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I'll hit the lights and you lock the doors
Tell me all of the things that you couldn't before
Don't walk away, don't roll your eyes
They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight
Harry stares at the door for a solid two minutes after his driver leaves, sent home for the night – a decision he's already regretting. He’s had a few drinks, he’s a little drunk, and his decision-making skills are suffering for it – evidenced by the fact that he’s standing in front of this particular door at all.
He reads over the old e-mail on his phone one more time to double check the address – an invitation for a housewarming dinner that he didn’t bother sending a reply to, a reply that wouldn’t have been expected in the first place.
It’s the right door, but it feels wrong. A lot of this evening feels wrong.
He’d like to think it’s courage, but it’s the cold that drives him to finally knock on the door. He lost his suit jacket hours ago, and it’s October, and the sun has long set, and a glance at the dark overcast sky tells him it’s probably going to rain before sunrise.
That L.A. weather’s made you gone soft, his mind supplies in a brogue that sounds suspiciously like Niall.
The first thing he hears is the familiar click-clack of scrambling paws on hardwood, followed almost immediately by short, alarmed barks. He absently wishes he had a key and didn’t have to worry about waking anyone; those days are long past. Kind of the point, really.
His heartrate quickens and he sucks in a breath when he hears footsteps and a muffled “Shh, Piggy” – “Robbers don’t knock, remember, we talked about this” – “Who the bloody hell is–”
Harry doesn’t notice that he’s practically leaning with his ear against the door until it opens and he stumbles forward.
“I – Harry?” Nick says, forgetting to hold back Pig in his shock. Harry’s suddenly up to his knees in dog, Pig licking at his hands and –
“Oh,” Harry says, crouching down as Pig continues the assault on his face. “Who’s this?” He scoops up the tiny black dog who’s joined Pig at his feet.
“Harry,” Nick says again.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Harry whispers to the puppy as it licks at his face. “So sweet.”
“Harry,” Nick says, like a broken record.
“What’s she called?” Harry asks without looking up.
“He’s–” Nick says, coming to his senses and trying to usher Pig back inside. “He’s called Stinky. Harry–”
Harry giggles as Stinky licks his nose, setting him back down on the ground. “Of course you named your dog Stinky.”
“What are you doing here?” Nick finally says, and that’s when Harry looks up.
Nick looks – older. His hair is buzzed short and he’s in a fluffy-looking housecoat, and Harry hasn’t seen him in months.
“You weren’t there,” he blurts. He planned this differently. He didn’t plan this at all. “Tonight. At my – at the launch. The magazine.”
Nick sighs and shepherds the dogs inside with his foot, closing the door behind him. Now they’re both stood out in the cold.
“You were invited,” Harry continues awkwardly, “I made sure.”
“Some of us have to be up in a few hours,” Nick says, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes.
Harry scoffs, “Like that stops you.” He may not be in the country most of the time, but he’s not completely out of touch.
Nick furrows his brow, annoyed. He has more lines on his forehead than Harry remembers. “Sometimes I have work obligations, yes,” he says, folding his arms. It’s not quite as sharp as Harry knows Nick would like; it’s probably the housecoat that’s dulling it a bit.
“S’not how it used to be,” Harry says. He’s aware that he sounds like a child, but can’t bring himself to care.
“Yes, well,” Nick says. “You’re not an obligation anymore.”
Harry sucks in a breath at that. It’s not that – he knew Nick wasn’t waiting around for him to come home, not anymore, but the comment still brings the sting of tears to his eyes.
“I know, I just…” Harry says, feeling young and stupid and drunk in a way that he hasn’t in years. “You weren’t there.”
Nick sighs before turning back towards the closed door. “No use doing this out in the cold.”
Harry isn’t sure what “this” is, but follows him into the dark entrance corridor as Nick herds the dogs into a side room.
At first glance, the new flat doesn’t look at all like the old one – it’s less lived-in, more sterile – like Nick let somebody else decorate for him. Harry hates how little it feels like home. Hates how much he’s missed, hates how he let this happen, hates himself for letting Nick go – not that Nick was ever his to keep, anyway.
“Nick, I–” Harry starts, but he’s cut off by a hiss.
“Jesus, Styles, keep it down,” Nick scolds. “People are trying to sleep.” Harry blanches.
“Nick–” Harry says, his heart sinking down to his gut. “Grim, is there someone here?”
“Is there someone–” Nick looks at him blankly before leveling a glare. “Emily lives here. How can you not…”
It’s silent between them again. Harry knows what Nick was going to say – How can you not know that?
