and Nick grins at her.

"Such a flirt, Harry Styles," she says, sticking her tongue out. "You'll give a girl ideas."

Harry rolls her eyes.

"No, no, talk more about my legs. What d'you like about them specifically?"

"Where do I even begin," Harry says, and Nick laughs appreciatively, eyes glinting. Harry goes warm down the back of her neck and in the pit of her stomach.

"Right, I'm bored with your lezzy chat," Henry says, adjusting his quiff. "See you soon, Grims."

He kisses her and then Harry, on both cheeks again, and slips into the crowd.

Nick waves at someone, and turns back to the bar for another drink.

Harry could run off too, go find her band, but she doesn’t want to. Nick turns back.

“Another drink?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “Won’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, wriggling her way in til she’s pressed against Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Good choice,” Nick murmurs, and Harry turns her head so Nick won’t see her grin like an idiot.

---

"Grim!" Harry shouts down the hall, shaking her wet hair back from her face. They did a hot yoga class at the studio near Nick’s flat, and Harry was positively dripping with sweat after. At least she made it through, though - Nick left after forty minutes for a wee and Harry found her after class, drinking a giant pink smoothie and chatting up some girl outside. "Can I borrow a pair of knickers?"

"Yeah!" Nick calls back. Harry drops her towel on the ground and pads naked over to Nick's pants drawer. It's all a mess, stockings and knickers and socks and sports bras all wadded up in a big tangle. Of course. Harry fumbles in the back, and her fingers hit something hard, and sort of circular, and - oh, good God.

She yanks it out. God, Nick's such a weirdo, keeping a vibrator in her knickers drawer. It's pale pink and it buzzes in Harry's hand when she twists the base. She snorts, and turns it off.

Harry's got a vibrator, too, a tiny silver one. She actually shared with Niall for a while when they were on tour, until they mutually decided that it was a bit creepy. Plus, Harry always suspected that Niall never washed it when she was finished.

This one's bigger - not as big as a dick, but not just a bullet. Harry rolls it between her fingers. She wonders if Nick uses it just on herself, or if she, like. Puts it inside other girls.

She probably does do that. Inside other girls. Harry's never had a bloke use a vibe on her. She wonders if it'd be better or worse, not knowing where it was gonna go, or how - intense it was gonna be. If - if the person would, like, hold it there even if Harry couldn't bear it.

Harry lets out a slow breath and sticks the vibrator back in the corner. She grabs a pair of black pants, smooth and seamless, and checks to make sure Nick's not coming back before she lifts them to her face and inhales.

There's nothing, of course. Just laundry soap, sweet and clean. She'd have to get a pair out of the hamper if she really wanted to-

Jesus, Styles. She shakes herself. Really wanted to what? Smell Nick? How fucking creepy.

She wriggles into the pants, slips her bra on, and rifles through Nick's closet til she finds the Topshop dress Nick was wearing the other day. It's made of soft grey jersey and it fits perfectly, stretching over Harry's chest. Nick won't mind. Probably won't even notice.

Nick's humming to herself in the kitchen, elbows on the counter as she peers at her phone, arse waggling along to Rihanna.

"Hiya," Harry says, and Nick looks up.

"Hi, popstar," she says, smiling. "Ooh, that looks nice on you."

"Thanks," Harry says, going red for some reason. She pushes past Nick and opens up the liquor cabinet. "Are we making drinks?"

"Yes, please," Nick says absently. "I think I have tonic. And limes. If there's gin we could do that."

There is gin. Harry pulls it out triumphantly, brandishes it in front of Nick's face.

"Yes, Styles," Nick says, tossing her phone aside. "I'll take one. But just one. A tipsy DJ is fine, a really twatted one is notttt cute."

"I want to get twatted," Harry says, decisively, rolling the bottle of gin around on the counter. "I'm bored. And I wanna dance, so it better be a good set."

"Ahh, youthful self-destruction," Nick sighs.

Harry pulls a face at her. "You puked for two hours last weekend, Grimmy. And then fell asleep on the toilet floor."

"Well, do as I say, not as I do," Nick quips, grabbing the gin out of Harry's hand. "Let's get started, then."

---

Harry stops slurping her drink and strains to hear the first beats of the song, grins wide as she recognizes it. Nick played it for her last week, while they were sitting on Nick's sofa, feet pressed together under a blanket, facing each other. Nick had her laptop balanced on her thighs and one camisole strap slipping down her shoulder and Harry couldn't stop staring at her as Nick babbled on about music. But that’s besides the point. The point is, it’s a tune, and Harry needs to dance.

She throws herself into the crowd, grabs at the first person she sees who she knows, who turns out to be Ian.

"This song is sick!" she screams in his ear, as the floor throbs under their feet. Harry can feel it in her teeth.

"Yeaah!" Ian shouts back, as Aimee comes up behind him, sliding an arm around her stomach and sticking her tongue out at Harry. Harry sticks out her tongue back, dances with both of them for a while, getting herself in the middle like a Harry sandwich, right where she likes to be. Center of attention.

She looks up at one point, catches eyes with Nick, who's bent over the decks in the DJ booth, huge headphones hanging off one ear, t-shirt so gossamer-thin Harry can see her black bra, dark and shadowy. Her lips are painted dark red, a small silver necklace banging against her chest, and Harry squeezes Aimee's waist hard, watching Nick move to the beat. Aimee laughs and pushes Harry's hands away, hoop earrings bobbing, and Harry reaches out drunkenly to put a finger through one of them before she turns back to stare at Nick.

Nick smiles at her, soft and secret, and then someone taps her on the shoulder and she turns, already laughing. Her throat is pale and smooth. Harry wants to kiss it. Christ, she's drunk.

Aimee gets Harry's arse against her crotch somehow, leans in to whisper in her ear.

"Be careful with our girl, alright?" she says, breath hot and voice close. "Not as tough as she looks."

"She's perfect," Harry blurts back, because she's drunk and it's true.

Aimee laughs, and pushes Harry away into the pulsating crowd. Harry closes her eyes and goes with it.

Nick finds them in the crowd a half hour later, when Harry's four drinks deep and there's sweat trickling steadily down her back.

“How’re we doing, love?” she says in Harry’s ear, sliding a hand onto her waist, and Harry turns to face her, trying not to grin too stupidly.

“Hiiiiii,” she says. Nick laughs, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Hiya,” she says, barely audible over the Rihanna track the new DJ is blasting. Nick’s grinning, forehead damp with sweat. It is hot in there. Harry’s hot.

“I’m hottt,” she moans against the shell of Nick’s ear.

"Should we move on?" Nick puts a hand on her back. "Annie's spinning at the Nest."

Harry nods gratefully, reaches down to thread her fingers through Nick's, letting Nick lead her through the crowd. She's not totally sure what the Nest is, but if Nick wants to go there, Harry'll go.

---

"I'm not that drunk," Nick says loudly, four hours, two clubs, and countless drinks later. She's peering into her refrigerator, wearing one heeled boot and wobbling like a leaf in the wind. "I'm really not."

"Me neither," Harry agrees, perched on Nick's kitchen counter with a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. "I'm fine."

"Like, I wouldn't drive right now, you know, obviously, but I'm definitely not gonna vom."

Harry crunches down on a crisp. "Same."

"It's like the perfect level. I feel amazing. Bloody hell, why the fuck don't I have any fucking bread!"

Harry snorts, and Nick slams the refrigerator, winces when something falls inside it. She gingerly opens it up again and looks.

"Eh," she mutters. "S'fine. Fix it later. Gimme my crisps back."

Harry hands them over, and Nick leans against the counter opposite, puts a handful into her mouth and crunches down.

"Blehh," Harry moans, suddenly really wanting to be horizontal. "Want t'go to bed."

"Me too," Nick mumbles around a mouthful of crisps.

"Wait. Want more crisps."

Nick gives the bag back, and starts fumbling around for a water glass.

"Alright, so Aimee told me if you - if you-" she hiccups. "If you drink, like, three glasses of water before you go to bed, you won't be hungover."

Harry wrinkles her nose. "I'm not thirsty. I had so much water after yoga."

"That's not the point, it's about health, Styles."

Harry accepts the glass of water sullenly and takes a sip.

"I'm not gonna be hungover anyway, cos I'm not that drunk," Nick says, waving one hand in the air. "I'm fine."

"Me too."

"Maybe I'll go to the gym tomorrow. Maybe I'll be like proper healthy and go to the gym and have a juice."

Harry nods determinedly. Her head feels very, very - floaty.

"That's it," Nick says, gesturing with her glass of water until some slops on the ground. "I'm gonna be really healthy. Honestly, like, I think it's really time to just, like, buckle down, y'know? Start a diet. Specially now that the hols are over-"

She grabs the packet of crisps back from Harry and fumbles her hand into it. "Like it's nearly springtime now, right? It's like, everything's really fresh and-"

Harry shuts her eyes, listening to Nick chewing.

"Ey! Styles! Don't pass out on me."

"M'not," Harry mumbles. "Just tired. You’re being boring."

"You little cow," Nick laughs, one hand coming around Harry's back and tugging her off the counter. Harry stumbles, puts her arms around Nick's shoulders and her head into the crook of her neck. Mmm, that's nice. Nick's all warm and solid. Harry could go to sleep riiiiight here.

"Oh my god, Haz, you're legless," Nick giggles. "C'mon. Bed. Bedtime for you."

Harry nods, and shuts her eyes again for a little while.

She wakes up in bed on her side, peering blearily at the open door of the toilet, golden light filtering out into Nick's dark bedroom.

"Niick?"

Nick pops her head out, a toothbrush in her mouth.

"Is it morning?" Harry whispers.

Nick snorts, and some foam goes down her chin. "No, idiot. You've been in bed about ten minutes. Go back to sleep."

"I wanna brush my teeth," Harry says pitifully.

Nick sighs long-sufferingly, ducks back into the toilet.

Harry closes her eyes again, but she wakes up when she feels Nick's weight dip the bed.

"Here," Nick says, voice warm and low. "Toothbrush. Sit up or you'll choke."

Harry drags herself up til she's sitting. A wave of dizziness washes over her and she groans.

"How 'come you're so good at hiding when you're really really pissed?" Nick asks softly, handing Harry the toothbrush. Harry sticks it in her mouth and leans her head on Nick's shoulder.

"M'not pissed," she garbles out.

"Yeah, alright. Sure. Don't drip on my duvet, please."

It takes two hours for Harry to finish brushing her teeth. Well. Maybe more like a minute, but she can't tell time so good right now. Eventually she's just chewing on the brush, and Nick gently pulls it out of her mouth.

"That's enough, Haz."

Harry wants to spit. There's nowhere to spit, and she wants to spit, and she looks at Nick unhappily, her cheeks bulging out.

"Oh god," Nick sighs, fumbling for the bin. "Here."

Harry spits, and sighs with relief, smiles. Mm, that's better. Her head feels less spinny and her mouth is all nice and refreshed. She collapses down into bed. Nick's soft warm bed. One of Harry's favorite places on the whole planet.

"Go to sleep, drunkie," Nick says, patting her cheek.

"Love you," Harry sighs.

Nick huffs a laugh. "Good night, Harry."

In the back of her mind, Harry feels a niggle of annoyance, that Nick didn't say it back. She falls asleep anyway.

---

Harry sucks noisily at her drink, until Nick breaks off from her conversation and turns her way.

"Babe," she says, flushed and drunk. She shouldn't be drunk, cos this is apparently a work meeting, and yet there she is. Unprofessional to have a work meeting in a pub to begin with, Harry thinks. She tries not to sigh. Nick said they'd talk business for twenty minutes and then peel off to go to a bar, but it's been a full hour of her sitting there as Nick and Rochelle gossip about people Harry's never even heard of.

"What?" Harry says, slurping her drink again, trying not to glare.

Nick laughs. "Did you want a refill, is that what I'm meant to be getting?"

"I can grab it," Rochelle says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm out too. What're you drinking, Harry?"

"Uhh," Harry says. "Vodka - something."

"Vodka-soda," Nick says, huffing out a laugh. "Maybe you shouldn't have another, if you can't even remember what you're drinking."

Harry just grimaces around the straw and watches Rochelle walk away, arse full in her tight skirt.

"She's pretty," she says, trying not to make it sound snarky.

Nick laughs again. "She certainly is, Haz. She'll look amazing on telly."

"Is that why we're here?"

Nick gives her a look. "Yeah, Haz. She might be on the panel for Sweat, if I play my cards right."

Harry ponders that, as Nick fiddles to check her phone. She tips an ice cube into her mouth and chews hard. "Do you fancy her?"

"Jesus. What is this, twenty questions? She's straight, Harry. Got a boyfriend who DJs for Capitol."

"You fancied me, and I'm straight," Harry says, the words coming out mush-mouthed. "Doesn't seem to stop you."

Nick narrows her eyes. Doesn't deny it. "Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine tonight."

"I can leave if you want," Harry says, bitterly. Wow, she's quite drunk, and yet she's pretty sure if she stops drinking now she'll only regret it. "If I'm just being a third wheel."

