Chapter Text
Harry folded himself over, inhaling the sweet incense just barely recognizable over the stench of sweat and sex.
There was a man behind him, a man without a name, grunting loudly as he slumped over the length of Harry's back. He had shoved him over the edge of the bed, and he pulled Harry's hips closer as he remained standing for their encounter.
Harry really needed a cigarette. It was impossible to really forget when there was a cock up your ass, but it was easy enough to ignore it. Especially when the length and girth of said cock wasn't doing anything for him.
He turned his head to the side, pushing himself up onto his elbows. On the bedside table, he spotted his vodka ice.
He reached for it, nearly spilling its contents across the bedspread at a particularly violent thrust. Harry smirked; the man's grunts of annoyance were delectable. Everyone who fucked him thought he should be enjoying it a lot more than he showed. And he did for most. Wasn't his fault the guy had so small a dick and that it was just short of unpleasant.
The vodka burnt going down, just how he liked it. The room had already been hazy; now the view was caliginous and blurred.
Harry put the now empty glass back down on the bedside table just as the man yanked at his curls. The hold was too tight. It hurt. It hurt like his throat did. It hurt like his bottom did. It hurt like his chest did.
Maybe the chest pains weren't heartbreak. Perhaps he was having a heart attack. How glorious would that be? He couldn’t bother to kill himself over a boy, but he wasn’t going to object to natural causes.
Yes, the ache in his chest cavity wasn't just him being pathetic. It couldn’t be. He was having medical issues. He should go and see a doctor. Nick would tell him to see a doctor. He was feeling poorly.
But Nick wasn't here anymore. He was gone. And he was reminded of it painfully every day.
~~~
500 Days of Summer was a bloody stupid movie. It teaches you to fall in love with the beautiful outcast with the golden personality and the award winning taste in music. Harry had personally gone out and he had done all three, and look where that had left him. It's what he gets for listening to anything Zooey Deschanel says. If someone was to ask him, he would blame this all on 500 Days of Summer.
The whole metaphorical point of that is that it’s supposed to imply that he’d be moving on. Hopefully. He could only hope that one day he'd wake up one morning and fall in love again with someone who wasn't going to break his heart. At least, he thinks that was the message. He had never seen the whole movie. Nick had explained the plot to him. He had been too excitable to sit and watch a full feature length film with Nick’s skin touching his.
Nick had asked him to move on. He had said that he would do the same. They each had shit to do; goals to achieve and deadlines to reach. He didn't have the time or the patience to balance a full career and a semi-long distance relationship. Harry didn't hold it against him, even though he couldn't fathom how Nick had thought that the boy could just "move on". He wasn't a little baby with the attention span of a gnat. He had grown too famous to take anything normal and constant for granted. Harry blamed 500 Days of Summer. 500 Days of fucking Summer.
All these romantic comedies should have prepared him for the heartbreak that was Nicholas Grimshaw.
Part One – Strangers
They met at a party. Sort of met. Harry was 17, and the ink on One Direction's contract was still wet. He and the boys were celebrating their new life at a some rich posh night club in London that stunk of superiority as much as the fellow club goers did.
No one recognized them. And if they did, they wouldn't show it. They were too good for associating with boybands from singing competitions.
They didn't mind. They focused on getting properly smashed, assuring each other and themselves that there would be time for recognition later.
Louis bought him his first drink. His second came when he was chatting up a pretty girl at the bar. She was barely paying attention to his words. It was not going well.
The bartender tapped on Harry's shoulder, and set the drink down in front of him. Harry looked down at it, confused. It was a bright pink atrocity that he would only drink in the confines of his own home (his swanky new flat in London).
The bartender smiled thinly, clearly busy. " 's from the guy at the end, there. Said to say congratulations to the X-Factor brat."
Harry looked down the bar to see where he was pointing. A man with dark hair piled up in a quiff was looking casually uninterested as he chatted with a bloke in a muscle shirt. He kept glancing rather conspicuously at Harry, and when he noticed him looking back, he smiled widely. He picked up his own drink, which was decidedly not pink, and lifted it in a toast to him.
The girl beside Harry had followed his gaze curiously (but in a way that still said she was too cool to really care). "Oh," she said passively. "You know Nick?"
"No," he said honestly because he was 17 and he still couldn't lie to women.
He didn't end up sleeping with her. Harry'd like to blame it on the less than manly drink he was sipping on. (Alcohol's still alcohol. he wasn't about to waste it.) By the time he realized that she was a lost cause, the mysterious Nick had vanished from the bar. Harry bit back his disappointment.
If he knew he was an X-Factor brat, he must surely know that he wasn't 18 yet. And he had still bought him a drink. That sort of decided recklessness appealed to Harry, because he was coming to realize that his days of being a reckless young kid had to come to an end with the signing of his contract. The circus production that was his relationship with Caroline Flack would prove that. He hadn't thought about it before, because he had been too excited about the idea of being signed with his four best mates. But that contract had had a lot of pages, and a lot of clauses and conditions and terms that he had not really read through as well as he should have. They should have hired a lawyer. Liam had suggested it, but they had voted that down because lawyers meant time and they wanted it done now.
Simon's lawyers would have their best interests in mind, wouldn't they?
And even if Nick hadn't realized that he was underage, it still appealed to Harry that he would send a drink to a complete stranger, just in congratulations. He didn't come over, and breathe down his neck like a sleazeball. He just decided on the spur of the moment whim, to buy that kid on X-Factor a pink cocktail.
Harry appreciated it.
~~~
The second time they met was at a GQ dinner. An actual legitimate grown up dinner. They had been invited. And they were sitting with actual important people.
Including Grimmy, who spent 5 minutes introducing himself to each boy and another 5 minutes delighting over the fact that they all were colour-coordinated like a proper boyband.
He didn't seem like he was going to mention buying Harry a drink, and Harry wasn't about to bring it up. It wasn't until a bit later, when Louis handed Harry a glass of champagne.
"Sure you're old enough for that, popstar?" Grimmy asked, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Harry barked, slapping a hand to cover his mouth immediately after. He giggled through his fingers, staring at Nick but his mind had gone blank. He couldn't think of anything to say; the fact that he had this private joke with this older, achingly cool man had a real impact on his ability to speak.
It didn't matter anymore, though. Nick had already turned away and was chatting with Niall, who had been quite taken to the older man as well. Harry was left still half giggling to himself.
Nick really had a way of leaving him without. First, he had left him speechless.
~~~
The next thing Nick made him was breathless.
After Harry slapped his bum at the teen awards, Nick refocused his attention on the youngest member of One Direction. They were both busy, of course, so his attention was mostly paid by that one time Harry called into Radio 1, and occasional texts of puns and things Nick thought Harry would laugh at. Harry usually did.
It wasn't until Harry was in Manchester when they finally saw each other again. Harry was in Manchester, Nick was in Manchester. It was practically fate.
They were to meet up at a mall, because Harry wasn't yet in danger of being swarmed everywhere he went and Nick needed a new pair of jeans.
When Harry told Louis where he was going and who he was going with, Louis had only smirked. He couldn't help but notice how Harry became a 13 year old girl whenever Grimmy was mentioned. Couldn't help but notice whenever Harry turned on Nick's show some nights when he was supposed to be asleep.
Louis knew that Harry had a huge crush on the DJ. It was sort of a casual thing, though: they didn't have time to LIKE like someone they've only just met. But as far as cute little hero worship crushes go, Harry had it bad. Louis just knew it.
"Love you, have fun." Louis was the one to push him out the door. Seeing Harry act so ridiculous and pubescent was adorable. He loved every moment of it, storing it away in a mental scrapbook as to better mock his curly haired friend later.
