A little something written for those who need a little friendship to cheer you up, Harry Lewis will always look like he needs a hug.
Not completely proof-read but scanned
Enjoy xoxo
Word count: 1.5k
Harry Lewis is feeling a certain down recently, Ethan takes the step to help bog. Sidemen are there for his friend, as they always will be <3
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Ethan had always known Harry to be the kind of person who laughed with his whole chest — the kind of laugh that made other people laugh, even if they didn’t get the joke. But lately, he’d been… muted. Like someone had turned down the volume on him, and no one knew where the remote had gone.
It started with smaller things. Missed messages. Jokes that didn’t land. The kind of silences that stretched just a little too long. Harry stopped staying late after shoots. Stopped showing up early for coffee. And when he was around, his smile looked like something he borrowed and forgot to return.
Ethan noticed it before anyone else. Maybe because he looked harder. Maybe because he knew, in that bone-deep, unspoken kind of way that best friends just do. But knowing and helping were two different beasts.
So he tried. In his own gentle way. Bringing over Harry’s favorite snacks. Texting dumb memes at 2 AM. Suggesting games they hadn’t played in years. He even suggested a walk once and Harry had gone quiet, eyes glazed over, then said maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.
It was a Wednesday when Ethan made the call.
Harry hadn’t answered his messages in two days. The kind of silence that felt heavy. Wrong. And when Ethan swung by his flat that afternoon, he could tell Harry was home, lights off, curtains drawn, but his car parked out front. Ethan stood at the door for a full five minutes before knocking.
Nothing.
His stomach twisted.
That night, Ethan opened the group chat.
Ethan:
Boys, I need your help. It’s about Harry.
It only took seconds for responses to roll in.
Tobi:
What’s going on?
Simon:
Is he alright?
Vik:
Ethan? You good?
Ethan:
I don’t think he’s okay. I’ve been trying to reach him. He’s been… off for a while. And I think it’s getting worse.
JJ:
I knew something was up. He’s been ghosting shoots. Didn’t even reply to my message about the Sidemen Sunday video.
Josh:
What can we do?
Ethan:
We go to him. All of us. He needs to know he’s not alone.
There was a pause. Then a flood of thumbs-up emojis and “I’m in.”
They showed up the next evening. Six of them. Not loud, not laughing, just present. Each holding something simple. Josh brought food. JJ brought that ridiculous hoodie Harry always stole. Vik brought a board game. Tobi had his speaker tucked under his arm. Simon had a card, handwritten, folded carefully, something he’d scratched out and rewritten a dozen times.
Ethan knocked. Again. Then quietly called through the door.
“Haz, it’s us.”
A long pause.
And then… the door opened.
Harry looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were dull, his skin pale. He wore the same jumper Ethan had seen him in two weeks ago. But more than that — he looked tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t about sleep. The kind that lived behind your ribs.
No one said anything for a moment. Then Tobi just stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. No words. Just warmth.
Harry stood there, frozen, until something broke. His arms lifted slowly, hesitantly — and then he gripped Tobi back like he was afraid to let go.
The rest followed. Quiet, strong. Each hug chipped away at the shell Harry had built around himself. No one forced him to talk. They just came in, sat with him, and stayed. They filled the silence with laughter, stories, memories. JJ did impressions. Josh made tea. Vik set up the game. Simon sat beside Harry on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, not saying a word.
Ethan watched it all from the kitchen, eyes stinging.
It wasn’t a fix. It wasn’t magic. But it was something. And Harry — for the first time in weeks — let himself feel it. Let himself be seen. The mask slipped.
Eventually, as the sky outside faded into blue, Harry spoke.
“I didn’t know how to say it,” he whispered.
Ethan sat beside him. “Say what?”
“That I wasn’t okay. That I didn’t know how to be around people anymore. That waking up felt… like a chore.”
No one moved. No one rushed to fill the silence.
“You didn’t have to say it,” Simon said gently. “We see you, mate. We love you. All of us.”
Harry blinked hard.
“I thought I’d bring everyone down.”
“You’re not a burden,” Vik said. “You’re our friend.”
“You’re family,” JJ added.
Harry looked at them all — really looked. And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to smile to be loved. He just was.
He tugged the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands, fidgeting with the hem.