"You're not - what the hell, Harry. I just said she's straight, this isn't a date. What's your problem?"

"Did you really fancy me?" Harry asks in a low voice, digging her fingers into the skin of her thigh, a compulsive clench. Her knee's jiggling. "Before?"

"You were practically a toddler on X Factor, Haz, I'm not actually a pedophile," Nick says stiffly. "No matter what people say. Was joking on the radio."

"What about after we met, last year." Harry's voice keeps cracking. "Did you, did you ever-"

"Here we go!" Rochelle sings, sliding the glass in front of Harry. Harry peers at it dumbly.

Nick coughs, picks up her drink and takes a gulp.

Rochelle sinks back into her seat. "So, Grim. Let's talk business."

"I would love to talk business with you, Ms. Humes," Nick says, grinning wide. Harry feels small and sour in comparison. She gulps her drink and settles back in her seat to sulk.

---

Nick's still tetchy at the end of the night, but she lets Harry follow her into a cab.

They sit side by side, not talking. Harry feels sick, from all the vodka and from all the - other stuff. She hates when she's awful. She usually isn't, it's just. Nick. Harry doesn't know why she wants so much of Nick, all the time. All her attention.

"Can I come back to yours?" Harry asks, voice small. "Or d'you hate me now?"

Nick chokes out a flat laugh. "Don't be an idiot."

Harry walks her hand across the battered leather seat, puts it over Nick's warm palm. The touch makes her pulse flutter.

"Harry," Nick says. Her hand doesn't move.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, chewing her lip. "I was being a dick."

"It's not-" Nick sighs. "I - I just. Y'know, it's not - I'm not going to stop being your friend if you don't, like-"

She stops.

"I hope you don't think I expect anything from you," she says, voice tight and quiet. "Like. Anything more than just mates."

"Nick-"

"I'm not some kind of -" she breaks off, voice cracking, and looks determinedly out the window. Harry feels awful. She nearly gags, she feels so awful.

She squeezes Nick's hand hard. "I don't think that. I swear. I don't. I was just being an idiot."

"I'm friends with a lot of people without fucking them," Nick says, voice small. "I'm not trying to get in your pants."

"I know. I'm not- I'm sorry." Harry watches her. "I'm sorry. I love you, alright, don't be eggy with me."

Nick laughs tiredly, tips her head back against the seat.

"I love you," Harry repeats, and it makes her throat close up, almost. She coughs. "Don't be mad. Promise you're not angry. I'll make you tea. I'll do your laundry."

Nick looks at her, huffing out a chuckle.

"I'm not angry, you idiot."

"Promise?"

"Promise. But you do have to make me tea."

Harry squeezes her hand again, leaves her fingers laced with Nick's til they pull up in front of her flat.

---

"Nick?" Harry whispers. They've had their tea and gone to bed, but Harry's been lying there for about forty-five minutes, not even close to sleep. Her mind's racing and she doesn't know why. She keeps thinking of what Nick said, in the cab. Anything more than just mates.

"Nick."

Nick groans. "Yeah, Haz."

"C'n I ask you something?"

Nick doesn't move. Harry peers at her back.

"Ni-ick."

"What?" Nick mutters sleepily.

Harry draws in a slow breath.

"Did you- did you always know about girls?" she says, shakily. "Or did it, um - I mean. Was it, like, later that you, like. You know. Figured it out.

Nick rolls over onto her back. She's not wearing a bra, and Harry can see the curve of her breasts through her Dr. Dre t-shirt. She looks away as quick as she can.

"What?" Nick repeats, eyes scrunched up. "Harry, it's the middle of the night."

"It's barely midnight. You're just a nana."

"Oh- shut up. What's your stupid question, Harriet."

It's harder to say when Nick's looking at her. Harry looks down, tugging at a thread on Nick's duvet.

"Did you always know?" she says. "About, um. Liking girls."

Nick props herself up on her elbow, peers at Harry for a long second.

"Sort of," she says slowly.

"Sort of." Harry huffs a laugh. "Okay."

"Well, I mean- like. I did, I suppose. I fancied girls when I was little but my parents thought it was just, y'know, little kid stuff. Never liked blokes the same way, but I tried it out and everything. Lot easier to fake, isn't it? Than it must be for gay blokes. Just have to lie there and let them, you know. Go at it."

"You had sex with boys?"

"Course I did," Nick says. "In uni."

"And it felt- like, uh. Did it feel good?"

Nick makes a face like she did when Harry offered her a bite of her vegan black bean burger the week before.

"Was always a bit boring, if I'm honest. It never got me off. No offense to dicks, I know you're a big fan."

Harry flushes hard. "Shut up."

"What's brought this on, hm?" Nick says, rolling onto her side. Harry can see the bend of her waist where her shirt's scrunched together and ridden up. She smells like shampoo, a musky note of perfume, and Harry's hit with a low punch of arousal, right in the bottom of her gut. She exhales slowly, carefully.

"Nothing," she says.

"Nothing?"

Harry swallows. Nick is very close to her, and very warm, and Harry can't stop thinking about what it'd feel like to-

"Just curious."

"Curious when I figured out I was gay or, like," she coughs delicately. "Curious curious?"

"Just that," Harry lies. "The first one."

She buries her face in her pillow.

"Okay," Nick says, sounding bemused. "Well, good chat. See you in the morning. Make sure to wake me up with any more questions you have, no matter how pointless."

Harry nods pitifully.

After a moment she feels Nick's hand on her back, rubbing gently.

"G'night, Styles," Nick whispers, and Harry can't say anything back. Her throat's all dry. She just nods again, and Nick rolls away, lets out a sigh.

---

"Vodka tonic, please!" Harry yells over the din of the crowd. The bartender stares thoughtfully at her tits for a good ten seconds, and then says, "Are you Harry Styles?"

Harry nearly rolls her eyes. She forces a smile instead. "Just a vodka tonic, please."

"My flatmate's got a poster of you in his room. On the ceiling above his bed."

"That's very nice of him," Harry says, trying not to pull a face at the thought of why his flatmate might have chosen that location.

"He's bloody obsessed with you. I always fancied the little one more. The mouthy one with the nice arse. What's her name? Layla? Weren't you two, like, messin' around? God, I'd pay to see that-"

"Can you get a fucking move on?" Harry hears, and she turns to see Aimee, glaring at the bartender. "Jesus, jerk off on your own time, asshat. Get the lady her fucking drink."

"Bitch," the bartender mutters, but he turns away.

"Thanks," Harry says, red-faced, as Aimee settles in next to her, adjusting her skirt.

"No problem. This place is kind of a dive. How're you doing, babe?"

Harry grabs her drink, dropping a tenner on the bartop.

"I'm good," she says, taking a sip and looking around at the crowded room. Nick's at the end of the bar, and there's some girl with bleach-blonde hair and dark eyebrows leaning in to talk to her, putting a drink in Nick's hand. Harry narrows her eyes.

"Who's that?" she says to Aimee, nodding her head down the bar.

"No idea," Aimee sighs. "But Nick always pulls at this bar. I think that's why she always makes us come here. Every girl in here is like exactly Nick's type."

Harry takes a gulp of her drink. "What's Nick's type?"

Aimee looks at her sidelong, and Harry pretends to be very, very interested in the slice of lime in her drink.

"Artsy hipsters with nice tits," Aimee says, breathing out a laugh. "If they're in skinny jeans with questionable tattoos Nick's ready to pounce."

"Ha," Harry breathes. She's still watching them. The girl's laughing at something Nick's said, eyes sparkling. Nick stoops down to murmur in her ear, and something hooks hot in Harry's gut.

"I'm just gonna go," she says absently. "Umm, say hi."

"You do that, babe," Aimee says, sounding amused. Harry knows she's taking the mick, but who cares. She takes off towards Nick, slurping her vodka. She'll just say hello.

---

"You're on the sofa tonight, darling," Nick says, locking the door behind her. Harry followed her into a cab from the bar and came home with her, which is normal. But so did this - girl. Harry spent the whole cab ride back trying and failing to ignore Nick's hand on the girl's thigh, the way they kept laughing soft and low.

"D'you guys wanna watch telly?" Harry asks, fully aware of how pathetic she sounds.

"I'm knackered, Haz, we're gonna go to sleep." Nick smiles and nods at the girl. Lauren. Laura. Whatever. "My room's on the left, meet you in there?"

"Yeah, alright," Lauren/Laura says raspily, grinning at her. Harry tries to keep her face blank, but it falls into a pout once they both turn away and Nick leads her down the hall to the living room.

"Alright," Nick says, pulling a blanket out of a cupboard. "There you go. Got enough pillows?"

"You want a cup of tea?"

Nick huffs a laugh. "No. Can you stop being so weird, please, Hazza?"

She presses a vodka-scented kiss to Harry's cheek, squeezes her around the shoulders and whispers, "I love you very much, but I'm also trying to get laid. So just - go to sleep."

Harry swallows thickly.

"And if you hear anything sus it's your bloody fault for not finishing the stupid renos on your flat before now. Don't give me shit in the morning." Nick laughs and kisses her again, close to her mouth, drunk and messy. Harry trembles, mind racing with last-second possibilities. If she kissed Nick again, square on the lips, would Nick go back down the hallway and tell that other girl to go home? Or would she just laugh?

"Good night, love." Nick turns away, running a hand through her hair and digging in her back pocket for her wallet and keys, dumping them on a table in the hallway. Harry hears the clatter of it, and then the solid thunk of Nick's bedroom door.

She stands there in silence for a long minute, holding her breath, but she can't hear anything.

Nick's sofa is comfortable, long enough for Harry to stretch her legs out, but she still doesn't like it. She lies there for a long time, half-asleep, but she comes awake when the bedroom door creaks open again.

She hears footsteps down the hall, a muttered Shh, and then a light flicks in on the kitchen just as the kitchen door swings shut.

Harry opens her eyes, pulse racing. She can see golden light leaking out from under the door, can hear dishes clinking together.

"D'you have cheese?" a low voice murmurs.

"Off dairy right now, soz," Nick whispers back. "Avocado though? You want an egg? Or, ooh, I've got crisps."

There's the crinkle of a crisp bag, the sound of someone chewing, then silence. Harry can't stop holding her breath, listening so hard she can hear her own heartbeat. God, she feels pathetic, but it's-

Harry hears the soft sound of a kiss and her pulse spikes. Nick murmurs something low, huffs a laugh, and they kiss again, quiet but unmistakeable.

The door opens, light flooding the room for a second, and Harry squeezes her eyes shut.

"Take 'em to bed," Nick's whispering, laughing a little. "I wanna make you come again."

Embarrassed heat washes all the way down Harry's neck. She fights the urge to swallow.

Lauren/Laura chuckles, footsteps tapping back down the hall, and after a minute the bedroom door shuts again, leaving Harry in silence.

She sits up, grabbing for her phone on the coffee table, but who can she text? It's two bloody AM and Harry's so- she's so-

God, she's an idiot. She scrubs her palms over her face, lets out a strangled breath and curls into the sofa again, pulling the blanket up to her neck. It takes forever, but she manages to sleep.

Nick wakes her up with coffee, rubbing her warm hand over Harry's shoulder and putting a mug under her nose.

"Morning, Haz," she whispers, as Harry grumbles, digging her face into the pillow. "Up you get, c'mon, I know you have studio."

Harry rubs her eyes, rolls onto her back. Nick holds out the mug.

"Is that girl here?" she mumbles, and Nick rolls her eyes.

"Laura. Not that girl, don't be a bitch. And no, she had work."

Harry brightens and sits up, taking the mug out of Nick's hands. "Thank you."

"No problem." Nick turns away. Harry gazes absently at her arse for a minute until she remembers herself and looks into her coffee instead.

"Have fun last night?" she asks.

"Mm. Yeah." Nick swallows a gulp of her own coffee, sitting cross-legged on the chair across from her. "I love that bar. It's like gross in a good way. How about you?"

"Yeah," Harry says sullenly. "Loads."

Nick arches an eyebrow at her, but doesn't say anything about it.

"Hey," she says, reaching out a long leg to nudge at Harry's thigh with her toes. "I've got this fashion dinner thing next week, I want you to come."

"Just me?"

Nick rolls her eyes. "Yes, Haz. Just you."

Harry tries to bite down a smile. It must not be very successful, because Nick sighs in a long-suffering sort of way, kneads her toes against Harry's thigh.

"You're such a brat," she says, shaking her head. "It'll be just you, and I won't talk to anyone else, and I'll just give you my undivided attention the whole night."

Harry smiles some more. "You want me to make breakfast?"

Nick groans happily. "Yes, please. Go pull your weight."

Harry wants to lean over and - and - she's not sure. She clenches her fists and pushes herself up from the sofa.

"Set the table?" she calls behind her.

"God, we're domestic," Nick moans. She sounds like she's grinning. Harry is too, so hard her cheeks hurt. "Fiiiine. But I want avocado toast."

---

Nick follows through on her promise and gives Harry her undivided attention at the fashion dinner thing, which turns out to be terribly boring until they get the brilliant idea of taking advantage of the open bar. Then it's loads of fun, cos Harry's drunk and Nick whispers gossip in her ear until she makes Harry laugh so hard she snorts out vodka-tonic.

