Work Text:
The alert comes through from Louis, of all people, although Niall doesn’t even realise it is an alert at first: You on top of this?
On top of what? Niall texts back, and goes back to watching the game.
This: Louis replies, with a link to a twitter account.
Niall sighs heavily and slumps back into the couch. He’s really not in the mood for some twitter shitstorm this afternoon.
And then another message comes through.
Someone hacked Anne’s phone.
“Fuck,” Niall says to himself. Then texts the same to Louis. Then clicks on the twitter link.
Fuuuuuuuucccccccccccckkkkkk he texts again to Louis, after he’s scrolled through a few of the posts. Calling him now.
Harry’s mobile goes straight to voicemail. He tries him on WhatsApp, on Skype, he even tries calling his home phone in LA, but can’t get through on any of them.
He tries calling Anne, but her number also goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Niall continues to swear to himself as he goes back to scrolling through the twitter feed. Then he stops, and puts his phone down. Even he feels like he shouldn’t be looking at these photos. Not without Anne’s permission. They’re too private, too personal. It’s a side of Harry he wishes he could keep just for himself. He doesn’t want to share this with the rest of the world.
Harry calls back 15 minutes later.
“Ni, you know.” Not a question, just a statement.
“Fucking hell, what the fuck is wrong with people? This is so far over the fucking line,” Niall rants. “Sorry, I should be asking you how you are. How are you?”
“Just got off the phone with my mum. She’s furious. Really, really upset. I’ve never heard her like this before.”
“She should be, this is so gross, so unfair. I’m so sorry.”
“Part of the territory, I guess,” Harry sighs, sounding sad and tired and very, very far away.
“No. No, No. This is not. It’s not alright. I tell you what, I’m gonna go up to Holmes Chapel tomorrow to see her, check that she’s alright. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
“You’re a good man, Niall Horan,” Harry says, sounding a little emotional. “But you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to do that,” Niall says, forcefully.
“No, I mean, it would mean the world to her – it would mean the world to me – if you went to see her. But she’s not in Holmes Chapel. She’s down in London. At my house.”
“Oh. Grand. First bit of good news today.”
“I’ll let her know that you’ll stop in tomorrow.”
“Harry, you haven’t told me how you are. Are you OK?”
“I’m... I’ll be fine,” he says, sounding distant, distracted. “Look, Ni, I’ve gotta go. Jeff just got here, we have a call with the lawyers to try to shut this down. Talk later, OK? Give my mum a big hug from me.”
And then he’s gone.
Niall tries to go back to watching the game, but can’t focus on anything. He thinks about going to the gym, taking it all out on a punching bag. But he’s going out tonight, and Mark would probably work him so hard he wouldn’t be able to move afterwards.
He pours himself a whisky. Knows he shouldn’t be drinking alone. But, desperate times. Downs half the glass, then picks up his phone and shoots off a message to the LIC: SOS. Rough day. Need a drinking buddy. Who wants to join me at the pub?
Five replies come back almost instantly.
∞∞∞∞
Niall wakes up the next morning only mildly hungover, and fumbles around for his phone. There are messages from at least 20 people asking if Harry is alright, but nothing from Harry himself. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep. It’s far too early to be up on a Sunday morning, especially considering the time he went to bed last night. But he has a tiny headache niggling away at him, and after half an hour of restlessness he musters the energy to drag himself out of bed and go look for Panadol.
He wanders into the kitchen on autopilot and makes himself a protein shake, following instructions from Mark. He’s still not sold on the coconut oil that Mark insists needs to go into it, for some reason it always ends up tasting a little like a Thai green curry. But he drinks it anyway as he flicks through the photos and videos from last night, starting at the pub, then moving onto the O2, and ending up at Tape for Marv’s birthday.
He feels a little bit guilty for having had such a good night. He’d been looking forward to seeing Adele for forever, and she did not disappoint. Even from up in the nosebleed section, it was a magical show. Unfortunately most of the pictures and videos he took are rubbish. Maybe he needs to stop trying to capture the moment, and just live in it more.
