Chapter Text
Harry sat on the third step of the staircase, knees tucked to his chest, sweater sleeves pulled over his fingers. The hallway light cast long shadows across the polished wood floors.
From here, he could see just a sliver of the kitchen, the fridge light glowing against the tiles, his mother's shadow pacing in sharp lines. The air smelled like garlic and lemon dish soap, but beneath it, there was something else: tension. Stale and thick, like the hour before a storm.
Then came the crash.
A plate? Maybe a mug.
Followed by the sharp sting of his father's voice: "You went behind my bloody back!"
Harry flinched, breath catching.
From the kitchen, his mother fired back, low and tight with fury. "Because you wouldn't listen, Desmond! You refused to see him- really see him."
Des's voice boomed again, ricocheting off the walls.
"He's a boy, Anne! Our son! And you're filling his head with this- this nonsense? Pumping him full of drugs like some goddamn lab experiment?"
Harry blinked hard, eyes stinging. His fingertips dug into the fabric of his sleeves until his knuckles went white. His name hadn't been said yet but it didn't need to be. They were talking about him. Again.
"It's not nonsense," Anne snapped, her voice shaking now. Not with fear, but with restraint. "He's trans. He's not your version of a son, Des, and he hasn't been for a long time. You were too busy idolizing Alex to notice what was happening right in front of you."
Then the paper thin sound of disbelief and betrayal in Des's voice: "You forged my signature."
Silence. A long one.
Then, finally Anne's voice, small and sharp like a hairline crack in glass: "Yes. I did. To get him on blockers. To stop the bleeding. The self hate. I'd do it again if I had to."
The words knocked the wind out of Harry's chest. He gripped the banister tighter.
He could picture it: the prescription pad, the clinic's cold waiting room, the nurse with soft eyes and a neutral voice asking him how he felt. Not why. Just how. Anne had held his hand the entire time. Now she was fighting for him again, louder than she ever had.
Des's voice dropped to something more dangerous. "I'm taking this to court, you had no right."
A gust of wind slammed against the front door just as the knob twisted open. Alex, still in his muddy cleats, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, stepped into the entryway. He froze when he spotted Harry on the stairs. His brow knit.
"What the hell's going on?" he asked, loud enough to carry.
Harry didn't answer. Couldn't.
From the kitchen, chairs scraped against tile. Footsteps stormed toward the foyer. Des appeared first, face red and raw with rage. He looked at Alex like he had forgotten he existed.
"Your mother," Des spat, "has been hiding things from me. About your brother."
Alex blinked. "What things?"
Anne came next, her arms crossed, face pale but determined. Her voice didn't waver.
"She forged my name," Des growled. "Signed off on hormone treatments. She's been turning Harry into a girl."
The words hit the air like poison. Harry felt his stomach twist, heat crawling up his throat.
Alex's gaze flicked between them all his sweaty hair sticking to his temples, still breathing heavily from practice. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. He looked at Harry, then back to Des, then to Anne.
"Are you serious?" he finally muttered.
Harry stood up slowly, feeling the weight of all of them crushing his ribcage. His voice barely came out.
"I asked her to," he whispered, barely audible. "It was me."
They all turned to him.
Des's mouth curled into something between a scoff and a snarl. "You're a confused boy, Harry. You don't even know what you're asking for."
Anne stepped in front of Des, shielding Harry behind her. "Don't talk to him like that. You lost the right the second you turned your back."
The room was trembling. Or maybe it was just Harry's knees.
Alex looked between them one more time, then silently walked up the stairs passing Harry, without saying a word.
The silence that followed was so much worse than the shouting.
: :
The hallway felt colder than usual.
It probably wasn't. Something in the air felt off- thinner, tighter. Like all the oxygen had been sucked out, or maybe just the part Harry could breathe.
He kept his head down as he walked, hoodie up, sleeves pulled down over his fists. The grey fabric hung low over his eyes, casting a half shadow across his face. He'd gotten used to this routine blending in, walking quietly, existing in the blind spots of everyone else's day.
But today was different.
Today, everyone remembered he existed.
The whispers started before he even reached his locker. A hum of sound behind him, not quite voices at first. Just movement. Eyes. Then the actual words trickled in some curious, others sharp like blades with sugar coating.
"Did you hear?"
"Yeah, seriously... like, hormones and everything."
"Wait, that's Alex Styles' brother, right?"
Harry's stomach turned. He didn't look up. Didn't need to. He'd been through this before school rumor mills, the way they latched onto personal tragedy like vultures with good gossip sense. Only this time, it wasn't just a bad haircut or a failed exam. This time, it was him. His body. His identity.