They go home together, the two of them. Harry can't stop grinning the entire cab ride, drunk and giddy, running over the night in her head and nodding while Nick natters on about someone's new record that everyone loves and Nick can't stand. It's her favorite thing, listening to Nick talk.

She climbs into bed and tugs all of Nick's pillows over to her side, building herself a nest. When it's finished she snuggles in, lets out a long sigh, her ears still ringing. She'll probably be terribly hungover tomorrow, but she's got the whole day off, so. She can just stay in bed. Maybe make Nick go out and fetch brekkie.

Nick clambers onto the bed next to her, long legs bare and her face shiny-clean.

"Stole all my bloody pillows," she grumbles, grabbing one away from Harry's nest. "Gimme."

"Heyyy," Harry whines, but she hands another pillow over, and Nick rewards her with a grin and a clumsy pat on the face.

Finally they're both settled on their sides, eye to eye. Nick's humming tunelessly, digging her head into her pillow, and Harry reaches out and tucks Nick's hair behind her ear.

Nick laughs. "Whassat for?"

"Nothin'," Harry murmurs. "Was on your face."

"You're pissed," Nick says, eyes scrunching as she smiles.

Harry just stares at her. She is quite pissed. Nick smells really good, like really good, and Harry clutches a pillow to her chest.

"Grim," she says slowly.

"Yeaah," Nick mutters, eyes closed.

"What would you," Harry starts, swallowing hard. "What would you, uh, do, if I- if I kissed you?"

Nick's eyes pop open.

"Like right now?" she asks, voice gone high. "Or in general?"

Harry stares at her. "Don't be an idiot."

"How am I-" Nick stops, mouth opening and closing a few times like a startled fish. "M'not being an idiot."

"Was just a question," Harry says, something caught in her throat. She moves to turn over and Nick grabs her shoulder.

"Right now," she says. "I would tell you to go to sleep cos you're pissed, and you'd probably regret it in the morning."

"No I-"

"But in general," Nick says, voice unsteady. "In general. Might kiss back. Dunno."

Harry faces her again, stomach doing a flop like she's stepped wrong off a curb. "You would?"

Nick blinks at her.

"You're drunk," she says, with a shaky laugh, like it'll all go away in the morning. Like Harry hasn't spent months thinking about it. “You’re just - drunk.”

"You'd kiss me back?"

"Hazza…"  

"Would you?"

Nick licks her bottom lip, eyes darting like she's weighing her options.

"Go to sleep," she says finally.

Harry reaches out and draws her fingers down the side of Nick's face, careful and slow. She watches, fascinated, when Nick shivers, lips parting.

"You'd kiss me back," she says, with satisfaction.

Nick just exhales, all wobbly and hot, her eyes closing. The bottom of Harry's belly floods hot, because she knows what that means. She knows Nick- feels it back. Too. Whatever. She might be drunk but she knows that much.

She ducks her head to press it to Nick's collarbone, and Nick stiffens up for a minute before she relaxes, puts an arm around Harry's back, big hand spreading over Harry's shoulder blades.

"You're gonna kill me," she whispers. "You absolute nutter."

"Gonna kiss you," Harry mumbles, half-asleep, and the last thing she feels is Nick sighing a hot breath against the top of her head.

---

Harry wakes up to an empty bed and the faint sounds of Nick murdering an Adele song in the kitchen. She lies there for a while, trying to stave off the low throb at the back of her neck, stretching her toes out under Nick’s fluffy duvet, grinning at nothing in particular.

She picks her way barefoot into the kitchen, knocks on the fridge just to make Nick look up, hugging herself in just shorts and one of Nick's worn-out t-shirts.

“Morning.”

“Morning, popstar,” Nick says, flicking a glance down her body, looking back into the pan of eggs she’s stirring. “I’m making breakfast.”

“You can’t cook.”

Nick pulls a face at her, and Harry pushes herself up to sit on Nick’s kitchen counter, legs swinging. Her stomach’s lurching like she’s going to be sick. She’s probably just hungry. Or maybe it’s cos last night she told Nick she wanted to kiss her, and Nick said she’d kiss Harry back, and now they’re just sitting around making eggs like everything’s normal.

Harry knows that everything can stay normal, if she wants it to. She could chalk it up to too much booze and too much time spent together. She probably wouldn’t even have to say anything, just let them fall back into the normal rhythm of their friendship.

Her hands clench on the countertop. No. She bloody wants this, and she knows she wants it. She pushes past the familiar swoop of vertigo at the thought, and says, “Nick?”

“What,” Nick says, voice tense like she’s thinking the exact same thing as Harry. She won’t look up.

“Umm.” Harry scooches over on the counter, kicks at Nick’s hip. “Like. Last night, um-”

“You were drunk,” Nick says, busily stirring the eggs. “No worries-”

“No,” Harry says shakily. “Don’t, like. Listen. I - I meant it.”

Nick chews at her lip.

“I think about it a lot,” Harry says. She’s almost surprised by how weak her voice is, cos she didn’t think she was scared of what she wanted. It’s just - it’s real. If she keeps talking, Nick’s gonna kiss her, and everything’s going to get really bloody real really bloody quickly.

Harry draws in a shaking breath. “Like- you. I think about you a lot.”

Nick sprinkles cheese over the eggs, staring into the pan.

“I think about us kissing,” Harry says unsteadily.

“Haz,” Nick breathes.

“I do. I - I’m sorry.”

Nick looks at her, eyes dark. “Why’re you sorry?”

Harry hitches her shoulders up in a miserable shrug. This isn’t going the way she planned. Course, the way she planned was Nick pulling her into a lazy easy snog in bed when she woke up, kissing her awake and whispering we don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay, so that ship’s already sailed.

“I dunno.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nick says, voice shaky. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know. I know there’s not. I just.” Harry rubs her hands over her eyes. “Like. It’s not just when I’m drunk, or when we’re in bed, or. Or whatever.”

Nick carefully turns the stove off.

“And I feel like you don’t take it seriously,” Harry says. “Cos I’m just, like, me.”

Nick swallows audibly.

"I take you seriously," she mumbles.

Harry tries to breathe. She sniffs in hard.

"I do," Nick says, urgently. She pushes the pan of eggs aside and steps between Harry's legs, and it's so sudden, how close she is, that Harry loses her breath a bit. "I do."

Harry looks at her, at the flat cut of Nick's cheekbones and the spray of freckles over her nose, the mark on one cheek and her dark dark eyes. Her soft pink mouth. She's seen Nick's face up about a million times but it's never felt quite so - close.

"Nick," she says, dumbly, and Nick takes her face very gently in both hands and kisses her.

Harry puffs out a breath, somehow surprised even though she asked for it. Nick's lips are soft and careful, and she cups the back of Harry's head just as she pulls away with a quiet wet sound, licking at the corner of her mouth, looking curious, interested.

Harry's heart is thudding hard in her chest and her hands are clenched tight around the edge of the counter. She can't move, which is weird. Her whole body's screaming for Nick to touch her again and yet she can't bloody move.

Nick lets go and looks at her, up close. "Alright?"

Harry lets out a shivering breath, nods, and Nick's mouth twitches in a smile, crooked and pleased. She slides her hands over Harry's on the countertop and presses down as she leans in again, sucking Harry's bottom lip into her mouth and then licking inside.

Finally Harry's limbs unlock. Nick murmurs when she puts her arms around Nick's narrow shoulders, pulls her in close.

Oh, they waited too long to do this. Harry's an idiot for waiting, and she groans with how much lost time there is to make up. Nick slows her down, laughs against her mouth when Harry staggers off the counter to get closer.

"Hey," she breathes, holding Harry's face in her hands. "Hey, relax."

"Kiss me," Harry says, voice thick and rusty like she hasn't used it for a while.

Nick snorts. "I'm bloody trying."

Harry laughs too, and Nick licks the sound right out of her mouth when she leans in again, slow and smiling.

---

It's the next morning, nearly noon on a Sunday. Harry's full of breakfast and tea and Nick's on top of her on the sofa, kissing her mouth. They've barely stopped since they started, two days ago. Well, except to sleep and eat and go to work. But mostly just kissing. Harry doesn't mind one bit.

Nick's hand slides down from Harry's neck to her shoulder, and then inwards to her chest, and Harry shudders happily.

Nick pulls back.

"S'that alright?" she asks, voice hoarse.

"What?"

"Me- touching. You. Like, y'know, touching touching. Cos we can just kiss if you like. We don't have to do anything you're not-"

"Jesus," Harry interrupts. "Touch my fucking tits, Nick. Please."

Nick stops, slackjawed, and then her eyes narrow. "You sure?"

"I'm not a bloody virgin," Harry says, reaching down for a handful of Nick's arse, her skirt rucked up. Nick lets out a surprised sound, grinds down on Harry's thigh. Harry grins. Nick's got a nice arse. "C'mon."

"Well, I don't- I mean. Some straight girls just want to kiss, I don't-"

Harry presses their mouths together to shut her up. Straight girls. Harry doesn't like being called that. She's got no idea what she'd rather be called, but not- that. At least not by Nick, when Nick's tongue is in her mouth.

Nick's hand curves around Harry's breast, still hesitant, and Harry arches her back. Nick grips tight, thumb against Harry's nipple.

Harry breaks off from the kiss, panting. "C'mon, Grim. You're s'posed to be the best at this. Show me a good time."

She grins when Nick huffs indignantly.

"You want a good time?"

Harry laughs, feeling giddy. "I really do."

"Fine," Nick says, cheeks pink. "Brat."

She tucks her hair behind her ear, leans down and kisses Harry's neck, and then further down, fingers unbuttoning Harry's shirt, mouth dragging down the exposed skin.

Harry hums when Nick slips her bra straps off her shoulders, reaches around to unhook the clasp. It takes her a second, and Harry lifts her head.

"Sorry, it's weird," she says. "You have to unhook the top thingy and then do the-"

The clasp pops open.

Nick looks up, grinning. "What can I say, I'm the best."

She tosses the bra aside and opens Harry's unbuttoned shirt like a curtain at the theater, slow and showy. She stays like that for a minute, just staring, until Harry can feel herself flush.

"Ni-ick."

"Gimme a minute." Nick traces her thumb over one of Harry's nipples, stiffening up under the attention. She sighs. "Fuck, look at you, Haz."

Harry goes even redder, feeling a pulse of heat in her stomach at Nick's hot-eyed stare. She shifts her thighs together, pinned down by Nick's weight. She wants to whine, but she keeps her mouth shut.

"Perfect," Nick says, swallowing. "You're just- you're. Shit. Never mind." She ducks her head and sucks at Harry's hard nipple, lets her teeth graze against the skin, so light it makes Harry twitch and suck in a breath.

"Nick-"

Nick moves to the other nipple, then kisses down the swell of Harry's belly, until her hand's flat to the bottom of it, pressing down on the skin in a way that's making Harry's eyes go unfocused. She can feel how wet she is.

"Ni-ick," she mumbles.

"Mmhm," Nick murmurs against Harry's hip, Harry's skirt rucked up around her waist.

"What're you-" Harry quivers at not knowing, what Nick's plans are for her. With boys it's always pretty easy to tell. Hard dick, going in some part of Harry's body. "What're you- gonna do?"

Nick looks up, eyes dark.

"Was hoping I could eat you out," she says, easily, looking hungry. "You alright with that?"

Harry tries not to go tongue-tied. Christ, she's had quite a bit of sex in her life, she shouldn't be so-

"Mm. Haz?" Nick breathes out, ducking down to kiss right below Harry's navel. Harry squirms furiously, bites back a groan when Nick slides her palms up Harry's thighs at the same time, against the grain of hair.

"P-please, yeah," Harry chokes. "Yeah."

"Thank god," Nick murmurs, before she picks up Harry's ankle, puts it over the back of the sofa, puts her other foot on the ground.

Harry's spread open then, feeling completely exposed, even though she's still got her knickers on. She can feel the wet, nearly soaking through the thin cotton, and then Nick blows cool air against her and Harry really feels it.

"Jesus, Nick-"

Nick does it again, and Harry twitches, one hand clenching around the back of the sofa.

"Nick!"

"You always this jumpy?" Nick murmurs, sounding like she's grinning.

"Get on with it," Harry says, reaching down to shove at Nick's smug face.

Nick ducks, laughing.

"This is the difference between birds and blokes, young Styles," she says, instructively, just as she reaches to run the pad of her thumb over the cotton of Harry's knickers, a slow drag. Harry's stomach flip-flops, and she exhales unsteadily. "Blokes only eat pussy until it's time for the main event. Give you a few licks, like. Maybe get you off once if they're feeling generous."

Harry has the vague sense she should defend mankind, but Nick's running her fingers right under the hem of Harry's knickers, where her thigh meets her cunt, and she can't form a coherent sentence.

"But for girls," Nick says softly. "Well. It is the main event."

"Jesus, Nick, please," Harry babbles. "Please."

"Can I take these off?" Nick asks, tugging at her knickers.