Harry met Nick in front of a McDonalds. They attempted to share a large fry as they walked through the mall, but Harry was so nervous in Nick's presence that he dropped the lot of them. Nick was not impressed.
Moments later, the two were holed up in the very back corner of a department store Harry wasn't really paying attention to. In hindsight, he wished that he had memorized these scenes when he had been in them. Looking back at it now, it would have been nice.
They left shortly after arriving, because Nick was in a huff for being mistaken as Harry's father, and Harry for resembling Frankie Cocozza.
"We should write a letter of complaint," Nick grumped as they waited in line for an ice cream cone. "Moreso for your sake. I’m just an old bag of bones, but your celebrity pride was just wounded."
"You're not old," Harry said dismissively, eyeing the flavours in the case before him. Somewhere along the way of being angry together, any remaining awkwardness of "what are we even doing" drained away.
Nick scoffed, after receiving his own soft serve. "Says you. You, with your young spry body and your bouncy hair. Some of us are approaching geriatric age. This ice cream is too cold. It's hurting my tooth enamel."
Harry laughed again, finally deciding on black cherry. You could not go wrong with black cherry.
When they had paid and the server handed the ice cream to Harry, Nick surveyed the cone in the younger boys hand.
"What is that?"
"Black cherry."
"Diva."
"Hey," Harry said slowly, licking the ice cream and savouring the flavour.
"Could I have a taste? I've never had the flavour before."
"What about your enamel?"
"It'll be fine. I couldn't call myself a soft serve enthusiast if I didn't have a proper sample of that."
"Go for it?" Harry awkwardly extended his arm a bit, wondering if Nick was just going to lean over and lick it in front of god and this whole crowd of people doing their shopping.
He did. Harry's breath caught in the back of his throat in surprise and he started choking. Nick, like a startled rabbit jumped at the sudden noise and joined Harry in choking.
It was ridiculous, but as soon as they had wiped their wet eyes and regained their breath, they dissolved into hysterics. They were bright red in the face from laughing by the time they rather reluctantly parted ways.
~~~
Shortly after their shopping trip, Nick made Harry wish he were DJ-less altogether. Nick had out of the blue invited him out to a party with his friends, the elite hipsters of London.
And what was he going to do, say no?
No, Harry agreed and he just wore a black sweatshirt because he wasn't aware this was an actual event he was heading to.
An event in which Nick dressed up as some sort of jungle cat, probably a lion. Nick changed his mind as to what his costume was all throughout the night. He prowled around the warehouse the party had started in, and went only too happily onto the streets at the prodding of his friends. Harry trailed behind, laughing in bewilderment at Nick. He had never met anyone more batshit crazy in his whole life, he decided as he watched Nick bat with a stuffed paw at Gwen for the bottle of booze she had stashed in her purse.
When a couple girls who happened to be walking by recognized Harry and asked him for a picture, Harry dragged them away from Nick and his group before posing.
"Too embarrassed to be seen with us, popstar?" Nick had called out, making Harry's eyes crinkle in the probably too dark and too blurry photo the girl took of them on her blackberry. He gave them both a hug, before scurrying after Nick, who hadn't bothered waiting for Harry to finish. He was obviously in a rush to wander the streets like the delinquent teens they weren't.
Harry caught up, slipping in between Nick and the shady looking Patrick, who had been walking a little too close to Nick for Harry's liking.
"Well look who's come crawling back," Nick said crossly, but throwing an arm over Harry's shoulder and pulling him closer into his side. He was smashed, and when Harry slipped an arm around his waist he assured himself that it was only to steady the man.
It probably wasn't, but.
~~~
Harry is playing in Manchester around Christmas 2011. Nick texts him on the 21st, telling him that he knows they're in the same city and that he needs him to come over and save the Grimshaw family Christmas from the ruins it has spiraled into.
It means that he needs Harry to bring them more potatoes. They had run out.
Later, when they're all crowded around a table, having been harassed by Mr Grimshaw because the parsnips were not being peeled to his liking, Harry finally allowed himself to relax. He had been angsting over what dinner with someones parents meant the whole evening, conveniently forgetting that he had 2 missed calls from Caroline in his voicemail.
Christmas dinner was lovely. Nick's dad only called him Henry once, and his mum was much more impressed with Harry than she was with Aimee.
"Fashion Week is coming up soon, you must come with Nick and I." Mrs Grimshaw said, patting Harry's leg amiably.
"Oh mum," Nick groaned and Aimee snorted. "Harry's a big deal popstar. He hasn't got time for us commoners."
"Untrue," Harry laughed. "I've always got time for charity." He carefully avoided the bread roll chucked at him by Nick's niece with his cat-like reflexes.
"He needs to schedule it months in advance. The only reason he's here now is because I light up his world like nobody else and such. Also, because Caroline is my friend and I can tell her some awful story and make sure she never has sex with you ever aga--"
"Grimmy!" Harry exclaimed, turning away from Nick's mum in slight embarrassment to his other side where Nick was sitting. He shoved his hands over Nick's mouth, unable to keep the wide grin imprisoned behind his lips.
This achieved nothing but getting Harry's palms wet. He tore his hands away, looking incredulously at the DJ while the rest of the table was busy busting their guts laughing.
"Did you just lick me?!" The laughing intensified.
~~~
Two days later, Nick and Aimee showed up at One Direction's Manchester show. Harry pretended that seeing Nick jumping around in the crowd of crying teenage girls didn't actually light up his life.
~~~
Throughout all of this, Caroline Flack is a prominent part in Harry's life. It was his fault, really. He was the one who pursued her, despite gentle but firm warnings against it from Simon Cowell and his team. Since coming in 3rd in the x-factor, One Direction needed press, but this was not what they had in mind.
Caroline Flack was in her early thirties; Harry hadn't even hit the legal drinking age. She had that whole effortless persona that Harry desperately wanted to replicate upon his own person. Her legs came down from heaven and went on forever, and she was funny and kind and charismatic. All in all, she had been irresistible to Harry, unfortunately for their PR team.
But as these things go, the only one who was really hurt was Caroline. Harry was propelled to stardom as that 17 year old that fucked the older woman; yeah, that one from the x-factor. Yeah, from that boyband. Most men who he came across grudgingly respected for it, while Caroline was portrayed as a pervert and a pedophile. No one could get out of their business, and the constant conflicts and ridiculous rumours posted in the papers eventually led them to calling it quits at the new year.
One Direction conveniently were scheduled to open for an American boyband at the beginning of 2012. They were trying to break the American market, and it proved a good distraction from the fact that he would never be having sex with Caroline again. Harry was torn up about it.
Big Time Rush was fun. They were good, solid lads with good solid bone structure and one night when they were in Toronto they had gotten spectacularly smashed and Harry had snogged James Maslow a bit because he thought it’d be good banter. Kendall, bless him, told them they’d be a good power couple in the world of boybands and Zayn told Harry if he shagged a member of The Wanted he’d be unstoppable. Harry went back to his hotel room and left a message on Nick’s answering machine, giggling about how rubbish Americans are at kissing.
The boybanders barely escaped each other’s companies with their lives, after a particularly awkward spell where James would promptly leave the room when Harry or Louis entered it. Harry, for obvious reasons. Louis, because he couldn’t (or wouldn't) stop taking the piss and dropping hints about girlfriends, beards and keeping faithful.
And One Direction was going back later that year for a North American tour, because the American girls adored them. They had started out as the opening act for Big Time Rush, but by the end of the tour, Big Time Rush was the closing act for One Direction.
