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one.
The thing about Liam is that he looks like an overgrown child when he laughs. Not in a bad way, really, just that he does this thing where he closes his eyes and opens his mouth as wide as possible and throws his head back like he’s never heard anything in his entire life as funny as what you’ve just said. Like, Harry knows his knock-knock jokes are ace but. Still.
Liam wipes a tear from his eye. Harry feels a bit hysterical. “Sorry, mate, I’m a sucker for a good knock-knock joke. That’s a classic, it is.”
Harry nods with his whole upper body, almost rocks back and forth with it, and takes a big gulp of his Sex on the Beach through the hot pink straw. (Joke’s on them if the bartender thought they could wound his masculinity with that choice of color.) “Yeah, if you think that one’s good… I’ve got a whole slew of ‘em. They’re my specialty.”
“Yeah? Let’s hear another one then,” Liam takes a sip of his whiskey, leans forward, “Knock knock.”
“Er, are you gonna tell one or am I?”
“Oh shit,” Liam starts laughing again, bringing up his huge paw of a hand to cover his face. God, that’s not right. No man should be allowed to have big, veiny hands like that while simultaneously giggling like a fifth grader, “Sorry, sorry, I got overexcited. Go ahead.”
Harry clears his throat and tries not to think about Liam’s hand when it falls back to rest on his thigh. Or the word ‘overexcited’ coming out of Liam’s mouth. Or Liam’s mouth, “Okay. Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“King Tut.”
Liam is still smiling, warm brown eyes crinkling and pink lips tilting in a way that’s kind of messing with Harry, to be quite honest, “King Tut who?”
“Uh,” Harry’s eyes dart up and down before finally settling on the tattoo on Liam’s wrist. Only time will tell... Is that Arial font? Who gets a tattoo in Arial? Harry is so distraught and so completely, utterly charmed.
After a second, he gives Liam a sheepish look, “… I forgot.”
Liam’s smile widens, and of course his teeth are perfectly white and straight, like military gravestones, “You forgot.” He says, “Somehow I think that’s even funnier.” Liam downs the rest of his drink and shakes his head in a way Harry tentatively labels as fond.
“Nah, it was a good one.” Harry grins, not really having it in him to feel embarrassed, “I’ll let you know when I remember it.”
“Do you do this often?” Liam is making heady eye contact with Harry, even as he reaches into his jean pocket to fish out his wallet. Harry’s not sure what he’s referring to. Does he tell knock-knock jokes often? No question. Date men often? ‘Date’ wouldn’t really be the word. Go on dates with beautiful men he’s only met the night before often? Probably, yes.
Another big slurp of his cocktail, “Not sure what you mean, but the answer is most likely yes.”
Liam laughs again. Harry’s starting to consider a career in stand-up, “I mean, do you forget the punchlines to your jokes often?”
“Oh,” Harry levels his date with a faux-serious look, “Never. I’m a professional.”
Liam slaps two notes on the bar and stands up, “So this time you just…”
“Distracted,” Harry goes in again to take a sip of his drink but realizes he’s already finished it. Damn. “Got distracted, is all.”
They gather their coats and are almost out into the crisp fall air before Liam says, “Sorry for messing with your knock-knock joke concentration.”
Harry takes a big breath in through his nose, “And what makes you think that it was you who distracted me, my dear Liam?”
Just a shrug in response, and a tight smirk on Liam’s face. It’s been a while since Harry’s done the whole meet-cute flirting routine with someone, and it’s been even longer since he’s done it with someone who also seems to know the routine by heart. The last person Harry remembers doing this particular dance with was—well. Not Liam. So it feels familiar but it is so, so different.
Here’s where it’s different: Liam walks him home, kisses him on the cheek when they arrive at Harry’s flat, thanks him for meeting him for a drink, and takes off not long after, promising to call the next day. And then he actually calls the next day.
“Do you want to grab lunch on Friday?”
It takes Harry a full minute and a half before he remembers that through the phone Liam can’t see how vehemently he’s nodding.
Exactly how he and Liam met… Harry’s not completely sure. He remembers being at a party, he remembers his friend Nick talking in the loudest possible voice about a guy he met who looked exactly like David Beckham, and he remembers scouring the party for said look-a-like.
“You and Liam were awfully cuddly last night,” The next morning Nick wakes him with a cup of tea and a none-too-gentle pinch on the cheek.
“… Who?”
