got the writing bug again :) enjoy! (gif credit to @londonharry)
There is something to be said about the quiet that ensues after being surrounded by noise. It's different. It's an absence of sound that feels heavy, imbued with some kind of meaning that's hard to make sense of. But it's important.
Harry feels this as he sits in his dressing room, the last of the roaring crowd from Lisbon trickles out of the stadium. Leaning down to untie his shoes, he grins to himself when he catches a whiff of the beer still lingering on his chest. He tosses his shoes aside. His sweats are hanging on the clothing rack, waiting to be worn after his obligatory ice bath. But before getting up, before moving to do anything at all, Harry sits. He leans back. He closes his eyes, and he breathes.
You're usually waiting for him in his dressing room if you come to the shows, but usually it's the hotel or the car if you're traveling overnight to the next destination. Tonight, you linger in the halls backstage, trying to hang on to as much of the chaotic, contagious energy that permeated the building. Crew members stop you occasionally to say hello. One of the security guards gives you a wink as you reach Harry's door, and you smile warmly before pushing your way in.
Harry doesn't move when you shut the door behind you. "Beer fountain, hm?" you say quietly.
"Mmhmm." He cracks one eye open. "Something like that."
"Whose was it?"
"Dunno. Lloyd's, maybe." His arm extends along the back of the couch as you approach. "Thought it was funny."
He's regarding you through his lashes, peering through squinted eyes. The fatigue is apparent, but you know there's adrenaline shining in the background. His voice is tired, body probably starting to feel the beginnings of soreness from dancing around stage for hours. Still in his stage clothes, he sits like he hasn't just performed to tens of thousands of devoted attendees. Like he hasn't just shined so bright that space dwellers would be blinded.
"You're a menace, you know," you chide, curling up next to him with your legs tucked under you. As quickly as you lean in, you lean back right away. "Oh, god." Your nose wrinkles. "You smell ripe."
"I've only just come off stage."
"Yes, but--" you make a vague gesture toward his chest. "Post-show Harry smell is my favorite. Not when it's mixed with beer."
It's enough to make him laugh quietly as he pulls you in, but he doesn't say anything else. You let yourself rest against him, arm going around his shoulders to toy with the fabric of his vest. His hand rests casually across your legs. A less than graceful bump of his forehead against yours communicates his silent request, and you smile into the soft kiss he gives you. He tastes like the last dredges of adrenaline at the bottom of a coffee cup.
A deep sigh against your lips, then he pulls away. "C'mon, then."
"What?"
"Ice bath with me."
You scrunch your nose, digging your nails into his shoulder absently. "Nice joke."
"M'serious. You've never done one."
He is serious. No hint of sarcasm stains his words as he gazes at you prettily, the post-show haze evidently kicking in. "I kind of planned to keep it that way," you say lightly.
But if there's one thing about Harry--his determination is unwavering. He squeezes your thigh once, twice. Again, taking his time to release it. "Let's do it," he whispers like it's some huge secret. "Just five minutes. You can do it."
It's not that you can't. But your own post-show routine involves letting Harry release the last of his energy on you back in your hotel room. A treat that likely won't happen tonight, given Harry's sleep-heavy lids already half-closed as he grins. He doesn't let you reply before he's pulling you off the couch and toward the bathroom.
It's there already, set up and standing proud like a throne waiting for its king. A quick dunk is usually all Harry needs to shock his system, to soothe his body after the effort he goes through while performing. Scientifically sound, but horribly masochistic. To you, at least.
"No part of this is particularly appealing." You contradict your words as you start undressing. Harry's already got his vest off, standing eerily still in just his sequined pants as he watches you strip.
"But you love me, so you'll do it."
"I guess I do." You give him a sardonic smile. "Wonder why I thought that was a good idea."
He rewards you with a pinch to your hip. Soon enough, you're at one end of the tub and he's at the other, both clad in just your underwear. The cold air from the ice wafts toward you, pebbling your skin. It's going to be awful. Harry braces his hands on the edge of the tub; you do the same.
"Three... two--c'mon, babe." He's laughing through his words as your face gets more and more unpleasant while he counts down. "Two... two... one!"
A splash. Horrible, horrible cold.
"Fuck! Oh, fuck me."
You're panting shallowly, clearly becoming unregulated as your body adjusts. Or, attempts to; this all but confirms Harry is a freak of nature. He's panting too, but through practiced technique--lips pursed, he makes little gasping noises through a smirk that warms you slightly. You find yourself mimicking him automatically, crossing your arms against your body like he has.
"This is stupid, H."
"You're doing so good," he laughs, ignoring your obvious discomfort. "Just a little bit longer."
You're laughing too, and it's partially because this is ridiculous, the two of your squished together in this ice bath in his dressing room in Portugal.
You try not to move to prevent little crashes of cold penetrating through the layer of pseudo-warmth your body has created. After a few moments, your breathing normalizes slightly, the tension loosening from your shoulders. "When is this supposed to feel good?" you ask.
He contemplates the question. "After we get out."
"Ah. Naturally."
"Should we start doing this at home?"
"Mmm. I think we keep this as a tour staple."
He huffs a laugh, shifting to extend one leg out in the tub. His calf brushes your ankle, and you wiggle your toes in response. "That means only one more, then. One more show, one more bath."
That's right. Just Italy left, then a little vacation for the two of you. This tour, this whirlwind of a few years, feels like it's going to culminate in something special. Tonight was just a taster--you both knew that. Italy would be a different beast entirely.
"Maybe I'll join you for that one, too."
Harry pushes his foot against your leg, a secret smile shared between the two of you. A promise.