Soon enough, January is almost gone and February is approaching and with it his birthday. Harry is ridiculously excited. He's turning 18, and now he can get as smashed as he wants without anyone bothering him.
It's almost February, and Harry's fresh off the plane from the too long flight back to the UK, and he's pulling out his phone to see a new text from a certain Radio 1 host.
seen you're back on home soil soon, drinks later? x
Harry doubts that Nick knows it's almost Harry's birthday, but he likes how Nick doesn't care that he's underage and a world famous popstar and shouldn't be out drinking with the likes of Nick Grimshaw. Not that Nick's a particularly bad person. Just that Harry should be drinking with supermodels and people of a higher celebrity than Nick.
just got off the plane now, still fancy a drink? :) x
what kind of question is that, i always fancy a drink
~~~
Harry is hanging on Nick's arm, obscuring his face from the crowd in Nick's neck. Nick is guiding him around to the back entrance that they entered through, complaining about protecting his honour and secrecy. Harry secretly hopes that Nick and his friends don’t mind the extra effort they need to put in to hang out with Harry. He doesn't want them to give up on him anytime soon.
When they hail a cab, Harry is still a little unsteady of his feet and Nick chastises him for being unable to hold his liquor.
"Hey," Nick says suddenly, as if it has just occurred to him. "Aren't you too young to be drinking anyways?"
"I turn 18 in a couple of days." Harry slurs, trying to position himself to make himself look slightly more dignified than he's capable of becoming in his inebriated state.
"Really?"
"Yes." Harry laughs, because Nick's face looks all wonky, like he's devising a plan in his head.
~~~
Nick throws Harry a "Happy Birthday You're Now a Legal Adult Here Have a Drink" dinner party. All of Nick's cool friends are in attendance, and they're Harry's now too because they got him presents. Harry is a little put out by the fact that none of the boys are there on his birthday, but Nick assures him that he'd invited them, but they all understood that they needed space. If they didn’t, they might actually kill each other when they went off to France or wherever they were going next.
After Harry is finished opening his last present (a box of trojans, extra large and a ₤5 giftcard for Starbucks from Pixie, “do you even know what 5 pounds looks like?” Harry teases the blonde from across the table), Nick calls for the cheque and he pays for Harry's pasta.
"Nick," Aimee pouts, pulling out her own credit card. "Why don't you ever pay for my meal when we go out?"
"Because I’m a gentleman, and this is mine and Harry's first official date," Nick declares like a proud seven year old, and Harry nearly chokes on his beer even though he knows Nick is joking.
The crowd mostly disperses after they've paid, and Harry's gets a lot of pats on the head and hugs from people he can only distinguish by what they had bought him because he has no idea what their names are. Nick picks up Harry's bag of gifts, and throws it in his car and informs Aimee that they'll meet her at the club. He yanks Harry into his car with him, and he speeds out of the parking lot.
"Where are we going?" Harry asks, popping his knuckles and reaching to fiddle with the radio knob.
Nick slaps Harry's hand away. "We'll drop off your presents at mine then catch a cab back to the club. Unless you want to lug it around London with you."
Harry doesn't want to, so he doesn't make a fuss about practically being kidnapped. Nick sings loudly about igniting the night like the fourth of July, and doesn't let Harry stop laughing for the entire car ride. When they get back to Nick's flat, Nick throws Harry's gifts in through the front door and to the side, phone for a cab already pressed to his ear. He shuts the door, then sits down on the front step and pats the empty concrete beside him.
Harry sits, feeling lighter than he has in ages and already pleasantly tipsy.
"So. How does it feel being an adult? You're just like the rest of us." Nick says, and it sounds loud on the darkened doorstep of Nick's posh neighborhood.
"You're not like the rest," Harry leans his head on Nick's shoulder, and it feels like he's in a romantic comedy. He felt light a second ago, but now he feels too heavy, too aware of his own body, and he's not touching Nick like he wants to be touching Nick. He doesn't know where along the line he had stopped being only vaguely attracted to the man, and started actively wanting him.
"What a line," Nick replies, and he puts an arm around Harry because it's cold and they're sharing body heat. "You're making me swoon."
"I’m the new definition of charmer," Harry says weakly, a random line of Louis' popping into his mind.
Nick snorts, and it seems to ring out across the gray London snow. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Knew you'd eventually try and get in my trousers. Surprised you resisted my good looks for this long, anyway."
Harry picks his head up off of Nick, suddenly deciding, and turns to look at him straight on. "I need you to tell me something, and you need to promise you'll tell the truth."
Nick is picking at his hands, alternating between looking back at Harry and looking down at his cuticles. "Alright, then. What am I telling you?"
Harry bites the inside of his cheek, and looks down at his own hands because the two of them are pre-teens. "Do you ever think about, like, snogging me? ‘cause I do you." it sounds so stupid, he's so stupid, this is so stupid.
Nick pauses. "What?"
"It's fine if you don't," Harry rushes, because he's right, this is stupid. "I was just thinking that'd it be at least worth a go, because you're fit and I like you and I wanted to put that out there." He's staring daggers at his knees, internally willing himself to disappear.
Because that's just the kind of guy Harry is. He doesn't speak often; he's not a rambler except when he thinks he's already said too much. He doesn't speak that much, but he likes to be upfront and honest about things. Because if he fucks something up, it doesn't matter because he'll be halfway across the planet by the next week anyway. He wears his heart on his heart on his sleeve, despite his mum's warnings to do otherwise, because there's a lot of people who will take advantage of that. But that's who he is. It's who he has always been, and always will be. If he likes Nick Grimshaw, he's going to tell Nick Grimshaw and live with the consequences.
Nick's quiet, like he doesn't know what to say, and that's a first. Harry wonders what Nick would do if he just stood up and dissolved into smoke, because that'd be better than rendering Nick unable to speak.
"Oh god," Harry says quietly, and he's really starting to freak out. "Just, forget I said anything. You don't need to reject me. I get it."
"Harry," Nick finally says, and he sounds fucking weak, and Harry made him sound that way. He doesn't say anything else, just takes Harry's hand in his and starts stroking it with his thumb. Nick's hands are shaking a bit, and they both pretend that it's just because it's so cold out.
The cab finally arrives, and they pile in and Nick hasn't answered him verbally, but Harry keeps catching him staring out of the corner of his eye, and he figures that’s an answer in itself.
~~~
It's probably the next day by now, and they're still out and they're dancing. Every single time someone sidles up closer to dance with Harry, Nick will grab Harry by the hand and pull him back into his orbit. It's not a subtle thing, and Nick pulls him close enough that they're almost grinding against the other every time, and Harry's probably going to overdose on the man.
Their friends have slunk off on the arms of people with pupils blown wide, and there's a bad Ke$ha remix blasting through the club. Nick and Harry had been separated by the crowd again, but Harry's drunk enough that he just keeps dancing, slow and dirty with anyone around him.
He feels arms drape around his waist from behind, and Nick's familiar voice is crooning in his ear. "You look so good it's illegal."
Harry laughs, the sound getting lost in the bass but Nick's so close behind him he can probably feel it. He leans his head back onto Nick's shoulders for the second time that night, but this time Harry's arse is pressed against Nick's crotch and he’s exposing his throat. "Not illegal anymore, am I," Harry says darkly, and then they're kissing sideways, Nick's hands on his hips, Harry's arms stretched back behind his head to try and get a grasp on the older man, grinding to the beat.
Nick brings Harry back to his place, muttering about him having left his presents at his house, but they're making out in the cab ride there, so Harry figures he might have ulterior motives. When they've paid the cabbie, they race each other up to Nick's flat, out of breath and laughing loudly by the time Nick shuts his front door behind him.
