12 for the surprise dabble!
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, a kind of sad one!!!!! dang!!!
“Oh, Niall’s coming, by the way.”
Harry freezes, his fingers stilling in the murky sink water as he searches for the last dirty spoon.
“Is he?” he asks softly. His voice is tense and it hardly comes out at all, but Gemma, standing just beside him, still hears.
“Yeah. He said his flight got cancelled ‘cause of the snow so he couldn’t make it home. I told him he was more than welcome to come see us; he’s gonna be here around six.”
Harry takes even breaths, trying way too hard to seem casual as he finally grabs the spoon and scrubs it slowly.
“Why were you even talking to him?”
“I just mean, like, how did it come up? Like, did he just call you out of nowhere, or…?”
“I was friends with him, too, Harry,” Gemma says. She tries to make Harry look at her when she takes he spoon from him, pausing so that they’re both holding on at the same time, but he refuses to meet her gaze.
“I know,” he mumbles, pulling the plug out of the drain. He watches the water spiral away and just hears Gemma over the gurgle as she walks away to put the spoon in the drawer.
“He was asking after you. He does sometimes.”
“Me?” Harry asks, moving full speed again as he turns around to pursue Gemma out of the kitchen. “Why didn’t he just ask me?”
“You don’t answer his messages.”
“I don’t get his messages.
“He still sends them,” she says, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to turn and look Harry in the eye now that he was finally interested. “It’s not his fault if you don’t check them.”
Harry shrugged one shoulder awkwardly. “He’s set as priority, I dunno why I wouldn’t get messages from him.”
“Well you’ve got plenty of time to figure it out in your email settings before he gets here.”
Harry feels guilty when Gemma walks away ‘cause he knows he gets all of Niall’s messages– the notifications for them, at least, but he always swipes them away so they don’t clog up his screen and then he never remembers to check them. He used to get lots of them, but they’re not so common anymore.
Harry sits in the living room and searches his apps for messages from Niall until his mum gets home from work. There’s a few posts in his Instagram inbox, some DMs on Twitter, a couple hundred notifications for the One Direction Whatsapp group, and Harry’s personal email has an entire folder of messages from Niall, most of them already opened from past holidays and events, but any sent this summer and on all sit unopened.
Anne’s home right at 3:30 like usual, and Harry greets her at the door with a hug like he did when he was in primary school; Anne doesn’t ask questions, of course she doesn’t. She’s just happy her son is finally home for a holiday.
“Niall’s coming over later,” he tells her, and she already knows.
“He told me this morning. I told him he’s always welcome round our house; he’s like a second son to me.”
She goes into the kitchen to check on the roast she told her kids to start that afternoon, and Harry follows at her heels.
“You talk to Niall behind my back, too?”
“Behind your back, love?” she asks in such a tone that Harry doesn’t even have to look at her to know that her eyebrows are raised. “I didn’t know I was doing anything behind your back. You and Niall are friends, aren’t you?”
Harry steps back, shuffles over to the fridge to see what alcohol is available for him to drink himself through tonight, and doesn’t answer his mum’s question.
“What?” he asks, turning around.
“Why wouldn’t you be friends with Niall anymore? You were mad about him when you were in a band together.”
“Mum, I wasn’t mad about him–”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
But that’s the thing, though. Harry was mad about Niall, wasn’t he? And who’s to say it won’t all come rushing back the second Niall pulls him in for a tight hug and he smells so good and feels so warm that Harry doesn’t wanna let go.
The words bubble up in his chest, like Harry wants to come clean and tell his mum right then and there that he actually was mad for Niall, like in love with Niall, especially toward the end, but he can’t make himself do it ‘cause one she knows– or at least when her suspicions are confirmed– there will be no way anyone can hide it from Niall when he’s right in front of them.
Instead Harry goes upstairs to take a shower, and by the time he’s out after belting several lovesongs later, it’s already nearly five.
Harry sits around in his room, one towel around his waist and one around his head, for another twenty minutes deciding what to wear, before he finally just pulls on fitted black sweatpants and a nice looking sweater over one of his branded t-shirts. He can’t put too much work into his outfit just because Niall is coming over, but he still wants to look nice so Niall might look at him and think he’s grown up well since the last time they really got to sit down together for more than a passing hello at festivals and concerts.
“Haribo, come help us finish dinner,” Gemma says from the other side of his bedroom door, and even after Harry crosses the room to leave, she’s still standing there.