“Liam! Mini Becks! You were on a mission, I’m honestly surprised you’re not waking up in his bed on this fine, fine morning,” Harry reaches for the tea and Nick slaps his hand, “Oi, this one's for me, you can make your own.”
He assumes Nick is just taken the piss but a peek into his phone reveals a new text: heyyyy its liam from last nighttt! :)
Harry Styles:
I have to be honest, mate, I don’t remember much from last night.
Liam from last night:
aha im not suprised u were prettyyy drunk
Harry Styles:
That’s embarrassing…
Liam from last night:
dont be embarassed lol it was a party and u werent toooooo bad, still cute :)
Harry Styles:
Oh shucks
Harry Styles:
I’m sorry I don’t remember much about us meeting last night. Other than the fact that you look like David Beckham.
Harry Styles:
Although I’d venture to say you’re less David Beckham and more Justin Timberlake.
Liam from last night:
would that warrant u meeting me for a drink tonite maybeeee?
Liam from last night:
ps. you said that last night :p
Harry can’t really bring himself to argue with that.
To be honest, Harry isn’t completely 100% on how to do this ‘dating’ thing. He’s not sure he’s ever done the whole first-date-second-date-kiss-goodnight thing, now that he thinks about it. It isn’t really his style to do something so… normal, so expected. (He is an Aquarius through and through, after all.) The flirting routing he’s so comfortable with by now usually makes way into pre-second-date sex and then it’s like, you might as well just skip the second date and the whole dating thing altogether. Most of Harry’s paramours play out like scandalous romance novels; he doesn’t think he’s ever uttered the word ‘boyfriend’ out loud and been able to attach it to a real, tangible person in his life. It was always just a concept, something other people did but Harry never understood. Like kissing in the rain, or drinking Jägermeister.
“This shit… so nasty.” Harry makes an exaggerated show of pretending to unscrew the bottle of Jäger and pouring it out into a nearby potted plant. Liam giggles like a little kid.
They’re on their fourth date: Liam had insisted on calling it a date, even though it’s just a house party at Harry’s flat that his roommate had insisted on throwing to celebrate the impending holiday season. (“Niall… we’re barely a week and a half into December.” “Harry, how dare ye!! The entire month of December is a holiday!”)
“I think Niall’s quite fond of it, though.” Liam nods over to where Niall is shoving a glass of beer and a shot of Jägermeister into the hands of Liam’s friend, Zayn, with a triumphant shout of “Jägerbombs!!” Zayn just plays along, seemingly not put off by the manic grin Niall is giving him.
Harry leans back against the wall and hooks his arm through Liam’s, resting his head on Liam’s shoulder with a chuckle, “I hope your friend isn’t too traumatized.”
“Zayn?” Liam rests his chin on Harry’s head, blowing an errant curl away with a puff of breath, “No way. Zayn kind of… goes with the flow. He stands up for himself, for sure, but he’s usually pretty chill.”
Something in the warmness of Liam’s tone gives Harry pause, “Did you guys ever…” he makes a non-descript gesture with his free hand, and doesn’t realize that he’s holding his breath until he feels Liam shake his head, laughing under his breath a bit.
“No, we’re just best mates. Used to live together until, uh, until I moved in with my girlfriend at the time.” Liam stutters a bit and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, “I can… you know I can literally feel you raising your eyebrows, right?” Harry just sniggers, leaning up to press a light kiss on the underside of Liam’s jaw wordlessly, “I mean, we’re obviously not living together anymore, but. Anyway, Zayn’s got a new flatmate, moved in about a half year ago after me and Sophia broke up and I decided to just live by myself for a bit.” He prods a finger into Harry’s side, tickling him a bit, voice lowering secretively, “So now I’ve got a place allllll to myself.”
Harry gasps theatrically, pulling back, “Excuse me, Liam… what on Earth could you be insinuating?” He can barely fight down his smirk, “I’m saving myself for marriage, you know.”
Liam nearly falls over himself, “I-I didn’t mean to – I’m not saying that we have to… I totally respect that… we don’t—“
“God if you could see your face right now!” Harry nearly doubles over with his laughter, “I’m sorry, Liam, please don’t worry about tainting my chastity. Honestly.”