Harry lifts her head to glare at her, her bare chest bouncing.

"No, please don't, I need to retain my dignity," she says, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Nick grins up at her, turns her head to press a soft kiss to the inside of Harry's thigh, and gently tugs her pants down.

And then it's - it's. Harry doesn't talk for a long time. She's quiet at first, trying to bite her lip, but after a while she can't shut herself up. Nick goes so slow, terribly slow. She puts her mouth everywhere. Harry's thighs, her lips. Her clit, finally, a slow push of Nick's tongue while two of her fingers are spreading inside her.

Nick lifts her head after a while, looking up at her and raising her eyebrows questioningly, like Harry's gonna have a single bloody complaint.

"Keep- was close- keep going!" Harry gasps, and Nick lowers her head again, laughing.

---

"You're late," Lou greets her with the next morning, which is bloody rich considering how often she's strolled into rehearsal tardy. Harry flips her off and hugs Niall around the waist from behind, from where she's standing at the counter making tea, yawning into the wrist of her Derby County jumper.

"Morning, team," Harry says cheerily.

"Someone's happy," Niall says, bemused. "You want tea?"

"Yes, please, Nialler."

"Did you get laid or what?" Louise asks, looking a bit sour about it. "You're annoying me."

"Lou," Liam says, long-suffering, looking up from his trainers, which are tangled in a heap in his lap.

"Don't kiss and tell," Harry says primly. "Morning, Leemo."

"Morning, Haz. Can you help me untangle my laces?"

Harry snorts. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Louise says, before Liam can open his mouth. "He got what he deserved. Don't help him."

Harry rolls her eyes, and accepts the cup of tea Niall hands over. "So, are we rehearsing, or what?"

"Or what," Niall says, sinking down onto the sofa next to Louise. "Paul's train broke down or something, so we're waiting."

"We could do vocal warm-ups," Harry says, sipping gingerly at her steaming cup of tea. "Or go over the set-"

"Christ, you sound like Liam," Lou says, ignoring Liam when he whines heyyy. "What's got into you? Or should I say who?"

Harry grins a bit. She can't help it. "Nothing. No one."

Lou watches her suspiciously. "You were hanging out with Nick last night, weren't you? I saw your Instagram."

The smile slips off Harry's face. She looks away, sets her tea down and slides in next to Liam to help. "Yeah."

"You're firmly up her arse, aren't you? Cos she's like, sooo cool and hip-"

"Lou, don't be a dick," Liam says, handing over the mess of trainers to Harry.

"Just mad cos I'm not up yours," Harry mutters, not making eye contact. It's mean, but she can't fucking help it. Sometimes Lou makes her mean.

"Oh, you fucking wish," Louise says, sounding like she's relishing the prospect of a fight. She's dangerous like that, the way she loves to fight, loves to plant traps and pick at people until they snap. Harry used to find it endearing, until Lou turned her sights on Harry. Harry's not sure when or why that started happening, but she doesn't like it. "The pair of you have the biggest fucking egos-"

"Lou," Niall says, desperately. "Can you, umm. Have you- have you got a spare tampon?"

Louise fixes her with a flat look, and Harry snorts a helpless laugh into her elbow. Niall's the absolute worst at avoiding conflict, but at least she tries.

"No," Lou says. "Ask Harry, maybe Nick lent her one."

"Get off it," Harry says tightly, still staring down at Liam's trainers. God, Lou really fucked them up, twisted them round and round in hopeless knots. Poor Liam.

"Can we all just stop fighting," Liam breathes. "Come on."

Louise opens her mouth, eyes flashing, but they're saved by the door swinging open, Paul poking his head in, coffee in one hand.

"G'morning, darlings," he says, grinning when they chorus a weary Good morning.

"Fascinating reading on the tube this morning." He holds up a copy of Heat magazine, and Harry squints at her own face, in a circle next to Louise's with a pink heart over it. "Apparently Lou and Harry are about ready to shack up and adopt a few babies. Who knew?"

"Whassat?" Harry asks slowly, reaching for it, and Lou says sharply, "It's bullshit, is what it is."

"Oh, that's why you're all-" Liam starts, and Louise shoots him a look that stops him in his tracks.

Harry scans the paper, brushing off crumbs from whatever Paul's breakfast was. Harry Styles and Louise Tomlinson, secret lovers? reads the headline. Harry laughs.

"This is hilarious," she says. "Look, Lou, they photoshopped our faces together."

"Yeah, what a fucking laugh!" Louise chirps. "Such a laugh to have my boyfriend chew me out for an hour last night cos he thinks I'm shagging my bandmate!"

Harry looks back down, swallowing.

"Don't miss the part where they talk about how jealous I am of Nicola Grimshaw," Louis says acidly. "For stealing away my girlfriend. God, it's just hilarious."

"It's just tabloid shite, Lou," Niall says carefully.

"It's fucking ridiculous!"

"Aaalright," Paul cuts in, unwinding his scarf from his neck. "Less chat, more warming up. Harry, put the paper away, it's time to work."

"I wasn't even-" Harry stops when Paul gives her a sharp little look. She tosses the Heat aside and hands Liam back his shoes, still a mess. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Liam sighs. "Sort it out later."

He staggers to his feet, offers Harry a hand to pull her up. She takes it and stumbles against his chest, grabbing onto his arm for balance. It's not even on purpose, but the look Lou's giving her over Liam's shoulder makes her feel queasy with guilt anyway.

"Rehearsal," she says dumbly, steadying herself. Lou's looking away now, wrapping an arm around Niall's shoulders and stumbling them both into the other room. Good, maybe she'll bother Niall for the rest of the day. "Alright."

Liam raises an eyebrow. "Uhh, yeah."

Harry pushes her hair out of her face, trying not to look as eggy as she feels.

"Don't mind her," Liam says quietly. "Seriously. Think she fought pretty bad with Eric last night, she's just, like, blowing off steam."

Harry should feel bad, but most of her compassion for Louise has already been used up. She's got a daily quota. "Mm."

"He's an idiot," Liam mutters, more to himself than to her. "Don't know why she's still with him. Seriously, actually believing the two of you are shagging, when you're both straight. It's stupid."

Harry can't look at him. She just hums again, hoping that's enough, and follows Liam into the studio.

---

"Mm, hand me the wine," Nick mumbles, and Harry fumbles for the bottle, sat on the ledge next to Nick's bathtub. She shakes it.

"S'gone."

"Nooooooo," Nick whines in her ear. "Nooooo-"

Harry reaches back and tips the last drops of wine into Nick's mouth. "There you go."

Nick swallows it happily, settling Harry on her lap as Harry puts the bottle back down. Harry sinks back down, tips her head back against Nick's shoulder and sighs.

"I'm drunk," she says.

Nick laughs, hand sliding onto Harry's belly underwater, stroking back and forth. "Me too."

"What if we drown?"

"We're not gonna drown."

"We could. I read you can drown in one inch of water." Harry giggles. "God, imagine the headlines."

Nick huffs a laugh, warm against Harry's damp neck. "Torrid lesbian love affair gone wrong-"

"Torrid bisexual love affair," Harry corrects, and Nick groans and squeezes her breast, thumbs over her nipple. Harry giggles ticklishly, wriggling in Nick's arms, leans back until Nick takes the hint and kisses her.

"Mmm," Harry hums into her mouth, just as Nick's hand moves off her chest and down her belly, pressing down between her legs. "Mm!"

Nick laughs against Harry's lips, as her fingers spread Harry's pussy, rub against her clit and then down inside her, slippery and slick under the surface, hot water caressing her cunt.

She nips Harry's bottom lip at the same time, licks it gently, and Harry can't keep her fucking eyes open, drunk and warm and shuddering when Nick keeps playing with her. She groans low.

"Ni-ick."

"Mm," Nick hums back, turning Harry's face from hers til Harry's sprawled out on Nick's chest, gasping up at the ceiling. Nick's fingers keep moving, slow and sure, and - and that's her mouth on Harry's neck, sucking. She's so fucking good at this. Harry shivers, tips her head to the side so Nick has easy access.

"Haz," Nick murmurs. "C'n you come like this?"

Harry moans.

"Tell me, love."

Harry tries to focus, but it all goes to shit when Nick tugs at her earlobe with her teeth. She whimpers. "Yeah- yeah, yeah."

"Yeah, you can?"

"Yeah, I- yeah. Think so."

"Tell me what you need," Nick murmurs. She's been doing that lately, asking Harry to say it out loud. Figure out what'll make her come.

"I, um. I - more, like-" Harry reaches down to rub her clit and Nick pulls her wrist away with a splash.

"Uh-uh," she says. "Just me."

"Nick-"

"Tell me what you need," Nick breathes. "You want me to touch your clit?"

"P-please, yeah," Harry gasps, and Nick does for a while, massages her until Harry's shaking, leg muscles clenching.

"My - chest, like-" she gasps. "Nipples. Please-"

"Like this?" Nick whispers, dragging two fingers over Harry's hard nipple. Harry twists in her arms, whining.

"Yeaaah."

"Or like this," Nick says, low, before she tugs at Harry's nipple, twists, and Harry's hands clench into furious fists.

"Yes, fuck, Nick-"

"Good girl," Nick says, warm and fond, kissing her jaw and then her neck, one hand on Harry's chest and the other between her lips, rubbing her clit in tight little circles, unrelenting pressure. Harry's going to - she can't, like, she can't-

"Oh fuck, Nick, fuck, fuck," she babbles, before her belly clenches and she comes, eyes clenched shut. Her breath sounds loud and shaky in her ears, and Nick holds her steady, one hand spread wide over her quivering stomach.

"So good," Nick says in her ear, sounding breathless. "Good good girl."

It wrenches a last moan out of Harry's mouth, and she slumps back into Nick's arms, boneless. She's bloody floating. Nick's a genius. Nick is a - witch. Harry hums happily, grin spreading across her face. She swears she's come more times in the last month than she has in all the other months combined.

Nick's idly groping her, hands on her tits, breath hot and unsteady in Harry's ear.

"I can-" Harry says, slowly. She's still not that good at getting Nick off, but that's no excuse to fall asleep on her like a lump and leave Nick unsatisfied. "Like. Do you want me to-"

"You're half-dead, aren't you, lazy-arse," Nick murmurs.

"I can rally," Harry promises. "Gimme a minute. I can try fingering you again."

"No, no," Nick says, and one of her hands slips off Harry's chest, wriggles between her crotch and Harry's arse. "No. You just stay right there."

"Right here?"

Nick sighs. Harry can feel her hand moving as she touches herself. "Yeah, right there."

"What if I moved here?" Harry whispers, grinding her arse down against Nick's hand, the cradle of her hips, and Nick inhales sharply.

"Hazza-"

Harry circles her hips, and Nick's hand starts wriggling again, faster. Harry can hear her breath catch.

"Does it feel good?" Harry asks, moving Nick's other hand to her belly so she can press closer.   

Nick mutters something unintelligible.

"Tell me," Harry murmurs, tipping her head back against Nick's shoulder, exposing her throat. Nick has a good view like that, all the way down Harry's body, the full heave of Harry's breasts and her long legs, glistening wet. Nick groans, bites down on Harry's shoulder.

"Good," she breathes. "Good, yeah."

"Make you wet to get me off?"

Nick whines. "Brat."

"It did, didn't it." Harry feels so good, back arching, chest bobbing in the water. She wants Nick to watch her, to want her. "You'd do it anytime if I asked. Crawl under the table and lick me out-"

Nick lets out a shaking high sound, hand moving faster.

"You would," Harry whispers, grinding down harder against Nick's knuckles, pushing Nick's fingers deeper. "Eat me whenever I wanted."

"God, you brat," Nick repeats, voice hoarse. She's close, Harry can tell in the tremble of her legs, setting the surface of the water shaking.

"Just admit it." Harry turns her mouth to Nick's neck, kisses her right above her pounding pulse. "You love my cunt. Love how I taste."

"Harry," Nick groans.

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon, Grim," Harry whispers. Her neck is going damp with sweat, and she's breathing hard, and she can hear Nick's fingers, wet and muffled under the water. "C'mon. Just wanna see you come. Come on-"

Nick grunts against Harry's neck and goes still, breath held. A second later it rushes out of her in a loud gasp, and her hand tightens on Harry's belly until it hurts.

She lets go after a minute, breath shaking out into Harry's ear. "Ohh. Fucking god."

Harry turns over with a splash, water spilling out of the side of the tub, and straddles Nick's legs, kisses her hard. She pulls back after only a few moments, because she wants to see Nick's face, and - oh. Nick's blinking up at her, heavy-lidded. Her cheeks are flushed deep pink, hair sticking wetly to her neck, chest still heaving. She looks wrecked. Harry has to kiss her.

Nick holds her hips as they snog, lazy and slow. Harry's yawning against her mouth by the end, head heavy, and Nick pulls away, stroking Harry's hair, laughing.

"Bout to pass out, aren't you."

"Maybe."

"Maybe," Nick laughs softly. "C'mon, idiot, let's go to bed."

Harry nods, and follows Nick out of the tub.