“Ahh, casual but put together, I see. That’s a nice approach; I’m sure he’ll like it.”
“What? I’m not doing anything for him, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mhm,” she smirks, “I’m sure. C’mon then, you’ve gotta finish the bread.”
Harry does finish the bread, which really only involved putting it in the oven to let it bake for the last half hour before Niall comes over. Harry spends the whole time pretending like his heart isn’t pounding in his chest, but it absolutely does. He sings Christmas songs with his family and dances around and loses himself for a little while until the doorbell rings and then his mouth dries up so fast he nearly chokes.
“Why don’t you go answer it, Harry?” Anne suggests, and Harry agrees and runs to the door– in a nonchalant way, of course. Totally. Completely like the nonchalant way he throws himself at Niall and hugs him tight as soon as he sees him.
“Hazza!” Niall says, hugging him back tightly. “It’s so good to see you, man! What have you been up to?”
“Sitting around writing songs, you know. Nothing much.”
“Nothing much?” Niall asks, pushing Harry back to an arm’s length. “Nothing like co-chairing the Met Gala or being a Gucci model or being a producer of a TV show or anything. Nothing much,” he laughs, and Harry laughs too because everything feels easy with Niall.
“Come in,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around Niall’s shoulders, “Mum and Gemma are excited to see you.”
“What, you’re not excited to see me?” Niall jokes, closing the door behind him and kicking off his boots by the door.
“I am,” Harry chuckles, “very much so.”
“Good.” Niall wraps his arm around Harry’s back and they walk together to the kitchen.
“Something smells fantastic in here, ladies,” Niall says, leaving Harry’s side to hug Anne and Gemma, mumbling nice hellos against their cheeks. Harry feels lonely as soon as Niall isn’t beside him and knows immediately that he is so fucked.
Even so, Harry only does a few embarrassing things that night, like force his way to sit beside Niall even if someone was already there, over excitedly insist that he was on Niall’s team when they played Scrabble, and maybe or maybe not get a bit too wine drunk and suggest that Niall stay the night in Harry’s room since Harry hung mistletoe over his bed “if you know what I mean.”
Luckily Anne wasn’t in the room for that last one, and Niall just laughed and laughed without saying much.
“I oughta be getting home,” Niall says far too soon, peeling a very cuddly Harry off of him. “It’s getting a bit late and– you know.”
“But you could just go in the morning,” Harry says, grabbing Niall’s hand.
“Why don’t you walk me out to my car, H?” Niall suggests, wiggling his hand free.
“But I don’t have shoes on.”
“Well,” Niall drawls, “why don’t you put shoes on while I go tell your mum and your sister goodbye?”
Harry’s still struggling to get his arm in his coat when Niall meets him by the door. Niall helps him with only a tiny chuckle and even zips the coat all the way up to his throat for him.
“It was good to see you, Harry,” Niall says as they head out the door.
“You too,” Harry nods. “Really nice seeing you.”
“I’m still in town for a few more days if you wanna meet up again. I keep trying to talk to you, but I guess you’re not getting my messages.”
“I’m bad at replying ‘cause I don’t know what to say,” Harry actually says out loud despite the fact that he meant to keep it in his head.
“Why wouldn’t you know what to say?” Niall asks as they crunch across the salted driveway to Niall’s car.
“Why are you nervous?” Niall laughs. “It’s just me, Harry. You’ve said dumb shit to me for years.”
“I know but, like… It’s different.”
“‘Cause I don’t know what to say around you anymore.”
“I know. That’s why it’s hard, ‘cause you’re you and I like you.”
“What, so you wanna impress me or something? You do that every day, H. You’re like the best person I know; you’re making everyone else look bad.” Niall laughs and leans on his car even though it’s so cold that they can see their breath in clouds between them. Harry just digs his hands into his pockets and shrugs.
It’s probably not the right time to tell Niall how he feels about him, Harry thinks. “Probably never will be.”
“The time to tell you how– oh, I– um…” Harry stutters, completely blanking on what to say. Niall watches him expectantly, but when Harry doesn’t say anything else, he stands up with a small sigh.
“It’s really cold. I should be going.”
“Yeah… I should go back inside.”
“Give us another hug, then,” Niall says, pulling Harry in by his shoulders.
“I miss you,” Harry sighs.
“I miss you, too, H. Call me sometime.”
“I will,” Harry promises, and he hopes it’s a promise he won’t break.
“Love you, too, buddy,” Niall says.
Harry doesn’t have it in him to say more.