"I win," Harry pants, back against the wall beside the door where he threw himself the second the door had opened.
"No, I win." Nick laughs breathily, throwing himself at Harry and attacking him with his lips. Harry is ridiculously glad that he had taken the chance and asked if Nick was up for it, because he's in Nick's flat and Nick's leading him into his bedroom clumsily, stumbling every few feet because he has no sense of coordination while simultaneously ravishing someone's mouth with his tongue.
"Whatever, just want you to touch me." Harry grunts, and he pushes Nick down to sit on the edge of his bed, and Harry stands back and tears his own shirt off.
Nick's eyes are hooded as he watches Harry's movements carefully. "Yeah?" Nick reaches out and snatches Harry by the elbow and wrenches him forward forcefully. Harry snaps into place on his lap. "Want me to fuck you?"
Harry readjusts on Nick's lap so he's facing the older man with his legs on either side. "Yes yes yes," he sighs, and Nick's teeth clack against his own because he's smiling as they start kissing again.
"Wanted this for a long time," Nick whispers as he breaks away from Harry's lips, blowing kisses down the side of his neck. Harry whines an incoherent reply, wrapping his arms around Nick's skinny shoulders, pulling their bodies as tight as they can possibly go against each other. Harry's vision feels like it's going black because he is so overwhelmed by the sense of desire to have sex with Nick. He can't even figure out properly what he wants or how he wants it. He just knows that he wants to wake up in the morning sore and bruised and be able to say, "I got fucked by Nick Grimshaw".
Harry's still muttering inarticulately, and he doesn't even know what the syllables escaping his mouth mean. He's grinding his hips up and down on Nick's bulge, which is painfully trying to escape from the confines of the too tight denim that Nick's so fond of. Nick's hands roam Harry's back, almost the same size of Harry's entire shoulder blades and that thought makes him shiver with anticipation. Harry tilts his head back to expose his neck, because a pair of lips are still nipping and biting at the slightly sweaty skin there.
Suddenly, Nick's rising to his feet, cupping Harry's arse and holding him upright. Harry is so surprised by his action that he momentarily stops rutting his hips. He wraps his legs up and around the man and quickly restarts, though, with faster fervour than before.
Nick chuckles, and it's dark and seductive and Harry just wants Nick's dick in his mouth, or in his ass, and he's never been so desperate for it. Despite all the media saying otherwise, Harry is actually usually pretty classy about sex. He treats the girls and boys he fucks with respect, and he kisses them sweetly when he says goodbye in the morning. It's never overwhelming. It's always just logically getting off.
This isn't like that. He might fall apart right there, just by the thought of Nick being inside of him. It’s like all the blowjobs and casual fucking couldn’t have prepared him for this.
Just as suddenly as Nick stood, he's throwing Harry on the bed onto his back, and Harry waits patiently as Nick looms over him, tearing off his clothes. Harry slides out of his own jeans, pulling his pants down with them, and his cock hits his stomach almost comically. It's painful and red and throbbing, and pre-come is already seeping out. But he waits, and he's almost proud of himself for not coming right there as he watches Nick strip.
Nick, now completely naked with an angry looking cock of his own, descends to his knees and starts crawling on top of Harry. In his hand, a bottle of lube and a condom between two fingers like a cigarette has appeared from thin air. He places them both down beside Harry's body, and he leans over and kisses Harry on the lips. It's just a short peck, but it leaves Harry feeling hyper-sensitive all over. Nick sits up, on his knees between Harry's legs, and he pushes them further apart. He dips down, and grasps each of Harry's thighs with both hands, fingers nearly wrapping all the way around. He kisses his way down the crevice, lips ghosting over the tendon connecting his legs to his hips.
"Please, just, please." Harry hears himself whimpering, and Nick looks up from his position between his legs and his brows quirk into the air. Harry can't look at it, just can't. He throws his head up in the pillows, and his hands find the bottle of lube on the bed beside him and he shoves it down on Nick. "I can't..." he trails off, but Nick gets the message. He must remember what it’s like to be 18 and being unable to control his anatomy. He sits up, and the bottle opens with a quiet pop. He slicks his fingers up, and stares Harry down with dark eyes, of which Harry doesn't see. He's got his eyes clenched shut, tense from head to toe.
"Relax, love," Nick coos, and his voice sounds raspy as he presses his fingers to the puckered skin. Harry takes a deep breath, and tries, but jumps when a finger actually slips inside of him.
Nick hisses, "so tight."
Slowly, oh so slowly, Nick works his pointer finger all the way in. He bends it and wiggles it around, until it's deep inside and curled into that small little bundle of nerves and Harry reaches down for the second time and pushes at Nick's hand. "More," he snarls, before falling back again.
Nick's laughing again and muttering about greedy popstars, but he's relenting and he's slipped two more fingers in and tears are slipping past Harry's eyes they're clenched tight so hard. He fucks him with his fingers, gradually working up to a fast and hard pace where Harry's relaxed and loose. Without further warning, Nick pulls his fingers out, and he's tearing into the condom before Harry even has a chance to protest about the sudden emptiness.
He unfurls the condom onto his dick, slicking it up with a generous amount of lube before even thinking about lining up with the boy beneath him. When he does, he slides slowly but surely in, because Nick's more length than he is girth. He's still clasping onto Harry's thighs, but this time it feels more because he needs to hold onto something.
"God, Harry," Nick moans, breath hitching and panting. "You're... I’m..."
"Harder Grimmy," because Nick's not allowed to quit on him now. Nick's not allowed to come before Harry will be sufficiently sore tomorrow.
Nick nods his head, as if accepting the unspoken challenge Harry's given him. He squeezes even tighter onto Harry's legs, and pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in. Harry squeaks, and he would be embarrassed if he could notice anything but the unbelievable pleasure wracking his body and leaving him a shaking mess as he barely held himself from coming with each thrust. Nick repeats, over and over again, inhaling through his teeth as he drops his head beside Harry's, nipping at his ears weakly. Harry can barely feel it, he's feeling so much.
"Nick, I, please," with one hand furrowed in the sheets, one hand tugging on his cock, Harry comes with a throaty groan. Nick looks down, to ensure that Harry has come before somehow fucking into him even faster and harder to chase his own orgasm. Harry tries to squeeze tight around him, but it's difficult when he's feeling so loose and placid.
"Nick," Harry whines, voice breaking at a particularly hard thrust. "I want to suck you off, want you to come in my mouth." Barely a second passes, before Nick's pulling out and ripping the condom off. Harry sits up in eager anticipation, and they switch positions with Nick on his back, and Harry between his legs. Nick looks positively wrecked, flushed and sweating, clearly already almost over the edge. Harry is briefly impressed that he'd had the control to pull out at all, and he shows his appreciation by swallowing nearly the whole thing in one go.
It takes only the head hitting the back of Harry's throat once before Nick's spilling with a shaky yell. Harry takes care to swallow it all down, milking all of the bitter liquid before pulling off with a slurp. He wipes his lips off with a grin, before crawling on top of Nick, who is panting like he's just run a marathon.
"Hi," Harry says cheerfully, attaching his lips to Nick's. They stay like that for a moment, Nick's arms wrapped around the birthday boy, quietly kissing as their heartbeats caught up with them.
When Nick pulls back first, the smile on his face is soft and affectionate. "Hi."
~~~
The morning after leaves Nick groaning about his hangover until Harry goes down on him again. Harry says it's just to get him to shut up and stop complaining, but it's really not. Nick doesn't kiss him after, because he says his breath smells like a long night out and Harry's smells like dirty cock. Harry giggles, because Nick's so funny and cool and interesting and he really likes Nick. There’s a pain in Harry’s lower back and he’s sore in that way that he can’t stop thinking about why he’s sore. He’s happy to bear the pain.