The same way Harry didn’t know Nick had moved house until he received a forwarded e-mail invitation from Pixie. The way Harry doesn’t know enough about Nick’s life to know whether he’s seeing somebody or not. The same way that he didn’t tell Nick about getting the movie, and that Nick didn’t tell him about the last time he was in L.A.
“Sorry,” Harry says dumbly. “Um, that I missed your housewarming.”
“My housewarming?” Nick snorts. “That’s what you’re sorry for? Of all the things you could lead with after months – without calling, without even sending me a bloody text on my birthday, after fucking off for who knows how long to god knows where, you’re–” Nick stops to take a deep breath, sliding a hand over his eyes. “You could at least act like nothing happened like a bloody normal person for once. You’re sorry you missed my housewarming?”
Nick finishes to stare at him, standing in the dark at the entrance to the next room, lit only faintly by a glow from the living room – a muted TV, knowing Nick. Harry’s at a loss – he’s been counting on Nick to fill the silences for years.
“I’m sorry for everything,” he whispers finally. “All of that and everything else. I don’t know what to say, Grim, I didn’t come here to fight.”
“Still not sure why you came here at all, if I’m honest.”
Harry’s beginning to wonder why himself. He’s not prepared for this conversation, inevitable as it was – all he knew was that he needed to see Nick. Couldn’t stop thinking about how a party in his honour should have had Nick DJing. That he hated the idea of being at a club in London for some party without Nick at his side. That there was no one there to whisper gossip low in his ear, secrets just for him. That there was no one to pour him into a taxi at three in the morning and tell the driver their own address, or give him a sloppy handjob under a coat in the backseat. He just needed Nick.
“Because I missed you,” he settles on finally. “Miss you.”
Nick stays silent, but allows Harry to draw him closer for a hug, lets him tuck his head under Nick’s chin and breathe in the lingering smell of his cologne.
“I don’t know how to do all of this without you,” Harry continues, muffled by Nick’s housecoat. “I know it was my fault. All of it. I know I’m a terrible friend and that you deserve better. I know I’ve been holding you back and I know that I could never give you what you want. I know it was me who ran away.”
Nick moves his hands slowly, rubbing small, comforting circles into the small of Harry’s back.
“I know that ‘Sorry’ doesn’t change anything but. I am. I’m sorry. And I don’t know how to do it without you and I don’t want to,” he pulls back to look at Nick. “And I don’t want to believe that there’s never going to be a right time for me and you.”
Nick’s eyes go sad.
“Maybe there already was,” he says. “Think we missed our chance, Popstar.”
He kisses Harry’s head gently, a brush of lips to his hairline, before pulling him into the living room. It’s then that Harry clocks where the glow is coming from – not from the TV like he’d assumed, but from neon.
“Enjoy,” Harry says distantly. “You have it lit.”
Nick’s quiet for a moment before he looks Harry in the eye. “It’s always lit.”
Harry kisses him then, can’t help himself from sliding a hand over Nick’s jaw and tugging him closer by the front of his housecoat. He’d hoped this would happen, knew what he was aiming for when he gave the driver the address, but lets out a gasp in surprise when Nick kisses him back just as desperately. It’s been so long since they had this, since they did this – longer even than since the last time they saw each other – but it feels so familiar, so much like home that Harry feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, clenched shut against the emotion.
Nick is the first to pull away, just slightly, just enough to breathe but not enough to keep their lips from touching as he whispers, “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Why?” Harry says, already leaning in for another kiss, pressing his lips against Nick’s more chastely this time, moving his arms to loop around Nick’s neck as he feels Nick’s broad hands settle on either side of his ribs. Nick tips their foreheads together to put space between their mouths.
“I got over you.”
A tear slips out, then, but Harry’s not sad – just, resigned. He knows. He got over Nick, too, in the same way – not completely, but enough that the pain was a memory rather than a constant ache.
“Just tonight,” Harry says, then. “If we missed our shot, if we can’t have this… let’s just have tonight.”
“Always such a romantic, Styles,” Nick sighs, his thumbs moving up and down, counting Harry’s ribs. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Just tonight,” Harry repeats. “We can say everything we ever wanted to say to each other. Just between us.”
“Could hurt,” Nick says, and Harry can feel him relenting.
“Worth it,” Harry says quietly, and it’s Nick that kisses him this time.
“This is such a bad idea,” Nick says, but it’s with a smile. “Never could say no to you. Bedroom’s that way. I’ll be through in a minute.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Dogs, door. You know.”
Harry’s waiting on the bed with his shirt off when Nick joins him a few minutes later, wringing his hands absently. Nick smiles at him before removing his housecoat and hanging it on the back of the door, in just his pants underneath. He’s as beautiful as Harry remembers.