They dry off quick, brush teeth, go to bed with wet hair. Nick fussily lays out a towel over her pillow, urges Harry down onto it, carefully spreading out her curls. Harry lets Nick arrange her like a doll, trying not to laugh.

"What?" Nick asks, peering down at her, nose scrunching.

"Nothing." Harry feels giddy, punch-drunk, her limbs tingling from too much wine and time in the hot water.

"You have a lot of hair, Styles. Too much, some would say."

Harry just sighs and closes her eyes.

After a minute, she feels Nick lean down to kiss her cheek. She smells good. Harry inhales, lets it out slow.

"G'night," she murmurs happily, and she's asleep before Nick can say it back.

---

Spring melts into summer, and everything's warm and easy and perfect. Harry sleeps at Nick's flat for two weeks straight, only goes home to grab more clothes and pick up her mail. Nick likes to crank the A/C until it's practically freezing, and sleeps under two duvets. Harry always wakes up sweating with the covers twisted between her legs.

The days go the same, sliding into each other, an easy routine. They wake up, and have sex - slow lazy sex, or quick and frantic, grinding against each other with Nick's fingers rubbing hard inside her. Kissing, because Harry's found she really really likes to kiss while Nick touches her. They eat, across from each other at Nick's kitchen table, music playing from Nick's laptop. Go out shopping, or stay in watching telly, or go to meetings if they've got them, or to Primrose Hill to lay out in the sun with Aimee and Pixie and Gillian. Dinner at Nick's, and Nick goes to radio, and if Harry's lucky Nick lets her come along.

She likes those nights best. Sitting in studio watching Nick talk. Nick gets into arguments with Finchy during songs, and Harry likes to wait until the absolute worst moment before popping in with a helpful comment. It's fun to watch them both nearly explode.

One night they go out after Nick does the radio, to a pub where her friend Collette is singing jazz. Harry has three whiskey-sours, egg white frothy on the top, and Nick puts a warm hand on her bare thigh under the table. When Collette finishes Nick whoops her approval, and Harry musters up the energy to whistle through her fingers, loud and piercing. Nick grins at her, shoves her over in the leather booth, and Harry has to fight to not just kiss Nick right then and there.

They share a cab home. Harry holds hands with Nick on the seat between them, and Nick looks out the window, city lights reflecting off her glasses. Harry thinks Nick's scared, sometimes, of - all that sort of stuff. Hand-holding and all. Harry's a bit scared too, but it feels so good all the same.

"Nick," she says.

"Mmhm," Nick murmurs.  

Harry swallows. Toys with Nick's fingers, long and slender. Her well-kept nails, short and blunt, painted a soft peach color. She has a tiny dark tattoo on one wrist, an anchor. Harry can't see it in the dark of the cab but she knows it's there.

Nick turns to look at her, when Harry doesn't say anything.

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry says, slowly. "Just. Tonight was fun."

I love you, she thinks she might want to say, but her mouth goes dry before she can. It's silly. She's told Nick she loves her about a million times, but never since they started - this whole thing.

"Yeah, Collette is good, int she?" Nick says, mouth tugging up at the corner. "She's fucking mental, but she can sing. Bit like you."

Harry grins. "You think I can sing?"

Nick rolls her eyes. "You know you can sing, popstar. We’ve all heard you belting Shakira at karaoke, stop fishing."

Harry huffs a laugh, looks down where their hands are still linked.

"I'm, like, having a really good time," she says, swallowing hard.  "With you. Like, with all this."

"What is this," Nick says suspiciously. "Is this a DTR? Is this a relationship talk, Styles, are you doing a relationship talk in a taxi right now?"

"No," Harry says, forcing a laugh. "It's just me saying I - I like you. And fucking you. I like fucking you."

She trails her finger gently over the soft inside of Nick's palm, and she can feel the tremor run up Nick's wrist.

"Well, thanks for the feedback," Nick says. She coughs. "I- I like fucking you too, Harry Styles."

"How romantic," Harry says, trying not to laugh.

"We really are, aren't we."

"Like a fairytale."

"The fair maiden and the horrible four-eyed ogre," Nick says, sighing, and Harry punches her. "Ey, no punches!"

"You're not four-eyed," Harry says, leaving her hand on Nick's thigh. "Who says four-eyed anymore? It doesn't even make sense."

"Me. I do. I say four-eyed."

"Well, you're an idiot."

"Heyy. Bit nasty to say when I'm already an ogre-"

"Idiot," Harry repeats firmly, but she can't stop grinning. Nick just puts her hand over Harry's on her thigh, smiles out the window until they're home.

---

"Well?" Harry says, first thing, when Nick unlocks the front door and comes inside, dropping her bag on the ground. Nick’s been texting her stressed emojis all day, stuck in meetings at the Beeb with her boss and manager. "How'd it go?"

Nick walks right past her, into the kitchen, and fumbles for a beer in the fridge. Harry's heart sinks.

"Shit," she says. "Shit. Nick, what happened."

Nick turns around, and takes a long swallow of beer. Her eyes are dark and utterly unreadable.

"Nick," Harry says, slowly. "I'm gonna bloody kill you if you don't tell me what happened right this second-"

"I can't."

"What?"

Nick just sips her beer again, and then swallows. "I can't tell you."

"You can't - so - so you didn't get sacked."

Nick shakes her head, and Harry lets out a gasp of relief, clutching her heart.

"Jesus, you scared me."

"Not sacked. But I just can't, like. Tell you."

Her eyes are all bright, and Harry studies her curiously.

"You can't tell me."

Nick shakes her head.

"Did you get a promotion?" Harry asks, holding onto the countertop with one hand.

Nick just smiles blankly.

"Did you get a different time slot?"

An eyebrow-raise and another smile. Harry's not sure if she's on the right track, but-

"So, a different show. What, weekends?"

Nick just hums, sips her beer.

"Wait," Harry says, chest going tight, pieces clicking into place. "Wait."

Nick watches her.

"Oh my god. Nick."

Nick's cheeks suck in like she's trying not to smile.

Harry inhales shakily. "Did you- did you get Breakfast?"

Nick's mouth curves up just enough, eyes gleaming, and Harry screams.

"Shut the fuck up!" she yells, even though Nick hasn't said anything in a while, and she throws her arms around Nick. Her heart's pounding, and Nick hugs back, gasping out a laugh.

"Oh my god," Harry says against Nick's neck. "Oh my fucking god, Nick, you thought you were gonna be sacked-"

"Was so scared," Nick chokes out. ‘Thought I was gonna shit myself or summat, oh my god.”

"Holy- holy shit." Harry pulls away, one hand on the back of Nick's neck. "Nick. You're gonna do that. You're gonna host-"

"Shh, shhh, you can't say anything," Nick says, wide-eyed. "I so wasn't supposed to say anything, I'd get murdered if they found out."

"You didn't say anything. I guessed it."

Nick rolls her eyes, and Harry has to kiss her, because otherwise she feels like she's going to sob, and she doesn't even bloody know why.

Nick kisses back, wraps her arms around Harry's neck and tugs her in, and it's a long time before Harry pulls away.

Nick's crying when she does, her eyes all watery, mascara running. Harry runs her thumbs underneath them, and Nick shakes her head, looking annoyed with herself.

"Dunno why I'm-" she says, voice thick. "It's just so, like. Me, Haz. Me. On Breakfast."

"It's fucking amazing."

Nick shakes her head again, sniffing in hard, and Harry kisses her again, her soft open mouth, lips tasting salty.

"You're gonna be amazing," Harry whispers. "Like so, so good."

Nick doesn't say anything.

"Grim."

"Yeah. I'm just. Shit, I still can't believe it."

"I can," Harry says fiercely.

"Oh, shut up," Nick chokes, swallowing.

"I won't bloody shut up. You're gonna be so fucking good. Shit, Nick. Breakfast. The Breakfast Show with Nick Grimshaw."

Nick's breath catches.

"God, that sounds weird," she whispers.

Harry wipes her fingers over Nick's damp cheeks, cups her face. She's still not quite sure what her heart's doing, all big and wobbly in her chest.

"You'll be so good," she says, voice almost shaking with how much she means it.

"Alright, what are you, my life coach?" Nick says, snorting wetly. "Chill out, Styles."

Harry rolls her eyes. Nick's so full of shite.

She's going to turn away when Nick tugs her in again, by the back of the head, and kisses Harry's half-open mouth.

"Thanks," she breathes, low in her throat. Harry shivers, kisses back.

She tugs Nick backwards toward the bedroom, laughing when Nick nearly trips.

"Careful!"

"You careful," Nick says warmly back, hands on Harry's hips, laughing in her face with her tongue tucked between her teeth. Harry's only got a skirt on, and she hums happily when Nick's hand moves between her thighs, warm fingers sliding up her leg. "Not wearing pants, you slag-"

"You love it," Harry says, breathless now that Nick's reached her bare cunt, fingers pressing inside.

"Shut it," Nick murmurs back. "Let's go. Bed."

---

"Good birthday, Grim?" Harry asks, as she shuts the door, locks it. Nick's drunk and giggly, barefoot since the cab ride, when she'd tugged off her Manolos and dropped them in Harry's lap like Harry knew what to bloody do with them.

"Yeah," Nick murmurs, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt. "Really good. Best one yet. Cept when I was twelve and me mum got me tickets to Macy Gray, that was the best day of my life-"  

Harry nods as Nick keeps rambling, and steers Nick gently into the kitchen.

"Whassat weird light?" Nick grumbles. "Neighbors leave the stupid porch light on aga- oh. Oh my god."

She stops dead, and Harry holds her breath, watching Nick - see it. The light is pale blue, eerie and soft. When Harry saw it she knew she had to buy it straightaway, no matter the cost, no matter if it was for sale or not. Nick needed to have it.

"Who's- who's that for," Nick stammers out, sounding terrified.

Harry stays quiet.

"Harry," Nick says, voice cracking. "You didn't. Oh, god. Oh god."

"D'you like it?"

Nick's staring at the neon sign, bracing herself on the kitchen table.

"That's for me?" she asks. She sounds- little. Like a kid. Harry puts her face against Nick's arm, a hand between her shoulderblades. Nick's shaking.

"Yeah, Grim," she mumbles. "It's for you."

"Oh, god," Nick breathes, eyes bright. "Harry. But that's- that's."

Harry swallows hard, pulling Nick in closer, fingers around her arm. Nick turns, collapses into her.

"You're mental," she says shakily in Harry's ear. "You-"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, I-" Nick pulls away from her. Her eyes are glassy. "I love it."

She rubs at her eyes.

"Happy birthday, Grim."

"Oh- god." Nick makes a frustrated sound. "God, you're too good."

Harry grins, slips her arms around Nick's neck. "Yeah? How good am I?"

"Shut up." Nick hugs her close, still staring at the sign.

"It, like." Harry tries to get the words out. Sometimes her throat swells when she's with Nick, like there's too much crowding inside her to actually speak. "It's- when I saw it I felt like- like how you make me feel."

Nick doesn't say anything. She very quietly puts her head down on Harry's shoulder.

"You make me really happy," Harry whispers against her hair. “Just wanted to make you happy back.”

Nick snuffles out a whimpery sound.

“Fuck,” she says. “Fuck.”

“What?” Harry breathes, laughing a little.

“Just-” Nick shakes her head. “God, I could fall in love with you.”

Harry’s breath catches hard, and she squeezes Nick tight, pulling her in. It's a delicate balancing act, trying to keep Nick from getting cagey like she always does when she gets too mushy.

“Haz-” Nick’s voice is shaky.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, and Nick laughs against her neck.

“No, like, I can’t breathe, Haz.”

Harry pulls away sheepishly. “Oh. Sorry.”

Nick kisses her square on the mouth, hand cupping Harry’s jaw.

“Can we go to bed?” she asks, and there’s a weight in it that makes Harry’s heart race. i could fall in love with you. Christ.

Harry shivers, all the way down her spine, and nods.

---

Nick's face appears in front of her, upside down as she leans over the back of the couch to watch where Harry's half-trying to answer emails but mostly just scrolling through Instagram.

"Alright, young Styles?" she says, hair hanging down. Harry reaches up for a handful and tugs gently, and Nick squawks.

"Stoppit!" She straightens up, climbs over the back of the couch to fall in a squirming heap in Harry's lap, legs everywhere. Harry wriggles until they're situated, Nick's arse planted firmly on Harry's thighs. Nick leans in for a kiss.

"Hi."

"Hi," Harry says, wrapping an arm around Nick's shoulders. Nick's grinning.

"D'you know what," she says, softly, leaning in to press her mouth against Harry's again.

"What?"

"I'm not bored of you," Nick says, sounding quietly surprised.

"Aw, thanks, what a glowing compliment-"

"Shut it, Styles. You know what I mean."

She strokes Harry's hair away from her face, carefully presses a kiss against her cheekbone. Harry lets herself be kissed. Something still thrills in her, every time Nick touches her like they're more than mates. Sometimes Harry forgets, for a minute, and then Nick'll slip her hand onto Harry's hip or palm the curve of her arse, and Harry remembers it all over again.