“Thanks for coming,” he said quietly.
Ethan nudged him with his elbow. “We never left.”
That night, the flat was full again. Full of laughter. Music. Quiet check-ins. The sound of pizza boxes opening. The sound of hearts being held.
Harry didn’t feel healed. But he felt something else.
Held. Heard. Home.
And for the first time in a long time, that was enough to start with.
The days that followed weren’t miraculous. There were no overnight transformations. No sudden bursts of joy or clarity. But there was a shift — a subtle, quiet one. Like the first hint of light before sunrise.
Harry woke up the morning after the boys came over and stared at his ceiling for a long time. For once, the weight on his chest wasn’t as unbearable. It was still there — he wouldn’t lie to himself about that — but it didn’t feel like it was going to crush him. Not with them around.
He got out of bed. That alone felt like something.
In the kitchen, a note was stuck to the fridge. Ethan’s handwriting.
“Didn’t want to wake you. But we’re all just a call away. Proud of you already. — E.”
Below it was a sticky note in Simon’s messy scrawl:
“Eat something. If it’s pizza again, I swear to god.”
Harry smiled. A real one, small and crooked.
That weekend, they didn’t make a big deal about anything. No deep talks. No forced moments. They just showed up.
Tobi started dragging Harry out on morning walks. Nothing intense — just ten, fifteen minutes. Sometimes they didn’t even talk. Just the crunch of leaves underfoot, the occasional point at a dog or a bird or a cloud that looked like a potato.
It helped more than Harry expected.
Josh dropped off groceries once a week, always slipping in little things he knew Harry liked — strawberry yoghurt, peanut M&M’s, the fancy bread he used to make fun of.
JJ started coming around randomly with music. Full USBs of curated playlists. “This one’s for getting out of bed,” he’d say. “This one’s for rage-cleaning your room. And this one’s just… for when your head’s noisy.”
Vik invited him over for low-stress hangouts. No cameras, no pressure. Just gaming nights where losing didn’t matter and no one asked, “Are you alright?” every five seconds.
And Simon — Simon just kept showing up. Sometimes with takeout. Sometimes with nothing at all. He’d sit on the floor and scroll through TikToks, narrating them dramatically until Harry cracked up.
Ethan was the quiet backbone of it all. Checking in, listening, giving space when needed and stepping in when Harry drifted too far into himself.
Then came a night in mid-November.
The group had planned a low-key evening — movie marathon, snacks, nothing heavy. They piled onto the couch like kids, arguing over which Lord of the Rings film to start with. Harry was tucked between Simon and Tobi, blanket half-draped over his legs.
He laughed at something JJ said — a proper, full laugh. It caught them off guard.
The room stilled for just a second. Ethan smiled across the room. Not a loud, victorious smile — just one of quiet recognition.
Later that night, when the movie played and most of them were dozing off, Harry looked over at Ethan.
“Hey,” he said.
Ethan turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for not giving up on me.”
Ethan’s eyes softened. “Mate. There’s no version of this where I would’ve.”
Harry nodded, throat tight. “I’m scared, sometimes. That I’ll slip back. That I won’t be enough.”
Ethan leaned in a little closer. “We all slip. But we catch each other. That’s the point, yeah?”
Harry didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded again.
And Ethan added, “You’re more than enough, Haz. Always have been.”
The healing was slow.
Some days Harry still stayed in bed longer than he wanted to. Some nights he felt the familiar ache settle in his chest like an unwanted visitor. But now, he wasn’t alone in it. He wasn’t pretending anymore.
He started therapy, on Tobi’s recommendation. Quietly. Privately. One session at a time.
He let himself start journaling. Something Vik had mentioned helped him in uni. He didn’t overthink it — just little entries. Sometimes one line: “Got out of bed. Ate real food. Didn’t feel fake around the guys.”
And every time he doubted himself — every time the old thoughts tried to crawl back in — he remembered the night they all came over. The laughter. The food. The ridiculous hoodie. The music playlists. The way no one asked for anything except for him to be.
They gave him space to breathe again.
To exist.
To start over.
And that, more than anything, was what saved him.
i'm literally never going to shut up about this. simon rightfully propelling vik into the air as harry stares abash at his shoes litr giggling so hard rn