“You little…” Liam’s face breaks out into a relieved grin, and he grips Harry’s waist with both hands, fingers firm against warm skin he can feel through the thing material of Harry’s shirt, “You had me so—“
In return, Harry grips Liam’s face, noting how much he likes the feel of Liam’s stubble between his fingers, and pulls him in for a long, slow kiss. It’s not their first (that had been after their second date: “I think I’m probably allowed to kiss you now, right?”) but Harry thinks that it’s one to remember; both of them laughing into the kiss like maniacs, Liam nibbling insistently on Harry’s bottom lip. (Harry remembers feeling like he had truly hit the jackpot when Liam turned out to be an amazing kisser. “A+ work, Payne,” he had said, relishing the laugh it got out of Liam, “Definitely would kiss again.”)
When they pull back, they’re both a bit out of breath, “I can assure you, Liam, even if I was saving myself for marriage, I’d still want to sleep with you.” Liam looks like he’s not sure what to say, which is okay; Harry just enjoys watching the hot pink blush creep up Liam’s face.
It all kind of happens at once, when it does. “So what about you? Any exes?” Liam asks, at the same moment that Harry watches Louis enter the room, and he knows that Niall’s parties have always had an open-door policy, but he wasn’t quite expecting him to show up—except now Liam’s seen him too, and he’s actually waving him over, and Harry’s wondering if he can successfully commit seppuku with one of the plastic knives Niall’s put out for the snack table.
Louis doesn’t seem to realize it’s Harry he’s walking towards till he’s less than a few feet away, and the look on his face is unreadable, save for the conspicuous look towards Liam’s arm, slung comfortably over Harry’s shoulder.
“Harry, this is Louis, Zayn’s roommate! He’s awesome, which is lucky considering Zayn found him on Craigslist.” Liam smiles over at Harry expectantly, but Harry’s too busy figuring out how they’re going to play this. He’s waiting for Louis to make the first move—just like old times, Harry thinks.
“Actually,” Louis starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “we already know each other.”
“We, uh,” Harry’s so surprised that he’s not quite sure what to say. His relationship with Louis was always more easily described with vague hand gestures than words. But he thinks Liam’s already connected the dots.
“… Oh.”
In the background, Harry can hear Niall letting out another whooping yell of “JÄGERBOMBS!!” and he thinks he might actually join him this time.
two.
The thing about Louis is that he acts like an overgrown child. All the time. Well, most of the time. It’s something Harry has always loved about him—well, loves, present tense, if he’s being honest. The things you love about someone don’t go away after they do. Which means that Harry still has a deep, soft, fond spot for Louis, like a bruise on a peach.
Everything about them when they were together was always so physical, in the sense that they were always moving, always doing something, always finding some excuse to touch each other. And even at the end, there was never really a decline, no slow burn of the variety Harry was more than used to. Only a breaking point.
“Harry just…” he remembers their last fight, although it wasn’t so much a fight as it was the final dying flicker of a fire both of them had lost the energy to stoke, “please just stop talking.”
Louis had come home frustrated about something, and god, Harry still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that they had really moved in together, even though they couldn’t manage to label their relationship as anything more productive than ‘friends with benefits’ (except thinking back, he kind of can wrap his mind around it, the way everything felt perfect until the moment it wasn’t). Harry had tried to cheer him up by telling him some anecdote about a strange customer he’d gotten at the bakery that day—“I’m sorry, Harry, it’s just that I’d rather not right now.”
“Rather not… what?”
“I’d just rather not.”
Their entire relationship – Harry wondered if he could even properly use that word – had always been so feverish, hurtling forward at break-neck speeds to the point where after a while they couldn’t even stop to actually communicate. Sometimes Harry would get the feeling like Louis was just humouring him. Like everything could come to an end at any time. And when the fever finally broke, that was that. Harry stayed for about a week more, he and Louis going through the motions every day, like nothing was wrong. Harry quietly moved his belongings into Niall’s flat. At this point, he couldn’t remember if they had ever even said goodbye.
I’d just rather not.
Liam Payne:
i could not talk 2 him anymore if u dont want me too
Harry Styles:
… Did you really wait until I left to go to the restroom to text me that?
Liam Payne:
……………………………………
Liam Payne:
i didnt know how to bring it uppp
When Harry does come back from the loo, Liam looks a kicked puppy, “I got nervous.” He laments, covering his face.
The morning after the party Liam takes Harry out to breakfast, and isn’t able to go more than five minutes at a time without peering up from his full English at Harry with big apologetic eyes. “I didn’t know…” he bemoans. Harry just orders another mimosa.