When it gets to an acceptable hour to be up and about on a Sunday morning, Niall bundles up in winter clothes and heads out, stopping at the local bakery to pick up a chelsea bun. He hates turning up anywhere empty-handed. He gets into his car and then gets out again, goes into the off-license next door and buys a bottle of brandy. Just in case Anne needs something stronger than a cup of tea.
Robin answers the door when he gets there.
“Niall, wonderful to see you, son. Harry told us you might stop by.”
They hug briefly.
“These are for you,” Niall says, passing him the paper bags in his hands.
“How’s she doing?” Niall asks quietly, as he takes his coat and scarf and hat off in the entryway.
“She’s.... swinging like a pendulum between angry and sad. But I know she’ll be glad to see you. Why don’t you go through to the living room? I’ll put the kettle on.”
Niall finds Anne on the couch, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows into the garden, a cashmere throw wrapped around her shoulders. The garden looks a little forlorn in the pale winter light, as does Anne, her eyes red, her face tired.
“Oh Niall,” she sighs, standing up to hug him.
“This hugs from Harry,” he says, and wraps her tightly in his arms, waits for her to be the one to let go, the way that Harry always does. Minutes pass, and Niall realises that she is shaking slightly, silently crying into his shoulder.
“I really messed up, didn’t I?” she sobs.
“No. What? No!” Niall says vehemently, letting go so he can look Anne in the eye. “This is not your fault.”
“But it is,” she says, dropping back onto the couch and pulling a tissue out of her sleeve to dab at her eyes.
“Harry warned me about the cloud. He even showed me how to disconnect from it. And I thought I had. But then, I got this new phone last year, and I just... I just forgot, somehow.”
Niall moves an armchair over so he can sit opposite her, and pulls her hands into his own.
“Anne, you can not blame yourself,” he says forcefully. “What that girl did is illegal. Highly illegal. She stole from you. She’s the one at fault, not you.”
“But if the photos hadn’t been there, to be stolen.... it’s just, those photos were just for us, you know? He never wanted those photos to be seen by anyone else. And now the whole world has seen them.”
“Look, I think we need to look at it this way. Yes, those photos are very, very personal, and it’s disgraceful that they were stolen from you. But all anyone has seen is Harry being even more endearing than anyone ever thought humanly possible. It could have been a whole lot worse. At least there weren’t any photos of him kicking kittens, or in blackface, or dressed up as Hitler, or anything like that.”
Anne smiles, for maybe the first time this morning.
“And at least you haven’t been sending Robin nude photos.”
“Niall! I would never!” she laughs. “And I hope you boys would never either.”
“Of course not,” Niall says, shaking his head, not quite meeting her eye.
“It’s just, Harry gives and he gives and he gives, so much of himself,” Anne sighs. “So much that I used to be scared there’d be nothing left for us. And he’s gotten better at keeping something for himself. But your fans just take and take and take. It’s never enough. You have the best fans in the world, but you also have the worst fans in the world, you know that?”
Niall just nods. Boy does he know it.
“I’m not going to indulge them any more,” Anne says firmly.
Niall reaches out to pat her knee. “You don’t owe them anything.”
They’re interrupted by the doorbell. Anne says that it’s probably Gemma. But instead Robin comes in a minute later with a delivery man lugging something enormous, wrapped in Harrods gift paper.
“Oh my goodness,” Anne exclaims. “What could this be?”
Niall shrugs. “No idea. Open it!”
Robin goes to show the delivery man out as Anne starts ripping at the paper to reveal a plush teddy bear, almost life-sized.
“Oh my, who do you think it’s from?”
Niall has his suspicions, but waits for Anne to open the card for confirmation.
“Oh, Liam. That’s very sweet of him.” She waves the card at Niall, so he takes it off her to read the message.
Wish we could there to give you a big bear hug.
You don’t deserve any of this.
Thinking of you.
Love Liam & Cheryl
“What am I going to do with a giant teddy bear?” she says laughing, but a moment later she’s crying again.
“Oh Anne, don’t cry,” Niall says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll stuff it in the garage, wait a few months. Then donate it to a charity or a children’s hospital or something.”
She’s back to laughing again.