He fumbled with the lock, metal cold against his shaking fingers. Twisting the combination was muscle memory by now, but his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
"Hey," a voice said beside him, soft, warm, out of place in the static air.
Harry flinched, heartbeat skipping. Then, relief. Niall. Hair a little windblown, backpack slipping off one shoulder, his breath clouding in the cold.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
Harry shrugged, eyes fixed on the dented locker door. "Fine."
Niall didn't push, but he didn't leave either. He leaned slightly against the neighboring locker, casting a sideways glance that didn't demand, just waited.
"I didn't say anything," he said finally. "If you were wondering. I heard from someone who... probably shouldn't have known."
Harry let out a breath, but it was more deflation than relief. "Everyone knows."
"Yeah," Niall said, and his voice was quieter now. Not nervous, not unsure, just soft. Honest. "I heard, and... look, I know what people are saying. But I want you to know I don't care about any of that. Not in a bad way, I mean. I care about you. And who you are, who you've always been to me, that doesn't change just because now I understand more."
Harry didn't move, but his fingers stilled where they were picking at the edge of his sleeve.
"I've known for a while, if I'm honest," Niall went on, shifting his weight against the locker. "Not because you said anything. Just... little things. Stuff I figured wasn't my business unless you wanted to talk about it. But it never made me think less of you. It just made me realize how strong you've been, carrying all that alone."
Harry's chest rose with a shaky breath.
"So yeah," Niall finished, his voice grounding itself in something steadier. "I know you're trans. And I'm not here to make it weird or ask a bunch of questions. I'm here to say whatever happens, I've got your back. You're not alone."
Harry glanced at him, and it wasn't just a glance this time. It lingered. Enough to let something pass between them uncertain and fragile, but real.
Then Harry gave a tiny nod. Not much, but enough.
And Niall's small, hopeful smile said he understood completely.
Harry barely had a second to breathe after Niall's reassurance, after that rare feeling of not being so painfully alone, when he heard the unmistakable shuffle of expensive sneakers and fake confidence strutting down the corridor.
Luke Hemmings. Tall. Blonde. Smug. The kind of guy who thought misogyny was a personality trait and that using hair gel qualified as personal growth. Calum and Ashton flanked him like knockoff henchmen in a teen drama no one asked for. It was always those three loud, relentless, and never as funny as they thought they were.
"Well, well," Luke said, his voice ringing out like an alert that idiocy was near. "If it isn't the Styles kid. Back so soon? Thought you'd be too embarrassed to show your face, man- sorry, I mean... whatever."
Harry stiffened. Didn't move, didn't blink. He just braced.
"You hear the rumor, Cal?" Luke continued like Harry wasn't right there. "Apparently he thinks he's a girl now."
"Pretty sure I heard that last week," Calum snorted. "Or maybe it was on Twitter. Either way, it's giving delusion."
"Honestly," Ashton chimed in, "I'd respect it more if he just committed. Like go full wig and heels. Live your truth or whatever."
Luke laughed, clapping Ashton on the back. "Right? At least then it'd be entertaining."
Niall's eyes snapped up so fast it was like a switch flipped. His posture straightened. His shoulders squared. Something dangerous flickered in his usually laidback expression.
"Hey," he said sharply. "Shut the fuck up."
Luke paused, eyebrows raising in mock innocence. "Whoa. Chill, Horan. Didn't know you were part of the pronoun police now."
Niall stepped forward. "Nah, just allergic to cowards."
Calum scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Niall said, and his voice was cool now- razor sharp in that terrifyingly calm way, "you're all standing here in a pack trying to humiliate someone who hasn't even said a word to you. Someone who's done absolutely nothing to you. You think that's brave? That's pathetic."
Luke blinked like he hadn't expected pushback. Bullies rarely did.
"I mean," Niall added with a little shrug, "at least when Harry walks down a hallway, he doesn't reek of body spray and unresolved mommy issues."
Harry's lips twitched. Just barely. The tension in his chest didn't vanish, but it loosened like air finding a crack in the window.
Ashton muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?" Niall asked, stepping closer. "Didn't hear you. Must be hard talking with your head that far up Luke's ass."
Calum took a step forward then, but Niall didn't flinch. "What, you gonna hit me? For defending my friend? Go ahead. Then everyone can see who you really are. Spoiler: it's not the tough guy you think."
A silence fell. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that buzzed with tension and humiliation. A few other students had started lingering, watching.
Luke looked around. Saw the attention. Smirked like it was all a joke again. "Whatever, man. Keep playing babysitter. Just don't come crying when she stabs you in the back."
"Call him 'she' again," Niall said, voice dropping low, "and I swear I'll forget I'm supposed to be the chill one."