Later, when they've both brushed their teeth and they're sitting naked on Nick's couch with a cup of tea, Nick kisses him. He sets his cup down on the coffee table, then snatches Harry's just as he's taking a sip and puts it down beside it. He curls his fingers into Harry's hair, and pulls him close and kisses him. He kisses him and then pulls away for the briefest moment to shove his hair out from his eyes and take a sip of tea and then kisses him again.
10 minutes later when it's Nick turn to be going down on Harry, it occurs to the younger man just how much trouble he's actually in. Twisting fingers up in Nick's hair as he bobs in between his legs, he realizes how far gone he already is.
When Harry's close, Nick pulls off and jerks him lazily the rest of the way, kissing the head gently before sitting back up. Harry's about to insist on reciprocating, but it's at that moment when Nick notices the time.
"Shit," he says looking gloomily over at the antique grandfather clock ticking on the other side of the room. "I've got a meeting to get to, love." He stands up, and Harry stands with him, looking a bit panicked.
"A meeting? For what?" Harry demands sadly, feeling clingy and annoying.
Nick's staring down, and sighs dissatisfied with his neglected semi. "We do have meetings, you know. I don't just show up at night and capture the hearts of all my listeners through improvisation, young Harold."
" 'm not that young," Harry grumbles, but he sits back down huffily to say, go on then. He stares at his own stomach, which is covered in quickly drying cum but he can't bring himself to trail after Nick, who has moved to the bathroom to have a shower.
Harry somehow ends up sitting there for as long as it takes for Nick to shower, dry and style his hair, and get dressed without moving from his slouch on the sofa. When Nick comes back, he looks at the sulking popstar and shakes his head with an exasperated smile.
"Relax, Harry." He leans down and pecks the boy on the cheek. "I'll be back in an hour or two so we can have a chat about what we've gotten ourselves into."
At this, Harry perks up. "Really?" He looks up at Grimmy suspiciously.
Nick is fiddling with his bracelets and nods his head airily. "Don't expect too much, though. I’m proper shit at romantic entanglements that don't involve us being properly entangled." He turns away, and walks towards out of the room. Before the front door closes behind him, Nick hollers, "you can stay here, if you want to wait."
~~~
Harry waits.
~~~
Nick returns three hours later, rushing through the door in a flurry of movement and Starbucks.
"Sorry, traffic was, ugh." he swoops down and kisses Harry on the lips, and wow that’s new, before setting the tray of their drinks down on the chaise in front of them. He looks at the younger with a smirk on his face. "Did you just sit here the whole time?"
"No," Harry replies snatching his drink eagerly. "I got dressed. Cleaned the spunk off of me. Then came back to watch weird documentaries."
Nick nods knowingly, sitting down with a bit of space between them. "That sentence describes the whole of my teenage years."
They're quiet for a moment, the sounds of a somber man explaining the dangers of alcoholism ringing from the TV and bouncing off their ears. Harry sighs deeply, then breaches the topic.
"So... what's going to happen then?"
"With us?"
"Yes."
Nick's still staring at the television, but his eyes seemed glazed. "I reckon you'll be out of the country a lot." and Harry's heart stutters.
"I will be."
"But I don't think there's anyone else I really fancy being with while you're away. And I don't think we should be exclusive or boyfriends or anything, but you know." Nick takes a sip of his tea, and his hand is shaking. "I’m not asking you to be celibate. While you're in London, I'll be there. That sound good?"
Harry smiles down at his tea clenched in his hand, and his eyes wrinkle and his dimples appear. "You have no idea."
Nick glances towards Harry, but only for a second before staring back at the TV, like he'd lost his nerve. Harry notices, of course he notices. He slides over on the couch, eliminating the space between their thighs, and resting his head on Nick's shoulder.
He can feel Nick's smile even if he can't see it.
~~~
On February 8th, Harry drives up to Manchester to have dinner with his parents. They go to a nice Italian restaurant, and Harry’s really missed them. Even so, he can’t bring himself to ask normal questions and talk about normal things because he just can’t stop talking about funny things Nick’s done and funny things Nick’s said. He orders a glass of red and he gets his mum to take a picture of him and the glass to send to him.
Anne and Robin aren’t stupid. After exactly the 6th time that Harry drops the Nick bomb in a consecutive row, they’ve both got that secretive smile spilling across their faces. Harry barely notices; so caught up in a story that Nick told him about why he isn’t too fond of hot beverages.
Fun fact, Nick informed Harry of how much he disliked tea as he was brewing a pot for the both of them, saying he didn’t much mind it when the younger boy was drinking it with him.
At the end of the night, Anne sidles up to her son after he’s insisted on paying the bill.
“So,” she says quietly, linking her arm in his. “How long have you been dating him?”
“What?” Harry asks, a little lost at the best of times.
Anne shakes her head, smiling fondly. “Nick, of course.”
Harry furrows his brows almost comically. “What?” He repeats.
Anne stares serenely at Robin, who is fussing over how he should tip their kind waitress. Harry’s fairly certain that the waitress had only been nice to them because she had wanted to sleep with Harry, if her phone number on his napkin had meant anything at all, but he hadn’t the heart to tell his stepdad. The look in her eyes is kind of nice. Harry was young, but he remembers his dad leaving. He sees the juxtaposition between Anne looking at Des, and Anne looking at Robin.
He’s vaguely sure that he occasionally has the same look on his face when looking at Nick, but that’s a thought he can’t afford when he’s going on a North American tour in a month.
“Alright, you don’t need to tell me now.” Anne finally says, as Robin makes his way over to the two brunettes.
“I’m not dating Nick,” Harry replies, firmly but cheeks colouring lightly. He’s not embarrassed.
Anne’s still not looking directly at Harry, respecting his space because she knows how little privacy he does get. She doesn’t press the matter, and he doesn’t bring it up again that night.
~~~
The lads dump ice on him while he’s getting a massage. Nick can’t stop laughing when Harry gets back to London.
~~~
Harry and Nick go to a Super Bowl party and they can't keep their hands from brushing the other's skin. But soon after, One Direction sets off to go to France. Harry doesn't know if Nick would be allowed to bring him to the airport, and he wouldn't know how to ask him even if he was. When the car picks he and Louis up at their shared flat, his lips are chapped and red and aching from the older man on their kerb who insisted on calling a cab.
France is fun, and windy and sunny and considerably warm for February. One night, Louis steals his phone tries to count his texts to Nick from that day alone. Louis eventually gives up, because he's grown bored from scrolling up so far. He tells Harry that he's totally obsessed and Nick better know what he's getting into. Zayn asks for Grimmy's number to give him The Talk, and Harry refuses to give it to any of them.
Nick's his. If he had his way, no one would talk to Grimmy but him. That's not weird. That's not clingy. That's not exclusive.
They're spending most of Valentine's Day in France, and Nick sends him five texts before he even wakes up.
you're in the city of love on valentine's day? you are a cliche, Harry Styles
a really cute cliche
I’m going to go make out with my pillow
and have a wank
♥♥♥ happy valentines day ♥♥♥
Harry nearly falls out of bed giggling and before he's got a chance to open his mouth Louis' complaining about him being sickening. Later that day, Zayn and Niall will agree with Louis because Harry doesn't stop swooning over his phone. Liam thinks it's sweet. Not the wanking part, just the other stuff.
we're actually coming back tonight, meet up around 9? :) x
maybe i already have a hot date? this is valentine's day after all
:(
grouchos?