Robin comes in with a tray, laden with tea cups and a teapot and the bun.
They drink tea, swapping stories about seeing Adele. Niall tells them all about his holiday, leaving out anything which involved excessive alcohol, or substances which may or may not have been legal in southeast Asia, but are definitely illegal in this part of the world.
When Robin starts to clear everything away Niall tries to help him, but Anne grabs his wrist and tells Niall to stay, her expression strangely serious. He sits back down.
Anne leans in. “Harry told me about you two.”
Of course he did.
“And I just want you to know that I’m really happy for you. I am. But, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Niall wants to tell her no. He wants to tell her he has no fucking idea what he’s doing. That he’s trying not to overthink it, and just see where this thing they’ve started goes. But he’s not sure he can tell her any of that, so he doesn’t say anything. Eventually she fills the silence.
“Because, I know this is something that Harry’s wanted for a long time. Maybe longer than you realise. And you two have lived through something that very few people can understand. And you’ve become incredibly close because of that. But I just want you to know that you don’t have to give him more than that, just to keep him in your life this year. And if you decide that maybe you just want to go back to being friends, then that’s OK, he’ll learn to live with it.”
“No, it’s not... I don’t... I want this. I really, really want this. Maybe it’s taken me a bit longer to realise, but he’s everything that I want.”
Anne smiles at him again, her eyes teary, but he’s pretty sure they’re happy tears this time.
“Quick, let’s record a message for Harry, let him know that you’re OK,” Niall says, maneouvring Anne next to the giant bear. Niall stands on the other side and holds his phone out as far as he can, trying to get all three of them in the shot, then presses record.
“Hi, love,” Anne says, waving at the camera. “Just wanted to let you know that Niall has been an absolute sweetheart, cheered me up good and proper this morning. He’s a keeper, I tell you.”
Niall smiles at her, his eyes crinkling, and then back at the camera. “Harry, your mum’s far too kind.”
“I love you and I miss you, darling, but you don’t need to worry about me, I’ll be just fine.”
Niall winks and blows a kiss at the camera, then clicks on the screen, presses send.
∞∞∞∞
When it’s time to leave, Anne walks him out. Niall puts his coat on, reaches into the pocket and pulls out a small package, carefully gift wrapped.
“This is for you, from Vietnam. Just something small. It’s really small.”
“Oh, Niall.” She looks like she’s about to start crying again.
She carefully unties the ribbon and pulls open the paper to reveal a silk scarf, feather light and almost transparent, an abstract rose pattern in soft shades of pink.
“Niall, it’s beautiful. I love it. I really love it.”
“I saw it, and just thought of you, for some reason.”
“You’re very thoughtful, you know that. Of course, Harry will probably try to steal it from me.”
They both laugh as Anne wraps the woolen scarf around his neck, and adjusts his hat slightly for him.
“Don’t tell the other boys, but you always were my favourite. Maybe even before you were Harry’s favourite.”
Niall pulls her into another hug. “Don’t tell the other mums, but you’ve always been my favourite too,” he whispers in her ear.
“Hope to see you soon,” she calls from the doorway, waving good bye. “I hope to see a lot of you this year.”
“Me too,” Niall waves back, grinning widely as he climbs into his car and drives out the gate.
∞∞∞∞
Niall gets a message back from Harry late that afternoon:
You are a sweetheart and a keeper. Don’t think I’m ever going to let you go.
Thanks for going to see her.
You’ve got no idea how much it means to me.
Also, did you go to a toy store together? What’s with the bear?
Niall texts back:
you still haven’t told me how YOU are ?
call me when you can.
I’ll tell you all about the bear later.
Niall goes to bed early, still exhausted from Saturday night and emotionally drained from the day. His phone is on the pillow beside him, just in case Harry calls.
He wakes a few hours later, checks his phone. No missed calls. He tries to go back to sleep, and when he can’t, he picks up his phone and opens up Instagram. Types in Harry’s name, clicks through to photos he’s been tagged in. He knows this is a terrible idea, but he can’t stop himself.