In all reality, seeing Louis again doesn’t feel anything like he thought it would. The awkwardness of the situation seems isolated to the fact that Liam keeps looking between Harry and Louis like he’s trying to work out a complicated math problem. Actually, Harry feels less like he’s seeing the boy who broke his heart (and whose heart he, maybe, broke too), and more like he’s seeing an old friend for the first time in a long time. They make polite conversation. Zayn and Niall join them and the five of them spread out in the living room as the party begins to die down.
Niall and Louis had been pretty good friends, back when Harry and Louis were inseparable – Harry had forgotten about that, how Niall had stopped talking to Louis out of solidarity, how guilty he had felt. It seems silly now, watching them argue about football like they used to; now both of them look towards Zayn every two minutes, trying to get him to pick sides.
“I’m gonna have to take Louis’ side on this one.” Liam interjects, when Zayn looks towards him with a shrug.
Louis points two fingers towards Liam, “Replay to Niall.”
Liam turns to Niall this time, “I’m gonna have to take Louis’ side on this one.”
“Cheers, mate!” Louis raises his glass in triumph as Niall groans in apparent defeat, “Payno always comes through.”
Louis is still the same for the most part, Harry thinks, at least when it comes to this. Inside jokes, nicknames, and friendships that always involve never-ending arguments. The only thing that’s different is that Harry’s not in love with him anymore.
Zayn falls asleep on the couch, Liam helps Niall lead the last drunk stragglers to their taxis, and Harry finds himself cleaning up the kitchen with Louis, both of them clad in the sexiest of rubber gloves.
“Where did Niall even get these? I look like a cafeteria lady.” Louis holds his hands up and Harry laughs in spite of himself.
“At some bulk cleaning supplies store. He got them after someone puked in the sink during a party.”
Louis shakes his head, “Now that is foul.”
It’s nice, just talking. They clean side-by-side for a while, with Louis making the occasional comment about how it’s going to be hell to wake Zayn up when they need to leave, or Harry relating a tale about Niall’s near-militant cleanliness. Finally, Louis says: “It was nice to see you.”
“Yeah, I’m. Actually, I’m glad you came by,” Harry is surprised at how that tastes coming out of his mouth, more truthful than he’d expected.
They probably should address the fact that they’re probably going to be seeing a lot more of each other now, and that it’s going to be awkward, and that it’s going to take a while before they can really be friends again, in the way that they should be. But they’ve always been a bit shit at communicating, so they don’t. Harry likes to think that Louis understands anyway.
“So you and Liam…” Louis says after a beat, grinning and raising his eyebrows, nodding towards where Liam is helping Nick dial a taxi (“David… David, why are you here? What would Victoria say?” Harry makes a mental note to tease Nick about this later).
Harry smiles down at his chest, “Uh, yeah we’ve gone on a few dates. I really like him.” He doesn’t know exactly why he tells Louis this. It just kind of slips out and Harry realizes he hasn’t said it out loud yet until just then, not even to Niall or Nick or his mum.
Louis nods, “Liam’s got a big heart,” he knocks a knuckle against Harry’s chest, “Like you.”
And then, “I’m happy for you.”
They finish their cleaning and Liam wakes Zayn up for Louis, who drives himself and his sleepy roommate back home. Liam invites Harry back to his place with a sheepish grin, and they ignore Niall’s heckling as they head out. They make out on the couch for a while before Harry starts nodding off, and Liam carries him into bed, climbs in behind him, and turns off the light, giggling the entire time.
Now, he carefully watches Harry take a bite of his eggs benedict, “So you and Louis…”
“We’re cool,” Harry says, before taking a long sip of his mimosa, “I mean we’re awkward but we’re good. I would never ask you to stop talking to him or whatever.”
Liam smiles warmly and nods once, before reaching out to hold Harry’s free hand across the table, and Harry sighs, takes in the way it feels warm and safe and comfortable. (And how it makes it a bit harder for him to eat his breakfast, but he finds he doesn’t actually mind).
“Hey, Liam.”
“Hay is for horses, Harry.” Liam deadpans, and then immediately giggles helplessly at his own joke. Harry rolls his eyes so hard he nearly gets a headache. Liam is ridiculous, and Harry kind of adores him.
