Harry is nervous.
His palms are sweaty, his Hawaiian print shirt is sticking to his back in an entirely uncomfortable way and he has the overwhelming urge to run his fingers through his long hair, except, his hair is short.
Uncomfortably too short because it use to give him a sense of comfort, wearing his hair long and loose. How he would casually push it back off his face, letting his fingers get tangled in the pecan coloured softness as a distraction, to give himself a minute to soothe his unsettled nerves.
Even the carefully wrapped package he’s got tucked under one arm feels too heavy and Harry knows it has nothing to do with the house-warming present he’s holding. That it’s his conscience, his internal dilemma that’s a constant, weighty presence stretched across the breadth of his shoulders.
Harry has no one to blame but himself for that burden.
It’s a load Harry is willing to shoulder though because Niall doesn’t deserve to carry any of it. Niall who had lived up to his sunshine, carefree disposition by being the one who had tried to keep the lines of communication open between them. It didn’t matter where Harry was, every morning he woke to a good morning text, every night he fell asleep to a goodnight text and every day was filled with a constant, steady stream of text messages Niall sent.
Harry cannot ignore the way his heart speeds up rapidly and thumps painfully inside his chest when he thinks about all the flowers.
The first bouquet had come a week before Christmas, scarlet coloured poinsettias wrapped in brown paper and held together with green twine. The beautiful yellow roses Niall had sent him when the world found out Harry was going to star in a Christopher Nolan movie.
The bouquet of purple Irises and red Asters Niall had sent on Harry’s birthday and not long after a very fragrant, so blatantly romantic mix of red roses and lilies for Valentines day. How each bouquet had come with a card attached, the line from a song scrawled across the cream coloured, textured surface.
“When I first saw you with your smile so tender, my heart was captured, my soul surrendered…”
All the times Niall had called and Harry had just stood there, looking at his phone, taking in the picture of Niall currently flashing on his screen. He’s shirtless and still in bed, his blue eyes bright and a soft smile playing on his lips and fuck its just too overwhelming, all these feelings.
How much Harry misses him, how dauntingly unfair it is that he misses him. How much that one single image takes over the free spaces inside his brain that aren’t already full to the brim with thoughts of him. How much it burns through every single inch and length of him, this need to see him, to touch him, to see his blindingly bright smile and to hear his beautiful laugh. Yet Harry would just sit and stare at his phone, letting it ring, and ring and ring until it went to voicemail.
47 voice messages.
47 voice messages Harry could not bring himself to physically listen to because they were all from Niall. Left for him by Niall and it scared him so much he couldn’t do it. So he didn’t.
He just, didn’t think he wouldn’t see Niall for six months. He thought they’d make plans to catch up at some point, even if One Direction was on hiatus. They each had things to do, plans they needed to put into action and people they wanted to catch up with. They needed time to breathe, to sit and just be still after the incredible ride they’d all been on since 2010. Harry understood that, Niall understood it too.
Why they agreed to do it separately? Harry didn’t have an explanation for that.
It just didn’t feel right when thoughts of missing him began to feel normal and expected. That it was ok to miss him and perfectly normal to live each day without him. That Harry spent his nights wide awake, scrolling through his twitter and Instagram feeds, searching for pics and bits of information.
It definitely was not ok when he felt the swift kick of jealousy rear it’s head at the mention of Conor who the fans would refer to as “Harry 2.0” or Celine, the unknown, normal girl Niall was spotted with at a music festival.
And yes his entire being, his heart, his soul, the decent sized package currently cupped inside his jeans and his absolute happiness may have been completely entwined like a rope around Niall. Seeing someone else entwined around his Niall definitely made him question his past actions and he realised one thing.
Harry is a fool.
An honest one Harry thinks because he’s here now, in LA, standing in front of the door that leads into Niall’s newest acquisition. He’s got 48 hours until he needs to be back at the lot, on set for filming and Harry is very determined to be heard.
He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, thinks it’s completely justified if Niall opens the door, takes in the sight of Harry standing there with this present for his new house tucked under one arm and a dimpled, slightly apprehensive smile on his face and responds by slamming the door shut.
And it will hurt him to the very depth of his soul, having the door slammed in his face and he does deserve that, he knows he does but Harry will not be leaving. He will continue to stand here and knock and plead to be heard until Niall eventually gives in and listens to what he has to say.
Because Harry has so much to say and he will say it. Everything that needs to be said to rid himself of the weight on his shoulders while producing the other more intimate present he’s brought along too. The small, velvet covered Cartier box that feels like it’s burning a hole in the back pocket of his jeans.
Harry has every right to unbelievably nervous.
