Chapter Text
Harry was a bad enough driver in good weather—willingly driving a passenger in the middle of a storm would be negligence deserving of the second degree. It was Liam who set out in his Lamborghini to pick up the Ultimate Supreme Pizza from Little Caesars which Harry so brilliantly ordered for carry-out in the dawn of a hurricane. And Liam did so solo, leaving Harry to tend to his boredom with a nosy streak of lurking with his phone in hand. He'll do this for some time until his feelings get hurt by a particularly unforgiving comment. And then he'll lurk some more with a deep frown like pressing into a bruise until he spoils his mood. Which seems to spark his appetite. So now Harry's just hungry, grumpy, and alone in his house, looking out the window into the storm like a woeful wife as he waits for Liam to pull into his driveway with the ultimate supreme dinner. And he’s taking too long, Harry acknowledges as he presses his nose against the glass. He almost regrets inviting him. But he almost regrets most things. The storm is getting worse. What he should be is worried.
England born and raised means Harry doesn’t know much about weather phenomenons beyond sunny days, rainy days, thunderstorms, and blizzards. With California being in a drought, his lack of weather insight didn’t seem to make a difference. It was always hot, always sunny. Rain was as exciting as it ever seemed to get for locals, and Harry was pleased to realize he was actually the expert in weather out of all of his new friends. At least, that’s how it seemed by the look on their faces when Harry told them stories about being trapped indoors by five-foot walls of snow and sprained ankles over black ice. When the news announced a category 3 cyclone coming over the California west coast, Harry only caught onto “rain showers and strong winds” and dismissed the significance of miles, categories and cycles under the El Niño’s influence. So yes, he called Liam—who is infinitely more ignorant to American west coast weather—to come over as his guest on the day the storm was set to roll in.
“The sky seems pretty clear. I don’t think it’ll be that bad. More like a drizzl—Huh? Yeah! Come on over, mate.”
Harry’s two hour old words seem to haunt him now as he watches the palm tree leaves blowing horizontally behind the foggy blur of heavy, dense rainfall. The sky flashes, and then comes a terrifying roar of thunder. Startled, he jerks his head back from the window, and wipes with the sleeve of his jumper the greasy smudge his nose left on the glass. Kind of big, he thinks somewhat bothered. Walking off to his sofa, Harry uses an umbrella he pulled from his closet as a cane. It’ll serve to escort Liam through the rain, but hopefully amuse him on account of the peculiar pattern on the nylon parasol. He just might be as excited for the reaction as he is for the pizza. Just might be. Might. Because his stomach just gave a growl.
Harry sits on the sofa and slumps into the cushion with a sigh, feeling slobbish. He's only ever starving with belly growls and a foul mood when it comes to junk food. If his pilates buddies ever found out... "I honestly just... I can't stomach junk food. I feel so sluggish. It's disgusting." A fluffed up lie or two, or twenty. It's not a cheating day if you do it every day. Replacing whole milk for fat free milk in mac 'n cheese doesn't count as a healthy choice if you eat the whole box. With how often he jogs, boxes, lifts, spin-cycle's, yoga's and pilates's Harry should look like a Bowflex beast by now. But he's hard muscle with an abiding baby-fat coating. Big and squishy with a resurrecting belly. Old habits don't just die hard, they rise from the dead with every kill shot. He was a spoiled little boy and those are the VIP's of the kitchen. Mummy's little helpers.
Liam spoils him just as much. No appearances to keep up when he's around. And while Liam's own, entirely more disciplined, efforts to stay in shape prompt him to tease and act disapproving, if Harry ever got to taking serious offense Liam would take it all back and spoil him to a higher degree in his guilt. Which, sometimes, doesn't come as much of a surprise as Harry pretends it does. "Ultimate Supreme Pizza, Harry? Wow, really. Okay." One disheartened exit from the room later and now Harry doesn't have to drive anxiously through a storm— which was scary enough when he thought it was only average rainfall. He thinks, in all seriousness, he would've died driving in a hurricane. And he hopes, just as seriously, that a Lamborghini can survive through it.