:)
~~~
It's cooler in London, and Nick's brought that stupid leather portfolio purse instead of an actual wallet or a normal looking bag. Harry has to be up early to record a bit for something or other, but he doesn't really care because Nick's face lit up when Harry walked into the club and he's inviting Harry back to his place in a hushed voice.
He doesn’t say no.
~~~
Harry's at home when he gets the call, staring down at his phone menacingly before him on the kitchen table. He doesn't want to send another text to Nick. He refused. He had already sent three in the past hour, with no reply. Harry felt himself slowly becoming that obsessive compulsive significant other that Nick would go out to a bar with his friends (sans Harry) and complain about as he got more and more drunk off of wine, because Nick's overdramatic and wine suits that. In the midst of his complaining, Nick will spot a cute young boy at the other end of the bar sitting alone, and Nick will catch his eye because the boy is cute and more experienced than Harry and less likely to send him several good morning texts every single day, and he doesn't have his own personal paparazzi's. Nick will knock back his shot (because Nick's not drinking wine anymore in this daydream) and he'll go walk up to the boy and say something devastatingly witty and charming and the boy will fall madly in love with him on the spot and they'll start snogging right there in front of everyone and they'll have sex and get married and leave that annoying little popstar in his dust.
Or something.
While Harry's already pondering the lyrics to a song he'll write that he's pretty sure he's ripped off from a Death Cab for Cutie song about heartache and pain, when his phone starts blaring. He jumps, nearly falling out of his seat in the process.
But instead of Nick calling, it was some number he didn't recognize. With a 161 area code. Half of him was worried that some fan had gotten his number (it wouldn't be the first time), the other half was wondering who he knew in Manchester who'd be calling him.
Whatever. He answered it. And he was glad he did.
~~~
Stella Mccartney's party at London Fashion Week was possibly the most fun Harry had ever had anywhere that the whole point was to look at clothing. He was well armed with Nick at his elbow, and Nick's mum tutting about hemlines and necklines at his other-- Harry wasn't sure which one she was talking about.
When they sat down for the dinner at 8, Harry could see that Nick was just barely holding himself together. Every couple of minutes, he'd put down his cutlery and openly stare at Kanye West, or Rihanna, before resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder, as if he couldn't hold his excitement back.
Harry tried to tell himself that it was anything other than absolutely endearing. It didn't work very well. Harry was charmed, because Nick was charming. They were really suited for each other in that sense. They were equally charmed by the other.
At least, Harry hoped so.
Later on, after the whole levitating thing with the models had already happened, Harry and the Grimshaws made their way out to the lingering people, crowding the main hall with quiet chatter and haughty laughter. Harry kept glancing at the older man, and he could tell he adored everything going on around him. Nick might be a radio host, but he was a socialite first. He'd be well suited for Gossip Girl.
Nick made his rounds around the room, pointedly ignoring any celebrities that even he couldn't muster up the courage to go and talk to ("just go talk to her, Nick!" "What, just walk up and say, 'oh hey Rih-Rih, lovin' the hair. You wanna get drinks after this'? Get real Harry!")
Most people in the room were too enamored by their own bloated sense of self-importance, and barely acknowledged the three Northerners. But an old woman, tied tight into her corseted dress, commented kindly that Harry and Nick made a very handsome couple.
"Oh, don't they just!" Nick's mum interjected from behind them, wrapping an arm around each of them. "Such a shame they haven't actually gotten together!"
Nick was looking at Harry across his mother's head, a careful look in his eyes that made Harry feel like blushing. "Me and Harry? Nah, this one's too good for me."
Later, when they've left the show and Nick's mum is on her way home and Nick's stupidly expensive suit is meticulously folded and ready for dry cleaning, Harry kisses his way up Nick's body. It's lazy and they both stink like boy and champagne, and Nick's extended presence in his life always makes Harry feel like he has extra nerve receptors on the tips of his fingers and in the curls of his hair.
"I’m not, you know," Harry murmurs, and he knows as soon as he says it that Nick doesn't have the faintest clue what he's talking about. " 'm not too good for you."
Nick huffs a laugh, and his face says is that really relevant right now? "Well it's not like I’m too good for you." he says instead.
"Yes you are."
"You're insufferable. Maybe I am too good for you."
"Hey."
~~~
A few days later, Harry's nervous about the Brits. He spends a lot of his time with the boys, more so than he usually would when he doesn't necessarily need to. He avoids Nick's calls, cuts down to only texting him back a few times a day, and only sending one word answers when he does. He doesn't want Nick to have to deal with him when he's nothing but a jittery pile of nerves. Doesn't want to make Nick spend time with him, because Harry knows he's not up to having sex or being a partner in a relationship. He knows himself.
But with only days to the Brits, Nick shows up at Harry and Louis' flat with a determined look on his face. Louis slinks to his bedroom, a knowing smile on his face because he had been the one who had called Nick and told him he needed to rescue Harry.
Nick forces Harry into reasonably nice clothes, telling him he's not going out with him if he looks like a heathen. Harry protests that he doesn't want to go out at all, a point Nick completely ignores. He throws shoes at the younger boy, and is gliding out the door in a flurry of quiff.
Harry, pulling on his shoes, is helpless against it and nearly sprints after the man.
They make out in the elevator a bit, only because they haven't seen each other in a few days and Harry really forgot how much he likes to make out with Nick. When they're deposited out at the bottom, Nick guides Harry out of the building and down the street to where Aimee's parked illegally, waiting for them. They climb into the old BMW, the one that Harry thinks that they only bought because it was so old and beat up and ugly it was somehow ironic.
"Heard you've been avoiding Grimmy's calls," Aimee looks sternly at the popstar, using her serious face with a serious expression.
Harry hangs his head down, and he can feel Nick's body vibrating with a laugh because they're pressed so closely together in the backseat. "Yes ma'am."
At that, Aimee snorts. " "Ma'am", Jesus. You're dating a teenager, did you know that Grimmy?
"Hey," Harry says, in that barely audible decibel of his just as Nick calls out "not anymore, he's not!"
Aimee drives the two of them to Greenwich Peninsula and, drops them off in front of the O2 where the Brits are being held. Nick waves Aimee off, telling her that they'll be fine from then.
Taking Harry's hand firmly in his, Nick walks him up to the front doors of the arena. Inside the doors, Harry can hear people bustling inside and preparing things for the rather prestigious award show going on in little more than two days. But the outside is remarkably quiet, with no one around for as far as Harry can see.
They don't go in, they just look up at the building. Taking in sheer size of the arena looming over him, Harry starts to feel panic set in, but Nick's prepared for that. All he has to do is stroke his thumb over Harry's hand, intertwined in his for a strange sense of peace to settle into the 18 year olds very bones.
"You excited?" Nick said, after giving Harry a minute to settle his heartbeat. He spoke softly, and he delivered the words with an inflection that Harry had never heard come from the older man. He wasn't Grimmy, radio show host, DJ, and social butterfly. He was just Nicholas Peter Grimshaw, and he wanted to comfort a boy who he cared about.
"Yeah," Harry's voice was shaking, and he mentally cursed himself. But instead of laughing, or pushing him away, Nick pulled him in closer, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder without a word.
They stood like that. Just, staring at the building in front of them. They had both been to plenty of functions and events, and been up for even more awards, but none had felt so important to Harry than the one he was currently nominated for. There was really no chance of them winning. They were up against the likes of Adele. Adele, who had never lost a fan-voted award. Ever.
But that didn't really matter, did it? There’d be other awards. Harry was sure, that as he rested his head and snuggled into the neck of his boyfriend that even if they did lose, it would still be okay.
~~~
They didn't lose.