“Har har, good one,” Harry places Liam’s tea on the side table, sits back on the couch with his own, and Liam spares glance away from his game of FIFA to pout at him. (“This is our seventh date!” He had proudly proclaimed when Harry had come over to his flat fresh out of work, flour still in his hair. Harry didn’t point out that he wasn’t sure it counted as a date if you’re just hanging out playing video games, but didn’t say as much, choosing instead to appreciate the way ‘seventh date’ sounded coming out of Liam’s mouth.)
Harry takes a careful sip of his tea, says quietly, “Are you still friends with your ex-girlfriend? Sophia?”
He watches Liam’s hand twitch a bit, but he continues his game of FIFA fairly unperturbed, “Um. Kind of. It’s not like we ever hated each other, or anything. I see her sometimes, and we’ll get a bite to eat and catch up,” He frowns, “We were actually both a bit gutted when we decided to break it off.”
Even quieter, “Why’d you break up, then?”
He feels guilty watching Liam’s frown deepen, but it’s not like he’s trying to be invasive or push too hard or anything it’s just that… he’s curious. He’s never had such a definitive relationship with anyone, not like he knows Liam has. To be able to say ‘yes, this is when it started’ and ‘yes this is when it ended’ is something Harry could never do, not even when it comes to Louis.
But Liam seems to understand, pausing his game and reaching out to run his thumb over the anchor tattoo on Harry’s wrist, “It's just kind of off, loving someone but knowing that you’re not in love with them anymore.” Harry inhales at the same moment that Liam exhales, “I don’t know, I’m no good with words. But being in a relationship should never feel like you’re just running on auto-pilot, I guess.” Liam shrugs, reaching down to grab his tea off the table.
Harry nods, thinking that Liam is probably better with words than he realizes, “I get it.”
He can tell that Liam kind of wants to ask about Louis again, but he doesn’t. “I just think it’s strange…,” Harry starts slow, trying to answer Liam’s unasked questions and work out his own feelings all in one fell swoop, “that two people can care about each other, but sometimes it just doesn’t work out.”
Liam smiles at Harry over the rim of his mug, “And sometimes it does.”
Late in December there’s a party at Zayn and Louis’ flat, half Christmas celebration, half birthday celebration for Louis. Harry shows up with a bottle of wine in his left hand and Liam’s hand in his right. It’s their ninth date.
This time, Harry was the one who insisted it was a date, despite Liam’s feeble protests. (“Are you sure you want to go? I mean, I want you to go but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” “Isn’t it weird to go on a date to the birthday part of your ex?”) It is probably weird, but, well, Harry is weird.
The party is huge, like Harry knew it would be. Louis Tomlinson does not stand for small celebrations – it’s all or nothing.
They just hang for a while. Niall and Liam destroy Harry and Zayn at a round of FIFA before Louis admonishes them for not dancing – “This is my birthday and I want drunken dancing and people making fools of themselves!” – so they indulge him, of course.
It’s almost two in the morning when Harry sees Liam break ranks from the party, heading into the hallway. Harry pauses his bout of shimmying to follow him, down the hall, into the guest bathroom, where Liam is splashing his face with water.
“You okay?”
Liam’s voice is shaky, “Yeah, yeah, just…” He pauses, like he’s not sure if he wants to elaborate, but Harry reaches out to squeeze his shoulder and he goes on, “Got a text from me mum. One of my sisters was in a car crash,” Harry inhales sharply, Liam goes on, “Nothing serious! She’s okay, but I guess it shook me up for a second.”
By the time Liam’s done talking, Harry is already hugging him, and he feels Liam melt into his touch, arms tight around Harry’s waist like he’s the only thing holding him down. “Do you wanna go?” Harry whispers.
Liam pulls back, shakes his head no, “Can you just, like, talk to me for a bit? Doesn’t matter about what,” almost pleadingly, “Just for a bit.”
“Alright, alright.” Harry chews on his lip for a bit before launching into a new anecdote about one of his co-workers at the bakery, an elderly woman who always pinches his bum while he’s talking to customers. He tells it in the typical Harry way, in a slow, steady voice, using more details than is probably necessary, and getting off topic to the point where he’s telling a completely different story after a few minutes.
“—and then, so I’m ringing up this nice woman named Rosie… she always gets the low-fat raspberry Danish, but I think she could just get the regular one if she wanted, but—“
“Hey, Hazza—can you pass me a towel? Someone’s spilled a bit of punch.”