But he hopes no longer when he hears the desperate honk of Liam's car as it pulls into his driveway. Thunder claps again, the honking gets closer. And in the heat of the moment Harry pops open the umbrella with a jump from the couch and races to the front door, the open umbrella knocking into walls and furniture until he's outside. No fucking shoes, he realizes too late when his socks splash into ankle-deep water puddles. But Harry runs quickly over to Liam anyway, who's just now opening the car door. It's so windy the rain blows against his side. So much rain it sounds like rocks are smacking against the top of the umbrella. And the sun is halfway setting, he's shocked to realize. But as Liam gets out of his car, running over to him with his hoodie pulled over his head, Harry realizes something awful. Truly awful. But the panic of trying to make it inside distracts him. Their bodies stay squished together under the umbrella as they race to the front door. Such a long way, Harry realizes.
When they make it inside, the first thing Liam does is yell. Very dynamically. "Ah! Woah. Wo-ho-ho-hoah! Ohhh, Jesus Christ. Jesus! Fucking hell! HA!" He yanks off his hoodie off his head and bends over, head down, hands on his knees.
Harry gets right to it. "Liam, where's the pizza?" he frowns as he shakes off the water from the umbrella over the doormat. Liam got out of the car empty handed. And while Harry was optimistic enough to believe he forgot it in the car, now he isn't so sure.
"Oh Jesus fuck the pizza!" Liam stands up straight and looks at Harry as he points to the door. Harry's taken aback, standing a little straighter as he frowns. "There's a fucking hurricane out there! Thank you for ordering fucking carry-out!"
"Wh—" he huffs, flying right past Liam's indignation. "You didn't get the pizza?"
Liam widens his eyes, his thick eyebrows furrowed; offended. Can't keep from yelling, still. The post-survival rush kicks madly, boiling his outrage at Harry's dismissive demeanor. "My life flashed before my eyes! Do you not care?!"
"Stop yelling at me..."
"Fuck your pizza. You couldn't eat a salad this one time?"
"You're a guest! I was trying to be nice." Lies. "I'll make a salad if it's what you want. Jesus." In what's become a nervous response, Harry continues twirling and shaking the umbrella as the conversation keeps its tension.
His attitude doesn't cut it for Liam. He bursts with protest he's been keeping to himself since he was driving in his car. Hands on the back of his head, voice lowered now. "I nearly died. The road was flooded and I thought I could drive over it, until my fucking lambo skid to the side completely horizontal. I was Tokyo drifting for 5 minutes across a muddy road and I got this close to falling into a ditch!"
"For God's sake I didn't know it would be that bad. I'm sorry."
"I almost died," Liam says that sternly, seriously as he nods his head a little and looks Harry in the eyes. "Literally, I almost fucking died." And he looks down at his trembling hands, "Look at that, I'm still shaking," like he can't believe it.
Harry has to look away, frowning a bit as guilt sinks over him. Liam really could have died out there. Wouldn't that be something? No. "Something" doesn't even come close. It's too heavy of a thought for Harry to ever take hold of, and it's bizarre that it would be trying to crawl up his leg so insistently. Deep down he resents Liam for forcing the thought onto him—if he wasn't feeling anxious thinking about Liam having died on the way to pick up a pizza only he, himself, really wanted anyway. Because Harry was stubborn, Harry got him into it. It manages to be terrifying, to the point where Harry's heart is beating louder in his ears than a drum. And he doesn't want it to. He just wanted pizza. Liam forgot the pizza. That's all this was supposed to be.
Harry just swallows, shaking off the already dry umbrella as he apologizes, "Liam, I didn't know the weather would get so bad. Alright? I-I'm sorry." Like desperately slamming an exit button, an abort button, a self-destruct button— that feeling of 'Get me the fuck out of here.' Water rising up to the throat; fire burning through a shut door. Harry rambles, turning his head up at Liam again, sounding more serene than he thought he would. "I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't... send you to die. Jesus. Alright? What do you want me to do now?"