Like now. Nick's starting to kiss her neck, and her hand's sliding into Harry's bra, cupping the weight of her breast until Harry shivers with pleasure.

"Mmgh," Harry mumbles, putting her hand over Nick's just as Nick rubs her nipple. "Wait. You were giving me a compliment."

"Brat," Nick laughs, rolling the flat of her palm inside Harry's bra, until her nipple starts to perk up, hard against Nick's hand.

"Ni-ick."

"Shh-sh," Nick says, sliding Harry's bra strap off one shoulder. She kisses the skin it was pressed against, moves her mouth further down. Harry helpfully pulls the other strap off herself, shudders when Nick tugs the bra down and reaches around to undo the strap.

She fishes it out of Harry's shirt, tosses it aside, gets her hands on Harry's tits through the soft cotton of her top. Harry groans, legs splaying, one hand wrapped around Nick's hip to keep her balanced.

"God," Nick mutters. "Your tits are so fucking perfect."

Harry wants to say thank you, but then Nick's ducking her head to suck at Harry's nipple through the fabric and Harry can't think of anything else. Nick lets her teeth graze over the hard nub until Harry's letting out a rough sound from deep in her throat.

"Feel good?" Nick says, breathing hard.

"Yeah," Harry manages to say, before Nick shoves her onto her back on the sofa, straddles her thighs and leans down again. It's maddening, how she won't take Harry's shirt off, and when Harry tries Nick holds her hands down, keeps licking and biting at Harry's nipples.

"Fucking- god, Nick, please," Harry chokes, writhing under her. "Shit, please-"

Nick lifts her head, eyes dark, and slides her hand down Harry's belly into her jeans, undoing the zip as she goes. Harry whimpers, twists, when Nick slips two fingers down between her lips right away, dragging through the slick.

"Wet for me?" Nick whispers.

"Always," Harry says, red-faced. S'what it feels like lately. Nick only has to look at her and Harry starts squirming.

Nick laughs, and tugs Harry's jeans down, lowers her head between Harry's legs.

Christ, it's good. It's always so fucking good. Harry's shagged a lot of boys who knew how to use their tongues, but Nick's- Nick's something else. Maybe it's not just the tongue, it's everything else- the way Nick strokes her inner thighs while she kisses Harry's clit, the way she reaches up with one hand to play with Harry's nipple, twists three fingers inside her at the same time until Harry feels like a fucking instrument being played by an expert in said instrument. Like she's a violin, and Nick's - Nick's - Yo-Yo Ma. Unless- did Yo-Yo Ma even play the violin? Maybe he played, like, the fiddle or something. No, it wasn't the fiddle, it was bigger, Harry's pretty sure-

Nick lifts her head to gasp in a breath, and Harry peers thoughtfully down at her.

"What instrument did Yo-Yo Ma play?"

Nick stares at her. "Are you fucking kidding me? Is that what you're thinking about?"

Harry starts giggling. The look on Nick's face! She's trying to be indignant, but there's Harry's wet smeared on her chin, and her hair's all flopped down on one side of her head.

"You utter cow," Nick says, thumbing roughly over Harry's clit, and Harry's laugh turns into a moan. "Going on about Yo-Yo fucking Ma when I'm doing my best work here."

"Sorry, sorry," Harry says breathlessly, when Nick presses down hard. Harry squeaks, helpless. "I'm sorry, fuck, please, Nick-"

"Shut it, now, Haz. No more questions about ancient cellists."

Cello! Harry knew it wasn't violin. "I will, I will."

Nick goes back to work and she tips her head back against the sofa, slings one leg up over the back so Nick can get deeper, closes her eyes.

She comes twice, in shuddering waves that make her thighs clench, not sure where one ends and one begins. Nick's good for that, too. Harry's had more than one orgasm nearly every time Nick's licked her out. Nick's patient down there. Committed.

Nick tips her head against the side of the sofa, laughs out a tired breath, blinking at Harry from between her legs.

"I swear to God, Styles," she says. "Could spend all fucking day down there."

Harry grins, and Nick leans in, gives her cunt a wet open-mouthed kiss. Harry clenches, oversensitive, and Nick pulls back, presses the flat of her hand between Harry's legs, over the heat of her. Smiles to herself.

"You're like really, really gay, aren't you," Harry says, watching Nick lick her lips.

"The gayest," Nick agrees, looking heavy-lidded and happy. "Now d'you fancy showing me how gay you are, popstar?"

She sits up on her knees, yanks off her shirt in one smooth motion, and Harry props herself up on her elbows, taking it in. Nick's not wearing a bra- doesn't need one a lot of the time, which Harry envies- and she's a long stretch of uninterrupted pale skin, freckled and soft, her nipples pink and tight.

Harry swallows a rush of saliva, and tugs at Nick's wrist until Nick's spreading out on top of her, sighing and clamping her thighs around one of Harry's.

"Go on then," Harry says, petting Nick's hair, reaching to cup Nick's breast in her hand, small and soft. She shoves her thigh up between Nick's legs and Nick groans, hips rolling. "Get yourself off."

Nick looks up at her. "Oh, I'm supposed to do all the work?"

Harry just grins, shoves her thigh up between Nick's legs, and Nick whimpers at the pressure. Harry can feel her cunt quivering, hot and close, thighs tight around Harry's leg. "I wanna watch you."

Nick gets off just like that, breath choppy and harsh, riding Harry's thigh. She collapses on top of Harry and laughs against her mouth, sounding giddy.

"Christ," she sighs. "Not an awful way to spend a Sunday afternoon."

"Should I make tea?" Harry says fondly, stroking Nick's hair.

"Mm, yes." Nick grins into her cheek. "Tea and then bed?"

"It's like half-five, Grim. You're not actually a nana."

"Not bed like sleep, you idiot." Nick kisses her. "You're leaving, when, next week? For ages and ages?"

Harry frowns at the reminder. "For a month. Not ages and ages."

"How many times," Nick says, laying a line of kisses down her throat. "D'you reckon I can make you come before you leave?"

Harry gives a little shiver. "Not sure."

"We better start counting, huh."

"Yeah, we better." Harry snorts, and lets Nick pull her up and towards the bedroom, not even stopping to make tea. They've got other priorities.

---

"Don't cover your face!" Harry laughs, resettling her weight on Nick's hips as Nick moves under her.

"This is so sordid, though," Nick says, uncovering her eyes anyway. Harry grins, triumphant, except then Nick covers her tits, and that's-

"Hey," Harry says, tugging Nick's arm off her chest. "That defeats the purpose of wank material. I'm leaving tomorrow, Nicola. We don't have time to be shy."

"I feel objectified," Nick says, cheeks flushed pink. "I'm a human being, Harriet- ah."

She gives a quick shiver as Harry gently tugs one of her nipples. "Haz."

"I'm like a fluffer," Harry says, moving her hand to the other nipple, rubbing two fingers over it til it's tight and hard. Nick squirms beneath her. "In porn. It's the person who has to keep the actors hard between shots-"

"I know what it is, Haz."

"Put your arms up," Harry says, stroking her hand down over Nick's ribcage. "Like behind your head."

Nick puts one arm up, rolling her eyes. "Oh god. I haven't shaved in like three days-"

"Who cares," Harry says, shoving Nick's arm when she tries to put it back down. "Arms up, Grimshaw. Yesss, like that."

Finally Nick's arranged how Harry wants it, her arms behind her head, nipples taut. Her hair's a mess on the pillow and she looks doubtful.

"I still think I should put something over my face," she says. "What if someone steals your phone? What if there's an information leak?"

"Then I'll have tit pics on my phone, don't matter who they're of," Harry says sensibly. "And we'll all be screwed, and I'll go off and be a leper on an island somewhere, because God forbid anyone know I like girls."

Nick rolls her eyes. "Take the bloody photo, Haz."

Harry puts her phone down, on the soft dip of skin below Nick's ribcage.

"Harry-"

"Shh," Harry says, right before she slides the width of both her hands up Nick's chest, thumbs over her nipples. Nick draws in a shaky breath.

"Stop fluffing me, Harry."

"Never," Harry says solemnly. She moves her hands further, strokes gently in the hollow of Nick's armpits, prickly with stubble. Back down to her chest, circling her thumbs on Nick's nipples as Nick shivers.

By the time she lifts her hands again, Nick's eyes are dark, lids heavy, a flush spreading down her pale throat. Properly fluffed.

"You're so bloody fit," Harry says, voice unsteady. Her own cheeks are red, and she can't resist the urge to press down against Nick's hips, rub her crotch against Nick's in a slow roll.

Nick groans, one hand unfolding to reach for Harry, and Harry stops, controls herself, shoves Nick's arm down again.

"Stay still."

"Take the bloody picture then," Nick says breathlessly. "I'm bored and I want to fuck you."

Harry wriggles down onto Nick's hips to keep her still, and picks up her phone.

---

"Y'know, I don't expect, like." Nick stops, from where she's standing at the counter stirring sugar into her tea, later that night. "Not expecting either of us to - to wait around. When you're off doing popstar things."

Harry kicks her feet against the counter, legs swinging on one of Nick's kitchen stools. "Wait around?"

Nick's back is turned to Harry, and her voice is careful when she says, "I mean, like. When you're off on tour. When you're not in London, I mean. I'm not, like, really cut out for the whole piney weepy teeth-gnashing shite."

"Teeth-gnashing," Harry repeats slowly. "Gnashing teeth."

Nick chokes a laugh, and turns to her, taking a sip of tea. "You know what I mean."

"You're saying we won't be exclusive," Harry says, more boldly than she feels.

Nick laughs again. "Have we ever been exclusive?"

"I dunno. Haven't fucked anyone else lately."

"That bloke last weekend," Nick points out.

"Oh my god, we only snogged."

"He had his hand up your skirt," Nick says, laughing again, stilted. "Not that it matters."

"Well, what about when I came back from Manchester. There was some girl sleeping in your bed."

"That was Emily, and we're not shagging," Nick says, eyebrows furrowing. "We're just mates."

"Hard to bloody tell," Harry grumbles. "With all your mates."

Nick rolls her eyes. "I don't fuck most of my mates, Harriet."

"Only the fittest ones," Harry says, dimpling up at her.

Nick pulls a face, but Harry can tell she wants to smile. "Don't be cute."

"Heyyy. I can't help it."

Nick snorts, falls silent.

"So," she says. "We'll - see other people. If it comes up. Yeah?"

Harry watches her.

"Do you want to see other people?"

Nick lets out a strangled breath. "That's not the point."

"It seems like the point. Seems like you do."

Nick chews her lip.

"What I want to do," she says. "Is not spend months waiting for someone who-"

She stops.

"Someone who what?" Harry asks, throat clenching. "Someone who's straight?"

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Someone who's a slag? Someone who fucks around?"

"Harry, god," Nick breathes. "That's not what I meant."

Harry inhales deep, stares down at the counter so Nick won't see her eyes starting to fill.

"What, then," she manages to say.

"Someone who's really bloody fit and really bloody young, and - and is about to travel the world and meet a million bloody people." Nick stops, voice cracking. She coughs. "C'mon, popstar, you deserve a bit more than this. I- I'll be here, when you're home, like I'm not gonna run off and get married, but you don't have to-"

"You're an idiot," Harry mutters. Deserves more, like there's- more. Like there's more than Nick.

"I am an idiot," Nick agrees. "I'm a giant idiot with commitment issues and the attention span of a bloody goldfish. I don't do girlfriends, Harry. Never have."

Harry's vision blurs over, and she has to reach up to scrub at her eye before a tear drops.

"Oh- shit, love, don't cry," Nick mutters. "Haz. That was meant to be a good thing."

Harry fumbles for a napkin to blow her nose. "How's that a good thing?"

"What I'm saying is you don't need to worry about me," Nick says desperately. "Like, I'm fine. No pining. No teeth-gnashing. I'm like one of those turtles who reproduces by itself."

"That's not a thing," Harry chokes out.

"Maybe not a turtle. A frog. Whatever."

"You have a lot of sex for someone who reproduces by yourself."

Nick huffs a laugh. "Alright, so it was a shit analogy. You know what I mean."

Harry looks up at her, and Nick reaches across the counter to swipe damp from Harry's cheek, her hand warm and face soft.

"Don't cry, popstar," she murmurs.

"Just - just gonna miss you," Harry chokes, and she has to swallow back a sob.

Nick's eyes go wide.

"Yeah, me too," she says, low. "Course I will. But I always knew, like-"

"I know you knew." Harry sucks in a breath, tugging at Nick's arm til she stumbles around the counter towards her. "I know. But it's still shit."

Nick folds her into her arms, gingerly. "It is still shit."

Harry puts her face to Nick's neck, blows out a long breath.

"It's only a month," Nick says softly.

"I know."

"And you'll be back in London for a good long time before tour starts properly."

"Fuck, I know, Nick." Harry digs her teeth into the meat of Nick's shoulder, nosing against her. "Shut up."

Nick shuts up, and pulls her in close. 

---

Harry's phone buzzes again, and she fumbles for the zip on the back of her dress, fingers slipping. California's fucking hot this time of year, and it's their first VMAs, so Harry's covered half with stress-sweat and half with real-sweat.