It seems like every second photo is from Anne’s phone, every third photo is of Harry and Kendall. So many more photos than he saw yesterday. They look good together. Really good. Stupidly happy. They just seem to fit.
Niall clicks on one of the photos, makes the mistake of reading the comments. 14 year old girls with explicit user names saying with authority that the photos were deliberately leaked, to try to convince people that Harry is straight.
“What a fucking load of bollocks,” Niall says out loud, and throws his phone across the room. It lands with a soft thump on the plush carpet.
∞∞∞∞
An hour later and he’s still wide awake. He gets out of bed and retrieves his phone. Pulls up Harry’s number, presses call.
“Niall?” Harry answers, sounding confused. “What time is it there?”
“Middle of the night.”
“What are you doing up?”
“Looking at Instagram.”
“Niall,” Harry says slowly, “that’s probably not a good idea.”
“Yeah, you’re not fucking wrong,” Niall says bitterly.
They’re both silent for a moment.
“You look good together.”
“No, Niall,” Harry says, a tone of warning in his voice. “We’re not doing this.”
“Really happy,” Niall goes on.
“No. You know that it’s over,” Harry says.
“Is it, though? Is it ever really over between the two of you? Just until the next time you’re both single and in LA at the same time, right?”
“Why are you doing this?” Harry asks, his voice trembling. “This is not fair. I never wanted you to see those photos.”
‘Whether I saw them or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you and Kendall are kind of perfect for each other.”
“What are you talking about?” Harry says, now sounding more exasperated than anything else.
“She’s beautiful, you’re beautiful, you make each other very, very happy. What more do you want?”
“I want YOU, you idiot.”
“You can’t always get what you want. So they say. Well, that’s not true actually. You do always get what you want. Until you stop wanting it. And then you just move on to the next thing that you want.”
“What the fuck, Niall,” Harry practically yells.
“Look, I don’t think this is going to work, this thing between us.”
“No,” Harry shouts. And then very, very calmly he repeats himself. “No. I’m not going to let you do this. I’ve waited too long to let you end it before it’s even really begun.”
“That’s not how relationships work, Harry.”
“I’ll get on a plane tonight, if I have to. Fly to London, talk some sense into you.”
“Don’t,” Niall says forcefully. “Look, just, give me a few days. I need a few days to think this over.”
Harry sighs. “This has been the worst fucking weekend of my life,” he says angrily, and hangs up.
“Fuuuuuuuuccccckkkkk,” Niall yells, and throws his phone across the room again. What the fuck just happened?
∞∞∞∞
Niall texts him in the morning:
I was a fucking twat last night. I don’t know what I was saying. Nothing good comes from being sleepless at 3am. I’m sorry. But I do need a few days to think things over.
Harry texts back:
Call me when you’re ready to talk.
∞∞∞∞
A package arrives on Thursday via express courier. Probably the documents he needs to read through and sign for the charity event, Niall assumes. But when he goes to pick it up, it’s so much bigger and heavier than he was expecting. He’s confused. He takes it into his study and grabs a pair of scissors to open it up. He unravels layers of bubble wrap to reveal what looks like a coffee table book, like the sort of books on architecture or photography that Harry always buys when he goes to that fancy bookstore at the Grove. Except the cover is just a blank navy blue. He puts the book down on his desk and opens it to the first page, to see Harry’s handwriting:
When I think about the things
that we’ve been through
I know just one thing is true
x H
He turns the page to see printed in big, bold, capital letters:
LIFE IS
BETTER
WITH
YOU
Niall’s already smiling before he even turns the page to see the first photo taking up the entire page – a picture of the two of them at boot camp, all those years ago. Jesus Christ, we were just kids, Niall thinks. And it goes on from there, hundreds and hundreds of thick glossy pages, showing Harry and Niall, Niall and Harry. There are some publicity shots, photos of them on stage and at red carpet events. But mostly it’s photos Niall’s never seen before, private photos of them backstage, in hotel rooms and rooftops, on planes, on yachts, poolside or in the pool, sightseeing, playing golf, celebrating birthdays. There’s a photo that Des must have taken, that first week at the bungalow. Photos from Mullingar. Niall tries to guess where the photos have come from: Cal, Lou, the 5SOS boys, Gemma, Anne, Ben, Dave.