Not serene enough to sell. "...Alright..." Liam says with a sigh, hands rubbing over his face. Because he isn't angry anymore once he catches that Harry might be getting upset. He couldn't be less angry. He drops his hands, revealing his now reddened face. Hands on his hips, he shrugs. Downplaying as he quietly summarizes, "It was scary, I turned back. Don't give me shit over a pizza." And he sighs again, like blowing off the last bit of steam. "That's all."
Jumping out the window of a burning building; "Look." Harry changes the subject as he shows Liam the umbrella. "I wanted to impress you."
The moment Liam turns his head to look, he bursts into a relieving laughing fit. "Oh now where did you get that?!”
An extra large KFC umbrella. White and red stripes, with the logo branded on each white section. "It came included with a bucket of fried chicken. It was free!" Harry grins, pleased when Liam walks over to inspect the umbrella. Liam pats his shoulder in a final consolation, a silent one— not wanting to bring back the previous subject. "I thought of you right away. But I forgot about it. But then I remembered today."
"How long have you had this?" Amazed, Liam flicks the nylon with a 'toop'.
"Like two years."
Liam snorts. "Wow. The opportunity finally presented itself. Is it for me?"
"No." Harry closes the umbrella, setting it in the corner next to the front door. While he's there, he takes off his wet socks. "Honestly, Liam, I swear to fucking God I didn’t think I was sending you out into a hurricane. I wouldn’t have if I’d known it would get so dangerous outside," Harry hears himself say in his own head— what he would promise Liam again if he hadn't shot the subject dead already. It bothers him that he's still thinking about it. He faces the wall, bent over, and says instead, "Kind of got wet, still. Didn't we? The rain was pretty crazy. No uh... match for the umbrella."
“That’s El Nino, innit? That thing that’s making all the weather crazy.”
“Yeah. I guess we’ll just wait it out here." The wet socks make a splat sound as they fall to the floor. "We’re stuck together! Just like old times, Liam!”
“Have you got Wifi?" Priorities. "Is it working, still?"
“Yeah. I'm using it," Harry motions to his laptop sitting on the kitchen counter, playing a three hour long jazz mix from Youtube that's only about one hour in.
“Oh, good.”
His wet feet pat on the hardwood floor as he walks towards the kitchen with Liam following beside him. “Yeah it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
“Have there been hurricanes here before?” Liam is new to the neighborhood. This is the longest he's ever stayed in California. Ironically, he was looking to escape England's dreary, cold weather when he moved. He's paid visit to Harry's house before, but it looks like today will be the longest visit so far.
“I honestly haven’t sat through any. It just rains a little sometimes."
"Clearly it's... raining a lot."
The kitchen is a little dark so Harry switches on the light. "But I honestly doubt we’ll get anything big this time. It hasn’t rained here in like, years supposedly. They always complain that the rain and storms weren't big enough. So maybe this storm won't last very long.” He takes a seat on one of the chairs lining the kitchen counter. Cushioned, cotton. After the highlights fiasco in London he had the stools in his L.A. home replaced. He pauses for a moment, settling before appropriately announcing, "I’m hungry," expecting Liam to do something about it.
“Haven't you got any frozen dinners or anything like that?”
“No."
Liam looks up to the ceiling, biting his bottom lip as he ponders. "Let's make a casserole," he says as he looks down to Harry again with the squint of his eyes for approval.
But he laughs, making a face. "Who makes a casserole in the middle of a hurricane?"
"Let's make a pie. A meat pie."
Harry laughs again, half expecting Liam to be joking.
But he isn't, and Liam quietly takes offence. "What, you don't like to cook now? You're always different with me. Suddenly you want pizza, suddenly you hate to cook. I can never win with you."