It wasn't okay; it was phenomenal. Astounding. Extraordinary. Fantastic. Marvelous. Miraculous. Outstanding. Preternatural. Prodigious. Remarkable. Sensational. It was a moment unparalleled in their career up to that point.
Harry thanks Radio 1 in the acceptance speech. He holds up the award to where he knows Nick is seated, and even though he can't really see him through the spotlights shining brightly on their faces, he likes to pretend that he can see Nick jumping up and down and buzzing.
He has to go sit back down at the One Direction table, which is loaded with booze. Nick comes over anyways, but only to give them all a quick congratulations before he's shuffled back to his table.
James Corden teases Harry about loving cougars.
Nick texts him a minute after he hears it.
james really has no idea just how right he is
~~~
Harry gets really, really drunk. So do the rest of the boys (save for Liam). They have to be up at 10 the next day, but they've just won a Brit Award.
Nick meets up with the boys at the after party in Mayfair, and Harry practically jumps into his arms in his excitement. But not too long after they’re reunited, Paul is pulling Harry gently away from the DJ, telling Harry that he needs to be getting home soon because of their early morning.
He frowns at Paul, but relents. He pats Nick on the arm, because the room is filled with cameras and eyes that are documenting One Direction’s every move.
Harry goes back to his flat. Nick turns up not 20 minutes later.
~~~
Harry sometimes thinks he falls in love frustratingly too fast.
In order for a relationship to work (or so he's heard), you need to be able to look at the person you allegedly love and understand that things won't always be perfect. That this person you're committing to is not a perfect person, and that they're gonna fuck up somewhere along the line.
Harry's in a perpetual state of heart eyes. Regardless of whom it is, or how long he's known them, the second Harry decides that he wants to give it a try he's convinced that they're his soul mate. It really fucks with him.
Minutes after the boys were put together in a boyband on X-Factor, Harry decided that he was going to be in love with Louis. That he was going to turn 18 and marry Louis Tomlinson because he was so funny and hilarious and quite fit and he seemed to like Harry.
Louis' sexuality invariably got in the way. He told the newly 17 year old boy when he proclaimed his love to him that he'll always be his best friend and that he loved him, but he wasn't in love with him.
The problem with falling in love too quickly is that you get your heart pulverized by people who didn't feel nearly as strongly as he. While he was busy trying to insert meaning into mundane actions and gestures performed by whoever he was currently obsessing with, they were obliviously living their own lives, and being unaware of the occasionally crushing affection of the curly haired boy.
No one in the party was ever to blame. None of them could help it.
With Nick, it was different. They were friends (just friends) first, and that really fucked with Harry's usual M.O. They had been friends and had slipped into this "Not Boyfriends" so fast that Harry didn't really have the time or the common sense to decide anything. He never consciously decided that Nick was his soul mate. Never went out of his way to put meaning in the way Nick remembered his order at Starbucks or texted him first or always knew what to say whenever Harry was feeling small, or insignificant, or overcrowded, or whatever range of emotions the average popstar must deal with.
Just, one day he was sitting with Louis and watching Louis talk to Eleanor on the phone. Louis must have felt Harry's eyes on him, because he turned and grinned at him. Harry returned it, and they just sat there grinning stupidly at each other. Because they were best friends. Harry loved him, but not as anything more than what Louis could take. He wasn't in love with Louis, because he was head over heels in love with Nick.
The realization hit him in the stomach like a freighter train. The smile dropped off of his face, and Louis' brows furrowed in concern.
"Hold on El," he said, putting a hand up to the mouthpiece. "What’s wrong?"
If Harry hadn't already been sitting, he would have fallen. His knees felt weak. "I’m in love with Nick, aren't I?"
Louis stared at him for a moment, before he's cracking up and turning back to his phone. Like it’s not even something to discuss. "Did you just figure that out now, mate?"
~~~
They’re running out of time together, and they both know it. Nick leaves his phone on the bed unlocked when he gets up one morning to get Harry a cup of tea and he a coffee. Harry picks it up, because he’s drowsy and sleepy and the light is too bright for 8 am.
One Direction tour dates appear before him, and Harry has to scroll down because the list just keeps going. It’s overwhelming, and it hits him so suddenly that his eyes are welling up and his chest starts to hurt before he even realizes what is going on. He loves his job. He loves travelling. He loves being on tour.
It’s just that before now, Harry’s never been leaving anything behind. He’s never had something he was actively afraid of being without. His grasp on Nick was tenuous at best, and that was when he had the time to spend half of their time together. Nick was a breeze on a hot day, one moment he’d be there, the next he’d be gone. He didn’t know what—didn’t know how--- how could he go from a month of nearly overdosing on the man to quitting him completely?
He’s breaking down when Nick walks back in the room, yawning widely with steaming mugs in his hand. When he see’s Harry’s puffy eyes, he nearly drops the cups in his haste to rush over.
“Love, what’s wrong?”
And Nick sinking to the bed beside him and looking sad and concerned and afraid and desperate is the exact wrong thing that Harry needs right now. Harry gets teary-eyed at sad commercials, he doesn’t need the person he’s in love with destroying any remaining claims to ‘keeping it together’. He throws himself at the older man, getting halfway stuck in the bedsheets in his haste to not be so achingly alone anymore. Nick catches him, nearly falling backwards onto the floor, but miraculously maintains his balance.
And Harry’s properly crying now. Awful, gut-clenching sobs that threaten to tear his lungs from his chest and out his throat. Because it’s February 23, and he needs to be in Chicago tomorrow and he knows that he’s leaving behind something that he’s always been told to never let go of. And he’s only just realized it.
Nick keeps whispering a mantra of “it’s okay” and “are you okay” and it would be funny if Harry was the type of person who could move from sorrow to joy in a heartbeat like Nick was.
Harry can’t figure out how to answer him. He doesn’t know how to articulate whatever he is feeling right now. It’s not like he thinks that he’ll forget Nick when he’s gone, or Nick will forget him. It could work. They could make it work. They could have Nick fly out between cities, and they could hold hands when the cameras weren’t looking. They could have sex in empty hotel rooms with his best friends the next room over wishing they couldn’t hear what they would be doing to each other. They could spend enough time with the other that when Nick boarded the plane back to England, their desire and their sense of loss would be diminished, even slightly.
Maybe it’s the smaller part of him that knows that they would never allow it that was making him break. Maybe it was a culmination of many things; exhaustion, stress, anger, love. Maybe he was just feeling too much. Nick had a tendency to invoke that reaction.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. All he knew is that amidst all his sobbing, amidst all the tears and Nick’s flustered half-promises, amidst the heaves that wracked his body, only one syllable could escape quivering lips to articulate his feelings:
“No.”
~~~
Harry stops crying. Nick kisses the tears away, lips brushing against his cheeks and his continued quiet words batter Harry’s heart even further.
He says thank you, straightens himself out. He puts his clothes from last night back on. Ties his shoes. Fixes his hair.
They don’t have sex. Harry says goodbye. Nothing else, just goodbye.
Nick holds eye contact for longer than usual when he’s standing with him at the door, biting his lips as if he’s trying to stop himself from saying too much.
Harry’s “I Love You” is unspoken. They both hear it; neither acknowledge. Harry flees too quickly to see if it’s reciprocated.
Nick doesn’t text first. They don’t speak again until April.
~~~
March is lonely.
March is the UK leg, but it is not home. Cold mornings and cold evenings with colder days in between. Niall asks him often what’s going on with him, and Louis just watches him with a sad look on his face. A look that says, “you fucked up.”
Harry knows that, doesn’t need anyone reminding him.