Nick comes to stand in front of him, leaning down to take his face in his hands. He kisses him hard, expertly, like Grimmy, like he used to – Harry grips at his triceps, afraid to let him go.
“I didn’t know if I was allowed to miss you,” Harry whispers when they part, his hands moving down over Nick’s sides, ghosting over the bulge growing in his pants. It was his idea, after all. Might as well get things started. “But I did anyway.”
“Get your kit off,” Nick replies, pushing him back onto the bed. “I was so angry with you,” he adds as he climbs onto the bed, going for the lamp as Harry works on his belt and trousers. “I was so angry that everyone was right about you. They all said you were using me, that you’d get bored and leave, and that you couldn’t possibly care.”
Harry flips him onto his back and slips his fingers under the waistband of his pants, kissing below Nick’s navel as he slides them down, leaving them both naked.
“They were right,” Nick says, gasping as Harry takes his cock into his mouth. “You left.”
Harry allows silence to come between them with Nick’s hand carding through his hair.
“Didn’t leave you, wouldn’t,” Harry says when he pulls off a minute later, looking up at Nick through his eyelashes, jerking him off as he presses a kiss to the tip. “London didn’t feel like home anymore, you still did.”
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me,” Nick whispers, brushing a longer piece of Harry’s fringe away from his eyes. “And the worst. Come here.”
Harry crawls up Nick’s body to connect their mouths once more, gasping when Nick’s hands skim over his arse, fingers dipping coyly between the cleft.
“Fuck me, please,” Harry asks, spreading his legs apart and grinding down to slide their cocks together. “Please,” he says again.
“So polite,” Nick says, flipping them over with a grin as he reaches for the drawer of his bedside table. “Missed this. Missed you.”
“Missed– God, Nick, your hands–” Harry’s words are lost as Nick’s long fingers begin to spread him open. “Your hands, Grim, your hands, I missed– nobody does this like you, nobody fucks me like you–”
The verbal stream of consciousness continues as Nick leans down to whisper words of worship into his ear, three fingers working inside him as he says, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect.
“Please,” Harry begs again, squirming against Nick’s fingers, desperate for deeper, harder, more– “Nick, fuck me, please, want to feel it, please–”
He gasps at the loss as Nick removes his fingers, arching over the bedsheets with a whine before Nick’s taking hold of his hips and slamming into him. This part – this is something they always got right.
“Always– fuck, always got so jealous,” Nick says through gritted teeth after he settles into a rhythm, hard thrusts and slow drag. “Always told you I wasn’t, when you were with other people, tried not to care but– fuck. Wanted you to be mine.”
“Would’ve been,” Harry says between gasping breaths, arms thrown back as he arches his back to meet Nick’s thrusts. “Would’ve.”
“No you wouldn’t’ve,” Nick says, pushing Harry’s legs and bending him near in half for a kiss. “Couldn’t’ve.”
“Wanted to, though,” Harry concedes, hooking his knees over Nick’s shoulders. “Always wanted you. Always want you. Look at me, please, Grim–”
He reaches a hand up to grab hold of the back of Nick’s neck, looking into his eyes, soaking it in until he can’t anymore, dropping his head back on the bed.
“Just tonight,” Nick says, lining up Harry’s prostate. Harry cries out and almost misses it– “I love you.”
“I–” Harry gasps, unable to catch his breath as Nick’s hand wraps around his leaking cock, “love you, Nick, always have, fuck, I’m sorry, I love you–”
He bites down on his arm as he comes, sobbing out a litany of curses and professions as he spills over Nick’s hand, tears leaking out of the sides of his eyes as Nick continues to pound into his over-sensitive body until he’s shaking.
“C’mon, Nick, come, please, come in me, want to feel you–”
Nick comes with a groan and Harry holds him through it, whispering encouragement and love into his ear as he comes down.
The silence comes back as they lie in the dark afterwards, facing each other with the light from the streetlamp outside streaking over them, cleaned up with sheets on the floor and duvet hastily thrown over their cooling bodies.
“I should try and sleep a little longer,” Nick says softly, hesitantly, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.
“Some of us have to be up in a few hours,” Harry mimics, in the horrible voice Nick uses to mock him.
“Shurrup,” Nick says, moving to push Harry off the bed. It’s a scuffle for a minute, but eventually they settle, Nick on his back and Harry splayed over his chest, fingers curling in the hair there. “You either have to leave now or stay the night,” Nick adds, finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to manage it if I wake up and you’re not here.”
“I’m not–” going anywhere, Harry wants to say, but the night is supposed to be about honesty. “I’ll stay.”
“Just tonight,” Nick tacks on with a self-conscious smile.
Harry stretches up to kiss him again, softly and without promise. “Just tonight.”