Harry turns in time to watch Louis bristle as he uses the old nickname instinctively, and he loses his train of thought to the point where Liam is the one who has to pass Louis the towel. But the feeling is gone almost as soon as it starts. Louis heads back to the party and Harry turns back to Liam, who gives him a serious look.
“… What?”
“Well, how does it end? Your story?”
Harry pouts a bit, “Uh, I can’t really remember… I think I lost my train of thought.”
Liam laughs. Harry wonders what percentage of the time they spent together is Liam laughing. Probably a good chunk, “Shame. It was a good story.”
Harry’s face lights up, “Really?”
A nod and a wink, “Till you got distracted.” A throwback to their first date, and Harry remembers the warmth of Liam’s hand on his thigh, the sticky sweetness of his cocktail, and—
“Oh, I remembered it! The knock-knock joke!!”
“Get in!” Liam squeezes the side of Harry’s waist, “Let’s hear it then.”
“Okay. Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“King Tut.”
“Alright, I know this bit – King Tut who?”
Harry can’t keep a straight face, “…King Tut-key Fried Chicken.”
They’re both in tears by the time they stop laughing.
three.
The thing about Harry is that he feels like an overgrown child sometimes, like he’s just playing at being an adult. His job at the bakery; his whirlwind mess of a room in what he can still only think of as Niall’s flat, not yet his; all his nameless relationships. Harry knows people think of him as charming, but he wonders if they ever take him seriously. He never wonders with Liam though.
Harry <3:
So I was wondering…
Liam Payne:
did u… wait til you were in the bathroom to text me…
Harry <3
Shut up Liam I’m doing my best.
Harry <3
I’m a shy, delicate flower.
It’s their tenth date. Harry knows, mostly because Liam’s reminded him via adorable good morning text, but also because he’s kind of been keeping track himself, relishing in the fairly normal trajectory of their relationship (even if ‘normal’ definitely wasn’t a word he’d use to describe either of them).
They’re meeting for lunch at a café that Harry knows is expensive, because of course Liam’s going to pick some place expensive when he’s claimed that it’s his turn to pay. And of course he gets there early and waves Harry over, and of course he pulls his chair out for him like the chivalrous dweeb he is.
“Careful, Liam, I’ll be swooning any second now,” Harry gives his date a dimpled grin before sitting down.
There was just something nice about being with Liam, and it came in the form of a sense of newness that also felt familiar, and warm. He was just as weird as Harry, just as comfortable being who he was, even if he sometimes forgot. And he had a big heart; he wanted to be loved and love others just as much as Harry did. About that, Louis was not wrong.
Which is why Harry’s not really surprised when, after they’ve had their first round of drinks and appetizers, Liam clears his throat, “So… I was wondering. I mean I really like you, and I’ve been enjoying spending time with you so, maybe—“
“I’m just gonna run to the loo for a sec. If you don’t mind.” Harry watches Liam’s hands still, where before they had been rubbing against his own thighs nervously.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll be. Here.”
In the bathroom, Harry splashes his face with water, fixes his headscarf, unbuttons his shirt. Re-buttons his shirt. Adjusts his pants. Calls Niall and hangs up immediately. Psyches himself up in the mirror for a minute until another customer comes in and gives him a strange look. Finally, Harry pulls out his phone again, and texts Liam.
Liam Payne:
ooooookaaaaaaaayyyy……
Harry <3:
Don’t patronize me.
Harry <3:
You’re being the worst boyfriend ever right now.
Liam Payne:
???????!!!!!!!
Liam Payne:
do u really want to b my boyfriend??
Liam Payne:
i mean will you be my boyfriend?
Harry <3:
I mean, not if you can’t accept my shy, delicate sensibilities.
Harry <3:
But yes. :)
Liam Payne:
:) <3
Liam Payne:
can u come out of the loo now??
Harry nearly sprints out of the restroom, pausing only to hold the door open for someone who’s leaving the same time as him. (“Whoops, sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you… just in a hurry to get back to my boyfriend.” The man just ignores him.)
It’s strange, meeting Liam’s eyes across the room and thinking boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. Liam’s smile is so wide and white and brilliant.
“Hello,” Liam says, standing up to hold the chair out for Harry again, and Harry is so enamored that he can’t even bring himself to roll his eyes.
Liam sits back down, “Overkill?” He jokes, but Harry shakes his head. Honestly, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it.