Harry giggles at how genuinely upset Liam is that he isn't impressing him successfully. "There's nothing to win, Liam. There's nothing to eat! That's the real issue at hand." He takes a moment to take in his appearance for the first time since he came back. A hoodie, beige which really suits his skin tone. The rain's given it a few dark spots around his chest and shoulders. His quiff is styled for once, so maybe he was out taking pictures. Harry himself has a light grey jumper, today. His long, curly hair fluffed fabulous from the humidity.
"Well, we have to cook th—" Thunder crashes in that very moment, cutting Liam off mid sentence. He turns to look out the kitchen window behind him excitedly with a yelp, as if the lightning shot through him. The sky is dark, but suddenly it flashes white. "Oh, it's coming!"
And the thunder does in a violent, angry, and sharp crash. So awful Harry still jumps in his seat even with foresight and the fingers in his ears.
Liam is impressed, chuckling as he looks to the ceiling as if to acknowledge the mighty storm. Somewhat over his near death experience, the storm serves to thrill him now as it suddenly dawns over him in a new light. Maybe educational. This reminds him of being a Boy Scout again, facing the (mild)dangers of nature and learning to tackle them. "This is crazy," he says. But maybe this reminds him of a disaster movie; Twister, The Day After Tomorrow, San Andreas. Which really shouldn't serve to thrill him. At all.
The way it is for Harry. Harry rests his elbows over the countertop, squishing his cheeks with his palms against his face as he frowns. "It's awful," he says in that deep voice.
"Has it been this bad before?"
"...Not really..." Harry admits disgruntled.
"The power's gonna go out."
"Wh— Why do you say that?" Harry widens his eyes frowns, snapping his head up at Liam with concern.
"I mean, I reckon," he shrugs. "What's the big deal if it does?"
"Well I can't cook in the fucking dark, Liam!" Harry whines, motioning to the pitch black view out the kitchen window. And at that he gets up off his chair and walks to the refrigerator.
He curses when he looks inside. His grocery shopping abilities haven't improved at all thanks to living off gourmet restaurant food. Harry's refrigerator is half empty, with only a handful of fruit and vegetables. Dozens of bottles and cartons of recommended antioxidant-rich, protein-packed, fiber-fueled super foods sit half-opened and expired, having failed the auditions for being so revolting the first time Harry had a taste. And he isn't in the mood for tomato basil pasta or salmon sauteed in a snow pea sauce— and he doesn't have the time to be. The power is definitely going out soon, the storm becoming noisier. And with an electric stove there's no hope of cooking anything once that happens.
Thunder comes crashing down another time and Harry's heart jumps up to his throat, coming down before another sudden thunderstrike makes the walls vibrate. "Fuck!" he closes the refrigerator door and leans his back against it, hair falling over his face as he hangs his head down.
"Crazy."
Harry lifts his head and rests it against the back of the refrigerator. His green eyes look up to the ceiling, brow furrowed. This is stressful. He thinks for a moment. The thought: "Liam, didn't the Boy Scouts teach you how to cook without electricity?"
"Yeah, but... that was after we learned how to make a fire," Liam giggles like Harry is just so silly for not knowing that. "Have some cereal or granola or something."
If only he had any. Liam's dismissive tone is making Harry feel like a desperate slob, aggravating him further. He drops his head down along with his tone to bitterly ask, "Aren't you hungry?" as he walks to the cabinets.
"Not really. I had a huge lunch just before I got here," he smacks his belly. ""It was Mexican food from one of those trucks. Ugh it was so good. Mate, two quesadillas with pork, tomatoes, lettuce, pineapple and these massive chunks of mozzarella cheese. And it came with one of those churros with like, some sort of jam? Or jelly. I'm not sure. The lady gave me a burrito to tr—"
“Liam!!"
"Oops. Sorry." Liam apologizes for unintentionally enticing a starving Harry. He watches as he shuffles through his cabinet, angrily knocking around lone cans and bottles. Even throwing some around. “You know, maybe you have a deficiency if you're so hungry. And like, violent."