Luke raised his hands mockingly. "Easy, easy. Didn't mean anything."
"Yeah," Niall said, stepping back, eyes never leaving Luke's. "That's your problem. You never mean anything."
Luke scoffed and turned, muttering something to the others as they walked off, posture suddenly smaller.
The hallway felt quieter after they left. The sharpness in the air dulled. Niall exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.
"God," he muttered. "Those three are like a group project where everyone sucks."
Harry didn't speak for a moment. Then, softly "You didn't have to do that."
"I did," Niall said, "And I'd do it again."
Harry looked at him. Really looked. "You're kind of a menace."
"I prefer 'local legend,' but sure, menace works."
Harry cracked a laugh. A real one. Quiet and small and tired but real.
They kept walking. And even though the hallway was still the same sterile stretch of institutional tile and flickering lights, it felt just a little less cold.
: :
The final bell rang like mercy.
Harry waited. Let the classrooms empty out. Let the stairwells fill and drain. Only once the halls had quieted did he move, walking with hunched shoulders, converse squeaking against tile. He kept his hoodie up, still hoping invisibility would return if he tried hard enough.
But the whispers had been louder today. One girl in English had looked at him like he was contagious. Someone else had scrawled "freak" across his locker in tiny pencil letters wiped off by lunch, but still there in his mind, in his chest.
Everything ached. His head. His back. His heart. His eyes stung, but he hadn't cried. Not yet.
He didn't want to go home.
Not to his father, who would simmer in silence until it boiled over into disgust. Not to Alex, who would say too much with too little mercy.
"Hey."
Niall again, walking beside him now as they neared the school gate. His hair was messier, his jacket half zipped, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"You okay?"
Harry nodded. Then stopped. Swallowed hard.
"Can I..." His voice faltered.
Niall waited.
"... Can I come to yours? Just for a while?"
There was no explanation. But there didn't need to be. Niall nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. Of course. My mum's working late. You can have the guest room. Or the couch. We've got pop tarts."
Harry almost smiled. It didn't quite make it, but it tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks."
They walked in silence, footsteps echoing on damp pavement, the occasional caw of a crow or chirp of some winter bird overhead. It was cold, but bearable. Harry kept his head down, not to hide now, but to feel something close to safe.
Just for tonight.
: :
Niall's house was familiar. Not from frequent visits, but from the way comfort lived there. The scent of clean laundry, old paperbacks, and the faint memory of pizza clung to the air like a hug.
Harry sat on the edge of the guest bed, legs curled up, hoodie sleeves still covering his hands. His shoes were kicked off. His bag dumped in a corner. He stared at the floor like it might give him instructions on how to exist.
Niall moved around the room, rummaging through drawers.
"You still like strawberry pop tarts?" he asked, tone casual.
Harry blinked. "Yeah. Still do."
Niall tossed him a pack. "Classic. I knew you had taste."
They didn't talk much after that. Just turned on the TV, something forgettable and stupid playing in the background. They sat there, the silence stretched thin but not awkward. It was the kind of quiet that existed between people who didn't need to pretend.
Harry picked at the foil wrapper, didn't open it. Just needed something to hold.
"You ever feel like you're just..." he started, voice soft.
Niall looked over. "Like what?"
Harry's throat tightened. He hated how hard it was to say the things that lived inside him.
"Like you're wrong," he whispered. "Like everything about you is too much or not enough. And people hate you for it."
Niall didn't jump in with reassurance. He didn't spout tired affirmations. He just listened.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Sometimes. Not like you do, I guess. But yeah."
Harry nodded, barely. His voice cracked when he spoke again. "I'm trying so hard to just... be me. I'm not hurting anyone. But people look at me like I'm disgusting. Like I'm broken."
The word sat in the air for a moment, like a weight on both their chests.
"You're not broken," Niall said. "You're just hurting. And people suck."
Harry didn't mean to cry, but the tear slipped out anyway, trailing hot and fast down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, embarrassed, but Niall didn't comment. Didn't even stare.
"Thanks," Harry whispered. "For letting me stay."
"You can stay any time," Niall said simply. "Seriously. You don't have to go back there if you're not ready."
Harry didn't answer, but his eyes tired, red-rimmed, grateful, afraid said everything.
And for once, he believed it might be okay to not be okay.
Just for tonight.
That night, as the wind tapped against the window and the house settled into silence, Harry lay curled under a blanket, the unopened pop tart packet still clutched in his hand. The cold of the day had left him, replaced by something warmer. Not peace, exactly. But rest.
The kind you only find in safe places.
And that, for now, was enough.