"Fucking hell," she mutters, reaching over to check her phone. It's Niall. where the fk are u? come to the stage were soundchecking!!!

"Fuuucking hell!" she repeats, and the door swings open. Harry turns, wide-eyed, and-

"Oh. You're - you're Taylor Swift."

Taylor - cos that's who it is, Taylor Swift, looking all shiny and perfect in a long champagne-colored dress and an updo that's practically shellacked to her head.

"Yes," Taylor says, mouth quirking up. "You're from One Direction."

"Yes." Harry swallows. "Nice- nice to meet you."

The door opens again, and a girl sticks her head in. "Tay?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Annie's like dying to fix your hair, it's looking a little Stepford Wife-"

"Okay, thanks, you jerk." Taylor laughs. "I have to pee, I'll be there in a minute."

The girl peeks around Taylor at Harry, looking curious. "Okay. Hurry though!"

"I'd rather pee thoroughly here then wet myself on stage, Abby, gimme a minute." Taylor laughs, and the door swings shut.

Harry reaches quietly behind her for the zip of her dress, trying to yank it up. The stupidest most stubborn dress ever. Her phone buzzes again, and she groans.

Taylor's opening a stall, but she looks over at Harry. "How're you doing, babe?"

"Can't get my dress," Harry admits, and Taylor clucks and sweeps over to her, turning Harry around by the shoulders.

"There-" her hands are cool against Harry's heated skin. "- you go. All done."

"Thank you, sorry," Harry says, trying to thumb sweat off her temples.

"No worries. I've been there, like, a thousand times. Designer dresses are not made for human people with human needs, like peeing." She squeezes Harry's bare shoulders, lets go and smiles at her in the mirror. "You're Harriet, right?"

"Harry," Harry says. Taylor smells good. Like honeysuckle and vanilla and - Harry sniffs. Just good. Really good. Harry wonders if it'd be weird to, like, turn around and smell Taylor's neck. "Harry Styles."

"Of course. I love you guys, you're adorable."

"I love, uh-" Harry falters. "I love your music."

Taylor smiles, white teeth gleaming. "Thank you. Are you- late for something? Your phone keeps-"

"Oh, shit. We're soundchecking." Harry grabs for her phone. Niall's texted three more times, and even Lou's gotten in on it now, with just- HURRY UP ARE U TAKING A MASSIVE SHIT OR WHT

"You better run," Taylor says, huffing a laugh.

Harry glances at herself in the mirror.     

"You look perfect," Taylor says, patting her shoulder. "And you're gonna kill it. Go, go. Don't forget to breathe."

"Thank you," Harry says, catching eyes with her in the mirror. Taylor smiles, and Harry's mind goes all funny. God, she just wants to bite Taylor's neck a little bit. In a sexy way, not a vampire way.

"If you're sticking around in LA, you should call me, we could hang out," Taylor says, when Harry's halfway out the door. "Seriously, babe, don't be a stranger."

"Okay!" Harry says breathlessly, and the door swings shut behind her. She takes a deep breath, gathers her dress in her hands and flat-out runs for it.

---

The odd thing is that Taylor actually follows through. Harry’s used to getting invitations at awards shows, used to cheek kisses and promises of best friendship. She figured it was just part of the gig.

But two days after the VMAs she gets a DM on Twitter, as she's scrolling sleepily through her phone during a morning tour rehearsal.

Hi Harry Styles! Would you like to come over for tea and scones tonight?? Thats what all British people eat, right? 7:30? <3 Taylor

Lou catches her grinning at her phone instead of listening to Paul lay out their choreography, and kicks at her legs. "Who're you talking to then?"

"No one," Harry says, too quickly, and Lou's eyes narrow. She grabs Harry's phone out of her slack hand, as easy as taking candy from a baby.

"Ohhh, I see," she drawls, scrolling with her thumb. "Thanks for the invite, Haz!"

"Shut up." Harry grabs the phone back. "I've never been over there, I can't just bring other people. It's rude. I barely know her."

"Ohh, not a big deal, just Taylor bloody Swift," Lou says, fixing her with a narrow look.

"Why d'you care, anyway? You don't even like her."

"I don't not like her." Lou arches an eyebrow. "Just not as much as you do."

"Shut up," Harry repeats dumbly. She stares down at her phone. She hates that, when Lou gets too close to the truth. Sometimes she thinks Lou knows. It's not like she and Nick were too discreet.

But she can't say the words out loud. Not to Lou. She could've a year ago, but - not anymore.

After a minute Louise goes off to fill Liam's trainers with M&Ms, and Harry lets out a long breath and opens her DMs.

Yes please. And yes, Im on a diet of only tea and pastry. Send me your address? See you soon Xx Harry

She hits send and swallows, staggers up from the sofa to join the others.

---

"Oh," Harry says, stepping into Taylor's bright roomy kitchen. "You, um, actually have tea and crumpets."

Taylor looks up from the table, laden down with pastries and tiny sandwiches.

"Well, yeah," she says, grinning. "I take tea parties very seriously, Harry Styles, it's not a joke. How are you?"

She gives Harry a hug - a real hug, solid and warm and familiar.

"I'm good. Really good. Better now that there are crumpets."

"I found this incredible clotted cream at this adorable place off La Cienaga? Like, it will clog your arteries with one spoonful, but you'll die happy."

She guides Harry around the table, pointing at things. Harry tries her hardest to listen and not to stare at the curve of Taylor's pale neck, hair pulled up in a sloppy bun.

"Made these scones myself, we have lemon-poppyseed and cranberry white chocolate. Then there are sandwiches- cucumber and watercress, and cream cheese and this amazing fig jam. And then cookies, obviously, because there is nothing more perfect in the world than a good homemade cookie."

"Holy shit," Harry laughs.

"I know, I know, it's totally overboard. I was procrastinating writing, so I went all-out."

"No, it's - it looks amazing."

Taylor smiles, tilting her head. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Like something to drink-drink, or tea?"

"Tea, I guess." A flicker of uncertainty goes over her smooth face. "I mean, if you really want- I might have wine? Or Selena might've left some cider here last time she was-"

"No, it's fine." Harry follows her to the counter, watches as she fills the electric kettle. It's a posh one, with temperatures and a glowing blue light that reminds her of Nick's Enjoy sign. "I'll stick with tea."

"Sorry, I forget other people, like, drink. I'm such a square."

"I don't drink that much," Harry says quickly, which is almost completely a lie, and there are about a thousand pap pics to prove it. "I mean, if I'm out with my mates, yeah, but. Tea sounds perfect."

Taylor smiles over her shoulder. "Good. I like a girl who can appreciate a good cup of tea."

"Ha," Harry says weakly. "Well. You found one."

Taylor's smile widens, and she turns back to the kettle.

---

Harry must be more jetlagged than she thought, because after stuffing herself with crumpets and scones and at least four finger sandwiches, she passes out on the sofa halfway through Casablanca. To be fair, she's always found old movies dead boring, but Taylor waved the DVD in front of her face and bit her lip and Harry said yes just to watch Taylor's eyes crinkle in a grin.

When she wakes up it's dark, moonlight shining through the massive doors that lead out to the patio and the pool. The display on the telly says 11:45PM.

She can hear the faint sound of piano, and she rolls off the sofa, tugging at her dress, and pads down the hall towards the noise.

Taylor's in the pale pink & white bedroom Harry saw earlier on her tour of the house. There's a golden lamp casting shadows on the polished wooden floor, a candle flickering on her nightstand. She has a keyboard in her lap and a guitar by her hip, hair tugged up in a ponytail with a few strands coming loose.

Harry leans against the door, watches her greedily for a bit.

"That… doesn't… work," Taylor mutters to herself, crossing something off in a spiral-bound notebook, before she sets it down and plays a chord on the keyboard. She hums to herself, head bobbing, and then looks up and sees Harry.

"Shoot," she laughs, putting a hand to her heart. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Harry says, strangely shy. Her stomach's a bit wobbly, and she pads inside, sits at the foot of Taylor's massive bed. "It sounded good."

"Thanks," Taylor says, looking pleased. "Why aren't you asleep, Styles? You were passed out."

Harry shrugs, and lets herself fall into bed, crawling up to nestle against Taylor's side like they've known each other longer than a few weeks. Her heart slams against her ribs when Taylor just laughs, puts an arm around her, warm and light.

"Jetlag?" she says sympathetically.

Harry nods. It's half-true.

"Poor Harry," Taylor murmurs, petting the back of Harry's head. "You want some more tea?"

"No, it's alright," Harry mumbles, turning her face against Taylor's neck. Oh god, god, that's too close. Harry has to clench to resist opening her mouth against Taylor's skin, putting her tongue there, seeing what happens.

It'll ruin everything. Harry knows that. They barely even know each other, and Taylor’s - straight. Probably.

She keeps her mouth closed, noses right behind Taylor's ear and blows out a raspberry, and Taylor giggles ticklishly.

"Stop it, weirdo," she chides, shoving Harry's head away. "Here, lay down. I'll play you a lullaby."

Harry wriggles gamely into bed, pulling up Taylor's white fluffy duvet. Taylor's bed smells of flowery candles and her apple shampoo, a far cry from Nick's cigarette-and-lavender scent. Harry inhales a lungful, chews her bottom lip and shifts her thighs together under the covers.

The song Taylor plays isn't one Harry knows, but it's nice, slow and achey. Harry watches her, the wrinkle on her nose when she's concentrating, how unselfconscious she is about singing.

When she stops Harry's half-asleep, warm and soothed, and she distantly hears the clunk of the keyboard, the slap of notebook against wooden floor, and then Taylor's eye-to-eye with her in bed, smiling. The lamp turns off with a click.

"Well?"

"Was good," Harry murmurs. "Really good."

"Think I'll play it in the Live Lounge next month," Taylor says, covering a yawn with one hand.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's a pretty sick cover. And I can actually play it while singing."

"You could play anything," Harry murmurs.

Taylor grins, teeth flashing, eyes going to happy slits. "You're too kind, Styles. I should invite you over more often.”

"Seriously," Harry mumbles. "You could."

Taylor's right there, and Harry can't stop herself from leaning in to press the lightest kiss against Taylor's cheek.

Taylor stays completely still, breath hot and juddering out against Harry's mouth, so Harry kisses her lips this time, very softly, their bottom lips catching in a hot drag of sensitive skin that makes Harry tingle all the way down to her toes.

It's like a shock of cold water when Taylor pulls away.

"What are you doing?" she asks, half a laugh caught in her voice.

Harry blinks at her, makes herself laugh. "Nothing."

Her stomach's in knots. She feels like a coward, cos she knows exactly what she's doing, she just doesn't want Taylor to know if Taylor's not going to want it too.

Taylor laughs again, the sound of it forced. "I'm going to sleep."

"Me too," Harry says, voice small, and Taylor turns over in bed, back to Harry. Lets out a sigh that sounds final.

Harry stares at her for a minute, until she thinks Taylor can probably feel it, so she closes her eyes.

---

"So, Taylor, eh?" Ed says, when they're in studio the next week, sprawled out over the sofa while Liam records some harmonies.

"What about her?" Harry says, carefully staring up at the ceiling, her feet in Ed's lap. He's been refusing to massage them, but Harry thinks if she just persists, he'll accept his fate.  

"She's cool, in't she? I saw those photos of you two at Go Greek."

"Yeah." They’ve hung out three times in the past week. Harry slept over there again on Thursday. They ate more homemade cookies in bed and traded stories about touring and Harry maybe, maybe watched her sleep for a while. Only a tiny while.

"I thought you two would get on. Taylor likes cleaning up messes."

"Arsehole," Harry grumbles, kicking his thigh, and Ed laughs, taking a sip from his water bottle.

"But like, really." He looks over at her. "She's pretty sick."

"Yeah, she's cool."

"Don't try and play it cool, Haz. S'all over your face. You want to make her your best friend."

Harry bites her lip. Is that what's all over her face?

"That'd be sick if, like, you two were best mates, and me and Taylor were, like- uh." Ed stops mid-sentence, ears going red, and carefully starts studying Harry's foot like it contains the secrets to the universe.

"You and Taylor were…"

Ed's cheeks are flaming by now. "Also mates. All three of us mates. Just a big group of platonic buddies."  

Harry sits up, heel digging into Ed's crotch by accident. He squawks and shoves her legs off.

"Ow!"

"You fancy her," Harry says, breathless. "You fancy Taylor."

Ed looks cagey. "Everyone fancies her. It's Taylor bloody Swift."

It's a fair point, but Harry doesn't acknowledge it. Her mind's racing. Ed fancies Taylor. And Taylor would probably fancy Ed back, why wouldn't she. Sure, Ed's not exactly a beefcake, but Taylor's not into that sort of bloke anyway. She's into sensitive ones who can play guitar and write lyrics and care about her cats.

Harry sticks a thumbnail into her mouth to gnaw at.

"Haz," Ed says, sounding weary. "Say something before my hair turns grey."

"Your hair's never turning grey, Sheeran," Harry says absently. "You'll be ninety years old and still look like a carrot."