Harry narrows his eyes with flared nostrils, insulted. He bites his bottom lip, turning around slowly and quietly to prove a point, to disprove his alleged “violent” behavior. A desert dry comment dings in his head like a steamy microwave dinner, ready to lunge at Liam. Until something like an explosion cuts through the air, followed by a pop.
And then everything goes dark.
"There it goes."
Light flashes into the kitchen before thunder crashes down again, bringing a frustrated whine out of Harry as he desperately covers his ears. The rumble passes. The pleasant jingle of jazz playing from Harry's laptop is gone without wifi. Without thinking he walks over to close it, immediately regretting it once he realizes it was the only source of light in the kitchen. Now it's all pitch dark, hauntingly quiet.
"Sounded like an electrical post blew up. Right?" Liam says as he walks towards the window, though Harry can't tell. "Aw looks like whole town's gone dark."
The rain is so thick, so heavy— the sound is like the vibrating of a drum as it falls onto the roof of the house. Rain slapping against the windows. Harry is almost afraid to move; hunched over, hands over his ears, anticipating another crash. The wind is so fast it whistles through the air like a sharp breath through gritted teeth. Leaves rustling, bushes shaking. This is awful. Harry hasn't sat through anything like this in all his stay in California. Certainly never in the dark.
"Good thing you invited me." It's almost like Liam read his mind, and Harry can't help but laugh. "Otherwise you would've been left here in the dark by yourself. You big baby."
"I was just thinking that, I swear to God," Harry keeps his hands against his ears, looking up to see that he can only make out a spooky shadow of Liam moving in the dark. Not even the furniture, or the counter. It's like he's in an abyss. He looks down. Can barely see his feet, now cold against the chilly floorboard.
"Shall I hold you?"
"Fffuck!" Harry jumps when he hears Liam's voice right next to his ear, his arms coming around to hold him out of seemingly nowhere. "Oh my God..."
Liam laughs, arms around him as he apologizes, "Sorry. I'll have to stomp and make noise next time."
"Then you're like a poltergeist, no."
"Wait, are you scared?" Liam sounds genuinely surprised, and laughs as Harry turns and wraps his arms around him, face nuzzling into his neck. Liam wraps his arms back, rubbing up and down Harry's ribs as he holds him tight. Maybe more than he should.
"No." Harry might be lying, he doesn't know. But he's prepared to play the part if it'll squeeze a favor or two out of Liam, just in case he might need one. "Yes."
"You bloody baby. I'll bet you're lying."
Harry sighs because he really, really loves being in Liam's arms. He hasn't had a hug like this in a while. It's an honest little jump he gives when thunder crashes down, eyes shut tight. He didn't mean to cuddle closer, he'll promise. And he whines, childish just to make Liam chuckle. "I'm vulnerable..."
"A damsel in distress."
Harry lifts up his leg and tries to climb Liam like a tree, clumsily digging his feet into his thighs and his hands into his shoulders, whining some more. And Liam will want to show off his strength so he stays perfectly still, chuckling as if Harry isn't actually a lot heavier than he remembers. Harry's legs hook against around his waist, his arms tightly wrapped around his neck. "Save me..." he whimpers dramatically.
"Harry, I can't see."
Harry moves his head further to the side so it isn't in the way of Liam's vision.
"Oh, like that helps!"
And Harry snorts, his weight thumping on the floor as he hops off. He takes a look around the house, and he can actually see a little. Like his vision has adjusted. He reaches for Liam's hand until he's got a firm grasp. And he starts to walk, dragging Liam with him so he doesn't get lost. "Let's go to my room."
"Oh no."
Harry giggles, slapping whatever part of him he reaches behind him. "My phone's in my room. Idiot."
"Is it upstairs?"
"Yeah. Let go of my hand if you think you're gonna fall."