There’s page after page of the two of them smiling stupidly at each other, lips and eyes, radiating pure joy. But also quiet moments, the two of them asleep on each other’s shoulders, or curled up together on the tour bus, watching a movie on Harry’s laptop.
Niall only starts to cry when he sees the drawing. He instantly knows who drew it, even before he reads the ‘By Zayn’ in the bottom corner. A sketched figure of Harry kissing Niall’s shoe, cartoon Niall beaming down at cartoon Harry kneeling before him, red accents on the shoes and on the love hearts surrounding the two of them.
He starts turning the pages slower, not wanting it to end. He pauses on the photos backstage in Sheffield, from the Live Lounge rehearsal, from the X-Factor after-party. And then, a photo from Harry’s party, the two of them with their foreheads pressed together, Niall’s hand on Harry’s cheek. The first time they kissed. Niall’s eyes are closed, oblivious. But Harry, with his sixth sense for knowing when someone is taking a photo, is staring directly at the camera, the tiniest of smirks on his lips.
The final photo is black and white, Harry staring up at the camera with Niall asleep beside him, the scene bathed in soft morning light. There’s something profoundly calm and peaceful about the photo. Harry’s expression is almost neutral, but you can tell from his eyes just how happy he is.
Niall’s heart feels full to bursting. He wants to drive straight to Heathrow, take the first flight leaving for LA. No, he wants to teleport to LA. It’s too early to call Harry, but he sends a message: call me as soon as you see this *heart eyes emoji* *shaking heart emoji*.
Harry calls back even before Niall’s put his phone down.
“You got it.”
“I got it, and I get it. I’m...”
“Speechless?” Harry offers.
Niall thinks he might start crying again, but thankfully Harry starts rambling on.
“Would you find it creepy if I said I had a lot of those photos already saved on my laptop? I mean, I have photos of everyone. But it feels like I have about five times more photos of you and me than of anyone else. And then I put a call out for favourite photos of the two of us, and got even more photos back. I spent an entire day sorting through them all and choosing my favourites and putting them in order, and a friend of Katie’s did the layout and touched them up and organised the printing.”
“No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. No one’s ever...”
“Loved you like I do,” Harry says, cutting him off.
“Yeah, I get it now.”
“Niall, I was going to ask you to come with me to St Barts. I came so close to asking you a couple of times. That night, in LA, at the Jingle Ball, I had this whole speech prepared, to try to convince you to come. But then I saw you watching Selena. And I guess... I guess I was scared you’d say no. I didn’t think this what you wanted.”
“I don’t think I knew what I wanted. But I know now. And it’s you.”
“Good,” Harry says. “Because I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to date anyone else. They’d just take one look at photos of the two of us together, and be like ‘I’m never going to be able to make you as happy as Niall does’.”
Niall laughs.
“Hey Harry, have you disabled your iCloud?”
“Of course, you know that.”
“I just want to make sure no one ever hacks your phone.”
“I told you, I deleted those photos you...”
“I’m not talking about those photos,” Niall says, cutting him off. “I’m tallking about the secret selfies you’ve been taking. You’d be exposed for being a pseudo selfie snob... a selfie pseudo snob?”
Harry laughs. “I only take selfies when you’re not awake to take them for us.”
“Am I going to have to start sleeping with one eye open next to you?” Niall asks.
“Just start sleeping next to me,” Harry says softly.
“Next to you, or with you?” Niall laughs.
“Both? On top of me? Under me? I’ll take what I can get, as long as I’m waking up in the same bed with you.”
“I wish I knew when I’d see you again,” Niall sighs.
“Coachella, Coachella, Coachella, Coachella, Coachella,” Harry chants.
“How many days?”
“22,” Harry answers instantly.
“Hmmmm,” Niall hums. “I don’t know about you...”
Harry groans.
“But I’m feeling 22... is far too many days to wait. Let me see what I can do about flying out to LA earlier.”
“You’re a good man, Niall Horan.”
Niall thinks he’ll never get tired of hearing Harry say that.