Ed laughs, just as Niall pokes her head in.

"Hey, Ed," she says. "Fancy showing me what you were thinkin' for the bridge?"

"Yeah, mate." Ed rolls off the sofa and follows Niall out of the room, grabbing his guitar as he goes.

Harry sprawls out on her back, one leg dangling off the sofa, and stares up at the ceiling.

So Ed and Taylor'll start dating, and Harry'll be - that awkward third wheel at dinner. The single friend they cluck over and try to set up on dates. They'll run off happily into the sunset and make ginger babies who come out of the womb playing guitar. Because that's what Taylor wants, isn't it. A nice boy she can take home to her mum. A nice boy. A boy.

Harry sighs long-sufferingly. It’s not fair. The thing is, Harry bets Taylor would like it if she just tried it. If she just, like, experimented a bit. Everyone likes orgasms.

Maybe they could all experiment a bit. Harry, and Taylor, and… Ed. Harry sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to keep from laughing at the idea. Now that’d be one hell of a night. Yes, Ed’s a bit like her brother, but he’s also cute, and she didn’t mind the times she’s snogged him in Spin the Bottle. Plus, more importantly - Taylor will be there.

Harry turns her face into the sofa, too far gone to keep from grinning. She hears the door swing shut and she lifts her head, just as Ed picks up her legs and settles back onto the sofa beneath them.

“Hey.”

“Hiya,” Harry says, trying not to smile. Ed looks at her suspiciously.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Harry chirps. “Rub my feet, c’mon, please.”

Ed groans and finally acquiesces.

“So,” he says, as he moves from Harry’s left foot to her right. “Does Niall have a boyfriend?”

Harry’s half asleep, sighing happily. Ed’s got strong hands from playing guitar for a thousand years and they feel amazing. “Why, you interested?”

“Pftt. No.” Ed ducks his head, digging his thumb into the arch of Harry’s foot. “Was just wondering. I kinda thought she was a lesbian. She’s really into footy.”

Harry snorts. “She once described in detail every dirty thing she’d to Cristiano Ronaldo. She’s not a lesbian.”

“So that’s, like, her type,” Ed says, not looking at her. “Like footballers.”

“I dunno. I don’t think she’s ever had a boyfriend, really.” Harry kicks his thigh, bored. She loves Niall very much, but it’s plan-a-threesome time, not talk-about-Niall time. “Heyy, listen. You want to come over to Taylor’s house this weekend?”

“Are you inviting me over to someone else’s house?” Ed laughs. “My own mate’s house, who I’ve known longer than you have? Actually?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah.”

Ed shrugs back. “Alright. I'm up for it.”

“Cool.” Harry rolls off the sofa. “Thanks for the foot rub, carrot-top.”

Ed makes a rude gesture, and Harry returns it cheerily and pads into the studio. Niall’s craned over her guitar, mumbling to herself, and she smacks Harry’s hand away when Harry tries to give her a cuddle.

“Heyyy,” Harry whines.

“I almost had that, Haz, just-” Niall huffs a sigh and looks up.

“It’s not like you’re gonna play it onstage,” Harry says, plucking at a guitar string.

“Dan said if I keep practicing, like, I could try a couple-” Niall shrugs. “Whatever. What’s up, mate?”

“Bored. Liam’s taking forever doing his verses.” Harry reaches for Niall’s guitar. “Teach me that Eagles song again?”

Niall rolls her eyes, but dutifully shapes Harry’s fingers into the chord. “G - D-”

“Hey,” Harry says, once she’s mostly got it, and Niall’s humming along, moving Harry’s fingers whenever she fucks up. “Ed asked me if you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Niall looks up from the guitar, pink-cheeked, running her tongue along her braces like she does when she's nervous. “What? What’d, uh, what’d you say?”

“Told him about Cristiano, of course. Your betrothed.”

“Haz, I’ve told you a million fucking times it’s Xabi Alonso I fancy, not bloody Ronaldo. He’s a twat who wears too much hair gel, and Xabi’s a god. Plus, who wants to fuck a striker? Halfback’s where it’s at. God, I bet he eats pussy like a fucking champ-”

“Er, who does?” says a small voice behind them, and Harry twists around to see Liam holding the studio door open, eyebrows raised. She falls over laughing, guitar still in her arms.

“Oh- shut up, both of you!” Niall yelps, bright red. “Haz, give me my bloody guitar back before you break it. Bitch.”

---

They have dinner on Saturday night, takeaway from Taylor's favorite Thai place. Harry makes sure to top up everyone's wine glass, and it's not long before Taylor's giggly and flushed and says an emphatic "Yes, pleaase!" when Harry suggests they all take a dip in the hot tub.

She stops laughing when Harry works up her courage and slides over to Ed's side of the hot tub, reaching to drape his pale freckly arm around her shoulder. Ed laughs, giving her a sideways look.

"What, are you cold?"

"No," Harry says, feeling oddly like she's about to break into giddy laughter. "Just, like. We should, I dunno."

She makes eye contact with Taylor. Taylor's staring back, a little glassy-eyed.

"We could hang out," she says, swallowing. Taylor blinks. Her cheeks are pink from the heat, sweat damp and shining at her temples. Harry squirms in the steaming water, wanting to touch her. "We could, like, um. It could be fun."

"Jesus," Ed says, low, but he doesn't protest when Harry turns his head with one hand and presses a kiss to his mouth.

"Jeesus," Ed mumbles again, reaching for her, and Harry steels herself and goes for it, slides onto Ed's lap and leans down to snog him, get things started. "Shit, alright."

Harry hears a splash of water behind her, and her grip tightens on Ed's jaw, anticipating Taylor's hands on her. Except- the water splashes again, and then she hears footsteps, and she turns away from Ed's mouth to see Taylor clambering out of the tub, face turned away.

"Taylor-"

"Have fun," Taylor chokes out, practically running up the steps.

"Taylor!"

Harry scrambles off Ed's lap in a flail of limbs and water, gets out of the tub as fast as she can.

"Haz, just leave it, c’mon," Ed says, sounding put-out, but Harry doesn't give a shit about what he thinks. It was never about him. Oh god, Harry's fucked it up.

"Taylor!" she calls, when she steps through the back door, dripping everywhere, breathless, still dizzy and drunk. She squeezes her hair out onto the rug, tiptoes over the wooden floor and makes her way up the stairs, bare feet squelching on each step.

Taylor's bedroom is locked.

"Taylor," Harry says, putting the flat of her hand to the cool door. "Please. Please open the door."

Nothing.

Harry pounds her hand against the door, then rests her forehead against it, letting out a heavy breath. "Taylor! Let me - let me explain, alright, please. Just open the bloody door."

"Just go away, Harry," Taylor says, voice muffled and thick.

"Please. Please let me explain-"

The door opens suddenly and Harry nearly falls over.

Taylor's standing there in a giant t-shirt, sticking to her wet body. Her eyes are red, and she crosses an arm defensively over her chest.

"What?" she snaps.

"Just- just listen," Harry says.

"I'm listening. Talk."

"I- uh. I didn't mean to, like- just listen. It was - it was just meant to be fun."

"It wasn't fun," Taylor spits.

"I know. I know, I'm sorry."

"Sorry I haven't done everything you've done, Harry," Taylor says, her cheeks damp and flushed. "Sorry I'm not out having threesomes with all my friends, or - or whatever. God, Harry, you should've just told me if you liked him. You should've told me."

"It wasn't even about Ed!" Harry bursts out, and she stops dead. Swallows.

Taylor stares at her, eyes dark. Harry drags in a breath, tries to focus.

"You and him are - like. He fancies you, and you fancy him-"

"No I don't," Taylor says, nose wrinkling. "He's my best friend. We don't all sleep with our best friends."

"It wasn't meant to be about him," Harry says, breathing hard. She scrapes a hand through her hair. "Listen, alright?"

"This is so twisted," Taylor says, jaw clenching. "Say what you mean, Harry, god. Stop playing games."  

"Fine," Harry breathes, before she takes a step forward and kisses her. Taylor's mouth is wet and hot and she smells like chlorine and for a minute her lips open and Harry's tongue slips in, and everything's bloody perfect. For a minute Taylor's kissing her back, her hands shaking at her sides while Harry strokes her smooth cheek with one thumb, and then-

Taylor pushes her away and takes one step backward, eyes huge. Then another.

"Whoa," she says, voice hoarse. "Harry-"

"I don't care about him," Harry says. Shit, she's going to cry, her voice going rusty. She sniffs in hard. "I- I don't. Not him."

Taylor's staring at her, and her face is going soft with something like pity, and Harry can't fucking stand it.

"Harry," she says again, sounding regretful. "I. I don't- I love you, you know that, but I don't, like, feel that way. About- you."

Harry sobs, thick and drunk, so big that it shakes her body.

"Oh - shit, Harry," Taylor mutters, and then she's putting her arms around her, warm and solid. Harry mashes her face into Taylor's neck, miserable. "Shh. Don't cry, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Harry chokes out, and it feels like she's saying sorry for- fancying girls. For who she is. It feels awful. She sobs again, and Taylor pulls her in closer.

"Shh, shh," she murmurs. "Don't cry. It's okay."

"I didn't mean to- to - with Ed, I mean, I didn't-"

"It's okay," Taylor whispers. "Just breathe, okay?"

Harry sucks in a breath, her cheek to Taylor's shoulder. Taylor's rubbing her back, in long slow sweeps.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, a bit more clearly. She coughs.

Taylor pats her back, pulls away.

"Hey," she says, tipping Harry's chin up. "Let's dry off and make hot chocolate and watch something dumb on Netflix."

Harry blinks at her. Taylor smiles, raises her eyebrows.

"Okay?"

"What about Ed?" Harry says pitifully, and for some reason they both crack up. Taylor cackles like a witch, Harry staggering towards her to laugh into her collarbone.

"Oh my god," Taylor laughs. "Oh my god, poor Ed. Is he still in the hot tub?"

"All pruney by now," Harry chokes out.

"Sad and alone. We're so mean to Ed. Here, you go rinse off, I'll go talk to him, okay? Meet in the kitchen in twenty. Cool?"

"Cool," Harry says, throat clenching, and Taylor lets out another laugh and shuts the bedroom door behind her.

She rinses the chlorine off in Taylor's massive marble shower, wriggles into her knickers and bra and then into a pair of Taylor's pyjamas, pink fleece with fluffy white sheep on them. It's almost funny, already. Like sad but funny. A threesome. That was Harry's master plan, a bloody threesome. Nick'll laugh when Harry tells her.

She pads downstairs, stepping over pools of chlorine water from where she dripped before. The front door shuts and Harry freezes, and then exhales when Taylor steps back through the entryway, alone.

"Called him a cab," she says, wiping her hands together and smiling. "Don't worry about it. C'mon, I'm like actually craving hot chocolate now. Why is it so cold? We're in LA. It's just wrong."

Harry huffs a laugh and follows her into the kitchen.

---

Later, in bed, Taylor mutes Casablanca and turns to Harry.

"So," she says, a glint in her eye. "Are you, like. Do you like girls? Only girls, I mean?"

Harry looks up drowsily. "Both. Girls and boys, I mean."

"Okay." Taylor looks determined. "Am I the first girl you've, uh. You know. Kissed?"

Harry looks away from her.

"No," she says.

"Okay. Okay. Well, duh. You've done everything."

Harry breathes out a sour laugh.

"Not, like- that sounded bad. I didn't mean it in a bad way." Taylor tucks her knee up to her chest. "Who - who was it?"

"Who was what." Harry stares at the telly screen, the movie still playing silently. Why'd Taylor mute it but not pause it? Who does that?  

"The girl - girls, I guess. Whoever. Who you've like, kissed? Or whatever?"

Harry swallows, fumbles for a pillow to pull over her chest.

"Just my friend," she says. "Her name's Nick."

"Wait," Taylor says slowly. "Nick Grimshaw? From the BBC? I've done a couple interviews with her."

Harry nods, sticking her face into the pillow.

"Wow."

Harry misses Nick, suddenly. Nick never asks questions like this. She just gets it. She gets who Harry is, and she gets when Harry wants to talk about it and when she doesn't, and she gets why it all has to be a secret.

Harry drags in a wobbly breath, puts her head on Taylor's shoulder.

"Nick and I, it wasn't just- it wasn't just hooking up," she says, voice small.

Taylor makes a sympathetic sound, and Harry shuts her eyes.

"We sort of decided to, like, not - do it while I'm away from London," she mumbles.

"Always a dumb idea," Taylor says wisely. "You can't make yourself stop loving someone just because you're not in the same place. Even if it's hard long distance, you have to try it. Fight it out. If it lasts, it's real."

Harry wants to defend herself, but she bites her tongue. Loving someone. Shit.

She exhales slowly, and Taylor pets her head.

"Are you in love with her?" she asks, voice hushed.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry mumbles, nuzzling into her neck. She resists the urge to bite down, put teethmarks in Taylor's soft pale skin. "Turn the film back on."

Taylor sighs heavily, and reaches for the remote.