They get to sleep in their own beds in the start of April because they’re playing in London, but there’s still nothing but silence from the DJ. Harry’s not sure what they’re really doing here; he didn’t expect an entire month to pass with no communication. He thought Nick would have texted by now. Thought he would have called. But now that it’s been so long, if Harry rang him up out of the blue it’d be weird. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he missed him first.
They play in Manchester, and he knows something’s really wrong when an entire city makes him miss Nick. He briefly considers visiting Nick’s parents. Figures that’d be a bit weird, seeing as he hasn’t spoken to their son for weeks.
Harry likes April a lot better than he liked March. March seemed to drag on; April went quickly and it’s mostly because he had Australia to tide him over. It’s his second time there, and properly describing just how much he actually likes the continent is difficult for him; he is a man of few words.
So he just goes on boats and swims and sunbathes in his spare time (because it’s properly hot), and aggressively takes pictures of things that he’ll tell his mum and Nick about when he gets back home.
~~~
Not long before they’re due to come back from their Aussie leg of the tour, Harry gets a text from probably the last person he’s expecting. As the weeks passed, he had gradually lost hope that Nick would text him, and he was a little bit mortified. Nick had said that he didn’t want to be involved with him when he was on tour. He told himself he was just respecting Grimmy’s wishes by not contacting him either.
That is, until Matt Fincham texts him.
~~~
Harry’s feeling pretty sheepish as he enters the bar through the back way. Not because of the secrecy, no. He’s way too used to that. He feels embarrassed because Matt Fincham is waiting inside with a probably not drunk Nick Grimshaw, who has no idea that Harry is coming. It’d be easier if he was drunk. Nick’s a sweet drunk. He gets very smiley and he can’t keep his hands off of anyone.
Harry’s not sure he’s ready to face a sober Nick after almost two months of complete silence. He’s spent the two months having conversations with Nick in his head, and compulsively planning on how he’d apologize and sweep Nick off his feet again. He never got very far after “get him drunk.” Thus why he hadn’t spoken to him in two months.
But Matt had said that Nick was irritable and grumpy all the time. Said how he’d always complain about pop-culture references, and that he’d become a bit of a recluse, but that he’d been extra chatty lately, and would linger in the studio longer than he really needed to be.
That he seemed lonely.
Harry hadn’t really needed any more convincing than that, and he arranged to meet Matt and Nick at a bar the night he returned from tour. He was absolutely exhausted, and he had spilt a bit of his lunch on his jumper, but there he was, slinking into the practically deserted bar.
He saw Nick before Nick saw him. And Matt had been right, he did look different. It was almost imperceptible, and Harry was sure that he would not have noticed if he had seen Nick everyday for the past little while. He looked a bit thinner, his cheeks just a bit more drawn and his skin stretching tighter over his jaw. His quiff looked a bit deflated and frazzled, as if he had been running his hand through it too much. He was wearing an old cardigan that Harry liked to steal, and he was wearing those fake, stretchy jeans. They were a good imitation, but Harry had helped him buy them and had made fun of him for buying jeggings enough that he could recognize them even from a distance.
He had 5 seconds to observe Nick before the older man noticed him lurking in the doorway.
Grimmy’s eyebrows popped up, and his mouth fell open. He was in the middle of what looked like a rather heated conversation with Matt, but the second he saw Harry it was like the producer simply ceased to exist.
Harry was glued to his spot. He could barely breathe, let alone walk over.
Nick blinked once, then twice. Something softened in his expression, and he nodded once before sliding off of the barstool. Harry could see his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he closed in on Harry, arms outstretched and ready to engulf him before he was even halfway to him. Briefly, very briefly, Harry suspected that the man was going to attack him, or slap him, or knee him in the groin.
He didn’t. The second he was within reach, Nick’s arm closed around him and he was breathing in hair gel and chanel.
~~~
They've settled themselves down at the bar, ignoring everyone and everything around them. Harry sort of thinks that it's a fitting metaphor for their entire relationship. Matt Fincham's fucked off somewhere, and the bar is pretty empty to begin with. This is not a place where young singles go to get wasted and have sex with someone in the bathroom. This is a bar where sad people go to drink away their troubles. The dinginess is irrelevant when the drinks keep flowing.
Harry orders a pint, but doesn't drink it when he receives it. He and Nick are just sitting there beside the other, each completely silent as they stare at their hands.
Harry doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to begin. Nick may have hugged him, but that's not a good enough indicator of how he feels about him. Nick hugs everyone. Doesn't mean he wants to be with them.
"So," Nick's voice sounds cracked and he sounds weak. "How was your trip? Australia, huh?"
Harry twists his body to look at the man. "It was okay. It's very hot there."
Nick's looking back at him, and Harry sees his eyes move across his body. "You're all tan."
"I got a spray-on."
Nick snorts, but looks threateningly at Harry, as if he hadn't meant to laugh. "You're an idiot."
Harry looks back down at his hands, and they're quiet again. The sounds of clinking glasses and quiet conversation surround them, and Harry feels just as lonely as he ever did. He wants to reach out and kiss the man, or put an arm around him, or fix his quiff, or something but that's something he doesn't feel like he can do. Nick feels closed off. Private. Out of bounds.
"Fincham told me I should talk to you." Nick says it so quietly, that Harry's half-convinced that he's only imagined it. He peeks through his lashes at the DJ, and Nick's tapping a coaster against the bar.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." The tapping increases in tempo. "I think he thinks I like you, or somewhat."
Harry's breathing matches the taps. "What an idea."
"I know, right?" Nick takes a deep breath, and flicks the coaster back onto the bar, and he turns to face Harry. He reaches out and spins Harry so they're looking directly at each other. Harry frowns, but before he can ask what Nick's doing, the man continues. "And initially, I told him that he's a sod, but then I realized that this vile thing he's accusing me of isn't at all that appalling."
At Nick's expectant look, Harry's frown just deepens. "I don't quite follow."
Nick chuckles, and he quickly sweeps a finger down Harry's face. "What I'm saying is, I like you."
Nick's still looking at him, but now he looks like he thinks he's just solved world hunger. He looks so unbelievably pleased with himself, and Harry can't tell if he wants to kiss the smile off his face or punch it off.
"You like me?" Harry repeats, and he's never heard himself sound more unsure and meek.
Nick's grin starts to falter, and that's what makes Harry's mind up for him. He hasn't seen this man for days and days and days, and he doesn't want him to frown. He doesn't want him to be unhappy, and he wants nothing more than to make Nick feel good.
Harry leans into Nick's hand, which is still stroking his face. He closes his eyes, and he can't stop a smile from growing on his own face. "Good thing I like you too."
"I know it's not much," Nick continues, and it's easier to smile when he can't see his face. "But it's all I have to offer you."
This startles Harry. He opens his eyes, and catches Nick's. "Do you mean that?"
"Mean what?"
"You're offering... you?"
Grimmy grimaces, and he looks puzzled. "Is that what you want?"
All at once, a sense of nearly overwhelming fondness surges through the younger man's body. The time apart had done nothing to lessen those feelings, as Harry had both been dreading and hoping for. In lieu of having Nick actually be there with him, he had started to simply entertain the notion of an imaginary Grimmy that he could think about whenever he missed him. When Matt had contacted him, he was so caught up in this shadow of the man before him, that he had been nervous that he had made Nick out to be something better in his head.
He didn't. Real Nick was better than fake Nick. And if Nick's offering himself to be his boyfriend, he's going to take this for what it is; a gift beyond what his imagination ever could have possibly cooked up.
"It's all I ever wanted." Harry tells him truthfully, and their smiles are mutually brilliant.
~~~
Harry texts his mum.
okay. i have a boyfriend. ;P